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soscarlett1twas · 1 month

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Fallen Tree

↳ Lawrence and Nathaniel had a favorite childhood tree. Xanthus returns to the spot 400 years later. ↳ 3k words / also available on ao3! ↳ Inspired by Fallen Tree, a painting by Alexandre Calame

“Please, do be careful.” His voice lifted just above the rushing water, carrying its way to the little boy right above it.

He giggled. “I am!”

Lawrence gave a haphazard sigh, crouching down into the grass. His sight didn’t leave his brother, who had begged to go here.

The clearing was a peculiar place - not far from Claiborne land but not owned by the family, nor anyone for that matter. All but abandoned, the plot had become a favorite of Nathaniel’s. He loved to run and let the weeds, some even taller than himself, graze his fingertips (which Lawrence found adorable). He had proclaimed his ‘discovery’ of this place as a step towards becoming a true adventurer.

And now he’s graduated from running between weeds. Now, it’s tree climbing. Lawrence found this significantly less cute.

His brother’s tiny frame pushed from branch to branch, smiling all the way. Every time he grabbed a divot in the bark he pointed it out. Lawrence watched on in silent agony. He tensed every time Nathaniel’s frail hands seemed to loosen. He had half a mind to ban him from doing this altogether, but seeing him smile, holes from missing teeth and crooked, made Lawrence shove it all down. How could he take this away from him?

There was one barrier he put onto the whole ordeal: He was only allowed to climb this beech tree, which stood in the middle of the clearing. Its branches were thick enough to hold his weight, wasn’t too big for any real danger, and its trunk was tall enough so Nathaniel couldn’t climb without Lawrence’s assistance. Granted, the thing was situated right next to a running stream, but Lawrence saw it as a blessing more than anything. Sometimes, when Nathaniel got winded from climbing, they drank its water because he didn’t want to wait to get home.

Looking up at him, shadows danced across Lawrence’s frame from the shifting leaves. The winds, however calm, seemed to eddy around the clearing. Lawrence took a breath, the sugary smell of honeysuckles wafting into his nose, and felt his unease steady. The kid had never fallen. He was here to watch him. His brother was alright.

He took a moment to look around him. It truly was a beautiful day. Blue skies peppered with clouds, flowers waxing towards the sun. Bird songs echoed from treetops, some even diving down to sit on bushes, collecting twigs and scrap for a nest. Tranquility bloomed in every crevice. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Look! Look,” a breathy voice hailed from the beech tree. Lawrence did as it commanded.

Nathaniel sat on a towering branch, feet dangling in the open air.

“Wow,” Lawrence half-shouted. “You’re quite high up.”

“I am!” He threw his arms open wide. “I feel like the king!”

For as adorable as it was, Lawrence felt a bubbling fear in his chest. “Be careful.”

“I know…” Nathaniel began to stand, one arm pushed into the bark to stabilize himself. Lawrence felt his fingernails dig into his palm.

A breeze pushed up at him, hair tickling his ears. “Maybe you should come down now… we can always come back another day.”

“But I want to keep going!” His brother leaned slightly over the edge to look down at him. His arm was still on the tree, but the other swung at his side.

“We’ll come back,” he repeated. The wind carried the scent of honeysuckles and streamwater back to him.

“Come on… just a few branches higher!”

“No. Come down.”

“But-”

“Nathaniel, I said come down!”

A sudden gust of wind picked up, creating the static noise of rustling leaves. Lawrence watched as his brother opened his mouth to argue more, but lost his footing as the wood began to shake. The boy made a motion to grab the tree but it was too late: He had slipped off.

Florals and fear mixed as Lawrence ran forward.

Without thinking he dove into the riverbank, his brother plummeting towards it.

He held his hands out, and by some miracle of God, he caught him.

A deep sigh of relief hitched in his throat, almost sounding like a sob as he accidentally collapsed into the water. It rushed into his nose. He may as well have blacked out for a moment before the squirming boy brought him back to reality.

His clothes were soaked, caked with a layer of grime the water carried. As he waded out, Lawrence was careful to not let a single drop of it touch Nathaniel.

When they were both safely away from water, Lawrence set him down and promptly rolled into the grass, deep breaths permeating the space between words. “You aren’t climbing again.”

“...huh? What?” Nathan’s look of adrenaline faded into shock. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh yes, I can.”

“But…” Nathaniel started. Then he bit his tongue.

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, you could’ve died!”

“But I didn’t.” A pleading look danced on his face.

Lawrence steeled. “The answer is no.” He got up and grabbed Nathan’s arm.

The kid didn’t put up a fight, just allowing himself to be dragged along back to the house. But Lawrence could feel the hostility radiate off the boy. He understood the rage; Not towards his brother, but towards himself. He allowed the climbing, he enabled the fall.

The water still on his face mixed with his sweat, and maybe even a tear.

As they approached the beginning of the forest, the only known path back to their manor, Lawrence abruptly stopped.

He took a delicate, curling white flower from a bush and handed it to Nathan. The boy looked on in confusion, then delight.

He took the end of it - two green leaves from the bush - and pried them off, revealing filament with a singular drop of sweetness. He licked it off.

He grabbed a few more as they passed and handed one to Lawrence, a silent apology.

He took it but left it in his pocket. He didn’t have the stomach to eat it. Not when the stench still rang in his nose.

—

Xanthus stepped over a thick root, careful not to trip into the bramble. Underbrush and weeds had invaded the path, spattering the edges of the dirt with thorns that threatened to cut someone deep. He grumbled to himself something about wearing the wrong attire for a woodland outing.

He had long gone off the main road. Over the years he’d been gone, these dirt pathways had become rare as most were paved over with concrete and fences, cars moving in place of carriages. Industrialization throttled every part of London the same. Even this deep into the countryside, the sounds of it never left his ears. They buzzed like gnats, unwanted pests that flew around him like he was rot long left out.

Though Xanthus supposed, he was rot. Undead rot in a casing of slacks and a sweater, but rot all the same.

He suddenly became very aware of the fangs in his mouth. He adjusted his jaw.

Xanthus kept walking, following a vague desire path that seemed ten years overgrown. It had not been set by him - but he knew it well anyway. Farther in he went, the forest swelled. The light dimmed as the trees became thicker, trunks growing greater in circumference than his height. As he passed particularly large ones, he wondered who was older: Him or it.

In the distance, a rabbit landed. He heard its thump, saw the scurry of leaves around it, and could even feel the pumping blood in its veins. A quick object of focus before swiftly turning his attention to something else. He was used to this darting attention: The abundance of life blended together, less stimulating than the city yet still humming in his ear. He just tuned it out, focused on fleeting memories to trail him back to the clearing.

It had been so long. Was there even hope in remembering the way?

He kept going.

From the ambiance of wildlife emerged the unique purr of human voices. They started small: Indistinguishable from the trotting of deer and whiz of bugs, but slowly rose to stand out among the vibrations. At first, Xanthus neglected this realization, too lost in his mind to pay attention. But they became sharp, pushing their way to the front of the symphony until they were at the forefront of his mind - and though unwittingly and agitated, Xanthus looked up.

The voices echoed from just beyond the pathway if slightly to the left, beckoning him forward. Déjà vu struck him. They - were there two? The vocals were so similar it was hard to tell - spoke and giggled and yelled. Those were the sounds of children playing in the field. He paused.

It was a sign to turn back. To never see this place again. One final push to save himself the heartache. But Xanthus followed the voices, one step at a time. Just one. Then another, and eventually another. Until he dragged himself the rest of the hike, and the voices boomed in his ears, and he wanted to leave and never return here or any parts of London or England because what was there even to stay for–

“What if it breaks?”

The question struck the front of his mind, a thought so clear and strong that for a split second, he thought it was his own. But the voice wasn’t.

Xanthus honed in on the clearing. This was it. Most of it was the same. Weeds and flower bushes, saplings and stones. But there was no stream anymore, seemingly turned into a pond and then a puddle: Unmoving and dirty. The surrounding forest was noticeably thinner as well, with shadows lighter and allowing full sun.

Amidst it all, where a breech once grew, was a stump. And next to it was a felled log that cast above the still creek, gutted of branches.

For a second, Xanthus forgot all else, entranced with memories of an otherwise forgotten time.

“It won’t! Climb, come on,” buzzed a similar voice. Xanthus flinched, sharply turning his gaze from the stump to the log. On it sat a boy, dangling his feet above the still water.

“You don’t know that…” Xanthus glanced down. This one stood in the grass, staring up at his companion.

Xanthus felt himself lean forward, pushing out of the foliage to get closer.

The boys continued bickering about whether or not the grounded one should mount the log. From their voices, Xanthus guessed they were 12, maybe 13 - certainly from around here, as the accents seemed local.

The one previously in the grass hesitantly stepped onto a trunk, and Xanthus felt roil in his chest. He took a breath and felt the breeze scrap his teeth. They felt hollow.

Xanthus watched as he leaped from the stump to the log, trying desperately not to lose balance. His arms shot out, and the giggle of his companion echoed: “You’re fine, you’re a meter off the ground. A fall isn’t going to kill you.”

“It’s still dangerous…” He muttered below his breath, quiet enough for the other to not hear. With every step the hesitancy was clear. Eventually, he shot out his arms in some vain attempt to balance and, however tentatively, he finished the climb and met the other. Almost.

With one misplaced step, the boy slipped. His foot went straight through some rotten wood, shattering under his weight and taking his leg through the log. Xanthus rushed forward.

He hadn’t realized he had moved until he was halfway through the clearing, jolted out of his thoughts through stinging sunlight. He stumbled to a stop. His friend had caught his arm, pulling them close, free arms clinging to the other. Their heartbeats echoed together.

The once-still pool now rippled from the impact of moldered bark, the splash only registering after it happened. A distinctive hole was shot through the log.

Xanthus pulled himself up from his half-lunge, placing a steadying hand on his chest. Memories boiled up to the front of his mind, distracting him from the painful taper of sunlight on skin, however much more cruel they may be. Something wet grazed his waterline. The warm air felt boiling as he took in two long breaths.

When he looked up, the boys were less tangled, only their hands still gripping the other's arm. Silently, they watched the pool, breaths and heartbeats calming in tune with the water. The nearly-fallen one slowly turned his head to his mate, a look of incredulous horror painting him.

The other shrugged, almost slinking away from the gaze: “Well, I got up here just fine…” Skeptical humor dripped from his voice as if he were testing the waters to see if the situation was considered funny or not. It was a tone Xanthus remembered surprisingly well.

“This is why I didn’t want to do this.” Xanthus squinted, finally registering just what he was looking at.

“I was just trying to have some fun, I’m sorry; I wouldn’t have gone up here if I knew it was dangerous.” That’s why this was so familiar.

“Yes, you would’ve!” They were brothers.

Of course. Wasn’t it obvious? Only siblings could squabble like this while still hooked to one another as if their lives depended on it. That was the very nature of them. Sardonically, Xanthus wondered what it was about this valley that drew in brothers.

Moreover, they were identical. How Xanthus hadn’t noticed before, he didn’t know - but next to each other, he saw the blatant similarity. Same stature, same shape. Hickory brown swept around their heads in waves, slightly unruly in its twists. Not even clothing was an indicator of who was who. They wore the same schoolboy uniform.

That’s why the voices were so similar. A huff of laughter left him.

It took a moment to realize that fast-paced noise was no longer voices, but pumping blood: Did something else happen? Xanthus refocused on the boys, only to be met with their eyes doing the same to him.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the one hardened his grip on the other.

Xanthus raised his hands. “I don’t mean any harm.” It sounded more sarcastic than he’d like. “I heard the snapping and came running.” Not technically a lie.

They were not convinced.

“Then why were you laughing…” One of them muttered. He pretended not to hear.

“Are you two alright?” He made a show of scaling the fallen log, casting purposeful scorn onto the hole through it. “Do you need help down from there?”

“We’re fine,” and “Please,” echoed from uniform voices at the same time. They traded a quick look of confusion with each other.

“What are you doing?” Once again they said it at the same time.

“We need help down.”

“No, we don’t. This guy’s a creep.” Xanthus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Would you stop being so stubborn? I’m not doing that again. Sir? Yes, could you help me please?”

A smile of gritted teeth bled onto Xanthus’ face. He truly didn’t care about them. He just wanted them gone, and if hoisting them off the timber would do it, well, he was waiting with open arms. Literally.

He walked up as close as he could to the log, stepping to the side that they climbed up from, reaching out his hand for the boy to take. The cooperative one started shimmying along the wooden minefield, letting go of his brother's hand in the process.

When they were close enough to touch, Xanthus grabbed his arm and glided him off the beam, catching him and carefully setting him to the ground.

“Thank you,” he said through a wavering smile.

Just behind Xanthus, a thud hit the ground in tandem with a bit of murky water splashing up and onto his shoes. He didn’t even need to turn: The boy stomped around him and stood next to the other, arms crossed.

A ghostly twitch flickered in Xanthus’ under eyelid. “Where are your parents?”

“Why do you care?”

Xanthus took a moment to convince himself not to compel the brat into shutting up and leaving.

“We’ll be going now, so sorry to disturb you.”

“What? We were already here, we don’t need to leave.”

“I think it’s best if we do.” He grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

“I’m not leaving, some guy showed up and took it upon himself to ‘help’ us. This isn’t weird to you? Andrew, please admit this is weird.” Xanthus didn’t even need his enhanced hearing for this, they were just talking right in front of him.

“You’re berating me for him helping me down? I could’ve – you could’ve – gotten seriously hurt!” Andrew snapped at his brother. His voice was shockingly distraught.

Those words rang in Xanthus’ ears, ripples of the past resurfacing. He had said that. A long time ago.

He looked on at the boy and saw a wraith of Nathaniel inlaid in the shocked eyes, the agape mouth. One aching part of him hoped he would argue back, just as Nathaniel hadn’t.

But he wouldn’t either.

The boy just looked down at the grass, cheeks getting redder as he thought about what to do.

When he did reopen his mouth, Xanthus raised a hand.

“It’s alright. Everyone’s fine, just… you two run along.”

They nodded politely. “Thank you again, sir.” They turned to leave.

When far enough away, their attempts at whispers flocked to Xanthus’ ears. “I told you none of this was a good idea!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know–”

“That it was rotten and I’d slip? Well, I didn’t either and I still had the forethought to not climb it.”

Xanthus stared unblinking at the boles, frayed and damaged, withering into the dirt. Trees felled to logs. Wood into mulch. Bones in the ground.

He reached into his pocket and thumbed a honeysuckle he plucked on the way here.

Don’t be cruel, Andrew, Lawrence thought. He didn’t know. It’s alright. He didn’t know.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #xanthus claiborne #lawrence #nathaniel claiborne #andrew marston #“twin” marston #(cause of course they're here)#fanfic #xanthus fanfic #zsakuva xanthus #just so many brother issues #Xanthus grapples with the immortality of being an older brother

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belladonnadawn · 9 days

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My Tears Ricochet

“And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want; just not home. And you can aim for my heart, go for blood, but you would still miss me in your bones.”

After the war, Lawrence (Xanthus) went back to his home, only to be a witness of his own wake.

Dark clouds enveloped the skies as the rain continued to pour. Lawrence’s clothes soaked and wet, he shivered at the cold breeze that came along with the weather. But that was the least of his concerns.

Standing by the tree, he watched it all– a witness to his own wake. Lawrence observed intently, still unable to wrap his head on the absurdity of it all. Everytime he asks himself what has happened and what occurred, he was answered by the spear that pierced his chest. The memory was fresh, the torment won’t seem to end sooner.

To rub the wound with salt, his heightened senses made him hear everything: the sobs, the quiet utterances filled with condolences, and the heartbeats. It was overwhelmingly painful, as if he was being punished for a sin he could never atone for. He wanted to tell himself that it was a dream, but it's hard to lie to himself when the truth was right in front of him, rubbing it in his face.

Audric was one of the guests, muttering condolences and wearing a sympathetic look on his face. Lawrence could laugh at the situation, as if it was a sick and twisted joke hurled to him. Nevertheless, he was amused at how Audric got along with the crowd, blending in perfectly and concealing their lies. Any questions about his corpse or casket, Audric would answer it swiftly: “I found the poor young man’s body in a ghastly manner…. in a way that’s beyond me. Even so, we all know that he died with honor, let us leave it at that.”

His eyes scanned the crowd, some faces were familiar, some faces weren't. Baron, count, viscountess, duchess; his ear picked up their titles. Lawrence wasn't surprised, his father was a noble before he was a father. That didn't stop the disappointment and hurt knowing where his priorities truly lies. He went with his orders, he obliged to his commands no matter how much he opposed it just to be in his favors. But even in death, he was just a mean to the end.

“Oh, Lawrence! My son! My poor son!”

His eyes widened recognizing the voice. “Mother…” Lawrence spoke gently, his voice cracked hearing his mother’s wail. He watched through the open windows how his young brother came to her aid. Nathaniel tried to console their grief-stricken mother while he cried with her– but to no avail. He understood her grief, to know that someone that you deeply love was taken away in a gruesome manner– in a fight that he never chose to be in. There was a deep regret in her heart, she wished she stood up against her husband’s order, she wished she had stopped her son from leaving, she wished she hugged him a little longer. Now, their Lawrence was nothing but a memory.

Nathaniel tried his best to act tough, but his facade was not strong enough. Lawrence’s heart ached further at his brother’s situation, knowing the pressure and challenges he might experience– but his brother’s concern was far from that. Nathaniel reminisces at the times where he’d talk about his dreams and adventures, how his brother listened to his stories and rambles no matter how nonsensical it is. He’d remember the times where he’d go along with his newfound hobbies, encouraging him to explore and be whoever he desired to be.

And now that his brother was gone, who was going to listen to his stories? Who will join him in his make believes? Who is he going to run to when the horrors of reality come after him? Nathaniel wiped his tears, a bitter feeling on his mouth as his brother’s absence left an empty hole in his heart.

So long to the adventures that Nathaniel and Lawrence tried to make, it was merely a dream never bound to come true.

The weight of his death slowly engulfs him, he finds himself in a state of turmoil. Was it grief? Was it anger? Was it regret? Lawrence felt his emotions crash into him, it resonated to his heart, his body, everywhere. He was just a young man, a son, a plebe. Forced to face the atrocities of war to fight for his honor– his father's honor. Only to be met with fate worse than death. He choked on his sobs, begging to God to bring his life back, to wake him from this nightmare. But would God listen to a mere vampire like him– does God even consider him as their child?

He could only pray– pray that the path he was led to was worth the suffering, that at the end he won’t look back filled with regrets. Lawrence felt a small tap on his shoulder, interrupting him from his thoughts. He composed himself, wiping the tears as he faced him.

“If you’re going to stay here, you’d blow your cover.” Audric spoke. It was time to go.

He only nodded as he began to walk towards his new residence. Lawrence left the wake, with a heavy feeling in his heart. In the casket was the body that was never his– along with the life that he has left behind. The tomb will be etched in a name that he’d soon abandon.

Farewell Lawrence Claiborne, you were a doting brother and a loving son.

#zsakuva #sakuverse #xanthus claiborne #xanthus #my tears ricochet

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c-t-r-l14 · 3 months

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The Song A Dove Sings

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Synopsis: You sing Xanthus a beautiful song; one he won’t forget for as long as he lives.

Warning: Mentions of blood.

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As dawn made way for the morning rise, with the orange, pink and red hues rolling over into a sky blue, your eyelids fluttered open to the golden rays of sunlight poking its way through the curtains, and the gentle chirps of the birds roosting in nearby trees. The rays of sunlight that woven its way through the balcony window painted the room in an ethereal golden glow. You were enveloped in the warmness of the blankets, the strong hold of the man you loved most, and the faint, lingering smell of cologne and coca butter. You focused on the hushed sound of his breathing, and the warm air of his breath dancing on your neck. You looked at his peaceful expression, the way his blonde hair fell messily over his pale face, and those long, beautiful eyelashes that so perfectly complimented those stunning ruby red eyes you’ve adored so much. Like most people, you weren’t a fan of mornings—and it’s not for the typical reasons. Before you and Xanthus found each other, you woke up to a gaping cavity in your heart, suffocated by the air of solitude that filled the room. It didn’t matter how brightly the sun shined, how blue the sky was, or how loudly the birds sang; mundanity always hung above your head like a dark storm cloud. Seeing your partner’s face reminded you that you were not alone anymore. With every rise and fall of his chest, with every hushed breath that entered the atmosphere, you were reminded that your melancholic days were fewer and far in between. And so, with your eyelids getting heavier and heavier, yielding to the gentle call of sleep—you nestled further into the warm embrace of the one you loved most in this world.

Until you heard a familiar cooing sound. A familiar chirp—one that echoed in the air; its sound fluttering through the wind, just like the wings of the bird it belonged to.

A familiar song.

Your eyes popped open—any trace of fatigue and weariness melting away. As much as it pained you leave the serenity of Xanthus’ arms, you had to. So, with a quiet groan and a lot of caution, you slowly crept out of bed and tiptoed to the balcony window. And sure enough, there it was.

A Mourning Dove.

Your stomach swirled with nostalgia, and your chest felt heavy. It had been ages since you saw one, and even longer since you’ve heard its hauntingly beautiful call. As the bird sang, you took a moment to admire its muted colors—its little body covered in beige and light gray hues. The corners of your mouth quirked up fondly as you watched the dove’s chest and throat puff out to make each sound.

“Love?” A groggy voice groaned behind you.

You turned around to see Xanthus sitting upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“There’s a mourning dove outside,” you replied.

He got out of bed and walked over to the balcony window.

“Ah. So there is. I haven’t seen one in so long, which makes sense—they aren’t native to the U.K.”

You didn’t answer. You merely watched it sing some more. And although, for a time, the silence between you two was very comforting, you could practically feel Xanthus’ inquisitive gaze.

“I take it that you really like this bird?”

“Yeah. A long time ago, back when I used to live with my parents—a dove that looked just like this one would perch on a ledge outside my window, and sing— once in every blue moon. I know a lot of people think that it sings a sad song, but I never thought so. I always felt comforted, and even a little joyful when I’d hear its song.”

“Is that so?”

You hummed. “I’ve always envied them.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re free; they have peace. I didn’t have that growing up. For my entire life, I was forced to live in fear—always looking over my shoulder, always flinching at every corner. I never let myself fully trust people because I never knew what their true intentions were. It felt like I was…trapped in a cage. And since everyone was out to get me and family, I never really got a chance to actually live my life.”

The cage might’ve been spacious, filled with all the luxuries one could ever ask for—it might’ve been familiar, and full of the people you loved, but…

A cage is still a cage, nonetheless.

“Do you feel free now?” Xanthus asked.

You hummed and rested your head on his shoulder. Dontis was an absolute saint for opening up his home to you two. He’s helped you guys out in more ways in one. You certainly weren’t ungrateful for everything he’s done for you two, but at that point it’d been months since you’ve left his penthouse. Months since you’ve got to try new food, or interacted with new people. Months since you were able to live your life.

Yes, his house was full of luxuriously plush couches, beautiful paintings, and wide flat screen T.Vs, but you still weren’t free. A cage is still a cage. But even after everything you’ve been through, if there was one thing you’d gained—-it was peace. You’ve found peace with Xanthus, and that was enough for now.

“When I die, I think I wanna become a mourning dove.”

Xanthus turned his head toward you. “What?”

“I remember you telling me something about the jokes vampires make when they die. You told me that if you died, you’d come back as a bat. So, I’m telling you now that when I die, I’m gonna come back as a mourning dove. So make sure to keep your ears open;

‘Cause I’m gonna sing you a beautiful song.”

……..

No matter where he went or where he tried to hide, death followed Xanthus everywhere—but it never really bothered him until he met you. Humans lives were fleeting compared to his own, and as fragile as a porcelain tea cup, teetering dangerously on the edge of a high shelf; one nudge away from shattering into numerous irreparable pieces. He never liked thinking about your death, or what’d it be like if you were gone—so he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, and cherished your presence while you were still around.

But ever since you and him had that conversation, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He didn’t stop thinking about it when he held your broken and bloodied body in his arms—your face drained of any color, your eyes dull and lifeless.

He didn’t stop thinking about it as he tore Audric to shreds after what he did to you. He could still feel the warmth of his blood dripping from his fingers.

He didn’t stop thinking about it when he gave your eulogy, or when he and your loved ones walked to the graveyard.

And he most definitely didn’t stop thinking about it when they lowered your coffin 6 feet into the cold, dark ground.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave your grave—even after everyone left. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, or to mutter any sort of apology for getting you into this mess. For being so careless. For being so damn weak. All he could do was sit in front of your grave, with his face buried in his hands, and sob inconsolably. He’d lost the person he was supposed to protect; his lover, a piece of his soul. And now, he felt incomplete—broken, even. So, all he could do was sit there, and cry until there were no tears left to shed.

Until he heard a familiar coo. A familiar chirp.

A familiar song.

He took his face out of his hands, and looked up; the red, bloody tears still streaming out of his wide eyes. And sure enough, there it was, perched on your headstone:

A Mourning Dove.

Its little body was bathed in beige and light gray hues, its throat and chest puffed out as it sang. And Xanthus watched quietly in disbelief until it was over. He reached his hand out, and the dove perched on his finger. And as soon as the bird made contact, he felt it.

It was you.

You came back to say goodbye to him, one last time.

The dove cooed once more, and flew away—the faint flapping sounds of its wings fading further and further away. He watched as the dove flew toward the sky.

You were finally at peace. You were finally free.

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A/N: Ever since part 8.1–when Xanthus jokes about dying and being reincarnated as a bat, I couldn’t stop thinking about what kind of animal listener would end up being. I really, really love mourning doves, and I’ve always thought that they’d be a good fit for listener.

Masterlist

#zsakuva #sakuverse #xanthus zsakuva #angst I guess?#poor Xanthus #xanthus x reader #xanthus claiborne #zsakuva x reader #zsakuva xanthus

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odasantiago · 21 days

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I ATTEMPTED to try to draw Xanthus for my traitor AU and I didn’t know which one was better so have both (the first fanfic I posted is the Xanthus traitor AU fanfic for context)

#sakuverse #sakuverseart #zsakuva #can you tell I barely draw #can you also tell that this is a port mafia dazai reference #xanthus claiborne #asmr roleplay #I hate my art style

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literary-motif · 2 months

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Prelude in C-Sharp Minor

The piece I had in mind was Rachmaninov's Prelude in C-Sharp Minor.

Xanthus Claiborne x Reader

Xanthus plays the piano to express his emotions. You hear his pain.

Since your mission to take down the Trimedian, Xanthus had been distant.

You brushed it off at first, thinking he needed some time on his own to recover from the shock and the betrayal you knew he must have felt when he saw Audric again. People dealt with trauma in different ways, and while you felt safest wrapped in his arms, you recognized that having spent as much time relying solely on himself to deal with everything might have led Xanthus to need to process things on his own. You didn’t push.

He would come to you if he needed someone to hold on to. He would talk to you if he needed to express his emotions and just vent for a while. He would nuzzle his head into your shoulder and cry if he needed to, wouldn’t he?

Xanthus was always there for you when you woke up screaming from another nightmare or felt tears choking you as you thought back to the mission. He could feel your emotions, so he was next to you in an instant, gathering you into an embrace and making you feel safe, reminding you that it was over, that you were alright, promising he would not let anything happen to you. Never again.

Despite the bond, you had not felt any feeling of terror, anger, or sadness coming from Xanthus. It was almost as if he had blocked you out, stifled his emotions so they would not get to you.

While he tried to put up a cheerful facade around you, his smile never reached his eyes anymore and the faux levity he brought into the thick atmosphere that had appeared in the mansion made you all the more worried for him.

It did not help that his smile always dropped when you turned your back, and no matter how much effort he put into hiding it, the anguish in his ruby eyes could not be concealed.

The soft notes of the piano carried gently through the hallway as you descended the stairs. Xanthus played beautifully, despite insisting that he was severely out of practice and had forgotten a lot of techniques over the decades.

You walked quietly over to the living room, where the grand piano stood in front of the floor-length window. The flames in the open fireplace painted the room in a gentle light, illuminating the sheets Xanthus was reading from. You could not help but admire his form as he sat perched on the piano stool, moving his upper body in tandem with the notes he struck on the keys in Lento.

The melody switched suddenly from feeling like a gentle but tragic autumn breeze to a grave, hurried expression of despair and fear as the tempo picked up. The playing nearly felt chaotic, and it made your heart ache to see the earnestness with which Xanthus conveyed the heaviness of the piece.

To him, it expressed the disarray of his thoughts and feelings.

He had nearly lost you on the mission. He had put you in danger, even though you always reminded him that you had gone willingly, fully understanding the risk you were taking. It did not matter. When you were separated, he had failed to protect you. He had let you down.

He had broken his promise to you.

It kept him up at night, the memory of the fear he had felt and could sometimes still feel coming from you through the bond; the sound of Audric's smooth voice as he taunted him for his affection, his weakness.

The Agitato concluded as Xanthus struck the notes, making you wince at the burning anger you heard in them. They sounded nearly discordant from the force with which he played them.

No matter how loud he played, the echo of Audric's venomous laugh, the sound of your fearful breaths never left his mind.

As the tempo picked up again, Xanthus continued striking the keys, pouring his heart into the forte fortissimo and adding such melancholy and despair into his playing that pesante did not begin to cover the pain you could hear him express.

Tears gathered in your eyes at only being able to guess at the anguish he was going through because Xanthus simply would not talk to you. Maybe he would, in his own time, but only watching and hearing him suffer through everything alone made your heart break regardless. The notes he played on the piano were the only expression of his grief you had been witness to.

The volume decreased slowly, with a few changes of rhythm. Xanthus sighed as he played Lento, the last notes of the piece carrying through the room like a whisper of defeat.

“I can hear your heartbeat, you know,” he whispered into the heavy silence stretching across the room, “It’s quite distracting when I try to keep the rhythm.” Xanthus turned around on the stool, the light of the fireplace reflecting in his eyes and painting his face in a warm glow.

You could see the gravity the gaze levelled at you and came closer, brushing your hand along his cheek in a gentle caress. “You play beautifully,” you told him, bending down to place a tender kiss against his lips.

Xanthus hummed into the kiss, a small smile appearing on his face as you broke apart. “I have you to be my muse, love,” he said, placing his hand over yours to pepper soft kisses against your palm.

“It was rather heavy, though.”

“Rachmaninov told a suffocating tale in it, yes,” Xanthus conceded, standing up to guide you to the sofa facing the fireplace. “That doesn’t make it any less of a masterpiece. The tragedy and despair conveyed so candidly— they make it one of the most emotional pieces I have ever played.”

You took hold of his hands, beginning to play with his fingers and rubbing your thumbs against his joints. A pianist's hands ached after playing difficult pieces, you had read somewhere. “You know I’m here if you need me, right?” you asked quietly, looking him in the eyes.

His gaze softened as he leaned over to kiss you again. “I know, love,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, “Thank you.”

The two of you stayed cuddled together for the rest of the evening, gazing into the flames.

“Why don’t you play Liszt’s Campanella next time?” you teased after a while, raising one of his hands to your lips.

“Very funny, love.”

#sakuverse #zsakuva #xanthus claiborne #xanthus x reader #xanthus claiborne x reader

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beeblelady · 2 months

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The Crumpets Assembling the Best Boyfriends in the Sakuverse ♡＼(´▽ `)ノ♡

Kayson ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

Isaac (*´ ˘ `*)

Andrew ♡⁺◟(●˙▾˙●)◞⁺♡

Elias (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*。

Xanthus ＼(´ ∇`)ノ

Not Gonna Happen Alex! (#￢_￢)

#zsakuva #sakuverse #andrew marston #isaac rhoades #kayson #Elias #xanthus claiborne #Alex

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zsakuva · 3 days

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Helloooo

Okay so I need some ideas, how would Dontis react if Xanthus was a traitor in some form (like working for the trimidian) or how would Xanthus and Dontis react to love if THEY were a traitor? (Can you tell that I’m obsessed with traitor AU’s)

AUs in particular are rather hard to imagine because it's not in their character to do that. Xanthus would never work for the Trimedian so I don't know.

If Love did then Xanthus would just kill them.

#zsakuva #sakuverse #xanthus claiborne

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xzhdjsj · 1 month

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Since we're talking abt fighting rn, here's

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

How'd they'd react if you got into a fight

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

♡ Xanthus

♡ Andrew

♡ Isaac

♡ Elias

♡ Jonah

♡ Kayson

♡ Zaros

♡ Azirel

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Man I love making these so muchhh‼️‼️

I hope you guys like them too muah😘💕

#zsakuva #sakuverse #asmr #xanthus #xanthus claiborne #andrew #andrew marston #isaac #isaac rhoades #elias #jonah #kayson #zaros #azirel

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chol1na · 3 months

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If you could pick one character to spend the rest of your life with, who would it be and why? Other than Alex ofcourse, he’s a give 😌😗

anonie, you and i vibe:) there’s a special place in hell for people like alex <3

this is a terribly difficult choice… i think i’d have to say either xanny or isaac? my first instinct was actually elias because he likes stars and like same (otherwise i wouldn’t put myself through the hell that is 3 accelerated math classes in one semester rip), but i’m still convinced we’re not being 100% transparent with him and i’m scared haha. then i thought of andrew cause who doesn’t love an intellect nomnom.

i think what i value a lot about lawrence and isaac is their loyalty and honesty. they don’t take advantage of listener? take isaac for example, at the beginning, listener is completely at his mercy. he could’ve done anything. he could’ve not payed them, he could’ve taken advantage of them in whatever way he wanted, heck- he could’ve left them to die and saved himself the hassle. even throughout his story, when he struggles with his feelings for them, he never puts them in harms way. the same can be said for our little leech; he’s not fond of “fates” and the idea of a seemingly irrational bond, and yet he’s still there for listener unconditionally. they’re both protective (see: meeting with vic. killing of yandere boy. etc) and just overall green flags? for the most part-. my final point would probably be that they’re both willing to communicate (unlike a certain someone…). eventhough they both have tremendous amounts of baggage, they want to make it work, they care enough to not only put in the effort, but actually follow through on their promises (see: isaac warming up to letting pickle out of the house).

n e ways, tldr:

final answer: isaac and lawrence

honorable mentions: elias and andrew

#lina rambles ‧₊˚✩彡 #anonie 🤍#alex hate club 🫶🏻#alex zsakuva #zsakuva x reader #zsaku x reader #isaac rhoades #Isaac #Andrew #andrew marston #Elias #xanthus #xanthus claiborne #Lawrence #Lawrence claiborne

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vasiliascrow · 3 months

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“How Terrible It Is To Be Loved By Something That Death Could Touch”

He lays on the bed that you used to sleep on. An ache that lingers in his chest simply holds him down, making him unable to remove himself from it. your bed. He holds onto the bedding so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He refuses to let go of the last remnant of you. Your scent. God how he misses how you smell . All he can think of is the times you would lie in bed together, how peaceful you’d look as you rested. The memory of your presence makes him realize just how much comfort he got from it in the wake of your absence.

He looks worn, absolutely frayed. worn. His skin, which used to be oh so bright and beautiful, has now become a dulled muted tone that no longer holds onto his natural beauty. His body, which was one of great strength, has now become a weakened, frail frame of what used to be such a powerful entity. It’s been months since he last fed; he isn’t able to bring himself to feed from another. They all taste bitter and stale. An absolutely horrid taste lingers in his mouth from his last attempt causing a wave of disgust to wash over his body. God how he misses how you taste. Now here he is , lying in what used to be your bed, unable to bring himself to leave the room Even the thought makes him afraid that if he does, what’s left of your scent will be long gone and lost.

After the…god he can’t even speak of it himself, Dontis decided to return to the house of Xanthus. The losses they all suffered that day are a constant thought in his mind and haunts him daily. Dontis makes his way to the house speaking softly as he enters.

“Xanthus?” His voice echoes through the entryway as he walks through the front door. Only the silence of the house returns his greeting, causing some worry to creep in to him. He gently shuts and locks the door before making his way through the house in search of this friend. After making his way up to the second floor, a sigh escapes his mouth as he realizes where his friend has been hiding away all this time.

A gentle knock taps at the edges of Xanthus’s senses, along with Dontis’s sweet-toned voice.

“Xanny? I’m coming in,'' he consoles as he slowly pushes the door open and peaks through it, looking for the vampire. The sight of him lying on the bed causes concern to fall heavy on his face as he takes in the state of the lad. He steps into the bedroom and closes the bedroom door before making his way to the side of the bed where Xanthus lays.

Dontis gently caresses Xanthus’s cheek with his fingers, muttering softly. “Oh Xanthus..what’s become of you?” Concern and worry laces his tongue as he continues to stroke his dear friend’s cheek.

Xanthus's ears perk at the sound of his friend's voice, the familiar accent doing little to soothe his despair. He turns to look at him, his face drowning with grief. His eyes are bloodshot and dark bags hang heavy below his crimson irises; the colour of them seeming to lack any life at all.. Dead.

“Dontis..I-“ His eyes fill with tears that threaten to fall at the slightest movement. At a loss for words, he struggles to bring to life what has been racking his mind all this time. Dontis takes this opportunity to speak,

“Shhh shhh..it’s alright.” He coos as he sits on a chair beside the bed, not wanting to sit on the mattress knowing the vampire holds such high importance to it and he doesn’t want to overstep. He ushers Xanthus into his arms, embracing the vampire and trying to provide him comfort. He tightens his arms around the vampire's frail frame carefully. It feels like one wrong move and his dear friend’s delicate form will crack.

“I know. I know Xanny.” He mumbles, holding onto his friend securely.

Xanthus’s eyes finally begin to let his tears fall as he submits to the Incubus’s embrace. His body shakes with his sobs and his knuckles turn white with the strength of the grip he has on his friend’s shirt.

“I- I can’t live like this..Dontis I can’t.” He chokes out with heavy breaths. Dontis’s eyes soften at the sound of the vampire's voice; god when did it get so hoarse?

“When did you last feed?” He asks with concern and turns his face to look at the vampire.

A small sigh escapes Xanthus’s lips and he sucks in a small breath before answering.

“Months..Dontis.” He utters, leaning his head against his shoulder.

“Xanny… “ Dontis admonishes. “No wonder you are in this condition. I..I should have come back sooner..” his hand gently caresses Xanthus’s cheek as she speaks. The Incubus’s eyes assess the condition of the vampire’s once bright and happy face, now wet with tears, and his concern increases.

“Xanthus..how long have you been here? In this bed.”

Xanthus’s eyes grow heavier and he mutters his response. “Since I returned. This room..was theirs. I can’t leave it. Their scent.”

“Come now..you can’t rot in here. Look at you..” Dontis pleads and urges him to get out of bed, the guilt flooding him at the sight of his dear friend in this condition.

Xanthus’s body goes rigid in his hold, the thought of leaving the bedroom causing his breath to turn to ice in his lungs. No power on this plane or any other can rip him from the last remaining piece he has of his bonded lover.

“I- I can’t Dontis no.” He whispers.

Dontis leans back slightly, putting some space between them and gently places a hand on Xanthus’s cheek, wiping a tear away as it falls.

“I know you can. You must. They wouldn’t want this to become of you.” He pleads gently, struggling to keep his own voice steady. Releasing Xanthus from his hold, Dontis moves to stand beside the bed and extends his hand to help the vampire up. “Up you get now” he urges firmly.

Xanthus scowls slightly as he places his hand in his and slowly stands, his legs begin to shake from the effort. His grip on Dontis tightens while he steadies himself.

“Well done,” Dontis praises in a gentle voice and leads him to the bathroom.

“Come, let’s freshen you up now? Hmm?” He says with a soft grin on his face

Xanthus follows without uttering a single word, letting him lead the way and do as he pleases. Dontis stops in front of the shower and turns toward him.

“Shower. It will make you feel better to wash away what’s resting on your shoulders.” Dontis gently pats the smaller man’s shoulder and leaves the room to give Xanthus privacy.

———————『✩ 🕯️☾༺♰༻☽🕯️✩』————————

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔴

Authors note ;

It’s been fun writing this out, and I apologize for how long it’s taken me to rewrite it how I originally intended. I’ve been dealing with some stuff and the weight of those burdens got quite heavy upon my shoulders.

I hope the wait is well worth it, and I Thank you for taking the time to read it, and even supporting me & my writing.

A big thank you to my Beta reader, & friend for helping me with this. You’ve done more than you could imagine. (Thank you for correcting my terrible English smh 🤦🏻‍♂️ <3)

#Spotify #fanfic #ao3 #zsakuva #my writing #update #hurt/comfort #they’re friends #i love angst #xanthus #xanthus claiborne #angst #god i love angst

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aestheticpearl · 4 months

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— can’t catch me now

[𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫] xanthus claiborne

a/n: just a heads up this is not written like my usual fan fictions <3

a cold numbness spreads through xanthus’ body as he watches the scene in front of him unfold. the lifeless body of his lover lays on the floor in front of him. their blood pools around them as xanthus looks up to the assailant with eyes that pierce through their soul. what happens next xanthus can barely remember, the room is flooded with painful screams as they plead for mercy but in the end he now stands over two bodies, covered in blood that is not his. the warmth of his lover has faded and is now only a distant memory. he cradles their corpse in his arms and lets out a wail of grief he didn’t know he had in him.

the next few years tick by agonizingly. the empty feeling hasn’t left him since that faithful day. the hole that his lover left feels as though it grows deeper with each passing month. he sees them everywhere in the little things humans do that resemble them when they were still among the living. it’s always the smallest thing, like the way someone in the distances laughs or a passing smell of a perfume/cologne they had used. their presence lingers in xanthus’ mind always, they’re stuck in his memory.

every person he feeds from leaves a sour taste in his mouth, for in his mind it is not the same. he is drinking to live but before he was once drinking because he loved. each taste is bittersweet and unfamiliar.

‘it’s not fair.’

xanthus thinks to himself as he stares down at passed out body of his latest victim. he wonders why he wasn’t strong enough to defend the love of his painfully immortal life. every waking moment he exists, he is haunted by the ghost of what could’ve been.

xanthus drowns himself in sleepless nights with nameless people trying to feel what he felt before but to no avail. the emptiness is never filled, he remains hollow and feels like a half of him is missing, the better half of him.

unfinished paintings litter the floor of xanthus’ home, all portraits of his deceased lover and each one is painted slightly differently then the one before it. the details of their face are fading in the memory that xanthus was once so proud of. it hurts to slowly forget someone that he once loved. he regrets not taking more photos over them when he had the chance.

he picks up a blank canvas and his brushes to begin on another painting of the face that he once kissed with his own lips. he starts painting the only face of yours that his burned in his memory, unfortunately for him it’s a face that wasn’t living. after only a few hours he stands back from his work and lets his eyes drink in what he has created.

if no one knew the story behind the painting they might say it’s the most beautiful piece they’ve ever seen, but xanthus refuses to let anyone other than him see the worst image he has in his memory. he knows that only he should be the one to live with the pain, since he believes it is his fault for the death of his partner.

hot tears stream down his face as xanthus bares his teeth in anger. he throws the painting across the room in a fit of rage and collapses on the floor in a broken mess.

‘they are gone because i wasn’t fast enough. i was careless.’

the painting lays broken in a mess across from an open window, the draft it creates carries the smell of fresh paint throughout the large building. the moon’s glow floods the rooms and creates a makeshift spotlight on the destroyed painting, which draws xanthus’ attention away from his pity party.

the wet paint glistens in the pale moonlight until a shadow appears on the windowsill, the shadow of a small bird. xanthus looks at it quizzically and carefully shifts to move closer, worried that the bird might flee at the sudden movement, but it doesn’t. the bird remains on the sill even as xanthus looks over it, in fact it even looks up at him to chirp happily.

without even realizing xanthus extends his finger for the bird to perch itself on and it does so with hesitation. he’s confused about this little fearless bird, birds are the definition of fight or flight and yet this one chooses neither.

‘could it be?’

xanthus’ mind fills with delusional hope for in the back of his mind he knows it couldn’t be possible, yet he has no idea why this bird is not afraid; maybe it’s because they never were.

the bird chirps once more almost as if to say goodbye before flying back out of the open window. the moon shines off its wings and xanthus watches as it goes. maybe someday he’ll be with you again, flying together above the trees in the moonlight.

please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

i get so many requests about the listener dying so i was like i wonder what xanthus would do with himself after?

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

#zsakuva #sakuverse #zsakuva xanthus claiborne #zsakuva xanthus #zsaku xanthus #xanthus claiborne fan fic #xanthus claiborne x love #xanthus x love #xanthus fan fic #xanthus claiborne #xanthus #vampire boyfriend #audio rp #audio roleplay

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