#Ephemeral Miniature Garden

[cleaetpauline60]

♡ Heroine Otome Game ♡

❥ Aria [ Ephemeral -Miniature Garden- ]

(⛔ This post is missing images of Aria, if you ever have other official art (chibi or not) of Aria, do not hesitate to propose them to me by private message or via ask)

[kaslantern]

✦ kas/ren/lin ✦ EN/中文 ok ✦ he/she/they/vamp

heyy welcome to my blog,,,, i do art (pls don't expect consistent posting tho lol)

program + equip: clip studio paint pro, xp-pen artist 12

blog rules

do not repost without my permission or credit(do not use commissioned art!)

do not steal, trace, or edit/paint over my art

DO NOT FEED MY ART TO AI OR USE IT FOR NFTS.

general interests

gay ppl (my ocs)

horror web novels

vocaloid/utau/vocal synths

vtubers

ball jointed dolls

dating sims

fighting games

metal (as in music genre)

animanga & other media

tokyo ghoul

kagerou project

durarara!!

oshi no ko

the faraway paladin

angels of death

link click

black rock shooter

kaleidoscope of death

milgram

games

honkai: star rail

elsword (lu/ciel main)

seec-escape

punishing gray raven

eternal return: black survival (alex, yuki, & luke main)

project diva

undernight in-birth

ephemeral: fantasy on dark & miniature garden

king of fighters

project sekai

atelier series

rune factory 5

————— commissions status: CLOSED [link to vgen]✦

my other social media links are also in my carrd

[normally0]

“Through the Lens of Honesty: A Garden’s Truth”

The plant known as “honesty” (Lunaria annua) transforms in a way that embodies both truth and transparency. In its fresh form, honesty is adorned with delicate, purple blooms, but as it matures and dries, the flowers give way to translucent, disc-like seed pods. These papery ovals—often referred to as “silver dollars”—are ghostly and delicate, almost like miniature windows. When held up to the eye, children might playfully use them as makeshift monocles, peering through the thin, veined membrane that offers a glimpse into a different, softened world.

The botanical name Lunaria hints at the moon (luna), perhaps alluding to the silvery, celestial glow of the dried pods, which seem like tiny, suspended moons. Each seed pod’s surface is a fragile veil, a paradox of strength and transparency, and within it, the seeds nestle like small mysteries. The Latin annua, meaning annual, reminds us of the plant’s ephemeral life cycle—a brief but transformative journey from flower to seed, reinforcing the idea of fleeting truths and ever-changing perspectives.

The association with the French phrase mon oncle (“my uncle”) offers a playful phonetic twist. In French, a child might hold the seed pod monocle up to their eye and declare, “Mon oncle!” This phrase, whether in jest or imagination, speaks to a relationship of familiarity and guidance, as if an uncle or elder might offer clarity or a different way of seeing the world.

In the language of the garden, honesty represents simplicity and sincerity, but there’s an ironic contrast in its translucent form. Just as the plant’s pods appear clear and revealing, our notions of truth and clarity are often veiled by personal perspective. Looking through a seed pod, we see the world softened, perhaps distorted, and yet we feel that we’re glimpsing something “more true.” Similarly, mon oncle could be a figure who offers wisdom that feels true, but is inevitably colored by individual experience and bias.

Philosophically, honesty as a plant draws us to reflect on the nature of truth itself. Just as the dried seed pod allows for a softened vision, true understanding is often less about seeing sharply and more about accepting the layers and translucencies of perception. The honest vision—one that seeks truth—requires us to look through the veils of understanding, aware that even clarity can be fragile, as the plant’s paper-thin pods remind us.

In this sense, Lunaria is both metaphor and lens. Its dry, ghostly discs act as symbols of vision that is refined, softened, and filtered by nature. To understand truth is to peer through the honesty monocle—where what we see is both partial and complete, a shifting picture held by our human grasp on vision and reality.

#HonestyPlant #MonOncle #GardenPhilosophy #LinneanLanguage #NatureAndVision #TruthAndPerception #BotanicalWisdom #PlayfulPerspective #GardenLens #PhilosophyOfPlants

[kavyaorganicfarm]

Cherry Blossom Bonsai: Capturing the Essence of Spring

Title: Capturing the Essence of Spring with Cherry Blossom Bonsai

As winter fades away and nature awakens, there's perhaps no better symbol of the arrival of spring than the delicate and ethereal cherry blossom. These fleeting flowers, known as "sakura" in Japanese, hold a special place in the hearts of many, evoking feelings of renewal, beauty, and the transient nature of life itself. One way to capture and preserve the essence of spring throughout the year is through the art of cherry blossom bonsai.

Bonsai, the ancient Japanese art of cultivating miniature trees, is a practice that dates back centuries. It involves careful cultivation and pruning to create a scaled-down version of a tree that embodies the essence of its full-sized counterpart. Cherry blossom bonsai, in particular, holds a unique allure due to the ephemeral beauty of the cherry blossom itself.

Creating a cherry blossom bonsai begins with selecting a suitable tree species. While there are several varieties of cherry trees, such as Prunus serrulata and Prunus subhirtella, that are commonly used for bonsai, each offering its own unique characteristics, it's essential to choose a tree that will thrive in your climate and growing conditions. Once a suitable tree is selected, the process of shaping and nurturing it into a bonsai masterpiece can begin.

The first step in shaping a cherry blossom bonsai is to establish its basic structure through pruning and wiring. Pruning helps to control the tree's growth and shape, while wiring allows for greater control over the tree's branches, enabling the artist to create the desired form and silhouette. Careful attention is paid to every detail, from the angle of each branch to the spacing of the blossoms, to ensure that the bonsai captures the natural grace and elegance of a cherry tree in bloom.

Once the basic structure of the bonsai is established, the focus shifts to cultivating the iconic cherry blossoms themselves. Unlike traditional bonsai trees, which are prized for their foliage and overall form, cherry blossom bonsai are valued primarily for their flowers. Achieving the perfect bloom requires careful timing, as cherry blossoms only last for a brief period each spring.

To encourage flowering, cherry blossom bonsai are often subjected to a process known as "forcing," which involves manipulating the tree's environment to simulate the conditions of spring. This may include adjusting the temperature, humidity, and light levels to trigger the tree's natural blooming cycle. With proper care and attention to detail, a well-crafted cherry blossom bonsai can produce a profusion of delicate pink or white blossoms that evoke the beauty and splendor of a springtime garden.

Beyond their aesthetic appeal, cherry blossom bonsai also hold deep cultural significance. In Japan, cherry blossoms are revered as a symbol of renewal, hope, and the fleeting nature of life. Each spring, people gather in parks and gardens to celebrate the arrival of the cherry blossoms with hanami, or flower-viewing parties, where they admire the beauty of the blossoms and reflect on the transient nature of existence.

For bonsai enthusiasts, cultivating a cherry blossom bonsai offers a unique opportunity to connect with nature and experience the beauty of spring in a miniature form. Whether displayed indoors as a living work of art or placed outdoors to be admired in a garden setting, cherry blossom bonsai serve as a reminder of the beauty and impermanence of life.

In conclusion, cherry blossom bonsai offer a captivating way to capture the essence of spring and bring a touch of natural beauty into any space. Through careful cultivation and nurturing, these miniature masterpieces embody the spirit of renewal and the fleeting beauty of the cherry blossom, allowing us to celebrate the joys of springtime year-round.

[otomechuchu]

Ephemeral Miniature Garden - now in English

Ephemeral Miniature Garden was released in English today, Jan 18 2019.

It’s been available in JP, Korean and Chinese for several weeks already. And will come out in a few other languages as well.

[candybunnieholic]

So I’m currently playing Yugu’s route in ephemeral miniature garden, I’m really nervous because I can’t find any walkthrough for his route so I’m going to do the best that I can to make sure I don’t get a bad ending but I’m not going to worried about it too much besides it’s about having fun and enjoy playing the game too.

[nanamisflowerfield]

I came to ask you, oh wise one🛐

What otome would you recommend?

O-Oh my (////) I'm not really wise hehe.... Now I'm blushing...

But these are the ones I played and loved!!

Ephemeral Fantasy On Dark

Ephemeral Miniature Garden

Ayakashi Romance Reborn (I conside it as one....?)

Ikemen Series

Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Dear Otome #Shall We Date? (there are plenty of great games in there and I really liked some!)

Court of Darkness

Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY

Sleepless Cinderella: PARTY

Be My Princess: PARTY

My Forged Wedding: PARTY

LoveUnholyc (pls only for players over the age of 18!)

The Charming Empire

Steam Prison

Gothic Murder

Spiral Memoria

Kitty Love - Way to look for love

Iris School of Wizardy

Gakuen Club

Nightshade

Utapri (only read the translations but I couldn't play it ;w; but if you can find a way to play it, I really recommend it!)

Byakko-tai Samurai Boys

My Butler

The Men of Yoshiwara: Kikuya (I really enjoyed the Men of Yoshiwara series!)

The Men of Yoshiwara: Ohgiya

There are also some on my list that I will buy soon, like Amnesia, Taisho x Alice, DDLC, Variable Barricade and Collar x Alice and more, but I'm a bit busy to play some rn and wait until there are on sale :3 But if you want, I can give you a list with the ones I heard are also great and that I'm going to play soon too! (the list is pretty long, but there are also many games on it xD I-I really love and enjoy otomes games...)

If anybody also recommends some that I haven't listed or might play next, just dm me or write it in here! :3

[isekai-me-plz]

😅 boys, boys! no need to fight! 💁‍♀️

finished ricardo’s route in nightmare harem (more on that later)

now on to yugu’s route in

ephemeral miniature garden 🌹🥀💕

im absolutely OBSESSED w ephemeral *~ fantasy on dark ~* so ive been excited to play this, but the only review ive read said it was disappointing 🙈 guess we’ll see! xoxo

[blessphemy]

Senses:

don’t usually engage a lot of attention to the sense of smell, guess there’s only so much processing power available to manage sensory input

so when pulling the CPUs or what have you into smell you suddenly get a whole different experience. sun hits the dirt underfoot and the heat-air that rises carries the smell of dust and the aromatics of leaves. you do not know the names of all these plants and you do not know the names of these chemical compounds that are a recognized and familiar imprints on the air of the presences that surround you

sometimes you do know the names. a human being runs past and for twelve paces on you can taste the sunscreen and sweat, the person has a certain acidity to their profile that a lot of people do. or they are flat and skin-dry. or they have a strong perfume in their shampoo

sometimes you do know the names. the volatiles of pine, lavender, sagebrush, eucalyptus, bay-laurel are distinct and bright-hued neon signs, the colors of the smellscape that are obvious enough to be named, distilled, and bottled

but there are the quieter ones. is this the smell of half-decaying birch-leaves on a damp morning, one part throat-catching and two-parts smooth pulp. and is it mixing with the mulched bark of an unknown tree carried here by people to cover the ground of the garden.

quieter ones: softer backgrounds with no obvious source but a definite Place. the air shifts and you walk though the place and it appears-disappears and there is no way to perfectly identify what this air is made of. walk down the street and walk though a dozen miniature worlds according to the shift in the place of each house. go to a Place you know and the identity of it unfurls itself in the sinus and mind, a ghost and a memory made physical ephemeral

but only if you pay the cost of attention to notice

it rained last night for a few minutes, and you can tell without looking

[elminx]

I'm still feeling too in it to write about it right now. Spring has sprung in all of its ephemeral glory. My crocus and miniature iris were here and gone in an instant - the first of my hyacinth went into full bloom this morning. I found out that what we had thought was Ground Ivy was actually Garlic Mustard (yum - more on that to come) and what we didn't see before now was in face, Ground Ivy.

Last week we traveled to our friends' cabin in the woods to tap their birch trees and now we are processing syrup. My partner made a hot sauce out of half of the garlic mustard and I am going to prove my Pesto.Mystic title by turning the other half into a wonderful pesto this evening.

We tried pickling the roots of the Evening Primrose that we've been weeding out of the garden but neither of us found it enjoyable enough to eat twice.

It looks like we may have eaten the Lamb's Quarters too enthusiastically last year and it isn't going to return which is okay because it didn't really belong in the garden anyway.

A friend gifted us with native lupine seeds that are ready to go in the ground as soon as the frost date has passed and we're getting a couple more sprouts from a local nursery to round out our collection of kitchen herbs. (Somehow I neglected to put in Rosemary all last year and I'm trying my hand at growing edible Hibiscus and White Sage).

I made myself a healing "Forest Bathing" salve and some candles with my evergreen oil.

Later this week I intend to try my hand at making a Ginger Bug and I will be starting my third infusion of Eastern White Pine Vodka because we like it so much that we've drunk all of it twice.

I want to try my hands at making something out of forsythia but I might be out of time. Soon it will be violet syrup time and I can barely wait.

[sakuurae]

upon the firefly garden

pairing: mark lee & reader insert prompt: 5; fireflies includes: fluff wc: 1.5k a/n: Parts of my heart and soul were poured into this, and also i like fireflies :> im pretty content with this too !!

from the soft summer drabbles; for @zhengtongue !!

One of the best parts about summertime was the spontaneous adventures. Whether they were unplanned road trips or impulsive plans to check out a new lookout spot, you were willing to do anything out of desperation of living the season of heat’s life to the fullest. Rather than lazing on your bed, wasting days in the comfort of your home, you found the outdoors far more pleasing than staring at a screen, binge watching old shows.

Oh, and because Mark Lee spent these summer days with you. In fact, he instigated a grand fraction of the plans that had you living in the outdoors than indoors.

Mark was a good friend of yours—a best friend that had its relationship spark from day one. From the mutual way of communication known as severe sarcasm and an interest in video games, the two of you bonded instantly and expeditiously. No one thought you and Mark would become the friends that you were today—the two dorks who used to waste daylight indoors now becoming outdoor adventurers—but it happened, and you were grateful.

The admirable sentiments you experienced with Mark were given. How could you not develop an attraction to your best friend when he was constantly lingering around you, communicating with you at your highest and lowest? The impulsive summer trips that were prompted by out of the blue phone calls never helped.

That was how you ended up at a place you had never seen before, unknown to the town you resided in. The area was practically a summit point; it was the highest point in your small town overlooking the world below. Hidden among the trees and past a labyrinthine of shrubs, Mark led you to an area filled with lush grass to waste the night light speaking about a ton of dumb stuff—as always. As you rested on the greenery you stared up into the world above, fascinated by every aster. No matter how many times you witnessed the lovely sight, it was impossible to grow tired of the view.

“So I’m guessing you like the spot?” Mark asked you with a soft smile. He was sitting criss cross, his guitar resting on his thigh as his hand held the neck loosely. Recently, he finished playing a riff, like he was creating background music suitable for the night.

You turned your head to look at the boy, only to be met with an angelic image that burned into your mind. “Yeah, I like it. You always seem to know the best places in this town—and I’ve lived here longer than you.”

Mark chuckled. “Because I wander a lot. I’m happy I can drag you with me these days.”

“You’re not dragging me,” you flipped to lay on your stomach, facing the boy’s direction, “I’m here because I want to.”

For a moment, you could have sworn you saw Mark’s eyes widen ephemerally, and if it was not for the bright moonlight that illuminated the summit, you would have never caught the cherry hues that swirled at his ears. Or maybe it was cold. Who could tell?

“Right,” he muttered. With the corners of his lips curved upwards, he fingered another tune on his guitar.

Hearing him play the instrument he loved dearly was always pleasant. No matter what he found delight in creating tunes or playing some classic songs; consequently, it made you feel equally satisfied. As he recited a melody, you closed your eyes and tilted your head to the sky. While the summer breeze whistled through the canopy of leaves and the cicadas in the distance sang as if they were accompanying your friend, you found solace in the middle of a summer night.

But the mellifluous refrain ceased abruptly, leaving its dulcet echo in the air like a phantom wandering the night. The sudden halt confused you, but so did the sound of astonishment that left Mark’s lips.

“Whoa…” he trailed off.

You heard him place the guitar down on the grass, which caused you to open your eyes. A part of you expected a captivating comet to soar across the sky, as they normally would if this was a television show or a corny movie, and another fragment ached to have Mark look your way, perceiving you equally angelic as you did with him. Though, you were met with something paramount to both aspirations.

Before you and your friend, and beyond the dip of the valley, were clusters of fireflies igniting the darkness of the night. Every glow bug left a trail of yellow, only to have it dissipate within seconds. There were numerous fireflies that night, and they all scattered across the field like they were coming together to form a picture that was worth a thousand words.

Astonished, you looked at your friend. His mouth was agape as he lifted a hand—a call to the fireflies. Hypnotized by the sight, the sentiment of raw joy painted on his features, which made your heart skip a couple of beats.

“Mark—”

You cut yourself off when the blanket of light flew upwards in synchronization, more insects illuminating the sky a few at a time. Maybe it was the tunnel vision you had with the boy or perhaps he was blessed, but it seemed like the fireflies were dancing around Mark, attracted to him as you were. The glowing insects appeared to be making a sanctuary surrounding you two, irradiating every piece of darkness.

Mark let out an airy laugh, amused by the flooding of miniature lights. “I’ve never seen fireflies before,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper like he cared about disturbing the peace of each firefly.

“Neither have I…” you admitted, sitting up. Your head turned left and right; you looked up to the sky and back down the field. The light show was surreal. Every glowing insect acted as an ornament of the night, casting a warm glow to the greenery.

Your eyes found its way to Mark, and the sight alone was phantasmagorical. A couple fireflies flew onto him and the guitar by his side, and he froze. The blood in his body was almost ice as he did not want to disturb the delicate creatures. Though, when he met your gaze, he burst out in a fit of laughter, which sent the insects on an excursion to the stretching sky like embers from a raging fire.

The lights were disappearing bit by bit as time passed. To have this moment last forever was an impossibility, but never had you wanted anything more in your life.

The remaining flickers of the lightning bugs reflected off his features; though, regardless of these illuminations from the world above and the universe you stood upon, his eyes ignited your world. There was so much joy, admiration—every tender sentiment present in his expression. And it was brought out by delicate creatures.

Mark held your gaze as the fireflies trailed into the world above. Bit by bit, the glows were fading. An expression of stupefaction remained, but Mark was more wondered by the sight of you accompanied by fireflies than the insects themselves.

While you were distracted, Mark caught one in his hand, cupping the bug gently. He closed the proximity between you two and held his hands to your face, opening them slowly once he enraptured your attention. Confusion was replaced with amazement as the firefly crawled around his hand, the back of the bug gleaming on and off with shades of the sun.

Yes, the sight of the glimmering insect was captivating, but Mark was unable to take his eyes off you and your face of admiration. He held his breath, unwilling to interrupt the scene. Little did he expect, you locked eyes with him once more, only that time his face was inches away from yours. Aside from the lovely effulgence in the sky, the only illumination was from the bug in his hand, and its flickering danced on both your and his features. However, there was more than the glow of a lightning bug in his eyes. Almost scrutinizing them, you nearly pieced the puzzle together…

But as fast as the fireflies came, they left in a similar manner. Two seconds later, all the fireflies disappeared and you were both left wondering if it was an illusion—a dream come to life. You and Mark watched the lightning bug that once graced his skin soar into the night, the stream of yellow weaving into the stars.

Mark tilted his head your way, his eyes unable to meet yours from the tender moment that was shared. Of course you two were close friends, but to experience a raw, warmhearted feeling was another story he was not prepared for. What was there to say? The show of the fireflies was worth more than a thousand words, yet he could not muster one to break the ice.

Benevolently, you smiled.

When the boy saw your face, he mirrored the same compassionate expression back, his grin as bright as the firefly’s glow.

There was a comfortable silence for a long while, almost until the sunrise. No words were exchanged. However, none were needed to be exchanged for you to realize how he felt.

[cleaetpauline60]

These are all of my Heroine Otome Game posts. If he misses a heroine please let me know in PM. ;) Thanks ! List #2 here : https://cleaetpauline60.tumblr.com/post/692736430000291840/these-are-all-of-my-heroine-otome-game-posts-if

A-

Abe Kaguya [ Furue Yurayura to ]

Aigasaki Kohana [ Magic Kyun! Renaissance ]

Aika [ RE:VICE[D] ]

Aikawa Chihiro [ Clover Toshokan no Juunin-tachi ]

Aileen Olazabal [ Arabians Lost ]

Airei [ Souten no Kanata ]

Airi [ Kami-sama to Koigokoro ]

Airi [ Shiro to Kuro no Alice ]

Airis Riedel [ Lost Alice ]

Aizaki Koi [ Himehibi -Princess Days- ]

Akagami Mashiro [ Kyoukai no Shirayuki ]

Akane Rin [ Ayakashi Gohan ]

Akazawa Karen [ Mashou Megane ]

Aki Miyazu [ Kanuchi ]

Akino Minori [ Step -Futari no Kankei wa Ippo Zutsu- ]

Akitsu Shino [ Dairoku: Ayakashimori ]

Alice [ Ikemen Kakumei ]

Alice Liddell [ Heart no Kuni no Alice ]

Alicia Hildegarde [ Mahoutsukai to Goshujin-sama ]

Amagi Asumi [ Little Anchor ]

Amahashi Miku [ Garnet Cradle ]

Amami Chitose [ Meshimase Rouman Sabou ]

Amamine Mika [ DesperaDrops ]

Amane Aika [ I DOLL U ]

Amano Hina [ Blackish House ]

Amano Nagisa [ Honey Vibes ]

Amano Nanao [ Harukanaru Toki no Naka De 7 ]

Amasawa Akari [ Sympathy Kiss ]

Amelia [ Death Connection ]

Anastasia Lynzel [ even if TEMPEST ]

Andou Serika [ Last Escort 2 ]

Anesaki Nozomi [ Watashi no Real wa Juujitsu Shisugiteiru ]

Ange [ Angelique Etoile ]

Ange [ Angelique Luminarise ]

Angelique Collete [ Angelique Special 2 ]

Angelique [ Angelique Retour ]

Angelique [ Neo Angelique ]

Ani Inaco [ Dame x Prince ]

Anna Hiiragi [ Lucian Bee’s ]

Anzaki Kaoru [ Tsumikui ]

Applause E Randolph [ Mistonia no Kibou ]

Aqua [ Fantastic Fortune 2 ]

Arashiyama Mari [ Storm Lover 2nd ]

Aria [ Ephemeral -Miniature Garden- ]

Aria Austin [ Vinculum Hearts ]

Arisu Yurika [ Taishou x Alice ]

Aru [ Princess Arthur ]

Asagi Akira [ Scared Rider Xechs ]

Asagi Haru [ Hanayaka Nari, Waga Ichizoku ]

Asagiri Kanna [ Hanaoni ]

Asahina Yui [ Kiniro no Corda Starlight Orchestra ]

Asakura Akino [ Jiritsu Kidou Sensha Izuna ]

Asanaga Miku [ Spiral Memoria ~Watashi to Deau Natsu~ ]

Ashanty Ris [ Albaria no Otome ]

Ashe [ Under the Moon ]

Ashihara Chihiro [ Harukanaru Toki no Naka De 4 ]

Aspashia [ Desert Kingdom ]

Atano Rio [ Dynamic Chord ]

Awaki Kotone [ Gensou Kissa Enchanté ]

Ayase Yuki [ Sachi no Tenbin ]

Ayashi no Miya [ Ayashi no Miya ]

Ayazuki Mei [ Meiji Tokyo Renka ]

Azumi Ritsu [ Tengai ni Mau, Iki na Hana ]

B-

Bambi [ Tokimeki Memorial Girl’s Side 3rd Story ]

C-

Canaria [ Hime no Rakuen ]

Canna [ Arcana Famiglia Collezione! Piccola Amore ]

Cardia Beckford [ Code: Realize ]

Catarina Claes [ Otome Game no Hametsu Flag ]

Cecilia Falias Temirana [ Temirana Koku no Tsuiteru Hime to Tsuitenai Kishi Dan ]

Ceres [ Shuuen no Virche ]

Charlotte [ Zettai Meikyuu Himitsu no Oyayubi-hime ]

Chihiro [ Tokyo Yamanote Boys ]

Chika [ Secret Crush -Kataomoi- ]

Chikage [ Genji Koi Emaki ]

Chloe Sheffield [ Princess Britania ]

Chloe [ EPHEMERAL ]

Chocolat Meilleure [ Sugar Sugar Rune: Koi mo Oshare mo Pick-Up! ]

Christina Ranzaad [ The Second Reproduction ]

Christine Daaé [ PersonA ~Opera Za no Kaijin~ ]

Claire Eithéa [ Orfleurs ]

Cocoro [ Re: BIRTHDAY SONG ]

Collete [ Riddle Garden ]

Crim [ Ripple no Tamago ]

Cyrus Tistella [ Steam Prison ]

D-

D'Artagnan [ Musketeer: Le Sang des Chevaliers ]

Daisy [ Tokimeki Memorial Girl’s Side 2nd Kiss ]

Diana el Circled [ Fantastic Fortune ]

E-

Eleanor Vert [ Ai no Uta ]

Elise Scarlet [ 0 Ji no Kane to Cinderella ]

Ellie [ Gothic Murder -Unmei o Kaeru Adventure- ]

Emily [ Eikoku Tantei Mysteria ]

Emma [ Genso Manège ]

Emma [ Ikemen Ouji ]

Enma Rin [ Tengoku Struggle ]

Eri [ Nameless ~Dangsin-i Gieoghaeya Hal Dan Hangajiui Geos~ ]

Erica Fleur [ Mother Goose no Himitsu no Yakata ]

Erika [ Eldarya ]

Erika Arenia [ Kazeiro Surf ]

Erika Klause [ Tanbi Musou Meine Liebe ]

Evangeline Lilith [ Nero E Rosso ~Kane no Tame ni Kane wa Naru 2 ]

Eve [ Clepsydra ]

Eve [ Yuukyuu no Tierblade ]

Eve [ Yuukyuu no Tierblade ]

Éloïse [ Moonlight Lovers ]

F-

Felicità [ Arcana Famiglia ]

Filia [ Palais de Reine ]

Fiona Galland [ Black Wolves Saga ]

Fraulein Gilbell [ Meine Liebe II ~Hokori to Seigi to Ai~ ]

Fujieda Neri [ Zettai Kaikyuu Gakuen ]

Fujii Kanako [ Torikago no Marriage ]

Fujimori Saya [ Hiiro no Kakera - Shin Tamayorihime Denshou ]

Fujioka Haruhi [ Ouran Koukou Host Club ]

Fujisaki Futaba [ Fortissimo ]

Fujishima Nanako [ Shinobazu Seven ]

Fujishiro Mao [ Cafe Cuillere ]

Fujiwara Mei [ Fantastic Fortune ]

Fujiwara Miki [ Tsuki no Hikari, Taiyou no Kage ]

Fuka [ Ozmafia!! ]

Futaai Akane [ Toiro Komachi ]

Futaba Chitose [ Seishun Hajimemashita ]

Futaba Yuuka [ Pet Tantei Y’s ]

Futami Nina [ Dynamic Chord ]

Fuyuura Megumi [ Getsuei no Kusari ]

G-

Genjou [ S.Y.K  ]

Gerda [ Snow Bound Land ]

Gojou Saki [ Sakuragatari ]

H-

Hairi Lalique [ Cendrillon palikA ]

Hanamaki Ichiko [ 7′scarlet ]

Hanamiya Kazuha [ Period Cube ]

Hanasaka Airi [ Star's Lover "ReaKoi" Datte, Ii Janai! ]

Hanna Ellington [ Will o’ Wisp ]

Haruhime [ Toukakijin ]

Haruno Sayuri [ Bonjour♪ Koiaji Pâtisserie ]

Hasekura Akane [ Hoshi no Furu Toki ]

Hasumi Yuki [ Harukanaru Toki no Naka De 5 ]

Hatanaka Tomoe [ Money Parasite ]

Hayama Haruho [ Photograph Journey ]

Hayama Tsubasa [ Kaleido-Eve ]

Hayami Rui [ Mermaid Prism ]

Hayasaka Satsuki [ Sumire no Tsubomi ]

Henrietta Grimm [ Zettai Meikyuu Grimm ]

Heroine [ Amnesia ]

Heroine [ Doubt ~Usotsuki Otoko wa Dare?~ ]

Heroine [ Guang Yu Ye Zhi Lian ]

Heroine [ Ikemen Bakumatsu ◆ Unmei no Koi ]

Heroine [ Ikemen Genjiden ]

Heroine [ Ikemen Live: Koi no Uta o Kimi ni ]

Heroine [ Ikemen Oukoku◆Joou to Shinjitsu no Kiss ]

Heroine [ Lian Yu Shen Kong ]

Heroine [ Mystic Messenger ]

Heroine [ Princess Closet ]

Heroine [ RearPheles ]

Heroine [ Ren'ai Banchou 2 ]

Heroine [ Ren'ai Banchou! ]

Heroine [ Saikin Koi Shiteru? ]

Heroine [ Shoujo Kakumei Utena ~Itsuka Kakumeisareru Monogatari~]

Heroine [ Tokimeki Memorial Girl’s Side 1st Love ]

Heroine [ Tokimeki Restaurant ☆☆☆ ]

Hibiki Karin [ Last Bullet ]

Hibiki Ruka [ Houkago no Love Beat ]

Hidetomi Misawo [ Gyakuten Yoshiwara ]

Hiiragi Fuuka [ Kami-sama Nante Yondenai! ]

Hiiragi Miu [ Dynamic Chord ]

Hiiragi Noriko [ KoiGIG ]

Hijiri Futaba [ Bloody Call ]

Himeko [ Kannou Mukashibanashi ]

Himemiya Nagisa [ Royals ~Itoshi no Ouji-sama~ ]

Himemiya Yukari [ Hakarena Heart ]

Himeno Kyouko [ Glass Heart Princess ]

Himeoka Kokoro [ Miss Princess Miss Pri! ]

Hinagiku [ Utakata no Uchronia ]

Hinamori Amu [ Shugo Chara! Mittsu no Tamago to Koisuru Joker ]

Hinata Ema [ Brothers Conflict ]

Hino Kahoko [ Kin'iro no Corda ]

Hinohira Aoi [ Fantastic Fortune 2 ]

Hinokami Chie [ Hitofuta Kitan ]

Horikita Yuki [ Harajuku Tantei Gakuen Steel Wood ]

Hoshino Ichika [ Collar x Malice ]

Hotaru [ Geten no Hana ]

I-

Ichi [ Hana Oboro ]

Ichigo [ Koroshiya to Strawberry ]

Ichijou Shiori [ School Wars ]

Ichikawa Tsuyuha [ Shiratsuyu no Kai ]

Igarashi Yuna [ Storm Lover ]

Ilza [ Yoiyo Mori no Hime ]

Inafune Saki [ Bakudan★Handan ]

Inori [ Side Kicks! ]

Inuzuka Shino [ Satomi Hakkenden ]

Iori Saya [ Asaki, Yumemishi ]

Isshiki Misa [ 9 R.I.P. ]

Ira [ Evergreen Avenue ]

Iris [ Eternal Wish ]

Itou Aki [ Panic Palette ]

Itou Ayako [ Diary ]

Izumi Sakurako [ Reijou Tantei ~Office Love Jikenbo~ ]

Izumi Shio [ Walpurgis no Uta ]

Izumo [ Hyakka Yakou ]

J-

Jed [ Haitaka no Psychedelica ]

Julia [ Moujuu-tachi to Ohime-sama ]

Juliet Capulet [ Romeo vs Juliet ]

K-

Kagami Azuma [ Tennis no Ouji-sama: Doubles no Ouji-sama ]

Kagurazaka Kaname [ Houkago wa Gin no Shirabe ]

Kaguya [ Jooubachi no Oubou ]

Kamikawa Nanami [ Himehibi -New Princess Days- ]

Kamiki Sakuya [ Kaminaru Kimi to ]

Kan'u [ Jyuzaengi ]

Kanna Isora [ Pandora ~Kimi no Namae o Boku wa Shiru~ ]

Kanno Hotori [ Un: BIRTHDAY SONG ]

Kanome Chisato [ Byakko Tai ]

Kanzaki Asuna [ Rakuen Danshi ~Dare mo Shiranai Mou Hitotsu no Rakuen~ ]

Kanzaki Hina [ Butterfly Lip ]

Kanzaki Mei [ Petit Four ]

Kase Aiha [ Orange♥Honey ~Boku wa Kimi ni Koishiteru~ ]

Kashino Zakuro [ Sweet Clown ]

Kashiwagi Kira [ Mizu no Senritsu 2 ]

Kasuga Hinata [ Hoshi no Oujo: Hikari no Tsubasa ]

Kasuga Miyu [ Pretty Flap ]

Kasuga Nozomi [ Harukanaru Toki no Naka De 3 ]

Kasuga Tamaki [ Hiiro no Kakera ]

Katagiri Kaede [ Shinobi, Koi Utsutsu ]

Katagiri Kanade [ Kuro to Kin no Akanai Kagi ]

Kataoka Yue [ Marginal #4 ]

Katsuki Sayu [ Enkan no Memoria ]

Kawai Marika [ Ohime-sama datte XXX Shitai!! ]

Kawana Hina [ Bad Medicine ]

Kayana Takamahara [ Kanuchi ]

Kayano Yuuna [ Arcobaleno! ]

Kayo [ Ken ga Kimi ]

Keika [ Kimi ga Tame, Koishi Midareshi Tsuki no Hana ]

Kidou Saya [ Sengoku Himeuta ]

Kim Heejung [ Dandelion ~Neoege Buneun Baram~ ]

Kinami Mizuki [ Kannagi no Mori ]

Kinoshita Tomoe [ Sangoku Rensenki Sakigake ]

Kirihara Tamami [ Hanayoi Romanesque ]

Kirisawa Yuna [ Tensei Hakkenshi Fuumaroku ]

Kirishima Kozue [ Urakata Hakuouki ]

Kirishima Maya [ Ouma no Mori ]

Kirishita Konoha [ Dynamic Chord ]

Kisakino Emi [ Himehibi Another Princess Days ]

Kitamori Manami [ Vitamin Z ]

Kiyoha [ Gyakuten Yoshiwara ~Ougiya Hen~ ]

Kobayashi Mariko [ Fushigi Yuugi Genbu Kaiden Gaiden: Kagami no Miko ]

Koharu [ NORN9 ]

Kohinata Kanade [ Kin'iro no Corda 3 ]

Kohinata Tsugumi [ Tennis no Ouji-sama Dokidoki Survival Series ]

Koihana Sora [ Koi no Hanasaku Hyakkaen ]

Koizumi Akane [ Gakuen Club ]

Koizumi Saki [ Jingi Naki Otome ]

Kojou Shio [ D.C. Girl’s Symphony ]

Kokura An [ Otome Ken Musashi ]

Komori Yui [ Diabolik Lovers ]

Konohana Saya [ Gakuen K ]

Kouda Saya [ Custom Drive ]

Kousaka Amane [ Teikoku Kaleido ]

Kozuki Erena [ Chouchou Jiken Rhapsodic ]

Kuga Mikoto [ NORN9 ]

Kurihara Airi [ Hoshizora no Comic Garden ]

Kurihara Misako [ Purelover Flavor ]

Kuromon Sumi [ Shinigami Kagyou ]

Kuronuma Sawako [ Kimi ni Todoke ~Sodateru Omoi~ ]

Kurou Nadeshiko [ Clock Zero ]

Kurumi Haruka [ Moshi, Kono Sekai ni Kami-sama ga Iru to suru Naraba ]

Kusanagi Yui [ Kamigami no Asobi ]

Kuze Tsugumi [ Nil Admirari no Tenbin ]

[unpack-my-heart]

Above, Beneath, Betwixt, Between - Chapter 8

@eds-trashmouth @constantreaderfool @violetreddie @xandertheundead @tinyarmedtrex @moonlightrichie @deadliten @burymestanding @annoyingtozier

 Read on AO3 HERE

Richie doesn’t tell Eddie about the letter. He debates throwing it in the bin, tearing it into a thousand tiny pieces so that the words are no longer readable, so that Eddie will never discover the secret that gnaws at Richie’s gut. He’s leaving. It’s an inevitability. The sort of inevitability that feels distant but immediate all at once. When he leaves, part of him will wither away, the part of him that exists when he’s with Eddie, the part of him that’s soft around the edges, the part of him that has been nurtured by cold Scottish air and Eddie’s laughter. But he’s leaving. It’s out of Richie’s control, and no matter how much he feels for Eddie, no matter how much wants to squash his inhibitions deep down into a box labelled never open again, he knows there’s no point.  

He’s leaving. In less than three months, he’ll be walking through the airport concourse, bag in hand, and Eddie won’t be with him. He’s leaving. He’ll be climbing the metal staircase, boarding the plane, collapsing into his assigned seat, asking the hostess to bring him three of those miniature bottles of whiskey that are no bigger than his thumb, because he’s leaving. The thought that all of this was temporary, an ephemeral ripple in the ocean of his life, turned the cornflakes Richie was eating into razor blades. The spiky edges of the cereal clawed at Richie’s throat, leaving it raw. Eddie sits opposite him, wearing one of Richie’s fleeces, far too big on his smaller frame, and he blurts it out before he can stop himself.

“You need new clothes”

The because I’m leaving, and soon you won’t be able to borrow mine goes unsaid.

Eddie blinks, hand frozen in place half way between his bowl and his mouth, and Richie watches the milk slosh off his spoon in slow motion.

“Clothes?”

“New clothes. Clothes of your own, so you’re not always borrowing mine,” Richie says, and it’s robotic, a cool and metallic sound that feels foreign in his mouth.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I didn’t realise that you minded. Of course, we’ll get me my own clothes. I don’t have any money though…”

Richie feels like an ass. Eddie’s completely abandoned his bowl now, cereal condemned to become soggy and forgotten. Richie shoves his own bowl to the side, and leans forward across the dining table, desperate to push himself into Eddie’s space.

“No, I just thought you’d be more comfortable in clothes that feel more … you”

“I suppose you’re right,” Eddie replies, his voice brusque, and before Richie can say anything else he’s pushing away from the table.

“The money problem still stands, though. I haven’t got any to pay for these new clothes so--”

“I’m paying, obviously. I’ll pay. I want to pay, Eds. I’ll drive us to Edinburgh and we’ll pick you out a fancy new wardrobe and you’ll look …”

The sentence gets stuck between Richie’s teeth. Eddie looks at him strangely, head cocked to the side, a dog who has misunderstood a command, and Richie just shrugs at him.

“You’ll look like you”

“Do I not already look like me?” Eddie says, but he’s laughing now. Not laughing exactly, but his eyes are crinkled at the edges, an indication that Richie has learnt means that any second now, Eddie Kaspbrak is going to bare his teeth and dazzle the world with a smile that looks like sunshine on a winter morning. The smile comes, and Richie basks.

“You look just like you”

“You’re being weird, Richie”

“I know” Richie mutters, but it’s muffled by the top of Eddie’s head.

They come together like magnets. An invisible force that tugs them together, that neither can see but both can feel. On the couch in the evenings, sprawled across each other, in the kitchen, dancing around each other, hands on waists, in the garden, watching the lake glitter in the moonlight, with hands clasped and eyes closed. Now, in the dining room, Richie’s standing over Eddie, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Eddie pulls away, just barely, and looks up at him and Richie’s stomach flips, oh God, oh God, oh God, he’s going to do it, he’s going to lean up, he’s going to –

But of course, Eddie doesn’t kiss him, he just smiles again, but that’s practically the same thing.  

– X –

The drive to Edinburgh goes less than well. Eddie panics when they hit the motorway, hands gripping his knees, knuckles white and straining against his skin. Richie reaches out to grasp his hand, an attempt at comfort, but Eddie screeches at Richie to keep both hands on the wheel in such a melodramatic way that Richie erupts into snorting laughter. Eddie glares at him, but, out of the corner of his eye, Richie notices that Eddie’ knuckles have shifted from white to pink.

They park up in a small town on the outskirts of Edinburgh town center, and get the tram. Sitting together, close enough that their knees knock and their thighs blend into one, Eddie whispers into Richie’s ear of times gone by, about how he used to get the electric tram with his mother when they’d travel into town, and about how they’d sit on the top deck and Eddie would watch the world spin by. Richie closes his eyes, letting the dulcet tones of Eddie’s voice pull him back, back to Eddie’s first life, and wonders whether, if they’d met back then, in a world so different, so hostile, if Eddie would still look at Richie with stars in his eyes.

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to discover that he loves jeans. Richie watches him walk amongst the aisles of clothing, fingers brushing the different fabrics and textures, before he disappears into the dressing room, clutching a bundle of clothing to his chest. He emerges, dressed in slim fit black jeans and a tight bottle green sweater and Richie chokes.

“I feel rather like a movie star, Rich,” Eddie says, looking at himself in the mirror, smoothing a hand over his front.

“You look like one, holy fucking hell, Eddie,” Richie breathes, and it’s too much,  of course it’s too much, and he expects Eddie to flinch away from his reverent compliment but he doesn’t. He smiles.

– X –

They’re wandering around Old Town when it happens. Eddie’s practically bouncing along the street, waving his arms wildly, regaling Richie with tales of his youth when Eddie’s eyes lock onto a large memorial at the top of one of Edinburgh’s many hills.

A MONUMENT TO THE FALLEN.

A huge piece of stone juts from the earth like a limb, engraved with hundreds of names. Wordlessly, Eddie drops the bags he was carrying neatly to the floor, and then he’s gone, half-walking half-running towards the monument. Richie watches him slam into the stone, body ricocheting off like a bullet. Richie watches Eddie drop to his knees, finger scanning the names like a toddler learning to read, and then Richie watches Eddie’s face collapse into sorrow.

Richie doesn’t need to ask, when he sidles up behind him, what Eddie has found.

BRIGADIER RUPERT BRODIE.

The name is tiny, a small scratch on the side of the monument. But Richie knows that, for Eddie, the wound is Promethean, a brutal gash across his stomach, open, bleeding, oozing. Never healing. Never closing.

“Is this your Rupert, Eds?”

“My Rupert,” Eddie wails in agreement, a siren call to Richie’s bleeding heart. Richie crouches, pulls Eddie’s head against his chest.

“I thought maybe they’d lied to me,” Eddie hiccups, “that he hadn’t died, that they’d just found out about us, or something. That he’d survived and moved on, but that he’d lived. I didn’t – he’s dead, Rich. He died”

“I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so fucking sorry”

Eddie disappears into introspection for several days after that. He floats around the house, looking so much like his spectre self that Richie finds himself touching Eddie more than usual, grabbing his hands or scrubbing a hand through his hair, to check that Eddie hasn’t drowned in sorrow in his room.

The day after they get back from Edinburgh Eddie doesn’t smile at all. The day after that he laughs quietly when Richie falls into the lake by accident, the day after that he smiles in sleepy thanks when Richie brings him mug after mug of tea, and the day after that he hugs Richie first.

“Thank you for being patient with me”

“Aw, shucks, Eddie Spaghetti, you’re all mushy”

Eddie swots at Richie’s shoulder but he doesn’t move.

– X –

“Have you ordered the slate yet?”

Richie blinks.

“The slate?”

He can practically feel his father roll his eyes.

“Yes, the slate. The slate you were supposed to order last week, that I’m coming over to help fit in 6 days? We talked about this when we were on skype a few weeks ago and you had to show me how to make the camera work”

“Oh… Oh fuck. Yes, the slate. I have ordered the slate. The slate is a thing that is coming, I rang the man and spoke to the man and --”

“You didn’t order the slate, did you.”

“I did not order the slate.”

“Are you okay? You’re even more sieve brained than usual. Has something gone wrong with the house? Have you hurt yourself? Are you sick?”

“Jeez, dad, I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m just … tired. It’s a lot of work”

His father seems to believe him, probably because it’s not entirely a lie. They agree that Richie will meet his father at the airport and drive him back to the house, before they say their goodbyes and Richie hangs up.

“Who was that?” Eddie asks, walking into the kitchen.

“Oh, uh, my dad”

“Your dad? Your dad’s coming to visit?”

“Yeah, I sort of … forgot? We agreed that he’d come help me do the roof and … Yeah. He’s coming in six days”

“Oh. Should I go and stay with Mike?” Eddie asks nonchalantly, but he’s scrubbing at a dish with so much force that Richie fears it’ll shatter in his hands.

“Mike’s? Why would you go to Mike’s?”

“To give you space with your father. You probably don’t want me rattling around your house when he’s here”

Our house. it’s our house, Eddie. Mine and yours, Richie wants to say, what’s mine is yours. You could take my still beating heart just because you said that you wanted it, and I’d let you, but he doesn’t say any of that. He just says, “Oh.”

Eddie turns around, abused dish discarded in the sink, leans against the counter, arms crossed against his chest, and stares at Richie. It’s a challenge. Richie knows that, he knows that Eddie’s waiting for him to move first, a cat who bats a mouse, not interested in the kill but enjoying the game. Your move. Richie knows that he should tell Eddie to stay, that he should grab Eddie’s hand, and admit …

Admit the thing that he’s been sure of since Eddie stumbled out of the house, alive, alive, alive.

(I love you.)

But he doesn’t.

“Do you want to ring Mike or should I?”

Eddie huffs, and Richie knows he’s lost.

– X –

The crickets are chirping, the sheep on the hills are bleating their midnight songs, the spring rain falls into the lake, a tinkly sound that echoes around the valley, but it’s still too quiet. Eddie’s been at Mike’s house since six that evening. Six long hours ago, Mike’s truck rattled down the driveway, and rattled away again, Eddie in the front, twisting in his seat, waving at Richie frantically, as if for the last time.

One day it would be.

The hours had passed slowly, like black molasses, thick and bitter. The house stands cold and quiet behind him like an empty skeleton, entirely bereft of any life. Three coffees down, and Richie’s sat on the porch, feet kicked up on the wooden railings. Fireflies dance in the moonlight, tiny flecks of luminescence copying the stars. Without warning, Two larger bulbs of light appear at the end of the track. Richie squints, watching the lights get closer and closer and closer until he realises it’s Mike. Mike’s truck trundles down the driveway, and before it comes to a stop, Richie’s up, striding over to the truck, banging on the driver-side window.

“Mike! Has something happened? Is Eddie hurt? What’s going on? What did you do to him?”

Mike kills the ignition, and winds his window down.

“What did ah do to hem? More like what did he do to me! I have an entire bathroom to fit tomorrow and he kept pokin’ me in my sleep askin’ if ah thought ye were lonely or scared or missing hem. He smashed seventeen of mah mugs, Richie. Seventeen mugs,” Mike grumbles, raising an eyebrow.

“Mike, don’t exaggerate,” Eddie says defensively, “two of them were bowls”

Richie turns to Eddie, who has now climbed out of Mike’s van and is standing in the moonlight in his tartan pyjamas with his arms crossed protectively over his chest.

“Are you okay?” Richie asks, voice soft, “what happened? Were you scared?”

“I think I was just a bit homesick,” Eddie says and Richie can feel his heart preparing to catapult itself out of his chest and into Eddie’s hands.

“I’m bringing him home. I can’t bear seeing the wee sod wandering around looking so lost. Ye’ll just have to invent some story to yer dad about who he es. Goodnight Eddie,” Mike says, and then he’s gone, truck bouncing down the path, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

“I feel like such an idiot,” Eddie says, shattering the silence that had descended around them.

“You’re not an idiot”

Neither of them speak as they take long, slow steps up towards the house. The house that had looked ghoulish mere seconds ago, the house that now welcomed them in with open arms, and a I’m so glad you’re home. Eddie wanders into the living room, and perches on the sofa demurely, like he hadn’t spent the last few days sprawled across it, legs up on the arm rest, hands restlessly running fingers through Richie’s hair, scratching at his scalp, as he shouted at some dumb quiz show on the television.

“What time are you picking your father up?”

Richie checks his watch, “I’ve gotta leave in about three hours”

Eddie nods. “What are we going to tell him about me?”

“We’ll just say that … you’re my lodger. A lodger in this … unfinished house. That makes sense. Total sense. It’s sort of not even a lie”

“Is that what I am? Your lodger?” Eddie shoots back, sharp as a tack.

“Well, what do you think you are?”

“Dead,” Eddie deadpans, before snorting at his own joke.

“Not anymore, my love. Not anymore”

The pet-names had become routine, words that came as easily from Richie’s mouth as Eddie’s name. A ‘baby’ here, a ‘my love’ there, once a ‘sweetheart’ but Eddie had recoiled so viscerally Richie hadn’t dared to use that one again.

One in the morning comes and goes, and Richie knows that he should sleep. But he doesn’t. Instead, he drags his duvet down the stairs and constructs a blanket nest on the couch, patting the empty space next to him, an invitation. Eddie flops down into the empty spot, and tucks his legs up underneath him. They talk in hushed tones, until the gaps between Eddie’s replies grow longer and longer and then Eddie’s snoring softly in Richie’s ear.

The phrase ‘commitment-phobe’ had been thrown around a lot in his last relationship, but that wasn’t it. Before now, Richie would have readily admitted that he’d never known contentment. He was plagued by a constant restless itch at the soles of his feet, an inability to be still, to stay safe in the same place for too long. But now, with Eddie’s head resting heavy on his shoulder, puffs of breath tickling his neck, Richie was sure that he finally knew contentment.

Eventually, Richie must have fallen asleep, because he wakes up to the beeping of his alarm, with a crick in his neck and a dead arm. Eddie’s curled himself around Richie in his sleep, head practically in Richie’s lap. He notices that Eddie’s snores had become purrs during the night, small vibrations of pleasure rumbling through both of their bodies.

“Huh? Rich? Wha’ time’zzit?”

“It’s really early, Eds, go back to sleep,” Richie whispers, trying to manoeuvre out of Eddie’s grasp, but Eddie just holds on tighter.

“Stay here with me”

“I can’t, Eds, I’ve gotta go pick up the old man. I don’t wanna leave you, though. I’m scared for my mugs,” Richie says, aiming for jovial but ends up sailing right past and landing on affectionate.

“I’m gonna come with you,” Eddie slurs, voice thick and croaky with sleep.

“You’re too tired, stay here,” Richie tries, but Eddie shakes his head.

“Don’t wanna stay. Don’t wanna be alone in this house, it reminds me … well, being alone here, without you, it feels like all the life gets sucked out of the house and I’m … I don’t want to feel dead again, Richie”

“… Shit”

Eddie pauses, obviously embarrassed. Richie doesn’t know how to chase the embarrassment away, but before he can try, Eddie speaks first.

“I’m gonna go get dressed,” Eddie says over his shoulder, already half way out of the room.

– X –

As soon as they hit the motorway, Eddie’s asleep. Richie keeps his eyes on the winding roads, twisting and turning through the Scottish landscape, like old faded scars. When they’re an hour away from the airport, Eddie sits up with a jolt.

“What’s this song called?”

Richie blinks.

“Uh, I think it’s called smooth? Turn it up if you wanna”

Eddie reaches out towards the radio hesitantly, like he’s waiting for a spark of electricity to jump from the radio to his outstretched finger like it had before. The look of apprehension on Eddie’s face so painfully reminded Richie of how he’d looked before, how his see-through-but-not-really face had twisted in something that looked like pain every time he was jolted by electricity. Richie reaches out, grabs Eddie’s hand, and guides it towards the volume button. They press it together and their hands fall down, still connected, and Eddie gives Richie’s hand a squeeze before he lets go.

The music swells, filling the car, and Richie sings along dramatically, fudging most of the lyrics, but it makes Eddie laugh anyway.

“D’ya think you could swing dance to this then, Eds? Break out some of that fancy footwork?”

“Oh, no. Not to this song, I think this song needs … a different kind of dancing”

Richie shoots a quizzical look at Eddie, and is delighted to discover that Eddie’s face has become a deep flushed red.

“Oh? What kind of dancing would that be?”

Eddie coughs, “Um… well, it’d have to be a bit … saucier”

Richie barks out a laugh, “Saucier? Jesus, Eds. I always forget you’re practically 105”

Eddie scowls at him, and Richie shimmies his shoulders in response. Just as they’re pulling into the car park of the airport, Eddie starts to panic.

“Rich, I think we made a mistake. Maybe I shouldn’t have come, this is all very … intimate”

“Intimate?” Richie questions, hopping out of the car. He walks around to the passenger side, opening the door for Eddie.

“Yeah, I … I’m going to meet your parents, Richie. That’s … wow,” Eddie says, climbing out of the car.

“Well, parent, singular. You’re only meeting the old man”

Eddie avoids Richie’s eyes as they walk towards the arrivals entrance.

“I never met Rupert’s parents”

Oh. The realisation slams into Richie like a freight train. Eddie never had that awkward first meeting with his boyfriends parents, never had to be on his best behaviour in front of two sets of judgemental eyes, never had to go out to dinner at a restaurant no-one liked and play nice. Not until now. But is it the same? Does meeting Richie’s dad strike that very particular anxiety deep into Eddie’s gut? They’re dancing around it, whatever it is that they have. They’re purposefully, pointedly, not naming it. It’s everything and nothing at the same time, it exists and it doesn’t. It’s unnecessarily long eye contact and hand squeezes. It’s coffee in the morning and walks in the hills in the afternoons. It’s watching reality TV on a Saturday evening and getting ice-cream in Portree on a Sunday. It’s everything, it’s almost real bit not quite. Schrödinger’s love.

A cacophonous voice wrenches Richie out of his introspection.

“THERE’S MY BAMBINO!”

“Oh holy Christ”

Richie watches as his father runs over to him, arms outstretched. “Eddie, brace yourself”

Wentworth Tozier collides with his son at the speed of light, sending them both staggering backwards.

“Gerr’off you brute!” Richie protests, but his arms snake around his father’s midsection.

Went presses several smacking kisses to the side of his face, and Richie rolls his eyes playfully, sending an exasperated look at Eddie, who laughs.

“You’re never too old to love your father, kid”  

“Stop showing off for Eddie”

Went releases his vice-grip immediately, spinning on his heels.

“Eddie, ey? Who is this strapping young lad?”

Eddie sticks out his hand, and smiles shakily.

“Edward Kaspbrak, Sir. A Pleasure to make your acquaintance”

Went ignores Eddie’s outstretched hand, and pulls him into a hug. “Well aren’t you a fancy one! You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend, Rich, and a very polite one at that!”

Eddie pulls away immediately, face red.

“No, no, we’re not – I’m not – it’s not like that, sir. We are … I’m …”

At Eddie’s fumbled protestations, Went shoots Richie a puzzled look, that Richie can only return as a shrug. Luckily, his father is distracted by the need to collect his luggage, and he trots off to the baggage reclaim carrousel. As soon as Went is out of earshot, Eddie corners Richie.

“You told your father that you’re … that you like men?” Eddie hisses, quiet enough that Richie has to strain over the noise of the airport concourse to hear.

“Uh, I mean, I didn’t so much as tell him as he found out organically when me and one of my ‘study buddies’ were caught doing a little bit of extracurricular activity, if you catch my drift”

Eddie’s face stays blank, and Richie rolls his eyes, pulling Eddie closer to whisper in his ear.

“My father walked in on us when my ‘study buddy’ had his cock inside me”

Eddie snorts, and shoves at Richie’s shoulder.

“Oh my gosh! That must have been mortifying”

Richie shrugs, “Well, it taught the old bugger to knock before just waltzing in”

“I imagine it did. Oh, I could have just about died when he asked whether … if I was … if we were …” Eddie trails off, gesticulating uselessly.

“If you were my boyfriend? So go on, am I your boyfriend?” Richie jokes, knocking Eddie’s shoulder with his own, trying to coax a laugh out of him but Eddie’s shoulder stays stiff, and he doesn’t laugh.

“Richie, you know I –”

Before Eddie can finish his sentence, and give Richie the answer he so desperately craves, Went comes bounding back over, tugging a ridiculously oversized suitcase behind him. Richie has never been so disappointed to see his father.

– X –

“So you’re a doctor? Oh, isn’t that just brilliant. It’s every parent in laws dream isn’t it, my son and the doctor!” Went gushes, twisted around in his seat to face Eddie, who was currently cowering in the back of Richie’s car.

“Father, if you do not stop harassing Eddie I’m going to throw you out of the car”

Quiet settles over the car. Richie knows that Eddie isn’t really asleep, because his breathing isn’t deep enough, and that he’s probably got his eyes closed as a self defence mechanism. Went babbles on in the front, quizzing Richie about the Scottish landscape, how many hikes he’s been on, whether he’s tried haggis yet, and whether he owns a kilt. Nearly five hours later, Richie pulls down the dusty track that leads to his little house on the moor. As if by magic, Eddie chooses that moment to sit up.

“Are we home already?” Eddie yawns, cracking the bones in his neck. Richie shudders. It’s a habit Eddie got into almost immediately after he became physical again, absentmindedly cracking his joints at random points throughout the day.

Richie kills the engine and they all pile out of the car. Richie pops the boot and hauls his father’s suitcase out, “did you bring the fuckin’ bath tub with you? Jesus this thing’s heavy”

His father isn’t listening, though, having immediately sprung into architect mode.

“Oh, oh, Rich, she’s gorgeous”

“I know, right?” Richie says, puffing his chest slightly, “she’s a real peach”

Richie follows Went into the kitchen, watching with amusement as his father flits around the room, providing a running commentary about how he’d replastered all the walls, torn down the old ceiling beams and installed new ones, and how Eddie had spilt paint everywhere. After twenty minutes of enthused chatter from his father, Richie can feel his eyelids grow heavy, and he’s now yawning more than talking.

“This plumbing work is seamless! Who’s your plumber? This work is immaculate, how much do you think I’d have to pay them to move to the states to work for me?”

“Mike Hanlon, and I think you’d have to give him your entire company and your first born son to get him to move. Look, Dad, you’re welcome to carry on snooping but Eddie and I are knackered, we’re gonna go to bed”

“Oo-er!”

“I swear to god, Dad, I will drown you in the lake”

“Oh! I forgot about the lake!”

“It’s out there,” Richie says, pointing out towards where the lake glistens in the afternoon sun, “I’m going to bed now”

Went captures Richie in a hug before he can escape, pressing a kiss to the side of his face.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, kid”

– X –

The evening sun bathes Richie’s bedroom in soft light that pools on the floor, and he groans as he turns over, shielding his eyes. The alarm clock on the bedside table reads 7:04pm. With aching bones, he hauls himself out of bed, throwing his ratty old dressing gown over his shoulders, before padding over to Eddie’s room. The door is open, revealing a perfectly made bed.

“RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF AISLE SEVEN!”

His father’s booming voice filters up from the kitchen, striking fear into Richie’s soul. He can hear Eddie’s hooting laughter rising through the house like smoke, and Richie catches himself smiling dopily at it, before he remembers the cause of that laughter and he sprints downstairs, socks sliding on the wooden floors.

“Please tells me you’re not telling Edward about the time I urinated in aisle seven of Walmart when I was one?”

“Of course not!” Went says, eyes shining, “I’m telling Edward about the time you pissed in aisle seven of Walmart when you were four”

Eddie’s cackling now, great gasps of laughter that erupt like lava from his body. It’s infectious, and Richie can’t stop himself from laughing too, and before long all three of them have dissolved into hysterics.

After they’d come down from their laughing high, Went immediately demanded that they start fixing the roof. Climbing onto the roof was terrifying enough – having to balance precariously on a ladder leant against the side of the house wasn’t Richie’s idea of a good time – without Eddie fretting and wringing his hands, occasionally yelling with fright when the ladder wobbled under Richie’s weight.

“Eds, I’m fine, honest! I’ve climbed ladders taller than this and I’ve only fallen off maybe six times in my life”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Richard!”

Went is a speedy, efficient worker, and gets through his pile of slate shingles at double speed, leaving Richie in the dust. They talk quietly as they work, drinking the endless cups of tea that Eddie brings them, climbing the ladder one handed, two cups balanced on a small tray, face scrunched in determination.

“You’ve got a good egg there, bambino,” Went says when they’re taking a break, drinking their fifth cup of tea.

“For the last fucking time, he’s not my egg”

Went sends his son a questioning look. “Do you want him to be your egg?”

“More than you’ll ever fuckin’ know. It’s … complicated, though”

“Try me”

“Well, he died in 1940, and I hired an exorcist wizard person to bring him back to life after he haunted me for three months and we slow danced with oven mitts and I fell hopelessly in love with him”

They stare at each other, until Went makes a face, a are you shitting me? kind of face and Richie smirks.

“C’mon, what’s really going on?” Went asks, poking his son with the handle of his hammer, but Eddie interrupts them.

“Would either of you like another cup of tea?”

“Oh, I like you, Edward. I like you a lot. I could go for another. The tea here really does taste better, who knew”

– X –

They’re sat at the dining table when it goes wrong.

They’re eating the dinner that Eddie had cooked, tea towel flung over his shoulder, sleeves of his maroon button-up rolled up to the elbow. Richie had drooled at the sight of both him and the hot pot that he’d spent hours slow cooking.

“So, Eds,” Went says around a mouthful of carrot, “are you thinking of buying the house when she’s finished?”

“Um, buying it? I thought it was Richie’s house?”

“Well yeah, I mean when he flips it, puts it on the market, y’know, when he moves back home”

“Home?” Eddie says, and Richie swears that his heart explodes right there. “What do you mean home? I thought this was his home?”

Thankfully, Went realises that something isn’t right, and makes his excuses.

“I’m just going to take the rest of my dinner outside, y’know, al fresco. Leave you boys to … talk,” and then he’s gone. The kitchen door swings shut behind him, and they’re alone.

“What the fuck’s happening, Richie? Wh – what’s going on?” Eddie asks, voice calm but evidently scared.

“Look, there’s something I haven’t told you. When I moved here, it was never going to be a forever thing. This is sort of what I do, buy dilapidated old houses, do them up, flip ‘em, and move on”

“Sort of what you do?” Eddie parrots, “what does that even mean?”

“I’m a property developer. I do this for a job, I make money from selling houses I’ve done up. This one,” Richie gestures around, cringing when Eddie flinches, “this one’s no different. Or, it was supposed to be no different”

“What’s different about this house then? Not good enough to flip?” Eddie spits. Richie shakes his head vehemently.

“You. You’re different, all the other houses, they didn’t have you. I’ve – I got a letter a few days ago. A week ago, maybe. It was from the immigration office”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I have to leave in just over two months”

Eddie gags at that, before he scrambles out of his chair, runs to the sink, and vomits. Richie springs up, and runs over to Eddie, with the intention of rubbing his back, but Eddie swats him away.

“So you’ve known all this time that you’re leaving me. You let me go through all that shit with Stan, all this … all this with you and you’re just leaving”

“Eddie” Richie sobs, clutching at his chest as if to stop his heart from shattering, “I didn’t mean to fall – I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t do it on purpose, I just …”

“You just what?” Eddie challenges, wiping at his mouth roughly with the back of his hand before turning to face Richie, “you just what?”

“I didn’t mean to end up caring this much about you,” Richie whispers, because it’s now or never, it’s time to open old wounds, time to wrench open his chest and see if Eddie will pluck his heart from his ribs.

“You care about me?” Eddie says, so innocently, so ridiculously, that it makes Richie laugh.

“Care about you? Are you blind, Eddie? Are you honestly telling me right now that you didn’t know? That you’ve been entirely blind to how much I – how much I –”

The sentence dies in Richie’s throat like a flame, extinguished by fear.

“Richie,” Eddie cautions, voice low, “Richie, if this is because you’re feeling guilty, you’ve got to tell me, if this is all a big ruse that you’re going to regret when you –”

Richie charges forward, propelled by a force he can’t control, and collides into Eddie. Their mouths lock instantly in a messy, off-kilter kiss that is simultaneously too hard, too bruising but not hard or bruising enough. They come together, in the middle of the kitchen, like magnets.

[whifferdills]

Asclepius Good Omens TV, Aziraphale/Crowley, Gabriel is there. the Garden of Eden/aka Dr Who Cerulean AU. technically gen but also horny, u know how it is. ~1.8k words

read on the AO3

One of these days there would be words invented to describe this emotion, chief among them 'anxious', but for now Aziraphale settled on feeling slightly out of sorts. "It's an honor," Gabriel insisted. "I cannot stress enough how important of a job this is." "Job," Aziraphale repeated uncertainly. Uncertainty, how...unbefitting, for an Angel. He hoped it didn't show.

A window cracked open between them: the Garden, in miniature, verdant and lush. The sands outside. Gabriel gestured. "Take your time," he said, somewhat impatiently. "And when it's over?" Aziraphale tucked his wings close together. The flush of him knitted inexpertly down; a plain tunic as cover. "Easy-peasy." Gabriel grinned with at least five of his mouths, wheels spinning in cold precision. "Just make like a tree and leaf."

It's simple, ish. Certainly fewer moving parts than other forms. How difficult could it be, really, to be a tree. He settles into his roots and wraps himself in bark. Solid, unyielding. An appropriate amount of leaves shaken out and left to bask in the harsh sunlight. He makes shade in which things might grow; where fledgling humanity might take a nap, or stare blankly into space. He waits. Sometimes humanity sits, and sometimes humanity stands. Sometimes they walk in circles, or accidentally bump into each other. He basks in his love for them; he even finds things to admire about them. Their physicality, their simplicity, how they seem assured of the ground beneath their feet. The grace of them, pure and uncomplicated. The underbrush rustles, sometimes. He can't tell how far into the day it's been before he catches a glimpse of eyes, glowing reflective in the dark. Nor how long after that it is before the creature emerges, slithering languidly towards him. Black and red and almost imposing. Intelligent, possibly. The Serpent manages to look as bored as Aziraphale feels. Boredom, surely that's not right - this is a very important job, after all. He settles back into his roots and waits. Humanity isn't afraid, not yet. The Serpent wriggles past where they're sprawled carelessly on the moss, undulating over them and. On to him. Oh. Well. He's not bored anymore, at least. The thing is - the thing is. He's never been touched before, you see. Not knowingly, not with intent. The smoothness of the scales sliding over his trunk, the pressure of lean muscle curling around his branches - there is no breeze but his leaves shudder anyway, growing a touch greener, a hair broader. And the Serpent pauses, and looks up at him inquisitively. "You've forgotten the apple," it says. Oh. Oh! Of course. Aziraphale concentrates very hard, and stretches all of his Angelic energy throughout himself, from root-end to leaf-tip, and with a proverbial grunt produces a single, dismal crabapple. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," says the Serpent.

This will be known as "panic", later on - Aziraphale flicks the Serpent off (it bounces into the wilderness with a yelp) and slips first into ephemerality and then into his practiced Earthly form and then runs. Not particularly swiftly or gracefully, but with some urgency. He runs and he runs and then he stumbles, tilted headfirst until he hits the wall. The stone is hot and unforgiving against his palms, the air is too still, this body is too small - "Stay away," he calls out, voice unacceptably shaky. He turns, swallows, puffs his wings out and produces the Sword with a barely-earned flourish. The Serpent slips out of a thorn bush, unperturbed. "I have a sword," Aziraphale says. "I can see that," the Serpent responds. "Oh, for Hell's sake - " It rears up, and slips easily into personhood. Demonhood. Human-shaped, anyway, not that there's much to go on as of yet. "S'everthing alright?" Aziraphale does his best to look impressive. "Stand back, foul Demon." He has the temerity to laugh. "Oh, come off it. We're both here for the same reason. We're basically co-workers. You do the tree, I do the snake, the humans do the You Know, we go our separate ways. It's not that deep." "Not that -" Aziraphale huffs, but lowers his sword. Stage-whispering: "This is where it starts! This is God's Plan!"

"If that helps," says the demon.

"It's her Ineffable Plan and I am being Counted On and. And I'm not - I'm not doing a very good job of it, am I?" The demon, this creature - it is unfair how pretty a monster can be, he'll write a sternly-worded letter one of these days - this red and black and temptingly beautiful boy steps forward. Charming, tentative, tentatively charming and vice-versa. "Performance anxiety, happens to the best of us. I'm Crawley, by the way." "Aziraphale," says Aziraphale reluctantly, his own name sounding odd in these ears. He slips the Sword back into his pocket. He hadn't really meant to use it, anyway. How could he? Here, of all places, how could he? "Aziraphale," Crawley repeats, and it sounds even stranger - but that's a demon's voice for you. "Shall we try again? You can pop back whenever you're ready. Promise I won't look." Aziraphale glares, and Crawley dramatically covers his eyes with his hands, and they try again.

The humans are asleep, as they usually are, as there's nothing much else for them to do. Crawley sits on the ground, sifting thorns out of his coal-black feathers and burrs from his fire-red hair, gangly-legged and comfortable in Aziraphale's shade. "I can draw you a picture, if you like." Crawley adds a petal of something pink to the small pile of thorns. "You're looking for round, red, juicy - " Aziraphale is silent and settled back in his roots, but the thrum of exasperation is deliberate and hopefully clearly felt. "An Angel, inventing an Earthly pleasure from whole cloth, so a demon can tempt God's own creation into...what, exactly?" Another petal, this time white. "Are you sure your side knows what it's doing?" He waves his hand over the pile of petals and burrs and thorns and it sinks into the dirt. The roots of the Tree stretch beneath him in response. He puts his hand on the base of the trunk, the bark rough under his fingertips, and under that a clumsy, boundless love. White-hot and holy and like a sword being plunged through him. He clenches his fist and then shifts, the snake rising in his place. The humans stir, move together guilelessly. The smaller one is watching him. He slides up, wraps around the boughs. Bends the branches, curling closer to where green is budding, where fruit is swelling, ripening, reddening. She's still watching him. She's almost curious. Nearly, nearly. It won't happen now, but soon enough. He opens his mouth and sinks his fangs into an apple, listening to the leaves chatter above him.

"You're getting better at this, Angel." Aziraphale stifles a smile. It's not that he's proud, of course; it's not that he's weak to the flattery of a demon. "Oh. Thank you, I suppose. You're - quite wily. Very good at the evil... wiles." "Still needs work, though," Crawley continues blithely. "Something's missing. A certain je ne sais quoi. Can angels eat?"

"We don't need to, no." Aziraphale frowns, feeling wrong-footed and slightly ruffled in the feathers. Crawley slips to Serpent long enough to writhe up Aziraphale's calf, along his thigh and around his belly before dropping Back with a snap of the fingers and the whip of wings spreading wide. "It's not about need, Angel. Haven't you been paying attention? It's about want." He somehow manages to saunter backwards, the thicket parting for him. Aziraphale stands very still and watches him go. "Are you trying to tempt me?" "Is it working?" A pause, a consideration. Aziraphale follows wordlessly, the path closing behind them.

Paradise, down by the river. An angel tiptoes in a demon's footsteps, across the water and through the mud and the tangled vines. "Is it evil?" Aziraphale approaches cautiously, primly. "It's a blackberry bush," Crawley says. "Yes, I made it, so technically...Not everything is - nevermind. Just. Try?" "Are you teaching me how to be tempting? Or tempted? Or - " "Yes! No! Does it matter?" Crawley sighs, runs his hands through his unnecessarily luxurious hair. "One way or another we need to get through this, and I don't know about your side, but mine is getting just a smidge impatient." He plucks a berry from the bush and cups it gently, a strange and not particularly demonic energy buzzing around him. Aziraphale frowns, lips pursed. He reaches out gingerly, takes the offering from Crawley's outstretched hand. Their skin almost touches; Crawley almost flinches. He considers the fruit, and considers how it sits differently in his own hand, in the flushed rose-gold plumpness his form is aching towards. Might as well, he supposes. He shrugs, and grins, and pops the blackberry into his mouth. Takes the time to savor, to, well, enjoy. Bright, sweet, Earth-y, more-ish. He grins again, lips and teeth stained purple. "I do hope," Crawley says in a discomfitingly private voice, "that this time Upstairs has sent someone who understands that if humanity's Fall is to be chosen by them then the mechanism ought to be desirable." Flicking his gaze between the bush and the demon, Aziraphale opens his mouth to say something, he hasn't decided what yet, and then the sky catches fire.

Bye, Crawley thinks as he drops back into the undergrowth. Not worth it. Bye-bye.

"HOW'S IT GOING, CHAMP?" Gabriel screams from on high. His wheels are distinctly lilac in hue, his swords shimmering and sharpened for war. The window looks enormous from down here. Aziraphale starts, steps in front of his very first breakfast and an adorably teeny snake with what might be guilt, if guilt exists before it's been properly invented. "Um, ah, that is to say - " "WE WERE JUST HOPING TO MEET THE PROJECTIONS FOR THIS QUARTER, KINDA BANKIN' ON YOU SEALING THE DEAL HERE." "Yes, well - "

The wheels align and stop with a mighty, heavenly clang. "GREAT! WE'LL BE IN TOUCH! GOOD LUCK! BREAK A LEG! HA HA!" Gabriel stares down unblinking as the window crackles and drifts back into the aether.

Aziraphale settles into his roots and lets his branches grow, his boughs sway. God's love and her Word in the sunlight, in the shade beneath him. The human is watching, again. Earth on the verge. This is important, this is how it starts. Almost time, now, to leave the Garden. Crawley grins, pulling thorns from his hair, before he shifts. The Tree bends beneath him - he moves to where the green is budding, where the apple is growing, round and red. He sinks his teeth through the skin of it, into the flesh. Juice on his chin and leaves moving in the still air. "Knew you had it in you," he says. He leans in, pushes the apple low enough to pluck. He beckons; they wait. Humanity will come when she's ready. And after, well. They'll burn that bridge when they come to it.

[salt-moon]

Prompt #1: Submerged

Drowsing in the minds of children from the very time of birth - before, even - live fantasies of other realms.  Mothers reciting poems to their swollen belly, singing songs of faraway places.  Fathers reading from tattered volumes under the soft shimmer of candlelight, their little ones tucked safely into bed.  Storybooks, more often than not, told tales of sweet, rebellious girls whisked away to another land.  Hair groomed into silken plaits or gilded coils, dresses made from the finest velvet and lace.  Swept up in a magicked wind from some nameless, dusty, depressing place, only to be deposited into paradise, shining and ambrosial. Slow-falling for days into rabbit holes with the leisure to have tea and jam on the way down, read the papers even, and come to rest softly on a nest of leaves at the bottom.

Symphonies of miniature harps and seashell horns were played by the tiniest of gossamer fairies in these stories, ephemeral, and fading in and out like the tide.  Clouds floated pink and blue, spun from sugar.  Garden blooms shifted from color to color, and in some lands, in some places, the very blades would whisper limericks into your ear.  It was into these stories, the stories of illusion and fancy, that every rebellious little girl wanted to go.  Sometimes, even still, Manon would dream of a land full of rainbows and speaking cats.  Sometimes, though, the evils of the real world crept inside, insidious and contagious, and bit by bit her utopia grew ill.

She fell down rabbit holes, past warm fires and shelves of sweet jam.  Oh! her favorite doll just there, resting on an old rocking chair.  And were those bats?  Walking hand in hand toward the tea table?  Her 13 year old fingers would pluck a favorite novel from the bookcase as she floated by, downward, downward.  Often in dreams she realized she’d quite forgotten how to read.  Her violet eyes would narrow and her nose would wrinkle as she stared at the words, pretending to know their meaning.  Again and again she would try, in the end simply letting go of the book as she sailed slowly down.

“No matter,” she said to no one in particular, as there was no one around to hear her.  Except perhaps the bats, though she assumed they must be far above her by now.  “There’s lots of books even still.”  True enough, shelves lined the… walls?  Come to think about it, there were no more walls, really, just shadow.  “No matter,” she repeated to herself, and drew another book from the volumes as she fell.  Faster, perhaps?  “Ah, I must be nearing the end,” she said, and so it made sense to her to start the book from the same place.  The end!  Perhaps this time she could read the words.

The book opened with an awful crack of its spine, the sound not at all what it should have been.  Instead of mucilage and twine, old leather and paper, the crack was that of a human spine, grotesque and brittle, splintering through sinew.  The sound made her gasp, and a gust of cold air ruffled the pages - nay, the book - out of her very hands.  It swirled around her as she fell faster, and joined other books from the shelves as they too receded into the shadows.  Pages ripped from their bindings and spiraled around Manon, all chestnut pigtails and ruffles.  The chapters had been erased, now spelling out only one word, over and over.

W I T C H D R O P

Manon knew now what was at the bottom of Witchdrop.  Every adult did.  Little girls of Ishgard, however, rebellious or no, did not.  They were taught from birth simply that Witchdrop was a horror never to be seen.  Never to be glanced upon, never to be talked about.  Venture nowhere near it!  Little girls of Ishgard were taught always to be good.  Say your prayers and love Halone.  Walk in the light of her word, follow the church unerringly.  To sin would mean to spit in the face of her, to worship another a crime so great that indeed, your fate would be sealed.

Oh, the stories children would come up with.  At the bottom are unnervingly large rats, carnivorous and starving for Elezen flesh!  No, simply priests, undead and hellish, there to punish your soul for all eternity!  Fire and brimstone, blackest ocean!  Some children liked to laugh and proclaim, no!  At the bottom of Witchdrop there are pillows and mattresses to break your fall!  Alas, Manon knew now.  There was nothing at the bottom of Witchdrop but death.  Jagged rocks stained ruddy with heretical blood.  Biasts.  Carrion.  Rational knowledge, however, possesses neither the magic nor the flights of fancy necessary to conquer the world of dreams.  Dreams grow from imaginations and tall tales, subconsciously remembered words and sounds.  They take form from your worst days and your best moods. And they recall when you do not.

“Manon!”  A voice in the swirling darkness, those cotton candy clouds now black and thick and reaching.  “Manon, hurry!  Run and don’t look back!”  Her mother, undeniably.  “Do as your mother says, Manon, we will protect Avoie!”  Father.  The voices echoed off nothingness and scratched her ears like a needle on a recording.  What once felt like floating now could only be described as a whirlpool, a tornado, wind ripping at her skirts and tugging at her hair.  Her own scream fell mute, strangled by ribbons of dark cloud that tugged her ever downward.   Witchdrop.  Witchdrop.  They were Witchdropped. Whispers, feral and laughing all around her.  They spilled from the clouds and pulsed through the very air, the roar of which made her head ache.  Silhouettes of beating leather wings buffeted the very heavens, if there could be such a thing in such a place, and distorted into long, fat arms, slick with the sea.  And in a language primordial and sinister, a groaning, crackling scream pierced through the blackness like a spear.

WITCHDROPPED!

Manon hit the dark, briny water like a lead weight, hard and fast, and sinking ever faster.  No, not sinking.  She was being pulled, great tentacles coiled around her.  Downward, downward still to a black, watery grave this time.  She knew better than to fight, than to waste her energy.  For this would not be the first nightmare, nor would it be the last.  No matter what she found at the bottom of her dreams, she always awoke zoetic and alive in Ul’dah.  The same, sadly enough, could not be said for her parents.  For that, she would continue dreaming.

[otomechuchu]

Ephemeral Miniature Garden - released

Ephemeral Miniature Garden was released today, Dec 25 2018.

This is a spin-off of Ephemeral (available on mobile, and fully voiced on PC and PS Vita). 

It’s on the all-in-one/library app, My Lovey.