The man in front of him remained silent for a long time. Finally, with a mournful smile, he said,
“You haven’t changed at all, Mister Sandalwood, sir.”
Volfred, against his better knowledge of social manners, scoffed. “Oh, I very much hope I have. I was quite brash and foolhardy in my youth — and that was over a century ago.” Volfred froze. “One moment. Did you just say that we’ve met before?”
A strange man dressed all in gray asks Volfred some even stranger questions.
Link to the fanfic - it’s 3.5k of that sweet sweet reincarnation pining which was mostly written thanks to @laughingpinecone’s encouragement.
(Also check out that really cool promo graphic I got a friend to make - image description below the cut!)
The center of the graphic shows an open book in sepia tones; below, serif text says “Songs to Scriptures - a historic reunion.” Above the book, serif text says “(Oralech/)Tariq/Volfred; reincarnation, pining; post-canon; 3.5k, G”
Spark of Heavenly Flame (Volfred/Tariq, 253 words, worksafe)
The Downside hangs in a delicate balance and there are some things that should not be done, but as Volfred looks into Tariq’s glowing golden eyes, a mirror of the stars, of the Titans, of everything terrible and beautiful in this unforgiving hellscape, he finds he doesn’t care.
(ao3 link)
The Downside hangs in a delicate balance and there are some things that should not be done, but as Volfred looks into Tariq’s glowing golden eyes, a mirror of the stars, of the Titans, of everything terrible and beautiful in this unforgiving hellscape, he finds he doesn’t care. Damn the world, damn the Downside, damn everything that’s happened down here and everything that’s been taken away from him. There’s something knowing in Tariq’s eyes, something that says I can give you what you need, and when Tariq puts his hand on Volfred’s face it crackles with an electric intensity, something cold and burning like a spark of heavenly flame, something that wakes every nerve in his bark. Everything buried deep inside him awakens, every need and want and desire that hasn’t been met, not since—
Tariq knows and he leans in, doesn’t press too forward, lets Volfred come to him. He lets it be on Volfred’s terms and Volfred tilts his heads, presses his lips to Tariq’s; the same icy heat from his hand is in his lips but stronger, more electric, a thunderstorm brewing between them. The kiss is both too long and too short and when Tariq pulls his head back, he smiles, ever so slightly, looks into Volfred’s eyes and his own ask, Do you need more?
His lips still tingle and burn and Volfred kisses him again, desperate and longing and far more vulnerable than he means. Thank you, his kiss says, and Tariq’s returning lips say, You’re welcome.
For the fancy Sahrian masked ball, they’re dressed as the night sky and a tree, respectively. Thankfully the only creativity in their job description is musical and, like, taxes
