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rainbowfic2016-08-18 06:34 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2016-08-18 06:34 pm
Plant Party #46, Liver #9, Crimson #11
Name: shadowsong26
Story: If
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Plant Party #46. Victoria Amazonica, Liver #9. finger, Crimson #11. You don't put on a condom unless you're gonna fuck!
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (Halftime: Lillith Faire Second Stage), photography, brush (panoptic), oils, stain, seed beads
Word Count: 256
Rating: R
Characters: Sola
Warnings: Discussion of sex.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Sola never cried when her relationships ended. Or, at least, she didn’t cry anymore. Not after the first two or three times, back when she was young and more of an idealist. Few of her dalliances were real relationships, anyway. She found someone she liked for sex, or someone she needed for politics, and when the needs of the moment were satisfied, she and her latest lover cordially went their separate ways.
But she sometimes wondered what they might have been--the pure-pleasure ones, at least--if she let them grow. If she let her walls come down, if she let herself fall in love, if she let someone fall in love with her, and not the Princess on a pedestal. If she let someone’s soft kisses reach her soul, instead of resting sweetly on her skin; if she let their fingers entwine for more than a moment, an hour, a day; if, if, if…
She didn’t regret it, exactly, that she had never been in love. She certainly didn’t feel the lack most days, and she was far from lonely. She had her brothers and sisters, her husband and children, her friends, her work…but she watched true love--oh, yes, it existed, even at court--and it seemed like such a wonderful thing, while it lasted.
So, Sola didn’t cry, when her relationships ended. She was too happy, and her heart was too well-armored. But sometimes, even now, for an hour or so after each lover left, she wished, a little wistfully, for something more.
Story: If
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Plant Party #46. Victoria Amazonica, Liver #9. finger, Crimson #11. You don't put on a condom unless you're gonna fuck!
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (Halftime: Lillith Faire Second Stage), photography, brush (panoptic), oils, stain, seed beads
Word Count: 256
Rating: R
Characters: Sola
Warnings: Discussion of sex.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Sola never cried when her relationships ended. Or, at least, she didn’t cry anymore. Not after the first two or three times, back when she was young and more of an idealist. Few of her dalliances were real relationships, anyway. She found someone she liked for sex, or someone she needed for politics, and when the needs of the moment were satisfied, she and her latest lover cordially went their separate ways.
But she sometimes wondered what they might have been--the pure-pleasure ones, at least--if she let them grow. If she let her walls come down, if she let herself fall in love, if she let someone fall in love with her, and not the Princess on a pedestal. If she let someone’s soft kisses reach her soul, instead of resting sweetly on her skin; if she let their fingers entwine for more than a moment, an hour, a day; if, if, if…
She didn’t regret it, exactly, that she had never been in love. She certainly didn’t feel the lack most days, and she was far from lonely. She had her brothers and sisters, her husband and children, her friends, her work…but she watched true love--oh, yes, it existed, even at court--and it seemed like such a wonderful thing, while it lasted.
So, Sola didn’t cry, when her relationships ended. She was too happy, and her heart was too well-armored. But sometimes, even now, for an hour or so after each lover left, she wished, a little wistfully, for something more.