#Bring him a flower and watch the sunset clouds drift by

[soraviie]

you bring him to your countryside.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ navigation

━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ about: fluff!

━ a/n: goes out for all my fellow ARMY's who grew up in the countryside and or really small towns

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: "Stop pretending like I'm kidnapping you," you growled as the car swerved down the familiar road leading up to the family house situated at the far reach of the country.

"I can't help it. It's so...quiet. Are you sure this is not an elaborate plot to get to meet your parents?" he counteracted nervously, throwing flighty glances to the bushy fields and the clear, limitless sky stretching above his head.

For what felt like the last time before your corneas would simply detach themselves, you rolled your eyes.

"And I keep telling you - no. They're leaving to travel and need someone to watch the house. You had some free time and I thought a bit of a country air would do both of us good. But if it's too much, city boy-"

Hearing the now everyday nickname he immediately rushed to disagree.

"No, no, it's wonderful!" he assured perhaps with a hysterical tint to his voice. "I'm just freaked out about what to say if your parents spring from the bush."

You shook your head at his antics, climbing out and stretching out the soreness of the drive only to soon discover Namjoon completely enamoured with his surroundings. The trees, the wind and the warmth of the sun - it all called to him, like a hot shower called to some after a long day of work. With a small smile, you watched him wander around, observing any insects he could find, the growing flowers, and the paths you had traipsed long before him. Already by the evening, it was a struggle to drag him inside, he had gone to lie down by the afternoon at first watching the clouds pass, then the stars twinkling in the night sky.

"This is idyllic," he sighed as you stood over his chair, then a mosquito landed in the middle of his forehead and in his neverending wisdom he smacked himself right in the face.

"If not for these bastards," he added with a self-conscious chuckle.

YOONGI: "I'll marry an old guy. A geezer!" you whined dramatically, watching Yoongi come back across the field, in his hand there swayed a bag of apples from one of the neighbouring ladies.

"Laugh some more and I won't cook for you anymore," he waved off

Life on this side of the country was quiet enough but with Yoongi, it was somehow quieter still. Except for the first night when he got drunk and belted to your horror to all the few residents in the nearby radius.

"DO YOU KNOW BTS?!"

You think someone had replied that their niece listens to them but that could also be a hallucination inspired by the second-hand embarrassment.

But it was healing in a way to watch Yoongi sit outside and simply drift off into the horizon. From the way, his shoulders bore less tension to the unhurried way he cooked meals, taking his time to do things properly, you knew it had been just the right time to rip him away from the city, away from his worries and rushes for deadlines.

"We still need to trim the grass before leaving," he hummed whilst cutting the melon. Sun would set soon and he had been enjoying watching sunsets with you. "Maybe I'll do that tomorrow."

"I'll hook you up in a group chat with the family," you snorted watching him work. "You can give your input on the flower selection."

"Don't laugh," he reprimanded with a faint lilt of playfulness. "Those hydrangeas in the corner are wilting too fast. They should be moved to a different spot."

"Dear lord," you rolled your eyes, though you couldn't stop smiling.

For the first time, perhaps ever, Yoongi was dragging his legs as you packed to leave. He paused by the open car door, inspecting the property with a longing, faraway look in the eye, lips tightened into a stern line.

"We can always return here. It's quite the trip but say the word and we can be here to rest," you assured him and he bit his lip.

"It's not even that, it's just... I just had thought how nice it would be to have a place like this of our own someday."

"It's the flower selection, isn't it," you nudged him with a hip and he laughed, shoulder shaking in mute amusement.

"Yes, I'm a tyrant when it comes to hydrangeas."

JIN: "Ow, goddamnit Jin!" you whined as his fishing tools poked you in the back of the head for the tenth time.

"Please, think of your love for me as you endure this torment," he said in all seriousness before glowering down to the GPS. "Are we going the right way? This is the middle of nowhere."

"Yes, we're going the right way," you assured, leaning out of the way his heinous fishing rod had decided to take. The familiar outlines of the neighbouring properties had breezed past in the corner of your eye.

"Wow, this place is seriously desolate. Did you have sheep as pets when you were a kid?"

You levelled him down with an unimpressed glare.

"Really? Sheep?"

"What, bears then?" he spread his eyes in comical terror. "Please don't tell me you have pet bears, ___________, that is horrifying!"

"The nearest neighbour has a chihuahua, does that terrify you?"

"Absolutely. Please, don't let that thing eat me! It should be a basic requirement for a partner," he added with a pout.

At the sight of the old country home, you began to squirm with joy. A bed, a kitchen with a meal and a rest, an inviting sight. The same couldn't be said about the trunk of the car, thrust to the brim with food and Jin's precious fishing supplies. No amount of explanation that there was a store available nearby, Jin had been convinced if not bringing half the town with him, he'd be left eating a mouldy piece of bread for the rest of the stay.

"______________! Hello!" a neighbour rushed forth. "Your mom said you'll be stopping by so here are some fresh vegetables, straight from the garden!"

"Thank you! You really shouldn't have," politely, you bid her whilst accepting the bag with eager arms.

"Say, weren't you supposed to have a boyfriend with you?"

You frowned, turning round to where Jin had just been standing only to of course find an empty spot.

"Oh, what a lionheart," you grumbled under your breath.

Jin had bounded through the house with great enthusiasm, enjoying the feel of it and some childhood pictures only for that joy to be promptly squashed when stumbling upon the entrance to the basement.

For a second, he stared into the damp darkness of it, completely frozen.

"Yeah, I'm never going down there," he nodded to himself, shutting the door tightly behind himself.

HOSEOK: When you felt his arm encircle your waist again, you didn't bother opening your eyes anymore and simply growled in a warning:

"Hoseok."

"I swear this place is haunted," he whispered back, trying to discreetly scooch closer.

For a while peace of a sleepful night had taken root again but it was then promptly torn out when Hoseok whimpered at the sound of the tree hitting the window.

"Hoseok, It's just a branch," you grunted. "I love you but please just sleep."

You don't know what sort of reality he saw at night but the house which he'd been enamoured with during the day was now his personal carousel of horrors. It creaked and groaned as any old country house did but to Hoseok they were omens of misfortune, tales of ghosts and whatnot.

"It's too quiet," he complained in your ear. "There's no one around. No one to hear us scream if anything happens."

"I'll be your knight in the shining armour should any murderers come this way," you assured him, tiredly. "And if you don't accept that I'll kill you myself if you keep waking me up. Now go. To. Sleep!"

He grumbled something about you being heartless but kept quiet for the remaining night.

"You know, _______, I think it's not that bad," lightly, he exclaimed stretching in the morning sun as you inspected the deep circles underneath your eyes. Soon it will look like someone had punched you.

"I think I'm starting to like this place," he added, joyously. This was what he had said three nights before already.

JIMIN: "You know there is a shop here, right?" you panted unloading his seventh suitcase from the car. Fetching his numerous tonns of clothes and "what if's" in the sweltering heat of the midday sun was not something you envisioned when planning to bring him here.

"Yes, but...better to be safe, right," he pouted and you sighed, taking in your hands suitcase no. 9.

"Is this your great grandmother?" he asked in a hush, once inside. Eyes wide and respectful he took everything in, inspecting and commiting to memory every bit of what had once been a great part of your life.

You glanced at the old picture he was pointing at, dragging the suitcases into the bedroom.

"Yes. That's my grandfather and grandmother in the smaller picture to the left."

Jimin bowed politely towards them.

"Hello! Thank you for bringing into the world the love of my life," he bid them earnestly and you smiled.

"Your love would appreciate you dragging your own pants. How many did you pack?!"

He lingered in the doorway, suddenly appearing deceptively demure.

"Maybe ten or more... Anything can happen!"

You sighed and it too was promptly interrupted by a curious:

"Are there any animals here? Like something you see on a farm?"

"There are a lot of stray cats," you explained, lying on the bed exhausted. "But don't you go sticking your face into every cat you meet! It doesn't matter how cute they are, you're still allergic!"

As only silence followed your suspicion surged and upon cracking open your eyes, you saw him already halfway into the field outside, hand stretched and inviting coos falling from his mouth, eagerly welcoming the tabby cat sitting and minding his business at the edge of the property.

"Oh, fucking hell, Jimin," you cursed, ripping open one of the smaller bags. Well at least in between the hundred skincare products, lotions and three - three! - whole bottles of lube, he at least had the foresight to chuck his medication in there as well. You grabbed it before hauling your ass outside like a devil possessed.

"Sir! Put the cat down! Jimin, no!"

TAEHYUNG: "This reminds me of my childhood," he sighed wistfully, watching the road rush past by, holding drowsing Yeontan in his arms.

"It's nice, isn't it," you hummed. "Just a little bit left."

Taehyung took to the country quickly though Yeontan? Not so much.

"He's a real city boy my Tan," Taehyung laughed, watching Yeontan sleep yet another hour away in the middle of the bed like a small, tyrannical prince.

"Hey, ___________," you got any more spare cash?" he called out amidst the relative bustle of farming vendors.

"Goat cheese?!" you called out, reading the display sign of a slyly grinning seller, clearly having smelt an eager purchase. "Do you even like goat cheese?"

"It's got walnuts in it!" he eagerly pointed at a fairly large chunk weighing on the scales.

"Yes, I can see it's got walnuts but will you eat it is the question?"

"Oh, I can't get things like this in the city. Please?"

You threw what was meant to be an assertive look over the many bags he was dragging with, all under the pretence of rarity and impossibility of finding in the city. He was being quite thoroughly scammed but the wet, sopping eyes worked their wonders all the same.

"We'll get a half of that piece," tiredly, you piped up. The cut was decidedly of the proverbial bigger half and with a deep sigh, you gave the money away. It had flown like sand grains in a storm. Homemade marmalade and marshmallows, apple cider and something that had neither markings nor colour sat at the very top of one of his bags, there was no small chance he had actually bought something from every stall but it made him happy so begrudgingly you trailed after Taehyung as he skipped back home with all of his bags and a bright smile etched on his face.

The goat cheese, however, remained quite untouched, despite the walnuts.

JUNGKOOK: "I'm not telling him that," you replied, eyeing the rain pour down the side of the window and deep puddles forming into the indents of the grass. Jungkook was definitely caught in the midst of the downpour.

"He's there, isn't he?" your mother grumbled on the phone. "A young and capable son-in-law should help out."

"Mom, we're not married yet."

"Eh, few years give or take. Technicalities."

You sighed again.

"Mom, we're here to rest, both of us are, stop exploiting my boyfriend for manual labour."

Just then the doors opened and Bam ran in, leaving behind him wet paw prints. Jungkook too was dripping like he had just taken a shower though the weather had not lessened a bit of that smile.

"Bam! Come here. Don't go in all wet!"

Once sufficiently dry, both of them, he quickly found his way to your side, one hand aggressively brushing a towel over his wet hair, the other reaching to grab you by the waist.

"Is it your mother?" he asked in a whisper and you nodded. In a flash, the phone was yanked out of your hands.

"Hello, ma'am. Yes. You too. Firewood? Sure. Oh, the grass. Yes I can do that. The flowers? Yes. Wait let me write it down."

Unimpressed, you sat by the kitchen table, watching him scribble down a progressively more expansive list of chores, ranging from trimming the grass to hauling down a chair from the attic.

"Yes, I got it. Yes, thank you, ma'am. It's really no trouble. Yes, you too. Goodbye."

Silence followed the end of that conversation.

"What?" he questioned innocently and with some offence.

"You know why I brought you here, right?" you grunted. "It was to bounce on your dick without worrying about the noise."

Jungkook's ears immediately sweltered and a pout formed on his lips.

"I can be a great upcoming son-in-law, help your parents out and still give the best dick in your life. I'm a man of great capability."

At the end of the day, you found both him and Bam promptly passed out with no sign of ever waking up as they both snored to their absolute content.

"Man of great capability, my ass," you growled.

© soraviii/soraviie 2022-2023

#bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts x you #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #jin x reader #jin x you #hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #jimin x reader #jimin x you #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts reaction #bts fluff

[skyyknights]

would I run off the world someday

Ao3

The first time, evening is near, pervading the air with a strange sadness as dusk falls.

“Link?” 

Zelda’s voice brings him to a halt as he walks past her through the twilit hall, half-submerged in shadows with the last rays of the sun highlighting his face. She sees him stiffen, shoulders tensing before he turns to her with a stony expression, honey-brown hair falling across his forehead. The sunset transforms him into a silhouette, surrounding him with light that does not reach his eyes. 

“Yes, your Majesty?” His words come with a flash of pointed teeth and a gleam of wolfish eyes as he looks back at her, attentive, waiting. She opens her mouth to speak, but her gaze drifts to the bunch of flowers that he wields in one of his hands like a weapon. Green stems and sky-blue petals and whitish-yellow centers. 

Forget-me-nots. 

Zelda swallows, tearing her gaze from the flowers and settling it back on his face. He is staring at her with a shuttered expression, his face shadowed. His eyes are like ice, cold and distant and shattered like the mirror that now separates two worlds. 

“Did you want something?” he says after a moment, hovering. Waiting for her to speak and break the silence that swirls so thickly around them. 

She bites the inside of her cheek, searching for an excuse. In truth she’s been waiting here for him for nearly an hour, unsure if he would even come, though she was fairly sure he would based on what she’s observed. And here he is at last, confirming her suspicions.

“Where are you going, might I ask?” she replies finally in answer to his question, hands fisting into the fabric of her skirts because she is already well aware.

His eyes drop to the flowers in his hands, and she sees his lips compress for a moment as his brows draw together slightly. “I think you can guess,” he answers at length, his voice a dagger wielded only at himself. 

“She’s…” Zelda feels herself flinching a little at her own words, cold stone digging into her shoulder blades from the wall behind her. “She’s not dead, you know.” 

Link’s gaze snaps to her face again, anger and defense clouding across it that she knows is not directed at her. “Yes, I know! I know she’s not dead, she’s just– she–” 

He pauses, shutting his eyes and inhaling to calm himself before carding a hand through his bangs. She sees his pulse beating in the line of his neck as he opens his eyes once more, staring at her with all the rabidity of a wolf. Alive, alive, alive–

“I know she’s not dead,” he repeats again, quietly this time, and the ice in his eyes melts just a little. Zelda wants nothing more than to thaw it entirely, but he is not hers and he never will be. 

She draws a steadying breath, reaching back to plant her palms against the wall. “You’ve gone there every day since she left,” she whispers finally, words she’s never dared to speak till now, and he flinches, gaze cutting to the floor. “I’m…worried about you.” 

More than you know. 

His lips part, and for a moment she thinks he is about to open his heart to her, to let loose the burdens she knows weigh them both down on a daily basis. 

But she is a liar, deceiving herself while trapped in the shadows of her own castle, and he is stone, silent and gray and unyielding in the light of the setting sun. 

He intentionally avoids her voiced concerns when he speaks again. “I’ll be back in time for my watch tonight,” he says instead of the heartfelt words she was expecting, blue eyes half-lidded in the twilight. His fingers tighten around the bunch of flowers in his hands, and a few pale petals drift to the floor as he starts to turn away. 

“Okay.” 

She leans her head back against the wall, waiting for the emptiness of twilight to wash over her as it has every evening since the end of the invasion, when he suddenly pauses and looks over his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry for making you worry,” he tells her, voice rough and unsteady, a few more petals drifting to the floor. “But you shouldn’t.” 

The shadows swallow him a moment later, and the echo of his footsteps fades quickly away down the hall. 

Zelda remains propped against the wall for she does not know how long, staring out the window as Hyrule sinks slowly into the velvety grip of night. 

–

The second time, a few days later, it is sunny out.

She spots him down in the courtyard and all but dashes out to see him, skirts brushing around her ankles and hair billowing behind her as she comes to a halt. “Link,” she says breathlessly, and he turns to face her, expression guarded as he waits. “I– you’re not in trouble,” she hurries to assure him, hands twisting together uncertainly in a manner that is not entirely befitting of a royal. “I just thought…maybe you would like to have a cup of tea with me?” 

She sees him swallow, his tongue running over his lower lip as he considers. 

“All right.” 

Her smile is faltering as she leads him to her study, where the maids have set out a tray laden with a pot of black tea and a few small cakes. Zelda pours them both a cup, stirring a little sugar into her own and watching him a bit hesitantly. He doesn’t meet her gaze, gloved fingers wrapping around his cup and blue eyes shifting uncomfortably, but she can practically feel the heaviness radiating off of him. 

“I wanted to ask–” She pauses, foot tapping nervously beneath her skirts on the carpet. It’s been a while since she’s talked to someone one-on-one like this. “What I mean to say is…how have you been, really? I–I know we’ve both been busy, but I wanted to check because of–” She hesitates, staring into the depths of her tea.  

His eyes connect with hers over the rim of his cup, steam curling up in front of his face. 

“Because of what?” His voice is rough. 

“I– I know you keep going there.” Zelda swallows, setting her cup on the tea tray and folding her hands together in her lap. “And I don’t mean to pry, but– why do you do it? She…shattered the mirror, did she not? So–” 

“You’re asking what the point is.” His teacup slams into its saucer with a clatter, and he turns to stare out one of the windows in her study, sunlight highlighting his profile as his lips fold together. He is so close; she could simply reach out and trace his jaw with her fingers, but she does not dare to. Her fingers twitch loosely in her lap. 

“I do it because I have to believe she can return,” Link answers her finally, slouching in his seat with one leg moving restlessly up and down. He examines the fingers of one hand, words spilling out of him in a rush. “If I don’t I might go mad, I might lose my head, and then what sort of hero would I be?” His eyes cut to look at her again, cold and feral like a beast. “A wolf who tears people’s throats out with no regret? A monster who creeps through the streets at night because he can’t trust his own sanity during the day?” 

“I–” Zelda breathes in, then out, hands trembling in her lap as words escape her. Yet she understands what he means, and she can tell that he sees it in her face from the way his posture relaxes just slightly, though he still twitches like a wild animal. 

Is this what they’ve become, then? Two shattered remnants of the princess and hero who banded together to defeat evil and banish the twilight? Two broken shells who cannot bear to think about all they have lost, yet who force themselves to for fear they will forget? 

The tea has grown cold and shadows are beginning to fall when Link at last starts and rises from his chair. “I’ve stayed too long,” he tells her, beautiful blue eyes flashing briefly over her face, and she already knows from his expression where he plans on going. “Thank you for the tea.” 

“Tell me,” she says softly as he paces to the door, and he pauses to listen but does not turn around. “Is this what we are now? Must we dwell forever in the twilight?” 

His hand grips the handle of the door, and his voice is harsh when he answers. “No one is forcing you to stay there, your Highness,” he says, a shadow by the door. “If you wanted, you could break free of it.” 

“And you?” Her voice is barely audible, even to her own ears.  

“She won’t let me,” he whispers in reply, head bowing slightly, and then the door swings open and he is gone. 

Zelda sits and stares at the two cups of cold tea on the table until she can no longer see them in the darkness. 

–

The third time, a week or two later, it is chilly and overcast, a bite in the air.

She surprises him as he’s training, slipping out into the yard with her cloak thrown round her shoulders. She watches him silently for a few moments, standing in the shadow of a column and admiring his skill with a blade as he ducks and lunges at invisible enemies, and when he finally notices her his face is flushed from exertion. 

“Highness,” Link greets her, bowing slightly at the waist and panting a little as he wipes sweat from his forehead. “Do you need something?” 

She hums, gaze moving to the cloudy skies overhead. “Just company, I think,” she murmurs after a moment, huddling further into her cloak. “My study gets rather depressing after a while.” 

He huffs a short laugh, dropping his sword into the grass and flexing his arms and fingers to loosen the muscles. “I’m not sure I’m the best option for company, you know.” 

Her eyes flick back to him, taking in his dark gold hair and lithe form as he watches her in turn. “I think you know as well as I that none but us can truly understand what we went through. I would much prefer to be with you than to listen to a maid’s gossip or the ramblings of a courtier.” 

“I don’t–” He sighs, sinking into a seat on the grass and resting his forearm on one raised knee. “I don’t have much to say, princess. You’ll get bored.” 

“Who said company means having to talk?” Zelda steps closer to him, gathering her skirts a little and sitting down beside him. “Sometimes it just means not being alone.” 

He tilts his head, watching her, and she returns his stare openly, chin lifted. “I suppose you’re right,” he says finally, “about us being the only ones who understand. Although… there is one other who would, but she's–” His fingers tremble a little. “She’s not here right now.” 

“No,” Zelda returns softly, leaning back on her palms. “She’s not.” 

Link swallows, shifting to sit cross-legged and tearing a blade of grass from the ground. “Do you think–” His voice is hoarse, unsure, the grass shredding to ribbons between his fingers. “Do you think she’s forgotten us?” 

“I haven’t forgotten the soldiers who died defending me, little though I knew them,” Zelda answers after a moment of reflection. “Yet the two of us are alive, and we went through a great ordeal with her. So…no, she hasn’t forgotten us. We would be lacking faith in her to think she has.” 

A slight smile curls his mouth at her words.

“She’ll come back someday,” he murmurs. “We’ll find a way, I’m sure.” 

Zelda doesn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise, so she simply nods and looks at her hands, but a thought– the same that has tormented her for weeks– crosses her mind. 

“Link… did you love her?” she asks him softly after a moment, hoping her voice does not betray her, biting her lip fiercely to keep the tears at bay.

Link’s mouth opens in shock at the question, and for several minutes he is completely silent, staring unseeing at his lap. 

“Yes,” he answers at last, eyes slipping closed. “For the short time we had, yes. In many ways. I’m not sure I could ever name them all. Yet I doubt she returned it. She didn’t really seem the type; I think to her I was just a silly human.” 

“I’m sure you weren’t,” Zelda whispers to reassure him, though it pains her heart to say it. “I’m sure she cared for you.” 

“No…” He smiles sardonically, head tipping back so he can feel the sun on his face. “No, I thank you for your kind words, princess, but I don’t believe she did. But it doesn’t bother me, I don’t think. She’s the one who chose to leave, after all. It wouldn’t help to dwell on the fact she didn’t feel the same when she’s not even here.” 

“And yet…you keep going there.” 

“Yes.” 

“To leave flowers at the shattered mirror as if it were a grave, or as if they are an offering that will somehow bring her back.” 

There is a longer pause this time, and his eyes open to look at her again. 

“Yes.” 

She hugs her arms around herself, shivering even with her cloak for reasons she cannot name. “Will she keep ahold of you until your death, then?” she whispers, no louder than the breezes blowing past their ears. 

Blue eyes meet blue, and she knows that when he looks at her he is wishing to instead see red and gold staring back at him. 

“She will,” he answers quietly, honestly, his expression gentle. “I would be betraying her otherwise.” 

“But what if she wanted you to let her go?” 

His eyes glisten, and after a moment he sinks onto his back in the grass, one arm behind his head and the other stretched out beside him.

“Even if she wanted me to, I never would,” he whispers after a moment, just loud enough for her to hear. 

Zelda swallows at his words, then wraps her cloak tighter around her shoulders and curls onto her side beside him, her eyes tracing his face as he stares up at the sky. “I told myself that about the soldiers,” she says quietly, “and about my parents, and about everyone I’ve ever lost. But I’ve learned…sometimes you have to release them, or they will haunt you all your life.” Her eyes glaze over with tears. “The screams of the soldiers wouldn’t leave me alone the first few weeks when I was shut up in my tower. Every time I closed my eyes I saw them dying before me, their blood on my hands. I clung to them, refusing to let them go, believing if I did so I would dishonor their memory, but I’ve come to realize that holding on…well, it only makes you hurt even worse sometimes.” 

There’s a long silence, and then he draws in a breath and rolls to face her, his knuckles resting close to hers. 

“I don’t care,” he says finally, muffled, broken, eyes still gleaming. “I don’t care. If letting go means forgetting, then I don’t care if I get hurt. I will not forget her, no matter what you say.” 

He gets to his feet and brushes grass from his tunic, then snatches his sword up and disappears into the castle, leaving Zelda alone once more.

–

The fourth time, it is dusk again, and the temperature outside is rapidly dropping.

She catches him leaving again with more flowers tucked carefully in his hands, a handmade crimson scarf wrapped around his neck to help keep out the chill. “Heading out again?” she asks softly, skirts sweeping the floor as she steps out of the library, where she has been ensconced all afternoon looking through old records. 

He starts at her approach and turns to look at her, holding the flowers a little closer to his chest. “Yes, I am.” 

“I see. Well, do me a favor and send her a hello for me, then,” Zelda murmurs, heart sinking in her chest as she starts to turn in the opposite direction with a stack of books clutched in her arms.   

Link pauses, considering. “Do you…want to come with me this time? I wouldn’t mind–” 

She bites her lip, debating his offer, then shakes her head gently because visiting the broken mirror with him might bring back all of the grief she’s trying so hard to vanquish. 

“No, that’s all right. You go on.” 

Still he hesitates, brows furrowing slightly before he looks down at the flowers in his hands. He relaxes his grip on them after a moment, pulling a single bloom free of the bunch and holding it out to Zelda. “I’m…sorry I’ve been so callous,” he says a bit awkwardly, tucking the flower behind one of her ears and offering her a sad half-smile. “I don’t mean to be, it’s just–” 

She catches his hand in her own, her fingers linking briefly with his, and finishes for him what he is unable to say. “You don’t want to let her go. I know.” 

“She’s coming back someday, though,” he continues faintly, looking suddenly small and unheroic, a shadow born into the wrong world. “I just have to hold on until she does.” 

Zelda forces her lips into a smile, avoiding his gaze as she gently lets go of his hand again and nods. 

Yes, tell yourself that.  

If it gives him comfort, then she will no longer attempt to make him think otherwise. Instead she swallows, hugging the stack of books in her arms closer to her chest and inclining her head slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Or whenever we next meet, I suppose.” 

She feels his gaze on her back as she moves away down the hall and does her best to ignore it. 

Go say hello to your twilight princess, hero. Give her your love.

For I dare not give you my own. 

–

The final time, a few weeks later, it is raining. 

Storms have hit Hyrule in the past day or two, fiercer than any have been in months. Rain lashes the outdoors, lightning and thunder splitting the air, and Zelda walks through the castle corridors one afternoon with a lantern swinging from one hand, making her way to her study. 

“Hilda,” she greets a maid as she passes her in the hall, then pauses, noting the worry upon the woman’s face. “What is it? Is something troubling you?” 

“Nothing, your Majesty, it’s just–” The maid hesitates, brows furrowed in the lantern light as she leans forward conspiratorially. “The hero went out a few hours ago, Highness. He hasn’t come back, I don’t think.” 

Zelda’s head snaps to look out the window, but her vision is obscured by the rain lashing the glass. “Thank you, Hilda,” she says, voice tight with panic as she sweeps past the girl and towards her study. She blows her lantern out, then snatches her cloak off of a chair and all but rushes out to the stables. 

Zelda saddles her mare against the protests of the stable hand and rides out into the storm, hood pulled over her head and rain dripping into her face as she canters towards Gerudo Desert, towards a shattered mirror in a weathered stone chamber beneath an open sky.

The storm lingers even over the desert, pounding into the sand and slowing Zelda’s progress, but at last she arrives at the chamber outside which a familiar horse, Link’s mare Epona, is tied. At last she leaps from her own horse and gathers her skirts, running into the Mirror Chamber with her heart hammering in her chest. 

It has gotten so dark that she can scarcely see, but after a moment or two of searching she at last sees a figure standing near where the mirror used to be and makes her way over to him. Shards of glass are scattered everywhere across the stone floor of the chamber, and piles of flowers– some dead, some wilting– lie scattered beneath the mirror’s frame, their petals blowing away in the wind and rain. 

“Link?” Zelda steps in front of him, pulling her hood down so he will recognize her. “Link, are you all right? …Why are you still here, may I ask?”  

He raises his head, water dripping from his bangs and face and soaking into his tunic. His eyes are red and wet in a way that can’t possibly be from the rain, and he stares at her with no comprehension on his face, such grief etched into his countenance that Zelda feels it piercing her own soul.  

“Link?” she whispers in concern, reaching to touch his face. 

“I tried,” he chokes, tears dripping onto his cheeks and washing away in the rain. “I tried.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I tried and it didn’t work –” He’s sobbing now, stumbling backwards in the rain, both hands coming up to cover his face. “I’m the hero and I failed and I’m so pathetic– ” 

“No, that’s– Link, look at me, that isn’t true–” Zelda reaches out and catches his wrists, pulling his hands gently away from his face before she freezes in horror. There’s blood on his cheeks where his hands were just resting, turning from deep crimson to watery red as the rain begins to sweep it away.

“Link?” Zelda whispers, still holding his wrists and trying to look at his hands. “Link, what have you done?” 

He tries to pull his arms free, but she flips one of his hands over before he can and sees jagged gashes covering his palm and the undersides of his fingers, blood coating his skin and washing away in the rain. His hand is trembling in hers, and she raises her gaze to his again, eyes wide as water drips into them. “Link?” she questions numbly. “Did you–?”  

A sob jerks from him, and he presses the back of his other hand to his forehead, eyes red from weeping. “I tried to put the mirror back together,” he all but shrieks, tearing his arm from her grip and falling to his knees in the rain. “Like a fool. I was so desperate, I– I had to try but it just fell apart, all over again, and I kept trying but it kept shattering no matter what I did and I couldn’t– I can’t take it, I can’t do it anymore–” 

He buries his face in his hands again, at the exact moment that Zelda realizes he tried so many times to put the mirror back together that the shards all but cut his hands to ribbons. 

If letting go means forgetting, then I don’t care if I get hurt–

Any words she might have said clog swiftly in her throat, and she stares, speechless, water soaking through her cloak as she tries to piece together something rational to say. 

But Link speaks first, hunched over on the stone, surrounded by broken shards of glass as if his soul were strewn about him in the chamber. 

“She’s not coming back, is she?” he says, so quietly Zelda has to strain to catch the words. His fingers press against the wet stone with force, jagged, watery red lines leaking between them, salt mingling with the rain on his face.

A long moment passes before Zelda kneels in front of him and lifts one of his injured hands in hers. She feels him suck in a breath of pain as she carefully rotates his wrist and examines the wounds covering his hand with gentle fingers, her heart aching to see the blood that spills from his skin. 

She pointedly avoids his question for as long as possible as she tears a bit of fabric from her skirt, gently blotting at his palm. Yet she knows from experience it will hurt him even more to withhold the truth or to lie about it, and hurting him is the last thing she wants to do right now.  

“No,” she tells him softly after a moment, eyes flicking upwards to meet his own. “She’s not.” 

His gaze shutters with grief, rain plastering his hair to his face and soaking into his tunic. “I– I thought,” he chokes after a moment, broken like the shards of glass that surround him, “I thought I could bring her back.” His head drops, voice cracking into a thousand pieces as the rain beats against his hair and shoulders. “But I failed. I failed. I- I’m supposed to be the hero, I’m not supposed to act like this–” 

He raises his head to look at her again, lips slightly parted in confused anguish. “There’s something wrong with me,” he whispers, face twisting in anguish as a sob tears from his lungs. “Isn’t there?” 

“No,” Zelda tells him, tenderly tying another strip of fabric around his hand as a makeshift bandage before she tears loose another piece and lifts his other hand. It trembles in her grip as she carefully soaks up the blood, holding his hand gently in her own like a prayer. “There is nothing wrong with you. Grief is an exceptionally difficult thing to overcome.” 

“But I…I don’t want to overcome it.” His voice is raw, careworn, battered and bruised and aching. “I don’t want to, because then I’ll let her go, and then I’ll forget her and– I can’t do that. I can’t forget her, but I’m so tired, and it hurts so much, I’m– I’m so tired of fighting it off–” 

Zelda finishes knotting fabric around his other hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles before sitting back on the stone, looking into his eyes and waiting. “I’m so tired,” he whispers again, returning her stare with tears flooding his eyes once more. “I don’t know what to do.” 

Before she is aware of what she is doing, she is pulling the hero of legend to rest against her shoulder, holding him tightly so he will know he is not alone. 

“I don’t have all the right words for you to hear, I’m afraid. But all I can tell you is this,” Zelda whispers into his hair, speaking as much to herself as to him, “Letting go does not mean forgetting.” 

He is shaking against her, clinging to her as if she is the only thing keeping him from dissolving and washing away with the rain, and she is unsure if he even heard her, but she supposes at the moment it doesn’t really matter. 

“It’s all right,” Zelda soothes, her fingers sweeping through his hair as he weeps. “No need to be ashamed. Grief is a powerful, horrible thing, but…it means you loved. It means you loved so strongly you never want to let it go, but sometimes…it’s best to.” 

He nods into her shoulder, holding onto her for a moment more before relinquishing his grip and sitting up. Link draws a breath, glancing towards the shards of mirror that cover the ground around them, and his face crumples a little before he at last composes himself, brushing wet bangs from his eyes and giving her a tentative look. 

“We need to get back to the castle soon,” Zelda tells him gently, “so I can properly clean your wounds. Are you ready to leave, or do you need a few moments?” 

“Just– just one, really.” He sniffs, blinking a final few tears from his eyes as he gets to his feet, Zelda standing up behind him. “I just need to do something, if that’s all right.” 

“Take your time,” Zelda says, laying a soft hand on his shoulder, and then watches as he takes a step back and spreads his arms wide, facing the frame of the mirror and shutting his eyes before tilting his head upwards into the rain. 

“What are you doing, may I ask?” she asks, her curiosity getting the better of her. 

She sees him smile, broken and fragile, but it is a smile nonetheless. 

“You were right,” he tells her. “So I’m doing what she’d want me to.” 

Zelda tilts her head, waiting, and Link’s smile widens, broad and carefree as he spins slowly in the rain with water dripping off of his hair. 

“I’m letting her go.” 

#sky types words #twilight princess #zelda #link #zelink #tp #tp link #tp zelda #tp zelink #legend of zelda

[starwarsgallery]

Petition to let Captain Rex lay down in a meadow full of wildflowers. Just for a little bit.

This "Rex and Relaxation" illustration was done for 0riley_drawings's DTIYS challenge over on ig.

#captain rex #star wars #Tcw #The Clone wars #Clone wars #Fanart #Dtiys #Star wars fanart #Disney #Rex #Clone #Armor #Flowers #My art #I left some space there for you to snuggle up next to him #Yes you #Rex deserves all the love #Bring him a flower and watch the sunset clouds drift by #His chest would make a very nice pillow #He could lean down and kiss the top of your head #Lovely soft thoughts for Rex

[gripefroot]

A Court of Dusk and Shadows ❲1❳

The throne was white. 

No - it was every color of a sunset. With the descending sun blazing behind it, it turned gold and orange and pink and purple. New shades spreading across with each passing minute as night crept on. And beneath it - shadows lengthened and spread from the carved base, wild and free. 

The throne beckoned. Come sit, it said to me. Come take your place. 

Beyond the throne were marble pillars that stretched proudly into the sky, woven with vines of moonflowers and orchids. I could not see any roof - dusky clouds obscured the view. And below, far, far below - the sea rippled in shining waves, beating against the island in shimmering hues. Boats with bone-white sails seemed to drift forever. Distantly I could hear voices: voices laughing and talking and teasing and bargaining. The calls of animals, the hammer of forges. 

And everything smelled of salt and fragrant flowers and lemon. 

But I could feel, rather than see, what was making my heart wrench away from the lovely sight. A hand outstretched in front of that throne, leading up to a smiling face clear of sorrow and fear. 

A scarred hand. Extended from the dark, and I knew that between us was where light and shadow met.

Come sit, he said, echoing the throne. Come take your place, and I’ll be at your side forever.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

The night was an inky black shield dotted with silver and gold. Velaris far below, the stars above and only the whistling wind and thump of his own heart for company: Azriel’s gaze honed in on the House of Wind as he descended, and hoped that none would question his tardiness. 

His boots landed silently on an upper balcony.

Halls were unlit, creeping with silence. The shadows that came with him curled around his neck and ears, whispering that nearly everyone was asleep. There would be no interrogation that night, at least - though breakfast might be another matter. But that would be for the morning. He slipped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him, resting his forehead against the wood panels for several heartbeats before turning wearily away to find his rest. 

A cozy fire had flickered itself to life, the wrought-iron window springing open to let in more of that sweet night air. He lingered only to unstrap himself of weapons, setting them on the table beside his bed as his thoughts skittered and bit at him like hungry wolves. 

Azriel had been gnawed for so long he wondered how they found any part of him left to devour. 

Truth-Teller shone like a void in the light as he pulled it from its sheath, if only to look at it. Scarred thumb tracing over the hilt - with a sigh he shoved it back in, and put it aside. 

The knock on his door was so quiet that he might not have heard it, had the shadows spreading from him not trembled in response. They slithered up the door to turn the knob, his head lifting in a jerk as he scented his visitor - the sweet, heady jasmine that wore itself on her skin like a blessing. Or a spell. 

A click behind her. The door was closed. 

The wolves barked. Azriel turned, hand lifting to rub the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture as he forced himself, as he always had, to keep his expression even. To betray nothing. Even though the sight of her lace robe over a silken, lilac gown that displayed her creamy throat so well was enough to move him to his knees. To say nothing of the loose curls hanging down her back - wanting to be touched. Wanting him to bury his face there and breathe her in until she lived beneath his skin - 

“You were missed,” Elain said. 

“I was occupied,” Azriel said shortly. Her head tilted slightly to the side, and at his glower the shadows that crept curiously around the hem of her nightgown scattered, leaving her free to glow in the golden light of the fire. 

“Why don’t you come to family dinners anymore?” she asked, her voice softer than rain. 

He swallowed. A tremor went through his wings, and he stretched them out slightly to ease the tautness. Her eyes flitted to them over his shoulders. He saw the bob of her throat. “You know why,” Azriel told her in a hoarse, harsh voice. 

Elain lifted her chin, though the expression in her lovely eyes shimmered. “If it’s me you’re avoiding, I’ll stop going,” she said.

“No.”

“You should be with your family. They miss you.” 

“No,” Azriel said again.

“I don’t know how much longer I can attend, pretending that nothing’s wrong with me,” Elain said. “That my heart doesn’t hurt more each time you don’t appear. Azriel,” she breathed, and his spine stiffened as if brushed with a tender finger from root to tip. “I - I don’t want to go anymore. I don’t want the reminder that you - that you don’t want to see me.” 

Secrets were best whispered alone in the night: Azriel had always known that. Known that honesty could burst out at the right moments, if prodded enough, uncaring of the consequences it could bring.

As for him - the consequence was like a poisoned knife between his ribs, where he felt the emptiest. 

“The best solution is for you to go instead of me,” Elain went on in his silence. “I’ll be happier knowing you are.” 

“I’m not happy,” Azriel said. But she merely lifted her slender shoulders, the lace rustling against the silk. As if she didn’t care to wonder why he’d said it; the extent of what he’d meant. His honesty was kept deeper down and further back. Where it couldn’t hurt anyone who could hurt him. 

“I’m not going to go to family dinners anymore,” she told him. As if her mind was made up. “I hope you do.” 

“You’re hurt when I’m not there,” he said. “No different than I am at your absence.” 

It was all the game. It had to be. The repeating, the declarations, the anguish: pushing at the walls each of them had built around the other, as if looking for weak spots. To crumble, or to build back better. Azriel didn’t know. Something in him was howling. 

Elain’s eyes began to glitter. The shift of the firelight against her hair, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed - 

Something clattered from elsewhere in the house. Azriel stiffened, wings snapping in as his gaze darted to the door behind her. He ground out between his teeth, “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“I want to be,” she whispered. “I can’t stay away.” 

The jasmine - he realized her scent wasn’t fresh and blooming. He’d noticed it when she first came in. It was heady. Like it had been scorching under the summer sun, begging for water; thirst to be parched, or the petals to be plucked and treasured - 

Azriel’s head spun. The wolves that ate at him yipped and scratched and whined. They wanted. They wanted. 

“If you’re looking for release,” he said in a low growl, fingers clenching into fists at his side. Cracking a whip at himself to quiet the wolves, but still they snarled.  “Lucien Vanserra can be summoned.” 

“I don’t want Lucien,” Elain said sharply. The color was high in her cheeks as she tucked a curl behind one of her delicate ears, the simple motion drawing his attention like a drawn bowstring. “I want you.” 

His next words were difficult, but he forced them out: “Rhys has...commanded that we stay apart.”

“Rhysand isn't my High Lord. I’ve sworn no oath to him.” Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. “He can't command me.”

“He commands me,” Azriel said. 

“Then tell him I coerced you. Whatever you need.” The lightness in her voice was pleading. Begging. Her slender hands trembled, eyelashes stark against her skin as she blinked furiously. Desperate. 

“No. I won't let you face censure, or - or punishment - ”

“Not being with you is punishment every day,” Elain cut him off, and Azriel nearly swallowed his own tongue as he saw the glitter in her eyes escape to trail a silver path down her flushed cheeks. “Lucien is punishment for me, isn't he? I was given to someone I don't love. Someone I don’t want. While you are denied to me. Is this not punishment?”

Every fiber in his body wanted to cross the space between them: to reach out, to dry the tears and to hold her in his arms until she stopped trembling. Until that gaping wound beneath his ribs was whole and glowing again - 

Azriel didn’t smile, though the irony wasn’t lost on him. “It feels like it.” 

Her bottom lip quivered. Then, “Please,” in a yearning whisper that started unthreading him from his very bones. The wolves purred as he took a step closer to her. 

“Elain,” he murmured, and she trembled at her name, eyes closing briefly as if to savor it. “They’ll know. It...it can’t be hidden. I’d leave my scent all over you. And you on me. And I’d never, ever want to wash it off.” 

“It’ll wear off,” she said. 

“In days? Weeks? How long will we hide?” 

Elain didn’t answer, and he took another step closer, unclenching his fists as he breathed slowly through his nose. 

“It's not just that, either,” Azriel said, and her head was tilting upwards to watch him, hungry and hot as he towered over her. “Once I have you...I won't be able to stop wanting to have you. Over and over again, in every way imaginable. I don't want to live another day on this earth without tasting you on my tongue. Smelling you on my skin. Feeling you. I would…” 

He trailed off, realizing that the night had somehow wrung more honesty from him than he’d ever intended. Her eyes blazed up at him, and daring, he lifted a hand to rest his scarred fingertips on the lace at her breast, beneath which he could feel the rapid pulse of her heartbeat. 

“I would want to be here, inside of you.” 

“Please,” Elain whispered again, barely more than a warm breath that brushed against his face like a shadow - but those stayed back. “Please, Azriel. I'm not afraid. Not of Rhys, not of Lucien. I'm afraid....of what my life will be without you. I'm afraid of wanting you for the rest of my life with no hope of having you.”

Her fingers curled over his on her breast, cool to the touch and he shivered head to toe as her thumb stroked along a rippled, white scar. Not even noticing it, with her eyes melting so intently as she stared at him. Lips slightly parted, only a few inches from his and ready to be tasted, and savored and worshipped. 

“Even if you refuse,” she went on, pressing his hand tighter to the skin-warmed lace. “You’ll always be here, where you always have been." 

“There’s nothing in me that can deny you,” Azriel said. Swallowed. “Elain.”

“Azriel…” 

“You could ask me to tear down Ramiel with my bare hands and I would,” he breathed. “I would tear apart any part of this world. If you asked me to carve out my own heart, I would.”

“I’m not asking for that,” Elain said gently. Mirror of him, her slender hand brushed up his chest - a shudder enough to cause an earthquake ripped through him. Without armor, only a dark shirt of cotton was between their skin. He could feel the warmth of her flesh as her palm splayed over his heart. “I’m only asking for you.” 

The drumming in his head must be his heartbeat. A warning, perhaps - or fate zeroed in on this moment. Where a future was held taut between them. A question between souls. Dark and light, as they’d always been. His dark, her light: she offered it freely. 

Will you have me?

Will you risk it all?

He could see in her shining eyes. I would risk it all for you.

“You want me,” Azriel said. Half a question. She’d already said it. At the dip of her head in assent, he closed the remaining distance between them with a step. The slight gasp between her lips warmed his face, but he didn’t give her the kiss she wanted - the kiss she’d asked for long ago - the kiss that he’d dreamt of until his soul was used up and dry. No, three more strides backed her against the wall as he heard her heart flutter madly beneath his hand. Closer still: he braced his opposite hand above her head, feeling the pattern of the wallpaper as his knee came between her legs. Trapping her. Pinning her. 

She trembled. But it wasn’t the acrid scent of her fear that was making her eyes bright. 

It was want. 

“I’m dangerous,” he growled in a low voice. Still Elain didn’t tear her eyes from his, even as her fingers balls into a fist with his shirt between them. “This is dangerous. You and me.” 

“I don’t care.” Not the breathy tone he’d expected. Something thornier, stonier, as she lifted her chin to face him more fully. But it just exposed more of that creamy, unblemished throat to him. An invitation. 

Azriel tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. Hair hung in his face, and her fingers softly brushed it aside. Jasmine. Jasmine. Jasmine. Summer, heady, hot flowers; slow-dripping honey - 

Chest to chest, pressing closer as if their skin would fall away and they’d be just one person from then on. His leg lifted slightly, the rustle of lace and silk - and he felt her, through the layers, as her dark lashes closed, lips parting in an uneven breath and he heard, more with his heart than his ears,

“Oh - ”

He’d rather be boiled by the Cauldron than face Rhys after this. 

And it would still be worth it. To watch the rose-pink deepen in her cheeks as her eyes fluttered open again. On his thigh she throbbed, and if he tried to push her away, he knew she’d rip his shirt apart, so tightly was she clinging to him. 

“Are you scared, Elain?” Azriel whispered. 

“No.” 

Her eyes had glazed slightly. Like she’d gone drunk at a sip of wine, yet stared down the bottle ready to drink it to the last drop. But he was the bottle, and the wine, and the drinker. Sucking in a breath, holding her quivering body in place, he lowered his head, tilting it to the side. 

His lips met her skin at a sensitive spot beneath her ear. He felt her tremble. Brushed downward to the base of her neck, savoring every inch of her as she whimpered a strain of incoherent noises he knew would play in his dreams until he was a corpse in the ground. Then, tilting his head again, he stared at the glistening hollow of her throat. Where her scent was the thickest. Richest. Sweetest. 

Azriel paused long enough to take her wrists in his hands, lifting them above her head as her chest rose and fell against him. His chin was nearly between her breasts, and though they wanted his attention and he wanted to give it to them - he kept his eyes instead on her throat. 

Elain was squirming. Not to get away, but to get closer. The frantic bucking of her hips against him - not close enough. He pressed harder with his leg until he could feel the grind of her bone against him, and his tongue darted out to that hollow to taste it the moment her moan rose beneath it. 

“There,” he breathed. Again she rubbed herself against him. He could smell the growing headiness from there, and the jasmine coating his tongue. He licked again, and again as she moved more frantically. 

His wings unfurled as he growled deep in his throat, talons reaching to dig into the wall - the house would repair itself later - and shreds of wallpaper fluttered to the ground as he steadied himself. And Elain. The way she was pulling him in, giving of herself so freely, wanting him - chasing pleasure he could give her, scant as it was...as if this would be all she was ever given. A drop of water before starvation. 

Azriel fastened his lips to one jutted collarbone, and sucked. Immediately he clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cry. Sweat was dampening her nightgown - more than sweat - and it was the most intoxicating thing he’d ever smelled. He tore his mouth from her skin to say in a hoarse voice, 

“Quiet. Don’t make a sound.” 

Slowly he removed his hand, then, and lifted his head enough to see the perspiration dotting her forehead. Eyes squeezed shut as her fingers dug into his shoulders, now. 

“Good,” Azriel rasped. “Keep going, Elain. Use me however you need.”

“Touch me.” Her plea was broken and wavering. “Please - Azriel - ”

He snarled. Gripping her hips between his hands, helping her to move against him. Guiding each undulation as her heart beat faster and faster and faster - her breasts were at his eye level, so high he was holding her off the ground - and he allowed himself one more luxury: he rested his forehead against her sternum, feeling each bob of her breasts on either side of his face. The slight snag of a hardened nipple. 

If she didn’t come soon, he would. 

But it was a mere moment later that she came: breathless and noiseless, like he’d commanded, but he felt the clench of her even on his thigh. The desperate throbbing, wanting to be filled but still cresting. Deeper breaths from her parted lips, a night-song of indescribable beauty. 

Azriel wanted her. He wanted her so badly he thought he’d die from it. 

Elain went lax, and he caught her ‘round the waist before she toppled over. Her head against his shoulder, wings still shrouding them - his nose really was in her glorious mass of hair, now, and because he knew this shouldn’t happen again, he breathed in the scent of her curls, over and over and over again - 

“Azriel,” she half-panted, half-sobbed. It made his heart wrench. The wolves in his head still prowled, still snarled - wanted to pounce, to stroke, to take - but no. No. No. He wouldn’t. 

Talons unhooked themselves from the wall, wings folding delicately back in as he lowered her to the ground. A moment of unsteadiness before she could stand, blinking up at him like the sweetest fawn on a spring day. Cheeks flushed red, eyes glittering, throat damp. A faint bruise was left there from him - it would heal by morning. He hoped. 

His trousers were unbearably tight. He could barely stand. But he did, and held Elain’s gaze as if it were a lifeline offered to his dying soul. 

Which very well could be the truth.

“Azriel,” she said again. Tucked curls behind her ear. But he merely bowed, instead of throwing her onto the bed to devour her until Summer Solstice as he wanted to do with every fiber of his being, and said, 

“I hope you’re feeling better, Elain.” 

Something like hurt passed over her face. Mouth pressed together in a thin line as she tugged the lace robe to lay straight over her breasts and shoulders. Azriel didn’t look. 

A single breath, drawn out like a keening wail of grief: Elain turned and swept away to the door, yanking it open to disappear into the blackness as shadows reappeared, gently closing the door to keep it from making a noise and alerting the sleeping inhabitants of the house. Azriel stared after her for a moment, fists clenched and empty and her scent all over him like a thick, woollen blanket. 

He hadn’t even kissed her. 

He stomped to the fireplace, tearing at the laces of his trousers to yank them off each of his feet. Threw the Elain-soaked pants into the fire. 

As if knowing his intention, knowing his agony: the house ate up the leather quickly, turning it to blackened, crumbling ashes that fell among the cracked logs. He still smelled of her, he knew it. He’d smell her even if he did manage to wash her off. His leg, his hands, his chest where she’d touched him, his face - she was everywhere. Everywhere. 

Almost everywhere. 

Azriel ached. He ached between his legs, almost like he’d been kicked with a spiked boot. Hurt so bad even without trousers that he didn’t want to touch himself. Instead he stared at the flames, and then the embers as they burned down and the shadows crept closer to swallow him whole. Still his heart beat on, a steady, unceasing rhythm that chanted with each pulse of blood - 

Elain. Elain. Elain.

TO BE CONTINUED

#elriel #pro elriel #elain archeron #elain x azriel #acotar

[anystalker707]

You're like art

Pairing: Gerard x Reader Word counting: 1 603 Genre: Fluff / Cottagecore Summary: Gerard and (y/n) have a peaceful day, painting by the lake and laying down on flower fields

Requested on Wattpad

Gerard and I have been planning it for a time already, but the universe never seemed to comply with us until today, when the sun finally decided to show up in a day when we're completely free from any appointment. We shared the same thought as soon as we woke up, even without having changed any word. Our equipment has been prepared for a long time so we wouldn't waste time before just grabbing it to go, leaning against the wall of the bedroom, to a point a thin sheet of dust covered them objects when we moved to grab them.

I organize a bag with food and a few drinks since we obviously won't be returning so soon and make sure we have everything for us to leave.

We have had lunch about half an hour ago, in a way the sun is bright and high in the sky once we leave our house, but it isn't exactly a problem since the place we're going to isn't far from here and perfectly shaded by trees at this time of the day. The warm embraces us like a warm hug from the woods once we start walking into it, proving we were right in choosing lighter clothes to wear.

"Did you grab the solvent?" Gerard asks, voice muffled among the sound of the wind going through the tree's leaves and the dry ones cracking under our feet along with twigs. The woods so silent, yet so loud.

"Of course, I had left it along with the paints already," I tell him, glancing at Gerard with a smile before I press a kiss to his cheek.

Thankfully, the lake soon comes into view.

The lake isn't that wide, water almost completely clear as it is surrounded by bright green grass which covers the way until the small plants start turning into trees. Lilac flowers grow on a few points, along with a few yellow ones, giving the place an even more pleasing, comfortable, warm vibe.

Both of us have been working on a painting together – we made sure of bringing it with us today so we can work more on it. Maybe it's the excitement for doing everything, the whole time we spent wanting to work on this, even the setting, but the need to paint is so great. Seeing the paint laying around, having stains of paint all over our hands, observing the delicate result of the soft brushes against the canvas are almost like if a necessity as important as eating, right now, making us feel like the lack of it will drive us to death, in a way.

Gerard observes me throwing a blanket over the grass before he takes a seat beside me, carefully placing the canvas down on the ground. We start organizing everything, the brushes, bottle of solvent, paints and palette, along with the cloths to clean the brushes on. Bringing the stand wasn't really an option since it wouldn't be exactly convenient, so the ground it is.

A sigh escapes my lips as I observe Gerard carefully starting to fill the palette with paint and mixing the colors carefully to reach the tone he wants.

The sunlight casts over Gerard, squirming between the leaves and making its way through the trees, creating light spots that illuminate his pale skin and create beautifully contrasted shadows, giving Gerard a baroque air, which gets even richer when his eyes are illuminated the right way.

"What?" Gerard asks, a shy smile taking over his lips when he notices I've been observing him.

"You're just so beautiful," I tell him the truth with a smile, watching it as his cheeks gain a red tone with the compliment and his eyes drift downwards.

"It's just because you love me." Gerard turns back to the painting, thought noticeably happy with the compliment. "C'mon, paint with me, quit gazing at me so much," he teases lightly, momentarily pausing his actions to pull a dark strand of hair away from his face, hooking it behind his ear.

"Sure, love." Despite my words, I instead move to grab the polaroid camera from the bag and proceed to take a picture of Gerard. He only notices it due to the sound of the picture being taken.

"Hey!" He glares playfully, humming as he leans in closer to me. "Let me take a look."

The picture slowly appears on the small piece of paper and I smile pleased with it, though it absolutely doesn't make justice for Gerard and the beauty he holds right now. He doesn't share the same thoughts. I roll my eyes, giving his arm a light slap. "Let's paint," I say as putting the camera aside and finally moving to help him with it.

At some point, the attention we once gave the paint is reduced to neglect since we end up getting more distracted with snapping multiple pictures of each other, giggling as we roll around on the grass. I take more pictures of Gerard, easily snatching the camera from him, managing to capture all the moments in which he's giggling or trying to act angry at me. Gerard quickly tries to solve this and, before I can notice, he's straddling my hips to prevent me from moving and taking uncountable photos of me like I did to him moments ago.

"I guess we ran out of paper..." Gerard mutters, furrowing his eyebrows as he presses down on the button a few times, but nothing comes from the camera. He just stares at it in frustration, pouting.

"'Seems like it," I say with a sigh, calming myself down after all the laughter. My hand runs up and down Gerard's thighs in an affectionate motion while I observe him still fidgeting with the camera. "I didn't think we would take this many of pictures, so..."

"Sounds fair." Gerard puts it away and his expression changes into a loving one once he turns to me again, hands taking place on my shoulders. His lips meet to mine in a sweet kiss, his hand cupping my neck as his thumb traces my jawline softly. He pulls away at some point, but quickly pulls me to a kiss again, humming quietly against my lips. "We should go to the flower field nearby. You know how beautiful it gets during the sunset."

"Of course," I say with a smile, brushing my nose against his lightly. "There will be no problem if we leave our things here, right?"

"Well, if anyone wants a halfway done painting and pictures of two random strangers being weird... good for them, good for them," he says sarcastically and both of us break in chuckles. "Let's go." Pecking my lips, a last time, he moves to stand up.

We grab the cans of tea we brought with us and head towards the flower field. There's a small space on which we like to lay, mainly because we end up not damaging any of the flowers due to the lack of anything but grass there. The flowers aren't too tall and are the same lilac and yellow ones from around the lake, giving us a notion of their origin, though the field holds a greater variety of flowers and colors.

I press my lips to Gerard's suddenly, stealing a kiss from him and continue pressing kisses all over his face, what has him giggling. "I won't be able to drink my tea, that way," he complains, but all I do is to roll my eyes and press a kiss to his pouting lips. He stares and I can't help but to chuckle.

The sun is starting to set itself down in the horizon when we start sipping on our drinks and I start observing the field, which's down a hill that ends in another clearing in the woods. Gerard resting his head against my shoulder brings me back to reality – I observe him for a moment and sigh happily, pressing a kiss to his head.

Everything is quite peaceful. Our cans are empty by the time the sun has almost completely hidden itself behind the hills in the horizon – casting bright and beautiful colors on the clouds standing in the way of the sunrays – and we set them aside to get it again when we leave. We lay back on the grass to watch the sky, side by side, hands holding onto each other.

Gerard's fingers play with mine, in an almost tickling sensation because of how gentle his touch is. His hand wraps itself around mine again, giving it a squeeze before Gerard is rolling over onto his stomach and bringing himself up on his elbows, looking at me with a loving gaze, one that has me feeling my heart fluttering.

"You're losing the sunset," I whisper for no apparent reason, but it feels like the atmosphere is too delicate even for a loud voice tone.

"Why would I?" Gerard has an amused air on his expression, speaking with such a certainty, in the same quiet tone as me. "You're much more beautiful. I prefer to appreciate you."

"There'll never be a sunset like this again, yet, I'll continue like this for a long time," I tell him.

"And you'll never be under the light of a sunset like this again, so I guess I have the right of choosing my priorities." It's clear he isn't able to hold back the grin his lips part into and he seems pleased with how he makes me flustered, wordlessly bragging about it by pressing an unexpected kiss to my lips.

#gerard way #gerard way imagine #gerard x reader #fan fic #fanfiction #oneshot #imagine #x reader #mcr #mcr imagine #fluff #emo #my chemical romance #writing #cottagecore #request! #my post

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Fireworks Event - Victor

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Contains references to Night Dream Date and Fairytale Date (available in EN)

Previous section: here

3rd Anniversary Masterlist: here 

Prior to the Carnival, there were questions posed in the Go See You feature which affects which scenario the player sees during the Fireworks Event:

Question 1: Having gone to the amusement park a number of times, which attraction was your favourite?

Option A: As compared to the attractions, the fountain left the deepest impression!

Option B: The float parade! I really want to participate in it again!

Option C: An attraction consisting of a rapid fall. [no footage found]

-

Question 2: Think about what the “perfect day” you clamour about every day looks like specifically.

Option A: For you to smile a little more.

Option B: To stick together with you.

--

[ PART ONE ]

As the day gradually darkens, tangerine light from the setting sun dyes the clouds crimson. Various coloured lights are illuminated within the carnival.

MC: What should we try as the final attraction...

In order to round up this day in the most perfect manner, I look at the guide map before me, in serious thought. 

Victor: Let’s go to this place.

A step faster than me, Victor takes my hand, moving forward without hesitation.

MC: This is...?

[ Option A: As compared to the attractions, the fountain left the deepest impression! ]

MC: The fountain plaza!

The glittering and translucent water droplets meld with the setting sun, casting a colourful brilliance. 

The scene before me is similar yet different, and it makes me recollect that trip to the amusement park I thought we had missed out on.

The shock that the amusement park had been rented out completely still lingers in my heart. 

Victor: The only person to feel so strongly about fountains would be you.

MC: Do you know the reason for that?

I smile as I look at Victor, watching as he sighs and folds his arms in front of his chest. 

Victor: Because we watched those fountains together. As compared to the fountains, what’s more important is the memories related to them. Things which carry memories are always more captivating than other objects.

MC: ...

I’m rendered speechless as Victor steals all my lines.

Seeing that my originally planned script is no longer of use, I can only nod blankly, letting my cheeks flush. 

Victor seems to be pleased with what he sees before him. He chuckles while shaking his head, returning his gaze to the fountains. 

The faraway water columns are reflected in my irides. They twirl elegantly in the air before falling, crashing against another rising column of water, creating rays of light.

Victor: I like more things now. 

Without warning, Victor speaks. 

MC: What?

Victor: Fountains, Shiba Inu dolls, and all sorts of miscellaneous items. From a certain point in time, I started liking more and more things. 

Memories from the past flash before my eyes. Those very trivial fragments string together like pearls, sparkling and dazzling.

MC: Isn’t that pretty good?

I tilt my head, leaning against his shoulder. 

Victor: It’s not bad. 

Victor lifts his hand naturally, encircling my waist gently.

Perhaps due to the ongoing parade, or visitors seizing of this chance to experience other attractions, there aren’t many people at the fountains. 

We monopolise the sunset and the gleaming reflections from the water, tranquil happiness entering my heart along with the rising water droplets.

As the final ray of light of sunset dips beneath the horizon, the fountain performance officially announces its end.

Walking towards another place, I suddenly realise that one question has been neglected.

--

[ Option B: The float parade! I really want to participate in it again! ]

I look at the bustling parade in front of me.

MC: The parade!

As dusk gradually sets in the amusement park, the lively performers and magnificent parade vehicles move forward together with the music. 

Along with the lights, the images before me overlap with my memories. 

MC: Victor, do you still remember the first time we visited the amusement park? Just like this time, we tried all sorts of attractions, and then watched the parade. 

Victor: Mm. I won't forget. 

MC: With this thought in mind, whether it’s the time we sat in the parade vehicle, or how we took the merry-go-round together today... I seem to have truly become a princess from a fairytale. 

Victor: Just that counts as being a princess?

MC: Eh? What counts as being a princess then?

Could Victor have an unexpectedly wise opinion on this topic?

I look at Victor, waiting for his response in anticipation.

Victor: The ability to handle governmental, state, and diplomatic affairs - these are the most fundamental...

MC: Wait, wait. I don’t think we’re talking about the same type of princess. 

As expected of a Victor-style response - in just a second, it can ruin the romantic atmosphere surrounding us.

MC: I’m referring to those in fairytales.

Victor: For example?

MC: Mm... 

MC: Beautiful dresses, elegant and dignified, able to eat delicious food and adorable snacks... 

MC: Most importantly, they their own Prince Charming!

Victor: That’s all?

After listening to my response, Victor chuckles softly.

MC: What’s wrong? Don’t look down on this “princess dream”, okay? This is the purest dream of a young woman...

Victor: I’m not looking down on it. I just wanted to ask how this differs from the days you’re leading right now. 

This question renders me speechless, and I can only stare at him blankly. 

The parade vehicle passes by, and large volumes of flower petals drift around us.

I just hope that the light is sufficiently dim, so that he wouldn’t see that my face is even redder than the sky.

As the final ray of sunset dips beyond the horizon, the parade officially announces its end.

Observing the gradually dissipating crowd, I suddenly realise that one question has been neglected.

--

[ PART ONE ENDING ]

This isn’t an attraction Victor would be interested in. Why did he bring me here so decisively?

I search my memories for a long while, and a possible answer finally surfaces in my mind. 

A few days ago, he suddenly asked me a few questions out of nowhere. 

[ flashback begins ]

Victor: Having gone to the amusement park a number of times, which attraction was your favourite?

MC: Why the sudden question?

Victor: So, what’s your answer?

MC: Mm... let me think...

MC: If I had to mention one...

[ flashback ends ]

I didn’t expect that he was already making preparations for this trip to the amusement park since that time.

Perhaps seeing that I'm smiling in an overly silly manner, Victor asks a question.

Victor: What’s that silly smile for? 

MC: Victor, do you place special importance on this carnival? 

Victor: What kind of a question is that?

MC: I’ve already noticed! Those questions you asked a few days ago - they were in preparation for today, weren’t they?

Victor: Haven’t I always been practising what I preach and telling you about the importance of doing research and preparation beforehand?

Victor gives me a blank look - the exact same expression as when I hand him a proposal which doesn’t pass.

But as of today, his outward appearance no longer dupes me!

MC: Thank you. I didn’t think you’d really remember my answers, and even fulfil them for me. I feel especially happy right now. 

I take his hand, the corners of my lips curling upwards involuntarily.

Victor: Which one of your wild imaginations do I not remember? In contrast, I want to forget them. 

His tone is gentle, and a more tender sentiment surfaces in the deep pools of his eyes.

MC: But... isn’t something missing? 

Perhaps attributable to the extraordinary tenderness in his expression, I’m given the courage to be “insatiable”.

[ Option A: For you to smile a little more. ]

MC: Since you also asked me what I’d consider a “perfect day”, where’s the smile I want to see more of?

Hearing this, Victor rubs the bridge of his nose in resignation.

Victor: Haven’t I smiled enough today?

MC: Not enough. Aren’t you pulling a long face right now? Hurry and smile a little?

Most likely unable to win against the expectant blinks I'm sending him, Victor sighs heavily once more. Then, he lifts the corners of his lips in an unnatural manner.

MC: Pfft... 

MC: That won’t do. That’s just movement of your facial muscles. It doesn't count as a smile. 

I hop forwards by a few steps, then turn my head to give Victor a demonstration.

MC: This is how you smile. 

Victor: [sighs]...

He reaches out to pinch my cheek.

Victor: Always so silly. From the moment we met, it seems you haven’t changed.

MC: On the other hand, you’ve changed quite a lot. You’re more gentle, and you smile much more. It isn’t like how it was in the past either, where your smile would give Goldman a scare. 

--

[ Option B: To stick together with you. ]

MC: Since you also asked me what I’d consider a “perfect day”, why aren’t we sticking together as agreed?

Sure enough, Victor’s eyebrows furrow deeply once he hears this.

Victor: Your memory is always bafflingly good when it comes to these things.

MC: Of course. So? There are only a few more hours till the end of my “perfect day”.

I run a few steps forward, then turn my head and offer my hand to Victor.

MC: I’m already in front of you, and you aren’t going to hold on tightly?

With a long sigh, Victor steps forward and grips my hand tightly.

Victor: I've been holding on to it tightly since a long time ago.

He exerts slightly more pressure. Then, he steadily and naturally wraps his arms around my waist, encircling me into his arms.

I’ve forgotten when I started getting used to holding hands with him, and getting used to having his warmth by my side.

Victor: I’m wondering when these habits developed.

MC: Are you criticising me again?

Victor: I’m referring to myself.

Victor smiles with a sigh, looking as though he’s seen through me since a long time ago.

Victor: You're always making such a din. Ever since I met you, you don’t seem to have changed. But this is good too.

MC: We’re meant to complete each other. But you’ve changed quite a lot. More frank, and more easy to get close to.

Victor: I was infected by a certain dummy.

[ PART TWO ENDING ]

While Victor says this, he taps my head gently. It’s reminiscent of a complaint, yet is affectionate.

MC: It’s all right, I’ll take responsibility.

Victor: In that case, tell me more about your plan?

MC: First of all...

I step on my tiptoes, helping Victor adjust the tie around his neck which features pictures of small black cats. 

MC: I'll fill your life with more adorable things. Like me. 

The park starts to announce that the fireworks display is about to begin. 

Turning my head, I see the faint, flickering stars in the sky, anticipating the fireworks I’ll be sharing with him.

The first light rises to the sky, announcing that the performance has begun.

Victor: Your proposal still needs slightly more refinement. 

The moment the firework blooms, Victor takes my hand off his tie and into his palm. He speaks in a volume only I can hear.

Victor: Think properly about how you’re going to fulfil your bold, visionary words of taking “responsibility”. There’s still a lot of time to come to a conclusion.

In the deep curtain of darkness, the blooming fireworks create mottled colours and speckles of light. 

They are of the colour I answered him as my favourite.

When I don’t notice, he always does too much for me that I’m unaware of.

I know that the person holding onto my hand next to me is my life’s answer.

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor

[morkofday]

fic tag game

thank you so much for tagging me @i-am-just-a-kiddo ♥ i love rambling about my fics and my writing even if it always also brings up all the doubts and insecurities i have but. these are my children so i will show them some love :’) and it is always just wonderful to share this all with you my dear ♥

placing under cut bc i do ramble, as yall know to expect by now!

Name: VishCount i’ve already explained the origin of that name a couple of times so am sparing you from that but gotta just say that i never expected to get so fond of this username and the nicknames that followed ♥

Fandoms: wow ok so buckle up, this is gonna be a ride first i gotta mention the finnish fandom for this youtuber group called LaeppaVika. i adored them as a teenager and i still watch the videos sometimes :’) couple of the members still stream stuff even if the group has pretty much fallen apart by now and am just very fond every time. they feel like home in a way. those fics were my first ones and am still kinda proud of some of those?

then there’s this one random finnish utapri fic i once wrote... tbh i’m not sure why my anime fandoms never made me write anything? maybe it was the inexperience and the fear of using a second language lol 

after i got over that and got into BTS, i’ve written a ton for them. most of those are oneshots that vary from 1k words to 10k or something. a couple of longer ones have sprouted too and one is still in the making and i have sooooo many ideas. mostly just random aus. i adore to write those. 

lately MDZS has been my favored fandom and it has gotten some oneshots too as well as my gigantic xicheng fic that hangs somewhere well above 100k now. i wish to finish the last part for that soon but who knows, maybe it will take longer than expected sigh. and now DMBJ has pushed in as something that yells at me to write tho i’ve only posted a short oneshot for it for now. and oh, last year i also posted a couple of silly oneshots for 2moons! that was... weird tbh but am glad i did that. 

i wish i had more fandoms tbh bc there is so much interesting stuff there and i have so many ideas and inspirations but i’m very slow at writing. things don’t always just come out and some fandoms don’t grasp me for long enough that i would be able to tap into any projects. but i have no hurry, right?

Tropes: hmm do i have any? am not sure. i thought that maybe soulmate aus or some abo stuff was my thing but i’ve slowly drifted away from those. then it comes to just... idk. hurt/comfort? found families? i also adore slow burn these days and i feel like i’ve gotten a bit better at writing that but it’s still a struggle. also just, as already noted, all these different aus? mostly fantasy based ones. those are always so cool and somehow very whimsical? and lately i’ve also just fallen into this hole where i love to write some bittersweet tragedies or at least stuff that feels like a tragedy in some sense (and i blame my dear kiddo for that bc they’ve written the sweetest of tragedies and i want that too ok)

Fic I spent most time on: how do you count this? do wips count? bc if they do, then I feel like my xicheng fic called you’re the sunset and i’m the last purple left behind is it. it just keeps on going and i feel like i’ve given it all of my waking hours and heart and soul.  then it could also be my BTS abo fic My Lungs for You to Breathe that is slowly reaching its second year? am not sure. but it has been going for ages bc sometimes it comes and sometimes it goes and currently i’ve spent over six months without updating it and. yeah.  (it would be nice to mention some fic here that i’ve made some research for but tbh i never do any research. am horrible like that but i’ve never just. had the energy? tho i have hopes that i could go on this wild research spree for this one guardian idea i have but let’s see...) 

Favorite fic(s) you’ve written: (making a list bc am unable to choose, fight me)

and you remain - my pingxie oneshot that just helped me to get all of the feelings i had after tlt2 pour out. am very fond of it destiny tied us together - some introspection of lwj and jc’s relationship and how it changes throughout the years as they both mature, learn things about themselves, fall in love and realize that they share the same ppl in their hearts (and maybe develop a tentative friendship bc they’re so similar in so many ways). i had so much fun with this and it just felt like my brightest moment haha painting your skin with all of me - the xicheng soulmate oneshot i wrote at some point and still adore. it just seemed to work and in the middle of my xicheng struggles writing them so briefly and gently just felt right pouring love (growing flowers) - the ot7 oneshot i wrote bc of this one amazing twt prompt/moodboard. it was the last part of my mono series. i love it so much. joon was so nice to write throughout the whole thing ;;  lilies bloomed under your carpet - my god au for taejoon. it poured out of me so wonderfully and it was so amazing. still one of my favorite creations, this whole au.  Stories Untold / chapter 3 - this was a collection of taejoon oneshots that i was trying to make but am not sure if i will ever finish them all. but this one, where tae is a forest god and joon a human able to see supernatural things, is very dear to me bc it just feels complete

Fic I spent least time on: gosh i think it must be either my first wangxian oneshot we had it almost or my touch-starved joon oneshot show me my skin and touch my heart with very soft and lovely taejoon. both created themselves in a couple of hours?

Longest fic: currently my xicheng monster but i somehow expect my bts abo fic to get even longer if i ever manage to finish it

Shortest fic: it’s apparently my namseok fic for joon’s tokyo called missing you (i’m homesick). it created itself out of my own experiences of living in a long distance relationship and is one of my faves in that series.  

Most hits/kudos/comments/bookmarks: most hits and comments go for my bts abo fic which doesn’t really surprise me when it’s a multichapter fic :’D most kudos go for the already mentioned xicheng oneshot and most bookmarks go for the bts ot7 fic!

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: hmm if i could rewrite something, it would probably be my first bts fic and my second long fic called Even the Universe Makes Mistakes. that soulmate au now feels a bit outdated and there are many parts i would like to change and things i would love to think again.  then if i was allowed to expand some world, i would love to write more for the xicheng soulmate au bc there are many other pairings i would love to explore there too or just to see lxc’s take on the events perhaps. other thing would be my namgi oneshot it passes (for us both) bc i adore namgi and the love they create in that brief moment. 

Share a bit of a WIP: it hasn’t been long since i shared snippets of several wips but let’s go with my pingxie which i’ve been working on and am just so damn excited about (especially now that i can use the bazaar photoshoot imagery as inspiration):

“He moves, pulled in by the darkness of the lake, mirroring the softly blue sky with its gray, heavy clouds. The snow lands on his nose, into his lashes, clings to his coat and his shoes. He doesn’t feel cold, doesn’t hear anything beyond the softness of the snowfall. Nothing exists and everything does, real and fake at the same time, comforting but still making him feel afraid.

He could lose himself here, could be lost from everything. He could stay and be forgotten, could join those people that tried to make him remain, could take the easier way. He could rest, just like he was supposed to do so many times before.

Maybe he does belong, after all. Maybe he is part of this place, so awfully familiar with it, so willing to even stop his own heart to get here. And maybe he is not, this place only hungry for those who don’t yet remain, refuse to give into this dream-like space.”

thank you once more for tagging me my dear! this was fun even if looking back to my old fics and all the lack of updating and posting these days makes me feel kinda bad... i’ve just been in a slump lately and am slowly trying to get out of it even if i almost fall back in all the time. it’s funny when last spring i felt like i was at my peak sigh. but well, as i’ve already said, i have time right?

i dunno so many writers over here but i’m tagging @cross-d-a and @kholran bc i’m curious about your work. also tagging @inkblue-black and @jockvillagersonly if you want to blabber about something or if you just want to see this. and oh also tagging @wangxianbunnydoodles bc am always open for new ppl and i know that you write ^^ 

#tag game #sorry am making these posts today again #also sorry for always tagging the same ppl #i hope you don't mind #have fun!! #about me

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1 /  part 2 /  part 3  /  part 4  / part 5  / part 6  / part 7/  part 8   /  part 9 /  part 10 /  part 11  /  part 12  / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 /  part 16 / part 17 / part 18 belongs to this

TW: Alzheimers, memory loss, major character death, no comfort at the end

almost 6k words

so I know I said this was going to be the final chapter. Well, the good news is I finished writing the story. The bad other news is it got far too long to put it all in one chapter so there will be others to come. It will also make it easier for you to skip parts that might be upsetting, because there is a lot of angst on the way

While summer had flown by in a heartbeat with visits from the other witchers, tending to their flowers and enjoying their fleeting time together as much as they could, the winter months dragged on as if they had sunk their claws into time itself, refusing to let go.

And yet they too, passed.

The frost that covered the land receded and the storm clouds made way for the sun.

Not that Jaskier could appreciate any of it. Geralt did his best to point the changes out to him imitating as best he could the way Jaskier had always done it, to tell him how it was already getting warmer and brighter.

Geralt doubted any of his words reached Jaskier.

In the mornings Jaskier was unable to listen to the returning songbirds, his face morphing into a grimace when a wave of dizziness hit him. Midday, he fell asleep, always drowsy, always exhausted.

Sometimes he let himself get lead on Geralt’s arm as Geralt urged him to take a stroll along the shore with him, though he never attempted to take charge of the direction or to stop and stare at something that caught his eye.

Other times Geralt put a warm blanket around his shoulders and sat with him in front of the cottage to watch the sea, even though he knew that Jaskier would only stare unresponsively into the far away that held his mind captive until Geralt sighed and resigned to bring him back to bed.

Despite Jaskier’s afternoon naps he was too tired to stay up to watch the sunset as he had dreamed of doing when they had moved here.

The worst part was the silence.

Jaskier barely ever talked anymore, though Geralt could imagine to see a hint of longing to do so every once in a while. His attempts at talking were swiftly thwarted by panting, as Jaskier’s breath drew short and he gave up on it again.

In his stead, Geralt filled the silences as best he could. Those were pitiful attempts, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. His own clumsy words were better than the screams that still sometimes rattled the night when Jaskier had nightmares. In all their horridness, those screams were better still then when Jaskier was quiet, his heartbeat and breathing the only sound that reached Geralt through the door that still separated them each night.

Geralt barely slept, always listening to those heartbeats. Always waiting with bated breath, dreading the moment he would cease to hear them.

He did so now, too. Jaskier hadn’t stirred from his afternoon nap yet and Geralt didn’t have the heart to wake him, knowing that those blissful few hours Jaskier was well and truly asleep were the ones where he was happiest.

Geralt’s hands clenched around the mug he had filled hours ago in hopes that Jaskier would wake and join him in the living room, and that by now has gone cold.

It was probably wrong to let him sleep. When he woke up, he would be all the more confused. The dim light of the approaching evening wouldn’t make it any better. Too often had Geralt watched Jaskier’s eyes that were often so unfocussed, dart around in discomfort and disorientation after sleeping for too long.

But they could handle that. What more was a little confusion to months in which Jaskier hadn’t recognised either Geralt nor himself nor any part of the life they lived.

Still he sat and waited and listened to Jaskier’s heartbeat, a steady drum dictating the rhythm of their life.

Until the beat was accompanied by a disgruntled noise and the sound of Jaskier turning in bed.

With a heavy sigh Geralt abandoned the mug and made his way to Jaskier’s bedroom that hadn’t been theirs in far too long.

When he opened the door, he saw Jaskier already sitting on the edge of the bed, his back facing Geralt. His shoulders lacked the tell-tale tenseness that normally accompanied his distressed confusion. His posture looked almost relaxed and he had his head tilted to the side as he looked out of the window.

Geralt rounded the bed until he could see his face. His heart stuttered at the sight and he froze to the spot. The usually so slack and expressionless face held the tiniest hint of a smile.

The shift in Jaskier as he made to get up on his own thawed Geralt from his frozen shock.

“Wait, I’ll help you,” he said, more to fill the silence than out of actual hope that Jaskier would respond.

He took Jaskier’s arm and guided him until he stood.

For a long moment they just stood there waiting patiently until the grimace that accompanied Jaskier’s dizziness was gone.

Any moment now, Jaskier would hunch over again and let himself be guided to wherever Geralt would lead him.

Instead, Jaskier lifted his free hand and rested it on Geralt’s cheek.

The action hit Geralt so unexpectedly that he tensed up again, sucking the air in sharply, his eyes wide.

“Thank you, dearest.”

His mouth went dry. Geralt felt his lips form words – a name – but no sound came out.

Jaskier’s fingers brushed over his skin, his thumb resting so close to Geralt’s lips. It was too much. It couldn’t – it had been too long since Jaskier touched him like this, since he had acknowledged him as anything other than someone who told him when to eat and who helped him into bed. And now he had his eyes on Geralt – sharp, attentive eyes, nothing like the vacant stares of the past months. He had called him dearest.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice broke around the name.

Jaskier made a small humming sound, his lips tilting up and the skin around his eyes crinkled.

It was Jaskier.

And he looked at Geralt like he knew, as if he had never not known who he was. As if he had never gone away.

“Jaskier! You’re back!” Tears stung in the corners of Geralt’s eyes. He didn’t care. He didn’t have time to think about that, all he could think about was Jaskier being back, being here right before him. He pulled him into an embrace, carefully, but tightly and filled with years of longing. Geralt choked back a sob, when Jaskier’s arms encircled him as well. “You’re back. You came back.”

He didn’t care that he kept repeating the words over and over until they didn’t make sense anymore.

Jaskier’s hand sprawled over the space between his shoulder blades and he could feel the beating of Jaskier’s heart against his chest.

A small huff of air tickled Geralt’s ear.

“I meant it when I said you would be stuck with me for a while,” Jaskier said in that oh so bitterly familiar teasing tone of his. “I am a bit insulted that it took you so long to notice that I’m still here.”

The voice, the words. In a flash, it was too little to just feel Jaskier against him.

Geralt pulled back again, his eyes roaming over every inch of Jaskier, dreading he would flee from him once again into his realm of shadows.

He stayed.

After months, years, of Geralt waiting for him to come back, of having no hope of that ever happening, he was here now, beautiful as the day he had first seen him.

It was cruel. It was a blessing.

Geralt was no fool. He didn’t believe in miracles and he knew better than to hope that this was anything other than a last moment of unexpected happiness before the world would shatter around him for good.

Jaskier’s eyes drifted back to the window and the soft red light of the sky that even through the glass engulfed Jaskier’s face in warm colours. Geralt’s heart clenched painfully at the loss of the endless blue on him, until the smile that curled Jaskier’s lips grew warmer.

“Can we watch the sunset?” Jaskier asked, his voice raspy and out of breath, but pushing through. “Like we used to?”

“Of course.” Not a hint of hesitation made it into Geralt’s voice. This was what Jaskier had wanted all those years ago, when Geralt had told him they could leave the Path behind together. This beautiful dream that for some incomprehensible reason they were allowed to have.

On their way out Geralt grabbed the worn blanket off the armchair and laid it over Jaskier’s shoulders once they sat down on their bench overlooking the sea.

Jaskier huffed and huddled closer, lifting one corner of the blanket to let Geralt under it as well. Something swelled in Geralt’s heart as they sat pressed together like this, shielded from the world by their blanket and the feeling of having the other so close.

Geralt’s eyes were trained on Jaskier, unable to look away and miss even the slightest shift in his expression.

Too often had Jaskier stared straight ahead while Geralt had been searching his gaze. And yet this was the first time in far too long that Jaskier’s eyes darted back to Geralt, despite clearly not having seen his fill of the red sky yet.

“The sunset is over there, love,” Jaskier said and playfully nudged Geralt with his shoulder, the action making Geralt’s heart speed up. “You really should look at it. You never know when you will see a sunset that beautiful again.”

Geralt swallowed thickly, his throat painfully tight. “There will be other sunsets.”

There won’t be another Jaskier and with every beat of his fragile heart Geralt feared more and more that he would go down with the sun, only that Jaskier wouldn’t get to rise again come the morning.

Jaskier’s hand found his as he turned away once more, the light of the sinking sun painting his cheeks in warm red.

“Would you describe it for me?” Geralt asked softly.

At his words, Jaskier’s expression brightened, his smile shining warmer than the sun ever could.  

“Like you described the sunrises when you were hunting alone?”

Geralt huffed out a laugh. “I would hope you could do better than me, bard.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Is that a challenge I hear?”

“Afraid you would lose?”

It was so easy to talk like this, so right. To tease each other as if no time had passed since they had last done so, as if they had all the time in the world left to do so.

Without any further preamble, Jaskier began to talk in earnest. His voice didn’t hold the tone that could command a room filled with an enraptured audience. Instead his voice was soft and gentle and willing to crack with excitement, perfect imperfections plain to see. As he painted pictures with his words of the towering clouds coloured by wine and damasked roses, the way the sun reflected on the sea, looking almost like Geralt’s eyes, he sounded like a man in love.

In love with the world he described almost as much as with the man he was describing it to.

Geralt hadn’t dared hope he would ever get to hear Jaskier speak like that again.

Despite his breath becoming short, Jaskier kept talking until eventually the last rays of the sun left his face and his voice died down.

“You missed it,” Jaskier said quietly.

“I think watching you see it was the best way to experience it.”

“Did you see it then?” Jaskier asked, something strange in his voice. “I had always hoped I could help you see it, but I’m not so sure…”

Geralt hesitated, his brows drawn together in thought. For a reason he couldn’t name Jaskier’s words weighed heavy in the air. A short answer wouldn’t do.

“Maybe…” Geralt broke off, only to start anew, “maybe I can’t see quite yet. But you made me look. I never stopped to look before.”

“You will continue to do so, won’t you?”

Geralt couldn’t answer truthfully, couldn’t bring himself to think about it.

“I have you to tell me about it, don’t I?” he said instead, the words sounding hollow, even in his own ears, but Jaskier snuggled closer, turning to face him again.

“I sure hope so.”

Geralt answered with a tense smile that melted into a real one when Jaskier nestled his head beneath his chin.

With every breath Geralt could feel ghost across his skin, his tenseness subsided. Nothing could chase away the dread of what was bound to happen far too soon, but Jaskier’s presence beside him was comforting and made Geralt appreciate every moment they had left together.

The quiet that had settled over them with the darkness was calming. It was filled by Jaskier’s soft hums and the feeling of their bodies pressed together.

Geralt’s thumb traced lazy patterns on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Can you talk to me?” he asked eventually.

Jaskier looked up at him, but didn’t lift his head from where it was laying on Geralt. “What about?”

“Anything.” Geralt swallowed. “I just want to hear your voice.”

He could feel the smile that flitted across Jaskier’s face on his skin, followed by a quick kiss on his chin.

“How about I talk about the stars?”

Geralt snorted, but made no effort to keep the fondness out of his voice. “Still a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

“Naturally. I’m still a poet, am I not?”

The words spoken with such conviction as if Jaskier had never put down his quill made Geralt’s heart soar. He couldn’t form words, only nod in reply.

“I never could see the stars when I was in Oxenfurt. There was too much light,” Jaskier said in a light tone that couldn’t hide his longing.

“You loved that city,” Geralt said and tightened his embrace. “It was all loud and bright and colourful and filled with people who could appreciate your poetry the way it was meant to be celebrated.”

“Of course I loved it. Doesn’t mean I never missed the stars.” A thumb brushed over the knuckles of Geralt’s free hand. “It was better when you were there with me.”

Geralt huffed out a laugh. “You mean the one winter you made sure my travels would be delayed until the pass to Kaer Morhen was snowed in so I was forced to go to Oxenfurt with you?”

“I did no such thing,” Jaskier said with an impish lull to his voice that made Geralt’s chest rumble with an answering laugh.

After a brief pause, Geralt relented. “It was nice. Staying there with you.”

“Hmm.” Geralt could hear the smile in Jaskier’s voice. “Winter in Kaer Morhen was nice too. But can I tell you a secret?”

Geralt hummed, asking Jaskier to go on without words.

“I enjoy our winters here too. When it’s just the two of us.”

Geralt’s throat was too tight to answer, but he pressed a kiss against the crown of Jaskier’s head, letting his lips linger there.

Jaskier continued. “Actually, I think this, this moment right now, is pretty damn perfect.” He pulled back from Geralt a bit and tilted his head back until all he could see was the night sky above them. “We are lucky there are not too many clouds today. Perfect for the sunset but not enough to cover the stars.”

Geralt’s brows furrowed and his chest tightened painfully. “Can you… Jaskier, can you even see the stars? Your eyes…”

“No. I cannot. But that’s alright. I still know they are there.” Geralt could almost imagine seeing them reflected in Jaskier’s eyes. “Just like in Oxenfurt. Did you know that sometimes when we were separated for the winter I looked at the constellations you showed me – especially the one that looked like a man with a sword - and think of you?”

“You just said you couldn’t see the stars in the big cities.” A smirk curled his lips. “And even if you did, we both know you were always horrible at finding the constellations.”

“That’s not the point.” Jaskier swatted at his arm with a mock- offended gasp. “As if I actually needed to see some constellation to think about you. But the thought was nice. You can’t deny that it is romantic to see your beloved in the world around you.”

“One might say it’s unreasonable.” Geralt’s reply held no heat. He only followed the steps of the dance they had danced for years now, the dreamer and the witcher. “I’d rather see my beloved in person.”

“Well, I’m here now, am I not?”

Geralt was quiet for a while, before searching the sky, his eyes finding what he was looking for within seconds. He pointed at the stars, guiding Jaskier’s eyes that were unlikely to see what he was pointing at, but following him anyway. “Over there. That’s the warrior constellation.”

Jaskier’s eyes brightened and he tipped his head to the side, as if contemplating what he couldn’t even see. “The sword could also be a lute, don’t you think?”

Geralt huffed. “They are just stars. They can be whatever artists and dreamers want to see in them.”

“A lute then,” Jaskier said again with pride in his tone. “For when you look at it. And a sword for when I do.”

Geralt grunted in false annoyance.

“Come on,” Jaskier poked a finger into Geralt’s chest. Geralt caught his hand, holding it there. “I know you like that idea.”

Geralt eyed Jaskier from the side, taking in the teasing glint in his eyes that said he wouldn’t back down.

Geralt sighed in surrender. “Fine. Maybe I do.”

“Wonderful. And as a price for my brilliant idea, I demand a dance.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shot up. “Now?”

“When else?”

Jaskier tugged on the hand Geralt was still holding.

“Aren’t you tired? I would have thought you wanted to go to bed.”

Jaskier smirked. “When has the late hour ever kept me from dancing? You can complain all you want but you and I both know that you can’t say no when I ask you for a dance.” When Geralt put up token resistance, Jaskier added, “Geralt, my dearest, loveliest witcher. You accompanied me to more than one ball. What is one dance under the moonlight?”

“It’s sappy, is what it is,” Geralt grumbled, but stood up, pulling Jaskier with him. The blanket fell from their shoulders to the ground, as they lifted their arms to lay them around one another.

What they did could hardly be described as dancing. Even a poet as talented as Jaskier wouldn’t be able to spin romantic tales about it.

There was no music and they were barely even moving. Geralt had to support Jaskier, his grip on his waist tighter than it would be in a normal dance to hold him up and Jaskier hung on his neck more for balance than anything. Their feet where stumbling and clumsy.

From the look in Jaskier’s eyes, this was the most perfect dance he could imagine. Nothing like balls and banquets and the performances that came with it.

This was just Geralt and Jaskier, holding each other and barely swaying to the sound of the ocean instead of a ballad.

Jaskier’s head came to rest on Geralt’s heart and even their small shuffling movements stopped as Jaskier’s hands dropped from Geralt’s shoulders, finding Geralt’s hands and tangling them into each other.

Still he was leaning his head on Geralt’s shoulder, like it belonged there.

For a moment that stretched into eternity, they just stood there unmoving, without the need to break this fragile moment with words.

Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hands gently. “I never thought there would ever come a day that I can’t even dance without someone else holding me up.” No bitterness was woven into his words. “You become so helpless with age…” His voice trailed off, but he caught himself. “Thank you, Geralt.” He looked up, every shift in his expression speaking of sincerity and infinite fondness. “For being here and helping me when I’m helpless. For making me happy.”

Something ugly squirmed inside of Geralt and he tightened his jaw, looking aside. “You weren’t always happy.”

“I am now. There is nowhere I would rather be right now than here with you. You make me happy.” A wistful note clung to his words. “Just like I used to make people happy with my songs. I miss that.”

Geralt’s eyes snapped back to Jaskier’s. “You said that before. Years ago, you said that. And you are wrong. You mde me happier than I ever thought possible.”

Jaskier’s gaze softened and something Geralt didn’t dare name shone in his eyes.

Without meaning to, Geralt’s face hardened, earning him a chuckle from Jaskier.

“Ah, that face.” Jaskier stood on his toes, chancing a quick peck at the corner of Geralt’s lips. “I missed that face. Tell me, what brilliant idea of mine are you going to say ‘no’ to now?”

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

“Oh?” Jaskier grinned. “If I recall correctly you once said that you always made that face because you knew exactly what I was going to ask of you.” He left a pause for Geralt to reply, which Geralt let pass without speaking up. Jaskier filled it for him. “I want to ask you to continue to be happy.”

Geralt’s insides ran cold. He didn’t want to answer and yet he couldn’t stop the broken words from falling from his lips. “I don’t know if I can.”

“I do,” Jaskier said with total conviction.

“How?”

“Because, Geralt of Rivia, my dearest witcher who laughed with me and listened to my songs and agreed to dance under the night sky,” Jaskier stepped impossibly closer. “I know who you are.”

The words, so reminiscent of the first time Jaskier had ever spoken to him resonated through every fibre of Geralt’s being. Even now, at the end of all things, Jaskier knew him. Better than he had let anyone know him.

“If I had one wish,” Jaskier said, lifting his eyes back to the sky, “if I saw a shooting star or had a dandelion with me, I would let it pass by without making a wish. I don’t have to. I have everything here that I could want and I know you will have it too.”

“You have everything here…” Geralt repeated the words as if they were a confession. “So it worked? This place has become what you wanted it to be?”

Jaskier’s smile was bright enough to light up the night. “There is no place I would rather be. Though… anywhere would have been home as long as it was with you.” Jaskier’s eyes dropped to their joined hands. “Do you think the others are still together? Lambert and –“

“Yes,” Geralt said, before Jaskier could finish. “Kaer Morhen is still snowed in. Our family is together.”

“Good.” Jaskier gave a small smile. “That’s good. I don’t want them to be lonely. And you can find them easier like this.”

“Jaskier-“ The name was a plea on Geralt’s lip, though he couldn’t form any other words to beg. He too looked at their hands, still intertwined. Still holding onto each other for dear life.

Don’t let go. Please, don’t let go. Not yet.

Despite his silent pleas, Jaskier slipped on hand free of Geralt’s grip, making to lift it again to Geralt’s face, but Jaskier faltered, wincing.

“Jaskier!” A spike of panic flared up in Geralt. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, dearest,” Jaskier said through a thinly veiled grimace. “Just… I think my joints didn’t appreciate me dancing and standing up for so long.”

“Of course. Let’s go back inside. I should have some more of Yennefer’s medicine in there.”

Jaskier pulled at face, but mirth glimmered in his eyes. “Don’t tell her I said that, but sometimes I am really glad that I got to know her after all.”

With these words, he made to turn towards the cottage.

Geralt didn’t let him get far, before in the spur of the moment, he scooped him up, one arm beneath his knees and one around his middle.

Jaskier let out a delighted little shout when he was lifted and pressed against Geralt’s chest.

“I’m not that frail. You don’t have to carry me, you know.”

“I know,” Geralt said with the hints of laughter in his voice. “But I want to.”

How could he not want to when this made Jaskier’s eyes twinkle with delight and throw his head back in a laugh? How could he resist holding Jaskier and feeling his arms around his neck again and the soft stroking of the hair that got caught in Jaskier’s fingers?

Jaskier had always been beautiful but there was something about him now, grinning and short of breath and lightly trembling and yet still clinging to Geralt as if he never wanted to let go that made him even more radiant than ever before.

Once in the cottage, Geralt sat Jaskier back down on the bed, which Jaskier immediately claimed, burrowing himself in the blanket and watching Geralt with the one eye that peeked out as he went looking for the medicine.

Geralt’s search was interrupted by an outraged cry.

“You traitor!” Geralt turned around to find Jaskier pointing at something peeking out of a box in the corner of the room. “You told me you would get rid of the scarf! Really, it is time to throw that thing out.”

Geralt snatched the scarf up together with the medicine and went over to Jaskier.

“Never,” he said with a grin and wrapped the scarf around Jaskier’s neck, who fought tooth and nail to get it off. Eventually he gave up with a huff.

“You are insufferable. I love you.”

He shot Geralt a mock glare, only softening when Geralt took mercy on him and threw the scarf back where it came from.

Jaskier laughed triumphantly at the action and swallowed the medicine Geralt held out for him.

It took a while for it to take effect, but bit by bit, the grimace smoothed out and Jaskier relaxed into the blankets.

More out of routine than anything else, Geralt straightened the blanket over Jaskier, so that he wouldn’t get tangled in it.

He paused, his heart speeding up. For the first time in months, he was allowed to brush his hand over Jaskier’s hair again, kiss him again.

As he did so, Jaskier didn’t hesitate even a moment, before placing a kiss on each of Geralt’s knuckles in lieu of the single kiss he used to give him.

“What did I do to deserve that?” Geralt asked, the humour in his voice not nearly enough to hide the tremor that came with the emotion that threatened to spill over.

Jaskier didn’t answer, instead scooting over a bit and pointedly looking at the space next to him that had been empty for far too long.

“Lie with me?”

Geralt’s heart was racing, as he obliged. It was foreign and achingly familiar lying next to Jaskier again, like a hug after being apart for too long.

Jaskier turned so he was facing him, his eyes tracing every inch of Geralt’s face as if he wanted to burn it into his memory.

A yawn interrupted his task, but he fought to keep his eyes open.

“You don’t have to stay awake for me,” Geralt said, though his blood began to freeze at the thought of what might happen if Jaskier closed his eyes. “It’s alright if you want to sleep. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Jaskier shook his head weakly. “Not yet. I want to talk for a bit longer. I want to listen to you speak.” Fingers reached out, smoothing over Geralt’s brow and coming to rest near his lips. “I always loved it when you talked.”

Geralt’s lips quirked up. “Can’t say the same about you.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Careful. I might take that as a challenge and talk your ear off until you love the sound of my voice.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

As if there was anything Geralt could want more than to hear Jaskier’s speak until he ran out of words.

But Jaskier got strangely quiet. Geralt’s heart beat frantically, as Jaskier’s eyes drifted away from him and towards the door.

His breath came out in a sharp exhale of relief, when Jaskier spoke again.

“There is something. I don’t know if you remember, but a while ago I started writing something. I put it away, hid it behind my notebooks. I didn’t want you to find it too soon, but I told you I would let you read it when it was time. I think –“ his voice broke off, his thumb caressing Geralt’s cheek so tenderly it almost hurt. “I think it’s time now.”

Geralt’s brows knitted together and he couldn’t keep himself from nestling into Jaskier’s soft touch.

“Should I get your writing now?” He asked, though the thought of leaving Jaskier for even a moment felt utterly wrong.

“No.” Jaskier leaned in closer until his forehead was resting against Geralt’s. “Stay with me for a bit. Just a little longer.”

The unspoken We might not have a lot of time left together hang heavily above them.

When Geralt had heard Jaskier play the lute for the last time, he hadn’t known he wouldn’t hear it again. When he had taken his final bow in front of an audience, Geralt had assumed more would follow. Again and again, he had witnessed Jaskier’s last times unknowingly.

There was no such ignorance now. Geralt knew what this was. They both did.

Almost unnoticeably, Jaskier’s lips began to tremble and his chin started quivering.

“Hold me?” The request sounded so small and yet there was no doubt in Jaskier’s voice that Geralt would do as he asked, that he would do anything if it would make this easier for Jaskier.

Geralt’s arms wrapped around him, holding him impossibly close. Jaskier melted into his embrace, clung to Geralt as if he was the only thing left in his world.

With one hand, Geralt cradled Jaskier’s head. “It’s alright, Jaskier. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He had said it before. Almost the exact same words in a situation that had been almost the same and yet was nothing like it. This time, his reassurance wasn’t a lie.

Last time, Geralt had made mistakes he wouldn’t been able to forgive himself for if he made them again. He had run, shouted, panicked.

None of that would help him now. He was done running from what he couldn’t possibly outrun.

He has had nightmares about this. He had dreaded this. But now that the inescapable monster had finally reached him with its claws and as it sank them into Geralt’s heart it felt strangely light. Freeing. Calm.

There was nothing he could do but hold Jaskier in his arms and whisper sweet words of comfort into the night.

Unlike last time, when Jaskier lifted his head to look at him with tired eyes, Geralt smiled at him. Jaskier traced his smile with a finger, a look of awe on his face.

The touch left a trace of heat in its wake, stirring Geralt out of his thoughts.

“I believe you wanted to prove something to me?”

Jaskier let out a quiet laugh. “So eager to hear me talk? I think that is proof enough that you love my voice.”

“Not only your voice. I love you, Jaskier,” Geralt said, pressing a kiss against the finger on his lips. He lifted his eyes until all he could see was the warmth in Jaskier’s. “Talk to me anyway?”

Jaskier’s expression softened impossibly. “Alright. How about I tell you the story of how I met the man I fell in love with?”

Geralt hummed, his lips stretching into a smile. “That sounds lovely.”

“It all began in Posada. Maybe it was destiny, maybe it was just a tired horse and an empty bag of coin that led to the fateful meeting of the brooding witcher and the celebrated bard that left his adoring audience for a chance to follow this mysterious stranger.”

Geralt snorted. “That’s not how it happened,” he said with amusement evident in his tone.

“Oh hush, you,” Jaskier said, his tone rivalling Geralt’s. “But fine. Here’s how it really went…”

Despite the familiarity of the story, or maybe because of it, Geralt didn’t let the words wash over him. He hung on Jaskier’s every word, relishing in the way Jaskier’s expressions shifted as he told the tale. This time around, there were no exaggerations, no embellishments. Only the story of two lonely people finding comfort in each other that would grow into something more precious than either of them could have planned for.

There was something about the way Jaskier told it that made it seem like he was coming to life along with the world he painted in his words.

Words spoken a long time ago came back to Geralt as he watched Jaskier. He was happy. Himself. And so much more.

This was Jaskier, even when he had to blink more and more to keep his eyes open, when his voice became quieter and when yawns interrupted his story.

Without thinking about it, Geralt picked up the story when Jaskier’s voice trailed off again.

He could feel Jaskier smile against him, could hear his heartbeat pick up as Geralt shared with him thoughts he had never before voiced quite like this, about how he had fallen in love – slowly at first, then so fast that he wouldn’t have been able to stop it if he tried - with a smile, a laugh, silly little songs and touches so casual as if Geralt wasn’t something to be feared but cherished. He could feel Jaskier’s arms tighten around him when he whispered quiet confessions in the form of a story.

Geralt continued talking even as Jaskier’s breathing evened out and he drifted off to sleep. He couldn’t let the story stand unfinished, even if Jaskier couldn’t hear it anymore. Maybe the faint sound of Geralt’s words was enough to gift Jaskier with dreams of their years together.

When Geralt’s voice quieted down as well, the only sound left was Jaskier’s heartbeat.

Geralt didn’t sleep that night.

He buried his face into Jaskier’s neck and held him tight, letting Jaskier’s breaths brush over his hair and listening to his heartbeat as he had done every night for the past years.

He listened to the steady beat, the rhythm of their life they had built together.

Until it stopped.

#mcd #major character death #major character death tw #alzheimers #memory loss #accidental multichapter #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #witcher #witcher fic #fanfic #my writing #angst #fluff and angst #i think? #is this fluff? #nice things happen and bad things happen #geralt/jaskier #Birds still sing when they fall from the sky

[trillian-anders]

amor de mi vida - 1940

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: slow burn, racism, prejudice, fluff, language barrier

word count: 8497

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

note: finally, i’m sorry it took so long! the next chapter should come quicker than that i promise lol enjoy guys

It was snowing, thick and blanketed in New York. The city streets hadn’t been plowed yet. Kids were having snowball fights in Sunset Park. They were pulling sleds down the street, laughing. The New Year freshly rung in, resolutions formed and already broken. Bucky Barnes drug his bundled up ten year old sister behind him back up the hill he’d just sled down with her.

“Y’know this would be a lot easier if you’d get out of the sled.” She cackled from her seat,

“How else are you gonna get some real muscle?” She jeered, “What girl is gonna let you bring her home looking like that?” Bucky had plenty of muscle, he told himself. He was no strong man but a few rounds in the boxing ring each week kept him fit and fast. 

“I get plenty of girls.” The teen scoffed. The little girl rolled her eyes as her brother stopped at the top of the hill.

“We never see any.” It was true. He never brings any of the girls he takes out home. Never did. But, he thinks, he’d bring you home.

He’d bring you home in a heartbeat.

His own heart skipped, wondering what you were doing right now. Just as he wondered what you were doing every day for the last four months. He was working up the courage to go back. He was. And in between shifts at the shop and the few boxing matches he was doing for some extra cash, he hadn’t found much time to try to make it down there. But he knew where you were. He knew you liked him too. Maybe, possibly.

And that’s all that mattered.

He turned, hands on his hips looking at the girl with cheeks flushed red from the cold. Her little nose tipped red as well and sparkly white teeth smiling at him.

“Just because you don’t see any doesn’t mean they’re not around,” He say heavily on the sled behind her, bracing his hands against the hill. “I’m pretty sure I found the dame I’m gonna marry.” And Becca squealed as he pushed off the hill propelling them quickly down the side. 

And as they tumbled down in the snow it was like God heard his prayers. A curl of your red lips and fingers clutching the fence on the other side. You’d found him this time. 

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. Heels black and sensible, the peak of a well worn dark green dress underneath what looked like a brand new coat, matching green scarf wrapped around your delicate throat. Those red lips he’s been dreaming about in more ways than one. And underneath a darling hat were your pinned curls, tightly placed on the nape of your neck. 

He stumbled and fell, sliding on the snow to land at your feet on the other side of the fence. “Hi.” He breathed, breath coming in a cloud in front of his face. 

“Hi.” Your voice sang back. It’d been so long since he’s heard your voice. The sound that made his toes curl in his shoes. 

“Te he extrañado. [I’ve missed you.]” He was a fool. He knows that. He’d never been this smitten. If the boys could see him now. If Steve could see him now. He’d laugh at him for being such a sucker. He watched you shift to one foot, pressing yourself closer to the gate, your face peering at him from over it. 

“Have you?” You were coy. Your lips pulled into a smile. He’d be a fool every day if it meant you’d smile at him like that. 

Bucky didn’t know what to say, “Como has estado? [How have you been?]” He asked, standing from his now soaked knees. He could do it. Lean in just a little closer and steal some love from your lips. He could totally do it. 

“I’ve been well,” You adjusted your grip on the fence, “Nunca hacía tanto frío en La Habana. [It was never so cold in Havana.]” You tugged a perfect lip between your teeth. “It’s a lot to adjust to.” 

Becca had been oddly quiet eyeing this interaction from behind. Silent. Studying. 

“Have you…” He gestured behind himself to the sled that sat empty, his sister standing silently next to it. “Have you been sledding yet?” He grinned. You shook your head,

“No, not yet.” He leaned his full body against the gate, the fabric of his pants brushing your hose clad legs, fingers gripping the fence just above yours.

“That’s a shame,” He breathed, “Es la mejor parte de tener nieve. [It’s the best part of having snow.]” Other than picturing the two of you cozy by a fire. Feet tucked close to him, your curves pressed against him. He felt hot with the thought. “Come join us.” He pushed the gate open, you stood awkwardly on the other side. Your eyes drifted to the ten year old girl behind him. Her quick footfalls reminded Bucky she was even there.

“I’m Becca.” Her hand thrusts out in front of her at you, “Are you my brother’s girlfriend?” You took her hand but met Bucky’s eyes in confusion. He was sure you didn’t know that word.

“She’s my friend, Becca.” He turned to you, “Ella es mi hermana. [She’s my sister.]” He’d been practicing his Spanish. At first the guys down on the docks, the ones who worked in the factories there, laughed at him. They didn’t pay him any mind. But he tried. He was still trying. They’ve been helping him now with his pronunciation. He could make it there once a week at most but he hoped it showed, his effort. “Becks this is Y/N.” 

A glimmer of recognition passed over Becca’s face. You stood there awkwardly, tense and unknowing. The Barnes’ have been in America practically since the first settlers. But truth be told they were once immigrants too. That’s how Winnie viewed it. In the Barnes household they typically didn’t concern themselves with immigration, but George Barnes once said, 

“They made America the land of equal opportunity and then pitched a fit when everyone wanted to have a fair shot.” The family didn’t care that immigrants were coming by the boatload. They believed in the American Dream. For everyone. But it wasn’t discussed often. 

Becca’s eyes were wide, she grinned, “I’ve never been anywhere else but here. Where are you from? What’s it like there? I like how you do your hair. Could you do mine like that?” Babbling you looked overwhelmed, the English being spewed at you faster than you could understand it.

“Becca, hold your horses.” Bucky laughed, he gently grasped your arm.

“She can be overwhelming,” He said with a comforting smile. His heart was racing. He looked down at your shoes, the little heels he knew would probably get stuck in the soft snow. “Do you want to sled?” He gestured at the old wooden thing that he was sure had been in his family since the beginning of time itself. You tugged your lip between your teeth once more and before he could help it his thumb met your chin and pulled it free. “No dejaré que te pase nada malo. Lo juro. [I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I swear.]” His blue eyes met yours and you nodded. 

“Okay.” He could tell you were hesitant and he looked down again at your shoes. He looked back at Becca and grinned. 

“Get on the sled.” She rolled her eyes and you squealed as he lifted you off your feet and carried you the few feet to the wooden toboggan. This was the best idea he’d ever had, he reasoned, your hands clutching his own coat in shock, your breath so close to his own lips it almost made him trip over his own two feet as he settled you behind Becca on the sled before grabbing the rope and making the steady climb up the hill.

“How do I tell her you’re an idiot?” Bucky rolled his eyes at his sisters question.

“He’s funny.” You replied. He tightened his grip on the rope, biceps and thighs working to pull the both of you up the hill. 

“He’s stupid.” Becca laughed she leaned in and whispered something to you out of earshot of himself, but he didn’t care once he heard your peal of laughter. It gave him what he needed to push through and finally reach the top. This was gonna be the best part. He settled himself behind you, bracing his hands against the snow just as he did with Becca a few minutes earlier. 

“Get ready,” He whispered hotly into your ear. His heart was racing. Surely he was a minute away from a heart attack. Your waist nestled against his hips and he hoped you didn’t feel the erection that was now throbbing in his slacks. He pushed off against the ground, the three of you screaming in delight as the toboggan raced down the hill. 

Your perfume smacked him in the face. A sweet floral scent that smells almost like those peonies he’d been so keen to give you months before, mixed with something a little more bare skin. He wanted to press a kiss to the nape of your neck. Right where the scarf dipped and revealed your caramel skin to him. 

It was over too quickly. You and Becca giggling in the snow, holding tightly onto one another as he admired you from his place behind. He imagined a future between the two of you. He imagined a little girl that was yours and his in this same situation. And he wanted it, he wanted it more than anything he’d ever wanted ever in his life. 

It was a strange feeling. But he leaned into it. 

“Did you like it?” His raspy voice asked you. Your eyes met his, grinning ear to ear. 

“Can we do that again?” You asked. He grinned in return. He’d do anything for you. Even if it meant icing his sore muscles the next day because he for damn sure pulled you up that hill every time. 

“Like this.” Becca said, spinning the twine around the stem of the flower, “Then you can hang it upside down until it dries, or you could press it between two heavy books.” Bucky nodded, taking the information in. Peonies were hard to come by here in winter, but he wanted to keep tradition. That’s what he’d been giving you since the start and he wanted to keep it that way.

He imagined himself bringing you flowers every week. A vase full of them on the kitchen table, always fresh and fragrant. The two of you sharing breakfast before work with them sitting in between. Your bare feet, swollen in his lap, you rubbing your pregnant belly as you talked to him about what you did that day. The flowers a silent witness in the background. 

Becca twirled the stem between her fingers, studying her brother for a moment, “I really like her.” She said. You, she really liked you. Becca couldn’t speak any Spanish but she helped you through your broken English as best as she could. She really enjoyed the thick accent and had asked once again if you could pin her hair like hers, which you had eyed Bucky cautiously before replying, 

“Maybe one day.” 

It was clear to him that you were nervous. He couldn’t quite register why. Some niggling part of his brain nagged him with the thought. The reason why. “I really like her too.” Bucky replied, pressing a peony between the thin pages of a dictionary, laying a thicker English textbook on top. 

“She was the one you were talking about, right?” Becca was smart. Very smart. Bucky was proud of that but also sometimes she was too smart for her own good.

“Yeah,” He blushed, wrapping the twine around the bar in his closet between his church suit and a dark blue button down. “She is.” Becca grinned,

“That’s another sister then.” Which made Bucky laugh. Becca loved her sisters, the girls were pretty close and did a lot together, but it was a fairly common joke in the Barnes household of the power struggle between the two men against the five women living in the home. Another tally against them. 

Bucky didn’t mind at all. “Yeah, maybe.” He smiles, “If she’ll let me take her on a date first.” 

It had come a week later, stuffed in the mailbox at the mechanic shop. He didn’t know how you’d found out where he worked but he’s pretty sure his surname slapped on the front of the building didn’t help. Nor did he really care. He’d had Steve slip you the dried peony two days before. 

The small man waited outside of your work, Bucky around the corner and out of sight. You’d been leaving with your usual crowd, your Mother quickly approaching when the bloom was placed in your hand, Steve slipping quickly out of sight. The little slip of paper wrapped tightly around the stem loosened as you slipped it into your jacket pocket in just enough time that your mother was none the wiser.

You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen

Scrawled in practiced script. 

Bucky’s heart was racing as he stuffed the letter in his pocket before running the rest of the mail to his father. He’d read it when he got home, the envelope weighing heavily in his pocket for the rest of his shift.

It was when he’d scrubbed his oil stained hands three times that he’d pulled it from his uniform, the envelope an off white, 

James

written swirly and perfect on the front. His heart skipped as he brought the envelope to his nose. A floral perfume that made his heart sing, he gently pried the envelope open, a swift slide with the sharp letter opener across the top. 

A picture of you.

Gorgeous and sweet. Hair perfectly curled, lips perfectly painted. Black and white, laughter in your face as you stood in front of a fruit cart in Havana. His finger traced your shape. His mouth watered with it. 

The letter was more swirly script, a practiced hand. 

James, 

I hope this letter finds you well. Thank you for my flowers. I cherish them, always. I’ve kept all that you’ve given to me. I wish to see you again. The sledding I think you called it was very fun for me, the snow has taken a lot of getting used to but it’s a nice change from Havana. 

I don’t have many pictures from my home. This is one taken not long before we came to Nueva York. It’s perhaps the most recent picture I have of myself. Thank you for being who you are,

Y/N

Bucky read it three times over, lying on his bed like a schoolgirl, belly down, feet up. Eyes tracing the picture of you that you’d enclosed in the letter. 

You liked him. He was sure of it now. Otherwise why else would you give him a picture? 

“Dinner!” His mother yelled from the bottom of the steps.

It took a lot of planning, coordination and Steve’s footwork to make this happen. Bucky checked himself in the side mirror again, the stubborn curl on his forehead refused to stay gelled back. He combed it back once more, hoping it would stay there when he saw you turn the corner, looking slyly behind you before picking up pace and jogging in your flats to his passenger door, he barely beat you there, yanking the door open and saying, “Hi.” With a soft smile. 

You smiled softly in return, nervously, “Hi.” The door shut and he circled the car and slid into the drivers seat.

“I hope you like peanut butter and jelly.” He smiled nervously. He’d been nervously packing the basket all morning, taking things out and placing them back in. His Mom had baked some chocolate chip cookies the day before so he was sure to wrap four of them very delicately in cloth before placing them on top of the wedge of cheddar, grapes, apples, and two sloppily made sandwiches in a basket he had to steal from his Mom’s linen closet. It now sat in the backseat with a blanket and two bottles of coke he’d bought from the corner store. 

The old clunker that had definitely seen better days rattled along as the two of you  sat silently. This was the first time since the day you met that you’ve actually been alone. Now it seemed as though there wasn’t much to say. 

Spring had just shaken the chill from the air, but not so much the ground as Bucky lay the thick blanket down. Your hands gripped around the handles of the basket as you gazed around the park. You seemed to be looking for something but Bucky couldn’t imagine what. 

“Here,” He grabbed the basket from you and helped you sit, your skirt covering most of your legs in your position. You could feel a slight damp chill beneath you. 

It was the first warm day of spring, the two of you really lucked out as you tucked into your sandwiches, the bottles of coke sweating between you. Bucky gave you a grin, 

“Have you ever been to the movies? That’s where we should go for our next date.” Bucky took a bite as your cheeks flushed, his knees close to yours on the blanket. 

“I’m not sure I’ll be allowed…” You spoke nervously. You looked out at the park, mostly empty aside from a few mothers pushing prams and smaller children tailing them. 

Bucky brushed a piece of hair out of your face, exposing your cheek and pulling your attention from the others in the park back to him. “We’ll figure it out,” He soothed. He watched a smile pull across your lips and you took a bite from your sandwich. 

We’ll figure it out.

“I’ve never been to the movies before.” You breathed. Knees almost touching as you turned into each other. Bucky grinned, 

“I just took Becks to see The Wizard of Oz and my sisters really wanted to see Gone With The Wind so we went as a family you woulda loved Gone With The Wind,” Bucky rambled, “You’d love my family, they’d love you… Becks already does,” Your laugh. It stretched the grin on his face even further,

“¿Ya estás pensando en llevarme a casa? [Already thinking about bringing me home?]” You jested. His grin never wavered, 

“I’ve wanted to bring you home the minute I saw you.” You felt your cheeks heat up. There was a tense silence before you watched him tug his pink lip between his teeth. “So what do you like to do?” He took a sip of coke, “When you’re not working.” You pondered for a moment, before running a finger over the swirl of the rose in your skirt.

“I like making my dresses,” You met his eyes, “And music… dancing.” Bucky sat up straighter, 

“I love dancing, and music, and the dresses you wear.” You laughed, rocking back slightly as he joined you, “I like all of those things.” The sandwiches gone, the cheese laid out as Bucky carved an apple with a knife, handing you a slice before eating one of his own.  

“Have you been dancing since being in America?” Bucky asked, laying a slice of cheese over his apple and taking a bite. You nodded your head,

“There’s a Cuban club in my barrio that has live music and dancing almost every night of the week.” Bucky’s eyebrows raised, “Maybe we can go sometime.” A hand met a hand, soft skin against his. So soft. Bucky traces his thumb against the back of your hand, his calloused pad relishing in the soft skin there. A shoulder pressed to a shoulder. The two of you sitting close. And closer, and closer. 

“I work at my Dad’s shop.” Bucky said, his arm around your shoulder as you lay together under the swaying leaves of the giant oak. “Eventually he’ll retire and it’ll become my shop, but right now he wants me to start working on the books and fixing some stuff around the house he hasn’t gotten to yet, then I’ll start working more hours at the shop.” He shrugged.

“Have you always wanted it?” The shop. Your cheek pressed to his shoulder. 

“I wanted to be a boxer,” Bucky laughed, “I’m not bad at it, I’m a good mechanic, but… I always wanted to go a couple rounds with Joe Louis.” The current heavyweight champion. You could see the scars on Bucky’s knuckles as you turned his hand in yours, the motor oil stuck in the corners of his nails from his shift yesterday that he couldn’t quite scrub from his nail beds. 

“What did you want to do?” He asked you, fingers brushing up and down your bare arm, eyes watching the leaves sway and clouds drift across the sky. 

You’d never really thought about it. You shrugged, “We were never given much of a choice,” You explain, “A wife and mother,” You lifted your face from his shoulder to look at him, his eyes dragging from the sky to meet yours, “Maybe…” His finger traced a stitched rose on your side. “Maybe I would make my dresses, maybe I would design clothes.” His hand drifted up your side to your shoulder, rubbing a thumb against your sleeve. 

“You make beautiful dresses.” He agreed. You blushed. His hooded eyes causing a shiver to run down your spine. He lifts his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. Lips a breath away, the heat of your skin under his palm. And then pain. 

A coke bottle, one just like the two empty ones that had already been stuffed back into the basket beside you, landed on your bodies. Bucky moved over you, his back in your view as he sat up and stared down the man whose arm was still raised from throwing, his wife standing behind him, both with tense brows and frowns. 

“This is a family park,” The man yelled, “You’re not allowed here.” Bucky bristled, standing from the blanket as your heart dropped in your chest. 

“We’re just having lunch.” Bucky’s voice was tense, scary. “We’re allowed to be here just like everyone else.” The man scoffed, 

“You maybe, but not her.” Bucky looked back to you, your eyes downcast to the ground. Bucky stepped to the man,

“She can go wherever she wants.” He spat at the man, hands curling into fists. The man glared at you from over Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, she can go back to wherever the hell she came from.” A word never heard by Bucky before tumbled from the man’s lips, but the way you reacted to it made Bucky flush with anger. The man’s wife screamed as Bucky’s fist connected with the man’s jaw. 

“James!” You stood from the blanket, grabbing Bucky’s bicep as he went to swing again, the man stumbling back and raising his own fists. He slowed, turning towards you as the man swung his own fist, connecting with Bucky’s temple. Blood poured from the man’s nose as Bucky turned back from you and punched him again. 

It was happening so fast, police who’d been patrolling nearby had come to break up the fight, Bucky and the stranger being separated. You watched them interrogate the two men, the stranger angrily pointing over at you as Bucky spoke from his seat on the grass, 

“Y/N estará bien, no te preocupes. [Y/N it’ll be okay, don’t worry.]” Your line of sight was blocked by the officer stepping between you. There was nothing technically illegal about what you were doing. Having a picnic in the park. They couldn’t arrest you for that, what they could arrest you for was disturbing the peace and the fight between Bucky and the stranger. That was the fear. 

“Take her home.” The cop spat, “And if you know what’s good for you kid, you wouldn’t bring her around here or anywhere anymore.” The hostility. The anger. It sunk like a pit in your stomach. Bucky’s face was still pulled in a glare, but directed at the ground this time. Resolve on his face as he stood, walking to you and gently grabbing your arm, and picking up the blanket and basket with his other hand. 

“James.” You whispered softly. A bruise was blooming on the side of his head. A gash where the man’s wedding ring had caught. His knuckles were split. He sighed heavily, reaching the car and dropping your arm, digging his keys from his pocket. 

“I can’t fucking believe some people.” He spat. “It’s ridiculous.” His eyes met yours after he tossed the basket and the blanket into the trunk heavily, shutting it with a thunk. You shrugged, arms wrapped around your middle. The anger drained from his face as he saw the tear tracks on your cheeks, the mascara you’d been wearing smudged around the corners of your eyes. “I’m so sorry dahlin.” His gentle hands coming to grab your elbows.  

“It’s just how it is.” You mumbled. Bucky shook his head, 

“But it shouldn’t be,” His hands moved from your elbows to curl around your back, pulling your tense body tightly into his. Holding you tightly, a hand soothingly rubbing your back. “I’m sorry that people treat you this way dahlin.” 

The tears were dried and you pulled away from him, feeling the absence of his warmth as you rounded the car to the passenger side, reaching for the door but Bucky beat you to it. He opened it silently letting you sit in the passenger seat before softly closing the door and rounding the front. As he shut his door he looked back at you, you could feel him want to say something. “Do you want me to take you home?” His voice was weak and sad. It broke your heart. 

Truthfully you didn’t want to go home. You didn’t want to leave him. In his arms you felt safe, but your Mama and Mateo’s words were ringing through your ears. His kind doesn’t do well with ours. He is fascinated by something new. Like a baby with a new toy. You’d soon be discarded and he would marry a girl who looked like him. Someone who was easier to talk to. Someone he didn’t have to stumble through his words with. 

But he was trying. He was trying so hard. The sweet words that poured from his mouth making you drunk with love. How could it be love? You remembered a boy from the island, the one who lived four doors down who would walk with you to school every day. Your tiny child heart fluttering with his fingers brushing yours and him carrying your books for you. 

This was nothing like that. 

This wasn’t fluttering. This was pounding. Like hurricane waves on the shore. Crashing and ebbing and flowing. Consuming. You had a box under the couch. Dried peonies and the little note asking you on this date. You’d wish you could add to it, but after today you weren’t even sure if you’ll have anything to add to it in the future. 

“Yes.” You answered. As much as you didn’t want to. You had to do what you felt was right in the moment. 

Bucky’s heart fell. 

He was back to not seeing you. And Steve was done with Bucky’s shit. 

“What are you doing?” Steve asked him. Voice tense, snapping. Bucky wiped his hands on the oil stained rag in his pocket, not taking his eyes away from the engine of the car he had been working tirelessly on for the last hour. 

“I’m about to change the catalytic converter and put on--” 

“No Buck.” Steve’s pencil was posed over his sketchpad. A warm bottle of coke next to him, he had to take it easy drinking soda so his blood sugar wouldn’t spike. He’d usually drink half the bottle and Bucky would finish the rest. “With Y/N. It’s been a week since your date and you’ve done nothing but mope around and act like you can’t walk three blocks to go see her.” Bucky’s jaw twitched, 

“I can’t.” He lifted a dirty car part from under the hood. “You shoulda seen how upset she was Stevie.” His eyes glassy as he picked up the new clean part, disappearing back under the hood. The soft rambling of the radio in the background. “I put her in that situation. It’s my fault for that.” 

“You didn’t know someone was going to do something like that.” Steve defends, “How could you have known? If that couple hadn’t walked by--”

“Whose to say someone else wouldn’t have done the same thing? I can’t put her in a situation where she could get seriously hurt. That bottle hit me, but if it had hit her?” Bucky scoffed, “I would be sitting in a holding right now or on my way to Sing Sing I swear.” Steve sat back in his chair, staring at his friend. 

“Sunset Park is growing in Hispanic population.” He stated factually, “Things will change, people will grow. This segregation won’t last forever. Not when there’s guys like us.” Bucky smirked at him, 

“Barnes and Rogers knocking every piece of shit on their ass in Brooklyn.” He joked, “Home grown vigilantes.” 

“We should go.” Steve offered, “Tonight.” Bucky stared at him skeptically. 

“To Sunset Park?” Bucky’s heart skipped in his chest, as Steve smirked at him, 

“Yeah, to Sunset Park.” 

To this little barrio that Bucky and Steve didn’t belong in. And it was clear. A culture shock. But everyone who glanced at them didn’t bat an eye. Maybe they were used to interlopers? The temperature had just begun to rise in the city, but on these streets it felt like summer had already hit. It was at least ten degrees hotter here, the black tar holding that heat. Music spilled into the streets. This horn heavy fast paced jive that Bucky imagined was coming from the little dance club you’d told him about. Maybe that’s where he’d find you? 

The club was hot, messy. Bodies everywhere. A dancing style the boys had never seen before. It was close, so close. Sweat lined bodies and rhythmic hips gyrating to a pulsing beat. The band was playing on a small stage and a woman in a tight red dress was crooning her smoky voice over a microphone with words Bucky half picked up.

Something about lovers. Something about a revolution. He couldn’t be sure. The woman’s words spilled fast. His heart stopped when he spotted the bar. Your hair was loose, spilling in thick waves down your back and pinned back by a red peony. A matching red dress, not tight like the singers, but tighter than anything he’d ever seen you it. Your cherry painted lips parted as you sipped from a tumbler glass filled with some kind of amber liquid with a slice of orange and a cherry. 

He felt naughty, like he was taking a peek at you in a way he wasn’t supposed to. 

He’d never even seen his own mother without her hair perfectly pinned and curled. The hair loose and free, combed out and he wanted to bury his face in it. He could almost imagine you so soft, so relaxed and carefree. You laughed at something the girl said next to you, but before his feet moved to bring himself closer to you Mateo came into frame. 

The tall Hispanic man was handsome. Bucky could see that. His hair was slicked back and there was a tattoo of a pin up model on his right forearm. A little dangerous, hardly anyone outside of sailors had tattoos. It made Bucky wonder if he was one. If so… you know what they say about sailors. The guy would never be faithful to you. Mateo brushed your hair off your neck, pressing his lips to your cheek. And Bucky’s heart broke.

Had you really given up on him? 

Maybe so.

Maybe this was a mistake. 

“Is that the guy?” Stevie asked from beside him. Bucky nodded, sighing, 

“Yeah.” He quickly turned and walked from the club. The air didn’t feel as hot this time. Bucky stomped angrily a few buildings away, Steve following him at a slower pace. “We shouldn’t have come here.”

Steve sighed heavily, “She likes you Bucky.” 

“I love her.” Bucky emphasized. He shook his head, turning to face his friend, the club music a dull thump against his rib cage. “If she would marry me tonight, I would--”

“You’re so intense, Buck.” Steve sighed and rubbed his forehead, “You’ve been hooked on this girl for almost a year now, I know you love her, but you have to be logical here. She likes you too, I don’t know if she loves you, but she definitely likes you. I think she’s just scared.” Bucky stood, hands on his hips. 

He looked over Steve’s shoulder, watching you step from the club, Mateo hot on your heels. His breath catching in his chest as you caught his eye. He watched your red lips part a slight stumble on your feet and Mateo helped steady you before following your line of sight to see Bucky standing there, mere feet away. 

His lips pulled in a frown, hands leaving your waist as he straightened, pulling his shoulders back. Mateo was a big guy, but so was Bucky. 

“I thought I told you to not come around here anymore.” Mateo yelled. Bucky watched you put a hand to his chest, trying to push him back slightly. 

“I thought you meant the factory.” It spilled from Bucky’s mouth before he could stop it. Shut up Barnes. 

“Bucky,” Steve said to him in warning. The jealousy Bucky felt seeing Mateo’s hands on you flushed his neck. He couldn’t stop.

“You’re a funny man, aren’t you?” Mateo stepped up to him, his chest almost touching Bucky’s, Mateo’s dark brown eyes locking with Bucky’s blue. 

“What are you going to do?” Bucky spat. Your hand pressed to his chest, a hand pressed in likeness to Mateo’s where you pushed them apart, stepping between. 

“Stop it,” You said sternly, “Both of you.” Mateo glared down at you,

“Los hombres estan hablando. [Men are speaking],” He spat, grabbing your arm roughly and yanking you to the side. You stumbled on uneasy feet, buzzed from the drinks in the bar. Steve caught you, helping you steady as Bucky’s fist met Mateo’s jaw. 

A mirror of a week ago. But Mateo didn’t throw a punch back. 

“You see this man.” Mateo pointed to Bucky, fuming, blood in his mouth, “This idiot you’re messing around with.” Bucky smacked the guy’s hand out of his face, the man turning back to him as you started crying. “You see, if you hit me you’re a goddamn hero. If I hit you I get jail time.” Mateo spat blood on Bucky’s shoes. “Stay away from her.”

“Mateo,” You called shakily. “Stop.” Bucky wanted to break his face, but you looked so scared. It was his fault this time. He put you into this position. Not the stranger. Not Mateo. He did this. And he wanted to puke. “James.” Softer this time, almost a whimper. Your glassy eyes meeting his, “Usted tiene que ir. [You have to go.]” He shook his head, 

“Y/N” Bucky knew his voice sounded pathetic. But he’s so sorry. Please don’t leave with Mateo. Please. Your eyes snapped between his and Mateo’s before settling back on his. 

“James, please.” Bucky felt like he was missing out on something here. Some kind of exchange that made him uneasy.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Steve had whispered to you. 

“She’ll be fine.” Mateo bit, laying a hand out and gesturing for you to come over to him. Bucky wanted to kill him. Isn’t that what he said earlier? Sing Sing. Bucky watched you take the few steps on shaky legs back to Mateo’s side. The two boys watching as you looked at them once again before Mateo wrapped and arm around your shoulder, pulling you tightly under his arm. “This is your last warning James.” Mateo glared at the both of them. 

The two of you disappeared into a building across the street. The one Bucky assumed that you lived in. 

“Buck.” Steve started,

“Don’t say anything.” Please. 

This time he stayed away for two weeks. Hands in his jumpsuit pockets. He’d left work early today having worked late yesterday. He had to do this. He didn’t have any time to change, hands still dirty, forehead with a sheen of sweat. The creeping summer sun didn’t help any. His car sat silently in front of him just in case he needed a quick escape.

He’d had a lot of time to think about it. A lot of nights unable to sleep, tossing and turning, cursing himself for being such an idiot. A hothead. That’s what his Ma had called him before. “So stupid.” He mumbled to himself. 

It was embarrassing, but more importantly you probably hated him. The way Mateo grabbed you though, it set his blood boiling. He couldn’t help it. If a man was willing to put his hands on you like that in the street, he could only imagine… no. He didn’t want to imagine that. Fists clenching in his pockets. 

Mateo would never put his hands on you again, not if Bucky could help it. 

The familiar chatter, the girls were finally off work and you stepped out like a dream. Shoulders scandalously bare. The off the shoulder white blouse you wore was tucked into a silky powder blue skirt. Bucky imagined pressing a kiss to your bare skin. He wondered if your neck was as soft as your hands were. 

Your breath faltered when you’d seen him standing there. You’d felt so embarrassed at the way Mateo had acted when he found Bucky outside of the club two weeks ago, but it had been the second time Bucky had fought to defend your honor and honestly you didn’t know how to feel about it. 

He was young. You both were, but what he felt for you seemed so wild and untamed. You’d never experienced this before. It terrified you. 

He pushed off the wall, his hands leaving his pockets. You remembered those hands, calloused, working hands. “I’m sorry.” He said immediately. You felt the eyes of the girls behind you and you wished they would just disappear, but they were nosey and you were going to have no such luck. “I was such an idiot, I shouldn’t have….” the two of you took a step in tandem towards each other. “He shouldn’t put his hands on you like that.” A chill went down your spine. 

Mateo. 

When you’d first moved he was a stunning prospect. Perfect hair, chiseled jaw, a couple of tattoos, and the ability to speak English. He could provide. He could pave a life for you here. But he had a wicked temper. One you’d found yourself at the end of more than once. 

You shake your head. “It’s complicated.” You said, the two of you taking another step closer in tandem. Bucky started at you for a moment, before brushing his fingers against your arm. 

“Please forgive me,” He said, “I never meant to hurt you.” Confusion.

“You didn’t hurt me, James.” You placed your hand on his arm, “I just don’t know what to do, I don’t know if we should be doing this.” Bucky stared at you with glassy eyes. “The more time we spend together the more people seem to hate us.” Your thumb stroked his arm softly. He placed a hand over yours.

“I’m crazy about you dahlin, from the bottom of my heart.” He stated smoothly, “No one else matters, I can take care of you. I wanna take care of you.” Marriage implied. 

“James.” Your voice thick with emotion. The heat between your bodies severe.

“Y/N.” It was your Mother. Bucky stepped back from you and your Mother almost stepped between the two of you. 

“James solo quería verme, eso es todo. [James just wanted to see me that’s all.]” You tried to explain. She held her hand up to you, ceasing you from speaking. She studied James for a moment before shoving her bag in his arms. 

“Take us home.” She said, “My feet hurt.” Bucky looked between you and your mother before quickly nodding and opening the passenger door for her. The older woman slipped into the seat and he shut the door before turning to you questioningly. You only shrugged. You had no idea what she was doing or what she wanted. 

Truly it wasn’t far back to the apartment, but Bucky drove diligently, the car silently parked. And he definitely carried your mother’s bag all the way up to the apartment. You’d unlocked the door, Bucky waiting for the two of you to enter before your mother turned to him, 

“Vamos [Come on].” And he stepped in the apartment. 

It was small.. Cozy. Vibrantly decorated. Pictures of family on the walls and a picture of Jesus hanging over the dining table. The apartment seemed messy, but everything had its place. The two of you stood awkwardly side by side as your Mother began taking food out of the fridge. 

“You fix things? Yes?” Your Mother asked him. He opened and closed his mouth, looking over at you to see you shrug at him again. 

“Yes ma’am.” He stuttered, “I can fix some things.” She nodded, pointing towards the tool box that Mateo had left by the front door. 

“Our bathroom sink isn’t working,” You explained, “Mateo can’t fix it, and we can’t afford a plumber.” You looked to your mother questioningly, to which she gave no reply. Bucky nodded, 

“I’ll take a look at it.” He fixed the sink, then he fixed the bedroom door that’s hinge was loose, and then he fixed the living room window so that it would actually open, letting a cool breeze into the hot apartment. He was sweating and as you and your Mother cooked in the kitchen the temperature had only risen. His jumpsuit was off of his arms and tied around his waist. The white undershirt he wore underneath smudged with dirt and sweat from his work. 

“Here.” A glass with a muddled looking liquid in it. With first sip Bucky couldn’t place the flavor. Something he’d never had before. You sat next to him where he rest on the windowsill. “She wants you to stay for dinner, if that’s okay.” Bucky looked at your Mother’s back. The older woman was spooning something in a pot. He nodded, 

“Of course.” A grin. He finally feels like he’s won this. He did it. He’s in. They’ve cooked him dinner right? His Ma wouldn’t cook dinner for anyone she didn’t like. 

He’d never eaten food like this before. Rice and beans, these fried banana looking things, meat that was spicy and made his tongue burn but he couldn’t stop eating it. Whenever his plate emptied your Mother, Claudia, would refill it. He was grateful for the jumpsuit because if he was wearing slacks he was sure they’d be unbuttoned by now. He leaned back heavily in his seat after his third plate, taking another sip of the sweet juice you’d placed before him when he’d sat down. 

“That was incredible,” Bucky praised, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Caudia smiled, looking between you and him. She looked at you before beginning, “Si vas a hacer esto, debes saber que no será fácil. [If you’re going to do this, you have to know it will not be easy.]” You nodded, looking at Bucky across from you. Your Mother sighed heavily, “Solo quiero que seas feliz mija, eso es todo lo que siempre quise, por eso vinimos aquí [I just want you to be happy mija, that is all I ever wanted, that is why we came here.]”

“Él me hace feliz. [He makes me happy.]” You whispered, cheeks growing hot. Bucky’s hand reached out and grabbed yours softly. 

“Ella me hace feliz. [She makes me happy.]” He agreed, looking at your Mother very seriously. “No quiero nada más que hacerla feliz ... por el resto de nuestras vidas. [I want nothing more than to make her happy… for the rest of our lives.]” It was bold, but worked. Your Mother smiling softly and humming. 

“Alright, now do the dishes, an old woman is tired.” She stepped from her chair, circling around to turn the radio in the living room to an ambling level, sitting on the couch and taking out her knitting needles. Leaving the two of you to pack up the leftover food and stand hip to hip at the sink. 

A rambling comes over the radio which your Mother turns up, the hispanic announcer stating that the Germans had begun air attacks on Great Britain. Bucky stiffened beside you, his hands pausing in his drying before continuing, but much slower. 

“Are you okay?” You asked him, he smiled back at you, 

“Yeah, I’m good.” He leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple. Soft lips against your skin. “We just might be going to war soon is all.” He shrugged, “My old man fought in the last one, he served his country like he was supposed to.” 

“So if we go to war…” Your voice trailed off. Bucky looked at you with a strange expression before his boyish grin came back across his face. 

“Let’s not worry about that right now dahlin,” He bumped your hip softly with his, “It’s a possibility, not a certainty.” You hummed softly in response, unsure. If that’s what he wanted to do you’d support him, you had to right? If we went to war. 

If. 

“I have to talk to you about something.” Bucky sat in front of his parents. The girls were already off at school, their chatter and yelling silenced by the closing of the heavy oak front door. Winnie and George Barnes looked at their son from their places. His father cleaning up the girl’s plates, his mother packing their lunches for the day. 

“What is it son?” George placed the dishes in the sink, turning to sit back down in front of Bucky. 

“I’ve met a girl.” He started, his Mother stopped what she was doing and turned to him fully, “She’s amazing. Smart, beautiful, she makes dresses and is really talented. Becks met her and she’ll tell you how incredible Y/N is....”

“So when are you going to bring her home?” His Mother asked eagerly, laying a hand on his Father’s shoulder. “We’d love to meet her.” He’d never brought anyone home before, he’d never even mentioned a girl to his parents other than school dances. 

“There’s one problem,” He started, “Not to me, not to us, but…” This felt hard to say. He didn’t know how they’d react. “She’s from Cuba.” He said, “I met her last year, when she first arrived, but I haven’t really had the chance to get to know her until now.” He thought back to your apartment, your Mother softly humming to Billie Holiday on the couch, the two of you swaying side by side washing dishes. 

Sitting on the fire escape afterward, your back against his chest. You’d told him about the beaches in Cuba. How you loved playing in the sand as a child. He told you about his Dad talking him to Dodgers games and his Ma trying to teach him how to sew. His fingers weren’t practiced enough for it. You told him about your father. How he died when you were young. He remembers pressing a kiss to your temple. To your cheek when he left. 

His parents sighed, Winnie coming to sit next to George. “Son, it will be very hard for the two of you, you know that right?” His Dad said, it wasn’t a stern voice, but it was firm. Factual. Winnie looked at her husband and then to her son, 

“The world is changing,” She started, “You’re not going to be the first couple to do this and I’m sure you won’t be the last… Do you love her?” 

The smile you gave him as he stood in your doorway, his hands pressed onto the door jam above your head. “I’m gonna marry you, you know that?” He whispered. 

Your eyes widened a fraction before you grinned, “I do.” 

“Yeah Ma,” Bucky smiled, “I do.” The two parents nodded. 

“Okay then.” George nodded, “I think we’ve got a bit of work to do.” He patted his wife’s knee, giving her a kiss before standing. “Let’s get down to the shop kid.” 

“Invite her over for dinner,” Winnie brushed her son’s hair out of his forehead, that errant curl that never seemed to stay in place. “As soon as you can.” Bucky nodded, a grin on his face. 

“Will do Ma.” A kiss to his forehead, 

“I love you.” And he loved her too. He felt lucky to have his parents. He wasn’t sure if they were anyone else they’d be as accepting. Later he’d painted a sign for his Dad. One to go in the front window of the shop. 

EVERYONE WELCOME

The backlash was sure. Bucky and his Dad didn’t care. They were well known and trusted enough to keep business and while they would have never turned anyone away before George wanted to make sure that his son knew he supported him with his decision. Business dipped at first. Men that were once close friends yelling in protest, screaming expletives, slurs. Bucky had to keep himself in check multiple times. 

But George stayed steadfast. “If you don’t do anything,” He said to Bucky as they repaired the front window, “You’re just as bad as them.” And Bucky understood. They hired men who needed work, anyone who needed work and was skilled with cars. It was then that business picked up. They became busier than ever. And they were making enough money that Bucky started stashing some away. 

Was it for a wedding? Maybe.

A house? Maybe that too.

But for right now, as he sat in the driver’s seat of his car, arm wrapped around your shoulder at the drive in he could only be grateful for everything that had happened. Everything that led him here. He could only be in this moment. The moment where in the dark of the car, while Pride and Prejudice played on a big screen two cars ahead, you pressed those rosy lips to his for the very first time. And he knew he was lost to this forever. 

.

.

.

taglist //  @corneliabarnes @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @albinotigerpython @cake-writes @iheartsebastianstan @000bananaclip000 @ shadowbuisness  @sprinkleofbooty @gifsbysimplysonia @vhsbarnes  @the-soulofdevil @tinmunky

#1940s bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers #latina!reader #latinx!reader #challenge #sebastian stan

[bat-besties]

Rain towards morning

AO3

Chapter One

Platonic Roman and Virgil

A friendship grows between Roman, a lonely farmer, and a mysterious stranger. But when Virgil's past catches up with both of them, Roman digs himself in farther than he imagined as his heroism is cruelly tested.

Edited by the lovely @mariniacipher! 

5.5k

*

Roman met Virgil in the gentle mist of morning, dew bejewelling every blade of grass and drooping flower in the meadow sloping down from his farm. He occasionally found people sleeping under the hedgerows, most of them travelling for work, but usually they made an effort to shelter themselves from the elements.

This man lay in the middle of the field, droplets of dew clinging to his eyelashes and fingers dug into the earth at his sides. He was pale as the fog over the hills in the distance, and his thin white shirt fluttered in the breeze. Deep eyebags shadowed his eyes.

"Hello!" Roman called over to him, hurrying down the slope to get to him.

The man startled awake and scrambled back.

"And what the fuck do you want?" he snapped, wide eyes darting back and forth between the gate and Roman.

Roman halted. "Nothing! Nothing!" He laughed, trying to diffuse the tension. "You looked like a corpse."

"Thanks."

"No, like..." Roman cut himself off with a shake of his head. "I was concerned! You're not dressed for the weather."

The man ducked his head as he snickered, damp hair hanging into his face.

Roman was thoroughly confused but, well, there was no use getting hung up on that. "Do you want breakfast?"

"What?"

"Breakfast!" Roman said brightly. "My farm is just up on the ridge. Come and have breakfast with me."

"For...what?"

"Free?" Roman tried.

The man unfolded, rising onto his feet with an airy grace. He was taller than Roman, but looked thin enough to be blown away with a strong breeze. "Free," he repeated warily. "Just as a gift?"

"I promise," Roman said, raising up his right hand. "On my honour!"

"I'll settle on wagering your farm instead."

Roman wasn't entirely sure whether that was a joke but, well, he wasn't planning to play any mind games over eggs. "On my farm, you'll owe me nothing."

"Okay," the stranger said. He wrapped an arm over his chest. "Thank you."

"No problem," Roman said, setting back home. "Where did you come from?"

"The, uh, road. Just trying to make the next town." Roman glanced at the man's hands, delicate and pale as though he'd never done a day's work in his life.

"Which town?"

"Do you usually ask so many questions?" The stranger complained, though he didn't sound too annoyed.

"Just making conversation," Roman said lightly.

"Huh. Alright."

He led him back up the hill, to his home. Roman's house was comfortable and cosy, a haven of well-fitted logs and patterned curtains, and had smoke drifting from the chimney. With a flourish, he opened the door. "Come on in and dry off."

At that, the stranger flinched back. "Oh, I- I don't really- wouldn't that be- I don't want to impose."

"Sir, I think you need to calm down just slightly," Roman said. "It's alright!"

The stranger bristled like a cat, drawing his shoulders up to his ears. "Maybe I should go."

"I’m confused," Roman admitted.

"I'll go," the stranger repeated more firmly. He turned away from Roman, looking at the misty mountains in the distance. "Sorry."

"Can you...tell me what’s wrong?"

"I won't sit down and join you for a meal."

"At least get dry?" Roman offered. "You're soaking wet."

The man rubbed the back of his neck with an earth-stained hand. "I'm fine out here."

Roman closed his eyes for a moment and prayed for the strength to not insult the man, even though he badly wanted to. But, he did not have that luck. "I came to give you breakfast, not play cryptic-crossword puzzles with someone as pale as the paper they’re printed on."

The stranger let out a huff of laughter. "Fine. Whatever. It's the house. I don't want to be in it."

"What's wrong with my house?" Roman asked indignantly.

"Nothing!" the stranger assured him. "Nothing. I just...prefer not to have a roof over my head; dumb, I know."

"A little," Roman admitted, "but nothing I can't work with. Is that why you were...sleeping under the stars?"

The stranger made a sound of assent.

Roman shrugged. "You could’ve just said so. Sit! Sit down on the doorstep and I'll get you something!"

The stranger folded down to sit cross-legged a few steps away from the doorway. "Thank you. I do appreciate it."

"Chivalry is my middle name! Well, it's really Patton, after my dad, but we don't need to quibble about particulars."

That made the stranger laugh again, and Roman felt a rush of excitement at the sound. Maybe knighthood was out of bounds, but he liked to romanticise his father's hospitality. Now that he was an adult he was finally free to help others in the most dramatic way he could.

Roman crouched to stoke the fire, keeping the door open to talk to the stranger. "So, where are you hailing from?"

"Here and there."

"How about your family?"

"All over. Yours?"

"A few valleys over, actually," Roman said, cracking an egg into a pan with a pleasant sizzle. "We came over to stake this land for me when I was twenty."

"Anyone else here?"

"No, no-" Roman carefully put in a second egg. "I would have liked to live out here with friends, but everyone else had their own plans: marriage, town jobs, helping their families."

The stranger shrugged. "Eh, friends are overrated anyhow.”

“What’s better? Romance?” Roman scoffed.

“Spirits, no.” The stranger pulled a face. “Not my thing either. Friends are nice; being alone is nicer.”

“How stoic and standoffish off you.”

The stranger laughed. “I’ll be your friend here, then, for a little while.”

“That might be nice,” Roman said softly.

A playful breeze blew through the grass. He sneezed as it tumbled inside and tickled his face. He reached for a plate and piled it with the eggs, some bread, and cheese.

"Do you have a name?" the stranger asked him.

"Roman- unless I misremember."

"I'll remember."

"That's a little ominous," Roman said with a laugh.

"No, it's not," the stranger said simply. "Hospitality is not a bad thing to be remembered for." He stood up to take his plate from Roman, then settled back across from him.

"How about your name?" Roman asked.

"What begins with the end and ends with the beginning?" the stranger said.

"What?" Roman said slowly. "I don't know."

"Figure it out," the stranger said with a smirk, tearing off a hunk of his bread and popping it in his mouth. "Fuck," he breathed out, face suddenly losing about ten layers of cryptic protection and instead devoting itself to staring lovingly at the bread.

The shift in behaviour startled a laugh out of Roman. "It's still warm from baking."

"It's not bad," the stranger said, tearing off another piece and dipping it into the yolk of his egg with one hand while feeding himself some cheese with the other.

Roman decided to leave him free to eat, puzzling over what in the world began with the end and ended with the beginning. An ouroboros?

By the time the stranger had wolfed down the whole plate -which admittedly didn’t take very long - and regained a bit of colour in his face, Roman was as stumped as he had been in the beginning.

"So? What is your name? A...full stop, maybe?"

"Fucked if I know," the stranger said cheerfully. "I just didn't want you to bother me while I was eating. You can call me Virgil."

"You could have just asked me not to talk to you! You said you would be a friend!"

The stranger shrugged, almost embarrassed. "Thought you liked the cryptic thing." He answered after a beat too long.

"You could be more polite since I home-cooked that meal for you," Roman said indignantly.

"I don't owe you anything for the meal," Virgil said coolly. "That includes manners."

Roman rolled his eyes. "My deepest apologies."

"Don't need 'em." Virgil got to his feet and handed Roman his plate back. "Thank you very much for the meal. Genuinely."

"Well, keep the windows open for luck to blow in," Roman said. "Or the, uh, metaphorical windows anyhow."

"And open to let it take its leave again," Virgil finished the traditional farewell. "Literal windows for you."

"Do you want anything for the road?" Roman asked. "I could pack something?"

"Nah, I'll be fine," Virgil replied. He tugged the edges of his shirt over his wrists and slouched before he gave Roman a parting salute. "Bye, Roman."

Roman watched Virgil's back disappear down the road as he washed up, then threw open his windows to air his home as he began his day in earnest.

*

Roman did not expect to see Virgil again, as was the way of these things.

But a month or so later, as he dragged his chair outside to watch the sunset, a figure in white made its way up to his farm from the road. The evening was still and heavy, no clouds in the sky to block the oppressive heat.

The figure stopped just in front of him. "Hey Roman," he said, cupping the back of his neck. "I'm Virgil. Again."

"I remember you," Roman said, surprised. "No rooves, no manners, no cloak- if I'm not wrong?"

Virgil laughed through his nose. "And I still haven’t got any of those."

"What brings you here?"

"You do, I guess-" Virgil was still just wearing his white shirt, but he lifted it up to reveal a hidden leather pouch he'd tied around his middle. He opened it up and pulled out a handful of shining silver, which he tipped into Roman's palms. "A gift."

"Shrieking spirits, that's a lot!" Roman said. "I can't take that just for breakfast!"

"It's not a payment." Virgil folded his arms in offence. "I just said it's a gift."

Roman frowned. "But why?"  

"Good things should come to good people," he said simply.

"Don't you want to keep that?" Roman's brow furrowed. "At least buy a cloak, dude, it won't be summer forever. You could even buy land-"

"I don't want land, or a cloak." Virgil put a clammy hand over Roman's and closed the farmer's fingers over the silver. "Good things for good people, that's the only aim."

"...you're a good people."

It wasn't clear if Virgil was shaking his head to dispel his laughter or because he disagreed."Just take it. Okay?"

Roman did. "How did you come by it?"

"It’s a gift.” Virgil looked at Roman as though that settled the matter completely.

How would a vagabond know someone giving gifts like that? “From whom?” “A friend.”

"Is it stolen?" Roman said nervously. "I don't want to get in trouble with the law. That would not be a good thing."

"Promise you won't," Virgil said breezily.

"Okay," Roman said. "Okay." He turned over the smooth pieces of silver in his hand. "Luck blew in, I suppose..."

"It blew in for you, because I let it go out," Virgil said, as easily as he finished the farewell before. "That's the way to go."Overhead, there was a slight movement in the sky; an unreliable promise of rain and reprieve from the heat. "How's your farm?" Virgil asked.

"Alright," Roman said. "The soil is a little dry for the time of year, but I'll manage if it's back to normal soon. Hoping they bring me rain."

"It's all we can do," Virgil said with a nod. "Well, use the silver for whatever."

"Stay a little while?" Roman asked him. "Come on! We should celebrate! I have food leftover from dinner- I should thank you!"

Virgil wavered, then moved to tiptoe to reach the windows near Roman’s head. Time and food, presumably, had flushed his skin the same pink of the distant sunset against his white shirt- bang.

He jumped as Virgil opened his shutters.

Without a word, he then set out to the other side of Roman's house, and there was a corresponding bang as he opened the shutters on that side too.

Virgil made a full circuit to where Roman was sitting in thorough confusion. "For the spirits," he said simply. "You need rain, don't you? Silver won't buy you that."

"I must admit, Virgil," Roman said. "that you are beginning to worry me somewhat. Luck is a superstition. I do love a good story, but that doesn’t mean you have to go around just giving people things."

"Why not?" Virgil shrugged. "I could eat, if there’s food going. And your meadow is nice."

"I can keep the doors open," Roman offered. "And just drag my mattress to the doorway for you to have a decent rest, at least."

"No rooves," Virgil said.

"...can I at least ask why that is? Or how long you've done that?"

"No and no," Virgil said, crossing wrapping his arms over his chest.

"Maybe it's an avoidance thing," Roman posited. "If you tried a little bit of a roof-"

"No rooves," Virgil repeated firmly. "No rooves, no walls."

Roman got up from his chair and went into his kitchen for food. "No manners," he added, in a teasing tone. "And no cloak. Got it, got it-"

"Took you long enough." But Virgil was mollified.

By the time Roman came out, Virgil was sitting on the chair watching the sunset, the light of it reflecting against his skin.

"Seat-hog," Roman said, handing him the plate.

Virgil sat cross-legged and rested the plate in the middle of his legs. There was some spicy sausage, leftover cold potatoes, and a pile of preserved fruit with a little wall of bread crust around it so he could save it for dessert.

Virgil happily dipped a potato in the fruit, eliciting a pained noise from Roman.

"Why would you mix those?" he cried.

"Why not?"

"But why?"

"Why not?" Virgil repeated, carefully sandwiching some fruit between a piece of sausage and potato.

"But you're- it's all wrong-"

"Don't knock it till you try it."

"But I made a little battlement to keep the fruit separate-"

"I just gave you silver, don't tell me what to do."

"I tried so hard to make it nice-" Roman said with a melodramatic sigh.

"But I don’t care," Virgil said with a mischievous grin. "Fuck you." He popped his stack of food in his mouth, seeming to relish the clashing flavours and teasing Roman in equal measure.

Roman threw his hand to his chest with a dramatic noise of offence.

Virgil laughed, leaving off the fruit and tucking in properly. He had the same single-minded focus on this meal as he had the last one, an unabashed joy in it which, like anything else about him, was just to the left of normal.

"Have you been having enough to eat?" Roman couldn't help but ask.

"Me? Oh, sure," Virgil said. "I've been travelling here and there; don't worry about me."

"Any plans?" Roman asked, settling on the doorstep since it seemed Virgil wouldn't move from his chair. "Future dreams? For me- I want to set up an orchard! And long term...I don't know, I want to do something big and grand and heroic. It varies on the day, really."

There was quiet for a moment as Virgil finished his mouthful, then he stretched his arms upwards and held it for a moment, content. "I might head up the mountains, tomorrow. See what's there."

"Nothing else? Really?"

A breeze brushed against Roman's ankles, although the rest of the night was still, and it wound upwards to ruffle Virgil's hair before it disappeared again. "Maybe I'll find more good things for good people. Can't promise anything, though."

"How old are you, even?"

"Why's it matter?"

"Well, you won't be young forever," Roman pointed out. "I'm all for great and noble journeys! But- I see people in old age sleeping outside like you with no money, no savings, nowhere to go-"

"Great," Virgil interrupted him. "Maybe I'll meet some more of them and find some silver for them."

"Not my point." Roman was uncharacteristically serious.

Virgil ignored him and returned his focus to the food.

Roman was beginning to feel distinctly guilty for the silver in his pockets. "Even if you don't want to get tied down, at least get… get a horse, or something-"

"I'm happy," Virgil said firmly. "Okay?"

"On your own head be it," Roman grumbled.

"Which it is."

"You're insufferable," Roman said lightly.

"I know."

Roman waited until Virgil had finished up before he broached conversation again. "How far away have you gone? I've not been beyond these few valleys, I was hoping to travel more, but," He shrugged. "the farm needs me."

It was the right question. Virgil tilted his head and considered it. "I've been to the sea on both sides. Up to the mountains in the West. Didn't like the desert. Don't do cities anymore, but I went to as many as I could before now."

"The capital?"

"Yup."

"You have to tell me about it!" Roman said, excited. "The theatres and museums and...all of it."

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, I'm- what do you want to know? I can't tell you anything a book wouldn't. Less, probably."

"What's your opinion?"

"I, uh- I liked the marketplaces. The people and the colours, and the more exotic goods...the theatre was alright too. I like tragedies, war stories, that kind of thing."

"Have a favourite?"

"...I dunno."

"What do you like about them?"

"Sad and scary stuff can be interesting, cathartic, you know- I think that you can do more with them, I guess."

"I can see that!" Roman said. "I like a happy ending though."

"I think they're overrated."

"Do you have a favourite sad ending?"

Virgil began to talk more about a famous love tragedy and its subversions of genre, and Roman, genuinely interested, drew him out on the subject until it was exhausted. Just as it seemed they were done, Virgil ventured a story about an incident on the Northern Road of his own accord, and the flow of the conversation continued.

Once the sun had well and truly fallen down from the sky, Roman began to yawn. "I might have to turn in; there's work tomorrow. Sleep over, let's have breakfast together tomorrow."

"Sure," the vagrant said, pushing himself to his feet with a fluid movement. "I'll see you then."

Roman resisted the urge to offer a blanket, and waved Virgil goodnight. He closed his door but not his shutters, figuring he might as well invite in the spirits of luck and rain. When he was younger he’d wanted to believe in them, leaving the shutters open and sometimes waking up with his dad’s homemade candy under the pillow. But now he knew that if they weren’t kids’ fairy stories they were at most metaphors about opportunity and the vagaries of fortune.

Roman woke up to gentle pattering on his roof and the wind spitting raindrops onto his face through the windows. He stumbled up to bang the windows shut before tucking himself back in.

He felt like he was forgetting something. Had he fed the chickens...

Virgil! Oh, that was it. He tugged his bedclothes into a cloak as he opened up the door and peeked out at his fields.

There was still a pale figure lying in the middle of the meadow.

"Fool," Roman said, between fond and exasperated, and checked the sky for what the pattern of rain would be that day. Not long; it seemed. The clouds were already mostly centred above the farm; the distant sky was blue and clear.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Virgil!" he yelled over the pattering rain. "Oh, Virgil!"

The figure startled up, throwing his hands over his head as if the rain would beat him.

"Virgil!" Roman yelled again. "At least find a tree?"

After a moment, Virgil uncurled and looked over to where Roman was.

"What?" he snapped.

"It's raining!" Roman called, a little redundantly. "Find a tree!"

"Find your own bloody tree!" Virgil threw himself back onto the ground, pointedly turning away from Roman.

"I am going to murder him," Roman muttered to himself. "The art of chivalry! The gratitude of a guest! Oh, but these things are so passé..."

He closed the door and started getting ready for the day. Pulling on his cloak, Roman headed out to feed his chickens. He went through his morning chores, trying to focus on the smell of petrichor and damp earth as well as the hiss of rain in the way his father had taught him. Simply paying attention to his senses helped him to dispel anger or anxiety.

He had just scattered the feed when- "Rabid roosters!" Roman screamed as Virgil appeared at his elbow.

"I've not got time for breakfast," Virgil said. He looked like the victim of a poorly-executed drowning. "I'm leaving."

"All because I woke you up?" Roman asked, pressing a hand over his racing heart. "No need to try and shock me!"

"Didn't try, I succeeded," Virgil said with a small smile. "And no, I do actually have to leave."

"For what?"

"For nothing; I'll go for free," Virgil quipped. He turned and walked away. No wonder he had surprised Roman; he made barely any noise as he walked.

"I think you quite like being dramatic," Roman said. "And I think that you could do quite well in one of your tragedies, you have a talent for theatrics."

"Oh really?"

"I'm sorry I woke you up- I just didn't want you to be soaked through. Is that so evil?"

Virgil spread his arms. "Because I wasn't soaked through before."

"Just stay for breakfast," Roman asked. "Why are you making such a big deal of it?"

Virgil's eyes narrowed. "I'm not; you are."

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the meadow," Roman said, sotto voce.

Virgil mimicked his tone, widening his eyes for emphasis. "Someone woke up being yelled at."

"Fine!" Roman said. "Keep the windows open for luck to blow in."

Virgil folded his arms. "And open to let it leave again."

So Virgil left in anger, and Roman was left to mull over it as he startled the chickens with a handful of violently thrown feed.

*

The third time Virgil came was only three weeks later.

It was a day where the sky seemed higher than usual, wide and blowsy with scudding clouds in patchwork colours. Wind rippled an ocean of grass into rolling waves.

Roman was pacing the perimeter of his property, checking the fences for damage, when a distinctive white-shirted figure came into view on the road from the mountains.

"Hey." Virgil saluted Roman with two fingers as he reached him, leaning over his fence. "Are we good now?"

Roman blew out a breath with a laugh, waving a hand. "That was ages ago, ages and ages and ages."

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound that good."

"I admit, I was somewhat...perturbed."

"Sorry.” Roman figured that was as much of an apology as he’d get, but at least it sounded sincere. “I was passing this way and I figured...might as well say hi."

Well, it wasn't like Roman got a lot of visitors. "Hi," he said, "I'm a little busy for now, but you can come around with me."

Virgil hopped over the fence with ease. "Okay."

Roman carried on his stroll. "So- did you see those mountains?"

"I did," Virgil said, "The sunrise was pretty from up there, but I don't know if all the climbing was worth it."

"I guess you have to do the climbing to know."

Virgil looked at Roman properly. "Smart."

"Oh. Thank you." Roman grinned. "And I used your silver to plant my orchard. I'm starting with apples."

"Nice."

That time, Roman didn't so much as offer for Virgil to come inside, and he let Virgil sleep in as long as he liked out in the meadow.

It rained after Virgil left, and Roman began to wonder.

A few months later, Virgil came back. He gave Roman sticks of cinnamon from distant markets for his apples, and wouldn't take a blanket for the night although his skin was freezing to the touch.

Maybe if they had to spend more time together then Virgil's contrary ways and Roman's short fuse would spark fights of more consequence. As it was, if Virgil left after a fight then both were over it by the time he returned for a plate of food and some conversation. They both liked theatre, they could bicker like anything, and friendship grew easily between them.

*

It was an autumn day, and Roman was picking apples when he heard the lightest of footsteps behind him.

"They look good."

Roman turned with a grin and tossed an apple down to Virgil. "All thanks to you. How are you?"

"Alright." Virgil bit into the apple and gave Roman a thumbs up. "Not bad."

"Not bad? Rubies are not redder! The grass is not more green! Honey not swee-" The ladder wobbled as Roman threw his hand out, and Virgil rushed forward to grab the base. Roman teetered in the air for a moment, until he grabbed onto a branch.

"Idiot," Virgil snapped, though Roman could hear the worry in his voice.

"Honey," Roman repeated breathlessly, "is not more sweet."

"Idiot." Virgil picked his apple off the ground and brushed the dirt off on his shirt.

"Let me guess," Roman said, climbing down the ladder, "you've already hit no manners."

"I never left no manners," Virgil said through a mouth full of apple.

"Charming."

Virgil grinned at him. "You know it."

Up close, Virgil looked exhausted. His permanent eye bags were dark as rain clouds, and he seemed to have lost the colour in his face that summer had given him. But there was nothing Roman's stranger hated more than a direct line of questioning. "What have you been up to?"

"This and that," Virgil said. "Trying...new things."

"What kind of new things?"

Virgil shrugged. "Helping more people in a bigger way."

"But I'm your favourite person you help?" Roman teased with a grin.

"Shut up," Virgil said, ducking under his overgrown fringe, and that was more of a confirmation than a yes would have been.

Roman laughed triumphantly. "Ah! You do love me!"

Virgil scowled. "You just have food."

"That's what they say about stray cats, but I chose to believe I can speak in feline whispers."

Virgil laughed through his nose. "So you can cat-whisper me?"

"When you hiss it means 'fuck off'," Roman said solemnly.

Virgil laughed again. "That it does."

"Who are the other people that are feeding you throughout the land?" Roman asked.

"There's an innkeeper in the West," Virgil said. "She always says I'm too skinny, and she collects little figurines so I bring them to her from all over. And, uh, if I need to buy things there's a pie shop I like who'll take shiny rocks for their kid. And anyone who lets their trees grow over into the road is kind of giving the fruit. Sometimes I offer to help out people and they offer food."

"But spirits forbid they pay you with it."

Virgil shrugged. "I don't mind jobs. I just prefer not to get stuck places."

"See? Cat."

"Maybe so." Virgil tugged another apple off Roman's tree without asking, then tossed it into the basket. "Can I stay tonight?"

"Of course."

Virgil smiled at Roman, eyes scrunching up.

Roman gave him a slow blink back in cat-smile, before breaking off with a laugh. "You know, you can help me out here or keep on talking from where you are, I don't mind."

"I'll help, as long as I get to go up the ladder."

"Sure."

Virgil scaled the ladder easily, and the leaves murmured contentedly among themselves as he began to stretch for the fruit Roman had missed. They worked together through the golden afternoon, chatting easily and piling the basket with apples.

As they reached the final tree, Roman moved around to the back of it, showing Virgil where a crack in the bark had begun to let in rot. "I tried everything," Roman said. "I think it might just become a glorious martyr for the others, so the rot doesn't spread."

Virgil tilted his head as he looked at the tree. "It's still mostly good...maybe it will go away by itself."

"You really think so?"

"I mean, I'm not sure, but maybe." Virgil nodded his head in consideration before turning back to Roman. "If that's us done, let's get dinner."

"Let's make Roman make you dinner, you mean," Roman teased.

"Or that," Virgil said. "I have, uh-"  He opened up his hidden pouch and pulled out some twists of paper. "More spices for you. Also-" He pulled out a little sparkly rock. "Cool rock!"

"Thank you! It is cool!" Roman said, accepting the gifts. "Come on, you can sit outside and peel potatoes with me. Earn your keep."

"I don't have a keep to earn," Virgil said sharply. A shadow fell over his face. "Not even as a joke."

"Fine, fine." Roman rolled his eyes at Virgil’s touchiness. "I'll do all of the potatoes, again-"

"I didn't say I wouldn't help you, just- forget it." Virgil set the apple-basket on his hip and started back to the house ahead of Roman. "How's your dad doing these days?"

"He's well." Roman chose to take the obvious diversion. "The family dog had puppies, so he's delighted at that."

Roman brought out a low stool for Virgil and they worked through the pile of potatoes together.

Roman liked to be neat, but Virgil was almost obsessive, carefully scraping off the thinnest layer of skin he could and digging out eyes with the very tip of his knife.

"You have done three in the time it took me to finish my pile."

Virgil looked up, as if surprised Roman was still there. "I'm just doing it right!"

"I thought you were hungry."

"I can do them quicker if you like, jeez." Virgil took off a more reasonable strip of skin. "Look, you lose half the potato."

"Must you argue about everything?"

The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirked up. "It takes two to argue, Roman."

"You argue enough for two people," Roman teased back, standing up and going over to the fire. "I'm going to start or the sun will start setting by dinner-time."

"Alright, alright!" Virgil said."I'm speeding up."

The afternoon began to slip away into a cool evening as they settled down to eat. Roman sat near the fire, leaving Virgil to balance his plate on the doorstep.

"Where are the spices from?"

"One from a peddler, one from a shop, one...I think was a gift?"

"You'd better not be poisoning me," Roman said, giving Virgil a mock-stern look.

Virgil laughed. "I make no promises."

The fire snapped and danced with the wind. Roman shifted closer to the fire and started on his potatoes. "So- where next?"

"I don't know," Virgil said. "Maybe the coast again, before winter sets in."

Roman met Virgil’s eyes, voice softening with his concern so as not to spook his stranger. "Do you have somewhere to stay when it snows?"

Virgil shrugged. "No, but I'll figure things out."

"You could stay here," Roman offered. "Not for long, just so that I know you're not freezing somewhere."

"I'll be fine, Roman," Virgil said, meeting his eyes. "I appreciate it, I really do, but I'll be fine."

Roman had a few snarky responses to that lined up, but he didn’t want the conversation to be carried away into bickering. He needed Virgil to know he was serious. "I worry about you."

"I worry about myself; I don't need you to. I always come back here in one piece, don't I?"

"I suppose so." Roman took Virgil's empty plate in for washing. "Still, you also come back hungry and cold, so forgive me for not being entirely convinced."

Virgil shrugged. "Not that hungry and not that cold. I'm going to go and sleep for now, if that's okay?"

Roman sighed. "Sure, but we'll finish talking in the morning."

Virgil rolled his eyes.

"All I offer is to help you!" Roman protested.

"And I appreciate it," Virgil replied earnestly before he got up. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight.”

Roman woke up to the sound of rain and banging on his door.

He stumbled out of bed, tugging open the door to see Virgil, silhouetted by the darkness. "Roman! Roman- something's happening-" Virgil broke off as if the air had been pulled from his lungs and he reached out a hand to grab Roman's as he fought for breath. "I- you need to get me out of here, you need to try and move me and I can't- no time to explain just-"

The instant Roman stepped forward to take Virgil's hands his vision flashed white.

#ts fic #virgil sanders #roman sanders #platonic prinxiety #sanders sides #hurt/comfort

[nosleepstillweak]

sunflower

~~inspired by the song sunflower by rex orange county~~

His eyes were closed but the boy could still feel the sun beating down on his face. He willed his racing thoughts to silence and instead mindlessly basked in the heat of the sunset. Crickets began to chirp from their hiding spots in the tall grass, a hearty chorus taking hold in the otherwise calm evening air. A car horn blared somewhere in the distance, but the boy couldn’t be bothered to care at that moment. For the first time in a long time, life was simple and he was content with that.

After a while, the boy rolled onto his stomach, finally fed up with being burnt by the sun. He slowly opened his eyes and studied the patch of meadow that surrounded him. He pressed his palms flat against the dirt to his sides, the earth underneath his fingers still damp from an afternoon shower. Clear droplets of water slipped from the bare leaves of summer flowers and intercepted the various paths of a squirming colony of evening bugs. An ant crested over the top of an anthill, briefly towering like a giant, before slipping out of sight into the nest’s opening.

Without thinking, the boy threaded his fingers through the grass and plucked up the first flower he could find--a sunflower. He studied it for a moment, taking in the sight of its turgid stem and delicate petals. His eyes drifted back towards the anthill and he stretched enough to slip the stem of the flower into the hole at the top. He would probably take it out later, bring the flower home and put it in a vase; in fact, he already knew the person he would give it to. He watched the flower sway in the wind with sparkling eyes, the thought of her enough to bring a smile to his face.

An all-too-familiar hollowness surged in the boy’s stomach. He sighed deeply, mind flitting through memories of a last meal, before he slowly found the will to push himself to his feet. Somewhere in the midst of the mesmerizing flower dance, the sun had dipped below the horizon and cast the meadow into a dark shadow. The moonlight alone was barely enough for the boy to see his hand in front of his face. A shiver worked its way down his spine. He felt shaky and disoriented as he attempted a step forward into the darkness. His foot sunk into soft soil--and then he heard a series of muted cracks.

The boy froze and looked down to his moonlit feet. To his horror, lifting his sneaker revealed the remains of a once towering anthill. Strewn in the dirt that was hard pressed in the imprint of his shoe were tiny ant carcasses, some stomped beneath the surface while others were squished nearly beyond recognition. The few still alive squirmed restlessly over the tip of his shoe, wounded bodies desperately clawing for any chance of survival. The boy found their helplessness to be too palpable--too familiar.

Turbulent clouds appeared out of nowhere and swallowed the moon in the night sky, thrusting the entire field into near darkness. The boy felt the wind simultaneously picking up around him and felt himself being pushed forward by a sheet of relentless gales. His foot was propelled in front of him without his content, landing in the mud with another resounding squelch. Another anthill was trampled into the dirt. This time, a sunflower had caught the brunt of the attack as well and laid broken in the massacre.

Every step forward was another hill destroyed, another future decimated. The boy couldn’t stop himself, nor could he stop the tears that rushed to his eyes. He wished that he could press pause and take a moment to stop and breath and correct himself--but he couldn’t. He just had to keep walking, and killing, and walking, and killing, until the only things left in his wake were broken bodies and shredded petals. The wind blew stronger and dragged him along with it, howling in his ears. It felt like there was no end, as if the boy were doomed to this forever. Walking, and killing, and walking, and killing, and walking, and killing--

He jerked awake with a breathless shout. His cheeks were wet and he quickly scrubbed away the tears with a muddy palm, daring himself to look up towards the sky. The sun hung lazily over the horizon, painting the meadow in a golden orange glow. Somehow, it still felt dull. The boy’s eyes travelled down to the dirt around him and focused on a trail of ants slowly proceeding back to their home after a hard day of work. He felt himself release a breath of air he didn’t know he was holding in.

The summer daze had been broken and all of his thoughts had returned in full force. The choir of cricket songs had been drowned out by the incessant chime of a blaring car horn. His head throbbed with thoughts of peace and war and everything in between. There was too much to think about, yet too little time to process it all--at least, too little to process it all on his own. With a shaky sigh, the boy snatched up his car keys from the grass and sought out the one person who seemed to be able to keep him out of his own head. The anthill was relieved of its decoration.

~~~

“Hey.” Even in the darkness of the night, her voice felt like a ray of sunshine. The boy almost melted at the sight of her smile, returning hers with a muted one of his own. She was already dressed in her pajamas, a faded yellow quilt drawn over her shoulders. The sweet scent of honeydew clung to her body and wafted into the air around her. Despite the modest backdrop of a summer evening in the suburbs, there was an almost angelic presence about her that even the darkest of nights couldn’t overshadow. The boy felt a blush spread across his cheeks. It was almost too cheesy, describing how perfect she was.

The couple stood together awkwardly for a moment, the boy swaying from side to side in the doorway of her house but not quite coming in. He was still jittery from the nightmare and she seemed to notice this, her smile slowly fading to a look of concern. He watched her eyes travel from his face down to the object in his hands and he was instantly jolted into motion. Her eyes widened in surprise as a tall, slim vase was thrusted towards her face by slightly trembling hands. A bright yellow sunflower peeked over its rim.

The boy’s face was flaming red but he managed a timid smile. There was a brief silence as he watched her wrap her mind around the sight of the gift, and then the sound of her laughter erupted into the air. She immediately crashed into him, taking the boy by surprise as she surrounded him in a bone-shattering hug. He couldn’t help the dopey smile that spread across his face as he leaned in to return the gesture. The warmth that blossomed in his chest was unparalleled to anything he had ever experienced before. His clothes were still muddy and his heart was still heavy, but it felt like the boy had finally seen the sun through his own eyes.

[milomeepit]

Diamond In The Rough: Chapter Thirteen

Roman has always wanted better. Has always believed that there’s a better life, a better world, just out of reach. Just beyond the veil of shitty teachers who don’t care, angry classmates that scream insults and slurs at each other all day, and drug-hazed parents who are more concerned with their next hit than looking after their ten year old son.

When he runs away after a particularly bad night at home and finds a quiet little cafe/bookstore tucked away in a back alley of the city, the sweet couple who run the joint (an odd pair; a quiet, gloomy man with a wry sense of humour and a cynical gleam in his eye, and a bouncy man who smiles like sunshine and laughs like a storybook king) help show him that maybe- just maybe- he really can have the life he always dreamed of.

Masterpost (to be added soon!)

Word Count: 2645

Chapter Warnings: Yelling, child neglect, abusive parents, fire, basements, darkness, daydreams, crying, panic attacks, starving, running away, punishments, mentioned drug use, arguing, nightmares, sleep deprivation, alcohol mention, cursing

The next few days passed in a noisy haze of yelling, slammed doors, and too-loud TV shows. Roman spent most of his time in either his room, lying on his bed and letting his mind drift to faraway places, or out the backyard, climbing the old oak tree and watching birds fly over the tops of houses. Sometimes, when the wind blew hard, hard enough to shake the smaller branches of the tree, it felt like he could fly, too, if he just opened his arms and stepped out of the tree.

He’d always wanted to fly. It was part of the reason he did love Peter Pan quite so much. It would be so magical, wouldn’t it, to just spread his arms out, think happy thoughts, and soar up into the sky? To trail his hand through the clouds, to follow the sunset and fly somewhere. Somewhere new and exciting, where the rules of real life didn’t follow, where the sun was always shining and rivers ran crystal clear, where people smiled and sang songs, where flowers swayed in the gentle breeze and forests were full of friendly creatures.

Thoughts like that helped pass the hours that dragged by until Dad finally fell asleep on the couch. He’d usually knock out sometimes after 3am, and wake up at midday. It was a welcome reprieve from the usual noise and chaos, but Roman found himself unable to sleep. He would lie in bed, curled up under the fluffy grey blanket that Virgil had given him, arms tightly wound around the monkey- since named Arwen- and plan out elaborate fantasies.

Exploring hidden temples, wandering through magical forests, climbing ancient mountains that reached up into the heavens, he travelled the world in his mind’s eye. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes he had company. Sometimes other kids, friends who he led bravely into the shadows for them to claim a shining prize or battle some great evil. Sometimes a group of knights, pledged to follow his every command, who defended from all who struck against him.

And sometimes, it was Virgil and Patton. Virgil would scale trees and scan for danger, swinging down from the thick, strong branches, and landing with a satisfying crunch on the leaves scattering the forest floor. Patton would hold his hand and help him climb over large tree roots and rocks, his bright laughter spilling through the trees like sunshine. They would pick their way through the forest, searching for a spot to sit down. And then, just as their legs began to tire and their feet started to hurt, there it would be.

A clearing, ringed perfectly by rustling green trees, carpeted with lush grass and bright, sweet-smelling flowers. The stream that cut through the woods rushed nearby, just through the trees on the other side of the clearing, cool and inviting. The three of them would sit down, and Patton would pull containers of sandwiches and bottles of water from his bag, and they would eat and talk and relax together in the warm, golden sunlight. Virgil would tease Roman about going for a dip in the cold water, and Patton would laugh as the two of them raced to the bank and dived in to see who could make the bigger splash.

Roman’s stomach growled as he imagined the soft bread and creamy egg salad of the sandwiches, bringing his attention back to the real world. He grimaced as he sat up, feeling a little light-headed. Mom had been away since the first night he’d gotten home- working, Dad had grunted when Roman had dared to ask him- and, as a result, he hadn’t eaten anything but the half-dozen cookies Virgil had packed for him from the batch they’d made together that afternoon.

He tucked Arwen under his arm and tugged his hoodie around his shoulders, then carefully made his way downstairs. It was late, but the TV was still on, meaning Dad was probably still awake. Roman held his breath as he crept past the living room, trying to make himself as silent as possible.

He made it to the kitchen undisturbed and set Arwen carefully in a clear spot on the counter, her large head listing to the side a little, then began looking through the cupboards to find something to eat. Most of them were jammed full of cracked crockery and broken appliances, and he didn’t bother opening those.

He found a packet of pop tarts in the back of the cupboard above the sink. He carefully climbed down off of the chair he’d dragged over from the table to look in the overhead cabinets and showed off his find to Arwen. Her wide stitched smile mirrored his own grin as he set them on the counter next to her, then turned to paw through another cupboard to find the toaster.

Roman eventually dug it out and plugged it in next to Arwen, shoving dirty cups and plates into the sink to make room for it. He carefully dropped two of the pastries into the toaster and pulled down the lever, then sat down on the chair. He swung his legs back and forth as he looked around the kitchen.

It was as cluttered as ever, broken and dirty dishes and electronic components littered across every available surface. The walls were covered with ripped, stained wallpaper, handprints and food splatters almost completely obscuring the faded floral pattern beneath. The tiles were cracked and uneven, some completely missing by the back door. Roman suddenly noticed the new extra locks on the back door, and his roaring stomach dropped down into his knees. So, they had noticed how he’d gotten out.

It had been a windy night. The house had creaked alarmingly as Mom and Dad screamed at each other. She’d been high off her head on some new batch he’d gotten from one of his friends, and he was screaming at her for cutting into his supply. Roman had sat on his bed, tears in his eyes, a pillow over his head, and something in him had just...

Snapped.

He’d gone downstairs one he was sure Dad was asleep. Mom had already left at the end of their argument, slamming the front door shut hard enough to shake Roman’s schoolbook off of his bedside. He took as much money as he could shove in his pockets from the jar Mom kept on top of the fridge, grabbed his backpack, and slipped down the hallway to the front door. It had been locked, and he hissed softly in frustration. Dad kept his keys in his pocket, and Roman certainly didn’t dare go into the living room, let alone try to pickpocket him.

Instead, he went back to the kitchen, carefully unlatching the creaky back door, and snuck out into the night. It didn’t take long for him to clamber over the back fence, and as soon as his feet hit the ground, he was running. As fast as he could, down the laneway, and to the bus station on the other side of the river. The bus ticket took almost half the money he had, but the dead-eyed teenager in the booth hadn’t questioned him. The bus was big, and the seats were soft, and he was asleep within minutes.

A bump in the road jolted him awake a few hours later, and he’d sat up to see bright lights twinkling along the streets, almost blinding him. He blinked a few times and squinted past them, shielding his eyes, and saw on the GPS display above the aisle that they were in the city, miles and miles and miles west of his hometown. Perfect.

The first night had been scary, but being in the city was oddly comforting after a few days. Anywhere you went on the streets, there were people, playing guitars and walking dogs and talking on phones and drinking coffee and jogging. It was noisy, but not in the same way as home. Home was angry and frightening and chaotic, this was... alive. Alive in a sense Roman had only seen in movies and books. It was beautiful.

A sudden shrieking beep yanked him from his thoughts, and he leaped to his feet. What was- the fire alarm. The fire alarm? He spun around and screamed as he saw bright orange leaping from the toaster, licking up Arwen’s arm. He snatched her from the counter and batted her smoking fur against the tile, trying to beat out the flames.

Footsteps thundered from the living room, and Roman barely had time to shove Arwen into his jacket before Dad crashed into the kitchen with a towel. He shoved Roman aside and unplugged the toasted before throwing the towel over it to smother the flames.

Roman stumbled and fell against the wall, curling up into a ball. He gritted his teeth as Dad cursed loudly. He was mad. Roman hated it when Dad was mad, more so when he was mad at him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder pull him to his feet, and he hesitantly looked up to see Dad scowling at him. “What the hell were you doing?!” He barked, his face bright red. “Since when do you just plug things in without asking?!”

“I... I didn’t know it was broken,” Roman mumbled, his gaze dropping to the floor again. “I’m sorry.”

Dad pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “You’re grounded til your fucking Mom gets home. I’ll sort it out with her then.”

A bitter taste rose in the back of his throat, acidic and angry. “What does it matter, anyway? It’s not like you ever let me do anything fun.” He froze as the words left his mouth. He hadn’t actually intended to say them aloud, but they seemed to speak themselves into the thick, smoky air.

There was silence for a beat before Dad growled. “If you’re gonna be a little smartass, you can go down in the basement where I don’t have to hear your bitching.”

Roman’s heart seemed to stutter in his chest, and he jerked away. “No! I don’t want to! It’s dark down there, and I got sick last time!” He clapped a hand over his mouth. Shut up, shut up, shut up, he begged himself. You’re just making it worse!

His feet barely touched the ground as Dad stormed over to the basement door, dragging him along by the hoodie. Roman suddenly remembered Arwen, wrapping his arms around himself so she wasn’t jostled out of his jacket.

Dad opened the door and released his hoodie, glaring at him. “Now.”

Roman shuffled down the stairs, swallowing back tears as he looked around at the cramped, dingy space. Boxes were stacked along the walls, and a ratty couch was dumped in the middle of the room. The cushions were thin and worn, and Roman knew from experience that the wooden frame of the couch dug into anyone unfortunate enough to sit or lie on it.

He jumped as the door slammed shut behind him. He hated it down here, hated it more than anything else in the world. He’d rather be sleeping in the park than be shut up in here. It was dark, and cold, and it smelled like dust and mould and moth balls and old paper.

He pulled Arwen out of his jacket, cuddling her close. “At least I have you,” He mumbled. He buried his face against her stomach again, breathing in the comforting smell that still lingered in her fluffy fur.

He screwed his eyes shut. There had to be something for him to do to escape this nightmare. Think about something else, somewhere else. Anything to get away from here. A cave sprung to life in his mind’s eye. Water dripped from stalactites on the roof, and he shivered, climbing to his feet and wandering through the twisting passages.

He spent what felt like hours exploring the imaginary cave system, climbing and shuffling through the dark, before sunlight nearly blinded him. He emerged out of the mouth of the cave and blinked until his eyes adjusted. A valley was spread out below him, with a wide river cutting through the middle, curving around the bend of the landscape and disappearing from view. Trees blossoming with flowers of every shape and colour carpeted the valley, some bearing large, shiny, colourful fruit.

He wandered through the valley, taking in the sights and smells and sounds. He dipped his feet in the river, watching fish dance through the water, skillfully dodging rocks and currents. He walked through the woods, watching squirrels and rabbits scamper through the undergrowth and duck into tiny hiding places beneath rocks and roots. He climbed trees, watching birds soar through the air, twisting and wheeling up into the sky.

The sun set on the valley, painting it with brilliant reds and golds. The moon rose, bringing stars- brighter than any he’d ever seen, constellations that Virgil had showed him recognizable in the deep black of the night sky. The sun returned, and Roman sat on a patch of grass and watched it cross the blue sky. Sun. Moon. Sun. Moon. The pattern was soothing, a constant as the valley shifted around him, leaves turning crimson and falling from trees, snowflakes fluttering past his face and tickling his nose, flowers blooming between his fingers as he leaned back, warm breezes drifting past him as the sun shone down.

A loud growl from the cave made Roman freeze. The rabbits ducking through the grass nearby scampered off and vanished into the trees. He slowly turned around, looking up the hillside to the mouth of the cave. The valley was deathly still around him, the moon hanging static in the sky. He took a deep breath and got to his feet, then began to climb up the hill.

The creature, whatever it was, growled again as he approached the cave. He stared into the inky blackness, his eyes straining to scan the shadows. “I’m not scared of you,” He whispered aloud. “I can do anything I want to do.”

A sudden wind picked up at his back, a high-pitched howl that made his head throb. He looked over his shoulder to see trees shuddering, smaller plants were ripped out of the ground by the sudden gale. He realised with a sinking sense of horror that the stars were going out, one by one, their comforting, twinkling lights vanishing into thin air.

Please. Please, no. Not here, too.

“I’m not scared of you!” He repeated, his voice hoarse. He wasn’t sure if his eyes were stinging from the wind or tears. “I’m not!”

“.. oman?”

He spun around, eyes flickering frantically over his surroundings, searching for the voice. It almost sounded like Pa-

No. No, if he thought it, then it would be, and he couldn’t stand to see him caught in this maelstrom. Not here in this screaming chaos of wind and rain and fear and panic.

“Roman?” The voice was more panicked now, and he dropped to his knees as he screwed his eyes shut and clapped his hands over his ears. Loud thuds echoed through the valley as trees, tall as skyscrapers, crashed to the ground, tipped by the wind.

The growling was deafening now, and the ground was cold and dark and hard and rough. Everything ached. He bit back a sob as pain shot through his head, sharp as a knife. He curled up into a ball, his arms clamped tight around Arwen.

“Roman?!”

He struggled to lift his head at last, peering into deep black shadows. It lasted only a moment before the world burst into a dazzling white light, hot and blinding and brighter than anything. He cried out, raising a hand to shield his eyes and squinting out at the world.

And then everything stopped.

#TS-Storytime 2019 Submission #milo writes #ditr #gemstone tales #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides

[tarotdeckshuffle]

Hello! First off, I love your writing, your stories are so great!

🥰 thank you so much, Anon! That means so much to me!!

I love this request!! I’m so excited! It should be so cute! 

And I love including everyone! It lets me know that everyone gets a little something, regardless of what tags you’re trolling lol (I’ve been there…)

Noctis

Would simply want to relax after all of the stress of a royal wedding.

Somewhere tropical and soothing.

The two of you spend a lot of time in chairs on the beach taking naps.

And get up late everyday...spending much the rest of the morning in bed.

Just a place to get away from it all.

There would be regular couples’ massages.

Tons of fishing and snorkeling.

Noctis wants to try to spear fish!!!!

And tons of walks on the beach.

Everyday has the most perfect sunset and each morning you relax in your husband’s arms.

Prompto

Whatever theme park has chocobos is where you’d go!

Don’t get me wrong, you’d have a romantic hotel and go to amazing dinners and all that jazz…

But you’re going to have so much fun with the chocobos!!!

Everything is so cute!!

Especially you, Prompto would say!

But, to you, Prompto is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

You’d spend late mornings in bed with your new husband.

But you’d both be so eager to get to the chocobos each day!

SO.MANY.PHOTOS!!!

The two of you would find trouble, but you’d run away laughing.

Just like the whole relationship, your honeymoon would be fun!

Ignis

Ignis would want to take you somewhere historic and romantic.

Somewhere you can relax but also learn.

This man has a love for Altissa, so he’d take you there (when the city is in its prime, of course).

During the mornings, you’d visit the historic sites of the city.

You spend your days shopping at all of the best stores.

Your evenings are spent tapa hopping and visiting the best restaurants.

Ignis spares no expense for his new spouse!

Anything you want is yours!

He would get a few new threads, as well.

He’d make sure there are plans to relax.

Massages, facials, hair treatments.

Anything you wanted to do.

But his favorite thing are mornings spent staying in late with you.

Then sitting on the balcony watching the sun rise over the harbor while drinking coffee.

Life is perfect with a sip of coffee and you in his arms.

Gladio

Gladio would sweep you away to an alpine escape.

Somewhere high above the world where the evergreens grow.

You two have a cabin all to yourselves.

Where each day you go out to take walks together, hand in hand.

You see nature outside each day, possibly for the first time in your life.

The wind sings through the pine needles, lulling you to sleep.

You’ve never seen Gladio so relaxed!

He’s so attentive here!

Every moment he can, he sweeps you off somewhere alone.

You’d also learn something new.

Possibly skiing, possibly rock climbing.

You have never felt so free in your whole life, as you admire your new husband.

Together, you are on top of the world.

Ravus

If you married Ravus, it would be as low key as he could manage.

For him, a honeymoon is more of a state of mind than a place.

But if there was a place you wanted to go, this man would take you.

Every minute he’d spend with you.

And he’d want you all to himself.

You’d see him more relaxed than you can even imagine.

One of your fondest moments is dancing with him in the middle of the room, both of you in your socks, to an upbeat song. You started it, but the song and your joy were infectious, so he joined in.

From then on, he’ll always smile when you play that song and dance with you if he has the time.

You’re just ordering take out because you’ve found yourselves in bed...again.

You see him smile more than you ever have before.

Maybe you’re halfway across Eos, maybe you’re in Tenebrae, but wherever the two of you are will make it the best place in the world.

Luna

The wedding would be one of the biggest events in Eos.

You’d take an “official honeymoon” to a beautiful palace, but it wouldn’t be special.

After it all died down, you’d go somewhere, just the two of you.

To a cottage outside a small town on the coast.

Listening to a cold ocean break across the rocks below.

Humming songs together.

Waking up to soft mornings.

Becoming rosy cheeked on wine in the evenings.

Your days are filled with laughter and kisses.

Taking walks along the beach.

Bundling each other up against the winds.

Buying flowers and sweets in the village for each other.

Here, she finally relaxes,

And you can breathe.

Time moves just a bit slower.

The world waits beyond the shore,

But for a few days, you’re just two people, deeply in love.

Cor

Two words: road trip.

Cor has an old motorcycle that he hasn’t gotten to use in years.

The two of you would pack a backpack with the simple necessities and just...take off!

You’re going to see Lucis with your love!

You spend some nights in old motels, some at campsites.

But you see the small towns and cities of the country.

You meet the most wonderful people, sharing in new foods, songs, dances, and stories you’ve never heard before.

Spending each night in your husband’s arms.

Sure you don’t always have the most privacy, but that’s part of the thrill.

The complete freedom the road gives you is invigorating.

Cor even lets you drive, sometimes.

You’d get into trouble, but never enough to worry either of you.

Together, you feel unstoppable.

Nyx

Nyx doesn’t get a lot of time away from the Glaives, so he’d try to make his time away as special as he could.

It’s not the most romantic getaway, but he’d take you to Galahd and show you what was left of his home.

He’d show you the river he played in as a child and the bar he and Libertus ran.

You’d visit his sister’s grave and pay your respects.

You’d set up camp on the beach and play in the water with him.

He never realised you hadn’t seen the ocean.

He’s a fish in the water, holding his breath for what seems like ages before popping up to scare you.

What was once a source of heartache for Nyx returns to a place of fondness and laughter in his heart, thanks to you.

One day you’ll return here, together, and start something new.

Ardyn

“Oh, my darling, the whole world is ours. So, where shall we begin?”

You may not yet know the truth to Ardyn’s words, but he does.

He doesn’t like places that are “too hot” (sunny).

“Well that wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t wear ten layers of clothes.”

“Oh, getting eager to undress me, darling?”

You’d head to the great, dark North.

No one else is here and no one else can reach you.

The base is prepared thanks to Ardyn setting up everything before your arrival.

It’s even...posh.

He’d make sure this outpost feels absolutely luxurious, decorated in lush fabrics and dark reds.

You can bet he’d be a clown around you.

Like when you walked in and found him on the lounge, only wearing his hat strategically placed and a rose in his mouth.

But you’d be treated as royalty the whole time, often carrying you off at his slightest whim.

Delicious food is ready for you and your every need has been seen to.

Every night you watch the Northern Lights dance outside.

One of your greatest gifts is watching Ardyn’s awe at seeing such colors wash through the sky.

Ardyn has prepared the base for a “few extra days” in case your visit should run over.

It does.

You never want to return to the daylit world.

But you know that the comforting darkness will return to you in your husband’s arms.

Aranea

Aranea is actually very romantic after getting married.

She’s still so thrilled that you’re with her that she’s on cloud nine.

A candy apple red Niflheim airship is parked outside a bamboo shack on an island somewhere.

Aranea’s armor is replaced with a swimsuit and skirt.

You’d go swimming in the ocean together, getting into splashing wars.

She can’t cook so she brought lots of ready made meals with her.

But you can so you make campfire grilled fish on the beach late at night.

Watching from each other’s arms as embers drift up to join the stars.

You’d spend loads of time in bed...if you actually made it to the bed.

The snide comments still come, she wouldn’t be your love if they didn’t,

But Aranea laughs more than you’ve ever seen, before.

You share kisses of salt and love in the ocean.

After a blissful time, you must leave.

But when hard times end, Aranea will steer her ship for that little shack, bringing you back to one of your favorite places.

#reader x noctis #noctis x reader #noctis lucis caelum #ffxv #ffxv hc #prompto x reader #reader x prompto #prompto argentum #chocobo #ignis scientia #ignis x reader #reader x ignis #altissa #gladio x reader #reader x gladio #gladiolus amicitia #ravus x reader #reader x ravus #ravus nox fleuret #ffxv ravus #luna x reader #reader x luna #luna nox fleuret #ffxv luna #cor x reader #reader x cor #cor leonis #nyx x reader #reader x nyx #ffxv nyx

[queen-scribbles]

Small Price to Pay

Started with wanting to fic when Heodan saved Adi outside the back door to  Clîaban Rilag, kinda spiraled into something a lot bigger. WHOOPS. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯   I REGRET NOTHING

---

The journey to Clîaban Rilag was uneventful, and would have been downright pleasant if not for the intermittent rain showers. Even those could have been worse, as it was still warm enough to keep them from being truly uncomfortable, and none lasted long. The true threat to their progress--and once or twice their safety--proved to be Adela’s curious nature. There was just so much flora and fauna in the Dyrwood she’d never seen in Ixamitl, she veered off the road for “just a quick look” more times than she could count. Most of those times resulted in no more than a few minutes lost each, but one disturbed a pair of wood beetles, young things and easily dealt with, and not far past the Dyrford Crossing, she started for a patch of tall-stemmed flowers only to have Kana yank her away by the back of her dress--just ahead of the lunge from a stelgaer she hadn’t seen. It was not happy to lose an easy lunch, and put up a decent fight before Aloth and Pallegina managed to kill it.

“Perhaps it is better we keep to the road, ac?” Pallegina asked with a pointedly raised brow as she wiped her sword blade clean on the stelgaer’s coat before re- sheathing it.

“Sorry,” Adela said with a sheepish smile. “There’s just so much that’s new here, and these are so pretty...” she gestured toward the flowers. “But I have been slowing us down and would hate for any of you to get hurt ‘cause of me.”

“We’re used to buildin’ in time for you to explore,” Edér consoled, shooting her a wink. “An’ no harm done, right? Now c’mon, we can make a couple hours’ progress ‘fore it starts gettin’ dark.”

Despite his reassurance, Adela cast a guilty look at the dead stelgaer. Sure, no one had gotten hurt thanks to her--this time--but what if there had been more than one? A full grown stelgaer was nothing to sneeze at, and even alone this one had come uncomfortably close to both Kana and Heodan. If it had help...

Adela shuddered and twisted the ring that encircled her index finger, nails dragging over the inset blue stones. But it had been alone, and none of her friends had so much as a scratch, and what had turned her into such a worrywart? She glanced over her shoulder at the kith following her lead and a blush climbed her cheeks. She knew what. Or, rather, who. But that was ridiculous, just a silly crush, and he was plenty capable of taking care of himself-

She tripped over a wheel rut in the road and was sharply reminded getting distracted was a bad idea. Better to pay attention now and let her thoughts run rampant after they made camp. When no one would get hurt as a result(unless, maybe, she was the one cooking).

Edér was right; they pulled a couple more hours of travel from the day before shadows reached telltale length and they made camp in a meadow. Edér volunteered to make dinner, which meant there was nothing required of her until her shift at watch. Adela pulled out a book, as usual, and tried to read, as usual. But tonight her thoughts kept drifting  to the crouching stelgaer, Kana’s hand twisting in the fabric of her dress to yank her out of the danger, Edér’s loud whoop as he’d charged forward to take the brunt of the threat.

I really need to be more careful, she chastised herself, tracing the lettering of a chapter title with her fingertip before she resumed the attempt at reading. Instead, she remained so lost in thought she didn’t even hear the approaching footsteps and started slightly when Heodan sat next to her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked without preamble.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” Adela asked innocently, letting the book lay against her lap as she looked up at him.

He nudged her book. “To start, you’ve been on the same page for five minutes, so clearly you’re distracted. Given that you’ve also been far quieter than usual for the past couple hours, it seems a safe bet something’s wrong.” He gave her a faint, crooked smile. “If you want to talk...”

He knew her entirely too well, and Wael’s eyes, it wasn’t fair(no matter how warm it made her inside). Adela tried to smile. “Well, you know me, I always wanna talk.”

“About what’s bothering you,” Heodan clarified, running one hand through his hair and leaving it an even more tousled mess than usual.

She hesitated a beat, but it wasn’t like this was some deep, dark secret or anything. “I just feel bad my curiosity put all of you at risk. I do love learning and experiencing new things, but I’d hate for someone else to get hurt in the process.”

“Considering you’re the one who was almost pinned by a hungry stelgaer, I’d say your curiosity came a lot closer to hurting you than any of us,” he pointed out wryly, playing with a frayed spot on his shirtsleeve. “We don’t want to see you get hurt, either.”

She snorted and flipped the book closed so she could brace an elbow against the cover and rest her chin in her palm. “Guess the only solution’s for me to be less curious, huh?” Somehow...

“No.” From the way Heodan’s cheeks colored, he maybe hadn’t meant to say it quite so vehemently. He dropped his gaze to his sleeve, picking harder at the frayed spot and biting his lip. “Even assuming you could be less curious, that would be...” He sighed, glanced sideways to meet her gaze. “The world needs kith who are curious, Adi. Who question and explore and learn everything they can about anything they can. They’re the ones who preserve history and bring progress. Kith like you are...” His gaze dropped back to the ever-growing hole he’d picked in his sleeve. “Well, rare. And for you to curb such a part of yourself, especially such an important part of yourself, out of fear would be a shame.”

Adela huffed her bangs out of her eyes and sighed, even as her heart fluttered.  “I just don’t want you, any of you, getting hurt for my sake.”

He shrugged. “The Dyrwood itself is dangerous, not to mention this... quest?... we’re on, you being excited about new flowers or ancient ruins is less likely to put us in harm’s way than most of the things we deliberately seek out. And I feel relatively safe in saying we don’t mind chasing off the occasional extra stelgaer, or steering you away from a bog.” He nudged her shoulder and smiled encouragingly. “It’s what friends do, isn’t it? And it’s a small price to pay for... for letting you be you.”

Hound’s teeth, her face was so warm the blush had to be showing through her fur. Adela straightened, her hand moving to pick at the carved lines in her necklace pendent, tracing the details of the elephant as she tried to think of a response that was both coherent and not too revealing.The sunset light glinting off the sliver band around his pinkie kept distracting her; its purpose likely to be called upon if she wasn’t more careful. After several long seconds of struggling silence, she decided simplicity was the order of the day and smiled at him.  “Thank you, Heodan. That... means a lot.” Especially from you. She knew any of her friends would likely say the same, but, well... he was the one she worried about most. What with her feelings and everything they’d been through together.

Heodan smiled. “You’re most welcome. Now...” He grimaced self-deprecatingly at the hole he’d made in his sleeve. “I should probably go see what I can do about this.”

“Alright,” she nodded, reluctant to lose his company but unable to think up an excuse for him to stay. “Good luck.”

He chuckled as he stood. “Thank you.”

Adela watched him walk away before returning to her book, soul now settled enough she could at least concentrate. Funny how easily he managed to do that.

---

The evening remained uneventful, and the few lingering clouds even cleared up, giving them a clear view of the stars as the sunset faded to the deep purple-black of night. Between the three of them sharing watch duty, Adela drew the last slot, which meant she got to catch some sleep before essentially just being a slightly earlier riser than usual. She was almost as pleased to have drawn that watch as Edér was to have avoided it--”Just ‘cause I can drag myself outta bed before the sun doesn’t mean I like doin’ it”--and came awake easily when it was her turn. Things stayed quiet, as they had all night, so by halfway through her watch, she had wandered out into the meadow and collected several handfuls of the deep pinkish-purple flowers growing nearby. It was an unfamiliar one to her, but the waxy blossoms were only slightly smaller than her palm, with slender but tough stems, making them perfect for weaving into a crown. Which she did, the movements such habit by now she didn’t even have to take her eyes off the surroundings as she worked. By the time her friends pulled themselves awake shortly after sunrise, Adela sported an expertly woven circlet of pink-purple blooms and was braiding the stems of the leftovers into a small bouquet.

“Kept yourself occupied, I see,” Kana said with a toothy smile and a nod toward the circlet.

“Gotta have something to do that didn’t take too much of my attention,” she said cheerfully. “I can make these in my sleep, so it seemed a good choice.”

“No arguments here,” Kana chuckled.

Adela giggled as she tucked the small cluster of extra blooms in the end of her braid. “So glad you approve.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Edér chipped in, still yawning. “Look right nice on you. Whadda we got for breakfast? Everything comin’ today, I wanna face it with a full stomach.”

She couldn’t blame him for that, but, “Nothing fancy. I figured the earlier we got moving the better, so traveler’s bread and jerked venison.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” he grinned and helped her divvy it up.

They packed camp as they ate, and were ready to start within an hour of everyone being awake. Part of her hated to rush them, but with the early start, they could reach Clîaban Rilag, do what they needed to for both Edér’s sake and following the Leaden Key, and be headed back toward Dyrford inside a day. Given how much they had to do, that was for the best. Though she did hope they had time to explore a little. Surely there was a lot to be gained just from looking around an Engwithan ruin. She could leave everything where it was and still learn so much.

As they set off on the last hour or so of travel to the ruins, she caught Heodan looking at her with a smile tugging at his lips and couldn’t help but smile back.  “What?”

He nodded toward the flower crown. “I see your mood’s improved.”

Adela chuckled as she instinctively brushed her fingers against the petals. “It has. Mostly thanks to you.”

He shook his head. “I think it far more likely that it’s just hard for you to stay gloomy for long.”

“Well, true as that may be,” she said by way of tacit concession, “what you said last night definitely helped.”

Heodan smiled again. “Happy to help. Your curiosity isn’t a weakness, or a danger, and I’d hate for you to view it as such.”

“I don’t,” she assured him, playing with the tail  of her braid. “But I am gonna try to be a little more careful. For all our sakes.”

“That’s fair,” he chuckled.

“And appreciated,” Aloth chipped in from nearby.

Adela wrinkled her nose and her ears twitched back. “I am really sorry for the thing with the oozes, but I didn’t know what kind of reach they had, and this is about my fifth time apologizing in two weeks-”

“Adela, I wasn’t referring to anything specific,” he interjected before she really got going. “Just general relief you’ll be more careful, even if just a little.”

“Oh.” Said something about how guilty she (still) felt that that’s the first place her thoughts went when Aloth commented on her being careful. She rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah. I know it won’t remove all our risks, but at least I won’t be adding to them.” She paused a beat, then played with a loose wisp of hair as she asked. “Oh, didja finish transcribing that spell you were working on last night?”

Aloth nodded, and the conversation almost seamlessly swung to the spells both of them were learning and still wanting to figure out. Somewhere in there, Adela noticed Heodan had wandered away and felt vaguely guilty she hadn’t really finished her conversation with him. But, really, they’d said everything important, she’d have plenty of time to talk to him later; it wasn’t as if either of them was going anywhere.

---

It wasn’t really a surprise when they caught a glimpse of the Glanfathan hunters clustered in front of the looming doors to Clîaban Rilag, just confirmed the importance Adela had already suspected it held. They gave the knot of kith and beasts a wide berth, and instead fanned out to look for detritus left from the battle fought here during the Saint’s War. She’d help Edér first--if she could--and then worry about how to handle venturing into the ruins themselves.

“Hope we don’t get mistaken for looters again,” Heodan commented with a mirthless smile as he helped Adela check through an overgrown tangle of weeds.

“Saw them, too, huh?” she side with a wry laugh.

“They’re hard to miss,” he deadpanned.

“Considering we do actually need to go in there,” she grunted, straining to reach something shiny trapped in the roots of the weeds, “they’re closer to correct than the ones who attacked the caravan, but I’m aiming to disturb as little as possible inside. Ah!” Her fingers closed around curved metal and she yanked free a Readceran heraldry talisman. Unfortunately with no traces of soul essence lingering, but at least it confirmed there were still things here to find. 

“Do you really think that will be enough for them? Assuming they even believe you?” Heodan asked quietly as they moved toward the stream that flowed through the clearing.

“Based off our previous experience?” Adela looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Why d’you think I’m putting off talking to them? Part of me’s hoping there’s another way in,” she admitted as the group forded the stream. “But one thing at a time. We’ll worry about that after we find something to help Edér.”

“If we can,” the farmer interjected in a disgruntled mutter, kicking a rock. “Don’t look like there’s much left, Adi.”

“Don’t give up so fast,” she admonished cheerfully. “There’s still plenty of ground left to cover.”

Edér grinned. “You’re such an optimist.”

“Yep,” Adela chirped, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “Also, I just have a feeling we’re gonna find something.”

“I’ve learned not to argue with your intuition,” Edér said with a grin and a shrug as he went back to looking.

“Do you really?” Heodan whispered.

“‘Course I do,” Adela whispered back. “I wouldn’t lie just to make him feel better. We’ll find something, you’ll see.”

And they did; a Readceran standard crown that sang with hints of a soul very similar to Edér. They’d had to fight some looters for it, but given the men proved to be anti-Eothasian zealots, and attacked first, Adela found it hard to be terribly broken up over their deaths. Especially not when she saw the hope in Edér’s eyes as he stared at the standard crown.

“Is that...?” he started, before letting the words trail off, as if it were too fantastic as a concept to even voice.

“I feel Woden’s soul on it, yes,” she confirmed with a smile, brushing dirt off the metal sun’s rays. “But there isn’t enough for me to Watch. We’ll take it with us, next time we visit Dunryd Row maybe one of the ciphers can help.”

“Sure. I think I got room...” Edér slung off his pack and opened it. It took a little rearranging, but the standard crown did fit inside. “Thanks, Adi. Now that you’ve managed one thing that should be impossible, guess that’s next?” He jerked a thumb toward the looming ruins, moss and vines covering the walls. 

“It is the other reason we’re here...” Adela sighed. She really wasn’t looking forward to talking her way past the Glanfathans guarding the doors.

“You know, Adi,” Kana began, as if sensing her reluctance, “there a door here as well.” He pointed and she a double take, staring at the section of wall that caught his attention.

Sure enough, hidden by plant growth, she could vaguely see the outline of a door. “Good eye, Kana. One problem...” It was Adela’s turn to point, drawing his attention to the collapsed bridge and the gap between them and the door. “How do we get across?”

“We could just jump,” he half-shrugged. “It doesn’t look to be more than four or five feet, shouldn’t be hard to clear.”

Adela bit her lip as she sized up the gap. He was right; it wasn’t that big. Kana could easily clear it, Edér, Heodan, and Pallegina would be fine as well, and even Aloth was likely tall enough it wouldn’t be a problem. She was the only one who might have trouble. She’d jumped over streams almost that wide before, though. Granted, with the deep ravine the bridge had spanned, the stakes were higher than simply getting her clothes wet. The alternative, however, was trying to navigate a conversation with the Glanfathans guarding the main door.

“Alright, worth a shot,” she said.

Heodan and Aloth frowned almost in unison. “Are you sure-”

“It’ll be fine,” Adela cut them off with a wry smile. “Easier than negotiating with the locals, anyway.” Neither seemed to have their worries assuaged, but they didn’t protest further. “Who’s going first?”

“I’ll do it,” Pallegina volunteered in the same moment Kana started to raise his hand. She smirked, and made an ‘after you’ gesture. “It is your idea, aimico.”

“Very well,” Kana chuckled. He took a couple steps back to gain some momentum, pushed off the edge, and easily cleared the gap. His feet skidded a little on the lichen-slicked stone, but he regained his balance quickly and gestured for them to join him before turning his attention to clearing off the door. 

One by one, her other companions followed without incident. Heodan did pause to shoot her a wordless look of concern, but Adela met it with a reassuring smile. It was sweet that he worried, but it would be fine. She could do this.

Even if the distance seemed to double when she looked at it with the knowledge she had to jump across that.

You can do this, she told herself firmly, and then backed up for a running start. Before she knew it, she’d covered the ground and was pushing off what remained of the bridge abutment. Just as her feet left the ground, her flower crown started to slip, and she instinctively grabbed for it with one hand.

She did make it across, if just barely. But before relief for that fact had time to register, the stone under her feet shifted and cracked and she pitched backward with a yelp. The depths of the ravine were rushing toward her, there was nothing to grab-

A hand closed around her wrist, and she jolted to a wrenching stop just below the lip of the bridge, heart pounding and tears stinging her eyes from the sudden stress on her arm.

And a sharp grunt of pain that wasn’t from her echoing in her ears. Her head snapped up to look, and her gaze locked with Heodan’s wide blue eyes. Pain and raw fear were competing for dominance in his expression, his face almost as white as his knuckles as he tightened his grip on her wrist.

“Don’t let go,” he managed between gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The attempted joke came out brittle and shaky, terror of what almost happened still sharp in her mind--sharper when she looked down and saw just how dizzyingly far she could have fallen.

“Adi, Adi don’t look.”Heodan’s fingers flexed and his voice caught her attention upwards once more. “Don’t look,” he repeated softly, and she nodded.

The few seconds before Edér and Kana reached down to help her scramble up seemed to take an eternity, but Adela did find herself on solid ground once more. Hoedan had released her arm soon as the others had a good grip, and when she was steady on her feet, he was the first place her gaze went.

He was sitting curled forward protectively, jaw clearly set tight as Pallegina felt at his shoulder. She paused in her examination and turned toward Adela.

“Are you alright?” she all but demanded.

Funny, that’s what I was about to ask him. Adela nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Really, really rattled, maybe a few bruises” --she rubbed her wrist--”but otherwise fine.”

“Sorry,” Heodan managed, gaze fixed on her hands.

Adela snorted. “That’s a new one; never had anyone apologize for saving my life before.”

“No-” He tried to sit straighter, uncurl the arm held close to his chest, and stopped with a sharp breath. “I-If I hurt you...”

“I’ll live,” Adela chuckled wryly. “Literally thanks to you. Bruises are nothing, small price to pay. I’m more worried about you.” She started to rest a hand on his arm, but yanked it back when the barest touch made him flinch. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll get out of the way.” She backed up a step, glancing toward where Kana and Aloth had resumed clearing off the door. Maybe I should help them...

Pallegina muttered a frustrated comment in her mother tongue, then, “I think it’s dislocated. Fortunately, that is not hard to fix. Edér?”

“Yeah?” He pushed away from the rocks he’d been leaning against.

“I will need your help.”

“Sure.”

Adela ears twitched and she started to move further away, feeling more like a hindrance than a help.

“Adi.” Heodan caught her arm with his good hand. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Wish I could say the same,” she replied softly, flicking a glance to his shoulder.

“It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine,” He flashed a crooked smile. “And it was worth it, anyway.”

“Aw, ain’t that sweet,” Edér drawled, shooting them both a knowing smile before she had a chance to reply.

“That’s not what he meant!” Adela said hastily, fur ruffling. How hot was she blushing? Obviously Heodan hadn’t meant it... the way Edér was implying. No matter how badly she might want it, that wasn’t the case. Was it? No, Adi, don’t get your hopes up, we’ve talked about this. “It’s just ‘cause we’re friends.”

(But if that was the case, why were Heodan’s ears red? And where’d that flush creeping up his neck come from? Probably just embarrassment, right? Like hers.)

Edér just grinned. “Sure, friendship’s sweet. Whadidja think I meant?”

Adela rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go help Kana.” She didn’t want to watch what was about to happen, anyway. It would just make her feel guilty for something that wasn’t truly her fault.

Between the three of them, she, Kana, and Aloth(mostly Kana) had a good portion of the door clear by the time Edér and Pallegina finished fixing Heodan’s shoulder(and even if she wasn’t watching, that hadn’t been fun to listen to, either). With the overgrowth cleared and any decorative carvings recorded, the... less physically gifted members of the group got to hand Edér a prybar and let him and Kana try to work the door open.

Adela perched on a rocky outcropping near where Heodan sat as they waited, watching him flex and test the previously injured arm. “Everything alright?”

He nodded, rocking his wrist back and forth. “Relatively. It’s still sore, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it? I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He caught her skeptical expression and chuckled. “Really, Adi, it will.” He gave a lopsided smile. “And look on the bright side; it wasn’t because of your curiosity.”

“You still got hurt,” she shot back. “How is that a bright side?”

Heodan shrugged. “It’s not that bad. And you didn’t.” He raised a brow and nodded in her direction. “You did lose your flowers, though.”

“Oh.” Adela raised a hand to her hair. She hadn’t even noticed. But the crown of pink-purple blooms was indeed gone, vanished into the depths of the ravine when she fell. “Small price to pay.” She pulled her braid over her shoulder, grinned when she saw the small bouquet still securely tied at the end. “And I still have these. Heodan...” She rested a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

He smiled shyly. “Small price to pay. You’re my friend, and I’d hate to lose you.”

Her heart fluttered. Stop that, Adela scolded herself. He literally just said friend. But hearts were funny things, and hers didn’t much feel like listening right now. “So...” she began, resting her chin on her palm and glancing toward the doors that were just beginning to edge open under Edér and Kana’s efforts. ”What do you think is in there? Aside from, probably, another one of those machines the Leaden Key’s using to make life difficult.”

Heodan laughed. “I couldn’t even begin to guess. But we’ll see soon enough, won’t we?”

Adela cocked her head. “I will. But don’t you think it’s better you... stay out here?” So you don’t get hurt again...

“Adi.” He shot her a curious look. “Isn’t the point of me... following along on these adventures to help you? Can’t do that very well if you’re in there and I’m out here, can I?”

“Heodan, much as my area of expertise is not medicine, even I know you’re supposed to rest as part of the healing process for dislocated limbs.” She pushed to her feet, making them roughly eye level, and crossed her arms as she tried to stare him down.

“It was only partially dislocated,” Heodan countered(he was nice enough to stay sitting). “It went right back in joint with a little nudge, and it’s just sore now.” As if to demonstrate, he reached out with that hand and playfully flicked at her bangs.

Adela felt a smile coming despite the worry that gnawed her mind, but bit it back. “Yes, and it might not stay ‘just sore’ if you make it worse by stabbing things.” 

“A compromise, then,” he offered, glancing toward the rest of their party as the doors opened. “I will keep the... ‘stabbing things’ to a minimum and focus more on disarming traps and such that we find. How’s that?  We’re not splitting the group, I’ll be there if you need me, but be doing lighter work and try my best to stay out of fights so I don’t overwork that arm.”

She bit her lip as he looked at her expectantly. She did want him along, she just didn’t want him getting hurt again. Of course, it wasn’t necessarily that much safer out here, with the Glanfathans guarding the main door just barely out of earshot. “I.... guess that would be alright. And I’ll try not to let my curiosity run away with me in there.”

“A tall order,” Heodan said with a smile, pushing to his feet and pulling his pack back on--with just the tiniest wince as the strap went over his injured shoulder.  “Sure you can manage?”

“Not at all,” she laughed, “hence the try.”

All jokes aside, she mused as Edér and Kana hauled the doors open wide enough for passage, We really will need to be careful in there. There’s probably a lot of nasty surprises to be found, if I know anything about the Engwithans. And I’d hate for any of them to get hurt because I just had to look at a fresco or invention or something. ....Especially him.

 Reining in her curiosity was a small price to pay for her friends’ safety. And as she accepted the lit torch Edér offered her and led the way into the ruin, Adela decided it was one she was happy to pay.

#queens fic #adela tecali #heodan #pillars of eternity #heodi #(sorta) #let's put it in their tags anyway #otp: here in my heart #stars rewritten au

[coffeeandvampirebiscuits]

Sunrise

Music:

Sister drabble “Sunset” here. I felt I wrote this one worse, I just wasn’t in the mood I guess.

Enjoy! Feedback and criticism are always appreciated!

He climbed up the last few steps in the dingy little stairwell, opening the roof hatch of the apartment building and stepping outside. The air around him was crisp, fresh. It smelled of dew and grass and the faint fragrance of flowers; it smelled living, as though the bustling city, full of cigarette smoke and car exhaust, had never existed. The sky had a grayish haze, the in-between time before dawn but after night, when the sun hadn’t risen but the moon hadn’t set. He sat down, the ghost of a smile passing over his face as he looked around: at the sleeping city and the sky and the light swirls of clouds above his head. He hadn’t slept well, and had gone to the roof to try and clear his thoughts, his mind, to try and find solace. It seemed that his attempt wouldn’t be in vain.

The flat, gravelly rooftop was cluttered with potted plants, and a bird feeder stood on the left, its base firmly rooted to the roof with cement. The day he’d moved in, he’d gotten permission from his landlord to bring as many plants as he wanted, and slowly, the many flowerpots he’d brought from his parents’ house filled the surface, until it almost, just almost, looked like a real garden. Most of his plants grew in terracotta pots of varying sizes; there were massive elephant ears, beady strings of pearls, vine-like pothos and small Chinese evergreens*. He’d salvaged some old pallets left from his move, and now they were filled with wildflowers: asters and daisies and bluebonnets, small, delicate plants that swayed in the breeze like minute ballerinas. Creeping vines and English ivy spilled from their containers, their tendrils drifting lazily in the wind. It was like a small oasis, his fairy garden, where he could rest his tired wings and sleep in dew covered grass. If he only looked at his plants, at the little patch of green on the rooftop, he could almost pretend he was back home, in his garden, surrounded by twittering birds and the sweet scent of flowers.

The horizon was turning lighter, glimmers of pale orange and yellow stretching in a thin band close to the ground. Light pink was visible as well, a smooth, warm color that hovered close to the skyline, tinting the undersides of the few clouds that dotted the sky. The gray haze had turned into blue, clear blue the color of a shallow lagoon. He could see the moon fading away, from a silvery orb into shadowy nothingness, as its brighter cousin, the sun, peeked over the skyline. It illuminated the tall skyscrapers and the glass-paned buildings, shone over the city parks and trees far below, coating them with pale glimmers of light.

A twittering sound made him look over his shoulder, and he saw a robin perched on top of the bird feeder, its beady black eyes watching him keenly as it opened its beak to let out another warble. He smiled. It was like the bird was trying to talk to him, to reach out to him despite not knowing his language. He watched as it cocked its head, then hopped over to the bowl of water he’d laid out and took a sip. Other birds soon arrived, in a flutter of wings and feathers. They ate from the feeder, drank the water, flitted about the pots and plants on the roof, playing a game of hide and seek with themselves. He watched them intently. There was something about their movement, the tentative hops, quick pecks, flaps of wings, that was so delicate, fairy-like. It soothed him, but he didn’t know why.

He looked into the distance again. The sun had cleared the horizon, a white disk that shone so brightly it looked like a jewel in the sky. The sky was coated in pastel colors: light coral, lemon yellow, pale cerulean. Wisps of cotton candy clouds drifted lazily above him, white tufts in the clear blue sky. He sighed, lost in the beauty of it all. He wished everything would stay this way, wished time would freeze forever, wished it was just him and the dawn, wished his worries and troubles would sink away into the night, far behind him.

At last, when the sun had fully risen and the roar of the city had started again, he stood up and opened the hatch again, descending into darkness once more.

Fin.

I’m aware that some of the plants I included would not /thrive/ outdoors or on a rooftop, but don’t mind that ;). creative license you know

*Chinese Evergreen: a type of plant with broad leaves that can come in a variety of colors, including red, pink, and green. I imagine the ones in this story would look like this:

#sunrise #dawn #short story writing #short story #biscuit writes #sunrise vignette #vignette #drabble #dawn drabble #writing #writeblr #write-blr #vignette writing #song inspired #my writing