#and it is in moments like these that i have to hope and pray that nobody i know irl knows my tumblr 🙏

[flowerandblood]

Hopes and Prayers (2/2)

[ canon • Aemond x courtesan • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, working in the brothel, mention of murder, kind of trauma ]

[ description: Even though she tries, Prince Aemond's sobbing face refuses to leave her thoughts and heart. Although she is convinced that she will never see him again, everything changes when she decides to go to pray in the Great Sept. ]

After a few seconds from the trailer that changed our lives, this little series was created. No more thoughts.

Part 1 − Flowers and Thorns

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

They spent the rest of the night in complete silence, which, however, to her surprise, was not uncomfortable. Despite his lack of words, his embrace was not cold − his face was nestled between her soft, plump breasts, his fingers roamed her bare back, once in a while his lips placed a non-committal, gentle kiss on her exposed skin.

She knew it was an expression of his gratitude − of her not asking him questions, of her hands combing through his long white hair, her cheek nestled against the top of his head. They had fallen asleep in the morning in an embrace she might have called tender, but she dared not think of it that way.

She knew who she was, she knew he was in pain, and she knew he sought comfort in her, which she had no intention of denying him.

He got up as the sun rose, slipping gently out of her embrace, trying not to wake her.

On the one hand she felt disappointment that, like so many men before him, filled with shame and remorse after what he had done he wanted to leave without a word, on the other she understood him.

For a moment she wondered if she should just pretend as usual that she was asleep, but found that she wanted to look at him one last time.

She opened her eyes and blinked to see that, clasping the buckles of his tunic, he was standing over her head, looking at her. She saw the look of surprise and a grimace of embarrassment flash across his face − she raised herself on her elbow as he turned, moving aggressively towards the door and left without a word.

She swallowed hard, hearing that familiar, uncomfortable silence all around her, tears, as after every night like this, welled up under her eyelids at the feeling of emptiness that filled her heart. She looked down at her hands, letting them flow, letting the sadness drain from her body until the evening, when her face would once again be lit up with a smile for another shy man.

Her friends as soon as she joined them at the morning meal asked about the Prince and what kind of lover he was. She answered truthfully that he pleased her, that he was indeed shy and made a pleasant impression on her. The girls expressed jealousy that it was to her that this happiness fell and wondered if he would return here.

She felt a squeeze in her heart and discomfort at the thought.

She sensed that something was wrong − despite her attempts, welcoming new men inside her body, she thought of him − of what he had said when he burst into sobs.

I killed him.

Gods, forgive me.

She had never seen such a broken man before in her life − there were times when men confided in her or sought her advice, but he didn't ask for it − he had no one to pull the stone mask off his face in front of, even for a moment, and she witnessed it crack before her eyes.

She wondered if he had coped with what he had done, if the fact that he had felt the closeness of her warm, soft body that night had soothed the black emptiness that surely filled his heart now, even a little.

He didn't return for days, and she realised, feeling a kind of discomfort surging through her gut at the very thought, that he felt for certain embarrassment and shame at what he had allowed her to see.

She chastised herself in her mind for not letting herself forget him − she thought at first that perhaps it was influenced by his status, by what he could give her as a Prince, but then she realised that this was not true.

What he had done, his sobbing, the words that had involuntarily ripped from his throat that night had forced their way deep into her heart and refused to leave it, haunting her even in her dreams.

She prayed for him in the Great Sept; crossing the gates of that gigantic, ancient temple, she felt pure again, and a strange, solemn calm possessed her mind and heart. She would then approach the great candlesticks and kneel before them, repeating the same words each time.

Warrior, support me with your strength so that I do not lose myself in the world around me.

Mother, in your graciousness, surround me with your protection, receive me with understanding like your own child.

Maiden, purify me, make me feel light again, so that the weight of my sins may leave my shoulders.

Father, support one of your sons, the One-Eyed Prince, who has shown me kindness and who is suffering, with your strong hand, so that he does not fall under the weight of his own guilt.

That day, immersed in prayer, she paid no attention to the quiet echo of footsteps, accustomed to the fact that at such an early hour she was not the only one who wished to experience silent prayer in solitude.

She didn't open her eyes, focused on her own musings, feeling the pleasant warmth of the fire on her face until she felt someone stop behind her − she lifted her gaze up and froze, watching with her heart pounding in panic as he knelt beside her with a loud creak of wood, bowing his head, folding his hands in prayer.

She turned her face towards the burning candles feeling that the knees on which she rested the weight of her body began to tremble as did her hands, her quickened breath turning to steam within the cold walls of the temple, a drop of cold sweat running down the back of her neck.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, feeling tears under her eyelids, not knowing whether she should get up and leave or stay.

She closed her eyes, thanking the gods gratefully that he was alive, that they had listened to her pleas, that they had allowed her to see him once more.

She felt them run down her cheeks, hot and pink with emotion, one by one − she drew in the air loudly, trying to calm herself, focusing on his presence beside her, on the fact that their elbows were touching.

They continued in silence like this for a long time until he suddenly stood up, placing the hood of his grey coat over his head and turned to leave, without even bestowing a single glance on her.

She didn't know why this time it was she who burst out into silent sobs, why she hid her face in her hands, why she felt as strongly as never before in her life who she really was.

She was a whore who would never deserve anyone, who would never have a husband or children, who would work in some inn when she grew old, taken by force by her owner.

She thought about this as she returned to the place that had been her home for so many years − she had to use ice cubes to make the swelling from her tears come off her face. She looked at herself in the mirror thinking that a few more years and she would no longer be beautiful and young, her body would wither like a flower and with it her heart.

Who would believe her that she could have cared about anything other than golden coins?

Mothers used to teach their sons: never trust a whore.

She was not surprised.

In their place, she wouldn't trust herself either.

When she joined her friends and lay down beside them on the big red bed covered with curtains she bestowed on them a broad, warm smile. They told her about what they had been doing all day, about the new gowns Madame had allowed them to order, but her thoughts were far away, with him, in the Great Sept.

She shuddered when she heard Madame call her name and swallowed hard, standing up slowly, the girls escorted her away with curious eyes. She approached her guardian with a questioning expression on her face, she, however, merely pointed with her hand to the chamber she was to go to. She nodded her head.

"− I will prepare myself −" She said softly.

Madame shook her head.

"− he demands your presence immediately −" She said calmly, an expression of satisfaction on her face that she did not understand.

She blinked, surprised, thinking that someone was very desperate, but decided that perhaps it was better.

It would be over sooner.

She moved wordlessly down the corridor and walked into the chamber, freezing immediately when she recognised his silhouette standing by the window. When he heard her he looked in her direction, his gaze dark and piercing.

"− close the door −" He commanded, and she nodded quickly, doing as he ordered, feeling her whole body quiver. She swallowed hard, turning towards him again, not knowing what to do with herself.

"− undress and lie down on the bed −" He hummed, his voice deep and cold, making shivers run down her spine.

She nodded, looking at the stone floor, walking on trembling legs towards the bed, feeling small, helpless, humiliated for some reason.

Though she never did, she sat backwards on the bedding, giving herself any sense of privacy as she slid her thin, translucent gown off her body with a soft, light flick of her wrist.

She swallowed hard when she heard him draw in the air loudly as he approached her slowly, undoing the buckles of her tunic with a quiet click and rustle of fabric.

"− lie on your side with your back to me −" He said a little more softly, his low voice trembling with emotion, from which she felt a tingling heat in her lower abdomen.

She lay on the cold bedding, curled up like a small child, exposed and vulnerable, for some reason feeling that what he was going to do now would break her heart.

She sighed when, a moment later, she heard the bed creak and bend under the weight of his body, which lay behind her − she shuddered as his fingertips traveled along her arm to her waist, his full, warm lips placing a soft, wet kiss on her neck.

"− come here −" He whispered in a way that made her feel tears under her eyelids, with calmness and tenderness, as if he were speaking to someone he knew well.

She let him draw her closer as his hand slid from her waist to her lower abdomen and pressed her back against his bare chest, both of them sighed when his already hard, long erection slapped impatiently against her buttocks.

"− spread your thighs, sweet girl − I won't hurt you –" He muttered in her ear, his other hand, which he slid under her body gently teasing her nipple, puffy and popping from the sudden, unexpected, hot wave of desire that surged through her loins.

She obeyed his command, tilting her head back, his full lips clinging to her warm, pink cheek, trailing over her skin, leaving wet, sticky marks behind. He began to pant as his hand slid down from her belly between her thighs, finding her slickness, her plushy folds, wonderfully soft and moist, ready to welcome him.

"− just like that − let's caress this little cunt a bit before I put it inside you − hm? −" He gasped encouragingly, and she nodded quickly, feeling that her walls clenched around nothing.

"− y-yes, Your Grace − please −" She mewled, a loud, girlish cry breaking from her lips as his fingers dug into her leaking womanhood, teasing and rubbing her puffy bud, making waves of delightful heat flow through her whole body.

Her lively reactions and how ready she was for him made him impatient − she felt the fingers of his hand spread the folds of her slit to the sides as he moved his hips back with a soft motion, only to push the pink, fat head of his cock deep inside her a moment later.

They both groaned low, shocked at how intensely delightful the sensation was − she involuntarily spread her thighs wider, wanting to make it easier for him − he felt it, and with an impatient, deep thrust of his hips forced his throbbing length deep inside her.

They both began to pant loudly and quiver with pleasure as he imposed a fast, greedy pace on her at once, barely sliding out of her, opening her wide on his erection with loud slaps of their naked bodies against each other.

"− gods witness I was one step away from putting it inside you in the Sept − to profane that sacred place for this warm cunt −" He exhaled in a trembling voice into her ear and she felt his words deep inside her, in her nipples and in her lips − they both gasped as her walls began to squeeze him, intensifying his sensation, his hand clamped tighter on her hip, not slowing down.

"− ah − g-gods −" She mumbled, feeling her fulfilment building slowly inside her, the way her fleshy core clenched greedily and sucked him inside, soaking him wet.

"− did you want this? − were you so wet there, kneeling beside me? − were you waiting for my seed? −" He mocked, running his rough tongue over her exertion-sweaty cheek, his hand tightened warningly around her neck, suggesting she not dare lie to him.

"− yes − gods, forgive me, yes, yes, yes! −" She cried out, feeling the tears run down her cheeks as her tension peaked − her little cunt gave him a few more thirsty, strong squeezes before she heard him sigh loudly in pleasure, and then he became still, his erection pulsing hard inside her as his warm spend filled her.

"− fuck − mghmm −" He gasped out, clearly not believing himself at how wonderful the sensation was, his hands roaming over her body as if trying to soothe both himself and her.

He swallowed hard when he heard her cry; she heard him raise himself on his elbow and lift himself to look over her shoulder at her face.

He was silent for a moment, his hot, heavy breath enveloping her face.

"− did I hurt you? −" He asked, and she shook her head quickly, covering her mouth with her hand, feeling that she could not catch her breath, her body shook again and again with convulsions of pleasure and terror at the same time.

She felt him tentatively place his hand on her shoulder, stroking it reassuringly.

"− shhh − breathe, sweet girl −" He hummed and she nodded her head, trying to calm herself down. She sighed quietly when she felt him lay his head behind her again, his arms embracing her breasts and pressing her against his naked body, his legs sliding between hers.

"− I have paid for you − no one will touch you −" He whispered and she swallowed quietly, smiling involuntarily, feeling relieved at the thought that he had provided her with the comfort of no other man touching her this night.

"− I have conveyed to Madame that I do not wish you to live here any longer – for you to see other men − she will assign you rooms separate from the main quarters on my command −"

She blinked, freezing in stillness, furrowing her brow, trying to understand what he had just said.

She turned towards him and he lifted himself onto his arm, letting her look at his face, his broad hand gently caressing and squeezing her soft breast between his fingers.

"− I − I do not understand − Madame will only agree to one night −" She explained to him, not wanting him to be disappointed. His expression didn't change, a sigh of slight impatience left his nostrils.

Only after a moment did she realise that his half-soft manhood was still deep inside her.

"− I paid her for you − she sold you to me − you and your life belong to me now −" He said, a warmth and threat in his words at once, from which a shudder ran through her, the fingers of his free hand tracing over the line of her waist.

He bought her.

"− does that mean − does that mean I won't have to anymore −"

"− no − you are mine now − you will only share your body with me − do you understand? −" He asked dryly, as if he wanted to make sure she knew that one mistake on her part would cost her everything.

She nodded quickly, her eyes glistening with tears of disbelief, her swollen lips parted in a heavy breath.

"− good −" He murmured, laying his head next to hers, his nose snuggled into her hair. "− I wish to rest now −"

She nodded, turning away, letting this time the tears of happiness and relief flow down her pink, puffy cheeks, her small hands clasped around his arms with which he embraced her in her wordless gratitude.

He had taken her for himself.

She was his.

#aemond targaryen #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond angst #house of the dragon #aemond fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #hotd angst #aemond targaryen angst #canon aemond #aemond x female #aemond x oc #aemond x original female character #aemond x original character #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell fanfiction #ewan mitchell fic

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: annnd we've made it to velaris ! yippee !! now it's time for all the introductions >:D i hope you enjoy pls let me know what you think angels <3 ok mwah bye

word count: 3.5k

synopsis: You wake up somewhere entirely new, a long, long way from your home.

CHAPTER EIGHT :: STRANGERS (AGAIN)

The air all around you is sickly sweet.

Maybe... sweet is the wrong word. The air is clean; perfumed with an allure of scents you've never smelt before, heady and swirling, sweet and sterile all in one.

But more importantly, it is utterly foreign.

You're in unknown territory. Age old instinct has you shifting the moment you wake, surging up in a rush before your memory can catch up and remind you why that's an terribly bad idea.

The sheets rustle as you push yourself up into a sitting position, a heavy dose of panic already poisoning your system. It doesn't take long for the pain to follow.

You falter in your movement as an aching agony ricochets through your body, forcing out a wince. Your eyes screw up in pain. Your entire body feels like a bruise, punishing you with every movement.

You allow yourself only a moment of pause before you force them back open to take on the new threat, every sense filtering in unknown information as they sluggishly come to life. You have to blink rapidly to clear your vision, light coming in from all angles.

Why does it feel as though you've been asleep for years?

Where are you?

A room. You're not outside which is where you memory places you last. The extent of the memory drifts back as you search the room, your eyes climbing the walls, ravenous for details. They're made of some kind of warm coloured stone that covers the whole ceiling, you realise, as you follow the line of it up.

You screw your eyes up again and blink hard when you open them again. Every sense keeps pinging for your attention, a thousand things unfamiliar. The bed beneath is too soft, the sound of the wind outside isn't a whistle, the clothes on your back...

You startle, stumbling off the bed you've awoken on as you peer down at yourself, eyes moving about wildly. You're wearing... something completely new.

Frowning down at your arm, you raise one of your hands and pinch at the new fabric that covers the expanse of your arms. It's soft. So soft.

You tentatively smooth your hands down the tunic you're clothed in, all the way down to your pants. Each thing is finely made, with details far smaller that you would ever consider, and soft. Warm but sturdy.

What the fuck? Your chest starts to heave as panic truly sets in, your breath just out of reach before you can catch it. You gasp, grasping at your chest tightly, the new clothes scrunching up beneath your fingers. Memories begin to trickle back in as your mind scours for any information about how you ended up here.

You had been... cold. It was raining.

And your wings had been—your wings—your brain trips over the thoughts as every detail bleeds back in, sudden and frightening.

Stakes driven through the flesh of them, your wings pulled taut, stretched out for lashings and prepped for removal. Your terror climbs, its cloying grip tightening around your sternum like a fist.

Eyes screwed closed, you pray to every deity you can imagine, begging the Mother for this one thing.

You twitch the familiar muscle and feel the weight of your wings as they respond. There's no describing the relief that bursts within you, overwhelming your panic in an instant, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. They're still moving, still stretching out as you command them, still yours.

You stand there and peer over your shoulder, stretching your wings out as far as you can—cringing when they stop before full extension, buckling and bunching up at the violent spike of pain that ripples through them. It echoes through your body, making you hunch forward and grit your teeth. Your left eardrum wails extra loud.

What had happened? What had changed?

You could recall the finality of being down on your knees in the pouring rain, your hands are bound as your fate. Endless agony. The secret you couldn't keep, despite all you had tried.

You had been resigned to it—to dying there amongst in the dirt from where you had come from.

So, what changed?

Behind you, there's an abrupt noise from behind a door in the room, a rustling that makes your head snap around to face it.

Someone’s coming.

You stumble back a couple steps, dread mounting in your chest and your panic returns in full-force. You don't know where you are, you don't know how you got here, you don't know who is coming through that door.

You know that you have a lot more foes than you do friends.

Eyes darting around the room frantically, you spot a balcony down a small hallway and don't waste a single second.

As you begin to stride, you realise faintly that you're without shoes, feet bare on the cool marble floor. It turns to carpet beneath you as your fast strides transforms to a run, hearing the door open somewhere behind you.

It feels like a trap. Not the nice clothes or the fancy room would be enough to fool you. You're caught in a sickly sweet trap of honey and the net is being reined in, the ropes closing up on every side of you. It feels like you're being chased.

Heart in your throat and pulse rabbiting wildly, you burst through the doors of the balcony, daring a glance behind you without thought—

—and you nearly plunge off the edge of a mountain.

The gasp that escapes your throat is entirely involuntary, your fingers gripping the edge of the stone railing the adorns the balcony.

Your balance tips momentarily, the momentum of your dash nearly pulling you over. Terror freezes you. You're fairly certain with the state of your wings, it would be a short flight and an almost guaranteed casualty.

But a wind blows gently against your face, as though helping push you back to safety.

When you're sure you're not going to topple over the edge, some of your crippling panic eases. Your breathes, short and fast, begin to slow.

Your eyes travel up from the daunting height of the mountain side and widen, all the air in your lungs stolen in pure surprise.

Because before you, stretching out across the land that meets the sea, is something you've never seen before.

It's... a city.

A city that sits amongst the rolling, steep hills of the terrain and curls around a meandering river that leads out to the ocean. Tall, jagged mountains surround it from all sides, their hills steep up the top until they give way to gentler slopes, eventually becoming paved roads and streets for magnificent buildings.

The structures gleam, even from afar, made with precision and beauty in mind. Some are white marble or warm sandstone, others the same red stone of the mountains beside the one you're standing on. Small, quaint houses with green copper roofs, their white chimneys smoking softly.

Your breath stutters out in an exhale and you don't dare blink.

A city—a sprawling, wondrous city that was bursting with people, with colour, with life. So utterly unlike the chilled gray-scale of the Illyrian Mountains.

In fact, you wonder briefly if this was even the Night Court at all. This— this incredible sight felt like something you'd imagined of Summer or Spring, imbued with warmth, a place where things could grow and thrive.

The Night Court was... foul. It was the biting frigid cold of the wintry mountains or the shudder-inducing darkness of the court that lay beneath the mountain. This... where is this?

As though you've spoken your thoughts aloud, a voice answers from behind you.

"Velaris."

You start, whipping around fast enough to reawaken all your wounds, forcing you to stifle a pained noise that leaps up your throat. Your heart thunders as your eyes lay upon an unfamiliar figure, stepping out from the empty hallway—a form cut from the very night itself.

Your hands grip the stone railing behind you and you're unsure whether it's to keep your knees from buckling in fear or from bolting off the edge, into uncertain skies.

He's unfamiliar to you, yes, but you have a feeling you know exactly who he is.

"You asked where this—" The male waves a casual hand to the city beyond the balcony before pocketing it, either unaware of your panic or uncaring. "—is. You're in Velaris."

He surveys you, his violet eyes glancing down at the strained way you clutch at the railing.

"I know you must have a thousand questions. We haven't been introduced. My name is Rhysand and I am—"

"I know who you are." You interrupt. There's a lilt of fear in your voice but you couldn't keep it out even if you tried. He's the fucking Highlord of the Night Court.

Which means—Azriel.

His name slams into you like a shooting star, glowing hotly and dripping through your ribcage with a fire warmer than you've ever known.

Azriel must be— he was the one- he's the reason you're still alive. It feels like you relive the relief of his appearance during the storm all over again, remembering that he came back for you.

You have no idea the cacophony of emotion you're giving off, shouting all your unguarded thoughts across the balcony.

Rhysand's cool expression doesn't falter at your disruption. He looks at ease, both hands in his pockets, like he's merely having a conversation with a friend.

"Then it's important for you to know," He continues. "that I mean you no harm."

Lying, lying, liar, LIAR—the thought festers from within you instinctively, only growing in its urgency. You and everyone else where you come from are well aware of the origins of your Highlord.

And while he's your ruler, he's first and foremost, an Illyrian male.

"Only half," Rhysand corrects.

You startle, sickly surprise at the fact he seems to be able to read your very thoughts.

Then he confirms it, by saying, "And I can."

"You can read my thoughts?" You echo, voice sounding so much meeker than you intend. You sound like a child—and you feel like one, feel like the same eight-year-old staring down at the scorched brown earth in Exordor. Old blood. The same dirt you had been forced to kneel upon that now makes you shudder at the fresh memory.

Rhysand's expression falters momentarily at your train of thought, a flash of hurt on his handsome face.

His eyebrows draw together, forming a sympathetic, troubled look. "I can teach you how to shield them, if you so wish."

You don't make a noise. You don't even dare to take a breath, your fingers still crushed around the railing.

Within you, some part of you knows what he's offering. What the very nature of his words implies. He voices it anyway.

"You're no prisoner here. You're free to—”

"Where's Azriel?" The question falls from your lips before you can even think to stop it. Fear hammers through your chest—Fae that make a habit of interrupting Highlord's often find their lives cut short.

But Rhysand gives no impression that he minds. All he does is step to the side, revealing the empty hallway out to the balcony.

Except it's not empty anymore.

There, standing back to hide in the shadows as he did best, is your Shadowsinger.

Reserved and holding back, clearly waiting for you to remember him, to make your call before he made himself known. Making sure you wanted to see him at all.

Azriel, all 6ft something of shadow and muscle, with his wings tucked politely behind him, takes one step out on to the balcony and towards you.

His hands stay at his sides and his hazel eyes watch you with a familiar intensity. Something deep within you unfurls at the sight of him.

It feels like the collision of a thousand stars rain down on you, their jagged, burning fragments pelting into your body.

It's as though the world had been falling out from underneath and then, seeing him before you—when Cauldron knows how long ago you had been resolutely convinced you were never ever going to see him again— suddenly your feet were grounded and the world was still.

You breathe out his name. Azriel sways forward, almost imperceptibly, as though the sound of his name on your lips was a siren call he was helpless to fight.

You don't know that you say it sweeter than he's ever heard it in all his centuries.

Like following an invisible tug, you don't even realise when you start moving, only that you're rushing towards him with an urgency you can't begin to comprehend. It's like he's calling to you and you can't bear to be this close to him and not press in closer.

His beautiful face, usually guarded, reveals a glimpse into his storm of emotions. Concern, care, and something that looks suspiciously like... longing.

Your brain catches up and your feet falter, bringing you to a stand still before him, chest heaving.

Reason starts to catch up to you, asking meanly about what exactly you meant to do, running up to him—you weren't raised with physical touch beyond violence. You and Azriel had barely touched beyond sparring and those quiet nights in your shelter, skin brushing as you passed something to the other.

In the end, it's not you that moves, it's Azriel.

He closes the distance between you with one single step and his strong arms sweep around your middle, pulling you into the tightest hug. Night-chilled mist and cedar swirl your senses.

Helpless to do anything else, with no desire to do anything but this, you melt.

Your weight slumps into Azriel and he takes it without question, your arms curling around his neck to hold him back just as tightly. The light around you shifts, his shadows frenzied as they kiss along your neck and arms, all checking for hurt they can ease. Your heart is torn between soaring and stopping altogether.

The world fades away as his head ducks down, pressing his face the crook of your neck. It's more touch than you've ever known. More safety, more kindness than you've ever dreamed of. You and Azriel seem to exist only in a cocoon of shadow and warmth, in each others arms.

"You're alright," Azriel murmurs, his breath against your neck. It sounds more like he's reassuring himself than telling you. He sounds devastatingly sincere when he says, "I'm so fucking glad you're alright."

"Thanks to you," You whisper back, not wanting to break the silence. "You—"

The words get caught in your throat and you know you need to see his face when you say this. Pulling back from the embrace, you clear your throat as Azriel straightens up. You miss the heat of his body almost instantly.

"I-I thought I was never going to see you again."

It looks as though your words pain Azriel, a flash of pain and shame crossing his expression. His voice, low and gravelly, holds a guilty tone you've never heard him use before.

"I never should have left."

You blink. That wasn't what you had expected him to say in the least. It was you who had lied, who had deceived him from the very beginning. He was— he had— this was what you got for letting anyone get close to you, you understood that.

You shake your head, pointedly ignoring how it makes your injuries throb. "I know why you did, Azriel. I can't imagine—"

Azriel's scarred hands clench into fists at his sides, anguish colouring his face.

"No." He shakes his head, his jaw clenched tightly. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing."

"Then why did you leave?" Your questions comes out with an edge this time, a biting fury as your emotions process what he's saying.

He says you did nothing wrong. He says he shouldn't have left you behind. It's a ugly mixture of hurt and anger that paints your insides as realisations churn to the surface.

Azriel steals a glance to the side, serving as a quick reminder that there was, indeed, someone else still out on the balcony with you. You glimpse at the Highlord as your anger begins to bubble but you can't bring yourself to care.

You had... trusted him— you had let him in, let him get closer to you than anyone ever had, and he had left. He left, he left, he left. He did exactly as you had feared and he was wrong for it.

The greatest secret of your life, exposed like a raw nerve, and he hadn't said a word as he deserted you.

Your heart warbles at the betrayal and you can't help but step back, putting distance between the two of you. It's such a far cry from the nearness of a moment ago.

And even though you know he wasn't responsible for the events that followed, in the haze of your upset, it's awfully easy to add it to his betrayal. As if in response, your wings flinch and shudder as a wave of agony passes through them. You wince, gritting your teeth and turning your gaze to the ground.

"I can leave to give you both some privacy," Rhysand cuts into the conversation, evidently answering Azriel's pointed glance in his direction. "However, I don't think it will be overtly helpful. She's shouting every thought so loudly, I think I'll be able to hear it from the other side of the house."

She. It's been so many years since anyone has used that in reference to you that it nearly winds you, your entire body giving a visible flinch.

It feels foreign. You can't quite tell how you feel about it; whether it's some lost part of yourself to reclaim or whether it's something you've outgrown altogether.

You don't get time to consider it further as, bustling as she walks, a fourth Fae steps out onto the balcony. She's an older female in appearance but certainly not in her sprightliness. Her eyes land on you and they lighten up, as though you're the one she's been searching for.

"You are supposed to be resting." She tsks, without much further explanation. Your heart sinks, already feeling as though you're in trouble. Rhysand, reading your abrupt switch from anger, jumps in to explain.

"Madja, here-" He gestures to the female with a polite smile- "is our resident healer. She's been taking care of you over these last couple days, helping to heal your wings."

A severe reminder of the sorry state that had been in not too long ago. Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes glaze over as they take in the dozens of scattered markings that litter your wings. Irreversible. Your glorious love, changed forever.

There's patches over the ends that you hadn't noticed before, covering where you know the stakes had been. You suddenly feel an immense rush of gratitude towards the stranger before you.

"Thank you," You say, your throat thick. You want to say it again, want to repeat it over and over til your lungs bleed because just once doesn't seem enough.

But Madja nods in a grave way, as though she knows your internal turmoil.

"You weren't supposed to be up and moving quite so soon," She says, this time with less disapproval in her voice.

She directs a more withering look towards Rhysand and Azriel, enough to surprise you. Perhaps, healers held a higher rank within the city than they did in the mountains? The whole scene looks like a mother scolding her naughty children, especially with how both males shrink beneath her glare.

"Anyhow, come now," She turns back to you and gives a gentle wave of her weathered hand, ushering you back inside. "You'll need at least a days rest before you should be back on your feet."

You amble in her direction, too fearful to glance back at the Highlord and too conflicted to turn back to Azriel. You had broken his trust with you deceit but... he had broken your trust back.

He had abandoned you when you needed him most. But he had also turned up during your darkest hour and saved your life.

You weren't sure what you wanted to do more; hug him once more or throw a shoe at his head. Probably both would make you feel better.

From behind you, you swear you hear a faint chuckle of amusement.

—

When it's just the two of them on the balcony, Rhys turns to Azriel, ignoring his brother's unsubtle sullen demeanor.

"So," He grins. "Mates, then?"

Azriel casts a glance across the balcony, still rigid and unmoving from his spot. His shadows perk up at the word but Azriel gives no reaction beyond a twitch in his jaw muscle. Debating whether to respond at all.

Finally, he mutters, "How could you tell?"

Rhys tilts his head back, chuckling quietly, his mind cast back to an old, fond memory. His violet eyes slice back to his Azriel and he gives a little shrug. "A hunch, really. I think I might have enough to start a theory actually."

He wanders over and nudges Azriel with his shoulder, breaking him from his frozen spot and nodding for them to both head indoors. Rather reluctantly, the Shadowsinger falls into step. Side by side, Rhys gives him only a moment of quiet to stew in before he pipes up once more.

"Say— how much do you remember Cassian and Nesta's first meeting? Any flying projectiles?"

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios

@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale

@aomi-recs @letmejustreadthanks @problemfinder @sevikas-whore @doodlebugg16-blog

@meandmysillywriting @justingnoreme @krowiathemythologynerd @hanatsuki-hime @sunny747

@coffeebeforewater @kalulakunundrum @marina468 @moonbirde @yellow-birdy @sheblogs

@shinyghosteclipse @randombibitch @itsjustwinter @emryb @books-all-the-way13

#i'm so excited for her to meet everyone yall... #this fic is my sandbox now #they've got HISTORY they've got MUTUAL PINING #god hows it all gonna go down -> doesnt actually know yet lol #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fanfiction #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel series #rhysand #whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn) #whom the shadows sing for #wtssf #sloane writes

[woso-soso]

You're Going To Do Great

Summary: Jessie gets put to the ultimate test, taking care of the team baby.

Word Count: 1,407

I would love to talk to you all so please shoot a message my way letting me know what you think!

I have not proofread yet, please let me know of any major mistakes but I will go back tomorrow and fix anything then!

You cover your mouth, doing your best to muffle the giggle bubbling inside of you at the look on Jessie’s face. You stand behind the camera as you watch the robotic baby doll get tossed onto the table landing right in front of Jessie. You had been doing media for the Portland Thorns for the last four years, having been lucky to land an entry level position after graduating from UCLA. Which is where you had met Jessie, the two of you having been together now for eight years, married for three of them. 

“What is going on?” She asks cautiously.

“One of the team predictions this year was that there would be another team baby,” you say off camera. “So far we haven’t had one so the team voted to do this, and you were selected to be the honorary mom.” You can see Jessie's nerves clear as day. It was a challenge to even get her to agree to do a video. There was no way you were going to tell her this was the plan. 

“So what am I supposed to do with it?” Jessie asks, picking the doll up slowly. Turning it over towards the camera, the little Portland thorns onesie on full display. 

“Well,” you start “IT’S name is Rose, and she will be spending the day with you.” You toss a ring of cards towards Jessie hoping and praying that her somewhat fast reflexes actually kick in for once. With a small sigh of relief you watch her catch them easily, well somewhat easily, the robot baby narrowly escapes being dropped on the ground. 

“All day?” Jessie’s eyes go wide as she stares past the camera into your eyes.

“All day,” you confirm. “But you’ll have this to aid you,” you toss yet another item at Jessie, the bright blue baby sling landing in front of her in a heap. “And those cards will be your life line, each one represents something different, feeding, changing, burping etcetera. There is also a panic card but trust me you don’t want to use it.” 

“How am I supposed to train with it?” Jessie asks as she fiddles with the baby sling. 

“You’ll figure it out Jessie, by the end of the day you're going to love ROSE.” You emphasize as the freckled woman glares at you. 

“Fine,” she grumbles, “Come help me with this,” she says as the camera is shut off, the baby sling hanging limply in her hand. With a soft smile on your face you go over to help her clip the robotic baby in. “Maybe this will be good practice,” Jessie whispers her hand resting gently on your slightly swollen abdomen. You were only four months along and no one on the team was aware of the impending arrival of baby Fleming, but you were ok with that. The two of you holding your notoriously very private status like a badge of honor. 

“I’m sure you’ll do amazing, just like with everything else,” You affirm as you brush her hair aside to clip the top of the sling. 

The camera crew follows Jessie around for the rest of the day, capturing every moment they can. You personally watch from your office window that faces down onto the training pitch. You laugh to yourself as you watch her attempt to leave the baby on the side lines, but the robotic screaming starts almost instantly. Jessie rushes to try and stop the crying, tapping every card on the ring multiple times until you see her visibly relax. Her teammates chirping at her as she heads back on to the pitch. 

You know for a fact that she has set off the panic card multiple times, the app connected to your phone alarming multiple times as she franctiled tried to get the screaming to stop. You watch as practice comes to a pause. Pushing away from your desk you slowly make your way down to the pitch. 

“Y/N,” shouts Olivia, the young girl attaching herself to your hip the second you're in sight. The much younger girl having become like a younger sister over the years as you took on a caregiver role while on the road. 

“Shhhhhh,” Jessie hisses at her “It just got quiet lets please not set it… “a loud screech echoes across the stadium. “Off.” Jessie sighs heavily as she digs out the cards again, starting the process of tapping every card not even taking a second to look at which was which. 

“Jessie, shouldn’t you be looking at the cards.” Olivia quips. “I don’t know if they didn’t have these in Canada but the more you hit it with the wrong card the worse your score is.” 

“IT'S SCORED?” Jessie asks panicked, turning towards you like you’ve betrayed her. 

“I told you to not hit it willy-nilly with the cards didn’t I,” Your eyebrow raised in question. 

“But you didn’t say I would be scored,” she exclaims. 

“Well,” you start, eyeing the cameras around you, “you might want to start making up for it, you might be able to redeem yourself before the end of day.” 

“Come on Jessie I raised you to be better to kids then that,” Sincy says patting the younger woman on the back as they head in for lunch. 

“If you think you’d be so good at it you take the baby then,” Jessie grunts in frustration as she shoves the plastic baby into the older womens arms. “I just need a minute away from the screaming.” Before Sincy can object Jessie is darting off into the cafeteria. 

By the end of the afternoon your phone has gone off another five times, the notifications popping up indicating that Jessie has yet again messed up and used the panic card. You take your time making your way to the locker room, meeting up with the camera crew along the way. You knock before entering the locker room, the screaming robot baby being all you can hear as people start to pack up for the night. Jessie having shoved the baby under a pile of pennies to try and muffle some of the screams.

“I don’t think that suffocating the baby bodes well for your score,” Your voice causes Jessie to jump suddenly as she whirls around to look at you. Her hand shooting into the pile of pennies to retrieve the robot.  

“I….” Jessie stammers. 

“It’s okay, give me the doll.” Your hand stretched out to take the screaming doll from her. Quickly flipping it over and turning it off. 

“She could have just turned it off all day?” Sophia shouts from across the locker room. 

“She could have,” you start with a smirk “but it wouldn’t have ended well for her if she had.” Jessies normally red cheeks flush even brighter. “Now, who here wants to know what Jessie scored on caring for our lovely Rose here?” 

“ME!” Exclaims a good portion of the crowd gathered in the room, the cameras panning across the grinning faces before settling on a flustered Jessie. 

“Mrs Fleming here has scored an impressive,” you pause for a moment to raise the intensity “57 percent, not too good there Mrs Fleming, looks like you might have some learning to still do.” You can make out a few digs and laughs in the locker room, most of them poking fun at Jessie for being as smart as she is. You hear quite a few questioning if that's the lowest grade she's ever gotten. 

You check behind you to be sure the cameras are off before making your way over to the shorter brunette, her cheeks bright red and eyes turned downward. She doesn’t necessarily look upset, more so uncomfortable with all the attention on her. 

“Am I really going to be that bad?” She questions quietly, her eyes moving to meet yours. “Am I going to break our baby,” her voice even quieter than before, wanting to maintain this secret from everyone for as long as possible. 

“Jessie Alexandra Fleming you are going to do great, amazing even. Trust me, I wouldn’t have a baby with anyone but you.” Your hand takes hers, your thumb gently running across the back of her hand. 

“Really?” She asked.

“Really,” you say gently, leaning down to place a soft kiss to her lips, her cheeks instantly flaming even more brightly at the very very rare show of affection in public.

#woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #canwnt imagine #canwnt imagines #canwnt x reader #jessie fleming imagine #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagines

[sugurufic]

What about Gojo and Geto (separately) they love their the reader but they don't admitted to eachother neither the reader,until they go to the beach with the school and the reader drown so the boys went towards them in the water saving them, and when they got them they went out of the water doing that cool pose holding the reader in bridal style before placing them on the sand doing cpr

In the end they confess they're love to eachother 💗

Maybe add some angst? Like Gojo and Geto thinks that their crush is dead?

Thank u in advance

this prompt took me a while to figure out how to write, hence the time it took to respond. I hope you enjoy this ^.^ (could only write for gojo because exams T.T)

Word Count: 1.4k

It's a beautiful day, Gojo thinks, smiling as he watches you and Utahime splash water on each other, sitting under the umbrella to save himself from the scorching sun.

He is sipping his coconut water, pretending to sleep behind his opaque glasses while his bright blue eyes focus on your beautiful figure, following your bright yellow swimsuit as you go further into the waves, the distant sound of your giggles music to his ears. Suguru isn't there to tease him; he is away with Nanami to get everyone ice cream.

Gojo rests his eyes only for a single moment - a moment where everything that could go wrong goes wrong. Your giggles fade, and the waves are suddenly too loud - a shriek that jolts him from his serene thoughts, then everything falling silent as he fails to spot your yellow swimsuit anywhere.

His six eyes frantically look for you, where the current of the Pacific Ocean might have dragged you. Gojo's long legs have kicked off, and running to the water, glasses forgotten and practically floating on the sand and into the water, swimming to catch a glimpse of you. He is working on pure adrenaline, frantically praying to whatever gods are listening to keep you safe. Utahime’s screams for help fall on his ears, only adding to his panic.

Gojo is already in waist deep water, his ears filled with his own distraught heartbeat. His electric blue eyes widened, unblinking, afraid to miss even a slight sight of you. His six eyes frantically flicker to catch a flash of yellow in the blue ocean water. It’s a battle against time, a battle which he cannot afford to lose. There’s so many things to do, so many words left to be said, there's only so much time left!

Tears prickle his eyes from the terror of losing the person possibly the most important to him and the salt from the ocean, but he doesn’t dare blink. The tears warm his red face, unwilling to sacrifice even a millisecond that could potentially endanger your life even more. His large hands shake uncontrollably, freezing even amidst the heat.

A shiver of relief runs down his spine at the sight of your yellow swimsuit and he rushes into the deep water, large hand grasping your still shoulder and pulling you away with all the strength he could muster. Once back in the waist deep water, Gojo pulls you into his arms, arms slung under your shoulders and below your knees to carry you out of the water. His heart threatens to claw out of his throat as he doesn’t feel you move against him, not even a little. His overworked brain struggles to recall the basics of CPR - trying to recall the mantra-like chant he had been made to remember during his school days. Some semblance of a memory comes to him - however it does little to soothe his nerves.

Gently lowering your still form on the dry sand, Satoru falls to his knees beside you, frantically pushing the heel of his hand at the centre of your chest. He keeps pressing down and releasing the pressure until the salty ocean water begins to escape from your mouth. It’s a good sign. Blue eyes drowning behind tears and pale face turned red - Satoru is a pillar of panic in that moment, pushing on your chest until you’ve stopped throwing up water. 

The chest compressions do nothing - your chest does not rise and fall as it should, body still as a statue. Your skin has wrinkled from the sheer amount of water it has absorbed and your complexion dulled - it’s making him think of a sight he doesn’t allow himself to word. Instead, he focuses on recalling CPR lessons while repeatedly doing chest compressions.

A thought crosses his frantic head and he leans lower, holding your chin with one hand to open your mouth while the other closes your nose. Taking deep breaths, he exhales with his lips on yours - they are cold to the touch, fueling his panic. He has always imagined your lips to be warm, to feel them against his, and now that it was happening he doesn’t want it this way; with you being cold and unresponsive.

It takes quite a while for your breaths to return with a gasp, and you cough up some more seawater right on Satoru’s pretty face - but he doesn’t mind at all. He’s too relieved to care about the water on his face. 

Shoko sits beside him now, having run all the away from the restaurant. She does her magic, and your coughing fits stop with your eyes flickering behind the eyelids. 

When you open your eyes with a gasp, suddenly sitting up, your head bumps into Satoru’s. Still disoriented, you lay back down on the sand, the white mop of Satoru’s hair blurring with the bright blue sky. You aren’t even sure if that is him - maybe you are imagining things.

“Ow,” Satoru mumbles, rubbing his head. You’re breathing, squinting. You’re moving. He keeps repeating the words to himself, holding your hand to comfort both you and himself. They way your fingers tightly wrap around his is the reassurance that he needed.

With your brows knitted together and lips glued shut, you shake your head, trying to get back your bearings. The hand in yours - possibly Satoru’s - is your tether to the conscious world, one that you aren’t ready to let go just yet. Finally you manage to open your eyes, only to have your friend hovering over you, his bright blue eyes peering into yours.

“Hello there, Satoru,” You try to joke, but your voice comes out choked - it is from the salt water - and your throat burns a little as well.

“You scared the shit out of me,” He complains, white brows scrunching together in a frown.

“Sorry,” you mumble, your throat still burning. “Can you take me somewhere inside?”

He nods before promptly picking you up, bridal style and you have half the mind to be embarrassed, as your heart thunders against your ribcage, finally spotting Shoko behind you, watching the two of you with a slight smile. You sheepishly grin at her, trying to mask your embarrassment. 

Shoko accompanies you inside the resort’s room, directing the stewards there to bring you all sorts of things - electrolyte solutions, juices, and energy drinks. When you complain about the burning sensation in your throat, she makes you drink a ton of water - and then asks for a steamer. You still haven’t gotten all your bearings back so she explains to Satoru what he needs to do to take care of you, and cares for you that he does. He’s with you for the next two hours, making you drink electrolyte solutions, feeding you soup, ensuring that you are hydrated and helping you clean out your hair. It’s like you have got a personal nurse in him.

“I am so grateful to you for saving me, Satoru,”

“Well, you should be.” Satoru pouts. “I had to kiss you to save you,”

“On a second thought, you should’ve left me to die,”

“And let you live this down?” He smirks. “No, never.”

“Oh great sorcerer Satoru, how will I ever pay you back?” you roll your eyes, annoyed.

“You should return that kiss you stole from me.” He narrows his eyes at you, a rare evening seeing him without his opaque glasses for so long.

“Oi, you are the one who stole a kiss from me,” you sneer. “You should be the one returning it.”

“Oh yeah? Would you like that?” He raises his brow with a smirk.

“Would you like that?” You tease him. It’s comical how his eyes widen, but he quickly recovers.

“Kissing a pretty woman whose life I saved?” His smooth voice is teasing. “I’d like that very much. In fact, I think I should’ve done that a while ago.”

It’s now your turn to be flustered. “What do you mean?” you ask, voice coming softer than you intended.

He’s sitting beside you now, nose brushing against yours. “I think… we would be great as more than friends,” his big blue eyes fall down to your lips once before settling on your eyes. “Don’t you think so?”

You do - but you don’t say it, opting to close the minuscule gap between the two of you instead. You slot your lips against his in a kiss that languid and slow, full of desires and feelings that are yet to be said.

“At least take me out on a date first,” he softly chuckles when you pull back.

“How does Saturday 6 pm sound to you?” you wink, maintaining a serious voice. “Dress nicely for me, princess,”

“Sounds perfect,” Gojo chuckles, batting his pretty eyelashes at you.

A/N: Gojo is my beautiful princess with a disorder

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader

[vxnuslogy]

— love is (ir)rational. ft. veritas ratio

— warnings: angst and breakups

— author's note: incredibly self-indulgent and heavily influenced by tiktoks and mitski songs. the last statement is from this article so please give it a read since its very interesting !!

to say that your relationship with veritas ratio was hanging by a thread was an understatement.

you tried your hardest to sweep every argument at night when you enter his office under the rug and prayed to the aeons that he'd forget it when morning came; you never learned how to deal with confrontation, so you did what you do best: avoid the situation entirely at all cost.

playing as the fool who couldn't see the cracks in your already fragile situation with ratio but still clinged onto the tiniest of hopes that everything will be fixed. that no argument between you two would actually leave you to split paths. you always found a way to one another, a middle ground you had unspokenly created. you always made it work. you had to make it work.

“this is not going to work, [name]!” he shouts as you fight back tears.

“you don't know that! we always make it work don't we, veritas? you can't just decide stuff like this on your own!” you argue with him the best you could, but veritas ratio was a genius. 

you will never win an argument against him.

“this is hurting us. you.” he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “we can't continue like this, and you know it.”

“then continue to hurt me.” you desperately try to claw into your lover's mind. trying to keep any piece of him because it was better to not have anything at all. “i don't care if it hurts, veritas! if it's you then it's fine, i can look past it.”

you look like a scared animal, desperate for love and the need to feel something, even if it was pain.

“we'll be fine, veritas.” you clutch onto your shirt as tears pricked your eyes. “we have to! you promised me!”

ratio was a logical man. he was a genius. someone who should've been acknowledged by nous themselves. but at this very moment, he realizes that no amount of academic knowledge will compare to the flurry of the unknown emotional wreckage that is you. someone who thinks too much of love. bewitched with the prospect of love instead of their actual partner - him.

“veritas, please… we can still make this work.”

the diplomas of his achievements were a farce; a big hoax to hide the hollowness that resides within where his heart should be.

“you and i both know that we were both too far gone to save.”

ratio closes his eyes. trying his best to rid the hurt and shrinking image of you from his mind. 

“you don't know how to love yourself.” you avoided the truth to protect yourself, he traversed the universe to make the truth known. “how can you expect me to give you the love you want when you don't even know what it is?”

what an ugly pair you two make.

“that's bullshit!” you were gasping for air. scavenging your mind to try and find a way to refute him like you always do. “i want you, veritas! do you not understand that?”

“no.” he answered with a shake of his head. “no, i do not, [name].”

you feel your already broken heart crack a little more.

“that stuff is all bullshit.” your whisper now was just above whisper. “so what if what you said is true? you loved me at least didn't you?”

veritas didn't like the way you looked at him. so full of loneliness and fear. that look didn't suit you, not in the slightest.

“that's all i needed, veritas. you loved me so much i forgot what it felt like to hate myself.”

to love means to surrender intellectual control; veritas ratio cannot rationalize love even if you told him otherwise. but there was one thing you didn't tell him - one thing you refused to tell veritas ratio.

‘if your partner has inherently good qualities, but your love for them is based on a projection of your fantasy onto them, your love does not fit the qualities of the beloved that fueled your love. your love fails to be epistemically justified.’

— [name], ????. the emotion that is love.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

#✒️ — works #—stellaronhvnters. #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr headcanons #hsr ratio #honkai star rail ratio #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #ratio x reader #ratio x you

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

COVEY MY LOVE YOUR REQUESTS ARE BACK OPEN AND I JUST SAW?? Omg anyway I am so predictable y’know I gotta just request something for my main boy, my fav boy, my cutie pie, my babygirl, Connor 🤭🤭

HOWEVER been having a wee identity crisis and I’m gonna ask for Hephaestus reader because I’m second guessing everything I know as an Athena kid simply because of graphic design 😔

So if it wasn’t clear cause I rambled can I have a FLUFFY Hephaestus reader x Connor Stoll (I saw that Connor x Apollo reader.) pretty pretty please

(+ I just realised I call you my love and babe so much and I say love you so if your uncomfortable w that I’ll stop it’s just second nature to me so please say if you want me to stop!!!)

✮⋆˙ the fixer and the thief - connor stoll x daughter of hephaestus! reader blurb

𝜗𝜚 content…connor stoll x daughter of hephaestus! reader blurb 𝜗𝜚 warning…language 𝜗𝜚 letters from the author…of course!! also, i don't have a problem with the nicknames, but some days i struggle to respond to them in a similar manner due to personal stuff. so, feel free to use them, but just know that sometimes i might not use them back. and it's nothing against you, brains are just funky sometimes!!

────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

"and where'd this one come from?" you asked, tilting your head at the boy and inspecting yet another sword the hermes boy passed off to you with a mischievous smile.

"nowhere special. can you fix it?" connor pushed, like he did nearly every week. he'd come in with a new weapon, broken and bent in strange ways, requesting that your fixing abilities were required.

"hmm. does nowhere special happen to be the nike cabin?" you asked, raising a brow at the boy with a teasing smirk. his face fell for a moment, clearly getting caught in his own lie, before he pulled his face back up, rubbing at the back of his neck and glancing away from you.

"whattttttttt? me, a thief? never in a million years!" he mused back, throwing in a wink that had you turning your back on the boy, hoping to the nervous jitters that ran through your hands.

"now you're a liar, too?" you called to him, squinting at the metal in your hands, knowing work would draw your attention away from him and his flirty habits.

"whatever. can you fix it or not?"

"you already know i can fix it."

"obviously. there are two reason i come to you and you alone," replied connor, ducking his head as your attention returned to him.

"oh yeah? pray tell, sly boy."

"one, you're the best fixer at camp. and two...you're, like, really pretty."

"you kiss ass! plus, she's not even the best-" leo called from somewhere deep in the forges but his argument was cut off by a wrench being thrown in his direction, his cries a clear sign that you had hit your mark.

"you think im the best fixer?" you questioned and connor gave you a strange look.

"and pretty."

"yeah, but i already knew that! let's go back to the whole 'best fixer' thing."

"whatever you want, my best girl."

"EWWWWWW."

"LEO, SHUT UP!"

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #hoo #pjo fandom #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #connor stoll #connor stoll x reader #connor stoll x you #connor stoll x y/n #travis stoll #connor stoll fanfic #rrverse #riordanverse #pjo x reader #x reader #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #toa #leo valdez

[aspecbuddie]

Hiiii Sam 💕💕💕

Buddie + tucking the other in bed

-❤️🪐

Saturn!! My dude!! This actually isn't the one I told you I was working on but here! Hope you like it! 💚💚💚

The house is silent when Eddie returns home, which he was expecting. His shift had overrun by several hours, and he'd kept Buck and Christopher updated as much as he could, and so had hoped they would be asleep by the time he eventually returned, rather than awake and waiting for his return as confirmation he is alive.

There is a light on, but that's just something Buck does when he knows Eddie is going to be home after everyone else has gone to bed. So that he doesn't walk into everything on his way to the bedroom, apparently. (He's only had bruises from that twice, thank you very much.)

He drops his work bag in the entryway – to the side and out of the way. It can wait until the morning.

Tiptoeing through the house, he silently thanks himself for remembering to shower, change, and grab something to eat before leaving the station. Not only does he not feel like doing any of it now he's home, but he doesn't want to make any more noise than absolutely necessary. Nor would he have wanted to climb into bed with his boyfriend smelling like the aftermath of an abandoned factory fire.

He strips down to his underwear in the hall and slips on a pair of sleep shorts (that could be Buck's - it's too dark to see without turning another light on) that he grabs from the laundry.

There is a dull glow coming from around their bedroom door, so maybe his boyfriend isn’t quite as asleep as Eddie assumed. He pushes the door open quietly – Chris is asleep, even if Buck isn’t – and is about to greet Buck when he stops himself.

Buck is asleep. Eddie can’t help but smile at the sight. This man – his man – has fallen asleep sitting propped against the headboard, on top of the covers. He’s got a t-shirt and sleep shorts on, phone in one hand and a pen loosely gripped in the other, puzzle book in his lap. He has clearly tried hard to stay awake for Eddie’s return and lost the battle at some point.

As cute as the sight is, it also looks uncomfortable as hell, so Eddie allows himself one more minute of committing this image to his memory before he pads over to Buck’s side of the bed and tries to figure out the best way of getting his – frankly gigantic – boyfriend lying down and under the covers without waking him up.

Deciding there’s not really a way that’s better than any others, Eddie gently grabs Buck’s legs and lifts them slightly, trying to simultaneously pull the covers out from underneath. Buck stirs a little and Eddie freezes, silently praying for Buck to stay asleep. It seems to work, until Eddie once again moves Buck’s legs.

“Hrmph, wasgoinon?” Buck mumbles, wearily throwing an arm over his eyes, even though the only light in the room is the dim glow from the lamp on Buck’s own bedside table.

“Shh, just lift your ass up a little and then lie down properly and then you can go back to sleep, sound good?”

Buck removes the arm from over his face. “Eddie?”

“Unless you have other men over when I go to work without you, babe,” Eddie whispers, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. “I just got back. Get under the covers, Buck. And lie down properly or you’ll hurt your neck.”

Buck makes some sort of noise that may have been intended as words, but ended up as gibberish to Eddie, but does push himself up just enough for Eddie to pull the covers out from underneath and wrap them back around him once he’s lying back down, now with his head on the pillow rather than sat upright.

Allowing himself one more moment of taking in the beauty and calm and happiness of having Buck in his bed – their bed – and wondering for the twentieth time this week just how they managed to finally sort themselves out and allow themselves to have this and be happy, Eddie smiles and turns off the lamp.

He climbs into bed, wraps his arms around Buck (who immediately moves in closer still), and drifts off to sleep with that smile still on his face.

#full disclosure: i wanted to use 'duvet' instead of 'covers' but i have a vague memory of consuming media where an american was confused by #what a duvet is and i got worried about it so covers it is #also idk if sleep shorts are actually a thing but i've definitely heard them mentioend in fic before so #asks #saturn 💚 #911 fic #buddie fic #buddie #aspecbuddie writes #911 abc

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

12: MENDING FENCES

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Bucky is finally trying to be more communicative about his feelings but you keep giving him things to worry about.

Word count 3.4k

Warnings: better communication between two idiots in love, insecurities, anxiety, panic attack, medical issues: surgery, allergies, anaphylaxis, tracheostomies, Tony Stark and is generosity is basically legend, Big Brother Steve is worried

"She’s stable." Steve told Bucky, the moment he sat down. 

Bucky heaved a sigh of relief. "Is she awake? Can we see her?"

"They’re taking her to surgery," Nat interjected, having appeared suddenly.

"How long will that take?" Bucky demanded. Surgery was never something to celebrate.

Nat shrugged, sitting down beside Bucky, the only empty seat in the waiting room that was filled by several other Avengers and Melinda May. Everyone was concerned about your wellbeing.

Steve glanced at Nat before turning back to Bucky. "They didn't give a specific time frame, but they said she's stable for now. That's a good sign, right?"

Bucky nodded, trying to hold onto that small glimmer of hope. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, not after everything you had been through together. The memories of your laughter, your smile, and the way you always had his back flooded his mind, making his heart ache with worry.

Nat placed a comforting hand on Bucky's shoulder. "She's a fighter, Buck. She'll pull through this, I know it."

Bucky managed a weak smile, grateful for the support of his friends. He knew they were all rooting for you, praying for your recovery. The waiting was agonizing, each passing minute feeling like an eternity.

As the hours ticked by, the tension in the waiting room grew thicker. Bucky couldn't sit still, his leg bouncing up and down with nervous energy.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor emerged from the operating room. Bucky's heart leaped into his throat as he stood up, his eyes locked on the doctor's face.

"She made it through surgery," the doctor announced, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "She's still unconscious, but the procedure was successful. She's a strong one, that's for sure."

Relief washed over Bucky like a tidal wave, his legs suddenly feeling weak with gratitude. He sank back into his seat, tears of relief pricking at his eyes. You were going to be okay.

Steve clapped Bucky on the back, a proud smile on his face. "See, I told you she's a fighter."

"Rogers!" Nat punched Steve's shoulder as he chuckled.

Bucky nodded, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude. He couldn't wait to see you, to hold you in his arms and never let go. You were his rock, his anchor, and he would do anything to keep you safe.

"She's stable," he whispered to himself, a mantra of hope and faith. And with that, Bucky knew that together, you would overcome anything that came your way.

"Can we see her?" Nat asked.

The surgeon looked around the room at the crowd of people in the room before answering hesitantly. "Maybe just one person." He held up his forefinger.

Bucky stood up and was about to stride into the recovery room, when May grabbed his metal arm. The glare she gave him terrified even him, stopping him in his tracks while she walked into the room to see you. But he knew that she had known you longer than anyone else, you considered her your closest family. So he conceded, grateful that she left the doors open so that he could peer into the room to where you lay sleeping peacefully. His heart started beating faster as you opened your eyes and took May’s hand.

He craned his neck as a nurse blocked his view of your face. Edging forwards slightly, creeping closer to you. Would you want to see him?

*

You woke up in a daze, the beeping of machines and the sterile smell of the hospital room filling your senses. You blinked a few times, trying to clear your head and make sense of what had happened. Memories flooded back to you in bits and pieces - Priya, the Vrellnexian, Steve… and Bucky. Had he really been there?

As you tried to sit up, you winced at the sharp pain in your side. May was by your side in an instant, her face etched with worry. "Take it easy," she said softly, helping you adjust the pillows behind your back. She had never been a fan of physical touch, but it was much worse since she got her empath powers.

As you let the air out of your lungs gently, you felt the tension melting away slowly and the pain subsided. "Thanks," you croaked, voice hoarse from the tube that had been inserted in your throat for surgery. "What happened?"

"Same thing that always happens." 

You rolled your eyes, focusing back on May just in time to see her gaze flick back from the other side of the room. You frowned at her, questioningly.

May shook her head, contemplating how much information to give you. You turned your head to follow her gaze but it was blocked by a cheery nurse who greeted you. 

"Right dear, my name is Gertrude. I'm here to give you your first dose of antibiotics. Is that alright?" Her tone was so chipper that you could feel May tense with irritation. 

You nodded, still drowsy from the effects of the anesthetic. May took a step back to allow Gertrude to do her job. The antibiotic felt like cold, seeping through your arm, spreading to your shoulder and straight into your heart. This was followed by a strange sense of euphoria, your heart was racing and there was a strange tightness in your throat and chest. A sudden craving for air filled your lungs and your skin felt like it was on fire, burning as though someone was prodding you with a thousand red hot pokers. 

From a distance, you heard May’s voice calling your name and someone else, someone so familiar. You strained your ears, but it felt like you were under water and your friends were so far away. You did everything you could to swim through the murky waters, but something was dragging you under and you didn’t have the energy to resist. But the voice, you knew it well, you missed that voice. You clawed your way up towards it but the forces acting against you were too strong and the darkness surrounded you, until you sank into oblivion.

*

You woke dazed and confused, your eyes fluttering open to the dimly lit hospital room. The first thing you noticed was the tightness in your neck, the feeling of something foreign lodged in your throat. Panic set in as you tried to sit up, only to be met with the sharp pain of the tubes and wires attached to you.

You reached up to touch your neck, feeling the hard plastic of a tracheostomy tube. What had happened? Everything felt hazy, memories out of reach and it was terrifying. As you tried to make sense of it all, you heard a soft snoring beside you. You turned your head to see Bucky, sitting in a chair by your bedside, his head lolling to one side as he slept in what looked like a terribly uncomfortable position.

"Bucky," you tried to speak but there was no sound. Instead you reached over with your hand, the one free from tubes. He was just about close enough for you to graze the skin on his arm.

He looked up with a start, his expression softening as your eyes met his. They were red-rimmed and weary, his usual stoic demeanor replaced by a look of sorrow. "I'm here," he said quietly, reaching out to grasp your hand.

You pointed at the trach in your neck and mouthed, "what happened?"

"Cricket, you had an allergic reaction. I didn’t know you were allergic to antibiotics."

You frowned in confusion, neither did you. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d taken antibiotics and you wondered what they had given you. It was as though Bucky could read your thoughts, he grabbed your chart from the end of the bed and held it out in front of you so you could read the name of the drug you had been injected with: ceftriaxone. You’d have to make a note of that for future reference. Bucky put the chart away, but not before glancing at it himself, making a mental note for himself.

"How’s the pain?" Bucky asked, softly.

You lifted your hand holding it parallel to the mattress and rocking it slightly. Bucky nodded, sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, I should have been there for you. I'm so sorry." His words held a multitude of meanings.

In a flash, it felt like nothing had happened between you, his presence was the comfort you sorely sought and all was forgiven. You tried to speak, to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that you didn't blame him for the past. But the words caught in your throat, the tracheostomy tube making it impossible to form coherent sounds. Instead, you squeezed his hand, trying to convey your gratitude through a simple gesture. But Bucky understood your unspoken message.

"I made a mistake," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought you didn’t care about me. But I know now that I was wrong. You’ve always been there for me. I miss our… us and I want to make things right."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Bucky, the weight of his words sinking in. You had never stopped caring for him, never stopped loving him. And in that moment, you knew that forgiveness was possible, that your bond could, not only be repaired, but had the potential to grow stronger. You reached out and pulled Bucky into a tight embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, at the very least, your friendship would endure. 

As your whole body trembled with emotion, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned to see Nat standing there, her eyes filled with concern and anger. "Stop, Bucky. Leave," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the air.

But you couldn’t let Bucky go. Not now, not when you finally had the chance to mend things between you. You reached out and held Nat’s hand, squeezing it gently. Your eyes telling her what your voice couldn’t. "I need him here, Nat. Please understand."

Nat’s expression softened as she looked at you with an air of disappointment. "So after all the pain he put you through, all the crap, you're just gonna forgive him? Because he comes in here and bats those blue eyes at you and you just pretend these last 6 months of agony didn't happen?"

Your face flushed at her words, not wanting to look over at Bucky to see his reaction. But you knew he hadn’t let go of your hand, he wasn’t shying away from Nat’s allegations. You took a deep breath, trying to find a way to explain your feelings. But with the tracheostomy in place, all you could do was look at Nat with pleading eyes. You wanted her to understand that forgiveness wasn’t about forgetting the pain, but about moving forward and healing.

"You’re right, Nat. I know I have a lot of work to do to prove I deserve Cricket’s forgiveness." Bucky was talking to Nat, but looking directly at you. "But I need you to know that you can trust me."

Nat sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine," she said, her voice tinged with resignation. "But if he hurts you again, I won’t be so forgiving."

You nodded, grateful for her acceptance. And as Nat left the room, you turned back to Bucky, who was still holding your hand. His eyes were filled with a mixture of regret and hope, as if he couldn’t quite believe that you were giving him another chance.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I never meant to hurt you. I was just..."

You squeezed his hand, letting him know that you understood. And as you sat there in silence, the weight of the past six months slowly lifted off your shoulders.

*

Over the next few days, Bucky was at your side. Natasha and May took it in turns to glare at him so that he would leave to shower and get a few hours of sleep. He would sit with you all night and even though you urged him to go home and take care of himself, you were grateful for and comforted by this presence. 

The days were filled with hard work and rehabilitation. You were determined to be weaned off your tracheostomy in record time, especially since you missed the taste of real food. And the catheter they'd put in your bladder was far from dignified.

On your fourth day, they put in a speaking valve and it felt good to be able to communicate again, even if it was just with short raspy sentences. Bucky was dizzy with delight when you greeted him by name. He missed hearing your voice, he would take anything you had to give him. Bucky wasn't the biggest talker at the best of times, he needed encouragement, coaxing into a conversation. It made you wonder how well he and Priya communicated. In the first few days of your recovery, he hadn't spoken much, preferring to sit beside you while you watched your favorite shows on the huge television that Tony had wheeled into your room before dragging a rueful Steve off to Thailand to neutralize a strange artifact giving off cosmic radiation.

Your powers helped you excel with speaking using the valve and you were allowed to use it for longer periods. But sometimes success didn't always work in your favor. 

The following evening, after a grueling session of physical therapy, you fell asleep, only to jolt awake in the middle of the night in a state of panic, heart racing and your chest tight. You couldn't breathe. Panic gripped you as you struggled to catch your breath.

You sat up, gasping for air, feeling like you were suffocating. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the darkness pressing down on you. You tried to calm yourself down, to slow your breathing, but the panic only grew stronger.

Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, pushing you backwards. Bucky grabbed the suction tube and skillfully removed the mucus blocking your air passage, a task he had observed the nurses do countless times.

As your oxygen levels rose, Bucky shoved the tube back on the bedside unit and gripped your shoulders. "It's okay, it's clear now, you're okay," he reassured you.

But the panic still gripped you tightly, refusing to let go. Bucky looked at you with concern in his eyes as you took shuddering breaths between sobs. Without a word, he climbed onto the bed and wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest.

"I got you, Cricket. I promise I'm never letting you go again. I got you," he whispered softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

As you lay there, enveloped in Bucky's comforting embrace, the panic slowly began to subside. Your breathing steadied, your heart rate slowed, and the darkness that had threatened to consume you began to fade away. Bucky's presence was a lifeline, a reminder that you were not alone in your struggle.

With his arms around you, you felt safe and protected, allowing yourself to relax and drift back to sleep, knowing that Bucky would be there to watch over you throughout the night. And as you finally succumbed to sleep, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, grateful for the unwavering support of your friend in your time of need.

*

The next morning, you woke up with your face plastered against Bucky's chest, a ridiculous amount of saliva coating your mouth and to your horror, Bucky's t-shirt. You couldn't help but feel mortified at the situation. Waking up with your face pressed against Bucky's chest, drooling all over his t-shirt was not how you had envisioned your morning going. But despite the embarrassment, you couldn't deny the warmth and comfort you felt being so close to him.

Bucky chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair. "No worries, Cricket. It happens to the best of us."

As you sat up and tried to compose yourself, Bucky reached over to grab a tissue and handed it to you. "Here, clean yourself up."

You took the tissue gratefully, wiping away the excess saliva from your mouth and the stain on Bucky's shirt. "S’rry, B’cky. Didn't mean to drool all o’er you."

Bucky just shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's no big deal, really. Just a shirt. Besides, it's not like I haven't drooled on myself before."

You couldn't help but laugh at his comment, feeling a bit more at ease. Bucky always had a way of making you feel comfortable, even in the most embarrassing of situations. You missed the camaraderie that you’d had before Priya had entered your lives.

“How's the breathing?”

“S’rry fo’ ‘reakin’ ou’.”

Bucky just waved off your apology, his eyes filled with understanding. "Don't worry about it, Cricket. We all have our moments. I’ve lost count of the number I’ve had, this is the least I could do. I'm just glad you're feeling better now."

You couldn't help but smile at his kindness. Despite the awkward start to the morning, you were grateful that Bucky was still by your side. When it was just the two of you together, it was so easy to get lost in a world where he was yours.

“Di’ you sleep?” you asked him.

“A little… enough.” He added as your face fell. “Don’t worry about me.”

You were taken aback as the door to your room flew open, revealing Steve and Tony standing in the doorway with surprised expressions on their faces. You quickly sat up, feeling a rush of embarrassment at being caught in such an intimate position with Bucky.

Tony raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Looks like we interrupted something.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He never answered back to Tony. Bucky had confessed to you that he remembered every detail of how he had murdered the Starks. He had never mentioned any specifics to you but you knew his subconscious would never let him forget. He told you that his dreams were like vivid flashbacks, they played behind his eyelids too often.

“T’ny!” You couldn't help but roll your eyes at Tony's teasing. “Miss’on ‘kay?”

“Total success, Cricket. Thailand was pretty scenic, from what we saw on the flyby. I’ll be sure to take you one day, I think it’s right up your alley.”

You smiled gratefully. Tony had a way of showing his affection by showering you with gifts.

“Hey, why is this thing not on?” He tapped at the wide screen at the end of your bed. “I brought this to help aid your recovery.”

“An’ it’s workin’ marv’ls.”

“That’s fantastic! Well, we'll leave you two lovebirds to it then. Just try to keep the drooling to a minimum, okay?” 

Steve and Tony exchanged a knowing look while both you and Bucky groaned in unison.

“Err, actually, I’m going to stay for a moment,” Steve said, hesitantly before turning to you. “If that’s alright with you?”

“Co’rse.” Now that he was closer, Steve looked tired and worried.

You watched as Bucky got up and left the room to use the bathroom, leaving you alone with Steve. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his expression serious.

“I was worried about you, Cricket,” Steve began, his voice filled with concern. “You and Bucky are like family to me. I can’t bear the thought of losing either of you.”

You felt a pang of guilt at causing Steve to worry. “S’rry, St’ve. Didn’t mean to put you thr’ugh that. Promis’ I’ll be more ‘areful in the future.”

Steve reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know you didn’t mean to, Cricket. But please, promise me that you won’t do anything reckless like getting stabbed again.”

You nodded, feeling grateful for Steve’s concern and support. “Pr’mise.” You held up three fingers in a scout’s salute.

Steve smiled, his blue eyes filled with warmth. “Good. And remember, I’m always here for you. You can talk to me about anything, okay?” He looked at the door, the one that Bucky had just used to vacate the room.

You nodded, feeling a sense of comfort and reassurance wash over you. Steve had always been there for you and Bucky, like a protective older brother. You were grateful to have him in your life.

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Tag list: @samodivaa @scoonsalicious @noonespecial90 @browneyedgrli @vicmc624 @cjand10 @capswife @julvrs @ordelixx @sashaisready @sebastians-love @belleofthebooks @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @rabbitrabbit12321 @love-isnt-greed @hhiggs @winters1917 @blackhawkfanatic @calwitch @learisa @daybleedsintonightfa11 @lillianacristina @mostlymarvelgirl @wintercrow @buckitostan @crist1216 @bisexualnikkisixx @robynjasp @brairslair

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fan fiction #my best friend's girl

[blacclotusss]

Do You Know What It Means to be Loved by Death?

My meta and analysis of my favorite scenes from IWTV s02e02

Louis and Claudia at the Cafe

Been a favorite of mine since the scene dropped way back in February. I've always loved Louis and Claudia moments where the two of them are just acting like the siblings they are. Claudia's question of who Louis is, I believe, implants something within him. Louis does dodge the question, of course, but I think we'll see what happens once he's without her. Now, the question is whether he will be without the hallucination of Lestat (I don't think so).

Claudia and Madeleine Meeting

Claudia and Madeleine's first meeting! Eep! There was more tension than I was expecting, but I liked the interaction. Claudia bursting in and demanding her wants is music to my ears.

Louis Cruising

Baby...I'm so glad Mr. du Lac is in Paris living it up and doing so freely. I do wish we could have seen him cruising more...explicitly; especially with the way Armand and Louis described their love lives. But, it's nice to know he was free and without judgement to do as he wanted.

Louis and Armand's First Meeting

Can we talk about legit love and first sight?! They're both so cute in this moment, it's the sweetest thing. The awkwardness of Louis against the smoothness of Armand meshed together beautifully. And the way the two looked at each other as they recounted the story was so magical. "I will not harm you" "And I never have." Such a tender moment and I hope and pray Armand has not hurt that man in any way, even indirectly. I can see it in the both of their faces that they wish to go back to that time, if only for a little while.

Introduction to the Theatre/Coven

I am such a sucker for all things camp and theater and this was both of those on steroids. The theatrics, the acting, the usage of both the projector and the blurred lines between real and fake was amazing. It felt like a show all on it's own. Louis and his facial expressions were hilarious and you can clearly tell it's not his thing, but Claudia wants to fully immerse herself in that. It was so sweet looking at how in awe and happy she was to see the production. Cannot wait to see her on the stage. I'm glad the show have each member of the coven a bit of backstory instead of just sticking them in the scene. We can already see on stage Santiago's personality and I'm intrigued with how he'll develop. I also noticed Armand seemed to be a bit distant when watching them interact. I believe he's already began to pivot his focus to Louis, which is confirmed in the murder mansion scene.

Lestat Reading His Letter to Louis

The only time we see Lestat in the episode and of course it's a tense moment. The first time we hear from de Lioncourt himself (will we have more of these moments?) and you can feel the tension and despair in the air. It probably made things worse for Louis for a couple of reasons. One, even in "death" Lestat, his first vampire love, loves and trusts him. "Know only this, mon cher, you are the only being I trust, and whom I love, above and beyond myself. All my love belongs to you. You are its keeper." That probably made Louis' heart swell. But, as much as it swelled, it hurt him beyond measure. The mention of treachery and seeking revenge probably made him feel as if he was choking. He knows he's the one that's going to have to let treachery eat away at him and let Lestat's face press up against his longing. I'm not sure if his hallucinations of him are longing, but the idea of killing him is still eating away at him.

Louis and Armand Toying with Daniel's Thoughts

Whew boy. This was a doozy, wasn't it? I was not expecting the flashback moment in that scene but I have a few theories. One: Armand is Alice. Yes, it's controversial but after this episode I don't think it's as far fetched as it was in season one. Armand popped up at that moment for a reason. And it's quite funny how no one has checked on the man, not even his daughters. I get strained relationships, but was it that bad? Now, I still don't fully believe this theory, but it's a thought. Another theory is that Armand's relationship with Daniel parallels his and Alice's. We don't know the full extent of what happened, but the two got divorced and no longer speak so it wasn't good. Third, Armand could have simply planted that in Daniel's head, which I think is the strongest one here. We all know Armand possesses the capabilities to do this and that flashback could have been him planting that in his mind. I saw someone say something about the editor messing with Daniel as well since they were the ones who pointed out flaws in his book (read by Louis in season one), which would be crazy, to say the least, because why?  And say what you want, that old bastard deserved it.

Murder Mansion Scene

Another scene I've been obsessed with since we saw it last year. These two are just lost in each other as there's a whole murder party happening behind them. I did like how protective Louis was of Claudia when Armand mentioned her (Armand please don't piss me off), but I hope he takes lessons from Maitre about shutting off his thoughts because that could definitely be his downfall.

#louis de pointe du lac #the vampire claudia #armand iwtv #louis x armand #vampterview #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire #daniel molloy #lestat de lioncourt

[erikahenningsen]

Rejanis. Dealer’s choice. ;)

32. A kiss while someone watches

Regina barely slept last night. Actually, she hasn't slept well for at least a week. Her body feels sluggish while her brain moves fast, thoughts whipping by like she's in a car with a steering wheel that doesn't work.

She picks at her thumbnail while her friends gather into a circle, and Kyle places the bottle in the center—an empty wine bottle Regina had pulled out from the recycling bin in the garage.

Regina tries to think of a way out of this game but comes up empty; she's positive that if she protests, everyone will somehow, suddenly know.

They'll know that Regina's been spending her nights staring at her ceiling, trying and failing to think about anything or anyone but Janis. That she runs her phone battery down scrolling through Janis's personal and art Instagram accounts and her camera roll, full of photos of them together or just random photos of Janis, for hours. That last night, Regina hesitantly typed am I gay? into Google.

As Kyle and Karen make juvenile jokes about kissing, Regina gets the creeping, panicky feeling she did when she got on the biggest roller coaster at Six Flags last summer—like she's being strapped into an experience she doesn't want to have and handing the controls to her life over to someone else.

Kyle's big, boyish hand lands on her knee, and Regina jumps.

"You good, babe?" he asks, and Regina fights not to cringe like she does every time he calls her that.

"Good, all good," Regina says, hoping she sounds cool and casual. Not that she expects Kyle to pick up on any nuance in her tone.

They've kissed a few times, and it hasn't been particularly enjoyable. Kyle's lips are rough, and he presses in too hard, is too eager to use tongue. Every time, it leaves Regina with the unsettling thought that there is something deeply wrong with her.

"I'll go first!" Karen says enthusiastically, reaching forward and giving the bottle a spin.

Regina sits back on her hands, watching as the bottle slowly spins to a stop, pointing right at Kyle. All the eyes in the circle turn to her, and belatedly, Regina realizes she's supposed to give a shit.

"Watch yourself," Regina says, pointing at Karen. Everyone laughs, but there's a distinct tense energy in the room—probably because Regina knows for a fact half the people here have never kissed anyone.

Karen shuffles over to Kyle, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in. Karen, at least, has kissed a few people already, so she's playing for fun, not to increase the number of fingers she can put down during a game of Never Have I Ever.

The kiss is short and relatively chaste, because Regina knows Karen would never actually kiss her boyfriend, and certainly not in front of witnesses. But Regina knows she's supposed to be jealous, possessive, so when they part, Regina slides her hand into his and gives him a look.

"Sorry, babe," Kyle says sheepishly as Karen scoots back to her spot.

Regina presses a brief kiss to his lips and reaches for the bottle, saying, "I'm not watching you kiss someone else again so soon." In truth, she just wants to get this fucking over with.

Regina stares, almost hypnotized, as the bottle spins around and around. She's so focused on the movement that it takes her a moment to realize that it's stopped.

On Janis.

For a minute, Regina has no idea what to do. Of course she wants to kiss Janis. She thinks constantly about kissing Janis. She has dreams about kissing Janis. But she's spent every night for the last month praying to anyone who would listen that she could stop wanting. Stop wishing.

Regina realizes that she's been frozen too long, and Janis is starting to shift uncomfortably. The only way out is through, she figures. So she crawls over, sets her hands on Janis's shoulders, and leans in before she has time to think about it too much.

It is absolutely nothing like kissing Kyle. Janis's lips are so soft, and she tastes like the Twizzlers she had been eating. She inhales just a little when Regina makes contact, so that Regina can feel it, and it takes all of her willpower not to shiver.

This, Regina thinks absently, is what it's supposed to feel like.

Regina's whole skin is buzzing like she's electrified, and she tilts her head a little so they fit together more seamlessly. It's like everything suddenly falls into place, and she understands what she's been missing this whole time when her friends talk about their crushes.

Janis tenses beneath her, and Regina pulls back abruptly, realizing with a start that she's taken way too long. There are a few giggles behind her, and she feels her face burn hot. Janis is looking at her, wide-eyed, an expression Regina has never seen before.

Regina hears a whisper behind her, maybe Gretchen to Karen, and she has to do damage control. Now.

Regina slides back to her spot in the circle, a coy smile forced onto her lips.

"I knew she'd let me do that," she says, like she's saying it only to Kyle but she makes sure it's loud enough for everyone to hear. "She's like, obsessed with me." She smirks and flips her hair over her shoulder and she feels sick, like she might throw up all over Gretchen's Steve Madden boots.

More giggles and whispers, but this time they're looking at Janis, and Regina feels a sense of relief knowing that it won't be her they're talking about at school on Monday.

Regina chances a glance at Janis, who is looking at Regina like she's never seen her before. Regina looks away, desperately trying to think of a way to let Janis know how much she didn't want to do that without toppling her carefully crafted house of cards.

Maybe it would be easier if Janis hated her, actually. Sure, it'd hurt, but maybe it would stop these thoughts. These feelings. It's you or me, Regina tries to silently tell her.

And Regina will always pick herself.

#i'm pretty sure this was for the kiss prompt list? sorry if it wasn't ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #rejanis #mean girls #mean girls 2024 #mean girls broadway #mean girls the musical #regina george #janis 'imi'ike #janis sarkisian #janis ian #ask #anonymous #prompts #i've thought a lot about how the sixth grade kiss went down but i never actually wrote it

[igotanidea]

Not trying: Dick Grayson x reader

She was not trying to get his attention.

And anyone who would even come as close as to suggest that, was being scoffed at, almost laughed at, and brushed off using the classic argument of her being too busy to deal with stupid gossip.

But people were not stupid.

And definitely not the GCPD detectives and officers, of which Y/N had the pleasure to be one.

There was no way to miss the days when she was dressing differently, trying to look pretty. Days that happened to be the ones when Dick was having an office duty and wasn’t on field.

Days when she was sad and internally calling herself off when it turned out he took an unexpected day off or something kept him outside the precinct.

Days when she was faking a smile just so he wouldn’t think she was weak or something.

She was not weak.

She was human.

And in this particular case, being human came with falling in love out of the blue with the guy that couldn't care less, because –spoiler alert!- you cannot possibly plan love.

So she was hurting and cursing that part of her that made her keep on trying over and over again.

Spending days at work, full of energy not trying to get his attention, and evenings in front of TV wishing and praying for this hope to just go away and never come back. It was simply heartbreaking to have it regrow every morning just to tear it away at the end of the day.

Like freaking Prometheus with his liver.

But there was one thing similar between them.

They both suffered because of love for humanity – or in her case – one particular human.

***

It was like that for months now, and finally, all those self-doubts and sadness took over her completely.

So at work, she was avoiding people. She closed herself in her office, deciding to put that teary attitude to use to do some cleaning and remove old files.

Clean space, clean head right?

And those tears that finally started falling down her cheeks were definitely going to be helpful with dusting.

She was crying at work.

How pathetic was that?

But it was okay. It was okay. It was okay.

But now that she'd finally let her tears out, she couldn't stop, as though it was a build-up of all the times she'd held the tears in and her body just wasn't having it anymore.

And since life has a tendency to play mean tricks on people, the moment when she looked like a panda with smudged mascara and red nose that would put Rudolph the Red-nosed reindeer to shame was the exact moment her office door opened with a loud thud and the Chief walked inside.

“Y/L/N. You good?” he muttered, torn between his boss-like attitude and sudden awkwardness upon seeing one of his best detectives in such a state.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m perfect. Why?”

“Um…” the man looked at her dirty, teary face that was speaking for itself. “No reason at all. At all.”

“Is there anything I can do for you,” she inquired as she grabbed some tissues and wiped the stains away – or so she thought – actually making it worse.

“We got a crime scene. You’re going.”

Little did she know, her boss was having second and third and even fourth thoughts about putting her into investigation in this state, but no one else was available. And – to add to his desperation – the first clues were pointing to the crime of vengeance which were her specialty.

“Great. I’m coming.” She instinctively grabbed her gun from the shelf, but before it ended in her holster the boss capably took it from her, shaking his head.

“No.”

“But-“

“Y/L/N this is an order. You are not to take it.”

“But how am I supposed to-?”

“You can take Grayson.”

“WHAT!?”

“In fact, you both will be assigned to this case. This boy needs to get his head out of his ass. Maybe you’ll be the one to teach him some humility.”

“Huh. Yeah…” she stuttered with the greatest amount of sarcasm in her head. Because the woman who was In love with a man was definitely not going to add to his ego, even if only subconsciously. 

***

“Y/N!” Dick grinned, which would probably be a little less weird if he was not standing in front of a dead body.

“Grayson,” she muttered, sticking hands in her pockets, putting on the most indifferent face expression possible.

“You look different” he looked at her with an insightful look.

“Now that’s quite an observation, detective.” She mocked back. Anyone would notice her make-up less state, bloodshot eyes, disheveled clothes,  and messy hair.

“Were you busy in that little office of yours?”

“The hell, Grayson?!” Y/N instinctively reached for the gun, but obviously did not find it and sighed in frustration. Screw her boss.

“Whoa! No need to get defensive. You just look a little – I don’t know – left high and dry?”

“I swear to God, if you don’t cut that bullshit, you’ll be the next one ending up in a body bag.”

“You wanna come at me, detective?” he smirked.

“Why am I being punished with working with you…” She grabbed the bridge of her nose, squeezing it, sensing the massive migraine coming.

“Cause you’re clearly the only one who can make me get my head out of my ass.”

“Nice. Chief told you that too?”

“Nah, I just bugged your office.”

“You do realize that’s illegal, right?”

“I’ve been authorized.”

“Oh yeah? By who?”

“By my human instincts and care for my friend.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it in a gesture that was supposed to be reassuring. “You’ve been sad lately and –” the brush of his hand on hers made her shiver and – despite everything she did not want to do – take a step back.

“Let’s focus on work shall we?” She moved to talk to the CSI and technicians to get details about the traces and the technicalities.

“Yeah, if that’s what you want.” He shrugged “But you are boring!”

She was not boring, merely trying to save herself from any more possible heartbreak – or worse – ridicule.

***

A few weeks later, with the investigation still on, they were both buried to their necks in paperwork, searching for dots and connections and any possible explanations and seemingly invisible tracks their culprit may have left.

And working together involved late nights spent together at the precinct, countless nights of Chinese takeout and getting closer, which was both a curse and a blessing.

Blessing because she learned a lot of little details about him. Like for example that he wasn’t just the son of a billionaire who was playing a cop. Like how he actually wanted to separate himself, make a name for himself and not be only known as “the adoptive alumni of Bruce Wayne.” Like underneath all that goofy act he was actually deeply caring and involved in his work, in helping people and making the city a safer place. Like his eyes were sparkling every time he mentioned his siblings or how his mouth twitched in restrained laughter when she said something that was sarcastically funny.

And a curse, because all those little details only made her fall for him harder. And even if she skipped on that not-trying-to-look-pretty act, because investigation took much more of her time and effort, the longing was still there.

“So, what is that big brain of yours telling you about this?” he asked, throwing her off her thought that at the moment had little to do with the crime.

“About what?” she muttered, trying to figure out what he was talking about for the last couple minutes before she spaced out.

“The newest evidence obviously!” Dick laughed, rummaging through his box of beef Chinese, putting his feet on the desk.

“Hey, watch out!” Her first reaction was rushing to save the documents from the inevitable sweet and sour sauce stains.

“Relax, Y/N. It’s not like I’m going to mess anything up here.” The chopsticks were thrown up with undeniable capability, swirled in the air and landed back in his hand without any damages done to the files. “See?”

“Show off.”

“And yet, this show off made you distracted, didn’t he,” Dick asked as he leaned forward, meeting her eyes.

Too close!

“For the record—” she started and then her eyes grew wide as a sudden realization hit her. A second later, she was throwing the papers away in a haste to get to something.

“Hey! Whoa! Y/N! What-?”

“Shut up, Grayson!”

“Shit, I really have to set you up with my brother Jason. He needs a girl in his life and you two will bound hard over the love of telling me to cut on the talking and-“

“I said shut up, Grayson!” a bunch of papers hit his face. She couldn’t even bring herself to care that the man she was in love with wanted to set her up with his brother. She just figured out the entire case. All hecause of a pair of chopsticks having been thrown into the air.

“What are you looking for?”

“Here!” she exclaimed happily pointing at some pictures from the crime scenes and an alleged instrument of crime.  “See? We were wrong all along! From the very beginning. This is why he never left any traces!”

“What are you talking about? I don’t-“

“Hush. You don’t need to understand a single thing. Just grab your gun and badge and follow me. Come on, pretty boy, we don’t have much time and I know exactly where we’ll get the perpetrator.”

Dick could only stand there in his feet rooted to the ground, watching Y/N figuring the whole case out, the wheels in her brains turning faster than a race car, face flushing from excitement, pupils dilating.

Pretty and smart, even with her hair in a messy bun and plain clothes on. Or maybe – especially because of that, since jeans and t-shirts could never suppress her natural beauty?

“Grayson! Come on! Don’t freeze on me!”

“Coming,” he replied as her voice slowly reached his ears. He realized there was no way he was going to let her go anywhere alone. Even if he couldn’t understand a single thing from her rambling and running around, the least he could do was to keep her safe.

***

“Are you absolutely sure about it?”

“Are you chickening out?”

“Your hands are shaking, Y/N.”

“That’s why you are the one with a gun.”

“And killer fighting skills.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

“That tone of sarcasm is completely unnecessary, you know. And after we are done please do remind me to introduce you to Jason—”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

“Don’t you know the answer to that by now?”

Y/N sighed deeply in frustration, fighting the urge to curse at him with the strongest cursing words known to humans. And maybe even inventing a few by herself.

“Seriously, Y/N, are you sure that-?”

“Hush!” she put a palm to his mouth, noticing some movement in front of the house they were currently observing from the camouflaged car. “See that? Told you I was fucking right!”

“There’s no need to brag, you know.” He muttered, his voice muffled due to her hand still on his face.

“Admit it.”

“Admit what?” He looked at her with an incredulous look.

“That I was right.”

“Well for the record, I was the one who made you come into a conclusion-“

“Un-fucking-believable.”

She swiftly left the car, abandoning her need to hear the praise from him to the benefit of catching the culprit that has been invading her waking and sleeping hours alike. She was not going to beg for attention, this time for real, sneaking to the house the criminal ring was clearly having some sort of meeting.

And then, there was the one. Looking like a regular person, even if he was exceptionally handsome, but rotten to the core.

“See? That’s the one who-. Dick?” Y/N turned around, but not spotting her partner anywhere. Fuck! Really?! He was leaving her now?! Of all the times and places?! Now?! Was he really so jealous and self-conceited to not help her finish their joint case?

And here she was, thinking she saw something special in him. Something hidden under the surface.

Stupid heart. After all this time they spent together, seemingly building something, she was right back to the beginning, when she was not trying.

And what was she supposed to do now?

Coming inside alone? Reckless.

Calling for freaking SWAT teams? Before they would get here, the meeting of criminals would be over.

Wait till it was over and chase the leader alone?

Listen to their plan and use it later on?

She was a detective with skills, but not a spy!

And she made that one rookie mistake when leaning too much upwards she was seen.

“Hey! There’s someone outside the window!”

“Oh great…” she muttered and only a quick duck saved her head from being hurt from all the glass shattering due to the bullet fired in her direction.

“Get her! She could be a cop!”

The four men broke from the table, grabber whatever weapons they possibly could and rushed right after her.

“Fuck!” She took off running because despite her agility, speed, and quick thinking she physically was no match to the tank-like men. “Fuck you, boss for taking away my gun permissions!” She hissed to herself, running away. “Fuck you Grayson for leaving me alone! I can’t believe I fell for you!”

“You fell for me?” a familiar teasing voice echoed somewhere from behind, but nowhere to be seen.

And it made her stop.

“Dick?” She turned around to search for him.

And it was another mistake.

An iron grip on her arm and sudden harsh yank back serving as a perfect example of her stupidity.

“I got our little bird.” One of the men laughed maliciously.

“Well, I am not exactly little,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Her only chance was to tread carefully and hope that stupid fucking Grayson will figure out a way out of this mess. Stupid fucking hope that got her in said mess in the first place.

“Huh?” the goon frowned.

“I said-“

“Let the lady go.” Y/N’s words were cut off abruptly by something that seemed like Dick’s voice, but a little more… distorted?

The hell was going on here?

“I really do advise you to let the lady go.” The same voice said again.

“Oh yeah? And who’s asking me to do so? Show your face unless you are all talk.”

“Seeing me only comes once for certain people. And believe me when I say that most of those encounters end up bad when you cross paths with me.”

A man’s silhouette emerged from a few meters ahead, covered by the darkness of the night. At least at first. But as he moved closer, both Y/N and the goon froze, though either of them for a different reason.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Nightwing,” the goon hissed, tightening the grip on Y/N.

“Hello to you both. Wonderful night we are having, aren’t we?”

“I could argue with that-“ Y/N rolled her eyes. She was definitely going to have bruises tomorrow. That was, if the most talkative of the city's vigilantes wouldn’t actually cause her to end up dead. 

“Congratulations Nightwing, you got me. But there are much more of us in-“

“In that little hiding spot that’s not even properly hidden? Not sorry to break it to you, but Robin and Red Hood are currently dealing with them.”

“Huh?”

“Not very smart, are you?”

“Hey!”

As the goon was getting distracted, Nightwing (?) sent Y/N a very familiar, discreet look and she nodded almost immediately, and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle formed one clear picture.

“He’s right, you know. You are not very smart,” she picked up the tone immediately.

“Hey!”

“She is a cop,” Nightwing pointed out.

“She is?”

“Yeah, I am. And since I saw your face, I can absolutely guarantee you, I won’t stop until you are behind bars. Unless-“

“Unless obviously you surrender willingly. Maybe then she can strike a bargain for you?”

“That might actually be a possibility,” Y/N teased. “But I’m not sure. Do you think our fella here deserves to be treated lightly, Nightwing?”

“I’m not sure. Are you hurt, Y/N?”

“Can’t lie that my arm is getting a little sore here. If he keeps holding me like this we might also charge him with violation of physical integrity. That’s 3 to 5 years, I believe?”

“And in this case we’re dealing with assault on a public official. Quite an incriminating circumstance.”

“So what do you think, maximum penalty?”

“And the conspiring charges too.”

“And the murder involvement.”

“I say 15 if not more.”

“I’d say more.”

“You wanna bet?” Nightwing smirked.

“I had nothing to do with the murder!” The goon got a little overwhelmed by the quick-paced exchange of words, of which he couldn’t comprehend half of them, loosening the grip on Y/N. And she was quick to use it against him, finding her leverage in using four sensitive spots to knock the man down.

Half an hour later all four men involved were handcuffed and escorted to the police station. 

And after Y/N made her official oral deposition with a promise to submit a written report first thing in the morning, she was finally left alone for a moment of peace.

“Did you really use that Miss Agent trick?”

“It worked didn’t it?” she crossed arms on her chest, looking at Nightwing in a mocking way, without any sympathy at all.

“You know, most of the ladies I know would be at least a little grateful for me saving them.”

“Mhm. That would actually involve the saving part.”

“Let’s check. You are breathing. You are intact. Clearly neither your tongue nor your brain got damaged. Looks quite saved to me.”

“You left me!”  

“For five minutes! Not my fault you are so terrible at self-defense!”

“Not my fault you are terrible at being open with such secrets!”

“It was to protect you!”

“Dick…” she sighed heavily, daring to whisper his name.

“Y/N…” he responded, taking a few steps forward, taking her hand in the same gesture he did all those weeks ago when they started working this case together.

“I thought we were partners? At work” she added quickly

“You fell for me,” he asks, the left corner of his mouth traveling up.

“Oh, now you have a good memory?”

“Did you?”

“NO!”

“Really? No? That's your final answer. Or maybe it’s not,” he pulled her closer and wrapped arms around her waist, preventing her from running away again.

“Yes. I mean, no! I mean- damn it…”

“So, if I were to commit the act of violating the physical integrity of a public official...” he leaned forwards. “what would you say Y/N?”

“What happened to me meeting your brother?”

“I said you have to meet him. Never said why.”

“Oh? And why?” she smirked looking from above his arm to check if they were alone.

“To make him jealous, obviously.”

She chuckled softly, checking the surroundings once more, before slowly reaching to remove his mask and meeting those pretty blue eyes and familiar face.

“Hello there.”

“Hello to you too.”

Their lips were now inches away from each other.

“Which brother are we talking about? Red Hood? Heard he’s hot…”

“Do you ever shut up?” Dick grinned before leaning forward and finally capturing those lips he’s been dreaming about for weeks now.

And kissing her was effortless.

Like he was not trying at all.

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n #nightwing fluff #dick grayson fluff

[thelinguisticpoet]

365 Days Without You

I always thought grief would be black and white, monotonous for the most part. Then I thought it would be grey, like the clouds, right before it rained, holding onto as much as you can till you fall apart. But the past year has taught me that grief has colors, colors no one stops to notice or understand, colors I never thought I’d see again...

Sometimes grief would be blue, like the sky that goes on without an end, it was quiet and calm, maybe a little long yet soothing despite the sorrow deep within. Grief was green, like the trees, grass, and weeds that grew on the side of your grave, grief was growth and life despite the life lost. Grief was red, like the million flowers we arranged atop your grave in hopes you could smell them the way we could, red like the anger that kept seething despite all the rational thoughts and beliefs, a little faulty and unpredictable. Then, grief was yellow, it was funny with a little drop of sunshine where you could only think to find darkness, it was proof you could smile despite adversities. Grief is anything but the gloomy, grey picture we often paint in our heads.

I still vividly remember the day I received the call at work. I had only imagined what pain and sorrow would feel like until that moment, and despite knowing the worst has happened, all I felt was complete numbness. I could have sworn I held my breath on the ride home, wishing the car to speed past traffic lights, but also praying not to reach, not to ever find out what was awaiting me at the end of the journey. I was not prepared for this goodbye despite knowing and feeling its lingering presence for months. I was not ready to let you go… 

I had so much to say and yet silence engulfed me whole for months. I could never quite put my thoughts into words the way I wanted to, I could not speak to a wall thinking your presence filled the room or think of you as an angel living in the heavens above, looking down on me. I could not simply pretend you still were here, yet I could not completely fathom your absence long enough to understand that you were gone forever.

Maybe I was a little mad, but more than anger, it was sadness in a way I had never felt before. It was in knowing nothing would ever come close to having spent decades with you ever again. It was in knowing I could never again hold your hand as we walked through the park, never again drink the coffees that you make or share your favorite strawberry ice creams with you, it was in knowing I could never again hear your voice calling me out as I walked past your room, never again having your presence in celebrations and festivities that you dearly looked forward to. It was in knowing you’d never again sing along to the songs that played on the radio, never again waking up in the wee hours to catch World Cup matches supporting Brazil, listening to your commentary. It was in knowing you’d never be the one who takes up the spot right next to me in family portraits and birthday photographs, it was in knowing I have kissed you goodbye for the last time and put you six feet deep where I could not quite reach you the way I wanted to. My sorrow was tied to never having you again, and knowing that there is still much I needed you for in life. It is tied to the absence and void that I now have to live with. 

I expected myself to feel lost, to go through tons of emotions, behave irrationally, throw tantrums, and spend most of my days and nights in complete solitude. Life was a far cry from what I’d imagined, I spent most of my days after your loss swamped with work and I was surprisingly good at it. And when I couldn’t breathe, I found myself locked in a toilet or curled up on the bed, holding myself together on the brink of losing it, praying to keep it together for just a bit longer. Most days, I kept myself mentally and physically busy to the point when I hit the bed, there was no room for thinking, let alone overthinking. All I did for a good six months or so, was work, exhaust myself and sleep.

Life took a complete turn overnight and I was nowhere near prepared for a death I knew was coming and would completely shatter me.

Tell me, how does one prepare for the complete absence of a loved one for the rest of whatever forever we have left…

I am grateful for photographs and videos of you; they bring you back whole to me for a split second every time I catch a glimpse of them. Sometimes, with my eyes closed, I could swear I feel you right here with me. In the moments I spend most alone, most broken and find myself hurting and longing for your comforting hug and presence, I feel myself break in a way I could never explain. But in those very moments, I think you’re somewhere nearby, holding my hands, silently sitting with me, the way you always did. I know you are right here. 

You’re in every flower that blooms in my garden, in every innocent smile and laughter of every child I meet on the streets, in the black coffees I drink every morning now, and in your favorite songs that play constantly on my playlist. You’re everywhere I turn, and it is not painful anymore. I find it comforting to know the things you’ve left behind in the form of objects, routines, and habits help hold me together in knowing you’re just as much here as you were before when I feel a little abandoned in life.

It still feels like you’re asleep in an unknown, unfindable room in this house, I still wait to see if you’d come walking down the hall whenever we gather for family time like you always do, I still think you’re here whenever I turn another corner or sit on your couch waiting for you to magically appear again as though nothing went amiss, like the past year didn't happen. I wonder if I prayed long and hard enough, if you'd come right back and life would resume playing out the way it was supposed to.

Sitting here, I could tell you I did not believe I’d make it past the first 24 hours, let alone a whole year. It feels surreal, like a never-ending dream I hope to awaken from and find you laughing with me as I recall every little detail, but it all feels less probable and more an unchanged reality as time passes by. With every day that begins and ends without you, know that I carry you in my heart, know that every step I take and every single thing I do, will embody you, and it will be something I hope makes you proud.

Tell me what I missed when I see you again, tell me how much you missed me and hold me till I feel whole again, tell me all your wonderful adventures from when you were young again even though I remember every story, every word, by heart, the way I do you.

I will always hold you in my heart for whatever life and eternity there is left to live,

Rose.

In loving memory of my most beloved grandfather♥️

© Raina Rose 

#spilled feelings #spilled ink #poeticstories #writing #an excerpt from a story i'll never write #an excerpt from a book i'll never write #thelinguisticpoet #rainarose #an excerpt from my life #grief #dealing with grief #losing a loved one #losing someone #love and loss #love #feelings #relationship #artists on tumblr #my writing #grief and loss #learning to live #growth #changes #life #poetry #dead poets society #poets on tumblr #writers and poets #writers corner #writerscommunity

[akkivee]

the mood is still like this pic of reol, femme fatale’s writer, in between the chuuoku seiyuu btw lmao

#vee queued to fill the void #reol’s thing is praying hands emoji but i see that look in her eyes LOL #having a holy moment fr lol and yeah i feel the same opening up my pics to look at stage chuuoku lol #i am so curious how the stage is about to interpret chuuoku lol i saw one post in the wake of the drop #that reminisced on the 10th live and watching the three of them stand as one as the series antagonists #and hoping that despite them being the villains they won’t be depicted as sheer villains by the story #like the chuuoku women are not good people by any means (except nemu she’s trying her best lol) #but they’re still sympathetic people shaping a world against one that shaped them and it was very profound lol i don’t disagree #this is making me want to ramble about canon lol but i hope the stage crew puts in as much thought into who the chuuou ladies are #as they do the og divisions lol i’m kinda expecting something closer to late game otome and anime ichijiku lol #and as for nemu i hope she’s already free from her brainwashing lol #honobono inori and tsukuyomi might be narrative foils for our main three the possibilities are endless it’s so exciting lmao

[jakeperalta]

my period literally ruins my life I can't believe half the population never have to experience it like imagine how free it would feel to live without that constant burden

#the thing is no month is ever good but some months are like ok i can grin and bear it whereas others are totally completely debilitating #but i have NO WAY OF KNOWING what type of month it's going to be so if i have plans all i can do is hope and pray #then with the added fact that you never know exactly when it's going to show up so you can't even really plan around it #i'm technically due on sunday but could very easily start early and still be in the regular window #but i absolutely CANNOT deal with it on thursday like that is going to be the most important day of my career thus far #and it's just exhausting like dealing with the constant stress of it #and meanwhile if i wasn't born with this stupid ass uterus i'd never have to spend a moment thinking about these things 😭😭 #talking

[beldaroot]

i’m assuming we’ll be getting bokuaka’s commentary for the nekoma game in the movie since we got their commentary for the inarizaki game in s4, but i NEED to see tendou and goshiki’s commentary too

please don't deny me this prod ig!!!!

#that random couple can go (not daishou and mika!!!) i like understand their purpose but their lines can go to a known character lol #i also just need to hear tendou calling nekoma kitty cats and inuoka a puppy sldfjkdf #and hopefully that moment when goshiki gets scared that shirabu is listening to him about his passes haha #i'm thinking bc the director did s3 he might have some favoritism towards shiratorizawa.... let's hope and pray y'all!!! #haikyuu #hq

[miru-mu]

bouncing off the walls from our session today, we talked to people who're living inside a dead god which we found out THEY KILLED, had to make a hasty retreat as the dead god meat grew around our ship, and then landed on our witch's previous coven HQ expecting the worst but getting??? a very warm welcome????

#landfall!! #rambling miru #AAAAAAAAAAAA #i love these boys so much #and BELLA!!!! #I wanna know what's up with her I have mad respect for her leaving mid convo #and RAINE!! my BOY I'm so concerned #also a little bit expecting him to bring up the war crimes and what that might entail #AND ALUNNNNNN please please me and keith are praying and hoping you just have a nice time catching up and being deified but also #very concerned. very like ok this is very cool and I'm so happy for you!! I am still ready to kill at a moments notice!! #also you said there were attractive people where you're from and hot damn you weren't jokin' huh