yurishippingolympics | YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024

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bonus round

YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024 - BONUS ROUND 3

For this bonus round, we're looking for prompts inspired by plant/flower symbolism and the language(s) of flowers!

Here are some resources on flower meanings:
Script Florist
Farmer's Almanac
Wikipedia: Hanakotoba
Wikipedia: Plant Symbolism

This round will end on July 1st.

Fills can be in any format, and you can fill your teammates prompts, but you cannot fill your own prompt.

You can post as many fills and as many prompts as you want!

for your prompt post title, please use the following format:

PROMPT: TEAM [TEAM NAME]

for your fill post title, please use the following format:

FILL: TEAM [TEAM NAME]

POINTS - BONUS ROUNDS
For prompts: 10 points each (maximum of 150 prompt points per team per round)
For fills:
First 4 fills by any member of your team: 100 points each
Fills 5-10: 50 points each
Fills 11-20: 40 points each
Fills 21-50: 30 points each
Fills 51+: 25 points each

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

"Bouquets are made of dead flowers" - the title of a fic I have yet to finish writing. Just... This thing (relationship) is beautiful but it's also dead

Green willow - False love

Edited 2024-06-19 20:45 (UTC)

“On sunny days I go out walking
I end up on a tree-lined street
I look up at the gaps of sunlight
I miss you more than anything”

Francis Forever by Mitski

White chrysanthemum - Truth, loyal love

Purple hyacinth - Grief and sorrow

Ship: Kitty/Yuri
i wasn't sure if different colors of camellias have different meanings and i kind of just went with the first picture i found in google so sorry if there are any inconsistencies!!

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Please help me!” Kitty begs, hands clasped together. She knows what she must look like–dirt smudged on her robes and twigs tangled up in her hair. She’s a Category 5 on the hurricane scale but she’s desperate–beyond desperate. She passed desperation three hours ago when she transcended to a new level of being. “Professor Lee is going to fail me if I can’t find this stupid flower for this stupid spell and it’s due tomorrow and I’ve spent the whole afternoon searching the forest and I still can’t find it so will you please help me look?”

Yuri blinks at her, a spellbook propped open in her hands.

“Sorry, what?” she asks blankly. Kitty sucks in a breath and tries again. The little Alex on her shoulder reminds her that Not everyone’s on Kitty time. And that her assignment is still due in 8 hours. Great.

“I need to find a stupid flower to pass Professor Lee’s stupid assignment. Please help me.” She doesn’t get on her knees but it’s a close thing.

“Oh!” Yuri laughs, snapping the book shut. She hops off the desk and Kitty watches her cross the length of the room. “Right–the assignment for Magical History. First of all, it’s not a stupid flower. It’s the school’s emblem and no wonder you’re having trouble finding one–the whole forest’s probably been picked clean at this point.”

Kitty groans and slumps against the wall. Yuri and her are friends–are they friends? Yuri keeps dragging her on these outings when she’s bored, despite having a friend group larger than Kitty’s student debt but she’s never said no to one of Kitty’s favors and she’s saved her ass more than twice. Regardless, Yuri and her are… mutual acquaintances at the least but sometimes Kitty forgets her tendency to be unmercifully blunt. She’s speared through the heart by Yuri’s honesty.

“But you’re in luck! I happen to know a secret spot where a couple grow.”

Yuri takes a step into the sunlight and Kitty lingers in the doorway, uncertain if she’s meant to follow.

“Does this mean that you’ll help me?” she asks, squinting. The outline of her frame is glowing and Kitty can’t tell if it’s a trick of the light or a spell. The spell of love, the unhelpful Minho on her shoulder pipes up and she mentally flicks him to the ground.

She’s not in love with the prettiest girl in school. Actually, scratch that–who isn’t? Everyone’s a little bit in love with the prettiest girl in school–it’s only natural. Everyone thinks Yuri’s beautiful and Kitty’s no exception. Yeah, she’s fine. Everything is fine.

“Of course, silly!” Yuri laughs. She grabs Kitty’s wrist when she’s not satisfied with the pace and Kitty almost trips over her own two feet. “We’re friends after all!”

Ah. So Yuri does consider them friends.

“Yep, friends,” Kitty smiles, nodding, because don’t all friends daydream of kissing each other behind the school? It must be a natural reaction to the close proximity.

“Why’d you wait so long to start on Professor Lee’s assignment? They’re always absurdly difficult.”

“Ughhhhhh,” Kitty groans at the reminder, using her free hand to smother her face. “It wasn’t my choice! I’m so behind after transferring and I’ve been busy doing make-up exams and late assignments that this homework completely snuck up on me. Everything at KISS has been so… different compared to back home. You know, I used to be considered something of a genius in my town.”

“Were you now?”

“Hey, stop smiling! It’s true! You should ask my sisters when they come,” Kitty grumbles. She fights to keep the frown screwed onto her face but Yuri’s responding giggle may as well be a white flag. It’s a battle that she’s destined to always lose.

“Well, Kitty, I’d say you’re doing much better than when you first came. No desks have been blown up recently, no wands broken, no–”

“No! Don’t say it!”

“No frogs eaten either!” Yuri tacks on gleefully and Kitty feels her heart squeeze inside her chest. “I’d say you have a pretty good track record for the week.”

“Thanks, but it’s about to get spoiled unless I find this stupid–” Yuri raises one warning eyebrow. “Sorry, very-noble-and-cool-flower-that-represents-the-pride-and-future-of-KISS-Arcane-Academy. Better?”

“Much,” Yuri replies, tipping her head to smile. Kitty turns her face away, cheeks flushed.

“Where are you taking us, anyways?” she asks in a desperate attempt to change the subject before she combusts.

“My mother’s garden,” Yuri replies. She’s swinging their hands in time with their steps and Kitty finds it cute. Agh, no, she means logical!

“Wait. You want us to steal flowers from the principal’s garden?” Kitty’s heels dig into the dirt but Yuri yanks her forward.

“Oh come on, she has like a hundred! She won’t miss one and besides–it’s to help her student learn. She’d be all over that… probably slap it in a brochure too, actually.” Yuri tugs her another two steps forwards. “Besides, you don’t want to fail, right?”

Kitty works her lip between her teeth.

“You sure she won’t get mad?”

“Positive,” Yuri replies and Kitty’s heartbeat levels to something vaguely resembling normal. “As long as she doesn’t find out it was you.” Scratch that–she needs a healer on the scene, stat.

“I hope Principal Lim knows that I wouldn’t do this unless I didn’t have any other options,” Kitty mutters, swallowing past the lump in her throat. They’re crossing a stream now and Yuri wades into the water to hold her hand across the wooden plank.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Yuri replies with concerning ease. Kitty wonders how many other of Principal Lim’s belongings have gone mysteriously missing over the years. She swears (again) to never get on Yuri’s bad side.

“Okay, we’re here,” Yuri says, pulling at the latch of a wooden fence. It stands alone in the field, nothing but miles and miles of empty grass behind it.

“Are you sure–”

“Shh, I need to focus.” Yuri runs her thumb hard across the tip until it draws blood and the gate squeaks loudly before it swings open to reveal a garden behind it, like a little pocket dimension that they duck into. There’s a neatly trimmed rosebush tucked in the corner and an apple tree stretching up above the flowers. The leaves are laced with tiny lights.

“She must have been taking care of this place for a while,” Kitty says, bending down to inspect a row of tulips. They span all the colors of the rainbows–oranges ones for a telepathy spell, tall, yellow ones for the transformation spells, light purple ones for illusions.

“Must have,” Yuri replies and uproots a flower without a second thought. Kitty shrieks in sympathy.

“Here,” Yuri says, holding it out to her. Kitty reaches for it cautiously like the stem is on fire. She feels like Eve in the garden taking a forbidden fruit. “It’s for you.”

The pink flower Yuri hands her is beautiful. It has cascades of petals in endless rings around the center and it smells sweet when she lifts it up to her nose. However, what it is not is the purple weird shrub-looking thing that the school uses as its emblem.

“This isn’t the flower for my assignment,” Kitty says slowly. Yuri stares at her wordlessly before smiling.

“I know!” Kitty blinks.

“W-Well then, what is this?” Yuri’s turned around by this point but she pauses to toss a smile over her shoulder.

“You’re a genius–figure it out!”

Ship: bold of you to assume I know (Sasha & Not!Sasha & Melanie, the Magnus Archives)
Notes: This may not be in character but unfortunately I am really starting to enjoy writing notSasha. She is so fun and evil. This is sort of a sequel to this fic

“Sasha James” smiled to herself as she watched the One Who Saw storm out of the office.

It had gone badly, then. Well of course it had — “Sasha” rather prided herself on the illusions she could play on human minds. They were always so eager to turn on each other, given just a little push. It was easier than air to make them recategorize their friends into enemies and loved ones into strangers. What were any of them but masks, anyway? What did they even have that they could call their own?

Far less than they thought, usually. And ripping off the last of their selves was always so satisfying.

“Melanie!” Sasha was still screaming beside her. ”Melanie! I’m right here! Look at me! Can’t you see—“

Melanie whipped around then, and Sasha froze. “Sasha” kept typing away, despite the plain black computer screen before her. Appearances were important in her time trapped here.

“You,” Melanie said.

She wasn’t looking in Sasha’s direction. She had locked eyes with “Sasha” instead.

“Sasha” let herself savor the little groan of despair Sasha let out beside her before she stopped typing. She closed and opened her eyes rapidly. “Is something wrong? I can show you the exit if you’d like.”

“Was there — someone else before you?” Melanie tapped her foot against the ground. Jittering. The Tim human was looking in their direction but not interfering for now; good. “Someone also called Sasha.”

Sasha, beside her: “l’m right here. I’m right…”

“I don’t think so,” “Sasha” said blandly over her. She vibrated her vocal cords in a casual laugh. “You’d think they’d tell me if they did!”

“Right.” Melanie’s eyes narrowed. There was fear expressed in her facial muscles, yes, but more than that — determination. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. It was something she shared with the Eye’s human, “Sasha” noted with vague disgust.

“Well if that’s all—“

“No, hang on,” Melanie said, leaning forward. “Would you happen to know anything about pubs?”

“What?”

“Pubs,” Melanie said. “You know. Drinking establishments.”

“I know they exist,” “Sasha” said, bemused. She had never been the type of monster to make people run away screaming, but the spark of fear in Melanie’s eyes was a little too dim for her liking. “Is something wrong, Miss King? Did you perhaps have a little too much to drink?”

“No!” Melanie’s voice rose. “I’m, I’m talking about ghosts. About pubs. That are haunted.”

“You remembered,” Sasha whispered. “Sasha” thankfully managed to stop herself from looking over at her; nevertheless the joy in her voice was clear. “It’s been months…”

“I see,” “Sasha” said, carefully projecting an air of accidental condescension. “Ghosts. Alcohol. Hallucinations are a serious matter, you know.”

”You’re being an asshole!” Melanie slammed her hands on Sasha’s desk. “I’m not hallucinating! I know you’re different! So if this is some, some kind of sick prank, I’ll tell… I’ll…”

She trailed off then. Sasha had drifted behind Melanie to brush a hand over her shoulders, features distorted in sorrow. Melanie didn’t turn in her direction.

“You don’t have anyone, do you,” Sasha said to her unhearing audience. Genuine concern. “Oh, Melanie.”

This tableau was objectively hilarious, “Sasha” thought. Shame she didn’t have anyone to watch it with. If the delivery drivers were here she could probably have a good laugh with them — most annoying corpse-in-the-making failing to comfort the only human who could see she was gone. Sitcom material.

But she didn’t feel like laughing. She felt… angry?

Huh?

It was Sasha again, “Sasha” thought to herself. She’d just gotten too used to seeing the human cycle through Pain and Fear and Temporary Amusement At Doppelgänger’s Expense and More Pain that watching her interact with any other human was jarring. Most of her victims passed out and unraveled long before they met the One Who Saw Them.

She was just annoyed, again, at how Sasha was still sticking around. Cockroach. That was all.

This was the only reason she said to Melanie, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Melanie and Sasha chorused.

“I should have taken you seriously,” “Sasha” said, widening her eyes slightly to make her look more sincere. “You’ve clearly had a long day. What was it about haunted pubs?”

Sasha was giving her a blatantly suspicious look. Melanie, on the other hand, sagged a little.

“I’m sorry too,” she muttered. “I’ve just been so angry lately and — look, forget it. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” “Sasha” said. “I want to help. Tell you what, I can take you to a nearby pub later if you want. It will be a treat from me.”

Sasha’s look changed into the “no one conjugates that sentence that way” look. At least she’d stopped looking at Melanie.

“Are you serious?” Melanie asked.

“Of course.” And — she’d have to tell “Tom” to call the scheme off, ugh, but Melanie seemed more fun to mess with anyway — “It can be a date. If you like.”

“O-oh. I, uh. Right. You mean the platonic meaning of date.”

“If you like,” “Sasha” repeated, and let the smirk settle into her muscles.

Sasha, it appeared, had finally caught on. “No — no, Melanie, don’t —“

“Right, well,” Melanie said very fast. She looked more uncomfortable than anything; oh well, “Sasha” hadn’t really planned to seduce her or anything. It was just worth it for the look on the actual Sasha’s face. “Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. Does Wednesday work for you?”

“Of course,” “Sasha” said again. “I look forward to it.”

“You bastard,” Sasha hissed at not-herself.

“Okay, um. See you then?” Melanie said.

“See you,” “Sasha” said, and tilted her neck when she smiled, just far enough for a few vertebrae to crack apart and reform in her spine.

Oh, there was the fear. She’d missed it.

“Okay well thanks bye,” Melanie said, and darted off quickly enough that even if Sasha hadn’t been inaudible, her scream wouldn’t have reached her in time.

“Sasha” leaned back in her chair.

“What the fuck,” Sasha said. “What the fuck, S—no, that’s my name — what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“She seemed to like your original self,” “Sasha” commented.

“I was going to ask her out,” Sasha said. “I had her number and everything, and then you fucking killed me.”

“Well, you can experience it vicariously through me instead,” “Sasha” offered. “You’ll have to, as a matter of fact.”

“You’re going to torture her, aren’t you,” Sasha said in muted horror. “Like you’re doing to me right now. You’re — you can’t kill her.”

“Why not?”

“You can only do one person at once, can’t you? And you’ll be sad to lose me.” Sasha cracked a strange, sad smile at something “Sasha” didn’t understand. “I’m unforgettable.”

“You humans and your assumptions,” “Sasha” said, ignoring that they were all true. “You think you’re so important.”

“I am,” Sasha said. “Everyone’s important.” It had the cadence of something she’d had to tell herself in the mirror often.

“She didn’t remember you.”

Sasha hissed a breath through her teeth. “That’s not fair.”

“When we get home,” “Sasha” said, “tell me what your date outfit was going to be, alright?”

Snapdragon

Presumption, deception, a gracious lady

This potato looks like a monster, but it's actually just desperately searching for water. It even has its roots curled around a water bottle, but can't reach it without help.

Nepeta (catnip, catmint) - represents happiness, fertility & love

Ship: Kitty/Yuri
Word Count: 1224

------------------------------

Someone’s playing a cruel prank on her and frankly, Kitty’s sick of it. Sure, the first few weeks she’d understood–torn notes, stolen gym clothes, weird plants in her locker, it’s run-of-the-mill new kids treatment.

But they’re three weeks in and the flowers are still streaming in like it’s Day 1. She’s pretty sure Q is collecting the petals behind her back, even though she tells him not to.

“Some of these are rare!” he protests as he shoves them into his backpack. They’re getting crushed under the weight of all his books. “Like really, really rare!”

The first week had been camellias, according to Q. White and pink buds, delicate petals layered in a seemingly endless ring around the center. Q had swooned amidst her coughing fit.

Week 2 had brought sakurasou and a raging case of hives.

“These aren’t even native to the area,” Q had shrieked. “This is a Japanese flower–the primrose! The petals are so small… and such a pretty shade of purple!” Kitty had offered a sympathetic sniffle, her nose buried too deep in a tissue to note the delicacy.

The worst part is the allergies. Portland is a nightmare in Spring but she scrapes by with a box of Claritin and cutting her schedule in half. She only steps outside out of necessity. Having petals showered on her head every time she reaches for her textbooks is a completely different story.

And now Week 3 has brought cornflowers, if Q’s expertise is to be believed.

“They’re blue,” Kitty says, picking one up by the stem. Q yelps at her lack of delicacy. “Corn isn’t blue.”

“They have a history,” he sighs at her ignorance. “And a lengthy set of meanings too.”

“Pretty sure I don’t need a dictionary for that one,” she laughs. “This must be the Korean way of saying fuck you and get out of our school.”

Q’s responding smile is strained.

“You gonna take them again?” she asks. He shrugs guiltily in response but he’s already reaching for the stems.

“It’s a pretty shade of blue,” he says by way of explanation and Kitty shakes her head.

“If you wanna keep the creepy, stalker flowers, that’s all you. It’s like they know my schedule too because they always sneak them in when I’m at classes! Anyways, same time, next week?”

Q grins and bumps his fist against hers in response.

“Sweet Williams?” she echoes on Week 4. Q nods back violently. “Doesn’t look much like a William to me, haha!”

Her joke is received with silence because Q is on 4 hours of sleep and traded in his humor for brawns at birth.

“Okay… or not,” she finishes and tosses the bundle in his direction because she knows he’ll scoop them up off the floor anyways. He’ll probably give them to Florian too and the poor guy won’t even know they’re second-rate.

“Sweet Williams,” he echoes dully and Kitty doesn’t even know if it’s the flowers or last class’ lecture that sucked the life out of him. Professor Lee can be draining on a good day and Hades-soul-sucking-levels-of-evil on a bad one. “I think I’m starting to get it.”

“Get what?” Kitty prods but Q just stares at her blankly in response. “What’s there to get?”

He studies her in the crappy hallway lights, gaze swinging like a pendulum between her and the lockers and back to her again.

“I don’t know. I’m not really sure what there’s here to get.”

Week 5 brings honeysuckles that litter the ground when she reaches for her history textbook.

“Seriously?” she yelps, grinding one underfoot as she fishes for a pencil. “Again?!”

The sneezing starts up again just as Eunice and her posse walk by. They smother their disdain the same way that the Korean haminis do when she walks in the streets with a crop top–that is, not at all. Kitty looks up at the sky and wonders again, why her?

“It’s like they’re trying to make me look stupid,” she says and doesn’t even feel bad when her locker slams shut on a petal, tearing it in two.

“No,” Q mumbles when he thinks he’s out of earshot. “You’re definitely not the one that looks stupid here.”

There are no flowers when she opens her locker on Week 6 and she nearly cries from the relief. Finally, her anonymous-stalker-slash-creep-slash-weirdo-who-only-communicates-passive-aggressively-via-flowers has chosen to let her live in peace.

She closes her locker and nearly screams. Yuri is standing in the open gap, leaning against the wall with a flower in her hand. She’s cupping it like a candle flame, like she’s shielding Kitty from it. Or maybe shielding it from Kitty?

“Please,” she says and there’s desperation edging into her voice. She nudges the stem in her direction with a flick of her wrist.

Record scratch. Rewind. That’s a flower in her hand. That means Yuri’s been the one leaving her flowers? Yuri’s been the one leaving her hate messages, telling her to get out of her school?

“You have to know what this one means,” Yuri says and she sounds tired, like she’s been stretched out on a hanger for weeks and left out to dry.

She sighs and unfurls her hand to reveal a bright red rose behind it. Oh. Oh.

Red roses–Kitty’s seen those ones before. In shojo mangas and chickflicks and every convenience store within a two-mile radius before Valentine’s Day.

“That’s… not an ‘I-hate-you’ flower,” she says slowly. Yuri shakes her head in response and the smile tugging on her face looks worn.

“It’s an ‘I-like-you-please-go-out-with-me’ flower, Kitty,” she replies.

“Oh.” Behind her, Q gives an awkwards two thumbs-up. He knew, she realizes belatedly. She shoots him an angry why-didn’t-you-say-something look and he gives her a half-shrug with his jaw set out in response. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to force yourself to say yes out of pity. I–”

“No!” Kitty’s always had a tendency to leap before she looks and her mouth tumbles on forwards before her mind has time to catch up. “I mean–no, I, ugh! What I’m trying to say is you’re smart and beautiful and you never have a hair out of place and you saved my tourist ass when I was stranded in the airport on that first day. And you’ve helped me carve out a space for myself at KISS and made me feel like I really might belong, even when the whole universe seemed to be telling me otherwise. I think I would’ve packed my bags and given up by now, if it wasn’t for you.” Yuri’s smile has tumbled out into a full-blown thing and Kitty sucks in a deep breath before continuing.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t know someone like you could like someone like me.”

“Surprise?” Yuri says. Her lips are half-hidden behind the rose but Kitty can still make out her smile.

“Are you free Saturday?” Kitty asks suddenly because she’s overcome with the urge to nail this down now, to put a ring on her finger before she can change her mind. She has six weeks to make up for and Kitty Song Covey doesn’t do things halfway. Yuri blinks at her.

“I think so?”

“Then it’s a date! I’ll bring you flowers–what’s your favorite kind?”

Yuri looks up at her shyly before she smiles.

“Catnip!”

Ship: Kitty/Yuri
Word Count: 952
i've never actually read the story haha but it definitely sounds interesting and i hope i did the prompt justice!

-------------------------------------------------

An unfamiliar woman swings into her carriage on the eve of her wedding. Yuri stares blankly at her masked face.

“Hi,” the woman says, hiking up the cloth on her face. Her eyes are bright and her lips are small and cute. Yuri has never seen unpainted lips out in public before. She’s never seen ones so adorable either. “Wow, you’re even prettier than the rumors say! How many people did you kill?”

She elbows Yuri in the ribs but Yuri just blinks back in a daze.

“Sorry, what?”

The woman–girl? She can’t be any older than Yuri but Yuri doesn’t even know what to consider herself. Betrothed at 16 and married at 17, she wonders where on the spectrum that puts her. Regardless, the person in her carriage does some weird shaking motions with her hands and laughs.

“There are dead bodies buried under the cherry trees!” she recites, putting on airs. Yuri thinks it’s supposed to be some attempt at a Western accent but no recognition crosses her face.

Pity that her father always insisted on polishing her poise rather than her prose. It’s a testament to their family business that runs on reputation more than anything else. Her mother could run the company a thousand times better if only her father would let her step out from the kitchen.

The girl frowns at her confusion.

“Seriously? You don’t know that one?” she asks and Yuri shakes her head mutely. “It’s true, I swear. How else could they flower that beautifully?”

Ah. Yuri doesn’t need to know the story to understand the sentiment. She wonders how many lives her mother has ruined to grow her, how many peoples’ blood, sweat and tears she’s been watered with over the years.

Yuri laughs bitterly at the irony. She touches her clothes made of silk and the paint layered painstakingly onto her face. And for what? All that work and for what? For a pretty face in the window and a lifetime relegation to the kitchen–forever on display but never to be touched?

Flowers are so pretty yet so fragile in the wind.

“Well,” the girl interjects cautiously, like Yuri’s entire inner turmoil is written clearly in the lines of her face. Fuck–she’d been careless. She wipes the expression off her face like she’s polishing a silver plate. “I was just trying to say that you’re pretty. Way prettier than the rumors say and way too pretty to marry an old, fat man like–ah, sorry! That’s your husband, my bad! Just forget I said anything.”

The girl in her carriage is a wreck–nothing like the slow, old man her father had her betrothed to. He’d probably die of a heart attack if that many emotions crossed his face.

“Let me try this again,” the girl says, sucking in a breath. Her lips form the numbers as she counts to three. “Hi, my name is Kitty!” A pseudonym, clearly. Yuri takes the hand she extends out to her. “And I’ve come to kidnap you.”

What the fuck. The world grinds to a halt and it takes Yuri a few moments to realize that the standstill isn’t just in her mind. The carriage has stopped moving and Kitty takes a peek out the curtain. Whatever she sees brings a smile to her face. It’s a beautiful sight.

“And that’s my cue! Chop-chop, we’ve got places to be!” She pulls a blade out easily from her belt, as natural as if she’s breathing air, and presses the tip under Yuri’s chin. “I don’t have to tell you what happens if you don’t behave, right?”

Yuri feels her heart in her throat but nods regardless. Kitty grins and hops out of the carriage. There’s an array of scuff marks on the back of her boots.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you!”

Yuri reaches out for her hand but she’s a second too slow.

“Wait!” she yells. Kitty tosses a cautious smile over her shoulder.

“Wait, what?”

“I’ll double your payment if you take me with you,” she huffs and Kitty arches an eyebrow.

“That’s the plan–you know, the whole kidnapping thing?”

“No.” Yuri’s resolution is palpable, she can feel it in her throat when she swallows. “I want to join you. Take me with you. You said I’m too pretty to marry that fat old man after all, right?”

Kitty blinks at her. She leans against the carriage and presses the tip of the blade against her lip in contemplation.

“Wow, you’re more gutsy than I thought,” she says finally. It’s not a no and Yuri clings to the knowledge like it’s a lifeline.

“My hair pin is worth more than your weight in gold,” she says, untangling it from her hair. These curls took two days to shape and Yuri pulls them loose without a second thought. “And I know where my parents will send people first. I can help keep you out of sight.”

Kitty leans in close, hands pressed behind her back as she studies her.

“You can’t back out halfway,” she says. “If you’re in with us–you’re in all the way.” Yuri nods back. The adrenaline is making her heart throb violently against the cage of her chest.

“Then, welcome to the team, Yuri!” Kitty laughs, sticking her hand out. “We’re glad to have you–or at least I am! Minho’s probably gonna be a bitch about it but he’s always a bitch so just ignore him.”

Yuri grins. Kitty’s spiraling is already amusing and it’s only been ten minutes since they’ve known each other. She wonders what a lifetime would look like.

Yuri takes her open hand and steps out of the carriage. Outside, it’s the first day of spring.

Ship: Kitty/Yuri
Word Count: 623

----------------------------------------------------

They get married in sunshine. That’s how Kitty will remember it twenty years down the line.

She always thought she’d get married in a ballgown. She also always thought she’d get married in a big, old church with an organ playing in the background. She thought she’d get a silver, fat diamond ring in a velvet box. (She never thought that she’d be the one getting down on one knee in a restaurant. She never thought that they’d both be–laughing with the realization, and that the ring tumbling out of Yuri’s box would be not one but two carats.)

There’s a lot of preconceived notions that she’s shed along the way. Her wedding is anything but conventional and she wouldn’t have it any other way. They get married in a field full of flowers and Minho sweats through all three layers of his suit but Kitty’s already put up with his bitching for ten years so what’s another three hours? Yuri had wanted the flowers and Kitty had wanted the sunshine so it seemed like a perfect venue.

They’re both wearing white though–they’ve caved at least that much to tradition. Kitty’s long dress is tied off with a huge bow at the waist and her heels are silver beneath her skirt.

She’s wearing the same string of pearls her mother wore on her wedding day. She hopes she’s making her proud, even as her dad pinches her cheek reassuringly and tells her that he’s more than proud enough for the both of them.

Yuri’s stunning on their wedding day. She always is but in a strapless dress lined with flowers and a slit for her leg, she’s ethereal. She’s on her tippy-toes in heels too and they both laugh at the sudden height difference.

Her father’s crying–he won’t stop crying–and Lara Jean keeps blowing her nose into Peter’s sleeve when she thinks Kitty isn’t looking. Margot, at least, fights to maintain some semblance of control and it’s only her shaky mouth that gives her away.

They lay on the grass after the ceremony and that’ll probably make their wedding organizer pull out their hair but Kitty doesn’t care. They’ll only get married once, after all.

“The flowers were a good choice,” she says, pulling at a few with her fingers.

“You were too,” Yuri replies, knocking their shoulders together. She holds still long enough for Kitty to thread the petals–small and white–through her hair.

“Your turn,” Yuri says, knotting a rose clumsily above her ear. It looks goofy and silly and Kitty laughs when she touches it and then they’re both laughing. Her heart feels full, happiness spilling over at the top.

Margot eventually comes to fetch them for the father-daughter dance and her dad holds back his tears long enough to spin her in a circle.

Yuri and her are swaying slowly to the music now–a Spotify playlist that Yuri herself had carefully curated after many a sleepless night. She wouldn’t allow Kitty so much as a peek.

The song choice is beautiful, just like every other aspect of her. Kitty wants to kiss her and then remembers that she can. She digs her heels into the grass to close the distance.

“You’re gonna have all the time in the world to do that,” Yuri laughs but she sounds pleased. Kitty twists her finger around the daisy laced into her hair and kisses the spot.

“I’m gonna make you so happy,” she says and it’s a promise that comes out more like a threat. Yuri laughs at the wording. “I’m gonna make you the happiest person in the world, just you wait.”

Yuri tosses her head back and the flowers twisted into her hair glow gold.

“Kitty Song Covey, I already am.”

I don't feel any pain
A little fall of rain
Can hardly hurt me now
You're here, that's all I need to know
And you will keep me safe
And you will keep me close
And rain will make the flowers grow.

- A Little Fall of Rain, from Les Miserables

Still do not know how to post images here, so have a link to my tumblr post where I explain ny choice for this.

Edited 2024-06-21 12:05 (UTC)

“Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.”

- Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost

Ship: Lana Skye/Mia Fey (Ace Attorney)

651 words

There were two things that Lana Skye wished she hadn’t taken for granted. Having done so, her life had shattered into a million pieces.

One of those things was her freedom. Before Phoenix Wright had found the truth of the SL-9 incident, she had constantly felt the walls closing in around her. She knew she had to do Gant’s bidding for Ema’s sake, but the constant, looming dread that someone would discover Ema’s supposed crime hung over her like an anvil dangling from a frayed rope. Its cold shadow seeped into her, straining her relationship with her beloved sister, for whom she would do anything to protect. That crushing weight had been lifted, but the damage of two years of holding Ema at arm’s length had been done.

Of course, after the trial, she had taken on a different pair of shackles; however, those felt like aluminum compared to the lead ones that Gant had burdened her with. Her time in prison was the freest she had felt since becoming chief prosecutor.

The other thing she had taken for granted was her relationship with Mia Fey. When it had begun, every moment with Mia had sent her heart aflutter. As time passed, though, they settled into a comfortable routine. She still loved Mia, of course. That would never change. But they way she loved her did. No longer were there butterflies in their stomach when they kissed— their intimacy was just another fact of life. Or so Lana thought. As Lana started putting more time into her career, quality time with Mia became a rarity. And eventually, it became a “never”. She couldn’t blame Mia for growing tired of being second to Lana’s work, for becoming sick of feeling like Lana’s dirty little secret. She had meant to tell the people in her life, she kept telling herself and Mia, but Mia eventually saw this for the lie it was, as she was wont to do.

Even after their romantic relationship ended, she still took their now-strained-and-cordial relationship for granted. Sporadically exchanged texts, a few phone calls, one deeply awkward visit to her office.

Lana Skye’s freedom was something that had been returned to her. She swore to herself she would appreciate every day of liberty, and to close the distance between herself and her sister. But Lana Skye’s relationship with Mia Fey was something she would never have again. As much as she regretted them, Lana’s heart ached for the days when taking their relationship for granted was a possibility.

The first time she visited Mia Fey’s grave, it was raining. She stood in front of the tombstone with her inappropriately cheery transparent-floral umbrella (an old favorite of Ema’s, and the only one Lana still owned). She felt a hot tear slide down her cheek. But more than the somber atmosphere, more than the almost-offensively simple epitaph of “Here lies Mia Fey”, what drove her to cry was the fact that the place where Mia was buried was covered entirely in grass and wildflowers. Of course, Lana hadn’t expected a freshly dug grave. But the stark reminder that Mia Fey had died, and instead of halting like it should have done for such an occasion, time cruelly marched on. It was enough to crack her hardened heart.

But at the same time, other fissures inside her were slowly closing. She knelt on the grass, placing the bouquet of sunflowers she’d brought carefully against the tombstone. She hoped that somehow, as their name implied, they would stop the dreary rain and project the blazing warmth of the sun onto Mia, the same blazing warmth that Lana had felt in her chest when she had first laid eyes on her.

Lana Skye had taken two very important things for granted, and there was nothing do be done about that now. All she could do was slowly begin to gather the scattered shards.

"Where the blood fell, red flowers grew." -Neil Gaiman, Sandman

In fields where nothing grew but weeds
I found a flower at my feet
Bending there in my direction
I wrapped a hand around its stem
I pulled until the roots gave in
Finding there what I'd been missing
[…]
Inside my hands these petals browned
Dried up, fallen to the ground
But it was already too late now
I pushed my fingers through the earth
Returned this flower to the dirt
So it could live I walked away now

- Rise Against, The Good Left Undone

Edited 2024-06-21 18:48 (UTC)

Like a sweet-apple
turning red
high
on the tip
of the topmost branch.
Forgotten by pickers.

Not forgotten—
they couldn’t reach it.

- Sappho, Fragment 23

the greater mind once dreamed of leaf and cast these caverns so. in every bush and every vine the mind of unn reveals itself to us.

- hollow knight

Fandom: Fire Emblem Sacred Stones
Pairing: L'Arachel x Eirika
WC: 456

Dawn breaks gentle over the rolling foothills of who-knows-where, spilling warm colors into the lightening sky to paint the still-slumbering war camp in hues of pastel. Once the sun crests the horizon, morning role call and breakfast will begin, and their march will resume.

In the meantime, their motley herd of horses and pegasi graze together, tails swishing, whilst the free-roaming wyverns fly in at their leisure from their nocturnal hunt. Birds trill to each other and flit about from tent to tent, searching determinedly for spilt grains or hardtack. L'Arachel listens to the silly little things pecking and singing without any heed to whose beauty sleep they might disturb with their antics, and scowls at the firmly closed tent flap.

She dreamt she was in her childhood bedroom, safe in Rausten, until reality proved otherwise. Nature can be so inconsiderate.

On the bedroll beside hers, Eirika stirs slightly, long hair spilled over her pillow, lips parted on some unspoken syllable. The poor dear has been tossing and turning about for hours. No doubt her dreams have been less than pleasant, but at this rate, she's going to make herself ill. Exhaustion and stress have hollowed dark circles beneath her closed eyes, and her complexion has gone as pallid as that white face powder that the courtiers have been clamoring for of late.

Without thinking, L'Arachel reaches across the modest space between their bedrolls, and takes Eirika's small hand within her own.

She sought only to offer some small measure of comfort, empathetic and benevolent holy woman that she is. As soon as L'Arachel realizes what she's done, though, flustered heat rushes to flood her cheeks.

They're holding hands. Bare hands. They don't even have gloves on!

She hurriedly closes her eyes lest Eirika catch her awake, though she can do nothing for the wild hammering of her heart against her ribs. Hypocrite though she is, L'Arachel also doesn't let go, as she is loath to lose a moment of that precious, rarified contact. They've never held hands before. She's sure her face is positively aflame, imagining Eirika accepting her hand willingly.

(And, oh – L'Arachel might as well rescind her vows of purity to Saint Latona now, before the shame of corruption forces her to retire from her profession entirely!)

With a soft sigh, Eirika's fingers curl, squeezing her hand.

L'Arachel bravely cracks one eye open for a peek.

Her dearest companion still appears to be fast asleep. L'Arachel's shoulders slump in relief. She fires off a swift prayer for forgiveness – never hurts to throw in a little extra piety, like Uncle Mansel says – and silently promises to leave some seed out for the songbirds in thanks for waking her up just a few minutes early.

Fandom: Fire Emblem Sacred Stones
Pairing: L'Arachel x Eirika
WC: 591

The horses huff through flared nostrils, hooves thudding against the dirt path and kicking up dust. The weary creak of leather, the jangle of metal, the monotonous rhythm of hoofbeats – even for a worldly lady who is more than accustomed to traveling long hours in the saddle, L'Arachel is growing bored to tears of endlessly riding from battlefield to battlefield. When Eirika warned her of the great and terrible danger they would face, she failed to disclose that war was also a dreadfully tiresome slog from one place to the next.

If they could at least hire a minstrel or a jester for some entertainment on the road, it would make for less drudgery! L'Arachel has half a mind to summon Rennac and Dozla to her side and demand a performance of them. Her devoted retainers can always get a laugh out of her.

Mounted on Fleur, Eirika’s proud shoulders do not waver or slouch, nor does the strict line of her spine. If Eirika doesn't deign to voice her complaints, then L'Arachel shall choose to follow her stoic example – even if, truth be told, she does have a most unladylike bruise on her tailbone from this infernal terrain bouncing her up and down, and thighs so sore she can scarcely stand without wobbling like a newborn foal.

A beautiful princess of peerless beauty such as herself mustn't set a poor example for commoners.

L'Arachel grips Valkyrie's reins tight in her gloves as she wriggles restlessly in her saddle, trying to find any position that inspires less aches of the body. Alas, such a position does not exist. She nudges the stirrups against Valkyrie's sides, urging her mare to pick up the pace and draw abreast with Eirika.

“Any word from the flying scouts as to when we'll set up camp?” L'Arachel asks with forced cheer, offering Eirika her most dazzling smile. “This repetitive scenery has little to offer in the way of aesthetics, and I fear my sweet Valkyrie is growing disillusioned with the landscape. I should like to retire her for the evening before her ill temperament reflects poorly upon my house.”

“Your horse... is tired of the scenery?” Eirika repeats, polite but puzzled. She smiles in gentle apology, inclining her head in a slight bow. “There is still some ways to go, I'm afraid. Ephraim would like for us to camp at the base of the mountain, and as you can see... your horse may have to put up with marching a while longer.”

L'Arachel sighs with theatrical flair, tossing her head back and gesturing with her arm for emphasis.

“Very well! I shall endeavor to keep her spirits up for the time being, but know that it grows more difficult with each passing hour. Perhaps, if you were to regale her with anecdotes from your homeland of Renais, it would inspire her to carry on further...?”

Eirika, eyes bright with amusement, leans forward to pat Fleur's neck. “I suppose it would be worth a try,” she concedes. “Is there anything you – or rather, Valkyrie – are curious about in particular?”

L'Arachel beams, straightening her posture.

“Why, the castle gardens sound just lovely! Or any tales from your youth, or perhaps, adventures you and your brother got up to together? I'd love to learn more about your upbringing – that is, I'm certain my mare would as well.”

“Very well,” Eirika concedes with an indulgent smile. “Give me but a moment to search my memory, and I'll tell you both all that I can remember.”

YAYYY EIRICHEL!!! I love how beautifully rendered the setting is, it's really ornate (very l'ara) but also in such a way that feels so realised and beautiful! I like how that is framed against the interior of the tent and eirika's quiet suffering, it's really touching. also ahhh your l'ara voice is perfect!! I giggled so much at 'And, oh - L'Arachel might as well rescind her vows of purity to Saint Latona now, before the shame of corruption forces her to retire her profession entirely!' . you managed to fit something so funny and sweet and with an effective arc into not a lot of space, I really admire that!

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YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024 - BONUS ROUND 3

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