#i heard birdsong and i saw flowers while drawing him

[fffrost]

normal again

[rosaliepostsstuff]

Sol et luna — The Sun and the Moon | G.W.

(Soulmate!AU)

pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of food and eating, alcohol, vague mention of sex, insecurity

summary: You head out to the countryside with your friends, renting a cabin by the lake for two weeks, during which you notice a correlation between yours and George’s soulmate tattoos, unsure what to do about it.

word count: 9130

tags: @izzyyy-1​ ; @amourtentiaa​ ; @hufflepuffalice​ ; @slytherclawbitch​ ; @famdomhideout​ ; @mollenniumfalcon​ ; @accioweaslcy ; @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts​ ; @justasmolballofstress ; @hufflepuff5972​ ; @calmspencer​ ; @pandaxnienke​ ; @harrysweasleys​ ; @ickle-ronniekins​ ; @4amhotchner​ ; @weasleysprofessionalhoe​ ; @lunarlovegoodx ; @henqtic​ ; 

a/n: This took me so much time and effort, I’d appreciate any kind of feedback, thank you!

masterlist | taglist form

—⒈—

You gazed out of the car window, sitting in one of the back passenger’s seats. The journey was pleasant, a nice prologue to the vacation you were about to begin – Ginny, Hermione, Angelina and Alicia, your travel companions sharing snacks and blasting muggle pop songs while singing along.

Natural curiosity made you wonder what the atmosphere was like, in the other car – which Fred, George, Lee, Harry and Ron travelled by. They had been driving behind you for some distance, before passing you by and disappearing in the distance – you supposed Fred had a bit too much fun behind the wheel.

It seemed like you’d be lucky with the weather for most of the two weeks of your stay at the cabin – that day was pleasantly warm with just a bit of refreshing wind, and the Sun was shining beautifully in the bright, blue sky.

The whole area around the place you were supposed to be staying at was just stunning. The cabin was by the lake, surrounded by nature, with just a small village nearby – no noise, no pollution – it was really going to be a great vacation.

When you arrived at your destination, the boys’ car was already vacated, parked in the front, some distance from the cabin.

“Took you long enough!” Lee commented, emerging from the front door after hearing the commotion of your group unloading the car. “Why such a hurry?” asked Ginny, pulling her last bag out of the trunk and stepping aside to make room for you. “Yeah, we had a great time..” added Angelina, already carrying her bags inside, and shrugged at him defiantly.

You made it inside with your heavy luggage and did not hesitate to dump it on the floor right after you entered, to have a look around the place. The layout was quite modern – the front door opened into a great open space, which still had a cosy feeling to it. Complete with a lounge area, a dining table to fit all of you, and an open, yet a bit secluded kitchen. Directly opposite the front door, on the far end of the room was a large, glass sliding door, giving you a preview of the back of the house, where you could see a deck, complete with a furniture set. Looking at all the spaces, you couldn’t help but imagine small moments you could have throughout the following fortnight, what sharing a house with your friends would be like.

Most of your friends were downstairs, you heard their bickering in the background as you debated just taking half of your baggage to then come back for the rest, when George approached you, without you noticing. “Want any help?” he asked, with no tease to his tone, nor any exaggerated kindness – merely, as if giving a helping hand was the simplest thing in the world. “Uhm…” you stammered, knowing well you did - but also thinking, you could do this on your own just fine.

George, evidently bored of waiting for your reply for more than two seconds, grabbed the bags with a scoff and a small smile. “Thank you,” you said, genuinely, signalling you had not lost your ability to speak too.

Walking out the back, onto the deck, you could see Fred by the lake. You took a moment, standing by the bannister – listening to the sounds – the very faint sound of water moved by the gentle wind, soft rustle of tree leaves and the birdsongs, undisturbed by anything. You could smell the grass, the trees, the flowers around, as well as the lake water.

You walked down the wooden steps and through the grass field, to the lake, to have a closer look.

Fred was skipping stones, he turned around for a moment when you walked up and smiled, acknowledging your presence – then continued. You watched him closely – there was something satisfying and soothing about skipping rocks, yet you were never able to do that yourself. No matter how many times it was explained to you, you had barely succeeded a couple of times in your life. You’d prefer to avoid sharing that fact about yourself - so for now, you just enjoyed watching Fred do it.

As he threw another rock, it splashed a bit, startling you. You winced a bit at the sudden contact of the cold water against your exposed legs – Fred snickered at you, and you heard George laugh, as he was approaching from behind.

Seeing him once you turned around, you felt the sudden need to explain yourself. “It’s cold,” you said sheepishly, a bit embarrassed, and followed with a chuckle. George scoffed, grinning. “Don’t give us any ideas,” Fred feign-threatened with a mischievous smile, yet you didn’t understand him. “…or you might end up finding yourself in the water,” George followed, looking you straight in the eye with the same expression. You felt a shiver down your spine.

“You wouldn’t…” you pointed out, wanting to believe that and crossed your arms over your chest. Fred and George knew a boundary. Right? George shrugged, continuing his act as he walked up to you. “We’ve got two whole weeks, love,” he said melodically and squeezed you against his side, way tighter than necessary.

When Angelina, Ginny and Harry came back from a grocery run, they gathered the whole house to take a walk around the area together.

Each step you took was as easy as if it was weightless; soaking up the views around you, you breathed in an immense sense of freedom, unobstructed by anything. You had left all worries, responsibilities and expectations at home. The sounds of the surrounding nature paired with the footsteps of the nine people around you were like music to your ears.

“Look, a tree!” Fred gasped in the most obnoxious way, pointing at one, with many other trees around you. Fred Weasley would never admit to be enjoying himself on a simple walk and he evidently found the tranquillity too boring. You could almost feel Angelina’s eye roll to your side before he spoke again.

“Merlin’s beard, a rock!” he exclaimed with another gasp as he looked to the side of the path, keeping his acting level high. “We get it, Weasley, no need to keep going,” Alicia told him. “No, I don’t think you do,” he replied, and the conversation continued.

You smiled to yourself, realising that the two weeks with all of your favourite fools has officially started and you couldn’t wait to see what it would bring.

—⒉—

The next day you woke up quite early, while your roommate, Alicia was still out in her bed. Walking downstairs, you saw that you weren’t the first one up in the house.

Hermione was strutting around the kitchen in her pyjama and dressing gown, with her hair up a bit messily, most likely making breakfast for herself. Sitting by the kitchen island over a bowl of cereal, was George Weasley.

“Morning,” you said quite cheerfully and Hermione said it back with a smile, while George just lifted the fingers of one of his hands in a lazy greeting. The kitchen was neat, all cleaned up after you all had dinner together last night, in a family-like atmosphere. So you fixed a quick breakfast with a mug of warming tea for yourself, and sat down by the island counter too.

Day two was pretty slow, you could tell everyone was just enjoying being able to do nothing, away from home. After lunch, you sat out on the deck with a coffee, following a game of cards played by the boys. It wasn’t a game you knew before, so you did not join them, but enjoyed watching from the sidelines instead, secretly rooting for whoever was doing the best each round and slowly memorising the rules.

Hermione enjoyed reading outside most of the afternoon, unbothered by anything or anyone – one could feel a bit calmer just by looking at her, in her element. Angelina on the other hand, felt inspired to move her usual workout routine out onto the grass, then hung out inside after a shower. Alicia turned back to her old hobby of drawing – Ginny, energetic by nature, seemed to be everywhere at once.

You had volunteered to prepare dinner for everyone that evening, and so did George Weasley. Happy to not have to do everything by yourself, you wondered how much experience he had in the kitchen, it was something you’ve never talked about – maybe he’d inherited Molly’s skills?

Frankly, you’ve never really had much opportunity to hang out with or even talk to George without anyone else around. It only made you more happy and excited – getting to know your friends more personally being added to the list of this vacation’s benefits.

You found George already in the kitchen, examining the contents of the fridge. During a short conversation to decide what you were going to make, you were able to deduce, he did know his way around the kitchen pretty well - just not Molly’s level quite yet.

It seemed that awkward silence did not exist around George Weasley, though it felt odd having such a simple chat with him – just about what’s been going on recently in your lives, or what you were hoping to do throughout the rest of the stay.

As you finished one step of the recipe, you moved over to stand next to George to help him out. You began to peel some veggies for him to chop, when you noticed the tattoo on the front of his left forearm. It caught your eye because it was similar to yours - well visible on your right forearm, resting next to his above the countertop. You found it quite funny at first.

But then you had a closer look.

Your soulmate tattoo. It had appeared on your 18th birthday, and you were pretty lucky it did. According to folktales, one’s soulmate tattoo would appear on midnight of their birthday – but it was never mentioned which one. Some people found out much later in life, some already married and with kids, having married said soulmate or not, some people would die before theirs would etch into their skin.

Yet yours had appeared. Half a full Moon, cut off with a clean line, facing your palm.

His – half a Sun, cut with a clean line, facing up, towards his elbow.

He noticed that you had stopped working. Out of the corner of his eye, he had noticed the two tattoos as well - and once he followed your gaze, he knew, you’d been staring at them.

Would George Weasley be your soulmate? How could he? - it didn’t make any sense. Sure, you got along fine, but you were both so different. What could he possibly see in a girl like you? Not just appearance-wise, but personality. He was wild, funny, charismatic – a breath of fresh air on a hot, sultry day; a rainbow on the plain sky. In comparison to him, you were boring. You’d never even considered George as anything more than a friend, he was just out of your league.

“…Are they… matching?” he asked very slowly.

It was over now. Once he became aware of the similarity, or rather the correlation, the matter became serious, disallowing you to just put it away, until you’d figured out how you feel about it. Did they?

“I- uh… I dunno…” you muttered, struck dumb. “They have to, they wouldn’t-…” George stammered, thinking way quicker than he was able to speak. “They wouldn’t be that similar if they weren’t supposed to match, would they..?” he noted with some confidence in his voice, only making you all the more nervous.

He took notice of your silence and frown, and waited a few seconds more, hoping to see just a glint of enthusiasm break out on your face - but it didn’t.

“You’re disappointed…” he said quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself. “No,” you denied almost immediately, shocked by his statement. You, disappointed with him? How much you’d give for a guy like George to see you, to really see you. “No, I-… just thought you probably are,” you mumbled quietly, trailing off the sentence, wishing for that conversation to just stop.

George caught on, however, he opened his mouth to speak, to express himself, but he really didn’t know how – your words just puzzled him. Why would you immediately assume he’d be disappointed to have you as his match?

“We should really get on with it, it’s gonna overcook…” you concluded firmly, glancing at the pot on the stove, closing the previous topic. George didn’t feel in place to drag it further since you clearly didn’t wish to talk. But he was really not pleased with how that conversation had gone, and it left him with this uneasy feeling somewhere in his chest, eating away at him.

—⒊—

It seemed as if your mind was permanently clouded now. You kept shifting between obsessively thinking, about what George being your soulmate would mean, and not believing it was true at all. The Sun and the Moon?

But he was right, the tattoos wouldn’t have that much of a correlation if they weren’t a pair. And as you kept going in circles, each time you came to this conclusion, you felt the nervousness start to take over. How were you supposed to act around him now? Because of that, subconsciously and without thinking, you avoided him – just to not have to wonder about what your interactions should look like.

George gave you space, you were glad he didn’t try to corner you, but during dinners you’d feel his glances on you from time to time - as if he was trying to see through you, to find out what was going through your mind.

It’s been two days, spent awkwardly avoiding George with your eyes every time everyone ate together. Two days of trying to appear busy at all times, so that no one would notice that something’s troubling you, and ask about it.

That night you had trouble falling asleep, your distressed mind wasn’t helping you. The air inside felt stuffy, even with the window open. You gave up, for the time being, kicked off your blanket, put on your slippers. The main room was semi-dark illuminated by strong moonlight coming through the large windows. The Moon was full that night.

Upon opening the glass door you welcomed the slight chill on your skin, taking a deep breath of fresh air. You turned around to close the door behind you when a voice spoke to you.

“Hi,” said George softly, sitting to the side on one of the outside sofas. Your heart almost stopped when you noticed him - the one person you tried to avoid, and you knew it was too late to run away. “Hey,” you replied with a defeated smile, wondering if he was aware. He gestured to the seat next to him, smiling at you, almost shyly.

You were glad the only light came from the Moon in the sky because you could feel yourself shaking slightly, as you walked up to him and took the spot. You sat down and looked ahead, fiddling with your fingers in your lap. You could smell his scent, feel his presence right next to you and it felt like too much to bear, too personal.

“Haven’t seen you around much lately…” he began, vaguely, and you could sense what he was thinking. “I wasn’t avoiding you..!” you blurted without thinking, only realising afterwards, that it made it sound exactly as if you were. He hummed shortly, biting his lip with a small frown.

You sighed deeply and said, “I wasn’t avoiding you,” truthfully, making sure to accentuate the last word. Because you weren’t, you were only avoiding your cluelessness which took over you while you were around him. “Oh,” he replied after a second upon working out what you meant, “…okay,” but did not ask further.

“You know, nothing has to change,” he began, and you turned to him to listen intently. “I mean, don’t force anything. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he continued, bringing you some comfort, yet simultaneously a bit of confusion – what was the custom when finding out you were soulmates with someone? Did people usually throw themselves at each other immediately, that’s why he was saying that?

“We can take this slow, alright?.. Figuring out this whole- ‘soulmate’ thing.” You nodded, not sure what to say, crossing your arms over your chest as the slight chill of the night started getting to you. George looked at you for a bit, thinking, then lifted his arm gently, inviting you in. You ignored the small voice in the back of your head and scootched closer, allowing yourself to be embraced. For the first time, somewhere in the back of your mind, you welcomed the thought of having him as a soulmate.

You stared up at the Moon and it seemed to be staring back. You just couldn’t decide if it was taunting you – pointing out your silly overthinking, or rather comforting you in a motherly way, feeling partially responsible for binding your fate with the one of the man next to you. Why was it the Moon? The Sun – it fit George. Blinding you, only allowing to be admired from afar, yet never to be looked at directly.

“I’d like you to feel comfortable with me… so, whatever’s troubling you, I’m here,” George said with such sincerity, it sent shivers down your back. “… but no pressure,” he hasted to add with a chuckle.

“Thanks, uhm-…” You wondered, would he want to confide in you? “...Same to you.”

—⒋—

The following day, you woke up lighter in spirit. Knowing you could give yourself the time you needed, gradually lifted off the pressure of figuring out where you were standing.

After breakfast, when your friends were occupied inside or still sleeping, you decided to go out into the backyard. As always, welcomed by the birdsongs, you allowed your eyes to feast upon the views for a moment.

Without much thought, you walked up to the lake and as if it were mandatory, crouched to dip the very tips of your fingers in the water.

You saw the rocks by the edge of the water and stared at them for a moment, debating. Fully prepared to fail, you picked a flat-looking one and got up. You took a deep breath, then swinging your wrist – threw it, and with a loud ‘plonk’ it went down.

You heard a muffled snicker behind your back and you turned around instantly, to see George there. “How does this keep happening?!” you exclaimed, as he walked up to you without being able to hold back his grin. “What do you mean?” “You keep walking up behind me without me noticing..!” you explained, beginning to laugh and he chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “I walked out soon after you because I was bored inside, but I couldn’t help myself when I realised you didn’t see me,” George explained, and you accepted it.

“You need to swing it like this,” he instructed with a demonstration. “I know, that’s what I did,” you replied defensively, certain that all the rocks in the world just had a pact against you, not allowing you to skip them.

“Look,” George said, showing you once again how to do it. His rock skipped so many times, you lost count.

“Now you try and let me see,” he told you, watching you closely. You felt a bit of pressure, but even though you knew you’d fail again, you tried. And the rock sunk.

“Is that okay if I show you?” he asked and you didn’t understand at first, before he made a move to stand behind you with one hand on your shoulder and the other over your hand, but waited until you replied.

“O-okay,” you stammered, so he picked out a rock to hand it to you, then moulded your body into the right posture, to then help you throw the rock. You noticed how tiny your hand was in comparison to his. To your amazement, it skipped a solid 4 times.

Both his hands were on your shoulders when you turned around and smiled, beaming at him, and he thought he could get used to it.

“Do you want to try on your own?” he asked, but you couldn’t get a word out, because you didn’t. He nodded, holding back a smirk, then repeated the whole process, and the throw was successful again.

You did try throwing by yourself after that and it was as if the curse has been lifted. Thanks to George you got the swing of it, with each time it seemed easier and easier, and you did better and better.

In a moment of confidence you joked about having a contest – and George, being George, wouldn’t let you back down. But he’d also let his rocks sink right away from time to time on purpose, to then pretend he didn’t know what happened.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, on your way back towards the entrance. It was amazing how nice it felt to be taught something, by someone, who didn’t make you feel inferior. “Anytime,” he replied. “But tell anyone about this…” you changed your tone, to feign seriousness for that threat.

“What’re you gonna do to me, huh?”

 A certain sense of companionship was formed between you and George from that moment on, some type of feeling, quite hard to describe.

Your relationship was an odd one now. In any other circumstances, the two of you wouldn’t be close enough to really know you could depend on each other, trust each other with anything. But such a simple thing as a possibility, that you could be destined for each other  - by fate, or magic, or whatever it was – changed everything.

You also found yourself paying more attention to him – catching yourself pointing out all the small things you liked about him, in your head. Like his soothing voice, or the facial expressions he’d make.

George sat in a chair next to you during dinner that afternoon. Again – previously, you would’ve seen it as a coincidence, but now you knew it wasn’t. Maybe the fact that you had been the first one to sit down and all the other chairs were empty, contributed.

There were moments where it felt like the two of you were sitting in a separate little room, surrounded by invisible walls. Nobody else noticed when George accidentally made a piece of salad fly right onto his shirt, while you stifled a chuckle – earning a light shove to your legs underneath the table. Throughout the whole meal, from time to time you’d hear him mutter jokes or anecdotes about his brothers when they spoke, while more of your stifled chuckles served as a reward for him.

The next day, Friday, it was very warm right from the morning, and it was only getting warmer as the Sun kept rising. By the time everyone was up and breakfasted, the weather was just perfect to enjoy the lake.

Once you walked out the back door in your swimsuit, you felt a bit more self-conscious about being so exposed – more so than usual, not really understanding the reason behind it.

After setting up your towel next to Angelina, you were content to spend some time just lounging there, maybe reading a bit, while the girl went off into the water.

As you followed her with your eyes, your gaze ended up on George, far away from the shore. His hair soaking wet, water dripping down his face with pure happiness written all over it, with his contagious, soul-lifting smile.

You couldn’t help your eyes wandering down a bit – you’ve had a few opportunities to see George shirtless before, you were perfectly aware of how fit he was. Why was he making such an impression on you now, then?

He turned his head all of a sudden, making you freeze as he caught your eye. He sent a cheeky wink in your direction, with a grin, and you quickly dropped your head. Ugh, why have you done that? It was simply the most awkward thing you could do. But what should you have done? Smile? Wink back? Why did this man have to be so forward, making you flustered?

When you looked back up, he was occupied by something else, once again.

 The next day, a few of your other friends and some people invited by the boys were to come by for a party that evening. There were a few more of them than you had expected, most you haven’t even seen before.

The party wasn’t concentrated in one part of the house, there were people all over – you spent the majority of the evening out on the deck with your closest friends and a light drink in hand.

Music was blasting from the inside, but you enjoyed your time away from the main crowd. Your housemates were scattered all over, you saw most of them at least for brief moments – the deck was where everyone headed to cool down.

Once it was dark and the chill started setting in, you came back inside. Seeing George with a group of people – who you assumed were his friends – felt odd. For a second, a thought crossed your mind, that you should be spending this time with him. Everything indicated that you were his soulmates, so you should be bonding, should you not? Why was he in the presence of some other girls, then?

But you shook that off – it was irrational. George was his own person who could have his own friends. Hell, you couldn’t even be sure if he was single..! You stopped your brain from going down that path too, grabbing something to drink, and approached some of your other mates.

For the rest of the night, however, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him. It was natural, he looked so good. How could you not have noticed he was that handsome, throughout all those years? And the outfit he had on didn’t help in keeping your eyes away, either.

What you didn’t notice, though, was that his gaze landed on you, from time to time, too. Not once at the same time as you, not once catching your eye, no matter how badly he wanted to. But you just seemed totally uninterested in him.

—⒌—

The next morning, you left your room in your PJs. You passed by Ginny, sitting in the lounge room with a newspaper, lazily skimming the articles.  Going into the kitchen, you noticed George having breakfast there, with some girl sitting next to him, leaning into his personal space a bit.

You tensed a bit, feeling hot all of a sudden. Did she spend the night with him, then? Why else would she be there right now? Most people have left right after the party.

“Morning,” George greeted you with a small smile. You almost smiled back genuinely, but then the girl greeted you as well. She was very pretty. “Hi,” you replied, forcing a polite smile, before you turned your back to them, to prepare your breakfast.

The girl continued her sweet talk, trying to keep up the conversation by asking about his shop. She flirted without any shyness, not caring that they weren’t alone in the room. You envied her in a way, you could never bring that kind of confidence out of yourself.

George didn’t seem interested, though. You supposed she wasn’t his friend, after all, but someone else’s and just taken a fancy in him. But the way she talked did not strike with much intelligence.

You dragged out making your food, not wanting to sit down with them, making the situation feel even more awkward. Luckily, once George finished eating, they both went away somewhere. And you didn’t want to think about her all throughout your breakfast, but it was very hard not to.

“Too bad I didn’t wait with having my breakfast,” George said sliding into the seat next to you, startling you a bit. “Why?” you asked, with a slight tone of confusion. “So that I could have it with you,” he replied cheerfully.

“Bimbo not entertaining enough?” you said, regretting it instantly. “Ooof,” you practically heard his shit-eating grin, not daring to look at him as you bit your tongue.

“Aww, are you jealous?” he asked merrily, leaning on the counter, trying to get you to look at him. “No, I have no reason to be.” “If you say so,” he almost sang, teasingly.

“How did you sleep?” you tried desperately to change the topic. It was only afterwards that you realised you could’ve made it even more awkward if he had slept with that girl. “Alright. Can’t sleep for too long after having a bit to drink, though. How about you?” “Yeah, alright too,” you replied, and had no more ideas as to what to say.

Once again surprising you by doing things not at all out of the ordinary, George invited you to have some tea with him outside.

You set your mug of tea down on the table out on the deck, but you stood there for a bit, with your arms crossed on your chest.

“What is it?” George asked, having already sat down on the sofa. “It’s a bit colder than I thought, with the wind. I think I’m gonna run up quickly and get something more to wear.” “There’s my jumper laying somewhere in the lounge, you can take it if you want,” he offered, surprising you a bit. But you did want to.

“Okay, thanks,” you said, turning to the door. “You can put it on in front of the bimbo,” he said after you with a sly smile, making you shake your head, holding back a grin.

But you did, feeling a bit guilty about this childish behaviour. Just a bit, though – it was satisfying.

It gave you a bit of a boost in confidence – and since you were wearing his jumper already, why shouldn’t you sit down right next to him? That’s when you realised – you felt comfortable around George, inside and out. None of it was awkward – the silence, all the things you did or didn’t say; your morning hair or your oily face you haven’t washed yet after waking up.

“It’s been a week now,” George conversed.

Since you noticed your tattoos? That’s a bit of an exaggeration…

“Since we’ve come here,” he added, noticing your puzzled expression. “Have you enjoyed your stay so far?” “It’s gone by quickly,” you replied, frankly, frowning a bit. You didn’t know where all the days have gone. “Oh, we’ve still got a week,” he tried comforting you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, we do…” you replied, deep in thought, leaning more into his side.

The fact that a full week has gone by was worrying you, that the second one would pass just as quickly. What could you do, to use it to its fullest?

 You did not have to wait long for an opportunity to present itself.

Overall, since that conversation on the deck on Sunday morning, George and you would hang out more. Just like the previous day, late in the evening, already in your PJs, you sat with him at the dining table playing various Wizarding games.

You were starting to feel tiredness get to you, everyone else in the house had already gone to their rooms for the night, and your laughs were often followed by yawns you tried hard to suppress.

“Let’s go for a walk,” George suggested out of the blue once you finished a game. “What?” you questioned, wondering if he was just joking. “I don’t wanna go to sleep yet, the night’s warm… let’s go for a walk.”

You studied his face for a moment, but he appeared absolutely serious, looking at you back with a small smile. You glanced outside through the great sliding doors, as if to check if it was really dark, despite knowing the time, then at your attire.

“Go get changed, I’ll wait here,” he convinced you.

Once you were out of his sight you ran up to your room as quick and quiet as possible, then changed, careful not to wake your roommate.

You took the path leading out from the cabin to the forest. You had to admit it was exhilarating. George’s spontaneity awoke something in you, the way he just made up his mind in a second and stuck to it. You’d have never think of taking a nightly stroll through the middle of nowhere, you’d be terrified of doing this alone. But the fact that he was walking next to you, and walking so casually, with his hands in his pockets, made all of that feel just as normal as anything else.

The walk woke you up, the comfortable silence broken from time to time by either one of you.

“Are we going somewhere in particular?” you asked, swaying your hands inside the pockets of your unzipped hoodie. “Nah, not really,” George replied indifferently, shrugging. “But- you’ll remember the way back, right?.. I haven’t been paying attention to where we’re going at all,” you said frankly, as you stepped off the path, walking straight through the forest now

George laughed at this, he found it cute, how you followed him into the forest without any care. “What were you paying attention to, then..?” he asked teasingly, giving you a meaningful smile.

“Nope, not getting dragged into- AAH!!” you screamed, scared by a bird suddenly moving around in leaves on the ground. Instinctively you jumped back and half-hid behind George, grabbing onto his arm. He tried his best to hold in a laugh, as you were coming down from the shock.

“You okay?” he asked, reaching out his other arm to you. You hugged him tightly, hiding your face in his chest. “Now I’m just annoyed I got so startled over some stupid leaves,” you complained after a small groan. You allowed yourself to stay in his arms for a bit longer, feeling those negative emotions leave you as if nothing bad could happen to you there. “That’s alright, happens to the best of us,” he comforted you.

As you pulled away, you made a move to hold onto his arm but he took your hand instead, holding onto it firmly.

“Look,” he said softly after you walked a bit further, pointing with his finger, where between the trees you could see water.

In the opening there was a small lake – it had a mysterious feel about it, seemed long unvisited, the boardwalk a bit old, yet sturdy as ever.

You sat down at the end of it together, above the trees was a perfect view of the sky above the valley, sky littered with stars.

“I should make it a point to stargaze more often,” you admitted, in awe of their beauty. George watched you, face illuminated by the moonlight. “I could remind you from time to time,” he offered.

You dropped your gaze, deep in thought once more. All of that wouldn’t stop once you left the cabin – George would still be in your life, out there, in the real world.

“Mhm… you could,” you agreed, dropping your head to the side, leaning it on his shoulder.

—⒍—

“Soulmates?” asked Alicia in a tone of surprise. “… the two of you?” added Ron doubtfully. “What’s that supposed to mean?” George snapped at his younger brother.

You and George talked the same morning about how it was probably the best time to just tell your friends everything. You were getting more suspicious looks from them, whenever you’d hang out late with George, whenever the two of you would have tea out on the deck together, or when George would make some kind of teasing remark to make you laugh. The looks kept getting bolder too, though none of your mates dared to suggest there was something going on between you. That’s how you went to share the revelation with them during dinner one evening, showing them your tattoos too.

“Maybe just that you have nothing in common..?” Ginny suggested boldly, clearly unpleased with the idea for a reason unknown to you. You glanced at the rest of the table quickly – no one else spoke up, but their faces appeared to say that they agreed with Ginny.

“That’s not true…” you said, getting a bit more emotional than you would’ve wanted, more emotional, than you would’ve expected.

It made you angry, though you couldn’t understand why. You got along with George just fine, so how dare they think you have nothing in common?! What right did they have to have an opinion on whether or not the two of you were meant to be?

“If you say so…” Hermione said softly with a small smile, then frowned at Ginny, silently reprimanding her.

Meanwhile, George was looking at you, judging your reaction – as if checking whether you meant what you said, if you weren’t about to agree with Ginny with a hearty laugh, having all that’s happened yet between you go to waste. Unknowingly, you glanced at him too – you locked eyes for a moment and you exchanged nervous smiles through the ripple between you.

And the rest of the dinner went on in silence.

Surprisingly, no animosity was left afterwards – you still felt a bit watched while around George, but now for a different reason. He, however, did not seem to care one bit.

George floated in the water peacefully, making all appearances that he’s simply relaxing, as most of the cabin’s inhabitants were doing at that moment.

But he was wracking his brain, glancing at you every once in a while – he told himself it was boredom, and getting your attention would be the best way to relieve it. It was like some force, drilling inside him constantly, the inability to leave you be when he saw you lying on your towel in a bathing suit. So he was thinking, thinking of a way to poke the ants' nest that was you.

You did not expect a thing – all of a sudden George ran up to you and scooped you in his arms. The feeling could be pleasant, were you not worried about what he had in his mind.

You yelped in surprise. “What’re you doing..?!” you asked, more as a formality, not expecting to receive an actual answer. “I promised you something when we arrived here,” he replied with mischief written all over him.

“No, George..!” you pleaded, hanging onto the back of his neck as he ran in the direction of the lake and onto the boardwalk. “Yes, George..!” he exclaimed, before jumping off, into the water.

Once you surfaced, he was already above the water, along with his shit-eating grin. “Idiot..! What if I drowned?!” you shouted, trying to keep serious, but it was hard to keep yourself from laughing. “Come on, I wouldn’t have let you,” he reassured you, making your heart thump for some reason.

He flashed you another dazzling smile, before swimming off on his back.

“I’m not swimming after you!” you called, before heading out of the lake.

Slight goosebumps appeared on your skin once you were out of the water, but you were not cold. Getting a drink of water, you heard splashing behind your back – signalling someone was coming out of the water.

A pair of footsteps was definitely approaching you, until you felt George’s big hand on your waist, making your skin tingle, as he stood next to you.

“You’re not really upset, are you?” he asked with a small smile, just to make sure, as you took another sip. “No,” you replied, keeping your eyes on the bottle you were closing now.

Then, suddenly, he leaned down and kissed you on the cheek. “Good,” he concluded, before walking off again.

You looked at his back, dumbfounded. He just left you there, puzzled, and weirdly lightheaded.

—⒎—

 You looked around the room – the room in which you’ve made a bit of your own space, even though you’ve not spent all that much time in there, throughout all of your stay. The inside was brightly lit up by the sunlight pouring in through the open windows, the light wind swaying the curtains, but you didn’t feel like staying there.

Outside the room, there was nobody, you knew your housemates were somewhere else, in one of the rooms.

The downstairs was peaceful, all the windows along with the back sliding doors open, inviting nature in and calling you to go outside. Going down the steps, you judged it must’ve been late afternoon on a sunny day – the kind of sunlight that does not suffocate with heat but allows you to enjoy the outside and somehow makes everything look more beautiful.

Then you noticed George there, standing by the door – he turned around to face you, smiling right away, making your heart swell. You wanted to run up to him, drown in his arms.

He told you there was no time to lose, you should go outside and enjoy the time you have left, so you gave him your hand and allowed yourself to be pulled outside, through the deck and onto the plain grass by the lake.

You regretted not having spent more of your time admiring those views around – the mountains, the trees and various other plants. Everything was blossoming, despite it being the middle of summer – flowers all around you, on the trees and shrubs, flowers in the grass George was now pulling you onto.

You sat side by side on the grass, holding hands still, and his hand in yours felt like nothing else. The warmth of it – entirely non-physical – was so great, so extraordinary, and it seemed to radiate all throughout your body to your very heart.

And your heart, it felt as if it was about to stop and as if this was the only way it could function now, looking at him. His smile, his happiness felt like the sole fuel that could power your being and in a moment, you knew there was nothing you wouldn’t do, to make that man happy.

He looked at you adoringly, how you wished you’d have at least a fraction of the size in his eyes as he has in yours.

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me. – you repeated, though the words wouldn’t come out of your mouth.

But he’d heard them – shifted closer to you and placing his hands on your waist, rendered you hopeless. With great difficulty, it seemed, you placed yours on his shoulders – and it felt unlike any other similar action, that simple touch made you feel so connected. How you wished to have more, as his lips were coming closer and closer, excruciatingly slow.

Almost there.

“Y/N..” you heard a female voice from behind the same moment as you closed your eyes, but you didn’t pay attention, you were too close now, you had to kiss him.

“Y/N, wake up,” the voice repeated, and everything was gone – the sunshine, the grass, George too.

You groaned in frustration, rolling onto your stomach and hiding your face in your pillow. “What,” you grumbled against the material.

Alicia chuckled, “It’s kinda late, sleepyhead,” she replied, before stepping out of the room.

To say you were confused was an understatement. Frankly, you were annoyed, you just couldn’t be sure at what exactly.

Was it at yourself? At your brain, for making you dream that dream? – Why would you dream about George this way, why would you feel about him that way in a dream, it didn’t make any sense – and it frustrated you, even making you embarrassed a bit. How were you supposed to look him in the eye now? Or was your annoyance the result of the dream ending? Because it felt so wonderful? Because that short, single dream you didn’t even get to experience a kiss in, felt better than any romance you’ve ever had in real life?

Only downstairs, Fred and George were, to avoid boredom, teasing their little brother in a childish game, tossing his wand lazily between themselves. Ron, at first even tried to get it back, but he was losing motivation, thinking they would have to give it back eventually.

“Hey,” you greeted everyone quietly, walking down the steps, headed to the kitchen.

“Aaay, look who’s up!” exclaimed Fred. “Sleeping beauty,” added George, making your cheeks heat up suddenly.

Ron seized his chance, snatching his wand back, to both twins’ dissatisfaction.

It was pretty late, you’ve noticed, glancing at the wall clock – everyone else was already up.

The girls were having coffee at the table. Joining them with your breakfast, you’ve noticed they were chatting about how none of them was ready to leave the vacation to go back to their daily life at home.

“It’s brilliant here,” Ginny admitted with a bit of a pout. “If we could just stay here, life would be great, I mean, look,” she pointed at you with a chuckle, and you showed her your tongue teasingly. “Had such a good sleep?” she asked. “Just great,” you replied with a snort.

Once another slow day was starting for you, you took a bit of time for yourself. After everything that’s been happening those last few days, you needed to let yourself think.

Going over and over your thoughts, as the sun travelled along the sky, you finally allowed yourself to come to conclusions. It was all intense, feeling as if long months have been condensed into a few short days. As if the most important moment got concluded in a single sentence. So what would happen if you’d missed a bit?

At first, George felt a shift. As if something changed in your pace, and now you were always a step ahead of him. Always slipping away.

Until it seemed like a whole earthquake, when he started feeling as if he was a stranger to you. Fully deprived of you.

It was on Friday afternoon, when Fred came up to him outside, wanting to discuss some business matters. Even interaction with Fred seemed unsatisfying to George at that moment, when it felt like a piece of him was missing.

He was humming and nodding in response, tracing fingers over his tattoo absentmindedly.

“Getting the silent treatment, are you?” Fred quipped with a raised brow, giving up his attempts at a serious conversation. “Huh?” George was pulled out of his thoughts. He scoffed, “I guess.” “And what did you do, dear brother of mine?” Fred leaned back in his seat, expecting an amusing confession. Instead, George frowned a bit sadly, “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’,” Fred repeated, “have you tried asking?” he asked dully. “No.” “Why?” he questioned, confused by his brother’s behaviour.

“I don’t… We’re not…” George shook his head. “Do I have any right to? She’s allowed to do what she wants,” he sighed, fiddling with his hands a bit frustratedly. “Soo, what do you have to lose, huh?” Fred asked simply.

George thought for a moment. Reluctantly, he agreed with Fred, admitting to himself that not having asked you sooner was probably stupid of him.

The very same day, before dinner, he tapped you on the shoulder gently. “Can we talk? After dinner, outside?” he asked quietly, not wanting to attract anyone else’s attention. He didn’t fail to notice how you avoided his gaze, hesitating to answer. “Okay,” you finally replied, getting into your seat, disappearing inside your bubble hastily.

It was hard for you to focus on your meal and your appetite was barely there. You pretended to follow everyone’s conversation, sipping from your glass from time to time with a friendly smile.

Your heart was thumping wildly, as you kept glancing at your friends’ plates – judging the time left before the dinner would be considered over.

—⒏—

The Sun was setting, lighting up the sky with pinks and oranges. You could almost look at it – half of it hidden below the line of the horizon, only half visible. It was soothing.

George walked up to the edge and leaned his elbows on the bannister, looking out at the nature all around.

“Did something happen?” he asked, getting the question out rather quickly. “No,” you answered, feeling deep down that it was a lie, as you walked up to him. “Are you okay?” he continued, looking at you this time, almost frustrated. “Yes,” you lied again, trying to sound persuasive.

He sighed quietly, turning away from you again. “You… you’ve been avoiding me again, haven’t you..?” he said, with hurt in his voice.

You felt so selfish at that point. You were thinking about yourself all this time, seeing George as the one who always initiated things, who always strikes up conversations. You didn’t take any time to consider how your distancing yourself would make him feel.

“You’re right, I’m sorry…” “Why? Have I done something?” he questioned again, with his heart-wrenching sincerity. “No..!” you hasted to let him know. He didn’t interrupt again but just stood there, leaning on the wooden bannister, hoping to get an explanation that would soothe his heart.

“You’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, you’ve been great, this whole time,” you began opening your heart to him. “I’ve noticed myself starting to fall for you. That’s when my doubts started coming back to me.”

George’s facial expression was unreadable, showing his pleasure upon hearing about your feelings for him, along with worry about those doubts you’ve been having.

“It’s just that… I still don’t know if we should be so sure, about us being soulmates? I’d love for it to be you, I really do, but what if it’s not?” you paused, allowing that sickly cold feeling to sink in again. “What if we started going out, maybe we could even be happy - but what if 2 years, 5 or 10 years from now, you find your other half of the Sun? What then?!”

“Who cares about stupid Sun?! What if it’s the Moon I want? It’s the Moon that always draws me in. It’s the Moon’s beauty I’m always admiring. It keeps on changing, and each yet each of its phases is just as mesmerising as the other,” he recited, full of emotion, having your eyes well up with tears.

“I care about the Sun. It’s always there, bringing me warmth, comfort, happiness… It’s got better and worse days, sometimes being dimmed by the clouds, but I’m the happiest-“ you paused, having to take a deep breath to keep your tears from falling. “-when it’s shining bright. And my world would be forever dark without it.”

George turned his head away and looked up into the sky, trying to keep himself together. As the Sun set fully, it magnified the silence around you, despite birds, crickets and cicadas in the distance.  A single tear fell down your cheek and you wiped it with your hand quickly.

“Well, you know there’s a way to find out,” George stated. It confused you, however, there wasn’t a way you knew of – there was barely any information regarding soulmates, circling around, wizard to wizard. Perhaps if you went to the library and browsed some books on that type of magic, you’d find out more. And if he knew of a way, why has he only mentioning it now?

“You don’t…” he noted. “I thought you did, that’s why I-…” “Well, what is it?” you asked impatiently, as everything indicated he was telling the truth.

George got visibly flustered, something unusual for him. He had trouble getting himself to look you in the eye, even. “The tattoos are supposed to… tingle, or something like that, when… the soulmates kiss for the first time.” “Oh,” you managed to get out, hearing a faint ringing in your ears.

Why did he have to say that? – you thought to yourself. Some first kisses happened suddenly, in the moment, some with a bit of nervousness, after chasing around each other for a while – but this felt pressuring – you wished he would’ve just kissed you first.

But then the real fear struck you – with the real possibility of finding out whether or not you were soulmates, you were scared of it. You were scared of it not being George, as he stood, now in front of you, waiting for anything else from you.

“Say something,” he pleaded in a whisper. “I’m scared. I want it to be you,” you replied, barely audibly, not daring to look him in the eye.

That’s when he bent down a bit, cupping your face in his hands to look into your eyes. You surrendered under his gentle gaze, so dear to your heart. He saw that, reading you like an open book, and leaned in quickly to connect your lips. You jerked away, however, after they barely touched, having felt an incomparable to anything else kind of sensation, right where the other half of your Moon’s circle should be.

“What was that?!” George asked between laughs, party out of relief, partly just seeing you jump around as a giggling mess.

You jumped at him, throwing yourself at his neck, pressing your face into his shoulder. He squeezed you back just as tight, picking you up to twirl you around, eliciting more heartfelt laughs of pure joy out of you, reaching right into the depths of his heart. You both knew now.

“So am I gonna get a real one now?” he asked with hope in his voice. “Mhm,” you hummed happily in reply.

Looking into his eyes once you’d finally allowed yourself to open your heart to him, you felt almost dizzy. You couldn’t help the grin on your face, seeing how he looked at you, placing both his hands on your waist, getting used to having you within his reach, to feeling you underneath his fingertips. His lips were slightly chapped but ever so sweet and loving. He wished this kiss could last forever, but your soaring heart said otherwise. You felt a smile creeping onto your face until you could not fight it anymore, beginning to giggle.

George shook his head gently with a charming smile. Glancing at your forearm, however, he could not believe his eyes.

There, instead of a lonely half a Moon, was his part of the Sun attached to it, creating a whole. He lifted his own arm, to reveal the exact same image.

[coconut-cluster]

Champ de Violette

words: ~5500

pairings: prinxiety

warnings: suicidal ideation in one section (just “i don’t want to be here anymore” thoughts), i think that’s it but feel free to ask for something to be tagged!

AO3 link | my masterlist that hasn’t been updated in a good twelve years, sorry about that 

When Roman was six, he ran through his neighborhood during a game of tag and found a dead end. 

He’d never been that far on his own, never seen the spot where the road ended and the treeline began, but the minute he saw it, his mind jumped to every story he’d read where the adventure started at a treeline just like this one, with uncertainty just like his; he heard Remus calling out to him from down the street, but his focus was on the stories past the deadend, and his next step was through the trees. He walked for ten minutes, maybe fifteen, padding down a pathless trail and gawking at the little world around him - his cookie-cutter neighborhood didn’t have any trees between the houses, so he’d never heard birdsong so loud, but he quickly decided it was his favorite sound in the world - as he made his way to whatever destination the world picked for him. And the world picked something beautiful. 

---

When Roman was eight, he and the beautiful something got a visitor. 

He’d followed the path through the trees nearly every day for two years at that point - the field was barren in the winter, true, but in spring and summer, it was a sight that took Roman’s breath away: a wide expanse swathed in violets, waves and waves of the tiny flowers as far as he could see, a purple field of his own to retreat to when he needed to hide from the world beyond the treeline. It was quite a shock, then, to arrive and see a boy dressed in black sitting among the flowers. 

Roman had marched right over to the boy’s side and demanded, “Who are you?”

The boy startled, dropping the violet he was twisting between his fingers as he looked up at Roman - his eyes were big, round, almost as dark as his hair, and Roman rather liked looking at them, but he kept the suspicious look on his face because this boy, as far as he was concerned, did not belong here. 

“I asked you a question,” Roman said when the boy just stared. His mom said that a lot when he and Remus didn’t answer her right away. He thought it made him sound very grown-up. 

The boy’s wide eyes narrowed. “I heard you.” 

“Well, you didn’t answer.” 

“Why would I tell you who I am if I don’t know who you are?” the boy challenged, eyes still narrowed. Roman blinked at him - he supposed that made sense, what with Stranger Danger and all. Well, he wouldn’t dwell, then.

He pushed his hand out, chin high and a smile now adorning his face; his mom said he had a million-dollar smile, so he imagined it was a pretty good thing to start with. “I’m Roman.” He thought for a second, then added primly, “It’s very nice to meet you.” 

The boy’s expression softened. He didn’t take Roman’s hand, but scooted over and nodded toward his old spot, inviting Roman to sit beside him; Roman’s grin brightened as he took the spot and got to picking violets for a crown. 

“I’m Virgil,” the boy said quietly, watching how Roman weaved the flowers into a strand. 

“That’s a weird name.”

Virgil frowned again. “So’s yours.”

“No, it’s not,” Roman said matter-of-factly, and he handed Virgil the strand of flowers to hold on to while he stretched to grab the tall flowers a couple feet away. “It’s from an old place in Italy.”

Virgil didn’t contest that, though he knit his brow and bit the inside of his cheek - it didn’t matter, anyway, because the topic faded as Roman grabbed the chain from his hands and set to continuing it with his new picks. Virgil watched him again, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. 

“How’d you find this place?” Roman asked after a few minutes of silence. (He didn’t like silence.) “I didn’t think anyone else came here.” He raised his chin again, smug. “This is my field, you know.”

“You don’t own it.”

“Well, I found it, and it’s finders-keepers.” 

Virgil frowned again; Roman was beginning to realize he did that a lot. “My family just moved here,” he explained in that quiet voice of his. “I found this place when I walked behind our house,” he looked around, picking at another violet before offering it to Roman for the crown, “so now it’s mine, too.” 

Roman squinted - he already had to share most things with Remus, so he wasn’t fond of giving away a part of his violet field - but then it hit him. His face brightened and he nearly dropped the chain as he clapped his hands together, turning to face Virgil with a brilliant smile. “We can be like kings!” 

“...What?” 

“Kings,” Roman repeated, “like in fairytales?” Virgil perked up. “Kings have kingdoms, right? This can be our kingdom!”

Virgil’s wide eyes went wide again as he glanced around the field, then back to Roman, blinking owlishly. “Really?” 

Roman nodded, and his tongue stuck out as he quickly finished tying off the violet chain, wrapping it into a circle. He picked it up, admiring it for a second, and set it gingerly on Virgil’s dark hair, a crown of violets. He gave his new co-king a proud smile. 

“Really.” 

 --- 

When Roman was twelve, he wanted to scream at the world. 

“I’m never speaking to you again,” he snapped when he heard footsteps in the violet field, even though his face was buried in the flowers. He was hoping the ground would open up and swallow him whole. 

“Princey-” 

“Don’t call me that.” He lifted his head to glare at Virgil, who frowned down at him, and rolled over onto his side to avoid him further. “You had plenty of names for me earlier, why don’t you use one of those instead?”

Virgil gave an indignant huff - Roman wasn’t looking at him, but he could imagine the way Virgil crossed his arms, all annoyed or whatever. Well, he wasn’t the only one who could be annoyed. “Roman, it was a joke-” 

“It wasn’t very funny!” Roman sat up, cold shoulder momentarily forgotten, and fixed an imploring frown on Virgil; he felt the pressure rising up behind his eyes again, but he wasn’t going to let anyone else see him cry that day. He’d had enough of people laughing at him for a long while. “Remus already makes fun of me with his friends. He doesn’t need your help.”

Virgil’s frown deepened. “I wasn’t trying to make fun of you,” he insisted. “Remus just-”

“Made fun of me,” Roman said deliberately, “and you joined him. And it really hurt. And I’m never speaking to you again, so if you’d kindly leave me alone for the rest of time, that’d be great.” 

He turned back to face the opposite way, arms crossed tight over his chest. For a minute, the field was quiet - the sun had already disappeared from the sky, so it was bound to get dark soon, but he just wanted to sit and fume in the violets for, oh, thirty or so years - and he almost thought Virgil had listened and just left, but then he heard a miniscule sigh. A second later, Virgil’s beat up Converse appeared beside him; Virgil dropped down to sit next to him, his shoulders hunched. 

He picked at a cluster of violets in front of him for a little bit, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Roman was tempted to glare until he actually left, but he had to admit, he was curious. 

“I’m really sorry,” Virgil said finally, quietly. “I was going along with Remus ‘cause he actually laughed when I joined in, and I don’t really have that many friends still and I thought he might like me if I kept going along with it, and I didn’t actually think about it, and I’m sorry I made fun of you and hurt your feelings.” 

Roman raised his head more, only a tad righteous, and scrunched his mouth to the side as he thought over the apology. The only sound beyond them as he contemplated was the chorus of cicadas in the trees; he liked having a background noise to fill their silence. It almost felt like a little jury behind him, helping him consider everything. 

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Virgil mumbled after a minute, and his voice sounded like he was about to cry, too. It made Roman feel better and worse at the same time. “But I really am sorry.”

“Thank you,” Roman said gently. They went quiet again. “I’m sorry I said I was never gonna talk to you again.”  

“It’s cool.” Virgil shrugged, still picking at the violets. “I kinda deserved it.”

Silence, again. It made something uncomfortable squirm in Roman’s chest - he hated the silence, hated it even more when it was between him and Virgil, not to mention when it was heavy like this, weighing on his shoulders. He wanted to shrug it off, swipe it away and just enjoy a conversation with Virgil and the cicada choir. He liked talking to Virgil; he’d never have lasted not doing it for the rest of time. 

“Are we okay?” he asked. Virgil looked at him with those owlish eyes, a sliver of hope breaking through his frown. 

“I am if you are.” 

And Roman gave a grin, delighting in the way Virgil’s face lit up when he saw it; the squirm in his chest disappeared as he bumped their shoulders together and said, “We’re okay, then.”

Virgil’s smile was brilliant - he didn’t smile that often, Roman had noticed, and he really liked seeing it when he did - before he looked back to the ground, and it faded a little; he pulled a violet and twisted it in his hands for a minute. “Thanks,” he said quietly, finally, like he had to work up the courage to say it in the first place. “For forgiving me and just... being my friend. I know that’s kinda stupid to say, but, uh...” He gave a small shrug. “I appreciate it.”

“We’re not just friends, Virgil, we’re co-kings.” And Virgil’s smile was back, brilliant once more as Roman took the violet from his hands and set it ceremoniously on his head; it was a pale comparison to his first crown, even as crudely woven as it was, but it made him laugh, and that was enough for Roman. “That’s better than just friends, and if there’s anyone I could rule the violet field with,” he gave a sweeping gesture to the field, his head held high and loftily enough to make Virgil laugh again, before his voice softened and he gave a genuine smile of his own. “I’m glad it’s you.” 

---

When Roman was fifteen, he just wanted everything to end. 

It started months before, the twinge in his chest that made his eyes tear up, made him grit his teeth and dig his fingernails into his palms until it subsided. It started with a notebook, a story, a piece of himself that he wasn’t ready to share that Remus found and read aloud as a joke; it was supposed to be funny, Roman knew, but the minute he heard the lines he’d poured himself into being presented to his mom and Remus’ friends as a comedy act, he felt that twinge in his chest burst into a flame. He’d stormed in and snatched his notebook, turning away as quickly as he’d come in so no one saw the tears already spilling down his face. That was the first time he felt like he wanted the world to collapse on him, to hide the boiling humiliation of existing. 

And then there was school - math and science were never his strong suit, but seeing the red letters spelling out his failures at the top of every test wore on him quickly. He felt himself slipping then; he lost his energy, his motivation to try when he knew he’d only fail, and the failures got worse and worse until the thought of going to class made his stomach turn and the twinge in his chest gnaw at him, day after day.

It seemed to spread, that twinge. He turned to writing, painting, singing, whatever he could when it came too strongly, but after a while, those started to wear on him, too. He couldn’t read his own writing without feeling sick anymore, couldn’t paint without wanting to rip the canvas to hide his mistakes, couldn’t sing without thinking of everything he was doing wrong. The twinge crawled up his throat and stole his breath and worth and resolve away. 

The day it got the worst, when he simply couldn’t stand existing as he was, he stumbled to the violet field and fell to his knees in the flowers. He collapsed in on himself, his hands curled against his stomach with the urge to rip out everything inside him and be empty, be nothing, because being nothing couldn’t be worse than the fuck-up he was, and the thought of doing that to himself scared him beyond the waking world - it scared more him that he considered trying it anyway - so with the last of his energy, he pulled out his phone and called Virgil. 

He couldn’t remember what he said on the call. He couldn’t remember hanging up or curling tighter in the flowers, but he did remember Virgil bursting through the opposite wall of trees, his hair wild and hoodie missing. He remembered Virgil’s hands on his shoulders, shaking him to attention, pulling him up and cupping his face - Virgil’s hands were so cold against his skin, and in that minute he savored the shock of it - and wiping his tears. He remembered Virgil’s voice, shaking but somehow the most calming thing in the world, saying his name over and over. 

“Sorry,” was the first thing Roman said, his voice hoarse. He’d been crying for a while, he realized numbly, and his throat hurt a little. 

Virgil stared at him. “Sorry?” he repeated, his mouth slightly agape. “Sorry- Roman, you don’t- what?” 

“Sorry for making a fuss, I mean. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“Roman,” Virgil said deliberately, “what’s wrong?”

Roman closed his eyes and took a breath, filling his head with the scent of violets and Virgil; the twinge was small then, quieter, but God, it hurt. “I don’t want to be me anymore.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t do this, Virge.” He finally uncurled his hands, his cramped wrists sending fire up his arms, and raised them to where Virgil’s still rested on his face. He leaned into the touch, feeling a sober wave of tears rising in his eyes. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Virgil whispered. 

“Exist. Live like this. Hating myself, feeling sick when I look in the mirror or hear my voice or-” He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “I hate this. I hate me. I don’t want to do it anymore. I just want this to be over.” 

He finished with a pitiful attempt to stop the tears he felt coming, a ragged intake of breath - and for a second, the world was quiet. He heard the breeze in the trees, smelled the promise of rain in the air, felt tears leave their warm tracks down his face; his energy seemed to still as he focused on the little puzzle pieces of the world around him, the little pieces of the violet field and his place in it. And then Virgil spoke. 

“Roman,” he started, his voice hushed. “I get it, I do. I understand what you’re feeling - or at least part of it - but you have to listen to me, okay? You have no idea how much the world needs you. Look at me, Princey.” 

Roman opened his eyes and blinked away the tears blurring his vision. Virgil’s eyes were wide, earnest as he held Roman’s face, like if he tried hard enough, he could memorize every inch of the boy in front of him and give him back the easy smile he knew so well. 

“The world needs you,” Virgil repeated. “The world needs your art, and your stories, and those songs you make up when you’re studying, and the way you talk about musicals and movies and books even when no one else knows what you’re saying, and the outfits you put together and send to me at three in the morning when you can’t sleep- I need them, too. I need you to be here,” he said, his voice breaking, and Roman held on tighter to his hands. “We’ve been bickering for seven years and it’s my favorite thing about you, you know? You love things so much you’ll argue about everything. I need that - I need you, Roman. And maybe it’s selfish to ask- it’s definitely selfish, but if you can’t keep going for yourself, please, please keep going for me, and you know I’ll be here for you for as long as you need me. But I need you, too, Ro. I need you to keep going.”

Roman stared at him, holding onto his hand like a lifeline; the twinge in his chest burned, crawled up his throat as his vision blurred with tears all over again, and everything inside him felt raw and constricted and wrong, but there was a tiny whisper somewhere deep inside him, a hushed plea not unlike Virgil’s. A plea to keep going. And though the thought of living one more day with the twinge pulling at him made him want to just close his eyes and lay back down forever, he listened to the whisper.

He lurched forward, wrapping his arms around Virgil and burying his face in his shoulder. “Thank you,” he mumbled. 

He fought back more tears when Virgil hugged back, tighter. “It gets better,” Virgil promised, curling his fingers into Roman’s sweater. “It takes time, and I don’t really know if it stays better forever, but it’ll get better. I’ll be here until it does. Okay?”

A part of Roman wanted to ask what happened after it got better. A part of him wanted to cry and cry and cry until there were no tears left, nothing left inside him. A part of him just wanted to hold on tighter to Virgil in the bed of violets. In the end, that part won, and he couldn’t help but feel grateful for it. 

“Okay.”

---

When Roman was nineteen, when he and Virgil were lying beside each other in the field of violets, he heard Virgil sigh with the spring breeze.

“Sometimes I wonder if I was supposed to exist.” 

Roman turned his head to him, peering between stems. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to be here,” Virgil said, still staring at the sky, biting the inside of his cheek. “People are supposed to have a purpose, aren’t they? We’re supposed to be here for a reason, to fill a space. But I don’t think I have a space - I definitely don’t have a purpose. I don’t think I was meant to exist.” 

Roman stared at him for a moment. Virgil’s profile was something to behold, if you asked him, with a straight nose and dark eyelashes and those feathery bangs he never pushed off his forehead; Roman could study his face for hours, taking in every freckle, every tiny change between his smiles and frowns and everything in between. But the way Virgil refused to meet his eyes in that moment raised more concern than awe. 

“Of course you’re meant to exist,” Roman said, earnestly, though he cracked a smile right after. “Why would the all-mighty force of the universe put you here otherwise?”

“Maybe the universe made a mistake.” 

Roman sat up then, careless of the violets crushed under his palms as he pushed himself to face Virgil - he looked so natural in the flowers, dark hair and olive skin against the bed of purple - and frowned. “You’re not a mistake, Virgil.” 

Virgil’s eyes finally found his, eyebrows creased overtop. He gave a tiny smirk, a forced smirk, as his gaze flickered over Roman’s pinched expression. “What makes you so sure?” 

“Because we’re here together.” Virgil’s smirk faltered. “If you’re here by accident, why would I be here with you? Why would we be in this same spot for the same reason? Why would we exist at the same time if you weren’t meant to be a part of this moment right now?”

Roman paused, though he didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one. He and Virgil stared at each other in silence - Virgil’s eyes were wide, unreadable, his lips pressed tightly together, like he was trying to hold something back. At last, Roman just sighed and laid back in the violets. 

“You don’t need to have a purpose yet, Virge,” he said softly. “And when you do, it doesn’t have to be something big, I think. It can be little things - like making really good coffee in the morning to wake yourself up, or watching the sunrise on your way to work, or learning to love your smile when you see it in the mirror and pictures. You don’t have to change the world, even if you want to. But never think it’s an accident, you being alive, and being here,”  he added, even quieter as he felt Virgil’s hand find his and hold on tight, a violet caught between their palms. “You deserve to live on purpose.”

---

When Roman was 21, he visited the violet field for the last time. 

Not the last time ever, of course (or at least he hoped so), but at least the last time for a long while. He’d been invited to a party the day before he was set to leave for the airport, but he’d declined without hesitation - he had an ache in his chest, a painful longing to spend that precious time in the violet field, his violet field. 

Well, not just his. 

“Italy, huh?” Virgil said, dropping to sit cross-legged next to him in the field. Roman spared him a quick glance and turned back to the sunset; he’d purposely neglected calling Virgil earlier that day, as if avoiding him would make everything easier. It had just made things a lot more permanent in his head. It just made it hurt more. But Virgil was Virgil, and he knew Roman better than he knew himself, so here he was - and for some reason, that hurt even worse. 

“Yeah,” Roman said. He wanted to say more - he always did - but it all blurred together in his mind, one thing after another laying on top of each other and blending into something unworthy of filling his last face-to-face with Virgil for a while, so he left it at that. 

Virgil just shook his head, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “You and your fancy school.” They went quiet for a second; Roman never did like quiet. “You wanna know something?” 

Roman glanced over at him again and let his gaze linger this time; the sun was just on the horizon, low enough they couldn’t even see it past the trees anymore, but the light weaved between the trunks and painted Virgil a pretty pinkish-gold, laying a hazy crown of the color in his hair. His smile was crooked - he didn’t give genuine smiles very often, and Roman’s chest ached again to see this one was sad, bittersweet, once he really looked at it. Virgil tugged at a violet, twirling it in his fingers while he waited for Roman’s answer. Roman wanted to study him for hours then; he wanted to soak in every last detail, every smile and fidget and shadow, commit them to memory and hold on tight for a rainy day. But after a long minute, he offered his own tiny smile and gave Virgil what he wanted. “What?”

“I always knew you were gonna study in Italy,” Virgil said loftily, tossing the violet at him. Roman barely caught it as he squinted at him. “You know how?”

“How?”

“‘It’s from an old place in Italy,’” Virgil mimicked in a horrible falsetto, biting his lip to hold in a smile when Roman blinked once and promptly burst out laughing. “It was destiny. You also have to be an old thing from Italy, or else your name would just be weird.” 

Roman tried in vain to quiet his laughing for a moment - he didn’t try that hard, to be fair, because the airy feeling in his heart when he heard Virgil laugh a little with him was euphoric - but finally, eventually, he managed to look back at Virgil and ask, in a voice much softer than he intended, “You remember that?” 

Virgil’s laughter faded, too, though his smile remained. “Of course I do. It’s one of the first things you ever said to me, and you said it with such confidence, like it being from Italy made your wack name not wack.”

“My name is not wack!” 

“It is!” he grinned, leaning forward just to elbow Roman in the side. Roman elbowed him back and scowled, but Virgil just gave him a mockingly concerned look, eyebrows raised. “You should really come to terms with that before you get to Italy, you know.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Make me.” 

And Roman’s scowl faltered, just for a second. The skip in his chest at such a stupid little phrase was ridiculous, just another whim he didn’t want to waste these moments on - years of similar exchanges and he still couldn’t subdue the flush in his cheeks. He rolled his eyes after a minute, turning back to the sunset and pretending not to notice Virgil watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“I still have that crown,” Virgil said quietly, and Roman felt guilty for the tone shift until he understood what Virgil was saying. “The flower crown you made when we met, I mean. My mom pressed it and put it in a frame.” He gave another small smile, his eyes focused on some spot in the distance. “I think she was more excited about me having a friend than I was.”

“We weren’t friends, we were co-kings, if I remember correctly,” Roman said, and mirrored his smile as he bumped their shoulders together. As if on instinct, Virgil’s hand found his in the violets; it was weird, Roman thought, that a little taunt made his face burn, but this just made him feel at home. He held tighter. 

“You’re leaving tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question, and Roman didn’t know how to answer. “For a while.” 

“Yeah,” he whispered. Two years abroad. It didn’t seem like long in the grand scheme of things, but in that moment, with Virgil’s hand in his, two years sounded like a lifetime. 

Virgil nodded, more to himself than anything, rubbing his thumb across the back of Roman’s hand idly. “Try not to let the Italian girls woo you too much.”

Roman couldn’t help but laugh again and shake his head. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And this time, he didn’t falter - he looked over at Virgil, and Virgil looked back, and there was an unmistakable challenge glinting in those dark eyes as his gaze flickered down to Roman’s mouth, and then Roman kissed him. 

It happened like that, all in one swift second, one moment as a cluster of little moments blending together; the way it happened didn’t even matter to him, though, because he was kissing Virgil, and it sent a shiver down his spine and tasted like honey and felt like a summer rainstorm and a thousand other things he couldn’t begin to describe after thirteen years in the violet field, so he just held Virgil’s face as Virgil held his waist and kissed harder. 

“Why,” Virgil breathed, when they broke apart at last, “did you wait to do that until you were about to leave for two years, you absolute moron.”

Roman offered a smile, brief and apologetic, and pressed another kiss to his lips, savoring the way Virgil leaned into it without hesitation. “Sorry,” he said, another smile tugging at his mouth as he pulled away just enough to admire Virgil’s freckles up close - he followed a second’s whim and pressed a kiss to the bridge of Virgil’s nose, where they clustered together most, and the small, stupidly fond laugh Virgil gave in response made it so much more than worth it. “That was kinda dumb on my part.”

“Kinda?”

“But hey,” Roman ignored him, “it was thirteen years in the making. Two years should be cake.”

 Virgil snickered, a single eyebrow raised. “You think so?” 

“Well, maybe not cake - but we’ll make it work, even if it isn’t easy.”

And Virgil’s expression softened. He studied Roman’s face for a minute, like he was trying to memorize it, and asked, in the quietest voice, “Really?”

Roman didn’t hesitate to tug him into another kiss, a promise locked between them as they held each other in the violet field. 

“Really.”

---

When Roman is 29, he looks out his window and reminisces. 

There’s no violet field behind his new neighborhood - it’s not even technically a neighborhood, just an apartment building set on a busy block downtown, right near the river - but that’s okay, even if it makes a part of him ache for the waves of little purple flowers. The closest he has is a potted cluster of violets on his windowsill, and it’s beside them that he leans his elbows and watches cars go by on the street below, watches the different people in their different outfits destined for different places walk by, to wherever it is they’re headed. 

He leans on the windowsill and thinks about the games of tag he used to play with Remus. His brother was always so much faster than him, but he lost motivation quickly; all Roman had to do to outrun him was go a little further than usual, take a different route and find someplace new to navigate. He thanks his lucky stars that Remus got bored so easily, because if he’d kept chasing Roman that one day in particular, Roman might never have stepped past the treeline. He might never have found his field. 

He thinks about his mom; she was always so crafty, always on the lookout for something new to bring into the world to make it a little brighter. He remembers the day she excitedly showed him all the dandelions growing in their backyard. She picked a whole bunch of them and sat down on the porch, beckoning him to sit beside her; she showed him how she weaved them together, forming a chain of fluffy yellow flowers, and when she was done, she tied it off into a circle and set it on his head, proudly proclaiming him the crowned prince of their yard. (Remus nearly threw a fit when he came outside and discovered Roman had gotten a noble title without him, so their mom gave a little laugh and made him a crown, too, and upon Remus’ demand that he get a unique role, she appointed him duke. He was pleased by the sound of it.) He thinks of the fairytales she read to him before bed, the love of stories and whimsy she fostered. He thinks of her quite a bit, and he thanks her every time he calls home; she never asks why, just gives that sweet laugh of hers, but he thinks one day he’ll tell her just how much he owes to her. 

He thinks about the world as a whole; he thinks of purposes, big and small, and opportunities in old places in Italy, and violet fields hidden away for those meant to find them, to stumble upon them like a gift from the universe. He thinks of being fifteen, and wishing the world would collapse in on him. He thinks the longest about that one. He wishes, with all his heart and soul, that he could go back in time to himself then and kneel down and say, It gets better. It might not be better every day, and there might be times when it’s far from better for a while, but there are days that make everything worth it, and those days are more often than you’d ever think. He thinks about that, and he’s glad he had someone to sit in front of him and promise something similar. He’s glad he kept going. 

“If you don’t get in here in thirty seconds, I’m starting the movie without you, Princey!”

He thinks about the violet crown in a frame in the living room, about the promise woven in between its flowers. He thinks of his co-king of twenty-one years and counting. He tries not to think of the ring hidden away in his bedside drawer, because if he thinks too hard about that one, he might let something slip before it’s supposed to. 

“I’m coming,” he calls over his shoulder, smiling to himself. These are the days, he tells himself, that make everything worth it; there is someone on that couch in the other room that makes everything worth it. 

He looks at the potted violets beside him, and he thanks the world for giving him something beautiful.  

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Yamata-No-Orochi: (Part 4) Erii

ITT: The Mic Drop Heard Round the World.

The sun woke you. Bright light shone through the windows, forming a halo around the curtains and projecting the shape of raindrops from the window onto the carpet. Mingfei had left shortly before you fell asleep of exhaustion and grief. 

You’d fought hard and rebelled against the world, but this last rebellion had taken you too far. Z raised, saved, and safeguarded you. But you refused to play his love game, and that was all it took to discard you. Caesar had been at your side, encouraging you to live all this time. But now that the clouds had gathered, and the darkness of the world surrounded you, he realized that, like Chance, life was not in the cards for you. And Chu Zihang? Well, he always was a sword at your throat.

Once again the world was laughing, mocking you with its silent game of keep away. Love? Syke! Happiness? Syke! Companionship? Syke!

You hated this world. Mingfei went to Erii’s room with the Desert Eagle. What was stopping you from planting your mind in the ground and tilting Tokyo into a rift in the Earth, like it was the undersea Takamagahara? To watch its towers topple, and its buildings burn would be a fitting end to a Godzilla movie.

The hotel phone rang, insanely loud. You reached over and picked it up. “Pizza Hut,” you mumble.

Lu Mingfei stammered for a moment. Then he laughed. “Hey. You, me, Erii road trip. Right now. I left some clothes for you.”

His voice over the phone, it sounded like Z’s. You are silent, mind completely inert, spirit aching. “Sure whatever.” You hang up.

You shower and pull a comb through your hair three times, leaving it to fall over your shoulders. You don't bother with jewelry or make up. He left you a pair of skin tight jeans and a shirt that said Wild Thing across the front. White ankle socks and blue low rise canvas sneakers go over your feet.

The phone rings again. Mingfei sounded breathless. “Come now! We have to go!”

You hang up the phone and dash outside. Mingfei is waiting for you in a cherry red porsche. Erii waves with bright enthusiasm from the passenger side as he gets out and folds the seat down so you can get in the back. “Erii this is my friend, MC, She’s sick like you.”

You startle. Mingfei just went out and said it. You hold out your hand and she takes it, examining your fingers with her dark red eyes. You were lighter skinned, but this girl was near transparent. She scribbled on a notepad. “Nice to meet you. You are very pretty.”

“Guys buckle up!”

Your seatbelt had just clicked when Mingfei down shifted and floored it. The engine let out a mighty growl and the car took off like a rocket down the street. But Mingfei was relaxed, with an impish, ‘catch me if you can’ sort of look. Something in your chest stirred awake.

Erii held up her notebook. “Sakura is the best, right?”

Her smile was so sly, not something you expected to see. “Oh yeah, he's awesome!”

Her nod was sassy, like, Damn Straight.

You look at him again. He was smiling like he was angry. He was acting recklessly. The buildings were a blur outside the windows. The car rumbled like a beast underneath you as the accelerator didn't let up. You weave through traffic like lightning and soon the police are tailing you with flashing lights.

If you thought you were going fast before you were mistaken. The car dug deeper, and it felt like you floated over the road. The police car faded into the distance, unable to keep up.

He pulls into a service station and pays the attendant way too much cash. “Where are we going?” You ask.

“It's a surprise!”

“Does MC like gum?” Erii held out a piece and you helped yourself. 

You lean forward. Erii was covered head to toe in clothing, despite the good weather. 

“MC said that Erii is not stupid, that Erii is smart. MC was right, you knew a lot about yourself. But MC was sad so I wanted to take her too.” Lu Mingfei was saying. “Because she cares for Erii and understands her.”

Erii looks at you for a moment. Then she wrote in her notepad, “Cheer up. Sakura is very lucky. Thank you for caring about me.”

Her expression was so earnest and happy. Did she really understand herself? You hold out your hands for the notebook and pen. You write, “I'm too sick so my friends are scared of me.”

She takes one look at the notepad and her eyes widen. She snatches it back and writes, “Erii is not scared, Erii will be your friend.”

“Please be my friend.” You say softly.

Erii reaches out and seizes your arm. Her face is serious and she nods. When you stop at the supermarket, she drags you along, purchasing snacks and a gigantic stuffed teddy bear. Erii was not interested in herself. She wanted to cheer you up! She understood beyond words the lifelong loneliness, the constant rejection, and growing up in a world that feared you. She forcefully shoves the teddy bear into your hands. And pulls you along. It's so big you can't see around it.

Her image blurs with that of Renata. If Renata had a chance to grow up, she would be this bold.

The bear is so tall it folds against the low ceiling of the porsche. You squeeze in next to it.

“MC is from Siberia. Where she is from, the sun doesn't set in Summer. And in Winter, it doesn't rise and lights dance in the sky.” Mingfei says as you take off again.

Erii swivels in a full body, “What?!” expression and you laugh. “It is true. It's exactly like that.”

“That is AWESOME!” She turns the notepad to you and then writes, “I want to visit your home!”

You recall your promise to Caesar to go dog sledding and feel a pang of regret. But your mind has already replaced Caesar on the dogsled and put Erii there. “Let’s go dogsledding!”

She looks confused.

“Here give me your notebook.” You draw a sketch of a dog sled pulled by a team of panting dogs.

If Erii’s eyes got any bigger they would fill her face. She wrote, “IS THERE SANTA IS HE THERE”

“I… no Santas not there, but we can pretend to be Santa.”

“MC is awesome!”

Before dusk, Lu Mingfei and you two ladies arrived in the town at the southwest end of Shikoku, which is more than four hundred kilometers from Tokyo. The Porsche sports car ran for a full four hours. The whole time Erii peppered you with questions about life in Siberia while Mingfei drove. She had the impression of a magical frostland full of sky and sea. Her sparkling impression was free of brutal reality. For four hours you spoke only of the beauty and wonder of the north. Erii’s notebook is filled with sketches of white quail, snow geese, cute arctic foxes, bears, seals, and whales.

    The open-air parking lot was empty. Lu Mingfei found a parking space to park the car, and opened the door to hear the tide. You could not see the sea. A large hill stood between you and the ocean. The waves sounded like reverberating between the sky and the earth.

    "The sea?" Erii wrote to Lu Mingfei, with excitement in her eyes.

Lu Mingfei nodded his head as an answer. 

Ah the ocean… maybe four hours ago you might have been upset to meet up with the water. Now you just laugh.

Erii looks at you curiously.

“Did you know I got to ride dolphins?”

Erii practically staggers. 

“If you're lost in the ocean, sometimes dolphins will rescue you.” You hook her arm in yours. “They're big and strong and won't let you drown.”

“MC knows so much.”

“Erii knows a lot about Erii’s world. I know a lot about mine.”

Erii nods and smiles.

Lu Mingfei pulled out the compass, opened the long-prepared map, and took you to the town not far away. The sign in front of the town reads Umezuji-cho. At this time of the year, the streets of Tokyo must be bustling with people, but in this small seaside town, there are no people on the streets, only a group of elementary school students in school uniforms passing by.

Mingfei seemed to be in a rush, but Erii dallied with you, asking questions and marveling at the tofu shop, or the batik store. More than once, Mingfei had to come back and usher you forward. He clearly had some sort of plan in mind.

You find out that he hurried was so you could catch the last mountain tram, which was built next to the town's shrine and had a 45-degree angle track that made a staccato sound as you climbed.

    On both sides of the track there are dense trees. These trees cover the track like thick clouds, and it is as if you are walking through a tunnel of ever-changing colors, a tunnel made purely of foliage and flowers.

Both you and Erii are stunned with wonder. You did not have such dense forests like this growing up. The air is full of birdsong and frogs and early season cicadas. You feel someone take your hand. Erii points to your face. A bright tear shone there like a pearl. You didn't know you had shed it.

  "Sakura is not Japanese, right? How do you know such a beautiful place?" Erii wrote in her little notebook.

    "I saw a drama made in Japan. This is a very famous scene from that drama. I saw that drama a long time ago."

    "What was the name of that TV series?"

    "Tokyo Love Story." Lu Mingfei wrote one stroke at a time.

 "I liked that Japanese drama so much that I searched the Internet for all kinds of information about Ehime Prefecture, and finally learned that the ending scene was filmed in Umezuji Town, and that the school and the separate stations in the drama were real. I had always dreamed of traveling to Umetsuji-cho and had done a lot of homework.”

You and Mingfei did not really know each other. You did not think he was this level of a romantic so you didn’t understand why Caesar would want to pair you two. Now it made a lot more sense.

Lu Mingfei took out a handkerchief and blindfolded Erii: "You will see a beautiful view when you untie the handkerchief later."

When he handed one to you, your jaw drops. “I can’t believe you.”

He doesn’t say anything, just ties your eyes. You feel his hand close around yours. You can’t see Erii’s expression. “Erii, I’m so excited. This is fantastic!”

You’re smiling, you can’t stop. The memories of the events of the days before roared like angry hordes of monsters in your mind, but Mingfei and Erii have shut the gates on them. His warm hand in yours, the rhythm of the sun's rays between the trees, the crunch of your footfalls on the trail, the constant sound of birds. It was all so soothing.

 You walk the decades old mountain mining path, a road with uneven stone patchwork. At the end of the road is a long closed mine. In order to commemorate the mine that raised the town, the residents of Umezuji Town donated money to build a wooden temple-style building over the entrance and exit of the mine. Each rafter is hung with carp flags for prayers, and various porcelain dolls are placed under the eaves. This is a local custom. If the town's family gave birth to a boy, they would come here to hang a carp flag, and if it is a girl will put a porcelain doll.

 “It's exactly the same as the Internet says." Lu Mingfei said.

The tracks of the mine car had long been rusted, and weeds grew among the sleepers. You followed the track to the edge of the cliff, and Lu Mingfei helped you to climb a rock that protruded from the cliff.

He pressed his hands on you and Erii’s shoulders and said, "Now you can take off the blindfold."

You untied your handkerchief. 

The sunset blooms full in your vision. The huge sun disc had touched the sea. Ten of millions of tons of seawater slowly swirled beneath your feet. The tide broke into white splashes under the black cliffs. The wind blew endless hectares of forest. The evening woods also look like the sea from a distance, a pale red sea, with thousands of treetops swaying with the wind, forming cascading waves. 

Small towns are distributed along the winding coastline, Lu Mingfei names of them one by one -- below the cliff is the town of Umezuji, a little farther away is the town of Yamamae, Tsukishita Castle Town and Matsuron Town, and further is beyond his knowledge.

    The town's small school was already empty, and the silent playground was empty.

    The Ferris wheel spins slowly but does not carry passengers. The Ferris wheel in Umezuji Town is only a miniature version, but it is magnified in the sunset, its huge shadow cast on the undulating sea of trees.

    On the track facing the sea, the yellow slow train rumbled through the small unoccupied station, which was enclosed by white railings with the signs "Umetsuji X" and "Tokyo X”. You wonder how long it had to wait for a nostalgic and romantic fan like Lu Mingfei. Music starts playing and you can't help but laugh in disbelief.

    Lu Mingfei had pressed play on the theme song of Tokyo Love Story. His phone was the latest and the speaker was good. You couldn't believe it. This nerdy little parrot boy and scared raccoon had somehow managed to comfort you completely. Outside the shadows of Caesar and Chu Zihang, he shined bright. Maybe being on a boat with him would be fun.

Erii held up her notebook. “The world is gentle.”

You look at her, expressionless. She was right. The world in its natural state was quiet and peaceful. You’d fallen asleep in violence and awakened in violence and pain. You didn't get to experience the romantic world like this very much. In your mind, you imagine Renata in her patchwork coat, sitting next to you. In your ears, she whispers. 

You open your mouth, “Make a wish!”

Mingfei turns to you in surprise but Erii follows along, pressing her palms together. You pray.

Renata. I am coming soon. Sorry it took so long.

You sat under the roof of the mine. Erii kept writing questions. Lu Mingfei answered one by one. This girl seems to have saved up a belly of questions, and now they all came out. Mostly they referenced Anime and Manga you have never heard of. That was Erii’s world, a world of cartoon fantasy. He confirmed or denied that reality, shaping and creating the world anew as you watched her listen intently. Lu Mingfei had taken to heart your words and was upfront and simple, not lying or trying to say things she wanted to hear. You nod in approval, your eyes serious. 

The sun gradually sank below the surface of the sea, the last afterglow scattered on the water. Half of the sun and its reflection form a complete circle.

   "So this is what the outside world looks like." Erii wrote to Lu Mingfei to see.

    "Yeah, that's what it's like, no Britannia Kingdom and no Celestial Organization… disappointed?" Lu Mingfei asked.

    "No, not disappointed, like this kind of world, this kind of world is very gentle." Erii used the word gentle once again. You repeated the word in your mind. Gentle. It echoes there. As if without the constant threat of death and adrenaline, there was just empty space.

   "I really like this world." As the sun is about to disappear, Erii wrote to Lu Mingfei. "But the world doesn't like me." Erii went on to write.

You stand up and move to the other side of her. You scoot as close as you can and rest your head on her shoulder. She hugged the huge bear and lowered her eyes like a cat that had done something wrong.

 "I'll be a problem for everyone and I've been a problem for Sakura." Erii wrote again.

  "I was too willful. So I ran away from home."

  "I should have gone back a long time ago but it's still a pleasure."

   "It's beautiful here, I should have known I should have come here on the first day. Thank you Sakura, MC, thank you.”

You lower your hand over hers as she’s writing.

"No."

Erii froze for a moment.

 "No." Lu Mingfei repeated.

Lu Mingfei cocked his head to look at her with a rare serious look: "Don't think you can know what the world is like by coming out to see it. I'm still confused after living in this world for more than twenty years. You've only run out for a few days and you think you understand?"

His eyes look at you too and you’re just as shaken as Erii. But he is right! You never set foot outside the Port of Black Swan and that was 20 years ago. You saw the whole world through that tiny lens and haughtily walked around like you owned the place. You judged others through that same view as well.

  "How big the world is depends on how many people you know, and for every person you know, the world gets a little bigger for you. There are many cities in this world. There are Tokyo, Paris, Cairo, London, Istanbul... but many of them are just names to you, you haven't been there and there are no people there you want to visit, so they don't really belong to your world. There are many, many more people in this world, but you don't know them, and they don't belong in your world. There are also lots of good food and fun and nice things in this world, but the world that really belongs to you is actually very small, just the places you've been and eaten and seen the sunset and the friends who will care if you live or die."

 "Whether the world likes you or not only depends on whether your friends like you or not. Everyone has a few really good friends. They like you, therefore, the world likes you."

The world… was not Tokyo, or Cassell or Hydra… The world was Renata, Caesar, Chu Zihang, Lu Mingfei, and now Erii. You turn your head back to Tokyo, unseen in the distance. How could you leave…?

“What is a good friend?" Erii wrote in her little notebook.

    "It's the kind of friend that's so crazy about that he'll believe in you no matter what, and he'll be with you no matter what.” Lu Mingfei growled low. "If the world really doesn't like you, then the world is my enemy."

    The moment these cold and arrogant words came out of his mouth, you seemed to hear a familiar cold laugh coming from behind you. The demon of the sad world sneering with all its mockery.

Together, you and Mingfei both jerked back, but behind you were only cherry blossoms mixed with fallen leaves swirling in a breeze, and there was no sign of Z. Lu Mingfei stared at you with wide eyes and you stared right back. His mouth opened. “MC. You… heard…?”

    "Wanted: a good friend." 

He turned back to Erii waiting for him with a small book up. 

    "I am your good friend, and you will have more good friends in the future." You say.

    "But as long as we are your good friends, how can we not like you?" He said softly.

She slowly crawled towards Lu Mingfei like a kitten, vigilantly figuring out his look. Lu Mingfei looks petrified and you cover your mouth with one hand while silently cheering, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

What did he expect? Even your heart was moving and you don’t even like him! Lu Mingfei is sitting here putting Kazama level moves on this girl and now that her arms are around him and her head is on his chest, he looks two seconds away from shitting himself. You ball your fist against your lips and swallow your laughter.

Clouds gathered in the distance and the sun had set, It was time to go. You would have to get up bright and early tomorrow to get on the boat to China. Your heart was relaxed again about Caesar’s decision. After all, he was just doing his best. If you died, you would go to rest. Caesar would be tormented for the rest of his days. He wasn't sending you on the boat to die. He wanted you to live. You still believed the omniscient Z. Leaving Tokyo was a death sentence. But you also believed Caesar had his own parallel script.

It was raining by the time the train came. You stand shoulder to shoulder on the platform. “Call me to wake me up tomorrow.” You say.

 Mingfei lowers his head and laughs.

“Oh you’re planning to oversleep? Once again I have to be the mature one.” You roll your eyes. 

The train splashes up to the platform and you make sure Erii has her ticket. She sits next to the window and stares outside. Much to your surprise, Mingfei sits you next to her. He gives you a fond smile and passes you a note.

  "Dear passengers, this train terminates in Matsuyama City. We are now about to leave Umezuji-cho station. The train is about to close......" A sweet female voice echoed in the carriage. 

The doors of the train close.

You open the note in your hand. The words make you squint.

You have to live.

You and Erii gasp at the same time. Mingfei is not on the train. The doors have closed. And he is not on the train!

You leap from your seat and pound on the glass door in front of the smiling Mingfei. “Where am I supposed to go?” You will miss the boat. You won’t go to China.

Your hands slowly slide from the glass. Erii is pressing her notebook urgently against it.

Lu Mingfei tapped on the window, "Someone will pick Erii up when you get to Matsuyama City. MC, find Ruri Kazama.”

    "Won't Sakura take me back to Tokyo?" Eriki took the small book and showed it to Lu Mingfei.

    "Your family won't like me." Lu Mingfei said.

    Erii hugged the furry teddy bear and lowered her head, her long hair like a colored cloak that enveloped both her and the bear.

    "Sayonara"  said Lu Mingfei.

    Erii nodded, finally realizing that this was their parting. The train ride to Tokyo will take several hours, but Lu Mingfei will not accompany her.

    Lu Mingfei's face was stern and he didn't say anything more. There was nothing more to say. This was the parting, his carefully designed parting. He NEVER agreed to the boat. He NEVER agreed to kill you. He had carefully pulled the wool over Caesar’s eyes and convinced you that he was going to dump you on the boat. You grinned and shook your head. But the train began to move before you could even think of a comeback.

[alienoresimagines]

I'll Make This Feel Like Home | Floyd Talbert x Female! Reader

A/N : This is for the birthday of the amazing, wonderful, beautiful Vered (@floydtab ). She is one of my closest friend on here, my American sister from across the ocean. If you don't follow her go do that right now! She is a true blessing, she is kind, sweet, friendly and I'm so glad to have met her. Also, please go wish her a happy birthday, we might not be Rick Gomez or Ross McCall (as far as I'm aware of at least), but still💞

Happy birthday Vered!❤😘

Taglist: @wexhappyxfew @glxssysam @floydtab @inglourious-imagines @ray--person @punkgeekchic @luz-lovebot​

Posted : 15/05/2020

Masterlist Taglist Prompts

~

A breath of air caressing the exposed skin of your shoulder was what woke you up. Shivering slightly, you smiled nevertheless, burying your head in pillow that was most probably not yours judging by the smell and kept your eyes closed, simply enjoying the peace and serenity of this rare moment of calm. The sunlight illuminated the room, somewhat muffled by the beige curtains, the cool air of May slipping into the room like a gentle murmur, bringing with it the rustling of the leaves against the breeze, the smell of freshly cut flowers and grass, and the birdsong sounding a sweet melody to your ears. You felt strangely relaxed, as if a weight you didn't know existed had been removed from your shoulders. Nuzzling your face further into your husband's pillow, you let a content sigh escape your parted lips before you rolled onto your back, the duvet now only covering half of your legs and part of your belly. As the cool air tickled your feet, you allowed yourself to yawn gracelessly before sitting down and finally opening your eyes. Folding your eyes to the light, you glanced quickly at the right side of your king-sized bed. Confirming your suspicions at a glance, you were actually alone. The smell of coffee reached your nose and you let out a sound very close to a moan at that. However, you couldn't bring yourself to care about who could hear you, not when it was only you, your lovely husband and your dog, who heard much worse and louder coming from you. Passing a lazy hand through your air, you yawned again as you stretched your arms above your head and arched your back pleasantly. You liked mornings like that, without the rush of the work week. Where you could stay in bed, and enjoy the warmth and comfort of your home without having to keep a constant eye on the clock. You sighed softly, styling yourself with the comb of the 5 fingers, preparing you slowly but surely to get up. Your dog, Trigger, kept you from getting up to choose clothes when he jumped onto your bed and rested his own head on you thigh. Laughing softly, you gently scratched his head and ears, knowing it was some of his favorite places to be pet along with his belly.

"How are you today, Trig'? You slept well? I bet you kept Daddy from burning the kitchen down." You cooed as the german shepherd just looked at you with big brown eyes.

"Oh, you're awake!" A new voice was heard, a voice that you would instantly recognize everywhere. You knew that voice as well as the first aid gestures. Which was something given that you were a medic during World War Two. You have seen the snow being tinged with scarlet, the stars being hidden by shells and life swerving between your bloody fingers as the water would escape from a vase that has just been broken. However, you refused to dwell on these memories. The war was over, the Earth was still spinning, and you always had your husband, your anchor and rock, the one who stood by you even in your darkest moments when you doubted, ignoring his own sorrows. Raising your head, you smile softly when you see your husband leaning on the door, with a light wooden tray in his hands. The light that filtered through the curtains gave his hair a slightly lighter hue and brought out his eyes nicely. Still in his pajamas, with his bedhead, and a sweet smile on his lips, the crinkles by his eyes appearing, he never looked so beautiful.

"Morning Sunshine!" Floyd beamed happily, approaching the bed. The dog on your lap didn't seem to mind the noise. In fact, you were pretty sure Trigger was asleep.

"Hey Beautiful." You laughed softly to yourself. "You should stop calling me this, it suits better."

"Now, princess, have you watched a mirror lately?" The teasing in his tone was evident but the look of pure adoration in his dark green eyes couldn't be missed, even by a blind person. Tab bent down to lay a kiss on your forehead and then on your lips, a hand coming to rest at the base of your neck, his thumb drawing circles under your jaw. The kiss was sweet, a "I love you" with every slide of your lips. Two souls, two hearts pouring out their love for each other in the simplest and most sincere way they knew. Floyd was the first to break the kiss, his eyes standing on your lips for a moment before coming up to meet your eyes. You swore you could have cried right there and then at how much fondness Tab's gaze held. You hadn't even noticed that he had put the tray on your nightstand until he took it and put it on your thigh - at least what wasn't occupied by your dog.

"Happy birthday, princess." You laughed breathlessly as you saw what was on the tray while your husband sat to your right, throwing an arm around your shoulder. On the tray was a beautifully decorated plate, with only one pancake in it. However, a candle stood warm and... almost completely burnt. How you didn't notice the smell was yet another story for another day. You quickly blew out the only candle, petting Trigger's head with one hand to calm him. If you didn't smell the candle burning, he surely did. Looking to your right, you couldn't contain the giggle that was building inside of you at the adorable pout on Floyd's face.

"I wanted to do something nice..." He sighed sadly while you giggled. Pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek, you smiled widely.

"Thank you, honey, you know I'd appreciate anything as long as I'm with you." He smiled a bit to your words but he kept on pouting, knowing you couldn't resist it. Rolling your eyes playfully, you layed a chaste kiss to his lips. It seemed to be enough for him though, a playful smile taking over the pout as he looked at you with shining eyes. Cutting the pancakes, you took a bite and you closed your eyes in pleasure. No matter how much you teased him, Tab's pancakes were the definition of gastronomic. However, you knew that his ego was twice as big as his heart which meant that you couldn't let him know that.

"How does it taste?" Oh, even with your eyes closed, you could perfectly see the smirk on his lip, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"See yourself." You grinned back as you pushed the plate to your right. Trigger must have decided you were moving to much because he stood up and got out of your bed to go to his own, next to Tab's side of the bed. He was aging. A buzz from Floyd brought your attention back to him, your left leg feeling a little numb.

"It's alright." He kissed your shoulder, making you shiver. God, it was there, the devilish look in his eyes that even George Luz learned to fear when it appears. "But you taste better." You blushed furiously as you almost choked on the orange juice that was placed next to the plate. Your attempt to glare at him mustn't have been successful if the smile on his lips was any indications.

"Please, just tell me you're not going to sing." Floyd made an indignant sound.

"Honey, I love you, but you can't carry a tune." You said softly as if you didn't want to hurt his feelings even if you knew perfectly well that he was aware of his singing skills- or his lack of for that matters. He huffed but the corner of his mouth twitched as he settled against the headboard.

-----

The pancake was eaten, the tray rested on your nightstand and you were perfectly settled, head against Tab's broad chest. One of his arms was around your shoulder, thumb tracing circles on your arm while his other arm was petting Trigger who decided to come back and was now resting with his head on Floyd's belly. It felt like home. You, Tab and Trigger. A feeling of warmth spread through your chest. Loved. You were feeling loved, by the man who meant the world to you. You were home.

Floyd smiled softly at the feeling of your hair tickling his chin before he frowned slightly. You were humming a song quietly, hot breath on his skin. He wasn't even sure you realized what you were doing, but he would never miss an opportunity to tease you. Especially when he recognized the song. A smile split his face in two before he whispered, as if he did not want to break the peace of the moment

"This song is overrated, you know."

Floyd was pretty sure he heard your neck cracked with how fast you turned around to glare at him half-heartedly. Wriggling in his grip until your chin was on his chest, you raised an eyebrow at him.

"Excuse you and consider yourself unfriended, blocked, deleted. You are no longer my husband. I want a new one" You deadpanned, but you could feel your lips stretching in the slightest smile. Floyd must have seen it given his own smug smile.

"All I said was that the song you were humming was overrated."

"Don't care." He couldn't help to chuckle then.

"So you don't want your present?" The speed at which your face changed was hilarious to him. You huffed before resting your head above his heart.

"You're insufferable."

"You love me." Silence took over the words, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. A thousand words were spoken, carried by the wind, floating in the air, clinging to the hearts.

Floyd blinked once, and when he opened his eyes again, you were right in front of him, golden light haloing an angel.

"That I do." The words hung in the space between your lips, before you closed it, pressing softly your lips together. Your tongues met in a slow dance, knowing each other perfectly by now. Your eyes remained closed as you broke the kiss to press your own forehead to Floyd's.

"So?" He opened his eyes, fondness written on his face.

"So what?" You buried your cheek a bit deeper into the warm hand that just cupped it as you smile playfully.

"What's my present?" Floyd laughed, loud and beautiful, at that. He turned his head to the left, acting as if he was in deep thought.

"Well, I thought we could go to the pet store down the street and give Trigger a new buddy." You hummed thoughtfully, a smile playing across your face as you looked down at said dog. Oh, how beautiful would it be.

"Hmm... But then it would be a present for Trigger. And since we all know how much you love dogs so..."

"You love them as much as I do." It was your turn to laugh, throwing your head backwards. Floyd was sure that if he were to go blind, your laugh would be enough to bring colors to his world. You kissed his lips one last time before you jumped out of bed, almost bouncing in excitement making Trigger whine in irritation as he was forced to move as you grabbed Tab's wrist and almost dragged him out of bed. He laughed once again, and it felt nice to laugh like this again. No bullets splitting the air, no screaming piercing the ears.

"Where are we going?"

"Pet store! Now hurry and listen to the birthday girl!" Your laughs echoed in the house, a barking here and there, birds singing outside, painting the world with joy.

"Yes ma'am!" The playful answer came through all the laughs, as he followed in the hall, Trigger at his feet.

Two arms open to hug you tight, one heart beating to heal yours, kisses to hold you together, laughs to make your eyes shine like diamonds in a starry night. Home.

[johaerys-writes]

Chapter 7: Painted Constellations of High-Flying Birds is up! The boys’ first time on Mount Pelion, from Achilles’ POV :)

Read here or on AO3!

*******

The first light of dawn filtered through his eyelashes, waking him.

Achilles opened his eyes slowly, merely a slit at first, then wider as he took in his surroundings. It was still early, and the world was just starting to rouse from its slumber. The jagged edges of the rose quartz crystals glittered in the light, shimmering rays of rosy sunshine that fell on the smooth cave floor and polished walls. In the distance, the song of a morning lark drifted with the morning breeze.

Beside him, Patroclus breathed, slow and steady.

He shifted to his side, shoulder digging in the soft mattress of the pallet. The pallet they shared. Odd, that they used to sleep apart before. His room back in the palace, with its two separate beds, its gilded nightstand, the rich rugs and tapestries on the walls seemed like a distant dream to him. He hadn’t missed it. The everyday luxuries that he’d once taken for granted felt superfluous to him now, the duties of a prince boring and stifling. He would gladly see his father again, but even so, he didn’t long to return. Patroclus would be the only one he would miss, he realised, had he not come after him.

Patroclus was with him now, though, close enough to touch. His chest was rising and falling with his gentle breaths, his eyelids fluttering in his sleep. Lips moving soundlessly, in some distant dream conversation. Patroclus never lay very still, or very silent, when he slept. Sometimes, Achilles would wake up in the middle of the night to find him smiling, or humming, or sighing under his breath. He often stayed awake then for a little while, simply watching, simply listening, letting his even breathing lull him back to sleep.

Odd, that he’d ever thought of leaving him behind.

Suddenly, the world outside the cave came to a standstilll. The birds went silent. The wind calmed, the leaves on the trees stopped rustling. Achilles knew well what that meant. He carefully pushed the blanket off him and rolled upright, padding towards the mouth of the cave. The skins fell shut behind him with a whisper, and he blinked once to help his eyes adjust to the light.

“My son,” his mother said, holding her hand out to him.

He took it and followed her to the small clearing they usually went to talk. The babbling brook beside them gurgled merrily as it ran over the polished river stones. Achilles sat on a flat rock, drawing shapes on the soft sand with a long piece of driftwood. Achilles enjoyed spending time with his mother, and he looked forward to his moments with her, yet that day his mind kept drifting away.  He listened absently, with half an ear, as his mother talked about this and that, about the gods and their plans, about Phthia and the castle, about his destiny. His fate.

Such a strange thing it was, to have one’s future laid out before them. Most people didn’t know what was to come, not until it was too late. He wondered what Patroclus would do, were he to receive a prophecy like that. Patroclus had never blindly submitted to his fate, not once, as long as he’d known him. Always pushing at its edges, testing its limits, even when he barely realised it himself.

Tough yet soft. Gentle yet defiant. All his subtle incongruities. The strength, the fragility of him. Achilles smiled, despite himself.

“You are distracted today,” he heard his mother say. “What is the matter?”

With a sharp breath, Achilles turned to her, meeting her piercing gaze levelly. “Mother,” he said. “I’d like to ask you something.”

~

She can’t see us here.

The thought latched itself onto his heart, making it hop in his chest. He didn’t waste a moment before returning to the cave after his mother was gone. He felt giddy, restless, a touch light-headed. She couldn’t see them there. How had he not thought to ask her before? He had to tell Patroclus. He would want to know. Wouldn’t he?

A wild thought crossed his mind. He could kiss him now. He could kiss Patroclus, and his mother would never know. His pulse thumped excitedly in his throat. He imagined kissing Patroclus, the flush that would creep up his cheeks, the surprise in his eyes, the wonder. He imagined him smiling at him, a little breathless, then leaning in to catch Achilles’ lips in a kiss of his own. It would be heavenly, wonderful, sublime; everything he’d ever wanted.

It felt too much to ask.

The entrance of the cave was just in view. It was still early, and Patroclus would be asleep. If he went in now, he would find him curled on his side, clutching Achilles’s pillow, seeking the warmth he’d left behind. Achilles would tickle his ear, or touch his nose to wake him, and Patroclus would open his eyes and gaze at him in silent confusion for a breath before his lips would widen in a smile. Lips he’d kissed, once, years ago.

He wondered whether Patroclus still remembered that.

Achilles ducked as he passed under the hanging branches of a jasmine tree. It was in full bloom, the fragrant white blossoms heavy with morning dew. Patroclus liked the scent of jasmine. Back in Phthia, he would always place them in his clothes chest, tuck them in between the folds of the fabric to retain the scent. Jasmine and gardenias and myrtle blossoms, sometimes a sprig of rosemary too. Something he’d seen his tithene do, he’d told Achilles, the woman that had helped raise him in Opus. He always smelt like spring, even in the depths of winter.

Twirling a sprig full of jasmine flowers between his fingers, Achilles entered the cave and carefully sat at the edge of the pallet, beside Patroclus. He liked watching him when he slept, when there was no danger of being caught. He let his gaze glide over his deep set eyes, the delicate slope of his nose, the bow upper lip, the full bottom lip. The subtle curl at the edges of his mouth that always made him look thoughtful, as did the tiny, tiny wrinkle between his arched brows. Achilles held the jasmine flowers underneath Patroclus’ nose, biting his lip in anticipation. In a moment, his nostrils would flare and widen. Then, his brows would gather. And then his eyes would open, and-

Thick and dark eyelashes fluttered, revealing gentle, honey brown eyes.

“Good morning,” Achilles whispered.

Patroclus’ lips widened a soft, slow spreading smile. “Good morning,” he replied in his hoarse, sleep-laced voice, pushing himself up on his elbows. “What’s this?”

“It’s for you.” He held it upright with the tips of his fingers. “Aren’t you going to take it?”

Patroclus huffed a quiet laugh, his eyes shining in delight as he plucked the blossoms. “Thank you.”

“The jasmine trees are blooming. I thought of you.”

“You did?”

“Yes.” Achilles shifted on the pallet, laced his fingers together on his lap. His pulse had quickened, and it felt like he had just run a mile although he was sitting perfectly still. He cleared his throat. “I saw my mother today.”

Patroclus sat beside him, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. “I know. You were up early.”

“She told me something.”

“What was it?” He uttered the question quickly, in a single breath, worry creasing his brow.

She can’t see us here.

The words lay at the tip of Achilles’ tongue, yet he couldn’t breathe them into being. His heart beat faster and faster, until it was a steady, rapid thrum in his chest. And Patroclus kept watching him. Always watching him, waiting, patient. Gentle. So gentle.

Achilles reached out, his fingers closing about Patroclus’ forearm. Velvet smooth skin, reed slender bones, a quiet pulse beating underneath his fingertips. He dabbed his lips with his tongue, taking a deep breath. “She told me-”

The soft clop of Chiron’s hooves outside the cave made him stop abruptly. Patroclus’ gaze left Achilles’ to drift to the source of the sound, and the world suddenly seemed dimmer, cruder, jagged edges that dug into his skin. The centaur called their names in his deep, steady voice. His voice was always a comfort, yet now Achilles could barely stifle the irritation that sparked inside him. He shot up from the pallet and walked outside, the pelts snapping behind him.

“Chiron,” he said, somewhat more sharply than he’d intended. Patroclus wasn’t far behind.

“These herbs need to be pounded into a paste before they wilt,” the centaur told them, handing them each a basket full of rosemary and chamomile, dandelion and nettle. He walked towards the cave, and they both followed him, albeit reluctantly. Patroclus shot him a glance over his shoulder, curious and examining.

The notes from his lyre coiled around him, sweet like birdsong, vibrating in the enclosed space. Achilles found no comfort in the music, in the simple act of playing, like he usually did. His mind was elsewhere.

Achilles glanced away. What he had to say, it would have to wait.

~

What he had to say, it couldn’t wait any longer.

The moment he saw the centaur’s eyelids drooping, his breaths deepening, Achilles stood up, setting his lyre to the side. “Patroclus and I should leave you to your rest, Chiron.” He avoided Patroclus’ inquisitive glance as he turned towards the cave. What he had to say, he had to say to him alone, yet when Patroclus looked at him like this, he doubted his own ability to control himself.

Achilles hurriedly washed his face and neck over the small wash basin. He took his clothes off and slithered under covers, eyes set on the ceiling above him. His fingers were tapping a steady rhythm on his stomach when Patroclus entered the cave, footsteps careful and precise, a doe making its way through lush forest land. Achilles listened absently to the water droplets falling in the basin as Patroclus washed himself as well, watched the muscles of his back moving under his skin. Soft skin, smooth like rose petals. Begging to be touched.

“My mother-” he started, and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. “My mother can’t see us here.”

“Hm?”

His gaze snapped to the ceiling when Patroclus turned around. Achilles wetted his lips.

“I asked her if she can see us here.” He took a breath. “She says, she cannot.”

“Oh.” Patroclus stood very still. It felt like a lifetime later that he set the washcloth down and approached the pallet with measured steps. Achilles studied the painted constellations on the cave wall with keen interest as Patroclus undressed himself, listened as he folded his tunic and laid it to the side. He slithered under the covers beside him, and Achilles’ skin prickled when the cool air touched it. Soon, the warmth from Patroclus’ body reached his own, like a gentle embrace.

Neither of them moved. Achilles counted his heartbeats in the silence, the flow or Patroclus' breaths. Everything was perfectly still, save for Achilles' blood that coursed swiftly beneath his skin, hot to boiling.

He shifted to his side, and Patroclus turned to look at him. Soft brown eyes, wide in something that looked like fear, like anticipation, met his in the warm candlelight.

Achilles leaned forward.

It was a small, almost imperceptible movement. Achilles closed the distance between them in a single breath, his lips meeting Patroclus' without error. Achilles shivered when his mouth opened under his own on a silent gasp then closed again, sweetly, like a nightflower at the break of dawn. He moved closer, pressing against him. Impatience and wonder coursed in his blood, hot like blazing embers. Patroclus’ hand trembled as it smoothed down the length of Achilles' arm, his sides, gathering him closer still, until it felt like their hearts were beating against each other’s like one.

The covers had tangled around their legs, and Achilles tossed them aside. He suddenly couldn't bear the feel of fabric on him. He wanted nothing else but Patroclus’ skin on his skin, his hands on him, his breath mingling with his. Countless times had Achilles seen him bare, many more his gaze had traced the lines of his body, the stretch of his skin over his muscles, the line of soft dark fur that trailed down his stomach, his navel. His hands followed those same pathways, pathways that he knew by sight as well as his own; now he was learning them anew by touch, by smell. Patroclus’ need was as palpable as his own, and the thought alone warmed Achilles to his core.

He reached down between them and took him in his hand, his palm curling around the hardened length. Patroclus sighed, arching into his touch. A blush crept up his chest, his neck, pink and honey gold like a sunset. Long fingers tangled in Achilles’ hair, tugging gently; Achilles lapped his own name from Patroclus’ tongue when he whispered it.

“Do not stop,” Patroclus breathed against his lips, trembling. “Don’t-”

“I will not.” Achilles kissed his cheeks, his chin, his eyes, his open mouth. He licked the rapid thrum of his pulse, traced the tendons of his delicate throat with his teeth, flicked his tongue over a dark nipple that pebbled in the cool air. “I’ll never stop,” he murmured into the dip of his collarbone, the rise and fall of his chest, the beat of his blood under his warmed up skin.

I won’t stop, he thought, ever again, nor shall I ever let anything stop me from being with you.  

They moved in tandem, waves crashing against the shore, then retreating, only to pour forth and meet once more. His hand moved firmly as he watched, entranced, the pleasure in Patroclus’ features, the way it swelled. It brightened his cheeks, made his breath tremble. The moon and stars reflecting in his eyes. It rose and soared, ever higher, until it blossomed in Achilles’ hand. A muffled cry broke free from Patroclus’ lips, only to crash against his own.

No sooner had Achilles released him, their lips bruised and raw from their kisses, than Patroclus’ fingers danced swiftly down his chest, his belly, before closing carefully around him. Achilles lay very still; his pulse was thumping in his ears as those fingers tightened, holding him fast. It was strange, having Patroclus kiss him like this, touch him- hands that had held his own, arms that had wrapped around him when they’d played and fought and wrestled. He could feel his body coming alive under his touch, warmth surging through him in waves. His eyes burnt and he closed them, his hips moving on their own to meet that pressure, that heat. Patroclus lips were on his ear, the side of his neck, the curve of his shoulder.

“Patroclus,” Achilles panted as he pulled his mouth up to his once more, drawing breath from his lungs, “Patroclus-”

His pleasure rose until his body felt like a dam, struggling to keep back a rushing river. Light, white hot and blinding burned behind his eyelids as he shuddered, melting in Patroclus’ arms like wax over a candle flame.

Time stretched languidly around them, fuzzy and indistinct, as they both caught their breaths. They slowly peeled away from each other, and it was only then that Achilles felt the chillness of the night air. His skin was sticky with sweat, his hair clinging to the nape of his neck. He lay on his back and swallowed thickly as a shiver coursed through him. He was suddenly afraid to meet Patroclus’ gaze, to break the silence that had settled between them. In a moment of bravery, he turned to look at him, and found him watching.

“I did not think-” he started, then paused. Patroclus’ eyes were wide, the trembling light of their lamp catching in their corners. “I did not think we would ever-” A long moment passed that Achilles scrambled for words, words true enough to encompass what he felt.

I did not think you’d ever want me, he thought silently, like this, like I want you. That we would ever be here, like this, like I wanted us to be.

“Neither did I,” Patroclus whispered, as if he had heard his thoughts.

“Are you sorry?” The question was out of him before he could stop it.

Patroclus’ answer was quick, immediate and sure, like an arrow. “I am not.”

“I am not either.” Achilles released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding as he reached out to him in the half dark, threading their fingers together. He leaned close enough to bury his nose in his hair, to take a deep breath of his smell. Musk and clean sweat, the scent of early jasmine blossoms mingling with that of warm, wet earth.

“Patroclus,” he whispered into his skin, the sounds rolling gently off his tongue. Patroclus hummed and relaxed in his hold, curling against him like a dove in the cup of his palm.

We’ll never be parted, Achilles promised himself, drawing him close as he drifted into a light and blissful sleep. I’ll never let anything keep me from you, never, so long as I draw breath.

[redroseinsanity]

Ōmagatoki

@daisugaweek2019​ | Day 1 - Journey/Technology

Chapters: 1/7 

Summary: In the Kamakura period, a fallen samurai undertakes a journey to pray for the mountain god’s mercy as a famine threatens his people, but instead meets an enchanting tree spirit. Daichi knows that the kodama is possibly the most dangerous being he has ever encountered, and yet, he falls.

—

“What if I told you that there’s a price to pay for saving your people?”

“What kind of price?” 

“A sacrifice.”

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

Ōmagatoki (逢魔時 or 大禍時) : In the darkest stage of twilight, the moment that all light disappears. According to Toriyama Sekien, it is “first “the time of meeting yōkai, yūrei, and dark creatures”; and second, “the time of great calamity”.” 

Daichi's leg did not hurt. Sure, it ached a little, but it did not hurt. Not in the savage, burning way that it had when he had first gotten injured, not in the itchy, needle-like manner of the first few months of recovery and not even in that sharp stab of anguish when he had been told he would be able to walk but never run again.

What use was a samurai if he was nothing more than a liability on the battlefield?

The whispers of 'What a shame, to lose such a promising warrior' and 'At least he's not first born, just the third son of a powerful family', had stung more than anything.

So no, Daichi's leg did not hurt in the slightest.

It did protest a little when he had to balance on it to hoist himself up a particularly steep incline, but that was negligible.

At this stage, he was more concerned about the fact that he had been walking for hours and still had not found what he had been looking for. The rocky mountain trail was slippery from the rain and so overgrown that he was half convinced that no one had ever used it before and he was just stumbling along a random path in the forested green.

Still, it was soothing, somewhat, to be away from the stifling sympathy of the village and the masked, yet suffocating disappointment of his house. Here, all there was to contend with was cool mountain air and seemingly endless birdsong.

Under wide, seemingly continuous canopies, Daichi felt dwarfed and yet, protected by the mammoth trees that he walked among. Despite the arduous trek, he found himself smiling slightly as he made his way through the forest, put in a good mood by the fragrance of flowers in bloom and mixed scents in the air.

Put in stark juxtaposition with the fields on his land, Daichi was acutely aware that the forest he was in was what spring was meant to be like, rather than the jarringly yellow grass and wilted crops that his people were faced with. With this thought spurring him on, he picked up his pace, anxious to find a solution.

Tripping over a root for what seemed like the billionth time, he caught himself, one arm flung around a tree trunk and the other hand planted in the dirt, fingers digging into gravelly soil. Bent over and struggling to find his balance, he was completely unaware of the watchful gaze that rested on him, bright eyes in the thick of trees that were keen and contemplative.

Keep reading on AO3 or read after the cut

The sun dipped low in the horizon which made the blazing orange ball seem almost level from where Daichi was on the face of the mountain, signalling that Daichi needed to make camp and soon. While Daichi was perfectly capable of fending for himself in the wilderness, there was a reason people avoided this mountain.

The accounts passed down from elders had long become old wives' tales and yet, the people lived in fear of unnatural encounters beyond the boundaries of the Sawamura territories; where eerie singing was heard and the trees stayed green, regardless of the fact that the rest of the land was barren.

It was for this very reason that Daichi had decided to go up and search for the mountain god's shrine, to pray for their blessings and ask for the protection of his people in the face of a devastatingly poor harvest that threatened a famine in the coming winter.

Daichi needed to try this, and he needed this to work.

Sweat trickled down his neck and seeped into his sensible hitatare as he righted himself, patted the trunk and moved on, humming a melody that a bird had sung.

Looking very much as though it was melting into the clouds, the sun was sinking in a pool of pink and orange when Daichi staggered through the heavy undergrowth and burst out onto the mountain's crest.

After hours of uphill walking, he had acquired scratches across his forearms and ankles, a smear of dirt across his face from where he had wiped it after falling, and a deep, dull ache in his left leg.

Looking back at the path he'd taken, Daichi's village seemed to be the size of his palm, almost obscured from view by the lush crowns of trees. Although he could have gone on, with his stamina honed thanks to years of training, he knew that he would probably have to settle somewhere before it got too dark.

The faint rays of sunset curved and scattered across the tableau of the mountain, bathing the clearing that he was in with a radiant gold.

With a sense of serenity, Daichi surveyed the surroundings, feeling a wave of calm settle over him, and immediately froze. Drawing in a breath and steeling himself, he performed the same sweep of the trees ahead.

There.

Near the tree that was diagonally nearest to him. Daichi frowned as he focused on something that definitely was not a tree. With one hand on the hilt of his katana, he set his jaw and headed to the pale green figure half-hidden behind a strong trunk.

To his surprise, the figure seemed to hesitate before moving towards him. Daichi could see bare feet treading the field, but all he could think about was the way the mystery person seemed to move lighter than the wind, drifting almost in an elegant fashion. Around them, the birdsong cut off abruptly, rendering them in stark silence save for the whistle of the breeze.

Within seconds, they were close enough to call out to each other and still, Daichi advanced. It was in that moment that the last of the sun’s dying rays decided to cast themselves on the stranger’s face, and Daichi drew up short, stunned.

It seemed as though all of the sunset’s incandescence had been concentrated solely on illuminating a face lovelier than anything Daichi had ever seen. Luminescent skin set into brilliance with a beauty mark near his eye, sparkling hazel eyes that looked like all the colours of the forest in a single blink and lips that curved in a gentle smile. The wind flung up pale hair that caught in the sunlight like a blazing halo.

Like a veil pulled over the land, the darkness that had been encroaching swiftly descended across the sky, as did it behind Daichi’s eyelids as his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground where he stood with a solid thud.

He awoke to stars and a soft voice murmuring at his side.

“Are you alright?”

Never before had Daichi heard a voice that sounded like wind chimes and drizzled honey at the same time.

Scrambling into a sitting position with one hand flying to his blade, he blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dark and located the stranger a small distance away.

“I am fine,” Daichi supplied cautiously, it must have been the change in air or the strain of walking so long.

“Why are you here?” The stranger eased closer, the moonlight picking up a curious gleam in wide eyes.

“I come looking for a place to give offerings to the mountain god,” Daichi slowly released his katana while shifting into a guarded position.

Silence greeted that answer and Daichi was able to convince himself that he had imagined the whole thing although he could still make out the dark silhouette of the stranger, unmoving. Around them the night sounds of insects and birds seemed to hover in a muted chorus, as though they also waited in anticipation to see what the beautiful stranger had in response.

“What makes you so certain that what you’re looking for exists?” The question was hushed, barely carrying over the stalks of grass between them to land at Daichi’s feet.

“I am not,” Daichi’s honest answer came immediately, and he continued steadily, “I do not know if it does. But it has to. And because it has to, it will.”

He could have sworn he saw a glint of teeth in the darkness and the desire to actually see the stranger’s smile seized him.

“And what is your name?” An amused note had found its way into the stranger’s voice.

“Sawamura Daichi,” The words were out even as Daichi recalled an old servant’s warning not to give his name so freely outside the Sawamura borders.

“Daichi.”

In the shadowed distance between them his name was spoken like a caress, and Daichi’s ears were filled with a roaring before it dropped, the way a strong gust of wind threatens chaos then dies in an instant.

“What else do you believe, Daichi?” Daichi found himself closing his eyes, trying to savour and memorise the exact way the stranger spoke his name. He knew there was nothing they would ask that he would not answer, not when their voice sounded like clear skies and summer sun.

“I believe that I will be able to ask the mountain god to look kindly on my village, to spare them from this poor harvest,” Daichi admitted in a low tone.

“It is not as easy as asking and receiving, you know,” The counter lilted across the shrinking space separating them. Daichi took a deep breath, hands clenching into fists atop bent knees.

“I know, I… I have not much to give, but then again, I also have not much to lose.”

For a moment, Daichi truly thought he had said too much. He had not had such a long conversation with anyone since returning from the battlefront and in the drawn out, stagnant pause, he berated himself for being too tactless.

As he looked up, he was startled to find the stranger a handspan away, eyes flickering and expression too dark to discern. Then, so soft that Daichi almost mistook it for the whisper of the forest:

“So be it.”—

MY SOURCES ARE WIKIPEDIA I apologise if anything is wrong, please let me know if there are any glaring inaccuracies.

Hitatare - A two piece outfit consisting of a jacket top with long sleeves and hakama trouser bottoms. Originating as common people’s clothing, it later was worn by most people (especially of Daichi’s standing) in the Kamakura period. Nobility wore it to look practical while using expensive fabric so idk man, it’s like expensive streetwear in the 1200s. 

Katana - Traditional Japanese sword that was most often used by samurai. 

[popsicletheduck]

a shortcut to mushrooms: a secrets written in our blood short

pairings: platonic royality words: 1425 warnings: knife mention

Stormheart snorted and shook her mane as Roman finished settling the straps on her bridle. He patted the side of her neck. “Feels good to be out of that horrid mountain wind, huh girl?”

“I still don’t understand why you insist on talking to the horse,” Logan said as he tied the last of their supplies onto Stormheart’s back. “It’s not as if she can respond.

“Well I don’t talk to you and you still respond so I suppose I’m evening the score.”

Logan scoffed, and Roman prepared himself for the sharp edged retort, but instead the healer froze, looking around the small clearing among a cluster of evergreens they’d made camp in the night before.

“Where is Patton?”

Roman whirled on the spot, searching for the bard’s bright blue among the green. His pack was propped up against the base of one of the trees, his lute resting carefully against it, but Patton himself was nowhere to be seen.

“Something must’ve happened to him, I’m going to go find him!”

“Wait, Rey!” Logan was saying, but Roman was already gone. Patton was his - dare he think it?- friend, and he couldn’t let something happen to him.

He was several minutes into his search when Roman realized he didn’t actually have any idea where Patton had gone and he was just as likely going in the wrong direction as the right one. He stopped in his tracks, knee deep in a patch of bushes bright green with new leaves. He couldn’t blunder around for hours, what if Patton needed him now? There had to be something he could do, he was a prince, he should be able to find one wayward bard-

Like birdsong on the wind the music drifted back to him. Familiar and gentle, a traditional hymn to the Everlight he hadn’t heard since he was a child.

I am the dawn, I’m the new day begun.

I bring you the morning, I bring you the sun.

I hold back the night and I open the skies.

I give light to the world, I give sight to your eyes.

With a cry of delight Roman set off towards the source of the song. Like a moth to a flame he went, heedless of any obstructions in his way.

From the first of all time,

Until time is undone,

Forever and ever and ever and ever.

So focused was he, in fact, that he didn’t see the clump of rocks poking their way out of the ground in front of him. With a thud and a yelp Roman went tumbling, rolling through the dirt to end flat on his back, staring up at the blue sky above. A round cheeked face appeared in the corner of his vision.

“Rey!” Patton cried. “Are you alright? That was quite the tumble.”

Roman sat up, shaking dust from his hair. “Patton! You’re alright.”

“Well of course I am! It was just such a lovely morning that I thought I’d take a bit of a stroll and see if I could find anything good for dinner tonight before we left.”

“You just disappeared out of camp.”

“Did I?” Patton’s brow scrunched in confusion. “I thought one of you saw me go.”

“Well don’t just wander off again. Who knows what kind of dangerous beast or wild folk lurk in these parts?”

“I don’t know about that, but look!” He pointed towards the base of the rocky hill they’d spent the day before descending. “There’s a cave there, and where there’s a cave there’s bound to be mushrooms! And not to put a fungal feather in my cap but my mushroom stew doesn’t have mush-room for improvement!”

Squinting at the dark crack against the distant stone, Roman frowned. “There could also be something dangerous in there.”

“You’ve got your sword, right?” 

Roman nodded. He never went anywhere without his father’s sword settled against his hip. The weight had become another part of him.

All easy, heartwarming confidence, Patton smiled. “Then we’re fine! Now come on, it’s a beautiful day and those mushrooms aren’t going to gather themselves!”

It was a pretty day, Roman had to admit as they set off. The three of them had been climbing their way down and out of the mountainous highlands, descending to fairer and greener climes. It seemed that spring had arrived in force while they’d been among the rocks, and all the bushes and trees bore bright green buds and fresh leaves, and wildflowers in purple and white and yellow lay scattered among new shoots and soft grasses. The sun was warm and quickly banishing the last of the night’s chill; the breeze was pleasant and scented with earthy perfume of growing things. Patton picked up the thread of another song as they went, singing a happy, worldless little tune. It was, Roman decided, everything a spring morning should be and he smiled as he picked a path next to Patton’s.

The cave was perhaps a little farther away than either of them had guessed, but before too terribly long they found themselves at its mouth, the ground underfoot crunchy with pine needles and twigs.

“Hold on,” Roman said, peering into the darkness. “We don’t have any light with us, if we go in we’ll have no way of knowing if there are mushrooms in there or not.”

Glancing over to Patton, he found the bard was holding the stubby remains of a candle in one hand and a sliver of flint in the other.

“You left your pack at camp, where did you get those from?” Roman asked, bewildered.

“My pockets!”

“Why did you have them in your pockets?”

“Oh I’ve got all sorts of helpful things in there. It pays to be prepared!” Patton fumbled with the candle stump as he tried to light it one handed. 

“You’re going to drip wax on yourself if you light that.”

“True… wait, I’ve got it!” Drawing one of his knives, Patton shoved the hilt into Roman’s hand, and before Roman could even get a word out, impaled the candle onto the tip of the knife and lit it. “There we go! A candle and a candlestick. Now let’s go!”

It wasn’t a particularly big cave, it turned out, just big enough for the sunlight to not quite reach the back but not much bigger. More disappointingly, it didn’t contain a single mushroom, though Roman and Patton both did thorough searches. The rock walls were bare and the floor only contained a jumbled mix of dirt, gravel, dead leaves, and bone.

Emerging back out into the sun, Roman shook out the already sputtering candle and handed the whole contraption back to Patton. “Well that was a bust. I supposed we should be heading back.”

“Not entirely. Look!” Patton opened one of his hands, showing a number of small, roughly square bones. “Knucklebones! I lost mine ages ago, and this isn’t quite a full set, but we can figure something to do with them.”

“I’m a mean gambler,” Roman said with a smile. Remus had taught him, and Remus had always played to win.

“We’ll keep it friendly, then. But you are right, we should be getting back to Logan before he gets too worried.”

Well aware now of the problem with rocks when he wasn’t paying attention, Roman was keeping a good eye on where he was going on their way back. However, he wasn’t watching where Patton was going. Not until, with a whoop of surprise and a muted thud, Patton disappeared from where he was walking right next to him.

“I’m okay!” the bard called immediately, followed by, “Oh wow, this is really pretty. Rey, come look!”

Once again following the sound of Patton’s voice, Roman found himself looking down into a small, steep sided hollow. Ringed in waist high bushes, it was easy to miss. But the entire hollow was carpeted in white wildflowers, growing so thickly it was impossible to see the ground between them. Patton was sitting in the middle of them, gently brushing his hands over the blossoms.

“Do you think the elves made this?” he asked. “It’s certainly nice enough to be something they made.”

“Elves don’t make anything real, it’s all just magic and illusion. This is too real to be elf magic.”

“If you say so… oh!” From between the flowers Patton pulled out a long, thin, bright green stem. “This is a wild onion! It’s not quite mushrooms, but still tasty. Rey, help me look, maybe there are more of them buried here.”

[in-arlathan]

Chapter One | Read on AO3

Here’s chapter two of that Solas novella. More author notes at the end of the chapter. For summary and tags, please go back to chapter one. Enjoy! <3 ____

Chapter Two: What Lies Beyond

Solas didn’t look back when he exited the council chamber. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back, his chin raised high and walked all the way back to Mythal’s estate in fast strides. Neither did he care for the hundreds upon hundreds of people who had come to hear the news from the Hahren’al outside the palace, nor did he answer any of their questions. He simply walked and the crowd parted before him like the sea.

To them, he must look proud and confident, but that was not what he felt. His thoughts raced, as unrest settled in his guts. There was much more going on here than the Evanuris had revealed to him. He was sure of it. Yet, he needed more information before he could solve the riddle. And for that, he needed a place of peace and quiet, far away from the eyes of curious elvhen.

Luckily, he knew where he could find such a place.

Centuries ago, Mythal had granted him accommodations within all of her estates in Elvhenan, including the temple the elvhen had erected in her honor at the center of Arlathan. The edifice was nothing short of an architectural wonder, rising high above any of the other buildings within the city. In its middle stood a large stone tower, decked with intricate reliefs of Mythal’s war against the Titans that seemed to touch the very heavens. Around it, crystalline structures grew on the stone, interlaced with lush greenery and myriads of glowing flowers. 

His chambers were high up in the tower, though not on the top level. These were reserved for the All-Mother herself and served as her personal sanctuary. From her rooms, she could look far and wide, taking in all of Arlathan and the vast world beyond the floating city. Solas had been summoned to a private meeting with her in her chambers on more than one occasion and tried to replicate the marvelous view in more than one of his paintings. It went without saying that he failed miserably. The beauty of Elvhenan was too much to behold, too much to be captured in one image.

In the temple’s atrium, he was greeted by many of the spirits in service to Mythal. In fact, the All-Mother only had a handful of elvhen servants, including himself. Unlike the high keepers and priests that had sworn themselves to Dirthamen, Falon’Din and the rest of the Evanuris, Mythal’s servants had devoted themselves willingly to her and therefore enjoyed her unwavering trust. They worked side-by-side with the spirits, offering help and seeking guidance every now and then. It was a reminder of their shared past. One of the many reasons why Solas had been loyal to Mythal all these years. She had never forgotten that spirits and elvhen were, in fact, the two sides of the same coin.

“Welcome home,” a spirit of diligence said as it passed him. “We have missed you.”

Solas couldn't help but smile. “And I have missed you. All of you.”

Diligence let out a soft chuckle. “I will tell the others. They will be pleased.”

“Could I ask a favor of you, my friend?”

“How may I help you?”

“I will retire to my chambers,” he explained. “I do not wish to be disturbed until I awake from the Beyond. Could you arrange that?”

“Of course,” the spirit replied. “We will make sure that you will be left in peace.”

“Thank you,” he said, still smiling. He had almost forgotten who good the company of spirits felt. They listened without judgment. They were pure that way. 

If he could only be one of them again…

He bid the spirit goodbye and turned towards the one eluvian in the atrium. It was a gateway to another chamber within the tower and was open to any elvhen who entered the palace. Solas sighed and stepped through, passing through the realm of the Crossroads in a heartbeat. Then, he found himself in the Hall of Travels at the heart of the tower, though he had to admit it was a large corridor rather than a hall. Eluvians of various shapes and sizes had been erected to both sides, anchored in the stone walls of the tower with works of gold and greenery. Some let to far-flung corners of Elvhenan, others allowed him to move freely within the tower. The only thing required was to know which key to use.

He turned towards one of the smaller eluvians and reached out to the Beyond. In an instant, he felt its warm energy flooding through him. With his mind, he redirected it towards the eluvian and released it. The magic manifested in a gust of blue smoke streaming towards the eluvian, unlocking it. Light rippled across the mirror’s surface, welcoming him home just like the spirits had before.

Solas stepped through the eluvian and, a moment later, found himself back in his private chambers and the eluvian went dark once more. 

His chambers included a main room with an array of chairs and a couch at the center where he could receive guests as well as two seperate rooms for his personal conveniences. One served as his bedroom, the other for grooming and body care. 

At night, all of the rooms were lit by floating motes that gave off a soft green glow that reminded him of the Beyond. During the day, however, natural light streamed into the chambers through high stained-glass windows showcasing some of Mythal’s magic wonders – like her conjuring of the second moon to light the Darkest Days at the beginning of the world. Beyond that, vines climbed the stone walls, covering large parts of the windows.

By the position of the sun in the sky, Solas knew the day was about the end. The sun had already begun to set, its glowing beams peeking through the vines and illuminating the stained glass windows. Entering the grooming chamber, he started to undress. For the meeting with the Evanuris, he had changed from his dirt-soaked traveling clothes into a floating robe of green silk embroidered with elvhen writing. Though most elvhen were comfortable in this type of dress, Solas always felt more at ease wearing simpler clothing. 

He dropped the robes by the side of the washbasin and conjured new water from the Beyond to clean himself. He cupped his hands and filled them with water, then splashed the cold liquid on his face and neck. Letting out a sigh of relief, he leaned over the basin and rubbed his neck and shoulders. 

Solas knew he needed to learn more about the threat in the south before he embarked on his journey. But it wouldn’t be easy. The creature had been but a shadow and most elvhen tried not to notice it. They were too horrified by what happened to their brothers and sisters and would rather not speak of it. When Solas tried to ask them about what they had seen, they had responded in anger or had pushed him away. He couldn’t blame them. They were afraid of something they didn’t understand. 

Of course, Solas had pondered with the idea of entering the Beyond then and there, in an attempt to learn more, but the elvhen were in dire need of his help. There had been no time to enter the World of Dreams.

The only hope he had left was that maybe valor the elvhen who had fought against this dark creature had captured the attention of nearby spirits. Maybe they could help him learn more about this threat.

He cursed under his breath. It would have been easier to contact these spirits while he was in the area physically. This far away north, it would be much harder to reach out the them. But he didn’t not have the time to go back and enter the Beyond there. He would have to do it here, where he was safe. He had to try, at least. 

After he had cleaned himself, Solas changed into a set of light-brown leggings and a long flowing tunic. He kept his hair in a long braid on the top of his head, with both sides of his head shaved clean, but used magic to make it dry within a few heartbeats. 

Bare-footed, he walked across the main chamber and entered the bedroom on the other side. The room was almost empty, except for a large bed that could hold two or three people at the same time. Someone had changed the sheets for him and had lit incense of the nightstand. The familiar smell of herbs made him relax almost instantly. 

“Let’s see what we can find,” he said to himself, drawing back the linen sheets.

***

Being in the Beyond always gave him comfort. There he felt welcome, free of all bonds of physical existence. He could go wherever he wanted to seek knowledge and wisdom, far away from anyone who might keep him from it. 

Also, the Beyond lacked the presence of the Evanuris. 

Despite the fact that the elvhen gods called it home, they seldom walked the Dreaming World anymore. They were more concerned with the matters of the Waking World in which they could bend and bind everything and everyone to their will. In their lust for power, they had all but forgotten where they had come from.

Maybe that is why they had to send him, he wondered. Because he didn’t turn his eyes away from the Beyond like they had.

If it hadn’t been for Mythal, he would still be a spirit, walking freely among his brethren. He would give advice to anyone who wished to hear, and he would learn more about the world, gaining knowledge beyond the comprehension of the elvhen. But the All-Mother had called for his help in the Waking World. Unable to refuse her, he had become Solas, her servant, and had stayed with her ever since, marveling at her insight and thoughtfulness, while she relied on him for guidance.

He entered the Beyond in a place of rare beauty, lush and full of life. The area reminded him of the rainforests underneath Arlathan, with little details that seemed slightly off. Neither did he hear birdsong, nor the rustling of leaves as the wind brushed through the canopy. Instead, he heard a soft hum, the remnants of the ancient magic that had created this place.

While he walked through the woods, he saw spirits of love and compassion that tended to the trees and sang to the flowers that had all but started to grow on its branches. Spirits of hunger picked up the fruit that had fallen from the trees and shared it with each other. Solas knew they were acting out a play, emulating the life of the elvhen, but he envied them anyway.

For hours, he wandered the forest until he finally reached its borders. Beyond lay wide open plains full of ghostly grass. He looked up and raised one hand to protect his eyes from the gleaming sunlight. Unlike the spirits who formed as a reflection of the elvhen and their desires, the sun of the Beyond and the sun of the Waking World were the same thing. It encircled all states of existence, allowing both spirits and elvhen to drawn from its power. That was how Elgar’nan first learned to take on a physical form. In studying the sun, he had found a way to manifest his dreaming self in the Waking World, proclaiming himself the son of the sun and ruler over all of creation.

Solas turned his gaze to the south and squinted. Was there a streak of darkness dimming the light on the horizon or was he just making that up?

His head began to hurt and he turned away, Sighing deeply, Solas pressed his hands against his forehead. Once again, he wished he had stayed a spirit. In his spiritual form, he could have journeyed into the deepest parts of the Beyond without difficulty. He could make the journey to the southern regions to investigate in a heartbeat and carry that knowledge with him. But he was bound in his physical form, like all other elvhen. It was the price each of them paid for their ability to reshape reality. 

What must I do?, he thought.

That is when the spirit found him. 

“What is it, you are looking for, wanderer?”

Its voice was deep as thunder and older than any voice he had ever heard before. 

Solas turned in surprise and found a spirit of knowledge sitting on the trunk of a tree that had fallen by the edge of the forest. The spirit reminded him of those who worked as Archivists at the Vir Dirthara. But this one was an old woman compared to Ghil Dirthalen. He noticed wrinkles around its eyes and mouth. Even the ghostly skin looked weatherbeaten. It reminded him off…

Was this someone speaking to him from uthenara?

He knew that some of the elders had chosen to enter the eternal dream after the war with the Titans. Their bodies resided in the Waking World, while their spirit drew sustenance from the Beyond itself. He had visited one of the temples dedicated to the dreamers in uthenara when he was younger, learning everything he could about the eternal dream. Those who were able to reconnect the spirit with the Beyond had looked young and beautiful, much like the elvhen that walked the streets of Arlathan. Only those who failed to move onto this new state of existence withered away and died, despite the infusion of herbs they received to strengthen their connection to the Beyond. When he had tried to find them in the Beyond, he would never find them. It seemed like their spirits simply faded away, leaving nothing but an empty shell behind.

A cold shiver worked its way down his spine. It was much like what he had witnessed in the south.

“I’m looking for answers,” he told the spirit, or whatever it was. “Who are you?”

“You may call me Ghil Din’an,” the spirit said. 

“Andaran antish’an.”  Solas bowed slightly. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The spirit cackled. “We’ll see about that,” it replied. “So, you are looking for answers. To what questions?”

“The first one should be obvious,” Solas said and gestured towards the spirit. “Who are you? Why do you chose to look like that?”

The spirit tilted its head ever so slightly. “That are two questions at once, my elvhen friend,” it said in a tone of amusement. “But I’ll answer as best I can. Come, sit with me.”

Reluctantly, Solas sat beside the spirit on the tree trunk. 

“I am the spirit that guides those who seek death for I know it intimately,” it told him. “Many centuries ago, back when Elvhenan was still young, I was a skilled officer under Mythal’s command. I aided her in her quest for power. But when we slew the mighty Titan in her name, I felt regret for what we had done. I became weary of this world, knowing that I should have known better than to challenge the forces of nature. I entered uthenara in the hopes of finding peace in the eternal dream, and when I came back to the Beyond, I chose this spiritual form as a warning.”

“A warning?”

“Yes,” the spirit confirmed. “To warn others to mind the paths they walk, for there is no knowing what might become of them, if they are not careful.”

Solas swallowed, hard.

“I understand,” he said, although he felt like he didn’t. Not truly.

There is always more to learn , he reminded himself. 

“Have you heard about the darkness in the south?” Solas asked.

“Indeed, I have. Its doings ripple through the skies and threaten to tear this world apart.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“Do you know what it is?”

His heart sank, as the spirit shook his head. “No, sadly,” it said. “I never encountered it myself, but there were other spirits who fled from the south because of it who told me about the terrible things it did. They came to me to know if they were going to wither away like I had. They were terrified. ‘It tried to consume us’ they told me. ‘Now it is eating the elvhen alive. What should we do?’”

“So, the creature attacked the spirits first ,” Solas said, perplexed. “Why didn’t the elvhen know about this?”

“We believed it would be enough to stay away from the creature, to starve it until it disappears from our realm. We didn’t think it would turn to your kind. Besides, we spirits do like to keep to some things ourselves,” Ghil Din’an told him with a warm smile on its lips. 

“Yet, I wish you would have come to me,” Solas said sourly. “I could have offered you help.”

“And what would you do for us, I wonder,” the spirit mused. “With your physical body, you can no longer go where this creature came from. If you want to end its life, you have to remove it from the Beyond and drag it to the Waking World in its entirety. Only there, in our own reality, you will be able to face it and stand victorious.”

Solas blinked. “How do you know that I want to kill the creature?”

“I am a spirit of knowledge, my elvhen friend. That is my essence, my purpose. I look at you and I know what is on your mind. I hear you speak and I know what troubles your heart. That is why I have come here. To help you find your way. And to save your life, if I can.”

“So, you knew what I wanted to learn, all along?”

Ghil Din’an wiggled its head. “It was an educated guess.”

Solas felt his jaws go tense. “And what happens if I bring the creature to the Waking World?” he asked. 

The spirit shrugged.

“So, you don’t know? A spirit who claims to know everything?”

“I did not say that I know everything,” Ghil Din’an corrected him. “That is something you assumed. Besides, how should I know what will happen? Nobody has that kind of power.”

Solas pressed his lips together, thinking about what the spirit had told him. 

Remove it from the Beyond, he thought to himself. Drag it to the Waking World in its entirety.

But how? 

To enter the world physically, a spirit had to form a strong sense of self. It was the foundation, the frame for its physical body. Without it, no spirit could imagine a new shape and claim it as its own. It would go on reflecting the world around it, reacting the bloody past over and over again. 

Did this mean that the creature was a spirit of some kind? And if the creature originated from the Beyond, did it have a concept of itself that had allowed it to enter the Waking World, at least in part? 

Maybe it uses the spiritual essence to sustain itself, he wondered. Just like the elvhen draw energy from the Fade when they enter uthenara. 

Solas sneered. He had come here looking for answers, but all he found were more questions.

“What is so funny, my friend?”

“It is never easy, is it?” Solas asked.

Ghil Din’an looked at him, curious. “Why should it be?”

He opened his mouth, looking for a reply. When no words came, he sealed his lips once more and shook his head ever so slightly. 

“The elvhen call you Solas, don’t they?” The spirit gestured towards him, a sly smile on its lips. “You take pride in your wisdom. You should know that it is not so easily obtained.”

He had to admit that the spirit had a point. 

“Well, I guess this is it, then,” Solas mused. He stood and bowed before the spirit once more. “Though there are many more questions to be answered, I thank you for your help.”

“It was my pleasure,” Ghil Din’an said and dismissed his thanks with a waving gesture. “But if you happened to go to the Vir Dirthara again, could you please give Ghil Dirthalen my greetings? It has been a very long time since we have spoken. I want them to know that I have not forgotten.”

Despite himself, Solas smiled. “I will,” he said. “Although I am fairly sure they already aware of your affection.”

“That doesn’t mean they will not be happy to hear from me,” the spirit replied and waved at him. “Off you go no, my friend. The Waking World awaits you.”

“Goodbye,” Solas said.

And then, he woke.

___

A/N: Oh dear, this chapter involved much more Fade-talk than I expected but it was so much fun to explore Solas’s origins as a spirit. Everything is now in place to move the plot forward, yay. I hope you enjoyed reading this! The next chapter will be up tomorrow, so stay tuned for that. <3

[damienthepious]

i am running out of unique ways to say how Excite i am for Lizard Kiss Day, please understand that i am still SO EXCITE

Made A Garden (Chapter 2)

[Chapter 1] [ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Rilla’s Parents

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, (categorized as ‘other’ bc arum is nonbinary when i write him bye), Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, POV Alternating, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings

Fic Summary: Rilla’s parents take her out when they do field work. She’s a smart kid, and she knows how not to get in trouble when they’re caught up with their experiments and research. This time, they’ve taken her to an enormous, beautiful swamp, and their theory is that the monstrous presence in this place should be entirely dormant- which is why Rilla is so surprised, when she meets a monster for herself.

Chapter Summary: Little Lord Arum tries his best to keep his distance, despite his curiosity.

Notes:hehehehehehehe i am ENJOYING this fic IMMENSELY and i hope y'all are right there with me <3

~

Arum is absurdly careful to ensure that the human - Amaryllis - does not see him the next day, when she returns to the pond. He hides among the trees above, hoping that she will assume him more aquatic than he actually is. She seems… nervous, perhaps? Or at least expectant, for the first hour or so. She keeps scanning her eyes along the shore, among the foliage, and whenever there is a noise fairly close she perks up, her eyes lighting with… excitement?

Arum does not understand. Humans have not invaded his swamp before (not while he has been alive, at least) but he has read about them, in the coded journals and memoirs of his predecessors, and he has heard stories from his Keep. Humans are supposed to be… different from this. Different from her.

They are supposed to be weak, brittle, fallible, inflexible and slow-minded. Easily frightened. Easily drawn to violence by their fear, and even more vicious when frightened in a group.

Amaryllis appears neither fragile nor fearful.

She swims for hours, intermittently singing to herself (her song was what had drawn him towards her the day before, a strange, out-of-place warble among the frogsong and birdsong, a foreign sound in his wider home), and then when her strange, soft skin is over-soaked by the water she pulls herself out to sit on the bank. She finds a wide bed of moss and spreads out upon it, murmurs sphagnum girgensohnii in a pleased singsong as if she is greeting the flora. She carefully drifts her fingers across the softness before she sinks herself into the mound, and then she just- lays in the sun, for a while.

Arum is surprised to learn that humans enjoy basking, too.

Once she’s reasonably dry she pulls out a book from the little canvas bag she left on the shore and starts to write, starts to draw, and Arum creeps closer above so he can see the work of her hands. Her handwriting is clean and even, and too small to be read at a distance, but her sketches are curious. She scrawls out careful imitations of the curves of nearby ferns, then devotes some time to dragonfly wings, watching as the creatures dart along above the water, laughing her strange, high laughter when they come close to her.

When she grows tired of her book and returns to the water, Arum slinks down from the branches to the bushes, and pulls the book quietly from the bag during a long moment when Amaryllis is drifting in the water with her eyes closed.

Up close, her handwriting is full of interesting curls and curves, but it is still not quite parsable to his eye. He understands the language, certainly, but she seems to be employing a sort of shorthand he is unfamiliar with. He is still more interested in the sketches, anyway, and he nearly drops the book entirely when he sees-

Himself.

It’s a drawing of only half his face, really, from the snout up with his jaw and lower hidden beneath the surface of the water, and she captured the exact curve of his horns from memory somehow, and his eyes are glaring out from the page with wariness and- fear.

… she saw that? She saw that he was afraid?

No. He closes the book. No, of course she hadn’t seen- how could she have seen fear that was not there? Lord Arum has no reason to fear a single weak human, especially not some human child with an underdeveloped sense of self-preservation.

Arum tucks the book away again, back into the canvas bag, and while Rilla sings quietly to herself, he beats a tactical retreat.

The next day it rains, hard and relentless and cool, and Amaryllis does not return to the pond. Arum finds the large tent the humans are sheltering in after minimal searching, though.

Apparently humans are not so fond of rain. They remain inside the tent for most of the day, and he can see them in half-obscured silhouette through the cloth, through the flaps that ruffle in the wind, apparently sketching and writing in more books like the one Amaryllis keeps. They speak to each other in easy, fond tones about how certain ‘research’ should be ‘organized’, until apparently that begins to bore them.

One of the taller humans (Amaryllis’ parents? Was that what she said?) pulls out an instrument, a short-necked, pear-shaped thing with an abundance of strings, tunes it with skillful speed, and then he begins to play.

The song is adeptly performed. There are so many strings, and the human’s fingers move so nimbly Arum can barely keep tabs on them (they must have to, since he has so few digits with which to work), and then Arum is distracted from the effort of watching his playing when the three of them start to sing.

Amaryllis singing on her own was… pleasant. In a simple sort of way. A childish sort of way. And Arum is quite familiar with harmonies, of course. He hears the things the Keep is saying underneath its song, but he does still hear the song as well, and on occasion it will sing him a song he enjoys enough to sing along with. At night, typically, when he is close to sleep.

The harmony the three humans create is-

It feels familiar. It feels precisely how singing with the Keep feels.

It disquiets him, these humans and their strange-familiar song. He slips away in the rain, scrambling quick until he can no longer hear them, and then he calls for a way home.

The third day after he meets Amaryllis, he watches her as she picks her way around a patch of berry-laden bushes (not eating any of the berries, thankfully- they may look like an edible fruit, but magical flora can be quite tricky and not even Arum knows for sure if this happens to be a patch of something that would kill the human on ingestion or not), and as she wanders she becomes distracted by a grouping of overlarge purple-and-gold butterflies flouncing over her head.

She is too distracted. She does not see the danger.

Arum panics. He whips his tail down below the leaves, slips it around Amaryllis’ waist and jerks her back, just barely in time to keep her out of the way when the sickly gray-blue flower hanging from the branch ahead of her belches out a cloud of vicious, poisonous orange spores.

“Watch where you’re going,” he barks in alarm, “you stupid little human!”

He sees the moment when she recognizes his voice, and then- he panics again. He unwinds his tail from around her midsection (humans run unreasonably hot, he thinks) and clambers higher into the foliage, where she will hopefully be unable to see him.

Arum watches from his new perch as Amaryllis takes a large, careful step away from the still-hanging orange cloud, and then she aims her eyes upward, searching for him. He growls automatically, which- was the wrong thing to do, because her attention hones in close to his position and he feels compelled to scramble another branch or two away until he feels safe from her gaze.

“Ah… Arum?” she calls out, her eyes still scanning where the leaves are swaying in his wake.

Arum’s mouth curls into an unhappy frown, and he keeps deliberately quiet and still. Perhaps he can fool her into thinking that he has already gone away, and then he can leave in earnest when she runs back to her little family.

“Well…” she is still looking upward, still looking for him. “Uh… thank you for that, I think?”

“Don’t-” Arum snaps before he can stop himself, furious that she would do something so horrible as to- “Don’t thank me!”

He is still hidden from her, but obviously she knows generally where his voice is coming from, and she turns slowly on her heel as she continues to look for him, a slow half-smile curling her mouth. “I mean… I don’t know exactly what that plant is, but I figure it probably would have been pretty bad for me if I breathed any of that orange stuff in, right? And I definitely would have just walked right into it if you didn’t… kinda… you know… save me-”

“S-stop that!” Arum drops back down, just enough that he can stick his head through the leaves and scowl at her upside-down, his frill flaring with irritation and with gravity. “I did not save you, don’t be ridiculous-”

“What would you call it, then?” she asks, crossing her arms and looking up at him.

He opens his mouth to answer and- does not know. His jaw snaps shut. He tries again, with equal success, then settles for a glare as she raises an eyebrow at his lack of explanation.

“So…” she says, her voice musical, “I think you might deserve, y’know, just a little thank-you for-”

“No, I most certainly don’t.”

Amaryllis giggles, apparently unable to contain her mirth as she looks at him, and he glares automatically in response, his teeth snapping together, but then he feels his cheeks twitch and he- chokes out half a laugh of his own in response, completely unable to stop himself. He feels his his frill pull tight to his neck with mortification, and he pulls his head back up behind the leaves, where she cannot see him bury his face in his hands as he starts to scramble away.

Ridiculous ridiculous ridiculous- of course he laughed with- no, he was laughing at her, of course he was, because she’s just a silly little human, wandering and nearly getting her stupid self killed-

“Wait, don’t go!”

Scowling viciously, he pops his head back down, and Amaryllis has to turn to spy his new position. “Why not?” he snarls.

“Because-”

Arum waits. Amaryllis stares at him, and now it is her turn to work her jaw without giving an answer. After a moment, she clasps her hands together in front of herself and bites her lip.

“I… I don’t know. I just don’t want you to leave.”

Arum stares at her. He stares at her for what feels like a long time, but she does not say anything else. She does not look away from him either, her dark eyes catching the light drifting through the foliage and turning intermittently molten and deep amber, like buckwheat honey backlit by the sun.

“Don’t be foolish,” he says, his voice scratching low. “Run back to your family, little human. Clearly,” he growls, “clearly you do not belong here.”

Then, before the frown furrowing her brow can grow any further, before she can retort or respond, he bolts. He darts from branch to branch and away, his heart hammering with shame and confusion at his own actions and Amaryllis’ words, and this time she does not call after him.

He is confused by that, as well. Confused by his disappointment, when he does not hear her voice again.

[detroitbecomeyandere]

His Muse pt.3

Sunlight filtered through curtains as you opened your eyes. You looked around to see you were in a well decorated bedroom. You sat up and ran your hands along the soft blanket covering you. You glanced around to see you were alone before you brought it up to your cheek to just rub the soft material against your face.

 You pulled the blanket tighter against you as you heard the door start to open. You were pretty sure you knew where you were, but seeing Markus confirmed it. He held his hands up and walked slowly towards you. “It’s alright y/n. You’re safe here. Carl is waiting for you downstairs, I just came in to lay out your clothes for you.” He walked closer to you, his hand reaching out to brush back your hair. “I’m just checking. The wound looks alright. Will you be able to shower on your own or do you require assistance?”

 “I’m fine! It’s- I can do it alone.” You cursed yourself for the way your voice squeaked in panic at the thought of Markus helping you shower. You pulled back from his hand and curled in tighter around the blanket. “Just- please just go.” The last words came out with a whine as you closed your eyes. He kidnapped you and he’s acting as if nothing happened.

 After a long moment you could hear him walking away and closing the door behind him. You pressed your face into the blankets and prayed that it was all some nightmare. After a moment of trying not to cry you sat up then climbed out of bed. You walked over to where Markus had laid out clothes. They were all brand new and in your size. You grabbed the bra and underwear then rushed to take a quick shower. You finished in record time due to the dizzy feeling coming back and got dressed before picking up the dress and slipping that on, then the crop jacket before you finally left the room. You looked around and saw the stairs, quietly walking down them as you gripped onto the railing.

 He must have been listening for you or had Markus listening out because the moment you got to the bottom of the stairs Carl was waiting for you. He reached out and softly took your hand. “You really are a work of art my dear.” He looked up at you with a soft smile before kissing your hand. “I am so sorry for any misunderstandings between us. I didn’t want you to feel like I had invaded your privacy. You’re just so beautiful that I wanted to capture every moment of you.” You felt heat rush to your face at his words.

 Had it all been a misunderstanding? You felt yourself relax a bit and you put your other hand on his as you tried to think where you had gone wrong. Maybe you had overreacted at the painting? You pulled your gaze from your two hands and looked at his face. Carl looked so earnest, so hopeful that you felt your heart melt. You returned his smile and he patted your hand before letting go.

 “That’s my girl. Come and join me for breakfast.” Markus walked over and wheeled Carl to the dining table. You sat down next to him and Markus brought out food for the two of you. You both ate in peace, the silence broken up by the soft piano playing Markus provided. Once you were finished Carl reached over to grasp you chin in his hand, turning you towards him. “You look beautiful in that dress. Let’s go to my art room, I have a new idea in mind.”

 You nodded and followed him to the room. “Do you see those shelves over there? Where I’ve got the paints sitting? There’s just enough room for you to sit on that top shelf.” You walked over to the shelf, it did form a stair of sorts you thought as Markus held onto your hand while you walked up and sat on the top shelf. There really was just enough space for you to sit straight with your feet in front of you resting one level down.

 Carl wheeled himself over to an easel and picked up his paintbrush and pallet before looking at you. “Y/N, look at me.” You did so, trying to hide your unease with sitting so high up without anything behind you. You let your mind wander while he painted you, part of you aware of Markus cleaning and organizing around the two of you. You wondered what he did when Carl was asleep and you were at home? Did he continue to clean the house? Do laundry or prepare Carl's meals? You wondered if he continued to play piano even when Carl slept. Carl had been so silent while he painted that you jumped a little when he finally spoke up again. “I hope we don’t have a misunderstanding like last night again.” His looked up at you with twinkling blue eyes as he gave a smile. You nodded in response, not sure how to even respond to that statement. “I really am disappointed you overreacted like that. Even going so far as to try and fight against Markus?”

 You kept silent, wondering how much Markus had told him about the night before. You saw Markus walk into your field of vision behind Carl and failed to suppress a small shiver of fear as you recalled the way he pinned you against the wall, how you were entirely at his mercy. Your eyes traveled back to Carl, wondering if he knew the full story. Could he have ordered Markus to threaten you? How much was in your head and how much was him?

 Carl must have noticed your shiver. “Is it too cold y/n? Markus, would you grab that lovely shawl for her to use? We can’t have you catching a chill now, can we?” He smiled towards you as Markus disappeared back into the house and returned a few minutes later with a lovely shawl that went well with the dress you were wearing. You took it from with with a smile and refusing to meet his eyes. You wrapped it around your shoulders and pulled it tight, hoping to draw some comfort from it.

 After a little while Carl spoke up again. “I think that’s it for now darling. I can finish this without you now. Why don’t you entertain yourself while I paint?” You nodded, taking Markus’s hand as he helped you down.

 “Thank you Carl.” You kept your eyes away from Markus as you scurried out of the room. You found yourself walking back up the stairs and into the room you woke up in that morning. Once the door behind you was closed you flopped down onto the bed. It really was sinful how soft the blankets were. You pushed the thought aside as you curled up on your side, wondering what you could even do.

 You sighed as you rolled over, your shoulder dully throbbing from the weight you put on it. After a moment of staring at the ceiling you sat back up. The blanket was so soft you wrapped it around yourself as you got out of the bed and started to look around the room. You wondered if it was just a guest room or supposed to be yours. You walked over to the window and looked outside, the view was beautiful you thought as you sat down on the window seat. You leaned back so you were looking up at the treetops. It was peaceful.

 The muted sounds of birdsong lulled you into a nap. You were still exhausted from the night before. The sun was getting low in the sky by the time you woke up again. You turned towards the door when it opened, too tired to fight against whatever was going on. Carl wheeled over to you and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Come along my flower. I have a wonderful dinner planned for you.”

 He placed a kiss on your hand and wheeled back so you could have space to get up. You followed behind him and waited as Markus helped him into the chair-rail. You walked down the stairs with Carl, part of you amused at how fast that thing actually was as he passed you. Once Markus helped him back into his chair you followed the two of them back to the dining table.

 You gave a smile at seeing he’d set up a candlelight dinner for the two of you. Markus pulled back a chair for you to sit in and pushed your chair in for you. You both ate in silence, occasionally Carl reaching over to brush back a lock of hair, or just trace an invisible line along your arm.

 It was a pleasant evening, a stark contrast to the evening before. You weren’t sure how to feel about the whole situation. “Stay.” Just one word, a gentle grasp onto your wrist and you complied. You stayed with him as he read you poetry. You stayed the night, letting Markus escort you to the room from before before Carl went to bed.

~Submitted by Birooksun, sorry part 3 and 4 got mixed up!! But still wonderful as always!

[birooksun]

His Muse pt.3

Read on AO3! (part 1) (part 2)

Sunlight filtered through curtains as you opened your eyes. You looked around to see you were in a well decorated bedroom. You sat up and ran your hands along the soft blanket covering you. You glanced around to see you were alone before you brought it up to your cheek to just rub the soft material against your face.

You pulled the blanket tighter against you as you heard the door start to open. You were pretty sure you knew where you were, but seeing Markus confirmed it. He held his hands up and walked slowly towards you. “It’s alright y/n. You’re safe here. Carl is waiting for you downstairs, I just came in to lay out your clothes for you.” He walked closer to you, his hand reaching out to brush back your hair. “I’m just checking. The wound looks alright. Will you be able to shower on your own or do you require assistance?”

“I’m fine! It’s- I can do it alone.” You cursed yourself for the way your voice squeaked in panic at the thought of Markus helping you shower. You pulled back from his hand and curled in tighter around the blanket. “Just- please just go.” The last words came out with a whine as you closed your eyes. He kidnapped you and he’s acting as if nothing happened.

After a long moment you could hear him walking away and closing the door behind him. You pressed your face into the blankets and prayed that it was all some nightmare. After a moment of trying not to cry you sat up then climbed out of bed. You walked over to where Markus had laid out clothes. They were all brand new and in your size. You grabbed the bra and underwear then rushed to take a quick shower. You finished in record time due to the dizzy feeling coming back and got dressed before picking up the dress and slipping that on, then the crop jacket before you finally left the room. You looked around and saw the stairs, quietly walking down them as you gripped onto the railing.

He must have been listening for you or had Markus listening out because the moment you got to the bottom of the stairs Carl was waiting for you. He reached out and softly took your hand. “You really are a work of art my dear.” He looked up at you with a soft smile before kissing your hand. “I am so sorry for any misunderstandings between us. I didn’t want you to feel like I had invaded your privacy. You’re just so beautiful that I wanted to capture every moment of you.” You felt heat rush to your face at his words.

Had it all been a misunderstanding? You felt yourself relax a bit and you put your other hand on his as you tried to think where you had gone wrong. Maybe you had overreacted at the painting? You pulled your gaze from your two hands and looked at his face. Carl looked so earnest, so hopeful that you felt your heart melt. You returned his smile and he patted your hand before letting go.

“That’s my girl. Come and join me for breakfast.” Markus walked over and wheeled Carl to the dining table. You sat down next to him and Markus brought out food for the two of you. You both ate in peace, the silence broken up by the soft piano playing Markus provided. Once you were finished Carl reached over to grasp you chin in his hand, turning you towards him. “You look beautiful in that dress. Let’s go to my art room, I have a new idea in mind.”

You nodded and followed him to the room. “Do you see those shelves over there? Where I’ve got the paints sitting? There’s just enough room for you to sit on that top shelf.” You walked over to the shelf, it did form a stair of sorts you thought as Markus held onto your hand while you walked up and sat on the top shelf. There really was just enough space for you to sit straight with your feet in front of you resting one level down.

Carl wheeled himself over to an easel and picked up his paintbrush and pallet before looking at you. “Y/N, look at me.” You did so, trying to hide your unease with sitting so high up without anything behind you. You let your mind wander while he painted you, part of you aware of Markus cleaning and organizing around the two of you. You wondered what he did when Carl was asleep and you were at home? Did he continue to clean the house? Do laundry or prepare Carl's meals? You wondered if he continued to play piano even when Carl slept. Carl had been so silent while he painted that you jumped a little when he finally spoke up again. “I hope we don’t have a misunderstanding like last night again.” His looked up at you with twinkling blue eyes as he gave a smile. You nodded in response, not sure how to even respond to that statement. “I really am disappointed you overreacted like that. Even going so far as to try and fight against Markus?”

You kept silent, wondering how much Markus had told him about the night before. You saw Markus walk into your field of vision behind Carl and failed to suppress a small shiver of fear as you recalled the way he pinned you against the wall, how you were entirely at his mercy. Your eyes traveled back to Carl, wondering if he knew the full story. Could he have ordered Markus to threaten you? How much was in your head and how much was him?

Carl must have noticed your shiver. “Is it too cold y/n? Markus, would you grab that lovely shawl for her to use? We can’t have you catching a chill now, can we?” He smiled towards you as Markus disappeared back into the house and returned a few minutes later with a lovely shawl that went well with the dress you were wearing. You took it from with with a smile and refusing to meet his eyes. You wrapped it around your shoulders and pulled it tight, hoping to draw some comfort from it.

After a little while Carl spoke up again. “I think that’s it for now darling. I can finish this without you now. Why don’t you entertain yourself while I paint?” You nodded, taking Markus’s hand as he helped you down.

“Thank you Carl.” You kept your eyes away from Markus as you scurried out of the room. You found yourself walking back up the stairs and into the room you woke up in that morning. Once the door behind you was closed you flopped down onto the bed. It really was sinful how soft the blankets were. You pushed the thought aside as you curled up on your side, wondering what you could even do.

You sighed as you rolled over, your shoulder dully throbbing from the weight you put on it. After a moment of staring at the ceiling you sat back up. The blanket was so soft you wrapped it around yourself as you got out of the bed and started to look around the room. You wondered if it was just a guest room or supposed to be yours. You walked over to the window and looked outside, the view was beautiful you thought as you sat down on the window seat. You leaned back so you were looking up at the treetops. It was peaceful.

The muted sounds of birdsong lulled you into a nap. You were still exhausted from the night before. The sun was getting low in the sky by the time you woke up again. You turned towards the door when it opened, too tired to fight against whatever was going on. Carl wheeled over to you and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Come along my flower. I have a wonderful dinner planned for you.”

He placed a kiss on your hand and wheeled back so you could have space to get up. You followed behind him and waited as Markus helped him into the chair-rail. You walked down the stairs with Carl, part of you amused at how fast that thing actually was as he passed you. Once Markus helped him back into his chair you followed the two of them back to the dining table.

You gave a smile at seeing he’d set up a candlelight dinner for the two of you. Markus pulled back a chair for you to sit in and pushed your chair in for you. You both ate in silence, occasionally Carl reaching over to brush back a lock of hair, or just trace an invisible line along your arm.

It was a pleasant evening, a stark contrast to the evening before. You weren’t sure how to feel about the whole situation. “Stay.” Just one word, a gentle grasp onto your wrist and you complied. You stayed with him as he read you poetry. You stayed the night, letting Markus escort you to the room from before before Carl went to bed.

[outlanderfandomproject]

Barks and Glances

Fic collab by @kkruml​, @smoakingwaffles​ and @whiskynottea 

Hey guys, @whiskynottea  Pongo here, bringing you the fourth chapter of Barks and Glances! Woof (enjoy)!

Previously Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

poster by @smoakingwaffles

Chapter 4. A home for four (by @whiskynottea)

(Ahhh let me stretch for a while… I've spent the last thirty minutes sitting by the window with my beautiful Perdita, looking at the passers-by. But a dog has to move once in a while, you know.

Okay, I’m ready to start now.)

Hey guys! It’s Pongo again!

Did you miss me?

Oh, come on, confess it. You did miss me.

It’s okay, you know, because I missed you, too!

I have so many news to share with you, that you better sink into a couch and make yourself a cuppa. Is this what you humans call it? I think so.

Coffee, tea, or a whisky - drink whatever you like. I would personally go with milk, in case you have some to spare.

Ready?

Okay, let me take this from the very beginning…

After my ingenious idea to drag Jamie to the park earlier than usual so he would meet Claire, these two goobers couldn’t take their eyes off each other.

And let me tell you all it took me was a minute (okay maybe two) to charm my beautiful Perdita. She couldn’t resist to this adorable, wet, chocolate lab, you see.

Anyway.

Jamie brought Claire and Perdy back to our house - which was a world’s first - and he made Claire tea while she waited for her clothes to dry. The clothes never dried, however, so both lasses left our place with the promise to meet again. Maybe my charm - and Jamie’s - played a role on this decision as well, but the clothes were the perfect excuse.

And now, between you and me, I have to admit that I hadn’t thought of getting them all wet in the pond beforehand. But it turned out pretty well, don’t you think?

Jamie started whistling the day he met Claire. I’ve never heard such a sound before, but his tuneless, poor imitation of a birdsong didn’t seem to dishearten him. Next thing, he got obsessed with his phone. He never let it far from his gaze and he texted like a maniac. As a result, he had banged his toes onto every furniture in our house, waking me up more than once with his boisterous shouts and swears. The man has a loud voice! The same voice, however, transformed into a smooth, deep and low one when Jamie was on the phone with Claire. It was the first time I heard him murmuring sweet nothings to the wee machine, with his cheeks and neck blooming red.

My ginger human was very much in love with Perdy’s curly one, and luckily the Sassenach, as he called her, returned his feelings.

After that first day, I met my beautiful blondie every day at the park. Our walk schedule became irregular after meeting them, and if it wasn’t for Perdy I would protest, barking loudly to wake everybody up when Jamie woke me up at six o’clock in the morning to go for a walk.

More than once.

Claire and Perdy, you see, didn’t have standard hours for their walks because of Claire’s shifts and we - lovesick puppies as we were - just followed their schedule.

It took approximately one month of sleepy walks for Jamie to realize that Claire was the human of his life and that there was no reason to wait anymore. The truth was loud and clear from the very beginning; she was his and he was hers. So he decided to put a collar on her. Humans don’t wear their collars on the neck - the choose tiny ones and they wear them on their fingers. They are strange creatures, indeed.  

In front of the same pond I bound them together that first day, Jamie proposed to her. Claire said yes, jumping on him and taking him off guard, only to end up in the pond once again. This time though, they were kissing.

And kissing.

And kissing.

And I honestly thought we would never go home.

But, eventually, they stopped.

So we had a wedding.

The bride was the most beautiful lass I’ve ever seen. Her golden fur was shining under the sun, each hair glittering like it was made from little diamonds and -

Wait, what? You’re more interested in Claire?

Perdy was wonderful but since you insist… Claire looked nice, too. Okay, I’m lying. You got me!

Claire was captivating.

She wore a simple white dress and had tiny flowers pinned in her hair. Don’t ask me for more details, I’m just a dog, I don’t care about fashion. But I think it was a miracle that Jamie’s eyes didn’t pop out and fall on the floor, being so wide open when he first saw her. One would imagine that he was staring at a gigantic stake or a bucket of pasta, but no. It was just Claire.

At this moment I thought that Claire might be a fairy - and Jamie was enchanted by her. Judging from the foolish way he smiled as she was coming closer, he was absolutely fine with it.

And like this, two lonely bachelors became two family men - okay a man and a dog - starting their new lives.

Everything changed from the moment Perdy and Claire moved to our house.

Remember what I told you about Jamie’s paints and drawings, strewn all around our living room? Well, you can forget that now. Jamie has moved all his stuff in the attic, where he spends almost all day, preparing for his exhibition. With every passing day, Jamie becomes even more anxious about it. The drumming of his fingers against his thigh almost never stops, unless Claire takes his fingers in hers and kisses him softly. She does her magic then, I’m sure, because Jamie smiles again, looking peaceful and relaxed. With renewed vigor, he heads back to the attic.

This is exactly where he is right now.

Claire came back home about an hour ago and now I can hear her in the kitchen, humming along with the cabinets’ opening and closing, as she prepares tea. She is filling the kettle with water and now… yes. She’s going to the attic to bring Jamie down. Good, because we always get to play when it’s tea time!

Apart from the days when he comes. He calls Jamie’s name with an accent similar to Claire’s, but his voice is slimy, dripping and disgusting.

The Duke of Sandringham.

He has an air of superiority around him, wearing his expensive clothes and having his own driver waiting outside our house for as long as each visit lasts. He walks around our small house, fidgeting with our things and all I want to do is to bark his ears off until he vanishes completely from our lives. But I try my best and keep myself under control. Being a good boy is so hard.

The Duke always comes around tea time, orders Claire to make his tea as if she’s working for him, and once the tea is ready he goes straight up to the attic to find Jamie. They close the door and he values Jamie’s art while Claire digs a trail on the carpet with her feet, waiting. I know she’d swear if she could, but Jamie asked from all of us to be patient. He says the Duke is just weird.

I think he is an arsehole.

There is something evil in this man, and I can see it clearly when Jamie accompanies him downstairs after they’ve finished the inspection. He’s usually praising Jamie for his masterful, inspiring artwork as he descends the stairs, talking about a fabulous exhibition to come, but he has a strange glint in his eye that I don’t like. I can sense that he’s hiding the truth and Perdy agrees with me. Women have better intuition anyway, and I trust her. And I’m sure that Claire hates the way the Duke kisses her hand every time before heading to the door.

But Jamie… Oh, Jamie lives in a parallel universe. He says the Duke might be eccentric but is his agent and that he trusts him. Jamie insists that these visits are necessary, to make sure that the exhibition will be successful. And while he says all that, his fingers keep drumming against his thigh, his lips just a thin line.

My ginger is anxious and scared. He is more afraid than what he shows. One night that I heard noises coming from the attic, I went there to find Jamie sitting in the darkness, in the corner of the room. In my rush to ran towards him, I bumped head-first onto a painting and felt the fresh paint coloring my nose. That was disgusting, I’m telling you! Whining, I finally reached Jamie and lay next to him and with my head on his lap. I was sleepy, but I couldn't leave my human alone. We stayed awake until the first morning light, when Claire came back home and took us to bed.

Claire had her hair in a messy bun that day. Now, as she’s coming back into the living room, her curls fly free all around her face, framing her beautiful smile. She comes towards us, patting my head and scratching Perdy’s ear and I let a content woof as I snuggle closer to Perdita.

Ahh, love. It feels so good.

“Jamie, tea will be ready in five minutes!” Claire is saying as she moves up the stairs, before she opens the attic door gently. “Love?”

“Aye, Sassenach. I’m coming.” As Claire turns to leave, a stray sun beam colors her brown hair a beautiful auburn. “Mo nighean donn,” Jamie whispers, and his voice is barely audible, (but I’m a dog and as you know I can hear much better than you). Jamie always sees colors around him, waiting to be touched by his brushes, but nothing entrances him more than Claire. He raises from his stool and goes to meet her at the door, taking her in his arms while he kisses her lips.

I don’t think we’ll have tea any time soon.

“Jamie,” she says softly. “The kettle…”

“The kettle can wait, Sassenach. Everything else can wait.”

The attic’s door closes softly, hiding them from us and the world.

I don’t hear any nervous drumming of fingers behind that door anymore. All I can hear is two drumming hearts, and that makes me feel that everything is going to be alright.

[ardynium]

Saving a chococo

New part! Next to no heartbreakey this time! Still for @chocobutt-trash. And I’m really excited for your cos.

#cor leonis #vision quest #prompto (in pieces)

Read the next part at AO3

or down below...

It took him a while to find his path again, even though the spiders seemed on his side now, opening shortcuts and building bridges over gaps in the ground. Back to the river it was, or a river at least. Cor was not sure if it was the same one, not because a man could not cross the same river twice, but because it was wider, its waters dark and deep and angry, smelling like the sea and violets.

He never particularly cared for flowers, but he once had an instructor for close combat that had a fondness for those tiny little perfumed pastilles made from sugar and crushed petals, and every time he found himself tackled to the ground, hot violet breath near his face, he grew to know and despise their smell a little more.

Cor was sure that other people would have found this place wildly romantic, for as he walked on, lush green started covering the banks, filled with tiny white and lilac blossoms. Even the trees slowly exchanged their dress of spider-silk with green leaves, and he noticed that fewer and fewer of his eight-legged companions dared to travel with him.

The mist was still here, drowning out something that made him think of birdsong first, but note by note he realised that no bird could sing this way. As he concentrated on the repeating pattern he heard over the white noise of the world, he recognized it as a stringed instrument, a violin or a fiddle maybe, like the one ginger bloke with the unintelligible accent in his favorite pub at home in Insomnia played, the one who had teached him to drink like a man, the one whose songs were sad enough to bathe the whole room in tears, the one whose name was on the tip of Cor's tongue, but refused to come out, hiding in a safe corner of his mind.

The Immortal shook his head like a dog after a bath. This was wrong. Not his way to think. During deployment he was an empty shell, trained well enough to automate any response, always focused on the task at hand, not getting lost in useless memories. He counted the length of his breaths, the length of the pauses inbetween, and the world got a little bit clearer. The melody was distinct now, a leitmotif repeating and changing, melting into parts of different melodies he almost remembered, and he felt them tearing at the corners of his consciousness. The idea to simply let his mind wander, to follow them to half-forgotten places, was strangely alluring. His hand reached for Forfex underneath his jacket, and only the touch of the cold metal – still cold, even so close to his body – set him at ease. He was here, and he was a blade, forged for duty.

And yet, a day in summer, a lazy nap in the shade of a tree, a beautiful face in white clothing bringing them both strong wine, drinking from their mouth, and it felt like ages ago, when he was young, and...

His grip around Forfex grew stronger, and he groaned. Was this memory even his own? Focus, by the Six, focus on your rage and your stubborness. Be a mule.

He trudged along the river's edge, leaving footprints in the green that had vanished before he even completed the next step. Full of life, full of growth, but yet, it was but a copy of a copy, faded and reworked into something that was not even close to the real thing.

He knew he still was on the right way, he just wished it led into any other direction, and soon enough it did.

Gilgamesh's arm pointed to the other side of the stream. Cor kept on walking, hoping to find a bridge or a ford, some way to cross the waters without trying to swim. He had used a branch from one of the trees to test the depths of the dark river, but the currents had almost ripped it from his hands before it was even fully submerged, and drowning here was not an option.

“You are looking for something?”

The traveller jerked around. There was a flat stone in the middle of the waves now that had not been there before, and on it a man, a magnificent creature like an ancient statue, his muscles and his hair rippled and shiny like the surface of the water. A loose white shirt barely hid his bronze skin, and eyes as dark as the river gazed at Cor in mild amusement.

Indeed, it was a fiddle the Immortal had heard, and it rested pale as bone in the man's lap, and he bit the inside of his lip to supress his reflex to draw Forfex here and now.

“For a way over the waters, yeah”, he managed, trying to show nothing but matter-of-factness and a face made of stone. He had taken an immediate dislike to the guy with the fiddle, as he lounged luxuriously on the grey and golden stone, every little movement indicating he was the lord of this place, a narcissistic bastard or a nobody that was way too full of himself.

“Oh, is that so?” A chuckle like gurgling water. “But I see you at least brought the proper fee to cover what you'd owe me for that. Even though, looking at you, you did so unknowingly or by a lucky accident.”

“And what is that supposed to be?” That came out as harsh as he felt, not as he wanted to say it. He was determined to stay polite, but the fiddler rubbed him the wrong way, and this whole place made emotions that usually stayed well under cover bubble up to the surface, and he hated this place, and he was scared and he remembered all those damn times when he was a kid and scared to death and...

Be. A. Mule.

Show your teeth. Grin and bear it and kick him at the next opportunity.

Be a mule.

“The heart of a child, so it may play with the others below the waves and will be lonesome nevermore.” His fingenails glid over the strings, creating a tiny melody, a lullaby perhaps, written in the rare times when there was no war and it was sure you'd wake in the morning.

Cor shook his head. “That is not mine to give.”

“It is my price. You may try to find another way to cross the river, but you will drown and sink to the ground and those who live there will eat you whole.” The fiddler smiled with way too many teeth.

“Is there no other way?”

Cor felt himself measured, estimated and found worthy. Interesting enough, but barely so.

“A kiss. That is all.”

“You will help me and all I carry cross this river for a kiss?”

“Ah, somebody tought you well enough to think about and formulate those clauses beforehand. Very well. I will bring you and everything you carry to the other side of the river, for the price of a kiss. And yes, in the same condition you are in now.”

Cor was cut short by those words, for he indeed just wanted to add that. A kiss. It sounded acceptable. That would not be the first man he kissed. Maybe the strangest.

“And how do we...?”

The stone rose a bit, then a bit more. A big turtle, crafted from grey stone, shimmering an sparkling where the water had been, and it carried its passenger towards the bank, and as the fiddler rose on its shell, Cor was not sure if he saw legs or the tail of a serpent of the fins of a fish or all at once.

“One step closer, my sweet traveler. Bow down to me, so I may reach those lips made of honey and wine.” A hand, cold and wet like the waves, stretched out, gently pulling the soldier's collar down, and as their lips met, Cor dove into those dark eyes like into the sea, and the waves crashed over him, and he was back at the seaside at home, sweaty from training. They started their jogs in the early morning, before the sun rose, so they could be back to the academy before the training started, and Philomelus had beamed at him and dragged him into the salty waters, and they had dunked each other and giggled like the boys they were, and as they came up from the waves and the sky was pink and blue and golden and their bodies were so close to each other, they shared a kiss. It was the first one, shy and clumsy, and they dove under the surface giggling like mad, but still hand in hand.

When he woke on the other side of the river, he was dry and felt well rested, better rested since he had been since days. Forfex was there, and the hand was in his, and the clockwork heart under his jacket, and still, he felt like he had given away something precious, something irreplaceable.

He turned the heart in his hands, wondering what it might have been and then, on a whim, he placed a kiss on it, for the poor boy had deserved at least one, even when it came too late.

As he held it to the thin skin of his lips, his eyes closed, he felt it was still beating. Slow and faint, but steady, and his own heart stood still for a moment, overwhelmed by the rare feeling of happiness.

[allyinthekeyofx]

Dreamcatcher - Chapters 8 & 9

Prologue & chapter 1   Chapters 2 & 3   Chapters 4 & 5  Chapters 6 & 7

Eeazy Sleep Motel Cleveland Ohio May 4th 3:59am

Scully was hot.

Uncomfortably hot actually and through a haze of awakening senses she wondered if the air conditioning was malfunctioning. Sure, they had enjoyed an unseasonably warm spring this year, but the nights were still cool enough to warrant at least one blanket - if not two.

She flipped over on her back, groaning softly as she did so, feeling the tangled mass of sheets twisting around her legs. Her pajamas, usually so comfortable, felt like a lead weight against her burning skin, a fine sheen of perspiration making them cling unpleasantly to her.

"Wake up Dana...before Mom and Dad hear us..."

Melissa?

Scully burrowed her head further into the pillow, feeling it mould itself against her face, eyes closed and still half immersed in dreams she hovered on the edges of sleep.

"Go 'way Missy. It's too early..."

Her voice was soft, almost imperceptible.

Childlike.

Scully squeezed her eyes closed again. Determined that she should be permitted to drift back to sleep.

And then...

"Dana Katherine Scully, I expect you down here in five minutes. Don't make me come up there and fetch you!"

Scully's eyes flew open as she bolted upright, heart racing as the voice reverberated around her head.

MOM??

Blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Scully appraised her surroundings. Disoriented as she was by the unfamiliar room, it took her a couple of seconds to realize where she was.

Motel room.

Ohio.

Case.

A dream.

Nothing more.

Scully allowed a small smile to curve her lips as she remembered her mother's patented method of persuading her less than enthusiastic daughter to drag herself out of bed in the mornings. It was a threat she used on all her children, but only Bill had ever pushed her to the limits, testing her resolve with typical boyish arrogance, wondering just what fate would befall him if he chose to ignore his mother's warning.

She suspected that even her mother had not really thought it through enough to formulate a plan should one of her offspring not react to her calls. But the sight of Margaret Scully sweeping up the stairs, clutching the pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice in her hand, would remain in Scully's memory forever.

They had followed her, giggling in in delicious anticipation -Melissa leading the way, Dana second with little Charlie tagging along behind, screaming with laughter as Margaret stomped into Bill's bedroom to deposit the pitcher's contents, pulp and all, squarely over his tousled head.

His eleven-year-old male pride had taken a severe battering that day. One which the whole family, but Dana in particular, had taken great delight in reminding him of throughout his teenage years.

None of the Scully offspring had ever been late down to breakfast again.

"I guessed that would work."

“What”?

Scully whirled around to confront the voice that came from somewhere to her right, reaching blindly for the gun she had left on the night stand as she did so.

It wasn't there.

Her hand groped wildly, connecting with nothing more substantial than fresh air, and her eyes widened as she realized that the dim outlines of the room's furniture had disappeared.

That the room had disappeared.

No longer tangled in sheets and blankets, she was surrounded by blackness.

An oily, all-consuming darkness that pressed in on her, stealing away her breath, squeezing painfully at her chest.

She was conscious of being in an upright position, although she could feel no surface beneath her bare feet.

This is a dream. I've fallen asleep again.

"You're not asleep, Agent Scully...but you're not exactly awake either."

That voice again, familiar in ways she as yet couldn't fathom, reaching out to her through the blackness.

A child's voice, but not a young child. There was no threat in the tone of the voice, in fact, it seemed devoid of any emotion at all.

And then, out of the darkness she began to make out the form of a young girl, a young girl who seemed vaguely recognizable as she came toward her, hand outstretched before her, she seemed to float toward Scully.

Like an angel, she was surrounded by a hazy ethereal glow that shimmered softly, undulating with every step she took. Her long blonde hair lay softly against her shoulders, and as she came closer Scully could make out the china blue eyes, eyes that seemed to penetrate her soul as they searched the face of the woman before her.

Scully saw no danger in those eyes, just a deep, yearning sadness that pulled at her heart.

The eyes of a child who has seen a lifetime of horror.

The eyes of a survivor.

She was conscious that the heat in the room had disappeared, to be replaced with a delicious coolness that washed over her body, a breeze lifting her hair to waft gently around her face as the child came to a halt before her.

Scully allowed herself to breathe again. She knew, somehow, that there was nothing to fear from this child, and she accepted the touch of the cool fingers that tentatively reached for her own, holding onto them as she locked eyes with her.

"We knew you'd come."

Scully shook her head.

"I don't understand. Why are you here?"

Her voice trailed off as Felicia Slabbert raised one slender finger until it rested against Scully's lips.

"Sssshhhhhh! Not here. He'll hear you. Come with me."

XXXX

Scully tilted her face up toward the deep blue sky, feeling the warmth of the sun's rays against her skin.

She was seated opposite Felicia atop a grassy knoll covered in impossibly large daisies that attracted the most beautiful butterflies Scully had ever seen. An array of dazzling, ever changing colours, the butterflies dipped and danced between them, seemingly unafraid of their presence.

Off in the distance Scully could just make out the ocean, its surface made up of a million sparkling diamonds that caught the sun's rays. It should, by rights, have hurt her eyes, made her squint against the brilliance, but she found she could settle her gaze upon it without fear of harm.

It was so peaceful, with only the sound of twittering birdsong to disturb the peace and quiet of this green paradise.

For a long while they didn't speak, and Scully was content just to drink in her surroundings. She didn't pretend to understand what was happening, how she had gotten here, and truthfully, it just didn't seem matter.

The how and why were of no significance to her now.

"It's so beautiful," she ventured finally.

Felicia dropped her eyes to the ground. Busying her fingers, she plucked at a daisy, snapping its fragile stem with one deft action and holding it out toward Scully.

"Nothing is beautiful here, Agent Scully. It's all an illusion."

Scully watched in fascinated silence as the blossom in Felicia's outstretched hand began to writhe and twist against its confines. Its stem beginning to pulse sickeningly before it split halfway up, revealing a thick yellowish ooze that pooled against the girl's delicate fingers and dripped in glistening, squirming droplets to the ground. The grass beneath it withered instantly, curling and crisping as though touched by fire.

The blossom itself seemed to turn in upon itself, its centre splitting to reveal a nest of what Scully could only guess was the larval stage of some as yet unimagined insect. Nestled within the glistening folds of the flower, womb-like, protected by a thin layer of mucus, the insects turned lazily.

Feeling the bile rising in the back of her throat, Scully slammed her eyes shut.

This is a nightmare. This is not happening.

"Now look again, Dana."

And even while the ever present voice of reason was still screaming at her that this couldn't be so, Scully found herself acquiescing to the child's wishes.

She opened her eyes and focused on the daisy.

So white it appeared almost silver in the sunlight.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

Fragrant.

Innocent.

"Take it. It's OK," Felicia urged. "This is how you are meant to see it. It's always like this in the beginning."

"The beginning?"

Scully allowed Felicia to hand her the flower. Its stem was almost velvety in texture. Warm and soft in her hand.

"I don't understand. Where are we?"

"In the Dreamcatcher. Snared in its web like insects. Captured for eternity or until the sun burns us away. This is how it captures us. It lures us away with promises of sunshine, of everlasting summer days. Of a land where all our dreams come true....But slowly, slowly it shows its true purpose."

Scully felt her heart beginning to beat painfully against her chest as she listened to the child's words. This couldn't be happening. This was just a dream, brought on by Mulders words. Words that had lulled her to sleep.

"Its true purpose?"

Her voice sounded faint, far away, a faint buzzing in her ears making it difficult to think clearly.

Felicia's eyes filled with tears, which quickly began to make a glistening trail across her cheeks.

"It steals our dreams and leaves us only with our deepest nightmares."

She pointed to an area out of Scully's immediate field of vision, and closed her eyes as the woman before her twisted to see what it was that had commanded her attention.

The tears ran faster, unchecked, as Felicia finally broke down completely, slamming her hands over her ears in a vain attempt to block out the sound of Scully's screams.

XXXX

5:05a.m.

"EMILYYYYYYYY!"

The sound of his partner screaming was enough to propel Mulder tumbling out of bed and halfway to the connecting door before the sound had even fully registered in his mind. His forward momentum carried him into Scully's room, and for a heart-stopping second he couldn't see her.

The bed, its covers rumpled, was empty.

But then, as he became fully aware, he heard her again.

Sobbing, rasping his name as she tried to draw breath.

Huddled in a corner, cheek pressed up against the wall, eyes squeezed tightly shut against whatever horror she had visited in her dreams to make her cry out her daughter's name, his partner whimpered softly.

Mulder clamped down on the basic urge to just get to her as quickly as possible and forced himself to approach slowly, cautiously. Right now he had no way of knowing whether she was asleep or awake.

He knew enough about nightmares though to be painfully aware that, even if it was not strictly true that waking someone in the grips of a bad dream could cause irreversible damage, it was certainly true that the sufferer would be disorientated. He had no wish to add to Scully's panic.

As he got closer, he could see her eyes had opened, her lashes wet with the tears that still clung to them. Beyond that, though, he had no idea as to her state of mind.

Careful not to touch her, he hunkered down in front of her, hardly breathing as he whispered her name.

"Scully?"

In response to his voice, Mulder was rewarded when her eyes focused on him.

Wherever she was, she could hear him.

Could recognize him.

But even as she relaxed slightly, he could see the lingering terror in her expression, and his throat tightened as he watched the tears once again pool in her luminous blue eyes.

"Ssshhh, Scully. It's okay. You're safe. It was just a bad dream."

Cupping her face in his hands, he used his thumbs to gently wipe the wetness from her cheeks. Still he hardly dared to breathe lest he frighten her more than she already was.

"Muh...Mulder?"

He had to strain to hear her. His name was the merest whisper on her trembling lips as she reached out for him.

"It's okay. Ssshhh, Scully. I'm here."

Then, as he watched the recognition snap into her expression, he allowed her to bolt into the security of his waiting arms, enveloping her in his embrace as she sobbed against his chest. Her hands clutched at his shirt as he rocked her gently against him.

In between her choking sobs, she managed to gasp out a few words, which although muffled, made some sort of sense to him.

A dream.

A nightmare in which her dead daughter had a starring role.

As real to her as he was now.

Mulder knew firsthand the numbing power of nightmares; too many nights waking up with the sound of his own screaming reverberating around his apartment had taught him well.

Seeking to calm her, he began to stroke his palm in rhythmic motions from the crown of her head to her shoulders, whispering assurances to her all the while. He was rewarded finally when her trembling stilled and she was able to once again lift her head from where she had buried it against the folds of his T-shirt.

"You okay?"

A shaky nod, a trembling smile that tore into his heart. She looked all of twelve years old and just as vulnerable.

"It seemed so real," she whispered. "Like I could reach out and touch her..."

Mulder caught her hands in his, quieting her.

"It was a dream, Scully. Just a dream."

Her hands were cold, and he realized that she was clad only in the thin satin pajamas he had seen earlier.

"You're freezing. Let's get you back to bed."

Fear flared in her eyes once again and she pulled away from him, cracking the back of her head solidly against the wall.

"NO! I don't want to go back to sleep."

Mulder winced.

Some nightmare.

Nevertheless, he persisted gently.

"Okay, no sleep. But you can't stay here, you'll catch your death..."

"Will you stay?"

Again, that same childlike whispering voice.

So unlike Scully it frightened him and he felt his eyes begin to burn with the tears that suddenly blinded him.

"Of course I'll stay. I'll always be here, Scully, you know that."

"Promise me, Mulder. Promise me you'll never leave me."

He caught her hands in his again, drawing her gently to her feet before pulling her toward him to embrace her again.

"I promise." He whispered.

XXXXXXXXX

CHAPTER NINE

Eeazy Sleep Motel. Cleveland Ohio 7:09am

Sleep had eluded Mulder for the remainder of the night.

The sound of his partner's screams seemed etched on his brain, resurfacing inside his head every time he closed his eyes, the sight of her terrified, tear-streaked face remained fresh in his mind, difficult if not impossible to ignore.

She had allowed him to lead her back over to the bed, not needing her permission to join her beneath the covers. He had recognized her need and acted upon it. As simple as that.

It had taken her a long while to stop shivering though, and even when he spooned his body around hers, he had felt the trembling continue. He had a feeling it had nothing whatsoever to do with her being cold and more of a reaction to what she had seen that night.

And it had scared him. More than he would ever tell her.

Eventually, her trembling had stilled, and she had reached over to grasp his hand in hers.

An unspoken acknowledgement that she was fine.

An unspoken thank you.

Mulder had held onto her long after her grip on him had loosened, listening to her breathing become sweet and even as she once more fell into sleep and despite sharing this space with her, he hadn't felt awkward. His body hadn't betrayed the way he felt about her, maybe because he recognized that she needed him there as a kind of protective force. Nothing more than that.

And, he had watched over her as she slept, carefully searching her face for any slight changes in expression that might signify that the demons were resurfacing. But she had remained quiet, hardly moving except to snuggle more deeply into his embrace.

How she would feel when she awoke was a different matter altogether.

Awkward? Maybe.

Ashamed that she had expressed the basic need to be comforted? Possibly.

Angry with herself? Certainly.

It wasn't Scully. It never had been, and no doubt she would be mortified when she finally opened her eyes and realized what she'd asked of him.

But right now, she was sleeping peacefully, and despite a burning need inside of him to face the day, Mulder was determined to let her rest for as long as she was able.

He didn't want to wake her up,  didn't want to see the walls slamming back into place as she once more drew away from him.

In his wildest dreams, he wanted her to open up to him, to talk about what had happened last night, to make sense of i, to accept it so she might eventually find some peace because he couldn’t help wondering just how many other times her daughter had visited her during her dreams. How many times had she awakened screaming Emily's name? One? Ten? A hundred? More?

How many mornings had she greeted him brightly as she crossed the threshold of the office they shared, while covering the heartbreak with a smile?

Mulder didn't even want to think about it.

It hurt too much to imagine her in a place where she felt she had to brave the hurt alone; that despite the trust they had in one another, they didn't allow themselves to trust enough when it really mattered.

They would walk to the ends of the earth for each other - of that he was certain - but admit to themselves that they needed help? Never.

It just wasn't their way.

He held his breath as, beneath the weight of his arms, Scully stirred slightly.

Not yet. I just need to hold you a little longer.

His unspoken yearning remained unanswered, however, as little by little his partner began to awaken.

And then he felt it - felt her body stiffen as she realized where she was, where he was, and she immediately sought to escape from his embrace.

Scully twisted her body around, as though to affirm that it really was Mulder who lay beside her in the bed.

Her bed.

Under different circumstances, Mulder might have laughed at the expression on her face but suddenly, nothing seemed very funny anymore. Maybe it was the fact that Scully was looking at him as though he were something particularly unpleasant she had just tracked in on the bottom of her shoe, or maybe it was the fact that despite what little sleep she had managed to grab the night before, she looked like death warmed over.

"Mulder?" she queried uncertainly.

"You had a nightmare. You were screaming," he offered by way of explanation and watched as his words finally registered.

"A nightmare?"

She sounded incredulous, and despite himself, Mulder felt himself becoming defensive.

"I don't remember..."

How the hell can you not remember, Scully? You shook in my arms for over an hour for Chrissakes...

“ It happened Scully believe me, I was there..." he supplied flatly.

Scully regarded him for a few seconds. A nightmare?

Nothing is as it seems here, Agent Scully.

Children screaming. 

Darkness. 

Bone and tissue.

And then it was gone, leaving her with only the vaguest sense of unease as she watched Mulder watching her.

Pulling herself together, she shrugged.

"I had a nightmare, you were there I accept that, but why are you here now? Why did you sleep in my bed?"

The words came out harsher than she had meant them to, and as the hurt washed over Mulder's face, she wished more than anything that she could pull them back in. Confusion as to what he was telling her had made her barriers slam back into place. She didn't refute what he was telling her, knowing with certainty that he would never lie to her about something like this so why couldn't she remember?

He swung his legs across to the opposite side of the bed and slowly got to his feet. He didn't look at her again, but his final words reached her just as he was about to head through the connecting door.

"Because you asked me to."

And suddenly, inexplicably, watching him walk away from her she felt like crying.

XXXX

7:36am

"So what now?"

Mulder regarded his partner as she stood before him. With cosmetic application masking the shadows beneath her eyes, and her hair perfectly styled, she appeared the epitome of professional togetherness.

Scully's armour.

Firmly back in place.

Impenetrable even for him.

Especially for him.

She refused to meet his eyes, and the words were forced, stilted, as though she would much rather not be speaking to him at all.

He glanced at his watch and attempted to lighten the moment.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I was thinking maybe coffee and bagels..."

"I'm not hungry."

Three words. Three words that told him everything he needed to know.

I don't want to get into a situation with you, Mulder. I don't want to talk about what happened last night.

And suddenly, he was angry.

Don't do this, Scully. Don't fucking shut me out. You asked me remember. Don't pull this tired crap on me now. Not after what you said last night.

He sighed, ignoring the voice in his head. He was accustomed to disregarding it where this woman was concerned.

"Okay so what do you want to do? When's the autopsy scheduled? Nine-thirty, right?"

She nodded. Finally deigning to meet his eyes.

"Get breakfast. I'll meet you there."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and left him standing, staring after her in disbelief.

What the hell was going on here?

XXXX

Coroner's Office. Cleveland Ohio 9:34am

Scully squinted against the bright light from the powerful overheads that lit the autopsy bay.

Only a couple of hours into the day and she felt like she was ready to fall back into bed. A headache had sprung up back at the motel, and despite dry-swallowing a couple of pain pills, Scully could still feel it stabbing viciously in the background. It had settled in the centre of her forehead, very similar to the headaches that had plagued her during her illness.

Her illness.

She wasn't sure when she'd blocked the word ‘cancer’ from her vocabulary. Just that it wasn't a term she consciously used anymore.

It was easier to just generalize, because by generalizing she could almost pretend it had never happened. Could pretend that it wouldn't again. Like hiding underneath the covers in an effort to protect oneself from the bogeyman. If you couldn't see him, he wasn't there.

If she didn't say the word cancer, it ceased to exist.

Simple, really.

Stupid.

She shook her head in an effort to clear it and once more turned her attention to the remains before her. It was tough to know exactly where to begin.

What had once been the body of Elizabeth Armstrong was now just a glutinous mass, glistening wetly from within a shallow plastic container.

Scully knew that should she even attempt to release it from its confines, Lilly Armstrong would in all likelihood disappear forever down the gaping drainage hole at the far end of the table.

What the hell had done this to her? And more to the point, why had it been done?

It was difficult to imagine that this mess before her had once been a human being. Much less a child.

Scully had seen some horrific sights during her time with the X- Files, bodies so horribly decayed that she had imagined their stench clinging to her skin hours, sometimes days later.

But this?

This was different somehow, not least because of the singular lack of any evidence to explain it in any logical way.

Scully sighed heavily. Nonetheless, it was her job to at least attempt to give this whole situation some kind of scientific meaning.

Dropping her head once more, she peered in closer to better sift through the wreckage beneath her. Carefully, almost reverently, she picked through the slivers of bone and tissue that had survived relatively intact, occasionally pausing to lift a larger piece out of the container. Transferring it to a smaller receptacle for further analysis later.

The irony did not escape her that there was in all probability nothing to find.

But she continued working. Methodical and thorough in her actions, her years of training had taught her that sometimes, even the tiniest clue might hold the answer to the most perplexing crime.

And then she saw it.

A tiny thread that glistened in the harsh light.

Strung as it was between two small pieces of bone, Scully's first assumption was that it might be a strand of hair. A single strand of Elizabeth's corn-blonde pigtail that had somehow survived whatever fate had befallen the child.

Carefully, she captured the thread between the tweezers' jaws, pulling softly, rewarded when, for the barest moment, the material slid toward her, and then...

"Shit!"

Scully cursed softly as the thread snapped, falling back against the bone. No, not falling. Floating. It floated gently downward, camouflaging itself perfectly against the surface. And suddenly Scully realized what it was she was seeing.

Children protected for all eternity beneath her web, sleeping peacefully beneath her silken strands.

Mulder's voice as he recounted his tale to her as she had hovered on the fringes of sleep...and another voice inside her head, deep down in her subconscious, clamouring to be heard.

Nothing is beautiful here, Agent Scully. It's all an illusion...

She backed away from the table, her eyes never leaving the spot where she knew the silken remnants of the spider's web to be, inexplicably needing to place some distance between herself and...and...

And what, Dana?

God, it was hot in here.

She pulled at the mask that covered her face, gulping in the air in an attempt to alleviate the sickening wave of nausea that rolled in her stomach. Stumbling backward as she did so, heedless of any obstacles that might be in her path.

Needing to get away.

To escape.

The room blurred suddenly, forcing her to slam her eyes closed as the world around her began to tilt at an impossible angle. Like a climber balanced precariously on the edge of a sheer cliff, she fought to retain her balance as the floor rolled and churned crazily beneath her.

Children screaming. Darkness. Bone and tissue.

And in the middle of it all a vision of Emily.

Her Emily.

Screaming out for her name even as she was taken in to the darkness.

Mommmeeeeee!

Scully cried out as a hand gripped her upper arm. She could feel the fingers that curled around her tender flesh, digging deep. Bruising her.

"SCULLY, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!"

Mulder's voice.

High pitched, panicked, far away somehow.

But it was enough.

Scully's eyes snapped open abruptly. The first thing she was conscious of was her partner's white, pinched face and she could clearly see the pulse that jumped rapidly at his temple. By its rhythm, she guessed that he was badly frightened. 

That she was the one who had frightened him.

His grip on her loosened a fraction as his eyes searched her face.

"Scully...talk to me," he implored hoarsely.

And just before the world began to spin again, she breathed out a single word that seemed to hang between them like an early morning mist, her voice so soft that Mulder was unsure as to whether she'd even spoken at all.

"Dreamcatcher..."

The word barely registered though, instantly forgotten as, right before his horrified eyes, his partner pitched forward into unconsciousness.

Continued Chapter Ten