I have the start of an idea for a character and tumblr may be the only place I can put it and build up on it later and the only place weird enough to be accepting of said character. May or may not add him to the book I’m writing since it is fantasy.
Idea starts here:
Being, humanoid, with large fluffy feathers. Their blood is ink. When they wish to write they pull a feather and prick their skin to use their ink.
Idk if they can speak or not. Maybe yes, and using their ink is like a binding contract.
Think I’ll call them Inscription. Script for short.
Still a baby of an idea. To be continued. Thoughts and feedback welcome
Fandom: Netflix’s Castlevania
Pairing: Alucard x Fem!Reader
Rating: T
Summary: You are so full of thorns,” You whisper against Alucard’s lips. “Like the most beautiful rose in a garden, your defenses are sharp and plenty. It doesn’t matter to me. I love you as you are, you know that, do you not?”
Words: 444
Notes: @flashfictionfridayofficial / No Warnings Apply.
Read @ AO3
“You are so full of thorns,” You whisper against Alucard’s lips. “Like the most beautiful rose in a garden, your defenses are sharp and plenty. It doesn’t matter to me. I love you as you are, you know that, do you not?”
Alucard closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, there is a faint flush on his cheeks. “I know.” He says. “And what can I say about you? That you are quite possibly the fiercest storm that I have ever met.”
You smile a little, “Is that because I wouldn’t give up on courting you?”
“That is one of the reasons, yes.” Alucard admits. “The other, because you are the kind of person who comes, and either destroys or cleanses. Like a proper storm should. And because of how fierce you are, there is something feral about you.”
“Oh, well, I suppose that you are right,” You lift your hand to cup Alucard’s cheek. “My mother used to despair of me when growing up. I think she hoped that I would mellow as I grew older. I did not.”
Alucard pulls back, and kisses your nose. “And I think we’re all the better for it, my darling.”
“Do you mean it because I can kick Trevor’s ass?”
Alucard laughs and this time, he kisses your forehead while holding your face. “I mean, I can kick Belmont’s ass, but seeing him on the floor thanks to you, will never not be funny. That is to say, yes, I love that fierceness of yours. Never forget that.”
“How can I, when you remind me after every battle?” You asked, and pulled him forward so you could rest your head on his shoulder. “And I love that even when you know I’m capable, you look after me.”
“Is that not what couples do, care for each other?”
“Yes. But it never stops me from knowing that even in the heat of the battle, you also think of me. Even when you know I’m capable to handle myself.”
“Truth be told, you worry me whenever you are out of my sight.”
You kissed his neck softly, “We are a team, Alucard. That will not change any time near the future. Let us be a combine force, a storm laden with thorns. One for the good of the people.”
“I think that we are one already,” Alucard admits. “And I love it. And so long as I am standing, I will love you, and I will protect you, my love. My storm.”
You pull back to see into Alucard’s eyes, “And as long as I live, I will also love you and protect you, my rose.”
Description: Though Shota cares for you very deeply, his insecurities never gave way for him to voice such tender feelings. He hated it took almost losing you to admit he loves you.
AU: Hanahaki disease (I'm no expert on the topic, but I read the strong belief of being in a one-sided love relationship is enough to cause the disease, so please have that in mind as you read!)
Warnings: Angst, eventual fluff, blood, Aizawa truly being the most emotionally constipated man in existence
Word Count: 3,034
•
His favorite flowers were camellias.
It had been a beautiful spring day, twinkling with morning dew under the warmth of the sun. The sweet aroma of flowers and fresh harvests wafted through the air like a perfume he'd become familiar with. It reminded him of you and the way you'd tug at his hand in excitement whenever you spotted a new flower in bloom. Your smile was contagious.
He didn't care much for flowers, really, but he couldn't deny the flutter in his heart as you pulled him along the shop, rambling about the meaning of each little bundle of colorful petals. Aizawa had sat by, seemingly uninterested, as you marveled at the blooming wonders around you, but he secretly admired the twinkle in your eye that rivaled the sun above. Never would he say it, but he loved moments like these; he loved these moments when you were no longer heroes and just two people finding wonders in the simple things in life.
Part of him wished he could freeze the frame, and stay in that moment forever. Shota so desperately wanted to stay there.
The soft ruffling of leaves still echoed in his mind, the amusement that bubbled in his chest as you'd excitedly run off to steal a look at another flower was a feeling he could've gotten drunk on.
Shota had to admit, he was never good at sharing. He wasn't good at sharing his space. He struggled to share his time. He was clueless when it came to sharing his emotions. He tried, though; you were worth the effort.
The melodic sound of your voice had pulled him in your direction as you had thrust a flower pot housing blood-red bundles of petals he hadn't seen before into his hands. Dark eyes fleeted from your smile to the flowers and then back to you. A curious tilt of his head was all he could muster under the brilliance of your smile.
He remembers the way his fingers had tingled at your caring touch. "My destiny is in your hands," That's what you'd whispered to him then, your voice, smooth and sweet, like a song he could get lost in. Heat had risen to his cheeks, his eyes widening a mere fraction. He peered back down at the flowers. There was warmth in your gaze, the kind that could lull his heart into rest. It was the kind of warmth that made him feel so lost, so vulnerable, so out of his element. And though these feelings were foreign within his heart, he welcomed them in with ease.
"What are these?" The words come through his lips in a gentle breath. He wondered what cosmic powers worked to light up your smile in such a heavenly way.
Sweet perfumes seeped from the petals in his hands, tickling his nose. Without much effort, he leaned into the aroma, letting the crimson petals caress his cheeks, though he found himself reveling in the ghostly touch of your fingers as you carefully tucked straying wisps of hair behind the contour of his ear.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" Shota couldn't focus on the flowers in his hands anymore. No, he much preferred peering up to meet your gaze, a dazzling thing that surely held the lovelier things in life within.
"Yeah," he breathed. The usually sharp lines of his gaze softened ever so slightly. "They are."
And you spoke about these flowers with so much love in your voice, your lips curling in ways he wanted to remember— ways he wanted to feel. You spoke softly as if your words were sacred things meant for his ears only. He greedily basked in that feeling. It was then he'd declared these blooming wonders his favorite of the bunch.
He said he'd only buy them if it got you both to leave the flower shop before the sunset; in reality, he bought them because they so vividly reminded him of you. You and your nurturing touch. You and your dizzying laughter. You and your bright eyes full of joy.
But never would he ever say that. How could he? Why should he? It's not like he deserved the light you brought into his life, no matter how much he wished he did. Deep within, he'd convinced himself to be unworthy of a rare jewel such as yourself. Scarred hands like his own had no right to revel in the touch of the treasures from the heavens. He'd only tarnish whatever wonders you'd have to offer.
So, he stayed quiet.
Three words burned in his throat and tickled his tongue, but he could never muster the courage required to speak them into existence. You deserved to hear them from someone else— someone better. Someone who could show you just how much they meant them. He didn't know how. He wasn't that someone.
And despite all of these things, he liked to pretend you'd choose him; that, regardless of his flaws and tainted parts, you'd choose him the way he chose you every morning. It was a cruel dream he chased after time and time again, but it was a chase he refused to give up.
As the days rose and fell with the sun, he continued to cherish whatever time he could get by your side. He'd been ecstatic when you suggested hand-to-hand combat training between just the two of you, even if he'd kept his stoic expression in hopes of hiding the rising blush that threatened to kiss his cheeks with warmth. Training by your side had become one of his favorite activities, one of the few things he eagerly waited for each day. Those moments were full of loose punches, swinging legs, and hot rushes of adrenaline, but he loved it all. Shota loved your cocky smiles, the way you'd wipe the sweat off your brow with a silent challenge gleaming in your eyes. He loved the way you danced in celebration whenever you pinned him down. He loved watching you bounce on your toes in anticipation.
But what was once a time full of playful banter was soon flooded with concern and fear in the depths of his heart.
"Time out," You called out, one hand in the air and the other on your knee. Suddenly you clutched at your chest and winced. "I need a moment." Your voice was hoarse, a broken thing that immediately had Shota rushing to your side.
Gently, he took hold of your shoulders in an attempt to keep you upright. Your troubled breathing had fear clawing at his heart. "Are you alright?" The nervous pull of his brow tightened in concern as you fell into a coughing fit.
Doubling over, your coughing shook your entire body, the strain clawing at your chest painfully. In a single gasp of air, you choked on broken words. "I–I'm okay—" But before you could say anything else, another wave of coughs dragged the air from your lungs, forcing you onto your knees.
Shota watched in horror as blood trickled past your parted lips, splattering in sick puddles on the dirt at his feet. "Hey—" Before he could even breathe out your name, you'd pushed him back. The quick shove had him stumbling away from you just in time for him to avoid what sputtered out of your lips next.
Terror flooded his stomach like acid as crimson flower petals flew up your throat and out your mouth, their beautiful color now a haunting sight as they glimmered with a sheen of your blood. Flower petals sprouted from your lips and fell limply onto the metallic puddles beneath you.
Before he'd even registered what had happened, Shota was diving in to catch you as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He held your limp figure close to his chest, his mind struggling to catch up to the events that had just unraveled before him. The erratic rise and fall of your chest were enough to break his stoic facade, leaving his face fall into raw fear.
He couldn't remember how he'd done it, but somehow he'd gotten you to the hospital. Having you pulled away from him was the worst thing he'd experienced; he felt cold. Never had he felt so alone as he did at that moment. Any sense of safety he held onto had slipped past his fingers the second you were taken from his grasp. For the first time in a long time, he allowed tears to burn his eyes. He allowed them to dangle from his lashes and drop onto his cheeks.
If you said the notorious Eraserhead was a knotted bundle of anxiety, nobody would've believed you; yet here he was, pacing back and forth with his head lowered close to his chest. Half of his face hid behind the cover of his capture weapon, concealing the trembling of his lips. His fingers fluttered anxiously by his sides, almost as if trying to get a grasp at the situation, at his sanity, at whatever he could cling onto for comfort.
That seemed impossible with your absence.
Dread bubbled in his veins, hot and heavy. There was a sob clawing its way up to his throat, but he swallowed it back down, wincing at how it burned.
"It's Hanahaki," the doctor had told him solemnly. "By the looks of it, she's had it for two or three months by now."
Shota was well aware of what Hanahaki disease was— of what it did to people. He'd heard of the signs, and knew what it looked like when it rooted itself within a person. The fact it had bloomed within you made him sick. He knew what it meant, and that alone was enough to destroy him.
Who wouldn't love you? Who would ever reject you?
You, the embodiment of sunlight. You, the saint that soothed his nightmares. You, the one who'd kiss his scars when his body ached.
And him, the coward who was too afraid to speak his truth.
He scoffed at himself with a shake of his head. You deserved better— so much better than him. What did he have to offer but short nods and heavy-lidded glances? Surely you'd tire of him, seek elsewhere the thrills and wonders of a love he couldn't give you. The truths of his heart fell short compared to what was waiting for you out there in the world.
The second his name was called, he raced to your room, heart tight in his throat. A beat of hesitation drummed in his chest before he dared push the door open, bracing himself for the sight before him. He lingered by the door for a second, his chest caving in at the rhythmic beeping and whirring of the machines around you.
"Oh, angel," he breathed brokenly. Carefully, he caressed at the line between your pinched brows, hoping to ease some of the tension that pulled at them. Tears blurred his vision, his heart clenching at the look of pain that tugged down at your lips. "Who—?" Choking on his words, he locked his fingers around your own, bitterly admiring how your hand fits so perfectly in his. "Who are you hurting for?" He hated the crack in his voice, hated how each word burned as he spoke.
Silence met him in your place, taunting him with the steady beats of a broken imitation of your heart. The hushed breaths that escaped your lips were the only solace he could cling to, soft lulls of air that reassured him you were still there.
He kept thinking things over, his mind replaying that horrible scene like a broken record. No matter how he tried, it was as if he were stuck there; forever in a loop of grief and fear. The crackling breaths that ricocheted from the depths of your lungs. The blood that spilled from your lips like rivers of crimson. The flower petals that—
The flower petals.
His body stilled, his eyes widening in horror. How could he not notice? Perhaps it was because the blood had made him panic or maybe holding you limply in his arms had scattered any rational thoughts from his mind. But he recognized the petals that had fallen from your lips. They were the very ones you'd made him fall in love with, the ones that made his hands tingle with the memory of your touch and the warmth of your gentle words. They were the very ones that made his mind fleet back to you, that would make him smile at the memory of that bright spring day surrounded by sweet perfumes and rustling leaves. He could still feel the breeze that played with his hair, the way you would so carefully fix each stray wisp of inky hair back to place. Those blooming bundles of crimson, which he cherished so much, were the very thing ripping you apart.
Had his silence driven you to the point of heartbreak? Bile rose to his throat at the thought. He tried shaking it away, but the petals…damn it. Had he truly made you believe he didn't care?
My destiny is in your hands.
His breath hitched, it took a long, painful pause as your words echoed in the back of his mind. The sign was right there. You'd told him and he hadn't listened. Too scared of what could be, he didn't notice what was.
And now you were paying the price.
A trembling hand latched onto his hair, pulling at it in distress as his breathing came in labored gasps. He messed up. He messed up badly— as usual.
The squeeze of your hand over his made his eyes widen, a trembling breath escaping from his lungs. Your name rolled off his tongue with an air of hope, his heart constricting at the pain burning behind your eyes. You squeezed at his hand again.
He saw understanding— no, realization— flash within your gaze, and he had to clasp one hand over his mouth to muffle the sob that threatened to bounce off the walls. You knew that he knew; you knew he had pieced it together. A broken apology crumbled inside of his mouth before he could let it slip off his tongue, his eyes burning as hot tears welled up in them.
"Hey," your hoarse voice had his head snapping up to meet your gaze. He could tell it was taking all your effort not to fall into another coughing fit right now. "What—"
Shota held a hand up, effectively stopping the words from tumbling out of your mouth. The subtle ticking of his jaw didn't go unnoticed by you, nor did his quiet sniffling. He quickly grabbed the glass the nurses had left by your bedside table, his other hand gently tilting your head back. Pressing the glass to your lips, he found some comfort in the relief that swam in your steady stare. He sighed shakily. "I'm so sorry," His voice cracked, and he hated how meek it sounded.
Defeat had settled over your face, and he was quick to recognize it. It destroyed him to realize he was why this had all happened in the first place. He hated that he was such a damn coward.
"Shota," you called, a sigh crackling in your lungs. It was clear you had already given up on whatever time you had left. "You don't have to—"
"I love you," he blurted, his cheeks burning with a blush that reached his ears. Tears fell from his eyes, though he tried to wipe them away with his sleeve before they could race down his skin. "I do love you, and I should've said it sooner— so much sooner." He pressed a kiss onto the back of your hand, his trembling breath fanning against your skin. "I'm so sorry it took so long. I— but why?" He cried, pressing your hand to his forehead in quiet prayer. "Why me? Why would you want me when you deserve so much better—?"
Gently, you pulled at his fingers, guiding them to your lips. A ghostly pressing of your lips graced the scarred skin of his knuckles. The kiss lingered for a beat, then for another. "Who says?" You whispered, your voice much clearer than it had been just a fraction of a minute ago. "Don't you think that's for me to decide?"
And at that moment, under the warmth of your gaze and the gentle curl of your lips, he dared make a selfish request. "Please don't leave me," he whispered brokenly. Never again did he want to risk losing the person he loved. "Please."
You yanked at his hand, making him crash into you in a quick fall. Shota panicked, fearing the force might've hurt you, but all worries had slipped his mind the second you buried your face in the crook of his neck. His body molded against your own as you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him into your chest. Salty tears slipped from his eyes, soaking the fabric of your clothing as his shoulders shook softly, prompting you to tighten the embrace you had him locked in.
"I'm not going anywhere, okay?" The mere whisper of your words had him clutching onto you, his hands holding you so close to him he swore he felt your hearts fall into the same rhythm. "I'm here."
There was a lot of healing in your future, a lot of opening up as well. There were many unknowns waiting just beyond this moment and Shota found that terrifying. Regardless, he didn't dare let you slip through his fingers a second time. He challenged himself to be more vocal, to whisper three precious words just enough times to make you remember how his voice rumbled as he spoke them into existence.
You continued to drag him to the flower shop, always eager to teach him new things; always excited to just be two people in love.
Shota had developed bittersweet feelings for camellias, never quite sure how to feel about them. He'd make sure to pull you closer to his side whenever his gaze landed on the crimson flowers. He wasn't willing to let go of you again.
hello i have returned with a single used brain cell and humbly submit this request: percy lowkey (struggling?) to confess to a very oblivious reader bc they simply cannot take a hint after x years of flirting (and maybe percy is a little worried that reader is just casually flirting without any actual feelings for him but is just really good at hiding their feelings) (and percy just can't take the uncertainty any longer) (pls feel free to freestyle whatever pushes percy to confess 😊 emotional constipation, angst, whatever fits the bill)
again, love your work!!! 💕💕💕 it's not trash it's ✨FANTASTIC✨ !!!!!
a/n: why did i have so much fun with this?
i'm actually kind of proud of this one.
tag list: @imaginesfire
Percival stopped in his tracks, having been making his way downstairs, heading to the kitchen to finally eat for the first time that day after having just washed up. Looking down over the railing, you stood with a bright smile on your face, a bouquet of flowers resting carefully in your arms, a card in one of your hands. “That’s the second time this week,” he commented casually, continuing his descent once more.
Now watching him, you flashed a smirk, clutching them a bit tighter but making sure not to crush them, and teased, “Don’t be jealous just because you didn’t think about doing it first, Percival.”
Biting his tongue for a moment, he rounded the end of the stairs to stand in front of you. If only you knew. “You say that, yet,” he began, plucking the card from between your fingers to read over his own handwriting that created a sweet poem. “You actually have no idea who it is.”
“You?” echoed from your lips, gaze trailing up the wall as you wandered in thought. “I imagine it would be someone handsome.” eyes becoming a bit starry as your imagination run wild.
Percy’s expression tilted to amusement, asking playfully; “Implying I’m not?”
Coming down from your little cloud nine, you looked back at him, and he felt his heart flutter. “Oh, absolutely not,” you replied softly, a smile turning tender. “You’re the prettiest person I know, actually.”
A slight heat came to the tips of his ears, and he had to bury the little fire igniting in his belly under a mountain of dirt to extinguish it. “You know yourself, don’t you?” came the smooth quip, a smile to match your own.
The look you shot him was almost a silent compliment on how sly his comment was. That’s how he was going to take it anyway. Turning back to your flowers, you hummed, gently rubbing a petal between your fingers. “It’s a shame, you know,” soft was your voice, as though you were afraid your next words would scare the plants within your hands. “I love them, but it makes me so sad when they wither.” brows furrowed, you gave a little laugh. “Could you imagine that? An immortal flower?”
It took only a second before something in him clicked, flicking from you to the flowers in your hand. It was a ridiculous idea … he was going to do it. “Yes, I suppose anyone else can only imagine,” he murmured to you, placing a hand on your upper arm as he excused himself rather quickly.
Percival missed the contemplative expression that crossed your face as you watched him make his way along the path of his workshop before casting it at your bouquet as well with a sharp exhale.
The forge in the basement burned hot that day, all into the night and the morning. It was deep enough that the pounding of metal couldn’t be heard until the steps were descended, thankfully, but it was no secret he was down there sometimes for a day or two straight. He would be so engrossed in his projects that time would escape him, but maybe a part of him looked forward to it as you never failed to bring him essentials; food, water, snacks. Then you would stay and chat, he would happily show you what he was working on, the teasing and flirting. It all felt so natural, and those moments meant the world to him.
He just wished that it could be different - more than just what it felt he was receiving from your end. More than he could admit, he loved you. You who had been there with him through so much, putting your life in danger, helped him come to see himself as more than just a means to an end for his revenge. That he could do good, learn to find the good in life, and while the family he once had could never be replaced, he had one now that he could grow with.
Maybe he shouldn't be so greedy, wanting more. Percy had a life with you now, a wonderful one. Why did he deserve more than that? You were not the type to lead someone on, but maybe you were misunderstanding his advances, wanting no strings attached when he wanted all of them, including a chain.
Suddenly the door flew open and in made the way of Vax’ildan with no regard to privacy or personal space, not that it should be much of a surprise. Looking up mid-tinkering, he and Percival made direct eye contact. “I like to think we’re both sensible men, wouldn’t you agree, Whitey?”
Not losing this non-existent battle of dominance by dropping his gaze first, the gunslinger didn’t even move to set his tools down as he answered him. “One of us more than the other.” He would humor him for the moment.
“Considering your current circumstance,” Crossing his arms, the half-elf leaned against the door frame, making himself comfortable. “I’ll take that compliment.”
Expression suspicious, the tools in Percy’s hands were now laid onto the table. “Please, do enlighten me.”
“As if it’s not obvious,” Vax began, motioning with his hands vaguely in the direction of upstairs and then to the human himself. “Even Grog has noticed - Grog!”
“You are one of the last people that should be handing out relationship advice,” the gunslinger verbally jabbed at him. “Considering the outcome of your recent confession.”
“Low,” Vax shot back, but he couldn’t disagree. His confession with Keyleth didn’t exactly go the best. “But completely unrelated since it's not a relationship.” there was a look from Percy, showing how done with his shit he was becoming. “At least I straight-up did it. How long has it been, Percival?”
Not even skipping a beat, he replied, “Two years, twelve weeks and six days,” silence fell over the room, the rogue quirking a brow at him pointedly. Percy sighed, slumping over and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, Gods."
“And you really gotta stop with the flowers, man, they’re so cliche’!” Suddenly another voice cut into the conversation from the doorway.
“Flowers are a perfect token of affection and,“ Looking to the new intruder, Percival’s face suddenly scrunched up in distaste. “And-and get out, Scanlan! You’re not even allowed in here.”
The gnome looked confused, glancing between Vax and Percy. “What? Since when did that become a thing?”
“Since there has been a sign on that door from the moment we moved in.”
Scanlan scoffed. “You’re bullshittin’ me.”
“He's not,” Vax defended, pointing a finger at the very large sign clearly stating the names of people who were not allowed, and one of them was indeed Scanlan.
The gnome blinked once, twice, and held up the middle finger. “Well, fuck you too, dude.” The fingers on the hand suddenly snapped, the bard's face lighting up. "That's it!" he said, becoming ecstatic and climbing up onto the large work table as though he was going to be making a public announcement. "That's exactly what you have to do."
Once more, silence came over the room, Percy took a quick sip of water and still managed to comment dryly, "I admit, beyond not caring, you have lost me."
"You bang. You know; dippin' the wick, bumpin' uglies, slappin' beef - "
"O-kay, but," The gunslinger narrowed his eyes, growing increasingly frustrated as they both spoke. "You're suggesting this to the same guy who can't even admit he's in love."
Scanlan nodded, doing short paces on his end of the table. "You're right - not to mention he's probably never even wanked it in his entire life."
"I," burying his face in his hands, Percival wanted to scream, but that well-practiced restraint kept him to only do it internally. "I absolutely hate both of you, I do hope you know that."
"We do," they both responded at the same time, mutually shrugging.
"Have you ever wanked it, though?" a new voice suddenly cut in, entirely too amused. "Sometimes I can't tell 'cause you're always so tense."
Inhaling sharply, about ready to gouge his own goddamn eyes out, his teeth ground. "I'm not about to dignify that with an answer, in fact," he stood up, pointing at the door. "Get out, all you -" he stumbled, looking up and seeing you in the doorway with a smirk on your face, fresh water in one hand and a plate of food in the other. " - you-you, hello, when did you get here?"
Completely ignoring him, you giggled, looking at Scanlan. "That's so cooky, though - wank it."
The gnome wagged his brows at you suggestively. "What about: beat the meat?" Percival felt his excitement die down as you laughed, walking over to set your offerings onto the table.
The gunslinger looked solemnly, longingly through another doorway into the fire of the forge off. You bumping into him lightly with your whole body barely brought him back, only gaining a glance. "Trying to decide if burning alive would be less painful than listening to this?" he didn't even bother to respond, simply narrowing his eyes at you, ever the instigator. The chuckle you gave was almost evil, looking back at the sniggering gnome and rogue. "Alright you two, you heard him. Go on, get out, go beat each others meat instead of trying to beat Percival's while he's working."
"Oh, what, 'cause that's your job?"
"Yeah, it is, now leave, so I suck out whatever's left of his soul." you joked, but the gunslinger couldn't help but feel a rush of heat in his chest as he tried to stave off those taunting images.
Hanging his head, his shoulders slumped and he decided, face entirely too red, that burning alive definitely would be less painful. The door shut and the sound of Vax and Scanlan laughing could be heard as they disappeared up the stairs. "Not to embarrass you any further, but," you began, looking at Percival who reminded you of a dejected kitten. "Is it true?"
Furrowing his brows, his eyes narrowed as well. "Not that it's anyone's business what I do regarding that, but - "
"No, no, not that," The laugh you gave was sweet and airy, and he felt himself relax. "Although it certainly is an interesting topic," you winked, changing the mood in the room to one he felt completely natural in and he smirked. "I mean," you looked down, holding your hands together and playing with your thumb. "That you love me ... " came the small murmur, and you glanced up through your lashes, shyly.
The world around him came tumbling to the ground, looking at you like you were from a different plane of existence as you stood in front of him in a new light. You looked almost hopeful, but his reasonable brain tried to argue it was a biased opinion. The wool over his eyes. "I - " he swallowed, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck. This was it, the moment he had been waiting for, right? So why was he still having trouble saying it? No, you were just asking. You weren't admitting anything to him by a simple question ... but ... "I've been working on this the last couple of days," he began awkwardly, quickly turning away and walking over to his work table, missing the pained look on your face. "It's done, but I was looking to see if there were any finer details I could."
"I-I'm sure it's nice - " you began, keeping a hold on your voice.
"It's for you," he interjected, turning around to face you with the object in his hands; a single flower, beautiful and delicate looking. This was his one shot, and he supposed if he was going to do it, it was going to be in the way he was most comfortable with. Your eyes shined as you began to come closer to him. "Who also gave me the idea, actually," he held it out to you, feeling tight as he moved. "When you said how sad the flowers I had been sending - " your head whipped up, eyes wide. " - made you when they withered."
"My immortal flower," the smile you gave him was a bit watery, but just as beautiful as any other before as you took it, and despite it being heavy, made of metal, it was perfect. "I had been hoping it was you, actually," you confessed, flush coming over your cheeks.
His brow quirked, newfound confidence coming to him, but that didn't stop his heart from thrumming through his ribcage. "I suppose you were right - it was someone incredibly handsome," he teased lightly, carefully.
Reaching out with one hand, you cupped his cheek, and immediately he leaned into it. "Now, now, I didn't say incredibly," you replied, leaning forward onto him as his arms crawled around your waist. "But you're not wrong." With that, after waiting so long, he found that your lips were just as soft as he imagined and you tasted just as sweet, and he relished in every second of it.
Percival de Rolo, a very brave man who endured so much, trembled at the thought of eight letters, three words, one sentence that said everything. But as you pulled back, looking so adoringly at the metal flower held in the space between you, he found that one simple action could say it indefinitely better, and as long as you were satisfied with that, he would work to eventually give you it all.
warnings: personal descriptions of dealing with severe depression and other unsavory feelings. talking about all of that. both in the story and in the a/n.
a/n: this was written for a request i received. i didn't want to let this sit for as long as i did, considering what it was wanted for, but, a part of me wasn't sure how to go about it as everyone deals with depression differently, so, mostly this was based off of feelings that i have and have had.
this isn't the prettiest or best thing ever i wrote, i will admit, and i do apologize.
i won't directly reply to the message, as it wasn't done anon, and i didn't know if they would feel okay being put on blast with their confession on how they feel.
warnings, again.
It had to be an absolute fucking joke -
One where you were still waiting on the punchline to arrive. One that would have you doubled over, clutching your stomach, laughing until you were on your knees, tears streaming down your face from sheer happiness for once. You'd be thinking about it for weeks, months maybe, possibly years after what felt like endless decades of feeling nothing, you'd have the ability to feel something enlightening.
You would deserve it - the chance to laugh into your pillow instead of allowing it to swallow silent screams, to see colors around you for what they truly were instead of what you simply knew ... and to feel okay.
- that you could sit at the supper table and holler with your friends over some stupid story, almost choking on your water as you made the mistake of taking a drink at the best part, and yet mean nothing for the things you heard or forced to come out of your mouth. You laughed a little too hard, too loud, and it burned being forced out of your chest like you were swallowing fire with every inhale to continue on.
How cruel, the number of times you had done so, but lacking the ability to truly keep track, surely chalking it up to more times than what was actually true, but time blurred, blending together like paint dripping from a failed canvas, a brush haphazardly thrust across it in pure aggression. It seemed irrelevant, however, when many years were nothing but a blank slate in your memory.
Face pressed into the door, still in the quiet of your room, listening to the idle chatter outside the door, you looked over your hands as if they were foreign to you.
Did you miss dinner again?
No, you just had it, or was that lunch?
Perhaps you were thinking of yesterday - but what did you have?
Have you eaten?
You didn't feel particularly hungry, but the bile rising in your esophagus tried to argue otherwise.
Eventually, there would be a dent in your door from the number of times you would stand, thumping your head with increasing pressure each night. It made things seem a little more real, or as though you could break out the pressure building within your skull, thrumming to life as splitting migraines from the amounts of deep confinement.
Sliding down the door, palms running along the grain of the wood, you came to a crouch, ear listening through. It was hushed, and you weren't able to understand words or recognize the whispers to put them with a face. But you stayed in that position, zoning out onto the floor for what seemed like a second, but when you came too with a startled jerk, there was no light creeping under the door and the moon had risen considerably higher in the sky.
Hastily, you sat down on the floor, back against the frame, hearing the soft knock once again. "Who is it?" you asked cautiously.
"An ever-so-generous God," a voice responded sarcastically before returning to a normal tone. "I come bearing a gift"
Gazing up at the ceiling, you rolled your bottom lip, biting it lightly. "Oh," you replied softly, fist-clenching as you felt a rippling wave of anxiety rush through you. "A gift."
Percival gave a grunt, then the sound of something shifting and rustling. "Yes, a gift, something that is much better enjoyed without a wall in between."
Violently your hands began scrubbing at your face, as though you could wash away anything that began to seep to the surface. "Um," you swallowed heavy, trying to keep your voice from cracking. You weren't prepared for something to knock, not right now, not when you felt the overwhelming need to just disassociate existence. "Thank you, but, um," there was silence, the sound of his foot moving seemed muffled. "I don't really feel ... up to having visitors right now."
Look at you, lying once again.
Your eyes begin stinging, guilt filling its way up slowly from your shaking fingertips. It ate you up inside, the multitude of things - regret of dishonesty to someone you loved, the cracking pressure of a plethora of feelings beating at your barriers, the battle that kept you from passing your crushing burdens to someone else. You were only strong on the surface, and even then, you could almost see it dwindling away on yourself.
"Well," Percy gave a thoughtful start. "If you're feeling ill you should go see Pike." Silence, nails digging into the palms of your hands, teeth digging painfully into your lip. It hurt, feeding these lies, digging your hole deeper and deeper until you were below six feet, twelve feet, gaining closer to molten lava for your lonely grave, because this beautiful soul didn't deserve your facade'. "I believe she may be asleep, but, I'm positive she wouldn't mind waking up for you."
Words like that cause your shoulders to shake, your heart to skip, and hot tears to release down your cheeks. They were barely anything, but they were everything as you silently choked, hands now at your own throat, ready to apply pressure to silence any threatening noises. He spoke again, tenderly, closer to your ear as though he had stooped down to your sitting height, obviously able to tell where you were at - he was smart. "Are you alright?"
Fingers tightened around your neck to silence yourself, head shaking negatively as though he would be able to see your non-verbal answer. Feet slowly dragging bag and forth on the floor in poor desperation, but for what? There was no rhyme or reason as to what compelled you to respond to him, fingers loosening, heart jumping into your throat. "H-have you ..." you heard Percival shift immediately, the door shaking a bit with unstable pressure. " ... ever been scared?"
"I - " he paused, long enough for you to understand he was contemplating his next words which he said carefully. "I believe that everyone has experienced fear at some point in their life."
Shakily, you moved, letting your back slide as you laid yourself down onto the floor, facing the bottom of the door, biting down onto your finger as you scolded yourself for saying such a thing. Maybe you could apologize, say that it was the illness speaking, making you tired and you needed to go to bed. That he needed to forget about it.
Forget.
"Are you afraid?" he murmured, a lace of protectiveness weaved within his tone, one that brought on more tears. Now you had made him worry, all for nothing. That's all it was, nothing. That's all you were, all you felt - but everything at once. It was so much, much more than you should have to carry, this handbasket weighing you to hell as bare as nerve to burn.
Yes, yes, yes, yes! You wanted to scream, fingers digging into your skull, a dull pulsing picking away. But you couldn't, could you? No. Gods, no. You'd hate yourself if you did, and you weren't sure if you could handle any more of that, but was it even possible at this point? Your brain argued to shoo him away, or simply go to bed - your door was locked, what was he going to do, kick it down? For you? Hah. You weren't worth that much trouble.
Opening your mouth, it only clenched again, finding issues to talk through tears you had spent years perfecting silence for. Your lips moved silently, heart pouring, but your mind would not allow them to come to light. Your palm hit the floor in frustration, anger leaking into the exhaustion and emptiness you once felt, but just another emotion you were familiar with. Percival called your name again, firmer this time. "Yes," you finally choked, something warm slamming into your chest, nails suddenly gripping your skin as though you had to hold onto it or else it would escape you. "I - I'm so-so scared, Percy."
The handle to your door jiggled and rocked, but you made no move to unlock it, only curling further in on yourself, trying to preserve this new warmth that was settling into your bones. His words rushed but comforting, "Cover your ears, darling, I'm coming in," followed by the sound of his gun reloading.
"You can't fight it, it's - " you gasped, trying to explain through the suffocation you felt.
"The hell if I can't!"
" - it's me, it's me, Percy," you sobbed, repeating the words like a mantra, inhaling deeply, albeit shakily, fist hitting the floor as words continued to spill from you. "and it hurts so bad, and I just don't know what to do anymore! It's - it's just crushing and suffocating and I ... I feel so small," a small thud missed your ears through the crying, "I - I just want it to s-stop - I don't know how to make it ... stop - it's always there, it's all-all I feel, it's ... it's all I see and hear, and i - "
And so you cried and cried, and for once, there was a sense of relief, some pressure no longer chipping at your skull, a little bit of the pain ebbing away. "I'm so-so sorry! I just can't - it's so loud - keep it down."
There was no noise from the other side of the door as you pour on and on, and while you weren't even sure if he was still sitting there ... for once you found you didn't particularly care at this moment. The pain, the fear, the anger, the sadness, pouring out of your mouth like a sonnet or a prayer, and he - if still present - was your symbol of faith to confess your sins too.
You had subsided to simple whimpering and shaky breaths as you laid chest and cheek on the floor, hands curled into fists. "Love," he broke the silence, voice hesitant, thoughtful, "There is never a point of time where it's not alright, to not be okay," a soft whisper, lulling on your sore ears, bringing warmth back into the soul you poured out into the world. "Nor is there ever a moment where you are required to pretend that you don't feel like absolute shit," a weak chuckle escaped your lips, a few stray tears trickled down your cheek, but no matter how much you wanted to begin crying again, you were far too exhausted. "And I am genuinely, truly, sorry, if I have ever done anything to make you think that an apology is owed when you share your feelings - you owe, no one, anything for the way you feel. Ever."
A small, genuine smile graced your lips, muscles loosening you into a small limp pile on the door as his voice brought a soothe to your internal burns, like a honey salve. "I am not going to feed you some saccharine line that everything is fine as if by magic - we both know that it will take time, but I will sit here on the other side of this door if that is all you want, for as long as you need, as long as it comforts you because I love you."
A temped river was trickling for the first time, and while it would work hard to wash away undesirables over time, eventually it would slowly begin to flow, breaking through build ups along its banks, to flourish, and bring new life, clean water back into the land it once inhabited. Plants would bloom once more, animals would sing and thrive, and while it would never be completely what it once was, over time it would rebuild on its remnants, it would come to see sunny days and starry nights happy and healthy once again.
A/n: I fucking love Percy so much….I’m also very sorry if this sucks….but please send more….cause I love this show { and Percy }
It felt good, it finally be freed from the possession.Though his first thoughts were of you, would you hate him? He wasn’t so sure he could take that heart break? What if you were afraid of him? They would be worse, he never would want you to be afraid. Stepping close to you, his hand grasped yours though he wished that his hands weren’t shaking so much.
“Y/n…I’m….I’m so sorry…I’m sorry for losing control..for what I have become..”
His voice was barley a whisper, you hated that. You didn’t want him to think any of those things, you didn’t even want him to apologize. Feeling his tears against the palm of your hand you let out a soft sigh cupping both of his cheeks.
“You silly man.”
Giving him a soft smile you brushed his tears away. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
That shocked him, his eyes widened. That’s when he finally noticed your smile. It was the same kind smile you had given him and the group when you first meet, the same smile when he told you that he loved you. He couldn’t understand, you should hate him.
“Y/n.”
Shaking your head you let your thumb glide across his cheek, him leaning into your palm. “You need to get those thoughts out of your head…I love you Percy.Nothing will change that.” Closing your eyes you then let your arms fall from his cheeks as you wrapped your arms around his waist for a hug. Your fingers gently rubbing his back as he clung to you as he pressed his face into your neck, you could feel his tears staining your skin.
A/n alright I haven’t actually written anything in a few years but I’m hoping to maybe start again. I’m sorry if this is terrible as I wrote it past my bedtime and my eyes are blurry. Formatting is terrible I’m sure and probably full of errors of all kinds but hey it’s there. I believe this would be considered an angst to fluff fic.
Summary: Bruno and y/n are parents to newborn boy they are tired.
Tw: not sure how to specify or if need to, there is some panicking in the beginning, new mom fear. If you have a suggestion for a trigger warning please feel free to share.
Bruno x y/n, Bruno x you
I’d say female reader but aside from having had a baby and the word wife there’s no anatomy or gender mentioned.
Sweet sweet sleep. It feels like it’s been years since getting any rest. The warm blankets are just right pulling them tighter while sinking into the fluffy pillow.
This feels so … nice.
Yeah…
Nice.
Warm.
Comfy.
Quiet.
And the baby hasn’t even woken up hungry yet.
OH NO.
THE BABY.
You shot out of bed panic flowing through your veins. The moonlight was just bright enough to confirm your fear. The baby bassinet was empty. An audible gasp escaped your lips though you wanted to scream, it felt as though your breath had been stolen from your chest. Heart pounding, you frantically stumbled out of the room eyes searching wildly thoughts racing.
This is a nightmare.
It has to be.
Stomach in knots and adrenaline flowing you turned intending to run, somewhere, anywhere, when the glow of candle flickered from a door slightly ajar.
The nursery. Approaching the door cautiously your fear melted with every step. Leaning against the wall, you listened to the soft voice coming from inside and willed yourself to calm down. You had only been awake maybe a few moments but the fear had felt like it had been longer. But even in your panic how could you not have noticed your husband was not in bed? He having the baby hadn’t even crossed your mind. Why hadn’t you thought to look for him? You mentally chastised yourself. “I’ve been a new mom for a week, what a mess I am.” Bruno’s soft singing turned to gentle humming, letting out a sigh you decided to peek in. At the sound of the creaking door Bruno turned to see you standing there. You smiled softly at the sight: the room was still mostly dark but there he was, holding the baby, their baby, gently swaying in the rocking chair. His bed head was still evident against the back of the chair, one of his hands supported your son as he was curled on top his fathers chest and his other hand covered his back and he rubbed gentle circles on the boys back with his thumb.
“Y/n… mi vida, did we wake you?” His hushed voice was laced with concern. Shaking her head no she carefully walked in
“is he asleep?”
“Si.” You brushed some curls out of Bruno’s face and kissed him gently on the forehead. You knelt next to the chair admiring the sleeping boys soft features, his round cheeks, and how his little mouth hung open while he slept. Bruno adjusted in the chair before bringing a hand to your face “what’s the matter my love? Why were you crying?” His thumb wiped away some drying tears you didn’t even realize you had shed. Looking up at him and seeing his brows furrowed in concern you leaned into his touch and whispered
“just a nightmare.” You didn’t want to tell him now especially feeling more silly seeing Bruno lovingly taking care of their son in the middle of the night. He didn’t press any further and you turned and kissed his palm. In the silence that followed you looked around and noted the empty bottle sitting near by and soiled diaper and sleeping clothes were already set aside to be cleaned and the shirt on the floor. Shirt on the floor? Quirking an eyebrow you looked back at your husband “Bruno?”
“Hm?”
“Why don’t you have your shirt on?”
“OH!” He said a little louder than intended causing your son to shift and stretch in protest before settling back into slumber. “Well.. uh you know. The nurse.. the nurse had said that Um skin to skin is uh good for the baby. Yeah. And I know she was talking to you but I.. I wasn’t sure if it worked with the dad or not but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try..” his whispering trailed off and he gave you a sheepish smile. You couldn’t tell in the dim light but you were sure his rambling was accompanied by a blush.
Smiling widely you leaned over and kissed him, pulling away enough to lean your forehead against his you whispered back “I knew you were going to be a good papa.” He pulled away with a lopsided grin but then his face went blank
“but I may have come to regret my decision.”
You blinked in confusion “wha..? About being a good papa…?”
“No no no of course not about the skin to skin.”
“Eh? Why?”
“See for yourself.” He tipped his head towards the baby. You looked at your son sleeping quite peacefully actually and back to him confusion still evident on your face. He jerked his head again towards the baby then once again more dramatically towards the other side of the baby. Standing you grabbed the candle and walked around the rocking chair, Bruno’s big green eyes watching you as you sat the candle down again and moved closer to inspect the other side of your husband and child. And there it was.
Bruno wasnt a hairy man by any means, having more hair on his head than the rest of his body but his son had snuggled into the patch of hair on his chest with his hand clenched tightly around a fistful of the curls. Bruno gave you an unimpressed look when you covered your mouth in an attempt to stop the giggle threatening to come up. Clearing your throat you couldn’t help the wide grin on your face as you offered to help him out of his predicament. Bruno hissed through his teeth as you tried to open your sons hand but only succeeded in him pulling his fist and the hairs with it closer to himself. You tried. You really did. Maybe you shouldn’t have looked at Bruno and seen the faces he made. You knew it probably hurt but the giggles came anyway and when he gave you that deadpan look you lost it, the giggles erupting into full laughter. Bruno’s face softened as he watched you, he loved your laugh, your smile, your everything. You had startled the baby awake so he gently rubbed his back to comfort him as you tried to compose yourself.
A few minutes later found you rocking your son in the chair while bruno put his shirt back on only a few chest hairs shorter than he started the night with. “Dios mio “ he rubbed his chest “he’s strong I’ll give him that.”
“Or just stubborn” he hummed in agreement, taking your face in both his hands he kissed you on your forehead, nose, both cheeks then finally on your mouth.
“I love you, mi corazón.”
“I love you too mi vida. You can go back to sleep if you would like, I have him now.”
“Nope.” He settled onto the floor next to the chair “ we are in this together.” You studied his face as he yawned, the circles under his eyes had gotten darker towards the end of your pregnancy and now with a newborn but when he looked at you his eyes sparkled.
“ I know we are love, but you are tired and I want you to rest”
“ Me? You just made a baby, OUR baby, and delivered him just a week ago. If anyone needs rest it’s my amazing wife. I’m here for you, I’m here to help. It’s the least I can do.” He took your hand “y/n… you’ve given me so much. So much I thought I’d never have. Here I am in my fifties thinking I missed some of the most precious things in life and here you are now freely giving me your love, we’re married, and now we have a son. I’m so happy, so so happy. I love you so much, please let me help. Let me be here as much as possible.” You nodded holding back tears once again tonight. This man. You didn’t deserve this man. But you would be sure to give him everything he deserves
“ I love you so much Bruno. Thank you for loving me.” He gently squeezed your hand and you passed the rest of the night quietly whispering to each other and your wide awake son about anything and everything. As the sun rose your son fell back asleep and you made your way back into the bedroom. Carefully placing him in his bassinet you shushed him as he tried to stir until he settled back into sleep. Turning around bruno held open the covers for you to join him in bed. You both knew it wouldn’t be for long but it would be worth it. All the stress from waking up had completely left you and was almost a distant memory as you fell asleep wrapped in your husbands arms listening to his heartbeat and steady breathing.
My face because I’m not dead just haven’t been active! Sorry about that for those who have been waiting for me to write that one part to that one story. Life happened, a lot, but things look like they are settling down.
• Aizawa also being crazy good with a rope, hog tying, lasso… you name it.
• Midnight as a saloon girl
• Snipe being snipe
• honestly I can picture present mic as one of those gambling teller people (idk what they are called sorry) or even a bar tender. Or a cowboy who wears the shiniest accessories belt buckles, boot spurs, etc
• villains = outlaws
• bank robbers
• train robbers
• horses. Horses everywhere.
• tight jeans.
• Dusters (western trench coats)
• overhaul and gang selling snake oil and miracle cures
I could probably think of more if I tried but I would love it if someone brought this to life with their art
