#death to fyodor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aureatchi · 5 months ago

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ᝰ𓂃⊹ ִֶָ SHE PAINTED THE HIGH RENAISSANCE ONTO HER BLANK CANVAS. . .ft. fyodor dostoevsky & dazai osamu

৻ꪆ RIASSUNTO. fata viam invenient...you attend a ball, fated to stumble upon two demons in disguise. you don't know whether it is for better or worse that you somehow already know them, all masqueraded as angels, regardless of how laughably far off that would be.

◞ OR ROME WAS TRULY THE PROMISED LAND, and you sought the art of chaos, rivalry, and seduction.

SERIES MASTERLIST. → ii. | PLAYLIST ♫. | wc. 9.6k+

৻ꪆ a/n. it’s FINALLY HERE !! get ready because there’s A LOT. i’ve poured sm heart into this so i hope you enjoy it as much as i do :) THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who was patient + reached out telling me how excited they are for this. this series is also my entry for @kentopedia’s love through the ages historical!au collab. thank u sm for putting this together <3

৻ꪆ info. fem!reader. renaissance!au. drama & romance. cursing. some suggestive parts. love triangle. arranged engagement. slowburn. lowk touch-starved. a lot of story buildup/complex character. suicide attempt from dazai. historical inaccuracies. bad poetry. religious imagery/symbolism.

— THE MONA LISA WASN’T REAL. And Vincenzo Peruggia was not, in fact, the person who stole the piece, contributing to the boom of its fame to the general public, but was planned in a way to frame him so that the origins of the painting would be a secret gossip only a group of the most successful artists knew about.

The gendarmes were close. They were correct in assuming that another artist could’ve stolen the painting during the investigation. But they never suspected it could be the person the portrait was painted of herself—no, obviously not Francesco del Giocondo’s wife—but the original face who remained under the cover-up.

An artist’s face, who later went under the alias of “Raphael” to conceal her contentious image and entanglements from the public eye—you.

The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin amidst the summer air. The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders, and an unknown heart who vowed to drown you…

“My, miss, you’re already stirring up tons of drama, and you’ve only been here three days!”

The past couple of months had felt like a dream. It almost seemed like yesterday when you packed your things into suitcases and moved to one of the most famous centers of the art world, Florence.

Yet now, you entered through the gates of the ‘eternal city’ itself—Rome, a great privilege granted to you by the Pope himself. You almost cried when you received his invitation, commissioning you to paint the frescos in his private library. Of course, there were some strings pulled, like the person who recommended you…

“It’s all thanks to you, Ranpo,” you giggled mischievously. As the lead architect of the Vatican (but before that, your friend), he had told the Pope, “...she might as well become the best painter in all history. She may not be well known here in Rome, but say her name in Florence, and you’ll awaken the whole city. You’ll realize you’ve found a diamond among all the rubble. Trust me on this one; I’m never wrong.”

“It was nothing,” Ranpo replied with a smug smile. “His Holiness, Fukuzawa never doubts my word.” He tapped his head with his forefinger and winked. “Not only does he recognize my talent in the arts, he also acknowledges my outstanding intellect! I’d be a detective in another life.”

You chuckled before he continued. “The rest is all on you, princess. Again, you’re progressing quickly-” he pulled out a letter to summarize out loud.

“-His Holiness was so impressed that he’s giving you the rest of the rooms to paint,” Ranpo said while you stared at him with widened eyes. “He…fired everyone else who was working on them. On top of that, he invites you to a ball happening in a couple of days to make an announcement on new projects. Other than you, he’s invited only the most influential artisans to attend alongside the aristocrats.”

“No way!” You grabbed Ranpo’s hands in excitement.

“Yes, way.” He let you spin him around on the pavement in eagerness, your long dress following along. “Though, I feel like you’re going to have to explain to him how you painted the library’s frescos so quickly.”

Your turbulence of elation calmed. “Hm, you’re right.

“I hope the question slips his mind.”

You hadn’t actually told Ranpo, but it always seemed like he would figure out everything about you anyway. There was one reason why you had become so famous in Florence. You created masterpieces in what felt like seconds—it was almost like you were granted the touch of creation itself. No one had ever seen you paint, so the mystery of how you were able to produce your portraits in mere weeks—sometimes days remained a mystery to the entire world, no matter how fast science progressed.

You called it an ability. To be able to visualize—a mental image in your head you wanted to come to life in the form of a still painting on a canvas was what you did. You conjured the concept yourself, freezing daydream into textile.

You weren’t sure why you possessed something supernatural, or perhaps there were other artists you didn’t know who could also do the same thing, but firstly, you kept it a secret—it seemed almost inhuman to hold such a power. Yet secondly, it was even more the reason to follow in your father’s footsteps.

He, too, was a painter in the courts of Urbino and would’ve liked to become a famous artist as well. Now, that dream lived on through you—you had studied and trained under his teachers and other artists until you mastered their techniques from the foundations to geometry. Your father was no longer alive, but you were sure he’d be proud of you for getting this far.

“Oh, one more thing,” Ranpo said.

“The two angels of art are going to be there.” The brunette closed his eyes and rested his arms behind his head as if he already knew the shocked expression awaiting your face. “Your inspirations. Osamu Dazai of Milan and your fiancé, Fyodor Dostoevsky of Florence.”

“Pardon me, Fyodor?”

…

A long time ago, your uncle—your now legal guardian—arranged your marriage to Fyodor Dostoevsky. However, the same would’ve happened even if your father had been in charge due to his family’s good societal position.

It was just meant to be, you guessed.

Coincidentally, Fyodor had also taken an interest in art the few times you two saw each other when you were younger, and you eventually saw him go on to become the most talented sculptor in Florence.

However, your path of similarities ran cold after that. You hadn’t seen him in years, and you weren’t even close. You were obligated to write to each other once a month, but each message almost seemed like business transactions rather than love letters. Fyodor was too aloof a person despite being well-educated and polite—though he checked off every other box (and you were sure any other woman would want him), you realized you would never be able to connect with him. He was just not interested.

You couldn’t do anything to change the engagement, but as long as there was no set wedding date to look (dread) forward to, you were content with life for now.

You didn’t necessarily like Fyodor, nor did you go to Rome to finally pursue him, but you admired him from a different standpoint.

He and Osamu Dazai were truly angels of art; even gods, if the Church was not one’s forte. Everyone across the country knew their names—patrons and civilians alike worshipped them at the feet. Even the powerful Medici family, sought by every artist to be commissioned, held close ties with both.

Clientages saved their money to have the two paint for them, upcoming artists aspired and envied their success, ladies came with their names rolling off their tongues to the horror of their husbands’ faces—they were rumored to be devilishly handsome, too. Self-portraits of the prodigies were yet to be made, but you didn’t doubt it one bit. If Dazai was anything like Fyodor, he had to be fanciable too.

They had the world and heavens as masterpieces in their hands; one could say their names traveled as far as the badlands. You arrived in Florence right after they departed for Rome, and you studied the creations left behind to figure out how they made crowds swoon and create such huge impressions on people.

And you found their pieces were indeed the pinnacle of the renascene summer. You silently made them your mentors, incorporating what was successful for them into your own works.

…

“And you’ll be there, right, Ranpo?”

“Of course, so don’t you worry your pretty head about a thing,” he tapped his head with a smile. “Though, I have some work to finish first, so I’ll leave thee to explore Rome.”

“Don’t take the wrong wagon this time,” you giggled. Ranpo was late to meet you on your first day because he kept taking the wrong passenger coach to get to you. For some reason, he was knowledgeable at everything but navigating transportation.

“I’m taking a horse this time,” Ranpo replied.

“Even worse! You better not fall off!”

There was a tailor you had been recommended to by your aunt before you departed. You decided to head to his shop first to find a dress to wear for the evening.

“Good day, my lady,” the couturier said with a kind smile. “I have multiple options of gowns for you tonight. Please do take your time selecting.”

“Gramercy,” you replied with a smile in turn. Your measurements had been sent to him a few weeks ago, so that you wouldn’t have to wait for your garments to be made.

He brought out at least four cioppas. You didn’t even care to figure out how many in total because among all the regal reds, greens, and royal blues stood out a silk, off-white dress with gold accents. Your eyes were immediately drawn in, though you couldn’t put your finger on why. It wasn’t the most showy in the bunch, but that didn’t matter to you. It was like a rare gem among common stones—though you would need a good eye to really appreciate its uniqueness.

You ran your fingertips across the fabric, closely observing its craftsmanship. You became fascinated with the opulent designs on the flowy skirt and the long sleeves. You guessed that if you didn’t take it, you’d instead dream of it for the rest of your days in regret and freeze it in one of your paintings for eternity.

“I think I’ll try this one first.”

Your first choice proved worthwhile when you tried on the gown in the separate dressing room. You exchanged the simple front-laced bodice and plain cotton attire for the new, elegant piece sewn just for you. The fabric hugged and complimented your curves in all the right places, creating the most flattering look as you turned in front of the mirror.

You imagined yourself with your hair styled and matching jewelry to accompany it—you felt like a princess. Perhaps this confidence was the only thing that would help you get through the ball this evening and perhaps your entire time here. You hadn’t been around so much aristocracy in years—though you grew up privileged, you preferred to live humbly and simply focus on your hobby (and you spared your change on those in need). You were lovely yourself, no doubt, and maybe that’s why you charmed many people of different social classes as you grew more popular.

You studied yourself through the mirror again, and it was like the polarity of your dresses reflected the fate of this new chapter of life set against the one you left behind.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and an unknown heart that vowed to drown you…you suddenly felt cold. You rushed to get out of the room.

“It’s perfect on you,” the tailor said, unable to disguise his awe when you asked him for his opinion and to ensure all the sizing was correct. You nodded in curiosity when he asked, “Now, would you like to know the inspiration behind the dress?” You always looked forward to seeing how your tailors incorporated your personality and family style into their design.

“It’s a play on a singular topic,” he said.

“Angels. A dual purpose signifying both the type of art you create and how you give off an entrancing allure—they will be curious about your enigmatic yet enchanting importance. That will be your statement tonight among the darker colors.”

The earlier thought of comparing your two inspirations to angels came to mind. You decided right then—you found no need to try on any of the others.

“I’ll have this one sent for me tonight,” you said. “Thank you again.”

Rome was alive and busy with action at every corner you turned. You strolled down the streets with no set destination, admiring the liveliness of the city. There were markets and shops everywhere and merchants with all sorts of foreign goods.

You discovered a ruella at the corner of one street, and the door was widely opened. You peered in to see a group of women inside, probably discussing various intellectual topics.

You decided to go inside and socialize, having nothing better to do. As you stepped into the salon, they all turned to greet you.

“Good day, miss,” a few of them said.

“Oh, aren’t you the Florentine artist?” one of them asked. She moved to the side so you’d have a spot to sit.

I got recognized, you thought, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“My husband was there awhile back,” she continued as you sat beside her. “He couldn’t stop talking about how enamored he was with your style and was sure you’d make it here next. Looks like he was correct!”

“I’m very flattered,” you responded, a warm tint in your cheeks.

“Did you recently arrive?” she asked. “I hope your journey here went smoothly.”

“Yes, it went alright!” you said. “The weather wasn’t too bad, and I enjoyed the views on the way. I even passed by some lakes…”

You felt it again. A shiver ran down your spine. The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin that stood perpendicular to summer’s balmy weather. The intense feeling to stay alive—to save yourself and the soul you did not know…

Your journey had gone smoothly up until you passed by one of the lakes near Rome. It had been a peaceful day, and your coach driver suggested that you look outside. You lifted the curtain and were received with one of nature’s blessings—verdant grass and plants that thrived around clear blue waters.

You could’ve painted it if you remembered the sight. You truly could have if the memory of the scene wasn’t tainted by what you saw seconds after.

“Hey, is that a person?” you asked your driver, squinting your eyes—unblemished, untouched picture shattering in your head. The land on one side of the lake was vastly elevated, creating a cliff on that end, and a figure stood in the distance.

A moment passed.

“…Yes, my lady.”

Your eyes weren’t betraying you—there was a man dangerously close to the cliff’s ledge, and you weren’t born yesterday to not know what he was thinking of doing.

“Stop the wagon,” you said, a slip of panic in your tone. Your driver looked back at you hesitantly, but you ordered once again.

“Please stop the wagon. Don’t come after me. And don’t tell anyone about this.”

The horses carrying you came to a halt, and you rushed out of the chaise. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you at that moment—there was a random person you happened to catch making more than a terrible decision, why get involved—but you couldn’t stop now as it was like your legs were carrying you themselves. You immediately took off east towards the cliff. It would take you a few minutes until you got to the man.

What would you even tell him? Would you try to talk him out of it? Gaslight him into stepping away from the edge? Offer to paint him a custom piece for free?—“Oh, I’m actually a famous artist in the country, I can paint you whatever you wish. But I can’t really do that if you kill yourself.” You dashed past grass and rocks as you hurried up the hill.

You would definitely have to change once you got back—the bottom of your dress was already soiled, and you were sweating.

Splash!

Your face was struck in complete horror at the loud sound. You peered over the edge to see huge ripples cascading across the surface of the lake.

Oh shit!

You ran back down and then towards the shore. You thanked God that you weren’t using any heavy layers under your dress that day and prayed you weren’t going to end up killing yourself as well. You knew how to swim, but the man was far from the bank.

Am I really going to do this?

This might’ve been the most spontaneous thing I’ve done. And the worst.

You liked to think that if you saved him, you would be rewarded in some other way. A good Samaritan—you thought. It had to be worth it. You couldn’t die before your new life even began.

You submerged yourself into what felt like frozen water, your clothing suddenly feeling uncomfortable around you. Still, you wasted no time swimming toward the man who jumped in.

He was already sinking—of course, this lake has to be deep. You immediately grabbed onto his waist when you got to him, but not before you took a good look at his face. He was probably of the working class because he only wore a simple white shirt. You also noticed he was covered by an absurd amount of bandages. Soft waves of brunette hair framed the man’s profile, and he looked far more content and at peace than he should’ve been. In any other situation, you would’ve thought he was taking a pleasant nap by the way his eyes were closed, and his lips were slightly parted.

You’d never seen anyone so pretty underwater. If you hadn’t seen him as a human above land, you would’ve thought he was a mermaid or some other foreign creature.

Your thoughts and observations were interrupted when you realized you couldn’t hold your breath any longer. Trying not to panic anymore, you first tried to drag the two of you up above the water, but you weren’t strong enough to battle the weight of it against the two of you.

You would have to swim to shore and didn’t know if you had enough air to return.

Well, I need to make it work anyway, you thought. You wouldn’t let this mysterious guy you didn’t know cut off everything you wanted to pursue.

You took ahold of one of the man’s loose arms and, with determination, tried to propel yourself the way you came from, kicking your legs through the water. You were more than correct in assuming it would be complicated—the energy in your body drained quickly.

You were only halfway from where you started when you accidentally choked. But that caused you to completely seize up—water poured into your lungs like open floodgates, and you were unable to breathe. You tried to push yourself up to get air, but you were already too weak to carry even yourself.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and trying to save an unknown heart that had led to you drown—you wondered if he was still alive. He would have to be resuscitated at this point, and you realized, you too. If anyone came in time to save you, that was. You shouldn’t have had ordered your driver to not follow after you. Or rushed into the lake unprepared.

Or involve yourself with this man. It was his decision to jump off the cliff…and now you had tied his own weight onto your life. Maybe it was all too heavy to carr—

“I’m happy to hear,” the woman replied, oblivious to and interrupting the encounter you were replaying in your head. “I wish you the most success here.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “You are very kind.”

“I am a bit nervous,” you whispered. “I’ll be meeting His Holiness for the first time and other artists. Do I even compare to them?”

It was evening now. You had spent the last couple of hours preparing for the ball after exploring town—you had on the classy cream-colored dress you selected earlier from the tailor, accompanied by a couple of necklaces. Your hair was put up in a complex style and fastened by a few pieces of jewelry.

Your mind utterly conflicted with your appearance, though. Your thoughts were in chaotic peril—you tried to hide the fact that you had been pacing around your room in anxiousness right up until Ranpo picked you up.

“Thou art second to none, miss,” Ranpo replied with a wink and a tight squeeze of your hand. It had only half the same effect as his bear hugs the viridescent-eyed would give you when you weren’t in public, but it was enough. “There’s no reason to be nervous. You fascinated him long ago—you might’ve even been his favorite if I wasn’t here!”

“Maybe so.” You giggled at his lighthearted smugness. “Well then, let’s get going.”

Ranpo nodded and led you through the large doors of the ballroom. Immediately, you were greeted with the celestial light from the chandeliers contrasting the dark evening sky outside.

Your eyes drifted in awe among the artigiani and aristocratici of Rome. It was almost chimerical—you hardly remembered you were still holding Ranpo’s hand. The scene looked like it came straight out of a painting.

“Appealing so far?” Ranpo asked, guiding you down the stairwell. “Can it stand against the Florentine carnivals?”

You slowly nodded, still focused on the liveliness surrounding you. “It feels divine.” It was more prestigious than any event you’d been to so far—most likely because this was held in one of the Pope’s courts itself.

“You haven’t even experienced it yet,” Ranpo laughed before leading you into the waltzing crowd. “Shall we dance?”

You and Ranpo followed the movements of the other couples. When you were sure of the pattern of the steps, your eyes wandered again to admire the setting. Everyone was dressed to the nines—although, as your tailor said, they all wore darker colors. You pretended to not notice the looks you received from strangers—however, they were not insulting. They were out of captivation and marvel.

Multiple pieces of artwork were hung around the hall, too, and you wondered if the chosen artists who created them were here now. You considered if they knew of your name too, just as you recognized theirs.

However, your heart almost stopped when you were reminded of a completely different topic. Ranpo noticed a moment of shock flash through your eyes but did not proceed to question you. (Thankfully, he knew when you would prefer him not to be nosy.)

You saw the back of a man’s head dressed in pure white—his brunette hair in slightly messy, soft waves.

There is no way.

However, you could not confirm your suspicions because he approached a lady in a beautiful, deep red gown to ask for a dance. His face and figure became completely hidden as he waltzed with her at the opposite side of the room.

“See someone you know?” you heard Ranpo ask.

Of course he didn’t need to be nosy, because he figured out everything about you anyway.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” you responded quietly, still trying to get a glimpse of him, but before you could say anything more, a guard standing next to the entrance silenced the entire crowd.

“Enter, His Holiness, Fukuzawa!”

You immediately turned around, and once more was someone dressed in white—the Pope, Yukichi Fukuzawa. You glanced at Ranpo, who gave you a nod of reassurance before politely applauding with everyone else.

“Thank you for attending this event today,” Fukuzawa started. “Our city has made much progress due to the collaboration and contribution of our artists, so I would like to take tonight to celebrate all of them. Ultimately, I want to reveal the next upcoming project.”

After a few more words, everyone applauded again, and the party resumed activity. You and Ranpo moved away from the dance, him deciding it was finally time to do the thing you were dreading.

“Look over there.” Ranpo urged his head towards two men in conversation standing a few feet away.

If the ballroom really represented the heavens, surely these two were the angels. Even without Ranpo telling you, you knew them to be Osamu Dazai and Fyodor Dostoevsky, standing side by side, white suits further proving their empyreal position.

But your eyes widened, and if you hadn’t been careful, your jaw would’ve dropped, too. Obviously, you recognized Fyodor—tall, jet-black hair—handsome and intimidating as ever, but you didn’t dwell on him for too long. Your eyes quickly scanned the room in search of a woman from earlier with dark curls, dressed in deep red, and when you found her, she was no longer dancing with the brunette dressed in white.

You looked back at the man beside Fyodor.

It’s him.

And as if hell—fate, whatever wanted to taunt you further, Osamu Dazai noticed you and Ranpo first, pausing his share of thoughts with the ravenette. You locked eyes with him, and you immediately became embarrassed.

What the hell? First, one of them is my fiancé, whom I don’t even say a word to, and then the second is…him?

Perhaps we shall meet again, were the brunette’s words to you by that lake. You truly didn’t believe him then, but it wasn’t the first time you choked on your assumptions.

In a split second, you pulled Ranpo out of sight. “Ranpo,” you pleaded. “I can’t meet them now!” Your fingers hastily ran through your hair, making sure everything was in place. “I’m not even sure what to say-”

“You’ll have to rip off the bandage sooner or later,” he said, tugging on you. “And I say the sooner, the better! I’ll introduce you to them!” You felt even more displaced at the fact that he offered to introduce you to your own fiancé. However, before you could even object (or say, “Ranpo, somehow I already fucking know both of them!”), he dragged you back—toward the two painters.

“Good evening, my lords,” Ranpo said as you approached them.

You didn’t miss how Dazai’s face lit up in a curt smile. Meanwhile, Fyodor had on a neutral expression—probably the only appearance you ever saw him wear.

“Good evening, Edogawa, the darling of His Holiness,” Fyodor said, the slightest spite in his tone. He did not glance at you at all.

“Still as cold-hearted as ever, Il Divino-Painter,” Ranpo replied with a chuckle, but it was apparent that he did not like the man.

“I am a sculptor,” Fyodor corrected, a bogus smile still plastered on his face.

“Don’t mind him,” Dazai said, patting your friend’s shoulder. “He’s just jealous you’re in charge of planning out the entire Vatican palace. And also at the fact His Holiness had to force him into a suit!” When Fyodor gave him a look, Dazai turned to you.

He had eyes of the sunset, paving the way of something between hell and earth—though in a perfect world, it should’ve been the other way around because he looked as if he had just come down from heaven. You felt your cheeks warm and an uncertain feeling in your stomach.

“Good evening, my lady,” Dazai said, knocking you out of your reverie. You blushed again as he knelt to take your hand and kiss it, bowing before you—the single minute felt longer than nox itself.

Was this the same man you met at the lake a few days ago?

He was the artist you admired all along?

“Apologies for not greeting you first,” he continued as he stood up. “I did see you earlier. How could anyone not notice the angel of Florence who creates masterpieces in days, especially when she looks like one tonight?” You became even more flustered by his sweet words.

He was familiar with my name all along.

“Ah, so you already recognize her?” Ranpo asked.

“Of course I do!” You suddenly tensed—half expecting him to reveal your previous encounter with him that you did not want anyone else to know. (If Ranpo knew, you hoped he would keep his mouth shut for your sake.) It would cause too much trouble if someone decided to spread it, and even worse if your uncle found out. He was very strict on image.

But to your relief, he did not.

“I am very fond of your style, my lady,” Dazai said, resting his hand under his chin. “Madonna del Granduca,” one of your paintings. “You capture human sentiment and emotion so well, even in the most simplistic pieces.”

Finally, you were able to respond to one of his compliments without becoming a mess. “Thank you.”

“...And sfumato, your technique,” Fyodor added. “Perhaps you like her style so much because she takes it from you.”

It was only now Fyodor finally acknowledged you.

He may just be the son of Nyx. His intentions were tucked away behind amethyst eyes, slumbering in the peaceful twilight he allowed mercy to while all else was caught up in chaotic darkness. Maybe no one else noticed that—if anyone did, Fyodor would not be as beloved as he was now—but you did. You saw through the three strands of malice that laced his following words.

“Good evening,” he said softly. He kneeled in front of you with your hand, tormenting you with eye contact.

“It’s an honor to see you again, miss. Though I must ask, was Florence not enough?

“Is grasping originality so tough?

“Are you here to copy more artistic concepts to boost your own depictions of seraph?”

He delivered a deadly kiss to your hand before you could respond, and before he could see the puzzlement on your face.

“Excuse me?”

But you did not falter before him as he stood back up. He did not intimidate you.

“I’m flattered.”

For once, the slightest sign of curiosity seeped onto Fyodor’s face.

You gave him a poisonous smile of your own.

“Sfumato—the blending of colors to create smooth transitions between them,” you explained, giving a nod toward Dazai. “I’m honored that you immersed yourself so much with my painting that you could observe such a detail.”

Ranpo pretended to look around the hall as if he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening, while Dazai couldn’t keep a snort from escaping his throat.

You kept your eyes fixed on your fiancé’s violet gaze, trying to figure out whether or not you’d be dead after the night was over. Actually—he seemed like the type that could seduce someone into death. Stygian black hair framed against his pallid complexion—ethereal, no doubt, yet you would not be surprised if he turned out to be the Grim Reaper’s right-hand man. (And you were supposed to marry him!)

“I’m here because His Holiness summoned me to paint the frescos in his house. I feel that if he sensed plagiarism in my work, he would’ve not trusted me with this project.

“What about you, my lord?”

There was a pause; he was thinking.

“I am simply searching for something important,” he replied. “An inspiration, if you want to call it. I need it to complete a piece I have been working on.”

“And you’re sure you can find it here?”

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

The foreign word rolled off of his tongue like honey. He dressed his voice to sound like a lullaby, and you remembered why you thought of him as an angel before he decided to insult you.

What a juxtaposition.

“What did you say?”

“Did you not hear me?”

He wasn’t going to tell you what he said, nor what he meant in entirety. “Nevermind. I did. Good luck trying to find it.”

…

“May I have this next dance, my lady?”

The charming brunette extended his left hand out to you. You had become irritated with Fyodor after his apparent distaste for you—So this is how you treat me after years of not seeing each other? You thought you could at least try becoming acquainted with him to make your inevitable fate a bit easier for both of you, but it seemed like that wasn’t happening anytime soon. You left the conversation at the nearest opportunity and moved to the other side of the room, unaware that your other dilemma was following you.

“Lord Dazai?”

You noticed something new about him as he stood in front of you. Those sunset orbs also harbored a concept as far as the sun. There was something distant in them that felt like half of his mind was immersed somewhere else. You wondered where.

“I don’t like Dostoevsky at all either,” Dazai chuckled. “Even though tonight’s given me another rival on my list, I like you way more.”

“Don’t speak so soon,” you scoffed. “You’re going to hate me when I take all your customers.”

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, bella.” You frowned at his attempt to flirt. “And besides, many of them are very loyal to me.”

You hesitantly took Dazai’s hand as he led you to the floor, joining the circle of couples who had already lined up to dance the almaine.

“I’m still annoyed with you,” you said quietly as the two of you lightly skipped across the floor on your toes, never breaking eye contact with his tawny eyes. That same look was there—it was like he was thinking of everything and nothing all at once. “I’m only agreeing to this so I could boost my status. You just caught me off guard back there. That’s why I acted nice.”

He dramatically pretended he was offended.

“Why, tesora?” Dazai took both of your hands. You circled around each other gracefully before reversing to step in the other direction. “I saved you! If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be dancing here tonight and finally knowing the name of the poor soul who jumped into the lake!”

“If it weren’t for you, I also wouldn’t have nearly drowned, idiota,” you glared.

“Keyword: nearly!”

You continued sulking at him while the dance went on, ignoring the rest of his defensive sentences and the friendly endearments he added to the end of them.

“Ow!”

Dazai had stepped on your foot during another turn.

“What was that for?” you asked, silently observing how he made sure he did not catch your dress along too, so it would not ruin.

“Hm? What do you mean?” Dazai spun you again; this time, he stepped on your other foot.

“Lor- Dazai!” You disliked how much fun he was having with this. Now, he wore a mischievous gleam in his eyes that coupled an unmistakable, playful grin.

He spun you one last time, and this time, you purposely stepped on his foot.

“Hey—why did you do that!?” he pouted.

“Thou did it first,” you replied dryly. “You’re a bad dancer, my lord. You can’t even keep up with the slow ballroom almain.”

He smirked as the number concluded, and then he brought you to the center of the floor.

You looked around to see at least half of the couples moving off, either to watch or go elsewhere.

“Let’s see if you can keep up with this one,” he chuckled lowly.

“What dance is this?” you asked.

“A galliard. The La Volta.”

Your lips slightly parted to say something, but you didn’t know what.

It made sense now why so many chose not to participate in this one. The La Volta was a bit obscene—first, the women were lifted up in springs and jumps, even though that was usually improper. It was also very fast—it would require skill to do it comfortably, especially with the long, heavy gowns you wore.

Finally, it required close contact between the couples, which was…scandalous. Like a forbidden fruit.

You had never danced it before. Nor had you planned to. You were engaged, after all.

I bet noone in this room, but Fyodor himself and Ranpo even know we’re to marry, though, you thought to yourself, even though you shouldn’t even be considering excuses. …And he probably couldn’t even care less.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dazai said, a bit more seriously, leaving it up to your decision, but his eyes alleged something else. Like he was pleading to let you indulge.

The forbidden fruit and its serpent. Why was this man always tempting you to things that could sabotage your name? It was as if his heart vowed to drown you to doom…

“No, I’ll do it,” you decided.

…yet you had let him, again and again. The descendants of Eve never learned.

“They call you the Renaissance Man, my lord? I’ll steal your title when I show everyone I can do more than paint…and outdo you in dance.”

“Dance is a form of art, too, y’know,” Dazai smiled before he parted from you. “How about instead, you think of it like we’re creating our own special piece together.”

“Competition,” you disagreed in one word, curtsying before him as the drums cued.

“Collaboration,” he bowed.

You two rose, and a new tension was ignited in the room. Your eyes locked with his again, but this time more determined—more passionate, as you gracefully swept to the left while the brunette the opposite way. You continued that movement while also gravitating closer.

Closer, until he was finally able to lay hands on your waist.

“Look up, miss,” Dazai softly reminded you. “Too flustered that you’ve forgotten etiquette?”

You didn’t even realize your eyes chased down to where he was holding you—no man had touched anywhere near your corset before. You felt nervous; it was supposed to be so wrong, so why did his hold feel so right? As if his fingers were always supposed to be wrapped around you, the final touches to a masterpiece of intimacy.

You were falling for it—the serpent’s art of seduction. This wasn’t supposed to be a collaboration.

“What happened to your confidence?” Dazai teased, whispering in your ear; you felt his breath tickling your skin.

Your eyes drifted back to his in embarrassment, but you couldn’t give your rival the entertainment of winning against you in something you proposed. Fighting against your nerves, you wrapped one of your arms around Dazai’s broad shoulder.

“Shut up.”

He lifted you by the hips to aid as you lept and turned around him, his left thigh pushing you upward, and that same nervous excitement returned to your stomach. It was as if pools conjoining both everything and oblivion at once lay physically on you. His gaze resembled hands—he caressed your shoulders; he traced your face like he wanted to paint every angle of you.

He was gentle with his actual hold on you, too; Dazai carried you as delicately as the brush strokes he made on canvas. He carefully set you down with ease after every jump while still treating you like a porcelain doll, and there you made the mistake of wandering your eyes down to his lips, lightly parted—you realized this was the second closest time this man had come near enough to kiss you.

His body was so warm, he could pull you flush against him if he wanted to. His breath was minty, the coolness of his mouth addicting, and if Eden smelled heavenly too, he had truly just slithered down, carrying the sweet, earthly scent along with him. All your senses were overloaded by the man standing before you like alcohol; you wondered if you’d even end up home by the end of the night.

“You’re enjoying this way more than to simply boost thy status.”

In that moment, you snapped out of your haze of dopamine, and the music faded into a new routine. You also realized that an entire audience had been watching you. That was not ideal.

You scooted back right after Dazai released his hold on you, looking down in coyness. “Maybe I’m just a good actor.”

“You’re a terrible one,” he chuckled, following you out of the crowd. “You can’t even look at me to sell your lie!”

You glared at the brunette once more. “I don’t have to look at you to tell you the truth.”

“So cold-hearted,” he sighed. “Even after a dance to loosen you up. Guess I need to work harder to ask you out.”

“For what, a double suicide?” You once again recalled some other things he had said during your weird, fated meet at the lake.

“Exactly! You remember!”

“Well, sorry, that’s not happening,” you responded. “Go find some other lady to ask. I’m sure you do this all the time anyway.”

Because how did he touch you so perfectly? How did he dim out every other person in the room to make it seem like it was just you two?

He paused. “No, I don’t. You’re the first person I danced this galliard with. You realize we were even in skill, right?”

“Didn’t seem like it. And I don’t understand why you chose me.”

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence,” Dazai said. “You did save me in a way. Sure, we’re rivals. But one day, I’ll paint you myself.

“You’re too beautiful to not.”

…

“I hope you all have had a lovely night,” Fukuzawa spoke over the room. “To conclude the gathering, I would like to announce what the Vatican’s next project will be.”

Artists all around you waited in anticipation, for good reason. You and Dazai looked at each other too. You’d already experienced it for yourself—a commission from the Pope himself guaranteed immediate, enormous success (and money; your job from him was your biggest pay so far). Whatever he proposed required another artist, and it could be anyone in the room.

“The Sistine Chapel,” Fukuzawa said. “The large crack that has formed along the ceiling is to be repaired in the upcoming year.”

There were a few chatters after that. The chapel was insanely impressive—the interior of the large building was covered in stunning frescos by some of the great artists who had come before you. Even though the Pope hadn’t even said what the job was to be, anyone working on things concerning it would have to be just as good as its predecessors.

“Along with reparations, its panels shall be painted.”

There were a few gasps from the patrons. Was that even possible? How could someone even paint the ceiling without it being taken off of the roof? And it was so large, too, like a mega-sized canvas.

It was unheard of.

“I have already selected the person I would like to work on this,” Fukuzawa continued. There was silence again.

“It’s probably Dostoevsky,” Dazai said to you.

Fyodor? “Why do you think so?” you asked.

“He completely stole the spotlight with that statue of David he finished this year,” he dryly chuckled. “Well deserved, I’m afraid. You saw it too when you were in Florence, did you?”

“Yeah,” you replied. You had to acknowledge how impressive it was for yourself. It was like the man turned hard stone into pliable clay.

“But that’s sculpting, not painting.”

“Oh? Do you think you’d be a better candidate?”

He was smiling again. “No, I never said that,” you scoffed. “I was going to say maybe you’d have a chance-”

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” Fukuzawa said.

Oh.

You paused, scanning the room to see where he was.

He was on the other side, intently making his way to the Pope.

“I request you to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.”

Fyodor stood in front of him and then bowed.

“...I offer my sincerest gramercy for this opportunity, Your Holiness,” the artist said.

There was a pause.

“…I would like to discuss the rest of what this entails in private.”

Your brows furrowed. That was almost a bit…rude. Sure, he hadn’t declined the offer, but for whatever reason, he also didn’t accept it.

“Very well,” Fukuzawa replied without a change in his tone. “I adjourn this party. Bonam noctem.”

There was a final applause for him and the city’s next project, and then everyone began filing out.

However, you and Dazai stayed in place until Ranpo suddenly tugged on your arm.

“There you are! Let’s go!”

“W-Where?” you asked as he started to drag you away.

“Goodnight!” you heard Dazai say before disappearing into the crowd. His small smile remained in your memory, and a part of you wished you could give him a proper goodbye.

“To eavesdrop, duh,” Ranpo replied as he sifted you through everyone moving the opposite way. “Don’t you also want to hear what Fyodor has to say?”

“I don’t understand why he didn’t just accept the proposal,” you said. “Anyone else would do it in a heartbeat!” You were sort of jealous; that job was given to someone so ungrateful! If you were the one who recieved it, you would’ve put your entire effort into transforming the ceilings right away.

“I don’t know how he’s so beloved,” Ranpo continued. “Not even His Holiness likes him that much; he just doesn’t show bias when choosing people to paint his architecture. Did you know Fyodor was supposed to produce his tomb?”

“What happened with that? I thought it was being worked on by a few other artists.”

“He kept clashing with His Holiness about it,” he said. “Until the plans got so messed up, Fyodor called it a ‘tragedy’ and left Rome for a while. Quite literally abandoned it.”

What an asshole! Especially in front of His Holiness!

“I don’t like him at all,” Ranpo squeezed your arm. It had become quite apparent to you that Ranpo admired Fukuzawa—not just because he was his so-called favorite or because he was the Pope, but something else. You had seen them together during the party earlier, and you were reminded of father and son. “He has a nasty ego, and I can’t figure out his intentions. I feel off every time I meet with him.”

“Intentions? For what?”

“Don’t be stupid, miss,” Ranpo said. “He told you himself, he’s here for something. It’s just so annoying! He hides it all behind those stupid, purple eyes…”

You approached the entrance to a hallway at the very back of the room, and you heard two familiar voices outside.

“...I carve marble, not paint.”

“You discredit your skill with a brush too much.”

“Your Holiness, we had very different views during the last commission you gave me,” you overheard Fyodor say. “I simply don’t want to cause another commotion with this.”

You only peeked through the large doorway to hear more clearly, but Ranpo continued walking right in as if they wouldn’t notice.

“R-Ranpo!” you whispered harshly.

Immediately, Fukuzawa and Fyodor looked at you both, and you scrambled behind Ranpo.

“I’m so sorry, Your Holiness,” you replied, accidentally locking eyes with Fyodor, who looked at you unfazed as if he had already noticed you two a mile away. You couldn’t even think of an excuse to explain what you were doing there, but then Fukuzawa resumed the conversation without a care.

“I see then,” he replied and then gave it some thought. “I felt you were the only one who was fit for the matter, but perhaps I could just hand it to-”

Fukuzawa looked at you, and Fyodor looked at him before looking at you.

“Ah, what I said was just a concern,” Fyodor interrupted to your dismay. “I’ll accept your commission on one condition.”

The three of you waited.

“On the contract, it shall be stated that noone shall view the inside of the Chapel until it is completed,” Fyodor stated. “Including yourself, Your Highness.”

He thought for another moment.

“Very well, Fyodor. It will be arranged.”

What a rat!

It had been a few weeks since that eventful ball. You had started work on painting the rooms in the Pope’s chambers—there were sketches of concepts scattered all over your desk. Coupled with your thoughts—thoughts reliving all the situations you were thrown into that night.

You hadn’t seen the two angels since then. Well…would you even call them that anymore?

Knock, knock, knock!

“Hey! Let me in!” You heard Ranpo’s voice from outside your house. You were still half-asleep, trying to make breakfast, but you immediately rushed to open the door.

“Ranpo!” You were startled. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Stop complaining. You’re going to love this.”

He stuck his hand into his pocket and then revealed a set of shiny keys.

“Sitting in my palm are the keys to the Sistine Chapel.”

“No way.” It was like the sight fully awakened you, like caffeine. “Ranpo…how?!”

“Hmph!” He shook his head. “You underestimate me so much when you quite literally depend on me!” When you laughed, he continued. “Lord Fyodor’s on a business trip until next week. Do with that info as you wish.”

“You’re a genius,” you replied with a mischievous grin as he threw you the keys.

“Of course I am! I despise him, but I’m too lazy to mess with him right now, so I’ll just leave it up to you. After all, he didn’t want to do it initially because he thought you set it up.”

“By me?” you asked, shocked. “He hates painting so much that he thought I had a hand in it? Imagine giving away the Sistine Chapel.”

He was really something else. Was dead set on declining the offer right until His Holiness debated giving it to me…

…

Ranpo sat at the dining table eating the remaining tarts left over while you finished washing the dishes in the kitchen after your meal. Your move had gone smoothly, and you were pleased with the home you created for yourself—the windows in front of the sink were opened, letting air and the sounds of nature in as you looked outside.

“His Holiness instructed me to paint over the previous works in the Palace when I first walked inside because he deemed what I could produce more important than what was already up there,” you told him with your own dash of pride. You couldn’t contain the bright smile that flashed on your face.

“Just as I suspected,” he replied, pleased.

“...But social-wise, I think I dug a hole for myself.”

“Definitely!” Ranpo said with no hesitation, popping another dessert into his mouth. He already knew what you were going to talk about. You gave him a look before sighing, realizing that he probably was right.

“A few days ago, I overheard people in the salons saying that…I have a special thing going on with Lord Dazai. It’s not true! I don’t know why he was being so friendly with me!”

You hadn’t even seen him after that night. Maybe you were a little disappointed, but you should’ve seen that coming anyway. He was known as a charmer, but he hadn’t committed to anyone. And regardless, you were to marry Fyodor one day.

Ugh, Fyodor.

“And you were friendly to him in return,” Ranpo replied. “You could’ve shrugged him off like normal rivals do. But it looked like you were completely enraptured with him.”

Enraptured?! He was completely enraptured with me! However, you couldn’t describe to Ranpo how exactly he was—how the brunette’s eyes pleaded with yours to follow him into the eventide, how he made you feel like the only person that existed in the large crowd of people…maybe Ranpo would have his point proven.

“Well, other than that, I’ve got thee settled in Rome well enough. I’ll be here for the rest of the unwise decisions you’re going to make, but from here on out is on you, princess.”

“Thanks, Ranpo,” you sarcastically replied. “Seriously? Unwise decisions? Rome is just different from everywhere I’ve been to before. I’m learning.”

“Exactly, there are arts of everything,” he said. “Thou better grasp them quick or fall behind.”

Dance.

Deceit.

Dreams.

Only a few you had discovered so far.

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence. You did save me in a way.”

You couldn’t even grasp,

Dazai.

You didn’t know how long you were out. All sense of time was lost when you gained consciousness again, and you realized you had been washed up on land.

Did God stay true to your pleas? Did an angel really come down to rescue you?

That was certainly what it seemed like in the first few seconds because you were blinded by light when you opened your eyes. You heard insects buzzing off in the distance and maybe even a bird chirping as you lay on lush grass. Perhaps you were in heaven instead, and this was your first taste of peaceful paradise.

But all was ruined when your eyes finally focused, and a face obstructed your view. (Why was he always ruining your flawless moments?) He hovered on top of you, and the first thing you became aware of was that his mouth was dangerously close to yours.

You immediately coughed—out of both shock and the need to. Lake water gushed out of your mouth, causing you to sit up without warning. The brunette was flung off of you, landing harshly on his bottom.

“Ow!”

You paid no mind to him as you coughed again. And again.

When all the water was finally out of your lungs, you looked at him in utter confusion.

“Why the puzzled look?” he asked as if he wasn’t the one who was drowning and you weren’t the one saving him (and less importantly, it hadn’t looked like he was about to kiss you).

Now he sat beside you, almost perfectly fine if it weren’t for his clothes that were soaked.

“But…you—we were drowning?” You turned to see if anyone else was in the distance because who was it that saved both of you?

“Yeah, I was drowning,” the man replied, and you now noticed the honey color of his eyes that had been shielded behind closed eyelids and pretty eyelashes earlier. “And this time, it almost worked! Until you decided to rescue me!”

“Um, what?” You asked sharply, even more bewildered at the way he tried to make your efforts sound negative.

“At first, I thought maybe thou were a lovely lady who wanted to commit double suicide with me! But I realized that wasn’t the case when you started fighting to get some air…”

“Are you crazy?” you asked, not caring whether you were speaking impolitely or not. “Double suicide? Why else would I dive into a cold lake to join a stranger? And you were aware of what was happening all along?”

“Maybe! Women have done a lot to try to get close to me.” You didn’t believe him. “And, well, yeah! Obviously, I couldn’t continue because of two things. The first was you because I couldn’t let an innocent involved be harmed along with me! I had to save you, of course.”

You became even more irritated. “You wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t pretend you were drowning! I had to use all my strength to rescue you, y’know! I could’ve died as well!”

“But you didn’t!” the brunette replied. “There was no way I was going to let someone so beautiful drown.”

You scowled at him before you stood up. “You’re ridiculous. What’s your second reason?”

“Drowning in a lake ended up becoming uncomfortable.” You wanted to punch him in the face—uncomfortable was an obvious understatement. “I didn’t like the feeling of suffocation that set in, so I just decided to give up.”

“It didn’t even look like you had any air left in you,” you muttered, facing your back towards him, remembering his placid expression earlier. “How were you conscious if you weren’t even holding your breath?”

“Party trick,” he responded, and when you dared to glance back, he wore a smug grin.

“Oh…are you leaving me then?” he asked as you started walking away, saying no more.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you scoffed, not stopping. “I’m completely soaked, and I don’t know about you, but I have important things to get to.”

You heard a chuckle from him. “Is that so?” he asked. His voice was getting farther, meaning he was no longer following you. “Where are you headed?”

“Rome.”

“I live there. Perhaps we shall meet again. And then, I could ask you—properly—if you would like to commit a double suicide with me.”

“I doubt it,” you replied, assured you were never going to see this man whose face looked kissed by Aphrodite herself again. Perhaps you would’ve found him handsome if he was in a less disheveled state.

As if you did not already.

“Why do you seem so sure? Anything can happen.” He chuckled once again.

Well, I am a painter, and you don’t look like someone who would even have an eye for art, is what you wanted to say. But you didn’t want to open more doors to curiosity and stay there even longer.

“Maybe you’re right,” you stopped. “Okay, then.

“If you think you’re going to see me again, can you promise to not kill yourself until then? Until I agree to you?”

You figured you would just give him some hope so that your efforts to save him would not be in vain. If he would actually keep your word, anyway.

When you turned around, the brunette was still standing on the shore, and he had a smile on his face.

He really did carry the setting sun in his gaze. It was still midday, but the man’s soul seemed to prefer the softer shades of light that appeared just before the cool shades of night.

And you felt his eyes tenderly cupping your face, even though you were feet away from each other. You weren’t sure if you were so lost that you were imagining things—but he looked at you as if he’d known you a hundred lifetimes, longing to touch your soul once again.

“I pinkie promise,” he said.

You thought that finally ended the conversation, but he asked one more thing.

“Your name?” he asked.

“Do you really need it?” It was unlikely, but you didn’t know if he would recognize your name. You didn’t want to risk anyone knowing about this encounter.

“I saved you,” he said. “I almost thought you were done for. You still weren’t breathing when I performed chest compressions, so I had to—”

“Okay, stop right there!” you interrupted, becoming flustered. You didn’t need to hear the rest. You imagined the stranger’s mouth on yours—trying to give you oxygen, of course, but his mouth on yours regardless.

You told him your name. “Don’t bother with yours. I’ll figure it out if we run into each other again.”

His grin was smug. “Fare thee well, mia belladonna.

“Until we meet again.”

…

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

ur man of choice (or both if u’d like) dances with u during the ball if u rb; reblogs are incredibly cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

WE DID ITT !! i hope this was decent, tbh i’m rly nervous HAHA ᡣ𐭩 dazai rly got most of the love here, but i promise there’s waay more to come.

+ check THIS FOR EXTRA INFO/LORE, it’s cool ;) comment on the masterlist to be added to the tagslist !! & ilu if you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading ᰔ

TERMS & DEFINITIONS:

CIOPPA - outermost layer of a dress

RUELLA - salons/social gatherings

ALMAINE - slow court dance; GALLIARD - fast court dance (in the renaissance)

TRANSLATIONS: (not all bcz they wanna be mysterious)

gramercy - “thank you”

artigiani; aristocratici - artisans; aristocrats (italian)

bonam noctem - “good night” (latin)

430 notes · View notes

animeyanderelover · 10 months ago

Text

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, stalking, clinginess, jealousy, touchiness, manipulation, gaslighting, blackmail, threats, intimidation, sadism, violence, abduction, death

Tags: @shumidehiro @leveyani @izanami78

Soulmate AU

Light Yagami

✍️Honestly, soulmates are so unlikely to meet anyways that you have stopped caring about finding your own. You have never experienced anything that would have hinted for you to have one anyways so you just brush it off as nothing and go on with your life. When you start to attend university, you meet Light Yagami. And as shameful as it is for you to admit this, you have a crush on him. Just like everybody else on this campus. It is embarrassing and to not mutate into a stereotypical simp, you decide to avoid him as good as you can. Although you just can't help your pounding heart whenever he is in your vision nor can you stop your eyes from slowly moving over to him and silently admire him. You don't expect him to return your feelings though as you know that he has asked a couple of other girls already out without deepening the relationship. It's such a shame that someone as handsome and intelligent as him has to be such a shallow playboy. But one can't have everything in life.

✍️What you don't seem to know is that Light has noticed you already but hasn't let you realize yet. His eyes were drawn to you from the very first moment he saw you and his attraction just bloomed out of nowhere. Light is perhaps slightly frustrated with this development but he can't help the way his heart reacts whenever he looks at you. He thinks that his feelings are a waste of time since he has to work towards his goal to become the God of this world and rid it of all evil. Then there are also the additional troubles of Misa clinging to him and L being hot on his trails which would make it unnecessarily difficult to fit you within his life so he attempts to forget about you and focus on his goal. The thoughts about you linger though and as soon as he has a quiet moment, his mind always drifts to you. It is maddening as you trouble him without even knowing about it and sometimes he got so incredibly angry that the thought to write you down in his Death Note popped up in his mind only for panic and fear to settle in instantly after, a sudden ache in his heart that always catches him off-guard.

✍️Light finds himself infiltrating your group here and there, always steering the conversation subtly into talking about you without being too obvious and without ever approaching you directly. His eyes drift carefully towards you and quickly dart somewhere else when he realizes that your eyes do the same as he doesn't want to get caught. He occasionally follows you around inside the campus without making it look like he is actually following you and he even asks Ryuk if the shinigami could keep his eyes on you from time to time. Ryuk mostly does so when he gets his reward of apples but can't help but laugh whenever Light asks him to do so as he teases the boy for his sudden obsessive interest in you. Light is no idiot though, he is very receptive. He also knows that you glance at him quite often in class only to look quickly away in embarrassment when you realize that he is looking at you too. He notices that you try to avoid him or pretend to be busy with something else whenever he walks into your direction. He carefully asks your friends about it and ultimately arrives at the delightful conclusion that you have an interest in him too but are too embarrassed to admit it.

✍️You nearly get a heart attack when he approaches you one day and offers you to help you as he has seen you struggling in this specific subject. Honestly, you would rather not but you can't bring yourself to reject him whilst he looks at you with such a charming smile so both of you compromise to meet at his house later that night. You're so nervoud and also embarrassed when you walk into his house as you notice the glances his parents give Light and you as you would love nothing more than to explain to them that it is not what it might look like. You have some drinks and chat with his parents before Light leads you to his room. You are flattered when you realize that he has already made notes and prepared some exercises as well as explanations he has written down for you to take home with you and use as preparations for your next exam. There is definitely some tension which causes you to sweat slightly whilst Light either doesn't notice it or hides it better. You definitely feel his eyes scrutinizing you intently though the entire time.

✍️At one point you abruptly stand up, excusing yourself as you stutter that you have to use the toilet. Light's eyes narrow as a displeased look crosses his face. His arm stretches out as his fingers grasp your wrist to stop you from fleeing from him and to chide you for lying to him trying to avoid him only for a sudden sharp heat to be felt for the both of you. He pulls his arm back in surprise as you press your hand against your chest and let out a gasp as you feel the hot and throbbing pain in your wrist. You quickly pull your sleeve up only to stare with bewildered eyes at the sudden tattoo that has suddenly appeared on your wrist. It looks like two wings of an angel. Your mind is racing as you try to comprehend what has just happened only for Light to abruptly stand up too. You look at him dazed only for your eyes to land on his wrist where you can see the same tattoo. Your jaw nearly drops as you realize what this means. When you force your eyes to look into his own, you feel a cold shudder going down your spine as you see the possessive look in his eyes. Quickly he smoothes his expression into a flawless smile again as he looks at you. Why don't the both of you get to know the other one better?

L Lawliet

🍰You have been born with a soulmate mark on your body, a name that has been written on your body ever since you came out of your mother's womb. It is placed on your stomach, reading the name L Lawliet. You have been told from a very young age that this means that your soulmate has already been born and that they have received their soulmate mark and your name engraved somewhere on their body the moment you were born. As a small kid you kind of fantasize over all of this but as you grow older you start changing your thoughts. How much older than you is your soulmate? What if they are over 10 years older than you? You even start to grow unconscious of the name written on your stomach and luckily the spot is easy to hide so you make it a point to never wear revealing clothes or go anywhere that would require you to wear less clothes. Finding your soulmate is such a rarity anyways so it is probably useless to hope for you to meet them.

🍰L has even as a small child always been very perceptive so he noticed at the young age of 3 years that something had suddenly appeared on his calf that couldn't be washed away no matter what. Confusion eventually grows into acceptance and even some fondness as it brings him weird comfort just looking at the name written on his skin and uttering the name it spells out. When Wammy aka Watari finds him eventually and notices the name written on his calf, he takes his time explaining to L what this means. L is weirdly fascinated when he finally gets an explanation for this tattoo on his calf, the thought of it having appeared because his destined other finally came into the world is such an intriguing idea and concept for him. He is very discreet about having a soulmate though so he never tells the other children in the Wammy's House about this and always wears long trousers to hide your name from all eyes. The older he grows and the more he is mentored by Watari to be a great detective, the more he realizes the risks though.

🍰His identity has to remain an absolute secret after all so the fact that somewhere on this planet is someone who walks around with his name on your skin is a huge risk for his career and safety. So as soon as he starts taking on cases and Watari starts travelling around with him, both of them also start looking for you. Amongst billions of people they have to find you and normally that would be a jarring task. Yet L already has your name engraved on his body which makes the process much more easier. Data about all people sharing the same name as you is collected yet it is when L gets to your file and sees the picture of you that he feels a sudden warm tingling in his chest as he gazes at your face. When Watari notices how he looks at your photos with an almost dazed look in his eyes and asks L if you are the right one, the young man quickly looks up at him and tells him that he would like to travel to your country as quickly as possible. He spends hours just staring at all the photos he can find and reading countless files about you, demolishing your privacy whilst satisfying his need to know more.

🍰He takes on a fake name and fake identity just to be sure if the small possibility that you aren't his soulmate should be true. He has no doubts that it's you though as he is weirdly nervous when he goes out to meet you and the moment his dark eyes land on you, he feels his heart starting to race against his chest. He's able to quickly get close to you as you are weirdly drawn to him. L knows that this is most likely because of the soumate bond both of you share even if you don't know about it yet. His eyes are often roaming across your body as yhe wonders where his name is inked upon your body. He would just love to see it as he is sure that it would look absolutely beautiful. He can't help his slices of impatience though as he sometimes can't hold back and ask you if you have a soulmate, dark eyes gauging your every twitch and breath as your body language and facial expressions always give your lies away to him. You cold try as hard as you can but nothing is missed by his observing gaze.

🍰Watari has to surprisingly hold him back because otherwise he would rush everything too fast. L already wants to speed up the process to take you as quickly as possible but he understands Watari's arguments that the both of you should establish a better bond before the detective takes you for himself. The entire plan as well as the execution goes smoothly as L has already come up with an explanation for your disappearance without anything leading to him. He waits anxiously until you wake up and remains calm as he explains everything to you. You don't want to belive him when he tells you that he is your soulmate but when he reveals the tattoo on his calf to you, your eyes widen and your heart skips a beat when he tells you his real name. Your eyes glance down at your stomach and in the next moment you feel L's cold finger eagerly gripping the hem of your sweater, lifting the material slowly up as you can hear his breath hitching as he finally sees his own name on your skin. Dark eyes seem to burn this image into his mind before he finally meets your anxious and jittery gaze. You're staying with him from now on.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

🍎Soulmates have always been a concept that you have grown up with since your childhood. Oftentimes it was romanticised since a lot of people just adored the idea of finding your significant other who was destined for you. It wasn't uncommon for people to not like the idea that much though since it felt like they had no choice to choose their partner. No matter which opinion one person had, finding their soulmate in such a huge world was often very difficult to achieve. Some of the symptoms people had because of their soulmate or because they were born with their significant other were also quite scary in your mind. You remember reading stories about people who couldn't taste or were only able to see the world in black and white and still remember clearly how one of your classmates often got mysterious injuries because they and their soulmate shared every wound. So your lack of any tattoos, names or lack of taste was honestly a relief for you.

🍎Fyodor's thoughts on soulmates have always been very interesting. To imagine that there is a force beyond human understanding which determines who is your destined other and might occasionally even ruin the life of people as they wailed in misery because they couldn't find their love was intriguing. Love truly can be a curse at times, especially with the way some people become aware that they have a soulmate. Reading reports of how some people died because of the injuries their soulmate suffered or how some just experienced the pain without receiving the actual injuries has been a small hobby of his when he had the time. Fyodor has some mild fascination with the concept of soulmates as he sometimes wonder where his one is as he has nothing that could help him to find you as he has no marks nor any obvious symptoms. Soulmate bonds can be very different from case to case, although some are more common than others so he occasionally wonders what symptoms he will develop if he should ever find his soulmate.

🍎Both of you meet in the town you are living in as he has currently settled there because he is looking for a specific someone who he needs for one of his schemes. You're currently working in a small dining place as it is the best job you were able to find at the time. It isn't much but you are thankful enough as your co-workers are mostly nice and the money you earn is enough to get you around. You can't deny that you feel almost instantly attracted to Fyodor when he first enters this place but you don't expect it to be more than a slight crush. After all a lot of your co-workers end up gushing silently about him when he walks in since he is a handsome young man. Still, you end up being the one who takes his order and you try your best to not act stupid as you walk over to him, although you feel the heat settling into the skin of your face when purple eyes meet your own and just seem to observe you before he gives you a small smile and orders a hot beverage.

🍎He can't quite put his fingers around it but there just seems to be something about you that fascinates Fyodor. A fatal attraction for you that leads him to visiting your diner more often than he would normally. Sure, he enjoys the tranquility in the place as well as the tea and the coffee that he is being served there but the main attraction about this place really is you. He can't help the small feeling of disappointment whenever you aren't the one taking his orders as his eyes always seem to search for you. What is it about you that has him feeling so obsessed? He can never seem to find an answer for this question as he watches all surveillance cameras to see what you are up to when he has the time. Slowly he starts messing your life up and takes your hidden misery in when he visits the diner yet something hampers him from feeling the sadistic satisfaction as he watches your tired face and the exhaustion written all over you. Why is he feeling pity for you?

🍎Fyodor finally realises what you are to him when he witnesses you one day at your lowest point as everything just seems to crumble apart around you. Tears fall down your face as you sob and he hates how he feels this painful twinge in his heart whilst watching you. He feels something akin to bitterness poisoning his mind as he looks at you. You deserve this pain and despair for tainting him with the sin of loving someone like you yet you elicit guilt out of him even if he is in the right. Your face is buried in your face as you cry so you don't notice the pale hand stretching out for you with the intent of hurting you. Yet he never reaches you. His hand is left trembling in the air as it feels like some sort of invisible force is repelling him from you. His eyes rest at his hand before they dart over to you and suddenly he has an idea. The moment he drops his intent to hurt you, his hand moves forward and caresses your hair, whispering soothing words to you whilst his eyes start gleaming with an unsettling look. How interesting.

Jouno Saigiku

♦️It started when you were about 13 years old. Those dreams. Initially it was all blurry and appeared only in fragments. You always thought that you saw a figure there though, although you could never really tell who it was and what they looked like. After a few months you started hearing a voice calling out for you. It was a boy and soon you could see that he was walking towards you. Yet both of you were unable to reach the other as neither of you had mastered the world of those shared dreams just yet. You tried your best to control your dreams as you knew that this boy was your soulmate yet you still struggled as the colors around you melted as the world around you always crumbled. He on the other hand had soon learned how to shape the dreams around him and always came to rescue you and give you stability within those dreams. You found out that his name was Saigiku and happily told him your own name.

♦️He could see. Whenever he slept, he was able to see. A world coated in darkness became a vibrant world of colors whenever you joined him in your dreams and slowly learnt how to shape the world around yourself. He could see your face always smiling happily whenever he joined you in your dreams. Honestly, the delight he felt whenever he could see you was almost amusing as he knew that he partially felt like this because of the fact that you were his soulmate. Yet whilst he was able to see, he was slightly annoyed about the fact that his exceptional hearing was gone. He couldn't read you properly like he could have done if he would have just heard your heartbeat properly. Whilst Jouno was still much more deceptive and focused on your body language and facial expressions, he probably was still missing things.

♦️You noticed that Jouno didn't reveal much about himself besides his name and that saddened you a bit since the two of you were soulmates. At the same time you also started telling him less crucial information about yourself as he didn't tell you either. It was only fair after all. You always imagined that he squeezed his eyes shortly as if displeased about your lack of information before it disappeared so quickly behind his composed and small grin that you often wondered if you were just seeing stuff. You couldn't deny though that something just felt a little bit off about Saigiku. Sometimes it just felt like something sinister was lurking beneath his surface. You didn't want to tell him that though since a part of you didn't want to believe that your soulmate could possibly be someone bad. Often you just blamed yourself for being paranoid. Perhaps you should have gone with your gut feeling though.

♦️It was years later that both of you eventually agreed to meet finally after having only ever interacted in your shared dreams. Jouno instantly seized control of the situation as he convinced you to meet somewhere he suggested, seemingly uncaring about how long you would have to travel then. You were slightly mad but you eventually caved in and fell for his sweet words. So you took the journey all the way to the destination he had suggested. It was in a park where very few people were strolling around. You could feel your heartbeat pounding against your chest in anticipation as you looked around until you spotted a man sitting on a bench, waving at you. You quickly recognized Saigiku and ran towards him, really happy as this was the first time you had seen him in real life. You couldn't help yourself but give him a hug as soon as you stood before him and he, even if he seemed caught off guard at first, returned your embrace eventually.

♦️You quickly find out something about him that he had never told you before. He was blind. He couldn't see anything and could only see when he was sharing dreams with you. It instantly triggered guilt and sadness inside of you. Jouno was glad that this was the bond you two shared though as one of his hands went up to caress your facial features, imagining very vividly the flustered look on your face as he could hear your heartbeat speeding up. Both of you spent a few hours just sitting there as you were talking mostly whilst he was just listening to your voice and your heartbeat before he decides that it's time for both of you to go. You quickly offer him your help when he stands up but are dumbfounded when he walks just fine, his steps confident as he leads you somehwere. He grabs your arm, his grip a bit too tight for your taste, as he leads you outside the car to a balck car and gestures you to get inside. You start to get a bad feeling as you try to tell him that you can get to your hotel by yourself only for his grip to tighten painfully as he gently forces you into the car. Poor thing, he really hid a lot from you. Don't worry though, he'll tell you everything now that you'll stay with him.

Suehiro Tetchou

🌸You have lived a pretty normal life so far. Obviously you are aware of soulmates but they are such a rarity that you decide to not waste your time on dreaming about something that is unlikely to happen anyways. Instead you focus on studying hard to live a good life and be able to look after yourself. You graduate with excellent grades and decide to travel to Japan before you apply to a university and get a job. You have been saving for this trip since years and make thorough plans to get the most out of the few weeks that you will travel through Japan. So you land in the airport of Tokyo and slowly make your way through the land then. Until eventually you land in Yokohama, the port town. So far you have been pretty satisfied with everything you have seen. Until an accident happens in the town. You aren't involved, you just happen to walk past it as citizens are rescued and a gang who has been running around for some time now is currently being arrested. That's when you see Tetchou for the first time...surrounded by a colorful aura.

🌸As the Hunting Dog walks outside, he catches something very colorful as he walks outside the half-destroyed building as some of the bombs planted inside there have gone off but luckily it is still standing. He turns his head around, confused and curious about what is shimmering with so much colors before his eyes land on yours and he feels his breath hitching. A sudden burst of emotions floods through him and he doesn't even know why. He can see the colors surrounding you changing color as well as shape as well when he meets your eyes. Your mind is racing just as much as your heart is as you stare at him in bewilderment and shock and see his aura twisting and turning in shape and color as he also just stares at you. You turn your head around confused as you wonder if others can see what you can as well but none of them seems to notice what you do. When you turn around again, your heart drops as you see him marching to you. He stops right in front of you, his eyes unwavering as he looks at you and asks you who you are.

🌸He tells you that he can see a colorful aura surrounding you and seems to try to crook his head when you tell him that you can do the same. He can't see what you can see though nor can you see what he sees. You two seem to be the only ones in general who can see the colors shaping and changing around the other. Both of you seem to get lost in thought. You try to wrap your head around what this weird phenomenon is whilst he just stares straight at you as you only look at the colors around him. You notice pretty soon how soon he emits pink mist from around him that almost appears to be the shape of hearts and that is when it clicks in your mind. You feel yourself getting quickly embarrassed and slightly hostile as you realise that those colors symbolize his feelings and that he can by extension also see how you are feeling. He notices the change in colors and asks you worried what is wrong. You purse your lips as you give him a conflicted look before you decide to tell him the truth.

🌸You two have to be soulmates. There is no other explanation you can come up with. Normally your heart doesn't race as much when you are around other guys and normally you don't feel so stupidly attractive to someone you just met. Tetchou takes the news much better than you do though. Of course he is a tad bit surprised when you initially tell him but he accepts it pretty quickly and instantly asks you if you plan to stay in Yokohama. That is where things start to get pretty complicated since you never planned to meet your soulmate on your vacation. You didn't even expect to have a soulmate at all! Truth be told, a part of you doesn't want to stay in Japan for the rest of your life. Tetchou on the other hand thinks very differently than you do. He has obviously heard of soulmates but has never paid it too much mind up until now. It feeds his growing delusions pretty well as he can't understand your hesitation. Soulmates are so rare after all. Why would you even consider leaving your other half?

🌸He is an immovable object as you soon find out. Because you can't convince him to give you time to consider this at all. You remind him that you have to travel back to your own country and that you have to consider this and also inform your parents. He insists that you can just work for the government and that he could get you work with ease. You carefully observe his aura that starts moving faster around him and that changes to only a few dark colors as he grows more frustrated and impatient whilst you do your best to keep your composure. Both of you just can't seem to come to an agreement as Tetchou is unable to understand why you wouldn't want to give up your current life in favor of staying with him and even getting a job in the government. Soon paranoia poisons his mind and you can see that as he asks you if you don't want him and the spike of fear shown in your aura to him only fuels this. He truly doesn't want to force you into staying but if he must, he will. You just need a bit more time to accept the fact that both of you are soulmates and have to stay together. He's sure that you'll thank him soon enough for making the right decision for the both of you.

Sigma

☁️Years have passed by without any weird incidents. Years were you thought that you were just a normal person without anything special about you. Honestly, initially you were a tad bit disappointed that you apparently weren't born as the soulmate of someone else as you never felt any weird symptoms that would have indicated that you had one. As you grew older though, you started accepting this. This just meant that you had the freedom to choose someone if you would ever desire a partner. But then something changed. You were already a young adult when it one day just started. Initially it was so silent and delicate that you sometimes just mistook it as your mind hallucinating. But then it became louder. The voice became louder inside your head. It was oftentimes nothing more than a wavering whisper that you could hear within your own mind. You wondered if you had gone crazy as you dared to call out to the voice.

☁️Sigma on the other hand completely froze within his tracks when he heard your voice suddenly within him as well, carefully calling out to him. What was that? He had never heard this before in his life and it made his heart pound against his chest. It wasn't only out of fear though. It was also out of excitement and he didn't understand why he felt such a sudden rush of dopamine when he heard your voice calling out to him inside his mind. This was a bad thing after all, right? He was hearing voices right now after all. He contemplated if he should reply to this voice or not before he carefully hushed a few words back at you and then just waited if you'd actually reply. You did reply and asked him intrigued as well as a bit scared who he was and it was at that moment that Sigma realised that you weren't just a mere voice his head had created as a result of him potentially losing his mind. No, this voice he was currently hearing actually belonged to a real person.

☁️He talks with you quite often from that day on as both of you discover the limits of this weird ability you both share. You can only hear the voice of the other and can't see any images that the othet thinks about. It isn't like both of you can hear the other ones thoughts too, at least not unless the other one is really stressed and loses control of his own thoughts. This seems to happen to Sigma more often than to you as you often hear him starting to ramble within your mind and so you have to spend a lot of time soothing him and helping him to calm down. Your voice always calms his racing heart and mind, Sigma quickly latches onto the comfort you can give him to the point where he gets anxious when you aren't available to him and sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night because he is chanting your name panicked within your mind. He is quick to apologize and shame himself for ruining your sleep like this and so he tries to hold back as he can feel his stress increasing.

☁️Soon he invites you to his Sky Casino as he begs you to come because he wants to see you in real life. He tells you all of the information you need to know and eventually manages to tire you with his constant questions and pleas out enough that you give him your address. You receive a letter he was written himself where he details once again all necessary information. He sends some of the people who work for him to pick you up and guard you on the entire way. You are amazed when you are flown to the Sky Casino and as soon as you step inside, you can already see a man quickly rushing towards you. So this is Sigma, huh? The poor man needs to take a few deep breaths as soon as he is in front of you, his hands slightly trembling because he is incredibly nervous before he gives you a soft smile and invites you to a tour of the casino he would like to give you himself. He gauges all of your reactions intently and anxiously out of fear that something won't be to your satisfaction.

☁️You are too caught up in admiring everything though as he leads you down a floor guests aren't allowed to walk through. He walks you into a huge room with an installed bathroom and even a small kitchen space that looks better than all of the expensive hotel rooms you've seen on the internet. You're looking around amazed before his rambling suddenly catches your attention. He still hasn't fully perfected this room so if you want everything else to be delivered inside your room, feel free to tell him. Money is of no issues here, he just desires to make you feel as comfortable as he can... What does he mean by that? When you ask him this question, his voice suddenly dies down as he turns around to look at you. The previous excitement due to all of your previously positive reactions dies down as fear and panic takes over him. He...he thought that you'd stay with him here since the both of you are soulmates. When he sees the confusion crossing your face, his heart drops to his stomach. You plan to leave again, don't you? ...Well, that's a shame. He can't let you leave his side anymore. He's your soulmate. He was made for you. So he can't let you go. Being with you is his purpose.

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