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Entry tags:
open rp
❝CALL ME OUT❞
I'm cool with AUs, game verse, etc!
Have some meme top levels or generator options if you can't decide on anything
▸ random geographic coordinates | ▸ random imagineyourotp | ▸ random picture prompt
▸ random au prompt | ▸ random prompt ideas
insomnia
ryouma 5
This is a problem, considering that Chaldea is situated in Antartica.]
Ryoumaaa. It's cold.
[Was Ryouma sleeping? She doesn't care - it would be rude of him to sleep when she can't anyway.]
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(Was he sleeping? Not quite but he was definitely starting to doze off a bit with a book in hand. He might not be as busy as he was when he was alive and running around the nation but he still likes to keep himself busy. There are no more letters to write these days but there are still plenty of things to read and even more to think about.
He looks up from his thoughts and reading,)
Are you? ... Ah.
(He'd always wondered if she was cold blooded or not... He has his suspicions but it's rude to assume things about a lady, isn't it? He wouldn't want to let his sisters down, h e h.
He moves the book away and moves back on his palms to give some room for her to sit on his lap if she desires,)
Come sit with me.
(It's warmer here.)
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You're comfortable.
[Her gaze falls to the book he put aside. Normally she's not much of a reader, but if it's something that's interesting to Ryouma, she can make an exception.]
What are you reading?
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It's about flying.
(Which sounds silly when he says it to her. He can't help but laugh just a little sheepishly now that he realizes this,)
These days, people are traveling and sending goods by air. (Of course he knows this and as a Rider, he even understands it to a certain extent. But he's always been interested in ships and moving around, whether it be by sea like in his days or air like these days.) People have come a long way since steam ships.
(Of course, that's human nature. When freed from limitations like class and an oppressive system, they can accomplish anything.)
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[Of course he doesn't, but she can't help but needle him a little when he gives her the opportunity.
And maybe she just likes hearing her husband say he likes her. So sue her.]
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(Isn't it only natural for him to be interested in this sort of thing? Ah, but he sees exactly what her game is and he laughs holding her just a little tighter and resting his chin on her shoulder,)
Of course, I like you more. (And he kisses her,) I love you.
But I was thinking... wouldn't it be nice to go on another trip?
(A romantic getaway! It's been so long.)
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Oryou loves you too.
-She wants to see the tropics, if we're going to travel. Hawaii.
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The tropics? (He sounds amused. It's a good idea and of course he agrees,) There's actually something about Hawaii in here...
(And he flips through the pages, knowing exactly where to go... and look. It's a picture of Hawaiian Air, First Class! A tray of delicious food being served, plenty of room to sit, and outside the window, a glimpse of the island down below.)
It says they have their own airline and the service is some of the best in the world. (And before she can mention flying by Oryou Airlines,) Now, it's not that I mind riding on your back but Hawaii's pretty far. Wouldn't it be nice to relax on the way? Then once we land, we could see all the sights together.
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Oryou would rather fly with you without other people around... but we can have couple time when we get there. A second honeymoon.
[And as resilient as she is, even she doesn't like flying long distances without anywhere to take breaks and land.]
for byleth.
instead, it's in a loose shirt and pants, boots pulled on out of necessity, that finds him traipsing down the hall and the stairs, keeping as quiet as he can manage, face troubled without anyone there to catch him letting it show. the cold air of the gardens outside is pleasant, somehow, once he makes it there, and even without his usual shadow of dedue at his side, he feels safe insomuch as he knows there won't be much trouble at this hour. there's not much of anything at this hour: just the dark sky and the stars, and a thousand options of how to pass the time to sift through and choose.
training could be a good option, but tea might be the best bet: it's what has him working his way across the grounds towards the dining hall; the doors are usually locked, but he might be able to find a window open, or at the very least, another route inside. it's in this mostly embarrassing position--standing outside the doors, giving them his gentlest pull to test the locks, not wanting to rip anything off hinges--that he recognizes the air around him changes: the telltale sign of someone behind him, where he turns his chin to his shoulder slowly to assess the danger.
well. not really danger, apparently. )
...Ah. Professor.
( he sounds almost sheepish: his hands drop, arms folding into a quick, polite bow, which looks a bit silly when he's not dressed to the nines as usual. )
Are you hoping to break in as well? ( with a tilt of his head towards the closed doors and a wry smile. )
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Garreg Mach is different, though. In these halls, her days are dictated by schedules and the rhythm of the day set by the clocktower's bell. She wakes (early), eats, reviews, teaches, trains, draws plans, and sleeps (late) with some deviation here and there. Contrary to what others might want to believe, she isn't a terribly difficult person to understand in this sense. At the very least, it makes it easy for her students to find her.
It's late at night and the best time to get a breath of fresh air. There's much on her mind. Lord Lonato's rebellion, the message about Lady Rhea's attempted assassination, the rumors of the Reaper, Flayn's kidnapping... not a month had gone by without some sort of development. And isn't that--
--Most interesting indeed...
Lost in thoughts, but not quite alone. Sometimes it's difficult to tell if Sothis is agreeing with her or she's simply agreeing with herself. Sharing headspace with a goddess can be like that, sometimes.
There's never been a dull moment. It's almost like... Something is happening. Yes, but what?
As it is, they're both at a loss. Sothis without her memories and Byleth without much knowledge of Fodlan at all. For a moment, she wonders if she should ask one of her students to help her fill in the blanks but would they think it strange? She is, after all, supposed to be their teacher. Ah, but then again, would it make much difference? Everyone is always telling her what an enigma she is...
She's returning to her room for the night when she catches a figure sneaking across the grounds. It's late and well after hours. There's no reason for anyone to really be out this late and she watches quietly for a moment, observing. Eyes already adjusted to the dark, she can make it out easily enough by his walk and posture.
Dimitri? She wonders what he could be doing out this late...
Well, will you let him go or...
Of course, she follows him. If he's up this late at night, there must be a reason. It isn't her intent to sneak up on him but she's always been a quiet person. She follows him silently, wondering where he could be going at this hour.
The... dining hall...?
It's then that he notices her. When he turns, she only lightly tilts her head to one side,)
Dimitri. (She speaks plainly in greeting and then shakes her head no,) I saw you.
(But is that his intention? To "break in?" She looks at him, the lock, and back again,)
Are you hungry...?
(She tries to recall if he was at dinner earlier in the evening.)
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so while the assumption is understandable, it's silly in a way that helps put his thoughts, troubling and overwhelming, to the side if only for the moment it takes to regard byleth with a small, good-natured shake of his head. )
I was hoping to find myself with something to improve a sleepless night, and training would be far too noisy at this hour.
( there's a reluctance, in admitting that to byleth: not that he thinks it's a weakness, or that their precious professor would hold such a thing against him. the only thing she might do is press him for more information--and that's what he's afraid of having to admit to anyone. )
I don't suppose you have a key?
( would she? he doesn't know necessarily what she may have access to, being a professor here, and what they may have neglected to give her admittance to: but it would certainly be the better bet than having him rip the door off or plunge a fist through the wood; that would cause too much trouble in the morning, and he doesn't want to be faced with all the questions that would come after something like that.
perhaps it's comical, or perhaps it's only comical in the sense that he's this serious about it: but he folds an arm against his chest, the other propped up against it to fold his fingers to his lips, wondering through the problem as though it's some great battle mechanic that he has to contend with. )
Or perhaps your mercenary days gave you the skills to pick locks? I've never learned, myself. I would, of course, not want to compromise your position here...
( the but i could use the help goes unsaid, in the way his voice trails off. )
nursed back to health
for claude.
what kind of idiot practices like this, anyway? the mock battles are more meant for displays like this, though why he'd been dying to show off or hone his bowmanship or whatever he'd been after, in the middle of the school week, is anyone's guess. she doesn't have the time to question it.
rushed into the room as they are, it's only with a bit of cursory, minimal healing that they're left alone--the infirmary is bustling thanks to a recent stomachvirus going through the school, and the wound at claude's shoulder is "surprising superficial", which explains why the healer leaves them after a moment with a crisp, sharp pull of a curtain around the side of the bed. there are plenty of other beds like this, stretched out along the room, and this is the only bit of privacy they're given from them: hilda sits at the chair by the bedside, her hands splattered with blood; she holds them palms up in her lap, making a face down at them before she looks up at claude, expectant. )
Does it feel any better?
( maybe she's looking, hopefully, for her cue to leave: but even her laziness won't permit her to step out of the infirmary if he's not stable, or if he's in pain, or if there's something she can do about it. wandering, her gaze finds the bowl of cool water and cloth at the bedside table, and with a resigned sigh, she stands up, dips her fingers into the bowl and starts rubbing the blood off of them. )
Take off your shirt. I'll clean the blood, at least.
( it's the right thing to do, isn't it? though claude is likely going to have a field day with her asking it of him. )
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Tumbled right into the weapons rack, knocking over practice swords and lances and landing about as gracelessly as one would expect. It had been a mess. A complete and total mess and he tried to laugh it off when Hilda came over.
He's fine. It's fine. Did she see that? Wow, that was embarrassing. Don't tell anyone! Meanwhile, he'd just bled through his shirt and he couldn't seem to get it to stop. For a moment he'd wondered if the arrow had actually struck his neck but no... no, it's just his shoulder and it looks a lot worse than it really is.
They get to the infirmary and the nurse gives him a glance when she mentions the stomach virus going around.)
Hey, don't look at me... or do. I could use a hand.
(Said nurse is not amused and only sends them off to one of the beds while she tends to some Adrestian noble wailing in the back of the room.
It's just the two of them now and Claude tries to keep the mood light. He doesn't miss the blood on her hands and he grimaces for her. He half expects her to leave. This is definitely not something she should be responsible for and she's never liked to do more than what's absolutely necessary.)
My shoulder or my pride?
(Heh.
He reaches to touch the cut, fingers tracing the edge to see exactly how far it goes. Huh, a few more centimeters and his neck really would have been on the line. He could take care of himself and yet... Hilda is still here. Sticking around. Gee, she must be real worried, he thinks, and he can only make her feel better the only way he knows how--)
And here I thought you'd just drop me off and leave me on my own... How forward, Hilda.
(Of course he's going to tease her.)
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it's absurd to think about, anyway. the blood just makes her thoughts go to places more serious--but then, if he'd been in a real battle, there would be so much more of it, wouldn't there?
her lips press together, a slight inflation to her cheeks before she lets all the air out in a scoff. )
This is the last place I would get around to... doing whatever it is you're thinking of. Come on, I'm not going to take it off for you.
( her hands reach and wring out the cloth that's inside the basin; the water is cold and uncomfortable, which will bode well for claude and his silly wound, but it does make her hands feel a bit clammy. once she's certain it won't drip everywhere, she draws it out, holding it awkwardly between her fingers like she isn't quite sure how best to do this, even as she steps uncertainly close to his side. listen, no one ever said she had a great bedside manner. )
Well, do you want my help or not? Last offer, you know.
arranged marriage
status effect
bodyguard
deserted island
fictional disease
the fictional illness meme
inspired by this tweet. cw: body horror.
01. hanahakibyou
flower spitting disease
02. bouaishoukougun
forgotten love syndrome
03. hoshinamidabyou
star tear disease
04. shinshoubyou
hurting heart sickness
05. tenshibyou
angel disease
06. hanasaki/kousekibyou
flower blossom/crystalization disease
tenshibyou
Maybe that's why some of the spirits in the citadel hadn't been pleased when the wings first appeared on Tsurumaru's back. It had been surprising and certainly it was something to be concerned about but he wasn't going to let others worry about him. Instead, he'd flaunted the wings and made a show of how precious they looked at first. Sure, they had started off as a dull gray at first and it was hardly anything impressive but in time, they'd grown bigger and bigger turning from a downy gray to a beautiful, clean white and a sharp, clear black.
"Don't I look like a real crane now?" Tsurumaru had laughed back then, twirling around and showing them off... all while speaking to the saniwa privately more and more as the weeks went on. Their conversations were a secret; not even the secretary or those close to them knew what they talked about but all anyone knew was that the conversations were happening more frequently and the air after speaking was becoming heavier.
And then he'd stopped being put on rotation. He stopped going on assignments at first and then he stopped sparring with others. Eventually, he stopped working in the fields and the stables until he had nothing to do. It was probably for the best considering... things were beginning to change.
It started with a heavy weight that he thought was just his body adjusting to his new great wings but then he'd started to feel cold more frequently, his body began to ache, and he never seemed to have much of an appetite. His mood began to worsen and he started withdraw from others more and more, preferring to be alone like right now.
Alone in a separate room, he thinks about how heavy and tired he feels these days. It'll only get worst and the saniwa is no where closer to knowing what to do. They'd talked about removing the wings by force but since they'd seemed to be actually attached to him... no one was sure how his body would react. It was something they would have to save until the last minute. The'd agreed on that. But they'd never agreed on who would do it which was probably for the best.
He wouldnn't let anyone else do it.
He reaches out for his sword and thin fingers curl around the handle as he tries to remove the blade from the sheath. It's heavy. His sword has never felt this heavy before and he's barely able to draw it before he drops it onto the tatami and...
Lays down on the floor, large wings draping over him limply.)
Ah...
(He waited too long.)
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But gradually, he noticed the changes. How Tsurumaru get assigned to duty and battle less and less. He seems to act... more distant than before. While Ookurikara knows he didn't know Tsurumaru the longest (that would be anyone from the Heian era), he does know Tsurumaru was always friendly and warm among the Date swords.
The Tsurumaru Kuninaga he's noticing lately is noticeably different from who he's used to. It's what finally got him to start moving. Ookurikara's been looking for Tsurumaru, resolving to confront him about this.]
Tsurumaru?
[Standing in front of the next room he's about to check, Ookurikara calls out for a moment. Before he slides the door open.]
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But for it to be Ookurikara... Tsurumaru knows Ookurikara is more sensitive than he lets on. He knows that if he saw him like this, he'd be hurt and worried. He definitely won't like this, Tsurumaru thinks and maybe it's for the best that he can't really call him or anything. It's best if Ookurikara doesn't see this.
Of course, when the door opens, Tsurumaru is there, lying down on the ground. It might even look like he's sleeping with the way the wings are wrapped around him. It's just that his arm is reached out for his sword still and Tsurumaru isn't the type to just leave his sword on the floor like that. It would usually be in a stand or placed neatly in front of him but this looks careless.
If Ookurikara comes around to see Tsurumaru's face, his eyes are open, clearly tired and not quite focused. It's hard to really even look up at him. It's too much effort. He also can't bring seem to get the energy to even smile at him like he usually would.)
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He get down to one knee and saw Tsurumaru's face. He frankly looks terrible. Clear concern shows on his own face, as Ookurikara softly calls out to Tsurumaru.]
Oi, Tsurumaru. What's wrong?
[He reaches out and place a hand on his shoulder.]
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With Ookurikara now in front of him, he can barely lift his head btu ah... the way his face looks? It makes him want to be strong and he manages the smallest smile up at him.)
Kara-bou...
(Even talking feels like too much effort,)
Nothing. (Everything.) I'm just... tired...
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[Absolutely nothing like a "normal" exhaustion he knows, such as physically from battles and tasks. Ookurikara gently press the back of his hand to Tsurumaru's forehead, just in case. His concerned eyes are glancing all over, from Tsurumaru's body to his face... and of course, those beautiful wings of his.]
What's...
[What's causing this? His first thoughts are the wings, as it matches the timing perfectly.]
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Ah, but it's a nice touch, he thinks. Ookurikara's hand feels so warm, he closes his eyes and he wants to lean into it more.
Ookurikara is a smart spirit, he knows he can figure out what's wrong just like he and the saniwa did. It's the wings-- the only thing about him that seems to be fine and he whispers,)
Don't I look like a crane?
hurt/comfort
fell asleep on
train to the afterlife