shadowsong26 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2015-07-30 08:38 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2015-07-30 08:38 pm
Rose #12, Octarine #8, Dragon Scale Green #7
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Two Right Hands
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Rose #12. Love is like a rose. It looks beautiful on the outside...but there is always pain hidden somewhere., Octarine #8. Sometimes it's better to light a flamethrower than curse the darkness., Dragon Scale Green #7. "Let me tell you: the only way to get rid of dragons is to have one of your own." ― Eugene Shvarts
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (duck gallery), pointillism, miniature collection, photography, eraser (Desshiri AU), fabric, beading wire, glue ("It's safer to keep your unexpressed emotional desires to yourself today, for your intensity could be unsettling to someone else. However, you still must be willing to gamble on the unknown if you want to experience new levels of intimacy with someone that you admire. Revealing your feelings creates a vulnerability that could pull you into a danger zone; thankfully, the benefits outweigh the risks if you're sincere in affection.")
Word Count: 241
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Andrell, Desshiri
Warnings: War, oblique references to torture and genocide.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
i.
he pulls her behind him, their two right hands entwined, supporting her when she needs it as they flee through the shadowed, twisting alleys of feredar, away from his father’s prisons and to safety in the dark.
ii.
she holds his hand briefly when they meet in the siege camp--it’s a greeting custom in some parts of the world, that brief touch, that civility; but all she can think about are their two right hands, locked in fear and shadow and the barest hint of hope.
iii.
he drops to his knees and reaches for her, groping for her hand, her pulse--how in all the hells did she manage to convince them to use her as bait anyway, he will never understand it--and their two right hands meet, hers limp in his; but it’s warm, it’s still warm, and he could cry for relief.
iv.
she offers him her hand in a question, in a promise; a memory of perils survived and of perils yet to come, a token of safety and relief, freedom and life, and feels the promise he extends her in exchange as the fingers of their two right hands entwine.
v.
at their wedding, they raise their two right hands to the sky in the war-torn, twisting alleys of feredar; joined by hope and fear and loss and life and all of their history, all of their shared pain and joy; clawing their way free to the light.
Story: Two Right Hands
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Rose #12. Love is like a rose. It looks beautiful on the outside...but there is always pain hidden somewhere., Octarine #8. Sometimes it's better to light a flamethrower than curse the darkness., Dragon Scale Green #7. "Let me tell you: the only way to get rid of dragons is to have one of your own." ― Eugene Shvarts
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (duck gallery), pointillism, miniature collection, photography, eraser (Desshiri AU), fabric, beading wire, glue ("It's safer to keep your unexpressed emotional desires to yourself today, for your intensity could be unsettling to someone else. However, you still must be willing to gamble on the unknown if you want to experience new levels of intimacy with someone that you admire. Revealing your feelings creates a vulnerability that could pull you into a danger zone; thankfully, the benefits outweigh the risks if you're sincere in affection.")
Word Count: 241
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Andrell, Desshiri
Warnings: War, oblique references to torture and genocide.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
i.
he pulls her behind him, their two right hands entwined, supporting her when she needs it as they flee through the shadowed, twisting alleys of feredar, away from his father’s prisons and to safety in the dark.
ii.
she holds his hand briefly when they meet in the siege camp--it’s a greeting custom in some parts of the world, that brief touch, that civility; but all she can think about are their two right hands, locked in fear and shadow and the barest hint of hope.
iii.
he drops to his knees and reaches for her, groping for her hand, her pulse--how in all the hells did she manage to convince them to use her as bait anyway, he will never understand it--and their two right hands meet, hers limp in his; but it’s warm, it’s still warm, and he could cry for relief.
iv.
she offers him her hand in a question, in a promise; a memory of perils survived and of perils yet to come, a token of safety and relief, freedom and life, and feels the promise he extends her in exchange as the fingers of their two right hands entwine.
v.
at their wedding, they raise their two right hands to the sky in the war-torn, twisting alleys of feredar; joined by hope and fear and loss and life and all of their history, all of their shared pain and joy; clawing their way free to the light.
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