YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024 - BONUS ROUND 3

[a1c0bb]

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

Comments

FILL: Team Anime/Manga

[hopelessgemini]

word count: 458

pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall

fandom: RWBY

characters: winter schnee, cinder fall

//

Winter brings her hyacinths.

The first few times Cinder practically shuts the door in her face. She’s been living perfectly happily on her own down in Mantle; she doesn’t need Winter’s pitying handouts, and she certainly doesn’t need those weird, wandering looks she keeps giving her, the kinds that say please look my way, please hear me out.

Winter has never been particularly good with her words, anyway.

The fourth time she shows up, Cinder takes the flowers and spends hours digging through flower language websites on her scroll, picking out meaning after meaning until the sun sinks into the horizon on the edge of the tundra. Please forgive me, she reads, I’m grieving the loss of you.

Winter has never been good with words, she thinks, so she’s relying on the flowers to do it for her. She looks over at the hyacinths, purple flushing deeper in the setting sun, and hums to herself. It’s a little sweet, if she’s being honest. Weird and distant, but very Winter.

According to the millions of websites she scrolls through, Old Atlesians were really into flowers as a means of communicating. The rich ones, obviously. Cinder has to admit, it’s kind of romantic.

Still. It’s not really enough. She’s not sure what will be. It takes a lot to rebuild this kind of bond, and she doesn't think she even wants Winter back in the first place.

The tenth time Winter comes by, Cinder gives her a chance.

She opens the door and steps aside to let her through, frowning. She’s still bringing her those same purple hyacinths.

“You really mean it, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be doing all this if I didn’t,” Winter says evenly.

She wanders through to Cinder’s kitchen and puts the flowers in an empty vase, fingers drifting across the glass like she’s cataloging every inch of the room, preserving it in her memory. Cinder steps up to her shoulder, watching her passively. “I made the vases myself, you know.”

Winter hums. “They’re beautiful. You’re getting really good at this.”

“I know,” Cinder says.

She turns to look at her, expression caught somewhere between wistfulness and something aching, yearning, that Cinder can’t define. There was a time not that long ago when she would have leaned forward to kiss the wistfulness off of her face, and she curls her fingers into the back of her only chair to combat the urge now, squaring her shoulders.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says.

Winter’s answering smile is radiant. For her, that’s a flickering, awkward half-grin, settling uncomfortably on her face like she’s not quite used to the expression. Cinder can’t stop herself from smiling back. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she echoes warmly. “As long as you’ll have me.”