#i like the irony of dark being bright

[bodylanda]

Some doodles about tall second

Bonus design notes on chosen, dark and second

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends?

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

Warnings: some wine sipping, gossiping, angst, miscommunication, friend fighting, jealousy (but no one realizes), az being defensive and blind

Word Count: 5k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“It’s not that I don’t like her.”

The words tasted as false as they were, and you grimaced the moment they slipped out, already bracing for the look Mor would throw your way. True to form, she didn’t disappoint, her expression halfway between amusement and exasperation.

A defeated sigh escaped as you accepted the glass of wine she offered, watching as she filled her own nearly to the brim.

“You’re better than me, then,” she hummed, settling back onto the couch across from you. “Because I don’t like her.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t like many people nowadays.”

She shrugged, casual as ever, though a smirk tugged at her lips. “True. I’m not exactly lining up for any peace medals, am I?”

You chuckled softly, leaning back in your chair. “I just… have this odd feeling about her, you know?”

Mor tilted her head, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Oh, I know. She drags Az around on a leash.”

You were tempted to say something about the irony in her words—remind her, in a loving manner, that she might've been guilty of that once upon a time, too. But you decided against it. She wasn't wrong.

You swirled the wine in your glass, watching the dark liquid move in slow, mesmerizing circles. The feeling wasn’t new; it had been there since the first time you’d met her. Azriel’s new girlfriend Selene was perfectly fine—charming, even. But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Like a faint hum in the background of a quiet room, just irritating enough to notice but not enough to prove anything was wrong.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

You glanced up, finding Mor’s bright brown eyes sharp and focused on you, the lazy humor of a moment ago gone.

“I doubt he’ll listen,” you admitted, resting the bottom of your glass on your thigh. “He didn’t listen to you.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.”

Mor raised a brow like she wanted to argue, but she only sighed in response. “He’s been so weird about his love life. Gwyn didn’t work out. Elain’s probably the happiest out of all of us. Maybe he’s treading lightly.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, though you weren’t convinced.

Azriel had changed in small, almost imperceptible ways since everything had settled—since everyone had paired off and fallen in love. Everyone except you. And him.

You were fine with your situation, content in the quiet steadiness of your life. Azriel wasn’t. You knew it. He knew it, though he’d never admit it. So much of his self-worth was tangled up in whether he believed himself worthy of love. And the absence of it—of a solid, undeniable love in his life, of a partner, of a potential bond—seemed to weigh on him. To him, it wasn’t just an empty space; it was a failure.

You’d almost go as far as to say he’d become desperate, living in the shadows and watching his brothers experience loves so profound they might as well have been plucked from stories meant to inspire poets and dreamers.

Mating bonds were rare. You reminded yourself of that often. Your family was just an anomaly, their luck skewed impossibly high. But logic wasn’t enough to soothe Azriel, and it certainly wouldn’t stop him from chasing it. He was obsessive. Stubborn.

Nothing you said or did could change his perspective.

Mor’s voice pulled you out of your head again. “Speak of the devil,” she sang out. “Hi, Elain.”

Your gaze snapped up to the doorway, finding Elain standing just beyond the archway. She looked like a spooked deer, frozen in place with that polite smile you’d come to recognize as her default around company she hadn’t fully warmed up to yet.

“We were just talking about Azriel’s unfortunate romantic history,” Mor said smoothly. You glanced at Elain for her reaction.

It had taken time for that particular history to fade. Maybe it was appropriate to joke about now, but you personally would’ve waited a few more years before bringing it up so flippantly. Mor, however, had little patience for such niceties.

Elain’s expression didn’t shift beyond a faint flicker in her eyes, and you realized how much her composure had improved over the years. Then again, it had been a while since she and Lucien had found each other for good—long enough for their bond to solidify and for them to leave for the Day Court after their mating ceremony.

A twinge of jealousy sparked in you before you brushed it aside.

“We’re just gossiping in general. Want to join us?” you asked, gesturing to the chair beside you. Plush and inviting, it mirrored the one you sat on. “Unless Lucien is waiting for you upstairs?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed crimson. 

“Lucien’s still with Feyre, catching up,” she said, stepping further into the room. “What are you drinking?”

Mor reached for the bottle on the table, plucking it up and turning it in her hand to read the label.

“Something good and expensive,” she replied, with a half-hearted air of indulgence, before tilting her head at Elain with a faint grin.

“It’s from Rhys’s rather gluttonous collection,” you said, sensing Elain’s hesitation. “It won’t be missed at all.”

She smiled at that. “I’d love some.”

“There are a lot of glasses in that cabinet,” you said, pointing to the wood door with ornate carvings. “Grab whichever one you’d like.”

Mor sat up straighter, scooting herself back into the pillows behind her. You hummed, impressed, at her ability to hold both her full wine glass and the bottle without so much as a wobble.

You hadn’t spent much time with Elain one-on-one. Emissary duties had kept you busy during the years the Archeron sisters had adjusted to their new lives. But you liked Elain, from what you’d seen. She had a kind heart. She also had a sharp humor that surfaced at the oddest moments, usually when she and Lucien were whispering in corners, conspiratorial before seamlessly rejoining whatever social event they were at like they’d never left.

Elain returned and sat down with her chosen glass—a delicate crystal piece that gleamed in the soft light. Mor went to fill it instantly. 

“Can I ask why you were discussing Azriel’s romantic life?” Elain asked. Her voice was smooth, certain. No hesitation.

It didn’t faze her anymore, you realized—being such a strange, pivotal turning point in Azriel’s past experiences. She’d made peace with it, the way immortality seemed to demand. Time softened the edges of even the messiest situations, turning them into stories you could recount with startling detachment. Almost humorous, really.

Because how else could you explain being casual about the fact that your best friend had almost allowed his pride—and arrogance—and, somehow simultaneously, his insecurity—to lead him into a blood duel over Elain’s affections? A blood duel.

But now, it was just… something to write off. A distant memory, softened by the years and Lucien’s easy confidence. Lucien was better than you. You would’ve held that grudge against Azriel for many more years—long enough to make it a point of pride. But then again, Lucien had won everything he wanted in the end. He had the girl, the bond, the certainty that whatever lingering rivalry Azriel might feel was entirely one-sided.

It wasn’t important enough for Lucien to waste any more energy on.

You exchanged a glance with Mor, who arched a brow, clearly just as amused by Elain’s openness.

“Y/n doesn’t like his new girlfriend,” Mor said.

Your mouth fell open. “You don’t either.”

“True,” Mor agreed easily. She looked to Elain. “We don’t like her.”

“For clarification,” you said firmly, “I never said I didn’t like her.”

Mor laughed, sipping her wine with an amused grin.

Your face fell flat. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied breezily. “But if you get a bad feeling about someone, that’s usually dislike.”

You resisted the urge to scowl, already turning over the guilt in your mind. You didn’t want to be that person—the kind who dismissed another female off the bat. Maybe your gut was wrong this time. Maybe her smile had reached her eyes, and you’d been too preoccupied to notice. Maybe her tone hadn’t been as assessing as you remembered, and you were projecting. You wanted to like her. You wanted to be happy for Azriel.

But he didn’t seem happy. He seemed distracted. Busy. Not himself.

And not the kind of busy you’d seen before—the methodical, obsessive focus he funneled into work or training. This was different, scattered in a way you couldn’t quite pin down. It had made sense in the beginning, when things were new and exciting, but now it was starting to feel uncomfortable. He’d started missing things—small things at first, like sparring sessions or those late-night conversations you, Mor, and him would have when you couldn’t sleep. Then came the bigger things. He’d stopped being able to review external court updates with you, even when those meetings were critical for your diplomatic roles.

Azriel had always been the one you could count on. Out of everyone, you considered him your closest friend—even more than Mor, though you’d never admit it out loud. But now it seemed like every time you made plans, Selene needed him more.

And then there was how fast it was all moving. Too fast. At a recent family dinner, she’d casually mentioned that she and Azriel could move in together—offhand, like it was the most obvious next step. Something about leaving the townhouse behind, creating a space with décor that matched her aesthetic. Azriel had just stayed quiet, looked at her like she’d just proposed the most brilliant idea in existence.

You noticed he did that. The way he looked at her. The way he’d looked at Elain and Gwyn back when they were seeing each other. It weirded you out—that tendency to put the people he saw as romantic interests on a pedestal, as though they were flawless. As though they were something he didn’t deserve.

You knew where it came from. That deep-rooted insecurity that even centuries hadn’t managed to erase. He didn’t see it, the way he wore himself down trying to prove his worth to people who, for the most part, had already accepted him. But you saw it. You always had.

And it made it harder to like Selene. To trust her intentions. Maybe that was unfair, but you couldn’t help but feel like she was just taking—taking all the parts of Azriel that used to be all of yours to share, and twisting them into something else. Something that didn’t include his family.

Still, you wanted to try. To let go of the gnawing irritation in your chest and convince yourself it didn’t matter. If she made him happy—truly happy—then none of it should matter. You were adamant on ensuring that you didn’t turn into the stereotypical overbearing female best friend.

Elain tapped her glass lightly. “Lucien doesn’t like her.”

You blinked back into reality. “Really?”

She nodded, a beat passing before she added, “To be honest, I’m not sure I do either.”

Mor leaned forward, grinning like she’d been handed a stack of gold. You almost wished Amren was here to bask in the moment. Amren didn’t like Azriel’s girlfriend, either. Maybe your family really was as unwelcoming as people claimed. Or maybe Selene simply brought out another level of scrutiny. The thought of either option made you feel bad— gross. 

“Why?” Mor asked.

“She was dismissive toward Lucien. And,” Elain hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly, “She seemed… entitled, I suppose. Especially with Azriel. Like she expected him to accommodate her every whim.”

You frowned, turning over her words. “I’m sure she was just nervous. We can be an intimidating group. Maybe she just needs time to settle in. We just want Az to be happy, right? So, if she makes him happy, then I’m absolutely fine with her.”

The silence that followed was thick. For a moment, you wondered if you’d said something wrong. Something weird.

“Are you?” Elain asked, her tone sincere.

“Are you?” Mor echoed at the same time, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shot Mor a glare, but she only raised her brows and sipped her wine again, infuriatingly unbothered. Exhaling, you willed yourself to meet Elain’s gaze.

“I am,” you said, trying for conviction. “Really.”

Elain pursed her lips. Her gaze shifted to Mor, lingering longer than you liked, and then back to you.

“Alright,” she hummed. “I guess I was wrong.”

You stilled. Elain reclined deeper into her seat, accepting a refill from Mor. Her wine glass remained only half-full compared to yours and Mor’s.

Curiosity burned. You leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “What do I mean about what?”

“You said you guess you were wrong. What does that mean?”

Mor’s gaze bored into the side of your face. Any second now, you were sure she’d make some quip about how bothered you were. But you weren’t bothered. Just curious.

Elain swirled her wine, watching the light catch the liquid. “I’m not sure. Things feel off. Like something’s coming. Az needs help with it, I think.”

You froze. “Off? Like—how?”

She hesitated, thoughtful. “It’s hard to explain,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “But I feel it. In my chest. My visions sometimes do that. That’s why I asked.”

Well, that unsettled you. You glanced at Mor, whose amused grin had fallen into something more contemplative.

It seemed you might need to have a conversation with Azriel after all.

“I don’t like that,” you admitted, your nose crinkling. 

“I think I heard him get back earlier. Go talk to him,” Mor said, her tone gentler now, though a hint of mischief lingered in her eyes. You didn’t read too much into that. Mor’s eyes tended to be expressive. She also tended to be mischievous when her blood was primarily red wine. 

“Okay,” you said. “Maybe just to check in.”

Elain nodded. “Just to check in,” she echoed, almost reassuring.

“Have fun,” Mor added, her grin returning just enough to be annoying, but not enough to distract you from the unease curling in your chest.

You didn’t respond, instead taking another slow sip of your drink. The glass clinked softly as you set it down on the table before you made your way upstairs.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mor turned to Elain. “Did you really feel something that unsettling?”

Elain let out a laugh. “No,” she said lightly. “I completely made that up. But she doesn’t need to know that.”

Mor’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. Seconds later, her head tilted back in a laugh just as vibrant as it was unapologetic.

“Genius,” she declared, raising her glass in mock salute.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The walk upstairs was quiet.

The townhome, in general, was quieter nowadays. Aside from the times others came to visit—like Lucien and Elain—only you and Azriel lived here full time.

When you reached Azriel’s bedroom door, your steps faltered for a moment. There was a hesitation in you that hadn't existed before. You raised your hand to knock, but the action felt more awkward than usual. It made you sad, momentarily, that you hesitated. You never second-guessed yourself with Azriel. You wanted to tread carefully in this new era of his life, though. You didn’t want to overstep, to become a nuisance. But whatever this was—whatever had unsettled Elain enough to mention it—you needed to know. Azriel had always been a constant for you, and if something felt “off,” you wanted to understand why.

Your knuckles rapped lightly on the door. “Az?” 

Inside, you heard the shuffle of movement, followed by his low, familiar voice. “Come in.”

You didn’t see Azriel immediately, but the smell of soap and the damp air told you that he recently showered. Shadows slithered across the floor, comfortable and excited, exploring the familiar confines of his room.

You greeted the tendrils as you usually did, letting them brush against your legs as you flopped onto his bed. The bed, like everything else in his room, was simple: plain black sheets, no extravagant pillows, just the bare necessities. It used to drive you mad, the emptiness of it all.  But what was in his room spoke volumes—— bare walls except for a dagger mount on one side, a small uncluttered desk with a well-worn sharpening stone. 

Azriel exiting the bathroom pulled your attention, your eyes settling on him as he rubbed his wet hair thoroughly with a towel. He shook his head slightly, wet curls bouncing onto his forehead, and met your gaze. His eyes flicked to where you lay, scanning your body. He nodded toward your feet.

“C’mon,” he almost whined. “No shoes on the bed.”

You looked down at yourself, grimacing as you realized that your shoes were, indeed, on his clean comforter. A simple set of house slippers, so nothing entirely too dirty, but it had completely slipped your mind. Very comfortable shoes, you noted, maybe you’d get Feyre a pair as a solstice gift.

“Oh whoops,” you said with an apologetic smile. “My bad, clean freak.”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the quirk of his lips anyways.

For a moment, the old sense of comfort settled over you. But then, a thought crept in—the thought that maybe you shouldn’t lie on his bed like this anymore. It had been fine before, but now… now it felt different. He had someone else in his life. It wasn’t weird, exactly, but it was a little inappropriate.

You sat up straighter.

“Did you and Mor grow tired of rehashing the same centuries old gossip?” He teased.

You snorted, watching as his shadows flitted above his shoulders. They were amused, laughing in their own way. “Never,” you responded, pushing yourself off his bed. You were drawn to the otherside of his room, to the simple dresser against the wall. “Elain joined us this time.”

Your back was to him, but you had a feeling that the momentary silence, the stillness that you felt, was a knee-jerk reaction from Azriel—something reminiscent of embarrassment, shame, or guilt at her name. But all he responded was, “Oh?”

“I like her,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I kinda wish I spent more time with her…”

You paused, your words trailing off quietly as you took in the small details before you. 

Azriel’s dresser had always been the one surface he decorated, not because he cared for decoration, but because it was the only surface large enough to hold anything. Over the years, it had become a quiet testament to the things that mattered to him: a mix of Solstice and birthday gifts, trinkets you’d both collected on missions and trips. You liked seeing what had changed, what had been added. It gave you a glimpse into where Azriel had been, who had been with him. 

Lately, there had been more—more trinkets, more oddities that stood in stark contrast to the weapons displayed elsewhere, the ones mostly hidden away in his closet. A macaroni necklace from Nyx. A horribly made clay version of him you’d created during a drunken pottery night with Feyre, Mor, and Amren.

But now, the dresser was foreign. The once familiar surface had been wiped clean, replaced by delicate perfume bottles, jewelry that looked too fine to be his, and a candle that smelled—oddly—like the puke of a flower faerie. Some of it was new. Most of it was hers.

Azriel’s presence had vanished from his own furniture entirely.

“Huh.”

“What?” Azriel asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “I see you’ve decorated more.”

Azriel tilted his head, and a few of his shadows slithered down his body, crossing the room to pool around your ankles. “I guess,” he said. “Selene said my room needed more life.”

You leaned forward, brushing your fingers along the ceramic jewelry dish, the cool surface sending a strange chill through your skin. The shadows flickered over your hand, almost as if they were inspecting it too. They moved with purpose, then slowly obscured it, hiding it from view.

You frowned, confused.

Azriel, still silent, was rifling through his closet. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you as he moved, but he said nothing. The shadows returned to his side as you turned to look at him.

"Are you going somewhere?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

Now, Azriel barely spared you a glance.

“Yeah. Meeting Selene,” he replied simply.

After a few seconds of silence, Azriel turned his head and properly held your gaze. “Why? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you responded with a casual wave of your hand, but Elain’s words echoed in your mind. You cleared your throat. “Well, actually, no. I was hoping I could talk to you.”

He frowned, standing up straighter, his wings flexing with the motion. “Is it something serious?”

You paused, carefully filtering through your words. “No, just something that’s been on my mind.”

Azriel studied you, doubt flickering in his hazel eyes. It was the kind of look that always made you feel like he was reading you too easily. He probably didn’t believe you, not entirely—but he nodded anyway. His lips curved into a small, apologetic smile. “Raincheck then?”

You mirrored his smile, though it felt thin. “Yeah, sure. We can talk tomorrow, once we’re back from the Hewn City.”

Azriel stilled. The way his gaze dropped to the floor and lingered felt like a guilty dog, an animal caught in an act forbidden. “Shit,” he said, his tone cautious. “I can’t go.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to settle. “Seriously? Az, Rhys is expecting an update.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere enough. It didn’t matter. “But you can handle it on your own, you know this.” 

“Are you serious?” you said, the hurt slipping out before you could stop it. “I don’t want to deal with Keir alone.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Rhys, but Selene’s been wanting to—”

“Never mind,” you cut him off, shaking your head. You forced a smile. “Have fun tonight. And tomorrow.”

Azriel scanned your face. After another moment of silence, he sighed.

“Okay, what is it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You clearly have something on your mind. Tell me.”

You hesitated, holding his gaze. “I actually wanted to talk to you about Selene.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened instantly. He looked away, his tongue running across his teeth as he shook his head. “Not you too. Don’t be like this.”

Your frown deepened, offended by the immediate shift in tone. “Be like what? I haven’t even said anything yet.”

He met your eyes again, his stare almost challenging. “We both know what you’re going to say.”

“Do we?”

“First Mor, then Nesta, and now you.” His voice was sharp, but not loud. “Should I be concerned that the females in my life are so quick to rally against my girlfriend?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms to mirror his pose. “Well, yeah, Az. Maybe you should be.”

He rolled his eyes, the shadows at his feet flickering with the motion. “Fine. What do you want to tell me, then?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the words lingering on the edge of your tongue. Azriel had always been good at looking through you, unraveling thoughts you hadn’t fully formed yet. And now, under the weight of his sharp gaze, you felt exposed.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Something flickered in his expression, quick and fleeting—too fast for you to decipher. For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt unreadable, like he’d drawn a curtain between himself and you. “Really?” he asked, his tone tight, almost incredulous.

You faltered, a small thread of doubt weaving its way through your resolve. Was he happy? Would he even tell you if he wasn’t?

“Yes, really,” you replied, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “You’ve been distant lately. Running around at her beck and call. None of us know her. I want to understand what’s going on with you. I want to understand her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, his gaze hardening.

“I want to make sure this is the kind of relationship you want,” you finished, quieter now.

The room fell into silence, heavy and still. Azriel watched you as if he was turning your words over and over in his mind. You waited, unsure of what to expect—if anything at all.

“I wouldn’t be in a relationship I didn’t want. Can we drop it, please.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. What a strange, dismissive answer. It bothered you— bothered you more than anything he’d ever told you before. 

“Az, I just don’t want you to change who you are for someone. You don’t need to cater to her every whim.”

His expression darkened, shadows curling tighter around his boots. “I’m her boyfriend. I do what she asks.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to stop the scoff that slipped out. Azriel had never been so clipped with you. “That’s not the definition of a boyfriend. That’s the definition of a bitch.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flaring in irritation. “Excuse me?”  His voice cut through the room. “Do you really think I’m some incompetent love-sick loser?”

“I think you stop seeing flaws in the people you love.”

The words hung between you, heavier than you’d anticipated. A small part of you wondered if “love” was the word Azriel would use to describe his feelings for her. Another part worried that he didn’t correct you.

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he snapped. “I can clearly see that you’re being unfair. Quick to judge, much like Mor. That’s a flaw.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, “You know what I meant. The people you’re infatuated with—”

“Where is this sudden concern coming from?” he interrupted, his shadows now beginning to curl between you like restless mediators, unsure where to settle. “Are you trying to cause issues?”

Something ran hot through your body.

“Seriously? I’m talking to you about this because I care. Because Elain had some cryptic feeling about you—”

“Elain is involved in this conversation, too?” His voice dripped with frustration now. “Gods, Y/n, should I send word for Gwyn while we’re at it? Get her opinion?”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” You took an authoritative step forward.  “I’ve never judged you. I’ve always tried to support you and your messy love life, no matter how complicated. Don’t you trust me, Azriel? As a friend?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows flickering uncertainly, still deciding whether to retreat or rise.

You gestured around the room. “Look at this place. You’ve erased all traces of your family—of you, of us. Where did you even put—”

“Oh, gods.” Azriel’s voice broke through, and for a moment, you thought he might crumble. His wings folded, and his hand dragged across his face, the weight of his exhaustion sinking in. “She was right.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel met your gaze, his eyes hesitant for a heartbeat before turning sharp. “About you. Selene said you were jealous. That you had feelings for me.”

The words hit like a slap, and your world tilted on its axis. “What?” you asked again, your voice breaking on the word. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he had misspoken.

“I told her she was wrong. But now…” He let the sentence hang in the air, searching your face for something that maybe wasn’t even there.

“Now, what?” Your voice rose, tinged with anger. “You think I’m here because I’m jealous? Because I have some… crush on you?”

His wings flared slightly at your tone, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t know. It’s just—why else would you care so much about this?”

Your stomach twisted, a deep, cold ache settling there. “Why else?” you repeated, the words bitter on your tongue. “Because I care about you, Azriel. Because you’ve been my friend for centuries. Are you seriously confused about this?” 

For a moment, Azriel’s expression faltered, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “I didn’t ask you to care about my love life.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snapped, stepping closer. “That’s what friends do. But you’re standing there, letting her perception of me—someone who doesn’t even know me—warp your judgment. You’ve known me longer than that. Or at least, I thought you did. And the fact that you’d entertain this—” You stopped, shaking your head. “It’s insulting.”

Azriel said nothing. He just stood there, shadows now curling tighter around him. 

You had no idea how this conversation had gotten away from you, no idea how it turned into this—where this defensiveness, this anger, had come from. This wasn’t Azriel. Loyal, overly so. Impulsive. Protective. 

Or maybe it was. Maybe that loyalty was directed at someone else now—someone who clearly saw you as something threatening. You’d never been on the other side of Azriel before. Never thought you’d see the day. The realization hit like a slap to the face, leaving you shocked, stunned, a pit opening in your stomach that felt too deep to climb out of.

“You know what? Forget it.” You stepped back, the fight draining out of you all at once.

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Really? That’s it?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so bitter. “Yeah,” you said, your voice flat. “That’s it.”

You turned for the door, hand on the handle, but paused. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and pointed, a petty jab that felt equal parts satisfying and hollow. “Make sure to lock this door when you leave—I’d hate to accidentally stumble back in and throw myself at you.”

Azriel stiffened, his wings snapping taut behind him. For a brief second, you thought he might say something, anything. But he didn’t.

You closed the door behind you with a heavy thud.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: no one tell them they probs have feelings for each other bc they’ll probably fight you (also elains moment is so self indulgent bc i would totally be making shit up based off my powers. like yeah actually you can’t be mean to be :/ powers are saying you’ll die if you are)

part two? 😏 lmk if you wanna be tagged

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[milfsloverblog]

Good Luck, Babe! (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: I know, I know. I’ve got series waiting for an update blah blah blah. But when something sparks your inspiration, you just got to get to work!! This one’s - obviously - inspired by the Chappell Roan song. This is full on ANGST, HURT NOT COMFORT, you’ve been warned! One shot, no second chapter to fix it all. We love the pain. Hope you’ll enjoy my darlings and don’t forget to like and reblog if you do!! <3

Larissa had been startled awake by a sudden loud noise, her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom she shared with the banshee that slept next to her.

Not a literal one - although that might have been a better choice, Larissa thought as she turned her head towards the man she’d been sharing a bed with for over a decade and nearly two. Ha, there it was again. That loud snoring that kept her awake for nights on end. A banshee, that’s what he sounded like.

She sat up, carefully swinging her legs on the side of the bed and trying her best not to wake him up - somehow the snoring was still more bearable than his incessant yapping when he was awake.

Larissa took a deep breath, rubbing her hands on her face as she contemplated what to do with the rest of her night. She had a little over four hours left of sleep before her alarm would go off, signifying the beginning of her working day. She brushed her fingers through her silver hair, holding back a whine when some of it got stuck in her wedding ring.

Oh bitter irony, she thought as she pulled away to inspect the golden ring on her left hand.

The banshee snored again, pulling Larissa out of her thoughts and nearly making her consider squeezing a pillow on her husband’s face. Instead, she quietly got out of bed, throwing a silky robe on her silkier shoulders and tying it close as a shiver ran down her spine.

Things could have been so different.

As her hand brushed down the wooden handrails of the main stairs, Larissa couldn’t help but reminisce about her younger days. She thought of Nevermore when she was only a student there and not in charge of it. The Poe cup, the Rave’N, the feeling of soft hands on her skin. Larissa stopped dead in her tracks. She could have sworn that she had felt it, right there in the middle of the staircase, the ghost of soft hands on her midriff. She took a deep breath and hurried down the stairs on the tip of her toes, still not wanting to wake up the banshee that rested upstairs.

Turning the light on as she made her way to the kitchen, Larissa walked straight to the sink and knelt to access the cupboard below it. She didn’t even look at the bottles, grabbing the first one that met her hand and pulling it out of the cupboard. It would be a good one anyway, her darling husband always made sure of it. Grand wine, grand house (that she had been against buying), grand life, grand wife. The thought left a bitter taste in Larissa’s mouth and she hurried to open the bottle, eager to replace the bitterness of a wasted life with the bitter taste of an aged Chianti.

As she sipped on her freshly poured wine, Larissa’s mind transported her back to a night twenty years ago.

“They’ll catch us!” Larissa half-whispered as her hand squeezed yours.

“Everyone’s at the Rave’N, they won’t even notice we’re gone. Come on, even if they did, Nevermore’s brightest student and its biggest weirdo? No one would speculate that we’re together. They’ll think that you went to bed early, as a bright student should, and that I’m hiding in some dark corner all alone like a loser.” You joked, pushing the door to your room open.

“I’m not Nevermore’s brightest student, Morticia is,” Larissa said, her crimson-painted lips falling in a soft pout.

“Ha, so nothing about me not being a weirdo or a loser?” You feigned being hurt before letting out a chuckle. “Morticia doesn’t have half of your intelligence nor a quarter of your beauty. She’s got a big pair of tits, that’s all.” You shrugged, closing the door behind you.

Something churned inside Larissa’s stomach, the early stirrings of jealousy making her face grow hot at the mere thought of you finding Morticia somewhat attractive.

“Kiss me,” she demanded.

“Wait, I’ve got something-“You didn’t have time to finish your sentence as Larissa's lips crashed against yours, bruising and demanding.

Larissa opened her mouth and you quickly followed, allowing her to thrust her tongue against yours in a dance you two had been rehearsing for months. Her lips moved down your chin and up your jaw, leaving a trail of red marks that you’d have to scrub at in the morning.

“Riss-“ you whined when she nipped at the thin skin of your neck, gently pulling away from her. “Wait, wait-“

Larissa reluctantly let go of you, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb and clearing her throat.

“I want to take my time,” you explained. “We always do this so quickly, most of the time I can’t even get you fully naked. Let’s take our time, everyone will be busy downstairs for another couple of hours.”

Larissa pushed a small smile and nodded. She sat down on your bed and watched as you pulled something from underneath it.

“How on earth did you get that?!” She squealed, nearly ripping the green bottle from your hand.

“Borrowed it from the kitchen,” you shrugged.

“You know that borrowing means you’ll give it back at some point, right?” Larissa mumbled as she read the tag on the bottle.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll buy some cheap bottle from the supermarket downtown and put it back in the kitchen.”

Larissa let out a snorting laugh and shook her head.

“Do you even know how much this is worth?” She said, gesturing with the bottle in her hand.

“Now don’t be rude,” you raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one that comes from a rich family, not me.”

“Shut up and pour us a glass, if you have anything to open the bottle with!” Larissa pouted. You knew she hated being reminded that she came from money, but it simply was the truth.

“Who do you take me for, a rookie?” You huffed as you opened your bedside table only to pull out a bottle opener and wave it victoriously in Larissa’s face, making her laugh.

What happened next was a little blurry in Larissa’s mind. She remembered sharing the wine, drinking straight from the bottle as you laughed about everything and nothing. She remembered spilling wine on the awfully expensive gown her father had bought her for the Rave’N, and then soft hands helping her out of it. Her head between your thighs, yours between hers. She remembered falling asleep in your arms and waking up still in your arms the next morning. And that had been the breaking point for Larissa. Her parents would never agree to this, to her having this sort of feelings for women, for you. She had to nip this in the bud before it went too far. And so she did.

Larissa made sure to avoid you like the plague after that night, going as far as becoming friends with Morticia Frump and her clique even though she knew how much you disliked them. And then came Henry. He wasn’t Larissa’s type, obviously. But he would please her parents and so she let him court her until they officially became a thing. Then everything had gone so fast, her final year at Nevermore, the graduation, Henry proposing.

“Larissa!” You ran after her inside Nevermore after witnessing Henry’s proposal in the yard. What a dick move, proposing right after she had graduated. Nice way to steal her spotlight.

Larissa spun on her heels, fidgeting with the new ring that felt unfamiliar on her left hand.

“What do you want?” She sighed, trying her best to keep her eyes off of you.

“You can’t do that,” you said, shaking your head. “You can’t marry him, you don’t even love him! Larissa, please…”

“Please what?” Larissa snapped. “What did you think? That this fling we had would turn into more than it was? Don’t be ridiculous.”

You swallowed your pain, refusing to let your heart burst at the seam.

“When you wake up next to him in a decade or two,” you said, fighting against the lump in your throat. “And you’ll realise that you’re nothing more than his wife, you’ll think of me. You’ll think of everything we shared all of those years ago.“

It was Larissa’s turn to swallow thickly as she took in your words. Marrying him meant security, a normal life. But it also meant losing her freedom, Larissa knew that.

“Say something,” you pleaded, hoping that it would be enough for your ex-lover to change her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she simply replied, holding her head high as she always did in any situation - good or bad. “You knew this would come to an end.” She added before giving a small nod and walking past you, the sound of her kitten heels echoing down the corridor.

She hadn’t seen you since. You hadn’t replied to the wedding invite she had sent. She had hoped you’d show up, she’d hoped to prove to you that she had made the right choice. That she was happy in the life she had picked for herself. That she had moved on. But she hadn’t really moved on, had she? Drinking herself half-blind almost two decades after she’d last seen you. Maybe you had moved on. Surely you had.

When Larissa was pulled back to reality, to the empty kitchen and the emptier glass of wine in her hand, tears had started running down her cheeks which she hastily wiped away.

She had thought about reaching out more times than she would ever admit. But she never dared. Not when she had found your Facebook and you seemed so happy with that woman on your profile picture. She would never dare reach out to you for she knew that you would tell her what you always did whenever she had to deal with the consequences of her actions.

I told you so, Larissa. You know I hate to say it but I told you so.

And Larissa wished, she wished she had listened to you. She wished she could go back in time and she wished she could forget you.

But Larissa knew - she would have to stop the world to stop the feeling.

————————————————————————

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[poisonlove]

BABYDOLL | w.a

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X reader

Warning: SMUT, 18+

"Wednesday, slow down!" I hiss through clenched teeth, the pain of her fingers gripping my wrist cutting through me as she drags me mercilessly toward her room.

Curious eyes were on us, and I couldn't help but blush violently. It's embarrassing, I thought, it's fucking embarrassing to be dragged by a girl who stands barely over five feet tall. I could sense some thoughts—poor thing—others like—I think Addams is going to kill her—and a few strange ones like—y/n is cute when she blushes—but I tried to avoid dwelling on the latter. I stared intensely at the back of Wednesday's head.

What the hell is wrong with her?

Wednesday and I had been in a secret relationship for two months, and even though I didn’t particularly like the situation, I wasn’t willing to give up on the gothic girl. Something about her had captivated me like a moth to a flame, and I’m not talking about her physical appearance—though I’m crazy about her brown eyes and full lips, especially her dimples—it’s her way of thinking that fascinated me.

Almost terrifying.

Wednesday stopped abruptly and turned to face me, her eyes—usually calm and bright—held a strange light, a whirlpool of anger and... something deeper. I swallowed nervously.

"What’s going on?" I asked calmly, trying to mask my true feelings.

Wednesday scrutinized me carefully, her gaze unwavering before she leaned closer with a menacing air. We were so close I could see the freckles scattered around her nose.

"You'll find out soon enough," she exclaimed coldly, her eyes holding mine a moment longer than necessary before she turned and resumed walking.

I was confused.

We were nearing Ophelia Hall, and I could already make out the massive wooden door of Wednesday’s room, which she shared with Enid. Wednesday's grip tightened, and I let out a small whimper of pain. Wednesday swung the door open, and I blinked, noticing the color scheme that muddled my thoughts.

Bad idea, I thought, dividing the room this way?

"Hey Wed! Y/n?" Enid said, confused. The blonde was in her bed with Thing, flipping through a gossip magazine.

"Get out," Wednesday said coldly, her posture rigid as she stared intensely at Enid. The blonde blinked in confusion, her blue eyes darting from my hostage figure to Wednesday's.

I offered a timid apologetic smile.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Wednesday murmured. Enid shivered noticeably and grabbed her things, passing us with a trembling stride.

"There was no need to be such a bitch," she muttered irritably, putting on her shoes.

Wednesday ignored the comment.

"Take Thing with you," Wednesday said in a frigid tone, looking at her friend, who was likely showing offense through gestures. Enid approached her bed, leaving space in her bag for Thing, then hurried out of the room.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I asked irritably, rubbing my wrist to alleviate the pain. My eyes followed Wednesday as she walked past me to lock the door, her gaze resting on mine before she walked to her bed and sat down.

"Move," she murmured in a low voice, her hand slapping the mattress beside her, her eyes never leaving mine. Her expression was impenetrable, jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin line.

But it was her eyes that told a deeper story: a dark, inscrutable light, a cold flame burning just beneath the surface. There was no trace of irony or one of her sharp comments, just a disarming seriousness that made me flinch. The muscles in her face were taut, almost as if she were holding back something she didn’t want to reveal. It felt like every fiber of her being was focused on me, creating a tension that filled the room with electricity.

I approached her hesitantly.

"Sit down," she ordered, and I complied without uttering a word. I was fucking scared. My eyes met hers, and a shiver ran down my spine. Wednesday bit her lower lip for a millisecond as her jaw relaxed its iron grip.

"What the hell were you doing with Bianca?" she asked, her tone sharp, her voice dropping a notch, almost becoming a threat. I blinked, confused, as I looked at her curiously. Is she jealous? No, I corrected myself quickly.

"Was I training?" I exclaim trying to understand the reason for her reaction.

Wednesday tilts her head to one side

and slowly she protrudes towards me, her black eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that makes me tilt, making me feel a mixture of fear and desire. The scent of lavender invades my nostrils, and I struggle to hold a groan as her fingers gently sink into my cheeks.

It forces me to maintain eye contact.

"And she had to touch you like that?" asks, her tone as cold as ice. I’m nervously swallowing the heat that builds up between my legs as Wednesday continues to flaunt her authority.

Her black nails slowly grip my cheeks, her face approaches mine with a disarmingly slow motion that makes me want to sink in at that moment. Our breaths mix and I feel my heart beat at a frantic pace.

"She must not touch you... even for a workout," she murmurs, her warm breath touching my lips. " You’re mine," she says decisively.

Her fingers leave the grip, the fingertips gently caress my cheek tracing the marks of the half-moons she left with her nails. I hold my breath as her hand slides down my jaw, stopping to gently touch my lips.

Without looking away, I wrap my lips around her fingers, sucking hard. Wednesday’s shoulders stiffened and her jaw tightened, her eyes burning in mine with a fiery intensity.

"You deserve a punishment" she mumbles in a cold voice.

Oh no.

"Lie down" she orders me with a cold and authoritative voice, her eyes following my moviments as I lay in her bed.

My heart was beating fast and the heat between my legs increased for anticipation. Wednesday’s hands are resting on my legs, making me shiver from the excitement and her cold skin.

"You’ve been so disobedient" she murmurs with coldness, her eyes following the movements of her hands on my legs.

The brunette leans over and looks at me calmly, eyes overflowing with desire and anger. I lick my lips.

Her lips lay upon mine with a brusquely, making me groan in surprise. I close my eyes and follow her movements with desire, her tongue exploring my mouth with possessiveness. My eyes flicker with pleasure from behind my eyelids and I couldn’t help but make a moan of disappointment as Wednesday moves away from my face.

Open my eyelids and I see that she slowly unbuttons my shirt, her eyes looking at mine with malice. She opens my shirt and lays her hands on my stomach, her eyes following my body with desire. She quickly takes off my bra and looks at me with intensity.

I release a moan ( of pleasure and pain) by feeling her teeth bite hard the skin over my breast, leaving her teeth marks. Pass her tongue to ease the pain. "You’re so beautiful" blabbereth before sinking her teeth back into my flesh.

Cries of pain and small tears form in my eyes, the moisture between my legs to counteract my true feelings.

Wednesday quickly descends down my stomach, leaving kisses and bites that made me whine from mixed pain to pleasure. " You’re so fucking wet" she says coldly, her eyes looking at the blob of moisture well evident in my panties. "I Don’t know what to do with you," she says monotonously, her fingers moving my panties sideways.

I bite my lips hard at the moment of feeling two fingers of Wednesday enter abruptly inside me up to my knuckles.

"You’re so desperate..." She murmurs, clenching her teeth with force. Her eyes stare at mine, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and excitement.

"Please" I beg, unable to bear the wait. The heat and excitement was too much, and I couldn’t bear to hold it for a second longer.

"You were a bad girl" she looks at me with reproach, her thumb spinning weakly around my clitoris, stimulating but at the same time leaving me unsatisfied

It’s a torture

"Wednesday..." I say in a husky voice, my eyes looking at her with excitement.

"Fuck me" I say with red cheeks, legs that moved inciting her movements.

"Tell me whose you belong to," she says with authority, her fingers moving slowly between my vaginal walls. I open my mouth and smile at the feeling that is making me feel, the humidity that grows with the passing of the seconds.

"I am yours" I murmur with despair.

Wednesday looks at me intensely, analyzing the words before thinking it was a sufficient answer. Her fingers increase the speed, making me scream for the sudden change of pace. The thumb expertly strokes my clit, literally making me touch the stars by how much it was making me feel good.

My toes curl and I let myself be carried away by the orgarm just reached, ashamed of how quickly I reached it. My eyes look at Wednesday staring at me with a little smile on her lips, her fingers coming out of me.

He directs them towards my mouth.

"Remember" begins in a cold tone, opening my mouth and allowing me to taste myself "I don’t like sharing what is mine" blabbering flat, her eyes looking at me with dark admiration that made me shiver again of excitement.

I was her babydoll

[novlr]

How do I make internal conflict subtle, without being so subtle the readers miss it?

Internal conflict is a vital component of any compelling story. It’s the central axis of any good character arc and drives the narrative forward. However, writing internal struggles effectively without resorting to heavy-handed exposition can be challenging. Here are some quick tips on writing subtle internal conflict.

Show, don’t tell

Reveal a character’s emotions through actions, thoughts, and dialogue.

Use body language and gestures to convey inner turmoil, like fidgeting, clenched fists, or avoiding eye contact.

Write sensory details to immerse readers in the character's emotional experience, like describing the taste of bitterness or the prickling of anxiety.

Incorporate changes in a character's routine or habits that hint at inner changes, like a punctual character being late, or changing taste in music.

Use the character's reactions to their environment as a reflection of their emotions. The same setting might appear grey and dark to one, but bright and vibrant to another.

Use subtext

Write subtext into dialogue, where characters say one thing but mean another.

Drop subtle hints at emotions that readers can infer rather than spelling everything out.

Experiment with non-verbal communication like meaningful glances, pauses, or hesitations.

Invoke subtext through characters' internal thoughts and uncertainties, without the character fully acknowledging their deeper feelings.

Use dramatic irony, where the reader knows more than the character does about their own feelings or situation.

Develop complex characters

Give your characters conflicting desires, values, and goals to naturally generate internal conflict.

Create backstories that reveal past traumas or experiences that continue to haunt and influence their decisions.

Consider using character flaws and contradictions to highlight internal struggles.

Use relationships to create conflicting desires and expectations.

Give your characters both internal and external conflicts to build tension between dealing with personal struggles and outside problems.

Employ inner monologues

Incorporate introspective moments where characters wrestle with their inner demons, doubts, and fears.

Use first-person or close third-person perspectives to allow readers direct access to the character's thoughts.

Balance inner monologues with external action to maintain pacing and engagement.

Use an unreliable narrator so readers try to distinguish between what is a misperception and what is the truth.

Create inner thoughts that highlight the difference between a character's public persona and their private world.

Create moral dilemmas

Force characters to make difficult decisions that represent turning points in their arcs.

Explore the consequences of a character’s choices on their sense of self and their relationships.

Have your character confront a personal sacrifice where they must question their own motives and values.

Have a character balance loyalty and personal integrity, having to decide where their personal morality lies.

Force a choice between self-preservation and the greater good where their choice not only has personal stakes, but story-wide ones as well.

[mynahx3]

One Moment Was All It Took Part 5

Hello lovelies!!! I am sooo sorry!!! Almost two month later but Part 5 is herrreee. It is a bit longer so hopefully that makes up for it a bit lolol. Part 6 is getting worked on rn, prob the last chapter, max with have 7 parts. Then I'm onto other stories! Warnings!!! Dubcon/ noncon, previous noncon implied, captivity, kidnapping, stokholm syndrome brewing, panic attacks, reader gets into a bad mental space yall Hope everyone enjoys! Inspired by @envy-of-the-apple Soulmate HC

Darkness was all around you.

It was cold and unfeeling; it felt as if you were in an abyss with no end in sight. Falling down forever, the feeling of weightlessness overwhelms your senses. The only sound you could hear was the rushing wind in your ears as you were plummeting through an endless void.

At first, you tried to scream for help, clawing your hands for anything to grab onto, but you soon realized it was pointless. Resignation at your fate settled in, and you closed your eyes, accepting the inevitable. The darkness enveloped you completely, wrapping you in its suffocating embrace.

Just as your body went limp, you felt hands gripping you tightly. You felt them everywhere.

Opening your eyes, you saw nothing still; the feeling of nails digging into your body was overwhelming. The sensation of being pulled in all directions was disorienting, and you couldn't make sense of what was happening. Panic set in as you struggled against the invisible force that seemed to be controlling your every movement.

Nails dug into the flesh of your thighs, your arms, and your chest, leaving painful marks in their wake. You screamed for help, but no sound escaped your lips as you were dragged further into the darkness. Blood seeped from the scratches, hands tearing more at you, as if trying to crawl into your skin. Screams of pain erupted from your lips, hands fighting at the unseen force, but nothing helped.

Losing strength in your body, you began to give in, the unseen force now gentle with your fighting now gone. It gave soft caresses over your skin, almost comforting in its touch. The darkness still enveloped you completely, leaving you feeling both terrified and strangely comforted at the same time. In the distance, you saw two orbs of light approaching. Upon closer inspection, they looked like they were two sapphires, glowing in the darkness with a bright blue hue.

In your weakened state, you reached out to touch them, hearing a voice call out your name as it gradually got louder.

Jolting awake from the nightmare, you felt two hands holding your shoulders, shaking you lightly. Opening your eyes while you sat up, you saw the very cause of your torment.

Satoru sat beside you in bed, the moonlight casting his body in a white glow. Snowy white hair tousled, and his blue eyes filled with worry. Even in the middle of the night, he was breathtaking. You never understood how one human could be so beautiful, especially one so rotten. One who did cruel things to you with a smile on his face.

He looked at you with such softness, his hands cupping your face as tears went down your cheeks. An attempt to comfort you from your nightmares, which have been happening nearly every night. The cold nipped at your bare shoulders, and the nightgown you had on did nothing to help.

"Shh, it's okay." He assured you, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. "You're okay."

His voice was thick with sleep and concern. Sniffing, you only nodded to him, not being able to talk because of the tight feeling in your throat. Your head rested on his bare chest as you allowed him to pull you close, arms tight around your waist.

When this all began, you never would have thought you'd find comfort in your captor. You'd laugh at the irony of it all if the situation weren't so dire. But here you were, finding solace in the arms of the man who held you captive, feeling a strange sense of warmth beside him as much as you tried to fight it. Your isolation and stress only made matters worse.

You were only human, after all.

Weeks, or months, you didn't know, of fighting him with no escape in sight brought down your walls of resistance. It was as if your attempts were child's play to him, with him always being one step ahead at all times. Now all you could do was cling to him for support. The Stockholm syndrome was real, and you were living proof of its power.

You held on to him tighter, desperate for a sense of security after your nightmare. He gladly accepted your affections, a hand rubbing on your back as he whispered soothing words into your ears.

Satoru's determination to break you slowly chipped at your resolve to the point he now let you roam the penthouse freely, of course under strict lock and key. He didn't yet trust you fully enough to let you back into the public. The penthouse was sleek and massive, a testament to the amount of wealth he had, with more rooms than you knew what to do with . It overlooked Tokyo, sitting high in the sky, with breathtaking views of the city. Your favorite was at night, when the lights of the city sparkled below. Every door leading outside was secured with a padlock, which only he knew the code for. He and he alone opened the front door or left it.

Even with the added freedom, you felt the solitude getting to you. It took a toll on your mental and physical health, apparent in the lack of sleep and constant anxiety that plagued your every waking moment. The only solace you found was in the moments of kindness Satoru showed, leaving you conflicted and unsure of your own feelings towards him.

Silence enveloped the room as you calmed down, your cries now replaced with sniffles. Sensing your calmer state, he pulled away from the embrace, a hand cupping your cheek. His eyes always seemed to glow, especially at night.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, concern evident in his voice.

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his touch as he wiped your cheeks. The silence between you felt comfortable, like a safe haven in the midst of chaos. Of course, he had to ruin it by talking.

"Just a bad dream." You dismiss him, avoiding eye contact and pushing his hands away. Immediately, you distanced yourself from him on the bed, leaving his hand to reach out for you.

He only observed you as you tried to settle back down, his hand clenching on his lap and his fingers twitching to feel you again. After any nightmare or panic attack, you always clammed back up. Your walls were back up once you had a moment of clarity.

It was frustrating for the sorcerer. You were so close to letting him in; he could see it, but you always retreated away just when he thought he had made progress. Constantly, he had to chase after you, hoping to get a glimpse of the vulnerability you rarely showed. But he knew that breaking down those walls would take time and patience.

He was only doing this because he had to.

The next morning, you woke before he did, like always.

Sunrays barely began to peek through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Slowly, your mind fully woke up, with small yawns coming from your mouth. While your eyes adjusted, you watched him sleep beside you, tilting your head at the sight of him so peaceful. He lays there without a care in the world, an arm still around you, snoring lightly as he drooled onto his pillow. Fingers reached out to trace over his features lightly, his eyes twitching a little as he dreamed.

Shaking your head at your actions, you went back to getting out of bed, trying to wiggle out of his hold. Groans of protest escaped his lips, his brow furrowing at the loss of heat, his hand reaching for you on the bed, but he quickly fell asleep again. Putting the comforter over his shoulder, you quietly slipped out of bed and made your way to the kitchen to start making breakfast. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as you moved about.

It wasn't that you necessarily wanted to cook for him. Satoru couldn't cook to save his life, and you found it helpful to have a routine to stick to; the consistency brought you some sense of stability. Going through the motions, you whipped together a simple breakfast. For moments like these, you could almost believe things were normal. Almost.

You were so focused that you didn't notice a certain white-haired man walking into the kitchen; he always managed to sneak up on you despite being so loud. His arms wrapped around your waist as you stirred the eggs in the pan, startling you with a jump.

"Morning." His breath fanned over your ear, and his head went to the crook of your neck. He was a bit groggy, his larger body leaning over yours as he kissed your shoulder. "You need help?"

"No, I've got it here," you replied, your voice calm as your heart beat in your chest frantically.

The forced intimacy was something you should be well used to, with how often he pulled you into his arms, but there was still a shiver down your spine at the contact. His large hands wandered over your stomach lazily, a natural response for the clingy man, as he always craved your touch.

You just let him do as he wished. The scar on your left hand is a reminder of what would happen if you pushed him too far. Looking at it, memories of trying to fight him flood your mind. In your rage, you tried to hit him over the head with a glass vase. To your surprise, it only broke just before making contact, with a large shard imbedding itself in your palm and traveling all the way to the other side.

Satoru laughed like it was a joke as you screamed, collapsing to the tile with your bloody hand clutched to your chest. He warned you that next time, he wouldn't be so forgiving. In your pain, he made sure to patch you up gently and clean up the mess. Acting as if it were a simple accident.

He always talked about possessing abilities—ones he couldn't show you because of the "soumate" bond. Ranting on about stories of curses and the rare people that were able to exorcise them, keeping sweet cilvians like yourself safe, as he said. Naturally, you thought it was more of his delusional thoughts.

That day, you were proven wrong. The sight of the vase shattering against an invisible force between the two of you was enough to dampen the fire inside of you. He wasn't human; that much is clear to you now.

Coming back to reality, you felt his hands hiking up your nightgown. His fingers were cold as they traversed underneath. The touch sent shivers down your spine, a stark contrast to the warmth you once felt from him. As his hands continued to explore, you resisted the urge to fight him.

His kisses along your neck and shoulders are harsher, leaving marks in their wake. Marks that would last for days to come. When they finally fade, it will serve as a reminder to make more.

"You'll be late." You remind him, inhaling a sharp breath as his grip tightens on your waist. You tried to reason with him now instead of fighting him, knowing it would be useless. A few times, you've been able to dissuade him, but you knew it would be a matter of time before he took you again.

The urgency of his movements made you uneasy. His hips are moving into yours from behind with a need, making you feel each inch of his hardening cock. Satoru simply ignores you, a hand pulling at your chest, knowing it was a sensitive spot. His actions were becoming more forceful, causing a mix of pleasure and discomfort to surge through you.

Staying strong, you put down your spatula and turn off the fire, putting a hand over his to stop his movements. Eyes looking over at him with a small frown to show how serious you were. He had a pout on his lips, his eye twitching at the interruption. He hated being told no and being denied.

"I'll be fine. I called off today." He explains, focusing back on the skin on your neck. "I figured we should spend more time together since I've been gone a lot lately; I want to get to know you more."

His considerate words were a contrast to his actions. Ignoring your attempts to push him away, he did what he wanted. Both of his hands are on your chest, twisting and pulling at your nipples harshly. Your attempts to stop him and to talk reason to him were futile.

Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around you and picked you up, dropping you onto the counter behind him. He kneeled and slid your legs onto his shoulders in one swift motion, his head disappearing beneath your nightgown. Often, he liked to do this, being between your legs until your essence dripped down his chin and onto the bed. Once, he'd spend hours there, pleasuring you like it was his only purpose in life, not leaving until he had nearly made you pass out.

He couldn't get enough of you.

"Satoru!" You cried out, hands tangling in his hair as his tongue went in circles on your clit. "Satoru, please, not now."

Moans slipped past your lips, feeling the tension building in your core as he continued his skilled movements. The pleasure was overwhelming, and you knew you wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. He had a firm hold on your ass, nail digging in as he kept you in place when you tried to squirm away.

He had gone deaf to your pleas, lost in your taste and the way your body responded to his touch. He loved every second of it. Satoru was only focused on your pleasure, determined to bring you to the edge and beyond. With each flick of his tongue, you felt yourself teetering closer to the release you felt incoming.

Going between licks at your clit to tongue fucking you with a rhythm that had you gasping for air. The intensity of his actions sent shivers down your spine, making you arch your back in ecstasy. Your thighs squeezed around his head in an attempt to get him to stop his actions, but he only laughed, sending vibrations through your body that only heightened your arousal. His skilled touch was driving you wild, sending every nerve ablaze inside you.

With a final flick of his tongue, you reached your peak, crying out his name as waves of pleasure washed over you. He licked you clean, savoring each drop from you. Satoru finally released you, a satisfied smirk on his face as he looked up at you with dark eyes filled with desire. His chin dripped with your release, a smile on his face as he gazed up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of satisfaction and hunger. Turning his head, he laid kisses on your inner thigh, and one of his hands rubbed your leg as you calmed down from your high. Your chest is heaving, with a layer of sweat on it. The fabric of the nightgown stuck to your skin.

"Such a good girl."

Smiling still, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up. As he did, he began to pull his sweats down and let his cock free. It stood hard and erect, pre-dripping from the pink head.

Shame filled you, making you avert your eyes from his gaze.

In response, he only kissed your temple, letting you look away from him as he began. Guiding his member to your sopping entrance, he began to push in with no warning. The pain shot through you as he entered you roughly, causing tears to well up in your eyes. You tried to push him away, but his grip on your hips was too strong. Hands went on his shoulders, but he only tightened his grip on you, whispering in your ear that everything would be okay.

"Almost there, baby." He groaned into your neck while he stayed still, letting you adjust to his size.

No matter how many times you've been intimate with him, there was still a small amount of pain felt. You sobbed into his chest, hiccuping at the violation, with your arms moving around his neck. He held you close, comforting you with small kisses as the pain slowly subsided.

Felling you begin to relax, he experimentally thrust, gaining a small moan from you. His movements were slow and gentle, showing care and consideration for your comfort. As he found a rhythm, the initial discomfort faded away, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure.

The kitchen was filled with his loud moans and yours, even as you tried to muffle them to the best of your ability. His onslaught was relentless, the pace quickening as he became more consumed by desire, and the grip on your hips was near painful.

Opening your eyes, you looked past Satoru, your eyes blank as he continued to thrust. The eggs continued to cook with the left-over heat. Dust was on the cabinets; you'd be sure to clean them today. You noticed the clock on the wall stopped moving; you'd have to replace the batteries. The aroma of breakfast filled the room, mixing with the scent of sweat and desire.

You often let your mind wander during these moments, focusing on the sensations rather than the reality of the situation. Imagining yourself in your fiance's arms was one distraction you welcomed, but it was a dangerous game if you ever slipped his name. Your imagination could never mask what was happening, but it helped.

His noises filled your ears, as if to be a constant reminder of what you did to him. Grabbing your face harshly, he focused your eyes back on him. It's like he knew what you were doing—an emotion in his eyes you couldn't describe.

The varying blues of his eyes mesmerized you each time you saw them so close. It was like gazing into a stormy sea, both beautiful and terrifying. The intensity of his gaze made it impossible to look away, drawing you in despite the fear that lingered beneath the surface.

"You're mine," he growled, his grip tightening on your cheeks. The fear in your eyes mirrored the reality of the situation—no longer being able to hide behind daydreams.

Roughly, his lips met yours as if to claim you completely. His tongue explored every crevice of your mouth, leaving you breathless. Your legs tightened around him, nails sinking into his back, in response to a certain movement that hit a spot inside you. He finally broke from the kiss, returning his attention to your eyes. He could see from the look in your eyes and your drooling mouth that you were close, your body trembling in pleasure.

This urged him to move faster, with one of his hands moving between the two of you to rub at your clit. His fingers are rubbing in fast circles, the movement sending you closer to the edge. With each thrust, the pleasure intensified, building towards an inevitable climax.

The feeling of you around him was pure bliss, a sensation he would never grow tired of. The slaps of his hips on yours became more forceful, matching the urgency of your moans and the increasing pace of his movements. You clenched around him, your eyes rolling back as you felt your end coming closer. Satoru was not far behind, his face a bright red and his movements sloppy.

With a final push, he buried himself deep inside you, releasing a guttural groan as you both reached the peak of pleasure together. His cum filled you as your insides milked him for all his worth as his cock twitched inside you.

Panting for air, you held him close, legs shaking on either side of him from overstimulation. You felt his warmth fill you to the brim, spilling onto the countertops. As you both came down from the intense high, you shared a moment of silence.

He spent it in glee, and you spent it in contempt. You hated yourself for giving in. For not fighting harder. For succumbing to his touches. The fear and instinct to survive overpowered any sense of dignity or self-respect you had left. More tears silently went down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat and other fluids that coated your skin.

Giving you a softer kiss on the lips, he pulled back with a soft smile. With eyes filled with tenderness, you often thought he truly believed his delusions. His hands still rubbed along your body to massage the soreness that would come shortly; he was always too rough with you.

"Come on. We'll take a shower together." He said, he looked content with himself as he pulled out, earning a whimper from you. His shoulders were relaxed, and a sense of satisfaction was evident in his expression. He breathed slowly and deeply while he waited for a response, his fingers still trailing along your thighs.

You got the feeling it was more of an order than a suggestion; he did like the intimacy bathing together brought.

"You'll feel better."

Nodding to him quietly, you let him help you off the counter. Standing on shaky legs as you tried to walk to the bathroom. He only laughed at the sight, letting you continue to try and walk. Your legs only shook more with each step; you looked like a deer learning to walk for the first time.

For awhile, he let you keep trying to walk, only stepping in once you had nothing to support yourself with anymore. With ease, he picked you up bridal style, making jokes at your expense. He laughed when he saw the embarrassed expression on your face, digging in more.

The bath was relaxing, as much as you hated to admit it.

With plenty of soap filling the large tub, Satoru sat across from you. He talked on and on, focused on plans for the day as you wash yourself. Only humming in response to all of his questions and obviously avoiding speaking to him.

He noticed when you answered a question with another hum. With a roll of his eyes, he splashed you with water to catch your attention. Jumping in response, you splashed him back on habit, only for the water to slide down that damn force field of his as he smiled at you with a shit eating grin.

"As I was saying, babe, I think we should have a marathon. I saw a series you like has a new season out."

You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes at his persistence, hands raised to scrub the shampoo into your hair. Eyes looking to the side of the tube to distract yourself, you still haven't gotten used to him trying to be so domestic.

"Fine, but only if we get the snacks I want," you retort, a little part of you looking forward to it.

You froze at the realization, frowning as to why you thought that. You hated him. Despised what he did to you and what he continued to do. Deep, deep down, despite how much you buried it, you felt a small connection forming with him.

Focusing again, you saw his gaze on you. You slapped his arm; your physical attacks always made contact, after all, when you saw where they were directed. He had been shamlessly oogling your wet, soapy breasts.

"Stop being a creep," you scolded, feeling a mix of annoyance and discomfort. You quickly covered yourself with one arm, hoping to put some distance between yourself and him as you scooted away.

"Stop being so hot then."

Slapping his arm again, just as hard, he gasped in shock, pretending to look heartbroken, his hand clutching his chest. He had red spots forming on his biceps from your hits against his pale skin.

"You're impossible," you muttered, glaring at his wide grin. Despite his inappropriate behavior, there was a part of you that couldn't help but find him charming in a twisted sort of way. If you had met under different circumstances, there might have been a chance you could have been friends.

"What?" He challenged, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly enjoying the banter between the two of you. "Gonna do something to make me stop?"

To further his point, his eyes focused down once more and then back up at your face, his eyebrows wiggling playfully. Lifting your hands up, you covered his eyes with your hands, blocking his view, much to his mock protest. Your palms were flat up against his eyes, not letting anything slip by .

"Not cool." His lips pouted, but he made no attempt to escape your grasp. If anything, he leaned into your touch, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. To your surprise, his hands sprang up over yours when you began to move them in an attempt to take them back. He pleaded with you for them to stay.

"Can… Can we stay like this for a bit longer?"

His voice was the softest you have ever heard, and the vulnerability in his tone caught you off guard. He'd always been playful and carefree, but in this moment, he seemed fragile and in need of comfort. It tugged at your heartstrings, and you couldn't help but oblige his request.

You don't know what came over you, but you found yourself moving closer to him in the tub. Continuing to offer him support as you both sat in comfortable silence, his hands still resting on yours.

The rest of the day went by peacefully. You'd even go so far as to say it was nice.

As he promised, the two of you relaxed on the couch to watch the show after breakfast and changed into comfortable clothing. He currently held you next to him, a blanket over the both of you. Regardless of your best efforts to avoid it, his arm was wrapped around your shoulder. You caved in after he persisted.

"I told you they would go that route; it only made sense!"

"You don't need to rub it in." He said it with a defeated tone, popping another piece of candy into his mouth.

The two of you had a debate about which direction the show would go when you saw the warning signs. It was obvious to you that the best friend would betray the main character in the end. You were just hoping you were wrong.

Sighing like a child, Satoru moved to get up; his phone had chimed with a notification. He glanced down at the screen, his expression turning grim as he read the message.

"Gotta take this, babe; keep watching."

You only shrugged at him in response, picking up the remote to switch to live TV as he left the room. Both of you had already finished the newest season; the sun is long set now. Browsing through the channels, you only saw a few reruns of old movies, the midnight crime shows you used to watch, and a late-night talk show discussing the latest celebrity gossip from a couple years ago. The room was filled with the soft glow of the TV screen, casting shadows across the walls as you settled in for another night of mindless entertainment.

Picking a random channel since nothing caught your interest, you moved to pick up a book you'd left on the stand beside the couch, turning on the small lamp to read instead. As you flipped through the pages, the sound of laughter from the TV faded into the background, replaced by the quiet rustling of paper. The familiar smell of the book brought a sense of comfort; books were often your only source of entertainment here since Satoru only let you use the TV when he was with you.

Minutes went by as you read to yourself; Satoru was still down the hall on the phone. You often saw him pacing the halls, shooting you a look to check in at times. Immersed in the book, you didn't pay him any mind; you were used to him constantly checking in on you.

Just as you began to relax, you heard the voice of someone familiar. Someone you thought you'd never hear or see again.

Looking up at the TV in shock, you saw the news station was on, showing an interview with your family. You'd forgotten Satoru didn't like you watching live TV, always mentioning he meant to cancel it. Now you knew why.

On the large LED screen, you saw your loved ones in tears, crying out over your disappearance. They looked devastated, pleading for your safe return. Your heart sank, seeing how distraught they were. Tears began to well in your eyes, your emotions overwhelming you.

A tight feeling in your chest made it harder to breathe; your breaths came in short bursts. Panic began to fill your veins, the book dropping beside you as you stood up. Your fiancé was now on screen. He appeared worn, exhausted, and shattered. A shadow of the man he once was, he gazed directly into the camera, his eyes filled with desperation as he whispered, "Please come back to me."

Your hands trembled as you reached out towards the screen, wishing to be with him. It had been almost five months since you'd disappeared; the only thing left of you was a ransacked apartment. Five months were spent alone with this man. This monster.

More panic filled you as your thoughts raced and your heart beat frantically in your chest. Your hands began to shake as you realized how long it had been. A strangled cry escaped your lips as you collapsed to the floor, arms wrapped around yourself, in a desperate attempt to calm your racing heart. The weight of the situation finally hit you, and tears began to stream down your face. You made sounds you never would have imagined—sounds that were hurting and broken.

Satoru ran back into the room once he heard your cries, coming back to find you shattered in pieces. It was easy for him to figure out what happened. He kneeled down beside you, gently pulling you into his arms and whispering soothing words in your ear. His presence did nothing to soothe you, only causing you to fight in his arms more. Pushing on him to get away from him, you felt like the room was caving in on you. His suffocating presence only made things worse. You needed space to process your emotions, but Satoru refused to let you go, holding you tighter. The more he tried to comfort you, the more you felt like you were drowning in your own despair.

Eventually, like always, you tired yourself out. Crying softly as he cradled you in his arms. Your chest still hiccupped, but you no longer screamed like you did before. Vocal cords are raw now and in pain. Your eyes are red and puffy from your tears.

"Why?" you whispered, the word barely audible through your hoarse voice. Satoru held you closer, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears of his own. You'd never seen him cry before; the hold on you is tighter than before.

"I love you."

His declaration only served to make you cry more.

Shaking your head, you continued to try and push away from him. You pleaded with him to let you go through your tears. The entire time, he peppered your face with kisses, declaring his love in between each one. He is desperate to get you to see through his words and actions. It was suffocating—his so called love, the look in his eyes he held for you, the intensity of his emotions palpable in the air around you.

"I can't let you go… Not ever…"

Hugging you close, he made you rest your head on his shoulder, his hand caressing your hair. Even now, he was rough. His hand gripped your hair a little too tightly, making you wince in pain. The position on the floor was uncomfortable for the both of you, but he didn't seem to notice or care. Too engrossed in his own emotions, he seemed blind to your discomfort.

Laying limp in his arms, your tired eyes wandered back to the screen where the interview continued. Seeing your loved ones, you felt that spark in you return—that will to fight— even as small as it was. 

OOOhhh what will happennnn??~~~ I hope you guys liked this chapter. You saw how the dynamic worked with him now since it's months down the line. Will he fully break her? Will she try to escape despite her fears?? We'll findd outt

[willowser]

satoru avoids you.

it's easy to tell with him, when most mornings have you wrapped sweetly up in the expanse of his warmth; face tucked into your neck, a hand half up your shirt, lanky leg tangled between yours. but the bed is empty, and you let the silence live, for now. sometimes he needs it.

faintly, you can hear him tinkering in the kitchen, though satoru hardly does anything quietly. how gently he's setting his utensils and plate in the sink is with purpose, like he's trying to keep you asleep for just a moment longer. it's unusual, is all: him not wanting for your attention every chance he can get it.

you stretch out into the space his long limbs are no longer hoarding, sighing a little breathlessly, as if you need to be quiet, too—and when you run a hand across your sleepy face, something scratches you. something sitting on your finger that most certainly was not there the night before.

it's rather simple, in the best way; almost inconspicuous, if it weren't adorned on your hand, right in front of your face. you don't doubt it still cost him an arm and a leg, but—there are no frills, no in-character, extravagant designs, no fluff.

there is only a single band and a small diamond, one that is almost a gentle blue in the light of the morning.

you're sitting there, staring at it blankly when satoru finally returns, though he still doesn't look at you.

"well, well, well," the grin in his voice is obvious, and you feel a distant relief that his tone is teasing, that his spirits are up. and then you feel a belated annoyance that he's daring to say anything about you being in bed. "look who's finally up."

it's still a bit early, you want to remind him, but he's already at his closet with an urgency in his step, picking out a set of clothes that give the impression he's not going to be crawling back into bed with you.

he continues, like he knows what you're thinking. "the one time itadori is early..." and he trails off with a shake of his head, running a hand through his hair as if he doesn't know to wear the same thing he does every time he trains with the students.

and you see it there on him, too.

almost blending in with his hair, a little, white silicone band that's hugging the base of his long finger, almost like the two of you have already up and done the ceremony and said your vows and til' death do you part, amen.

you finally say something when he tugs his shirt over his head in a hurry.

"do you really think this is a good idea?"

the dust has settled, but he is still gojo satoru.

it's taken a long time just for you to get here with him, enjoying a lazy morning in his home, seeing his hair still sleep-mussed, granted the quiet, intimate view of him pulling on his pants. he kept you an arm's length away for almost too long, for a numerous amount of reasons he's never listed for you, and you've never held it against him because you know why he worries. why he has to.

your question is genuine, though he is anything but.

he turns to look at you, all smiles. "have a little faith in me, peach, i practically taught him everything he knows! i can handle the kid."

you pull your knees up to your chest to hug, frowning. "i'm being serious."

satoru's expression softens, but only just. he flaps a hand at you as if to wave off your worry, before turning back around to pluck his shirt out. "have i ever been wrong about anything?"

you watch the marble of his back as he pushes his hair out of his face, blindfold at the ready, before slipping out of bed. he's still bare, and you press your cheek into his spine, wrapping your arms around his little waist. the affection makes him tense; you half-expected him to shut you out.

"satoru," you murmur into his skin, and when you peek around his shoulder to meet his reflection in the mirror, all you're allowed is dark fabric.

—but then he tugs one side up and levels you with his bright stare. "i do," he says, and the irony of his words has you flushing a bit. "i do think it's a good idea."

you can feel his heartbeat through his back, heavy and human, and you wait until his stomach flexes with all his nerves before biting him on the back of the arm. he lets you.

"okay," you press a smile into him, warm, until it spreads to his own face. "i do, too."

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 32 - Resolve

Story so far

Another long one… what can I say, once I actually got the two of them talking everything just… resurfaces 😏

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

“Scott? What’s wrong? What did I say?”

“It’s nothing. We should probably head back.”

“No. No, we clearly need to talk about this.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not! You’re been like this since… You need to tell me what happened! What did I do? Scott? What did I say?”

Scott looked pained. Virgil’s heart sank a little further.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. You weren’t… well.”

“And yet despite that you clearly aren’t able to shrug it off as hallucinogenic nonsense? Whatever it was has clearly been bothering you, Scott.”

His brother looked as if he were about to respond but then spun on his heel and walked the few metres down to the shoreline and stood for a moment staring at the horizon, before kicking a large pebble into the path of a wave.

The resolved look on Scott’s face as he turned back had Virgil bracing himself but then it dissolved into doubt and his brother couldn’t meet his eye.

“Just tell me Scooter. Please? I really really need to know.”

Scott crouched to pick up a small shell and turned it over in his fingers. His voice was small, uncertain and directed somewhere in the region of Virgil’s ankles.

“You were… angry.”

Virgil’s memory of the first few days of his illness was… patchy at best. Mostly grey fluffy confusion, there but not there. Like hearing dialogue of a film from behind several closed doors. There were a few moments of bright, highly saturated emotions but bigger areas of deep overwhelming darkness. He thought he could remember being angry, the sense of losing hold of his calm… but when he tried to recall why the reason slid sideways and he hit one of the dark spots. All he had was the impression he was being held back from something he needed. But it was so faint it could have been a distant childhood memory.

“I didn’t hurt someone??” He didn’t say the word ‘again’ but his mind shouted it at him.

“No! No, we were all fine.” Scott sprang to his feet as the need to reassure obviously kicked in but hesitated midway through reaching out to catch Virgil’s arm. Somehow that restraint hurt more than anything else.

Virgil squared his shoulders. “But I tried to hurt someone… didn’t I?”

“You… you may have tried to push me down a cliff”

“Oh. Oh Scott… I’m so sorry…”

“It’s alright, you missed, ha. We had to catch you in the end, you weren’t very coordinated and um... Yeah it was all fine. And err… well. It was clear you thought I was… someone else.”

Blurry pieces drifted together and seemed to snap into place as if magnetised.

Oh. That again.

“I thought you were Dad didn’t I?”

“Um, yeah.”

The irony was definitely painful.

“Ah.”

“I don’t understand Virgil, why do you hate him so much? What did he ever…? Did he…?” Scott closed his eyes and clenched his fists by his side “Did he hurt you? Did he DO something to you or… or the others that I… I should know about? Because you need to tell me if…

“No! Nonono, Scott, not… nothing like that! He didn’t do anything to me! I don’t hate him! It’s just…”

The relief flooding through Scott’s features made the words stick in Virgil’s throat. Was there a way of explaining this that didn’t damage the vision he carried of his idol?

“Then why were you so angry? There was… something in your eyes that… I’ve never seen it before. I’ve never seen you so full of hate, it… I won’t lie, it scared me, Virgil.”

“Look, Scott I don’t hate him. I have never had any desire to hurt him. I don’t really remember what I was thinking…”

“But you don’t look all that surprised?”

Virgil sighed heavily.

“I guess you know what happened last time.”

“I made John tell me what he could, yeah.”

“Then you probably know more than I do. Somehow we never got around to discussing it. But I sometimes get these nightmares that might be related to back then… where I’m trying to save you from falling and Dad is holding me back.”

“That’s why you ended up on the roof that time.”

“Perhaps.”

“But you know Dad would have helped save me? Any of us? That was kind of his thing!”

“Sure he would.”

Scott looked at him appraisingly “But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“It’s just that… I just… get frustrated at… how he… uh…”

Virgil realised he was gesticulating at Scott as if he was the problem and hurried to explain before his brother could assume the worst:

“I hated how he treated you! You always just said he pushed you only as hard as you needed to be pushed but you didn’t! You didn’t need it! All that happened was you never felt you were good enough!”

“I… wow, ok. But maybe I wasn’t, Virg? That’s ok! It’s… it’s ok? It’s alright to know you have things to improve, areas to strengthen. Look, you were younger and maybe it’s hard to see fault in your older…”

“NO!”

Scott paused with his mouth half open but Virgil didn’t even notice. Decades of frustration at never being able to win this particular battle in any of its myriad forms surged up like gas hissing from an opened can. Virgil didn’t shout. Virgil was the calm one. But he couldn’t hold the bubbles back anymore - the words overflowed before he realised they were in his head:

“Don’t even think about making this out to be some kind of unthinking hero worship. At least not on MY part - believe me I am well aware of your many faults. They drive me crazy on a daily basis!”

Even before Scott had time to flush with hurt Virgil was regretting he’d let that one slip out.

“I’m sorry. That was unfair. I didn’t mean…”

Scott appeared to skip over the personal slight and interrupted:

“I don’t worship him, Virgil. I know he had his faults. But I think maybe you forget everything he achieved and the least I can do is try to honour that by not screwing it all up now he’s… gone.”

“Do you know how I know he thought you were good enough, Scott?” Virgil interrupted.

“I… he thought I what?

“He told me. Repeatedly.”

Scott looked blank. Uncomprehending. And if that didn’t just sum the whole bloody thing up. The bubbles fizzed at the edges of Virgil’s temper:

“Did you see what Scott just did? Did you hear about Scott? Isn’t he smart? Isn’t he clever? Watch Scott, Virgil, he’ll show you how. Look at Scott, he’s so brave. Just try to be like Scott and you’ll be ok… Stick with Scott, he’ll see you right…”

The fizz subsided a little and Virgil took a breath. He wasn’t convinced Scott was going to do the same without a reminder so he took a side step and nudged him in the ribs with his elbow until his brother gasped and drew in some much needed oxygen. He reached down and took his big brother’s hand again. It wrapped around and squeezed back. They walked in silence like that for a few moments and Virgil suddenly felt 8 years old again, exploring the countryside around the farm, trying to elongate each step to match his big brother’s longer gait and not slow him down. The same sun beat down on them.

The silence broke that illusion though - young Scotty had always been talking at a mile a minute on their walks, either pointing out birds, the tiny rustlings of animals on the move or how that lump of rock looked like a ship and that cloud that looked like a plane and Virgil-did-you-know-there’s-a-way-you-can-solve-rubix-cubes-and-always-get-the-right-answer?

Older Scotty was quiet.

“He didn’t need to tell me any of it. I knew. But he never told YOU did he?”

“Of course he… I mean… I mean, well… he… he was… encouraging?”

“He never told you and you never believed it when I told you and do you know how hard it is to grow up seeing the person you love most in the world not think they deserve it?”

“I… I’m sorry?”

“No. Don’t. Please don’t do that. That’s not… this isn’t about me.”

“It should be - you’re the one who got sick! And you shouldn’t have been worrying about… things like that! About me. I made your life harder by making you worry and that’s on me. And so I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, I don’t think it was all his either! He…” His brother’s voice cracked a little and he stared up at the sky. “He was a great man. A good father.”

“Scott listen, I don’t think he was a bad person, I loved him dearly and I think he was doing his best and… maybe there’s a lot of people who thinking being a good parent is all pushing your kid to greater and greater heights but… you deserved better. You deserved to know you were enough. That you always were! That…” Virgil waved wildly with his free hand “… that you would have been more than enough even without ANY of the impressive achievements and you know what? I am furious at him. It makes me so angry that I grew up knowing that and you didn’t. You are more than enough and I am so very sick and tired of him pushing you and pushing you from beyond the grave!”

Scott stopped walking and Virgil’s shoulder jerked a little as his body tried to leave his hand behind in his big brother’s vice grip. He turned back and used the free arm to pull Scott into a hug. Aware that his mouth was now right next to his brothers ear he made sure to moderate his volume, but that meant it was harder to stop his voice shaking.

“Since I was ten and I found you curled up in the hayloft sobbing your heart out because HE couldn’t see how hard you tried, I made it my mission to get you to see how good you are but it feels like I’ve failed over and over and over because no matter what I say, HIS voice is always louder. Just a bit more, just push harder, be more like me.”

He dropped his head onto Scott’s shoulder and drew in a couple of breaths. Then pulled back and looked him in the eye,

“I wish you’d listen to me and not him. The world doesn’t another Jeff Tracy. It needs Scott. We need Scott. I… I need Scott.”

“You still have me. I’m right here!”

“Sometimes there is so much Dad when I look at you that I can’t see Scott anymore. It’s like the part of you that’s you fades to… to…”

“Grey?”

“Yeah…”

Scott sighed heavily.

“But Virg, isn’t that just how I am? It’s always been that way. It was a standing joke as long as I can remember. I’ve always been his mark two haven’t I?”

“Not exactly… you were always a bit like him but a lot more like you. Even after Mom… when you took on so much, you did it your way. Then he… left and… you got more frantic. You were always fast, impulsive but before Dad left us it was different. You were fast and impulsive in your own way but I didn’t spend every mission worrying that this would be the one when I couldn’t catch you if you fell.”

Scott sank down on to the sand.

“And now you do.”

Virgil hummed then dropped down next to him and dipped his head on to his brother’s shoulder.

“I’ve scared you so many times. I’m so sorry.”

He bit back the automatic response that it was ok. It wasn’t. He wasn’t. That had been made abundantly clear.

“What if I don’t know how else to be? All I want to do, all I ever wanted to do is to look after you all and yet somehow I’m just upsetting you… I’m screwing it up so badly it’s making you sick with stress but I don’t know how to fix it!”

The world seemed to go silent around them as Virgil realised this might be a threshold moment - what he said next might be the one chance he had to change things. He straightened up and took hold of Scott’s hand again:

“Could you listen?”

“I am! I’m listening, Virgil, I’m trying! I just don’t know what to…”

“I don’t mean now. I mean out on a rescue”.

“I always listen, I need your expertise, we’re a team! All of us.”

“When I say stop. Will you listen?”

“I…”

“When John says ‘wait’ because he doesn’t know if it’s safe, will you listen?”

“I… I do?”

“You don’t. Whatever voice you’re listening to every time you leap into the unknown, Scott, it isn’t ours. Or John’s. Or Gordon’s. Even Alan and Kayo sometimes…”

“What, so I’m supposed to ignore my own judgment and experience as to my capabilities and prefer a literal child’s opinion?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“I mean those times when even you can’t see a way through… but you dive in anyway and hope? I think you’ve performed so many apparent miracles your default Plan B is now to throw yourself in between and rely on whatever lucky streak has kept you alive to date because that’s what…”

“That’s what Dad would have done.”

“Yeah.”

The sound of the sea intruded again and Virgil counted the waves as he waited.

After the water had hissed back and forth over the sand twelve times, Scott took a deep breath.

“I can do that.”

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: Handjob

Words: 2k

[A/N: Happy Easter Sunday lmao, also whoever picks up all of the 'easter eggs' (get it wink wink) gets a kith and hug from me (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

Previous Next

III. 

Viktor stood frozen, the voice that whispered those words echoing against the walls of his head as he gazed upon the creature before him, a figure blindingly bright yet of simultaneously all-consuming darkness. The sight obscured his thoughts and left him adrift in a sea of terror. How could he have been so blind as to believe that he could command such power without consequence? Or rather, was it the naivete of believing nothing would come of it that turned against him? 

The very essence of his faith fractured—that earth-shattering feeling that had become all too common for him that day—threatened by this insidious presence. What had he unleashed upon the world? What horrors awaited him in the wake of his hubris? Viktor trembled, and his soul lay bare before the abyss, but something sinister took him out of this blossoming meltdown; she, the creature, looked familiar.

And achingly so, yet her form eluded him like a half-remembered dream. Faces swirled in the depths of his memory, merging and shifting like shadows cast by a flickering flame, but he was unable to put a finger on them.

"Do you not recognize me, Viktor?" Her voice cut through the air, eerily sweet.

Viktor recoiled in horror at the sound of his own name coming out of her mouth, the weight of her words crashing down upon him. 

“I manifest to you as a reflection of your own desires, an amalgamation of every soul you have ever yearned for, sweet human.” She hissed as she offered Viktor a hand to help him stand, her touch oddly warm as they both sat on the bed. “Do you not see it? That young woman from the bakery, or the one you always look at for a tad too long while you buy turnips? You don’t even like turnips,” she smiled slightly. “What about that woman who comes to confess every week? The one with the slightly hoarse voice that you love, even that tan young man with the green eyes,. Yes, yes, I know about him too; I am him too.”

“Who…what are you?” He asked amidst a short-lived surge of bravery.

“My name is Legion,” she said with an off-putting tone of irony, “for we are many... or however that verse goes. Mawkishly sentimental if you ask me.” She chuckled and seemed to deflate in disappointment at her attempt at humor not being acknowledged. She sighed in oddly human-like resignation, “I don’t have a name, Viktor, but I know yours , and you know what I am.”

"I seek nothing from the likes of you, Demon, you don’t know me." he declared, though doubt gnawed at him.

"You do, and it is the truth that I know you; your biggest fear is to remain ignorant and blind to the truths that lie beyond the veil of your mortal existence; I can feel it. " She whispered against his ear. 

"You are but a trick of the darkness; I will not succumb to your temptations."

"Oh, but Viktor, you already have ," she purred. "You summoned me here, drawn by your own curiosity. Your anger simmers beneath that stoic surface, against the silence of the heavens and the absence of answers to your prayers. But I answered, so why direct your anger at me ?"

“I have faith in Him; God will intercede in my favor.” He said, covering his face ith both hands, afraid his expression would betray something that confirmed her accusations.

“Yet you question his wisdom and his justice. You resent his silence, you doubt .”

“I love Him, and I will repent; I will.”

“Why? Faith without cynicism is a hollow shell. Will you let yourself be domesticated like a beast? A man of science like yourself?”

The spark of courage grew into embers inside Viktor’s chest at the mention of his work. Although he remained silent, not wanting to concede, she saw it in him, just like she experienced every emotion that grew within the transparent exterior that contained his soul.

“Embrace this fire, and you will obtain what you seek.” She said, gently laying a hand over Viktor’s. 

His shoulders slumped in resignation, but even as he acquiesced to her demands, a seed of guilt still remained. What would God think of him now for consorting with a creature of darkness? Would he be cast aside and condemned for eternity for his folly?

"What do you fear, judgement?” Viktor nodded.

“Your god is nothing but an egregore," she declared, her voice a whisper. "A figment of mortal imagination, born from the collective beliefs of humanity, he only has power over you if you allow it."

“God is my shepherd, He…” He started to recite, but his voice betrayed him.

“Yahweh, Tetragrammaton, Adonai, El, Elohim, Shaddai, Tzevaot… it does not matter who you so fervently pray to! Ancient egregores hold no power over the ancient gods.” She started saying in a firm tone, her volume high in affront. “And you, my sweet, are so unfortunately Christ hunted…a lot of work to be done.” She continued, her voice tuning back down to her previously silky tone.

Viktor's breath caught in his throat, but simultaneously, the weight of her words lifted a heavy chain that had previously hung around his neck. Although this—his God’s identity and how much power He held—seemed to be a point of contention between him and his conscience, every word she uttered seemed to confirm things he had been long thinking about. But the smell of culpability Viktor emanated was pungent, and what she saw in his heart was a whirlwind.

She was proud that he had let himself be guided by his urges, that he had, even if only for a small moment, felt true freedom in pleasure. She felt his fear when he remembered he would need to face father Isidore and then she felt his rage. He felt so strongly against him that for a second she imagined he would be nothing short of a monster, his robust yet sweet face was an interesting sight to find framed in Viktor’s memory. 

She felt sympathy and sadness and confusion, she felt worried for the young girl with the twin braids just like Viktor had, and felt intrigued as to how she had come in possession of her coin, but what mattered most to her in that moment was one problematic sensation; despondency. Viktor was close to giving up, he had nearly decided rage was useless and so was science.

“Let’s begin by working on the heavy guilt you carry.” She said, after a long silence. Viktor noticed an unsettling tenderness in her eyes when he, for the first time, looked directly into them. 

“I made a vow.” He answered, his voice breaking as it turned into a whisper.

"Do not let the chains of guilt bind you, Viktor," she murmured. "The church may preach of purity and righteousness, but it is built upon a foundation of hypocrisy, and you don’t need me to tell you as much.”

“I know of the behavior of some members of the clergy, but why should...”

“I don’t speak of individual transgressions; the church as an institution seeks to negate eroticism and sexuality, yet it embraces them in its most sacred rites.”

The deeply puzzled expression in Viktor’s face prompted her to elaborate.

“Think about the things you do during sacrament; think of the smell of incense, the touching of beads, the kissing of sacred objects, the rubbing of oils... Think about consuming the physical body of the idol you adore, and think about what it makes you feel—enlightenment, apotheosis. Remember the deep pleasure you extracted from the pain of self-penitence? It’s nearly devine, is it not? That necessity to envelop all senses?” 

Viktor nodded.

“And that feeling you get of being close to god in a way that nothing else will get you to—that sensation of being outside the perception of time and space—have you experienced it?”

“I have, in prayer.”

“Can I show you what true ecstasy feels like? One that starts and culminates in yourself without any divine intervention? 

And once again, Viktor simply nodded. The air crackled with a tension thick enough to suffocate him, his breath shallow and rapid. A rush of anticipation surged through him, mingling with a primal curiosity that threatened to consume him whole as she slithered behind him. The shift of weight on the mattress gave him a strange awareness of the materiality of what was taking place, and the hot breath on the left side of his neck caused the last string of sanity holding him together to loosen. 

For a second, he wondered if she was nothing but a very sly yet human woman that had somehow found a way into his room, but that idea was quickly quenched as both of her hands slowly glided along the sides of his still-clothed thighs, emanating that unnatural white glow that was clearly not of mortal nature. 

Her touch was delicate and warm, her nails slowly creeping up to the hem of his cassock as she pulled it up to reveal the trousers underneath. If Viktor had any idea of what she planned on doing, he would have been of more help, adjusting to make his clothing easier to remove, but unaware of what awaited him, he sat there immobile. 

After some mild struggle, she managed to get to the stubborn clasp, and the slight accidental touches ignited a fire within Viktor's veins, sending tendrils of heat coursing through his body. Soon enough, there was nothing in between them, and the cold air that came into contact with the streak of viscosity that had dampened his underpants sent goosebumps across his arms. 

She hadn’t even made her way to his cock yet, but with each gentle caress around his stomach and thighs, Viktor's senses were heightened to a fever pitch, his body aflame with a hunger that burned brighter than any candle. With the first feather touch along his shaft, he felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, poised on the brink of a pleasure so exquisite it bordered on agony. 

And then, with a slow and deliberate motion, her hand closed around him, sending shockwaves of ecstasy racing through every fiber of his being. A guttural moan escaped his lips as she began to move, her rhythm mechanic and intoxicating. With every teasing stroke, Viktor's breath hitched, his body responding eagerly to her touch. 

"Ah…God!" he gasped, his voice a hoarse whisper of longing. 

She froze on her tracks, drawing out a protesting whine from Viktor. “Do not call upon his name now; at this moment, you belong to me .” She spoke, her voice still sweet but laced with a tinge of resentment.

Viktor's mind swam in a haze, his thoughts fragmented and disjointed as he desperately nodded in agreement, before she resumed the pace of her moment. And then Viktor felt himself hurtling his head back onto her shoulder, his world reduced to nothing. She gently removed the sweat-drenched pieces of hair from his forehead and whispered words in a language he could not understand while her hand continued its path down to his neck and back. 

 For a second, he felt a reminder of the stinging pain on his shoulder blades, and then it faded. As he reached the climax of his arousal, he cried out desperate pleas, only this time to her and himself, finally surrendering to this intoxicating embrace. After letting him breathe for a while, she took one of his hands in hers and placed the copper coin on it. Viktor knew he was bound to her now.

And in that moment, there was no room for guilt or shame, only the unquenchable thirst for more.

[ruinofchimera]

“No one confirmed Barty Crouch Jr.’s house, and thinking of him as a Ravenclaw is just a headcanon.”

Fine, sure. But to shove him into Slytherin? That’s bloody lazy. Worse, it’s dead wrong on every level that matters.

As Sirius put it, it was a “nasty little shock” for a man like Crouch Sr.—a ruthless crusader against Death Eaters and their pure-blood supremacy filth. But if Junior had been sorted into Slytherin, the shock would’ve hit with the force of a blunt spoon, not the gut punch it clearly was. Slytherin, home of Death Eater wannabes, would’ve set alarm bells ringing in Crouch Sr.’s head. He would’ve been preparing his “I knew this was coming” face right after the Sorting—a bloody bright red flag waving in his face.

And word would’ve spread. If the son of one of the Ministry’s most relentless Death Eater hunters had slithered into Slytherin, people would’ve talked. People would’ve wondered. It’d be irony so sharp it could draw blood—Crouch, the man so desperate to stamp out darkness, watching his own heir settle into the snake pit. It’d reek of defeat, right where it stung most.

But no. The shock told a different story. It wasn’t the expected disappointment of a son straying down a dangerous road; it was the stunned disbelief of a man hit where he least expected. Barty Jr.’s fall into the Dark Arts came from nowhere—or at least nowhere his father could’ve foreseen. No whispers. No ominous signs. Just a good little boy turning bad when no one was watching.

See, if Barty had been sorted into Slytherin, no one would’ve asked “how did this happen?” No soul-searching, no hand-wringing—just a shrug and the usual mutterings about Slytherin breeding dark wizards. The wizarding world would’ve talked for about five minutes before collectively shrugging and saying, ‘Well, there’s Slytherin for you.’ Simple. Easy. Neat.

But here? People are confused. Baffled. Almost pitying. The surprise reflects the public’s belief that Barty wasn’t bound for darkness, which is a far cry from how they might react to a Slytherin, whose behavior they’d likely see as an inherent part of their nature. With Barty—a boy who had that clean, respectable look—they’re left staring at the wreckage, wondering where it all went wrong.

Oh, and that’s where it gets fun. Sirius Black—who would rather join a knitting club with Kreacher than entertain the idea of a good Slytherin—actually hesitates to condemn Barty Jr. Why? Because Junior wasn’t a Slytherin. That’s the crux. Sirius has never been one to mince words about Slytherin; his bias is carved into his very bones, thanks to growing up surrounded by them. The fact that he’s hesitating? That’s bloody significant. That’s the lack of Slytherin stench working its magic. Without that mark, there’s room for doubt. Room for pity. Something no Slytherin would ever be granted, not from Sirius Black.

Now, imagine Barty had been sorted into Slytherin, hanging around with the likes of Regulus, who practically had “Voldemort’s fanboy” stamped on his forehead. Would Sirius have hesitated then? Not a chance in hell.

Hate to be the killjoy here—but no, not really. If you’re going to drown me in this ridiculous headcanon, pulling it from every half-baked corner of fandom, then you’re practically begging for this. It’s not exactly shocking that the fandom, with its talent for boiling characters down to their most shallow traits, has latched onto the idea of Barty being a Slytherin. Fans love to scream about how canon is too prejudiced toward Slytherin; then they turn around and double down on the same damn stereotypes they claim to hate.

Slytherin has become this lazy shorthand for villainy in their heads, reducing complex characters to cardboard cutouts of what they should be. Instead of appreciating Barty’s complexity, the fandom stuffs him into the Slytherin box, slapping on the label “Death Eater” like it’s a personality trait. Because for them, Death Eater equals Slytherin, and to hell with nuance.

But here’s the point: Barty’s story is all about nuance. What makes his fall so stomach-turning is that no one—no one—saw it coming. And when it hits, it hits—a proper, jaw-dropping shock. The insistence on cramming him into Slytherin? It misses the point entirely, ripping away the layers that give his arc its weight.

You don’t need to stare long at Barty Crouch Jr. to figure he could’ve landed anywhere but Slytherin.

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Revenant!Jazz ideas:

Continuing from this DPxDC prompt of mine, I’ve had some more thoughts about Jasmine Fenton and Revenants, especially where it concerns DC lore and Jason Todd in particular.

———————-

In my original post, @starlightcat04 asked whether or not Jazz’s eyes would glow toxic green too. I propose that, no, they wouldn’t.

While it’s a common head canon that Ectoplasm is heavily influenced by emotions, Jazz’s Ecto-contamination is bone deep and pure, unlike Jason’s. So no, I don’t believe her eyes would glow green.

They turn from the teal she had in life to a smoldering green that reflects light just like a feline, with a heavily damaged sclera that is perceived as black in low lighting, with ash grey veins spreading from her eye sockets down to her jaw like tears.

Her once bright hair turns from a lively orange-ish red to the color of cooling embers.

That which caused her death, a punctured artery is half-way healed by the time Jazz reanimates in the crematorium, so not only is she supposed to be dead still, she also has to be very careful with her movements otherwise she could very well bleed out again before she is fully healed.

What else changes with Revenant!Jazz?

In exchange for a higher mental processing and the high damage absorption of Revenants, Jazz loses most (almost all) of her memories of her life. What she does remember is thankfully not her death, but rather Danny’s, his death scream and ghostly wail overlap in her mind, at times causing severe headaches and nausea.

(According to his wiki page, Jason spent a year in a coma and as an amnesiac vagrant, therefore it’s not entirely without precedent that Jazz wouldn’t keep hers.)

Her Ecto-contamination has to factor in a lot though.

Jason was revived by Superboy-Prime’s Reality Shattering Punch. Jazz was reanimated by her own willpower, aided by Ecto to allow her body to heal and regress the stages of rigor mortis.

———//:///////———-

What does Jazz need to accomplish as a Revenant?

In the original prompt I wrote that Jazz returned to keep Danny safe- broad enough for a prompt, but what exactly does “safe” for a halfa entail?

Let’s list the major threats to Danny’s health, beginning with the obvious: the Ghost Investigation Ward and The Fenton Parents.

The Fentons are capable of tracking Phantom by his Ecto-signature, creating and having created weaponry specifically designed to target the ghost in question, to which they pass that tech on to the GIW.

If Danny remains in Gotham, the ambient Ecto will scramble the tech over enough of a distance, but if Danny were in a line up of three people right next to a GIW agent he’d be clocked almost immediately.

So, the Fentons and the GIW have to go. How does this happen?

The greatest irony I could possibly inflict on these anti-ghosters- becoming ghosts themselves. I won’t go into detail about what my brain jumped to when I thought about that outcome, but let’s just say it was pretty dark.

(And karmically well-deserved.)

#3 on the list depends on where Danny is when Jazz is finished with numbers 1 & 2 on her list.

If Danny is is Gotham and staying there for the long haul, then I believe this girl would take one look at Batman’s rogue gallery and nope them so hard everyone in Gotham gets the sense of their world about to be rocked, but the ones she gunning for the most?

(Joker, Bane, Manbat, Firefly, Madhatter, Riddler…)

They get the sensation that someone just walked over their non-existent graves.

(I got a little gleeful demented imagining Jazz just straight up ripping Manbat’s wings clean off, burning Firefly alive and throwing a detoxed Bane into a crowd of vengeful Gothamites.)

(Jazz learns that Joker killed a young hero with a crowbar and a bomb. She’s fully onboard with turnabout being fair play when it comes to that Pennywise reject.)

(I can’t even begin to list every rogue Jazz cuts down, it she doesn’t kill all of them, just most of their number.)

(Gotham celebrates for weeks.)

(I’m not sure whether or not Jazz kills the four mentioned previously in a couple of nights, one night or over a a few months, but it doesn’t take as long as one might think.)

/://:///////:::/::::///////

What’s next for Revenant!Jazz?

I’m still writing The Regent series, so I doubt I’ll come back to this for a while, but I’ll still be posting ideas and whatnot about Revenant!Jazz. There’s still plenty to explore here, and I have a pretty angst/bittersweet ending for Jazz in mind I want to talk about later.

If you have any ideas to add, please feel free to comment! If anyone does write this, please let me know so I can read it!

[justaragdollysblog]

hello, hello!! could we perhaps have some zooble angst if you wouldn’t mind?? /nf

Here it is!! omg im so sorry ab the wait but i hope you like it!!

•Abstract Art•

TW: Heavy angst, Abstracting, identity loss/low sense of identity, Swearing, Very intense identity issues/please read with caution

——————————————————

Zooble never knew exactly what they were.

They knew they were a circus member unwillingly, that they were doomed here indefinitely. They knew they didn’t like Caine’s adventures.

But they didn’t know how to be Zooble.

They stare at the full length mirror in their bright bedroom. Zooble stares back. The mirror in their room brought a cruel irony: they could barely recognize the mess of shapes simulating a reflection.

The flimsy and wavering sense of identity they had before was just that. The circus, this body didn’t help matters at all. It was like their memories, their life beforehand, was a sea of questions and inauthenticity. This body stripped away their last anchor.

They glanced at the box that became a permanent fixture in their room. The box of parts, chasing a high of finally finding something that fits. That feels fucking *okay* for once.

The only thing Zooble knew for certain about themselves, was that they knew absolutely nothing about themselves.

Their minds were so fragile here. Getting used to your new avatar and body took a long time, that was a given. But, most of the cast had gotten used to it. It wasn’t always a problem for them.

Zooble recalled when their digital body’s unwanted versatility sank in. They had been having the digital feast, everyone making mindless and meaningless small talk. Zooble shakily raised their arms. Then their legs. Then felt their antennae.

A dry, humorless chuckle came from them. Then another, raising in pitch. Then another, higher still. Before long, they were full on cackling.

Somehow, through a headset, into a game they had no say of being stuck in, with no memory of their names,

Their unstable identity managed to make it through.

Zooble stood now, still looking at the mirror. Charged silence hung in their room. Zooble shook slightly. Their fists, if they could be called that, clenched.

Then, they screamed.

Zooble screamed and screamed. Their rooms were soundproof, so no one would know.

Zooble shouted this time, and knocked everything down. Punching the mirror, ripping sheets off the bed, breaking their bedside table.

It wasn’t enough. Zooble needed to destroy everything. Everything that made up this lie. Zooble scanned the room in an angered and desperate haze, until something caught their eye.

That damned box.

Zooble flung it open. The endless mountain of parts and arms and legs greeted them.

They mocked Zooble, they were sure of it. A cruel joke. A solution, right here in front of them, that wouldn’t solve anything now matter how many times they tried it.

Zooble, breathing heavily, began flinging them out of the box. Part after part, shouting as they did so. Screaming.

Something good. Something had to work. Eventually. Eventually it would. Good. Something that fit. Something good. Something that didn’t make them scream. Something for Zooble. Who is zooble who is zooble who is ZOOBLE WHO IS-

Zooble barely stopped when the first eye appeared on them. Flicking around insanely fast with a neon pupil and sclera. Zooble shouted in pain, more eyes appearing.

Their room was covered in parts. It was never enough. It was never going to *be* enough. This was their fate.

Zooble was shocked to the ground again with another violent glitch. They fell back on the piles and piles of parts on their floor. The darkness spread up their body, around their neck. Up their torso.

Zooble let out another humorless laugh. They knew they weren’t too different from the abstractions, anyhow.

Maybe they’d like this form more.

———————————————————————-

WOOOO!! I hope this was good! If i need to add more trigger warnings please lmk :)))

jesterdoll should be comin soon cus that won the poll! i may have something special w a new ship soon tho..

reblogs are appreciated! see u guys next time!

[livingbreathingdreams]

❤︎ Lemon Over Ice

Pairing: Bartender!Captain Syverson x f!Reader

Summary: Sy just wants to adore you.

Warnings: A little angst, a little fluff, some allusions to violence, alcohol consumption.

A/N: This one is inspired by Adore You by my sweet sweet man Harry. It’s a little rough around the edges but I’m just playing around right now. I hope you’re having a nice day 🧡

//

It was packed and loud at the Drink & Jive, like on every other Friday night. Sy was behind the bar like always, drawing beer on tap and pouring whiskey and Jäger shots. His usual customers did not really expect much when it came to liquor, as long as it was cold and cheap.

“Drink & Jive” what a ridiculous name, she had never liked it but right now it seemed especially obnoxious to her. The flickering neon sign in the door declaring to the world that the bar was open. When she came in someone was playing Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen on the old juke box in the back. Which almost made her snort at the irony. “I’m having a good time.” Yeah, right.

Slamming her card down on the counter she made eye contact with the burly man behind the bar when she told him to “Make something sweet and strong,” and to “Keep the tap open.” He slung the dishtowel, he had been using to wipe down the counter, over his left shoulder raising an eyebrow, because she usually just ordered a glass of wine and home fries; but he said nothing.

Her pink wide-legged pants were wet from the bottom up, and the rain had made a mess of her probably once neatly tied-up hair. The colour of the bright strawberry red lipstick looked far too joyful compared to her facial expression. If it wasn’t for the rain he maybe would have thought that she had cried before she came in. The spark that she usually had in her eyes was gone and the wanted to punch whoever was responsible for that right in the face.

She watched him cut and squeeze a lemon, pour simple syrup and Tanqueray. Ice and a lemon slice in a glass. Pouring the contents of the cocktail shaker over it and topping it off with some club soda. His hands were surprisingly delicate for their size. Thick dark hair and dark tattoos peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid shirt. She always liked watching him work, but today it was more a desperate attempt to distract herself from what had just happened.

“Gin Fizz. It’s sweet but still classy.” When they first made eye contact that day it was intense. His stormy blue eyes, keeping her gaze captive, and yet she didn’t feel the unsettling feeling of dread that creeps up your back and spreads between your ribs when a man is staring at you and makes you feel unsafe without even saying a word. It felt nice and warm.

Vodka shots and the bowl of sesame pretzel sticks he put in front of her and she ate, even though she told him she wasn’t hungry. She knew they must have been from his personal stash because he brought them from the back and usually the bar only served salted peanuts.

When there was finally a short break between orders he casually leaned back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms over his chest, which made him look even bigger, if that was even possible. “So, what happened?”

“I’ve been stood up. I was sitting there at that pretentious whatever fusion restaurant down the street, which he picked. And I drank chardonnay after chardonnay until I finally accepted the reality that he wasn’t going to come anymore and had to get out of there. The way the waitress was looking at me, like she knew exactly what had happened made it even worse.”

He wanted to touch her. His fingers along her cheek, his hand on hers. Because he’s never been good with words and touch was the only way he could think of making her feel better. She didn’t deserve feeling like this, unwanted. Because he wanted her. With all his being and yet he only ever saw her when she came into the dimly lit bar, sat down at the counter, and after the first glass of wine started talking about the third graders she was teaching, what she had bought at the farmers market and her friends’ horrible Tinder dates.

“You know Sy, you’re the only stable male presence in my life. I can always count on you being here and you always listen to me and you're always nice to me.” At this point, her speech was a little slurred but he could tell she was being sincere. That was the last drop in the bucket that gave him the courage to do what he did next. He pushed himself off the counter and took her hands into his. “You should let me take you out. I will show you how you should be treated if you let me. I would never stand you up.”

She just sat there and looked at him, with her mouth slightly agape for a few seconds, and then the first real shy little smile of the night spread across her face. Then he could see her wavering again. “But I don’t want you to do this out of pity.” He dipped his head down a little to be at eye level with her and looked directly into her eyes. “Listen to me. You are the nicest, most genuine, sweetest person I know. I’ve liked you ever since the first time you came in here and sat down on that chair. I would be honoured to take you out.”

Apparently, she believed him because she turned her hands in his, palm up and squeezed back. “Okay, Captain. I'll let you take me out.”

[kiki-sleeps]

Dark!Jack Frost x reader

A/N: a one-shot from one of my many delusions of the night. Might become more, who knows. Always liked the idea of an evil jack frost, hope you enjoy!

The Guardian's Investigative Journal

Entry #1

Middle of February, 20XX - New Headquarters

Whoever said the winter cold was beautiful was lying. Definitely and terribly so. 'Oh your breath creates pretty shapes and sparkles!' Yeah… what a load of bullshit. 

Winter is awful, at least for me. Winter is the annoying feeling of stiff muscles, of runny noses, of numb fingers. Winter is crazy. Winter is mad. Winter has black hair, dark as coal, and yellow eyes, not warm like honey, no, but chilling, like the ones of a predator.

Winter has a name, and as much as the whole of our system wished it wasn't alive, it's Jack Frost. 

He’s infuriating, and rotten, and whatever synonym you may add to describe him. 

The day he turned his back on the Guardians, was the day I was chosen. It took a while for the entire ordeal to settle in their minds, actually. At first, and reasonably so, they thought it was a joke. A prank, one of those that made him disappear for days and suddenly pop up back again with a weird smile that promised trouble. But it wasn't. The blizzard made of cold and sharp black sand came out and wiped the North Pole from existence, just one random day. One would think his love of irony would have made him choose a special day, like Christmas or such, but instead he picked a normal, ordinary, unassuming day. And it was twice as terrifying. What was left? Dust and coal. Coventrized so hard they thought it was my fault, they thought I burned it down accidentally, with a sneeze. Can you imagine that? Not controlling your power enough that you wipe out not just a building, but the huge headquarters. I laughed, then. After all, not a single one of us had realized the magnitude of what had truly happened. 

His voice came then. It was the first time I actually heard anything that came from him and not from one of the others’ stories, and it turned the status quo upside down. Just a wicked voice, saying how he was tired of doing this and that, that the humans were never grateful for what he brought, and a bunch of things that I didn't really hear. The one who took it the hardest was Bunnymund. It had taken him the longest to really open up apparently, and maybe that's one of the reasons he doesn't talk much to me now. Bruised trust. I’m not taking it personally, I'm the newbie, after all. I was mostly confused, rather than betrayed. I'd never met him at that point and I genuinely couldn't put together how somebody who was supposed to be an ally, and a quite good one at that, just went bonkers on a casual Wednesday. This whole idea I had of him didn't match, so I assumed something had happened to him to do a full 180.

So, as soon as the boring ‘new Guardian’ training ended, I started my investigation. Which is why I was in the middle of nowhere multiple times, in a white wasteland of twisted and dry trees that repeated itself no matter the continent. It was eerily uncomfortable, and the glistening atmosphere I used to admire from afar in my time as a wandering spirit was gone. Then, the snow almost looked like ashes.

I can make the black ones that come from a bright fire, an ode to life that burns with vitality. Those just looked like a past disaster. When a volcano erupts, it's a spectacular view, and nowadays the show is basically without consequences. But I remember. When the grey cloud wraps everything after, and the only sound is the reverbing echo of coughs from the smoke. A cinereum snow that covers what is gone. Such was the feeling that made my skin get goosebumps, and not from the temperature. And yet, exactly as all the places I checked in this season, the overbearing sensation of just being watched, was there. It felt like Pompeii over again, but this time the footprints were mine instead of ancient romans'.

I couldn't have possibly known he was truly there. I mean, there's a million lakes in the world and most of them are in North America, so really, how was I supposed to know he fancied this one particular. But I guess bad luck comes with Terms and Conditions of being a Guardian.

I think he actually wanted to make himself known, then. Because honestly, a powerful spirit who flies on the daily and hides constantly in the shadows, all of a sudden makes an accidental noise? Be for real. When I heard the cracking sound of a twig I thought it was an animal. ‘Not very smart warrior’ of me, as in North's words. It took him a couple of more tries to actually make me turn around, and even then I had to squint to even see the outline of something. But what really made me breathless for a second, were the eyes. He was perched up on a branch, piercing me with a vibrant gold that promised not fun, but deceit. In what I'd say was not my brightest moment, I thought he looked like an owl. The kind that want to look threatening but only manage to sit awkwardly in a standoffish stance. I almost snorted, but thank god for Sandy’s lessons of calm and meditation.

And then he spoke. And I swear on the Man in the Moon, I've never heard a more irksome voice. It was grating on my nerves, and that was the least of his attitude that made me want to sucker punch him into oblivion. I thought it was bad when I'd heard it on the catastrophe day, but in person? It was ten times worse. But what incensed me the most was that he actually had the fucking audacity to call me a pet name.

“And what's a sparkly spirit like you doing here, doll?”

“None of your business.”

Ok, I lied. Technically it is his business,  since I'm investigating his recent fall to madness, but he definitely doesn't need to know that.

Slowly, he walked into the light, and how I wish my traitorous mind did not think he was cute. He had a black hoodie, presumably for fitting into the whole ‘evil’ package, and brown pants that fell around his calves, tied by leather strings. Seriously, what is it with villains and their obsession with this color? As if somebody couldn't act badly if they're dressed in, I don't know, pink. But I'm losing the focus here.

While his eyes were what had struck my attention before, now his cheekbones were doing the trick. They were high and connected by a lean nose and immersed in pale skin, the sickly withering Victorian child kind. The smirk –that I immediately wanted to wipe from his face just out of spite– was stretched across perfectly chiselled lips and a jawline carved in the finest marble. Now that's what I call unfair. Choosing somebody like that to be on the bad side? Foul, I tell you. 

And apparently my answer only amused him further, because he gave a dry chuckle and sauntered around, with a cocky stride perfectly in line with his overall insufferableness. 

I decided to get to the point, “What do you want, Frost?”

“Surprised you know my name, doll.”, he grinned, and the urge to smack him had never been stronger.

“Ah yes, who would know the name of only the biggest traitor in the history of humanity.”

I think it was obvious it was meant to be sarcastic, but he still rolled his eyes and then put on a ridiculous diva act, faking a gasp and placing a hand over his chest.

“Traitor? Ouch, doll, that hurts my poor feelings!”

I could not have been less impressed than I already was.

“Are you sure you have those? Wasn't aware.”

He didn't deign me with an answer, the buffoon, and simply circled around me, humming in confidence. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of even a slight twitch of my expression, so I side eyed him as he moved agonizingly slow around me, but never stopping in my blind spot in what I believe was a puke-inducing superiority assertion. When he stopped, he was right in front of my glare, mirrored by a devilish grin of his.

I grit my teeth, “You never answered my question.” 

In turn, I got a provoking fake ‘deep-in-thought’ performance, complete with a finger under his chin. “Mmm, I don't know, why would I do that?” He started strolling again, “It's not like you have any way of making me tell you anything, and on the other side we have the magnificent me, who can have anything he desires.”

Jesus, did he really say that? Could his ego be any more inflated? Nevertheless, he droned on, “I suppose I could make it an act of charity, yes? I'm sure that would be more appropriate considering the enormous amount of difference in our strength.”

And now I was utterly disgusted, forget the poker face. 

“What did Pitch inject you with, condensed delusion?”

He laughed, and as quickly as he had gloated a second before, he flipped another switch, leaning dangerously in my safe space, and licked his lips.

“Feisty, I like that.” “Ew.”

I couldn't stop myself from saying it. It was a completely involuntary reaction, and an adequate one, after hearing that corny sentence. What he thought about my genuine revulsion at the thought? Still funny, apparently, because, and thank god, he cracked up at my reaction and backed away.

After this, I really had enough. It was my first time meeting him and I couldn't have wanted him more dead. By my fire, possibly. Hence why, after giving an eye roll for good measure, I started walking away. Or at least, that was the plan, but the switch flipped again, and it was looking at a shark that had just smelled fresh blood, a piercing stare almost freezing me in place. It was menacing.

He gripped my wrist hard, and the icy sensation of his skin made me jump so much I had to physically repress a shiver. 

“I'm not done yet.”

I just stared back, and for what felt like hours, the only movement was the snow still wistfully falling around us. It was like a stalemate, of sorts. From the bits and pieces I had gathered here and there, he was arrogant, sure, and full of himself, but not stupid. He hadn't gone on a full offense because he doesn't know my full capability, and if it goes how I want in the future, he won't know. This has two possible reasons: I'm the newest Guardian and I haven't really done anything after becoming one, and whatever information he has got from the time before isn't sufficient, since I mostly laid low. In conclusion, I had the advantage. His powers might have been different from when he was one of us, but they still make up a good portion of his attack range, which I knew and had prepared to fight against – courtesy of the memories from the Tooth Fairy archive.

So, to maintain my upper hand, I heated it up. In the span of milliseconds the skin that stood firmly in his grasp became so scalding he had no choice but to let it go. It seems he is even more sensitive than I thought - for future reference - because he jumped back with a hiss, looking like a scorned cat, and from what I could see I actually had left a quite significant burn mark on his palm. I couldn't help my eyes widening in surprise, and he must've seen that because he quickly regained his composure, as much as he could, and smirked. If he wanted to go for a full round, then so be it. I was perfectly ready. Only for him to change his mind as fast as he had done before and vanish in a coat of black. What a coward. And yet, he still wouldn't let me have the last word, so in the silence of the woods, his voice echoed:

“Wow, you got some fire in you, HA!”

It seems I was wrong about him. He's a coward AND a clown.

[cool-fancier]

Unveiled Hearts

a/n: Not my best work but I hope you enjoy it.

Synopsis: Kirsten love you, but you seem to be totally clueless. Ling suggests she confess. When she eventually tells you, you feel the same way.

Kirsten sat alone in a poorly lit section of the coffee shop, her untouched latte in front of her going cold. She couldn't help but stare at you, the person who held her heart so closely while being entirely oblivious of her true feelings. As you talked to lively to the person who was across from you, your eyes gleamed. Laughter echoed through the room, and every ounce of Kirsten's being ached.

In the sight of your bright smiles and shared laughter, the love she had for you, the love she'd nourished softly and secretly seemed pointless.

Kirsten struggled to focus on her laptop screen with shaky hands, the flickering cursor mocking her with writer's block. Her novel, her escape from the dark emotions that often overtook her, remained stuck in her head, unable to flow onto the pages. Her quiet love echoed on the pages she couldn't write, buried beneath layers of unnoticed words.

Kirsten's lips twitched with a sarcastic smile as she thought about the irony. She was a writer, a master of using words to create worlds, feelings, and stories, but when it came to expressing her love, vulnerability, and emotions towards you, the words disappeared.

The conversation at the opposite table continued, and Kirsten felt like an outsider in a play where she desperately wanted to be an actor. Your pleasant, careless laughter danced in her ears, each note piercing her heart like shards of glass.

"Hi, Kirsten!" I didn't expect to find you here," a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

Kirsten looked up, startled, to see her best friend, Ling, standing next her table. For some time, her expression brightened, relieved to see a friendly face among the chaos. "Hi, Ling. What are you doing here?"

Ling pulled up a chair and sat down, looking at Kirsten with curiosity.  "I'm just trying to get some work done." So, how about you? You seem a little... busy."

Kirsten sighed, her attention shifting to you, the subject of her love.  "I'm just... observing.

Ling followed her line of sight, seeing what she was doing. "You're still doing that? Staring at Y/N?"

Kirsten nodded, her heart aching as she was captivated by the scene of your joy. "I'm sorry, Ling. I don't want to feel like this, but I can't help myself."

Ling let out a sympathetic sigh. "You know, Kirsten, we don't always have control over how we feel about someone. But perhaps it's time to talk to Y/N and be open about your feelings."

Kirsten laughed bitterly, her gaze fixed on you. "Ling, it's easier said than done. I'm afraid of what would happen if I did. What if it ruins our friendship?"

Ling leaned in closer, her voice soothing and sweet. "Unless you try, you'll never know." And let's be real, do you want to keep suffering in silence forever?"

Kirsten found herself split between her fear and the possibility of happiness while the two friends talked. The idea of her admitting her feelings for you was horrible, but so was the thought of never knowing whether you felt the same way.

Hours passed, and the coffee shop slowly emptied. Kirsten's latte sat untouched, forgotten. She realised she couldn't keep dodging the reality any longer. She had to confront you and confront her emotions.

When she noticed that the person you were talking to left she gathered her bags, waved bye to Ling, and headed over to your table with new passion.  You looked up, taken aback by her sudden arrival.

"Hey i didn't know you were here," you said with a friendly smile. "What's up, Kirsten?"

Kirsten looked you in the eyes after taking a long breath. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you for a long time."

You leaned in, focused. "What is it?"

"I've been in love with you for a while now," Kirsten said, her heart racing. And watching you with someone else earlier made me realise that I can't keep it to myself anymore."

For a split second, silence fell between them, the tension evident.  Kirsten's heart felt like it was about to burst. Then, much to her surprise, a faint smile appeared on your face.

"I've been waiting for you to say that," you admitted, and Kristen's throat tightened. "I like you, Kirsten." I thought you'd never notice because you don't really pay that much attention."you said with a small smile.

Kirsten felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders as the atmosphere started to brighten. Her eyes welled up with tears as she extended for your hand, which you took in yours.

It was a moment of pure, genuine relief, of shared feelings finally revealed. Kirsten couldn't stop smiling through her tears, and you quietly giggled.

"So, what now?" you asked, without taking your attention away from hers.

"Now," Kirsten said quietly, "we begin a new chapter."

[stardustamaryllis78]

“YOU TOOK MY DAUGHTER FROM ME!” Aaravos ferociously wailed at the Startouch Elder, who was now caught in a web of his own harsh decisions.

A blooming flower of composure wilted and died into nothing but that of bitter, seething rage. 

Two titans found themselves in a heated battle, one bearing a demeanor of cold and calculated  poise. The other, nothing but destructive and tainted grief fueled by the choice of the man before him.

Aaravos panted in lament as many millennia worth of torment built up into a storming rage of destruction. The stars that typically shimmied on his cosmic body began to pass out one by one.

Just like the raging emotions inside him.

Within the dark of the Valley of the Graves, the similarly guilty watchful stars were intently glaring upon them. The decaying semblance of Sol Regem’s corpse bearing witness just as he had so many centuries ago, when the wretched snake showed his face as nothing but a filthy traitor. Aaravos firmly clutched the Elder with Aspiro Frigis, praying with all his might that he could finally get revenge in the name of his unjustly fallen daughter. 

The Elder was going to look into his wrathful eyes. The Elder was going to feel his pain.

The Elder was going to feel his agony.

Except that CRAVEN refused to do any such thing.

“LOOK AT ME!” A whisk of bright, sizzling lightning crashed onto the Elder’s glistening extraterrestrial skin. However it barely even made him flinch.

Barely even scratched him.

“LOOK ME IN THE EYES, YOU COWARD!” Aaravos forthwith called upon another hissing bolt of terror, but all he had hoped to achieve had come crashing down like the same crackling lightning he had summoned from the same heavens he so despised.

Poetic irony was a harsh mistress. 

He should not have underestimated the Elder, besides he was one of the sly monsters who murdered his beloved daughter for showing loving compassion. A cosmic cyclone of despair set Aaravos aflame, causing his entire essence to shatter.

Of course he would elude him again.

The Elder had taken the ice Aaravos had so cleverly imprisoned him in and broken the glacial fragments into tiny shards of Aaravos’ storming agony.

The agony Aaravos had carried for many millennia in his empty hollow heart.

Finally, the pathetic monster held Aaravos’ painful gaze for a simple mere moment.

A mere fraction of a second.

But that's all it was. This entire confronation was for naught. For a moment later, the despicable being was gone. Teleported back to sitting on his high horse in the safety stars, self declaring his own might over all other beings who had no say in his disgusting version of order.

Aaravos was left alone once more in the sea of his own mourning.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” He cried into the peaceful hollow wind, the world paying no mind to the throbbing aching that forever ate at his very own bleedingly corrupted soul.

Aaravos slowly crouched down to make acquaintance to the cold, hard stone floor, a waterfall of dewdrops transcended onto the pitiful land below. 

Pain. Suffering. Grief.

Grief. Suffering. Pain.

He just wanted it to stop.

He just wanted…

He wanted…

“Leola…” He silently sobbed to the luminescent, shimmering crystal that soared gracefully in the sky. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t avenge you.”

A titan morphed into relentless weeping and surrendered to the burning reality that pounded the embodiment of his heart.

“I’m so sorry.” Was repeated into the hush of the numbing, dim night.