If the walls were too thin, you would break right in [closed]

[eliotwaugh]

He doesn't remember how he got here, but here he undeniably is, sunlight all dappled across the mossy forest floor. Eliot looks around. What was he doing? There is a vague sense of unease despite the summer afternoon, and if Eliot could only remember where he was before this he might know what he was trying--he was trying to get away from something? That much seems clear to him, but what?

He takes a breath to steady his nerves. Of course he feels uneasy, he was probably brought here for something, and Ember and Umber are probably going to be lofty and cryptic and dire about it, and whatever paltry thing was on his mind before he came will just have to wait. It's not important now, he has a mission to get on with.

Because Eliot knows where he is, of course, the picturesque quality of his surroundings gives it away immediately, the colors all hyperpigmented and pristine. Like England, but moreso: he's in Fillory, and people don't get brought to Fillory unless there's something important to be done. He remembers that from childhood and reading battered copies of the books that had been thumbed through by countless children before him. Ugh, maybe that's where he was before here, stuck in the bleak church basement where his parents left him every week to try to force him to care about Jesus. He doesn't want to go back there. He doesn't want to go back there ever again.

Eliot needs to find out what his quest is, why the rams brought him here. Maybe if he does a very good job in helping to save Fillory from whatever danger is going to befall it, they'll let him stay.

He starts to walk though the woods, in search of a path or some landmark he'll remember from the books. It's slower going than he'd expected, though, because he keeps tripping over roots and leaves like he can't move correctly. Or maybe he's younger, somehow? Time works differently in Fillory, maybe he's a child again. But Eliot looks down at his hands, and picks up a leaf (perfect and gold and amber, and for all he knows maybe it is made of precious stone, stranger things happen here) and it looks like a normal size for a leaf against his palm.

A rustling sound startles him, and he turns sharply, his heart racing. The leaf he was holding drifts to the ground as slowly as if the air were made of oil. Eliot wishes he had a sword or something. This is Fillory, he should have a damn sword.

"Who's there?" he calls, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Comments

body horror tw from here on out

[eliotwaugh]

Oh no. No no no no no. He doesn't want this, and it's his dream, shouldn't he be able to stop it, to change it?

Eliot tries to move and only feels sore from his muscles straining against whatever invisible force holds him still. He wishes he could get out of here, or at the very least tell Johnny to get away, but of course that's useless. From his field of vision he can see a leaf suspended in the air, mid-fall.

And then there's a sound, just outside his field of vision, the sound of movement. His heart's racing. What fresh hell is this, he thinks, that the Beast wasn't enough to dump on their minds? And then it moves to where he can see it, and it's Johnny, somehow mobile and just fine, standing between him and the Beast.

Fuck no. Eliot doesn't know how Johnny's immune to the Beast's effect on time, he just wants Johnny to get out of the way. Don't do this, please. There's a yell building up inside him, his chest is tight and he can't release it. He tries to concentrate, to will his thoughts at Johnny if he can't say anything. Just go, he thinks, desperate and pleading. Just get out of here, there's nothing you can do, it's not worth it.

He can see a flicker of movement from behind Johnny's hair; the Beast is moving, starting to circle in a slow amble. Its fingers ripple as if in some invisible wind. Too many fingers, Eliot thinks, that's way too many, and it makes him feel sick to look at them.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny gets the impression taking his eyes off this creature would be a bad idea, but he does it anyway, turning to look Eliot in the eye. He's completely frozen, still breathing, his expression contorted in horror, radiating desperation. Johnny stares at him, terrified to see him like this. What the fuck is going on?

"Eliot," he whispers, reaching out to touch him. He feels solid, human, warm, but he's immovable. "What's happening?"

He rounds back on the Beast, anger rising to the top of his cold calm. "What have you done to him?" he snaps. "Let him go!"

He makes another motion forward, reaching, maybe for the branch.

[eliotwaugh]

When Johnny turns to look at him Eliot wants to cry, or look away, anything so he doesn't have to see Johnny's searching gaze, the confusion that fast turns to anger. Oh no, Johnny. Don't be brave, not for him.

But it's happening and Eliot can't stop it; he can only watch, like this is some ridiculous fucking movie, this tableau playing out before his eyes. Ha ha, a captive audience. What a tasteless pun. It's happening and Johnny's yelling, he can't see Johnny's face but he knows what he must look like. Just like the first night they met and Johnny went off on that guy in the subway, Johnny cares too much and Eliot doesn't get why Johnny cares about him, doesn't get why Johnny can't just do the sensible thing and get the hell away from here when he could stay safe.

It's too late now, though, Eliot can sense it, and whatever move Johnny makes is one step too far because the Beast moves in a blur, inhumanly fast.


It catches Johnny's hand in an iron grip almost as soon as he reaches out; it clicks its tongue, chiding, now what did you go and do that for? The leaves of its branch rustle as it shakes its head slowly. With its other hand it holds Johnny by the throat and lifts him up. Its fingers ripple and settle around that soft fragile neck, still as a spider, waiting, giving him time to realize the depth of his mistake.

body horror HELLA INTENSIFIES, also strangulation and death, I am serious this is bad news bears

[johnny_truant]

His breath seizes up when it catches his wrist, too fast for him to have even seen it move, and then the other hand is on his throat, dragging him up off the ground. His feet dangle absurdly as it holds him up, its hand moving from his wrist to clamp around his back, trapping his arms, crushing him, forcing the air out of him. Anger gives way to panic and he starts struggling desperately. What is this thing, what does it want?

The branch peels away, curls around the back of his head. It doesn't have a face. Featureless and smooth. Just a mouth, grinning broadly.

"No-!" he hears himself scream, but only for a moment. It opens its mouth too wide, like a snake unhinging its jaw, and pushes him forward. He doesn't know how long it lasts, isn't precisely sure when he stops being present for it, it's just a wash of agony and terror, and then he jerks awake, sweat-soaked, heart pounding, breathing sharp and scared.