thevesuvianchronicles

[thevesuvianchronicles]

Burnt Amber

I was reading something the other night about the fact that in the dark the cones in our eyes legit can't respond to light like, at all. considering my recent bg3 binge that obviously got me thinking abt a certain sassy vampire and thus... this piece. (I've also been told there's a scene that could go along with this but I legit just got to act 3) enjoy!

spoilers for vague bg3 things

If he had to explain it - which he never would- the world lost its color. Many people looked back upon childhood so happily, everything had been brighter, the world bigger, love was so easy and quickly fleeting. A babe’s eyes opened to blurry yet vivid shades, pastels, and tints. Yet the first thing Astarion’s crimson eyes had seen was only the darkness of his own coffin. Color meant nothing to a vampire who’s first vivid memories consisted of clawing his way through six feet of funerary dirt.

Though his vampiric vision allowed him to make out the different threads on a rich man’s lapel, he only ever saw it in moonlight. Only a reflection, a fraction of the beauty the sun would give the fabric. Where there had been pastels there was now muted tones, tinted colors became gray, and shades became nothing but more inky darkness.

Centuries of this and he slowly began to forget the true colors the world had to offer. Was purple always so deep that one couldn’t discern where a sleeve ended and the night air began? Had yellow always seemed so dull? And red… had red always been so greedy? Soaking up and glaring back the same sick color he saw in Cazador’s eyes.

That’s all his vampiric life had been, that was all it ever would be.

Yet there he stood, watching the last of the sun’s rays dip below the horizon

Despite his suave demeanor and sweetened words, he knew how to woo someone, lure them into his bed with his body and honeyed words, and later back to his master. Yet no words could describe the sun now. It burned his irises, his eyes ached for him to blink, turn away, and do anything but stare into the sun. He simply couldn’t stop; it would take away his breath if he needed to breathe.

His first realization that color was far better within the sun was, rather unfortunately, Gale. Upon falling on his ass, Gale had done the wizardly thing and began rambling. However, Astarion wasn’t paying attention at all. His eyes were on Gale’s robe. He couldn’t remember a purple ever being so vibrant, so cocky almost, as if requiring you to look at it. It fit Gale as Astarion would come to learn. Then he saw purple everywhere. Balsam blooms carried but seemed a warmer tint of Gale’s robe. Shadowheart’s armor was even darker, matching that which Astarion saw late at night in the alleys of Bauldur’s Gate. He hadn’t really thought about it but he rather thought purple and red clashed. Leave it to that wizard from Waterdeep to be a walking fashion faux pas.

Yet despite the fashion error, Astarion couldn’t stop thinking about purple, the many different shades he had seen in a matter of days. The sun making the slightest variations more obvious to his crimson eyes.

He first realized that light is what made the colors so polluted, as if the colors were waiting to leach into his eyes when he couldn’t help but stare at the color yellow. It was, by far, not his favorite color, drawing too much attention of a rouge like himself.

Yet the golden glow of the divine seemed to suit Shadowheart. The brilliance of a guiding bolt whizzing past his ear, bathing a goblin in light, setting it ablaze. The disgusting color had saved his skin to many times to count by now. All thanks to the devotee’s hands.

The vampire couldn’t say he understood Shadowheart’s devotion. But the sheer power her belief brought the color yellow, made him quirk a brow. Such polluting brillance made him wonder if light was able to redeem every color.

The color followed him after that battle. Yellow licked at Karlach’s flames, light reflected off the golden threads of Halsin’s armor, it even sparked every time Lae’zel sharpened her sword.

Yet there was nothing that could redeem the color red. No amount of light or dark could make crimson look any better. In darkness it looked like a cesspool of all things evil, an open maw waiting to swallow whatever it could. In the light of day, it reminded him of nothing but lost souls, glowing red eyes, and a sickly grin.

It was the color Cazador liked most on him, both his clothes and his skin. It was the color his life had been reduced to. Living off such crimson ichor, so much so that it stained him, stained even his eyes from what he had gathered about vampiric looks. It was the only color that he would be happy to forget, but never could.

“You know if you stare at the sun long enough… you could go blind.” The voice came from behind him, his pointed ears finally picking up on the crunch of gravel beneath feet. His eyes did feel a bit dry as he blinked, black and swirling colors hindering his vision as he looked back over his shoulder.

The leader of their little group was… interesting to say the least. So focused on the tadpole and their companion's journeys that Astarion hadn’t learned much about their own personal goals, if any. He should work on that.

“I always love to look at beautiful things, not unlike yourself darling.” Astarion let the words lilt off his tongue, but didn’t turn away from the setting sun.

He heard a small hum from you as you settled beside him, standing close enough for him to tell that you had refreshed yourself from today’s adventuring.

Neither said anything for a while, the gentle rustle of trees and soft calls of animals in the underbrush the only noise. He had been so lost in his musings that he hadn’t realized how far the sun had set, a barely visible sliver of yellow still visible surrounded by orange and red.

“Well… now that the lovely colors are gone I do believe I’ll turn in for the night. A book and a glass of red do seem to be calling my name.” Astarion sighs, as if it would be a hassle to get up and walk the few steps to his tent. It is a hassle, to leave the presence of their leader has become more and more of a hassle on his heart than he’s willing to accept.

“Don’t go now, it’s just started to change.” Your voice was soft, softer than he has ever heard it and a glance tells him that your eyes are still on the setting sun.

“No thank you darling, I do think I’ve seen enough shades of red for a thousand lifetimes.” There is a twist of pain in his voice, one that makes him wrinkle his nose. He was getting too easy, a slip like that with Cazador and he would have been reminded how much he hates red.

“But the sky is beautiful-“

He cuts you off with a flippant wave of his hand and a scoff. A change of subject was all they needed, easier territory. “It’s just red. You know they say a red sky at night means-“

“It’s not just red Astarion.” You cut him short this time, tone sharp. He didn’t understand why you would defend such a color. Of all things to fight for, a color. They saw red spilled every day, every day their leader fought, for teiflings, for druids, for their companions. Each day that color ruined everything it touched.

“Oh? Do tell darling, what is oh so special about that distasteful mix of colors. A muddled mess of all things awful-“

“I rather think red is beautiful.” Astarion snaps his eyes up, disgust curling his lips, a flaunting jab just ready on the tip of his tongue when your eyes stop him.

At some point, he wasn’t sure when, you had turned to look at him. Eyes just as soft as your voice had been. There is a sweet tilt to your lips as he turns, as if finally seeing what they had been after.

He sees the minute shift of you eyes, as if darting back and forth. He can hear the uptick in your heartbeat, the tension releasing from your shoulders. As if the sight of him was what you were after, as if waiting to catch his eye.

Then he remembered. Remembered exactly what color his eyes now were.

“I happen to like that color.” You grinned, eyes steady on his. His mind was blank, no haughty taunt or seductive words. He could do nothing but blink as a grin spread wide on your lips and you turned back towards the sun.

“When the sun hits just right… it’s beautiful, a burst of burnt amber. I think it’s the prettiest color I’ve ever seen.” Astarion knew they were definitely not talking about the sunset anymore. He couldn’t help but stare at you. The curve of your nose, the way your smile seemed so giddy, the way the sun reflected in your own eyes.

Red was the color of the flowers Karlach had tried to pick for all of them. It was the color the jewels in Lae’zel’s armor, the color the hem of Gale’s awful robe. And it was the color of the blood you so willingly gave him. Had offered as soon as he had explained himself that night, without asking for anything in return. You were so different than what he expected.

He tutted, realizing he had been staring and turns back towards the sunset, listening closely as you go to sit on the ground. The bright yellow of the sun diffused into a russet orange that slowly eased into a vibrant, dazzled red. He sighed, slowly settling himself beside you, far closer than before.

“Yes darling, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I could grow to love it.”

#bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion

[thevesuvianchronicles]

Burnt Amber (sneak peek)

sneak peek at a potential ficlet for a certain sassy vampire from bg3 (obvious game spoilers ig?)

When someone says they want to live forever, there was no doubt in Astarion’s mind that they didn’t mean it. Forever was long, too long. Hells, within the first two days of his immortal life Astarion wished for death. Even if he hadn’t been a slave to Cazador -had mercifully been turned by a holier-than-thou vampire with morals of gold- he would still far prefer death to this horrid lacking.

If he had to explain it - which he never would- the world lost its color. Many people looked back upon childhood so happily, everything had been brighter, the world bigger, love was so easy yet quickly fleeting. A babe’s eyes opened to blurry yet vivid shades, pastels, and tints. Yet the first thing Astarion’s crimson eyes had seen was only the darkness of his own coffin. Color meant nothing to a vampire who’s first vivid memories consisted of clawing his way through six feet of funerary dirt.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x durge #fanfic #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion ancunin

[thevesuvianchronicles]

the perfect ariel💜💜

[thevesuvianchronicles]

gojocat

he goes NYAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[thevesuvianchronicles]

Finally sent this birthday gift off to my good friend, only 11 months late. by traumablades

[thevesuvianchronicles]

Only day you can rb this

[thevesuvianchronicles]

Haikyuu!! characters as Harry Styles songs Pt.1

(our mutual obsessions and opinions)

Karasuno

Hinata- “Sunflower, Vol.6”

Kageyama- “Falling,” Fine Line

Yamaguchi - “Meet Me in the Hallway”, Harry Styles

Tsukishima - “To Be So Lonely”, Fine Line

Tanaka - “Kiwi”, Harry Styles

Nishinoya- Harry’s Cover of Lizzo’s, “Juice”

Asahi- “Grapejuice,” Harry’s House

Daichi- “Fine Line,” Fine Line

Sugawara - “Daylight”, Harry Styles

Yachi - “Treat People With Kindness”, Fine Line

Kiyoko- “She,” Fine Line

Ennoshita- “Lights Up,” Fine Line

All the 3rd Years from Each Team: “Sign of the Times,” Harry Styles

#harry styles #fine line harry styles #harry’s house #anime #haikyuu!! #song suggestions #music taste #karasuno #hinata shoyo #tobio kageyama #yamaguchi tadashi #tsukishima kei #tanaka ryuunosuke #nishinoya yuu #asahi azumane #daichi sawamura #sugawara kōshi #yachi hitoka #kiyoko shimizu #ennoshita chikara

[thevesuvianchronicles]

People Pleaser

*TW: toxic family behavior, trauma*

It had started with his mother. The respect was something she had simply expected with him. There was no arguing with her for she expected greatness from her son. And what can be better than a son who does as he’s told?

“You must always look your best. Never cause an issue for others or misrepresent us.” She had tsked, smoothing any wrinkles from his buttoned shirt. His hazel eyes watched every move she made, stoic even as she licked her finger to clean a chocolate smudge from the edge of his mouth.

He didn’t like that. He knew his mother kept wipes in her bag, always being clean was a priority. Despite her maternal needs, he just found it sent an odd shiver down his spine.

He didn’t complain.

“A gentleman always offers an arm, he always says yes to those close to him.” His Grandmother hums, taking hold of his elbow and settling herself there. His muscles tensed, surprise at the touch causing his eyes to shift from the crosswalk light to the small lady at his side. It made him uncomfortable. The unwarranted touch made him feel on edge, that despite the constant nature of his steps, his legs were buzzing. With energy or with the cold he wasn’t sure. The groceries tightly grasped in his other hand seemed heavier, held by the same weight that landed upon his tongue.

His childhood memories were so different than those of his peers. He was never asked what gifts he wanted when he aged. Simply given something useful, practical, and of the highest standard. Once it had been a watch, then a pair of shoes and a tie.

This isn’t to say he didn’t want those things. The watch had served him well until his growth spurt. The shoes had disappeared after they had been scuffed. Yet, he never asked where they went. He knew someone had taken them for the better.

As he grew older he came to know what was expected of him. Grandmother’s friends cooed about, ‘the perfect grandson’. His mother’s mahjong table always seemed to fall silent in rapture at her son’s quiet care, taking her bag and her food dish without a word. It was simply ingrained within him.

Whatever they wished him to do, was done. He had little to complain about, as he lived ‘the good life’ as his mother had explained when he was 8. That life continues into high school

“You will stay and practice your spikes for another hour. Never keep yourself from growth. Wasted time is wasted talent.” Coach Washijo explained, having pulled Ushijima aside after group practice. His lungs burned, his palms raw and blistered despite the calluses. His legs giving a dull throb of what aches were yet to come.

Despite his state he nodded, turning back towards the court and the boys that waited to serve and catch the balls he would spike over the next hour.

Ushijima was simply doing what he was told, it had never truly hurt him before. Yes somethings made him uncomfortable, but it occurred with everyone. He didn’t really ask questions and was never on the receiving end either. Statements were made, he was given something to do, or a way to go about his life, and he did.

“Ushiwaka?” Tendo’s voice was clear and crisp in the silence of his doorway, wide eyes set on him though his matching wide smile seemed to fall by the second. “I asked if I could come in?”

With a single blink of his hazel eyes he gave his permission, allowing the lanky teen to enter his dorm. He moved out of the doorway, expecting the other boy to skip through as he had done many times before.

Tendo hadn’t moved, eyes steady on Ushijima’s form. After extra practice Tendo could only imagine Ushijima was tired. His muscles were bound to be in agony, no matter his volleyball monster status.

“You can say no, you know? Just because I come over doesn’t mean you always have to let me in.” Tendo’s wasn’t sure if his thoughts were in the right place, but with their limited discussions about his family it seemed Ushijima wasn’t one to say no very often.

With another blink Ushijima turned back to fully face the red haired boy, jump issue held loosely in his hand. “I’m not sure I understand. I moved so you could come in, as I always do.”

“But do you want me to come in? Or would you prefer to rest?” Tendo’s response was quick and to the point, knowing with his captain it was best to be straight forward.

Ushijima was aware he had a choice, he could have said no. But ‘no’ causes a hassle, a mess, he was meant to be a gentleman. He didn’t want to waste time laying in a room when there was a chemistry exam to study for, and more importantly a match to prep for. ‘No’ was a nuisance, it caused more issues than it was worth, ‘yes’ was the safest route, what can please everyone.

“Ushijima.” Once more Tendo’s voice snapped the spiked from a trance, a far more serious look befalling his face than before. “What is your body telling you is best for you right now?”

“To sleep.” Came Ushijima’s short reply, followed by a slow blink of surprise. How quickly and easily his truth spilled past his lips. Yet quicker still was his body’s response.

His shoulders tense, waiting to be told that he wasn’t being considerate of others time. His eyes fell to the floor in preparation for the cold and steady glare that awaited him. Even the huff of disappointment and purposeful brush of a shunning hand against his shoulder while walking past him.

“Then…” Tendo drew out his word, leaning down to meet the other boy’s eyes with his own smile still in place, “I’ll see you tomorrow! Good night Ushijima, get some sleep!” With that the redhead moved back from the door, giving another wave before receding from view. 

Ushijima simply stared, heart falling away from its frantic pace, the door slowly falling shut. He stood still, mind attempting to process that nothing he had expected, had actually happened. His shoulders sagged and a smile began to twitch at his lips before his room went dark.

#anime #fanfic #short fic challenge #ushijima scenarios #haikyuu tendou #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu!! #trauma #best friends #they were really good friends #yeahhh #writers on tumblr #writing #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima drabble #i did this instead of sleeping

[thevesuvianchronicles]

since you’ve come this far…

just a pea brained girlie doing her two cents on a platform that definitely doesn’t need it. but I’m giving it anyway, pls enjoy :)

haven’t done much in the grand scheme of things but whatever pieces I have will be linked here! (for now)

your forever (written by a friend)

eyes of the beholder

people pleaser

burnt amber

IN THE WORKS:

a drabble or two…. or three…

[thevesuvianchronicles]

Your Forever

A sappy end-of-time "Reader X Julian Devorak" mini-fic. Read it and weep :')

"You know what this means... right?" You didn't look, but you could feel Julian staring into your soul as he said it.

"Y/N. Look me in the eyes, please." You could hear the desperation in his voice as it began to break. You turned to him, sadness threatening to pour, overflowing your heart.

"You have to let me go."

"No," you whispered.

"You have. to. let. me. go," Julian repeated himself with more fervor.

Your cry came out more like a scream. You didn't intend to, you didn't want to scare him now, but there was nothing you could do anymore to hold back the emotion behind the fear of losing him.

"If this ritual goes as planned, then you may lose me forever. The best- the ONLY way to protect yourself, is to detach yourself from me forever. As he gave me life, he can take it away." Julian was talking about his experience with the Hangman. "There is nothing we can do."

"There is!" At this point you were begging him. "There's a way out, you can avoid the ritual! You can go, we can go! We can leave Vesuvia, run away, far away. Far enough where we wouldn't be able to see the gold on the Vesuvian castle, or the island! You don't like the island? You'll never have to see it again either."

Julian's eyes grew cripplingly grief-stricken as you went on. You could also see the mutual understanding you two had of the situation. It was an unspoken understanding. Despite the tears, and despite what would seem the never-ending propositions, you were both fighting a war neither of you could win.

Julian opened his mouth, but then paused for a moment before going on, catching his breath from the imminent tears welling in his eyes, the dam on the verge of breaking.

"My soul... it has an attachment I have yet been able to break. As it was attached to the first ritual feast, it is also attached to the last. No matter how far we run, the ritual will not go on without me. There will be no peace in Vesuvia or for the rest of the world if I do not go."

Heartbreak had officially set in. You knew what he was saying to be true, but you couldn't fight the growing anger and frustration as a part of you knew this was Julian's out for being sacrificial once again. You snapped, sobs breaking through your words.

"Well, if that's the truth then why are you still here?? Why are you still here??? What are you waiting-" Julian grabbed your face and pressed it into his. Your tears melted into his, desperate kisses mixed with desperate grabs as you both slowly fell to the carpeted floor of your bedroom in the castle. If this was going to be the last time you both saw each other, you were going to make it last forever... and Julian? He was your forever.

#julian devorak x reader #julian devorak x mc #julian devorak #the arcana #y/n #dating sim #visual novel #writers on tumblr #i used the right your in the title dont come at me #mutual burn #lovers #sad #sorry not sorry #short fic #fanfiction #the arcana fanfiction

[thevesuvianchronicles]

Eyes of The Beholder

did someone ask for Bokuto content bc i did

Bokuto knew he wasn’t the smartest boy at Fukurodani. Nor the most popular boy in his class, though he came close. But he always tried, despite his loud façade, he was still a boy. 18 years old and making a decision that would effect the rest of his life. Of course that was no problem for the dual haired boy, his love for volleyball made that decision easy. But love wasn’t enough, couldn’t be enough for such a competitive sport. So, even with his lacking traits in most things academic, (though it should be noted that he never failed, Akaashi made sure of that) he studied.

It was harder than he thought. Studying was not his forte, watching, analyzing, and noting plays. He was already in his third year, being scouted by teams and people hoping to sponsor the young owl. Admittedly he would doze off while studying more often than not. Books just didn’t hold his attention, words running together as his eyes glazed over.

It registered while watching a professional match for the Tachibana Red Falcons. Their outside hitter had this gleam in his eye, a type of calculation similar to the one from Kenma or Tsukishima during a rather grueling match. But it also reminded him of the pure joy a good hit brought Hinata or Akaashi finding a good book nook. Yet with the occasional miss 8 never lost his cool, his eyes almost glowing in the zoomed in lens of the camera. Harshly slapping his libero on the back with a laugh before settling back into the game. Maybe it was from studying, he wasn't sure. Kuroo had encouraged the golden eyed boy anyway when he had asked for study material. Though Bokuto was vague, unsure what he truly wanted.

“I’m not sure what you’re after… but it never hurts to brush up on skills that may come in handy. Stimulate that prefrontal cortex!” Kuroo said, followed by a rant on the chemical effects of studying with music on the brain versus how stress can cause a chemical imbalance leading to more health problems which could definitely be bad for a rising athlete. It took 15 minutes of that before Kenma dragged his captain away for some treat or game. Bokuto hadn’t gotten much sleep that night, watching clips of number 8 over and over again. Catching that gleam before moments of success and after failures. He knew that look, had seen it before in more people on the courts than he could count. But the meaning behind it came no easier than passing calculus. No matter how much or what he studied, number 8 seemed to make less sense.

“It’s just determination Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighed, disrupting the steam wafting from his tea cup. “Something you have. More than anyone I know. Perhaps you’re just worried? Try relaxing.” So he tried it. Managed to convince his sister to hand over a face mask, bath bomb, and candle with a gentle reminder of her drunkenly puking her guts out all over mom’s Dior scarf three weeks ago  The water was nice, not too hot not too cold. The face mask was drying little by little. Yet that image wouldn’t leave his minds eye. Something about that glint called to him, rattled around his head and pressed right between his eyes. He just couldn’t let go. It made relaxing all but impossible.

“He’s got fire! He wants to beat them Bokuto-san! You know like-” Hinata shouts making a wild arm swing, serving Kageyama’s milk-box out of his hands. Their teams had just finished multiple practice sets, scores settling into 6-5 with Fukurodani taking lead. It was tricky going up against Karasuno, they were never afraid to take risky moves. Bokuto had a feeling that no matter how much you attempted to study them, they would also have something new up their sleeve to throw you off. The next set has Bokuto out for the count, upset beyond belief that he may not be as competitive as he thought. See, Bokuto had seen very little video of himself, but what little he saw there was no spark. At least, not the same as number 8. It seemed to spark for only moments before being blown out by the other team, or the video simply ended. With himself essentially benched Bokuto watched, scanning each and every player for that same look. As the game went on the same happened to his teammates and friends. Embers of the gleam, nothing close to that of the Red Falcon’s number 8.

It didn’t leave him for weeks.

Haunted him in almost every class until he saw it once more. To play volleyball one has to be healthy, maintain muscle mass, and a bunch of other things that he didn’t care to remember from a volleyball magazine. So, morning jogs were more normal than he’d care to admit. It took more energy to roll over and turn off his 6am alarm than he would care to admit but nonetheless he sleepily stumbled into the activewear he’d set out the night before.

Saturdays in early January are notoriously cold so he bundled up a bit more than he usually would. ‘Can’t have my sweet baby getting sick now!’ his mother’s voice echoed, always coddling the youngest of her three children. With a huff he shut the front door, shaking off his drowsiness as he began his 5 mile run. He was half way through, just turning around when he saw it. A woman, arm tightly linked through what Bokuto could only assume was her husband’s.

It was too early for Tokyo’s noise, the sun barely peaking above the horizon. It was barely a second, a quiet moment shared between the two. It was how he looked at her, that decided gleam, though a bit softer around the edges than what he had seen of number 8.

He was an idiot. There was only one possibility. One similarity between this old man’s eyes and number 8′s. Something so complex it was easy. It was in everyone’s eyes, something everyone shared but was different for everyone. It was obvious now. Something he had and will have for years to come. The one thing it could be.

Love.

“Akaashi!” The cry pulled the boy’s eyes away from his book just in time to be met with the wide grin of his friend.

“Yes Bokuto-san?” He mumbled, stepping around the dual haired captain and continuing on his way to school. “Don’t you live in the opposite direction?”

Bokuto waved off the latter question, a jump in his step as he took Akaashi by the shoulders and turned him so they were face to face.

That certainly caught the dark haired boy’s attention. So he settled his bookmark into place and looked up, cocking an eyebrow in question.

“I figured it out. What I’ve been missing! Not missing exactly but you know- its there but not exactly. It isn’t something I could grab onto anyway so I-”

“Bokuto-san,” Bokuto halted at Akaashi’s voice, almost vibrating in excitement. “What are you missing but not missing?”

Bokuto closed his eyes and took a deep inhale, imagining that gleam once more before opening his eyes.

It made even Akaashi’s breath stutter in surprise. Bokuto’s golden eyes had never shown so brilliantly, capturing his attention like never before.

“Love.”

#haikyuu!! #writers on tumblr #fanfic #short fic challenge #anime #bokuto #akaashi #kenma #haikyuu fanfiction #mlm #love #bokuaka #creative writing #haikyuu fluff #fluff #bokuto kotarou