13 Mar. 13 – 6:37 PM

Gonna go a different route with this one

11th: Rainbow of Colors
Color should be a theme in your fanwork for this theme. It can be any color you wish or it can be a full spectrum of colors. If you're doing fanart, you're welcome to just play with the idea of color (i.e. focus on one color). You can also just use rainbow as your theme- whether a literal rainbow, a rainbow of colors, etc.

Rating: M

Note/Warnings: Human AU, Implied sexual content, Implied violence, ROYGBIV (rainbow – light spectrum), Death?

ROYGBI – Arthur's POV; V – Alfred's POV

Colour-Blind

I could describe him to you, with only a few colours. The main colours of my lover are yellow and blue, but I will describe him with much more than that because he deserves the entire rainbow as a form of worship to him.

When I first met him, I focused on his lips, so red. They were so soft in appearance that I could not imagine them anywhere but upon me, the colour of my blood racing as he would drag those petal lips across my flesh. That same colour was the light that he worked under, marring his reputation with the thought that he was not worthy of the fineries that I desired for him. That same colour was the fury I felt when the man who dared to call himself the owner of the lovely being struck him harshly across the face for not fulfilling a quota that would have required more blood from him than he would have dared to waste on something; such a filthy, disgusting act.

As he lay on the cobblestones that the city adored out of nostalgia, I ran to him, fury blinding me with that red. Unconscious he was and his supposed owner in a predatory stance above him. Yet he dismissed this gorgeous being, dismissed his value, and bid him farewell. My blood pounded in my ears, but I only focused on taking the angel home, the beautiful person who was named…

I didn't know at all, but the rose tattoo that decorated the lower right side of his back gave me impressions of a mystical name, one associated with Romanticism and joy.

His hair was stained orange, as the blood from a laceration on his head mixed with his blonde hair, just the bangs. I got him to my home, the taxi fare not a concern for me, and focused on healing him. Bandaged the small cut on his forehead and let the gauze soak it all in, let it soak up the pain from my angel. His name would make no difference to me and all that mattered was that I loved him. Yes, he'd be mine…

Orange was the colour because it blinded me, with its patron saint of greed. As he lay still, I shivered with the sin. He would stay here with me and all would be wonderful. I'd take and give what he'd be willing to take and give and he would have all of me. Down to the marrow of my bones, I prayed to God, let this man love me, holding the same coloured rosary to my chest in my tightly clasped hands. We would stay together as lovers and forever our spirits would be bonded, because he could not love anyone else… I wouldn't be able to bear it.

The next morning he opened his eyes, he looked around the house in fear. Fear of the man that had hurt him before, and a sickly yellow seemed to emanate from his soul. I approached him and he shook with apprehension as I removed the gauze on his forehead and wiped the liquid, the same colour as his fear, to disinfect the wound. I spoke with him of what I had seen, what the horrible man had said, and I asked him where I should take him. He only began to laugh and sob, as though all of his emotions could only express themselves as such and were rushing forward from his body. He calmed down after I brought him some lemonade and left him alone for a while, though not in that order. I learnt his name. As Romantic as I had thought; Alfred.

Yellow was the glow that he cast over my life, the sunshine that he illuminated my home and heart with. He even did the same to my green garden. He watered the roses, irises, and orchids, and he never seemed to want for much more than I offered. I pled with him to take more, more of food or another room or even a job at the small business I ran, but always he was formal with me, ever distant and out of my reach like the point of a coniferous tree. He would go and come like a fleeting flutter-by but I did not mind, because he always fluttered back. He cheered me when I would come across something difficult in my life and I did my best to be a good companion to him as well. He told me his favourite colour and I trusted him with everything of me.

Envy filled me one day as he met up with a friend and began to make my world a darker green. He brought her to the house and let her presence sink in a bit to our shared abode, her little gifts for him – for us, she insisted – all around. When she left, Alfred asked me why I was so standoffish, but I didn't know how to answer. It was not of being cold, but possessive, something I did not want to feel. I spoke to him about it, the deep-rooted envy that I held inside of me. I did not want others to have him be as close with them as he was with me. He lived with me! Did he cherish me as he did his friends? I wanted him to be mine, but only if he would have me!

Those blue eyes gazed back at me with a distraught feeling, a feeling of desolation. I wanted him, yes, he understood that. But that was all he understood! He began to move to the dressers, taking the clothes that he had brought from his home to mine and placing them into a duffel bag. I pled with him again, that was not my wish. I did not seek to own him! He was everything to me, one of the reasons I lived and loved to live. I ran after him as he slammed the door and left me in the bedroom to be alone. I couldn't think nor breathe and the same colour of his eyes began to fill my throat, choking sounds wringing themselves from me as though they were carnal mating calls for him, looking for him. We ended up outside…

It was raining that day, so the blue in the sky did not match the colour of his eyes as he looked at me with an expression that demanded explanation. I stammered and that same hue threatened to make me vomit where I stood. I loved him, I said, willing to lay myself on the nearby subway tracks for his sake. He was beautiful and kind and he was my sunshine, the reason my skies were the same shade as his eyes when he smiled at me. Please, I begged him… I wanted to explain, but I feared that I would frighten him, remind him of the man I helped him away from. I did not want him to dislike me nor be indifferent to me… I wanted to be the one that reminded him of the clear weather and sunny sky.

He remained silent and then walked towards the direction from which I came, grabbing my wrist and taking me back to my house. I asked him for what reason he was taking me back, but he answered that we were going back home. The two of us?! My heart began to pound the blood that had lain empty of nutrients with fear of rejection through my body with such ferocity; I would be surprised if it did not leave indigo bruises. Did he understand? Did he realise that I loved him, that he was everything, my God!? Inside the house again, he set his duffel down and lead me to the bathroom connected to my bedroom, telling me that he would use the other to take a bath, to prevent chill. I nodded dumbly, elated that he was staying… to my knowledge.

When I left the bathtub, I had bruises decorating me. I had been frantic and had a mild panic attack. What if he was not there when I exited the room? As long as I did not open the door, there was a possible reality in which he was there; Schrödinger, you torturous man with the indigo blood of a monster that knew the answer but decides to shake his head when asked… Alfred sat on the bed that was mine, nude save for the towel around his waist.

I froze. He stood and let the towel drop and I shivered with anxiety. He came close and asked me – me shivering in the bathrobe that I had donned – if this was what I wanted. I let my breath push its way through my trachea and out of my mouth. No, this is not what I wanted. I wanted to love him and for him to love me. He said nothing, but he did press a cold-lipped kiss to my cheek. It was the first time I saw that his lips were almost indigo. He was cold, seeing his bluing nails and I kissed his fingers, trying to make them nice and pink again. He needed to be healthy… If he wasn't, I couldn't be.

He pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"You're an idiot," he whispered.

He held me close and dragged me over to the bed, pushing the robe off of my shoulders and peppering kisses to the exposed flesh. Please, please, don't look at my body! I don't want you to see how vulgar it is. I don't want you to see my body flush red, or my hair, a mix of the palest orange and yellows, at the base of my manhood. Don't look at my green eyes as they drown in tears because of the attention you give me…

But…

You call me things, like "love" and "honey", things I have longed to hear from your lips.

I am entranced by your blue eyes as they look down on me with the same lust that I've let build up inside of my vulgar form, the indigo outline of your rose tattoo that snakes its way to the front of your ribs on the right side. How can I feel so lovely, like a deity, when it's you that makes me feel like this? Are you a God, a faerie, a magician, or are you just the most special person I can meet?

As we rock against each other, trying to figure out where we fit the best together, I notice your eyes, consumed with lust.

They have the smallest shade of violet in them.

The person that saved me gave me violet irises on the day that I began to help out around the house, because I told him that I loved the colour. He let me handle his precious little world while handing me the string that it was hanging from, trusting that I would not ruin it. He let me handle him, help him, and even almost leave him without trying to take all of the power of the situation from me…

He let me choose. I was my own person.

When I helped in the garden, he let me handle the violet orchids that bloomed so happily in the garden. They had a short life when I was there, but I saw them from their moment of blooming to the moment of their withering.

I always thought that I would never see that happen, that I would outlive something. Arthur was kind to me, like the old king from the faerie tale book that my mother read to me as a child.

I thought that I would be laid down in a casket before I turned nineteen. Arthur bought me a cake today with violet lettering.

"Happy 19th Birthday, Alfred."

He gave kisses to my cheek, not parts of my body that were hidden from me out of view…

Because I am Arthur's deity, he says, the only one worthy of wearing the rainbow.

Personally, I think it's him.

Red – colour of passion, fury, and the traditional image of a rose

Orange – colour of greed, fear, and pain

Yellow – colour of phlegm, iodine (a disinfectant), and sunshine

Green – colour of envy and life

Blue – colour of good weather and temperament, and sadness

Indigo – colour of bruises and cyanosis (lack of oxygen in the blood)

Violet – colour of death and royalty, possibly new beginnings

Rainbow – symbol of promise, a new era