#how tragic for the others to be dethroned so swiftly

[wiidoodles]

if you told me a year ago a scifi-western anime would overtake my life and consume every waking moment of my thoughts i'd have bit you,

yet here we are

happy birthday, Trigun Stampede!

[kythed]

synopsis: it’s a tragic case of boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl has a boyfriend. [un]luckily for you, semi doesn’t play by the rules... and you don’t really want him to.

tagged: semi eita x reader, fluff, mediocre writing.

commitment level: 2,583 words.

table of contents | next chapter >>

They say young love is a rite of passage. They say it’s fresh and light, it’s wading in the shallows of a swiftly flowing river and letting the deliciously frigid water take you wherever it flows. They say young love comes easily. 

But they don’t tell you youth is not a remedy for pain. They don’t tell you the cold of that water burns your skin, too — it leaves your fingertips numb and kisses your palms an angry red. They say “it’s just puppy love,” but they don’t tell you puppies grow into wolves. 

+

You’re eighteen when you first meet Semi Eita, and he’s twenty-two. It’s not a highly significant age gap, but it’s noticeable enough. 

“She’s a baby,” he says, eyes grey as the southern sea and just as unforgiving. Though he’s young, the weight of an iron giant rests on his slender shoulders. 

“She’s talented, Semi,” says Akamine, tone wheedling. He fiddles with the lapels of his coat — it’s Italian, all cream silk and bronze buttons. “She’s capable.” 

Twenty year old Akamine Keo is a trust-fund kid, born into the arms of an oil empire he’ll someday fall heir to. He’s charming, clever, and sweet, with distinctly expensive good looks, fine features and black hair like raven’s feathers. He also happens to be your boyfriend. 

“That means nothing,” Semi says, peering into your face. An uncomfortable chill tickles the back of your neck as you fight the urge to look away. “There are toddlers who can shred Led Zeppelin, but they’re not musicians. They’re puppets controlled by overzealous tiger moms. They can’t take the heat of the real industry.”

“I can take the heat.” Your words bleed out heavy and sharp, a rough gash through the palpably thick tension. Fingernails leaving painful half-moons on your palms, you clench and unclench your fists down at your sides. “And I can sure as hell shred better than any toddler.”

For a split second, surprise flashes across Semi’s face, only to be quickly replaced by a wry smile. “Brave.” 

You stare at him, lips sucked in and eyes narrowed as Akamine slings an arm over your shoulders and presses a kiss to your temples. 

“See?” he says with a laugh. “She’s talented, capable, and brave.”

“Well,” says Semi, drawing the word out. He cocks his head, giving you one last hard once-over, before extending a hand for a firm shake. “We’ll see. I’ll give you two months. A trial.” 

You accept this compromise, returning the shake. Semi’s still skeptical, you can tell, but you make a vow to yourself — you’re about to blow this sonuvabitch out of the water. As Akamine crows in delight, Semi’s eyes don’t leave yours. 

Good luck, they seem to be saying. You’ll need it. 

You smile, and he smiles back. 

I won’t. 

+

Semi’s a phenomenal bassist. When you’d first started dating Akamine and he’d just joined Semi’s band, he could scarcely shut up about it — “His name’s Semi Eita, and I swear he’s got magic in those fingers, babe.” 

Well, Semi Eita’s about to be dethroned, because your fingers are magic, too. 

For those two months, you’re the band’s lead guitarist, and you pass Semi’s test with flying colors. It takes a couple weeks to fall into step with the other guys — Semi on bass, Akamine on drums, and a quiet college kid called Yasuda on keys — but you’re a quick study, and soon you’re a cornerstone, expertly weaving searing arpeggios of dashed dreams and fiery hopes up and down the band’s underlying tunes. 

(You should’ve seen it coming.)

You and Semi somehow become co-songwriters. He has a knack for melodies, and you have a knack for lyrics. Akamine doesn’t seem to mind the long hours you spend in Semi’s company, working in a whirlwind of messy notes and empty energy drink cans — he trusts you. 

(Sometimes you feel like maybe he shouldn’t.)

“What do you think of this?” Semi says, idly twirling a pencil between his fingers. It’s 10pm on a Friday night, and you’re stretched out on his couch, inhaling chow mein from a greasy paper box. “For the second verse, I mean.” 

“Lemme see,” you say around a mouthful of noodles, snatching the paper from his hand. You furrow your brow. “‘Tear me open like a scarlet letter, cruelly addressed ‘return to sender…’’ Jeez, Semi. Who hurt you?” 

Semi scowls. “It’s a breakup song, isn’t it? It’s supposed to hurt.” 

“You might consider being a little more… subtle,” you suggest, offering him a fortune cookie. He takes it and sets it aside.

“Heartbreak isn’t subtle,” he says, shooting you a look that speaks of throbbing phantom wounds. “It cuts deep. All the way down to the heart. Hence the name heartbreak.” 

“Wow. I had no idea,” you say drily. You swing your legs over the couch and sit upright, snatching his pencil. “I just think we should tackle this with nuance, not just write another ‘eff you’ ballad.” 

“This world can always use another ‘eff you’ ballad,” Semi says humorlessly, resting his chin in his hand. 

You regard his suddenly silent demeanor as he stares, unseeing, out the window. It’s dark outside, and it’s a darkness that speaks less of peaceful sleep and more of emptiness. 

You sigh, nudging him with your foot. “What was her name?” 

“What?”

“Her name. This demon of a girl that hurt you so badly.” 

For a moment, it seems he’s going to argue, to deny ever being afflicted with something so childish as lovesickness. Then he runs a defeated hand through his hair and shakes his head, laughing. “You’re too curious for your own good.”

You wait. There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence as Semi chews his lip.

“...Her name was Aiko,” he says finally, inspecting his nails with a faux nonchalance. “Smokin’ hot. Met her in music school three or so years ago, I think — she was a TA, a few years older than I was.”

“Older women, huh?” you tease. This is new territory — you’re dipping a toe into the forbidden arena of flirtation. A shadow of guilt creeps into the back of your mind as you think of Akamine, but the bright light of Semi’s crooked grin swiftly flushes it away.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to flick your leg. “I don’t date babies like you.” 

“Maybe you should consider it,” you say, unthinking. Semi stares at you, eyebrow raised, and you flush, frantically backtracking. “Not me specifically. I’m just saying — well, I mean, ‘cause this Aiko chick was such a bad time and everything.” 

“If you have a crush on me, just admit it,” Semi says. You’re sure it’s meant to come across jokingly, but the way he’s eyeing you twists your stomach into a pleasurable knot. Then he sighs, leaning back on his arms. “She was a great time, actually. It’s the ending that sucked ass.” 

The question lingers at the tip of your tongue, hesitant like an ill-trained acrobat, but before it even attempts the leap, Semi answers.

“It burned.” He looks straight at you, and you can taste the bitterness in his words. “It burned, and not a day goes by that I can’t remember how awful it felt.” 

+

That’s the first of the many secrets you trade with him. 

Later that night, you tell Semi about your first kiss, about how the recipient smelled like Old Spice and tasted like chapstick, how he walked you to your front door and introduced himself to your mom. About how he took your virginity six months later, and how you soon realized there are some things in life you don’t get an exchange receipt for. 

Semi tells you his favorite color is green, and that outer space scares him more than anything. (He doesn’t like thinking about life in other galaxies because he can hardly handle thinking about life right here.)

You tell him you like milk tea with 75% sweetness, and he promises he’ll take you to his favorite cafe sometime. (“Not a date,” he assures you, and you internally scold yourself for wishing it was one.)

He says he once accidentally kicked a stray cat while trying to find a volleyball he lost in the bushes near his house, and that’s why he considers himself a cat person now: as repentance. (He has a pet cat called Haru, and he shows you a picture — Haru is small and black with bright yellow eyes. You say he’s cute, but Semi corrects you: “Not cute. Fierce.”) 

You say you used to wish life had a restart button, so you could turn back time and dance through each year without making a single mistake.

Semi says he still wishes that. 

(Another thing they don’t tell you is how secrets are really currency. Secrets can’t help but pay for familiarity, and familiarity often leads to something more.)

+

It’s a couple weeks later when you have your first gig. It’s at a bar downtown, and Yasuda nabs fakes for you and Akamine, though you don’t plan on drinking. Not much, anyways. 

(Speaking of Akamine, your relationship with him has grown strained over the past month. He’s stretched himself thin between the band and his business degree, and you — well, whenever your phone pings, you can’t stop hoping it’s from Semi.)

Five minutes before show time, Semi turns to you, eyes wide. “We don’t have a band name.” 

“What?”

“We don’t have a band name.” He looks around, frantically trying to draw inspiration from something in the dimly lit bar. “Quick, think of something.” 

So you think for a moment, chewing your inner cheek, before reaching out and tugging on Semi’s sleeve. “Paper.”

“Paper?”

“Paper.”

Paper is fragile, it’s thin, it’s easy to come by. But it’s also a world of potential on one sheet, a story waiting to be written. 

When the bar owner walks onto the stage and introduces the band, you know you’ve made the right decision. And from the glittering smile Semi flashes you before nodding at Akamine to count you in, you know he thinks so too. 

The show goes on without a hitch, and even though the bar is far from packed, you’re just as proud as you’d be playing in a stadium of screaming fans. The air smells of stale whiskey and fresh beginnings, and as your fingers dance up and down your Gibson’s fretboard, you hear colors — rich teal, smooth mahogany, creamy gold and silver brighter than the stars. Akamine keeps the rhythm like a war drum, and Semi, as always, is perfect. Yasuda, doubling as the main vocalist, sings until his voice gets wonderfully low and raspy, keyboard taking some of the heat as he grins back at you, mouthing how badly his throat hurts.

You’re sweaty when the set’s done, and Akamine buys you a drink, giving you a quick, half-hearted kiss and a tired smile.

Akamine’s always been kind to you.

“I gotta go,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Essay due tomorrow at ten.” 

He looks so genuinely sorry to leave, you almost feel guilty. 

+

You’re packing up your amps into the back of Semi’s van, alone in the parking lot save for the moon many miles above, hanging bright and full in a clear sky. The moon has seen all your most indulgent sins, and she’s going to see one more tonight.

“You did well.” Semi heaves the last of the equipment into his truck before turning to you, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Consider me impressed.”

“Why, thank you,” you say, giving him a mock bow. “So glad I’ve finally managed to impress the Semi Eita.” 

He regards you for a moment, arms crossed. A small sigh escapes his lips. It’s both a sigh of resignation and one of anticipation. 

Then, in one smooth motion, he steps close, reaches out, and pulls you close by the waist. 

You stare up at him, all too aware of the heat radiating from his body. His skin is burning, and his cologne is different from Akamine’s — it’s not expensive, it’s not a multilayered, deep, woody scent. It’s cheap, the sort of cologne a struggling musician can afford, but it smells of home.

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he whispers, sliding a hand up your jaw to cup your face. His hair glows silver and ghostly under the streetlamps. 

“And what are you about to do?” Your voice is deadly quiet, and your chest feels a deathly cold despite Semi’s proximity, refusing to thaw as you await his answer. 

“Kiss you absolutely senseless.” 

Semi’s never been one to make empty promises, and right now is no exception. He presses his lips to yours and you immediately melt into his arms, suddenly craving him and only him. You’re not entirely sure how you’ve managed to avoid devouring him whole up until this point, because he kisses like Eros, full of pomegranate seeds and crimson blossoms, of days spent in clandestine bliss. He kisses like a man on death row, desperate and longing, hands squeezing your waist like your body is his only anchor to life itself. 

Semi Eita wants to be a rockstar, but right now he’s just a boy kissing a girl he’s bound to fall deeply, inexplicably in love with. 

When he finally breaks away, you’re breathless, staring up at him like you’ve just seen an angel. Your hands are still curled in the front of his shirt, you’re still standing on tiptoe, lips just inches from his. 

“Semi…” You swallow hard. “Akamine’s a good guy… I can’t.”

Semi tenses his jaw, taking a finger to lift your chin. “Then why are you looking at me like that?” 

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hungry.” 

He’s got you there. 

You’re standing on a balance beam splitting two vastly different worlds. On one side there’s the known: Akamine and his bright, blue-eyed optimism, his willingness to shoulder burdens he shouldn’t have to. There’s his sweet touch and soft kisses, his firm words of reassurance and his sunny laughter shedding light on your hidden depths. 

The known is comforting. It’s familiar. 

But on the other side… there’s the unknown. There’s Semi Eita in all his scalded glory, his sharp tongue and headstrong determination. There’s his burning touch, his fingers leaving scorch marks on your cheek and his lips depositing glowing embers in your mouth, ready to ignite at a single inflammatory word. There’s his moonstone enigma, the shadow underlying his every sentence like smudged eyeliner. 

The unknown is frightening, almost overwhelmingly so… but there’s something in you, something willful and terribly thirsty, that draws you to this unknown and the possibility of knowing it. 

“Because I am.” 

And you grab his face and pull it down to yours, impatient, frustrated by months of dancing around that painfully tangible attraction, that magnetism — finally, you allow yourself to fall, hurtling through a chasm of fallen stars and ancient suns, hanging on to nothing but Semi and his carefully guarded secrets. 

You kiss him hard, pouring your soul into his mouth, all your youthful doubt and hope. You knot your fingers in his hair, and he pulls you into his chest, pressing your body so close it’s as if he wants to make it a part of himself. 

And when you part for the second time, chest heaving, you know you’ve fallen completely, entirely, without a doubt. 

[the-unaligned-player]

New World of Darkness XY Splat AU Dream SMP Most Fitting Splat.

Dream: Dethroned Grace of Heart

He existed as the effective ruler of the lands settling disputes and fostering community in his land. He then had his life, history, and belief systematically torn apart followed by his nakama turning on him. Now he is a corruptive creature of despair that only exists to spread the misery that is his life to everyone around him. Learn from the mistakes that caused him else ye be doomed to repeat it, and end his suffering for there is no kindness that can ever reach the thrice burned.

Tommy: Gangrel Carthian

A somewhat domesticated but still very feral animal that as of recently seems to genuinely be trying to be a better person. Not prone to thinking things through, still goes by his heart but said heart seems more tempered. Would still fistfight god because he exists though, as long as he never truly breaks ‘rebellion for rebellions sake’ will always be a part of him. Would like for him to continue to improve.

Punz: Torn Bonepicker

If the betrayal was true this man is a true Viceful Bonepicker. A man endlessly grabbing at the wealth in front of him despite the fact that he already had more than enough secured. Now he is claimed by that rusted iron moss. I’d feel bad for him but it doesn’t seemed to have changed him much.

Schlatt: Daeva Invictus

A unsubtle tyrant who endlessly indulged in deeper and further into vices in a desperate bid to feel alive again while hurting everyone around him with his flexes of power, one whose final death was celebrated by everyone. A perfect fit for the Tempting Tyrants. Smart enough to want to stay dead.

Wilbur: Ventrue Invictus Masquerading as a Carthian

A man who started a country in a bid for power disguised as freedom. Desperate for control and importance, once deposed he swiftly spiraled out of control losing all grip on his touchstones and required final death as it was the only kindness that could be given to one so wracked with derangement as to appear Malkovian. Dumb enough to want to come back.

Tubbo: Fairest Dawn Courtsman

A doll, played with and treasured by everyone as one does a toy. Voice silent and never heard when that vow is broken. Both inaction and action have hurt those they care about and his grasp on reality has been slipping ever since. Loves, loves so so much but the love returned always leaves him feeling hollow and used when alone so he clings to anyone who will. A self perpetuating behavior but such is the pattern taught by the addicting Durances of The Fairest. Still, that earnest belief that things can get better can always bring a smile to the faces of those willing to listen.

Ranboo: Hollow Mekhet Ordo Dracul (VII?)

A supernatural creature of shadow with a part of himself that may be working for the antagonist, desperate to understand his condition and overcome it? It’s like this Splat was made for him. :)

The Unaligned Player: Dethroned Seeker of Diamonds

I desire to understand the world around me and it’s inhabitants, a desire born from the wish to spread knowledge to other that they may make fully informed decisions. As for the Dethroned part, ~I have crippling depression~, am innately evil, and have utterly wrecked my emotions in the process of staying sane and alive so despair, hate, fear, and general suffering have just become a part of me leaving me with an even more alien perspective than I should possess. If you end my suffering and there’s an afterwards I’ll thank you but I’ll fight you because I haven’t done enough for murder to be the solution yet.

Technoblade: Avenger (Unusually stable)

A man of rage and vengeance, laser focused on tyranny as the subject of his ire. He does not forgive, he does not forget, his hatred does not cease. Even after the sun has burned out there he will stand, cremating and destroying all tyranny he can find. Despite all of this, he is no monster, no beast to be murdered and corpse to be mounted or harvested. He is a man, empowered only by his devotion such that one could mistake him for a paladin and not be inaccurate.

Karl: Acanthus Guardian with a Minor in Scelesti

The man who travels through the thornbush of time, losing bits and pieces of himself along the way. He accepts the price and accepts the burden, knowing that every step he takes through the hedges could be his last, that every decision he makes has consequences far beyond him. The sights he beholds and the things he does are burned into his soul, but if it keeps everyone else alive, he’ll gladly give up all that makes him him.

Captain Puffy: Yuri’s Group

A mortal woman that makes the attempt to take care of and protect the souls of beings far greater than her. Doubles duty as one who actively attempts to prevent those that would hurt her charges from doing so. Maternal and caring, with the appropriate amount of badassery required to live in a World of Darkness with her chosen profession, I’d think of no better splat for the therapist knight than as a Hunter of Yuri’s Group.

Quackity: Mastigos Hegemon with a minor in Scelesti.

A man of words with no true bones for the physical matters in backing up his talk. Always vying for some semblance of power, making grandiose yet simultaneously dull plans and schemes that inevitably bite him in the ass. Standing for nothing but himself he does his best to make others stand below him, always clinging to hierarchy for protection and influence and inevitably dividing his faction into rats snapping at eachother and crabs keeping eachother trapped in a bucket. Poor Starscream, always a joke, always dissatisfied.

Ranbob: Obrimos Paternoster with a major in Scelesti

A lass who looked upon the quartz mask of our favorite despairing blob, and saw God. Fueled by their quiet zealotry, this humble bookkeeper saw fit to burn away the world that reviled them for their faith. Death to all who come to their temple of worship, for none would accept the one who worships the God who is as a Devil.

Awesamdude: Talassii Nemeses

A icon of fear that promotes the fear and suffering of their victim brought about by binding entrapment and confinement in response to transgression. An Iron Maiden, a burning cross, the c4 strapped to your chest, and a bear trap. The embodiment of Law as Punishment and the man who will bring the hammer down if you make a mockery of his domain.

Sapnap: Hero

The glory seeker, the tragedy, the Hero of their story. Desperate for a sense of some importance they turned to a universal icon of praise: Slaying monsters. Setting themselves up as the tragic hero who must put down their wayward friend, they make a mockery of history and hype themselves up far too much for how important they are. Claiming possession and protagonism of a story that was never truly theirs, no happy ending awaits them in the end. A fitting fate for a Hero.