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anxiouslyfred · 2 years

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Connections - Royality

Summary: A world of various soulmate connections forming at different ages, The sides need to navigate each having multiple types of soulmate connections and finding each other. Patton and Roman cope with being unable to see red and blue until they meet one night at the theatre.

Eventual DRLAMP

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The year before, Roman had spent ages laughing and occasionally taunting Remus when his brother lost 2 colours from his sight. It wasn't so funny now, when on what he could only assume was this soulmates 11th Birthday, he found himself just seeing black for the sash he was certain should look red, and the sky outside just as dark despite being a clear, sunny day. It definitely made the clouds more fascinating than they had been against blue skies for some bright side.

It took a few moments before the 12 year old decided the best course of action was to circle the date on the calendar and note what had happened. Perhaps he could use knowing their birthday to find them in a few years. Roman was sure there had to be a way to find them from that.

/\/\

Patton would tell people that she'd always liked pastel colours and that her second soulmate had no impact at all on her choice of clothes. In reality though, it was simply easier to recognise blacks that others would see as pale blues when looking at clothes sections filled with other pastel colours and he did actually like the types of clothes that came in those shades.

The biggest thing Patton missed was actually seeing all the colours flowers could bloom but he would carry on gardening while he wasn't allowed to study animal care. There were plenty of creatures to be met outside among the plants anyway, and at least there the spiders would blend in or be hidden from his view in their homes rather than his.

Patton was resolute that life should be just as colourful with 2 colours subtracted from it as it was before and if people disputed that then she'd just have to find more flowers to grow, more wonderful animals to study and learn about.

/\/\

The amateur dramatics group was Roman's favourite thing. Of course he loved the school performances he could join, but for those he kept being put in the older roles, letting younger students fill the parts of other characters and honestly, Roman could only enjoy playing a wizard so many times.

It was even better because the costume department at school had little flexibility to fit outfits to actor preferences but the costumers with the amateur dramatics group asked him about his own colour preferences for outfits before making sure they'd fit the performance being rehearsed. It was wonderful to know that even years after his favourite colour in childhood was removed from his sight he could be wearing it to perform in.

Tonight was opening night for their performance and he was ready to steal the show.

/\/\

Patton had tried. He'd tried to convince his family to leave him out of this outing, and then attempted to feign sickness when that hadn't worked. She just didn't see the point of watching a play when the lighting and occasionally costumes could leave sections completely black to her.

It had happened before that her sibling would be leaning forwards in awe, whispering about how lovely a scene is while Patton's is squinting and hoping he's following the scene properly from the words since red or blue lights means he can't see the stage for the moment. Tonight he assumed it would be more of the same and no matter how interested she was in the play, she just didn't want to go through that again. At least with her flowers there were always other colours to look at around the black shapes.

Still, he'd been brought here and was going to try his best to enjoy the show.

That became a lot easy and immensely more difficult when during the second scene a character looked out to the audience just before being addressed for the first time and met Patton's eyes.

The black outfit draining to become red was the first thing to have Patton gasping, and he was soon turning in his seat, looking around and back to the actor, shocked to see they weren't showing any of the shock and joy he was going through.

The play was going on as normal, the character sassing a shop owner before agreeing to help with an errand. Her father however was leaning around her sibling frowning. A sharp point down to her seat and jab toward the stage was enough to tell her that if she didn't sit back down and pay attention to the show she'd likely be grounded for all the months until she left for college.

/\/\

Roman collapsed into a seat as soon as he was off stage from his first scene, looking around at the props and costumes of the other actors. It felt like he'd been fighting his reaction for hours rather than a few moments and was entirely happy that he'd managed to stay in character even while the audience had black clothes draining out to reveal blues and reds.

His soulmate was out there. They were sat in the audience, and he could peek through the curtains to try and find which seat. “Remus.” He muttered, too used to his brother attempting to sneak up on him after breaking into back-stage to be shocked at a presence behind him. “You need to ask for an announcement to be made. The person sat in Row E, seat 12 is requested back-stage on the interval. If they ask why it needs making say Roman can see all the colours again.”

“Not here to take orders from you. Why don't I shove you through the curtain and into the audience now? Quicker introduction that way!” Remus suggested, only lightly shoving his back, not enough for Roman to actually stumble.

“You know how close our parents are to trying to kick you out. Have you saved up enough for that to happen yet?” He felt bad bringing that up, neither of them liking the comparisons that had been getting more pointed recently, but needed the play to go well, just as much as he needed to actually meet that person.

Remus laughed, “Not yet, but nearly there. I'm gonna go out with a BANG!” It's odd hearing a quiet yell, but Remus had always been able to manage it. “I'll get your announcement made.” He'd vanished before Roman could turn to thank him.

/\/\

“You caused trouble so you can go and face it now.” Patton's father sounded grave as he turned to her, but she was fairly sure trouble wasn't the reason for her seat to have sounded from the tannoy. She only held her hand out for the ticket her father was bringing out of his pockets.

He nodded anyway. “Of course. I'll make all the apologies needed, just as you saw me doing to those sat around us once the lights went up.”

Leaving his family, it was easy to head to reception, show his ticket and ask how to get to back-stage. They were smiling at him so he assumed the actor must have said something in requesting the announcement, but didn't ask anything more after giving him the directions.

“Are you my bluebird?” The rouge was stood just behind the door of back-stage when Patton walked through it, looking for them.

She smiled, nodding. “I guess I am, if you're my rosebud.”

“Roman at your service, he/him pronouns. What's your name, lovely?” He bowed to her, managing to keep her attention away from the hustle that was back-stage.

“Patton, she/he pronouns. You're more eloquent than your character.” He stated, wondering if he could make some puns yet or if his soulmate would need to start getting ready for the next act.

The five minute call delayed any reply, but Roman shrugged as he straightened up. “Of course. One might portray anyone on stage, but how one carries themselves off it is wear the most important impressions are made. But you best be returning to your companions now, while I prepare for the stage once more.”

“Let's meet for hot chocolate tomorrow! The theatre cafe, maybe?” Patton suggested, doubting they'd be seeing each other after the show given his father usually had reservations for immediately after shows.

“I'll be there for 3pm.” Roman promised, bowing again as she turned to leave back-stage once more.

#royality #roman sanders #patton sanders #soulmate au #colour soulmates #actor roman

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cower-before-power · 3 years

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Naked Attraction

Summary: A typical day in your art class turn into anything but when you’re introduced to your nude model for the week- a devastatingly gorgeous man named Levi.

Pairing: Modern AU Levi Ackerman x F!Reader

TW: Nudity, swearing, suggestive content, age gap (reader is 20, Levi is 30), dick jokes, reader is thirsty and lewds Levi hard, perhaps poorly written stuff about art and drawing because I literally know nothing haha

(minors please do not interact, just to be safe)

Link to A03 here

A/N: Hello all! This is my entry for @ghost-party’s Meet Cute Collab with my darling husband Levi. I’ve never written for him before so I was a little nervous haha, I hope I did him justice! Thank you to everyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs- you are all wonderful and I appreciate your support! I hope you enjoy, my sweet potatoes!

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“Morning,” Jean greets you with a crooked smile and a steaming cup of coffee. It’s the good stuff from the café by his apartment, your favourite thing to help your brain shift into creative mode. “You’re later than usual.”

You grab the cup from him, sighing as you feel the warmth bleed into your hands. “Overslept. Barely had time to get dressed and brush my teeth.”

Jean’s eyes rove over you as you sink into your chair, humming to yourself as you sip on your drink. “I can see. Do you know you’re wearing two different shoes? And I think your sweater is on inside out. Why do you still even have that ugly thing anyways?”

“Thank you for your comments,” you roll your eyes. “I know I look like a hot mess and I don’t need any words from you, Mr. I Asked The Nude Model Out And Got Shot Down.”

Jean’s ears turn red, and he shoots you a dirty look before busying himself with arranging his pencils. “Shut up.”

You snicker to yourself as you set up your own area. Last week’s model had been a soft, pretty brunette that had instantly made Jean all starry-eyed, like a teenage boy with his first crush. It was generally considered a bit taboo to ask out the nude models, but he’d thrown that aside and gone for the kill after she’d slid back into her clothes. She’d laughed and patted his cheek like he was a naughty child asking for candy before dinner. Then proceeded to walk out and climb onto the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle (but not before making out with said boyfriend for a good 5 minutes, minimum).

Jean had been left with red cheeks and no date, and you’d been left with great blackmail material.

“I wonder who will be our victim today,” you decide to take mercy on your poor friend and change the subject. “Most likely a guy, since we had a woman last week.”

“We’ll know in about 5 minutes,” Jean looks up at the clock on the wall. “Old Cueball is never late.”

Sure enough, in exactly 5 minutes your very bald and very punctual professor casually strolls through the door. A short man in a green coat is following him, presumably your newest subject. You crane your neck, trying to get a better look at his face, but all you can see is dark hair falling like a curtain over pale skin.

“Good morning class,” Professor Pyxis greets you, tossing his briefcase down on his desk with his usual nonchalant air. “I see you are all ready, so let’s get right to it.” He gestures to the person beside him. “This is Mr. Levi Ackerman. He’s your model for the week.”

The class murmurs in curiosity as the mentioned Levi Ackerman turns to face the room.

You swear your heart actually skips a beat.

Steel gray eyes observe the room from a face that practically begs to be immortalized through art. Every line is hard and strong, covered in clear skin that looks like it would slide under your fingers like the smoothest silk. Your eyes drink in his features greedily, from the regal bridge of his nose to the proud edge of his jaw. You decide your favorite thing though, is his cheeks. They are utterly cherubic, round and full and dusted ever so lightly with the lightest shade of pink.

He’s possibly the prettiest man you have ever seen.

“Hey, I know him,” Jean whispers, cutting off your entranced thoughts. “That’s Mikasa’s distant cousin, the one I told you she found on Ancestry.com last year. I’ve met him once, he’s got a stick so far up his butt, he’d need surgery to remove it. Never would have pegged him for the type to do this sort of thing.”

You vaguely remember a previous conversation involving Jean’s childhood friend and some long lost relatives.

“He doesn’t look that uptight,” you muse, too busy admiring the way his lips glint temptingly under the fluorescents to really process Jean’s words. “He’s beautiful, like something out of a Renaissance painting.”

Jean opens his mouth to reply, but Pyxis begins to speak.

“As usual, draw whichever side of him is facing you, all angles will be graded equally,” your professor plops himself down in his chair, already scrolling through his phone to find the playlist for the day. “Completed drawings to be submitted to me by the end of class on Friday. Please remember be respectful and courteous to our guest. Mr. Ackerman, whenever you’re ready.”

The man nods to your professor, already slipping out of his coat as he steps up onto the platform in the center of the room. You watch, mesmerized, as he proceeds to shed himself of his clothes. It’s rigid and methodical (he folds his clothes like he’s worked his whole life in a department store), but somehow oddly endearing. Every inch of his body that is revealed is consumed eagerly by your shameless stare, and you sincerely hope you don’t start drooling. By the time he carefully removes his final items, you feel like you are vibrating in your seat.

Holy fucking shit, he’s built like a god. Like Michelangelo himself carved him out of a block of the most pristine marble. You trace your gaze down the column of his throat, over the strong shoulders and sinewy arms, the impressive set of abs, the thighs that look like they could crush your head and you’d be nothing but happy about it. It takes a minute before you’re able to make yourself look between his thighs, and when you finally do, you have to looks away immediately. Good grief, even that is stupidly handsome. You can’t help but wonder if it would feel as nice as it looks.

Your face heats from your lewd thoughts, and you grip your pencil so hard it almost snaps. Beside you, Jean snickers.

“You okay over there? It looks like you’re about to explode.”

“Can it,” you hiss, glad that the ambient music Pyxis chose will probably keep your conversation private. “I can’t help it that I’m looking at the most gorgeous dick attached to the most gorgeous man I think I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen mine.”

“I don’t own a microscope.”

“Ooooh, see if I buy you coffee tomorrow, bitch.”

You stick your tongue out at him before turning back to your easel. As you move, you catch the gaze of Levi, his expression unreadable. Warmth creeps up the back of you neck, and you duck behind your sketchpad in embarrassment. You seriously hope he didn’t hear you, he’d probably report you to Pyxis for being creepy. You decide to lock all your stupid horny thoughts deep within the recesses of your mind, and take a few deep breaths to clear your head.

It works, and as you touch pencil to paper, the desire to create overflows inside of you.

Unsurprisingly, you become utterly engrossed in your work, your pencil sweeping over the pad with almost a mind of it’s own. Levi is the perfect model; you swear he’s not even breathing as he majestically hold his pose without even a quiver. The contours of his body spring to life on the page, and you can’t stop the joyful smile that blooms on your lips as you work. It’s times like these, when everything is so perfect, that you truly realize just how much you love making art.

Before you know it, Pyxis announces class is over, and you’ll resume with Levi tomorrow. The man of the hour begins to re-dress as your fellow classmates pack up their supplies and file out. You absent mindedly wave to Jean, who is practically sprinting out the door so he can make his next class all the way across campus. You’re still engrossed in your drawing, staring at it with critical eyes. It good, one of the best starts you’ve had all year, but now that the high of creating has worn off, you can see where you need to improve.

“You’re very good.”

You gasp and jump, whirling around to find Levi standing behind you, eyes fixed on your sketch. How did he even get there? You hadn’t seen him or heard him.

“Oh, uh, Mr Ackerman!” You squeak, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon. “T-that’s very nice, I mean, thank- thank you very much!”

“It’s Levi,” your muse says, seemingly unbothered by your stammering. “Yours is going to be the best one here.”

You blink stupidly at his bold statement. “Did you look at all of them?”

“No,” Levi’s voice is firm, a tone that brokers no argument. “But you had the most joy on your face while you worked. That much passion doesn’t churn out stuff that looks like shit.”

“Oh, that’s only because you are such a great model,” you gush, insides turning warm at his praise. “You stayed so still and you looked so damn regal and you’re just so pretty and-” Your eyes go wide as you realize the absolute words vomit leaving your mouth, mortification slithering up your spine.

“I’m pretty?” Levi raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”

“No!” You shout, and the man’s other eyebrow joins the first. “No wait, yes! I mean, fuck, I mean you are probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!”

Levi’s eyebrows have now practically become one with his hairline. You wring your hands, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you. “I-well- come on, people must tell you how good looking you are! I can’t be the first.”

“No, but you certainly are the most enthusiastic about it,” Levi deadpans.

Oh, someone just put you out of your misery now.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, cringing internally at your complete ineptitude to hold a conversation with an attractive man. “I....get carried away sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Levi’s stoic expression softens just a little. “It’s kind of nice to hear, actually. Usually I’m told I’m good looking, but ‘far too short’.”

“That’s bullshit.” you say vehemently, honestly shocked people would deny this man his godhood over something as trivial as height. “Who cares if you’re shorter? It doesn’t detract from you. What’s that phrase again? Good things come in small packages? Well, not that you’re small, I’m not saying that, I just meant-”

“Yes, you did seem to find my package....good,” Levi interrupts, and you swear you see the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as your brain replays your hushed conversation with Jean. “You heard that?!”

“I’m told I have exceptionally good hearing.”

“Oh fuck me,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “I am literally so, so, sorry. That was completely out of line. I have no excuse other than it’s clearly been too long since I’ve gotten some, but that’s no reason to make you uncomfortable. Please, if there’s anything I can do to to make it up to you, I’ll do it!”

“Have tea with me.””

Your head shoots up, surprise coloring your features. “What?”

“Tch, you heard me,” Levi tuts, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. “I haven’t got free time till Saturday-stupid Shitty Glasses wanting to trade shifts-but if you want to go out, give me your number and we can work out the details.”

You stare at him with your mouth open, unsure if this is really happening or you’re vividly daydreaming again.

“Umm, are you sure?” You ask, wondering if you should pinch yourself to see if you are indeed imagining things. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m wearing two different shoes and my sweater is inside out. Believe me when I say these sorts of fashion statements happen more often than not. Plus, I practically salivated over you like some sort of horny middle aged suburban housewife who hasn’t been laid in years.” You pause to take a breath, once again unable to stop the words from spewing forth like a fountain. “And I’m so awkward! I mean, are you comfortable in this conversation? And I can’t stop talking once I’ve gotten going, and I say the weirdest shit, and, and-”

“I like you,” he says simply, as if he’s just declared something as obvious as 1+1=2. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about all the stuff you just said, you’re just... you, and I like it. So, do you want to go on a date or not?”

“O-oh,” you suddenly feel shy, your tummy filling with butterflies at the look of sincerity on his handsome face. You’d never met anyone quite like Levi Ackerman before, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to get to know the man behind the drool-worthy muscles. “Uh, yes, please, I would like that. Very much.”

An almost relieved expression crosses Levi’s face, and he hands you his phone to type in your number. You notice the time as you do so, and sigh sadly as you hand him his device back.

“Well I better go,” you say reluctantly, suddenly fervently wishing it was Saturday already. “I’ve got another class in 15 minutes.”

“I’ll walk you there,” Levi says briskly, slipping his phone back into his coat. “To make sure you get there safely. Someone might murder you on account of their eyes being assaulted by that garish sweater. ” The corners of his lips twitch upwards once again, and you grow warm all over, from both his gentle teasing and the knowledge he isn’t quite ready to say goodbye yet either.

“Excuse me, I thought you said you didn’t give a ‘flying fuck’ about my attire,” you huff, but you’re grinning as you quickly pack up your bag.

“I don’t care it’s inside out, but you have to know that is the ugliest fucking color know to man,” Levi says, holding out his hand. Your brain malfunctions slightly for a moment, until you realize he’s offering to carry your bag for you. The butterflies inside you whip themselves into a frenzy as you pass him your stuff, your hand just grazing over his. Handsome, funny, honest, and sweet? How is this guy even real?

“I’ll have you know, this sweater is an absolute delight. When it’s inside right,” you stick up your nose, but unable to stop he laugh that slips past your lips.

Levi rolls his eyes in an almost playful manner. “Doubtful .”

You’re not sure where it comes from, but a sudden rush of confidence fills you. “If you’re so offended by it, maybe you should just rip it off of me.”

The tips of Levi’s ears turn a delightful shade of pink. You’re sure your own skin is hot enough to cook an egg on.

“Wear it Saturday then,” Levi’s ears may be flushed, but his eyes flash with something that makes your spine tingle. The insinuation of his words has your gut clenching and your mind whispering fervent prayers to please please please make Saturday get here faster, I don’t ask for much, please!

“Only if you wear your modeling outfit,” you manage to say, trying your best to sound coy when you feel like you might combust into a pile of lust and giddiness. “I’ve never seen someone wear it so well, and I want a closer look.”

If possible, Levi’s eyes grow even darker, and you just know Saturday is going to be one of the best damn days of your entire life.

“Deal.”

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Taglist: @clovertitan @millenialfanfictionaddiction @stigandr-the-cat @axoxtxhxh @bowandcurtsey @chaotic-nick @manjiroarchiviste

#meet cute collab #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman imagine #levi x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin x reader

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author-morgan · 3 years

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Hello, dear! Best wishes to you, I hope you are doing well. If you take any requests about m!Eivor, could you please write the story about how he saw in his dream (or Valka trip) a reader and fell inlove with them, but then met them in real life? A bit of magic never disturbs. ;D Thank you, I love your writing!

here you are! hope you enjoy and apologies for the wait! guest appearance by Havi!

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

IT IS A rare thing when King of the Æsir comes to Fensalir of his own volition —leaving behind the golden hall and his score of warriors. He walks at the edge of the water through the tall grasses with Huginn resting on his shoulder and Muninn flying overhead. His gaze lingers ahead to a figure clothed in white, picking flowers and herbs. Frigg —a smile pulls at his lips— my queen. Huginn leaps into the sky when he pushes back his dark hood, stepping closer to where his heart and troubled mind have led him.

“Havi,” you greet, having foreseen his arrival and the reason for it. Rising from the patch of white blooms —Baldr’s brow, you named them, after your beloved son— you brush the dirt from your hands and smooth down the front of your white gown. He stands before you as few have seen him, vulnerable and seeking guidance for a storm brews in the depths of his mind. The clouds gather, shadowing his clear blue gaze and giving him the countenance of a man walking the path to self-destruction. It is a look you do not like to see in any man, especially your husband.

He does not explain his coming —long has the giant, Vafþrúðnir, dwelled in your husband’s mind for no other reason save the claim he is the wisest being in the nine realms. Taking Havi’s hand, you lead him to a bench at the edge of the fen-water, thinking of ways to dissuade him from a needless battle of strength or wit. You peer up at him from beneath your lashes, thumb running across his knuckles. “You are ever wise, husband–” Havi’s lips kink into a half-smile at the praise though it falters a moment later as you continue “–but Vafþrúðnir is the all the wiser.”

Two ravens with dark feathers shining like an oil slick in the pale sun come to perch —Huginn sits proudly on Havi’s shoulder, Muninn on yours. If it is only concern Havi has for the movement and dealings of the mighty Jötunn, then his ravens would suffice, but the look he wears is not one of mere concern. Muninn croaks at your ear as though he agrees with your thoughts. You reach up, stroking the feathers of Muninn’s underbelly. “Send Huginn or Muninn in your stead,” you supplicate, watching the crooked smile creep up onto his lips.

“Sweet Frigg,” Havi says, bemused by what he considers your concern, “you doubt me still.”

“Only because you do not see what is more than ten steps ahead of you until you arrive,” you admonish. Havi is wise in his own right, though at times, his temper tried to outweigh wisdom and reason. “You have your doubts,” you tell him with a soft smile, no other knew Havi as you did —sometimes he wonders if you know him better than he knows himself, and oft times the answer is yes, “else you would not visit my dwellings.” He looks away, shaking his head with a soft smile, unable to deny his wife and queen knew him well. You raise your hand to his scarred cheek, bringing his gaze back to you. “Go, dear Havi,” you breathe, “yet know I will not soothe your wounded pride.”

He rises from the bench, and you follow —both ravens leaping back into the watercolor sky. “When has my queen ever done so?” Havi steps closer, his rough hands cradling your face. You tilt your chin up, accepting a kiss as payment for your counsel.

THE GOD OF Thunder and your step-son comes to Fensalir asking you to tend his father. Havi has been distraught for days after visiting with the Nornir, and Thor believes his beloved step-mother and queen are the only balm for such distress. You go to him in the twilight hours, finding him sitting atop the world with a distant and troubled look. He pays no mind to your approach, save moving to the left on his great throne to make room for you to sit. “What ails your mind, dear Havi?” You ask, sitting at his side —fingertips following the scar on his cheek, brushing through his close-cropped golden beard now tinged with the first kiss of silver.

Havi turns his head, looking upon you in despair, but there is something else in his solemn gaze too —defeat. He pulls your hand from his cheek, thumb stroking the back of your palm. “Have you foreseen what the Nornir have?”

Thor had not dispelled the reason behind the storm brewing within his father, but upon his question, you know what is troubling him —for the doom of the Æsir has plagued your thoughts and waking dreams. Though perhaps a worse fate lay ahead should you beget what visions fate had bestowed upon you. Havi is not one to accept his foretold ruin without first attempting to thwart the threads of fate. Information could be a dangerous thing. The difference between poison and medicine often lay within the dose. Sighing softly, you slip your hand free of his gentle grasp.

“I cannot reveal what I have seen, nor am I privy what others have foreseen.” You lay your hand on his scarred cheek, bringing his gaze to you. The spark in your eyes gives him hope and eases his mind. Sweet Frigg, he thinks, ever the cure for my madness, my rock in a tempestuous sea. Havi covers your hand with his and leans toward you. The rough hair of his beard tickling your cheek before his lips brush against yours. “Have faith,” you breathe upon parting, resting your forehead against his. “Ragnarök shall not be our end.” It is a promise.

“EIVOR!” WALLACE CRIES, helping his sister bring an injured woman into the longhouse of Ravensthorpe on a stormy night. He rouses from sleep and hastily puts on his tunic, greeting the hunters while rubbing his heavy eyes as they adjust to the dying firelight from the cook-fire and braziers. Eivor does not expect to see a woman supported between the siblings —head lolled forward with blood dripping from her arm and side. It takes him a moment to spur into action, but he takes Petra’s place and leads the injured woman to his chambers, helping her to the straw-and-rag stuffed mattress.

Kneeling, he brushes aside the hair clinging her to face and freezes, eyes wide. “Frigg.” He breathes the name without a second thought and feels his heart clench. This woman is but a stranger, and yet a part of him has always known her. He is sure of it. Eivor presses his hand against the gash at her side and looks over his shoulder to Petra. It will take more than a cautery iron to heal this affliction. “Find Valka,” he tells the huntress. She nods, bolting from the longhouse as Wallace brings a basin of water and torn pieces of an old tunic.

Valka comes with her poultices and cordials, kneeling bedside. As soon as she looks between Eivor and the injured woman, the Seer knows. Eivor Wolfsmal may be attempting to escape one knot in the tangled threads of fate, but he cannot run from them all. A bloody hour passes, but when the Seer takes her leave, she tells Eivor the woman will live, for the gods have smiled upon her, just as they smiled upon him.

GROANING, YOU BEGIN to wake with a pang of hunger and thirst —the dull throbbing in your ribs is only a distant pain. The bed beneath you is soft, the wool and pelt blankets warm. The scent of cloudberries and honey linger in the air, reminders of a home no longer standing and a place you frequent in dreams. A rough hand curls around your wrist, jarring you into alertness, suddenly aware of the unfamiliar surroundings and the man sitting bedside in a disheveled tunic with partially unbound golden hair, hardly awake in the morning hours. “Havi?” You whisper. His is a face you know well —from his kind blue gaze to the scar on his cheek and the curve in a once-broken nose.

He stares at you. He knows you. Eivor knows the curve of your lips, the gleam in your eyes, even the whisper of your voice. Sweet Frigg, his mind murmurs again and a strange feeling of relief overcomes him —as though a lifetime search has finally come to a close. “Eivor,” he corrects, ripping himself from the dream. Petra told him how they found you in the forest, stumbling away from the largest wolf either hunter ever seen. “They say you fended off a wolf on your own.” Spoken like that, it sounds a heroic deed —you left the beast for dead near a ravine, but the wolf had almost done the same to you. “What were you doing out in such a storm?” He asks, raising a tired brow.

“Searching–” you sit up with a groan, holding onto your linen-bound side “–for home.” One of his hands covers yours, the other pressing against your lower back. Beholding Eivor, though, you realize your search has ended —you do not know him, but the feeling in your gut and the lightness of your heart in his presence tells you this is home. Dear Havi. Dreams and fate have led you here for a purpose.

Eyes darting over Eivor’s features, you smile, offering your name. He repeats it, lips kinked. Your name is just as sweet on his lips as Frigg’s, if not sweeter. A moment passes, the silence hanging in the early morning air broken by the low croak of a raven perched in the rafters above your resting bed. Eivor glances up at Sýnin —the raven can sense something too. “You can stay here,” he notes, softly and without hesitance. “Ravensthorpe can be your home.”

The generous offer makes your heart clench and brings tears welling up in your eyes. He smiles, and now you are certain your searches have finally ended. You pull your hand away from your side and Eivor’s hand, lifting it to his scarred cheek as you’ve done hundreds of times in dreams. Unwittingly, he leans into the touch —he’s done this before, and he recognizes the gentle caress of your thumb as it runs over the jagged scar. Eivor sighs —all of this and you are familiar.

Driven by memory, he rises to his knees, seeking your lips with his own. The tickle of his beard on your jaw and cheek is a warning, but you do not shy away —you’ve known him for a hundred lifetimes, and this is only a reunion. Eivor’s lips move against yours, both his arms loosely sliding around your waist. You smile against his lips, fingers combing through his golden beard. There are no sparks, for there is already a deep flame kindled between you both —one that cannot be extinguished in this life or the next. The threads of fate come together, and two halves are made whole.

[taglist: @kvitravn @vanillabeanlattes @nemo-my-name-forevermore @withered-poppies @ananriel @britishhotassassin @maximalblaze @khaoskrossed @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelaen @dynamicorbit @itseivwhore ] if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

#Eivor #Eivor Wolfsmal #Eivor x Reader #m!Eivor #m!Eivor x Reader #male Eivor #male Eivor x Reader #Eivor Imagine #Eivor Fanfiction #Havi #Havi x Reader #Havi x Frigg #Assassin's Creed Valhalla #Assassin's Creed #my writing #requested #edelaen #high key love the reincarnation bit with the Isu in Valhalla and if I write a multi-chap OC story i will 100% include it somehow

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chocolate-parfait · 3 years

Note

Yay, askbox is open! I hope that means requests too, if not please ignore this and sorry. But could I request another angst? Could I please ask for headcannons for Dazai (and the others could be either Theo, Vincent, Leo, Comte, Will or Arthot, you can choose two, 'cause I can't XD) who find their S/Os suicide note? You can take it wherever you want from there. Thank you so much, love your works <3 Have a grwat day!

Hi @robin-the-enby !! I'm happy to see you in my inbox again, and although this took me embarrassingly long (my procrastination tendencies and school got the better of me :,)), I'm more than happy to provide something that will help with your coping! Despite it all, I hope that you'll get better soon and hang on a while longer. I'm sure this prolonged pandemic has had negative effects on most people's mental health, but remember that we'll get through this in one way or the other! Stay strong and keep fighting, if it gets too much don't hesitate to take a break and go easy on yourself❤

Halfway through I realized I was writing scenarios instead of simple headcanons ,, I was too engrossed in writing to realize it oops 🧍‍♀️ 🧍‍♀️ 🧍‍♀️

Finding MC'S suicide note - Ikevamp headcanons (Dazai, Arthur & Leonardo)

(TW; suicide / mentions of self-harm / major character death / blood)

(CW; slight and inaccurate spoilers for Dazai's past)

For those who'd like to avoid specific contents, this is what I wrote for each suitor:

Dazai - MC is unconscious and bleeding, I didn't specify whether they survive or not

Arthur - MC is stopped before they can do anything, survives

Leonardo - MC isn't stopped in time, dies

Dazai

It was as if history was repeating itself. The message, the bloodied sheets and the unconscious body. The only different thing was perhaps.... him. It was a him that had experienced true happiness, a him that had learned forgiveness, a him that knew better than retort to suicide as a way of repentance. And yet... was it not enough? Dazai's mind swirled with the pungent thoughts of his own fate as he ran with your body in his arms. He ran, and ran, and ran, passing by a seemingly endless succession of hallways and wooden doors.

Never before did he wish your room was closer to Arthur's, as he felt your body grow colder and his clothes dampen with blood with each step forward. And yet the stars that were now adorning the night sky's black cape, seemed to be offering their compassion to him, for when Dazai burst into the writer's room he saw him sitting at his desk, completely sober and still functioning in the middle of the night.

Arthur slightly turned in his chair, and as he was about to comment with displeasure how rude it was of the man to come into his room completely unannounced, his mouth was left agape and eyes wide open, wordlessly staring at your limp and seemingly unmoving body as the smell of blood hit his nostrils in mere seconds.

"What in the Heavens happened-?!" Arthur abruptly stood up, leaving his half-finished manuscript forgotten on the table, rushing closer to check your pulse. The two novelists had never liked each other, a difference in life choices maybe, but it surely was not a hate that could surpass even the most perilous of situations, particularly because you were an outsider to their rivalry. As such, Arthur did not hesitate to put to good use all his medical knowledge, carefully rushing through every step to avoid the worst.

Seconds slowly transformed into hours, although Dazai was convinced time had stopped ever since the moment he had found you on your bed, utterly frozen in a state of unconsciousness with a crumpled letter of apologies laying on the bloodied sheets. The only thing that perhaps gave him the slightest hint to time’s passing was the way he could feel the blood on his chest and hands grow drier as the night morphed into the day.

As the first rays of light poked from behind the thick curtain of the doctor’s room, Dazai sat by his bed, right next to you, silent and outwardly calm, although dazed in the raging storm inside his heart.

Perhaps this was what Destiny itself had decided for him. Perhaps it was wrong of him to blame casualty instead of himself. His old, stupid self, who hadn’t learnt a single thing from past mistakes. But as his fellow vampire’s warm hand came to rest on his shoulder, Dazai decided to delay all judgment about his negligence until the Gods determined your fate.

Arthur

Staring at the familiar handwriting, Arthur felt his whole body grow numb, as if someone had thrown him in the darkest depths of the ocean, leaving him to suffocate under the overwhelming weight of the waters above.

He had noticed the worsening of your symptoms, but he had never imagined you'd go to these lengths. He had gravely underestimated your condition, and he could already hear the old ghosts of his past laughing at him, pointing their fingers while mocking him. But now, he had no time to worry about his own lack of foresight; his priority was getting to you in time, so that all could be fixed, hopefully.

Scanning the writing on your tear-stained note, his brain started listing all the possible places where you could've gone with a speed that would leave speechless even Sherlock Holmes himself. The writing was hurried and scrambled, meaning that it was a sudden decision. The city was too far away and bustling with people that could interfere, so it was an unlikely location. As he was running around the mansion in search of you, he passed in front of the terrace on the last floor; there, he saw your clothes swirling in the wind, and your figure standing on the stone railing.

He almost crashed against the glass door as he launched himself forward with extreme speed. You were there, looking down and slightly trembling. You were scared, as it was normal, but if death frightened you so, then what pain would be so strong to push you in its embrace? To drive you away from his warm arms and into the eternal darkness? Was such a painful experience worth the possible relief?

"MC!!!" Arthur shouted out of instinct with his whole lungs, like a volcano erupting in all its fury. A few steps later and you were falling backwards, your back colliding with his chest as he harshly pulled you to him. It all happened so fast that you didn't even have the time to turn your head and look at him. Now that you were on the ground, safely locked in his embrace, everything slowly sank in.

His voice came out choked and trembling. "W-what were you thinking-?!" He was trying so hard to hold everything back; the tears, the sobs, the anger in his voice. He was angry at himself, and you were not the target of his resentment, but he realized that it could be easily misunderstood by someone in your situation. Taking a deep breath and turning you around, he stared deeply into your pained eyes, softening his iron-like grip on your forearms.

His voice now steadier yet gentle with affection and worry added:"Love, I'm sorry for not noticing all of this sooner. I'm sorry for not helping you enough. Still, I want to be of some use to you, I want to be there for you.” A sharp breath interrupted his speech, maybe from him, you or perhaps both of you. “…So please, please rely on me; whenever you feel like you can't do it anymore, whenever you feel like you have enough of life, give me the chance to help you."

Seconds later, you burst into tears, sobbing confused "I'm sorry"s in the crook of his neck. Arthur slowly caressed your hair soothingly, as his heart continued to painfully hammer against his chest. He knew this was not going to be an easy nor a short journey; it was going to take time, and it would be hard, but he wouldn't give up on you no matter what. Through thick and thin, the way you did for him, he was going to support you the whole way.

"I love you more than anything in the world, MC." he added at last, hugging you tightly.

Leonardo

The deafening sound of crickets did not reach the man’s ears. He couldn’t hear anything but the fast pumping of his own blood in his veins. A heartbeat that had never and would never stop; stronger than anyone else’s, but also alone. The sound of his heart was utterly lonely, the only one under the white gazebo, now shrouded in the darkness of the night.

How much he would give not to hear it anymore, to put an end to it right then and there. But he couldn’t. And as Fate loved torturing him endlessly, he was now once more deprived of a person he loved. But this time was different than the countless others before. He thought he had gotten used to the company offered by Death herself, and it had been long ever since tears burned within his eyes, as if made of fire.

Between his arms laid a lifeless body, utterly still and deprived of any warmth. It seemed like mere moments had passed when Leonardo was contentedly caressing your hair as a tired yet relaxed sigh fell from a pair crimson lips, which whispered some loving words before blooming into a smile. Now, they were pale and slightly agape, a cold frown sculpted onto the body’s face. Perhaps he had gotten so used to the passage of time that he did not pay it more mind. Perhaps all his memories took place too long ago, and perhaps things had changed considerably from those happy moments you shared.

Leonardo’s expression subconsciously mimicked your own, one that would remain in his mind for who knows how long, and he did not dare to move away, sitting there with you for the very last moments of his eternally long life. He tried not to think about the way his heart lurched in his chest like a ship at sea during a storm when he found your note. Your handwriting, calm and precise as if it was a decision you had made long ago; where was his mind wandering off to while you were deciding to seal your own fate?

Silently strangling all those whirling thoughts in his head until they died down, leaving him in a deathly silence, he lovingly bid you farewell with a final kiss to your lips.

“Hopefully, we’ll meet in another life.”

“Next time, I won’t let this happen again”

Suffering was human, but he had learnt all too well how contagious pain could be. And yet, he now found himself isolated in his grievance, for you weren’t with him anymore.

#my writing #answered #ikemen vampire #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp imagines #leonardo da vinci #arthur conan doyle #osamu dazai

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sweetygirl90 · 3 years

Photo

If you don’t like chasriel then DON’T READ THIS. Okay? Okay.

I apologize in advance if there are any grammatical errors or typing errors that make the text poorly understood. English is not my first language and although I am learning it I still have a long way to go. I would appreciate if anyone would notify me of any errors that you find.

So... Chara here are a female-born non-binary gender (They/Them pronouns)

____________________________________________________________

Ever since he was conscious of life, Asriel could tell how much his father loved his garden.

Asriel watched him work on it all day when he wasn’t busy with his family or attending to royal duties, always smiling peacefully as he did his work watering flowers or cutting brush. It was something simple, but the adult took the time in the world to do it with impeccable care and neatness. Asriel could even tell that Asgore was more into it than his paperwork.

Rarely could he observe the affliction in his father eyes when he occasionally discovered some plague damaging his precious flowers, or how some of them turned out to be withered.

Fresh in his memory was the scene of the king sighing heavily when it was time to cut the blackened flowers before they ended up affecting the rest. According to him, although it was for the good of the rest of the garden, he didn’t like to get rid of them. It must have been a disappointment to see those flowers that he worked so hard on diying.

Asriel thought that if the garden were a person, perhaps it would be one of the most loved by the monarch of the underground, perhaps becoming just as loved as he and his mother.

It was a bit difficult for him to understand it at first, perhaps because he hadn’t found something similar to consider his garden, but he assumed by common sense that when you spend so much time on something you end up loving even a little, or not? For a long time he wondered what it would be like to come to love something or someone so much.

Was the answer worth knowing after all?

Asriel lifted his gaze from the sheets to return to the human who lay on the bed, sick and tired as usual. Or at least that's how it was a few days ago.

Their breath slowly raised their chest, their pale face that was barely rosy on their cheeks reflected full calm as if they were in a long, peaceful sleep that wanted to engulf them in the dark forever. A damp towel rested on their forehead to reduce the fever, and some brown hair clung to it while others lay on their shoulders and the pillow.

Even bedridden by illness it was amazing how they could look so pretty, and they wasn't even trying.

“Chara…”

Asriel called their name in a broken whisper. They moved their hand close to his, to show him that they was awake and that they could hear him perfectly.

"I don't like this plan anymore, Chara." He said, and he leaned over the bed, resting his face close to his friend's arm.

Warm tears began to emerge from the young prince's eyes, releasing that overwhelming feeling that consumed him from within and that he hadn't had a chance to release until now. Doing so didn't feel better if they asked, because that didn't solve anything that was happening.

Chara was dying, he knew it.

No matter how much the adults wanted to convince him otherwise or how much they insisted that his best friend would recover, he knew with certainty what the end was that awaited the human in how much their body could not tolerate it anymore. He was aware of how Chara was withering day after day, and how medicines and care were not able to save them.

He could feel it. He felt their life slip through his fingers like sand.

Worst of all is that in the midst of his naivety he was responsible for this. How could he be so stupid to allow it? How come he didn't stop them? He thought that refusing to find out what it implied would be enough, but he was wrong to underestimate Chara and he knew it as soon as he saw them lying on the ground with the rest of the golden flowers that they could not swallow surrounding them.

This he no longer liked. This is not how things should be. Chara was not born to be bedridden in pain and slowly deteriorate. No! Chara had must to re-bloom like they did every day.

His friend was not this frail sick child. They was a mischievous laugh that echoed through the castle when they both committed a mischief, they was the energy that lifted him from his bed every morning to start the day, they was that genuine smile that amazed him, they was those hands that could be gentle to pet him or be aggressive for when they both played pillow wars. Chara was that lively, ruby-crimson gaze that glowed, the one he longed for with all his soul, the one they had lost and turned opaque.

Chara was everything and more, and Asriel wasn't ready to give it all up.

“Azzy.”

Their raspy, weak voice lifted him with the same gentleness with which they began to pet his head. Asriel opened his eyes to find Chara smiling at him, they had a look of indulgence devoid of pity.

“Don’t go.” He implored. His friend's hand felt warm cradling his cheek and he couldn't help but want to hold it right there using his. He needed to feel that the warmth that overflowed from Chara's soul had not yet left them, that they had not yet left.

Chara allowed him to do so and kept petting him with their thumb on that trail of tears, thinking that Asriel looked like a helpless puppy taking shelter from the rain and cold. In a way they made sense of it when they looked at his fluffy ears and couldn't help but imagine a dog saddened by its owner's usual departure to work.

Chara wanted to try to see him the same way to deny the truth.

"I'm not going anywhere. Everything will be fine.” They promised, but the monster could see clearly that it was more to convince themself than him. "Everything will go as we planned."

"Chara, please." He begged them again, holding his face closer as soon as he stopped feeling their caresses and was aware of the typical tremor that he noticed in them when they began to feel weak. “I don't care going to the surface anymore, I don't care breaking the barrier. I'm already happy here with you, I don't need more than that.”

He didn't want to let his garden die, didn't want to see his flower wither.

Chara still spoke as if they were unchanging, but long ago their smile and their gaze became unstable. Asriel didn't need to see them to know it, he just felt their pulse. "Seven… Just seven human souls and you will free everyone, Asriel."

They repeated the plan that they both already knew, and with it they hoped to scare away that fear that still overwhelmed them with death on the horizon. They hoped it would comfort their poor friend, but instead they only made his suffering worse.

“We will free them all from this prison to which the selfish humans unjustly condemned you all. I want you to be free, I want you to see the sun as I promised you.”

Chara never had an attachment to their own kind and Asriel knew it from the start, for they didn't bother to hide it. Asriel many times came to wonder if the love that Chara claimed to profess to him, their friends and family was as big as they swore it to be. He was distressed that they was lying when they said that the love they was given in one day was a thousand times greater than that given to them by humans on the surface. Right now he regretted having doubted, that the human strictly demonstrated how much they loved them by giving their own life in exchange for the freedom of the monsters.

It was a pure and real love, one that no one underground would want to lose. Asriel more than anyone.

"I can't... I-I can't, I can't. No like this. We will find another way, but not this one.”

“I will not leave. Once I die you will have my soul forever. I will continue to be with you but… Differently.”

“I don't want it to be different, I want everything to continue as it is. Please.”

“Azzy… I won't let you stay here forever.”

Chara cradled the face of their sobbing friend, who, drowning in his own tears, threw himself into hugging them as if clinging to a wooden plank in the middle of the ocean. He hugged them gently for fear of hurting them, but with the strength necessary for them to feel his despair and the tears wetting their shoulder.

"And I won't let you die. I don't want to. I can't imagine a world without you. I don’t want let you go!”

He heard Charas laugh softly before hugging him back. At first they had surprised him how calm they was, until he too felt his shoulder getting wet with tears.

They both knew that this was a destiny from which they could not escape. No matter how much this hurt them, no matter what happened next, no matter how many times Asriel implored… Chara was already determined to sacrifice themself for monsters.

The most beautiful flower in the garden gave their vitality to the others. The flower that he loved the most died and he could do nothing to prevent it.

His flower...

Chara...

They was already withered.

#undertale #chasriel #chara x asriel #asriel x chara #oneshot #this is platonic maybe?#I'm not sure at all #sweetgirl90 #my drawings #chara dreemurr #chara #chara undertale #asriel #asriel dreemurr

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ilysumu · 4 years

Text

heather - miya atsumu

synposis: you’re longing for someone you can never have, and after the heartbreak, atsumu miya is the only force that can heal you

genre: angst + fluff

word count: 5196

characters: y/n, atsumu miya, suna rinato, “heather”

a/n: happy (early) birthday tsum tsum, i love u most. hello he deserves the entire world i said what i said and no i will not be taking constructive criticism. and also a huge thank you to namu for being my beta reader and editor, you made this story so much better <3 i love u so much!!

The wintry sun rose to signify the beginning of a new day, and you wonder if it’ll be the same as always. It was basically tradition now – you complaining about the cold weather and Suna begrudgingly passing you his jacket with a mutter of a complaint that held no bite. And to that you’d glance pleadingly into his tired eyes, on the first day of winter, asking for his unparalleled warmth.

But today, it seemed as though Suna had no jacket to offer – the girl beside him pulling the sleeves of a jacket that engulfed her small frame. A barely audible whisper of complaint escapes your drying lips, creating puffs of condensation as the icy air meets your warm breath. Blowing air into your paling hands, you decide to ignore Suna’s preoccupied glace. Too preoccupied to keep traditions. Too preoccupied to see the warmth you needed.

Today felt more like winter than ever before. In the way that cherry blossoms no longer graced your eyes and the pale pink petals no longer fell on your head (the ones to be brushed off later by Suna). Or maybe it was the absence of his jacket hanging on your frame, the black one with his jersey number plastered upon it.

You stare at the vast sea of dirty white snow surrounding you, taking in the unforgiving season. You never particularly favoured the slippery snow beneath your feet, but you admit that it prettied nature in a way that summer, autumn and spring never could.

Yet the beginning of winter this year, was an empty nothing. It wasn’t the day where you’d marvel at the snowflakes that landed on your gloves or the day where you laughed with Suna pointing out the lopsided snowmen parked on the streets.

It seemed the season bought a storm of constant longing. Yearning to turn back time, to change something; anything, to keep Suna beside you.

Sparse clouds cover the sky some adorned light grey foretelling more snowfall - and you swear she looks more beautiful in this light. Giggling behind a sleeve-covered hand at something Suna had spluttered. Her hands reacquaint with the cold air only to hit his chest lightly. Suna smiles – like he did with you. Softly. With eyes blazing with warmth.

Her silky brown hair shines as the sun peeks from behind a cloud. The harsh, glaring sun which did nothing but point out your imperfections, seems to compliment her beautifully. It was unfair – and you blamed it all on winter.

But you remember nothing blooms in winter. Silently and maybe in denial - you laugh. There’s no way that they’re more than friends. Maybe I still have a chance, and that ‘maybe’ was the sole string keeping your heart from falling apart.

Your thoughts are interrupted by nearing footsteps stomping on the frozen blades of grass and when you turn around, your senses are wafted with a familiar scent of citrus and lavender. You crinkle your nose at Atsumu’s touch, being squashed in a semi-comfortable embrace. A part of you feels that his action is necessary because you’re no longer thinking about the beautiful girl beside Suna and the jealousy eating away at your heart – you’re focused solely on Atsumu’s tight embrace.

“How are ya guys?” he laughs. Atsumu’s pulling off each finger of his woollen gloves, and they’re soon off with a final tug.

“We’re good! How are you Sumu-san?” she smiles, enthusiasm dripping from each word. She’s bright and bubbly even on a 7AM Monday – something about that seems to irk you, teeming you with relentless resentment.

“Good good,” Atsumu distractedly responds, handing you his gloves. Your mind involuntarily drifts to Suna and his ignorance of your shivering body. Alas, he only had one spare coat, what more could he do, … right? Your hands thank Atsumu, reaching outwards to seek a new warmth, but something in your heart hesitates.

“Thanks Sumu, but-“

“Yer hands look like they’re about to freeze off! Take them, will ya!” Atsumu protests, and you grudgingly take them, slipping your hands into the warmth that was previously occupied by Atsumu’s.

Atsumu is grinning playfully, and it takes everything in your willpower to not jab him, “Thank you Sumu.”

Your hands finally feel warmth, and it’s all thanks to Atsumu Miya.

------------

You smiled at her, as she entered the classroom, and she grins back, before comfortably seating herself next to Suna. The fleeting feeling of bitterness swipes your tongue, that it was your old seat. And for the nth time this winter, you can’t but gaze at them, at her.

You begin to wonder why he looked at her like that. Like she was everything in the world and more. It was the first time that you’d thought that maybe you did lose him to her.

Perhaps he was in love with the glow in her eyes, or the skip in her step. Maybe he liked the way her walnut hair cascaded down her shoulders or the way she was so disarmingly unaware of her natural beauty. It appeared that she was kind, beautiful, academically talented and most of all, everything you couldn’t bring yourself to be. You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed such overwhelming perfection in your life.

Soon, you’re Suna’s teasing tone from across the classroom, and seeing the light crinkle beside his eyes – both rarer than a blue moon. All of it, for her.

Yet still, your heart refused to budge, holding onto the pitiful thought that Suna was not yet bound in a relationship. The glimmer of hope motivated your heart, but not without the accompaniment of unbearable yearning. It was the agony and envy that was a constant reminder that you were no longer the only one beside Suna.

Lips pursed, you stare outside the window, chin resting on your hand, as you observe the vast whiteness of the snow outside. It appears that even in this weather, little rabbits refuse to shelter themselves in the cold, leaving tiny indents in the snow as a trail and sifting through the snow in hopes to find a snack. Perhaps that too was the fate of your hungry heart. Famished, and foraging for a love that wasn’t there in the first place, yet refusing to back down even during the harshness and the coldness of the winter.

You smothered a laugh when you realise you were comparing yourself to a rabbit. How goddamn pathetic-

A loud bang interferes your insidiously self-deprecating thoughts and your eyes travel the classroom before landing on the figure who rushes to sit beside you. He pulls the beanie off his head and runs his hands though his sandy hair, all whilst listening to the teacher’s protests about his tardiness with a half ear.

He leans to the left, tapping your nose and smiles. Goofy and big yet decorated with warmth and fondness. “Hey Y/N.”

“Buzz off ‘Sumu, focus on your work,” you groan, pushing his finger away from your face. Yet, a small smile manages to surface.

Mind floating again, you reminisce how adamant Atsumu was to sit next to you when the seating arrangements changed. He was practically begging the teacher – coming up with a plethora of excuses just to sit next to you. You can’t help but smile, remembering the growing frustration flashing the teacher’s face. Atsumu proposed a lengthy list of reasons as to why this was “the best course of action”. And with a last promise to try harder, she reluctantly accepts.

You remember how Atsumu grinned at you, after the promise he’d so proudly made. He looked so happy to be beside you.

--------

Managing Inarizaki wasn’t as hard as you anticipated, with Kita around, they weren’t rowdy, except for Atsumu that is. Your uneasy relationship with Suna didn’t affect your duties as manager and for the professionalism you displayed, you felt a small ounce of satisfaction. The gym was filled with noises of grunts of exertion and squeaks of shoes. It smelt like axe – but it nothing you weren’t already used to.

Usually, Suna would help you set up the nets. But as of late, he was preoccupied by her. She sat there, glossy lips pouted with concentration, quietly listening to him blabber about volleyball. Suna specifies the rules with uncharacteristic patience, teaching her how to serve.

You look away from them, and continue your struggle to reach the top of the net, before giving up and calling for help, “Can someone-“

But before you can finish the sentence, the material is yanked from your hands and put in place.

“Thanks ‘Sumu,” you respond, voice filled with sincere gratitude. Oddly, you find yourself questioning why you’re inclined to thank Atsumu for such a small action. But you hold back, not grasping the concept of your thoughts and settle on a smile which he returns.

You glance back at Suna, watching as he simpers softly at the sight of her attempting to spike the ball. She falls into a fit of laughter, after the incredible fail, and even Suna is chuckling lightly.

And now more than ever, you wish with every bone in your body that you were her.

As practice begins you stand with the clipboard, ruminating the beginning of your friendship with Suna. He seemed to be dismissive when you joined the team as manager, but he eventually warmed up to you.

You fell for Suna as soon as your eyes landed on his dark hair and calculating eyes. And you fell hard. He had always been pretty to you; more beautiful than any human you’d ever witnessed. And as each moment passed, as dusk turned to dawn and as seasons changed, you felt yourself become more and more tangled within his grasp. And soon you find yourself as a puppet that craved only him.

Right now, however, you’re left with nothing but a gaping hole in your heart replacing what was once overwhelming love for him. You think it’s best to rid yourself of your fantasies before she and Suna become official and you have no time left to breathe or heal without seeing a physical reminder of your failed love daily.

Everything seemed to have changed so quickly, yet you were latching onto the past wondering if it was just a sick game fate was playing with you.

------

It was spring now, and your body can’t help but feel lethargic.

Walking to the lunch table, you see Suna with her in hindsight, dismissing the rough pang in your heart.

Atsumu calls you over and you plaster on a smile, seating yourself beside Atsumu and Aran.

“How you manage to get her is beyond me...” Aran laughs, as Suna smiles awkwardly as his eyes dart to you. It seems that he had forgotten to tell you, nervous of your reaction. He didn’t know how you felt towards him, all that he knew was hearing something of this importance from a third person was likely upsetting. Suna didn’t seem to notice the way you were worlds apart by now, and maybe. he never will.

“Huh?” your ears perk, the conversation sparking interest. Your heart feels like it’s beating at 24395km/hr nervous of the response youre bound to receive.

With a harmless chuckle Aran replies, “Suna is off the market.”

“Oh..” you trailed off, “Congrats.”

Something in your heart just cracks.

There was something that you had forgotten. After winter comes spring, where everything seems to blossom – flowers, trees … relationships. You begin to think this spring is even more unforgiving to you than last winter.

Fate seems to be pulling quite a number on you. And your eyes glossy eyes are a tell-tale sign.

You’re clutching onto the wood of the seat, and almost immediately, Atsumu’s eyes travel to the pool starting to form in your eyes

“Are you okay Y/N?” she asks, concerned look washed over her face. You despise that you cannot seem to hate her no matter how deep your heart is filled with envy. Because she’s so genuinely worried and completely unaware.

“Your eyes are watering…” she points out, as if not blatantly obvious already.

You stole him, you think vehemently. And you want to yell – to do something… anything other than sitting there with tears in your eyes.

“Hey! I just remembered Y/N was allergic to these!” Atsumu pushes the branches of a nearby tree away as if it had personally insulted him. Had it been under different circumstances, you would have applauded his acting skills.

Your hands shook, a physical manifestation of the hurt that gripped your heart, “We should probably go to the school nurse.”

“Oh,” she responds, “I can take-“

“Don’t ya worry about it! I’ll take her,” Atsumu interrupts frantically, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

And when you’re walking away from Suna, your heart seems to break even more. He was the only person your heart leaped toward. It seemed that strings of friendship that held you two together were cut off.

Yet, still after so much instilled pain, you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame him or her.

You blame yourself for being weak, for being unworthy. You ponder, maybe if I was more beautiful, more-

Your thoughts are interrupted by Atsumu, “It’s not your fault, ya know.”

“If I was pretty like her-“ you’re stopped by Atsumu’s jab.

“You are pretty, Y/N,” he smiles, peering at your tear-stained face, “Probably the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.”

“You sound like a twelve-year-old confessing to their crush.” You scoff, not believing a word that left his mouth.

“Well, they’re just my thoughts, take it or leave it,” he objects, wiping a falling tear from your cheek, “It’s okay if you cry by the way, I’m here, your personal tear-wiper.”

His bold proclamation causes you to stare into his eyes, nearly ripping into a laugh at the absurdity of his words. Yet when you gaze deeper, you can’t detect even a sliver of a dishonesty.

“1000 Yen per minute,” he finishes, and upon hearing that, you let out a giggle between the hiccups.

And for a split second, for the tiniest amount of time, it felt as though your heart was healed.

-------

Days transform to weeks as you begin avoiding Suna and his newfound girlfriend, merely because your heart cannot handle the anguish. It hurts to see them together and so much so that you had no idea that something emotional could physically hurt this bad. Your breath still stutters when you see them and every so often your eyes sting but it is getting better.

You’re getting better.

No longer stuck third-wheeling (or even fourth-wheeling when Atsumu was around). You worked your schedule around them, sometimes even feeling mildly childish for doing so. Still, you knew it was what had to be done if you were to ever heal.

As per your new routine, you woke up earlier and taking the longer route to school – all to avoid crossing paths with them. At first, it was a chore, but eventually, you began enjoying the beauty of the rising sun that painted the sky with brilliance. The way the bright, burning star, peaked over the horizon held a sort of unspoken beauty.

The birds sung their morning songs and the trees were decorated with the dews layered onto them from the chilliness of the night. The occasional car zoomed by and it was always fun to guess the colour of the car before it entered your line of sight. So far, you had guessed a whopping three out of the eleven correctly. I’m so good at this, you think.

You tilt your head upwards, glancing at the clouds decorated by the sunset, hues of red, orange and yellow painting them so beautifully. You wish you could capture the beauty of it, but a single photograph could never hope to contain such beauty. You knew this from your thirteen failed attempts at snapping a picture on your brick-like Nokia.

Walking on the edge of the sidewalk, you balance yourself, arms outstretched, even wobbling for dramatic effect.

It’s the small enjoyments in life that entertain you now. And one day, you hope you can look Suna in the eye and thank him for making you focus on other things. Suna had forced you to occupy your time and thoughts with him. Now, a large part of you breathes easier knowing that he no longer consumes your entire being like he used to.

When you reach Atsumu’s place, you don’t knock, afraid you’d wake his parents, but shoot him a quick “here” text. Sometimes Osamu joins you, grumbling about how you two always left him out. But you can’t help that you felt more comfortable with Sumu.

“Isn’t it pretty today?” you ask when you see Atsumu from your peripheral vision.

“Yeah,” he whispers, eyes never leaving you.

Alas, your eyes were fixated on the dancing colours spewed out in front of you and you miss the heart-warming gesture.

“Here, let’s take a picture!” Atsumu suggests, smiling and flipping open his phone.

What you weren’t expecting was for him to grab your shoulders and point the camera towards the two of you. Atsumu grins and the surprised look doesn’t leave your face as he presses the button. A candid, if you will.

When he flicks back to the photo, your heart seems to leap out of your chest. Did Atsumu Miya always look that gorgeous?

As you let Atsumu inspect the photo, your eyes don’t leave him. They trail his face out of curiosity and you admire the way the wind softly blows his hair out of his face.

Atsumu had this sort of unassuming attractiveness about him.

He was devastatingly beautiful, and it was about time your heart realised.

Atsumu had spent the last few months healing you - mending a heart he never broke. And in turn, you’d grown more and more accustomed to his presence. Some part of you felt disappointed in yourself with the fact you’d practically replaced Suna with Atsumu. But a larger part of you was terrified that history would repeat itself.

---------

A blush creeps across your face when Atsumu’s practicing his service ace. What the hell is wrong with me, you fan yourself, a futile attempt to look normal. Atsumu insisted you stay behind with him as he finishes perfecting his newest weapon. Your gaze doesn’t leave his figure and for a second even Atsumu anxious with your sharp stare. You survey his moves and stance drooping as he grew more fatigued and before you can yell a ‘time out’ you hear a thud and see Atsumu hurling to the ground.

A chemical reaction within sparked as you rush to grab the medical kit (nearly tripping on the bleachers yourself). To your vast (and thankful) surprise, it was a mere sprain that just needed some bandaging and an icepack. Still, your hands shake, as you bandage his ankle.

Atsumu wants to huff – not wanting to be babied – but shifts after seeing your worried eyes. Holding back, lips apart, Atsumu freezes under your touch.

“This is why you need to be careful, Sumu,” you scold, pushing the ice against his ankle, “And stop overworking yourself.”

Atsumu grins, “I’m fine thanks to you! Consider the debt for being your tear-wiper repaid!”

A small chuckle escapes your lips as you push your hair away from your face, “You’re an idiot.”

Somehow, with such little words, and even with such a painful memory, you grin like a fool after his joke. And he stares, eyes wide and not sure how to continue with his life after being blasted by your perfect smile. Atsumu hasn’t seen you smile like that since Suna brushed the cherry blossoms from your hair. He truly thinks that it was long overdue, your happiness, that is.

“Gah,” he utters, brain not fully synchronised with his mouth.

Feeling like you pried too far into his space, you edge a little bit further away. Atsumu is in the midst of his third mental breakdown of the minute, but slowly his speech is catching up to speed with his mind. Naturally, he was already sweating from practice, but with you in such close proximity, he thinks his sweat glands are overworking times a thousand.

“We should probably get going now-“

“You should smile more often,” Atsumu says lightly, in a tone contrary to his ordinary – rarely audible.

Endearment and warmth surge through your veins, heart pooling with blissful emotion. You’re staring, you tell yourself, yet somehow neither of you can pull away. You stay like that for a while, mind and body temporarily glitching as you gawk at Atsumu’s words and his glistening skin. Cheeks coated champagne, your heart finally feels like it’s beating again, since Suna.

“Umm, okay,” you murmur, rubbing your arms slightly, and smiling again for good measure.

And Atsumu swears that his heart just catapulted into space.

-----

It wasn’t like Atsumu couldn’t handle a bad day, but when it was a bad week, you can tell instantly by the lack of energy in his voice. You knew when Atsumu’s arm didn’t automatically fall around your shoulder that he was tired. His throat was dry and his muscles ached. He didn’t feel like himself, and it was finally your turn to at least give a gist of repayment for all he’d done for you.

Atsumu had been overexerting himself for nationals, pushing rest and sleep on the backseat. Caffeine and weird-smelling energy drinks replaced his normal diet. But most importantly Atsumu hadn’t been spending time with you. It was understandable – it’s not like you were his significant other – but you missed the familiar warmth in your heart when his arms were wrapped around you.

“Okay time out, Atsumu,” Kita says, realising Atsumu had far pushed his limits by now, “Go home, rest up, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Atsumu whined, stomping his feet similar to that of a toddler. Some things never change. Kita and the others nodded goodbye to you, as you also began packing up your things and throwing them a small wave.

It’s almost dark now, some clouds still painted orange from the remaining sun. You loop your hand around Atsumu’s drink before snatching the 4th energy drink of the day from his hands (yes you were counting). Atsumu protests, caught off-guard, thinking, this wasn’t like you.

“You’ve gotta stop this, Sumu,” you spoke, quietly, putting the drink back in his bag, “This isn’t going to help you win nationals.”

Atsumu huffs, again, fully knowing you’re right, but his ego unwilling to admit.

Your eyebrows squeeze together, hands curling to fists and then straightening. Letting out a shaky breath, you pull the woolly cardigan closer to your chest. You hope Atsumu says something – anything, as the silence was growing heavier and more awkward.

You opt to break away from the silence by peering at the stars which begin to glow as the sun fully submerges. The night has a special kind of beauty, even more beautiful than the sunset – at least for you. Even with the surfeit of light pollution from the street and house lights. The sky, completely freckled with stars now, is beauty within itself and it takes a while to pull your eyes away from them. The crescent moon accompanies the glimmering stars dully and your eyes finally gaze over to Atsumu’s figure.

Atsumu drifts in and out of focus, body feeling completely numb and absolutely fatigued. He squeezes his eyes shut, opening them again widely in efforts to somehow gain more energy. With hesitancy, you pull his sleeve, leading him to a nearby seat.

“You’re tired and… well, I – let’s just sit for a while,”

Atsumu seats himself beside you, blinking, mind trying to comprehend what you’d just muttered.

The air was humid – yet still held a sharpness to it. You suppose it was trying to tell you something about the boy sitting beside you. Atsumu’s face held a focused grimace, aimed at the concrete pathway and you wonder if this has something to do with nationals. Hands ghosting his shoulder, you pull away, for the millionth time.

“I can’t help it.” Atsumu begins, “I have to get better, I can’t let myself be mediocre.”

You’re staring at him, somewhat perplexed, knowing the pain of being second best.

“You’re already so good Sumu,” you reassure, looking at him softly.

“That’s just- not enough, I saw Kageyama during the training I had – he was just so, naturally perfect,” his voice breaks ever so slightly that you almost don’t notice. But Atsumu knows you did, the moment your arms wrap around his body.

“Sumu, you’re talented too,” you say gently, “You’re probably the best setter in the whole wide world.”

“Hey!” he perks up, before a smile flutters to his lips, “Quit stealin’ my lines!”

“Who said they belonged to you,” you grumble playfully, crossing your arms and looking away.

“I did! And It’s totally trademarked or whatever.”

You grin at him, as he leans on you lightly, placing his head on your shoulder. He’s glancing at the glowing orb in the sky, cherishing the moment with you.

“Hey, Sumu,” you start, “Promise me you’ll eat the meals I bring you from now on.”

He huffs lightly, to which you take some offence to, glaring at him.

“Fine, promise,” he sighs, interlocking your pinkies, connecting the thumbs.

“And, promise me, you won’t drink those trashy energy drinks!” you almost exclaim.

“Whaaat?? What about two a day?”

“No.”

“Yer not my mother,” he rolls his eyes, facing away from you. Soon, he’s whipping his head around again to voice another offer.

“One?” he begged, eyes sparkling slightly, and lips pouted.

“Sumuuuu,” you groan, “You know how bad they are!”

He looks like a puppy almost, begging you for the treat in your hand.

“Fine,” you murmur, connecting your pinkies once more as Atsumu yelps with joy.

-------

As days turn to nights, and weeks to months, it was winter again. And you had forgotten your coat, again. Old habits die hard, you huff. Pulling your gloves on tightly, your eyes trail forward, stopping at the tall blonde figure walking towards you with a grin and a wave.

“Y/N,” he breathes, slightly huffing from his jog to you, “I figured that-“ a breath, “you’d forget,” another breath, “yer jacket.”

Atsumu’s smile is blindingly bright, as he passes his jacket to you. You’re staring at him in pure awe, cheeks flushed with rose. Blinking and dumbfounded, you take his jacket, putting it on yourself. And god – it was so damn warm.

“Sumu..” you trail off, eyes still wide, “you remembered.”

“Of course,” he replies, slightly kicking the snow at his feet.

“Thank you,” you beam, eyes twinkling with pure admiration for the scruffy haired boy. You notice the snowflakes piling on his hair as he looks down at you. On your tippy toes, your hand reaches the top of his head, brushing them off his hair.

“There,” you say breathlessly, causing a blush to spread on Atsumu’s cheeks.

“Thanks,” Atsumu responds, almost immediately looking away, prying away from your touch.

There’s a lack of shallowness in the winter air, it’s full and light – softly blowing the hair from your face. With the snow falling gently, so naturally you hold out your palms and with a light giggle you blow the snow falling in your hands away. The streets were covered in thick blankets of snow, decorated with little snowmen with lopsided faces and quirky carrots – something about this winter was different, and you couldn’t seem to pinpoint it until your gaze met the figure beside you.

Atsumu wasn’t different, yet something about this made him feel different. His jacket didn’t appear foreign like Suna’s -- it was familiar, warm… cosy. You gaze at Atsumu, reddened cheeks and a soft smile resting on his face and inhale sharply.

His eyes trail your figure, cheeks ablaze at how the sun seems to compliment your face. He loved the way your hair glistened in the sun, how the cold coated your cheeks with rose. Fiddling with his sleeves, he hesitates, before brushing off snow on your head. And you’re looking at him almost immediately, with doe eyes, wondering the origins of the warm fuzzy feeling in your heart.

“Atsumu…” you trail off, looking at the ground, “thank you.”

“W-wha? It was just a few snowflakes, don’t ya worry about it!”

“Not that.” Your memory begins to grow hazy when you think about Suna. Atsumu is looking at you with anticipation, hoping you’d say something.

It wasn’t like you’d understood love properly and you still don’t think you do. It has always been vague and idealistic for you, never seeing it – only ever reading about it in books or seeing it personified fictionally in movies. But, when you were with Atsumu, the line between friends and lovers seemed to have blurred, in such a beautiful way.

“For helping me, through everything in the last year. You helped me heal myself and I wouldn’t be the person I am now, without you.”

Atsumu’s eyes widen as he takes in your words; and soon it’s replaced with a grin. He’s almost involuntarily wrapping his arms around you pulling your body close to him.

He’s so incredibly warm, you think, the smile never leaving your face.

You are overflowing with awe and endearment and complete paradise as you bask in his warmth. You wonder if it’s spring again, heart blossoming with complete and utter happiness. And you’re not afraid anymore – not of rejection, of unrequited love. Because, for the first time, you were a priority.

Heart beating at sickening rates and hands sweating litres upon litres of water even in the chilliness of winter, you’re pulling away. Atsumu is looking at you, gazing deeply into your eyes with hands on your shoulders as if you might break with his touch. His eyes glimmer, hope.

Before you can react, Atsumu’s kissing you – and you’re kissing back. The snow continues to fall quicker and quicker, yet, there seems to be something special about kissing in the snow. It isn’t like what you anticipated, when watching binge watching romcoms – it was so much more special, intimate and more. You’d fallen in love with the way Atsumu’s lips moved against yours the way you fell in love with him, slowly.

And for once you thank the universe and destiny for the longing, the pain and the heartbreak. For you knew that you would not have known such love without it. You’re grinning brightly at Atsumu after pulling away as both of you release shallow breaths. After all this time, what you needed was right in front of you.

“I think I’m in love with you, Miya Atsumu,”

Atsumu rests his cold and calloused hand on your cheek, smiling while gazing down at you.

“I’m in love with you too,” he replies, squeezing the other hand he’d been holding. And you can see the truth in his eyes, glimmering, glowing like the sun, shining like his love. Eyes pooling with tears, you grin like a fool, wrapping your arms around him once more.

Maybe winter wasn’t so bad, after all.

thank you for reading! if you liked this, then please check out my other works here.

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shimmeringclouds · 3 years

Text

Karamatsu - Lycoris Radiata

𝘠𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘪!𝘒𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶 𝘟 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Dim. Yet warm. You figured that's how a forest would be during the summer.

With that thought in mind, however, it didn't help you whatsoever with finding the path you were supposed to be walking along. Of course you would lose track of where you were meant to be walking; wandering minds and feet aren't exactly a good pair.

Glancing upward through the mess of tree branches and leaves, you could just about make out the glimmer of stars above you. Looks like you missed dinner. Again. Was it really so hard for you to go for a relaxing walk in the woodlands?

Sighing, you rubbed your upper thighs. Sore. The blood pumping through them felt weird against the fabric of your trousers, thumping uncomfortably against your fingers. Tingling. Just... weird.

Tree trunks stood by attentively, waiting patiently for your tired figure to curl up against its' bark. And you did just that, groaning as you stretched out your arms and legs. Your arms fell with a thud to your sides, fingers absentmindedly caressing the cool grass beneath you.

...Now what? Were you just going to sit there for the rest of the night? A ridiculous idea, surely. However, it was the only thing you could do. It's not like you knew if anyone was nearby to help you get home and, even then, you didn't think you could just trust anyone you would meet in the middle of the woods at night.

Another sigh. You're good at those, aren't you? You tried to take a look at your surroundings, only to see the dark figures of trees and bushes (at least, you hoped they were bushes). Dark blues and greens, hues of black, absences of colour.

A flash of red. A stark contrast to the deep colours around you. A beautiful flower, you saw. Its' crimson petals clustered together in the centre, with numerous similar coloured stems curling upwards, swaying and dancing with the wind.

"A Spider Lily, huh?" you muttered. You reached out and grazed the tips of your finger against it, a small smile tugging at your lips. "You shouldn't bloom here, all alone like this..."

Your mind briefly wandered back to a conversation you had had with a friend at some point throughout the week. Being the flower enthusiast she was, you always allowed yourself to become subject to her seemingly endless rants about flowers, plants, herbs - anything that she had knowledge about. You remembered what she had said about these richly coloured beauties.

'If you see someone that you may never meet again, these flowers will bloom along the path.'

It sounded like a beautiful but tragic piece of poetry. You began to wonder where the myth had even come from. When was it first spoken? Was it based on true events? Was it really such a bad thing, not meeting someone again?

You knew, from experience, that letting people leave your everyday life was actually beneficial for yourself. Although it took you a number of years to realise it, you found that the kinds of people you attracted were a lot worse than they appeared to be. Deep down, they were monsters. Horrible people, who have the audacity to call themselves human.

Of course it was painful, but only at first. Now, it didn't bother you much anymore. Your soul felt lighter, if anything, indicating that you were getting better, not worse.

Releasing the flower from your ghost of a grasp, you leaned your head back, closing your eyes. That was enough for today. It was time to rest for a while. Breathing in, and out, slowly, ever so slowly, a feeling of slumber crept its way into your body.

Relaxing your tense muscles, you released a long, heavy breath. Sleep.

"It's dangerous to sleep out here, my dove."

"WHA-!!"

An unholy shriek escaped from your throat suddenly, and you pushed your body away from the tree you were leaning against, crawling rapidly across the ground. Whipping your body around, your wide eyes landed on the lantern that outlined the shadowy figure, who stood just behind where you were previously sitting.

"S-Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you, angel!"

The deep, husky voice that whispered into your ear became slightly higher pitched and frantic. You saw the figure step forward, causing you to flinch.

"Ah, do not worry, princess. I won't harm you..."

"That's what they all say!" you blurted out. A short silence followed before you asked:

"Who.. Who are you?"

The figure stepped forward, raising its' lantern to reveal itself.

It was... a man. Yet he wasn't human. His skin was pale, eyes surrounded by red markings. On top of his brown hair was a pair of glowing blue horns, which seemed to flow like fire. his clothing seemed old fashioned, covering his slightly built figure in dark robes of satin and ribbons. The lantern that he held also emitted the same coloured light as his horns, flickering before you.

"You may call me Karamatsu, my dear," he bowed slightly, a cat-like grin crossing his features. "I am but a humble spirit who spotted a wandering soul, lost and alone in a forest that humans should be cautious with. Perhaps some guidance is in your best interest?"

"I, uhm... You're not.. human?" A deep chuckle sounded, sending a shiver up your spine. It was echoey. As if, even though he was standing right in front of you, he was still so far away.

"I'm afraid not, flower. I am an Aoandon. But do not be afraid, I am not here to hurt you. I would only be a guilty guy if I were to leave such a beautiful woman alone in the woods, where anything could happen."

He reached out a partially gloved hand to your figure, still on the ground.

"Please, allow my light to guide you home."

You were sure that if you could see the words he spoke, they would be surrounded by flowers and sparkles. You never knew a man - or anyone, for that matter - to speak in such an overzealous manner.

However, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It didn't make you feel uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, actually. You guessed that's why you reached up and grasped his unnaturally cold hands, allowing him to pull you upwards in a swift motion. He grinned softly down at you, making you realise just how short you were compared to him.

"May I ask for your name, love? Or would you prefer the names I give you?" he winked. You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes, in fear that he would actually hurt you if you got on the wrong foot. So he was a gentleman and a flirt? What an odd combination.

"[Y/N]..." you decided to not answer his second question. It was probably for the best.

"[Y/N]. A wonderful name! As gorgeous as the stars above! I am certain that they aligned to create a bridge just for us to meet on this special night!" Karamatsu's hands were waving around in wild, extravagant gestures. He looked ridiculous. What a strange character.

"I- .. Sure.."

For most of the journey, you listened to this... spirit, ramble nonsense about the scenery around you, or about your features that he found endearing. There were times where he would deliberately lower his voice into something he thought was sultry and enticing, peering into your eyes with a smouldering stare. You didn't mind the dip in his voice at all, not a single bit. It was just the way that the poor man was clearly trying too hard to make you fall for him.

'He clearly has never been successful with any woman before... How cute!'

You couldn't help yourself. You had just met him, and you already wanted to know more about him. Was that weird? Probably. Maybe it was the touch-starved part of yourself that was talking, longing to be held in someone's arms after being neglected by so many for so long.

"Watch your step here, my dear." His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, peering up at him to see this a pale hand was held out to assist you. You gladly took hold of it, fingers grasping his colder ones. Even as he helped you over a few jagged rocks in your path, you weren't willing to let go just yet. Although his skin was cold, his touch felt inviting and comforting.

You didn't want to let go yet.

And it seemed that Karamatsu was overjoyed by this, his eye glistening with a kind of happiness that you had never seen a human hold before.

"A-Are you afraid, sweetheart? There is nothing to fear, not as long as I am here by your side! However, if you wish to hold me tightly, I will never object you!" The slight tremor of nervousness in his words sounded so endearing to you.

"Good, because I wasn't planning to let go just yet."

You had never seen a human wear such a broad and satisfied smile, either. It was contagious, causing you to smile timidly up at him in return.

Eventually, though, your midnight stroll had to come to an end for the both of you. Karamatsu had led you to the beginning of the trail where, just a little further ways down, was a bus stop for you to get home.

"We have arrived, my angel."

"Ah... right," you mumbled, slight disappointment seeping through your tone. Karamatsu chuckled, his cat-like grin widening slightly.

"What is this? Is my fair maiden unwilling to let me go?"

"Something like that..." you mumbled, keeping your face directed towards the ground as you released your hold from his arm. Karamatsu's cheeks bloomed pink, a shade darker under the moonlight.

"A-Ah! Well," luckily, he was able to snap out of his surprised stupor, "Do not be so sullen, my moonbeam!"

'Moonbeam?'

"I'm sure the stars will align once again to reunite us as we journey through our lives together, and one day... One day, maybe..."

His bold tone suddenly simmered down to a gentle murmur, almost lost to the breeze if you weren't standing so close to him. A gentle smile was on his face now, his eyes glazed over in reminiscence of something akin to a far away daydream.

"I hope, one day, our paths cross again, my love."

His cold fingers caressed your own, lifting them up to press a chaste kiss onto your knuckles. It may have been brief, but the cold touch burned itself into your skin, lasting as he slowly, reluctantly, pulled away.

"Have a safe journey home, angel!" He grinned, saluting quickly before turning away, holding his flickering lantern before him to lead his way back into the forest he called his home.

You had no words left in you. They had all been snatched away by his comforting words and soft touches. His kind eyes, his dazzling smile. His glowing aura that led you through the darkness around you.

Ah, but good things never last long for you. You had to leave before you missed the next bus. You had leave this lonely, broken soul behind. Just like how he had no choice but to leave yours.

Turning away, you caught a glimpse of red from the corner of your eyes.

A trail of red spider lilies. Standing tall and blooming where he once stood a moment ago.

'Please... Meet me here again. One day.'

#osomatsu san #karamatsu matsuno #karamatsu x reader #yokai!karamatsu #yokai!matsu #yokai!au #xreader #romance #spider lily #flowers #floriography #japanese mythology

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alyssaallyrion · 3 years

Text

Title: Nothing short of a dream

Rating: T

Summary: In which Itachi has a nightmare, which may not be a nightmare at all.

Written for Shisuita Week 2021 Day 1 Prompt: Dream

ao3 link

“Shisui, no…” he hears a quiet whimper.

Instantly, Shisui opens his eyes. Pale moonlight, streaming through the small window, has painted the room haunting silver. Shisui glances to his right and sees Itachi lying in bed next to him, his long dark hair strewn across the pillow. He’s clearly asleep, but tears are streaming down his cheeks, and quiet sobs escape his lips, making Shisui’s heart clench. He sits up on the bed and reaches out, resting his hand lightly on Itachi’s shoulder.

“Itachi,” he calls out gently, “Itachi, wake up.”

Itachi shifts under Shisui’s touch, still in the grasp of sleep, but Shisui’s persistent – he calls Itachi’s name again, lightly shaking his shoulder.

“Shisui?” Itachi mumbles, waking up, eyes still bleary from sleep.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Shisui replies softly, “But you were crying in your sleep, and I was worried. Are you alright?”

Itachi doesn’t answer – instead, he sits up on the bed and pulls his legs close to his chest. Shisui remains quiet – he knows Itachi will speak when he’s ready.

“I…had a nightmare,” he says finally. Shisui sighs as he reaches over and pulls Itachi close against his side.

“It must have been terrifying,” he murmurs, gently running his fingers through Itachi’s hair, hoping to soothe him with the caress, “But it’s just a dream. Everything is ok.”

“I know,” Itachi bites his lip, not looking at Shisui, “But it felt so real.”

“I’ve had nightmares too when I was young,” Shisui replies, “And I’ve found that telling others about them made them far less scary. So, if you want to share, I’m here to listen.”

Itachi looks at him quietly for a moment as if weighing his words.

“It…was terrifying,” Itachi’s voice is barely louder than a whisper when he speaks, “You died and left me all alone.”

A sad smile blooms upon Shisui’s lips as he takes Itachi’s hand into his and presses soft kisses to his knuckles, “I’m sorry you had such an awful dream, but I’m right here, and I will never leave you.”

“In my dream,” Itachi continues, his voice shaky, “We were shinobi of the Village Hidden in the Leaves. Our clan decided to rebel against the village. You and I have tried stopping them, but we failed, and you…”

“What a strange dream,” Shisui murmurs quietly, worry rising in his chest. “You have entrusted the fate of the clan to me,” Itachi breathes out, “But I couldn’t do anything – and in the end, I had to kill everyone, including mother and father. Only Sasuke was left alive.”

A cold hand of anxiety clenches Shisui’s throat, but he smiles through it. Pulling Itachi closer, Shisui wraps his arms around him and presses soft kisses to his cheeks, wiping away the tears. He wants to reassure Itachi that he’ll always be by his side, that nothing will ever separate them - not again.

“Itachi, my love, that sounds awful,” he says softly.

“It was,” Itachi nods, glancing at Shisui, “But now that I have told you, I feel slightly better.”

“I’m happy I could help,” Shisui replies, pressing a light kiss to Itachi’s temple.

Silence falls upon them for a moment.

“Will you hold me while I fall asleep?” Itachi asks quietly, moving against Shisui, “I…just need to feel that you are here.”

“Of course,” Shisui murmurs.

They shift on the bed, Itachi facing away from him, as Shisui wraps his arm around Itachi’s middle, pulling him close to his chest. Itachi’s hand comes to rest atop of his, squeezing it ever so slightly.

“I was so scared,” he whispers.

Shisui lifts up on his elbow and leans forward to Itachi on the cheek.

“There is nothing to be scared of,” he says, “Shinobi lead the life of violence and often meet quite a brutal end. But you and I are simple innkeepers, and ours will be a long and happy life. I promise you that.”

“I love you, Shisui,” Itachi murmurs sleepily.

“And I love you,” Shisui replies.

He listens quietly in the dark until Itachi’s breathing steadies. Once Shisui knows that he’s deep in the grasp of slumber, he carefully pulls his hand away from Itachi’s and climbs out of bed.

When he had used Kotoamatsukami on Itachi and Sasuke – and the villagers – three years ago, he thought the plan fool-proof. It seems that he was wrong – apparently, Itachi’s memories have started to come back in the form of dreams.

Worry stirs in his chest, and Shisui feels a lump in his throat. As much as he hates himself for doing what he did, he knows it was necessary. The memories would have tormented Itachi, and Shisui couldn’t allow that. More than anyone, Itachi deserved to be happy. That was why Shisui took him away from Konoha, from the pain and violence of the shinobi world, and tried to give Itachi a chance at a new, happier life. He was too late, of course, and for that, Shisui would never forgive himself, but he did the best he could with the circumstances.

If only he had been stronger, if only he had never left Itachi in the first place…

He knew he made a mistake the moment he leaped of that cliff. Itachi needed him, and he was leaving him alone to deal with an utterly impossible problem – like a coward. Like a traitor. The realization burned – he swore to Itachi once that he’d never betray him, and there he was, doing just that. When the blinding pain pierced through his body once he hit the water, only one thought was left in Shisui’s mind – he needed to come back to Itachi.

Somehow, his prayers were answered. A man, who Shisui later learned was Orochimaru, had found him on the bank of Naka river and offered to help him.

“My experiment can heal you,” he said, “And, who knows, perhaps even restore your eyes. But it will be painful.”

Shisui scoffed – after what he’d gone through, he cared little about pain. Still, the offer was suspicious.

“Why would you help me?” he asked.

“I’m just looking for test subjects for my experiment,” the man replied calmly, “And, besides, letting you live might keep things…interesting.”

The man’s hand was on Shisui’s arm, hauling him up – his skin felt cold and slimy like that of a snake and sent a shudder through Shisui’s body. A part of him wanted to refuse the offer, but he steeled his heart – he had to return to Itachi.

The experiment worked, almost better than Orochimaru had expected – it took nearly a year, but Shisui’s eyes were restored with their full abilities. To Shisui’s surprise, Orochimaru let him go without much trouble.

“It was a pleasure,” the smile on Orochimaru’s lips was utterly unsettling, “I look forward to working with you in the future.”

Shisui didn’t dignify him with a response. There was only one thought burning in his mind – to get back to Konoha, to get back to Itachi.

He was too late. When Shisui saw Itachi, he was standing over red ruins of their clansmen’s corpses, grasping a sword in his hand, and, at his feet, was Sasuke’s lifeless body. Bile rose up in Shisui’s throat, and his head spun – this was all his fault. If he had never left Itachi, this would have never happened.

The broken sob that left Itachi’s lips upon seeing Shisui shattered his heart.

“Are you here to judge me?” Itachi asked, “You haven’t answered my prayers once, and now you choose to appear to me. Should I have done this earlier?”

He was laughing then, and Shisui felt paralyzed with fear. It was clear that whatever he had suffered through in the last year – whatever he had to do that night – was testing the limits of his sanity. And it was all his fault. It was his duty now to help Itachi, any way he could - to give him the life of peace he always wanted.

Kotoamatsukami allowed Shisui to erase the memories from Itachi – and Sasuke’s – mind. As if the massacre didn’t happen, as if they were never shinobi in the first place but rather simple innkeepers of a small tavern in a country far away from the Land of Fire. To ensure that their new life would not be disturbed, he used Kotoamatsukami on the other villagers too, making them forget Itachi and Sasuke, laying the blame for the murder of the clan exactly where it belonged – at Danzo’s feet. He hoped that whatever punishment Danzo suffered would be long and painful, and he deeply regretted not being there to see it.

It warmed his heart to see Itachi so unburdened, living the life of peace. He seemed so happy tending to the garden and the inn, going to the nearby river to swim or fish with Sasuke and Shisui, and spending quiet evenings reading on the porch. Perhaps, it wasn’t fair to take Itachi’s memories, but it was Shisui’s only chance to give him happiness – and he’d do anything to preserve it.

He wonders from time to time if death has changed him. Before, he wanted to do everything to keep the clan alive and at peace with the village, but now the only thing he regretted was that he wasn’t there to take on Itachi’s mission, to take away the burden from his soul.

Shisui walks into the small room on the first floor of the inn and lights the candle on the desk. Settling on the chair, he pulls one paper from the stack and picks up a pen, then pauses for a moment, musing how to start the letter – after all, he’d never thought that he’d have to contact Orochimaru again. But, perhaps, the time has come.

He hopes Itachi’s dream was just a fluke of his mind – that by the morning, Itachi won’t even remember what he’d seen – but Shisui knows that there is no such thing as being too careful. Especially not when it comes to Itachi’s well-being. And so, he writes the letter. There is no guarantee, of course, that Orochimaru knows enough about Kotoamatsukami or the Sharingan to be useful, but there is no one else who could help.

Shisui’s hands quickly form the necessary seals, and the paper in front of him disappears in the flicker of pale blue light. His heart feels heavy – he knows that Orochimaru’s help always comes with strings attached.

Whatever Orochimaru asks for will not cannot be too much – after all, Itachi’s happiness is worth everything.

#shisui uchiha #itachi uchiha #shisuita #shiita #shisuitaweek2021

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 30

First time reader click here

TRIGGER WARNING! This chapter is a horror movie. There's blood, gore and psychological horror elements. Lemme know if it was actually scary - I'm desensitized to this shit. This was written to come out on Halloween but I was too slow with writing.

Wooden floor creaking behind me, I couldn't feel the cold of it, not even a single splinter piercing the arches of them, I ran like my life depended on it. The darkness behind me was alive; it breathed, pulsated, spreading along the walls of the hallway like mold. The hallway seemed to be endless.

As soon as I realized that, I noticed that it, in fact, did have an end and not a door was in sight; that quickly proved to br also just a trick of the eye - there were doors, the hallway was riddled with them, each one dark, identical and placed neatly about five feet apart. With shaking hands, I turned the knob, slamming the door behind me with a loud bang.

Panting, I let myself slide against the door, eyes closed, sheet landing in a puddle of white fabric on the floor around me. First five seconds passed quietly; then, a noise interrupted my panicked thinking and my eyes flew open as the scene in front of me produced more confusion.

The familiar scene of the pond behind my grandparents' stables, the poppies - a splash of blood red against the dull greens and browns - swaying in the breeze. A Dora the Explorer bucket hat and a six-year-old me, hair in pigtails, poking at a spot of moist soil with a large stick.

I knew where this was going yet I couldn't pull my eyes away from the scene that was going to unfold. A stallion my parents had recently bought, ill-tempered and moody, jumping over the low fence and galloping noisily right at mini-me. The terrified animal was screaming yet I was oblivious to it's distress, too busy trying to fish out earthworms out of the wet ground. Almost in slo-mo, mini-me noticed the running, screaming animal and bolted for safety, its hooves missing my little body barely by a feet.

I felt the cold water of the pond on my skin. It was dirty and blooming at the time, musky smell assaulting my senses, murky water choking the life out of both versions of me. In the distance, I noticed a much younger and slimmer dad sprinting full-speed towards the splashing child in the pond. He was screaming something and I leaned in, trying to hear him better.

The scene vanished into thin, wispy smoke. My head was once again clear and the suffocating dread and panic subsided, letting me take in several deep breaths and try to assess the situation calmly. I had survived that accident, even successfully overcame my fear of swimming later on.

Hands shaking and heart fluttering like a frightened bird, I recoiled from the locked door when it began to rattle, the noise deafening in the eerie quiet of the house.

The shadows were taunting me. Trapping me in my worst fears, making me relive my worst memories. The artifact needed something from me - what was it? I wondered, tucking the sheet in some semblance of a toga and standing up to explore the room. Save for a few outdated pieces of furniture, it was cold and empty, void of life. Nowhere to hide.

I paced the room, coming to a halt next to the heavy, thick velvet curtains. Expecting to see a window behind them, I was surprised with another old wooden door with a bent handle that had gathered an impressive layer of dust. With rattling behind me increasingly growing in volume, I had no other option but to press it down and quickly dart into the next dark room.

Clint. Lifeless eyes wide open, his body laying at my feet, sheet-white and rust coloured stains adorning his mouth, nails black and broken as if he'd been clawing at the dilapidated wooden floors. I backed away from him, further into the room - the archer's body began to move and tremble, tiny little gashes appearing on every inch of exposed skin. The thing that was breaking out of him glowed, pale blue and sickly.

"That's not..." I whispered to myself. "Clint is alive," As if I had been doused with cold water, the images of MAFS incident seeped into my mind, the what-ifs of my past actions weighing heavily and clouding my mind with guilt.

"Come on, we don't have much time," Steph's voice appeared behind my back, loud and out of nowhere. I was rightfully sceptical about the reality of him - while his face was the usual, tense expression of boredom, he stood differently. I couldn't describe the difference if I tried; it just felt wrong. Like a puzzle piece was missing.

"I don't think so, demon dude," Squaring my shoulders once again, I prepared myself for the inevitable pain.

"Who?" The copycat asked, faking concern surprisingly well. "It's the artifact. It's making you see things that aren't real," With a wave of his hand, the door flew open, exposing the hallway filled with the void that was chasing me previously.

"Oh what I saw was real alright," I countered, tilting my head to examine the entity. Unknowingly, it had given itself away - Stephen's magic always glowed gold and orange, in the sense that he wasn't like Loki - Strange's spells were always visible. "I'd rather you kill me then spread your vile disease beyond this... Space," With none of the bravery I actually had, bluff came surprisingly easy. Perhaps, I really was ready to die so my friends and family could live.

Not-Stephen tsked and grinned maliciously, once again waving his hands about. "Killing you? So barbaric and an absolute waste of potential." The shadows pushed something into the gaping hole of the doorway, something curled up in a fetal position and whimpering. The entity picked up the man by the shoulders, forcing him to kneel in front of it, teary baby browns staring back at me, wide with terror.

Tony. My feet took an involuntary step forward, where my Tony was trembling, whimpering in the creature's grasp, unseeing eyes looking straight forward. As if I wasn't there.

"Submit and I will let him go. Right now, he's relieving the worst memories of his life," The entity raised an eyebrow, a mock imitation of Stephen's expression. I could hear Tony mumbling faintly, something about his chest and Afghanistan and bombs and Obadiah.

It pissed me off. Firstly, how dare this wannabe-Pennywise, this LOST-fog-monster-reject to lay his filthy metaphysical fingers on my Tony. And secondly, for the sloppy intelligence job - I had been woken up by Tony's nightmares more than enough to know his biggest fear wasn't Afghanistan. It wasn't Obadiah and it wasn't Bucky killing his parents, it wasn't even the vast, consuming black emptiness of the space behind the wormhole.

Anger burning my throat, I lunged at not-Stephen with a bloodcurdling scream, feeling my nails dig into the cold, clammy flesh of the thing's throat. Taken by surprise, both of us stumbled, falling into the abyss of the hallway, me kicking and scratching and screaming all the way, fingers squeezing deeply into the lifeless imitation of flesh. His screams mixed with mine and Tony's into a shrieking cacophony.

The darkness was laughing, cackling, noise sharp like nails on a chalkboard. It hurt, but the thing's grip on me hurt even more. "He'll never love you like you expect him to. They don't care about you. The mage said he'd help you and now you're dying here, alone," Black smoke began leaking out of the impostor's mouth along with the words, both acrid and venomous.

My head was pounding as more and more of the stuff came into contact with my body. My vision swam, bordering on unconsciousness. "If I'm dying, I'm taking you with me, bitch," I screamed out, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until I exploded together with my surroundings, in a short of white, blinding light.

And then, there was darkness. My limbs were once again filled with concrete, mouth dry and skin burning like I'd been branded with a hot iron.

I opened my eyes to the familiar sight of the room with the fireplace. The fire was roaring, crackling and and shooting noisy sparks, accompanied by heavy breathing to my left. Disregarding the nausea that followed my every movement, I hung my head over the side of the car coming to witness both sorcerers laying haphazardly on the floor, a thin river of blood seeping into the carpet from Wong's head.

Confused, disoriented and terrified, I called out for them, voice barely audible and terse. Had I been screaming?

The sorcerers' chests rose and fell rapidly; my panic subsided but not by much. I crawled out of the cot only to land ungracefully on my face, body refusing to cooperate and feeling about as well as after I'd ran a marathon. Inch by inch, I crawled over to the chair I had left my things on, fighting with my body for every movement I made.

Fumbling, l pulled out my phone and pressed the green call button on the one person one would call in this situation. My best friend.

"Yes, dear?" His baritone was tense but nonetheless calm.

"Help, some-something happened," I managed to say, no louder than a whisper. "Sanctum," I clarified, hearing a noise of things falling over and several distressed voices shouting in the background.

"I am coming, do not end the call," Loki replied immediately, barking out several commands I didn't quite catch. There were more noises of distress as I obediently stayed on the phone. "Darling, can you tell me what happened?"

"I- Killed?" I tried to articulate my thoughts, tongue becoming more and more uncooperative by the second.

"Oh my God, who's dead?!" I heard Bruce yell, probably, right in Loki's ear.

"The Thing," I clarified, hoping to calm him down.

Loki cursed in his native language, I heard him trying to wrestle the phone from someone - unsuccessfully so, I might say, as Tony's distraught voice was the next thing I heard. "Princess, listen to me. Are you okay? Where's Strange? We're gonna be there in 10 minutes. We're coming."

An avalanche of information for my overtaxed brain and aching body, I struggled to keep up with Tony's rambling and filtering out Loki's screeching in the background. So much noise. My head hurt. "No, Steph and Wong are down. Alive." I managed to convey the most important part, a terrified sob leaving my chest burning. "Please, talk," I begged Tony, not wanting to be left in that terrifying, consuming silence ever again.

And Tony talked. He babbled nonstop, things that I didn't really catch neither care about, having enough strength to give a hum of approval every few seconds or so. It appeared to be as calming to him as it was to me, I didn't hear any more complaints from the team, only brief increase in volume as one of them got closer to the phone. A part of me conceded I should've made at least one joke about being put on loudspeaker, however, my brain was exhausted.

Burnt out, rather. The emptiness settled in my bones, chilly, like the blood had been sucked out of me, making my body just a vessel for the darkness that stalked my nightmares. I dug my nails into the soft flesh of my bare thigh, feeling none of the pain, just the relief when blood seeped through the cuts, crimson and warm.

That's how they found me. Loki threw open the door, breaking one of the hinges, eyes immediately darting between me and the laying sorcerers, as he swiftly cast a bright golden spell on the room, warming us from the inside out. Carefully stepping over the two men, Loki kneeled in front of me, green eyes staring right into mine.

I heard cursing and thudding but all I could focus on was the shining emerald of Loki's eyes. "Oh, child," He whispered, reaching out with both arms to pull me into his chest. I couldn't have resisted even if I wanted to, my body was utterly drained of fight.

"What happened?" Tony asked, a hysterical pitch to his voice.

"I can assume there was a failsafe left behind by the artifact, it took out both sorcerers and attempted to finish the job it started," Loki spoke up, hand gently petting my hair, still clutching my limp body like I was dying. "She fought it off, I don't know how, but she fought it off. It has entered a dormant state again."

"What do you mean took them all out?" In his distress, Tony seemed to have lost all sensibility. "What happened to her?!" He was getting impatient, angry.

"With an artifact like that, it's a blessing they are still alive. It is ancient and unpredictable," Loki explained patiently, none of his usual vitriol present. "And she... You could say she was mind-raped," He stated, quieter.

I groaned in protest. Loki's spell of gold did what felt like a wonder: the light was slowly coming back into the room, into me, filling me with warmth I didn't know I could lack. "As if," I slurred. "As if that Pennywise wannabe could ever," My body was, nonetheless, exhausted. "I've swallowed more kids than he could ever," My eyelids dropped, the comforting noise of Tony's and Loki's combined chuckle amplifying the surplus of warmth within me.

Last thing I saw was Tony's watery smile, tears crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he lifted me from Loki's arms, hot rod red of his suit saturating the room with color. Feeling safe for the first time in what felt like forever, I let my eyes close voluntarily, a smile crawling onto my face. I was right. Tony was alright, it wasn't really him that was getting tortured in the nightmare-verse.

"What..." I heard Stephen croak from somewhere. "Baby?!" His voice raised a whole octave; Thor's fond chuckle followed the rustling of fabric and a few stronger choice words from the sorcerer as Loki briefed everyone on the situation at hand.

"How is she, Tones?" Bruce asked quietly from above me.

"Pretty out of it but on her way back to health," Tony replied with another watery laugh. "Cracking jokes and whatnot clownery."

Bruce exhaled in relief, stroking my face with the side of his fingers. It was almost palpable, the general atmosphere of respite in the room, the sudden free flow of oxygen to my lungs.

"I am so sorry," Stephen's whisper was more felt than heard by me; the spice of his cologne and copper of blood reached my nostrils, burning them, keeping the warmth from leaving my body ever again.

My fingers weakly held out to him, finally coming to grasp his more-than-usual shaking hand. "Not your fault," I breathed. "Persistent cursed box," Were my last words before my consciousness gave out. Sleep sweet sleep.

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#party favours #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #stephen strange x you #bun writes

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thatweeboverthereisthirsty · 3 years

Note

can I ask for number 6 (sfw) with leona please? thanks~

Why yes you may. So.... this turned into a short fic because I’ve been wanting to write a Hanahaki disease troupe for a while now. It also ended up a lot more ansgty than I had intended when I originally wrote up the prompt, but oh well, it happens. I hope you like this despite Leona being a little bit OC towards the end. Nonetheless enjoy!

Warnings/Tags: Blood, disease, pain, angst, maybe a smidgen of comfort at the end, death, unrequited love, requited love, Hanahaki disease troupe with my own spin, the ending is sappy just so you know

Pain blossomed in your chest as you rounded the corner. An itchy feeling in your throat turned into a burn, prompting you to rush past the other students in the hall and push your way into the nearest bathroom. Coughs wracked your body and forced dark pink petals splattered with blood up your throat.

It was unclear how long it took you to finally settle down from the coughing fit. This had been happening for months. Starting with simple coughs and the occasional petal had turned into painful fits where you choked on the amount of petals and blood that made its way out from your throat. It was a horrible thing and you knew what it was and how to get rid of it. The only problem was that no one in this place knew how or even what it was.

You were about to get up when you were suddenly forced into another fit of coughs. This one was more violent and painful. Tears streamed from your closed eyes and you gripped the edge of the toilet harshly. It’s almost over. It’s almost over. It’s almost over. It’s almost over.

Once the hacking had stopped you panted for breath and gazed into the bloodied toilet. A sinking feeling filled you when you saw a flower. An entire flower the color crimson. Your time was nearly up and you could feel it. You could feel thorns spreading out from your lungs and pricking their walls. Soon they would puncture and you would cough until there was no air left to cough up.

“Um… is coughing up flowers normal where you come from?” You jerked and winced as the stabbing sensation got worse. Turning you spotted Leona leaning against the inside of the stall wall and realized you must have forgotten to close the door in your haste. Another spike of pain burned your lungs as the thorns grew just from Leona’s close proximity.

If you hadn’t shut your eyes you would have seen the demi lion flinch and concern pass through his eyes. You breathed shallowly and coughed again before shifting into a sitting position.

“No it’s not. Well sort of.” you panted and Leona raised an eyebrow. “It’s called Hanahaki disease. Where I come from it stems from unrequited love.” At that the mage looked at you in disbelief and crossed his arms. You continued despite his obvious suspicions.

“When you first get it, you cough a lot and sometimes spit up little yellow petals. Gradually as time goes on and the disease gets worse the petals turn pink and then darker as you cough up more of them. Eventually you cough up your first full flower, which is always the color of blood. It means that…” You paused and looked up at Leona with tearful eyes.

You didn’t want to say it out loud. It would only make it more real, but if there was anything you learned from having Hanahaki disease, it’s that it is very real and very painful. Maybe if it had been someone else who had found you then you would have been able to explain it fully but Leona was the last person you wanted to explain your condition to. The lion man grew impatient and gestured for you to go on. You took a deep breath and forced yourself to speak the words.

“When you cough up your first flower it means that the thorns have nearly punctured your lungs and within the day you will die.” Silence was what met you first, but you watched as Leona’s eyes flickered from you to the toilet bowl full of petals and blood. And directly in the middle of it lay a crimson flower, bloomed straight from your pain.

He was quiet for a long time before he looked at you again and frowned.

“How do you fix it?”

“You can’t. At least not here. There are two ways for Hanahaki disease to be cured. A: the more favorable option. To have the person change their mind and decide to love you, that or they loved you all along and you just never knew about it. B: the more painful option and one I would turn to if it were a service offered here, surgery.”

“Surgery?” Leona asked with a confused expression.

“Surgery,” you wheezed, “where they remove the flowers and thorns from your lungs. Except it only works if you take the seed out as well. If you don’t remove the seed the flowers will just regrow overnight. A lot of people don’t turn to this option until the very last minute because removing the seed means removing your ability to feel anything. All of your emotions are tied to that seed and without it a person will live a life of numbness.”

The look on Leona’s face morphed from confusion to shock and then back to confusion.

“Hanahaki disease doesn’t exist here so they don’t have the surgery option which likely means that the people here aren’t born with seeds.” You spoke, sensing his thoughts. He looked down at you and scrunched his eyebrows together.

“So who’s your unrequited lover?”

You froze and looked back into the toilet. Another fit of coughing sprung from your chest and left you heaving for air through the flowers that clogged your lungs and throat. Distantly you felt Leona’s hand on your back before it disappeared and his footsteps made their way away from you.

Tears slid down your face and plopped into the bloody water beneath you. Oh if only he had loved me.

----------

Only a few hours had passed since your arrival in the nurses wing. Yet the elderly woman who looked over the health of her students stood sadly against the wall near her door, waiting to deliver grim news to all who came her way.

Leona, who had already figured out what happened, stayed slumped against the opposite wall. His mind raced to process the situation. Everything had happened so quickly, it seemed like only minutes ago he walked in on your coughing and decided to tease you about your frail herbivore body getting sick. Then you had told him about your condition and the sight of you, weak, and trembling next to a toilet filled with evidence of your nearing doom had made him sick with this emotion he wasn’t used to feeling. He had run to get help when he realized that he could offer none, but a part of him wished he had stayed when he and the nurse returned to find you slumped, unconscious against the wall, blood staining your lips and tear streams lining your cheeks.

The lion growled in frustration at the recent memory and pushed himself off the wall. The nurse didn’t stop him when he entered the room you were being kept in. Soon they would move you to a better spot where you could be prepped for a funeral. The thought filled his mouth with a bad taste so he elected to ignore it as he sat beside your far too still body.

A sigh left him as he felt that emotion rise in his chest once again. He snarled as if he could scare it away but interrupting the silence in the room only made him feel worse.

How had no one else noticed sooner. Perhaps then they could have found a way to save you. Leona looked over at your pale face and frowned. It was weird not having you there. He supposed you would have had to leave for your own world anyway but this was different. This was a very permanent and sudden goodbye. The kind no one ever wants to experience.

Another sigh left his lips as he ran a hand over your forehead and pushed your hair back. Even in death you were beautiful. His hand made its way down to your chest where he let it hover for a moment before pressing down in hopes that he could find any sort of beat at all. There was none. However he did feel something strange underneath your clothes and skin.

Glancing back towards the door, Leona carefully undid the top part of your shirt and spread it aside so he could examine your chest area. What he saw had him retracting his hands very quickly and flinching backwards.

Underneath your skin vines wriggled and moved as they broke free from your lungs and wound their way through the other parts of your body. The tip of a thorn broke through the surface of your skin and dragged it’s way across your chest making odd jerks and turns. As horrified as he was, Leona leaned forward and watched as the thorn carved a word into your flesh. He watched carefully as it retreated back into its spot in your body and he felt his blood run cold.

Leona Kingscholar. The word was his name. Then it hit him. The unrequited love had been him. This whole time you had been suffering because of him. And now you were dead because of it.

Sobs forced their way out of his throat and he gripped your arm tightly whispering that he had changed his mind. You could come back now because he had cured you. You were alright because he loved you.

None of his pleas did anything to bring you back, and eventually when the headmaster and your other friends arrived, Leona excused himself to run back to his room in Savanaclaw.

---------

Leona rolled over and sighed, breathing in deeply to inhale the scent of the flowers that hung overhead. They smelled like you and their petals, once a horrific shade of red, now the same color as your eyes.

The lion yawned and smiled up at your flowers before patting the earth beneath him with his tail. He had cured you by being in love with you, and although that had not saved you from the thorns that terrorised your lungs, it had gotten rid of them and allowed you to sprout beautiful flowers that reminded him of you.

Just beneath the soil, your body lay decomposed into more rich minerals for the earth. Your heart however had transformed into the seed of the loveliest flowers Leona had ever seen. The disease that had taken you from him also gifted him with a plant of great beauty.

He lay underneath your flowers everyday and let their scent lull him to sleep. And occasionally if he listened very closely to the earth beneath him, he could almost hear the sound of your heart still beating. Beating because you were in love.

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona #leona x reader #twst leona x reader #oneshot #hanahaki #25daysofprompts #leona kingscholar x reader

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sugarmaplewings-fics · 4 years

Text

Midnight Ball

Pairing: Todoroki x reader

Warnings: None

Author’s Note:

Day two of Sugar’s Spooky Days/Fall Special

Hehehe I have managed to finish something! Can’t say as much for the Kirishima one, so that might have to be late :(. I should have that one done sometime over the weekend though, so fingers crossed!

I also may or may not have been thinking about Heartless by Marissa Meyer while I wrote that first bit 👀👀 (read it, it’s good, especially if you want to sob your eyeballs out like I did)

I hope you like this one! It was fun for me to write!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.

You had insisted on not coming to this party.

You, of course, had said this as if you had a choice. Really, as someone with your status, you should have the power to make decisions for yourself. But nooo, as the only daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness, it was your duty to attend the king’s bi-annual masquerade ball. Bother.

So, here you were, all dressed up with little intention to dance or even have fun. You clung to the sides of the spacious dancefloor, hoping to keep to yourself enough that no one would try to talk to you. It was truly dreadful what some of your fellow nobility could come up with for small talk. Exchanging formalities and remarking on politics, only then to run off into a tangent on whatever subject may have recently captured their trivial attention.

You longed to be elsewhere—in a library perhaps, or in your garden, working on sketches in your notebook. Gracious, come to think of it, maybe sleeping would even be the better option. It was dreadfully late.

The king always insisted on throwing such parties as these so late at night, stretching all the way to early hours of the morning. You’d gotten plenty of rest prior in preparation for this autumn Midnight Ball, but between the lack of meaningful interaction and your desire to be elsewhere, you found yourself capturing yawns in your gloved hand.

Your childhood best friend didn’t seem to have this problem. You could see her now, indigo skirts swishing around her ankles as she danced with some green haired man. You couldn’t quite tell if you had ever seen him before, but he was probably from some foreign kingdom. You’d certainly hear all about him tomorrow.

You began to grow antsy at your position on the west wall. Your heels were beginning to make your ankles ache, and your mask was growing progressively warmer with each breath. A glance towards the banquet table told you that the coast was clear for you to browse the selection of food laid out, but your corset made you think twice. Your handmaiden had done it so dreadfully tight.

Curses. Not to her, she had done nothing wrong. Maybe at your mother, who insisted on lacing it up in this way.

You chewed at your tongue. Maybe a walk in the courtyard would clear your head. It would definitely be cooler and not so bright. If you were lucky, you may even be alone.

Gathering your (F/C) skirts in your fists, you strode to the door to the outside, ducking through small gatherings of people and curtseying to the guards positioned at the exit. You knew you had made the right decision as soon as the night air hit your face, a cool October breeze seeping behind your mask and ruffling the feathers that adorned it. A full moon lit your path as you walked further into the manicured gardens. You’d been around here before, yet you still allowed yourself time to admire the hedges and trees closing off spaces of land. Flowerbeds were artfully placed wherever they could fit, although you could tell that most of their plentiful blooming yield had already gone back within themselves for the frosty winter. What you were truly interested in was a small pond located in the back, hidden behind a few bushes at its side.

The clear pool laid stagnant before you as you knelt down to look into it. The light of the moon bounced off your bejeweled costume mask, causing the water to sparkle even brighter beneath you. A large koi fish took notice of your signal, lazily sliding its stout, tri-colored body towards the surface in hopes that you may have brought it some food.

“I’m sorry, little friend,” you whispered to its expectant gaping mouth, “I don’t have anything for you.”

You watched him for another moment, little splashes made by the fish’s fins breaking the stillness of both the silent night air and the pool’s surface.

“You’ve upset him.”

The sound of an unfamiliar voice made you start. You straightened, brushing off the front of your skirt. Turning, you saw the figure of a man standing a few paces away from you. His build was lean and strong, and a mask of his own glittered in the all-encompassing moonlight. It was difficult to make out any identifying features, but a part of you just knew that he was intangibly handsome.

“Sorry?” you said, trying to compose yourself.

Perfect. This was just what you had been trying to avoid: interaction. Maybe he’d go easy on you and let you leave soon, or maybe he could have something genuinely worthwhile to say.

“That fish,” he clarified. “He’s hungry.”

You pursed your lips together in thought as you stole a glance back at the pond. Your koi friend had retreated back to the depths of his home as soon as you had turned your back. The air hummed with silence once more.

“Is he, though?” you asked. “He probably gets fed just as well as any other creature living on the grounds.”

The mysterious man shrugged. “True, but perhaps that’s the most joy he gets out of life.”

“Oh.” You stood there awkwardly for a second in silence, trying to think of a response. “That’s a little . . . grim.”

“Sorry.” He shifted. “I’ve always felt bad for fish.”

“How so?”

He took a step closer to the pond, bending a bit at the waist in order for him to see into it better. “They have less freedom. Little to do, nowhere to go . . . sometimes they remind me of myself a bit.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not terribly fond of my father.”

You blinked, wondering if he was going anywhere with this.

His eyes finally snapped up to yours. The moon caught their shades perfectly, drawing out hints of color that would normally be lost to their own depths. It struck you suddenly that you had seen these eyes before; one a steely silver while the other was a lovely cerulean that nearly seemed to glow. Where had you previously seen these eyes?

“Sorry,” he apologized again. “I didn’t mean to overstep.” He straightened up to properly face you, his posture rigid and practiced, just as you had seen all the other noblemen do your whole life. “My name is Shouto Todoroki, son of Duke Enji Todoroki,” he said, piercing eyes growing a little glassy at the voicing of his own name. He bowed to you, and around the top of his mask, you took notice of his perfectly split bi-colored hair. “My lady,” he said.

“Shouto?” Yes, that was right. You’d met him a few times as children, playing together while your families held council meetings. It had to have been nearly ten years since you’d seen him last, and to be honest, he’d grown into quite the man.

“Yes?” he answered, uncertain.

“It’s me,” you said, lifting your mask a bit to better show off your eyes and features in the dim light. “(F/N) (L/N).”

You watched as he did a double take; eyes scanning you from top to bottom as he put a name to your person. “(Y/N) . . . wow, it’s been a long time.”

You chuckled, fiddling with the material of your skirt between your fingers. “You’re not saying I’m old, now, are you?”

He snorted, his posture relaxing. “Of course not, my lady.”

You began to chat, settling in beside him as you wandered around the gardens together. It was only now that you realized how much you had missed your old friend, finding it shockingly easy to talk with him. He spoke of his father and how he intended for Shouto to take his place in power when his time came. You noted the bitterness he carried in his voice, vaguely remembering the emergence of the issue from the last time you’d conversed. He listened to your own life updates, interested in your hobbies and what you had to say about life and time. In fact, it nearly felt as if no time had passed at all, and you’d remained close throughout the years.

The light of the castle began to creep upon the path ahead of you, and you noticed that you’d circled the entire perimeter of the gardens. Music from the ballroom floated to your ears, and you recognized the tune. Influenced by your improved mood, you began to hum along to a few of the notes, nodding your head to the light, peppy rhythm.

Shouto took notice of this, eyeing you with a small smile gracing his usually stoic face. He sped up just enough to come up in front of you, causing you to halt in your tracks. He bowed before you again, one hand behind his back with the other outstretched for your own. “If I may, could I have this dance? This is your king’s ball, and I believe that my lady deserves at least one before the night’s end.”

An unexpected heat climbed to your cheeks. Why were you suddenly feeling this way? Your childhood friend had certainly grown into quite the handsome young man, but you couldn’t ever remember thinking of him in this manner. He’d only ever shown kindness and respect towards you, and it was only now beginning to weigh on you how much you liked him. But this weight wasn’t in any way unpleasant, in fact, it made you feel giddier, almost light and intrepid. What could one dance together hurt?

You rested your hand in his, the fabrics of your gloves sliding together as your fingers met. His head turned up so he could once again make eye contact, drawing your offered appendage to his lips. They brushed over your knuckles, feather light, and you found yourself wishing that the silken material could have been removed. How soft were his lips truly?

Shouto walked you a few paces away onto an open area in the grass, the fragrance of greenery and crisp evening air wafting through the space. Every surface was bathed in a fine layer of moonlight, giving the world a dark, silvery glow. Shouto’s skin gleamed pale and resembled porcelain, eyes shining behind the contrasting shadows of his mask.

With your palm in his, he guided you closer to him, his other hand alighting on the small of your back.

“The moon highlights your beauty remarkably so. I’ve never felt this . . . enamored by someone.”

You shivered at his words, the gentle intensity of his gaze boring into you. You began to fall into step with the music wavering in the background. The cheerful rhythm made your heart soar as you glided over the grass with your partner. He led you through some practiced steps, others entirely new. Your skirts swirled around your ankles, adding an extra flare to each of your movements. The sound of the hidden orchestra was distant and thin, and yet there was such a feeling that instilled through you, almost as if the music had seeped all the way to your marrow.

You watched as Shouto’s face began to relax into a little smile, twirling you this way, dipping you over his strong arm, pulling you back into his chest. The whole ordeal took your breath away, and even in the cool night air, your cheeks began to ignite in a palpable warmth of their own. Time slowed, and it was as though you’d been his dance partner for centuries, finding a rhythm and flowing together as one.

That is, until a shooting pain fired through your ankle, causing you to gasp and stumble. Shouto caught and steadied you in his arms before you could fall very far, worry clouding over his face.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You grimaced, shifting your weight on your feet. “It’s my heels,” you explained. “Sorry. They’re not the most . . . practical.”

“Here,” Shouto said, offering you his arm. “Take them off. You don’t need them out here.”

Your face heated once again as you leaned on his outstretched appendage, fishing around in your skirts until you found your foot. Within moments, you were free, feet bare in their thin tights, discarded shoes unbuckled and placed neatly aside on the grass. The both of you found a stone bench nearby, and you sat side by side to help ease the strain on your feet. While you took this bit of a breather, you remarked to yourself how much taller Shouto was compared to you. The sight of how much he’d grown over the years, mixed with this newfound urge to rest your head against his broad chest . . . .

“Are you feeling better now, my lady?”

(Y/N). Your name was (Y/N). He could have just as easily called you as such, and yet, the formality set your heart aflutter.

“Yes, I believe I am. Actually, I’m feeling much better. This party was so dull until you happened upon me.”

Shouto’s smile returned, the slightest shine appearing on his upturned lips. “I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in a long time either. Thank you for accepting my offer to dance.”

You hummed and flashed him a genuine grin of your own.

He averted his eyes suddenly, a new tension gripping his shoulders. “I know we haven’t talked in years,” he began, “but if you didn’t mind, I would like to get to know you again, (Y/N). Our kingdoms aren’t too distant, and I would like to write to you sometime when I return home.”

Your smile widened. “That sounds lovely. I’d love to keep in touch with you.” You let your hand wander over to his, taking it up in your fingers.

Shouto smiled again at your touch, raising your joined palms to press another kiss to your knuckles. “I look forward to your response,” he said, lips brushing against your gloved fingers as he spoke, eyes locked on yours.

You could still hear the band playing in the ballroom. To the king, the night was still young, and the party would continue for some time longer. Within moments, you were on your feet again with him, twirling your body to the tempo of the strings and winds. With stars serving as your only audience, you danced with your newfound partner until the early hours of the morning under the light of a full hanging moon.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.

Taglist: @aahilovetheatre @heartpaw12 @todoroki-waifu @basicaegyo @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @pyrofanatic @sendhelpimstupid @sokkasangel @xoxopam4

#shouto todoroki #todoroki shouto #shouto todoroki bnha #todoroki shouto bnha #shouto todoroki mha #todoroki shouto mha #todoroki imagine #shouto todoroki imagine #todoroki shouto imagine #todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #sugar's fall special 2020 #sugar fics

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thebigqueer · 3 years

Text

Solangelo - "I Will Follow You into the Dark (pt. 2)" - One-Shot

Summary: Will and Nico take a moment for themselves after their trip to Tartarus.

Word Count: 1097

SPOILERS: Tower of Nero

Read on AO3

The cool morning breeze whispers against Nico’s face as he wanders to the beach, hands in his sweatshirt pocket to fight off the chill. The temperature is dramatically different than Tartarus, and Nico could not be more grateful. Gone is the scorching heat and stomach-churning fears; he never has to go back there again, and he supposes that is the best.

Light clouds brush against the blue sky, letting some gray light filter through. Nico wonders if it will rain later - if the moisture in the air is any indicator, it probably will. He better find Will quickly.

Soon the grass gives way to peach sand, and each grain of it flits across Nico’s bare feet as he rushes over the ground. To the far left, sitting on the wooden dock, sits a figure in a gray sweatshirt, his feet dangling over the blue lake. Nico quickens his pace, suddenly longing for Will’s body next to his.

At the sound of the wood creaking, Will turns his head. He smiles at Nico. “How did you know I’d be here?”

Nico offers a thin smile back and settles in beside Will, his feet just barely brushing against the blue water below. “It’s where you like to think. I couldn’t forget that.” He bumps his shoulder against Will. “Everything okay?”

Nico knows that’s a stupid question, especially considering how recently they’d just gotten back from Tartarus. There is no doubt that Will is far from okay.

The blond shrugs and turns his gaze back to the waters, a dazed expression flickering across his features. “I guess….” He sighs and folds his hands together. “I don’t know. I keep waking up and thinking that I’m still there.”

Nico nods. “Yeah, me too. It’s just… really intense.” He glances at Will’s left shoulder. “How’s your injury?”

Will holds up his arm to Nico. While his sweatshirt covers it, Nico knows there’s a bandage wrapped around a large gash across his shoulder. Nico reaches over gingerly as Will informs, “It’s getting better. I’m glad we got out in time otherwise… well, let’s just say it wouldn’t have been great.”

Nico nods as Will pulls his arm back. “I very much like we got back in time so that we didn’t have to face the consequences,” he says. “I also appreciate that you are alive.”

Will offers a small laugh. “Me too.”

The boys turn to look at each other, and, despite their lighthearted conversation, an air of hesitance floats between them. Unspoken words linger over their mouths. How are we alive? What do we say next? Do we pretend that nothing ever happened?

What does this mean for our relationship?

For a moment, a cloud parts from the sky and lets a yellow beam of light strike the side of Will’s face. Glancing at his features, Nico realizes that he looks much worse than when they first entered Tartarus. Dark circles ink onto his eyelids and a pale sheen resides behind his freckles. His once-vibrant gold curls now loom almost gray in the sunlight. He looks leached of energy.

But that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part, Nico believes, is Will’s eyes. He remembers when he could look into them and feel only kindness and warmth bloom in his core; Will’s eyes would resonate with understanding and care.

But looking at them now, Nico feels as though something has jabbed him in the heart. His once sky-blue eyes look cracked, broken. They’ve become shards of glass, shattered at the center. Missing of all life and vitality.

By no means is Will old - he’s only sixteen. But watching him with his exhausted posture, weary skin, and grayed curls, Nico suddenly feels as though he’s looking at an old man. He looks devoid of hope, lacking brightness and youth. Will has been forced to grow up faster than he could handle.

Nico doubts he looks any better. He hasn’t been able to sleep well at night, fearing the nightmares, the noises around his room, the darkness.

Fearing the loneliness.

His own injuries pulse with pain and he constantly has to remind himself not to move too quickly. He still has a wrap around his thigh from when he got stabbed. All new scars to remind him of his past, to give clues into his own story.

Nico sighs and leans against Will, yearning for closeness, for the assurance that he isn’t alone anymore. “I’m sorry that I put you through all that.”

Will shakes his head and rests his it against Nico’s, his curls brushing against the son of Hades’ forehead. “Seriously, Nico, stop being sorry. I chose to go with you.” He touches his fingertips - which are rough from days without moisturizing - and pools their warmth together. Despite the chill in the air, a soothing buzz resonates in Nico’s bones. He leans closer to Will, trying to fill up any and all space that keeps them apart.

Another breeze flits past, gently threading itself through both Will and Nico’s hair. Then, so softly that his words almost fly away with the wind, Will whispers, “I hope you know that I’m willing to go down to hell with you again. I’m always ready to follow you.”

A burst of emotion spikes Nico’s chest, throwing icicles down every corner of his body. Tears pool in his eyes. Voice tight, he answers, “I want you to know that I feel the same.” He shifts his head so that he faces Will directly and, almost as if reading his mind, Will leans his forehead against Nico’s. Both the boys close their eyes and sit in silence for a moment, basking in their exhaustion, their relief, their emotions. Their love.

“I’ll follow you wherever your light takes me,” promises Nico.

Will offers a wavering smile, but the tear that slips out his eye indicates that he doesn’t mean it. He wraps his arms around Nico, holding his boyfriend so that only warmth encompasses them. Nico’s arms lock around Will’s neck and he bends his face into the crook between his head and shoulder. He wants to smell Will, to hold Will, to be close to Will. He wants to find his solace again.

But Will is too lost for that, just as Nico is. Perhaps he won’t find his solace in a long while.

Will’s curls tickle Nico’s cheek as he leans in. They are surrounded by the tranquility of camp. But between them, only sparks of grief burst.

“And I’ll follow you wherever your darkness needs me,” whispers Will. “I’ll follow you into the dark.”

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illyrian-lover-flower · 3 years

Text

The chosen forest keeper 4

You were once a blooming flower in my heart and all you left behind, as you went, was a withered root inside me

There was no sound, no scream, no sob, no whisper as he landed in the quite garden of her. Those soft flowers of hers smiling at him and his darkness.

Beckoning him to come closer, to come listen as they sung in the howling wind -that cloaked him on this hour-long flight -back to these sad walls of the bright shining estate- his gigantic wings still numb to any touch, while his feet were well aware of the ground he stood on.

His massive form a cloud of shadows as he allowed himself a last time in which he would admire the beauty of Elain’s work.

All these soft, vibrant petals, painting his vision into a sea of pink, blue, violet, white, yellow and orange. It was a vibrating sea that danced to the wind -loved to swing their petite heads in those strong gusts as they seemed to move a last time for their lost flower.

A flower that was more vibrant than he had ever seen. All those colours, she planted among the grounds of her sister’s estate, flowing through her very own blood. Making her the fairest of all the females he had ever met.

‘I was so blind!’ was all he could scold himself with, over and over again. Well aware that the awareness of that would never bring Elain back.

Perhaps if he had truly seen her -not blinded by those vibrant colours of her happiness- he might have been able to save her.

Might have been able to prevent her from this end she chose, might have been able to prevent her from painting the sea in the only colour she dreaded.

Red.

Azriel never really noticed it, had never asked her, why she did not dare to touch a red petal. It should have been obvious. Her paling face, whenever she saw a strawberry or cherry should have spoken volumes to him.

Perhaps it did, his shadows always raging in his ears when he left her to work with those red fruits, but he never listened. Never saw, until now, that no red bloom graced the grounds of her garden.

It all made perfect sense.

Those fearful eyes of hers, when he had gifted her this tool of bloodshed. As delicate and pure the hilt might have been -dainty lilac amethysts, arranged as small delicate Violets at the bottom of the haft of pure white jade, glimmering under the light that caught in the facets at the bottom of the hilt- it was still a tool of bloodshed.

No light gems, no blade -as grey as the clouds before a storm chased them around - engraved with soft vines till the tip of the sharp knife edge- could change this purpose.

He should have known of her dread and yet he was oblivious to it.

Only now were his dull hazel eyes able to see the truth she had hidden for so long - Elain was broken, hurt and destroyed.

Azriel always thought of her as complete, without any fear as she overstepped the pain of her engagement. He always thought she never dared to touch a knife, a dagger, sword or any other weapon due to the respect of life.

Those soft hands of hers having gifted it for so long.

But they weren’t like he thought of them to be. He always thought they were strong-steady- as her hands gave life, only now did it occur to him that they were everything but that.

Elain had trembled. Trembled under the gazes of those she loved and yet no one saw her shivering.

These soft flowers in front of him, that seemed to laugh at his stupid, bulky, form the only beings that were ever there to support her.

In the wake of dawn, the bright song of day or the soothing lullaby of night - they were always there to listen, to calm her.

While the rest of her family left her, occasionally spend hours with her.

Small spell casting lessons with Amren and occasional hours of baking with Cassian the only change of her day when he had left her.

Left her to bleed under those heavy fears, that still crippled him night for night and day for day.

He was foolish to think that Elain did not suffer after her broken of engagement. Those genuine smiles of her, only a facade she kept up. Fooling everyone and most likely herself with them.

But he was too late.

Only now able to hear those silent screams of her – that have long drowned in the sea.

Yet he could not help but hear them.

Shrill screams flooding his ears as his shadows cloaked him, covered him in pain of this loud screech while they also comforted him. Azriel had always sworn he would never break down in front of them, would never allow his shadows to see the fragile parts of their master, but it was too late for that.

They had long sensed the black gap in his heart, that dreaded to eat his whole being, as the spymaster had called out for a companion, a friend – that would never answer his call again.

And yet they did not destroy him, even seemed to caress these frayed edges with soft black tendrils as he was bared open to them.

Welcoming him in a soft veil of shadows that kept him safe from the howling wind in the garden.

Night having long settled above of him as the clouds hung the sky. As if even those vibrant stars cried for a soul that left too soon, the grey companions that covered them, embracing their friends as they covered their glittering tears.

It was as if the Mother herself mourned over the end of a female, who would have been able to bring light into this empty world, letting the sky and nature hang low as she cried.

Perhaps that was the only thing he would ever have in common with the mother.

Tears for the seer, that could have been able to change the world – if only she would have granted herself more time, more freedom.

But Azriel knew that Elain had ripped away her own time and freedom. If her heart would have been healed, having turned into a strong and steady, live giving tree, she would have changed everything. Would have been able to turn the world in anything she wanted to.

Azriel knew of this strength, would have wished to see her bloom into it - showing her sisters, her family, the court, the world, of what she, the seer of the night court, was capable of - but she did not allow it.

Elain having taken the higher chances, of a better world, with her - into a wet grave that promised her freedom.

It was selfish of him, to not wish her this kind of freedom, to want her here again instead - but he was ready to make this selfish step, was ready to swear to the sad Mother above him, as the cold blade of Truth-Teller sliced open the crippled skin of his scarred palm.

Blood dripping onto the live giving land, Elain had nursed, promising an eternal oath with drop, for drop, for drop, as the earth swallowed his red blood greedily.

Letting his hazel eyes bore past these dark clouds, seemingly looking right into the heart of the Mother, as this thin thread stretched between him and the sacred goddess. A bond, a wish, casted between them as the Mother took the prize, he was willing to pay.

A memory for a memory.

It was a lose try to find out who Elain really was - who she tried to be- but it was a chance. A crippled chance to know of her story from the blood that was shed in the sea, bound to stay in this world. And Azriel was ready to give his.

The red liquid dripping and dripping as he sat there in silence - hoping to find the first thing of the seer out- but there was nothing.

Nothing but the soft hue of golden light that caressed the dark realm of shadows around him. His brother and his mate sitting with hunched backs in front of the wide window to the sitting room, as he looked up to them through a clouded vision.

Tears and shadows having created a black pond within the sea of flowers. Glittering under the soft golden stroke of light.

Perhaps it was his imagination, perhaps his shadows, that shooed him back inside - letting light envelop him once again as his ears picked up for the first time, in hours, something different than the howling gust of wind or the ever-ringing words of Nesta Archeron in his head.

It was a sob, a chocked sound that let his heart stutter once again as he entered the golden gleaming living room.

Vassa and Lucien sitting, with hunched backs and founds as their eyes, opposite Feyre and Rhys that did not look verry different than the two red heads.

Azriel knew from the many visits Vassa and Lucien had made, to see Elain, when he did not dare to speak with the bright seer. He had known of their burning hope, that Elain could see and detect what was precious to Koschei, but he also knew of their friendship that had formed.

The fiery mortal Queen was by far no pleasant companion for most, but somehow, she had trusted the calm seer and grew friends with her rather soon. So, it was no surprise that her, always squared shoulders, sagged and shook from heart slicing sobs as she, too, screamed for the seer to return, to help them further, but she would not answer.

Not like the Queen wished at last.

Rhys had left her, and a wide-eyed Lucien, some time before he cleared his throat. All the attention going to him as Vassa still tried to calm down -Feyre also trying to keep her feelings together and not lose them in front of a mortal, but there was no one that could have surpassed the tears as Rhys pulled out a letter, from between the worlds.

It was neatly folded, a big cursive handwriting of black ink -that read ‘Vassa and Lucien’- covering the front of the yellowish paper.

Azriel could not make it out clearly as he watched the situation from afar, the people in the room seemingly not knowing of his broad figure that stood in the doorway. As if he stood behind a mirrored glass, a stranger, an intruder on this moment.

But Rhys voice shattered the glass, made him step through the shadows and hide in a corner as he listened to his brother’s quiet words.

“Nuala and Cerridwen had found this letter in Elain's chamber, do you wish to read it?”

The Queen was still unable to speak, her body still wrecking from sobs, as Lucien answered for her - his normally strong, cheery voice nothing more of a saddened whisper: “Please, read it aloud.”

His brother could do nothing but nod. Those bright violet eyes of his threatening to brim over with tears, once he broke the wax seal carefully, silently reading already over the last words of the middle Archeron.

Azriel did not know how he should have reacted to the broken voice of Rhysand. He knew his brother was trying his best to hide it, but the bob of his throat, the slightly cracked voice at the beginning, gave him away.

And even though he was drowned in sadness, just like his mate and the Queen, he pulled through and begun reading with shaking hands:

“My dear Vassa and Lucien,

it has been my pleasure, to get to know you two better in the last months. Though I do regret the circumstances of your visits - I do not regret a single moment I shared with you.

Never will I forget these moments of laughter I shared with you, even in such a difficult situation, and never will I remember pain when I think back to or bond, Lucien.

There will never course hurt through my mind, when I think of our parting. We parted in union and I am glad we did - your future had been bright to me, like your flames, for a long time now. I can’t express how long I had hoped for you to find your future and when you sought me out, and told me of your wish, Lucien, to break the mating bond - I was glad. And so unendingly happy that you finally saw your own future.

I had hoped I could see it. See happiness coursing through your blood, like sunshine, but I guess my selfishness was bigger than this wish.

Though all I can give to you, as my last goodby and wish for you, is this: Love is a burning thing. One that blooms bright and brighter between two fires, that burn as one. A phoenix chasing between those bright flames as the rays of day will grant the bond of eternal love.

I am afraid that this is all I can offer to tell you. You will have to find the rest out on your own, though I hope a burning companion will stay by your side - all the way.

And for you, Vassa, my dear friend - I can only tell you that I won’t be able to help you further. My life, like it was, having long ended when you read this. Freedom having already embraced me in a fierce hug, but I will give you what I know.

My little knowledge shall be a salvation to your burning curse.

‘Find his pulsing roots, red as blood do, they weave through the sacred grounds of his land. Hissing and burning will they try to chase you away. Spitting curse for curse at you, for every step, for every beat of your burning wings, you’ll make.

But distraction, shall become your enemy. It’s luring song will be stronger than any curse of the heartless wizard, his evil laugh will lead you away from his cruel heart.

A root, as black as a shadow, will lead your way. It’s song a loud symphony of screams and pain as you will find your way.’

I sadly can’t help you more Vassa. I wished to be able to, but please understand that my powers are raw - untamed. Which made it difficult to see anything than darkness, but I hope darkness will not turn you.

You are no coward; my dear friend and I wish for you all the happiness of this world as you will stand proud and tall against your greatest demons.

With this I’ll say farewell.

Perhaps the Mother will want of us to meet again someday.

Elain Archeron”

The Spymaster did not know what to do, how to react, as silence settled over their heads like a suffocating veil of dust, that just started to twirl and dance above their sulking figures, as Rhys rattled the sleeping sadness awake.

But the veil was broken.

Twisted and danced as it could not settle heavily on their shoulders – the Queen screaming, as if she were in pain, while Lucien and Feyre broke out into heavy sobs. A tear spilling from Rhysand’s eyes, while he, the always steady and strong Spymaster, fought once again for stance.

Fighting a battle with his inner self, that just wanted to break and crumble to the floor, he was not able to breath properly, was not able to control the heavy darkness, that twirled restless around the talons of his wings and closed tighter and tighter in on him.

Suffocating but also supporting him as he doubled over.

It had hurt. Hurt to hear these words, hurt to know that Elain had forced the visions onto herself.

Azriel knew that Elain wanted to help her two fiery friends as best as possible, which also meant abandoning her own health if only she could help them.

But the worst was to know she had planned it. Had planned, long before she jumped off the cliff, to end things. To not give this new world, this new her, a chance.

Up until this point the shadowsinger knew, that his family had hoped she did it unprepared and was unaware of her doing, but this letter proved well that she was ready, and willing, to go and leave her family behind like this.

Broken, crying, screaming, sobbing.

“Elain, Elain, Elain,…" was all he heard over and over again in the veil of shadows as he held his heart, trying to stop the invisible bond- he just created with his blood- from suffocating his heart and ripping deeper into the hole that was already there. Little did he know, that this empty voice in his rounded ears, was his broken soul.

Chanting the name of the seer – his friend- over and over again, in the hopes of her return.

But he knew, deep down – his blood singing from it, that she would not return.

And so, did the rest of the room as they all sat as broken souls together. The Queen and the fox, her friends, sitting opposite her family, Rhysand and Feyre, while the Shadowsinger stood hunched in a corner – winnowing himself away as soon as he realized his brothers heavy gaze on his shaking form.

Letting darkness envelop, and carry him away, freely. Every place they would take him to better than these sobs and screams, that wrecked the proud walls of the bright estate. Though he did not think that his shadows would turn, to traitorous, their back at him and drop him off at the only place he dreaded to ever see – the cliff.

The cliff that had helped the middle Archeron into her wet grave, but it could not be seen. All that he saw was a cloud of white fog, that only left some grass open to see – there was no edge, no end of the rock. It just seemed endless and full of freedom as it vanished into the white cloak.

Though wind was howling, ripping fiercely at Azriel’s wings again, it did not drown out the beckoning call of the edge, but perhaps it was his shadows that had lured him in into stepping through the wet dust.

Salty gusts of wind filling his nose thrills as he moved closer and closer to the edge – darkness, fog, salt and wind around him – while his booted feet moved with heavy steps on the wet grass.

Though what left him baffled were the two figures sitting at the edge.

Silence, as thick as the layer of shadows around them, cloaking their mourning forms while they tried to hide away under a violet and a pink blanket. It suddenly felt wrong to be here – to invade the twins' privacy like that- and he wanted to turn around and go.

Wanted to let them mourn in silence, together, over their lost friend.

No word came from their lips, yet they still beckoned him closer. Silently opening up the two blankets between them as they made space for their mourning master.

It were no words that made them bind tighter in the wind and night, no, it was their shadows – that separated them from the world around them- who silently caressed the frayed edges of three broken hearts and forged them tighter together.

No longer master and his students sitting, crying, on the edge, but a family of shadows that had just lost their light.

*******

“Elain! Thank the Mother, you are awake!” Elain could only groan in pain as she propped herself up on her elbows, Fersia’s loud voice echoing through the small hut and her pounding head.

Soft golden hues illuminated the small space, while dancing to the soft gusts of wind that came in breezing through the window, as Elain rested a hand on her throbbing temple “What happened? And, where am I?”

“No need to worry, Goldenrod, you passed out – probably due to nervousness, Mother can be a bit too intimidating for some...”

But Elain only shook her head slightly, regretting it immediately as a pain, as heavy as the hit of a hammer, hammered down on her temple, remembering with awfully sharp senses the blood, the searing pain on her skin, the screeching voices, the darkness. It all came rushing back to her, making breathing once again a hard thing as Fersia rambled on about the effect of her Mother.

“You did not notice?” was all she could say to interrupt the female Illyrian, that sat beside her bed. “What shall I have not noticed?” “The blood...” Elain could only breath the word as she saw the puddle again, singing at her in this screeching voice over and over again:

Drink up their blood – it's yours! Drink up their blood – it's yours!

A shiver wrecked through her body as she remembered it more and more. Panick and guilt trying to trap her once again, while she sat there on the large bed, that took most of the space from the chamber up. But this time Fersia was there – embracing her and caressing her back in soothing circles as soon as the shiver threatened to take over the seer's entire petite body.

“It’s fine Goldenrod. You are safe, you are in my home, nothing will happen to you here – here is no blood.”

She wanted to believe her, wanted to trust the words of her friend, while her nose breathed in the calming scent of freshly fallen rain – it made her remember the forest, the greenery, the calming walks she had done outside of Velaris. This was pure salvation, she thought as she rested and calmed herself down in Fersia’s strong arms, though her traitorous heart could not help but to wish to smell cedar and night chilled mist. It was obvious to her that the seer would miss the shadowsinger, but still she decided to go.

Far away into the woods of an unknown land, for her, this fierce and strong female – that held her so carefully, tried to calm her so badly – being the reason of her entire stay. Being the reason for her bravery to go, but her cowardice how she left her family behind.

It was too late now anyway, was all Elain could try to convince herself as she closed her eyes. Resting, for only a little amount of time, against the smooth leather plates on her shoulder.

“Fersia?” “Yes?” “Can I go for a walk?”

Her friend’s green eyes bore worriedly into her brown ones for a moment, before she gestured to Elain’s belt; “You know how to use this dagger?” The seer nodded, hoping that she would not be in the need of using the tool of bloodshed, that was bound to her belt and covered under the layer of heavy fabric, before she passed out.

Fersia only nodded in return, helping her to get up on wobbly feet and led her to the door. Letting her walk away on soft steps as the loud words of Fersia echoed, even deep in the forest, in her ears over and over.

“Be careful and don’t move that far away from here – I told you it’s dangerous at night.”

Elain could only remember these words as she stumbled over sticks and stones, in the hue of soft silver moonlight, a nervous hand always resting around the delicate hilt of her dagger – Fate seeker. She decided would be the name of the blade. It might not become a legendary dagger, but it would help her to seek the right path on her fate and would be by her side.

This dagger, the cloak and the memories, were after all the only things of her old life she dared to take with her into these new lands.

These dangerous new lands she realized as howling, cooing of an owl and rustles, echoed through the night.

The snapping of a stick to her right, close to her, but not too close as that she could have stepped onto it, making her draw Fate seeker. Pointing the delicate tip of the dagger at the rustling bush.

_____________previous chapter | next chapter__________________________

So, I am not entirely happy with the end, but I hope you can spare me for that😅, anyway I hope you liked it.

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

Text

Where Blood Roses Bloom

Fandom: Castlevania Pairing: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula's castle to seek Alucard's help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires' court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Chapter 3: Hope is up! Alucard is still sad, and Sypha and Trevor are Worried™. Also, some Sypha POV because I love her :’)

Read here or on AO3! Read from the beginning

Adrian watches as magic gathers around Sypha. It is a faint blue glow that makes her eyes spark, that builds and builds and pools at her fingertips. A subtle wave of warmth rushes towards him, touching him.

The scroll is before her, being held aloft by what seem to be invisible strings of air. Her voice is but a soft whisper as she speaks the chant under her breath. It is a fascinating thing, it always has been, to watch her cast, to witness the sheer amount of power that her slender frame is able to hold. Fountains of it. Rivers. Oceans, and it has only grown since the last time he's seen her.

It is more than a little unnerving.

Adrian’s own magic is entirely different to hers. He is familiar with the arcane in some ways; he has studied the philosophy and foundations, but most of the spells the Speaker magicians use are either foreign to him, or he has tried and failed entirely to grasp. It is an innate talent, his father told him once, entirely different to that of vampires. That makes the fact that Sypha now wields that power with ease no less transfixing.

Belmont is lying on the bed, unmoving and oblivious to their presence. Adrian’s mixture helped somewhat in keeping the infection at bay, but his fever has dropped only slightly. It tugs at Adrian, in a way he is entirely loath to admit, to see Belmont in that condition. Weak and frail, when he is usually boisterous and loud, obnoxiously so.

Perhaps, after all, I do still possess a heart, Adrian thinks. If barely.

The shimmering strands of magic that spring forth from Sypha’s fingers twist in the air above her, like silk threads moving through water, before settling over Belmont. The light engulfs him for a quick moment, seeps into every pore; he is radiant now, the bright light that suffuses him taking away some of the pallor of his skin. The spell is gone in an instant, dissolving into thin air and leaving no trace behind it.

The light around Sypha dims too, almost simultaneously, the warmth dissipating. As soon as it does, she closes her eyes, and brings her hand to her temples, swaying lightly. Before he can stop to think, Adrian leaps to her side, catching her by the elbows to steady her.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I… I’m fine,” she says, a touch hoarse. Her eyes are screwed shut, a pained grimace twisting her features. “It seems the spell took more out of me than I thought it would.”

She’s leaning into him now; the sweet, subtle warmth of her body seeping through his clothes. He stands motionless, frozen for a long moment, unsure what to do.

“Yes,” he manages finally. “You did say that healing is not your expertise.” He guides her to the edge of the bed, helps her sit, then takes a safe step away.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” She rubs her temples, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. Her eyes are clear and luminous, a trace of the spell still shining in their depths. Adrian swallows, looks away.

Belmont is still lying perfectly still on the bed. It could be Adrian’s imagination, but he thinks his colour is not quite as pale-grey as it was a few moments before.

Sypha reaches out to place the back of her hand on Belmont’s forehead. “He feels a little cooler now,” she says, and the relief in her voice is palpable. Her hand drifts lower almost immediately, drawing the blanket back, peeling away the fabric of Belmont’s shirt. The bandage that they had placed on the wound only a short while before is already drenched in blood, and Sypha instantly gets to work in removing it. She does so smoothly, carefully, as if she is handling precious glass. Adrian takes a step closer too, watching the gentle movement of her fingers as she undoes the wrappings with a mixture of dread, hope and anticipation. Neither of them knows what they’ll see once the bandage is removed.

Sypha hesitates only for a moment before peeling back the final layer and revealing the wound.

“The infection is gone.” Her fingers hover over the wound for a moment before she withdraws. She looks up at Adrian with a hopeful smile. “It worked.”

“To an extent,” Adrian replies, leaning closer. Most of the infection has disappeared, leaving behind healthy, if still damaged skin and flesh. “It will take a while to heal fully.”

“Yes. Of course. But it will heal like any normal wound would. Right?” She pauses, holding her breath, searching his eyes.

Adrian lets out a slow breath. At that moment, he wishes he could give her a hard and fast answer, and a positive one. He wishes he could reassure her with words, put her mind at ease. The truth of the matter is, though, that injuries like these are unpredictable. Belmont could seem perfectly fine now, then raise a fever high enough to kill him in a few days.

He decides not to tell her that.

“We shall see. You’ll need to keep an eye on him, day and night, at least for a short while.” It isn’t the answer she hoped to hear from him, surely. But it is all he can give, right then.

Sypha takes that with surprising stoicity. She nods, her lips tightening in a line, then turns to Belmont once more.

Adrian takes another, small step back.

“I… shall leave you to it, then,” he tells her. “I suppose you’ll both be needing rest. There is food in the kitchen, should you get hungry.” He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he is about to say. “You are welcome to stay until… until Belmont has fully recovered. I’ll stay out of your way until then.”

The look she turns to give him is a surprised one. She stands up slowly, blinking at him. “Where are you… will you be around?”

There is surprise in her gaze, and worry. It warms Adrian in a way he does not expect, but he decides not to let the feeling linger. He backs towards the door, hesitating for a moment before opening it. "I wish you luck," he says quietly, and walks out.

Sypha does not see Alucard again for three days.

Three days of tending to Trevor’s injury, pressing cool cloths to his fevered brow, changing him out of shirts damp with sweat, and milling endlessly about the castle when she isn’t doing any of the above. Three nights of light, restless sleep.

She can’t complain, not exactly. The bed is comfortable, the mattress soft and filled with rich down, and the blanket the warmest and least scratchy she’s had on for months —all her life, it seems— with only the faintest smell of must. The tall window of their room is overlooking the expansive forest below and the snowy mountain range beyond, and the large hearth that burns day and night keeps the space comfortably warm. Trevor’s fever drops more every day, and the wound is healing nicely.

She still sees evidence of Alucard’s presence, if not the man himself. There is freshly cooked food whenever she goes to the kitchen; she isn’t quite sure how Alucard manages to cook it without her ever walking in on him doing it, but every time she goes there the smell of baked bread and the welcoming scent of spices she has never smelt before linger in the air. There are trays of sweet or savoury pies, roast game or grilled fish, steamed and buttered vegetables. Had she known that Alucard had such refined tastes, she would never have offered him the over-salted dried jerky and suspiciously moldy cheese they used to find while on the road, and that was often the only food they had.

Along with the food, there is always a pot of thin broth —she assumes it is for Trevor—, as well as strips of crisp white linen to dress and clean his injury, accompanied by a pot of antiseptic ointment that she assumes he makes by himself. The tiny note left next to it with instructions for use is written in Alucard’s elegant, flowy handwriting.

Sypha is touched. The care and concern is evident in everything he does, and she is not the least surprised by the fondness that creeps in, along with her bafflement. The man is an enigma— the more she stays in that place, the more certain she becomes of it, but his thoughtful gestures do not change the fact that he’s stayed away for three days.

She has never felt more lonely.

Dracula’s castle, or rather, Alucard’s castle now, is a frigid, unliving thing. Just walking down its endless dark corridors is enough to make her hair stand on end, but she does it anyway. There are only so many hours she can spend locked up in the room; besides, she and Trevor have made exploring abandoned villages and old manors a bit of a habit while on the road. It has always been a bit of fun on the side, even when it was a necessity. Now, as she passes through room after empty room, the air thick with cobwebs and layers of dust, she has to admit that there are moments that she dreads what she will see if she turns around the wrong corner, if the staked corpses by the front door are anything to go by.

Alucard himself does not seem overly eager to take the bodies down, or even to give the slightest explanation. He doesn’t even seem to have any intention of fixing the damage that the castle sustained during the fight with Dracula and his vampires. The red carpet that lines the floor of the entrance hall is burned in places, completely in tatters in others and drenched in blood in more spots than she can count. One side of the staircase is falling apart, and more than half the stone columns are in not much better condition. The mountains of broken bottles she finds when a wrong left turn accidentally leads her to the wine cellar confirms her suspicion: Alucard isn’t in the least interested in making this place a home.

Haunted. The place feels haunted. Heavy and dark with secrets of ages past.

She can’t quite explain the sadness that wells up inside her to see the place that her friend, their friend, has been living in for the past few months. There’s a terrible coldness that’s hanging over the space like a blanket, muffling the sounds, draining any sort of life, of warmth. It’s as if Dracula never died after all— it’s as if his grief overflowed in the end, escaped the confines of his body and boiled over, seeping into every corner, every crevasse, every inch of the space. It is thick and sticky like tar, and Alucard is trapped in it. It almost feels like, the more she stays there, the more she gets trapped in it, too.

It is only the fourth day, when she discovers the baths on the second —or is it the third floor? She has lost count— that things start to look up a little. A room filled with large, copper tubs, and metal pipes with switches that release cold and hot water. Sypha melts in it and lets it take away the sore from her muscles, scrubs her skin with soap until it’s flushed and raw, stays there until she’s all pruned.

She leans back against the carved bronze headrest in the shape of an ivy vine, and looks out of the small window at the top of the wall that lets a circular sliver of grey-blue sky peek through, and she suddenly realises: she’s almost used to this place. Almost.

Sypha walks back into hers and Trevor’s room thoroughly clean for the first time in what feels like ages, with her damp hair slicked back and combed through, and with the clothes she washed in one of the tubs and then dried off with magic neatly folded under her arm. The fire in the hearth is reduced to embers now, and she kneels before it to feed some more wood in it, when a tired groan comes from the bed.

“Too bright.”

Sypha looks back over her shoulder and smiles at Trevor, who is blinking blearily, wincing at the light that’s streaming in through the window. “It’s bright because it’s morning, sleepyhead.” She gets up and walks up to him, sitting at the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shite.” He groans again as he sits up with some effort, pressing his palm to his forehead. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, and he’s still quite pale, but there’s a vitality to his complexion that wasn’t there a couple days ago. “I feel like shite.”

“Do you, now? What a surprise. It’s almost as if you didn’t almost die from a cursed night creature wound.” Sypha rolls her eyes, laughing. “I’ve brought some food. Are you hungry?”

“Bloody ravenous,” he says, eyeing the tray that she brought in that morning. He reaches over to it, when Sypha pushes him back.

“Take it easy. Your wound is still not fully healed.” She stands up to pick up the tray, then sets it carefully in his lap. She ignores his muffled protests that he isn’t an invalid as she props some pillows behind his back and eases him on them, then warms up his soup with a quick fire spell. “There. Now you can eat to your heart’s content.”

Trevor says nothing as he lifts the cover from the bowl of soup and starts gobbling it down, and if that isn’t proof as to how hungry he is, then she doesn’t know what is. “Did you make this? It’s very good. Haven’t had soup like this in…” He frowns in thought as he chews. “I’ve never had soup like this.”

“I didn’t. Alucard did.”

Trevor’s eyes widen in surprise. He glances down at the bowl, his lip curling ever so slightly in disgust, as if he’s just eaten a pile of wriggling worms.

“Relax, it’s not poison,” Sypha says with a laugh. “He’s the one that’s been making food for both of us actually, all this time, though you’ve been too dazed to notice. He’s actually a very good cook.”

“Has he?" He quirks a brow, "Then why was I always the one to cook when we were travelling?”

“Skinning rabbits and roasting them over the fire until they’re all charred on the outside and still a little raw on the inside is not cooking.”

“It’s more than you did,” Trevor mutters, bringing another mouthful of soup to his mouth, his expression of mild disgust disappearing straight away. “I should have known that it was Alucard who made this. If it were you, it would have just been overcooked and over-salted vegetables in tasteless broth.” He huffs a laugh when she smacks him playfully on the shoulder.

“Just finish your meal, Belmont,” she says with a chuckle, leaning back with her palms on the bed. She watches him gulp down the rest of the soup and then attack the bread and cheese on his tray. His recovery is going well, she thinks, with his appetite back in full force, and that is enough to send a wave of warmth coiling through her. She’s missed his bad jokes, his endless groaning and griping, the mess he makes when he eats, leaving crumbs everywhere. The fear of losing him is still not far from her mind.

“So how is our gallant host?” he asks, leaving the tray aside when he’s finished and wiping his lips with a napkin. “Have you two been making friends? Has he tried to woo you into leaving me yet?”

She snorts and shakes her head, but a certain bitterness slithers in. “No… not really. I haven’t exactly seen him since… well, since he helped me find the scroll to heal you.” She did catch a glimpse of him, she thinks, a couple days before. It was only a flash of golden hair, disappearing around the curve of the stairs that led to the upper floors. By the time she had climbed the stairs, he was already gone.

Trevor’s brows furrow in a curious frown. “So he’s left you on your own? All this time?”

She shrugs. “It wasn’t as bad. I’ve been… occupied.”

“Huh.” Trevor lets his gaze sweep around the room, taking in his surroundings. “That’s odd. Even for him.”

Sypha nods, though ‘odd’ is an understatement.

“Any news on the…” He looks past their door, where the front entrance lies half a castle away. She shakes her head, her stomach clenching.

“No. Hasn’t said a word about it.”

His frown deepens. “I don’t like this, Sypha. I don’t like it one bit.”

“I know.” She sighs, gathering her legs up and sitting cross legged beside him. She reaches out, her fingers threading through his as if on their own; his skin is warm and comforting against hers. “I know. I’m not sure what to think of it either. And this whole place is…” She shivers despite herself. “It’s so cold. And empty. Just being here makes me feel... numb.”

She looks up at Trevor, who is looking at her like he knows exactly what she’s talking about. He does have this way of understanding exactly what’s on her mind sometimes that she can’t quite explain. She takes heart from the warmth of his touch, the solidity of his presence. “Still,” she continues, “no matter what’s happened here, no matter what he's done, he helped us. He helped you. Your life would still be in danger if it weren’t for him. You should thank him next time you see him.” She twists her fingers more firmly through Trevor’s, squeezing his hand gently. Her voice trembles only slightly before she speaks. “You would probably have died if it hadn’t been for him. Do you know that?”

“Don’t say that,” Trevor says quietly. “I wouldn’t have died. Not while I still had you by my side.”

“No. No.” Sypha shakes her head stubbornly, her eyes burning. All the worry she has barely suppressed those past few days rises to the surface, choking her. “You didn’t see how you were, Trevor. You were at the brink of death, and Alucard helped me drag you back from it. I could not have done it on my own. I was…” She lets out a tremulous exhale as she looks away. “I was powerless. Before we came here, I was completely powerless. You were dying, and I was on my own, and I didn't know how to help you. I didn’t—”

“Sypha.” Trevor’s voice is soft, his palm, when it cups her cheek and brings her gaze back to him, is softer still. “You aren't powerless. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” He smiles, a hint of mischief in the curl of his lip. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, you know.”

He pulls her close, and Sypha lets herself be drawn to him. When he wraps his strong arms around her, a sigh of relief leaves her lips. Home. She is home.

She squeezes her eyes shut and hugs him back. The warmth of his chest, as it presses against hers, puts her heart back in its rightful place, his deep, earthy scent filling her lungs. He is there. He is there, and she will keep him close, for as long as she can. “You’d better not be,” she mutters wryly. "For your own good."

Trevor chuckles, lifting her chin with his thumb. “Duly noted, my lady,” he whispers, leaning in to press his lips against hers in a tender kiss.

It is everything Sypha needs. Her arms link behind his neck, deepening their kiss. He pulls her closer, drawing her flush against him, his palms running up her back. She hums against his lips, threads her fingers through his hair as she holds him tightly. She wants him. Needs him. She-

She gasps when Trevor rolls them both to the side, flipping her on her back on the bed. “Wait— What are you doing? Your injury—”

“Fuck my injury,” he grunts, leaning down to kiss her once more.

She chuckles despite herself. This man. She's missed this man. She's missed him being strong and steady beside her, she's missed the grip of his hands and the softness of his lips. Before she knows it, his hand is slithering under the hem of her robes, and she's lifting the edges of his shirt, tugging, urging him. After so many days drifting through those halls cold and alone, she needs his warmth, she craves his touch.

“Oh, Trevor,” she sighs, leaning into him. “I missed you, I missed you—” His lips leave a trail of kisses down her neck, just as his palm smooths up her leg. Her eyes are half closed as she works the laces of his breeches open, then slips deft fingers past his waistband. A wicked smile widens her lips. “Someone’s missed me too, I think.”

Trevor lets out a sound that’s between a laugh and a moan. “Still worried about my wound?”

Sypha laughs, breathless, as she pushes him on his back and straddles him. “Stop talking, Belmont.”

Later, they both lie sated, wrapped in a tight embrace as they both catch their breaths and their hearts slowly find their natural rhythms. Sypha’s limbs are relaxed and deliciously heavy with sweet, warm weariness. She kisses the top of Trevor’s head before she peels herself from him, rolling on her back beside him. Her eyes are closed when Trevors sinks back into the pillows with a deep sigh. “Oh, that was nice.”

“Hopefully better than beer,” she teases.

“Only slightly.” He chuckles as she swats at his arm, then reaches out and wraps his arm around her shoulders. She presses her cheek to his chest and lets the warmth and calmness of the moment seep into her, listening to the quiet thrum of Trevor’s heartbeats. His breaths are easing now, and his fingers are soft and light when they brush down her arm. She cracks one eye open to glance at the wound at his sides. The bandage is still intact, crisp white, not a speck of blood.

Good. He is better. He will be fine. She lets out a deep sigh and snuggles closer against him.

“I missed this,” Trevor whispers, pressing his lips to the top of her head and taking in a deep breath. “See, if we had some ale just about now, I think it would be my personal heaven. Even with broody half-vampires roaming beyond the door.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sypha snorts. “You and your ale. How do you even enjoy drinking that thing.”

“You’ve taken a liking to it, and don’t you deny it.” She can hear the smirk in his voice without even having to look up.

“I only drink it because most inns don’t serve anything else,” she protests sleepily. “Besides, you drink enough for both of us.”

“Not now, I don’t.”

“Good! There’s one good thing this injury has done for you. Let’s hope it lasts, shall we?”

Trevor groans. Sypha grins.

They stay like this for a long while, in each other’s arms. The only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth and their soft, sleepy breaths. She can feel the tug of sleep just at the edges of her consciousness, and Trevor’s body fits so smoothly against her own. She closes her eyes, preparing to surrender to the pull, but it’s not long before the distinctly cold feeling of unease that has followed her since stepping foot in that place invades her thoughts. For some odd reason, she can’t get a moment’s rest here.

Sypha lets out a sigh and sits up, hugging her knees. Her gaze falls past the clear glass of the window, roams over the wide expanse of trees and snowy mountain peaks, the serpentine twist of the river. She suddenly longs to open the windows wide, to fly away like a bird. Buildings have always suffocated her. She feels more at home now in her and Trevor’s carriage, with its hard wooden floor and the cold wind drifting through every crevasse. Sleeping under the stars or with the canvas roof of a carriage fluttering in the night wind is what she’s used to. She’s only ever had a ceiling above her head when her clan stayed in old or abandoned buildings for short periods of time during their travels, or when she and Trevor stay at inns, occasionally. She doesn’t deny that it has its luxuries, but staying in any one place for long periods of time is foreign to her. Her people never spent too long anywhere, and she’s been accustomed to being lulled to sleep by the soft movement of the carriage, the sound of the horses’ hooves or the crackling of a campfire. People always say that staying in houses made of bricks and stones is safer than living on the road; for Sypha, the presence of her people has always been the only safety she’s needed.

Trevor has become that for her. He and Alucard are her people— or at least, that’s what she believed. She’s not entirely sure what to think, now.

Trevor’s hand caresses her bare back. “What’s wrong?”

She turns to glance at him over her shoulder. “I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Alucard.”

Trevor stays silent for a moment, then lets out a soft sigh. His eyes drift towards the door again, towards where the front entrance and the staked bodies lie.

She worries her lip as she studies Trevor’s pensive profile. “It just doesn’t feel like something Alucard would do. He is not like that. Is he?”

“I didn’t think him capable of doing something like it either, no,” Trevor replied thoughtfully. “But a lot can happen in a few months. You and I both know that, better than anyone. Besides…” He pauses for a moment. “He is half a vampire, you know.”

“What of it?” she asks guardedly.

“Vampires are vicious. They’re violent, thirsty for blood. It’s in their nature. Perhaps… perhaps he suddenly decided to get more in touch with that part of him. Who knows?”

Sypha frowns. “I don’t think that’s likely. One does not simply stake people for the fun of it, or to ‘get in touch with their nature’.”

“Dracula did it,” Trevor shrugs. “Alucard is his son. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Isn’t that what people say?”

“Yes, but Alucard killed his father,” Sypha retorts stubbornly. “If that doesn’t show a difference of opinion, I don’t know what does.”

“Even more reason to believe that he’s capable of terrible things.”

“That’s hardly fair, and you know it. He did it because he had to, and we helped him. If he’s capable of terrible things, then so are we, but that hardly justifies the bodies by the door.”

“Alright, fine. You have a point.” Trevor sighs, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “What do you think happened, then?”

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine what it could be that pushed him to do something like that. The very thought scares me.” She glances away and hugs her knees closer to her chest. The unease in her gut, that deep, invasive feeling, is stronger than ever. “I… I worry for him.”

Trevor says nothing for a long moment. His chest rises and falls with his even breaths, and his frown deepens, carving a line between his brows. “Yeah,” he admits quietly after a while. “So do I.”

“You haven’t even seen the state of this place. It’s worse than I thought. It’s… cold and dark like a tomb. And Alucard himself is so cold, so distant… More so than before, and God knows he was near impossible to get through to even then.”

“He’s grieving, Sypha. Grief changes people.”

Her heart clenches at the thought. Of course he’s grieving. To lose one parent to the Church, the other to his own madness, and then have to fight him himself, on top of everything else. She can’t help the shiver that runs through her.

“We shouldn't have left him.” It is a bitter admission, and one that drives that gut-twisting feeling ever deeper, but there is no denying it now. Both she and Trevor were so eager to leave after Dracula was dead, so determined not to linger in any one place for too long, that they did not even stop to think about what it would mean for Alucard to be left alone with that, to face this overwhelming emptiness on his own. It makes her wonder now, whether it is that same emptiness that they were both running away from.

“When I lived with my clan,” she says softly, “when one of us passed away, that was the time when we would stick closer together, more than ever. If a wife, or children, or parents were left behind, we would spend most of the day with them, looking after them, commemorating their loved one with them. They weren’t allowed to do chores or cook for a week. That is how my people deal with mourning.”

Trevor blinks at her. “One whole week of no chores, with people cooking for me and fawning over me? How can I join the Speakers? Do they accept applications?”

The laughter that tumbles from her lips startles her. “You don’t need to join the Speakers, you daft bear,” she chuckles despite herself, leaning against him. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous, smirking at her as if he’s made the cleverest jest in the world. “You almost got killed by a night-creature, and you got pretty much the same treatment.”

Trevor’s arm comes around her shoulders, as if by rote, the vibration of his rich, throaty laugh running through her. He kisses the side of her head, and when he pulls back, his features have grown somber once more.

“Sometimes a man needs to be left alone when grieving,” he says thoughtfully. “You know, to lick his wounds and all that. There are moments when it all gets ugly, and I know for sure I wouldn’t want someone that I care about to see me when in a similar state. Perhaps… perhaps we just came here at a bad time.”

“‘A bad time’?” Sypha lifts a brow, nodding towards the main entrance. “Is that what you would call it?”

Trevor opens his mouth. Closes it. Frowns. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” His fingers drum a gentle beat against her shoulder, where he is holding her. “He was the one who wanted to stay behind. We asked him to come with us, and he didn’t want to.”

“Do you always know exactly what you want? Or what is good for you?”

“I should certainly hope so.”

“No,” Sypha smiles knowingly. “No, you don’t. And I think we both know that.”

“Hey, I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions. Perfectly good, perfectly wise decisions. Very, very wise and mature— why are you laughing? I’m serious.”

“You don't have a serious bone in your body, Belmont,” Sypha says, still trembling with laughter. She cackles in delight when he starts tickling her, trying to swat his fingers away.

“Are you quite sure about that? Hm? Absolutely sure?” He grins when the sound of her laughing protests fills the room. When she’s flushed and out of breath, he pulls her against him, his arms coming around her in a warm hug. “Alright,” he says. “You know best. What do you think we should do?”

Sypha takes a deep breath to calm her beating heart, and meets his gaze levelly. “I think we should stay.”

“What?” Trevor’s eyes widen. “Stay here? In Dracula’s castle?”

“Why not? It’s not like we have anyplace else to be right now.”

“Sure we do. We have night creatures to hunt, and gold to earn, and—”

“Don’t you think we’ve both had enough of killing night creatures for a while?” She reaches up, pushing a strand of dark brown hair away from his brow. “Alucard needs us,” she says softly.

Trevor blinks at her, evidently ready to protest, but lets out a deep sigh instead. He leans into her touch, gazing at her with warm, blue, trusting eyes. “How can I refuse when you look at me like this, hm?”

She grins, shifting closer to kiss him. His lips part readily under hers, and for the first time since stepping foot in that castle, she feels hope.

If you enjoyed this chapter, I’d love to hear your thoughts! :)

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