all that's left of us.

DYING HAS NEVER FRIGHTENED ME.

[morniingstars]

carrd ( rules & bio ) verses & bonds are wip . // promo .

morniingstars : a portrayal of trevor belmont, lone wanderer in exile, last son of the house of belmont, slayer of monsters, both human and otherwise. centering themes of legacy, rising from the ashes, long roads & impossible odds, and finding a purpose to fight for, whether you're looking for one or not.

hey! this is an independent and mutuals-only blog for trevor belmont from netflix's castlevania. this blog is run by eska. I use he/him pronouns and I am 30 years old. my portrayal is based on show canon, with headcanon aspects woven in. Very OC and crossover friendly!

main blog roll:

@daviinos ; julien davinos of critical role campaign 4 @r3loaded ; genjo sanzo of saiyuki

side blog roll:

@talespiinning ; d&d multimuse, mostly OCs @moonfalliing ; multifandom mulitmuse

[morniingstars]

// oof it’s been a minute but I’m gonna try to be here again! I miss writing my man

[morniingstars]

( src. / src. ) blending 03. brings them food and water and watches to ensure they eat. from the (caring) action prompt & questions prompt “ Have you eaten yet? ”! / @vvindicated

Trevor can’t recall the last time he ate a proper meal. Days, maybe weeks— he eats scraps, for the most part. One coin doesn’t get a man much these days— an apple, a bit of dried meat, maybe a loaf of bread if he’s lucky. He’s rarely lucky, and his drinking habits seldom leave him with anything more to spend.

Besides, the longer he spends in one place doing anything but sinking into the shadows of the nearest corner (and deeper into his cups), the worse off he inevitably is. His family crest is no less recognizable now than it was before he and his family were brought to ruin, believed to go hand in hand with the monsters that hunt the good and the faithful in the dark. It weighs heavy on his back and over his heart, threatening him with yet another pointless fight in the near and inevitable future. One slip and someone is sure to notice.

Not wearing it is out of the question, though. Trevor is the last man alive who can carry it, and it should be carried— even if it has to be by someone like him.

When the plate of food and cup of water land against the table in front of him, his first instinct is to tense and brace. Someone’s caught me again, he thinks through the beginnings of a tipsy haze. Didn’t take long, this time. I’ve not even finished my third drink.

Trevor is expecting a fist to come flying towards his face any moment now, or for rough hands to hoist him from his seat to throw him out. He can taste the bitter vitriol of some insult or another loaded up on his tongue, ready for him to spit between grinning teeth—

But the only thing that follows is a question, spoken in a voice that is just a touch too familiar. Trevor’s head shoots up, quick and sharp like he really was struck instead, eyes following the voice to its source.

The man standing beside his table wears the face of someone from a lifetime ago, back when things were good. Trevor feels nine years old again, bored to death at the nameday celebration of the head of House Clairmont. Thanks to being barred by his father from participating in work-related discussions between the two families of monster hunters, he had little to do but wait to go home— until an older boy took notice of him and started showing him tricks with his weapons. He remembers the awe, the exhilaration— he remembers swearing that next time, he’d impress the older boy instead.

He remembers when there were no more ‘next times’, and he remembers hearing years later in a tavern much like this one that House Clairmont had gone the same way as House Belmont.

Good riddance, the people said.

Trevor drank a beer to their memory in silence, hoping in spite of himself that whatever end met Gawain Clairmont was swift and painless.

Apparently not, since Gawain is standing here asking him if he’s eaten yet. That face is older than he remembers it— not a ghost or some kind of dream, then. Trevor wonders if he recognizes him. Probably not. Last time they met, he was what…? Eleven? Twelve? Something like that. Trevor hardly recognizes himself these days.

The crest, then, most likely. Out of everyone to catch a glimpse of it, there are certainly worse options.

“…Can’t say I have.” Trevor finds his voice, faltering and half strangled in his throat. He clears it, lowering his eyes to survey the food that Gawain sat down in front of him. He exhales something too heavy to be a proper laugh and nods towards the seat across the table from him. “This for me, then? Sit down, if you want, and we can share. I can’t pay you back for it, but I... I am glad to see you, so…”

[morniingstars]

( src. ) “ Where did you come from? ” / oh trevor 👁️👁️how we adore you also hiii / @sh4rship

“Bit of a broad question, that…” Trevor shrugs his shoulders, looping the length of his whip back around the hook at his belt. The remains of some sort of mephit or another lie in the path between himself and the stranger, cleaved in half and slowly crumbling into ashes where his strike landed.

Not bad, considering he can barely see straight.

Mephits attack in packs, though. Maybe, the thing had friends around before he showed up, and this woman took care of them. She looks capable enough. Or, maybe the rest are still to come, lurking around nearby.

Nothing he couldn’t deal with on his own, if needed, before finding himself a spot for the night.

He shakes his head, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes in an attempt to clear the alcoholic swimming of his vision. “Just now, I came from the tavern in the village— little ways that direction.”

He points over his shoulder in the direction behind him. “Just looking for a tree to pass out under. Clearly, you had this all covered on your own but, you and your friend here just happened to be in the way, so…figured I could hurry it up."

"You hurt? If not, you should head on to…wherever it is you’re going. It’s likely there’re more around here.”

[raesource]

questions only sentence starters

if you are sending to a multi-muse, remember to specify the muse that the sentence starters are being sent for .

who . . .

“ Who are you? ”

“ Who do you serve? ”

“ Who taught you that? ”

“ Who’s really in control here? ”

“ Who are you running from? ”

“ Who did this to you? ”

“ Who’s coming for us? ”

“ Who do you think I am? ”

“ Who else knows about this? ”

“ Who are you trying to protect? ”

what . . .

“ What are you? ”

“ What do you want from me? ”

“ What are you hiding? ”

“ What were you planning to do? ”

“ What just happened? ”

“ What did you see back there? ”

“ What did you promise them? ”

“ What happens if I don’t let you go? ”

“ What are the rules I’m not supposed to break? ”

“ What happens after the portal closes? ”

where . . .

“ Where did you come from? ”

“ Where are we? ”

“ Where are you going? ”

“ Where were you when it happened? ”

“ Where does this path lead? ”

“ Where did you get that scar? ”

“ Where is everyone else? ”

“ Where should I stand? ”

“ Where did you put the body? ”

“ Where were you hiding all this time? ”

when . . .

“ When did this start? ”

“ When were you going to tell me? ”

“ When was the last time you felt safe? ”

“ When do we leave? ”

“ When did you stop trusting me? ”

“ When does this end? ”

“ When did you realise the truth? ”

“ When do things go wrong? ”

“ When did you choose this path? ”

“ When will you look at me and be honest? ”

how . . .

“ How long have you been watching me? ”

“ How did you survive? ”

“ How much do you remember? ”

“ How are you this calm right now? ”

“ How bad is it? ”

“ How did you know my name? ”

“ How far are you willing to go? ”

“ How many lies have you told me? ”

“ How do you live with this? ”

“ How are we supposed to fix this? ”

are . . .

“ Are you human? ”

“ Are you okay? ”

“ Are you lying to me right now? ”

“ Are you scared? ”

“ Are you tired? ”

“ Are you hiding something? ”

“ Are you bound by oath or by magic? ”

“ Are you trying to start a fight? ”

“ Are you always this dramatic? ”

“ Are you going to explain or just stare? ”

do . . .

“ Do you trust me? ”

“ Do you remember your name? ”

“ Do you remember me? ”

“ Do you miss them? ”

“ Do you always talk this much? ”

“ Do you have any idea what you just did? ”

“ Do you ever sleep? ”

“ Do you want me to stay? ”

“ Do you think I’m stupid? ”

“ Do you believe in fate? ”

have . . .

“ Have you eaten yet? ”

“ Have we met before? ”

“ Have you been here long? ”

“ Have you done this before? ”

“ Have you ever killed someone? ”

“ Have you been lying to me? ”

“ Have you lost anyone? ”

“ Have you forgiven yourself? ”

“ Have you always been like this? ”

“ Have you already chosen a side? ”

is . . .

“ Is this place real? ”

“ Is something bothering you? ”

“ Is that weapon even legal here? ”

“ Is this your idea of a joke? ”

“ Is this your way of flirting? ”

“ Is someone watching us? ”

“ Is it supposed to hurt like this? ”

“ Is there a way out? ”

“ Is this what you wanted? ”

“ Is it too late to turn back? ”

can . . .

“ Can I ask you a weird question? ”

“ Can you hear that? ”

“ Can I trust you? ”

“ Can you keep a secret? ”

“ Can we slow down? ”

“ Can you help me bury a body? ”

“ Can you look at me? ”

“ Can we talk about what happened? ”

“ Can you stop pretending? ”

“ Can you promise me something? ”

will . . .

“ Will you stay with me? ”

“ Will you tell me the truth? ”

“ Will this ever end? ”

“ Will you protect me? ”

“ Will they come back for us? ”

“ Will you remember me? ”

“ Will you choose a side? ”

“ Will you regret this? ”

“ Will you still look at me the same way? ”

“ Will you stop me if I’m wrong? ”

should . . .

“ Should I be worried? ”

“ Should we be running? ”

“ Should I follow you? ”

“ Should I be afraid of you? ”

“ Should we pretend this never happened? ”

“ Should I stay or go? ”

“ Should I believe you? ”

“ Should I be honest with you? ”

“ Should we trust them? ”

“ Should I have come here? ”

would . . .

“ Would you do it again? ”

“ Would you lie to protect me? ”

“ Would this have been different if I had stayed? ”

“ Would you really let me die? ”

“ Would you have saved them instead? ”

“ Would you still care if you knew the truth? ”

“ Would you leave if I asked? ”

“ Would this hurt less if I understood? ”

“ Would you forgive me? ”

“ Would you choose me this time? ”

could . . .

“ Could you survive without me? ”

“ Could this world exist without you? ”

“ Could this get any worse? ”

“ Could you teach me how to do that? ”

“ Could you be wrong? ”

“ Could you be lying to yourself? ”

“ Could you forgive them? ”

“ Could this be a trap? ”

“ Could you handle the truth if I told you? ”

“ Could you live with the consequences? ”

[morniingstars]

ooc. // okay heyyyy i finished the bio section of trevor's carrd and also i have written out my verse descriptions for trevor's c.rc4 au and his w.itch hat at.elier au. and now i lay down lol

[morniingstars]

WHICH TWO GREEK GODS ARE YOUR PARENTS?

Atlas & Demeter

Oh, sweet child of penance and harvest! Your father eternally holds up the skies, and your mother the sacred watcher of life and death. A life of greatness stands before you dictated by endurance, adaptability, and change. No man can tell you what realm you preside over, but look to themes of famine and torpor as you grow into your power.

tagged by: @frcmscratch ( THANK YOU!!! )

tagging: you!! if you see it and want to do it then pls feel free to consider me tagging you.

[morniingstars]

15 & 25!!

( src. / accepting )

15. do you prefer writing in silence or with background noise?

it honestly depends on how much my audhd decides to work with me on the day, but USUALLY, i prefer to write with a character's playlist i made on in the background. sometimes i'll just let it play, sometimes i'll hit one song that just sparks the correct vibe and lets the wires work in my brain for the scene and i'll put it on repeat forrrrr. usually at least an hour lmfao. but sometimes i'll be in a state where if there is even one single bit of outside stimuli, i will not be able to think of a single word. if i want to get anything done on those days, i have to write in silence, put my phone across the room, even take my headphones off sometimes because even the sensation of them being on my head is too much.

thanks to this factor, i also cannot write at all while talking to someone or even while i'm in a room or call with someone, even if they're completely silent. i have to strike the exact right balance of stimulation and distraction djhfgjhsdgf

25. what’s your guilty pleasure genre to write in rp?

hmmm i think probably the only genre i could qualify for this is how much i love making aus for my muses for other media! i love writing them within their canon universes a LOT but i also just always have a soft spot for thinking up how i could fit them into another one.

if we lift the genre restriction, i have some particular things that i get a little giddy about to myself whenever i get to explore them in writing, but they depend on the muse.

for trevor, i really love getting to write him being called to action, ykwim. i love throwing him into situations where he gets roped into being involved and attached to others, and can't get himself to just ignore them. i like disrupting his self-destructive 'peace' and also his normal peace. I like putting him in circumstances and setting him up with muses who challenge him to be better dhjfgjhsdgf

and for julien, i lowkey delight whenever i get to write him baring his teeth. i like the moments where i get to explore his sharpness, his bitterness, the polished cruelty he shields himself with. i like when i get to write him being A Little Bit of a Bitch dshjfghdsjgf.

this isn't at all to say that i don't like things other than this as much but every time these things come up in writing i clap my hands a little to myself like it's a little treat for me dsjhfgjhsdfgd

OVERALL i think my most 'guilty pleasure' thing i love writing is personal conflicts and complication. i love when things dont go smoothly and have to develop slowly and in jagged, uncertain patterns. I LOVE when things aren't easy, but build into something so worthwhile.

[morniingstars]

10. do you have a go-to “warm up” activity before writing?

10. do you have a go-to “warm up” activity before writing? ( src. / accepting )

oh absolutely i do. my writing process relies really heavily on music, first and foremost. i make character playlists for every muse i write and when it comes to "warming up", it always starts with me listening to a couple songs on the related playlist haha

depending on how easy it is to get my brain to focus on writing on the given day, this can be one or two songs or like half an hour of music so if you're ever wondering what takes me so long. that definitely contributes.

but once i'm in the groove of writing brain, i like to get started by kind of building the scene in my mind. what does the setting look like, where are the muses within it, what can my character notice or interact with. and then in terms of dialogue, i tend to test out some variations of my muse's lines out loud to see what sounds the best. i do a similar thing with modeling/testing body language cues or facial expressions to figure out how best to convey a certain thing.

it definitely sounds like there's a lot of like. minutiae involved. when i write it all out like this lol, but mostly it's like an on-going kind of "warm up" that i need to do to keep myself in the moment of the scene and write something that hopefully feels??? right???? idk jhdfghdsg

[cryptinspo]

–  𝗨𝗡𝗨𝗦𝗨𝗔𝗟  𝗠𝗨𝗡  𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦  !   a  list  of  questions  for  the  muns  that  are  rarely  asked

what’s a small writing quirk you have that no one would notice unless you told them?

have you ever accidentally given a muse a trait from yourself without realizing it?

what’s the weirdest real-life inspiration you’ve ever used for a muse or scene?

do you write your drafts in order or jump around?

what’s a song you’ve overplayed while writing but still love?

what’s your “comfort trope” that you always fall back on?

do you ever write replies in your head while away from your device?

what’s a piece of advice you’d give to your past self as a roleplayer?

what’s the most unhinged late-night idea you’ve ever actually written?

do you have a go-to “warm up” activity before writing?

what’s your biggest muse-killer?

have you ever completely rewritten a reply before posting it?

do you tend to write long or short replies without thinking about it?

what’s a detail you always try to slip into your writing?

do you prefer writing in silence or with background noise?

what’s the most emotionally intense thread you’ve ever written?

do you keep old drafts/threads or delete them?

what’s your weirdest ritual for getting into the zone?

have you ever made a playlist for a single scene?

what’s the most surprising compliment you’ve gotten about your writing?

do you have a muse you’ve never shown publicly?

what’s a piece of media that permanently changed how you write?

do you keep “secret” headcanons just for yourself?

have you ever written a reply you didn’t like but posted anyway?

what’s your guilty pleasure genre to write in rp?

[nyxshadowhawk]

By LilBluuBird

[morniingstars]

#morniingstars : lone wanderer in exile, last son of the house of belmont, slayer of monsters, both human and otherwise. centering themes of legacy, rising from the ashes, long roads & impossible odds, and finding a purpose to fight for, whether you're looking for one or not.

carrd. // promo template credit.

[handmethekeys]

Trevor: “Sypha, do you have my back?”

Sypha: “Always.”

[morniingstars]

this is it.

[morniingstars]

(src.) 04. looking at receiver in long silence before looking away. @inateliiers / alucard.

Returning to the Belmont Hold for the first time since a childhood long dead had carried with it a twisted mass of feelings which, at the time, Trevor felt no desire to unravel. Bigger more important things on the horizon, and all— far more tangible than some old ghosts. It was like stepping into a memory, though; every corner perfectly preserved from the mind of the little boy he was when he’d first wandered these stacks.

The shelves didn’t seem as tall, the skulls and bones didn’t seem as big, but they were all right where his parents had left them. There were moments, in the warm light cast by Sypha’s fire in the lanterns, where Trevor almost felt like he’d fallen backwards in time. The only real difference, before he’d found the Morning Star in its hole in the wall, was the near decade of collected dust that had fallen like a shroud over all that was left of the House of Belmont.

And the fact that he was alone, of course.

…No, maybe not alone. Without the loving parents who had led him down here all those years ago, certainly, but not alone. One more thing to tangle its threads into the rest of the pit that formed in his chest.

Now, it’s almost nothing like he remembers it. Oh, everything is preserved— impeccably cared for, even, but it’s like the Hold has become some grand new thing. The debris from the brief battle that nearly collapsed the place is nowhere to be seen, and though the stairs to and from the surface remain nonexistent, a lift had been made to replace them. The old lanterns are gone from the inside— exchanged for lightning lamps; illumination controlled by the flip of a switch. A piece of the very same vampire technology that makes the castle above a scientific marvel.

And to top it all off, the Hold is full of people. The people of the Village of Belmont.

Trevor passes them by as he wanders his way through books and displays, not a speck of dust to be seen. He’s beginning to recognize their faces, learn their names. Someone greets him with a smile and he nods back, barely thinking twice.

He trails his fingers along the spines of old tomes as he limps his way past them, still having to steady himself on a crutch to keep his aching muscles and various injuries from betraying him and crumpling him to the floor. His thumb catches briefly on a carved notch on the edge of a low shelf and he remembers having to reach up to carve it, but can’t for the life of him remember what he was trying to draw at the time.

All the collected knowledge of his family is still here, all that’s left of them, but instead of rotting away in the dark, it’s in the hands of people who will use it to protect this place— this home they’ve built in the wreckage of two others.

This time, he’s returned and everything has changed— but that’s a good thing. Something new has been built from it, and here he is; enough of a lucky bastard to be able to see it.

He knows who to thank for it, too.

Taking a break to lean his back against the repaired railing on one of the elevated bridges connecting the upper levels of the Hold, Trevor catches luminous gold in his periphery, gleaming in the cool illumination of the lightning lamps. It’s not as if Alucard has been following him around, per say— at least, not to his knowledge— but it wouldn’t surprise Trevor one bit if the man had been keeping an eye on him, whether taking the responsibility upon himself or being persuaded to do so by Sypha. Admittedly, Trevor has seen better days than those of his recovery thus far, but a bit of a walk-about won’t kill him.

This seems a bit different, though. Surely by now, something about ‘you should be resting’ would have been said if that were the case. But, from what he can tell from this angle, Alucard is just…looking. Trevor waits, counting the seconds in his head as the moment stretches on.

The figure in the corner of his gaze never moves— not until Trevor turns his head to get a better look. Their eyes meet for a blink, colliding and confirming what he’d suspected, and then Alucard is turning to look elsewhere— casually, naturally, with all the smooth grace that seems to shape his every damn move.

Trevor could let it be, of course. But why should he?

Pushing himself off the railing, he makes his way across the bridge and into the shadow of the Dhampir’s chosen bookshelf.

“Morning, Alucard. Looking for something?” He crowds into his space, making a show of getting a look at whatever book Alucard’s eyes have landed on in the aftermath of being noticed.

“Someone’s been busy down here.” He inclines his head to indicate the lift as it rises, carrying villagers back up to the surface. “Didn’t expect you to like the place enough to renovate. Not that you’ll catch me complaining, I mean, it’s…”

Trevor raises a hand, patterned with jagged red scarring ( those will probably never fade, considering what left them ), and gestures vaguely.

“It’s nice. Fitting, considering what you decided to name the place.”

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 . ( a collection of lyric prompts based on various works by florence + the machine . adjust phrasing as necessary , will likely be updated in the future . )

it's always darkest before the dawn .

we will find new saints to be canonized .

holy water cannot help you now .

the horses are coming , so you'd better run .

i never felt so alive and so dead .

i'm damned if i do , i'm damned if i don't .

i've always been in love with you .

what has been done cannot be undone .

i don't care whether i live or die .

we will never be afraid again .

i feel nervous in a way that can't be named .

it was so far a fall , but it didn't hurt at all .

the saints can't help me now .

i want to find you and tear out all of your tenderness .

sooner or later , the things you love , you lose .

run fast for your mother , run fast for your father .

i like to think , at least , things can't get any worse .

i would give all this and heaven too .

i was in the darkness , so darkness i became .

all my stumbling phrases never amounted to anything worth this feeling .

in order to get to the heart of things , sometimes you have to cut through .

i'll be dead before the day is done .

time after time , i think "oh lord , what's the use ?"

the heart is hard to translate , it has a language of its own .

it was all so strange and so surreal .

i'm not here looking for absolution .

now and then , it seems that life is just too much .

be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers .

if you could only see the beast you've made of me .

pretty little face stopped me in my tracks .

i'm aching to attack .

you want a revelation , some kind of resolution .

it's so easy to say it to a crowd , but it's so hard to say it to you aloud .

i don't want your heart , it leaves me cold .

i am no mother , i am no bride , i am king .

she's a cruel mistress , and a bargain must be made .

well , me and my ghosts had a hell of a time .

with all my education i can't seem to command my heart .

it's a conversation i just can't have tonight .

you left me in the dark . no dawn , no day .

jesus christ , it hurts .

a woman is a changeling , always shifting shape .

the very thing you're best at is the thing that hurts the most .

i'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry .

i knew that somehow , i could find my way back .

a thousand armies couldn't keep me out .

i'm ready to suffer and i'm ready to hope .

you've got the love i need to see me through .

is this how it is ? is this how it's always been ?

you keep me up at night .

oh , tell me it's not over yet .

no walls can keep me protected .

i'm going out , i'm gonna drink myself to death .

time goes quicker between the two of us .

would you leave me if i told you what i'd done ?

now , there's no holding back .

oh god , you're gonna get it .

you need your rotten heart and dazzling pain like diamond rings .

in the dark , i can hear your heartbeat .

i never knew my killer would be coming from within .

i was never as good as i always thought i was , but i knew how to dress it up .

don't forget me when i let the water take me .

this world is a beast of a burden .

you know i still like you the most .

what a thing to admit .

sometimes i think it's getting better , then it gets much worse .

i'm on fire , but i'm trying not to show it .

you are the space in my bed .

would you have it any other way ?

things go wrong , no matter what i do .

you make a fool of death with your beauty .

now she sleeps with one eye open , and that's the price she'll pay .

they were there when i woke up this morning .

heaven help me , i need to make it right .

until i wrap myself inside your arms , i cannot rest .

when someone looks at me with real love , i don't like it very much .

would you leave me if i told you what i've become ?

i'm always running from something .

it's good to be alive , crying into cereal at midnight .

okay , but let's discuss this at the hospital .

i know everybody lets you down , and i'll do the same .

your heart is the only place i can call home .

i wish to remain nameless , and live without shame .

sometimes i feel like saying "lord , i just don't care" .

i would put my words into poetry for you if i knew how .

if they ever let me out , i'm really gonna let it out .

but know , in some way , i'm there with you .

i've been wandering the streets for days .

don't let them get you down , you're the best thing i've ever seen .

how could anything bad ever happen to you ?

you couldn't have it any other way .

it's the only way i can escape .

what a place to come from .

little did you know your home's really only a town you're just a guest in .

run for your children , for your sisters and brothers .

you can't choose what stays and what fades away .

you'll be sorry that you messed with us .

call me when you need me .

although we stick together , it seems we're stranging each other .

this is as good a place to fall as any .

in your place there were a thousand other faces .

here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope .

lay me down , let the only sound be the overflow .

there's no salvation for me now .

i'd do anything to make you stay .

what's in a name ? i still remain the same .

i've been taking chances , i've been setting myself up for the fall .

tell me what you want me to say .

you are the silence in between what i thought and what i said .

i've been a fool , and i've been blind .

i never knew daylight could be so violent .

regrets collect like old friends , here to visit for your darkest moments .

so you packed your bags just to wait out the shitstorm ?

my doe , my dear , my darling ...

you're my head , you're my heart .

everyone lets you down in this brief hole of a town .

i'm not giving up , i'm just giving in .

i've been losing sleep , i've been keeping myself awake .

sometimes i feel like throwing my hands up in the air .

the only solution was to stand and fight .

i don't know how it started , don't know how to stop it .

i'm done with my graceless heart .

i can never leave the past behind .

do they speak to you ? 'cause they speak to me too .

i thought that love was a kind of emptiness .

it's hard to dance with a devil on your back .

sometimes i wonder if i should be medicated .

every demon wants his pound of flesh .

tell me what all the sighing's about .

could you tell from the moment we met ?

i heard your voice as clear as day ... you told me i should concentrate .

all my girls have their lace and their crimes .

i like to keep some things to myself .

no one asks any questions here .

the feeling comes so fast and i can't control it .

you came over me like some holy rite .

i was screaming out a language i had no idea existed before .

i thought that love was on stage , giving yourself away to strangers .

leave all your love and your longing behind , you can't carry it with you if you want to survive .

i thought that love was in the drugs , but the more i took the more it took away .

i never wanted anything from you , except everything you had and what's left after that too .

i don't want your future , i don't need your past . one grand moment is all i ask .

[morniingstars]

(src.) 03. cups the others face with both hands. @inateliiers / sypha belnades.

The softness of her touch is what hits him first— hard and fast, like a punch to the gut. Sypha’s palms cradling his face, her fingers chilly as always in the absence of recent fire magic, and oh god, he can hardly breathe.

But he is breathing and that’s the point, isn’t it?

Sypha’s extremities are still cold, Alucard is still trying to get a rise out of him, and despite everything, Trevor Belmont is still breathing.

He’s lost count of the days between where he woke on the far bank of the Danube, and here— ( Home. His old home, their new home. ) but he knew the second he laid eyes on home that it didn’t matter. All those days, no matter how many were spent weak, exhausted, or starving; no matter the pain when setting the broken bones in his own arm, or the stealing of cloaks off clotheslines or horses out of abandoned villages, or the countless moments spent drifting in and out of the dark— every last one was worth it.

Because now he’s here, safe under the strange roof of Alucard’s inherited castle, sitting on the edge of a comfortable bed, and looking up into the face of Sypha Belnades.

A face he thought, not so long ago, that he’d said goodbye to for the last time.

She looks back at him, standing over him, hands still in their place against his cheeks, and he’d have to be the biggest fool in the world not to know that she thought the same only an hour ago. She had mourned; cursed him or missed him, or both. She had felt the loss and had to learn to breathe through it.

He has to wonder if she’s holding him like this now out of tenderness and relief alone, or perhaps in disbelief. Just because he came back, doesn't mean that he wasn't really dead to her only moments before.

He could hardly blame her, if that were the case.

A wordless noise rises in Trevor’s throat and gets itself half-caught there, coming out from behind a smile as a rueful, wavering sigh. If that's the case, then he'll just have to prove it to her— that he's here, and that he's here to stay.

His own hands raise now, scarred in fresh ways and calloused in old, large enough to cover hers as he settles them on top and leans forward, melting into her space. 

It finally feels like we’ve won. That’s what Alucard had said, smiling like Trevor had never seen before, looking between the two of them, and here— right here— it starts to set in that he’s right.

“…Hey, Love,” Trevor whispers low in the scant space between them, one thumb rubbing a soft, repetitive arc over Sypha’s knuckles. He turns his face towards her other hand and presses his lips to her palm before he speaks again, “Getting tired of looming up there, yet? You can sit with me, y’know, I’m not gonna fall apart.”