#mentions of shooting and death and blood

[fcdcdmcmories]

❝ we are turning back, all right? ❞ from mark

"NO, WE'RE NOT FUCKING TURNING BACK," would he normally have known his way to the hospital? probably, he would have, but.. hey, he had gotten hurt and it wasn't as if there had been anyone that could fix his wound completely at the old farm. he needed actual medical help for that to happen and .. well, he couldn't even remember how it was that he had ended up running into HOFFMAN somewhere in the way. did he care to remember? no, he didn't think that he did. at all. "i need to get patched up unless i want to pass out somewhere along the way, so.. if you're busy? I CAN DO IT JUST FINE MYSELF, MAN. NO BIG DEAL."

@xtinyslip

#( she'll be the death of you . you just haven't seen it yet . || parker sears ). #tw: death mention #tw: mental health #tw: shooting #tw: blood

[daenerys-targaryen]

Not to bring down the mood but Greg Abbott is such a piece of shit I’m nearly trembling with rage

#leah rambles #the five victims of another shooting in Cleveland texas #one including a 9 year old boy #he said that there is a reward but didn’t mention them at all #only referred to them as ‘illegal immigrants’. #piece of shit piece of shit piece of shit #rot in hell #5 innocent people are dead and you 1) refuse to do anything about guns and 2) #only refer to them as illegal immigrants ?? people are dead. a 9 year old boy. is dead. #he’s such a fucking piece of shit him and cruz both #cowards #I am not a hateful person. in fact I try to see the best in people always #but god. #if hell is a real place he’s going to enter the gates #and I hope Lucifer permanently stains his hands red with all the blood he’s spilled #in the name of power and money. #I’m genuinely trembling with rage and will soon start crying at the carelessness and cruelness #anyways #death tw #shooting tw #politics

[omniversentertwined]

familylightfox asked:

“Just, just hang on...” // Harmony

ㅤㅤ" I--- I'm sorry-- "

ㅤㅤRecognizing the entrances to these dangerous areas used to be so much easier, underground. Even without relying on her ability to sense the amount of Dark or Light Gaia energy in a person, there was normally a much more recognizable scent around the areas they would frequent. There was no reason for her to have lead the both of them anywhere near the entrance to a Hive. Harmony should never have had to bear witness to what a true Beast was like.

ㅤㅤIt had originally been a fun idea -- a simple exploration further into a cavern that they'd found weeks prior. She hadn't planned to lead her friend too far below the surface, as the deeper they went the less the light would be able to reach them. They'd brought a flashlight with them for emergencies or in case they ended up separated, somehow, but even if Demo's vision was still perfectly adapted to see just fine in these depths, the further down they went, the harder it would be to safely navigate.

ㅤㅤIt had been surprising, at first, just how far down the cavern actually went -- far enough for them to easily reach the depth Demo was willing to lead to, and yet still she could see out into the darkness that it would only just barely start to dip down and close off from the ceiling. The small pools of water that collected in the open area and the stalactites and stalagmites formed a beautiful space. Were it to be made safe for more public access, she was certain others would love to bear witness to it, as well.

ㅤㅤIt was only as she took a singular peek down a hole in the cavern floor, into the would-be drop that lead to more pitch-dark areas that she caught the terrible scent she so recognized -- and realized what was lurking in the darkness uncomfortably close to their location. The sounds of awe that they had been making, each and every gasp and happy comment, their footsteps against the damp ground, even the sudden racing of her heart would be enough for any hunter not so far below them to track upwards to their location.

ㅤㅤShe didn't need further confirmation that it might already be headed for them. Immediately, she'd pushed herself up and away from the hole, running to collect her friend and urgently usher her back out the way they came. The amount of noise they made now didn't matter -- Beasts and other creatures that served Dark Gaia had completely turned away from the light. Knowing how well she could hear, if they so much as sniffed too loudly down here, she's certain it would be able to find them. Their only option was to make it back to the surface before it could reach them.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤOr, at least, that had been the plan.

ㅤㅤIt had been quicker than she'd anticipated. They were at most a mere mile away from the entrance when she'd heard it rapidly approaching from behind. The scrapes and thuds of its mutated hands and feet running from behind had been immediately followed with sudden, agonizing pain as the same claws caught and dug into and began tearing through her flesh. With a cry ripping from her throat, she'd tried to wrestle out of its grasp -- or at least turn to face it for a chance at fighting back. Though the experience was sure to scar the poor girl that had accompanied her down here, it's likely that such a feat only ended up being possible because of the assistance she gave Demo.

ㅤㅤA hunter would not so easily give up on prey, however -- especially when one was already wounded. It's a desperate fight to keep the creature from fatally injuring both of them, one that doesn't end until Demo is able to shove it enough to lose its footing and fall back further down, below. Yet with one final slash of its claws as it fell, it manages to hook into the side of her abdomen -- and were it not for Harmony grabbing and pulling her back, she surely would have been dragged down to met her demise alone, disemboweled and impaled on the stalagmites beside her attacker.

ㅤㅤInstead, trembling in the arms of the one who had tried to save her, it only takes her one look at the wound to know she won't make it out of the caverns. Neither of them had any way to heal her, and even if her wound were given emergency dressing and she were carried, she'd surely bleed out before they could reach someone that could help her. Knowing she had limited time, feelings and regrets begin to surface. When the other begged for her to just hold on, she could only offer her apology.

ㅤㅤ" I'm sorry.. I'm sorry I--I brought you h--here.. I'm--sorry you--you had to fight--but.. But you--you still have to--get out of here.. It's not--it's not safe.. Keep--keep going up, back to--the light.. And don't---please--please don't..don't ever let anyone come b--back down here.. Don't--don't let them..make--my mistake.. "

ㅤㅤIt was selfish of her to ask -- it wasn't Harmony's responsibility. With no one to guard or close off the entrance, however, there were sure to be people that would make their same discovery. And the more noise that was down here, the worse it was going to be. The civilizations underground weren't ready for what awaited them on the surface, but the surface wasn't ready for the horrors that lurked below.

ㅤㅤShe can feel her strength ebbing away, already tear-blurred vision becoming further unfocused, fading into darkness. Weakly, her clawed hand pushes against the younger girl's shoulder -- back, away, and in the direction of the entrance. " Hurry-- Get--get out of..here.. Plea s e... " and whether the girl opted to take the Imp with her or not, her breathing slowed, her heart faltered, and her light died.

#“Alright... Kill me with Demo and Harmony” YOU GOT IT! #cw death mention #cw blood #cw descriptive death #[ ALL THESE FEELINGS DANCE IN MY HEART / LIKE TWINKLING STARS IN THE NIGHT SKY ] ; DEMO #[ IF I COULD SHOOT ACROSS THE NIGHT SKY LIKE A STAR / COULD MY VOICE THEN REACH YOU TOO ? ] ; DEMO ANSWERS

[afoolandathief]

Something Wicked: Caz runs into another ex of his

[ID: An image of a handgun in shades of red and black; white letters with red shading say "Something Wicked by afoolandathief." End ID.]

He knew something was wrong in the apartment as soon as he walked into his kitchen.

“Hello?” he called out.

Something rustled just slightly; a curtain, maybe. Some dumb fuck was definitely in his living room. And seeing as he had hardly eaten enough at Valfierno’s, they were making an especially stupid mistake.

“Look, pal, I know most burglaries occur between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m.,” he said, rattling off some statistic he had long-ago forgotten the source of. “But that’s really inconvenient if the resident sleeps during the day.”

Standing between his record player and the couch was a short figure in a three-piece suit, his face obscured by the pantyhose he’d pulled over his head. Both hands were gripped around a pistol.

“Oh, goody, you’ve got a gun,” Caz said.

“Yeah, that’s where you’re mistaken, Mraz,” the figure spat through the nylon. “I fully intended for you to be here.”

His entire body arched back with each pull of the trigger, the silencer leaving only a muffled click as the bullets flew clean through Caz’s chest and shoulder. The last one wedged into his rib. He hissed through his teeth.

He glanced down at where blood was spreading over his pinstriped vest and raised an eyebrow at the little nub of a figure.

“Ow,” he said pointedly.

The gun hung uselessly from the man’s hand as Caz approached him and scooped him up by the collar.

“You really shouldn’t piss off a vampire when he’s hungry,” he said.

He wrenched off the pantyhose and stared at its owner’s wrinkled, scowling face.

“You of all people should know that, Gino.”

Gino Orilio responded by swearing in Sicilian and spitting in his face, and Caz threw his 98-year-old ex onto the couch.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, rubbing the spot where the bullet was still buried into him.

Gino sat up, lifting himself gingerly from where he’d made impact with the couch.

“You’ve been blowing me off, Mraz,” he said. “Turning down requests, ignoring my calls. I don’t take kindly when those I do business with treat me that way.”

His words would have carried an undercurrent of a threat if he hadn’t coughed into his handkerchief mid-sentence.

“And you respond by shooting me?” Caz asked. “Jesus fucking Christ, Gino, I have neighbors! You could’ve hit one of them.”

Gino shrugged.

“Not my problem,” he said. “Now, why are you turning down my clients?”

Caz rolled his eyes and wandered over to the fridge. He’d have to dig the bullet out later. For now he’d have to numb its ache with the bottle of Khortytsa in his freezer.

Gino had been his former handler in Vegas. The bosses had thought he’d need some supervision after the O’Rourke incident, and for whatever reason decided some poor Italian kid out of East Harlem was the one for the job.

But nothing was ever built to last in this city. Eventually the capitalist billionaires came in to build their own casinos, and the Mob lost its grip. Caz moved on to jobs for newer mafias and disgruntled housewives. Gino clutched to his past, starting a loan office and hiring Caz to bust kneecaps or make a meal out of especially bad clients.

He set down two glasses on two coasters on his coffee table, filling one for Gino and mixing a half a pint of blood with vodka in the other. He sunk into the couch cushion next to him.

There were people like Lila who — despite the drugs and years of hardship — aged gracefully. Gino wasn’t one of those people. Caz’s handsome, dark-eyed boy had shrunk in on himself into something even more bitter and angrier than the young mafioso eager to riddle some poor card shark with bullets.

“I already told you,” Caz said to him. “I changed up my diet. I’m not taking any poor sap that’s avoided paying you back. You’ve got to find some real evil pieces of shit for me, Gino.”

Gino curled his hand around the glass and took a sip.

“Well, there’s this one guy who’s been dodging me,” he said. “Think he sells drugs to teenagers to support his gambling habit.”

“Not quite evil enough, old man,” Caz said.

“Remember Al Brewster? He cheats on his wife.”

“The fuck is wrong with you, Gino? I cheated on my wife.”

You were there, he wanted to add.

More Something Wicked info here

This excerpt's song is Tu Vuò Fà L'Americano (Hetty and the Jazzato Band) — Full playlist here

Taglist (ask to be +/-): @author-a-holmes, @avian-writes, @diphthongsfordays, @drippingmoon, @ellierenae, @faelanvance, @joaniejustwokeup, @leiwritess, @mjayatlas, @purplezebraproductions, @rhymingteelookatme, @thegreatobsesso, @thelaughingstag, @vylequinne, @writing-is-a-martial-art

General taglist (ask to be +/-): @athenixrose, @jezifster

🔫🦇🩸✨

#my writing #writeblr #something wicked #caz mraz #gino orilio #tw: language #tw: guns #tw: blood #tw: death mention #tw: shooting #tw: injury #tw: alcohol #tw: drug mention #tw: spit #tw: cheating #tw: sex mention #scheduled

[flyaboveitall]

self para ft. ( @vcndetta ) Addison's dead body

Amelia was exhausted. It had only been two days, but they had been non-stop. She was so grateful to have good people watching Scout during all of this, people she trusted, because she had never felt more on edge. She was a surgeon, she'd experienced mass traumas coming through more times than she could count. This was different though. This was brutally murdered bodies being found all over the city, this was people coming in hurt because they got in the way, or tried to solve things themselves. The youngest Shepherd wasn't a stranger to death. That was something that was a constant in her life. Patients sometimes died at work, of course, but even in Amelia's regular life, she'd been exposed to that loss and heartbreak more often than anyone should be. She'd seen or heard from all the people she cared about and knew from home that morning. She knew that they were all alive - Link, Jo, Mark, Lexie, Carina, Addison. Her people were okay, and that was the only thing that could keep her somewhat together while she worked. She was running purely on adrenaline and caffeine by the time her day was over. She'd been saving lives left and right, but it all felt like such a loss regardless. She was saving lives, but people were still being murdered senselessly and there was nothing she could do for those people. Nothing. Scrolling through the news as she headed through the hospital, her heart just sank with each victim name she read. She was barely paying attention to where she was going, but around her she could hear some commotion. Putting her phone in the purse slung over her shoulder, she finally looked up to see what was going on. And that's when she saw it. Saw her. The colour drained from Amelia's face, and for a moment, she thought she was going to be sick, or pass out. "Addison," she breathed out, running over to the lifeless body of her best friend, her honorary sister. The blood was pooled around her body, and Amelia could see the three spots where bullets had entered her body. "No," she whimpered, kneeling down and checking Addison for breath sounds, a pulse, anything that she could work with. But there was nothing. Addison was gone, and there was nothing she or anyone else could do to save her. Tears streamed down the neurosurgeon's cheeks. Why did everyone she love always die? This wasn't the first time she was crying over the body of someone she loved. She'd done it with her father, she did it with Ryan, she did it with Michelle, and now she was doing it with Addison. Why was she always the one to be there to find the body? Other staff members of the hospital began to hover, some bending over and reaching for Addison. "Don't touch her!" Amelia screamed. She clung to Addison. Blood was soaked into Amelia's clothing, covering her hands, but she didn't care. She couldn't let go. "Addie," she cried, fingers gripping the fabric of the woman's shirt. "I need you, you can't leave me." She sobbed over Addison's body until the police arrived, prying her off of the other woman. She couldn't handle it. Watching them bag her body, she could barely breathe. It felt like someone had reached inside and stolen every last air particle from within her body. Standing there in her bloodied clothing, every nerve in her body felt like it was on fire. Her skin crawled from the cravings that were overtaking her. She wanted to use, she wanted to drink. She wanted anything that would make her feel something other than devastation and pain. And maybe she would.

#{ amelia } #hwevent15 #death tw #murder tw #gun tw #shooting tw #addiction tw #alcoholism tw #drug mention tw #alcohol mention tw #long post tw #blood tw

[ellie-the-character]

Carry on, carry on

Jewel had been so excited that day. She’d worn her best dress that was only meant for special occasions with its pink crushed velvet and green satin bows and she’d even been allowed a dab of her mother’s special perfume (although only a dab, her mother was eight months pregnant and couldn’t take the smell) and her mother had brushed her hair and made sure her tight princess curls were perfectly perfect before they’d all gotten into the carriage to head off to the golden kingdom. Jewel hadn’t known why they were going but she’d been so excited at the prospect of meeting other children her age, other people who were maybe like her. She vaguely remembered smiling as they rode into town, beaming and waving at the citizens as the sun shone on her face before the gunshots and the crash. She didn’t know how much time had passed when she woke up, nor did she quite remember exactly what happened. She slowly blinked her eyes, taking in her surroundings. She was in a tiny clean room on a small white bed with some sort of bag and tube attached to her left arm. Her left hand was bandaged up securely and both of her legs were in casts. 

“Mother?” She croaked out, vaguely aware that her right ear felt like it was full of cotton balls. 

“Hey sweetie don’t try to talk just yet, let’s get some water in you first huh?” Came the reply from a blue haired woman quickly grabbing a glass of water. “Here let me help” Jewel was about to protest as it wouldn’t be proper for a young princess such as herself to need help drinking water but the woman had already placed the glass to her lips. She tilted the glass slowly and Jewel slowly drank the water, not realizing how thirsty she’d been. The blue haired woman set the empty glass down and began fiddling with the tube in Jewel’s arm. 

“Thank you” Jewel said quietly, feeling unsure of what else to say. She wanted to scream and cry and be held by her mother and father like she’d been when she was a little girl and she wanted to know where her mother and father were and what had happened to her legs and her ear and her hand but she knew that everything she felt like doing or asking was improper behavior for a perfect princess so she simply watched the blue haired woman take the tube out of her arm. 

“Okay Jewel, once the morphine wears off you’re probably going to be in a lot of pain, do you remember anything that happened?” The woman asked. “Mother and Father and I were going to the golden castle.” Jewel answered. “Well Jewel” The woman sighed, taking Jewel’s good hand in both of hers. “There was an incident. Your parents were shot and the carriage your family was in crashed. Your dad was dead when we got there and your mom was just beside the wreck. Your legs were crushed under part of the carriage. We got you out and we rushed you and your mom into surgery. Your mom was losing a lot of blood and…we managed to cut the baby out after your mom passed. She’s tiny but she’s alive. She’s going to be okay, we’re keeping a close eye on her. Your left thumb was gone when we found you but we found it in the wreck and were able to reattach it. You had a big gash in your stomach that we were able to sew up as well as some smaller cuts all over that we just had to clean and bandage. As for your legs they were broken pretty bad. They’ll heal eventually and you’ll be able to walk again but it may take a long time. It will take a long time Jewel, but you’re going to be alright.” The woman squeezed Jewel’s hand. “Jewel?” Jewel just sat there in shock, not quite processing everything. Her parents were dead? Her Mother and Father were dead? “Jewel? Can you talk to me honey? What are you thinking?” She wanted to cry even more now, she wanted to scream and thrash and beg for this to all be a nightmare. She wanted to wake up in her room and when Nanny came to beat her for her unladylike behavior she wouldn’t even care because her Mother and Father would still be alive and asleep in their room. But she didn’t. She took a deep breath, one that was far too shaky for a princess and she looked at the blue-haired woman. 

“I have a sister?” She asked, trying to feel the joy and excitement she’d felt for months as she’d waited for her sibling to be born. The woman smiled and squeezed her hand again. “Yes. You have a very sweet baby sister. And I know that in a couple weeks when you’re both a little healthier she’ll be very happy to meet you. You’re going to be a great big sister.” Jewel nodded, before she asked the question she’d heard her parents debating over for months. “What’s my sister’s name?” 

The woman took a breath. “Well” she started. “We’ve talked to everyone close to your parents to see if they’d ever mentioned having a name for the baby but it seems they never settled on one. So Jewel, I think we should let you name her.” 

Jewel simply sat there for a moment, thinking over the name suggestion she’d wanted to tell her parents for months that she’d been too scared to suggest for fear of it seeming too improper. “What about Trinket?” she said quietly, afraid that if she chose wrong she’d be sent away to her room, or well, wherever disgraceful children were sent here. The woman smiled. “That’s a beautiful name Jewel, I think it’ll suit her well.” Jewel gave the woman a small smile as a blue haired girl about her age entered the room. “Mama, I restocked the bandages. What can I help with now?” The woman beckoned the girl over to her and the girl came and stood beside her. “Jewel this is my daughter Rosie. I’m going to go check on your sister but if you need anything you can ask her or you can tell her to get me alright? My name is Doctor Penicillin.” Jewel nodded as the doctor left the room. “I’ll just be over there stocking the gloves alright? Call me if you need anything.” Rosie said with a smile. Jewel nodded and closed her eyes. The feeling of wanting to cry was back and the only way she knew how to avoid it was sleep.

#tw injury #tw blood #tw crash #tw death #tw death mention #tw gun #tw gun mention #tw childhood trauma #tw child harm #tw child harm mention #tw child abuse mention #tw gun violence #tw shooting #Lalaloopsy #jewel sparkles #rosie bumps n bruises #trinket sparkles #original character #oc penicillin bumps n bruises #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #lalaloopsy fanfic

[disputes]

Something that really upsets me is that I wonder if those who did not have to cope with the reality of the constant threat of school shootings as a child (or as a teacher) are aware of just how generally traumatic it is for those who did.

Obviously those who experience a shooting firsthand are traumatized, no one is ignoring or unaware of that. I mean the general student body. My generation and those younger had to, from a young age, be made aware of our own morality. We have to practice what to do if someone storms our school with the intent to kill before we even know what death is.

We hear the stories of teachers who died protecting their students, our own teachers tell us they'd do the same in a heartbeat every time we have a drill. You don't want them to die. You don't want to either. We see the news articles of kids who only survived by pretending to be dead, some of them hiding under the bodies of their friends, some of them covering themselves in the blood of their classmates. We make an effort to remember that, since it might be what saves our lives one day. Some of us realize that most often the shooter went through the same drills we did, they know where we hide, they know what the colored paper your teacher puts in the window means, they know which classrooms are empty and which ones are not. We realize that the only thing that will save us is the bravery of ourselves and those around us.

After one drill a friend leans over and asks if you've pre-written a text to send to your parents in the worst case scenario. "The cell service sucks in some of the classrooms," they say, "you never know which one you'll be in, but your phone will keep trying to send a text even if you aren't using it." The words "even if you're dead" go unspoken. At the time you think it's a very good idea. Years later it will be a memory that you can't think about without crying. You open your notes app. "Mama I'm writing this ahead of time in case theres an active shooter. If I don't make it home I love you. Tell dad I love him too. Thank you for everything you've done for me. I love you. I'll probably be ok mama, don't worry. I love you."

As children we are writing our own obituaries, our own wills, our own eulogies, and walking around with them in our pocket. The bell is no longer to change classes, but a death knell. And these are things every child today has to cope with, every child has to just accept, every child has to prepare for.

When I was in high-school, someone posted to social media that they were planning to bring weapons to school, and that they had a list of student's names. Had they been successful the media would have probably cited bullying as the cause. But the list was not of students who had bullied them. It was a list of students who were Jewish, of students who were black, of students who were openly LGBT+. This person did not want to kill out of revenge for mistreatment, they wanted to because of the racism ingrained throughout this country. Because of the unchecked and growing fascism and neo-nazism that plagues us. They ended up being suspended for a period of time before being allowed to return back to school as if nothing had happened, and those of us who were targets just had to accept that it was ok, and these are things that happen.

The people in power do nothing to stop it. They do nothing to try and prevent the ideologies that lead to it, some of them even encourage it. We are told how to respond, we are told of those who were lost, we are told to praise them for their bravery. We are never told what, if anything, is being done to keep it from happening again. We stand by and watch, children powerless to do anything, begging and pleading for those that can to do something. They do not.

I am angry. I have been out of school for years now, as someone who is almost 23, but I carry this trauma with me. I cannot imagine the weight of the trauma of the students who had to live through it and not just the what if. I am angry. We are expected to just be ok with this, as politicians stand by more focused on finaces. As police stand by and propagate more violence in schools than they prevent. As healthcare becomes more and more inaccessible. As the military is sent to other countries in search of profit. As the news speaks of how terrible these countries are- look at what happened to their students! To their children! While they ignore the fact that it was caused by the US and their military presence. While they say there's nothing that could have been done to prevent the same stories from happening here at home.

I am angry. But I am also tired. I still feel powerless in the face of an institution who continues to announce that it does not care about us, it only cares about the money it can make off of us. An institution that profits off of the same racism and antisemitism and homophobia and transphobia and ableism that is directly responsible for creating this violence.

I am angry. And I am tired. And I'm sure those of you who lived this with me are too. But we need to remember that though we may feel powerless we are not. You can do a lot as an individual, and even more as a group. Be active in your communities, volunteer if you can, donate if you can, protest if you can, support however you are able. Do not let the fear paralyze you. Regardless of your experiences, whether you lived this or did not, we are not powerless, and we need to create the change that we want to see.

#long post #school shooting tw #blood mention #death mention #ask to tw #i would put this under a cut but unfortunately i am on mobile #if you read all of this thank you #and if you have anything to add especially resources on what people can do in their communities pleade do so #as well as donation links #i tried to break up the paragraphs to make this easier to read but if anyone has suggestions on making it more accessible lmk #ok to rb

[menacing-anon]

My Predictions Masterpost, Pre-2x01

This is a compilation of all my predictions prior to watching season 2! I'll post updated versions before watching every new batch where I'll round up what I predicted correctly and incorrectly and adjust predictions for future episodes. There are also some observations with no clear prediction in here that I want to remember in case I get ideas later.

I basically went through all the promotional material – the Vanity Fair first look photos, teaser, trailer, TV spots, photos and behind-the-scenes featurette — and wrote any ideas in chronological order. I did not watch the clip from 2x01, because that's straight-up the show, but I know in a sentence what it's about. I also read, like, a sentence from a review and ventured into the Vanity Fair article without realizing they're pretty spoilery; I pretend I do not see it, but I do, so

THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR 2x01-2x03.

I'm sure there are many spot-on analyses and theories I haven't seen, but I figured I would use my own thinking first, and now I'm late. Plus the season premiered, so I'll stay out of everywhere until I'm caught up. I did get some ideas from this post by chaotic-neutral-knitter and this post by naranjapetrificada, which are galaxy brain (linking to my reblogs for my thoughts in the tags).

Episode 1: Impossible Birds

I spoiled myself that 2x01 starts with Stede and Izzy fencing, and that's gotta be a dream sequence, because it's clearly Steard! I CAN'T BELIEVE they're baiting us like that 😆

But whose dream sequence? I'd say Stede's, because who else would it be besides Ed, whom I don't expect to see until...

The wedding raid! It's in this episode because it's reminiscent of Stede's crew's preparation in 1x01. It's probably also the first we see of the Revenge crew, so the first update is an impactful one.

Fang trying to get Izzy to see that he doesn't relate to Ed (or Blackbeard?) in a healthy way probably happens right after Fang says that he's never seen Blackbeard "like this," and that's a reasonable place for that to start. And when he says that, they're eating what must be wedding cake, 'cause it's not as if Roach is around to bake one.

We surely know by the end of this conversation that Ed has repeated his violent act from the finale towards Izzy (also spoiled by some text).

I'm hopping on the theory that Ed plays with the figurines very late in the episode in the auxiliary closet because I like it!

On Stede's end — I figure the shopping with Oluwande happens in 2x01, because the conversation about Stede and Ed's relationship feels like an update on Stede's perception of it. In that case, given the little Red Scarfie, 2x01 also contains the rainy shots of Stede and the crew, and Stede lying awake next to Roach, thinking about what people said about Ed today, maybe. This alternates or is consecutive with Ed also up at night with the cake toppers.

The Vanity Fair article mentions a set of Stede's cabin, which is probably where Stede lies awake both times. But if that's in the first couple eps, why would they be chilling in a cabin and not traveling around looking for the Revenge, or idk, pirating? Is transportation an issue at this point?

Episode 2: Red Flags

Ed just had a rough night, as supported but not proven by the cake topper in the upper right corner:

But something also prompts him to brighten up and try to move on.

The anticipated and shown storm happens here, which makes sense because we see Ed... cackling in it?, exactly what a person who is still going through it at this point in the season would do. Plus, I imagine it playing after Fang refers to Ed acting "like this" is intentional; that's an example of how he behaves early in the season, when he's still on the Revenge before getting mutinied— oop! I know from the hecking review that there's mutiny in the first three eps. And I mean, Fang's statement, his conversation with Izzy, and the next ep titled Red Flags? I would say the mutiny is here, and it's against Ed.

The person coming out of the water clearly only has one arm covered by a black sleeve, and I was gonna say that one person being thrown into the sea and another emerging from it is an unlikely coincidence. Then I noticed that the rock tied to them — which is how I know it's no accident during the storm or something, and which is the same way Izzy was nearly treated when the crew mutinied against him — appears next to Ed later. Ed somehow survives this, and his rising from the ocean might be an impactful reveal at the end of the episode, kind of like in 1x02.

I saw Rhys Darby with a mermaid tail and the Vanity Fair article says there's an underwater reunion. Must be here!

I don't know who gets the mutiny started, but probably the Fang and Izzy area, although I'm not sure Izzy would be in favor of drowning Ed, since it looks like the show will try to redeem him... And I don't know who the intended next captain is, but unless it's Archie, whom I think we would know too little about by that point, Jim is probably the most interested and skilled. Izzy might be wary, and weary after recent events.

Meanwhile, a scarfless (that's the connecting link 😅) Stede throws the bottle, runs across the beach ("why are you running?" 🤨) and lies awake under Buttons' hammock.

Episode 3: The Innkeeper

Besides mutiny and drowning, the other thing that happens in the first three episodes per the review excerpt is amputation, and of course it's of Izzy's leg. The two previous episodes might be too busy for it, so perhaps here. I hope it's medical, which given Izzy's recent injuries is very plausible, as seen with Lucius.

But also, I caught a glimpse of the description, which says that Zheng takes over the Revenge? Well, idk who that is, but that adds up with the aftermath of a mutiny.

I don't think the innkeeper is anyone we know anything else about! It's probably not pirate Anne Bonny nor mysterious merchant Susan.

I know from the thumbnail that this is when Ed confronts the guy in the forest, who is "not even here, he's a hallucination." It's Hornigold, which seems fitting given what little we know of him and what Ed is trying to figure out about his life.

Episode 4: Fun and Games

Ed is looking more tan and a little rumpled when he runs into Stede, so that might be post-mutiny and Hornigold confrontation. Anne Bonny kisses Stede, then looks like she made a point, and they have dinner with the other lady. Looks like it doesn't run smoothly.

The Rest, Chronologically:

I'll group as much as I can by what definitely happens nearby, in a speculated order. It's very reliant on Stede's outfits 😅

There's the Chinese? Outfit they all wear when they're captured, so my best guess is that they change before that happens, maybe to blend in with another group, or they're dressed by the capturers. They're somehow right next to the Revenge? then, too.

I think the scene where Ed headbuts Stede is around there, and Stede's heartwrenched "Ed?!" seems like the sort of thing that would happen shortly before they make up, but I'm leaning towards Green Shirt Era (next paragraph). They definitely aren't yet because Stede says that he hurt "him" in this fit, which seems pre-makeup. Ed looks similar to the way he does at the market (note the mark on his lip), so the two are temporally close. So ALTERNATIVELY, this might be their first meeting in the season, and the awkward, anticlimatic market interaction is later. This is also episode 4?

There's the Green Shirt Era, which seems to last at least a couple episodes, and Gentlebeard probably make up during it. We see them separately, even in the same place, but it also contains the beach battle, and I do think they're back together by that point or shortly after given Ed's back-to-black outfit, which he wears in Red Shirt Era, when it seems like everything's good again. Therefore, I place this after the pre-makeup Chinese Outfit Era.

From the shot in the teaser, I thought this might be the talent show, but the trailer shows more angles on it and it's... bewildering at best. It's in Green Shirt Era, I just don't know what "it" is. Episode 5?

Ed and Stede chill with/at Jackie's around the same time as Stede hangs out with these folks, because he's with the same person. Maybe they meet in an outdoor scene, then go to the bar.

At some point, this street chaos happens, and maybe if we turned around, we would see Susan?

This is before or after a fight at the bar: Susan draws her dagger, and the only person we see next to her in that shot, Oluwande, hits someone with a bottle (it's hard to get a clean shot). All episode 6?

The battle is the last part of this era, because Stede has an earring now (which he also wears when he tells someone being a failure isn't so bad, hmm). Stede and Ed are fighting side-by-side, don't @ me. In episode 7, to leave a bit of room for the last thing.

I can't explain the screaming... Stede has a wound, from a bullet maybe, during the not-talent-show, but I think the battle comes after, and he has no earring when he screams. Where would these theories be without the scarfie and earring 😅

This somehow only leaves episode 8 for Red Shirt Era, where we're obviously all made up and together <3 Some final conflicts, big stakes and setup.

The Rest Rest:

Lucius is alive, and we learn this before Stede and Ed really make up. More on that in this post. Thank you, trailer, for assuaging the mild concerns I did harbor on that front with this shot that sent. me.

What if, ...hear me out:

Izzy is seen on set in... army? attire. So are Frenchie and Lucius up there, so I guess they infiltrate, in episode 7. Ooh, maybe a fuckery. Izzy is also the only character seen talking to the new antag, about piracy and in his regular outfit. No way he gets in cahoots with them, and he could be recognized during the fuckery if it were before, so I guess that's in the aftermath...?

Izzy is totally training Stede, though I'm not sure when any of it happens. That really explains "I've done a punch" after Izzy just watches Stede fight, Stede watching alone seemingly with his hands behind his back as a shirtless Izzy slices the candles, and their two scenes alone on the deck. That's so fun, I can't believe I've never considered it!

"I've done a punch" might be during a raid, but either way it's where Stede picks up the red coat.

What on Earth is going on with Stede demanding Ed's respect as his captain? Can't place that at all!

That's everything for now! I'll be back to reevaluate before I watch episode 4! 😃

#predictions masterpost #our flag means death #ofmd #our flag means death season 2 #ofmd season 2 #our flag means death predictions #ofmd predictions #my post #tw blood #tw sword #tw drowning #tw amputation mention #tw violence mention #tw shooting mention #tw injury mention #tw cursing

[s0dium]

Needing you

Gojo x F!Reader

Synopsis: Gojo comes home after a near death battle, bloody, sweaty and needing you.

Warnings: Sweaty frantic sex, unprotected sex, mentions of blood, no prep, mentions of SPOILERS

~

Gojo cant keep his hands off of you the moment he appears in front of your door.

He's sweaty, there's blood splattered on his face and clothes; god knows if its his or not. His breathing is ragged, deep, and the moment you make eye contact with him, the moment you see the vulnerability in his blue pupils and wide eyes, you dont even have to ask him what transpired. You already have a pretty good idea.

He's on you the second the door shuts behind him , lips crashing down on yours, teeth occasionally clashing and spit smearing on either side of your lips. Its messy, there is no coordination, no rythm, just Gojo trying to taste as much of you as he can. But that wasn't enough to satisfy him, he needed to feel you, touch you, press his bare skin upon yours and feel that he is alive, present, here with you. 

He tears off what ever filmsy tank top and shorts you are wearing and wastes no time shrugging off his blue uniform top. Your not even paying attention to it all; too engrossed in the kiss that has turn you into a whining a mewling mess. When your head hits the pillow you take the opportunity to wrap your legs around Gojo's waist and bring his crotch down to your cunt so he can grind his bulge against the wet spot on your thin white panties. But of course that isnt enough either, he needs to feel you, be inside you. With a grunt Gojo pulls off your underwear and lowers his boxers, just enough so his dick springs out hitting his abdomen. 

You let out a whine when you feel his leaking red tip hit your clit in an hurried attempt to align himself with you. 

“Shhh shh baby” he coos, gritting his teeth when he slips into your warm cunny.

Your thighs tremble as Gojo slams into you even and over again. His lips come into contact with what ever skin it can; leaving feather light ones on your neck and deep purple marks on your boobs and chest. 

Now your both sweaty, desperately clinging onto each other, trying to breath in the scent of his white hair, kiss, memorize every nook and cranny because god knows if Gojo doesn’t come back one day. 

You jolt with sensitivity every time the tip of his dick brushes against cervix: hitting the sweet spot inside you that made your stomach blossom with heat. Even though you’ve taken him so many times before, the stretch of his dick always makes it feel like your first. 

You can feel your self being hurtled closer and closer to an orgasm that you couldn’t put a stop too. Suddenly, in a great display of strength, Gojo manhandles you so your straddling him; the new position making his cock press against your sweet spot perfectly. 

Gojo breathing on your neck falters a bit when you press your chest and stomach flush against his.

“What are you doing, baby?”  He mumbles 

“Just....wanna be close...” you practically whisper as you start a slow grind of your hips; intending to truly savor in the pleasure. 

Your both a moaning mess, it was truly a show of primal affection; skin sticking and unsticking to each other as your bounced up and down his dick, lips attaching to each other in a wet mess and breathing ragged, fast and sometimes slow.

Suddenly, it hits you. Your stomach dips and muscles tighten. Its like bolts of electricity are being ignited through your body all at once in an frightful crescendo. Theres no time to even warn Gojo as your mouth falls open and tongue lolls out.

Oh fuck!" He gasps as your cunt clamps around him. He groans something unintelligible as his thrusts become erratic and sloppy, stopping as he bucks up into your one last time, shooting his hot load into your warm cunt

You collapse into Gojo's chest, not caring for the white liquid pouring out of you. Simply pressing your ear against his skin and listening to his heart beat, one last reminder before you dozed off that he was here, alive, breathing. 

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen fanfic

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Cats

Alien: Thanks for inviting me over. Alien: I’ve never been in a human’s home before so this will be- *sees cat sitting on couch* Alien: What is that? Human: That is Fred. *Turns to cat* Human: Say hi Fred. Fred: *MEOW* Alien: I was not aware you had a roommate. Human: What? Human: No, he’s my pet. Alien: You keep a sentient being as a pet? Are you a monster? Human: No; but Fred is. Fred: *MEOW* ----------------------

Alien: *goes to sit down, accidentally steps on fluffy ball* *Cat’s head shoots up* Human: You need to run. Alien: What? Why? Human: You just stepped on Fred’s favorite toy. Alien: So that means I am in danger? Fred: *low growling sound* Human: It’s too late….. --------------------------

*Thirteen stitches later* Alien: How can something so fluffy be so angry!?!?! Human: Domestication probably. Alien: Is that not meant to breed out the violence? Human: Normally yes, but with cats it just condensed it. ------------------------

*Next day* *Door slowly opens* Alien: Is it safe to come in? Human: Let me check. *Picks up Fred and holds him in front of alien* Fred: *Low growling noise* Human: No it is n- Alien: *Slams door shut quickly* ---------------------

*Two days later* Alien: *Sipping drink* Alien: What can I do to win over your furry slave? Human: First off, he is a pet not a slave. Human: And even if that was the situation I technically am Fred’s slave. Alien: *Surprised* You are one of the most advanced species in the galaxy; having mastered space travel and the manipulation of matter itself. Human: And yet I am the one cleaning up his shits. Alien: *Opens mouth to counter, then sips instead when nothing comes to mind* ----------------------

Human: Why does it matter that you want Fred to like you? Human: I thought you hated him? Alien: Were he not an animal I would have sworn a blood oath to destroy him and his family for what he has done to my face. Human: I ask again; why does it matter? Alien: Because for reasons beyond my understanding I feel compelled to have that little death machine love me. Human: Welcome to being a cat owner. ------------------------

*Three days later* *Door slowly opens* Alien: Are you ready? Human: I’ve got Fred. Alien: And you’re sure this will work? Human: Positive. *Alien walks in and Fred starts growling* Human: Get ready; I’m releasing Fred. *Puts Fred down who begins sprinting towards alien* *Alien holds out tiny tube with goop pouring out end* Fred: *MEOW!* *Stops murder sprint and begins sniffing and licking tube enthusiastically* Alien: So you bribe him with food? Human: Works on us humans as well. ------------------

Alien: Do you think I have won him over? *Fred walks up and brushes against Alien* Human: I think you’re good.

Alien: It felt like being embraced by the goddess herself. --------------------

Alien: So besides eating, sleeping, and acts of disproportionate violence; what else do they like to do? Human: Fred loves to play. *Picks up laser pointer and flashes it around room* *Fred’s head shoots up, does the butt wiggle, then lunges at the laser* Alien: What fascinating technology. Human: Yeah; we also use this to guide missiles for air strikes in wars. Alien: Your pet enjoys playing with tools of death? Human: I think that’s one of the reasons he enjoys it so much. ------------------

Alien: *Looks down at shirt* Alien: What is this? Human: Oh yeah, forgot to mention he’s a heavier shedder. Human: Sorry about that. Alien: Do not worry, for I too shed my skin. *Proceeds to peel off skin until raw muscle and bone is left* *Casually tosses aside empty skin suit which Fred walks over to and cuddles in* Human: Thank you for that fresh nightmare material. Alien: *slurring words due to no lips* Yoooou’re welllllcoommme.

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #funny #cats #cat owners

[illyrianbitch]

Death and His Reaper

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: After suffering a devastating injury in battle, Azriel finds himself on the brink of life and death where he meets you, The Mother's reaper.

Warnings: angsty fluff?, brief mentions of battle and injury, lil convos about life and its meaning, Azriel without his shadows, lowk love at first sight

Word Count: 13k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

 Azriel could feel the hot, metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, the sharp sting of pain shooting through his body with each ragged breath. A pounding, almost unbearable, pain in his head consumed him, a relentless throb that pulsed with every beat of his heart– each pulse sending waves of nausea washing over him. He tried to move, to shift away from the agony, but his limbs felt like stone, heavy and unresponsive. His muscles screamed in protest with every attempt to shift position, every movement met with waves of agony that radiated through his battered form.

Dark spots filled his vision as the ringing in his ears grew louder. Everything was fuzzy, hazy, blurs of movement and moving color. Azriel could hear sounds around him. Loud sounds, piercing sounds. Distantly, he could make out what he assumed were screams. He wasn’t sure though, and wasn't able to think about it too hard. His shadows were whispering to him, louder and louder, but he couldn’t hear them. The sound rattled in his brain as he blinked. Once. Twice. His vision became more unfocussed.

With a final, shuddering breath, the world dissolved into darkness. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

There was a humming in his ear when Azriel came to, a light vibration he wasn’t familiar with. The ache in his body grew duller with every blink— his eyelids still heavy with pain, or exhaustion, he wasn’t quite sure. One of the same, he guessed. He let a moment pass, taking deep breaths as he oriented himself. He laid in a bed, soft white sheets placed upon him gingerly. Had Feyre tucked him in? He thought for a moment. Why would Feyre tuck him in? 

Another moment passed. Azriel became aware of his clothing, his body still strapped in his illyrian leathers— leathers that were eerily clean. No smudges, no stains. Pushing himself upright, Azriel glanced around the room, his movements slow and unsteady. There was no one else in sight, no familiar faces to provide him with answers. He frowned, his brows knitting together in a puzzled expression. With a hesitant sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his muscles protesting at the sudden movement. He wavered for a moment, grasping for balance, before taking a cautious step forward. 

He casted a casual glance towards the bed, rubbing his hands across his face in exhaustion as made a move towards the door, his thoughts scattered and disjointed. But then he stilled, his head quickly snapping back. Instead of an empty bed, Azriel's gaze fell upon his own body, lying prone and unmoving— paled, almost colorless, wings hanging limply at his sides. He blinked, a flicker of confusion and fear knitting his brows as he registered the scene before him. 

“Quite strange, isn’t it?”

Azriel whipped his head around, his hand instinctively reaching for a dagger at his hip that he failed to find. His wings flared out angrily, fully extended with curled ends, each single claw at the apex poised and ready to strike. His eyes were wide as they focused on you. 

You let out a quiet laugh, a gentle sound that caressed him like a comforting hand. He felt himself falter, a sense of confusion washing over him. Yet, within that confusion was a warmth that spread through him at your presence, at your voice— soft, like a faint ray of sunlight breaking through a storm cloud.

He fought the sudden urge to stand down, an odd sense of safety wrapping around him, unnerving him with the ease in which it filled him. He struggled back, pushing the feeling away. Stay guarded, stay ready, you are a threat. Yet even in his attempts, he recognized a slight release in the tension surrounding his shoulders, a small release in the stance of his wings– decisions he hadn’t consciously made. With his eyes still trained on you, his hand searched the side of his thigh, his hip, the backside of his waistband. He patted frantically, fingers itching to find a form of protection. When his search came up empty once more, he settled for holding his other hand out towards you in warning, his palm facing you as his body fell into a defensive stance. The blue siphon on his hand glowed aggressively. 

The corners of your mouth tilted into a small smile.  “You do that everytime.”

Azriel didn’t return the gesture. Instead, he narrowed his eyes as he properly took you in. He scanned your body; the way you stood comfortably in front of him, your hands clasped together, placed delicately in front of your waist. It almost hurt to look at you, he observed. He had to squint to make out your features. And when he did, he was hit with one thought: you were beautiful. 

He cursed himself for recognizing it, for letting the thought echo in his head. You were a threat, he reminded himself, a stranger in his home. He was confused, disoriented, and yet you stood in front of him, presence dripping in a calm ease. You stared at him with a look he couldn’t discern, not when his mind was a muddled, confused, blurry mess. But the way you were looking, so expectant, so patient– it made him slightly nauseated. 

 “Who are you?” Azriel’s voice was loud and rough. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, a twitch in his wings, still extended wide. “What the hell are you talking about?”  

Azriel scrambled for words, his head aching as he searched it for answers, for explanations. His confusion exposed him in a way that made him feel naked— at risk.  None of it was right, not him standing over his own body, not him conversing with, what might possibly be, the most gorgeous female he’d ever seen, not the empty room around him. Was he dreaming? Was he being tortured?

You slowly lifted your hands in defense, remaining careful of how fast your movements were. “I’m not here to cause you any harm.”

A skeptical expression crossed his face. “Then why are you here?” He eyed you intently, his gaze scanning you as if sizing up a potential threat. His outstretched hand stayed unmoving, still on the defense. But you recognized a subtle shift in his posture, a slight calm flickering in his moving eyes.

Azriel was always the more difficult of the three to soothe. You had noticed this the last time, his wings shredded with ash arrows, his blood coating the floors beneath him. Even then, even through the exhaustion that bled into his unconscious mind– into his soul– he had fought you, acknowledged you with apprehension and distrust. You never blamed him, though. You understood. You would be fearful, confused, and defensive, too. 

“I’m here to help you.” 

Your voice was lower now than it was before. A soft murmur. He recognized the cadence, the words. It felt like a voice he’d heard before but couldn’t quite place. 

"Who are you?" Azriel demanded as he frantically looked between his own body and you. He felt a sense of fear he wasn't accustomed to, a worry that either body would vanish were he to take his eyes away for too long. "What the hell is going on?"

You took a step forward as he turned to look upon his body, reaching an arm out to touch him, to begin to explain, when his head swiftly turned back to you. Azriel recoiled, taking a step away from you, his eyes scanning you again— wide and wild. There was a rustle as his wings mirrored his actions, still extended aggressively, unmoving. You quickly stilled, realizing your mistake of initiating contact too soon. Your brows furrowed as you gave him an apologetic smile. You took a step back, settling to stand a bit further from him than you were before. 

Hazel eyes watched your every movement, his body tense as you fixed yourself into place, standing in front of him with the small smile still on your face– it reeked of pity, he thought. It didn’t feel right. No matter where he was, or who you were, he wasn’t supposed to be this off guard, this jumpy. 

His face fell as the realization hit him: he couldn't feel them. His companions, his protectors, his shadows– there were no whisperings in his ear, no cool trail as they snaked around his body. He hadn’t noticed before, too distracted by you, by his lifeless form. The absence of his shadows explained this sudden vulnerability– he was receiving no information on you. No intel about who you were, what weapons you may have, who was around to witness. As quick as the realization settled into his stomach, Azriel called out to them. He dropped one of his hands lower as if to make it easier for them to find him, to reach him, but nothing came. No cool touch on his body, no whispers. Instead, silence enveloped him as he took notice of motion around him, black wisps of smoke scattered throughout the room. 

You watched his movements, watched as he examined himself, as he craned his head to scan his body. "They can sense you," you explained, gesturing towards the shadows that seemed to be bouncing around, slithering on the ground like they were blind and confused. Some rested on his unmoving body, some around his feet, but not quite on him. His wings began to retract and slump as Azriel’s face slightly fell, his mouth open and brows furrowed. 

He looked down, observing his hands tentatively. “Why aren’t they with me?” Azriel asked. His voice was slightly strained. He didn’t look up at you, his vision trained to his scarred hands, to the floor below him where shadows circled aimlessly. He felt an ache in his heart,  a longing to be covered again, to be with them, to be protected. He felt too naked, stripped of every layer that protected him— no shadows, no intel, bare before you.

“Your shadows are sentient,” you explained, “they don’t die with you.”

His head snapped up, hazel eyes meeting yours instantly, widened with disbelief. "Die?" he repeated, his eyes scanning yours. "What do you mean die?"

In a slight moment of shock, Azriel took an unconscious step forward. His body tensed, and you watched as the rest of his frame followed suit, the muscles in his jaw clenching. There was an evident unease in his face, tension etched into his features.

You maintained a stillness, a deliberate choice not to intrude further, to remain respectful of his boundaries. Your gaze held a mixture of understanding and patience, offering him a moment to process the information without feeling overwhelmed. Then, you softly asked, “Where do you think you are, Azriel?”

His name sounded foreign on your tongue but he didn’t have the space to acknowledge it, instead rummaging through his other thoughts. He blinked, taking in your question.  A dull ache in his head creeped up on him, but your voice soothed it instantly— soft, comforting. 

"I... I don't know," he stammered, voice low and quiet, void of any assertion it held moments prior. His eyes darted back and forth, attempting to piece together fragments of memory. His wings now mirrored his defeated state–  limp and listless, curled in, the membrane hanging dejectedly.

Sensing his growing distress, you adjusted your approach. "What is the last thing you remember?" 

Your voice, smooth like honey and warm like tea, flowed through him. For a moment, he allowed it to sit, allowed it to spread, letting it calm him in a way that he was fighting before.  

"I…" Azriel muttered to himself. Slowly, fragments of memory began to resurface, faint but discernible. He looked back at his body, examining it as if trying to find the missing pieces, memories popping up like distant echoes, flashing in the corners of his brain. The ache was back, slowly spreading throughout his head. “I was fighting.”

He looked back over his shoulder, twisting his body to peer at where his physical body lay in the bed, the colors of the room now registering with a strange clarity. Tandem disembodied flashbacks surged through his mind—flashes of fighting, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, and the cacophony of clashing weapons. Each image hit him like a sudden jolt, disjointed and chaotic.

In one fragment, he could almost feel the weight of a blade in his hand, the strain of muscles as he swung it in a frenzied dance. Another flash brought back the distant echoes of shouted commands, the clash of metal on metal, and the acrid scent of sweat and blood lingering in the air. The blurry memories continued, each scene disconnected yet vivid in its brutality. He shivered as the ghost of each sensation trailed his body, a twitch in his wings as he recalled the injuries they had sustained. 

Then, a searing pain in his head, a sharp and sudden ache that brought him to his knees in his mind's eye. The pain lingered in his skull like a phantom sensation, and with it, a realization began to form. His eyes met yours with a cold, distant understanding. A wave of sadness hit you. 

"I'm dead,” he stated, his voice quiet, “Aren't I?"

A sympathetic smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Not yet," you clarified, taking a step to move closer, the movement slow and deliberate. "You're in between."

"In between? In between where?"

You took a moment to look at him, your gaze lingering on his face. His eyes were darker now, troubled, as he stared back at you. “Your body,” You started, gesturing towards his sleeping form to guide his attention back to where it lay, “It's still fighting.”

Azriel nodded slowly, taking in each of your words, digesting them, letting them sit. There was a shift in his expression—a solemn understanding replacing the earlier confusion he once held. You continued. 

 "Madja, she's a brilliant healer. She has brought back many from this same brink."  

When Azriel looked back at you, you shifted your focus to his head, motioning with a gentle sweep of your hand, then directed your fingers towards your own temple. "And your mind," You said, "it's fighting too." 

Azriel frowned. He was a soldier. He sustained many injuries before, had fought in battles that left him with gaping wounds, with his organs rearranged. This was nothing new— so why was this different? Had he always been out this long? 

You watched him intently, observing the way his thoughts seemed to churn beneath the surface, how he began to blink rapidly, how his brow furrowed. He was still confused– you could feel it. You let out a small sigh, running your eyes across his face. 

"The injury you sustained was worse than any you've ever had," you explained, your voice steady. Flashes of his memories interjected—him fighting, soaring into the air only to be shot down, engaging in combat once again, his head colliding with something hard, the sickening sound of a crunch. "Not only to your body but to your head. You cracked your skull open completely, Azriel. The trauma of the infliction itself… well, let's say it damaged your brain. Heavily."

As Azriel looked directly at you, his hazel eyes glazed over with deep contemplation. He nodded absentmindedly, "Okay.” He said. He looked over to his unmoving form again. 

With his attention fixated on his proper body, you took the time to observe him more closely, scanning his face and his body, taking in the details of his fighting leathers. Azriel was a vision— your favorite male to visit, your favorite soul to see. You can’t remember the first time you saw him, the first time he laid on a bed, a grasp away from death. You suppose it was centuries ago, when he first became a soldier. But even then, time escaped you. 

Your gaze wandered to the wings adorning his back, now freed from their earlier alarmed nature, not fully extended but not fully kept back. You thought back to their wide and impressive extended form, the membrane between each robust wing bearing a faint sheen, casting a subtle shimmer in the ambient light. Even now they were mesmerizing–  the leathery texture, the powerful structure, the way they naturally framed his form. The tips of the expansive wings curved slightly, giving Azriel an imposing yet graceful appearance, even among current circumstances. Azriel's voice brought you back to attention. 

"So I'm stuck here?" 

"For now."  You responded, your voice carrying a gentle reassurance. The look on his face, only beginning to finally process his reality, pushed you to postpone any further explanations. Time was not an issue, not now. 

"And you are..." Azriel's voice trailed off.

"Y/n," you answered. 

He let the name sink in, repeating it with a slow, deliberate pace, "Y/n." 

“Yes.” You nodded.

“And you’re here to help me.”

Another nod. “Yes.”

He rolled his shoulders as something that resembled a skeptical scowl slowly made its way through his face. Then, Azriel squinted his eyes at you.  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

You couldn't help it—a small laugh escaped you, echoing softly in the room. The sound made Azriel jolt back slightly, caught off guard. Dying it down with a small, genuine smile on your face, you caught Azriel’s uncomfortable gaze, his wings now extended slightly, the corners of his lips downturned in confusion.

"I’m- I’m sorry,” You said, clearing your throat. “It's just... you are curious this time around.” 

Azriel's hazel eyes widened in shock, his brows furrowing in confusion. "This– this time around?” His eyes rapidly scanned your face with a deep intensity. Faintly, he recalled your earlier comment, the laugh when you said that he reacted the same way every time. “Have we met before?"

You offered him a small smile as you said, "Many times.”

Azriel let out a deep breath. Here he stood, suspended between life and something else entirely, facing someone who knew him in a way that he couldn’t even remember. A sense of anxiety filled his chest. He wished for his shadows now, for them to wrap themselves around his arms, around his neck, to offer some calm. He searched you for any sign of deception, looked at the way your eyes followed him, the stance that you held. But all he found was a sense of sincerity and tenderness. 

“Your family tends to face death a lot more than others in Prythian,” you explained, “You and your brothers especially." 

At the mention of his brothers, Azriel's heart dropped, a heaviness settling in his chest. Thoughts of his family rushed in—wondering who had found him, the worry that surely gripped them. He straightened up, a sense of urgency urging him to survey his surroundings. His family… His gaze moved beyond you, taking in the details of the room. It was his guest suite in the River House, the room he’d stay in when he came to visit Rhysand and Feyre, the room they would drag him into when he needed to rest or heal. It was his room. Yet, there were no sounds of people, no familiar voices—just the quiet emptiness that surrounded him, surrounded you both. Surely they would be near him, Azriel thought, Madja at the least.

"Where is everyone?" He asked, still scanning the room. He walked towards the large windows, taking in the nighttime view, gorgeous and still— mountains covered in snow, a city lit by moonlight. 

“Here, it's just you," you said gently.

Azriel turned to face you once more, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. He didn’t ask for any further explanation, a sense of exhaustion heavily weighing on him. His eyes bore into yours. "And you. You exist here too.” 

“I do.”

He took a step towards you, wings rustling in their position behind his back. Azriel scanned your face, hazel eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and weariness. He wasn’t afraid of you, didn’t believe you were a threat– not anymore, at least. But you were still here, in this state of existence that only he was in. 

“Why?”

The question was pure curiosity, not a hint of distrust or malice within it. You observed him, noting how he seemed to have settled, the tension in his frame easing. Instead, a subtle sadness lingered, a reflection of longing. Azriel loved his family, this much you knew. He was a devoted male, devoted to serving those he loved, devoted to his position, to his duties. Of course he was missing his family. Your heart ached. 

"I'm here to help," you assured, "I’m to stay while you heal, or until–"

“Until I stop…” Azriel finished the sentence, a quiet acceptance in his voice. "And then you guide me."

You were taken aback as Azriel's hazel eyes locked onto yours, a moment of realization passing between you. Usually, it was you who revealed your purpose to those you reaped, explaining the meaning of your duties, easing their worries. You blinked, your head tilting back slightly as you clasped your hands together. Azriel continued, stating with a quiet certainty, "You're a reaper."

You nodded, titling your head as you took in his face, his brows slightly knitted. “I am.” 

You weren’t supposed to be doing this. In situations like these, where they were stuck between the life before and the life after, you were to leave them in peace– wait until they decided or their body decided for them. It was never intended for you to stay with them during the waiting period, to keep them company. No, this was something you felt inclined to do. You couldn’t leave Azriel if you wanted to, it felt wrong— and you didn’t want to. Not one bit. 

"You weren't what I expected," Azriel admitted.

Azriel had a faint idea of your kind, of your duties. He heard accounts of near-death experiences, tales of encountering a radiant light, foggy memories and beliefs of meeting a beautiful entity—whatever that meant. He always wrote them off as distant narratives, existing in the realms of folklore and imagination. He would have never imagined something like you – something so… delicate. 

Curiosity lingered in your gaze as you asked, "What did you expect?" 

"I don't know," Azriel replied honestly, his head beginning to throb and ache again. A hand instinctively rose to the back of his scalp, fingers rubbing at the tension that surfaced. The ache radiated through his skull as he massaged his hairline. You recognized the discomfort with a small frown, playing with your hands as you observed him for a moment. 

 "Azriel,” You spoke, drawing his attention back to you, “I'm going to give you some time to process everything. Explore, think. When you're ready, and if you want to, you can find me then."

Azriel looked at you, uncertainty drawn across his features. "How will I know where you are?”

"You’ll know.” A soft smile played on your lips as you reassured him. “Trust me.”

As you left, Azriel took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the quiet expanse embrace him.  

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You were right. Azriel knew exactly where to find you. How we knew, he didn’t know. He wasn’t even aware of how he got to you, how he managed to move. One moment he was wandering, taking in the quiet halls of the house, the next he was thinking of you, seeking you out— and then he was here, watching you. 

It was dark out still, a fresh night breeze in the air. Azriel stood for a moment, taking in his surroundings—a small clearing nestled between two towering mountains covered in snow. The landscape was rugged, the terrain too harsh to be in the vicinity of Velaris. Somewhere beyond the borders of Illyria, he concluded. He turned his focus back to you. Draped in a simple cream-colored dress, you stood at the edge of the clearing, your silhouette softly illuminated by the glow of the full moon that hung in the sky. The moonlight painted the terrain around you with a soft, silvery hue, casting long shadows that danced across the uneven ground. 

“Hi, Azriel.” The words left your mouth before you turned your head to look at him. When your eyes met his, you gave him a smile. He faltered for a moment.

“Hello… Y/n.” He said your name quietly, adding it onto his greeting tentatively, as if he was testing how it felt on his tongue. He liked it, he decided. It tasted sweet. 

You turned your head back to the view in front of you, and Azriel took it as an unspoken invitation. Slowly, he found himself walking towards you, the snow crunching beneath his boots. You both stood in silence, and Azriel found a sense of calm rolling through him. Taking a deep breath, he let his wings unfurl slightly, not having noticed the tension they had been carrying, tucked tightly behind him.

Azriel turned to gaze at you. You stood still, eyes trained forward on the view before you. Your focus prompted him to take in the sight once more, bringing his attention back to the vast expanse ahead.

"Where are we?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

It was now your turn to look at him, to observe the side of his face as he looked forward. The faint glow of the moonlight casted shadows on the contours of his face. He looked almost holy, something devout and ethereal. "You don’t recognize it?”

Your question led to a contemplative frown creasing his brow and he turned his head, taking in the soft smile on your face. “Should I?”

You turned your body fully to face him, craning your head to look up at him. There was a subtle shift in his expression as your eyes met. You nodded toward the view, a gentle encouragement.

“Look again.” 

And he did. 

Then, his gaze softened, a hint of recognition flickering in his eyes. Azriel's shoulders fell, a subtle release of tension, and his wings shuddered softly. "I used to come here," he said quietly, "A long time ago… I used to come here."

His eyes shifted between you and the view. You met his gaze, nodding in silent understanding, leaving a space of silence that invited him to continue talking if he desired to— if he was comfortable. 

"I found it flying one night," he continued. His memories now seemed to dance in his mind, distant yet vivid, a time before Amarantha, before Koshei. A faint smile ghosted his lips. “I'd find time between missions to come here and just breathe. Now I could never validate wasting time to be here, doing nothing."

You let out a small hum. “Taking time to breathe is never a waste.”

Azriel turned to look at you. "How did you..." 

"Know about this?" you finished for him. He nodded.

You smiled, the expression warm and animated. Holding your arms in front, one hand cradling each elbow, you continued, "I could feel it. Part of our duty," your voice carried a gentle honesty. "The Mother helps us to find your peace."

Azriel's gaze scanned you again, a subtle curiosity in his eyes. His attention shifted to your arms, and then to the snow-covered surroundings. "Are you cold?" he asked, concern lacing his words. Instinctively, he placed a hand on your bicep, but quickly retracted it when he registered the movement. 

You kept your gaze locked with his, unfazed. "No," you replied calmly, and then added, "Neither are you."

Azriel blinked, and then he looked down at himself, his eyes scanning his own body, his arms. He wasn’t cold. He thought back to every time he had visited this place, this lookout. Being so high up made the air nippy, made the breeze cold–  he always wore an extra layer.  But here he stood, alongside you, and all he could feel was a sense of warmth. Interesting. It was all so interesting to him. 

Azriel nodded to himself, turning to face forward again. He traced the tops of the snow-covered mountains, the valley below. You remained sideways for a moment, watching him as he processed the image before him. Another moment passed and then you, too, turned to face forward, mirroring his contemplative posture. 

“So, what does it all mean?” He asked, his voice a low murmur. 

You stilled, rubbing your lips together as you took in his question. You glanced to the side, his eyes still trained before him. It wasn’t the view he was talking about, you knew this. He was asking the question many before him had, wondering about the purpose of life, the answer to their troubles. You thought for a moment, pondering on what to tell him. There were no right responses here— at least, none that you thought would satisfy him. So, you answered from your heart.

“Does it have to mean something?”

Azriel’s head turned to you. “Yes,” He said, all too fast. It had to mean something. His entire existence, his suffering, every life he had taken— it had to mean something. He needed it to mean something. The agony he had lived with, the anger he wore as second skin, it was all for something… for some reason. He needed it to be. So he continued, “It has to.”

You studied him, watching the subtle shifts in his demeanor, the weight of his gaze lingering on you— there was something in his eyes, a sense of desperation, of fear. You took a deep breath, and then you offered an understanding smile.

“Then it means whatever you need it to mean.”

Azriel frowned.

“That isn’t an answer.”

You tilted your head slightly, looking at him for a moment before you responded. “Well,” You said, "Perhaps you asked the wrong question.”

“What do you mean?” His brows knitted together, forming a furrowed line of confusion on his forehead. Faintly, in the back of his head, an ache gnawed at him. 

Facing each other now, you maintained eye contact as he looked at you intently.  “Ask me what you really want to, Azriel.”

”I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was a tinge of frustration in his voice, delicately mixed into the confusion that laced it. 

You simply shrugged, giving him a close-mouthed smile. “You will.”

In normal circumstances, your elusive answers would have driven him crazy—  he would be suspicious of you, find a sense of guilt in your failure to give proper, concrete responses. But he wasn’t in a normal circumstance, and you weren’t a threat. These were two things he knew, now, for sure. So he took your answers, as ambiguous as they were, and let them sit with him in the comfortable, cool, silence. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel found you again by the Sidra, walking along the cobblestone streets of Velaris. It was the same again, him being able to find you without so much as a second guess. It was daytime now, he noticed. The sun shone brightly, casting a warm glow onto the city streets, filling his body with a comfortable, familiar, warmth. A few steps ahead of him, you stilled, turning around gracefully to face him. 

“Hello Azriel.” 

He stopped, making a motion to look around as if he were to find someone else, another person you might be referring to. Quickly he remembered that it was just you and him in this plane, in this form of his existence. He cleared his throat.

“Y/n,” He greeted, with a small nod of his head. 

He walked towards you, stopping into place in front of you, a few feet ahead. The sunlight hit your back, creating a soft, radiant glow around your silhouette– it outlined your figure, forming a subtle halo around your head that seemed to blend with the warmth of the sun. It almost looked as if the sunlight itself was embracing you, framing your presence with a touch of radiance. Azriel took a moment to admire it. 

He realized seconds later that he’d stared for too long, that you were now gazing up at him expectantly, eyes scanning his face. 

Azriel wasn’t much of a talker, not around strangers, and sometimes not even his own family. It was never that he didn’t have things to say— quite the opposite, really. Az thought about everything, and he thought about it all very deeply. He had too much to say, too much that he’d observed. But now, in front of you, his mind was drawing blanks. He thought back to how, not long ago, you both stood on a snowy mountain, looking into the comfortable darkness of the night. How time worked here, with you, he didn’t know. It didn’t bother him, however, not like it did when he first woke up. In fact, he had begun to enjoy it. To enjoy how free it was, how there were no rules, no expectations, no missions. 

Azriel paused, his thoughts swirling, and then, almost as if caught off guard by his own words, he blurted out, "I would like to show you something." 

You blinked in surprise, your mouth parting slightly as your heart seemed to skip a beat, carefully falling back into a rhythmic melody. A smile spread across your features– a broad, teeth-revealing smile. The corners of Azriel’s lips turned up in response. If you didn’t know any better, you would have described the smile as almost awkward in its delivery. Though modest, it still held a certain beauty as it graced his face. The lines that had once etched across his features seemed to smooth out, replaced by silent calm evident in the softening of his gaze, the subtle curve of that smile. Your own smile settled into a close-lipped one, and you gently pulled your bottom lip with your teeth before nodding your head.  

“Lead the way, Azriel," you said, and he began walking, but not without a quick glance back at you, ensuring you were following his lead. As you walked beside him at a comfortable pace, his wings fanned out comfortably. Their immense size allowed them to extend behind you, and even though you walked at his pace, you could feel their presence above you.

The streets of Velaris unfolded before you as you walked alongside Azriel. You took it all in– the beauty of the city, its intricate architecture and vibrant atmosphere. It was always a pleasure to experience it, to breathe in its life. Even amidst the circumstances that brought you here, there was a sense of appreciation for the privilege of experiencing such a place. A sense of jealousy welled up within you. Envy for those who could lead a normal life here— those who could wake up, take a walk by the Sidra, greet their friends in the morning light. It all seemed so mundane, so easy. You pushed the thought away, not wanting to give it the air to breathe, the space to fester. You looked towards Azriel.

“Where are we going?” You asked, as you both rounded a corner into a small alleyway. The space was narrow, causing you to fall into line behind him, your vision focusing on his wings. They were beautiful before, in the nighttime glow, but seeing them in such close proximity, with the sun casting through their membranes, it was a different experience. Such beautiful, beautiful things, you thought. You ached to run your fingertips across them. 

He responded over his shoulder, "Aren't you supposed to know everything?"

You sensed a slight playful tone in his voice, letting out a small laugh at his question. 

"That's not how it works," you replied, "I'm not The Mother."

Azriel stopped for a moment, causing you to skitter to a stop as well. He looked back, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he uttered a simple "huh." 

You suddenly felt a vulnerability settling in, an awkward awareness of yourself and your proximity to him. Before it could fully take hold, Azriel resumed walking and you followed. The alleyway began to open up to a bigger road, allowing the space for you both to begin walking side by side once more. 

"Azriel,” You said, casting a glance up at him, “If you're leading me to some private area to kill me, I hate to tell you that it won't work."

He stopped, and then craned his head down to look at you. A nervous flutter danced in your chest as a sense of self-consciousness crept in. What a stupid joke to make, you thought. What if he believed you were making a crude reference to his duties as a spymaster– assuming the worst of him and his abilities?  Had you inadvertently touched on a sensitive subject in an attempt at humor? You weren't friends, you reminded yourself,  there was still an expectation of professionalism to uphold. Azriel looked at you for a moment. And then another.

And then, he laughed. The sound, small and amused, radiated through your chest. You awkwardly joined in, unsure if your joke had landed or if it was something else entirely.

"Why would I kill the one who will bring me peace?" he asked, his words delivered with a touch of sincerity. 

You let out a breath, taking in his face, the hazel of his eyes as he stared down at you. You smiled back at him, letting out another laugh, this time more certain and lighthearted. "Right, that would be foolish of you.”

You knew that Azriel was talking about your duties, about the job of a Reaper, not you specifically. But for a moment, you let yourself live in a fantasy, one where you weren't simply The Mother’s hand, where you didn’t only exist here, in a space where no one remembered you. 

Azriel beckoned you to walk into the bigger street. It was only a few more steps before you stopped, taking in the sight of a quaint shop before you, adorned with small tables and chairs, surrounded by hanging plants and flowers. The window boasted a delicately hand-painted logo: Fillings & Emulsions.

Azriel took notice of the silence surrounding you both, no hum of the usual Velaris life, no laughter, no murmured distant conversations. Yet, the shop still smelled like its usual self— a sweet, buttery aroma of delicate treats and pastries. Azriel breathed it in with a smile. He opened the door, a small jingle sounding above him where a tiny bell rang. He held it open for you to enter.

Your gaze swept across the interior, taking in the small tables and the glass display filled with pastries of various shapes and colors. Behind the counter, loaves of bread sat neatly on wooden shelves.

"I like coming here, when I have the time." 

Wandering around and exploring the cozy pastry shop, your gaze casually shifted towards Azriel, who remained by the doorway. "You're a dessert person?" you asked as you continued to meander through the charming space. 

“Sometimes,” Azriel replied, walking further into the store. He looked around, taking in the familiar environment, the comforting decor. “But they have these sour candies that I love. They come in this little gold box-”

“You mean these?”

Now behind the counter, you turned around to face him, a small delicate gold box in your hand. The plastic cover revealed 12 small square gummies nestled inside, each in their own white wrapper. You looked up at him for confirmation. Azriel met your eyes before his gaze traveled down to your hands.

“Yes,” he breathed, a small smile forming on his lips, “Those.”

You smiled at the response, slowly making your way back around the counter, a few feet away from where he stood. You surveyed the store, eyes bouncing to the different tables and mismatched chairs. “Where do you usually sit?” 

 “I, uh, I don’t.” Azriel cleared his throat. “I never have the time. And when I do, I usually just head home.” 

Azriel didn’t explain further, didn’t tell you his real reasons. It was true, he usually didn’t have time to sit and leisurely enjoy a box of candies. But when he did, he was often too afraid to stay in the store itself. 

Azriel knew he called attention, that his wings stuck out in stark contrast against the gentle streets of the city, the quiet hum of life. He’d conditioned himself to appear smaller when walking around, to avoid direct eye contact so as to not intimidate those he passed. But even then, his presence was offputting– he’d catch citizens avoiding him, creating more distance between them or switching to the opposite side of the street.  It was part of the job, he told himself. He was a large male, fully aware of how terrifying his stature could be, how frightening his own wings could be— especially when fully extended. Not even to mention his scarred hands, ones that he was sure fae could imagine easily drenched in the blood of his enemies. He wore gloves when he could. He wasn’t ashamed of them– his hands– not as much as before, but he was always acutely aware. Aware that they weren’t normal, that they drew attention, that for the comfort of others, he hid them away. 

He came to, his thoughts slowly dissipating as he registered his surroundings once more, his gaze landing on you. You looked at him with a small curiosity in your eyes.

“Well,” You said, taking a glance around, “Would you like to sit now?”

“I would.” He nodded, offering a small smile that carried a touch of timidity. It wasn't like before, no uncertainty or awkwardness, but rather a gentle expression that hinted at a reserved warmth. 

“Inside or outside?”

Azriel looked over his shoulder, towards the small door and the seating outside. 

“Outside,” he replied.

A hum of agreement escaped your lips as you gave him a smile, taking a step to the side in order to walk around him, leading the way. The gentle jingle of the little doorbell echoed delicately as you stepped outside.

 Azriel followed you, watching as you approached a small steel table. The white paint was chipped, flaking off at certain areas of the legs, but you didn’t seem to mind. The air felt crisp and clean, rays of sunshine peeking through alleyways and the tips of the stores that lined the street. Azriel took a moment to breathe it in, savoring the clarity that hung in the atmosphere, the silence. You pulled out your chair, the movement emitting a small screech as it slid against the cobblestones. Azriel walked to the table, standing opposite of you, and carefully took a seat. 

As you slowly opened the box, Azriel adjusted himself in the seat. It was small, the steel back stiff and straight, making it hard for him to sit comfortably with his wings. After a small struggle, he settled into a position sitting up right, wings draping across each side of the chair. The frustration melted away as he took in his surroundings once more. He felt a certain peace he’d never felt before. A lightness in his movements, in his touch. The fresh air kissed his skin, a soft breeze whispered into his ears, threading itself through his hair. 

“Is it always like this?” He asked. 

You pulled the lid off the box, casting a glance up at him. Azriel’s head was turned sideways, his gaze following the curve of the streets.

“Like what?”

He looked at you, catching your eye. His face held a graceful calmness, brows slightly furrowed, and the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly. With a soft, velvety tone, he replied, "This peaceful." 

Turning to the side, you quickly scanned over the streets, registering the simple beauty that surrounded you both. Turning back to him, a tender smile played on your lips.

“Yes,” you replied, “It is.”

Azriel's response was a simple silent contemplation. Leaning back with a subtle adjustment for comfort, his wings gently folded and his gaze fixed on the table. Azriel loved Velaris. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the peace of an empty city that graced him now. Sitting with you now, at a small table by the streets, was something he was never able to do— not truly, not to this extent. He held the feeling close. 

 "Which are your favorites?" 

Your voice pulled Azriel back to reality. He blinked, and then he looked at you. 

"The green ones.”

You picked up one of the green candies nestled in white wrapping and offered it to him. Your hands briefly touched as he gently accepted the candy from you. You felt the texture of his skin against yours, the small ridges formed by the scarred tissue that extended to his fingers. 

Azriel waited for it– the expected recoil from unintended contact, his body having been naturally accustomed to jump at the slightest of touches. However, this time, there was no involuntary withdrawal, no rush of icy embarrassment. 

He was always so careful of his touch with Elain, acutely aware of how his hands looked against her immaculate skin. Although he refused to admit it, it bothered him deeply, how obvious it made his differences appear. Yet, that caution wasn’t found now, in his movements with you. Instead, a sense of certainty filled him, a gentle nudge to his heart, a contentedness with himself and his presence. You were beautiful, graceful, kind– and he didn’t feel guilt when touching you, didn’t feel as if he were about to taint something too beautiful for his hands.

You observed him as he stared at his hands, now resting on the table, the candy still in between his fingers. With a small movement, you gently cupped the side of one of them with your palm. 

“Azriel,” You softly said, pulling his attention to you. “They didn’t feel this type of peace— didn’t feel peace at all, actually.”

Azriel stayed quiet, his gaze now trained on where your hand touched his. You pulled your hand back, and Azriel's gaze followed. Then, almost imperceptibly, the hazel of his eyes brightened. There was something about the way you spoke to him, about how kind your voice was. They didn’t feel peace. Your words rang in his head, a wave of relief passing through his body. It healed a part of him that he swore was broken, warmed his body like a summer's eve. He gave you a small smile. 

You worried for a moment that you had forced thoughts onto him, ones that harbored pain and loneliness. But you felt it in your gut, a need to tell him, to let him know that they had suffered the way they deserved— that his hands were solely a part of him, a body part, natural. And from his response, it seemed as if he understood what you were saying, and most importantly, that it resonated with him the way you wished it to. You returned your attention to the sour candies before you.

"Can I ask why you like these so much?"

Azriel looked at you, a close-mouthed smile forming. His eyes crinkled a bit, and then he explained, "My mother used to give me candies just like this when I was able to see her. I never figured out how she got them. She..." He trailed off, readjusting how he was sitting. His gaze met yours as he finished, "That's why."

You could sense the sadness now evident in his face, his wings rolling in closer to his body. You let out a small breath as a sudden pang of sympathy hit you. 

"Let's talk about something else," you suggested, subtly shifting the focus as you played with the edges of the candy box

Azriel leaned forward quickly, his hand reaching out to gently rest on yours before either of you had the chance to register the movement. "It's alright,” he said softly. “I'd like to talk about this. I don't talk about her much.”

Your gaze lingered on his hand touching yours, on the warmth that spread through your skin at the contact. Be professional, you reminded yourself. This is not real. 

With a genuine smile, you nodded, careful not to move a muscle, not wanting to disrupt the moment, to risk the chance of him retracting his hand.  "Then please, I'd love to hear.”

And so he did. Azriel spoke of his mother, of growing up admiring her long hair and the way she smelled of pine and snow. He realized that he had never talked so much about himself, never shared such intimate details about his life. He realized, too, that he quite liked it. He liked talking to you. He liked you. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Days and nights had passed, Azriel was sure of it, but he was never tired, never slept. Time worked so differently here– he wasn’t aware of it passing, wasn’t aware of what he’d done the day before or even hours prior. All he was aware of was the peace in his heart, how it radiated throughout his body, relieving him of centuries worth of tension. Amidst it all was you, a companion Azriel had grown to enjoy— to adore, if he was being honest with himself.

You were kind and patient, welcoming in a way that had him opening up to you, telling you stories that he’d never dared to share with anyone else. There was no fear of being vulnerable here, with you, no threat he had to worry about, no anxiety regarding a new enemy or an evil to defeat. It was all so easy. 

Azriel walked through the hallways of the House of Wind, taking in the familiar sense of home that filled it, the beauty of the sun-warmed stone. He found himself outside of his own room, staring in at the space. It was strange to think that his body, his real body, lay in another bedroom, in another home— in a form of existence that he no longer held. It was all so very strange. But he didn’t mind, not anymore.

He felt you before he heard you, a gentle breeze fanning over him, a smell of sweetness filling his nose. He turned to face you, taking in your presence, the cream dress that adorned your figure. It was there again, the subtle halo around your head, framed by faint rays of sunlight. 

“Hello, Azriel.” You greeted with a large smile. He mirrored the gesture almost instantly. 

“Hello, y/n.” 

You took a few steps forward, craning your head to peer into the room behind him, past the doorway he stood under. 

“Is this your room?” 

“Yes,” He said, taking a step aside to allow for you to pass him as you entered. “One of many. My family, they have many places to call home.”

“Do you miss them?” You asked, casting a glance over your shoulder as you moved around his room, “Your family, I mean.”

Azriel stilled for a moment. He hadn’t thought of them as much as he would have expected, a part of him felt guilty for not being as heartbroken. He did miss his family– he was worried about them, about how they were doing, if his help was needed. But he didn’t feel a rush to return to his life, no nauseating need to fix his current situation, to be healed and awake. 

“Yes.” He replied. He watched as you walked around, carefully taking in your surroundings. His room wasn’t very interesting— simple decorations that had already been placed before he took residence, various random books. 

“Where do you disappear to?” Azriel asked. 

You turned to look at him, taking him in for the first time since you entered. It was still there, you noticed, the sense of calm on his face, the evidence of a serene ease. His eyes held a lightness that you’d seen grow since he first came to you. His shoulders were relaxed, his wings comfortably fanned out behind him in an open and unhurried sprawl.

To do your job, you thought. The duties of a Reaper. Visiting souls in distress, leading them to their peace swiftly– efficiently. Not staying with them, not keeping them company. No, those were things you’d reserved for Azriel. You only hoped that The Mother wasn’t angry, that your affinity for him didn’t disrupt a delicate balance. 

“As much as I enjoy our time together, I still have duties to fulfill,” You replied. “Did you miss me?”

You intended for it to be a joke, a lighthearted comment that would make him laugh– a melodic sound you had gotten used to recently, one that you savored and replayed in your mind. Yet Azriel’s eyes met yours with a serious gaze. 

“Yes,” He answered, his voice sincere. “I did.”

Something in your chest fluttered and your mouth parted, a pleasant shiver rolling through your body. There was a small heat that rose to your cheeks. For a moment, you looked at the floor, composing yourself before meeting his gaze again. A genuine smile graced your lips as you softly admitted, "I missed you, too." 

A few moments later, you walked along Azriel as he shared stories about his home, his brothers, and the various experiences he'd had, absorbing each narrative with hungry ears. It was a beautiful thing to see, Azriel open and laughing, the smile on his lips as he recalled favorite memories. This house, The House of Wind as Azriel had called it, was filled with life– his life. You could feel it everywhere as you walked. There was a small tug at your heart. He had a life. A beautiful, real life. 

Eventually, you both stopped at a large window, the outside world spread before you in a breathtaking view. Azriel found his gaze dropping to the streets below, devoid of the usual bustling life he was used to. Faintly, a small ache hit the back of his head. He blinked it away. Then, he frowned slightly, a realization hitting him that he didn’t enjoy seeing the streets empty– that something felt missing. He turned to look at you, brows furrowed. 

"Do you ever get lonely?" 

The question lingered in the air for a moment, stealing the air from your lungs. Why it seemed to strike, you couldn’t tell, but it left a burn in its wake. You let out a deep breath as you looked up at Azriel.

“The Mother blessed me with a duty that is fulfilling.”

Azriel looked at you, studying your response. A sense of sadness filled him, a gentle ache in his heart at the idea, at the image of you alone, wandering the empty streets. Softly, he spoke, "That's not what I asked." 

A wave of emotion washed over you. There was a sanctity to your duties, to the job that you held. You were honored to help The Mother, to be the one that granted such peace. You never knew that you could feel such longing, such a desire to be someone else, something else, until you met Azriel the first time he crossed. And then the time after. And now. 

 "Yes, Azriel,” you admitted, “I do.”

As you both stood in the quiet moment, the stunning view from the window still visible in your peripheral vision, you looked at Azriel. You took in his details—the tousle of his hair, the gleam in his eyes—committing the scene to memory. This was an image you wanted to save forever, one of him so close, so connected. 

Azriel broke the silence with another question, "Why do you do that? Say my name so often?"

You didn’t realize that the frequency in which you used his name was noticeable. It rolled off your tongue so easily, so naturally. You thought about it for a moment, thought about the feeling you got before you said it. 

"Would you prefer me to call you by something else?" you asked, tilting your head slightly as you observed Azriel's expressions. "Shadowsinger, or Spymaster?"

His response was immediate and he took a step forward as he spoke. "No," Azriel said, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "I-I like it."

You smiled at him. "I suppose I do it to make sure you feel seen." 

A flicker of confusion crossed Azriel's face, his brows knitting together. "Seen?"

"To show you that you're not just what you do," you explained, your voice carrying a quiet sincerity. Your words trailed off softly. A beat passed, and then you added, "At least not to me." 

In his hundreds of years of life, Azriel was never seen. He had been perceived, observed, even known, but never truly seen. Not like the way you looked at him, the way you allowed him to breathe, allowed him to exist as nothing more than simply Azriel. 

Your gaze held seemed to see beyond the layers he had meticulously built around himself for so long, beyond the titles and responsibilities that often defined him. For the first time, he felt a sense of vulnerability mingled with relief—a feeling of being understood in a way he hadn't experienced before, in a way he never felt he deserved. A warmth spread through his body, starting from the pit of his stomach and radiating outward, enveloping him in a comforting embrace. 

Without even realizing it, his hand moved towards you, lifting a strand of your hair and gently holding it between his scarred fingers. In the past, he would have hesitated to touch another person so intimately, but in this moment, there was no hesitation, no sense of reluctance, only a pull to you and you only. Was this part of what it meant to be a Reaper? He wondered, to cause such comfort in those you kept company? To make them feel like this? 

He watched the way the strand of hair caught the light, twirling it between his fingers with a tenderness he had never known himself capable of. He met your eyes, slightly widened, observing him intently. With a soft smile, Azriel spoke, "I see you too, Y/n.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

His view was filled with rolling hills, vibrant in green hues, a gentle afternoon sun in the sky. In the distance, he could hear the faint sounds of babbling brooks and streams, a soothing melody that seemed to blend seamlessly with the rustle of the wind through the grass, through the leaves of the trees that surrounded you. Azriel understood why Mor was so fond of her estate, why she ran off to it when she could. If it was surrounded with views like this, with such quiet life, beautiful life, he would escape to it, too. Beside him, you lay on the soft grass, your hair spread out around you like a halo. 

Despite the open air, Azriel felt groggy, his eyelids heavier than they’d felt in a while. Something felt strange, a trickling sense of anxiety within his body. The wind in his hair and the air on his arms, on his wings, didn’t feel the same— it wasn’t as lively, wasn’t as strong. There was a sharp throb in the back of his head, sending a sudden wave of pain crashing over him. He grimaced and let out a low groan.

Instinctively, you jumped up at the sound, angling your body to face him, concern painting your features. Your heart dropped as you watched him bring a hand to the back of his head, brows furrowed in discomfort.

Amidst pained groans, Azriel turned to you with a frown. "I’m sorry. I just- I keep having these horrible headaches.”

You let out a small breath.

"It's because you're healing," you murmured softly, your voice tinged with sorrow. Your gaze lingered on him, sadness flickering across your features. When Azriel’s eyes met yours, you quickly blinked away any evidence of it, calling forward a gentle, unassuming, face. 

His hand dropped slowly from the back of his head. "I am?" he echoed.

You extended your hand, hovering it gently over the back of his head where his hand had been moments ago. "This is where you damaged your skull," you explained softly,. "The injury that got you... Well, here. With me." Your gaze swept around the tranquil surroundings, a small, bittersweet smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Any progress in your physical body, you feel here too," you continued, your voice tender yet matter-of-fact. "The ache is calling you back."

"Back to my life," Azriel murmured, the words barely audible as they slipped from his lips, softening and fading before they fully formed.

You nodded, a lump in the back of your throat. 

Azriel's expression shifted abruptly, a flash of tension replacing the settled calmness that had graced his face for quite some time now.  "I don't want to go back," he said. It was a tone of voice you’d never heard from him before, a sense of desperation that didn’t fit him. 

 You shook your head gently. "You don't mean that.”

But Azriel remained resolute. Moving closer, he reached out, his hand coming to rest atop yours on your thigh. "I do," he insisted, his tone unwavering. “Y/n, I do.”

“Azriel,” You said sternly. “You have a life waiting for you, a long life.”

“But I’m so tired. All the time,Y/n” he admitted, his voice heavy with weariness. “And this,” he gestured around him, his eyes lingering on the rolling green hills, "this is the most at peace I’ve ever felt."

You felt a selfish impulse, a desire to indulge in his fantasy, to urge him to stay, to fight against the inevitable pull back to reality. But you knew it wasn't fair, that it wasn’t right. If you truly cared for someone, you had to be fair to them. And you cared for Azriel– cared for him in a way you’d never felt before. 

“But it’s not real,” you interjected softly, leaning in, your brows furrowed, your forehead creased with concern. "This isn’t a life.This isn’t a reality— this is an in-between. Sooner or later, you will find yourself on one end.”

Azriel couldn’t understand. His heart hurt. Why weren’t you agreeing with him? Why weren’t you telling him to stay, convincing him it was worth it? This peace he felt with you, this quiet life you lived, he could stay. He would stay. 

“You’re real,” he whispered, his voice tinged with desperation. “And right now, this...” he trailed off, his gaze sweeping over your face, "this feels real to me.”

You took a deep breath, feeling knots tightening in your stomach, a lump forming in your throat. You swallowed down the words you wanted to say, replacing the ones on your tongue with those he needed to hear. 

"I'm a Reaper," you said, reminding him of the inevitable separation it entailed. His eyes, a dark, almost sad brown, met yours. “Reapers aren’t meant to stay.”

The knots in your stomach were twisting now, weaving themselves through your ribs. It was hard for you to breathe, hard for you to look at Azriel as he stared at you with such clear hurt on his face. He couldn’t stay. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t the plan. Azriel was going to return to a life where he would not remember you, a life in which you didn’t exist. And you would remain here, waiting in a form of existence that had no time. 

"Your family misses you," you continued, your gaze unwavering as you locked eyes with him. The knots now wrapped around your heart, squeezing.  "You still have things to do. They need you. You need them."

Surely your heart was about to burst, the pressure in your chest now overwhelming– crushing you, your heartbeat erratic. 

“Come with me.” Azriel said.

You let out a small breath, a soft laugh escaping your lips at the absurdity of his suggestion. It sounded so simple, so easy, but you knew better. It wasn't that simple, life was never that easy. You were a Reaper. He was a soul. Before you could respond, Azriel continued, his voice still gentle but earnest.

"You'll love them. And you'll love Velaris when it is filled with people. With life."

His eyes bore into you, seemingly searching for something, trying to memorize every contour of your face, every flicker of emotion that danced across your features. 

"I can't," you replied softly, your heart heavy with the weight of your duty. You shook your head again as you tightened your lips for a moment. "That's not how this works.”

Azriel's demeanor softened, a small breath of defeat escaping him as his wings drooped slightly. He took in everything you said, his gaze flickering down to where his hand still rested atop yours before meeting your eyes again.

"I don’t want to leave you here," he said quietly.

Here, alone, he thought. It was true, everything was so beautiful in this form of existence. It was quiet, serene, and calm. The nights were beautiful, the days were glorious. But without you, it would have been empty. Void of life. He didn’t want that for you, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you in such a vast space. It felt wrong. 

You recognized the concern in his eyes, realizing that his desperation stemmed from a place of caring– caring for you.  It struck a chord within you, stirring a bittersweet pang in your chest, right beside your rapidly beating, tied up heart. Somehow, knowing that he cared for you only made you care for him more, deepening the sorrow that lingered in you, the feeling that now coursed through your veins. 

Tilting your head, you offered him a soft smile, a gesture of reassurance, you hoped. "Azriel," you said gently, your voice tinged with a warmth he had grown to love,  "I'll be alright. I'm happy here. It's where I belong."

It wasn’t all a lie. This was where you belonged, and you would be alright. But you weren’t sure if you’d be happy. Happiness wasn’t something you used to think of. You had a duty, a sacred, important duty, nothing else really mattered— not yourself, not your desires, not your heart. 

Azriel took in your answer, swallowing the urge to fight it, to convince you further.  But the pleading in your eyes, coupled with the ache in his chest and the heaviness in his stomach, left him feeling defeated. With a resigned nod, he looked at you, his voice soft but determined.

"I'll find you," he whispered.

You blinked, caught off guard by the soft declaration.

"I'll find you," Azriel said again, his tone firmer, as if he were making a promise that he intended to keep.

You understood the sentiment behind his words, recognizing the determination in his eyes. You knew, without needing to discuss it, that as a skilled spymaster, he possessed the ability to find people. Yet, deep down, you also understood the inevitable truth—that soon, he would forget you, forget the time you spent together. The thought caused a sharp ache in your heart, one you preferred not to dwell on.

So, with a heavy heart, you simply nodded and murmured, "Okay." And offered him a smile. 

You sat there in silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air around you. Breathing in the crisp, fresh air, you let the sounds of nature wash over you, grounding you in the present moment. Your gaze lingered on his face, committing every detail to memory, as if carving it into your very being. You wanted to remember this. Remember him, his touch, his care for you. 

Azriel—the shadowsinger, the spymaster, a skilled killer. And then there was you—the servant of the Mother, a guide for souls, bound by duty and devotion. Death and his Reaper. What a poetic pair you made.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It was time. 

You had been right, when you talked him down before, sitting on the beautiful green hill.  Azriel had a life to return to, a family he missed– a family that missed him. He didn’t belong here, no matter how much he wished he could. He could feel it, nestled within his ribs, a deep pull to his body. 

Azriel stood in the familiar confines of the River house, his gaze fixed on the bed where his physical form lay peacefully. He took in the sight of his body, now filled with color, vibrant and alive, a stark contrast to the pale, lifeless form he had been when he first awoke. 

A sense of disorientation washed over him as he realized he was back here, in this room, though he couldn't recall making the conscious decision to return. From behind him, he felt your presence, a familiar energy that always seemed to embrace him with a comfortable warmth, the sweet smell in his nose.

 "I didn't even realize I was coming here.” Azriel said. 

Without turning, he heard your soft voice. "You never do," you replied simply, “Your body calls and you answer.”

Azriel nodded slowly, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He breathed out heavily. He longed to turn and look at you, to embrace your presence, trace the features of your face. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not yet. He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to confront the truth that lay before him—that he wanted to go back, back to the land of the living, to his family, to embrace his life once more. But he wasn't ready for what he needed to do in order to return– wasn’t ready to say goodbye to you.

“Azriel,” You said, as you gently placed your hand on his arm. He turned to look at you, his heart skipping a beat.The faelight cast a soft glow on your body, illuminating the delicate features of your face, dancing through your hair like shimmering strands of moonlight. And there it was—the small, reassuring smile that you had offered him so many times before. The smile you had given to him when he first woke up, afraid and alarmed, in the same place he stood now. 

He couldn't help but feel a flicker of happiness at the sight of your gentle smile, but just as quickly as the feeling washed over him, it was replaced by a bittersweet pang of realization. The reality of why you were here, why you were looking at him with such tender affection, why he could barely feel your touch— and why his head throbbed with searing pain. He glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping form, and then looked at you again. 

“Y/n, I-”

You gently shook your head, a soft shushing sound escaping your lips as you reached out to calm him. "It's okay," you reassured him, your voice gentle but firm. "You won’t feel a thing."

But Azriel shook his head too, his expression filled with concern as he took your hands in his. "That's not what I'm worried about," he admitted quietly.

You met his gaze, taking in every detail of his face, breathing in his scent. Your gaze drifted towards his wings, so beautiful, so powerful. And then you looked back at him.

"I'll be okay." 

It was a promise, not just to him, but to yourself.

Azriel's senses dulled and the pain intensified, a sense of desperation washed over him. He thought back to your conversations earlier. He never figured out how time worked here, perhaps the conversation had been days ago, even weeks. But, to him, it felt like hours prior. Maybe a day, if he was being generous. Still, his mind raced with thoughts, with things he wanted to tell you, to ask of you, things that hadn’t been there before. Ask me what you really want to, Azriel, you had said, so he did.

“Am I worthy?” His voice rang out, unsure, afraid— of the answer, of what the question meant. “Am I worthy of this life? Is… is it worth it?”

You smiled. A broad, bright, and kind smile. 

You felt Azriel's hands tremble slightly in yours, guiding them to your lips. With tender reverence, you pressed a small, tender kiss upon his scarred flesh. “Yes,” you whispered, “If only you knew.”

You understood now, why The Mother always urged for a swift journey. You weren’t supposed to spend such intimate times with your souls, you weren’t supposed to grow comfortable in their presence, to learn about their favorite candies and the way their mothers smelled. You weren’t supposed to because it distracted you from your duty– and more importantly, you weren’t supposed to because it prevented you from the heartache you felt now. A piercing pain in your chest, a heaviness in your stomach. 

You lifted a hand and gently placed it on his cheek. The warmth of your touch radiated through his body, sending a wave of indescribable sensation coursing through him. The world seemed to blur around him, the ringing in his ears drowning out all other sound. He squinted against the growing brightness, his head throbbing with a relentless ache. He heard your voice, soft like honey, sweet like tea, whispering in his ear in perfect clarity. 

“Goodbye, Azriel.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel jolted upright, his body propelled by a surge of adrenaline that left him momentarily breathless. With a deep inhale, he struggled to steady his racing heart, his surroundings swimming into focus with agonizing slowness.

Each detail of the room seemed to materialize before him in excruciating detail, from the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the window to the faint murmur of voices drifting from the doorway. His hand instinctively went to the back of his head, a gesture born of instinct rather than any physical discomfort. Confusion furrowed his brow as he tried to recall why he had woken with such a start, where he currently was, why he laid on a bare bed, but the memory seemed frustratingly out of reach– blurry and unfocused. 

As Azriel's eyes adjusted to the soft light filtering through the room, the door creaked open, a distant sound barely registering in his slow mind. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, a blur of motion filled his vision and Cassian was upon him, bounding forward with a crushing embrace. "There's my boy!" 

With a startled gasp, Azriel felt the air rush out of his lungs as Cassian's hug engulfed him, the force of the impact momentarily disorienting him further than he already was. A small, involuntary sound—a mixture of surprise and amusement—escaped his lips as he tried to regain his bearings. Azriel's gaze flickered past Cassian’s broad shoulders, to where Rhysand stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and amusement.

"Okay, Cass," Rhysand said, walking towards the bed. "Let him breathe. We don’t want to give him another head injury."

Cassian released Azriel from his enthusiastic embrace, though a joyous gleam danced in his eyes as he stepped back, offering Azriel a sheepish grin. "My bad," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment, “I just missed ya.” 

Rhysand stood casually, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. "If you were seeking attention, Az, you could've simply asked," he said with a wave of his hand. "No need to resort to dying for it."

The comment elicited a shocked blink from Azriel, his brows furrowing in confusion. "I- What?" he echoed. A few of his shadows slithered up his arms, wrapping themselves across his shoulders, the cool trail of them relieving tension in his upper body. 

Rhysand let out a small laugh as he clapped him on the shoulder with a reassuring grin. "You have a lot of catching up to do, brother," Rhysand remarked, “Let's get you back to the land of the living.”

Azriel offered a small, uncertain laugh in response, the corners of his lips curling upwards into a hesitant smile, his mind still cloudy, disoriented. Rhysand and Cassian began talking, referring to him, attempting to fill Azriel in, but he wasn’t paying attention, their voices blending into a distant hum.

Instead, Azriel's attention was drawn to an inexplicable warmth on his cheek. Instinctively, he lifted his hand and gently touched the spot, feeling the comforting heat beneath his fingertips. He frowned, trying to make sense of the sensation, but the warmth seemed to soothe his lingering disorientation, grounding him in the present moment with a sense of…ease. 

Azriel's attention shifted towards the corner of the room, where a soft beam of sunlight filtered through the window. A handful of his shadows floated and twirled, their graceful movements dancing within the warm glow. He smiled, tilting his head at the sight, his hand still on his cheek. What a beautiful sight, Azriel thought. And then he was turning his attention back to his brothers, a wide smile now on his cheeks. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

y'all... imagine meeting ur soulmate but u can only see her when ur dead and cant remember her otherwise lol sucks for azriel.

#azriel #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotarfandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel/reader #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel one shot #acotar oneshot

[fcdcdmcmories]

🧥 - to warm your muse by wrapping them in a coat / blanket . (cecilia & parker)

"IT'S FREEZING. DID HE TURN OFF THE HEATER DOWN HERE OR SOMETHING?" looking around, because.. it seemed as if her lab had gotten way colder ever since the last time that he had been here. very, very carefully, he took off his jacket, before placing it over her shoulders with a grin. "THERE. NOT LETTING MY WIFE GO COLD ON MY WATCH. IT'S--" he had been doing very well when it came to hiding his injury from her, but.. mid sentence, he bent over, clutching his side. even talking hurt. he knew he had to tell her, but.. slowly, he raised his shirt up, so she could see the bandage on his side. "LYNN LOST HER SHIT AND.. WELL, ENDED UP SHOOTING ME. DIDN'T HIT ANYTHING IMPORTANT, BUT.. I'M OKAY. REALLY. I GOT BANDAGED UP AND I'M ALL GOOD NOW. you don't need to worry. just stings like a bitch. that's all." and it hurt, but.. he'd keep that to himself.

@xtinyslip

#( she'll be the death of you . you just haven't seen it yet . || parker sears ). #shooting mention tw #blood mention tw #injury mention tw #figured they needed a happy one and one post what happened with lynn bc.. AHHHH :(( #tw: death mention #tw: mental health

[etfrin]

❝ ִִִִִִִִִִִִִֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶָָָָָָָָָָָָָ higher with my lover — coriolanus snow ִִִִִִִִִִִִִֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶָָָָָָָָָָָָָ ❞

☆　Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, pinv sex, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), riding, handjob, mentions of blood & blood sucking, Capitol! Reader, reader is mentioned to be a virgin, mentions of poison and death, district+lucy gray slander (necessary to the plot), mention of Sejanus, degradation & praise kink if you squint, dry humping | lmk if I missed anything!

☆　Pairing: fem! Reader x young! peacekeeper! Coriolanus Snow

☆　Summary: Lucy Gray left but you find him in the forest instead and shit goes down

☆　A/N: this fic is inspired by the fact that i imagined myself to be the one sucking the 'poisoned bite' and be like now we both die and i like you lmao, i hope you guys like it!

Ps. This is the official canon ending :D

Ps². Listened to this song mainly to write the smut, so i am just gonna leave it here. . .

| masterlist | taglist | bc: @cafekitsune |

“Lucy Gray! Are you trying to kill me!?”

Coriolanus Snow yelled as he kept pointing the gun in random directions. It wasn't long after that he began shooting in the sky causing the murder of numerous mockingjays up in the air.

He had found the necklace, he had found the scarf. She left. She was a loose end. She needs to die, fucking die so Snow could have the life he deserved. The life he worked for, the life he was entitled to since birth. The life of a Snow.

“Lucy Gray! We can talk about this!” He yells out, “Just come out!” But Lucy Gray was nowhere to be found, as if she was a ghost. As if she was the Lucy Gray from the song, a mystery to never be found.

He pointed his gun in the direction where he heard the sound of a twig snapping. It wasn't Lucy Gray but you. Your eyes were wide, chest heaving as you slowly walked towards him with your hands raised. “Coryo,” you whispered, scared, your feet walking towards him with hesitation but never flattering.

He had no idea how you had found him. He wasn't sure why you were either here. It was already too much for him that Sejanus came (and now he is dead, dead, dead. The third person he had killed). And you followed him too, pulling in favors, deciding to be a medic along with Sejanus, serving time with your best friends (not his, he never considered you or Sej as his friend).

“Where's Lucy Gray!?” He yelled, walking towards you, gun still pointed. It makes you walk backward until your back hits the hard bark of a tree. The rough texture of the bark is uncomfortable due to your thin shirt. You scrunch your nose at the mention of her. You never liked her much. He didn't know why but perhaps it was all a ruse just for this very moment. This very betrayal from her.

“How would I know?” You scoffed, the haughty attitude of a Capitol citizen coming through despite having a gun pointed at you. He pressed the end of the gun at your chest. “Tell me the truth,” he growled. “That girl tried to poison me. Tell me where she is!”

“I don't know,” you hiss back, your eyes ablaze. “And get the gun out of my face. You should be heading to a fucking medic right now. Are you sure she poisoned you?” Your voice was now laced with concern, eyes softening as you looked at him, his t-shirt clinging to him with sweat, his cheeks flushed, eyes so wide that the blues were hidden with black instead.

Coryo gets the gun away from you to put his arm forward. Showing you his snake bite, the puncture wound oozing out beads of red blood on his snow-like skin. “It's probably non-poisonous,” you said, trying to sound optimistic.

“No, it's not!” He growls, and anger fills in every movement and word of his. “She's trying to kill me. She's district! I shouldn't have- shouldn't have-” You hold his arm, your fingers around his wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

“It's fine,” you whispered, trying your best that the tone you use with him is soft and gentle. You want to shake him out of the mental breakdown that was happening. He shakes his head and you press your fingertips into the wound.

“It's fine,” you whispered, “let's get you back. Come on.” You try to urge him forward, only for him to pull himself out of your grasp. “No! I need to find her. She's a loose end. She will tell. She's a snake, not a songbird,” he rambles.

Despite the confusion you felt with his words, you grit your teeth. “Come on, Coryo! We need to head back,” you said, your hand on his wrist, trying to drag him out of the middle of the green forest.

“No! We need to find her out before the poison works” he yells, pulling you back and pushing you. Pinning you effectively between him and a tree.

You glare at him before a moment of impulsivity takes over you. You take his arm, your mouth around the bleeding wound and you suck letting whatever ‘poisoned blood’ onto your tongue. His eyes widen as he sees the redness of his blood now painting your lips. “Now can we go back?” You said as you licked the blood clean. “Because if it's poison, we will both die.”

“Why would-” he visibly freezes. He doesn't want your blood on his hands. No- it would be on Lucy's hands. It's her fault. Everything is her fault. “Why would you do that?” He whispered, leaning closer to you, his face now mere inches away from yours. It was like he was seeing you for the first time. Like he never saw you for you until now. Someone like him. Unhinged (not that he's willing to admit it).

He hooks his fingers under your chin, holding your jaw and tilting your lips towards his. His eyes were searching for sanity but seemed to have found none as a smile (filled with insanity) spread on his face. “You're crazy,” he whispered, “Are you that desperate?”

“Desperate for your well-being, Coryo,” you whispered, hating the fact that your gaze fell on his soft-looking lips. “I don't know what's wrong, Coriolanus. But come with me, let's go back. Lucy Gray isn't worth anything.”

“Lucy Gray is worth everything!” He yelled, pressing his body with yours, pain in your bones flaring as he without noticing crushed you.

“I am sure she will have poison for you too. I am sure she will come back then,” you spit out. You felt outrageous at his behavior. “She ran, didn't she? To the North. You gonna go there too, Coryo?” you questioned, your eyes now meeting his. You try to find an answer but find something deeply tangled instead, neither a yes or a no.

You never felt such pity for Coriolanus Snow before as you did now. You put your palm on his cheek. “Come with me,” you said, softening your voice. “Back to the peacekeepers, the general told me about District 2 and I can put in favors so we can be back in the Capitol in no time.”

“You didn't choose Sejanus,” you whispered, the mention of Sej causing him to freeze. “Choose me,” you plead, feeling pathetic for being reduced to this. But it was for your Coryo so it was worth it. Wasn't it?

A chip from the bird makes him look away but you use your hand to make him face you again. Tears begin to pool in your eyes. You find your heart preparing itself for a rejection. “Choose me,” you choke out, a sob in your throat ready to come out when he says no, no, no Lucy Gray it is, never you.

You wait and wait for the rejection, your eyelids closing themselves so he doesn't see himself (or the way you looked at him with love) in the reflective tears. “Look at me,” he whispered, feeling his hot breath on your lips now. And you didn't want to listen but your eyes opened back up, light coming in and he's in your sight.

All glorious as you always thought of Snow.

Snow lands on top.

Haven't every Capitol child learned that from history? You were no exception. And you never planned to be. Even after finding out the truth about his situation, you never thought less of him, if anything everything you felt about him increased tenfold without your consent. Oh, how you should hate him. Oh, but how much you love him.

He leaned in and you didn't move. He stops for a mere second as if reconsidering his decision. But then decided to fuck it because the next thing you know his lips against yours.

He tasted like cheap alcohol, he tasted like ruin and danger. You ate it all up by parting your lips so his tongue could slip in. You let out a moan as his teeth bite into your lips. For a moment you think he's a snake and that he's the one poisoning you. His poison is more potent than an actual snake’s ever could be.

You were simple prey, that's it. Instead of a bullet, he was shooting your heart with a kiss. And it was working because in the future he will be the end of you. A slow, slow poison, he controlled the kiss despite the way his tongue slid against yours was clumsy but so perfect.

You kissed him back to the best of your abilities, wondering briefly if you tasted like the pastry you had in the morning. You let him take your bottom lip between his teeth to suck and bite however he wants. Your hands find his buzz cut instead of his golden curls and a whine leaves your lips from the frustration of the loss.

Your hand is on his nape and another is still on his cheek as neither of you breaks the kiss. It didn't matter that you were getting lightheaded. It didn't matter that you could feel your heartbeat increasing due to lack of oxygen. He was everything, you would be damned if you broke the kiss.

You gasp as the kiss is broken. You stare into his eyes, searching for something, anything. But you find nothing but ice blue. It sent chills down your spine but at least he had calmed down now. “Feeling better?” You asked and you got a rough nod as a reply.

“Come on, we have work to do,” he whispered as he pulled back. His dog tag dangles as he begins to walk towards the cabin again, navigating the path with his father's compass.

You find the cabin and the guns. Coriolanus looks at you waiting for a protest, disgust, expecting you to run away just like Lucy Gray. You didn't do anything except sigh, your shoulder wearing down as you realized the truth of it all. You didn't say a word but your hand finds his. He doesn't say anything either but squeezes your hand back. An unspoken promise. He had chosen you. You had chosen him. You were in this together now.

There's no going back.

Both of you row the boat and let the guns sink into the river, never to be found again. You find your way back to the cabin, the rain pouring down again. You sit beside Snow- no, no, still Coryo. Always Coryo. Your head on his shoulder, your knees pressed to your chest as you hear the tip tap of rain outside.

Not a single sound is made. But as time passes and the rain doesn't stop, you begin to crave his lips again. As if that one kiss was morphine, and you needed more to heal the ache of your soul. “Coriolanus,” you whispered.

“Coryo,” he reprimanded softly, his tone enticing as if he was trying to bewitch. You feel your palms sweat as embarrassment begins to nag your mind. You blurt it out before you can think about how pathetic you sound.

“Can I have another kiss, Coryo?”

The next few moments were a blur. Lips on lips. Clumsily tongues meeting each other and whining into each other's mouths. You were shamelessly grinding on Coryo's lap as your lips continued to stay locked with his. “I want you so bad,” you admit as you feel his cock harden underneath you.

“Since the academy,” you whispered against his lips, a moan escaping your lips when he held your hips and began to guide them to grind on his completely hard bulge.

“Oh, yeah?” He mocks, “It's pretty fucking obvious.” He choked off a groan coming out of his mouth, “You're willing to let go of the fact that I am a murderer, huh?” You let out a whimper as he mentioned that. But both of you knew the answer to that, a part of you knew what kind of predator he was. Ever since you knew about how he killed a tribute, you just called it. It never mattered to you how horrible he could be or in this case, is.

“Yes, yes,” you moan into his mouth. Was it an answer or a mere whine about how perfect the friction felt against your pantie-soaked pussy? You didn't know but Coriolanus thought of it as the former. “You gonna be my girl, then? A capitol princess being a peacekeepers’ doll to fuck,” he whispered, his tongue licking a strip of skin on your neck.

You moan as his teeth begin to harshly assault your skin, covering your neck with marks. “Yes,” you gasp, “as long as it's you.” God, how much more pathetic could you be? But it didn't matter, it got him higher and fed his ego after everything that had happened. He loved it and perhaps, he could grow to love you.

Not in the way, Coryo loved Lucy Gray but in the way Snow would love his First Lady.

Your hands tug off his wet t-shirt and throw it on the floor. His hands do the same with your peacekeeper's uniform. He grabs your hips, squeezing the plump of flesh there, his mouth panting into you and he looks at you with dilated eyes.

Time seems to have slowed down as you touch his dog tag, your fingers tracing the name carved into the metal. “I want this. You, right now, right here,” you whispered like it was the biggest secret of your life. “Do you?” You ask as your hands go lower to fiddle with the zipper of his pants.

He doesn't give you a verbal answer, only pulling you into another kiss with his fingers woven into your hair in a fist as his free hand goes down below to free his cock from the confines of his trousers.

You grip his length, stroking it and squeezing out pearly pre-cum from the tip. You savor the deep groan that leaves his lips. “Fuck… just like that, doll,” he instructed and you obey. Your strokes get faster and his pre becomes natural lube as you continue. He lets out a hiss when you twist your wrist and his hand snares around your wrist. “Wanna cum in your cunt first,” he said, breathless from the ecstasy of having your hands on him.

Within moments the remaining clothes on both of you were scattered around the cabin. You moan into his mouth, your fingers desperately clawing at his shoulders as you begin to grind your soaking wet pussy against his hard cock. You gasp, elated by how your folds pressed against his length, his cockhead being teased by your slit but unable to breach the threshold.

The kisses you shared with him were sloppy. Saliva coating his chin as neither of you was willing to separate your lips for a single unnecessary moment. You knew your lips would hurt by the end of this, that they were swollen and the inside of it bleeding because of how insistently his teeth loved to bite your lower lip. He was no better either. You tasted more blood from the kisses now than anything, and it didn't matter to you because somehow the salty, rusty taste felt like just him.

You let out a sound unfitting of a Capitol-raised woman when his cockhead slips inside your gummy walls. His tip now profusely leaks pre-cum inside your gummy walls. You pulled back, biting your lower lip to stop the whimper as you feel his cockhead stretching out your virgin walls.

“That's it, dove,” he lets out, all needy and heated. His hands squeeze your hips to be encouraging as you let yourself down on his cock slowly. “Take it all in. You can do it, doll,” he whispered, as his eyes were down looking at his length entering you, being surrounded by the wicked, addicting warmth of your tight cunt.

“I can?” You let out a whine, as the pain bleeds into the pleasure, the ratio of it throwing you off the dizzy full lust. He hums in encouragement as you finally fill yourself with his dick to the hilt. Your slick walls pulsate around his length.

“Atta girl,” he smiles at you, his eyes brightening up from how well you took him and without any complaints whatsoever. “That's a good slut,” he whispered and smirked when he felt your walls clench around him deliciously.

You tried to move your hips but gave up when the burn made your eyes water. He coos at you encouragingly, telling you to adjust to his girth first. He wasn't going to rut into you like a dog, you're a Capitol girl, not a district whore. He wasn't going to disrespect you like that, no matter how much he wanted you to begin rolling your hips.

So your lips latch onto his neck, while your arms are around him and your legs around his waist. You were clinging to him, as if afraid that if you ease up in your grip he will fade away from your life, from this moment and your reality together. The smell of sex and sweat begins to become stronger than the smell of gunpowder as you continue to give him hickeys in various places on his skin.

Coriolanus doesn't complain that you're marking him like this, not when he's doing the same task with his tongue tracing the love bites his teeth left. And you suspect he rather enjoys when you bite, as his cock twitches whenever your teeth dig into his flesh as if you're eating and your wet tongue licks over the bite as if you're tasting the flavor of his skin.

When you're finally comfortable with his cock being inside the most intimate part of you. You slowly but surely begin to make small, shallow thrusts that have you gasping, your eyes rolling back with how good it feels already because he was fucking into your g-spot with every roll of your hips. The thrusts were teasing, it had him groaning praises of you being a good girl and his hold tightening over your hips, surely leaving bruises.

You begin to relish the feeling of being stuffed, his cockhead kissing your cervix when you get the angle just right. Your folds coat him with your creamy juices, a ring of white forming on his base with how wet you were. Slowly but surely the pleasure begins to build up, your nails digging into his shoulders as you start to put up force with the way you rock back and forth on his cock.

You pant into his mouth, your lips letting out sharp moans when his dick strokes your walls just right. He lets you control the pace, his mouth busy latching onto your nipple to suck. His tongue swirls around the bud, hardening it inside his mouth and he nips your nipple just to have you jolt from the bite and squeeze down on his cock.

One of his hands now kneads the other breast he wasn't giving much attention to, his fingers rolling the nipple, pinching the bud, and playing with it. His other hand goes between your bodies and finds your clit. You soon realize he was working with a pattern that was driving you insane, turning your cunt into a hotter slicker mess.

When he swirled his tongue around your nipple, his fingers did roll the other bud. Meanwhile, his thumb would drive small, rapid circles onto your swollen bundle of nerves. When he bit into your nipple, his fingers pinched your clit making you gasp with thunderous pleasure filling your veins.

He continues at this and tension begins to build up in your tummy. You close your eyes as animalistic instincts begin to take over your body. The need to cum overrides everything else as you begin to roll your hips faster and harder. Desperate to cum around his cock for the first time of many times in your life. He feels the same way because he encourages you with his hips bucking into you, thrusting perfectly inside of your slick walls.

“So close, Coryo!” You moan, your nails leaving red lines in their path on his shoulders. He latches off your breasts to whisper, “Cum then, my slut. Let me feel you milk my cock like a good cockwhore would.” You let out a louder moan at his words. His condescending tone snaps the tension that had formed in your tummy, you begin to cum.

Your pussy spasming around his cock, triggering his orgasm. He empties his balls inside of you without any hesitation, filling you up with his thick, hot cum. “That's a good girl. Look how well you took me. Look at the cum leaking out, dove,” his tone teasing, like many times he has teased in classes but the context of this was entirely different.

You look down, your pussy clenching around his cock again when you see his seed ooze out of you. Your body slumps into him, tired from all of this. Both mentally and physically. The storm was still going on. You lay in his arms, his cum now coating the insides of your thighs.

“You're smarter than Lucy Gray,” he said, “I pray you know better than to run. I won't miss the next time.”

You shake your head, trying to hide the smile forming on your face. Others would have run from his words, anyone sane would. Lucy Gray did after all. But you were just you.

“If I wanted to run, I wouldn't have found you in the first place,” you whispered, sealing your words with a soft kiss on his lips.

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#character x reader #x you #x reader #x female reader #smut #fem reader #oneshot #scenario #x reader smut #x you smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader smut #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x female!reader #snow x reader #snow smut #snow x you #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas x you #tbosas smut #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas #the hunger games

[earthtooz]

x : BANDAGED HEART :*+ﾟ

in which: blade finds out you're injured and can't contain his anger.

warnings: gn!reader x protective!blade, fluff, mentions of blood and injuries, 'who did this to you?' trope with blade LOL, slight manhandling, did i mention that he's protective?

a/n: blade debut, omg? this sucks btw but this was inspired by this comic that i saw the other day :> it just reminded me that the 'who did this to you' trope existed and i went YES and took my own spin onto it so, i hope you enjoy!

the smell of antiseptic wafts heavily through the air, bandages sit tightly rolled beside you, and you hiss at the sting of the antibacterial ointment slathered over the open wound on your arm. 

it hurts. 

blinking the tears away and gritting your teeth to bear with the pain, you reach for the unused roll, clumsily unravelling them with shaking hands and a blurring vision.

“oi.” a raspy voice from behind catches you off guard and you turn around from where you’ve seated yourself in the corner of the medical wing, having helped yourself to a supply of ointment and bandages. 

a familiar swordsman and fellow coworker towers above you, glowering at you through the streaks of his bangs. maybe if you weren’t on the verge of fainting, you’d have the energy to fear him.

“oh, it’s just you,” you mutter, “can i help you?”

his eyes glance you up and down, as if scanning you for any indication of misadventure. feeling uneasy under the intensity of his gaze, you return to trying to rip the bandages with bare hands since you had not brought scissors or even a blade with you in your haste. 

feeling the blood from your wound drip down your arm and onto the floor beneath you, you cringe, hurrying up so you don’t make a mess. this whole patching-yourself-up-thing should have been easy, but without something sharp and half your strength evaporated after a gruesome mission, it was much harder than usual. 

the growing frustration you were feeling was not offering much aid either, and with blade practically towering over you, you try not to let your fluctuating anger overwhelm you. 

aeons, it was as if you were sent on this mission with elio praying for your downfall. you’re lucky that you managed to get out with only a scratch on your arm and a missing weapon. it’s going to be hard finding a replacement for it, but when you just looked death in the face, you can’t say you have much to complain about that a weapon was the only thing you lost. 

suddenly, two hands sneak underneath your arms to lift you up, breaking your train of thought with a tight, unforgiving grip as you’re effortlessly placed onto a hospital bed right beside you. meeting the ruby eyes of the swordsman, your breath lodges uncomfortably in your throat, and you have to rip your gaze away from him; the intensity would paralyse you otherwise. 

“where are you hurt?” he asks, sounding more like a demand than a question. 

“i can do it myself,” you grumble. blade takes the bandage out of your hands, holding back your wrist that instinctively reached out to grab it back. the glare he shoots you from the corner of his eye placates any complaint you have.

“show me.”

reluctantly, you present your injured arm. he mutters a very quick and quiet ‘stay here’ before stalking off. a faucet is turned on, water begins running from a nearby sink, and blade returns with a wet cloth. 

grabbing your wounded arm, he cleans around the area, rubbing the blood that has trickled down your arm as well. he’s scarily gentle with you, attentive to your every wince and hiss, halting momentarily every time you let a noise slip. 

he makes quick work of patching you up, flawless and effortless in his technique. makes sense, you suppose, since he is covered in these. 

you wonder how many times he’s had to do this on himself. a small part of your heart aches thinking about it.

“thank you,” you whisper when he’s done, gratitude silently swirling inside you. grabbing the bandages and cloth, you slide off onto your feet. “i’ll put these away.” 

stepping in front of you, his body intercepts your path and you’re pressed against the bed, frozen under him. there’s an indescribable look of fury in his eyes, his red eyes seeming even angrier than usual. 

“what happened?” he asks.

you have hold yourself up, suddenly weak in the knees. “just a typical mission, it’s nothing you should worry about.”

the fellow stellaron hunter does not look satisfied with your response. “what do you mean ‘nothing you should worry about’? who did this to you?” he asks, punctuating each word with a dark expression. 

“blade- please, can we not talk about this right now?” you mutter, “i’m tired and i just want to sleep.”

he narrows his eyes. “who. hurt. you?”

“why? what can you do about it now?”

“kill them.”

you scoff. “yeah, right.”

blade wedges a leg between yours, hindering your escape even further by leaning himself closer to you. “i’m serious.”

“so am i. if you’re thinking about hunting them down, then please, don’t bother. let it go.” you mutter.

“but you got hurt.” 

“i get hurt all the time.”

his brows scrunch together, a small indication of the dangerous protectiveness growing within him. you interrupt his train of thoughts, placing a brave hand on his chest; right over his heart. ‘i’m fine. you don’t need to worry about me.”

“i’m not worried,” he grumbles lowly. 

“oh. i see.”

he grabs your hand and takes it away from his chest, holding you gently. “i’m angry that you got hurt.”

you’re speechless, blinking at the swordsman who raises your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it. it feels like a promise- not that you know what said promise is, but with that look in his eyes, you know it’s not a peaceful one. 

“so why don’t you tell me the truth? who did this to you?”

the answer slips past your lips before you can help it and when the words are spilled, a creeping guilt invades you. whatever he’s planning, you know that bloodshed will follow.

“see, that wasn’t so hard.”

in a blink of an eye, blade is gone, taking the intense pressure with him. he left so quickly that you wonder if he was ever here to begin with. the lingering brush of his lips is the only indication that he was not a figment of your half-aware conscious.  

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

#blade x reader #blade hsr x reader #ren x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn!reader #blade x gn!reader #blade fluff #blade x reader fluff

[yandere-3-sagau]

Creator Reader With No Powers Except Plot Armor

warning(s): death, mentions of suicide, violence

Reader doesn’t have any special abilities or golden blood so they are unable to prove that they are creator.

However, they also think Teyvat is a dream or they want to go back home so they accept any punishment from the acolytes.

But any time they are going to be executed, there is some divine intervention.

They are about to be burned at the stake but it rains.

They are schedule to be hanged but the rope breaks. They try again but every rope breaks.

They decide to shoot reader with arrows but miraculously every one of them misses. Even the one aimed right at their heart ended up being blocked by a bird flying by.

They are about to be beheaded but the machine breaks. So someone tries to do it manually but lightning strikes and the character loses balance and falls.

With how many times they try to kill reader but fail without them even lifting a finger they begin to believe that they’re truly the creator.

Reader is just going with the flow, not taking anything seriously. They thought they were lucky at first with how they’re able to avoid death.

Later on after they’ve accepted them as their true creator, reader begins to feel homesick and hate Teyvat. They’re swamped with all these responsibilities and expectations that it overwhelms them.

Reader then tries to discard their title as creator. They claim that they’re an imposter and apologizes for “fooling” them. However, no one believes them. They made the mistake of calling them as an imposter once, they’re not gonna make that mistake again.

When that doesn’t work, reader themself tries to die. But the divine interventions that they used to think were amazing ended up sending them into a pit of despair because every attempt they tries, they fail.

They jumps off a high structure/cliff, reader lands on a bunch of water slimes that completely cushion their fall.

Reader tries to stab themself in the heart but a flying rock knocks the knife out of their hand just as it’s about to connect.

Reader tries to ingest a poisonous flower but the effects are nullified when the super rare antidote plant falls off a tree and into their open mouth when they’re unconscious.

It’s like final destination but instead of crazy things happening leading to death, it’s crazy things happening deterring death.

#yandere genshin #genshin impact #yandere sagau #yanderexreader #archons #yandere #creator #genshin cult au #sagau #acolytes #yandere x reader

[reiderwriter]

can i request for a mean!spencer x bau!reader? like they are not enemies but there's just this really intense sexual tension with prompts 2, 30, 48, and 49? thank you!

#2 "I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last person on earth.” #30 "You're not as hot as you think you are.” #48 "You belonged to me before I even made you mine.” #49 "I'm so fucking obsessed with you.”

A/N: Thank you for requesting! Sorry it took almost an entire season to get it done 😭 I hope it's as good as you expected it would be :D

Warnings: slight BDSM themes, Dom!Spencer, dry humping, choking, thigh riding, finger sucking, cum play, facial, penetrative sex, use of contraception, probably more that I don't remember right now... 18+ Minors DNI

There was no one you wanted to spend the night with less than Spencer Reid.

He was annoying, and frustrating and most importantly never knew when to shut the fuck up.

No one was better at getting under your skin, and no one seemed to relish it quite like he did. It wasn't that you hated the man, just that he had the presence of an unkillable mosquito in your life.

He was irritating.

“Y/N, are you even listening to me?”

“I try not to make a habit of it,” you rolled your eyes, pushing past the man as you both finally made it to your motel room for the night.

You weren't sure if this was divine punishment or Emily's idea of a joke, but you'd ended up with Reid as your roomie for the next week.

As your case location was remote and as back waters as it could get, you'd ended up needing to bring Penelope Garcia along with you physically. And with only four rooms available, the eight members of your team had to all scramble for acceptable roommates and, having gotten off the jet last, you'd drawn the short straw.

Rossi had been quick to pair up with Luke, citing Spencer's snoring habit as reason enough, and the girls had happily fallen into two pairs. It was your lucky day.

With your hands busy with your bags, you tossed the key to Spencer quickly and waited for him to unlock the door, eager to escape the cold chill of the night.

“Hurry up, Spencer, or we'll both turn into popsicles out here.”

“Not only is that physically impossible, but it also isn't that cold out here, Y/N. Don't you think you're being a bit sensitive.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and he let out a sharp chuckle as he finally managed to unlock the door.

Despite your best wishes, stepping over the threshold didn't solve your problems. Instead it seemed to present even more.

“Fuck, how is it colder in here than it is out there?” You said, shivering violently as you stood in the doorway. If you thought that was reason enough to cure though, you thought you'd practically spit fire when you saw the sleeping arrangements for the night.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your body forgot its fight to keep warm, letting your blood run cold as you found yourself face to face with one singular, though large, bed. Another cursory glance around, and the heart motifs on the walls and pink themes cushions on the bed suggested that this was likely the motels joke of a Honeymoon Suite.

“Emily did mention that we booked out their last four rooms.” Spencer said, walking up beside you and frowning deeply as he took in the same scene you did.

“She said nothing about the rooms being igloos though, Spencer. I never thought hypothermia was going to be my cause of death after spending the night with you in the room.”

“You think I'd shoot you.”

“I think I'd shoot myself.”

He scowled a little at that and moved to check the room's thermostat. Although it was presently reading 215° so you didn't know how much good that could do.

“There's no sofa,” you grumbled as you watched Spencer move to the small bathroom.

“And there's no hot water. And according to the sign on that table, there's nothing we can do about it until the morning.” You picked up the sign yourself, just to verify and practically moaned in frustration.

“This is insane, we'll freeze to death.”

“It has to drop below 32° in here for us to even possibly freeze death. There's no wind, rain and we have blankets, so maybe you should focus less on being dramatic and more on what we can be doing to warm up.”

“I'm sorry, Doctor Genius, whatever can I do to warm up? Please impart some of your wonderful knowledge on me, I beg.” His eyes flashed with some annoyance and you quietly enjoyed the expression, happy to have affected him as much as he affected you.

“You can start by stripping.” It was his turn to enjoy the abject look of horror that crossed your face in that moment, and you were convinced that of he let even a hint of a laugh out, you'd throttle the man.

“I'm sure you'd just love that,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well, there's no water, no thermostat and no other source of heat, so if you're so worried about hypothermia, there's only one solution viable to us right now.”

“You're joking. You want us to huddle together for warmth?” You backed yourself into a corner as you tried to distanced yourself from him as he suddenly began divesting himself of clothing.

As soon as he reached the top buttons of his shirt, you let out a quick squeak and turned around.

“Unless you want me to watch you get undressed too, I suggest you hurry up and do it before I get into bed.”

You quietly cursed and started unwrapping each of your layers, fingers fumbling with the cold already seeped into your skin.

“I am not getting naked, Spencer Reid.”

“I didn't ask you to. Just get comfortable.” You turned around to shoot him a glare, but when you noticed his back was turned - and bare - you lost all memory of the purpose of the movement.

You'd never quite realised before how broad his back was. His shoulders looked strong despite his lithe frame, twisting rather attractively as he pulled his nightshirt over his head. You were almost disappointed that he wasn't facing you, suddenly curious about Spencer Reid's happy trail.

You snapped yourself out of it and continued to change, wrapping your coat around your waist to hide your legs as you switched your pants to your sleep shorts. It was an awkward fumble, but at least the lights were low.

When you were finally ready, your steps back to the bed were hurried and near painful as you felt colder than ever.

Spencer was already there, and without a second thought, you pulled the quilts up and plastered yourself to his side. He was the only thing in the entire room offering you a modicum of warmth, and you weren't going to let your personal hot water bottle go just because everything that came out of his mouth was hot air.

“So you're a big fan of this now, huh?” He said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in. Your back was pressed against his chest as you both laid on your sides, piles of duvet and blankets laid out on top of you. You hated to admit it, but this position was comfortable.

Maybe it was just months of working cases non-stop and perpetual singleness, but the feeling of a man at your back was infinitely pleasing.

“Don't expect anything more Spencer Reid. I wouldn't have sex with you if you were the last man alive.” The words were harsh, and if you were being honest, a little bit untrue. Your small peak at his back earlier had definitely sparked an interest in you that was bubbling up in your throat. Like bile.

“You don't have to worry about that. You're actually not as hot as you think you are.” His words were tinged with the same faux bitterness as yours, but you refused to hear it. Instead all you felt was another unpleasant heat spreading throughout you, quiet anger plotting in your stomach.

You knew you probably shouldn't push it, but you needed Spencer to eat those words. Desperately.

Your mind ticked through a few options before landing on one. If you were so unattractive, then surely there's no way he'd physically react to you.

Scooting your body closer to his, you take advantage of the less than comfortable bed, making each of your movements similar to ones you would make when getting comfortable. Except, of course, with the added bonus of making sure your ass pressed directly up against his crotch, moving up and down and grinding into him.

You felt him slightly stiffen behind you, and decided that a few we'll time groans of frustration could go a long way to spurring him on.

So you began letting little gasps and sighs out, graduating to moans when you thought he wouldn't question it, each small movement rubbing against him deliberately.

What you'd failed to remember though, was his hand on your waist. Although you knew he was awake beside you, despite the now late hour and somewhat comfortable bed, his hand held you firm. Or it did until you risking bounced yourself gently against him, and his now limp hand slipped underneath your shirt.

The moan you released then was genuine, the cool touch of his fingers against your burning skin causing you to flush and shiver at the same time. You cursed your earlier self for valuing your comfort over your general peace of mind, because as Spencer's hand once again settles centimetres away from the edge of your boob, you desperately wished for your bra back.

You stopped moving, hoping that if you just pretended to sleep for a few minutes, his hand would reach higher and he'd prove to you that he did think you were attractive. He didn't though, showing off how gentlemanly he was. It pissed you off. Most of his good qualities pissed you off, and you were sure that said more about you than him .

You tried your best to just give in, to even out your breathing and let the black haze of sleep take over but his hands on you were maddening, and you found your body reacting in much the same ways you'd wished him to react.

It didn't help that he'd casually shifted his lower body away from you slightly in your stillness, letting himself fall onto his back rather than his side. As he made this shift, his hand trailed across the expanse of your body before cutting all contact with you altogether.

So much for huddling for warmth if all he had to do to return you to record heats was stroke you like that.

You needed to feel him again, so, feigning the most realistic sleeplike movements you could muster, you turned your body in his direction, and placed your head over his chest. You weren't finished, just proceeding with caution. Your hands obviously fell over his chest, if slightly lower than you'd expect.

It was only when your leg finally came up over his that he broke his silence.

“I know you're awake, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, a solid hand on your thigh holding it down right over his crotch. You felt your prize and grinned in your sleep.

He was hard. You'd won. It was time to play.

You opened your mouth to purr victoriously at him, but he moved so abruptly you were never expecting it.

Shifting his hands to your ass, he hauled your body over him, letting his hands stay on your hips as he began to help you shift them back and forth. You moaned at the friction, even as your head stayed rested on his chest. The movements were shallow, just a teasing but you already felt more aroused than you had in months. Slowly, your hips started moving for themselves and his hands moved onto more important things.

“Am I suddenly the last man on Earth, Y/N?” He smiled, tipping your head up so you could make eye contact with him.

“Go to hell.”

“I think we're already there, don't you?” With that, his large hands sat you up, meeting with no resistance as you let yourself become pliable.

“Show me.” He whispered, hands right on your hips, pushing into your flesh just a touch part forceful.

“Show you what?” You narrowed your eyes, but you knew exactly what it was he wanted and that you weren't going to out up much a resistance before giving it to him.

“Show me how much you want to fuck me. Since your mouth isn't honest, I'm going to have to listen to your body.” You let your hands fall to his chest, pushing lower until you reached the hem of his shirt. He'd pushed the quilts off of your torso, letting the cold air attack your upper body, so you knew your hands were cold, and the hiss he let out at the contact was satisfying enough to shut up and actually start following his directions.

You shifted your body up and down, grinding and dry humping his crotch, wishing for him to stop being a tease and just get it over with.

He wasn't letting you compromise, though. Each small sound that left your body met with a soft smirk from him, each halt in your movements a prod from his hands. You'd tried to still your hips entirely once out of frustration, but he'd delivered a slap to your ass that had you gushing, desperate to reach a release even if he'd only allow you it this way.

“I don't think you're trying hard enough.” His voice was lower than before, something gravelly to it as he began pulling your clothing off one item at a time. Your sweater went first, before he flipped your positions and shimmered your shorts off your body, taking underwear soon after and then you were bare to him and he was rolling you once again.

“That's better. Now, where were we?” He moved your hips for you again, but his eyes stayed focused in the rigid peaks of your nipples, bouncing with each rock of your hips. You weren't sure if it was the cold temperature of the room or your sheer need to cum that had them reacting, but you knew he was seconds away from wrapping his tongue around one and giving into you, so you just accepted it.

His hands stayed put, still on your hips, though the direct contact was heating you slightly more. If you looked down, you were sure you'd see a wet patch against his sweat pants, so you didn't.

You just moaned and whimpered searching for your orgasm on top of him.

“What's wrong, Y/N? Do you need my help to finish?” He noticed your every insecurity, your weakness and exploited it. You were running close to inconsolable, desperate to hit that climax now, more than ever before, so you just nodded at him profusely, desperate for him to touch you in whatever way he could.

It wasn't his hand you felt on your clit, though. It was your own, he wrapped a hand around your fingers and bought them up to the correct stop, showing you exactly what he'd like to see.

“Touch yourself, Y/N. Touch yourself and wish it was me.” With the friction from grinding against him for so long, the satisfaction from the rigid tent underneath you and your hands taking his guidance, it was really not long before your pussy finally twitched familiarly and sighed, soaking his pants underneath you as you shuddered in delight.

He had to ruin your moment of bliss by talking.

“Is that enough, slut? Or do you really need to be filled right now?”

You didn't care if he saw you sticking your tongue down his throat as you collapsed on top of his chest as an answer to that question, or if he saw it as what it was - a desperate attempt to shut him up. All you knew was that he tasted sweet and hot, and that his hand wrapped around your throat was also hot as he pulled you up and off of him.

“Let me be clear. I am in charge.” A simple shift of his legs was enough to flip your positions, landing on top of you ungrateful, but you didn't care.

Using his new high ground, he wedged your legs open and slid a single finger inside you as you moaned. He too found success in silencing you by sticking his tongue down your throat, forcing you to battle him for dominance you knew he'd never allow you.

Having cum only moments before, you truly believed that there was no way he was going to push another one out of you after so little time. The night was full of surprises though.

As you relaxed into his intrusion, he opened you up with a second finger, then a third. You already felt yourself building towards your end goal, but it was his head dropping to tour cold nipples that finally had you cumming around his fingers. His mouth was wet, tongue warm against your skin, and he toyed with you so effectively, you practically forgot your previous qualms.

“See? You belong to me before I've even made you mine.” It irked you that he was right. Had this been any other man, you're sure you'd be bragging about such passionate sex for weeks with your friends. You were resentful that it was him, but you didn't want it to end yet.

Your arms pulled up to hide your face as he traced kisses up and down your chest, fingers coming free to pay attention to your since abandoned nipples.

“I can't wait to fuck you. You're going to feel so good wrapped around my cock,” he whispered into your ear as he pulled your arms away from your face, making sure your eyes were focused on him before his next line.

“You have no clue what you started. I'm so fucking obsessed with you.”

His hands fell to your face, where his thumb pushed against your lips, slipping into your mouth where you sucked on it, getting it wet as his cock teased the folds of your pussy, running up and down with each gentle push of his hips. You entertained him for a moment before pushing up slightly, his thumb falling from your mouth as you blindly reached for the bedside table. Pulling it open, you were relieved to find what you were looking for.

“If you're so fucking obsessed with me, Spencer, show me.” Carefully unwrapping the package, you grabbed his dick and gently slid the condom onto him, making sure it was secure before you propped yourself back on the pillows, waiting for him to initiate once again.

“Pillow princess. You're acting like I haven't been dreaming of exactly this for the last 12 months.”

You couldn't waste time processing those words before he again ran his cock through the folds of your pussy, then sank himself deep inside you. And you meant deep.

The sudden impact robbed you of your thoughts, pushing out every miserable thought and leaving you with just Spencer and pleasure. The two concepts soon became synonymous as his hips lazily sent him careening in and out of you.

His strokes gained speed gradually until the only words shared between you were the animalistic pants of pleasure, his voice driving you insane as you tried not to get overstimulated before you could cum for a third time.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, Spencer-” your moans turned to screams as your orgasm rolled over you, his dick hitting just the right spot inside you that forced your nails to bite his skin, and forced your voice to scratch at your throat as it pushed up from your gut.

Noticing your relentless twitching, Spencer immediately pulled out of your cunt, allowing you a moment of reprieve. Pushing up to his knees, he moved to your side, his crotch parallel with your face as he rolled the condom off his dick.

Stroking himself to completion, he came right over your lips, your eyes dripping with lust as you licked them clean, catching the dribbles that fell down your chin with your fingers and popping them into your mouth as well.

After your whorish display of desperation, it took a full ten minutes for your brain function to resume.

In that time, Spencer had cleaned both of you up speedily with a hotel towel, wrapped an arm around you and began spooning you once again, his chest warm and comfortable against your back, his scent intoxicating.

It didn't stop being so when you finally came down from your post-cum bliss.

“You're not allowed to tell anyone what happened tonight,” you said, turning over to look him in the eye.

“Nothing from tonight, got it. What about tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, am I allowed to tell them how I plan to wake you up tomorrow, and how your current state of dress made it possible, if not directly invited it?”

You flushed at his words, tingling already at the mention of tomorrow.

“We're sharing a room, Y/N. If you think I'm not going to be inside you whenever were both free, you're entirely mistaken.” His voice was clear - not even a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

“I'm not letting you go that easily, Y/N.”

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