#norviet

[belhelgalar]

(ᵔ⩊ᵔ)

Hurry Hole in Vietnam

trade with flo-riss

[moon-mage-celestine]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

16th June: Stars & NorViet

"Astrid, what do you think of me?" It's a burning question, it's a quention I torture myself with ever since I met your eyes. I love you, so so much.

"Why did you ask, Lan?" I feel flustered and embarrassed, but I'd come this far, I can't back down.

"You always hang out with me, you listen to my problems and you're always so helpful. And… I just think you're really interesting." You laughed, further embarrassed me.

"Do you like me?" As we lay down on the grassy ground of your home, I can feel my feelings acting up. Your eyes, your hair, your voice, they're beautiful; I want them all to myself.

"Ever since I've met you." You laughed, then, from under the sky we always had admired; you kissed me.

"That's how I feel about you." You whispered in my ears. And that moment, I saw the stars in your eyes.

"Can we do it again?"

@aphrarepairweek2020

[pixeltalia]

*gasps* can I have NorViet and/or a 2P!Norway x Vietnam?? thank you so much!!

Aph Norway x Vietnam and 2p!Norway x Vietnam for @justawritermusicianartist!

im so sorry it took this long jade but here r ur children together i hope u love them

pls the ship event has been CLOSED for months

[hakamatsu245]

Snow, us.

[minftrash]

I draw a quick NokkenNorway x Viet fanart of this fanfic XD

http://rakuraiwielder.tumblr.com/post/116543084880/会うは別れの始まり

(c)

rakuraiwielder​

Lukas wanna kiss Lien but it seems like she doesn't notice it XDDDDD I have fell in love with this fanfic //cries ((Sorry I'm really sucks at coloring //sobs))

[rakuraiwielder]

Tree of Deceit

She comes back, even as the ash bided her away. He knows she would, for he too strained against the scarlet threads that weaved them apart.

Norway, Vietnam. NorViet Fantasy AU.

Total word count: 2 239 words

FF.net / Ao3 (cause tumblr’s layout is still subpar as heck)

Once upon a time, a doe tried to take the forbidden fruit.

.

.

He was supposed to have been asleep, warm and comforted and ignorant of the duty he was made to bear. But then the wind had blown, and the rare tinge of sun had chosen to halo his domain. Heat seeped through his fingers, slowly but surely, rousing him into awareness with a gentle fluttering of caresses.

The chains beneath his wrists grow taut as he stirs and attempts to stretch, soft ribbon around his neck a loose reminder of how scant his freedom really was. His curse was an eternal one; etched deep into the soils of the land from the days of old. To be trapped in this lonely space lest the unbreakable spell lifts, how could he defy now, when he is merely one beneath the history of many.

It is the small things though, that he finds pleasure taking victory in. Fingers maneuver the tenacious strings, plucking fruit from a beckoning branch with ease. Sinking teeth into the juicy flesh he shifts into a position away from his prison, watching the ends of the empty grove glow silver in the light. His feet sink into the layer of ash as he inches forward, gaze set longingly forward at a distance further away than he could ever imagine. He remains relentless even as the restraints tug him back, squeezing his limbs until the sting almost hurts. The fruit falls to the ground, forgotten.

Leaves crackle as he pushes himself forward, the crisp echo dimming with each muddied step until the sound of newly ste-

Oh.

The hazy blur of grey through his sight evaporates as his head jerks up, body freezing at the gaze of another.

Golden eyes stare at him from the very edges of the grove, wary and startled and all too real as he swallows the lump in his throat. If this was but a cruel trick… Her parted mouth had gone still, but he traces the curves and shapes of her form and finds life flickering within. His senses sing to him, raking down the stranger with unquenchable need and conveying what his eyes could not. Sound, smell, presence. Greedy, too greedy, but he does not remember the last time his eyes gazed upon something living, something breathing. The creature takes a sharp breath, and he, breathless, finds himself praying for the illusion to last just a little longer.

I’m sorry… A soft voice, weak from their shared gaze. He soaks in it, wanting more. I didn’t mean to intrude.

The stranger straightens, and distress springs through his veins, curling at the base of his throat as he calls out.

Don’t go.

His hitch of breath was audible in the cold air. Red string tightens between his ankles as he stretches out, desperation burning the dull indigoes that reflected his soul. The stranger trembles, the fluttering of gold beholding her want and curiosity. One foot sinks into the soft ash, forward, but her ears perk up at an unknown sound before she could take another step. Alarm graces her features and she backs away clumsily. He watches her, motionless as she leaves, the helpless twist in his gut roaring into a fire.

When the single indent in ash finally smooths over, he slumps forward, disbelief and strangling ribbon clouding his mind until bitten lips turn blue and he has to drag himself back. Light wanes, leaving him alone under growing shadows. He burns the image of molten gold into his memory and prays he does not forget.

...

The days passed. She comes back.

Her voice, shaky with apprehension, wakes him from stupor, pushing him forward until cool ribbon tightens traitorously over his neck. He hardly cares about his haggard appearance; sunken eyes haunted with insomnia and dulling colours of a season. Reds and yellows and browns; all warnings for a distant time approaching. He has never felt more relief that it was she and not the manifestations of a dying earth that had come.

Hello- The gentle exhale melts off her lips as she takes frantic steps forward, widened eyes fixed on the constrictions that kept him bounded. His hands slog through the tangled weaves, tugging limply at the coils that pressed down his throat and cut off his voice. Pinkish welts form crescent indentions in his skin, distorting his frame until he was but a hulking shadow half concealed in the shadows of foliage. Metal chains screech once in defiance, hitting the ground heavily as he recoils back and tries to breathe.

The stranger stops at the painful sound, hands outstretched and wavering in the middle of the grove. She hesitates again, shifting back as the ash threatens to sink her to her knees. If not for the dryness in his throat he would have whined at their growing distance.

It is a long time before she speaks again, soft and cautious. Who are you? How did you end up here? What is your name?

A cursed being, since forever, he… doesn’t have one. Even if he did, with no one to utter it the name would have been lost to time, lost to the repetitiousness of his mortal coil.

Would you like one? She pauses, waits for his surprise to fade. A choked little laugh leaves his throat, garbled and stiff. Something unlike the cold coil of isolation twists within him.

I much rather know yours.

The startled flutter of her lashes as she averts her head bashfully has him unconsciously mirror the same. He wished they were closer so he could glimpse the expression in her eyes.

Is there anything I can do to help?

Please, keep me company.

Coloured stains brush down his arms as he licks his lips, aware of the pull that beckons him forward. The not-so-unfamiliar stranger blinks, glances back once before looking at him. The same unknown expression flickers in their depths, and he sighs tenderly as she eases, fingers cupping skyward to catch falling flecks of grey.

She tells him stories; tales spanning the travels she had made, of the sounds and tastes and colour he could otherwise not experience trapped in his prison. Out there where the sun was never lacklustre and decay did not touch the bountiful earth. He drinks it all in, feeling lighter than he ever did with binds over his body. When she departs it takes all of his will to not call her back, the temptation so great he bit his tongue till it bled. He knew all too well it would be selfish, and as cruel as he is he would never desire more of what she gave.

More days pass. The moon waxes, then wanes. Waxes again. She returns, always, even as the ash bided her away. He knows she would, for he too strained against the scarlet threads that weaved them apart. Yet the lingering fear that she would leave and never come back persists. Each visit she wades a little further into the mountain of ash. A little more daring, a little less afraid. He dearly hopes it remains that way.

The stories continue; scents of flowers and berries, cooing of the seasonal birds, the way water at a certain stream faraway would shimmer like a precious stone. Never about her, but he learns to read between the soft intonations of her mannerisms. The latest she was close enough for him to notice the wistful glint as she recalls the fond memory. He watches the way her fingers fidget, clasping together as her mouth parts with fond remembrance. He never noticed before, but now he traces the delicate curve of her ear as she tucks her hair back, soft auburn so sweet and mild looking in the weak daylight, watches the subtle lift of her lips and finds himself breathless in a long, long time.

Sharpness stabs his stomach, and he looks down to see the blunt end of a metal chain pressing uncomfortably against the skin. He leans back, brushing away the offending chain, the movement catching her attention and halting her story.

Is everything alright?

Her voice murmurs and a chill shoots through him. Heat burns beneath the bruising, and he forces away the thorny thoughts, fisting balls of wounded string with constraint.

He learns to want.

...

He wonders when it all started. This convoluted dance of theirs. A prisoner of curses and wanderer of the forest were never meant to have met, and thus that might have been their greatest tragedy. The tension grows more palpable the closer she drifts, and one day she watches him searchingly, eyes conflicted and fervent.

You are cruel to entice me.

A gust of wind brews, disturbing the ground and swirling settled ash into a frenzy. His fingers grip the strands of red encircling his wrists, clenching so hard he thought the skin would break, split prettily like the fruits he ravished when not trapped in sleep or limbo. Something within him shudders as she keeps her gaze, the fire igniting so strong and high that it burned bright from the windows of his indigo soul.

Can you blame me?

Temptation swirls in him as her mouth grew taut, pale lips pressed tight as her hands shift close to gather herself. Her feet form faint indents in the ash as she crosses the space to reach him, and as her fingers traverse down to brush a ribbon that looped around a sturdy branch to anchor him down he bites down a sigh. If she thought him cruel, then how was she to explain the agony that ran through him at the meagre distance she purposely left to pull them apart?

So, so close. They were barely apart. He sees the shaky puffs of breath that leave her lips and wonders absently if she would mind him sweeping down to press a yearning touch at the corners of her lip to warm her mouth. Gold eyes reflect an obvious struggle behind her poorly placed façade, fingers clammy and trembling against the twisting strips. It took all of her self-control to curb the urge to bridge the distance, the allure too much she could hardly think rationally.

Shadows claw their way out of the undergrowth, engulfing their feet as the sun disappears behind the clouds. Ash darken and glow like coals, threatening to swallow and wash her away to a place far and unknown, lest she continues to bridge the gap. A whispered want, the almost-touch of something, and she darts away before his fingers could grasp and curl around her own. Hurt flashes in his eyes, dulling at the intensity reflected back.

Something forlorn echoes faraway; the forest sways to the haunting call and the shadows recede just a little further. She blinks at him, quiet and pensive and sad, before slinking back into the ash. Frustration gnaws through him, stinging like cold abandonment, and as he watches her slip away he wonders when this game would stop.

The morning after he stirs awake at the wispy touches of resting strings. She stands before him, heedless of the encroaching shadows or darkened stumps of her feet, eyes still holding the same pretty inquisitiveness he found himself bounded to comply. A dream, it must be a dream. He stumbles, chains rattling as he pushes himself upright, swiping away dangling constraints in a vain attempt to meet her properly. It felt hard to move, his motions sluggish and slow as he ignores the piercing ache that ring from his bones.

She reaches for him; dainty fingers tentative as they cup his cheeks, quivering with temptation and all things unsaid. A soft feeble kiss, and she starts, golden eyes widening as she convulses, folding back into herself.

Oh.

Her eyes glaze over then, as though tired, and she collapses with the quiet grace of an animal falling to sleep. So very quietly. Antler tips knock against gnarly roots as she falls upon the bed of ash, and once again he is breathless, the low coil in his chest bursting as tears spring and slid down his already soaked cheeks. The ribbon slithers under his neck, squeezing harder as metal chains and prickling strings laugh at his foolishness, vines and roots holding him in place as he bows forward, shaking in disbelief.

Now he understands.

Grief pours through him, trickling through the thorns that protrude from his raw flesh. His gaze, hazy with tears, stare powerlessly at the unmoving body before him. Truly, he was a cruel, cruel being.

.

.

.

In the midst of the brewing storm and strong winds, a crack from the cursed tree that resided in the forest resounds, startling all who heard it. The wind howls louder, but it unable to disguise the deafening creak that signals the tree’s descent. Another moan, its trunk trembling as something deep within the earth snaps. With a loud creak, the tree tilts to the side, branches swaying forward in a violent shatter of leaves and thorns. It topples no further, bent to the ground as though in mourning.

Upon its roots the broken body of a doe lies on the bed of ash, still and at peace. Her eyes were closed, head resting on coarse roots as she continues to sleep an eternal sleep. A half bitten apple lays some ways from the fallen body, glistening weakly against the fading daylight.

.

.

She fails.

x

A/N.

First completed fic of 2017! (And its angst born from a small thought bubble lol happy belated valentines day--)

It’s been a long time since I wrote aph fic and I had a lot of fun with the vague-prosey style. Was going for a subtly-enticing undertone and I think I did pretty okay pulling it off. Only realised there were so many Nokken NorViet AU parallels in this halfway through hahaha I miss writing them.

Apple trees symbolise temptation, and thorny ones also have the additional meaning of deception. (Doesn’t help that in symbolism apples are also the fruit of sin eh eh?) Apple trees are also sacred to Norse mythology, though for entirely different positive reasons that may/may not tie in with the fic.

[janime-draws]

Yay, I finally finished this! Another ship I ship Vietnam with. ^^

[rakuraiwielder]

of a seashell requiem

The end of the war brings tidings to folk who wait. A witch and bird by the sea. AU.

Norway, Vietnam, NorViet. Oneshot

Also on A03

Foreword:

this was very, very belated lol. throwback to my aph days and one of my first rarepairs

  They call her the downed soldier of the beach, a lone creature that paces acres of sand and watches over the East. A strange, foreign thing in this wayside village far from the centres of wreaked havoc and sown discord. Lien knows, has heard the whispers, seen the way they keep their distance and discreet glances off matted feathers during the last days of a dying war. But for all their furtive faerie glances they leave her well alone, and so she remains undisturbed, free to dispose of the relics that the currents bring.

She wonders if that was why they let her stay at all; the tides had stolen her emblem the night she crashed, and she had buried most of her broken armour not long after. There was always a fear that they would find out who she was, but did that even matter now? The days meld together, and now she could barely tell how long it had been.

Gingerly she limps over the sand, sinks into soft mounds towards the sea. Her feet touch water, and she feels the tips of her wing start to sting as they drag under. Lien vaguely thinks she should lift them up, but it costed too much, and she was tired, so tired of trying to accommodate wounds that would never close. Feathers drag against the wet sand as she limps, steps carefully around the remains of a broken hull wrapped in seaweed. At least she left no trail of blood behind her this time. If only she had arms instead, perhaps the ache wouldn’t feel so heavy.

She steals another look east and sees darkness encroach from the horizon, spreading through the clouds as they chase the sun behind trees she could not see beyond. The sky was bleeding red, colour dripping into the ocean, bright and strangely vibrant. Lien feels a faint stirring in her bones, wonders if it was an omen.

Her ankle throbs, causes her to pause and shift the weight between her legs before continuing to hobble. In the distance, something was thrashing beneath rubble, sluggish and silent. It prompts her to move faster, and closer inspection sees a—a something struggling under the tangled mess of a barnacle-encrusted net.

More shifting as the trapped creature pants heavily, heavy huffs of air leaving its throat. Lifting its shaggy head, it stops when it spots her. Blank, ethereal eyes find hers, and when Lien exhales, she finds her shoulders had tensed. She had never seen a creature like this before; a huge, hulking, green figure whose reflection flickers like an illusion in the light. Its body was covered in fur that resembled algae, and blunt fangs protrude downwards from its jaw. It looked soaked through.

There were furrows in the sand; signs of a struggle where it had tried to pull free from tangled cords. Stranded, possibly a straggler, and Lien hopes that wherever it came from it had not separate from family. The creature grunts, shakes mossy arms helplessly against the net, and she finally sees where the rope binds and digs painfully into its flesh in protest.

Carefully she bends down, rests her weight on her uninjured leg and reaches for the netting, waits only a second longer to ensure it meant no harm. The creature remains quiet, stares with an intensity she cannot place as she brushes the rough slickness and starts to untangle, pulls at rope and breaks fibre with bloodied wings and skinned knees, movements all pivotal and seasoned with shadows of a darker time when blood between races had spilled.

By the time she finishes the sky had turn dark, most of the red gone. Seawater seeps into the clothes that covers her calves as she stands, pulling off the rest of the netting. The cords drop heavily into the sand as it stands, looking over itself, and Lien takes this moment to retreat higher away from the tide.

Her ankle was hurting again; she brushes beads of sand away as she presses against the skin to relieve the ache. She owed to eat, head back to her shelter to rest. A shadow looms over her as she ponders, and she looks up to see the creature towering over her stature, gazing at her with those mysterious eyes. There was a shift in the air, and Lien feels the ache in her body wane slightly when she sighs, finds breathing a little easier beneath the constant thudding of her heart.

The wind stirs by them, cool and fresh, carrying a scent of something peculiar that wasn’t sea salt. She swallows, feels the magic ebb away and gives a respectable nod to the hulking shadow, keeps a cautious awareness on it as she turns and begins to limp back.

The heavy weight of a gaze bears down on her back, and when she spies a backward glance, sees her imprints on the sand swallowed by trailing shadows.

It follows her home, stays in sight as she lights a fire and collapses onto ragged cloth, before turning to watch the lulling calm of the ocean with a look she cannot decipher. It follows still, days after as she continues to comb the beach, and for all that she promised she cannot find the strength within herself to chase it away.

x

Time passes, and she gets used to its presence, notices it never leaves the beach and always lingers close to the shelter at dusk. It had yet to use magic since the very first night, and she sincerely hopes it remains that way; the flow of those mysterious powers had always unnerved her, even before the first visages of war.

Sometimes it follows as she roams, hovers as she pulls apart sharp debris and frees the stray beached creature. Other times it wanders, picks up shells and pry open pearls as it digs up treasures from beneath the sand. It gathers them in its large hands; pretty red cone shells and sand dollars and strange stones that gleam funny colours in clear water. At the end of the day it displays them carefully in round circles close to fire, taps and considers each trinket with a contemplating look that has her curious.

“Are you hoarding?” She asks once, looks on in amusement as it grunts in indulgent response and continues to pull at a rope of seaweed stuck around an anchor. She had helped to pull it free then, and then watched in quiet awe as it started to fashion a pouch to hold the shells through meticulous weaving.

She spies fae children near the edges of the beach some days. They were always peeking from afar; inquisitive beings that aimed to stray far from the village. Lien watches them play and stare at the hulking shadow by her side, stays quiet and hopes they do not wander down too close to the wrecked shore.

The days pass, and slowly the seasons change. Days grow shorter, and the saltwater chill that permeate her feathers start to linger. She never stops looking towards the east, feels something empty pang inside with each sunset. Tired. Quietly she watches the last traces of the sun go down, savours the wind that follows. Today, the creature’s presence had been strangely void, but she hadn’t thought it any unusual until now.

Lien sighs, digs her toes into the warm sand beneath her feet and turns back the direction she came. She had barely taken a few steps before a bright gleam of green snares her attention, draws gold eyes towards a glowing ray of light around the last ends of the sun. The green flash was visible for barely a second, but a second was just enough to catch the iridescent light as dusk gives way to night.

Strange, the light was almost the same colour of shaggy fur and wispy tendrils.

Waves nip at the sand under her feet as she hobbles back, walking up shallow dunes with steady steps despite the evident limp. It was almost too dark to see, waxing moon faint behind trails of wispy clouds. Few minutes pass as she struggles to light the fire, wingtips brushing the ground to look for the flint. She finds the stone easily, pushes and slides the weight against dry wood, winces as it accidentally rubs against patches of raw skin.

The fire sparks to life just as she glimpses a shadow moving towards the water.

Lien blinks and widens her eyes, realises that the pile of trinkets the creature had collected and placed within the shelter was gone. Quickly she whips her head around and squints, and this time spies the silhouette of a bulging bag over its shoulder.

Oh. Her brow furrows minutely, but under the cover of darkness she feels curiosity flicker to life. Making up her mind, she stands, skids down soft sand and stumbles to follow.

Her wings drag against the ground periodically, spraying fine grains of sand into the air as she tries to lift them up high. A few sticks between her primary feathers, and Lien hopes the irritation would be minimal; she didn’t have time to groom herself now. Cricket chirps grow louder and muffled as they near a small outcrop of rocks; if there were any other sounds in the night, they were all swallowed up by the deafening silence of the crashing waves.

The creature steps over the uneven stone with ease, feet padding surely until they reach the water’s edge. Lien watches it look down at the deep pools of water connected to the sea now that the tide was high, sees it lower the seaweed pouch onto the ground and hums a low soothing rumble.

And then, silence.

Waves slap the outcrop lightly, lapping the sides in gentle motion. Slowly patches of moonlight illuminate the water, and Lien flinches as she feels the surrounding air start to stir, tainted with a familiar flow of current. A soft splash, and then she sees a figure appear from out of the water, climb onto the outcrop and stand on two legs.

Human, or human-looking enough. But the tang of magic in the air spoke differently, and with bated breath her caution won over curiosity. Quietly she turns around and starts to sneak back, swallows the sour taste in her mouth as her left wing throbs in protest. The cold wind draws painful barbs down her skin, and she finds it hard to move quickly.

Hopefully she can get back soon to a stronger fire, prevent her legs from suffering the brunt of the chill dampness. Granted, it could not sever the pain completely, but it was the thought that counts-

“Wait.”  A voice calls, melodious, or maybe it was just a long time since she had last heard someone speak that wasn’t a screech of fear or pain. In any case, it makes her blood freeze.

Lien stiffens, feels her shoulders tense with the knowledge of getting caught. She almost wants to ignore it, if not for the inkling suspicion that the humanoid creature would most likely be able to catch up to her if she decided to flee.  

“Who’s there?” The voice says again, and reluctantly she turns, looks toward the outcrop only to see the figure already stepping onto the sand with the creature by his side. She cannot help feeling inner relief to see that he was wearing clothes; though it wouldn’t surprise her the least otherwise. Washed-up stragglers were usually found in various states of tattered undress.

She ignores that he was neither a washed up nor straggler.

He was wearing loose robes, and a pair of pants stylised with an insignia she had never seen before. But it reminded her of her emblem, and the memories that came with it. Despite the darkness, she steals a glance towards the sea.

“Who are you?” He repeats, softer, trails off at the end and she knows he must have seen her appendages. His hair was wet, bangs messy and wind-tousled.

“…I live here. Who are you?” She parrots, throws her wings in front as another breeze tosses more warmth away. Indigo eyes meet hers, the same ethereal look present as he tilts his head. Unlike the creature they were more than blank slates, and Lien swallows, pushes away her feelings of unease as magic continues to permeate in currents and skim against her sensitive feathers.

Something tingles in the air, and the man turns toward the hulking creature as it bends down, shadow shimmering and distorting until suddenly it wasn’t corporeal any longer but a floating entity that glistens iridescent in the moonlight. Legless, but still as big in presence as ever. It curls ghostly tendrils around the man with mouth to his ear, and Lien wonders why she hadn’t made the connection earlier.

Gingerly she inches back, feels the heavy stiffness of her limp protest and sees a jerking of head as the man’s eyes follow. His gaze never leave as he listens to the whispers of his familiar, but it relaxes considerably as the minutes go by, softens with interest that made her wary.

Silence fills the gaps between them, leads Lien to shift awkwardly. She really shouldn’t be here, caught in the precipices of something she wasn’t sure she wanted to get involved in. Gold eyes glance at the familiar again, feels its heavy gaze look back as it pulls away and materialises behind the man. Even with their difference in height, it still looms over him.

“Troll.” The man says as he notices, tilts his head back to the creature. “My companion.” He offers in way of explanation. She knows well enough.

Lien nods, tries to ignore as the cold bites her ankles. Waves continue to crash upon the shore, creating noise she was glad she did not need to fill.

“…I have never seen your kind before.” The man tilts his head slowly, stares with an intent curiosity she doubts was fully true. His eyes flicker; the air stirs.

“I have never seen anyone like you before either.” Her response was tentative, but she could guess. The stories she gathered from her trips to the village was enough to suspect; fables and cautionary tales meant to keep children safe and obedient. The same reason why they stayed away from the beach.

“You do know you don’t have to repeat everything I say.”

“It’s not on purpose. What else am I supposed to say?” She had not meant to take an accusatory tone, those words she wished she could take back as soon as the left her mouth. Lien swallows, curses her isolation and the chill that was starting to gnaw at her head.

The man looks at her, edges of his mouth curling up as he hides a smile, and she feels invisible currents ease. A breath leaves her throat involuntarily, and she cannot help but shake her wings, settling ruffled feathers and adjusting their heavy weight. More movement before her as the troll pulls the bag of trinkets off its shoulder, and she watches the man turn to take it. The moon casts soft shadows on his face as he runs his fingers over the firm lining before looking up.

“Do you have a name?” He takes a step closer as the wind blows, and this time she catches how he pauses as the chill wrecks both their bodies. Her suspicions might have shown on her face, for he does not advance further, merely gazes with non-harmful intent. “I would like to know the person who saved my familiar.”

It should be dangerous, but the night was late, and she finds no strength to turn him away. The fire burns brighter, if only because of the increased amount of fodder she uses. Lien falls asleep with a faint aching through her bones, doesn’t notice the déjà vu until she wakes up the morning and sees him studying her battered wings with an expression she could not read.

The sun warms her substantially, rouses the purple of his eyes and deepens the soft paleness of his skin. Beneath the heavy wave of sleep, she wonders if he will stay too.

x

The water calls to him. Reminding, reminding.

He knows very well what he must do, cannot delay, cannot be distracted,

 (cannot stay-)

x

The days passed, and he lingers even though he shouldn’t, walks the beaches in the day to collect ingredients for the best of his prescriptions. It is meticulous work; shifting through the rich sand for white translucent scales as big as the size of his palm, for weathered stones and coral soaked in sunshine. He finds a feather once, pure white and unmarred, a blessing left by a bird of distant lands. This he treasures, stows separate from the rest. Something precious, surely priceless, and thus must be coveted.

Lukas searches the tidepools until evening draws close and dusks the sky bright orange and pink, until the stars blink into light, before turning back for a hearth he knows would always be lit. He never strays far from the shallows, footsteps leave no trace across the expanse as he reaches the shelter. She was almost always there when he returns, wings enveloping her body as she looks far into the sky.

A curious, almost considering look at him as he passes, before she turns away and resumes her watch. It stirs intrigue in him; this strange winged woman who bore wounds that crippled, who never leaves the beach and stares at something far away. Lien was an enigma he could not comprehend, could barely understand even as he lays empty cones side by side and kisses incarnations well into twilight hours.

He shouldn’t linger.

Troll roams the beach freely these days, relinquishing a need to wander and circle to do what he cannot above the sea. Sometimes Lukas sees it shadow her as she walks, a hulking shade that shields her from the sun as she slips behind broken hulls and chunks of ancient debris. He does not know what she does, only stares and observes when she comes back with bloody scabs and puffed-up feathers from the cold. The wane smile that grazes her lips never stays long as she grooms and begins to eat.

Troll tells him all he needed to know, grunts and weaves close that he gains comfort far from the touch of familiar waters. He only wishes he knew more on the day she limps back holding her wings together, iron-sharp feathers softened by blood. Red trickles down in steady drips, forms puddles on the ground, and something nicks uncomfortably inside him as he sees her shrug it off and mops at the bleeding stains with an exhaustion that bordered half-hearted.

He asks soon enough; looks up from picking an ochre clamshell one afternoon and finds her staring at the horizon. The sun was warm, and she wasn’t far; he climbs the uneven expanse of sand towards her, smells the tang of salt when he nears the waves. The waters lap at her ankles; presses bubbles over her foot and curves the sand down her toes.

Gold eyes were glazed over, and he wonders what they see facing a land far beyond his own.

“What are you waiting for?”

His voice starts her into motion, and when she turns to face him tufts of brown feathers fall into the water. She looked almost surprised, and he watches the same wary consideration flicker in her eyes, feels his own sense of trepidation and tries to smother in the reins of his presence. Easy enough; he could barely feel his own aura these days. A choking reminder-

She behaved much like a cornered animal, and he wonders how far he should let his curiosity push beyond beating frame and brushes of feathery wings even as he holds his gaze.

“My compatriots.” She finally says, stirs him out of hazy thoughts and muddled countdowns. The days were growing too long.

“Compatriots?”

“Search counts are usually done after the war, to determine our numbers. They will need to find me.” She continues, swiping at the sand stuck to the clothes over her knee as the wind blows. “It will take some time but, our kind don’t, we don’t leave any one behind.”

Lien blinks and turns back to the sea. Her mouth parts, unsure, and Lukas watches her shake off something dark in her eyes.

“They will come.” She says with such certainty he cannot help but feel strangely empty.

“Is your home far from here?” He asks, pushes away thoughts of his own.

His only response is a shrug as the tides send a particularly strong wave surging up their calves. Lien says nothing as she straightens and backs out of the water, turns awkwardly around and limps up to higher ground. There was longing in her eyes, muddled by discomfort as her leg refuses to cooperate. He reaches for her shoulder before the next wave, steers her out of the water’s reach. She stumbles, and he catches fistful of her wings, pulls her upright and close as her breath stutters.

Her head slumps over as she winces, and hurriedly he loosens his grip, feels half-healed scabs beneath his fingers throb as she sighs and drags her leg over.

“I’m sorry.” Mortified. His voice shakes as he apologises, the feel of soft feathers almost overwhelming in his hands. Composure is lost to him, shattered into one too many pieces he is not sure how to go about picking them up.

She laughs then, hollow and sad, and the sound breaks his reverie as he stiffens and stares at her, all widened eyes and speechless mouth. Aren’t you lonely, he wonders as he lets go, thinks there can be nothing more cruel than a bird unable to fly, breathing hope for a day might never come. Slowly Lien stands steady, wing tips dropping from his hands to drag against grainy sand and clutch her limping foot, and Lukas doesn’t understand why that irks him so. The wistful expression on her face is gone when she thanks him and walks off, but the unsettling feeling persists, mixes with sudden loss of breath.

He cannot stay.

Dusk comes, and he does not return to the shelter. The water is cool as he dives past the pools of the outcrop, cooler still as it brushes in tingles down his body. Lukas wants to sink, fall deeper into welcoming darkness until he feels that he can breathe again. There is a soft throbbing in his veins, amplified by the ocean’s crooning. Magic beats in the currents that pull him down into the depths.

Lukas opens his mouth-

 -breathes

A wispy, shaggy flame flickers at the edge of his conscious, and he pats the bagful of trinkets as his familiar follows him down where moonlight cannot reach. They swim, legless, until they reach the cove. Then, only then, does he stop, surveys the cavern he calls home and feels at ease enough to relax. With practised motions he stocks barren shelves and fills up the nooks and crannies, spends enough time brewing ingredients until the vicinity reeks of his power.

No time to waste, for he has visitors to expect, duties to be done. Time passes; a second, an eternity. His brethren come and go. He wonders how long it has been. This deep in the darkness where sun and moon cannot reach he has no way of knowing. He shouldn’t wonder, what use would it be? And yet the magic within him thrums in restless wingbeats, and for all the ocean’s everlasting patience he finds himself unable to cull the notion.

Troll comes back less, almost always returns smelling of something crisper and windswept. He pretends he doesn’t notice, closes his eyes to their connection that makes him hear gulls and see stars. Alone, he spends the days pacing, thinking, stares at bottles of elixirs and immortalised contracts with a wry thought of irony.

He was only the granter.

Then Troll does not come back, and Lukas pushes away any distractions as he swallows and imprints magic on his skin, does not spare a thought for the bond that binds them as he heads for land. Seawater glows green as he breaks the surface, glimpses the last streams of a green flare as the sun rises above endless waves.

Water drips down his cheeks, dusts his lashes as he pulls himself to shore, stands on legs replaced. Lukas blinks, watches as dawn begins to bloom and feels the ocean sigh as he steps out of water and onto sand. Reminds himself, over and over, as indigo eyes search the coast and takes in the sight of familiar wreckage. He shouldn’t be here, he thinks, shouldn’t be where it hurt to breathe.

He could breathe.

Something tugs at his chest; points him down the beach. He sets off at a brisk pace, wobbles and catches his balance as his body adjusts to the weight on land. The landscape was a constant, and yet he notices new pieces of hull washed ashore, prior scraps of metal and broken stone missing. In the distance, the sky was turning orange.

The tugging grows stronger, pulls taut and dissipates into a wisp as Lukas runs, stops at the sight of his familiar towering over the remains of a creature caught in thick cord, sees the ends of bloody wings tear the netting apart to free a struggling child. A loud ripping sound echoes through the morning air, and the faerie child pulls free and runs, leaving his rescuers behind.

Spots of blood drip onto the sand as Lien rises, stands far too still for moments too long before she turns to the sea. His familiar follows, pauses before touching the water and gazes in his direction. Troll stills, stares at him with quiet surprise as he approaches. Gentle splashes by the shore, and then Lukas sees her look up and turns around, the soft gold of her eyes fluttering as she startles and notices.

It hits him then, a pang that stirs the wind into motion and sweeps at the sand. He swallows, feels astutely the magic that runs within him, a quiet drumming that follows the lull of his heart. The tips of her feathers ripple, turns her wings soft orange as the sun casts gentle light.

A quiet pause, and then Lien fidgets, shakes static off as she limps forward in disbelief, and he feels the beginnings of a smile curl at his lips.

This, this was right.

x

She hadn’t meant for him to see this.

He finds her limping up the slope to home, the spaces between her steps heavier than usual. He wasn’t supposed to be here; his habits made certain he would never be around the shelter during the day. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and thus she wonders if that was why he had been waiting at all. Lien swallows, feels the stings of her body protest as she sways, almost delirious.

Sand sticks and irritates her feathers with every movement, hurts patches of raw flesh where wounds have yet to heal. She blinks, feels tears swell behind her eyes and blood soaking through her feathers. Her skin pales with every heave, turns paler once she spots his look of unabashed horror.

“What happened?” He grasps the edge of her wing gingerly, softens his hold into a bare graze when she flinches. His eyes glint hardly at that, two dark jewels sparkling in the shade from the sun.

“Accident. Harpoon.” She laughs breathily as he brings her closer, presses her lips tight to swallow the hiss that wants to wrench its way out of her mouth. “The children here are too careless. They have never seen war before.”

“No.” He says with a grim murmur of lips, drops one hand and hardens more as it comes back red. She couldn’t blame him, she hadn’t hurt so badly in a long while. At least her wing wasn’t broken.

Gently Lukas coaxes her to sit before moving to get his belongings. She doesn’t know why. The reason eludes her, and rationale was a little obscure thing she could barely focus on as her head sways and throbs from spasms. She owed to rest, wait for the pain to subside.

Something cool skims her cheek and brushes her hair back, coaxes her back into awareness to notice him dabbing at her wing, brushing sand away before applying salve. Abrupt coolness soothes the skin, tingles and spreads and buzzes with something pleasant. Lien watches him scoop the balm from a clamshell, holds the curve of her wingtips up and spreads the salve carefully between her feathers, thinks she had never seen him look so serious before.

Another unspoken notion between them, and she sighs, closes her eyes and feels the effects of his magic take root. The whole experience felt strange; even during the war, she never had anyone help to dress her injuries before. And then she had crashed, and bandages became a thing of the past. Her wounds from the war were a constant reminder, but they could never heal, never get infected, and then she had become so tired she didn’t think it worth to patch the scars anymore.

But here she was, at his mercy.

She feels Lukas shift, wrapping soft cloth around the deep cuts, and deftly ignores the quivering of her wing as she opens her eyes. It gnaws at her; this foreign freefall feeling so unlike from flying.

Lukas cuts the cloth, and when he reaches for another she finds herself pulling away, impatience flaring from restlessness.

“Don’t waste those.” She sighs, rubs at the covered surface and stretches her muscles experimentally. Pain was lesser now, and she makes to stand.

His hand grasps her firmly before she can, pulls her down and tangles bandages around her wing before she can think to move. Her mouth parts in surprise at the almost-anger in his expression, can barely find the time to bristle when he bores down on her with his eyes. They were indigo oceans swirling, and she breathes at a loss, cannot understand the sudden floundering feeling as he pulls the white cloth snug over the wrist of her wing.

“I’m not.” Firm voice. Punctures two words until his intent rings clear in her ears.

The air coils with tension as he continues while she searches her mind, sifts for meanings and innuendos vague and unclear. Gold eyes flicker with unknown emotion, mouth parted hesitantly in confusion. The feeling persists. She doesn’t understand.

When Lukas finishes the last of her patching up, she averts her gaze before he can catch the odd look in her eyes.

x

Days come where the sun becomes relentless, turns oppressive heat almost stifling he is forced into the water to escape the most blinding afternoons. Troll had disappeared long ago, trying to escape the heat of the sun; Lukas wonders if it would return once the hot days end. Lukas sighs, soaks his head under water and opens both eyes. The tide was high, and the rocky outcrop almost submerged, hiding currents that swept out to sea.

Even now the ocean sings to him, but the pull was small enough that he could ignore, and so he turns, makes to take a breath before thinking better of it and pushing himself out of the water. The sun burns at his dripping skin immediately, fades somewhat as he swims into shade. Soft splashes send ripples colliding as he peddles closer, sees Lien tracing waves with her calves as the lower end of her wings sink in the water.

Sweat lines the back of her neck; he watches her shift to push her hair away over her shoulder. She yawns, sleepy from her doze, and he must duck under to dissolve his chuckle into bubbles full of seawater.

He breaks out of the surface again, finds Lien staring with peculiar amusement. Water rains down in heavy trickles as she brings her wings and legs up, keeping rolled-up clothes dry as she shifts until they lay exposed to the air. With a silent grunt she shakes them, ruffles feathers in drying motions before moving to settle back. Something playful stirs in him then, spurs him to grasp her foot and catch her attention before she can look away. It must be the euphoria from being in the water. It must be. How else could he explain the impish curl of his lip as he tugs her with faux intent towards the water, other hand anchoring the rock where she sat for better purchase.

Must be the heat muffling reason, because her startled expression soon melts into a mocking imitation of sneer; she shakes her head to hide laughter and tries to kick him away, plays along when he tugs again, harder, teasing as she struggles and prods his arms away with her foot, limp non-existent in the water. His ears thump at the soft noise she makes, sleepy countenance adhering to sluggish splashes as she yawns again, swings her foot when it seems he had loosened his hold.

Unfortunately, he had not.

She looked relaxed like this, at eased and content away from bloody wounds and tired waiting. Lukas breathes, feels an ache in his chest. He wants this, wants to keep this expression on her face for as long as he can, away from pain and worries he knows he cannot emphasise with. As if on cue Lien turns looks to the open sea again, angles her head to find the trail of the sun, finds east-

He bows over then, lifting her leg up so his mouth grazes skin, and weaves spells until he feels the air thrum with the weight of his magic. Words form binds as murmurs leave his lips, connect to soothe an injury locked away by a foreign curse. It was all he could do, contract or no. The scars that riddled her skin were less but recent, formed from a careless tiredness he knew she did not strive to hide.

It only makes him concentrate harder.

Wet strands of his hair brush her calves as he shifts, pauses prematurely when a shiver wrecks through her leg. It makes him frown, and he wonders if the spell had aftereffects he was not aware of as he looks up. Lien was staring at him, frozen and wide-eyed, wings hanging limp in the empty air. Gold eyes reflect an odd look he cannot place, but the sight stirs something within him, produces a lump in his throat he cannot swallow.

He can feel the curl of his magic over his jaw, aware of how it bores down and tingles, makes him want to shiver himself. Strange, strange. Everything about this was like a surreal dream. He had never felt like this before. His grip loosens, and then she was scrambling away, feet scrabbling for purchase as she struggles to push herself up against the rock.

Lukas sees the confusion in her eyes, the pinpricks of fear laced within, feels suddenly painful as he curls his hands back to himself. Her shadow looms over the rocks in distorted shapes, wobbles and flattens as she shakes and makes a noise of pain. Lien gasps, and he looks up a second too late just to see her crippled foot give out as she falls into the water.

He moves before he could think, lunges up and catches her waist to draw her close as her head knocks harshly against his shoulder. Waves splash in erratic motions, drags her wings under and over the rough outcrop as she cries and flinches at the cold. Lukas starts at the sound, fumbles through waterlogged feathers and giant wings to adjust his grip, twists to put himself between sharp rock and open sea as she shakes and tries to lift them up, droplets of water sliding down her cheeks.

Their eyes meet, and he sees the barest flush on her cheeks beneath the panic and brief pain. Sees no longer as his own desperate panic takes over even as the insignificant detail continues to ring and taunt his mind’s eye beneath the throbbing of the ocean currents.

Breathe, breathe-

His heart taps in frantic beats as he looks her over for any injury, only balking at and intensifying at the instinctual feeling of being legless again. An unspoken rule imposed on himself, on the brink of being broken. He should care, consider, should want to ascertain that those above the sea do not see the forms that lie below. Yet in the moment he can’t find it in himself to care, he doesn’t want to care-, just wants to see her safe. He holds her tighter to him as he catches a glimpse of scabbed skin, can’t help the need to check- and Lien makes an odd sound again as she looks down and sees a tentacle curling loosely over her ankle.

“You are not hurt?” He says, vaguely appalled that he could sound no louder than a whisper. Another tendril cups the wound by her knee; he is unsure whether to feel relief when he finds it an old wound.

Lien pants, shakes her head and sends water splashing up her neck and hair. Another shiver wrecks through her, leads him to cup three more tendrils over the curve of bone and feathers to support the downed wing. To her credit, she does not react much to the ginger touches and changes he was undoubtedly sure she could feel below the water, merely shifts her attention to her ankle instead.

Shame and embarrassment courses through in silent turmoil as he sees her look through squinted eyelids half-blinded by seawater, the gold in her eyes hovering over the exposed suckers of his limb. If she was without the strength of wing to fly, then he was an abomination to those of the shore; too little-too many legs all at once.

Lukas shakes off the thought and bats away a silver of uncharacteristic hesitance. It shouldn’t matter what he was and what she sees; a kraken’s half, creature from the depths of the sea, bare of magic spent on borrowed time. Yet despite it all, he wonders what she’d think of him now.

Gently she rotates it, bending it downwards, and he reluctantly loosens his hold, shifts the tentacle up until it holds the back her calf as she continues to test the ache. He hears her breathe sharply as the tip of one tendril pokes the delicate bones of her wing, feels her gentle shudders from cold and water as he shifts to accommodate her. Her head sways to the side as she struggles to keep her balance, brushing the side of his head as her ankle stills and she turns to look at him.

“Lukas.” Her voice shakes, makes him go still and lock away the rapid thumps of his chest. Indigo eyes flutter up to find her, traces the gentle fluster of her cheeks and hair glistening with lapping droplets, dimly aware of a strange burning within. Her face held not one ounce of fear.

“You are turning red.” She says weakly, touches his cheek with a damp wingtip and traces the indents of almost invisible gills, breaks him from his reverie and sends his whole axis spinning.

He swallows, ignores the ripple that shakes through his body.

“Must be the heat.”

x

They come one day, just like she said they would.

A flight of birds across the sea, all searing reds and golds and browns as they blazed past like comets. Lukas doesn’t notice until he sees the frozen expression on her face, the clench of teeth and hard swallow as she stares into falling dusk with breath caught. The strip of firewood falls from her grip as she runs for the beach, and then he was after her, snippets of soft conversation lost to stifling heat and the rush of sand.

His heart thumps in rapid pace; she had never run that fast before, golden feathers spread in arcs and brushing the rough ground and though rearing to take flight. It was a struggle even keeping up, and he discards his own bag of treasures into the sand as he hastens faster. Irrational alarm swells through him, sparks the power in his veins to shudder at every stumble and clumsy wade through sinking grains.

He shouldn’t feel this way, should know better to feel this way. But it was too sudden too soon, and he didn’t think he could bear the visage of a bird he had grown attached to fade away now. In the distance the fiery shapes swooped low, gliding back and bent over rippling shapes in the sea. Lukas runs faster.

Closer to crooning ocean, he finally sees where the waves slow and block passage for the crippled bird. The tide curls over the edges of her toes where she touches water, coaxes her limb forward and her ankle to totter as she wades through the shallows. Lien grunts, looks between sea and sky desperately as she rights herself and spins around.

“It’s a patrol.” She says, half breathless from pain. Something burns in his chest, spreads to his lungs and hurts more when he glimpses the panicked hope in her eyes as she gathers her wings together and turns back to follow the formation. There was nothing remotely unselfish he could say, so he says nothing at all.

The birds were dancing now, bright feathers of sunrise dimmer as the sun sinks over the horizon. Water splashes as Lien steps deeper, and he has half a mind churning on fear that she would continue to run towards encroaching deepness, be swallowed up by the sea in an attempt to reach what they both know she could not.

One flies closer, and he sees her shift, stumbles over a gentle dip in the sand. Her back stiffens, a whispered plea he could not grasp, and then she was shaking, eyes fixed on the wings of her compatriot as it dips back to the group. It couldn’t have seen her, couldn’t have seen anything on the shore. He sees them now, pecking at a spot in the ocean he cannot see, clad in sheens of metal that glint in the fading light.

“They are here for me.” A whisper as wingtips press and cover her face. She looks at him then, eyes stinging with something dark, says it again as though the statement might ring more than what could be, and Lukas fears something had gone wrong.

He realises, with a sinking feeling, that he knows the look on her face.

The sun dips further over the horizon, and he feels the tide start to bury his ankles. Waves crash in loud roars, sends droplets spraying over his knees. Still, he doesn’t move, feels another wave of painful clarity hit as guilt squeezes the air around him. The clothes that covered her legs were soaked, but she remained unmoving, stares at him and the sky with a helplessness that borders despair.

There were tears in her eyes. He didn’t think it would hurt more to see her like this than refusing to let go.

Please…

“They are, they-.”

Lien stifles a broken noise, sways so dangerously close to falling again as the waves wash and wet the backs of brown feathers, all muted from distorting shadows and sand. He grabs her before the next wave comes, pulls her from the deepening waters and steadies wobbly steps as she jerks with rejection. It was a feeble resistance, and he presses close, wants more than anything to alleviate and make the expression on her face go away.

Above, the birds circle once, twice. The leader breaks away from the group and soars, a flame higher than any other. A dying spark fading with the light.

It was almost surprising, how quickly the rest could follow and disappear beneath the rising tides. Lien watches as the last sparks dwindle away, makes another soft noise and presses a wing over her eyes. Unbidden, a chuckle leaves her mouth, all broken and self-depreciating, and Lukas can only stare in his own helplessness as she unravels before him.

“Would you believe me?” She swipes her wing away, feathers damp from the sea breeze. “If I told you a small part of me had always known.” Drops it into the water with heavy resignation.

Her voice, however empty, shook with repressed emotion. It makes him reach out, step closer until their clothes brushed. Lien jerks again when he touches her wing tentatively, peers up with a hollowness he knows for sure he hates now.

“I’m sorry.” He says, the first words he could word right since she had ran. Soft and aching, the cold air snatches it away quickly. It matters not, for it could hardly begin to mean the magnitude of things he wanted it to. For a long while there was nothing but the sea and sand, both creatures stuck in wordless limbo, caught in flickering thoughts that carried them far away.

Lukas swallows, curses his tongue and tries to find another way to string phrases together. Finds his inner-spiel shattering when he feels her shift and lean into his sleeve, pressing into the cool fabric of his robe as she curls into herself.

“Can I?” Soft and aching. Not empty.

He responds by holding her closer as she grieves, tears streaking down her cheeks.

Something clicks within him, a quiet nudge of realisation. Gentle, beneath the pain.

He burrows his mouth into the crown of her head and says nothing.

x

A mermaid had come to him once a long time ago, wished to become human for love. His spells always come with a price, and for a wish like hers; even heavier and irrevocable. Lukas hadn’t understood why she would have given up everything for a land that was not her home, roam a land where she would never be completely welcomed and carrying everlasting pain for a chance at a fleeting emotion.

He wonders if he understands just a fraction of her desire now.

Gently he thumbs a white feather in his hands, gazes into the cauldron that sits in the centre of the cove, and begins to brew.  

 -breathe

x

The loud crashing of waves stirs Lien from her thoughts, makes her blink and relinquished her grip on cool stone as she tilts her head to face the sky. In the distance the softest tinge of light remains the horizon, threatening to bathe the inky blackness with colour. Carefully she steps away from the broken hull, digs her feet into the sand and steps closer to the water.

Time passes, a long time, but still she cannot help looking to east.

The cold waves lap at her greedily, sends froth spiralling up her ankles as it sucks at the sand and an ache shooting up her thigh. She would have stumbled if not for the firm touch on her back, a soothing coolness rising to keep the pain at bay. Troll blinks at her when she looks up, and she feels wisps of something invisible sway against the edges of her feathers as the heavy tips brush the sand.

The sensation tingles, leaves her with a shiver half complete as the tide pulls back. She can see the clouds now, make out shapes scattered far and wide in obsidian expanse.

A green flash, with light bright enough to burn her eyes, and the sea breathes as the land plunges to peaceful darkness.

Fading stripes of pink linger in the sky, but she pays no mind as she squeezes her eyes to will away the dizziness, raising a wing to touch the afflicted area. She is scarcely aware of Troll leaving her side as the sound of crickets pick up, focuses instead on the sloshing of waves as the sea ebbs and flows, ebbs and flows…

She registers the familiar stirring and expel of breath before she feels it; a hand touches the arch of her wing and nudges it away from her face, water ripples gently close to her feet, a smile palpable in the breeze that gathers over her shoulders and plays with her hair.

“Your appearance could be less colourful, you know.” She says as she squints open golden slits, can’t help the heat to her ears as soft, ethereal eyes find her in shadow.

His fingers brush the water from her eyes, pauses by her cheek as toes brush and trace the side of her foot. She cannot stop the shiver then, and his resulting laugh was airy and quiet in their intimacy.

“Want me to heal you?”

“Very funny-"

She cannot bat away his tease before he leans in and closes the distance between them, her soft hitch of breath swallowed by the touch of his arm over a wing. His other hand drops from her face, trails down to clutch soft feather tips. Their foreheads brush, and Lukas makes a noise she thinks sounded like relief, but then he was bending closer and closing indigo eyes and she could not find the time to ask when the look he gives her steals her very breath.

“I am thankful.” He murmurs, and she finally notices the seashell dangling from his neck as he exhales. A pretty little thing that shone like the colour of dusty earth under wane moonlight. It rubs against her feathers as he rests his head on her shoulder, cool and smooth.

“Why?” Something was different, but the thought was but a faint notion being swept away by the tinge of his presence. Lien eases, feels a faint smile forming on her lips.

Lukas sighs. His breath hitches as he looks at her, breathless. Like this, like this he looked almost in pain.

“It brought me to you.”

x

A/N.

vaguely inspired by the early episodes of violet evergarden and the little mermaid

I miss this ship and their UST hahaha