#expyy

they WHAT

It felt like a guilty thing, to have left Alucard so abruptly to be alone with his grief. But after a few weeks of traveling, it became starkly apparent that merely leaving Alucard with Castlevania and the Belmont holdfast alone was practically cruel to do in the wake of so much grief. It was why, with great reluctance on Trevor’s part, that the last Belmont had decided to continue on ahead with Grant Danasty and sojourn the Black Sea while Sypha might be left to catalog and study the myriad scripts of the library beneath. To repair it, and make new. Simply because he had no wish to mingle with old ghosts didn’t mean Sypha was nearly as remiss.

“Can’t ever get the faces right.” The young woman grumbles down at the lumps of clay in her hands.

please imagine griffith with a gandalf beard though

“You…you live in….” He pauses, his voice damp, almost sticky sounding. It’s hard to make out his features in the dark lighting of the subway station, but it’s clear that he’s blonde, there’s something on his face, but it’s hard to tell if its dirt or….something else,

“You live in the apartments don’t you? Room 302?”

The blond kid’s back.

Gideon keeps a safe distance as he packs up his biochemistry books; out of the corner of his eye he watches Sullivan.

It’s jarring to realize how normal this is all becoming.

Wake up hung over, stumble to class, sit in the back row and avoid drawing attention. Inevitably end up next to freaky Sullivan with the grunge-weirdo hair and the serene eyes.

“Hey,” he mumbles. It’s almost lost under the hubbub of premeds pouring out of the lecture hall. “Uh. Walter—“

(—don’t you have your own friends?)

“I, uh, I think this might be yours—“

The battered Baggie of quarters is Gideon’s, of course. He holds it out, knuckles white.