fic: Rustling [True Blood, Eric/Godric, 1200wds]
Rustling
pairing: Godric/Eric with a splash of Eric/Sookie at the end somewhere.
rating: pg
w/c: 1,200
summary: long after Godric is gone, Eric will remember.
a/n: for 1sentence. writing this was a real struggle against my pathological preference toward semicolons and militantly short sentences. some of these make my left eye twitch and want to yell ‘I DO BELIEVE IN FULL STOPS, I DO!’, but here’s hoping it all worked out fine. also: time to play spot-the-Buffy-reference!
vi. dark
He closes his eyes and then - nothing.
ix. drink
The blood is disgusting - thick and barely warm, clotting in Eric’s throat - but Godric brings his wrist closer, and Eric searches for it like a babe for a mother’s breast.
iii. beginning
The dirt is in his hair, in his mouth, in his eyelids.
xxii. hollow
Eric feels curiously empty as bloods gushes through his fingers (in his mouth, over his face, into the ground), but sometimes he gets hazy memories of metal slicing through tender, grit-encrusted skin: maybe it’s not so surprising after all.
xiii. fall
His name thunders through Eric like a heartbeat: God-ric, God-ric, God-ric.
xxxvii. snakes
Her fangs snap at his throat, tearing open the soft, unprotected flesh; the edges of the wound are jagged and pink and slow to heal.
xii. end
If not for Godric, Eric would not have survived his first century.
xxxii. pretty
She’s small, lithe, blond, and has all her teeth, but Eric can’t tear his eyes from where Godric kneels between her legs, sinking his teeth into her thigh.
i. air
Eric stays underwater for a long time, watching the stars waver as the surface ripples.
xxvi. lost
Eric’s stomach is cramping, he keeps coughing up mucus-thick strings of blood that cling wetly to his lips, and he barely has the strength to roll on his side so he does not choke on it.
xxxi. poison
It’s just the blood, child, you will survive.
xxxxiv. taboo
“Sometimes I forget I wasn’t always this way,” Godric says, standing over the razed ground that might’ve been his village, an eon ago.
vii. despair
The bodies are piled on top of each other, spilling out of the hurried, shallow graves; men already displaying symptoms pack dirt over their open sores.
xvi. flying
He makes a joke and Godric laughs.
xxxv. roses
Godric is quite happy smelling like a wild creature of the forest, but Eric insists on visiting the perfumed baths of Rome; this is where Godric shows Eric how to glamour, but he overcooks the proprietor, leaving him glassy-eyed and empty.
xxix. old
When they sleep in the same grave, sometimes Eric will wake with Godric curled into his negative space, palm pressed against his chest - his features are still fine and round, like a child’s.
xxxix. solid
The weight of this - whatever it is - settles where Eric’s heart used to be, dark and heavy in his chest.
xxxxi. stable
Godric lands a blow that breaks Eric’s jaw, sending him staggering to his knees; looking up into his Maker’s little wild-animal face, Godric tells him complacency will get him killed.
xviii. foot
Now she is a creature with a penchant for warrior blood, but she used to be a dancer in a travelling troupe; Eric didn’t even know people could bend that way.
xxxxiii. summer
On the shortest night of the year, they play a game: it evolves into a heated bloodsport ignited by extreme competitiveness, and by the time they succumb to sleep they are covered with gore, unable to wipe the taste of each other off their tongues.
xxxiii. rain
“You make me feel young again,” Godric admits, vibrant and alive.
xxi. head
The British dipped the heads of the rebels in tar and displayed them on pikes, but while Godric rolls his eyes, Eric delights in it - it appeals to his warrior spirit.
iv. bugs
She is made of earth and smells of damp decay; she looks at Eric with eyes bleeding rot, her mouth crawling with maggots that split fatly on her teeth.
xxxxvii. water
Godric’s emotions are mercurial and quick to change: a smile is always small and fleeting, but treasured.
xv. flexible
“We could go north,” Godric says, looking toward the city and its crush of human despair and sweat, “or south,” and he turns his head toward the mountains.
xxiii. honor
He will follow him forever.
viii. door
Eric can smell virgin: “I’m afraid you may not come in,” the boy says politely.
xvii. food
They panic, eyes wide and rolling like cattle; Eric feels nothing as bones break under his hands.
xxxxvi. war
Godric prays for the dead in a language that had died long before Eric was born; to Eric, it sounds emotionless and harsh, like Godric’s mouth is full of sharp corners.
ii. apple
She shudders, full-bodied and ripe, the light from the fire dappling over her as she dances, but Godric’s hand stays firm on Eric’s elbow.
xxxxviii. welcome
Godric advises restraint - they cannot afford to take more than they need, it is a warrior village and they are no strangers to burning bodies on funeral pyres.
xxx. peace
Blood slicks the places between them both; Eric shifts so Godric can lie on top of him, licking the blood that still trickles from his mouth.
xxxxix. winter
Sometimes Godric will tell Eric stories of long-dead gods and their thundering, bumbling misdeeds; Godric’s favorite is the tale of the seasons, but Eric does not understand the mother’s attachment to her wayward daughter - being Queen of the Underworld can only be a step up.
xxiv. hope
“They will rebuild,” Godric says, face smeared with ash, “humans are uniquely resilient creatures.”
xxxviii. snow
They do not feel the cold, but as they do not generate any body temperature they have to be wary of the frost: “I hear it gets warmer the further south you travel,” Eric says, voice muffled by layers of furs.
x. duty
“I have nothing left to teach you, brother.”
xxxvi. secret
Eric hasn’t quite forgotten how to love.
xx. green
Eric sometimes dreams about the color of leaves in morning sunlight, and when he wakes, he wants to kill something.
xxv. light
Now he doesn’t even look at paintings of the sunrise.
xxxxv. ugly
It’s only after he and Godric separate that Eric gets his first true taste of vampire politics; turns out it's just a show to prove who has the bigger fangs, and Eric's are quite large.
v. coffee
Eric spits out the blood and a little of it trails down his chin: it’s too bitter, and Pam cackles.
xxxxii. strange
Godric takes Eric to see an early morning showing of Nosterafu in a cinema in Vienna; Eric feels uneasy with such a human pastime, but cannot help but laugh when Godric takes so much glee in Count Orlok’s eyebrows.
xxxxx. wood
He and Pam travel to the Americas, and he sends Godric a telegram that says something like this: There are no trees.
xi. earth
Godric marvels at technology - he cannot believe he and Eric can sleep in an ordinary bed, curled around one another in a room completely cut off from the sun.
xxvii. metal
Eric especially enjoys showing Godric how to text.
xxxiv. regret
The Great Revelation: “You mean you’ve never had cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip ice cream?” the woman exclaims, and Eric mourns the days of killing in the shadows.
xxviii. new
There’s steel under her Mary Sue dress and gosh-darn accent, and Eric will admit to no one how much time he spends thinking about what else might be under there.
xxxx. spring
Something stirs somewhere, like the first sapling after the frost.
xiv. fire
He feels it even in his sleep: the burn in his chest that means he’s gone.
**
Title from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.
- The Fire of Drift-wood
pairing: Godric/Eric with a splash of Eric/Sookie at the end somewhere.
rating: pg
w/c: 1,200
summary: long after Godric is gone, Eric will remember.
a/n: for 1sentence. writing this was a real struggle against my pathological preference toward semicolons and militantly short sentences. some of these make my left eye twitch and want to yell ‘I DO BELIEVE IN FULL STOPS, I DO!’, but here’s hoping it all worked out fine. also: time to play spot-the-Buffy-reference!
vi. dark
He closes his eyes and then - nothing.
ix. drink
The blood is disgusting - thick and barely warm, clotting in Eric’s throat - but Godric brings his wrist closer, and Eric searches for it like a babe for a mother’s breast.
iii. beginning
The dirt is in his hair, in his mouth, in his eyelids.
xxii. hollow
Eric feels curiously empty as bloods gushes through his fingers (in his mouth, over his face, into the ground), but sometimes he gets hazy memories of metal slicing through tender, grit-encrusted skin: maybe it’s not so surprising after all.
xiii. fall
His name thunders through Eric like a heartbeat: God-ric, God-ric, God-ric.
xxxvii. snakes
Her fangs snap at his throat, tearing open the soft, unprotected flesh; the edges of the wound are jagged and pink and slow to heal.
xii. end
If not for Godric, Eric would not have survived his first century.
xxxii. pretty
She’s small, lithe, blond, and has all her teeth, but Eric can’t tear his eyes from where Godric kneels between her legs, sinking his teeth into her thigh.
i. air
Eric stays underwater for a long time, watching the stars waver as the surface ripples.
xxvi. lost
Eric’s stomach is cramping, he keeps coughing up mucus-thick strings of blood that cling wetly to his lips, and he barely has the strength to roll on his side so he does not choke on it.
xxxi. poison
It’s just the blood, child, you will survive.
xxxxiv. taboo
“Sometimes I forget I wasn’t always this way,” Godric says, standing over the razed ground that might’ve been his village, an eon ago.
vii. despair
The bodies are piled on top of each other, spilling out of the hurried, shallow graves; men already displaying symptoms pack dirt over their open sores.
xvi. flying
He makes a joke and Godric laughs.
xxxv. roses
Godric is quite happy smelling like a wild creature of the forest, but Eric insists on visiting the perfumed baths of Rome; this is where Godric shows Eric how to glamour, but he overcooks the proprietor, leaving him glassy-eyed and empty.
xxix. old
When they sleep in the same grave, sometimes Eric will wake with Godric curled into his negative space, palm pressed against his chest - his features are still fine and round, like a child’s.
xxxix. solid
The weight of this - whatever it is - settles where Eric’s heart used to be, dark and heavy in his chest.
xxxxi. stable
Godric lands a blow that breaks Eric’s jaw, sending him staggering to his knees; looking up into his Maker’s little wild-animal face, Godric tells him complacency will get him killed.
xviii. foot
Now she is a creature with a penchant for warrior blood, but she used to be a dancer in a travelling troupe; Eric didn’t even know people could bend that way.
xxxxiii. summer
On the shortest night of the year, they play a game: it evolves into a heated bloodsport ignited by extreme competitiveness, and by the time they succumb to sleep they are covered with gore, unable to wipe the taste of each other off their tongues.
xxxiii. rain
“You make me feel young again,” Godric admits, vibrant and alive.
xxi. head
The British dipped the heads of the rebels in tar and displayed them on pikes, but while Godric rolls his eyes, Eric delights in it - it appeals to his warrior spirit.
iv. bugs
She is made of earth and smells of damp decay; she looks at Eric with eyes bleeding rot, her mouth crawling with maggots that split fatly on her teeth.
xxxxvii. water
Godric’s emotions are mercurial and quick to change: a smile is always small and fleeting, but treasured.
xv. flexible
“We could go north,” Godric says, looking toward the city and its crush of human despair and sweat, “or south,” and he turns his head toward the mountains.
xxiii. honor
He will follow him forever.
viii. door
Eric can smell virgin: “I’m afraid you may not come in,” the boy says politely.
xvii. food
They panic, eyes wide and rolling like cattle; Eric feels nothing as bones break under his hands.
xxxxvi. war
Godric prays for the dead in a language that had died long before Eric was born; to Eric, it sounds emotionless and harsh, like Godric’s mouth is full of sharp corners.
ii. apple
She shudders, full-bodied and ripe, the light from the fire dappling over her as she dances, but Godric’s hand stays firm on Eric’s elbow.
xxxxviii. welcome
Godric advises restraint - they cannot afford to take more than they need, it is a warrior village and they are no strangers to burning bodies on funeral pyres.
xxx. peace
Blood slicks the places between them both; Eric shifts so Godric can lie on top of him, licking the blood that still trickles from his mouth.
xxxxix. winter
Sometimes Godric will tell Eric stories of long-dead gods and their thundering, bumbling misdeeds; Godric’s favorite is the tale of the seasons, but Eric does not understand the mother’s attachment to her wayward daughter - being Queen of the Underworld can only be a step up.
xxiv. hope
“They will rebuild,” Godric says, face smeared with ash, “humans are uniquely resilient creatures.”
xxxviii. snow
They do not feel the cold, but as they do not generate any body temperature they have to be wary of the frost: “I hear it gets warmer the further south you travel,” Eric says, voice muffled by layers of furs.
x. duty
“I have nothing left to teach you, brother.”
xxxvi. secret
Eric hasn’t quite forgotten how to love.
xx. green
Eric sometimes dreams about the color of leaves in morning sunlight, and when he wakes, he wants to kill something.
xxv. light
Now he doesn’t even look at paintings of the sunrise.
xxxxv. ugly
It’s only after he and Godric separate that Eric gets his first true taste of vampire politics; turns out it's just a show to prove who has the bigger fangs, and Eric's are quite large.
v. coffee
Eric spits out the blood and a little of it trails down his chin: it’s too bitter, and Pam cackles.
xxxxii. strange
Godric takes Eric to see an early morning showing of Nosterafu in a cinema in Vienna; Eric feels uneasy with such a human pastime, but cannot help but laugh when Godric takes so much glee in Count Orlok’s eyebrows.
xxxxx. wood
He and Pam travel to the Americas, and he sends Godric a telegram that says something like this: There are no trees.
xi. earth
Godric marvels at technology - he cannot believe he and Eric can sleep in an ordinary bed, curled around one another in a room completely cut off from the sun.
xxvii. metal
Eric especially enjoys showing Godric how to text.
xxxiv. regret
The Great Revelation: “You mean you’ve never had cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip ice cream?” the woman exclaims, and Eric mourns the days of killing in the shadows.
xxviii. new
There’s steel under her Mary Sue dress and gosh-darn accent, and Eric will admit to no one how much time he spends thinking about what else might be under there.
xxxx. spring
Something stirs somewhere, like the first sapling after the frost.
xiv. fire
He feels it even in his sleep: the burn in his chest that means he’s gone.
**
Title from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.
- The Fire of Drift-wood