"So right," he said, slamming the dripping bottle on Tifa's counter. On Tifa's clean counter. She sighed and reached for the rag again. Corel Gold did horrible things to the wood; it left behind scummy puddles and left the scent of engine oil soaked into the counter, but Cid liked it for whatever reason, so she tried to keep a few bottles in the back for him whenever he stopped by.
"Right," Cid repeated, his gaze going in and out of focus. "Jasmine. You know what they make jasmine tea from? Flowers. Who the hell wants to drink up a bunch of flowers? Might as well pull up weeds from your yard and, and soak 'em in hot water. Tastes the same."
She shook her head. "Move your elbow. You're resting it in a puddle."
He grunted and slid the offending limb out of the way. "And it smells all -- all fruity and shit. You know? Like some rich lady's living room."
"There's nothing wrong with flowers," Tifa said.
"Nah, nah. I mean, they're okay. But I don't want to eat 'em
( ... )
He recalls teaching her to wield the blade that now seems an extension of herself, her youthful clumsiness and the ironclad refusal to fail that was so out of place in a child of seven.
In case it wasn't blatantly obvious, FF6 Leo/Celes, if it strikes your fancy XD
She trained with a sword half her size -- she rejected the shortsword he had initially intended to use in her instruction, thinking it little more than a dagger. He had the blade fashioned from mythril so it would be lighter, easier for her small muscles to bear the strain of practicing with it. When she discovered the blade's true nature, she insisted on training with iron. Swordsplay was her food and sweat her drink; every night, the clash of steel lulled her to sleep
( ... )
Ack! You poor thing, I hope you feel better. I've been nursing a fever too so my mood has been SWINGING as of late as well. I hope you feel better soon.
And I think I need to go steal this from you soon. But in the mean time, how about...
There are three terrible lies, Albus realizes, that every man whose earned his sins would be wrong to tell himself.
...Doesn't that sound like the start of a country western? But ever since the whole "Dumbledore is gay" thing, I've wanted fic on his saucy love affair with a teenage Hitler. ^_^
Albus trails the tip of his quill down Gellert's stomach. "I don't see how you got that from Harlew's Third Equation."
Gellert unrolls a yellowed length of parchment. "Oh, I did not. Your man Septimus Peverell -- "
"He's not my man."
"Your countryman, then. Seven cores." He taps the parchment with his wand; seven ink diagrams glow and swim across the weathered surface. "If we set them up at angles corresponding to the positions of the six visible planets and the moon, the spell of binding will be impossible to break from the inside."
"Brilliant," Albus breathes, his nose almost touching the ink. "I'd never even considered -- "
Gellert smiles slowly. "You would have thought of it, in time."
"Nevertheless," he says, "having you around hastens the process considerably."
Two. "What could I have done to stop it?"Albus's palm twines with Gellert's; his
( ... )
I am definitely going to have to check that out later! But for now, I'm going to have to swoon at the lovely depth and tragedy you managed to fit into such a small set of drabbles here. You make it so easy to understand why Albus loved Gellert... and so wrenching at the end to see the real fallout of it all. Poor everyon.e ♥
Albus/Gellert slays me dead. (And slew me even deader once JKR gave it the thumbs-up.) I'm a sucker for tragic love stories, and oh man is that a good one. Angst, my pretties! Aaaaaangst!
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And I'll bite with something I hope'll calm the stomach down. Let's see...
It had taken seven beers, but finally, Cid was back to his rant on the many ways ginseng kicked jasmine's ass.
(Fixed for grammar, boo, stupid TK!)
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"Right," Cid repeated, his gaze going in and out of focus. "Jasmine. You know what they make jasmine tea from? Flowers. Who the hell wants to drink up a bunch of flowers? Might as well pull up weeds from your yard and, and soak 'em in hot water. Tastes the same."
She shook her head. "Move your elbow. You're resting it in a puddle."
He grunted and slid the offending limb out of the way. "And it smells all -- all fruity and shit. You know? Like some rich lady's living room."
"There's nothing wrong with flowers," Tifa said.
"Nah, nah. I mean, they're okay. But I don't want to eat 'em ( ... )
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He recalls teaching her to wield the blade that now seems an extension of herself, her youthful clumsiness and the ironclad refusal to fail that was so out of place in a child of seven.
In case it wasn't blatantly obvious, FF6 Leo/Celes, if it strikes your fancy XD
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Thank you very much!
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And I think I need to go steal this from you soon. But in the mean time, how about...
There are three terrible lies, Albus realizes, that every man whose earned his sins would be wrong to tell himself.
...Doesn't that sound like the start of a country western? But ever since the whole "Dumbledore is gay" thing, I've wanted fic on his saucy love affair with a teenage Hitler. ^_^
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***
One. "I meant well."
Albus trails the tip of his quill down Gellert's stomach. "I don't see how you got that from Harlew's Third Equation."
Gellert unrolls a yellowed length of parchment. "Oh, I did not. Your man Septimus Peverell -- "
"He's not my man."
"Your countryman, then. Seven cores." He taps the parchment with his wand; seven ink diagrams glow and swim across the weathered surface. "If we set them up at angles corresponding to the positions of the six visible planets and the moon, the spell of binding will be impossible to break from the inside."
"Brilliant," Albus breathes, his nose almost touching the ink. "I'd never even considered -- "
Gellert smiles slowly. "You would have thought of it, in time."
"Nevertheless," he says, "having you around hastens the process considerably."
Two. "What could I have done to stop it?"Albus's palm twines with Gellert's; his ( ... )
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