are you going to scarborough fair? [open]

[prince_of_beasts]

Who: Dimitri & you
What: 🌼💐🌸❀✿🌷🌹🌻
Where: around the ship
When: September
Warnings: body horror, dissociation/derealization, nightmares, hallucinations

august 31st (close CR; sub-post now with prompts)

Dedue's birthday is close, and quiet. It's nice to celebrate properly, with friends, instead of the two of them huddled alone. It's a bit of simple happiness after the nightmare that was the tourney.

A week later, the flowers sprout, and the ship goes to hell.

she once was a true love of mine (closed Dedue; hanahaki, just after the flowers sprout)

They're on the sports deck when it happens. It's a good thing they've blunted their weapons, because Dedue's axe catches Dimitri full in the chest and sends him sprawling. He hits the deck, stars spinning behind his eyes, breathing reduced to a stuttering wheeze; before he really should, he forces himself to roll onto his side, bracing himself on one elbow and raising the other hand in a vague wave. "Sssorry -- s-sorry -- I'm fine," he gasps, coughing as his ribs seize. Hell, that's going to bruise. "Look -- "

He points. Dimitri's only ever glimpsed these flowers, but the image is seared into his mind, an incongruous piece of tranquility amidst a living Hell. Later, in Garreg Mach's greenhouse -- little more than shoots and seedlings in a place Dimitri rarely frequented, but even in his increasingly manic fixation on revenge, he'd done his best to commit those buds and blossoms to memory. They were important. Knowing them mattered.

Behind Dedue, innocent as anything, a spray of deep blue flowers waves in the sea breeze.

i. tell her to find me an acre of land (redbud & pansy, early September)

It blossoms in the middle of the Promenade, where it can hardly be avoided -- not just a flowerbed or a hanging vine, but a full tree in lush, pink bloom. At the foot, a dark shape lies crumpled, armored in black steel that doesn't fit and a cloak sewn for winters Dimitri will never see again. A stranger stands over him, a blond, broad-shouldered man, perhaps in his thirties, whose strong brow and sharp jaw bear a striking resemblance to Dimitri's own. His expression is stern, but not unkind.

"So easily you forget us. Do we mean so little to you?"

Dimitri's shoulders heave silently. He does not respond, and he does not get up.

ii. between the salt water and the sea strand (poppy, early-mid September; nightmares likely ft. gore, undeath, cannibalism)

Early morning, in the pre-dawn shadows before the miserable heat can take hold, Dimitri's out on the deck, running drills again, and again, and again. He can't cover his face when he trains; he'd drown in his own sweat. And he has to train, desperately, compulsively. It's the only remedy for his insomnia when the alternative is being left in the dark with his thoughts, and that -- that will kill him more surely than any flower.

Lost in the repetition, in the ache in his muscles and the sweat clinging to his skin, he fails to catch the bed of poppies stealing across the deck. His limbs grow heavy; his focus fails -- maybe he's finally exhausted himself. Maybe now he can get some ... sleep ...

He barely feels his knees hit the deck. The petals are so soft beneath his head.

The sun is still rising. If someone doesn't rescue him, heatstroke and sun poisoning are real dangers.

iii. tell him to reap it with a sickle of leather (angel's trumpet, mid-September)

A child clings to Dimitri's shadow. Watch for long and it's obvious who it is -- despite the scrawny frame and rounded, baby-soft features, the boy is a smaller, unmolded echo of Dimitri himself. And the glare of undiluted hate is distinctive to anyone who's seen it in the present day. "Don't fucking touch me," the child snarls at anyone who comes within a few paces. Any sudden movement -- even if it's to pull away -- and he lunges with a shriek. "I'LL KILL YOU!"

Dimitri grabs reflexively for his shoulder, shifting towards a shielding posture, but his hand phases through. Just as well -- the child withdraws back to his side, teeth bared. It would look silly if the malice weren't so genuine. Dimitri just looks exhausted.

"I'm sorry about him. I can't make him stop."

iv. and gather it all with a rope of heather (begonia, thistle et al., late-September; cw body horror)

As the month drags on, Dimitri grows more and more scarce. When he is around, he's almost always accompanying Dedue, as a human or a lion. In the rare moments he can be found alone, he's twitchy and temperamental; thorns and bristles sprout from his face and neck, while the points of thick leaves poke through the shoulders of his shirt like a dragon's scales. Late night and early morning are the times he's most likely to be caught, skulking through Windjammer or the Drunken Sailor with a takeaway container clutched to his chest. His eyes shine like an animal's in the dimmed lights. His teeth flash a hair too sharp as he snarls, "What do you want?"

v. then he'll be a true love of mine

By the end of the month, Dimitri can't be found at all.

parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

Wildcard! HMU in DMs here or on Discord bird#9111

Comments

She once was a true love of mine

[glassaxolotl]

Dedue of course rushes over, looking concerned and glancing over Dimitri’s body to check for injuries. But Dimitri points and Dedue glances over and suddenly clasps his hands over his mouth, frozen.

He knows those flowers. He was trying to grow them at Ossie and Giles’ cottage for how long now? Yet the soil lay bare.

Tears well up in his eyes. He dare not approach, for fear that it will be just a sad dream or a cruel trick.

[prince_of_beasts]

Dimitri gets his limbs back under him, and braces a hand on Dedue's shoulder. "They're beautiful," he rasps, still winded.

He shuffles over to the little bunch of flowers. They bend when he brushes the backs of his knuckles against them. "Real ... I don't see a way to transplant them somewhere safer." They're not growing out of any dirt, just a barely-visible seam in the deck surface.

[glassaxolotl]

“The ship would not let them grow anywhere else,” he sighs. “We will have to keep them safe here.”

[prince_of_beasts]

"We will. I promise yo-ou." Dimitri has to cough again, shallow, breath caught on the blooming bruise across his ribs. "We can find a way to mark them off ... perhaps arrange some chairs into a barrier while we find something sturdier."

[glassaxolotl]

“You are coughing,” Dedue observes with a frown. Then shifts closer to put a hand to Dimitri’s forehead.

[prince_of_beasts]

"Of course I'm co-oughing, you put a dent in my ribcage," Dimitri retorts.

There's no fever (yet), just a scratching at the bottom of Dimitri's lungs that will surely clear up once he properly catches his breath.

[glassaxolotl]

Dedue gives an unconvinced grunt and moves his hand back. “The barrier will help,” he agrees.

[prince_of_beasts]

Dimitri swallows a disappointed sound when Dedue's hand leaves. Swallows the impulse to lean after the touch. Swallows another cough.

They arrange some chairs from the pool bar in a makeshift cordon (laid flat, so the wind won't topple them onto the flowers). Once they're done, Dimitri stands back, inspecting their work. And, once he's satisfied, regarding the flowers with a gentler eye.

"They are lovely," he says. "It is nice to see them growing well, even if this isn't where they'd grow na-aturally -- " Some fleck of spit, or sea spray, or something, catches on his windpipe. Clearing his throat only seems to lodge it deeper. He covers his mouth, raising one hand. By the time he can breathe again, he's doubled over, free hand braced on his knee for support. "F-fine," he wheezes, "I'm fine, I just -- inhaled something."

[glassaxolotl]

Dedue of course rushes over immediately and rubs Dimitri’s back while he coughs.

“We should take you to the infirmary,” he says.

[prince_of_beasts]

"I'm really alright," Dimitri complains halfheartedly. He's not objecting to getting to lean into Dedue. He's not even objecting to the argument, really. It's comfortable, like a worn coat, like an old blanket, like the steps to a front door. Not that Dimitri's ever had a front door. He might like to. He would, if it was with Dedue.

One final cough dislodges something into his mouth. Dimitri grimaces, and works his jaw until he can scrape it onto his teeth and spit it into his hand -- a scrap of nameless plant matter, crushed beyond all recognition. "Eugh. See? I just inhaled a petal. Honestly, the ship is so overgrown I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner."

[glassaxolotl]

Dedue sighs in relief. “I am glad it is out,” he says. He doesn’t want to think about Dimitri choking in front of him.

[prince_of_beasts]

Dimitri reaches for Dedue's hand (with his non-spit one), tangles their fingers, and kisses Dedue's knuckles. "You worry too much, my friend," he says. He means, I love you.

He's feeling clingy today. That's not so strange. Some days more than others, all he wants is to linger by Dedue's side. Sometimes it's nerves, the irrational certainty that if Dedue is out of his sight something terrible has happened. Others, more and more often, Dimitri just wants to watch him, in motion or at rest, at whatever pastime he chooses, and wonder at being allowed to love him. If his chest feels tight, if there's a knot under his sternum, well, it does feel like heartache. Not to mention the substantial actual bruise, which does seem to be getting worse.

By the time they go to lunch, Dimitri has just about resolved to take himself to the infirmary, once he can make an excuse to avoid worrying Dedue. Lunch first, though, because he won't get away with any excuse that involves skipping a meal.

He's half-filled a plate at the buffet, and he can feel Dedue's eyes on the back of his head. He sighs fondly, does not roll his eyes, and reaches for the tongs again --

-- something spasms in his chest. His plate clatters to the floor, scattering rice and beans across the tile. He catches himself on the buffet with one hand, hacking coughs into his elbow. It's fine -- he's fine -- he just needs a deep breath -- which he can't get -- something bubbles at the back of his throat, clogging every attempt to get air into his chest -- I'm fine, he tries to choke out reflexively, but all he can manage is a gurgling wheeze.

[glassaxolotl]

There is a clatter of utensils at Dedue’s table, and suddenly strong arms are around Dimitri’s chest. Dedue is squeezing him from behind, trying to dislodge whatever is choking him.

He bites his own lip, trying not to focus on the drum of his own heartbeat, nor the way this only reaffirms his old fears - any moment he looks away from Dimitri could be the last for him.

choking, emetophobia cw

[prince_of_beasts]

Something deep at the base of Dimitri's spine -- behind the panic, the slippage as he starts to claw at his throat in desperation -- recognizes this as comfort. A shred of stability as everything else churns bloody.

Spots cloud his vision, bright and dizzying. Just as he's begun to black out, something gives way. He retches. A ragged mass tears forward into his mouth and splatters onto the floor.

It takes a few heaves to clear his airway. He gasps, ragged, and has to spit clear a glob of blood and saliva. The back of his mouth tastes bitter, rusty. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and swallows yet more blood and a stringy clot of something-or-other.

He's too preoccupied with getting his feet back under him to notice what he's brought up: a mass of crushed and shredded petals, the fibrous remnants of stems and leaves, mostly glued together by spit, blood, and bile. A few rose-red scraps remain recognizably intact -- along with a small, battered cluster of Gwenhwyvar gentians.

[glassaxolotl]

Dedue isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at initially. But when he realizes, he whispers, “What?”

[prince_of_beasts]

Dedue's reaction catches Dimitri's attention. He gets his legs back under control (with a hand braced on Dedue's wrist, maybe so Dimitri can still lean on him, maybe so Dedue keeps his arm around him like that, maybe Dimitri still feels unsteady! It's fine!) and blinks back his watering eyes.

"Oh," he croaks. "That seems bad."

[glassaxolotl]

“Yes,” Dedue frowns.
“We will go see Dr. Watson,” he states firmly.

[prince_of_beasts]

"R-right." Dimitri's not arguing; even he can't deny that this is really very bad. "Should we," eugh, "take a s-sample?"

[glassaxolotl]

“Yes. Also...” he raises his phone up and takes a photo. The bloody, pulpy mass is now the first image to grace his camera roll. “I have seen others do this. Now there is a record,” he explains.

[prince_of_beasts]

"Others do ... ?" Dimitri squints. "With the f-flowers?"

If it's a flower effect, it stands to reason he's not the only one experiencing it, but he's too dizzy to put a train of thought together.

(Mild emetophobia mention)

[glassaxolotl]

“No. Taking images with the phone,” he clarifies.

“I have not seen,” he gestures at the flower puke, “this before.”