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itsoutrageouss · 3 months

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Like a bellflower - chapter one

chapter one of like a bellflower, a Joel Miller x Fem!Oc fanfiction.

warnings: violence, death, blood, the word 'rape', general apocalyptic angst things yk

words: 2,6k

Story taglist

1. A stoic rescue

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“If we don’t find some more fucking ammo soon I swear i’m going to kill someone,” Kade grumbled as we all walked along a broad gravelly road. He bit into the last of his dried meat with anger, ripping the flesh apart aggressively with his teeth. His arm nearly hit me as it swung back. I always stayed behind the four of them. Kade, Ryan, Sarah and Cole. When they found me, and agreed to pick me up along with them I thought I could find solidarity in Sarah. A girl. Or a woman I should say, because she is a lot more woman than me.

Her shoulders were as broad as the mens, her figure sturdy and hardened like her face. No solidarity was to be found in those eyes. She met me like the men did; looking down at me with clenched jaws, demanding I fix us all food and making mean jokes when I try to brush and fix my hair.

“That ain’t going to fix nothing sweetheart- how about a trip to the salon instead? It’ll be on me,” Kade would say with a nasty grin and they would all belt out laughter while they tended to their guns like I tend to my hair, with the same kind of care. The kind you should never use on weapons.

“But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue,” I always quote, biting my tongue until metal melts in my mouth.

“You have to calm down, we’re almost at the next town. If there isn’t any ammo, we’ll butcher someone that has some.” Cole replies, walking with fast, tough steps. They were always so hard, so violent. I watched intensely as my feet kicked the gravel. My gun didn’t have a lot of ammo left either but I would rather not have to hurt someone to get more. I’d run if I had to, but I really didn’t.

The rest of the walk was silent, until old suburban houses started appearing. No one spoke to me. Wordlessly everyone divided to ransack the houses. Cole and Kade went together, so did Ryan and Sarah. Sarah, a dainty, feminine name for a woman with cold, rejecting eyes. No solace. I walked on my own, shoulders slumping.

The house was a pale blue, the door was off the hinges completely, and I stepped over the rotten wood. Dust swirled in the beams of light that were pushing through barred windows. Someone had stayed here for a while, it looked like. Empty cans of food were piled on the dirty kitchen tiles. When I glanced back at the broken down door, I noticed the beating it had taken. The blood stains that the wood had absorbed. Scratch marks. I didn’t want to think of what had happened here, and instead I filtered through the flashes of sunlight, the warmth pulsing on my cheek. The air smelled like rotten wood too, as well as flowers. They bloomed in the corners of the walls, through broken tapestry they unfolded like nothing had ever bothered them. Like the whole world wasn’t dying. Untouched by the destruction, pretty and blooming. I wished to be like the flower.

There was no ammo, but in the back cabinets I found old cans of beans that must’ve been forgotten in whatever hurry had happened here. Between the wooden beams that barred the window I saw the others gathering in the middle of the road. Soldiers, they looked like. Machines. They made my skin crawl and every soft thing inside me hardened. I solidified, when everything I fought for everyday was to be soft. Free, fresh and blooming like a flower. A war between me and the world to preserve the delicate human I was, but I felt like throwing it all up when Kade looked at me. He made me feel like he wanted to rape me. His eyes were wide like a drug addict, and his stare a direct look into the most damaged soul I had ever met in my life. I had no clue what his story was and I was terrified to find out. He wanted to hurt the world like it had hurt him and I didn’t want to be here to see it but I had nowhere else to go.

They talked aggressively to each other, heads bent close together even though there probably wasn't anyone around for miles. I still never got used to seeing people standing in the middle of the roads. The cars were supposed to be there. And now all the cars were flipped upside down and stripped for parts. Sarah crushed a spiring dandelion under her foot. Her black, greasy hair flipped around her head when she talked. The day was beautiful but the people were not.

We decided to camp there, in the house I found. I found a broken family photo in a bedroom upstairs. I was frozen, sitting on a four poster bed with a family full of strangers in my hand. This room was a memory in time. A photo in itself. If not for the barricaded window, where the sunlight slowly turned red, you wouldn’t be able to tell that life had died everywhere around it. So I stayed there all night. I went downstairs silently, like a child who’d awoken from a nightmare. But there were no parents downstairs, and I crept silently around them to grab a can of beans. Kades big hand squeezed my fragile wrist harshly and the can dropped from my hand. “You’re not taking all of that,” he spoke harshly before opening the can and pouring almost all of the content into an empty one. The rest he gave to me. “Sit down,” he stroked my wrist where he’d hurt me and I coiled away, sitting down reluctantly. I never joined their talk. Ryan was the nicest of them all, though the difference in their behaviors were minimal. They had been just them for so long that Sarah was Ryan and Ryan was Cole and all of them were Kade. Not one authentic trait that wasn’t given to them by the apocalypse. None of their own selves left from before. I pitied it, sort of. When they dozed off in their sleeping bags I snuck back up and crawled under the cold comforter in the bedroom with the photo on the pillow next to me. I tried to imagine living here. With my family, when they were still here. Sleeping next to my parents in their bed even though i probably was a bit too old for it. We wouldn’t tell anyone. Tomorrow we’d make breakfast together, maybe?

Those thoughts put me to sleep.

Bang. I woke with such a violent start that my hand flung the photo to the carpeted floor. It was already broken, but now the glass had fallen out of the frame in pieces completely. I had ruined the last memory of this family. Another bang. It was gunshots and the crashes that followed rumbled the old flooring beneath me. Impulsively I ripped the photo from the frame and stuck it in my pocket. I didn’t know how to move. We had never been in this situation. I had never been apart from the group when we were attacked. They were always there and always merciless. I had to fend for myself still, because they prioritized each other over me anytime. Sometimes it was as if they would purposefully let me fight on my own despite them being fully capable of helping me. I swung my backpack on, in case I had to run again. My hands trembled and the gun nearly slipped from my grasp. I creaked open the bedroom door, right at the top of the stairs. “Fucking get him!” I heard Ryan yell. More crashes, grunts. The stairs creaked as I took a step but another noise covered it. Blood sprayed on the wall next to the broken front door. Greasy black hair, fell with a thud to the ground. Blood started to pool around Sarah’s head, which was all of her I could see from this angle. I breathed in. It smelled like being on summer camp. Sunlight, fresh air but a metallic, wooden scent interfered with the peaceful memory. Kane roared and I heard him surge towards whoever the perpetrator was. I closed my eyes harshly until it hurt, then I opened them and ran down the stairs as the spots faded away from my sight. My gun was stretched in front of me. Everything after that happened so fast I barely caught it. An elbow to Ryan's face who stumbled backwards. To clean shots through Cole's stomach. Bang, bang, thud. Bile rose in my throat. My gun was still in front of me. I didn’t move. I didn’t know what I felt.

A loud grunt, a missed shot but a punch to the gut from Kade to the stranger. He was hardened too, but not in the cold, menacing way of the others. He looked human, I thought, right before he twisted Kades arm around in a nasty crack, pushing his back into the man's chest before firing a bullet right through his temples. Kade looked at me then, and for the first and only time I saw something else in his eyes. He looked scared. Like a little boy who’d been told off. Who’d been left alone and scolded and shown no love, who now pleaded for it for the last time ever. And then my eyes turned sympathetic. I did everything I could to give him that last piece of whatever feeling closest to affection I had for him and a peace fell over his eyes right as the bullet tore through him. My mouth was sour, and I leaned down, throwing up right next to Sarah’s body.

The stranger let Kade fall to his knees, discarded him and stalked towards me with a reaction time that seemed inhuman. I expected the harsh, calloused hands of a man piercing my skin. Like Kade’s used to. I dropped the gun. It landed in my own puke. The man stopped between me and the mess. We both looked down. Then we looked up. My eyes were filled with hot, stingy tears from throwing up. Maybe fear. He breathed harshly, quickly and his nostrils flared. His eyes were dark as he looked demandingly underneath his furrowed brows. He had a handsome face, salt and pepper scruff, a hooked nose and sloped lips. But he also was hardened from this world.

His shoulders fell, quickly aware that I probably wasn’t the biggest threat around. That irritated me, and I squared up, fisting my hands. “Get away or I'll punch you.” I said. There was volume in my voice that I didn't expect. He didn’t move, but looked down on my petty gun again. Then he turned around, and started searching the bodies of my old crew. He took their guns, searched them. I stood still. I was shaking like a leaf and tears rolled down my cheeks now silently. I wasn’t sad for these people. I was sad for the last time this happened. When it was the people I cared for that lay still while I stood up. I cried for them, tightly fisting the photo of the family I found in my pocket. The man stopped, and looked at me. “I’ll leave some stuff for you,” he said. His voice was gruff. And it hit me like bricks, so hard I nearly folded into two again. I was going to be left alone. The man was looking done, about to leave again. Then there would be silence, like when snow falls. Nothing.

“Take me with you,” I said, too desperate for my liking but suddenly he felt like the last thing I had in the world even though I didn't even know his name.

“No,” he said, and walked out the backdoor without looking back. I wiped my gun off in Sarah’s shirt, with a little regret but not so much that i felt guilty and followed the man out. He had a horse that was tied to a tree.

“You have to.” i stated, my breathing quick and shallow. I would not let him leave.

“I don’t, actually.”

Did he not feel any remorse? What if that was my family he just killed, and then left me for myself. Not even so merciful as to put me in the grave with them? But they weren’t my family and I would not go with them into death, but this man didn’t know.

“You just killed everything around me.” It wasn’t the first time that had happened and I felt like I was grasping at water, trying to hold it in my hand. I heaved in a gasp of shock and sorrow and it was what finally made him look at me. His brows furrowed even more, if possible. His face softened, and I swore I saw guilt flash across his still-new features. He was listening.

“I’m silent. You won’t even know i’m here. And as soon, I promise, as soon as we come across somewhere else I can stay, I'll leave. But you owe me a ride.” I wasn’t used to selling myself, to making me sound like someone you’d want along on your travels and even though my face heated with embarrassment and the words I spoke, it was all the hope I had not to curl up in that four poster bed until I withered into nothing.

He said nothing for a while, looking somewhere behind me in thought. I mustered my most desperate eyes. I tried baring my soul through them for him to see that I needed this. He already seemed ways better than any of the four people that had taken me upon since the tragic incident.

“As soon as we find something.. livable, you’re gone.” he grumbled. The relief made my knees weak, air seeped out of me uncontrollably and I had to hold onto the tree so as to not fall in on myself.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I whispered, tasting tears on my lips that I wiped profusely. I was not to be a burden to this man before I had even gotten onto his horse.

“Just follow me and stay quiet,” he said, pulling the horse along with him. We walked, and I didn't look back. The blue house I swore to leave forever behind me. The photo I held onto. The sun was only just rising, cold and bright as it stretched over the abandoned houses. We walked in the middle of the road, on each side of the horse. I felt warmth on my skin, on my hair and I combed it down with my fingers and braided it down my back. And no one laughed, or said anything. I realized this might have been my rescue as I looked up at the pine trees ahead, instead of down at the gravel. I looked anywhere I liked and made my hair look nice and I stroked the now curled up photo with my thumb, looking over at the man.

“What's your name?”

I had already broken one of three rules: stay silent, follow me, leave me alone as soon as possible.

He sighed, “you’re not very good at this.”

Even his scolding, and his glare was everything Kades wasn’t. There was no malice, no intention to hurt. I didn’t feel fear in my gut.

“I’m Belle. Like the princess” I peaked over the horse’s moving body.

“Like bellflowers,” he said, glancing at me for barely a second. Like a bellflower, blooming, delicate and untouched by the world. I wish it was so.

“Joel. My name is Joel”

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chapter two

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l0velylecter · 1 year

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If your requests are open... could you write headcanons of the cod boys with a fem s/o who loves flowers? Like everything she owns is a floral print, she grows her own flower garden, she usually wears long flowy floral print skirts, etc. Do you think they would ever surprise her with flowers? Or do that cliche but lovely thing where a man will pick a wildflower and put it in the women's hair. 💓 Sometimes I feel a little silly over how much I love flowers, I let out a little gasp ever time i see them. 💐

— the cod : mw ii men + s/o who loves flowers ! characters : simon ‘ghost’ riley, john ‘soap’ mactavish, alejandro vargas, captain john price, phillip graves, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick, rodolfo parra fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii tags : f!reader rating : g for general , sfw!

01 | Knowing how lonely and anxious you get when he leaves for missions, Price decided to build you a garden, knowing it would take your mind off worrying. And it worked: by summer, the whole backyard was in full bloom, a reflection of Price's love and your devotion, seen in every petal. The sight of napping by one of the chairs with a book open by your lap or trousers stained with dirt from being knee-deep in a cluster of bellflowers, cottage pinks, and delphiniums is always something that Price looks forward to when he gets home.

02 | When you told Soap how much you loved flowers, he went above and beyond to show you he remembers. You'd open the door to greet him home — and he'd have a bouquet in his hand, hoping that the pattern of roses, thistles, and bluebells would distract you from the broken nose he got on duty ( you still scolded him.) " Flower delivery for my bonnie lass !" He'd announce playfully, never failing to make you smile each time. And whenever you show him your new skirt or blouse, he'd be ready with a compliment, telling you dreamily how the floral pattern matches your eyes.

03 | You weren't surprised at how good Gaz was with plants, nurturing and gentle by nature: his softer traits tend to get overlooked because of his profession. But when he's home with you, helping you change the pot of your carnations, you can't help but melt at how gentle he's being. He's growing into a bigger mother hen than you when it comes to your flowers— " I think we should take the lads ( the pot of blue and purple lobelias) out for some sun, love." Making the best of his time home, the two of you would often garden and go hiking together, stopping by the trails to pick some violets on the way home. 04 | It's obvious from the beginning that Alejandro is a roses man. Romantic and down-right chivalrous, he always comes home with a bouquet of them: a cluster of classic, deep, red petals between his fingers. The colonel loves how sweet they smell on you, buying you attar oil from the market so you can thread it through your hair or pour some into the bath when you're both unwinding against the warm water. Infatuated with how beautiful roses look on you, Alejandro decided to gift you a simple, golden necklace with a rose pendant hanging from it. And you're more than happy to show it off around your neck. 05 | Too shy to approach you, Rodolfo started leaving flowers instead. He'd place the simple banquet of sunflowers in your office, always waiting from afar to watch you carry it back home from base with a smile on your lips. Eventually, he was caught and had to come clean. You were far from angry — if anything, you were in love. Even when you start dating, he still brings home sunflowers, a symbol of faith, loyalty, and adoration. His face burned when you decided to tuck one behind your ear. Plus, Rodolfo finds it endearing how you gasp every time he comes home with fresh flowers as if he hasn't been doing it forever now, chest physically aching from how cute you looked. 06 | When he's around you, Graves turns into a big softie. It's almost hilarious how quickly he switches from a lean, mean commander to a man who would re-paint your entire room with flowers just because you love them so much. You'd pick him up at the airport, and he'd be the one bringing a bouquet — " What kind of man doesn't bring home flowers for his girl, hm?" And on the mornings when you'd wake up, and he'd already be gone, having to fly for D.C. on an emergency call, you'd see a vase of white tulips and pink carnations resting above the dining table. A silent yet beautiful way for him to say he's sorry, (and how can you not forgive him when he still finds time to give your flowers, no matter how busy he gets?) 06 | You know that Ghost is not the one for grand romantic gestures, understanding that he's reserved and somewhat hesitant when loving you. Because of this, reassurance is often hard to get from Simon. You would have expected communication to be nonexistent when he's a man of few words, but if anything, it's always constant: proven by the different flowers he'd get for you, knowing that it is a language you can both understand. After arguments, he'd say sorry by leaving white orchids by your bedside table. While 'I love yous' were expressed through red-white carnations and peonies. And with Simon, it's about paying attention to the little things, like when he walks up to you out of the blue, silent yet gentle as he tucks a chrysanthemum behind your ear. He'd stand there and admire you, hands still resting under your chin, " Fucking hell... you're beautiful, you know that?" From then on, you've been hard at work in your little garden, knowing that with it, you've made him a home to come back to.

a/n : so sorry for the late response anon, university has been kicking my ass, but thank you for requesting ! when i tell you i had so much fun writing this (i’m such a sucker for pure gentle fluff), what a creative and lovely request, i can already tell you’re wonderful by just this. i hope you enjoy it !! <3

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shroudkeeper · 4 months

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The warmth of her breath brushed my lips; a quiet prayer escaped mine to greet it. I worried, as her fingertips touched the blindfold, that the world greeting me would be one plunged into darkness, but as long as she was here, I would accept the ill fate. I held my breath and thought of the many things I could say..

“—softly, with hands as gentle as rain.”

..the words parted from me as I exhaled and felt the fabric lift away, I saw light beyond my closed eyelid. My pulse sped and I blinked at the light of dawn that pierced through the canopies of her garden. Everything was a splash of watercolors spreading before my vision. Before me bloomed the fresh palette of an early spring morning, the golds of the rising sun, the hues of bellflowers, and the white of melting snow.

She languidly filled my vision, taking shape as my focus steadily returned. Her garden dissolved into an ethereal landscape, the dwelling of the Twelve, where only she existed among the flowers that were the color of her worried gaze. She trembled, and so did I, her beauty, even in her state of concern, left me speechless.

My silence stretched into long seconds as I traced over the delicate curvature of her parted lips, the lifted brows that knitted together, the gorgeous veil and beautiful flowers adorning her violet crown. Then her hands, small and shaking, cupped my face, searching for an answer. This entire time all I desired was to drown in the scent of flowers, to be enveloped in her embrace, to finally breathe the words of my love upon her lips.

“..There you are, my lady Takahashi, I did not mean to keep you waiting long,” Twelve, I expected a slap to sting my cheek for what I made her endure, for months without even a letter to offer her comfort or warmth during the season's change.

I couldn't help but smile when the corners of her lips twitched into one as well, broadening further as her eyes stared into mine. Her soft fingertips set me ablaze as they left a trail of heat against the cut of my jaw and chin; she radiated heat whilst leaning into me as the sun rose high above us, forming a halo around her golden, ornate accessories.

This was my heaven, here, in her private garden, sharing this moment not amongst the shadows, but under the light, no longer hiding under cover of the cool shadows.

The anxiety, which crippled my thoughts prior, evaporated around me, but I felt a pang of guilt as I watched her tears run rivulets across her ruddied cheeks.

Again, I made her cry.

..but this would be the last time, a promise I would make to her, and one I meant to keep.

#ffxiv #ffxiv screenshot #ff14 screenshot #ffxiv writing #hancock fitzgerald #kikyo takahashi #her dad is still there by the way but this is in his pov #where the world around them literally became an ethereal landscape #of just the two of them

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alittlepunkrock · 2 years

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where you go (i will go) — i

Summary: A threat to your realm inspires an unlikely collaboration.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Words: 3.9k+

Notes: After binging the Sandman, my heart went out to our favorite mopey, gothic dream prince. This will be a full multi-part fic. Set in the Netflix series universe. I haven’t written anything in a hot minute, so any feedback is appreciated - thanks!

series masterlist // mood board // ao3

. . .

“It starts at night when I close my eyes,

I still see you.

I drown my cries in some brand new lies,

I don’t see you like I used to.”

- I Don’t Miss You Anymore, loveless

. . .

Part i.

True peace is found in the still moments between dreaming and waking. Those moments in which the body and mind seem to exist on separate planes of existence. The body, just awakening to sensation; the mind, being coaxed back to reality after the uninhibited freedom of slumber. The infinite possibilities found in the realm of dreaming.

As your body calls your mind back home, you cling to the last remnants of your dream. A field of wildflowers, bursting with red poppies, purple bellflowers, yellow lady’s bedstraw. Standing tall before you, your love takes your face in his rough, calloused hands. You lean into his touch, relishing in the thought that tomorrow, your hands will be joined in the sanctity of marriage within this very field. Your heart flutters at the thought.

Your love’s dark eyes gaze tenderly into yours. You open your mouth to state your vow, one you’ve surely told him a thousand times, “I love you.”

Suddenly, there is a sharp tug within your chest. You’re yanked back, the scene before you fading to a pinprick. Your mind collides with your body with a force that is physically painful.

The first sensation you register is a pair of rough, calloused hands gripping tightly around your windpipe. Pushing, pressing.

The second is a pair of familiar dark eyes hovering over you.

There is no tenderness there.

. . .

Consciousness can be an alarming thing. While it has been many hundreds of years - or perhaps thousands, you’ve begun to lose count - since you’ve dreamed, even deities must rest. Your mind recoils back into the Waking World as your eyes snap open with a gasp. On instinct, your hands fly to your neck, hastily prying away a grip that’s not there.

No one is here. Your bedroom is quiet and empty. As always.

Heart hammering in your chest, you run your fingers along your scalp, peeling away the strands of hair plastered to your skin with sweat. Breathe, you tell yourself, inhaling deeply. Just breathe. Exhale. You relish in the feeling of air flowing in and out of your lungs, uninhibited and free. You are alive.

Well, sort of.

The end of your bed dips lightly, and you open your eyes. Your foster pup, Theo, peers up at you attentively. He places one white paw between your feet, his dark eyes twinkling with reassurance. You smile at him and lean forward, ruffling the mop of brown fur between his wide ears. “Good morning, my friend. Checking on me, are you?”

Sunlight streams through the thin curtains of your bedroom window, bathing the room in a golden glow. Your peace lily by the windowsill reaches for the sun, craning its green stems and white blooms toward the glass. A fantasy novel lays on your bedside table, colorful bookmarks denoting all your favorite passages.

And there, just under your bedroom door, is a stack of papers.

Slowly, a bright smile pulls across your face. Your rude awakening retreats to the back of your mind, waiting to strike again with a new dawn.

It’s time to start a new day.

. . .

“Oh please, Theo, don’t look at me like that,” you groan as you walk into the kitchen, shimmying into a pair of dark jeans as you go. Theo sits regally at your feet, eyes wide and gleaming, eager for a lick of the cream cheese warming on the kitchen counter. You drop to the floor to tie your sneakers, eyeing him carefully.

He stares at you. You stare at him. After several long moments of watching you tie your shoes, he sticks his pink tongue out and grins.

Your heart grows two sizes as your tough act breaks. “Oh, fine. How am I supposed to say no to that face?” In a jiffy, your toasted bagel has been slathered with cream cheese, and an extra dollop has been added to the rim of Theo’s food bowl. He sits triumphantly by the bowl and grins as you dip to rub him behind the ears. “You be a good boy today, okay? I’ve got a busy day ahead, but I’ll drop in at lunch. And please, no chewing on the trim. We really can’t afford another maintenance charge. Got it?”

Theo pants and gives your palm an appreciative lick. You grin and kiss him between the ears. “That’s my boy.”

The tender autumn sun warms your cheeks as you step out of your townhouse and onto the sidewalk. It’s a Wednesday morning and the streets are busy, everyone shuffling to jobs, school, daycare. You make the brisk walk to the small mom-and-pop coffee shop a couple blocks away, hoping to beat the line that is sure to be forming soon. The shop owner, an elderly gentleman with a shock of white hair and a kind, wrinkled face - Cliff, you remind yourself - smiles kindly at you as you walk in. “G’morning, miss. You’re off to an early start today, aren’t you?”

“The sun is awake, so I’m awake,” you reply jokingly, placing the exact change for your beverage into his waiting hand at the counter. “We’ve got a busy day ahead, Cliff. Your coffee is going to carry me through.”

“Good thing I’ve got it ready for you, then,” Cliff jests, sliding a to-go cup across the counter. “Have a g’day, miss.”

“You truly are a lifesaver, Cliff. Mankind thanks you for your service,” you say as you take the first sip. The dark brew slips down your throat, warming your insides as it goes. Nothing refreshes the immortal soul for a day of work quite like a good coffee.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” you call with a grin, turning on your heel to head back out the front door. As you approach, a young man carrying a backpack, likely a college student, prepares to open the door. The street outside is busy, easy to disappear into. You turn over your shoulder to ensure Cliff is looking away. His back faces you, busying himself with cleaning the espresso machine behind the counter.

Turning to the young man in front of you, you slip through the door as he opens it. He makes eye contact with you, opening his mouth to give a greeting. You smile and, reaching out, touch your fingertips to the soft gray hoodie over his heart. You close your eyes, reaching out, reaching through. A warm breeze whistles through your hair. And when you open your eyes, you’re in to vasíleio tis proskóllisis. The Realm of Attachment.

It is an absolute kaleidoscope of colors. The most stunning masterpiece you have ever seen. Hundreds, thousands, millions of threads bursting forth from the hearts of the mortals surrounding you. Some are linked to an individual beside them, some halfway across the city, some halfway across the world. Each thread thrums, alive with the promise of connection, of attachment to another individual. Each thread glows with the promise of what bond these two mortals are to share.

Gazing around this masterpiece, your masterpiece, your chest grows tight with emotion, heart warm, mind buzzing. This is your purpose. This is what it means to be Agape, the Deity of Love.

You turn to the young coffee shop customer you passed through, who is now glancing around, looking quite dazed and confused. “Well,” you say, knowing full well he can’t hear you, “I suppose I should get to work, shouldn’t I?”

You pull the folded pieces of paper from your bedroom floor out of your pocket, unfolding them carefully. The first names on the Fates’ list are alight with a purple halo. You smile fondly. Erotoropia - playful, flirtatious attachment. These are always fun. You close your eyes and skim your fingertips over the words, reaching out for the attachment there. When you open your eyes, you find yourself in a high school hallway crowded with shuffling bodies. The air is thick with a heady combination of cacophonous chatter, cheap body spray, and raging teenage hormones.

A thick web of attachments surrounds you, burning brightly with reds, purples, blues, and whites. A combination of romance, flirtation, self-love, and friendship or romantic soul ties. Ah, to be a teenager, you muse, overwhelmed by the sheer number of connections around you. You inhale deeply and wade through the crowd, honing in on the attachment you have come to foster.

Ah, there they are - a young brown-skinned girl with hair the shade of night and a fair-skinned boy with bright blue eyes. They stand side by side at their lockers, the boy rummaging for books, the girl applying a thin streak of eyeliner to both eyes in her small mirror. A faint purple thread connects them at the heart, yearning to be established. You feel it call out to you, tugging at your heart, drawing you closer.

You smile, running the purple strand between your fingers. Let me see what I can do for you.

To your right, a stocky boy in a football jersey barrels down the hall, clearly late for some type of practice. You incline your head toward him and lift a hand, crooking your pointer finger ever so slightly. At your gesture, the boy’s shoe rolls over a pen on the hallway tile and he stumbles, shoulder colliding with the back of the brown-skinned girl. Her eyeliner careens across her temple, leaving a dark line in its wake. She gasps, rearing backward.

“Hey, watch it!” She calls out to the football player as he scurries away, too concerned about being late to pay her a glance. She leans back into her locker, examining the damage in the mirror. “Aw, shit.”

The fair-skinned boy glances at the girl to his side, glances away, glances back again. Obviously weighing the pros and cons of speaking up. You place an encouraging hand on his back. Go on.

“Sorry about that,” the boy finally says, briefly pausing in his quest to find his books. “Jocks, am I right?”

“No shit,” the girl groans. She pulls a Q-tip from her purse and leans in close to the mirror, trying to salvage her look. “This was the worst possible day for this to happen to me. I’m supposed to audition for Catswith the drama club after school.”

The boy grins, turning to face her more fully. Gaining courage. “What , a cat eye wasn’t what you were going for?” he prods, eyebrow raised.

The girl pauses in her wiping to return his friendly gaze. A playful twinkle lights in her eye, dancing as a smile pulls across her face. “How do you even know what a cat eye is?” she laughs.

The boy shrugs, closing his locker with a stout clang. “I may or may not have three older sisters. My knowledge of makeup is vast and, quite frankly, a little embarrassing.”

You glance down at the thread between your fingers as the two chat. Once pale purple, the thread now glows brightly. You smile with satisfaction. Your work here is done.

. . .

The Fates know how to keep you busy, and you thank the powers that be for the millionth time that you love your work as much as you do. By lunch, you’ve traveled halfway across the world, fostering a rainbow of bonds. Theo gets a quick check-in at lunch, something that lifts your spirits as much as it does his, before you dive back into the fray. By dusk, there is only one final set of names on your list.

As you lift your fingertips from the page, you find yourself on the landing at the top of a staircase. A large window to your right reveals the quiet cul-de-sac outside. The hallway is dark with shadows, every door lining the corridor closed firmly. All is silent.

And then, a sniffle. You turn to the first door down the corridor to your left. While no light peeks through the crack at the bottom of the door, the sound of quiet sobbing is unmistakable. The pitch and tone tells you that it is the crying of a young girl. Through the door pass two distinct threads; one faded and green, the other a pulsating black. At the sight of the black thread, you grow very still, a lump forming in your throat.

Desire the Endless has been here.

You take the threads in your hands and follow them down the staircase, moving quickly. You find that the threads trail into the heart of a middle-aged man lying on the couch. A comforter has been thrown onto the floor beside him; he tosses and turns in his sleep, restless.

You swallow quickly and close your eyes, gripping the black thread tightly. Show me, you command. In response, dark images flash through your mind: A family of three, happily moving into their new home. The father taking a new job. Casual glances at a co-worker turning into sly ones. Desire boiling until the pot overflows. One early morning run turning into multiple. The fallout. A wife working late to push the pain away.

A daughter crying in the room upstairs. Your heart sinks, forming a pit in your stomach.

Slowly, you shift your hands to grip the green thread. Gazing down at the restless face of the adulterer below you, you can’t help but wonder whether he deserves your gift. Whether he deserves you re-enforcing his family’s unconditional love for him. You can’t help but wonder whether, with Desire around, he’ll make the same grave decision again. You almost let the thread go. And then, you remind yourself, You don’t decide who or what. You are here to choose the how and to ensure that all proceeds as it is meant to.

“You will awaken and call your wife at work,” you command slowly, voice barely more than a whisper. “You will grovel at her feet. You will do marriage counseling, family therapy, anything that she requests. You will become a father that your daughter can be proud of. All of this will be as I have spoken it.”

You pause. In your hands, the green thread solidifies and glows, warm and alive. As you turn to leave, you whisper one final wish, “And you will shut Desire out of your heart from this point onward.”

It’s the only thing out of your control. The only thing you can’t guarantee.

. . .

You step through an evening jogger and onto the sidewalk in front of your townhome, back in the regular Waking World once again. The colorful threads of the Realm of Attachment no longer leap into view. The street is quiet, dark, and mundane. Admittedly, after a long day of work, it’s a sight for sore eyes.

As you fumble through your pocket for your house keys, a bright bubble of laughter rings through the open window of the townhome next to yours. You can’t help but smile softly and take a slight step back, craning your neck to peek through the open curtains. Inside, a young husband and wife - Ava and Matt, you think fondly - sit on the couch watching a game show rerun on TV. Ava throws her head back and laughs, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Matt places an affectionate kiss on her temple. His broad hand shifts to rest on her stomach, cradling the small bump that has begun to rise there.

Your heart flutters at the sight. You’ve been guiding their love story for a long time. You were there for their first meeting, first date, first kiss. Blessing their vows, inhaling in excitement when they learned that they were pregnant. Some were moments the Fates required you there for, while others were for your own satisfaction. While you cared for all mortals that crossed your path, there was something special about these two. In retrospect, you suppose they were the closest thing to family that you had.

Well, besides for Theo.

“Theo!” you call as the front door squeaks closed behind you. At the jingle of your house keys falling into the catchall by the door, Theo rushes to your side, pawing at your ankles. “Hello, little love. How was the rest of your day?” You lift his tiny body into your arms, and he gives your cheek a long, rough lick. “That’s my boy. Let’s get cleaned up, shall we?”

You pad quietly through the living room, down the short hallway, into your bedroom. And nearly bite your tongue at the sight of a dark silhouette standing stark against the streetlights streaming through your curtains.

“For the love of -” You slap the lights on with one hand, gripping Theo a little tighter with the other. As light floods the room, your adrenaline rush halts, energy suddenly pent up with nowhere to go. “...Death?”

Death of the Endless turns from looking out your window, offering you a sweet, toothy smile. “Hello, Love. Long time, no see.”

You breathe out a laugh, setting Theo down on the floor. He promptly runs to lick at Death’s ankles, and she crouches to scratch behind his ears. “Yeah, long time no see. What has it been? A hundred years, at least?”

“More, my friend. Unless you count our brief encounters on the battlefield,” Death says, lifting Theo into her arms. He nudges his nose into her dark curls and licks her cheek. “You grow stronger with each passing century, Love. You’ve progressed so well. You should be proud.”

You think back on the past hundred years, remembering the wars, sicknesses, and tragedies that occured in that time. Certainly, it was a busy time for humanity. In those days, you and Death often worked side by side. The sight of her sweeping wings was well known to you then. You think of those she carried to eternal peace, of the battles that ended in the name of love. You tuck your chin, smiling sheepishly. “Thank you. Surely you didn’t serve me a heart attack simply to flatter me. What brings you here, Death?”

Death quirks an eyebrow, her dark lips dropping into a playful pout. “What, an Endless can’t drop in to see an old friend? And her adorable dog?” At your laugh, Death smiles kindly and sits herself and Theo down on your bed, patting the spot next to her. “But you’ve caught me. There is something we need to talk about,” she murmurs.

At her change of tone, your throat tightens with nerves. You breathe in deeply as you sit at her side, gazing at her expectantly. Your anxious fingers shift to scratch Theo’s head absentmindedly.

Death’s lips part slightly. She seems to contemplate for a moment. “I’ve spoken to my brother recently. Destiny. As well as the Fates,” she starts quietly. Another pause. “They seem to be worried about your scales.”

“Ah, I see,” you say, your throat suddenly dry. Your fingers move more quickly, and Theo inclines his head to peer up at you. You give him a half hearted smile.

Death leans in closer, eyes asking questions before her mouth does. “What’s going on, Love? Share with me. Let me help you.”

“I’m afraid it’s nothing you can help with,” you say quietly. “Desire and I have never seen eye to eye, but lately it’s become more and more difficult to keep up with their work. They’re moving more quickly, becoming more ambitious. They’ve been disrupting my romantic attachments and soul ties, in particular. They know what they mean to me.”

“As do I. Which is why I don’t want to see you lose them.” Death places a comforting hand on yours atop Theo’s head, stilling you. She dips her gaze to make eye contact, eyes searching yours. “I’ve come to warn you of this as your friend. You know I care for you. But if you are unable to keep your side of the scales balanced, I’m afraid of what may happen. Nothing is guaranteed for gods and goddesses. And your kind is not so easily replaced as the Endless.”

The lump in your throat rises higher. You swallow thickly. “I know. And thank you. I appreciate your friendship, appreciate everything that you’ve done for me, more than you’ll ever know.” You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. Grounding yourself, gathering your thoughts. The beauty of the Realm of Attachment burns brightly in your mind, a kaleidoscope of color that you created. “I won’t let them take it from me. It’s all I truly have left.”

Death feigns a gasp. “All you have left? What are we, Theo? Chopped liver?” You laugh, the weight of your heart becoming a little lighter in your chest. She elbows you in the ribs softly. “I’m kidding, of course, but I love the sentiment. Any thoughts on how to tip the scales back in your favor, my friend?”

One idea does immediately come to mind. Whether it’s a good or bad one, you’re not sure. You start to rethink it, but it’s evident when you lock eyes with Death that she’s already seen the thought register on your face. You smile hesitantly. “The last time we spoke, truly spoke, I did mention one idea of mine. However, you weren’t much for it at the time-”

“Ah, Dream! My dear, mopey brother,” Death exclaims, remembrance dawning on her face. “Of course I remember. Granted, at the time, I did not think it was likely to be successful. Dream was, well… being Dream, which does not mean much in the way of collaboration.” Her bright smile softens into a wistful one. “However, much has changed for Dream in the last hundred years. He’s gained a new perspective on things, I think. And Desire has done quite a bit of meddling in my brother’s affairs lately. He might be open to a partnership.”

Your heart rises, chest fluttering with hope. “You think so?”

“I think it’s worth a shot, if nothing else,” Death states matter-of-factly. With a loving pat on your hand, she rises, walking to the window. “And after all, you and my brother are not so different. You’re certainly the brighter ray of sunshine, but neither of you are much in the way of getting out. You spend all your time with mortals, and he spends all his time with - well, his librarian. And his raven. Perhaps this arrangement will be good for the both of you.” You open your mouth to protest, and she gives you a playful shh. “You know it’s true, Love. Now, I wouldn’t waste any time. The faster you can work to balance your scales, the better. And if my darling brother gives you any trouble, do let me know, yeah?”

You shake your head incredulously, giving her a small smile. “Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

“You can thank me later, when your scales are balanced. I’ll be seeing you, Love.” And with a grin and a swoop of black feathers, Death is gone.

All is quiet in your townhome. You release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, falling back onto your pillows. Your hand trails over Theo’s fur absentmindedly as your mind races with possibilities. Besides Death and Desire, you’ve never associated with an Endless in person before. Despite his influence on your work, you’ve never met Destiny in the flesh, receiving your assignments through the Fates, instead. In fact, you rarely associate with any other deities at all. Let alone one with a reputation such as the Dream Lord’s.

You take a calming breath, closing your eyes. There’s no doubt in your mind that rest will elude you tonight.

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rosieofcorona · 2 months

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In the Blue Morning

BELOVEDS, a soft little Solavellan fic for you. Mostly fluff this time around to soothe the eternal, unyielding hurt. Also on AO3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕

She cajoles him, some mornings, away from his office, from his maps and his books and his paintings and out among the newly-planted gardens, all their tight, unfurling blooms.

It’s always empty at this hour, when most of Skyhold is still asleep save for the guards in their high towers, the recruits in the practice yard. The only sound is the clang of their swords ringing through the mist like distant bells, the only light the pink and gold of the nascent sun.

They have been careful, desperately careful not to draw undue attention, not to generate rumors that could harm the Inquisition in the future. It is easier on the road to find a quiet moment alone– to steal a kiss or hold a hand or put words to their love– but the castle, however safe, is full of eyes, forever watching.

It is only in the narrow, muted hours before dawn that Solas weaves his fingers with hers as they orbit the courtyard, side by side.

He names the blossoms as they pass, first in the trade tongue and then in Elvish, the softened syllables like music on his tongue. She repeats them half as gracefully, but he smiles at every attempt, correcting her gently now and again, praising her efforts.

“Gail’lealis,” he says, pointing out an elegant bellflower, its blue-white petals bundled tightly in green sepals.

It sounds off, even to her ear, when she says, “Ga’lealis,” back.

They pause for a moment, and Solas turns and bends and plucks an early bloom from the same plant, rotating it slowly between his fingers, holding it up for examination.

“Ga-il,” he repeats softly, separating the sounds. “Meaning ‘bell,’ in the common parlance.”

“Ga-il,” she says again, correctly this time.

“Followed by lealis, meaning ‘glass.’”

“Gail’lealis.”

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, tucking the flower behind her ear, the meaning vague yet all-encompassing. It is all beautiful– the morning, the garden, how she catches the light, his ancient language in her mouth, her mouth–

Solas kisses her in the empty courtyard, parts her lips with a linguist’s tongue, and she kisses him back again and again as if each time might be the last. He wants to stay like this forever, wants the sun to forget to rise, wants the castle to sleep and sleep in an endless dream.

But the light keeps coming, every moment. The castle will wake, and they will see.

And this will cost them, in the end.

She is pink as the sky when they finally come apart, and continue their long walk around.

“I hear you were out here yesterday,” she says, breaking the silence as they turn a corner. “Cullen says you beat him soundly at chess.”

“It was a closer game than he thinks,” Solas says, but she has learned when he’s just being modest.

“Must not have been that close, because Bull says the same. As do Blackwall, and Varric, and Dorian, though he swears that you cheated.” “I did no such thing!”

When they turn again, the chessboard in question comes into full view, set and waiting on its table beneath an awning.

“He seemed very certain,” she shrugs. “Though I suppose I could find out for myself.”

They stop again before the table, and Solas looks at her intently. “Is that a challenge, dear Inquisitor?”

“That depends on your level of skill.”

She’s teasing him now, enticing him, a dynamic he’s come to enjoy. There are so few who impress him with thoughtfulness, who make him work at being clever.

“Very well, but you should know that I am merciless,” he warns, a contradiction to the chivalry of pulling out her chair. “Even to one I love.”

He takes the seat opposite her, the board and the pieces adorned in glittering dew.

“I believe the Lady Inquisitor moves first.”

**********

He sets a dozen little traps for her, a dozen clever gambits, and she evades them every time, to his astonishment. Where he moves to attack, she counters; where he baits her, she defends or retreats. By the end, with the sun fully risen overhead, they reach a deadlock, both depleted, neither victorious.

“Again?” She asks cheerfully, when they’ve finished. Already she is freeing her captives from his end of the table. “Don’t look so stunned, my love. Unless you’re trying to offend me.”

“Forgive me, vhenan,” he says, shaking his head. “You surprise me as always. It is rare to find an opponent so…discerning.”

His beloved laughs with the morning breeze, a sound like air that surrounds and envelops him.

“Rare to find one you can’t beat, you mean.”

She’s right, of course– it is rare that he loses, even rarer that he plays against someone so evenly matched. He still can’t quite puzzle through it, where he went wrong, where she figured him out.

He had gotten a lead on her early on, or so he thought– he had taken a tower, a mage, and two pawns– and left his queen open for the taking, which she had entirely ignored. She caught onto him quickly, though too late to win, and when she realized she couldn’t beat him, she had blocked him instead.

Solas leans thoughtfully back in his chair, replaying their game in his mind. No matter how he tries to beat her, he finds no way through. She sees his scheming, sees him coming, cuts him off.

“Why did you not take my queen, given the chance?”

“Because you gave me the chance,” she reasons. “You wouldn’t do that except to win.”

“It could have been a tactical error.” “It wasn’t,” she says assuredly, resetting the pieces along their battle lines. “If I had taken her, it would have left my king undefended from your mages.” “You could have moved him.” “For a turn or two. Then your knight would have circled back. Isn’t that right?” She looks up at Solas, her eyes smiling and sharp, affirmed in her answer already. “Or shall we call that a ‘tactical error?’”

“Mm,” Solas nods his approval. “You’ve become quite the strategist. Have you been spending time with our Commander?”

“I’ve been spending time with you,” she counters. “Learning all your little tricks.”

Not all, it occurs to him, but Solas smothers the thought with a laugh. “It seems to me you have a few of your own.”

“Our Keeper used to call me harellan,” she tells him. “Trickster. Though I needn’t explain that to you.”

He fights to keep the easy expression on his face, feeling suddenly caught in the snare of her gaze, as if she sees directly through him, sees him fully, all he is.

Harellan, his mind echoes. How could she know?

The wait for her judgment feels infinite, inevitable– but it does not come, and does not come, and does not come. She only moves a white pawn toward the board’s center, the leaves rustling softly around them.

No, he decides. She does not know. She only means he knows the word.

Solas mirrors her opening move, their pawns face to face on the battlefield. “And still, your Keeper named you her First.”

“I was more troublesome as a child,” she says, with a grin that implies that the mischief has never left her. “I’ve settled down a great deal since. Can’t you tell?”

This time, when Solas laughs, there is nothing else hiding beneath it. No uneasy feeling, no great fear that she will discover him, cast him out. There is only happiness for a moment, the war reduced to a board between them, as if sorrow and death are nowhere, and the end of the world is far away.

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kitramune · 1 year

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InuKag were together for a whole year before RT retconned it.

(Reposted from my Twitter. And as a starting disclaimer, yes, I know this was retconned when Kagome had a graduation chapter, but I still enjoy thinking about it.) So I've done a little theory crafting, and I really think InuKag were traveling together a long time before they met their other friends. Possibly even a year before Miroku. Thanks to color versions of pages, we can guess that the manga starts in autumn. Leaf color, falling leaves, the villagers harvesting extra thatch for their homes, and everyone having foggy breath. (This also means Kagome's birthday is probably in autumn!)

The Blank Woman and Sesshoumaru seem to be in winter, because a lot of the trees are finally bare, and Kagome's dressing warmer. Note that Japanese flying squirrels do not hibernate. Though I'll admit this one has less evidence, it seems to match up.

The frog prince arc is spring. Again easy thanks to color pages, and Kagome finally being able to swim.

After meeting Shippou we transition into summer for the poltergeist and spider arcs. Again, Kagome's attire makes this obvious, with her sundresses and short-sleeved summer uniform while eating ice cream. Also the people doing fireworks. Nazuna is also picking Chinese Bellflowers, which are a summer bloom.

I'm guessing Kikyou's resurrection is either late summer or early fall due to the field of pampas grass and the dragonflies.

And we're back around to proper autumn by Miroku's intro chapter. Fallen leaves, hot spring monkeys, and persimmons!

So there you have it! They were "alone" together (sans Shippou lol) for an entire year! I think this makes a lot of things make more sense, like Inuyasha almost kissing her "already" and realizing he likes her by then. There was more one-on-one bonding than we thought! Again, I'm not trying to claim this as absolute canon, since I'm aware Rumiko retconned it later to have Kagome graduate near the end of the series. I hope it hasn't come off as me trying to do anything but point out how the seasons initially played out.

#Inuyasha #manga #theory #analysis #InuKag

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lilpunkrock · 2 years

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where you go (i will go) — i

Summary: A threat to your realm inspires an unlikely collaboration.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Words: 3.9k+

AN: Originally posted to my other account, @alittlepunkrock, I'm now uploading to this second blog because my main is having some issues. RIP. I hope you all enjoy! We are looking at a good 15-20 parter, I hope you all will come along on the ride with me!