||March BPC: Just One Word|| 30. Recap. March was a good reading month, in case anyone was still wondering. Not so great for picture-taking purposes, unfortunately, but solid for reading and writing and such.
Could you do a short elucien fic possibly or just a rabble really. I need more elucien in my life 😭😊
Okay I’m Struggling with writing atm so this is just sort of thrown together without editing or too much planning because that is my apparent MO atm. Also @valamerys gets credit for the Plot such as it is. I HOPE I DIDN’T BUTCHER THIS BEAUTY CLAIRE. I hope you like this <3
Elain’s cheeks are burning. In spite of the oil she had slathered on her skin and the huge floppy sunhat (a gift from Lucien) that he had perched on top of her head before she had left, the scorching sun of the Summer Court never agrees with her delicate, pale skin. An explosion of freckles will pepper her skin tomorrow and Lucien will probably insist on kissing each and every one of them but for now she huffs as she glances into the mirror in the hallway. She looks like a tomato in a sun hat.
Shaking her head she moves into the house, opening her mouth to call to Lucien but then- Then she stops dead. Music. There is music filling every corner of the palace.
It’s so alien, so strange and haunting and otherworldly that Elain stops in place, as though captured in the soothing lull of the melody that floods her body, a puppet to the bars that tie strings around her limbs, holding her. The servants that pass before her seem similarly enchanted and she thinks she understands why.
She had visited this court briefly during the war with Rhys and Morrigan while they were conducting negotiations and it had been silent, haunted. Fear clung to every inch of that quiet, an angry outburst looming around every corner, tension in every silent moment where you could hear the pounding of your own heart daring you to anger the Lord who stalked the dark halls.
Now….The song that flows around them is not entirely happy or uplifting. It’s haunting, echoing through the wide, quiet halls as it echoes through the hollow spaces in her heart. But the simple fact of it being here, in this Court so plagued by death and fire and destruction that the act of creation, of filling it with something so clearly born of love and dedication and honest emotion, makes feeling swell in her chest.
Hurrying down the corridor, she catches the arm of the lady of Autumn as she’s passing, “Please,” she murmurs quietly, loathe to interrupt the songs with her voice but needing to ask after her mate, “Where is Lucien?” In answer his mother only smiles, her sharp, lined face softening, the smile touching her lips filling her deep russet eyes with warmth and light. And she knows where he is.
Elain hurries through the twisting passages of the palace she’s come to know so well since calling it her home until she stops outside the room. It’s a small former study in the quiet wing of the castle where they have their bedroom.
When the piano had been discovered in a darker part of the castle, a relic of Lucien’s childhood that his mother had managed to hide and save from his father’s wrath after his leaving the court, he had reacted to it in a way she had never expected. His mother had brought him down into the bowels of the castle to show it to him. He had gone perfectly still when first seeing it, staring at it, both eyes wide, and the sudden, pounding longing that had crashed into her from their bond had staggered her.
Elain had kept quiet however as he had slowly walked forwards, approaching it. He had run his hands over every inch of the smooth, polished wood. He had walked all around it, taking in every inch of it. Then he had slowly, tenderly, as though touching something infinitely precious, lifted the lid to reveal the dusty keys. He had run his long, delicate fingers over them, that longing aching through the bond becoming even more intense as the little clouds of dust had risen from the piano, welcoming him home.
He hadn’t pressed any of the keys down to have it make music, however. Abruptly, without any warning, startling Elain, he had turned and moved back towards the door without a word. His mother had gently caught him by the arm, telling him softly it was still in tune, that she had had it well cared for all these years. He had stiffly thanked her but told her that he wasn’t that person anymore, he wasn’t sure how to be that person anymore, and left them standing there in the quiet.
Lucien’s mother had been content to let him stew and not press him on the issue. But Elain had felt Lucien’s longing caving in her chest herself and hadn’t been willing to give up on him so easily. She had sweetly had the servants move the piano upstairs, placing it in one of the older studies near their rooms. It was small and quaint and rarely used, with a large, empty space in the centre of the room that just so happened to fit the instrument perfectly.
Lucien had been more than a little shocked to find the piano in there when she had absently asked if he would mind fetching the book she’d left there while reading but hadn’t commented on it. He had only handed her her book and settled down beside her. Elain had found continuous excuses over the past few weeks to have him go into that room, fetching her things, finding things of his she had ‘accidentally’ left in there. It also wasn’t her fault that the room was just perfect for doing her embroidery in at night, either.
She had hoped that the temptation would prove too much for her mate but she hadn’t thought it would happen so quickly…And in all of her wild imaginings about him playing again and rediscovering this part of himself he so clearly ached for, she had never dreamed he could play like this.
Elain slips quietly into the room behind Lucien, careful not to disturb him. His back is to her and he doesn’t seem to notice her presence as his fingers fly across the keys, his body rocking in gentle time to the music. The emotion that had been clogging her chest rises to form a hard lump in her throat as she watches him, opens the bond and lets herself feel what he does, the exhilaration, the intensity, the sheer joy that comes to him from playing again.
The song fades, Lucien’s hands playing simple, repetitive notes and melodies, just to keep some sound in the room, clearly unable to bear letting it go quiet. Elain takes that as her cue to approach, settling herself down on the small bench beside her mate.
She isn’t surprised that tears flow silently down her cheeks. Nor is she surprised to see them mirrored on Lucien’s face when he turns to look at her. Reaching out she tenderly brushes them away with the tips of her fingers, then cups his face in her hands and draws him in to kiss her.
“Thank you,” Lucien rasps onto her lips, and he doesn’t have to say more for her to understand. She smiles at him and he smiles back until she leans in and tenderly kisses it from his lips.
Then she settles down against him, nudging him through the bond and resting her head on his shoulder she closes her eyes and lets the music that flows from his fingers fill the room and the bond that glows and burns between them with his joy.
I watch Sakura momentarily as she crumbles into her pillow, eyes squeezed tightly closed as she grips the white sheets. Sweat beads appear across her forehead and I wonder what she’s so upset about.
“Sasuke!” she cries. I flinch in the doorway and immediately come to her bedside, almost falling from my own hindering wounds, but catch myself and sit softly down next to her restless body. I place my hand on her face, she’s still fast asleep and tossing. Did she really say my name?
“Sasuke!” she yelps, and curls back on her side. I’m sure of myself now, I reach out and gently nudge her shoulders. Her sleepy green eyes open slowly, searching the dark hospital room for clues. She focuses on me and her face lights up; she’s breathing so heavily.
Sliding up in bed, she pulls away, as if she’s scared to touch me. I don’t know how to tell her I’m not an illusion, I’m not leaving her again. “Sasuke, what’re you doing here,” she rubs her eyes, careful of the IV, “is Naruto okay? Did something happen?”
I look at Sakura and gratitude floods through me. She blushes, looking down, then bravely back into my eyes. “Sasuke..?”
Pictured above: my student cap (aka ylioppilaslakki), a box of Fazer Present chocolates and two pages from a book of quotes called Ajattomia ajatuksia (”Timeless Thoughts”).
“Ihminen tarvitsee myös hiukan päivänpaistetta ylläpitääkseen voimiaan elämän taistelussa.” –Minna Canth
“A human being needs a little bit of sunlight, too, in order to maintain their strength in the battle of life.” –Minna Canth
“Mut kevät taasen talven jälkeen koittaa, taas kirkkaampi on valo auringon, ja rinta riemun omakseen taas voittaa.” –Paavo Cajander
“But once again spring dawns after winter, once again the sunlight is brighter, and once again joy is won over by one’s breast.” –Paavo Cajander
In Finland, Walpurgis Night/May Day is called vappu and it’s mostly celebrated on May Day Eve as a carnival-style street festivity for the working people, students and spring. Activities include: parades, crowning statues with a student cap, wearing a student cap (and student overalls aka opiskelijahaalarit), picnics, drinking sima (a sort of a lemonade made of lemons, brown sugar, and yeast) and sparkling wine/champagne, eating munkki (sort of like a doughnut),tippaleipä (like funnel cake), wieners and potato salad, and partying with balloons and serpentine streamer.
Here’s what vappu looked like in my hometown last year:
What is your favourite quote about spring? Does your country celebrate Walpurgis Night, May Day or some other similar festivity?
Not my gif. Gif credit goes to the amazing creator.
Anon said:hi!! 😊 can I have a quil ateara imagine where his imprint is Hispanic and hears them talking to a friend in Spanish and asks for them to teach him how to speak it and when they do they end up laughing when he pronounces a word wrong and it’s just rly cute and fluffy??
A/N: You sure can!! I didn’t use any actual Spanish within this, as Google translate isn’t the greatest and I didn’t want to unintentionally butcher this beautiful language, so I hope you like this; thanks for requesting! - Admin Erika
Imagine: Teaching Quil how to speak Spanish, only for him to pronounce it wrongly.
You and Quil were sat around a table with Paul, Embry, and your friend. You and your friend were conversing quietly in your native tongue, and Quil was listening intently. Though he couldn’t understand a word of what the pair of you were saying, he knew it to be pleasant from the smiles that adorned upon both of your faces.
Waiting for a lapse in the conversation, he piped up, “Can you teach me some Spanish?” He grinned, his eyes alight at the chance of learning something new, something that would bring him closer to you, - even if it was the bear minimum -.
Your lips twitched at the corners as you thought briefly of teaching him swear words under the guise of being a completely innocent word, though you quickly realized that this was a bad idea, but it would be stored away in your collective ideas for a funny prank at a later date. It’d only get him, and you, into trouble.
“Alright, let’s straight with the basics,” you began, your posture upright and focused, hands upon your lap as you faced him, “Hello, is Hola.” you stated the obvious and quite slowly.
Quil attempted and succeeded at it, to which the crack of a smile stretched across your face. “Bueno.” you stated, quite pleased in fact.
“Wait, what does that mean?” Quil asked, lost as ever. He wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t passing his Spanish class in school either.
“Good.” you stated very slowly, bobbing your head before the whole entire group laughed at a blushing Quil.
You nudged him playfully on the third round, as he finally said something properly. ‘How long would it take for him to be fluent?’ you thought to yourself.
You shuddered to think, but resolved to help him. There was, after all, time.
Please keep requesting imagines. If you like, follow for more.
A couple hours later, Sharna was stretched across her couch, already half asleep with her head in James’ lap. His fingers were slowly loosening the curls and waves in her hair caused by the braids she wore that night during the show.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” she asked him casually after a yawn. They hadn’t talked much about the switch. They had talked about it earlier in the season when they knew it would be coming up in a few weeks. But over the past week since they had been truly together, they only mentioned it maybe once or twice.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” James said dramatically. “Or I’m in denial at least.”
She smiled. “Who are you hoping for?”
“Jenna,” he said at once. She nodded approvingly. “It’s the logical choice. But also I just like working with her. Would you want Noah?”
“Preferably. Or Nick. Those are my two after all. I would like Noah though because I like the idea of the four of us just swapping like that. It would be fun.”
“It would be. You won’t have more fun with him than with me, right?”
Sharna turned to look up at James and saw a teasing grin on his face. She played along.
“That depends. If he can manage not to butcher my beautiful choreography like someone else I know, maybe I’ll request a formal trade.”