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daughterofyore · 1 year

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George and the Pond.

King George x f!reader

[[Queen Charlotte (Netflix)]]

category; heavy smut, fluff, angst (lil bit)

wc; 2,249

music inspired;- apocalypse

a/n:: George has a manic episode by the pond, you manage to calm him and he’s so thankful for you he fucks you to show it :)

TW!: NSFW, George porphyria episode (Venus), heavy smut, breeding kink, Good ol fast sex

Venus begged George to find her. She pleaded with him to search, to save her. She was his one true love. She needed him! He ran through the palace grounds, in the distance behind him there was a cacophony of shouts, someone begging for him to turn around. It was Venus’ ex lovers, surely. They didn’t understand the love they shared, the adoration of their coupling. Her beautiful, pale skin and blemished face. Glowing like a fading star against the ebony blanket of the night sky. An infinite amount of white blazing stars surrounding her like a halo in all her glory. Oh, how he longed to be by her side. How he dared to get closer to her. He needed to feel her glow upon his skin, so without a moments hesitation he ripped his clothes from his skin. Silk pyjamas made of the finest lapis lazuli blue discarded into the mud of the pond. He raised his arms to her, crying for her to join him on this mortal plane. For the goddess of love to bless him with her prowess. He could feel her compassionate deposition seep into his very pores, touching his bare, sculpted body. Casting shadows along the dips and ridges of his muscles.

“George!” You cried out to him, watching as he bared his body to the entire garden. Reynolds raced ahead of you, reaching before you could. You were still adorned in your glittering evening gown. Made of a deep fiery scarlet, as if it was made of the last embers of a great fire. Silver lining cascaded down its centre and bodice, elaborate lace adorning the contrasting peachy cream underskirt. It flew around you as you gathered the skirt into your arms, heels clicking off the cobbles and then sinking into the finely kept lawns. You stumbled and struggled to reach your husband, you could see his eyes glistening as he stared at the planet Venus. He cried of his love to her, his devotion. How is it I don’t receive that love? You scoffed, a moment of clarity as you were still unsure as to why he acted this way. You had suspected it for some time now, his comings and goings from Kew. The secrecy surrounding him and the protectiveness of not only Reynolds but his mother too.

Your voice was like an arrow through the fog, piercing the hazy clouds in his peripherals. Venus seemed to fade into the background as he spun to look at you. You weren’t Venus, you were you. Shining brighter than she ever could. As he watched you approach, the sparkles glittering from your dress enraptured him. He felt himself falling in your direction, before a voice called him to turn around. Venus, competitive as always. She challenged you for his attention. He laughed incredulously, how lucky was he to be fought over by the Goddess of Love and her rival? Reynolds stood at his side, begging helplessly for him to return to the castle. He gathered his clothes in his hand, looking at him with a pleading gaze. Continuously he requested for the King to go inside, tried to reason with him. You knew you had never seen this before but maybe, just maybe he would recognise you.

You reached his side, letting go of your dress. It fell on his feet and pressed into his calves. He turned to you, eyes wide, hyperventilating. “You won-“ He whispered looking at you, as if it was the first time he truly saw you. He turned towards the sky, laughing. “You lost Venus! Imagine that!” He returned to face you but upon seeing your worried expression, his celebrations halted. “How come you are not happy? You have won, have you not?”

“George, it’s time we go inside now.”

“What, why? The night is beautiful we-“

“George, Venus has lost this game but I would prefer to celebrate with you indoors.” He stood very still for a moment, dark brows scrunching together as he tried to concentrate and discern exactly what you were implying. His brain felt jumbled, mixed and confused. Like he wasn’t allowed to understand, as if there was a black alabaster wall separating from the here and there.

“I wish to stay here. Let’s celebrate here.” You paused and gazed at him, studying him carefully. You spun to Reynolds.

“Cover the windows and leave his clothes here. Ensure nobody enters these grounds or can see us.” Reynolds pressed his lips into a thin line before muttering a ‘Yes, your majesty.’ He left, grabbing Brimsley by the elbow and guiding him indoors. You turned back to George, your husband. Your king. You rested a gentle hand on his chest, and he stilled. He sucked in a devastating shaky breath before raising his arms to hold your shoulders.

“You, you saw- oh, wife I- oh I am so sorry.” His eyes began to water, a new clarity crossing them. His face slackened, now an evident frown replacing his once maniacal smile. You hushed him, gently guiding him to your chest as you snaked comforting arms around him. You held him in your embrace, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he let silent sobs escape him. He sniffled, clutching onto the fabric of your dress as he eventually sunk to his knees. “My dear I am so sorry, I am sorry I have avoided you. That I have tried to hide I-“ He couldn’t get his words out but you put a comforting hand on his head. Intertwining your fingers with his brown locks, you gently massaged his scalp.

“Do not apologise George. I understand you. I am here for you. Come, let us lie and look at the stars together.” You smiled at him, holding his hand and laying on the lawn. He tentatively lay beside you, he finally noticed his nakedness and his hands rushed to cover himself. You once again shushed him, grabbing the many layers of your skirts and draping them across his waist. “No need to worry about what I have seen before darling.” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled, sucking in a breath after as he looked to the sky.

“I could be married to a pompous wench right now, who wouldn’t give a damn about me. Who would run in the opposite direction if she saw what I did tonight..” he turned his head, gazing at you. You met his eyes and smiled. “Yet you stay, you lie with me. Why?”

“I believe I see myself in you. Trapped, misunderstood.” You took a shivering breath. “Sometimes all we need is a little kindness and a show of stability. I wish to be that for you.” His eyes began to glaze, he sucked in his bottom lip as it began to quiver.

He turned on his side, a new light coming to his eyes. Slowly he raised a leg to bend at an angle across your thighs. Bracing himself on an elbow he gazed at you. His face inches from you. “I do not know what I have done to deserve a woman such as you.” Slowly he lowered his lips to yours, kissing you softly. You reciprocated it, lips merely mingling before he slipped his tongue across them, asking for entry. You obliged, parting your lips as his tongue slipped by. He licked the bottom of your teeth, before dancing around your tongue with his. He sucked on your lip, biting it gently and sucking the sting away. You gasped, a hand travelling up his side. You could feel his muscles shiver at your touch, he manoeuvred over you, straddling your hips. His cock pressed against your stomach, hardening. His hands travelled up your sides before reaching your breasts. They were secured behind the corset of your evening gown, yet he managed to push a hand down its front and grope one. He massaged it in his hand, loving the mass and softness of it. His kiss deepened, he peppered them along your jaw and to your collarbone. Reaching your cleavage he looked at you mischievously, recalling his hand and replacing its absence with long, sensuous licks across the top of your breasts. His tongue travelled over them, then between. He licked up from your cleavage to your throat, to your lips. Kissing you again before he backed down, grabbing your skirts.

“And I you, my queen.”

You were breathing heavy, barely able to control the growing heat intensifying between your legs. A steady throb as it begged for attention. Your core tightening in angst of what was to come. This was what your wedding night should’ve been, but you didn’t care. This, this was better. Laying on the cool grass beneath a bright moon and stars that reflected off of a still pond. This was bliss. George hiked your skirts up, laying them across your midriff. He bowed down again, grabbing your pantyhose and pulling them down to expose bare thighs. He looked at you over the mound of skirts, smirking. “Are you alright my love, may I continue?” You nod, breath escaping you. You peered up at the stars between the foliage of the cherry blossom tree. George dipped his head between your thighs, gently pushing them apart. He kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin, licking the sting away again once more.

Agonisingly slow he made his way to your centre, licking over the underwear covering you. He raised a hand, rubbing a finger between your folds and feeling the wetness seep the fabric. He grinned, pushing a finger into you and watching you arch your back. He kept the underwear on, watching you squirm as he teased you. Ever so slowly he retracted the finger, dragging it up and pressing it to your clit. Your juices soaked the fabric now, it clung to your very shape. You jolted at the contact, the pressure on your clit making you pull away. He grabbed your left leg, putting it over his shoulder and gripping your thigh to hold you in place. He spread you with a knee, continuously exploring you over the whimsy barrier of your panties. You moaned, trying to move but he held you firmly in place. “Are you ready wife? Ready for me to take you?” You nod feverishly, his ministrations have built a fiery ache in your core. Begging for his attention. Your cunt wept as it pleaded for him to enter it, to give it attention. George smirked, gently taking your hands and pulling you up. He stepped behind you and made short work of the lace up your back. He quickly pulled the dress off, then the undergarments until finally you were bare before him. He smiled, standing back and admiring you. “My beautiful wife, in all her glory.” His eyes were ravenous, without a moments hesitation he was back between your legs. He kneeled, grabbing your hips he hoisted you into an awkward position, your legs dangled above his shoulders while you lay only on your shoulders and head. He held you in his grip, his lips placing tender kisses across your cunt. He licked, slow as of tasting your every essence. His tongue slipped into you, to which he began to lick inside you. He left it begging for more and turned his attention to your clit again. It throbbed for him, and he knew it did. He wrapped an arm around your leg, balancing your ass against his chest as he spread you with two fingers. He began to taste you, sucking on your clit. He nipped it, sucking it better straight after. You squirmed in his grasp but he still held you firmly, refusing to let you move. He lapped at your pussy like a thirsty dog, drinking you up. He turned his attention back to your clit, sucking intensely on it. You moaned, cried out his name. He seemed to only grow more excited and you could feel his length pressing into the small of your back. He sucked, and sucked, and sucked until finally the growing tension ruptured. You screamed his name, yet he continued to suck and lick you through the orgasm. You were trembling at the end, and he lay you down, kissing your stomach. He looked up at you as you threaded fingers through his hair. “I’m going to put a baby in you, my queen.” He smirked and you swore it nearly undid you again. He sat back on his knees, his cock long and hard as it stood. He grabbed your hips, pulling you towards him. He grabbed his dick, rubbing it’s tip along your slit. He pressed a firm hand down on your stomach as he slowly pushed his way in without any warning. You stretched, moaning around him. His sheer size pushing you close to ecstasy.

Once he was in he let loose a shivering sigh, looking back to you. “Are you alright my love?” You nodded, placing a hand on his as it pressed into your stomach. He could feel the faint mass of his cock in you, it turned him on even more. Slowly, he pulled out and pushed back in again. Keeping a slow and steady rhythm till you had adjusted. Once he could feel you relax, he began to pound into you. Growing in intensity. Gasps of air escapes him each time he fucks you. You were a moaning mess, barely able to breathe. Your breasts bounced up and down at the ferocity he pounded into you. His balls clapped off your ass, sounding through the garden. You felt like you were in heaven. He looked up at you and grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing it. He pinched your nipple, pulling it slightly as he fucked you. You were in ecstasy. Every inch of your being burning, yearning for his touch. He grabbed your hips, spinning you around to be on all fours as he stayed inside you. He gripped your hips and continued his merciless fucking. “George! Oh fuck George-“ You screamed for him, moaning his name.

“I’m going to cum inside you pretty queen-“ He moaned your name, deep and guttural. “And watch you grow with our child, our heir.” You cried out for him again, and it was all he needed to slam himself into without mercy, he reached a hand around you, rubbing your clit with no remorse. It was so intense you couldn’t think straight.

“George I- George I’m going to cum!”

“Do it, do it for me my queen. Do it together.” He moaned above you, continuing his ministrations. The pair of you cried out, heads thrown back in ecstasy. You orgasmed, and he spilled his seed into you. It’s warmth spreading through your core. He stayed in you for a moment, breathing deeply. You were gasping for air below him. Eventually he slid out, pulling you down to lay beside him. He held you close, running a lazy hand up and down your side.

“My beautiful Queen, fucked by the garden pond.”

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minkieater · 20 days

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tide | khj

pairing. rich!hj x f!reader genre. non idol au, toxic relationship, soulmates warnings. substances, consumption, mental health, sexual content minors dni PLS wc. 5.5k

♫ — the broken one, qm ft. jiung “when you said that you wish the two of us could die together, i just pat your head and say i know.”

the best way you’d ever described your relationship is adjacent to a children’s movie, and for that comparison you feel wrong, but nothing else comes close. when alice fell down that hole and her entire world flipped upside down, changing everything she once thought she knew, it was the epitome of years of your life spent with him. you being alice, hongjoong being… everyone else. the mad hatter, cheshire cat, the red queen, white queen, the jabberwocky, the rabbit, he was everyone, all the time, all at once. your life, the riddles, everything but nothing making sense at the same time. there was nothing else you could possibly compare it to, two emotionally adolescent humans in adult bodies.

neither of you had ever been angry people by nature. in fact, you had always been deemed quite the opposite. hongjoong, older and successful, a man consumed by his work but always made time for the people around him — he shows up for birthdays, impromptu get togethers, graduations, backyard parties… despite his ever growing workload, he always put in the effort to be there. and not just be present, either. he’s always been observant, even in the beginning, showing up when you least expected it. after the longest, hardest day, with flowers and your favorite food in tow, he’s always been a true partner.

you’re not much different. the parties hongjoong always shows up to typically had you behind the curtain. planning, decorating, even picking up the tab… you’re the epitome of loyalty. devotion, creativity, passion. you’d bettered him as a person, in his work, in his relationships, in his productivity. you love to help and you love to love, you surround yourself with people who give that back to you tenfold in a heartbeat.

in the beginning, you thrived. you worked together harmoniously, you were patient with each other, compassionate, so stupidly in love…

“would you marry me?” a starless night, on the rooftop of his ever luxurious loft. his hair is black, a cigarette between his lips, his sweet chocolate eyes the brightest light amongst the dark, empty air.

you knew you had never answered any question with such a quickness as you did that one. you don’t think you’d even muttered the word no to him in the six months you’ve been together.

he handed you the cigarette he knew you were craving, a habit you picked up from him and him alone. one habit you didn’t share before you’d met. his stare is intense, the gleam in his eyes is bold, it’s saying a million words yet not one leaves his rose colored lips. words you know, words you’ve said, words he hasn’t returned. but he does, he will, eventually.

“we’re forever then,” it could be a question but it feels more like a statement, an announcement of sorts, a promise that you could never break. you had no choice in the matter, not that you needed one, not that you could imagine a life without him after so little time of knowing him.

it made you smile through the burn in the back of your throat, a long exhale leaving your lips, gray smoke following suit. in went your solitude, out came the pact you made with him under the moonlight. like the smoke, it faded into thin air, never to be taken back.

“we became forever six months ago,” you handed the cigarette back to him, your fingers touching for a just a moment in passing. his smile reached his eyes, creases in his skin that you would run your fingers over in the dim light of his bedroom. every inch of him, burned to memory.

“we became forever the day you were born, doll. just took until six months ago to find me,” the tobacco was between his lips again, wrapped around the circular stick, always glossy. never chapped, never dry, always swollen and sultry. edible.

time went on, days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. you initially thought hongjoong didn’t have a bad side, eternally a happy and exemplary lover. to be fair, you didn’t think you had one either. there’s a saying for that, right? you bring out the worst in each other? but they’re traits that are embedded in you. when the stars aligned the day you were born, you were gifted them, wrapped in sparkling wine colored paper and you just didn’t get around to opening them until someone fought fire with fire.

you’d never yelled at a friend, let alone a lover, in your life. he’d never once been angry enough to remove himself from an entire room, have to excuse himself from the woman across from him because her voice took up too much space, smothered him in his own home. the one thing that kept you two linked, from the bedroom with the door locked to the couch all the way out in the living room, was how fucking obsessed with the other you were.

it was sick, the heaviest sensation the two of you shared. lust, love, adoration, codependency, everything came right under obsession if you could even rank your feelings. most days, everything just blended together, anyways. from the moment your eyes met, really met for the first time, it was cataclysmic, the soul you knew just by his gaze that you shared. the click that linked the two of you for life.

the air of the club was humid, wet and murky, too many people in too small of a space. you were at a sponsored event for work, dressed too classy for the place you were at, all the bodies around you covered in way less fabric. you were one track minded when it came to work — always looking upward, fighting to climb endless ranks, you could never rest. never break concentration.

until the biggest distraction stared at you three people down, stood around the curve of the bar while you waited on your cocktail. he moved with a fluidity similar to water, a wave, an ocean as he waltzed into your space. behind you, he slipped his card down over your shoulder onto your tab before you could even reach for the cash in your purse.

“nice play,” you glanced over your shoulder, greeted with teeth as white as snow, glistening hues of pink and blue from the dance floor cascading over the impressive structure of his face, “thank you.”

“a pretty drink for a pretty girl,” you glance down at the red cherries sitting in your cocktail, a mixture of yellow and orange sitting in your glass, mimicking a sunrise swirling around the cubes of ice.

a laugh escaped you, “i’d rate that pick up line a 7, i suppose.”

he answers with a shrug, “anything above a 5 is a win for me. hongjoong,” his hand reaches out to shake yours and you’re taken aback, almost shocked at the gesture of a simple handshake around the bar at a more than busy nightclub. it told you more than it should, coming up on years of business under your belt, it seemed more like a proposition than an introduction.

in that moment you saw him, you saw through him, you saw deep down inside and you couldn’t crawl your way out if you scratched and clawed your nails down to stubs. he was like you, apart of your world, higher up, even. he came from class, he came from money, he came from importance. he’s handsome, he’s gorgeous, and jesus christ he’s going to ruin your fucking life if you let him. you’d let him do anything.

your work event was long forgotten the second the two of you made eye contact, your attendance was the only thing mandatory, anyhow. a night of freedom, letting go of subjugation from your company as you spent ages with your back pressed to his front, bodies moving as one to the beat of whatever song played through the speakers. one melody after another, you don’t know how many songs have passed before you've faced him, hands around his neck, one of his legs between yours.

“you’re beautiful,” he says, noses nearly touching, wanting to curse the millimeter standing between himself and the rest of his life. a moment of pressure from you stood over his knee and he decided he’d never needed something so bad, his stomach growling with a hunger he was saving for a single taste of you.

“yeah?” your smile turned mischievous, a dangerous game you were playing, he’d strip you down in front of the entire club, fuck you in front of every man in the building. that’s if he could live with himself letting anyone besides him see you like that, which he couldn’t, of course. your outfit left too much to the imagination, tight dress pants and a white top that clung to every inch of you. he needed to know what was underneath. he could imagine, picture you beneath the cotton, he could almost feel the soft plush of your thighs on his fingertips.

“prove it,” was all you said and it sold him of the only thing he had left. his pride, the thing he savored, he’d usually let anyone else take the reins with him, want him first, so he could drop them without a second thought. you wanted me, i never wanted you. always the predator, never the prey, even under the gaze of his evermore.

anyone that came before you, the several exes, plethora of playthings, he’d easily forget them, leave them all behind for a night with you. he wouldn’t settle for just a night with you, he won’t take anything less than eternity. your thin, tiny square lenses sitting low on your nose, your hair messily wrapped up on top of your head, lipstick still perfectly applied on your lips, the way you were so meticulously put together… it was a primal urge, the need to ruin it, ruin you, keep you forever, just for himself.

you weren’t doing far off, core aching for a kiss, a touch, anything to take the edge off. something about sharing a soul meant you could see his and it stood tall and red and rippled in the wind and screamed at you to let him make the first move. he needed to lay his cards on the table, make his blood stained soul turn white, let him give himself to you before you gave yourself to him. you listened, as much as it wounded you, his glossy lips begging you to close the distance, to taste him, to hurry up and move on with eternity because time waits for no one.

you could see his internal battle, there were several going on in the mere moment that lasted for hours. the battle of your beings, still separated not yet merged, yet still transparent for the other to see. the battle of him with himself, his pride, his masculinity, this routine he’s been performing for the past six years. your battle with him, begging him to give into you, to show you what he’s made of, to show you what color he bleeds. your battle with yourself, your self control to listen to whatever is telling you to let him give in first. you knew he would, he knew he would, it was a waiting game.

once he said fuck it and he raised his white flag, his soul changed color as his lips tasted yours. one kiss in the middle of a crowded dance floor, overflowed enough that other people’s sweat was mixing with your own, music pumping through your veins, the world had shifted. tectonic plates couldn’t compare, couldn’t move you the way hongjoong did in that very moment.

this combining, this merging, this tasting of his soul, the atoms that make up his very being, you consumed it all entirely. the good, the bad, the complicated, the opulent, the rough, the agonizing, you could feel all of it in him. you needed more.

it wasn’t always like that, wasn’t always intoxicating, blinding, all consuming. the obsession was beautiful, addicting, similar to the box of tobacco you now kept in your back pocket. it translated to tenderness, intimacy, warmth, it was one of a kind. one that sparked jealousy from others, one that closed its doors on anyone who dared to peer inside. it was personal, only to be enjoyed by the two of you, never shared. no one on this fucking earth could understand you the way hongjoong could, no one could read your mind, fix what needed to be fixed before it was even broken in the first place. he was a lifeline, a savior, a backbone for you. and you were all the same to him.

he’d never thought he could love anything the way he loves you. his music, his art, his life, he’d throw everything away if that meant one more second spent with you. you were water to him the way he was air to you, the sun to him the way he was the moon to you. in every single lifetime you know hongjoong has been your missing link, two fucked up pieces that finally finished the puzzle. when put together, everything made sense. you were complete.

“mm, maybe a half an hour longer?” his smile is sheepish, almost embarrassed to say the same answer he’d given you thirty minutes prior.

a knowing smile grows on your face, how could you be mad at him? your hard working boyfriend, forever sitting behind a screen, making deadlines meet. when he said half an hour, he meant two hours. when he said twenty minutes, he meant an hour. his language is exclusive to only him, it takes someone who really knows him, really understands him for his dialect to be construed.

you went to bed, surrounded by white walls with monochromatic paintings that didn’t have any real meaning. the room was big, too big to be comforting. too empty to be lived in, especially without him beside you. it’s how the whole loft felt: picturesque, a movie set, a bed, bathroom and kitchen without being a home. you could have a photoshoot here anytime with the natural light pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows, but could you raise a family? could you settle here, in this city?

you kept your eyes closed, searching for sleep that didn’t want to be found. pulling the comforter over you, you nuzzled in, cocooned yourself into the mongolian cashmere that threatened you with its heat.

“going to sleep this early? that’s no fun,” you heard his voice before the patter of his familiar footsteps, a rhythm you’d memorized months ago. he climbs into the california king, searching for you, finding you, kissing you. “what’s got you wrapped up like this? missed me?”

you nodded, bottom lip jutting out, feeling so small even with him here, this huge bed engulfing you. you needed his heat, his touch, his skin on yours, you wanted comfort.

“my girl,” he cooed, fingers running through your hair, messily sprawled across the silk pillowcase, “i missed you too.”

kisses that were peppered along your jaw turned heated before you could notice his mood had changed. as his tongue licked up the base of your neck you whined, pressing yourself into him, mindlessly begging for more.

“needy girl,” he teased as he pulled the blankets off of you, mongolian cashmere be damned. you wore one of his shirts, oversized enough to be a dress. he pushed it up past your stomach, pleasantly surprised with the lack of anything underneath.

“ah, my needy girl is clever, hm? planned this, did you?” his smirk stretched across his face, eyes deepening to the richest, darkest brown, reflecting the ecuadorian chocolates he bought you months ago, a gift on a random thursday.

“and what if i did?” you’d been pleading for him to come to bed for ages, begging him to fill more space in this empty room. you’d been prepared to try anything, stopped only by his mask of concentration.

“then you’re in luck,” before you knew it he’d already slipped inside you, your back arching against the texture of the percale sheets beneath you. he’d wrecked you, as he did every time, swapping spit and cum and secrets, exposing skin and feelings and truths.

every time the sex was this sweet, this melodious, he’d tell you exactly how he felt about you. he’d make you feel it.

“fuck, i fucking love you,” he was buried to the hilt, holding your face between two cold hands, “could die right here inside you a happy man.”

you couldn’t do anything but moan, clenching around him, your coming answer enough.

“want me to fill you up?” he’d asked, thrusts turning rougher, more sporadic, the finish line nearing, “yeah? give you my kids? make you a mommy?”

you locked your ankles behind his back, this wasn’t the first time you’d done this. an iud sat inside you, still working perfectly fine, his proposal wouldn’t come to fruition with you like this. you still nod, whimpers leaving your throat, low babbles of begs for him to fill you.

he always did, always carried you to the bath after, always washed your hair, your body, maybe filled you up once more if you felt like it.

“do you want to stay here? in this city?” the bath had run lukewarm at this point, but you didn’t want to separate, didn’t want to spend a moment not pressed against one another.

“for now, i think so, why?” his hand was traveling up and down your arm that hung outside the tub, your head laid against his chest.

“when we have kids… i don’t know about raising them here,” your voice was small, unsure of where his mind would go with your sudden revelation.

“we have a long way to go before then,” he chuckled, kissing the top of your head. you stayed quiet, fingertips inaudibly tapping the side of the tub.

“this been bothering you?” his other hand moves to grip your jaw, a light touch to twist your head, making you look up at him.

“i wouldn’t say it’s bothering me, but anything can happen, i was just thinking about it,” even the bathroom is too big, too lifeless to be a home. marble tile, his and hers vanities, a detached, massive shower, a bidet on the toilet. you couldn’t picture smaller you’s running around in here.

“we’re already playing with fire, i guess,” he leans his head back on the tub, “where do you dream of going? if i could build a house from the ground up for you, where? what would it look like?”

like a scene from the notebook, your heart twisted, bursting at the seams with the unbelievable amount of what you felt for him. so you told him, a rancher, a farm, somewhere quiet and peaceful. a house that felt lived in, one appropriate to raise a family, one that wasn’t perfectly dusted and organized all the time. picture frames littering shelves, toys randomly left across the house, clothes on the floor of the bedroom. you wanted normalcy, you wanted warmth, you wanted a family.

he wanted nothing more than to give you that. within two weeks he’d been in contact with several realtors, purchasing land on the countryside, finding the perfect plot for you two to raise your little family. he’d pictured you in a pair of boots, a tee shirt, an old, big pair of overalls. your stomach swollen, hair messily wrapped up, walking in the barn, feeding the chickens. his heart warmed, and his dick so quickly rose again, twitching behind your back.

how a love so beautiful, so unique could get so fucked up, you couldn’t understand, not even three years later. you didn’t want to understand, though, and neither did he. you don’t care, neither of you do, because the only thing that matters is that he is still near you. close to you. breathing your air, touching your skin, whispering the most vile shit into your ear, he is here. you needed him closer, needed him so close that you merged into one. it’s never enough, it’ll never be enough, more of him, always more of him, always more of you.

he felt the same way. your breath on his skin, your saliva drying on his neck, he wanted more. he wanted it messier, he wanted it sloppier. he wanted it to never end. but the two of you will never end because you’re meant for each other, right? there’s no one else on this planet for him, billions of people and he’s found his other half already. she’s under him, she’s breathing, she’s screaming, she’s beautiful. he’s so lucky.

which is why it makes sense to no one that they don’t see either of you anymore. usually one of you, here and there, never together. never holding hands, never smiling at each other, never touching the other one’s hair, never fixing the other one a plate. never together, but yet rarely apart. as far as everyone knows, you’re still together, they think? you are, you tell them that you are, hongjoong tells them that you are, but poor yeosang can’t understand why he doesn’t see his friends anymore. he misses their smiles, their laughs, their humor, their parties, their love. you miss it too, sometimes.

the truth is, your shared codependency turned into some warped fucking version of destruction where neither of you can stand to see other next to someone else. at clubs, at bars, at those backyard parties with your friends, god forbid you get too close to san. you swear to that same god if hongjoong spoke three more words to mina he’d be sleeping on the couch for weeks. everyone noticed, everyone could pick up on it easily. the side eye, outright glares across the room, hongjoong’s hand around your wrist like a pair of handcuffs. you couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed at your friend’s glances, their eyebrows furrowing in confusion, their questions that sat heavy in thin air without ever being spoken. you were too worried about what hongjoong was thinking. how angry he’d be, what it’d be like when you got home, if he’d even say a word to you the rest of the night. hongjoong was already cooking up his testimony, ready to tell you to stop being fucking insane and our friends are just friends, yet the double standard was always there. you’d use the same arguments against each other, have the same rebuttals. it got you nowhere, there was no resolution, there was just his california king and percale sheets. the cashmere blanket that laid over every argument, tucking it away tightly until the next time you unveiled it.

as much as your love fucked you up, made your brain not fucking work correctly, you couldn’t bear to think of a day where you’d be apart. couldn’t imagine your future not spent in that rancher on the countryside, children and chickens running amok.

when he told you his job was relocating him to the states, yet another huge city, you couldn’t breathe. for a full minute you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t answer him, you couldn’t function. your lifeline, your savior, your water, your moon, leaving you.

“i’ll start looking for a place for us,” he said so casually, too casually, scrolling on his phone, not even looking at you. the breath was sucked from your lungs, you wouldn’t be surprised if your face was blue.

“no, i won’t go,” you murmured out, clearly, unlike the stumbling of words in your mind, hot tears in your eyes and strain on your voice. you sat up in the california king, goosebumps raising on your bare body in the too cold bedroom.

“huh?” he finally tore his eyes from the screen, “what do you mean no?”

“i won’t fucking go, joong! you’re asking me to pick up my life and move to another country for your stupid job?” anger flushed through your veins, your voice raised, fire in your eyes. you turned to him in the bed, not even bothering to cover yourself with the sheets.

“my stupid job? my stupid job that pays for this place? pays the bills?” he sat up too quickly, his eyes were wide and oh boy was he angry, you hit a nerve there.

“i can pay the bills just as easily as you and you know that, hongjoong,” you bark back, tears close to boiling as they stream down your face, “i can’t leave my life. my career, my stability, my future, what the fuck did you think i was going to say? huh? yeah sure! let’s move out of the country! are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“your future? what the fuck am i then? just a placeholder for now?” he’s laughing with wide eyes and oh fuck it’s maniacal, ring covered fingers tugging at his white blonde roots. “i fucking knew it. you never planned a real future with me then, did you? all that talk about getting married, having kids, all of it just a fucking lie? a sick little joke to keep me with you, paying the rent? funding your little shopping sprees?”

“fuck you, hongjoong, you fucking know that’s not true,” you’re sobbing now, his words hitting their mark. you stood up and walked out to the living room, pulling the white, soft blanket with you.

your dream, your future, your life, crumbling around you. hongjoong was air to you, your moon, controlling the tide that pushed and pulled you closer or farther away from one another.

you’d never been dependent on anyone before him, never needed a moon to your sun, you shone brightly all by yourself at all times. even now, with him, you could easily survive without him. financially, at least. even in this big, lifeless loft you could support yourself, you were just as successful as he was, after all. but emotionally? actually living a life that he wasn’t involved in? you don’t think you’d survive it.

you could leave here, move with him, restart your life somewhere else. you wanted to do that, but in the countryside, this situation is completely different. this isn’t a choice. this is someone else making a decision and everyone expecting you to follow suit. what about what you needed? what about your job, that you adore? spent years climbing to where you are, you now have an entire team working under you. what about that team? your coworkers? your family, living close by? your friends, oh god your friends, ones you haven’t seen in an embarrassing amount of time… only months past twenty six, you could technically restart if you needed to. you just don’t want to. you needed hongjoong to not want to, either.

a moment barely passed before he’s beside you on the couch, tears pouring down your cheeks, face buried in the crook of his neck. he’s rubbing your back, kissing your head, whispering sweet nothings that’d always calm you when you broke down like this. he knows how to fix you, always stitching back together what he tore apart.

two months later, and you didn’t end up on that plane beside him. he had you really convinced, though, in the same way you convinced yourself: you’d leave your job, find one similar to yours in LA, climb the ranks, and be as successful as you are here, but there. you’d be just as devoted, passionate, happy.

ultimately, he thought he knew best, like he always does. he thinks he knows you better than you know yourself, sometimes. he knows you love your job, love your team, your coworkers, you love your position. you spent ages crawling your way up there. you love your friends, your family, you couldn’t leave them behind and still be happy. you’re a loyal woman in every aspect of your life, with your lover, your friends, your career. every small string is attached to what makes you, you. he knows you’d never be as happy as you are in this city, but he also knows you’d never let him go without you. so he left without a goodbye, without a parting gift, a farewell kiss, a last departing whisper of an i love you.

he left you alone, broken, empty.

a shell of who you once were.

what he didn’t take into consideration is that you love him more than anything, anyone. you were inconsolable. your friends didn’t know what to do with you. they wondered why you weren’t at hongjoong’s going away party, why they haven’t heard from you, they didn’t know everything he did was in secret. how word didn’t get passed around to you, you didn’t know, you were still furious about it. they didn’t know how to help you, they couldn’t even start to make sense of why your boyfriend of years would leave you without a second word. neither could you. they couldn’t wrap their minds around how you didn’t know he was leaving. neither could you.

that one long day you spent at work, coming home to a cold, massive, empty fucking apartment. not a trace of him, not one small sign that he ever lived there in the first place. he took all his clothes with him, all of his equipment for work, even his little trinkets… all gone. disappeared into thin air. how could you not fucking know?

you took almost a week off from work. something you rarely did, you felt like you couldn’t catch up, couldn’t manage your insanely busy schedule if you did take some personal time. but this was different. it wasn’t a week spent relaxing somewhere warm, it wasn’t a vacation, it wasn’t happy at all. you thought you felt your world crumble around you when he first broke the news, this was the real thing. this was the past three years of your life that had been devoted to one singe person, the person that mattered most, the person that you’d cross oceans and go to war for and he plucked himself directly from your life.

mina, yuna, yeosang, mingi… they were at your apartment around the fucking clock. they didn’t leave you alone, it was suffocating. you hadn’t left your bed for days, you weren’t eating, you weren’t drinking, you were too busy staring at the space above your dresser where a picture of the two of you once lived.

he didn’t call. in the year you spent apart, while you built yourself again piece by piece, rewiring your very brain chemistry, he didn’t call you. he blocked your number, blocked your social medias, blocked your family. you went through every outlet at first, every friend you shared, trying again and again, begging for just a conversation with him. never once did you get through, never once did you hear how he was, how the states are different from here, how he’s been eating, who he’s been with… god, who has he been with? he’s yours, no one else’s.

you lost weight, you lost sleep, you lost your drive, you lost yourself, fifty percent of you. your soul was somewhere so far you couldn’t feel it, couldn’t access it, in an entirely different fucking country, tens of thousands of miles away from you. bottles of liquor now sat in your pantry, cartons of cigarettes sprawled across the kitchen table, every hour of your free time spent in solitude, months upon months of you driving yourself mad.

you thought your bedroom felt empty before, unwelcoming, frigid, dispiriting, you couldn’t imagine being there without him, yet now you couldn’t bring yourself to go elsewhere. you took it for granted, having him here, you felt guilty for even thinking that you’d be happier somewhere else when you had the only thing you’ve ever needed in your possession.

but a year later, he stood on your doorstep, a doorstep you once shared. a doorstep that has seen you pressed up against the frame with his hand inside your skirt, a doorstep that’s listened to your meaningless arguments on your way home from an event, a doorstep that’s watched as you bid visitors goodbye. he’s there, he’s breathing, he’s living, he’s close to you. not close enough.

the earth had turned gray, the sunniest of days couldn’t make the city look saturated in the year you spent apart. all the usual too loud noise had turned to whispers, all the business couldn’t inflict an ounce of motivation in you. within seconds of seeing his face everything was colorful, the city had sound again, it was if someone flicked a switch sewn into your back.

“you’re a real piece of shit,” you bark out, opting to shut the door in his face. his foot slides between the door and the frame, his hand lurching forward to hold it open.

“i’m here,” is all he says, and you pause, looking up to him. he is here, and he’s real, and you can’t stop the tears from forming.

hi friends! first post of my work on here <3 i have not posted any of my writing since i was probably 16... pls be nice to me

massive shoutout to @chimivx, thank you for getting me back into it and giving me the courage to post :,) love u forever

anyways i love hongjoong hope u enjoyed xoxo

love, t ｡ ★ • *

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azrielslittleslut · 2 months

Text

"The Lost Queen"- Chapter 7

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: A magical incident causes Azriel to unexpectedly tumble through a portal into modern-day Earth. Confused and injured, he is discovered by a compassionate human woman with a hidden past. She takes care of him and helps him discover the complexities of the modern world, completely unaware of who she truly is. Meanwhile, Azriel struggles with his conflicting desires: his duty to the Night Court and his growing love for the woman who saved him.

Their journey unfolds amidst ancient prophecies and the looming threat in Prythian. As they uncover the truth about forces conspiring against them, they must confront their deepest fears and make choices that will change their lives and the world forever.

Warnings: language, very slight suggestiveness, angst

Word Count: 5.3k

series masterlist

a/n: buckle up. It's gonna be a wild ride...

Enjoy!

Azriel could count on one hand how many times he had been blindsided in his five and a half centuries of living. He was a shadowsinger and the spymaster of the Night Court, so he wasn’t an easy male to catch off guard.

Now, it had happened twice in the span of three days. The first time had been by your parents, and the second time had been by this strange woman.

But both times, it had happened because he had been so caught up in you- your voice, your eyes, your hands on his back, and your lips on his neck.

Azriel reflected on this unsettling pattern, his mind racing as he considered the implications. If mere personal distractions would breach his defenses so easily, what did that say about his current state of mind? Yet, more pressingly, what did that say about how strong his feelings were for you?

He had asked you to come back with him to Prythian, and he had meant every word. It wasn’t a question borne out of fleeting desire or a moment of emotional confusion. Instead, it came from a clear, deep-seated realization: he could not imagine leaving you behind. The thought of returning to his world without you, to a life devoid of your laughter and sharp-witted sarcasm, was unthinkable.

Azriel, who had always measured his words and actions with the utmost care, found his existence inexplicably brighter and more vivid with you in it. The prospect of a future that didn’t include your presence seemed gray and uninspired. His life in Prythian, filled with responsibilities and dangers, would undoubtedly continue, but without you, it would lack the color and light you brought into it effortlessly.

But wouldn’t he be putting you in danger, especially with the dark cloud currently surrounding his world? There were many risks, and the stakes were high, and the thought of exposing you to that weighed heavily on him.

Azriel forced himself to focus before his mind ran away from him. He turned around to face you, his voice soft as he asked, “Are you alright?” He didn’t care that Mama Laveau had seen him in such… passionate affairs, but he couldn’t stomach you being uncomfortable.

You offered him a smile, your hand moving to grasp his. “I’m fine, Azzy,” you whispered, your eyes bright. You nodded your head to the mistress, who was still waiting patiently by the door. “We need to follow her. She can help.”

Az took a deep breath and took a step forward, pulling you after him. He focused on trying to calm himself, easing his heated skin that still tingled from your soft touches. He very much wanted to go back to what the two of you had been doing before being rudely interrupted, but now was not the time to think about that.

Besides, if you did go back with him, he would have more than enough time to finish what was started. Maybe next time it would be in his bed instead of against a brick wall.

“Lead the way,” he said to Mama Laveau, his voice steady as he forcibly smoothed his expression back to its usual guarded demeanor. “We would like to hear what you have to say.” His tone was measured and calm, deliberately stripped of emotion. Despite the storm of feeling provoked by the evening’s events, he was determined to regain control of himself, to anchor himself in the role that had defined him for centuries.

Mama Laveau nodded her head once before turning around to lead them back through the glass door. The ball was still in full swing, with dancers gliding gracefully across the floor, their movements fluid and synchronized. The music had shifted back to its original soothing tones, and the lights had returned to their warm, inviting yellow glow.

From the corner of his eye, Azriel spotted a man dressed in a gray suit standing next to one of the refreshment tables. He wore a full-face mask that was covered in black gemstones. The man had brown hair, smoothed back with what looked like way too much gel. He met Azriel’s eyes from across the room, and Az found himself reaching down to touch the siphons in his pocket.

Even though he had no use for them now, he was unable to bring himself to leave your house without them. He had carefully placed them in the pocket of his pants, where they were concealed by the length of his jacket.

The familiar stones under his fingers eased the tightness in his chest, and he turned his attention back to where Mama Laveau was going. She glided across the ballroom, her dress flowing around her, ignoring the lingering glances of the guests as they spotted her.

She stopped at a black velvet curtain hanging along the far wall. She reached up and moved it to the side, revealing a plain black door. “This way,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the music.

Azriel felt your hand squeeze his, and he offered a gentle squeeze in return. “Are you alright?” he asked again, his eyes searching yours, trying to read your emotions. “You can go enjoy the ball. I can handle this.” He wanted to protect you, to ensure that your night wasn’t overshadowed by his own burdens.

Your lips curled up at the corners as you opened your mouth to speak, a reassuring smile beginning to form, but you were abruptly interrupted by Mama Laveau’s commanding voice.

“She needs to hear what I have to say,” she stated firmly, her tone laced with impatience and authority.

“I’m alright, Azzy,” you whispered, reaching up to run a hand along his arm. “We’re doing this. Together.”

For a moment, Azriel felt his heart squeeze at the kindness in your words. You were so selfless and compassionate, and he was deeply moved by how intently you were focused on helping him.

Mama Laveau opened the door, revealing a long, dark hallway. It was narrow and dimly lit, with only the faint glow of antique sconces placed intermittently along the walls, casting shadows that danced across the ornate wallpaper. The wallpaper itself was a deep burgundy, patterned with subtle black designs that seemed to shift and move in the low light. The floor creaked under their footsteps, the old wooden planks worn smooth by age.

The air was thick with the scent of a strange incense- hints of sandalwood and patchouli- that grew stronger as they made their way down the hallway. Azriel’s senses tingled with a feeling of unknown power. It wasn’t strong, and he didn’t feel that it was necessarily evil. It was just… different.

The hallway eventually ended at another black door. Mama Laveau pushed it open, revealing what looked like an office. The room was better lit than the hallway, with a large crystal chandelier hanging overhead, its light reflecting off several strategically placed mirrors, creating a bright yet soft illumination that filled the space. It was spacious and lavishly decorated, with a large mahogany desk in the center of the room. The desk was cluttered with papers, vials, and strangle-looking instruments. Behind the desk, tall bookshelves filled with ancient tomes and curious artifacts climb the walls, their contents shadowed and mysterious.

The décor was eclectic but modern, with luxurious velvet curtains draping over the windows, while plush, dark green carpets covered the floor. A small seating area with richly upholstered chairs and a low table sat in the corner of the room.

“Have a seat,” Mama Laveau said, gesturing to the chairs. She walked over to a bar cart and poured herself a glass of what looked like whiskey. She turned her head slightly as she asked, “Can I get you two anything?”

You took a seat in the chair, smoothing your dress down your legs. “Water, please. If you have it.” You cocked your head to the side as you took her in. “Are you related to Marie Laveau? The Voodoo Queen of New Orleans?”

Mama Laveau chuckled softly. “I am her descendant, yes. I believe I am her great-great-great-great granddaughter if the history books are correct.”

“That’s so cool,” you responded softly.

Azriel sat down, settling himself amongst the cushions. He had no idea who this Marie Laveau was, and he didn’t care. “I’ll take water as well,” he muttered.

Mama Laveau smiled faintly as she poured water into two glasses. As she moved away from the cart, Azriel’s attention was drawn to the bottle of liquor she had poured herself. It was shimmery black, with a red top. He narrowed his eyes at the bottle, leaning forward to get a better look.

The bottle said Firewine, and Az let out a soft gasp as he read the familiar name. He and his brothers had spent many nights drinking that same whiskey when they had been in the Illyrian camps. It was spicy and warm, and too much of it had you regretting all of your life choices the next day.

How in the hell does this woman have a bottle of liquor from Prythian?

Azriel looked back at Mama Laveau as she set the glasses on the table. There was something about the way she moved that was oddly familiar to him, but he couldn’t place it. She took the seat opposite of them, leaning back and crossing her legs. She raised the glass of Firewine to her lips and took a sip.

“How do you have that?” he asked, pointing to the glass in her hand. “That liquor is from my world.”

Mama Laveau smiled softly. “I guess we should skip the warm introductions and get down to business.” Her voice held no trace of the strange accent that Azriel had heard from most of the people who lived here, which was strange considering she apparently descended from a woman who was the “queen of voodoo.”

“Please,” you said warmly, leaning forward in your chair. Your hair had fallen out of its beautiful updo, and it now cascaded down your shoulders. Azriel found himself wanting to run his hands through it. “We need your help. Any insight would be much appreciated.”

Mama Laveau sighed, a sound of the long-suffering. She looked at Azriel, her gaze soft, and his breath hitched as that familiar stare looked at him. “Have you heard of the World Walkers, Azriel?”

Azriel froze for a few moments, his mind racing as he sifted through centuries of memories and information, searching for any mention of that name. Nothing rang a bell, and surely something so significant would have lodged itself firmly in his mind. “No. I’ve never heard of anything like that,” he said finally.

Mama Laveau nodded slightly as if that was the answer she had been expecting. “Though the World Walkers find their origins in Prythian, they have been nearly extinct for thousands of years. Centuries of crossbreeding and intermingling with others have diluted the bloodlines.”

“How do you know about them?” you asked, your voice tinged with suspicion and curiosity. Through the slits in your mask, Az could see your eyes taking in the woman warily, scanning her face for any hint of deception.

You would make a good spy, Azriel thought to himself. Maybe I could train you when we get to Prythian.

“I come from a long, long line of witches and warlocks. Not the kind you see in the movies, but those who wield true magic and power,” she explained, her voice resonating with a deep sense of pride. She gestured toward the expansive bookshelf behind her desk. “There have been legends and tales passed down through my family about other worlds and realms. Each of those books,” she continued, her hand sweeping across the collection, “are from different worlds, tomes and volumes collected by my ancestors who had come into contact with World Walkers.”

Azriel’s curiosity took over, and he found himself rising from the chair and walking over to the shelf. He studied the various books, his fingers running along the spine of the ancient texts. Each one had a different name, and he read them to himself silently.

The Secrets of the Cauldron, Veils of the Underworld: A Study, The Compendium of Crescent City, Lore of the Valg: Origins and Oaths, Archives of the Fae: The Unseen Histories

He looked at each one with a mixture of fear, awe, and respect. He had read countless books in his lifetime, and he had heard of none of these. Some of them were so ancient that even his magical translator was unable to decipher the names.

“This is… incredible,” he muttered as he turned around to face Mama Laveau again. She was looking at him with an amused expression. “I’m assuming you got Firewine from one of these World Walkers.”

She nodded her head once, the lights catching on the silver charms in her hair. “Yes. I’ve had this bottle for years, but I was waiting on a special occasion to open it,” she said with a shrug.

Azriel shook his head, his mind whirling. He continued, “I still don’t understand how any of this ties into me coming here. I am not a World Walker.”

At least, he didn’t think he was.

“No, you are not,” Mama Laveau responded as she raised her glass to take another sip. “You are only a shadowsinger, which is a rare magic in and of itself. And I must admit,” she said, raising her glass to him, “I have been dying to meet one of your kind for years.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. How much did this woman know about him and his world? Something about her told him that she knew way more than she was letting on, but he didn’t press, afraid that he would piss her off. “The pleasure is all mine,” he forced out.

“What does this have to do with Azriel coming here?” you asked in a small voice. You had been unusually quiet during this whole exchange, and Azriel wondered what was going on in that pretty head of yours.

“I don’t know exactly how you came here, but I think I might have an idea of why,” Mama Laveau said. She pointed a finger at you, the rings on her fingers glinting in the dim light. “I think she is the reason you are here.”

“Me?” you asked, placing a hand on your chest. “What does this have to do with me?”

Azriel’s mind went quiet. He walked around the desk on numb legs, stopping once he got to the chair he had been sitting in. He didn’t sit down, though; he just placed his hands on the back, knowing he probably needed something to lean against to endure the remainder of this conversation.

“You heard a prophecy when you fell through the portal,” Mama Laveau said with a knowing smile.

Azriel nodded slowly. “Yes,” he whispered, and he repeated the words to her, the ones he had committed to memory after reading the paper from Serena a few times.

Mama Laveau hummed. “I have heard of that prophecy, but I didn’t think there was anything true to it. Oh well, I guess fate has its own way of working things out.” She chuckled and took another sip of Firewine.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this… prophecy?” you asked, your voice so low it snapped Azriel out of his mental haze. His eyes met yours, and his chest tightened at the anger in your gaze.

“I didn’t think it was important,” he said with a shrug. Truth be told, he really didn’t think that it was important, and that prophecy had been the last thing he had been worried about the last few days.

You scoffed and turned back to Mama Laveau. “I don’t think that prophecy has anything to do with me. You must be mistaken.”

“Oh, I think it does, Y/N. Serena also told me about her dreams and the paintings,” Mama Laveau said. “About seeing you in them. She said she told Azriel, and I can’t imagine that all of this is a coincidence.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Azriel swore his heart stopped beating for a few seconds as you looked at him. Your eyes were full of hurt and rage, and he knew he had royally fucked up.

He looked over to Mama Laveau, silently pleading with her to help him diffuse this situation, but she just shook her head, her eyes full of something like disappointment.

You stood from the chair, your face reddening with anger. “You knew about that?” you asked, your voice cracking with impending tears, “and you didn’t tell me? What? Was that not important, either?”

“Y/N,” he breathed, moving around the chair to take you in his arms, but you stepped away from him. “Please, let me explain.”

“Too late,” you snapped, frustration and anger sharpening your words as Azriel felt a painful tightness grip his chest. “What more do you know?” you demanded, turning back to Mama Laveau. “Don’t bullshit me. It seems that you’re the only one who is willing to tell me the truth.”

Mama Laveau quickly glanced between you and Azriel before looking up at the chandelier. “I know that you are not from this world, Y/N. Though you were raised here, this is not where you were born.”

You took a step back, shaking your head. “That’s impossible. My parents are from here. I have pictures of me in the hospital when I was born.”

Mama Laveau’s voice was quiet as she said, “They are not your birth parents.”

The room went utterly silent at her words, and Azriel watched as your face fell. You stumbled back, tripping on the train of your gown. He rushed over, catching you just before you collapsed onto the floor. He hauled you up against him, cradling your trembling body close to his.

“Let. Me. Go,” you ordered, your voice full of steel as you pushed away from him.

Azriel obliged you, but he did not attempt to mask the hurt that washed over his face.

Mama Laveau set her glass down on the table. “If you don’t believe me, ask your parents. They will probably know more about that than I do.”

“I’m done,” you whispered, your voice broken and small. You turned around and sprinted for the door, holding up your dress as you ran. “I’m done, I’m done, I’m done.”

Azriel could hear the tears in your words as you opened the door and disappeared into the hallway. He longed to run after you, to hold you in his arms and do whatever he could to earn your forgiveness.

“Why didn’t you tell her, Azriel?” Mama Laveau asked. The familiarity in the way she said in name shook him from his pain.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, turning his head to face the woman. She was looking at him with a piercing gaze, but there was something soft in her eyes, almost like understanding. “I have tried, but…”

“You’re in love with her,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You wanted to protect her from the truth, but instead, you have hurt her in the process.”

“I wish I could go back and fix this,” he admitted softly, his words heavy with the burden of his mistakes. “Do you think she will forgive me?”

Mama Laveau sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of her own hidden truths. “I am also keeping secrets from someone I love. For the same reason, of course. To protect them.” She paused, her gaze drifting off as if seeing through the walls of her own past decisions. “And every day I hope that, when the time comes for those secrets to surface, they will understand why I did it. That they will see it was all done out of love, and perhaps find it in their heart to forgive me.”

She looked back at Azriel, her eyes locking with his in a shared understanding of their burdens. “Forgiveness is a powerful thing, Azriel. It can heal wounds we never thought would close. Give her time and give her the truth. Those are the seeds of forgiveness. Whether they grow depends on the soil of her heart, but at least you will have planted them honestly.”

Azriel let out a low laugh. “I have been alive for a long time, and I have found that it can be difficult to forgive someone, especially when they have hurt you badly.” He ran his hands through his hair, his mind racing as he thought back to all of those who had hurt him. None of them had earned his forgiveness, and they never would. “But why are you telling me all of this?” He didn’t give a damn about this woman’s secrets.

“Because you have made me realize the consequences of keeping the truth hidden,” she explained, her eyes scanning along his face. “Perhaps I will tell them the truth, when I see the one I love again.”

“Maybe you should,” Azriel mumbled, his voice low and distracted as he made for the door to chase after you. His mind was already moving ahead, envisioning the conversation he needed to have with you, the apologies and truths he needed to express. He had just reached to doorway, his hand on the frame, when Mama Laveau’s voice floated over to him.

“I suggest you make peace with her, shadowsinger. Do whatever it takes. She is the key to getting you back to Prythian.”

Azriel didn’t stop as he entered the dark hallway. With a heavy heart, he pressed forward, each step echoing along the walls. His mind raced with thoughts of you- of all the things he wanted to say and do to get you to smile at him again. As he stepped into the darkness, the soft click of the closing door behind him sounded more like a final echo of his resolve, leaving him enveloped in a chilling solitude that mirrored the cold dread settling in his soul.

---

Azriel burst through the front door of the manor, ignoring the wary glance of the doorman. The storm had finally rolled in, and the rain was so heavy that even the bright streetlamps struggled to maintain their glow.

He took a deep breath and darted onto the cobblestone pathway, hissing as the rain soaked his suit and drenched his hair. “Y/N!” he called out, his eyes scanning along the dark street. “Y/N, where are you, love?”

Az looked over to your car, which was still parked next to the sidewalk. His breath hitched as he saw you leaning over the hood, your dress soaked and clinging to your body.

He broke into a sprint, pushing through groups of people standing along the pavement. “Y/N,” he mumbled when he got over to you. He saw you shivering, and it took all of his self-control to keep himself from wrapping you in his arms. “Please, fyrvor. Look at me.”

You snapped your head to him, and his heart lurched at the sight. Your hair was plastered to your face, the strands darkened and tangled with the rivulets makeup that had started to run down your cheeks. You had taken off your mask, and he could now see the tears that filled your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

He stood there for a moment, drenched by both the rain and the gravity of the situation. Azriel ran his hands through his hair, his fingers struggling against the knots the rain had woven into his dark locks. “Please. Let me explain this.”

You pushed off the hood, turning to face him fully. “You had so much time to tell me this, Azriel. You could have told me at any point over the last two days, but you were too caught up in trying to push me away from you.”

Azriel stayed silent because you were right. He should have told you as soon as Serena disclosed that information, but he had been too caught up in himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice almost drowned out by thunder rumbling in the distance.

You let out a cold laugh. “Congratulations, Azriel. You got what you wanted,” you said, stepping back toward the driver’s side of the car. “You pushed me away.”

He took a step forward, but he stopped when you held your hand out to him. “I was going to say yes, you know. I was going to come back with you to Prythian.” You pulled on the handle to open the door. “But I cannot imagine going to a different world with someone I can’t trust.”

What was left of Azriel’s cold heart shattered in his chest. He couldn’t think of a way out of this, so he silently made his way over to the passenger side. He reached for the door handle, his body numb under the weight of how badly he had fucked up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you drawled from the other side of the car.

Azriel blinked rainwater out of his eyes as he looked at you. “Getting in the car. To go home.” The word surprised him as soon as it left his lips. When had he started thinking of your house as home?

You laughed darkly. “Find your own way home. I don’t want to be next to you right now.”

He stood on the sidewalk, completely lost and confused, as he watched you get in your car and speed off. He glanced around the street, trying to remember the way back to your house.

It had taken almost thirty minutes to get here, and Az hadn’t been paying much attention on the drive over because he had been too focused on trying to not look at you.

Congratulations. You got what you wanted.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and started to walk down the sidewalk, his footsteps slow and aimless as he navigated through the strange streets. He didn’t know where he was going, his mind too clouded with confusion and distress to form a coherent plan. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight on his shoulders was physically dragging him down.

The heavy rain and thunder muffled the sounds of the city, as if the world was holding its breath along with him. His mind replayed the last moments with you over and over, each memory a sharp jab to his already aching heart. He felt lost, not just in the unfamiliar streets but within himself, grappling with the realization of how deeply he had come to love you, how vital you had become to his existence.

The cold air nipped at his skin, but the chill inside him ran deeper, a gnawing sense of regret that he might not find his way back to you, that he might have already lost more than just his direction. His pace quickened, driven by a growing sense of panic, his eyes searching the shadows for something recognizable, something that would lead him back to you.

It was evident that Azriel had been cursed with the ability to ruin everything good that came to him. Each fleeting moment of happiness that he had felt in his life was proof of that. Despite his intentions, despite the depth of his feelings, it seemed he was doomed to watch the light fade from the best parts of his life, driven away by the shadows that clung so persistently to his soul.

Sometimes, he wondered if he should have just stayed in his father’s dungeon, locked away and forgotten. In the cold, dark isolation of those walls, at least he couldn’t spread the shadows that seemed to follow him, harming those he dared to care about. The solitude of a cell, a grim but familiar pain, sometimes felt less cruel than the torture of repeatedly witnessing the unintended consequences of his presence in the lives of others. Every smile he caused seemed eventually to turn into a frown, every connection a potential heartbreak, not just for him but for those he inadvertently pulled into his worthless existence.

Azriel turned the corner into a dark alley. The rain had flooded most of it, but he didn’t care. He waded through the ankle-deep water as he reached up to rip the mask from his face, desperate to remove any disguise that kept his true self hidden. He threw the mask onto the ground, where it landed with a sodden thud, quickly becoming just another piece of debris in the flowing water.

He paused for a moment, raising his head to let the rain pour down his face. Please, he silently pleaded. Just wash it all away. Wash me away.

Azriel was so caught up in his own broken heart that he didn’t hear the faint splashing behind him. His senses were so numb, they didn’t alert him to the dark presence that crept up on him.

He didn’t even have time to react at all before something hard hit him on the head and the world went dark.

---

You paced around your living room, your soaked dress dripping water onto the carpet. You hadn’t bothered to take it off when you had gotten home, unable to find the strength to complete the task.

Your house was… quiet. More quiet than usual. You had grown accustomed to hearing Azriel’s deep voice resonating through the house, a comforting and familiar sound that had become a part of your daily life. His laughter, the soft murmur of his words during late-night conversations, and even the silent presence that filled the spaces with a palpable warmth were now conspicuously absent.

Your mind replayed everything that had happened tonight. The dancing, the kissing… his strong hands running along your body. Azriel had made you feel alive in a way that you had never experienced before, igniting a fire within you that you hadn’t known you could feel. But now, that same intensity that had brought you to life seemed to sear you with pain.

You thought back on the conversation with Mama Laveau, your heart clenching in your chest. He had known about the paintings, and he hadn’t told you. The realization stung, a sharp betrayal that cut deeper because it came from Azriel, someone you had started to trust implicitly.

And now… you had learned you weren’t from this world, and you weren’t your parents’ daughter. The revelation hit you like a tidal wave, upending everything you believed about yourself. The roots you thought you had, the identity you had crafted over the years- everything was suddenly in question.

You glanced up to the clock on the wall, your mind racing. It was two o’clock in the morning, and it had been almost two hours since you had left Azriel stranded at the manor.

What the hell had you been thinking? Yes, you were mad at him, but that didn’t mean that you could just leave him there. He wasn’t from here, and you doubted he knew the way back to your house. Guilt began to gnaw at you as the anger slowly ebbed away, replaced by a concern for his well-being.

You needed to talk to him. You had always believed that communication was key to any relationship, and you had let your anger get in the way of that. You could hear him out, at least. Even though he had hurt you beyond repair, he deserved a chance to explain himself.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” you muttered to yourself, reaching for your car keys. You had to find him and bring him back, even if that meant driving along every street in New Orleans.

Your phone dinged, and you raised it up, your eyes squinting as they adjusted to the bright light. It was a text message from your mother, or whoever she was to you now.

Hey, honey. I don’t know what happened tonight, but Azriel just showed up at our front door. He looks lost and upset. I won’t pry, but I think you should come get him.

You read the message three times before lowering the phone to your side.

How the hell had Azriel found his way to your parent’s house?

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#acotar #azriel #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #dee writes #azriel angst #the lost queen #azriel fanfiction #azriel acotar #acotar series #sjm books #sjmaas

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thesirencult · 10 months

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Pick A Card : Soul Connection

An intuitive reading about a soul meant to find yours. In epic tales there is a literally mechanism called "recognition". The hero and his counterpart recognize eachother even after years of estrangement. Like Penelope and Odysseus. A love so deep not even multiple lifetimes can erase. A soul kindred to yours you would recognize in a sea of people.

"I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

disclaimer : a tarot reading should never be used in place of professional counselling. Your reading cannot offer legal, medical, business, or financial advice nor does any portion of your reading herein purport to. You should not rely on a tarot reading to make any decision that would affect your legal, financial, or medical condition. If your inquiry involves the law, finance, or medicine, then you should seek the advice of a licensed or qualified legal, financial, or medical professional. Also, tarot reading cannot replace qualified mental health care. A tarot reading can only facilitate how you cope spiritually with a given situation.

PILE 1

The soul meant to find yours is a gentle one. Themes that come up here remind me of couples like Queen Victoria and Albert. I t will be love at first sight. Whatever your genders are, the "supposed" feminine will be the dominant one.

Your person will take the backseat as you run things. You may come from a wealthier background or simply seem "high value". Lady and the trump vibes.

This person will fight for those who didn't get the same opportunities to grow. They cheer for the underdog. This person will love your firey nature and how "bossy" you are. One thing you have to be careful with in this relationship is to keep things balanced as sometimes they might feel like you do not respect them or you don't spend enough time with them.

They could be an INFJ. Sympathetic, compassionate and protective. Practical and detail oriented, this is the safe place you need to come back to after your long trips towards the stars.

PILE 2

The love of your life will be able to see you. The real you. They won't overlook the greyness in your face. "You're Losing Me" by Taylor Swift is a song that can talk about your past.

No one stopped hurting you even though they knew they wouldn't be able to bring you back. They didn't care.

This person is everything that you deserve. They will help you heal. No sad songs with this one. Your happily ever after. This person is a soldier. They would die for love.

Your people pleasing tendencies won't go unnoticed with this one. They care about YOU, not what you can do about THEM.

Give them a chance when they come around. Sweet energy. Safe. Boy-Girl-They next door energy. A sweetheart with a great smile and a kind glint in their eyes. My heart feels warm writing about them. Hallmark movies ain't got nothing on them. Their love is simple and "perfect". No questions and worries. Your safe place.

Your energy reminds me of those wedding photos you see on Instagram of couples in small American towns posing with their golden retriever and smiling at each other. Don't let your past wounds f*ck this up. Sincerely, from one people pleaser to another. If you picked this pile we would have been besties in real life. Lots of love and hugs your way.

P.S. They will always choose you. You are not the first, but the ONLY choice.

PILE 3

Your whole life you have felt alone and isolated. Like life is a party you have not been invited. I wouldn't say you are a "pick me", you are far from that. You just feel like there is no one there for you to keep your hands warm. You have always longed for someone that will look behind the mirror and realize there is someone is behind it. You struggle with finding your inner voice.

The catch here is that you have the ability to choose anyone behind the mirror. You have the ability to show who you truly are. Be wild and crazy. Unstoppable. You didn't come here to do pretty and quiet. You are here to awake others and break the glass.

The person meant for you, your other half is very different from you. They are way more hedonistic and may find solace is the material realm. They will do everything to make you feel wanted and beautiful. This person will see you for who you truly are and they won't feel intimidated. Your "black cat energy" won't drive them away. They have some skeletons in the closet themselves. Disturbing and compelling, this one would make a great "50 Shades Of Grey" type of movie. lol. They could listen a lot to the Weeknd or they used to live a very "rough" lifestyle in the past. Love at first sight. Intense. You slap them and they will kiss you. They will buffle you. "Why doe sthis mfer stick around somehow?".

In all honesty, in this lifetime, your other half will be overbearing. They won't back down until they take you down with them. Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem come to mind in Jamon Jamon. This person may also come from money or have a lot of money and they want you to be their dark princess/prince. It will feel like taking a panther or feral cat and trying to domesticate it. Good try. You are still dangerous though, but they don't mind a few scratches.

#astrology #tarot reading #tarot #pick a pile #pick a card #pac reading #level up journey #pick a photo #pick a picture #soulmate

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annymation · 9 months

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Reimagining the characters in Wish

(Part 1- Asha)

Hey guys! I don’t really know how to start this, but let’s just say that I… Didn’t like how Disney’s 100th anniversary movie turned out, like at all.

But I can tell there was a lot of unexplored potential beneath this story, that in my opinion felt overly simple and bare bones.

But if you love it, that’s awesome, more power to you, I wish I could’ve loved it too. And I don’t want to rewrite it to show I’m “better than the writers at Disney” because I’m definitely not lol, I have no experience in writing, and I’m sure they put a lot of passion into the project and I respect them for that. But this movie inspired me with ideas for a different story that I think is worth telling.

But I won’t start telling it today, instead, I'll start a series of blogs sharing my ideas for changes in the characters and their stories, after I get some feedback I will start posting more of the story itself.

If you’re interested, then come along!

Asha✨

Personality

- Asha is a 18 year old girl, with a passion for drawing and helping those around her, sometimes even worrying more about helping others than helping herself

- She’s like a big sister to her 7 friends, always being the voice of reason and acting responsible, but not in a bossy way, she’s actually very playful with them

- To the people of Rosas tho, she's seen as kind of a weirdo, for you see, she spends almost every time of the day drawing in her sketchbook

- She practices everyday to become a better artist, and the people of Rosas find this to be very peculiar, after all, why would you take so much effort to perfect a talent when you can simply wait to turn 18 and wish for the king to make you an amazing artist?

- Asha doesn’t mind these comments, although they have made her less willing to share her drawings with others that aren’t her 7 friends

- As the story progresses we see Asha flourish from a shy and introverted girl to a brave woman who after discovering a terrifying secret about the kingdom’s rulers, steps in and inspires others to join her and fight an evil sorcerer king and his alchemist wife (yes, I made Amaya an alchemist, more on that on part 2 when I talk about how I’d change Magnifico and Amaya)

- Some Disney characters that share similarities with her personality wise are: Belle, Tiana, Pocahontas and Esmeralda

Main Traits:

Calm and mature

Determined

Passionate about her interests (drawing, dancing, philosophy and stars)

Helpful and generous

Perceptive and always questioning things around her that no one pays attention to (like why do all the artists only paint the King and Queen?)

Playful

Compassionate

Backstory

Oooh boy I gave this poor girl so much angst, okay let’s go

Asha grew up with her grandfather, her parents both died in a fire when she was just a baby

(this isn’t just to fit the “haha Disney princess has no parents” cliche, there’s plot relevance in this “mysterious fire” that I’ll talk about later)

Growing up with her grandpa, he’d always support her dream to be an artist, like her mother, who was an art teacher

Her mother not only drew really well, but she also was able to create the illusion that her drawings could move, by flipping through the pages of her sketch books

In other words, her mom was an animator

Asha saw this technic her mom used as a form of magic, so she would often tell her grandpa she wanted to “Do magic just like my mom”

Her father was a philosopher (this was established in the actual movie but never explored haha whyyyy), who taught people that working hard to achieve your dreams is not only rewarding, but also essential, because it’s part of the human nature to persevere and fight for what we believe, even if we fail, even if it’s hard, just keep moving forward.

This philosophy may sound very “umm duh” for me and you since we all know and hear everywhere nothing in life comes for free… But that’s not the case in Rosas

In this rewrite the kingdom wasn’t created by Magnifico, but rather the kingdom has existed for many generations, being ruled by different kings before Magnifico who also granted wishes… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

The point is that the culture of just asking the king to give you or make you whatever you want to be has been in this kingdom’s culture since forever, so when Asha’s dad comes out saying “hey! Maybe we should stop just relying on the king to make our dreams come true, right?” He’s actually being quite a revolutionary… and sharing a very dangerous belief to other people…

At this point you might suspect what caused that “mysterious fire”

So, back to Asha, growing up with her grandpa, they shared a lot of happy memories together. Reading her father's books and her mother's art books helped Asha connect with them even tho she never had them in her life.

But as her grandfather grew older, he became senile.

Asha went from being taken care of by her grandpa to being the one who took care of him when she was still around 13 years old, and when she turned 15 her grandfather passed away of old age

Asha went on to live with her best friend Dahlia, the two became like sisters.

Though she managed to move on from the loss of her grandfather, she could never shake the feeling that he died without getting his wish granted... But she had no way to prove that, it was just a feeling

The wish granting system works different in my rewrite, instead of there being a public wish granting ceremony once a month, there would only be a public wish TAKING ceremony, that would work just like in the movie, you turn 18, you go give your wish to the king yada yada yada.

But the wish granting part would work like this: Almost every night the king would release the wishes up in the sky, they would float down like balloons to their respective owners while they sleep, and once they woke up in the morning they'd feel that their wishes were granted, for they would wake up changed.

With this method, there's no way of confirming if someone really got their wish granted or not, unless you went to ask the king.

Asha never did ask the king if he granted her grandfather's wish, but her grandfather would sometimes express how he wasn't feeling completely fulfilled in his life, he felt like there was something... missing.

This feeling of hollowness persisted in him until the very end, no matter how hard Asha tried to help her grandfather, she never knew him as his real self, because he gave part of his soul to the king, the most beautiful part of his soul, his wish.

Asha had no proof that her grandfather didn't get his wish granted, only a gut feeling.

But because of this, Asha wasn't that thrilled to give her own wish to king magnifico, knowing there was the possibility of it never being granted.

Not to mention she didn’t even know what to wish for, “I’m just 18 and you guys expect me to already know what’s my heart’s deepest desire? I’m still figuring that out, all I know is that I wanna draw”

Plus she wanted to follow her father's philosophy and achieve her wish on her own, eventually, when she figured out what her wish even was.

Asha never rebelled against the system tho, she wasn't a confrontational person. She just accepted the people of Rosas preferred to rely on the king's magic, but that just wasn't for her.

However, on her 18 birthday, when it was expected of her to give her wish to the king, she simply said she didn't have a wish, and even if she did she wouldn’t want to hand it over, she wanted to make it come true on her own. This lead to an argument with the king, and after a series of events (that I don't have time to summarize here, but you can find out about it on my rewrite) leads to her finding out a terrible truth about her kingdom. And that's how her story begins.

Design

- I’d keep these braid ornaments that Asha had in the concept art

- Since in my rewrite she’s not that invested in the kingdom of Rosas, I’d remove all the Kingdom of Rosas symbols that are present in her design (there are a LOT of them)

- I’d replace these Rosas insignia with more star and constellations themed symbols, to reflect how Asha believes that the stars are connected to people and they can guide us, just like how her father believed.

Final Thoughts

My intentions with these changes were to give Asha a strong emotional hook, and something that makes her feel relatable.

The emotional hook here is how she spent so much of her life taking care of her grandfather that she kinda never had time to worry about her own desires, that alone can be relatable to caregivers of elderly people that watch their grandparents or even their own parents lose themselves as time passes, and end up worrying more about the person they’re taking care of than themselves.

Asha has this internal emotional conflict where she feels she needs to constantly help others the same way she helped her grandfather, and one of the things she’ll learn as the story progresses is that it’s not selfish of her to want more for HERSELF.

Another thing that would be relatable about Asha is her passion for drawing, and how most people in Rosas would say she’s wasting her time practicing so much when she can just wait until she turns 18 and wish to be amazing at drawing.

She’d never stop believing that taking her time to improve on her talent and trying again and again was worth every second of her time, because let me tell ya folks, drawing is HARD, and animating like Asha’s mom did is even HARDER, it takes a whole lot of practice, and Asha was determined to keep trying.

She’d be much like Belle, remaining true to herself even tho those around her considered her odd, and very passionate about drawing just as much Belle was passionate about reading.

I also find it funny how Asha’s motivations are fairly down to earth, like in Disney movies you usually have:

I want to be free from these palace walls!

I want to explore the ocean!

I want to open a restaurant!

I want to find true love!

And then there’s Asha here like

“My life is fine, I just wanna chill and draw stuff”

And that’s it, but, in her environment where everyone is expected to have this great wish that they have to give to the king so he’ll make it a reality, she’s kinda the odd one out, and I love that. Would be a great subversion of the Disney formula.

Of course after she learns Magnifico and Amaya’s true intentions she gets a lot more agency and the desire to save her people, her “call for adventure” if you will.

But what are Magnifico and Amaya’s true intentions? Click here for part 2 and find out!

Thank You For Reading!

#disney wish #wish #reimagined #rewrite #disney #wish 2023 #wish asha #wish star #king magnifico #wish movie #wish disney #wish rambles #wish rewrite #Asha #long post #wishrewrite

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pucksandpower · 2 years

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Max Verstappen x Miss Universe!Reader - Social Media AU

maxverstappen1

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maxverstappen1 y/n is the kindest, smartest, most beautiful, and most compassionate person i know. there is no one more deserving of being Miss Universe. i am so proud of you, schatje. the crown pales in comparison to the way you shine each and every day

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yourusername there is no greater gift than experiencing all of this with you by my side. love you forever

danielricciardo never a doubt from the second she got on the stage

yourusername thank you dany 💕

landonorris does that make you mister universe?

madmaxstan asking the real questions

f1fan8 i’m actually so obsessed with you guys

yourusername

Liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, and 1,758,214 others

yourusername tonight we learned that i’m the better driver in this relationship

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maxverstappen1 identity theft isn’t a joke

redbullracing where should we send the contract?

missuniverse if you’re taking our title holder does that mean we get to take your driver?

yourusername i’ll drive in barcelona and max can fill in for my photoshoot next weekend. he just has to learn how to walk in heels and we’re all set

yourfan5 what can’t y/n do??? a true queen

f1wagupdates

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f1wagupdates Reigning Miss Universe Y/N Y/L/N joined boyfriend Max Verstappen and sponsor TAG Heuer at the Monaco Grand Prix

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pageantgirl the fact that y/n was invited in her own capacity because Miss Universe is partnered with TAG Heuer … it’s fate

f1wagupdates and how proud they look of each other in every pic I’ve seen 🫠

orangearmygirl i remember them walking in together for max’s debut race. they’ve come so far 🥺

yourusername

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yourusername there’s something about the monaco air

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maxverstappen1 my date planning abilities have improved

yourusername it’s true. 10/10, no notes

landonorris pretty sure that something is just called max living there

yourusername yeah that certainly helps

missuniverse absolutely gorgeous 👑

maxandy/nfan the way max makes y/n laugh. i want that one day

f1fan3 they singlehandedly made me believe in love. they’ve been together for years and still look at each other like they’re the only person in the world

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janitorhutcherson · 10 months

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I love your writing, please please give the world Mike comforting his partner on their period 🙏🏻 that man would be so compassionate but also confused and asking tons of questions so he can explain it to Abby when she’s older

okay so, i'm about to start my period. i can sense it, i'm cramping, i'm going insane, so here is some mike fluff!! i need this, y'all need this, we all need this rn. this isn't great, last min as always :p i promise one day i'll give yall something more quality lol. also am sorry if this isn't exactly what u were lookin' for!! i hope u enjoy :P

word count: 1,298

warnings: mentions of blood (period), swearing

summary: mike takes care of you while you're on your period. completely unaware to how it all works, he does the best he can, trying to educate himself in the process.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were in pain. That was one thing you knew for sure. For the past two days, your insides had felt like Satan himself was ripping them out, tearing each part of your uterus into tiny, itty bitty pieces, perhaps even doing a little happy dance on them. As your body was stretched out on the couch, your hand gripping your abdomen, you felt like your life was flashing before your eyes. You'd called off work, waking up feeling worse than you had during that time of the month in a while. You couldn't picture yourself doing much of anything but laying on the couch in the living room of your boyfriend, Mike, and his little sister, Abby, who was much like your own. You'd slept over the night before, opting to stay there as you felt much more comfortable.

Once a month, you became queen bitch, completely insufferable to be around. You were grumpy, sick, nauseous, and aching. You couldn't help it. Your cramps were always amplified more than the average person. Your pain tolerance seemed to get weaker when the time came. With that being said, everyone around you had to suffer the consequences. You and Mike had only been together a few months. Every month, he'd get a little bit better about handling it. The first month, he was slightly standoffish, not sure if his assistance would make things worse or if it would help you. He'd offer you pain medicine, get you water when you needed it, and fetch the heating pad when you cried out in pain. He was always sympathetic, helpless in his inability to make your pain disappear. Mike loved you, and the last thing he wanted was for you to ache the way that you did.

In the following two months, he'd gotten more adventurous, even offering to go out and buy your preferred pads and tampons. Even though he brought back the wrong thing the first time (he brought back the preteen pads, which would not be helpful to your heavy flow), he was sure to correct it the next. With his learning curve coming to an end, Mike was much better with his assistance. Right as your eyes began to flutter closed, the front door to Mike's door flung open, an exhausted Mike walking through, his hair messy and his skin somewhat pale due to his lack of sleep. Although he was working normal human hours now after getting a regular job, the adjustment period was difficult. He somehow felt even more sleep-deprived than before. You slowly sat up, a confused look on your face as you glanced over at the time. It was only noon, which didn't make sense. Mike typically wouldn't be home until around 5:30pm.

"Mike?" you questioned, your voice laced with pain as your head cocked to the side.

"Yeah, baby?" he questioned back, placing three plastic bags from the store onto the coffee table in front of you. He sat beside you on the couch, moving your legs to lay across his lap. He tenderly reached his hand across you, his warm palm slipping under your shirt to touch your aching stomach. He rubbed slow and gentle circles on the tender area, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as it somewhat relieved the pain. "You feelin' any better?" he spoke softly, his tone dripping with sympathy and worry.

"Why are you home? What's in the bags?" You were confused. You didn't mean to sound like a bitch, but the pain was making you somewhat delirious, and the thought of him simply coming home early just didn't occur to you. He chuckled, shaking his head as he playfully rolled his eyes.

"Can you not just let me take care of you for once?" he grumbled, grabbing the plastic bags from the table and placing them gently into your laps. In the first bag, he pulled out a brand new pain reliever bottle and miniature heating pads. They were wireless and single-use. You could stick them into your pants and wear them around wherever you needed. He also pulled out a new bubble bath, lavender scented, that claimed to have infused pain-relieving essential oils. The next bag contained your favorite kind of chocolate, some other kinds of candy, and a little stuffed bear. The bear wasn't any bear, but one that could be heated up and again used as a heating pad. Inside of the same bag, he also pulled out a brand new box of the right kind of tampons and a bouquet of flowers. The last bag contained burgers and fries from your favorite fast-food place, something yummy to get into your aching system.

You watched in awe as he pulled out each item, a sheepish but proud grin spread across his face as he did so. He was proud of himself, mostly because he felt useful, he felt like for once he was the one taking care of you. Mike typically felt like a burden, like he wasn't worth caring for, regardless of how much you attempted to convince him otherwise. Times like these were important to him, times when he could make you feel safe, secure, loved.

"I, uh, heard you this morning. I realized you were in a lot of pain, wanted to do something nice. I took the day off of work, thought I'd surprise you with some stuff to make you feel good. Got us some lunch too, thought maybe we could go lay down in the bed and watch movies, eat some junk together? I'll take real good care of you," he said, scratching at the back of his neck with a hopeful grin. You looked back at him with your own wide grin, the churning cramps in your stomach not subsiding but instead simply not your main focus at the moment. You nodded your head, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

You helped him carry the brand-new goods and the food to the bedroom. You plopped down onto the bed as Mike leaned over you, gently kissing your head. He tucked you into the blankets, ensuring you were nice and warm. He closed the curtains tightly, all too aware of the vision-blurring headaches you got on your period. He put up one finger to signal he'd be right back. Once he returned, he had a glass of water and heated up your brand-new heating pad bear. He placed your wired heating pad onto the small of your back, pressing two kisses to your forehead again. He then insisted you lift your head, helping you to swallow the pills. After, Mike cuddled up next to you in bed.

The two of you watched random movies and TV shows for the rest of the day, his hand seldom leaving your stomach. He constantly had you wrapped up near him. He kept you medicated and fed, refusing to leave your side. Mike was content. Even though you were a bitch during this time, you were appreciative. He loved you and it was clear, he'd do anything to take care of you.

While deep into the show you were watching, you felt a pair of eyes staring into the side of your head. You lifted your head, looking over to Mike with a cocked eyebrow. "Yes..?" you questioned, staring at his somewhat nervous expression.

"Um, do you think, you could maybe explain periods to me? Y'know, all of it, the bloody stuff, the moody stuff.. I just.. wanna be prepared for Abby," he asked sheepishly. A chuckle left your lips as you shook your head.

"Of course, Mikey. I can explain it to you," you hummed, pressing a kiss to his lips before you went into detail, explaining female anatomy to your 25-year-old boyfriend.

#josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x reader #michael schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson fluff #josh hutcherson imagine #josh hutcherson

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moonastrogirl · 2 years

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Exalted house placements

Credit @moonastrogirl

We often talk about exalted placements only about the signs they are exalted in : Aries sun, Capricorn mars, Pisces Venus,…

Rarely do we talk about the house placements that are exalted and actually are a blessing to anyone who have them.

So no matter the sign, the exalted house placement can create an abundant energy in a birth chart.

Sun in 1st house

Strong will power, incredible energy, easily attract attention without even trying, balanced ego (after many ego deaths), can switch up their style easily, great personality and great leaders.

Moon in 2th house

Sensitive, compassionate, balanced emotions and peaceful inner world, not easily overwhelmed, completely in charge of their behaviours/emotions.

Mercury in 1st house

Sharp and details oriented mind, huge intelligence and learn easily any subject, big boss of debates, smart asf.

Mars in 10th house

Powerful presence, big boss energy, plenty of drive and energy, get things done, goal getter, ambitious and career oriented, bde.

Venus in 12th house

Compassionate, loving, giving, love unconditionally, love has no boundaries, artistic abilities, hidden talents, romantic asf.

Jupiter in 4th house

Great wisdom, fast learner, blessed, spiritual, age gracefully, comes from wealth/big family and if not will have a wealthy life, a big house or a big family of their own.

Pluto in 1st house

Powerful presence and overall energy, divinely protected, high regeneration skills, always come back stronger, power comes from their identity, know who they are deeply.

Neptune in 5th house

Great acting skills, the real drama queens/kings, creative asf, sublime artist, perfect placement to be an actor/singer/entertainer, romantic and mesmerising presence and energy, good intuition.

Uranus in 8th house

The real phoenixes, rise above, constant fast and life altering transformations, cold head, acceptance of changes, always evolving, cannot be tamed, know what’s up, stand in their power, masters of the underworld.

Saturn in 7th house

Establisher of stable and long lasting relationships, work for the greater good, blessed with natural discipline and perseverance, powerful.

This post is based mostly on tropical astrology and also on Vedic astrology because some of these placements are considered the same way in Vedic astrology aka Sun in 1st house, Venus in 12th house, Saturn in 7th house and Mars in 10th house.

Credit @moonastrogirl

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samijey · 6 months

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Bayley & Naomi (SmackDown post-show 15/03/2024)

#bayley #wwe #wweedit #trinity fatu #naomi #smackdown #wwe smackdown #naomi knight #friday night smackdown #stuff i made #we love a compassionate queen

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darkzonez · 4 months

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In Loving Memory of @amaranth-devi1

(@the-bitch-independent, @amarantha-wolfen, @rottingveil)

May 3rd, 2024.

Life makes no sense when someone with so much to live for is taken away too soon.

I know nobody really knew her as she was a very private person. For the few who visited her blog or posts, it gave a small insight into who she was, and you may appreciate this post, but for most, this post will not even be noticed.

However, for me, it is important to say something, to hold the memory of someone who was part of your life, even if only for a short time.

I don't know if I can properly capture who she was in a few words. She was a deep caring, compassionate, smart, talented woman. An artist in so many ways. A poet with books to her credit. The poem in the photo is hers. She had an incredible eye for design, decoration, and fashion. She loved classic cars and drag racing. She also had a deep pride and passion for her homeland of Finland, always sharing the beauty and traditions of her country through her photography of nature. She also had an enormous love for music, and that is how we met.

I really don't know how to put into words the impact someone you have never met in person can have on your life, and i really dont know how to say good-bye. So I won't and I will just end this with a song.

@darkzonez

Gone but never forgotten

🖤🙏💐🎶❤️

Please feel free to reblog her memory.

#Spotify #RIP #amaranth devi1

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nightfurylover31 · 7 months

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Maybe it’s an odd time to bring it up, but it is Valentine’s Day. Sonamy and Sonally have been one of the biggest ship wars in the franchise. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be as much of a thing as it used to be, but there is still occasional bashing or something. After some deep thought, I think I came up with an answer to make both sides happy.

It has nothing to do with Amy or Sally. It depends on the VERSION of Sonic.

When you think about it, Archie/SatAM Sonic and Mainline Sonic are actually pretty different. With SatAM and Archie, Sonic was born in a monarchy and had a steady home, even when fighting in a war. He’s used to being in one place. He also fought Robonik/Eggman because he had to, freeing the planet and restoring the kingdom. As for the games and IDW, Sonic travels the world and fights Eggman because he wants to, not because he has to. It may not seem like much, but they are key factors. These different lifestyles show more of who would be a better partner for him. Sally has responsibilities as a princess and leader. Even if Eggman is defeated for good, she will still be bound to these duties. Amy, on the other hand, is more adventurous and loves trying new things. She may settle down at times, but she still loves to travel. Both girls are compassionate and ready to help others and can even take the lead when they have to, but go about it in different ways. Sonally is a case of opposites attract and Sonamy is more kindred spirits.

While Sonic and Sally clash at times over how to plan, they work together to pull them off. They are more at ease when they don’t have to be on missions, and more overt about dating. They are also childhood friends in these continuities, knowing each other longer than their other friends. This led to their feelings becoming stronger over time. Sally has grown more into being on the battlefield, but usually works more behind the scenes or deals with the more technical or planning while Sonic takes most of the action.

Sonic and Amy both love adventure and sometimes act before they think. They also go out of their way to help others without a second thought. Amy may be a big romantic, but her relationship with Sonic nowadays is more on the subtle side and no less important and sweet. She used to chase after Sonic, but wasn’t so blinded to put her own desires ahead of others. Amy is also one of the first people Sonic met in his fights against Eggman. Amy also trained herself to be stronger to stand by Sonic’s side so she could protect him like how he protects her.

I do want to talk about the X Years Later/Light Mobius arcs in Archie. In that timeline, Sonic and Sally are married and rule as king and queen. While at times he’s not always happy with being king, he loves Sally enough to accept it. He was even willing to be her royal consort until they could be wed in Archie issue #124 (which is probably the most out of character moment compared to his game counterpart ever). And while we never see Amy in those arcs, Ian Flynn has said a few times on the Bumblekast he thinks Amy would be traveling around with the Time Stones. I thought that was a cool idea, and that feels more like the kind of life the mainline Sonic would want to have.

I kind of feel obliged to bring up Elise. Most people may not like it, and I prefer them as friends, but she was also written as a love interest. Anyway, in one scene Elise asks Sonic if he’ll leave after Dr. Eggman and his plans for Soleanna are stopped, which the hedgehog confirms. Despite what feelings he may have for Elise, he’s not going to give up his lifestyle just to be with her. And I do not mean to make it sound mean, it’s just who he is. A free spirit, free as the wind. And in Sonic and the Black Knight, he is revealed to be the true King Arthur, but he doesn’t accept it. He’s uncomfortable with how the other knights bow to him. I find it hard to believe this Sonic would want that kind of life for anyone, even if Sally was part of the main continuity. She wouldn't give up her duties for him either. A steady relationship or royal lifestyle just isn’t for Sonic’s game counterpart. In issue #2 of IDW, Amy knows Sonic can't be held down and respects his decisions. She loves Sonic for who he is and doesn’t want to change him. Instead, she’s fine with just going on adventures with him. Living in the moment. It’s not the life she initially wanted with him, but it’s enough for now. It does feel like they have become closer after Forces. The game was far from the best, but the premise of spending six month apart is a good way to build something up for them.

The reboot in Archie kind of proves this point about the relationships as well, albeit unintentionally. While the main reason is the new mandates were that game characters could not date, Sonic and Amy felt a lot closer than before. Sonic and Sally were also confirmed to only have a platonic relationship in the new timeline. This is due to Sonic’s past now being closer to his game counterpart rather than SatAM. He’s still part of the Freedom Fighters, but still has his world traveling roots. For example, he came to Mobotropolis after Eggman took over instead of living in the city at the time.

Sonamy and Sonally are both valid ships and deserve support. But don’t hate on the other when it’s the version of Sonic that truly matters for deciding who is the better match for him.

#sonamy #sonally #sonic the hedgehog #sally acorn #amy rose #archie sonic #idw sonic #satam #sonic idw

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azrielslittleslut · 3 months

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"The Lost Queen"- Chapter 3

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: language, az is still going through it but he's gonna get better, more slight mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 9.1k

series masterlist

a/n: i laughed waaaay too much writing this chapter... i also want to say thank you for the kind comments about this series! they truly make me smile so big.

Enjoy!

Tell the male from Prythian that I saw him fall through the portal.

Those haunting words still echoed in your head as you walked out of the bathroom. After the woman, Serena Rousseau, had given you an address and a time to meet, the call ended.

You felt as if your whole world had shifted. Your bedroom suddenly felt too small, your scrubs too tight. You fought to keep your heart rate calm as you stood there, feeling utterly out of place.

Prythian… it was like an answer to a question you had been asking your entire life. It unlocked something in your chest, and you forced yourself to take deep breaths as the world started to spin off its axis.

Azriel’s low voice brought you back to the present. “Are we going to the doctor now?” He was still lying in the same position on the bed, his hands laced gracefully across his stomach. He turned his head to the side to look at you, his hazel eyes shining in the lamplight.

You braced your hand against the doorframe, feeling as if the floor was moving beneath your feet. “There’s been a change of plans,” you mumbled. After a deep breath, you pushed away, walking toward him. “I just got a phone call.”

His face contorted in confusion. “I don’t know what that is.”

Of course he doesn’t.

You walked over to the bed, reclaiming your previous spot beside him. Though you stared at the wall above his head, you could feel his eyes on you. “Where are you from?” You turned to meet his gaze, not missing the wariness in his eyes. “Really.”

He shook his head, his eyes moving to stare at the wall behind you. “Why are you asking me this?” His words were careful. Guarded.

There’s something this guy isn’t telling you.

“A woman called me. Serena Rousseau is her name.” You dared to place a hand on his bicep, squeezing slightly. His skin beneath your palm was warm, and you bit the inside of your cheek at the feeling of the strong muscle beneath your fingers. “She said she saw you fall through a portal. And that you are from a place called Prythian.” You lowered your eyes to meet his, and you sucked in a breath at the fire in his gaze. You felt something charged rush through the room, and your skill prickled with goosebumps.

“What do you know about Prythian?” he asked, his voice so low you could barely him. “What did this woman say on the… phone call.” His tongue faltered slightly as he said the words, his strange accent standing out.

Hand still on his arm, you leaned forward. This close, you could smell his masculine scent underneath the grime he was covered in. Something woodsy and deep, with the underlying fragrance of cedar. “She said to tell the male from Prythian that she saw you fall through a portal.” Your clipped words dripped with disbelief.

Just saying them out loud sounded ridiculous. Surely, you were still dreaming. None of this was real. You just needed to lay off the melatonin before you went to sleep.

Azriel blinked and pulled his arm free from your grasp. “We need to go see her. Now.” He braced his hands against the mattress and pushed, his neck muscles straining from the effort. “Mother above,” he groaned as he sat up.

“No!” you exclaimed, moving to push him back down on the bed. “You’re injured. You need to be still, or you could hurt yourself more.” You pushed down on his chest, planting your hands against his pectorals.

But he was faster… and stronger. He managed to sit up, pushing himself back against the headboard. He was a little breathless as he said, “I’m fine. I heal fast.” He looked down, examining his body with squinted eyes. “Though, I should be healing faster…”

You shook your head at him, eyes wide. “I don’t care how fast you heal. Your broken ribs should take at least three weeks to fully heal.” You looked him over, running your eyes along his body, searching for any sign of the pain he should be in. When your eyes reached his ankle, which had earlier been swollen and mottled with shades of purple and blue, a gasp escaped your lips.

Now… it looked as if nothing had happened. His skin was clear, the swelling gone down, and you wondered if you had imagined it.

“What the hell?” you ask, your voice full of wonder. You knew some people healed faster than others, depending on how healthy and fit they were. But you had never seen anything like this.

“Give me your hand,” he murmured in that deep voice of his. “Let me show you.”

Reluctantly, you offered him your hand, not bothering to hide how much it was shaking. He took it in his scarred one, his grasp strong and warm. You could feel the ridges of those scars under your fingertips, and you had the strange urge to know what they felt like on your body, your lips.

He gently placed your hand on the side of his ribcage and pressed it in firmly. Only a few hours ago, you had felt his bones protruding out, painfully out of place. Now, as you pressed down, the smooth, unbroken surface of his bones met your fingers. They were sturdy and aligned, as if they had never been fractured.

You recoiled, pulling your hand away as if he had shocked you. “What the hell?” you ask again, your voice quivering with shock and awe. “What are you?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said as he moved again, throwing his long legs off the side of the bed. “We need to go see that woman right now.” You watched in stunned silence as he stood, preparing to catch him if he fell. He swayed on his feet, but he recovered, planting them onto the floor.

He reminded you of the warriors you had read about in your beloved fantasy novels, preparing to charge into battle. He had a look of sheer determination and resolve on his face as righted himself, his expression guarded as he moved.

“How do you heal so fast?” you asked, standing from the bed, unable to move on from that fact. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

For the first time since you met Azriel, he offered you a crooked smile. “Would you believe me if I said you’re just that good?”

“Not for a second,” you responded, placing your hands on your hips. You wouldn’t back down, and you would get the answers you wanted. “How?” You raised an eyebrow at him as a silent demand.

He sighed, a sound of the long-suffering. “You’re a demanding little human, aren’t you?”

Your hands slid from your hips as you took a step back. “What? Are you not human?”

“Later,” he commanded, and the tone of his voice held no room for argument. “Take me to the woman.”

For the first time in your life, you decided to give it a rest. But you would get the answers you wanted. Eventually. “Lucky for you, she gave me an address and a time.” You looked over at the clock on your nightstand. “We have to be there in thirty minutes.”

“How far away is it?” Azriel asked, taking a wobbly step toward the bedroom door. He stuck a hand out to steady himself against the bedframe. Slowly, he reached down, grabbed his boots you had discarded earlier in the morning, and shoved his feet into them.

You grabbed him by the arm, helping him out of the bedroom and toward the front door. “About twenty miles,” you murmured to him, focusing on not letting him fall to the ground.

Azriel stopped dead in his tracks, looking over at you with wide eyes. “Twenty miles?” he asked, anxiety etched into every feature of his beautiful face. It was almost amusing to see him so worked up. “We can’t walk twenty miles in thirty minutes!”

Despite everything going on, you let out a laugh. You laughed so hard you had to bend over to catch your breath. Once you recovered, you looked back at Azriel, fighting back more giggles at his concerned stare. “We aren’t walking. I have a car.” You grabbed the keys from the table next to the front door and wiggled them in front of his face.

“I don’t know what that is,” he groaned as you pulled him through the front door and out into the humid summer beyond.

This is going to be a long, long day.

——

It had taken you a solid ten minutes to convince Azriel to get into your small car. The whole ordeal was almost comical. At first, he stood there, arms crossed while staring at the vehicle as if it were some alien contraption. He circled it twice, kicking the tires with his feet and inspecting the mirrors, brows furrowed in concentration and confusion.

It had taken another five minutes to fit his abnormally large body into the thing. It had been an awkward, hesitant process. He tried to fit one leg in first, then the other, only to end up tangled and nearly falling out again. At one point, he gave the dashboard a skeptical look, tapping it cautiously as if expecting it to respond. His expression was a mix of anger and frustration, which only grew when he had to contort his tall frame to fit inside.

Apparently, Prythian, or wherever the hell he was from, didn’t have cars.

You were still laughing as you drove, looking down at your phone to make sure you were following the directions carefully. The fiasco with the car had made you late, so you pressed down a little on the gas pedal, not bothering to worry about the speed limit.

Azriel shifted in the passenger seat, eyes glued to the road. “How do you… operate this machine?” He placed his hands on the dashboard as you hit a pothole as if he were scared the car was going to fall apart.

With the potholes around here, it was a solid possibility.

“Relax,” you murmured soothingly to him, reaching over to place a comforting hand on his thigh. “I know what I’m doing.”

He dug his scarred fingers into the dashboard, eyes wide as he took in the buildings zooming by through the windows. “This is normal to you? It feels like we’re riding a wild beast.” He let out a garbled noise as you hit a steep curve in the road. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

You whipped your head to him, grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Don’t you dare puke in my car, Azriel!” As you looked him over, you noticed his knuckles had gone white, his eyes clamped shut as he tried to adjust to the movement of the car. “Hey, hey. It’s alright. Try placing your head between your knees. I hear that helps with motion sickness.”

Azriel nodded, moving his head down. Well, he tried to. His knees were pushed so far up against the dashboard, there was no way in hell he was going to make it work. He looked up at you with wide eyes. “Why is this thing so small?”

You turned your eyes back to the road, watching for the street you needed to turn onto. “It’s all I can afford.”

Azriel leaned back slowly into the seat, his breathing rapid. “Distract me.”

You pursed your lips, considering what to say or do. You looked over at his hand, noting the strange black stone strapped there, fastened with a loop around his middle finger. “What’s that thing on your hand?” you asked.

He glanced down at the stone, his expression grim. “A siphon,” he explained with a strained voice. “It’s how I channel my magic.” He said the word “magic” like this was an everyday conversation for him.

You laughed softly, turning the car onto Arcane Avenue. “Magic. Right.” Once this business with this strange woman was over, you had every intention of taking the guy to a psych ward.

You were having a conversation about a magical stone with a guy who had never seen a car, and he just showed up in a bayou.

Hell, maybe you needed to join him.

Azriel glanced over at you, sensing your doubt. “You don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you…” you said, eyes scanning the surrounding area for a parking spot. “It’s just that magic isn’t real. And I think you hit your head really hard when you… fell.” You still didn’t know what had happened.

It seemed he didn’t know, either.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, turning his head to look out the window. The buildings of the French Quarter towered above the car, their balconies adorned with intricate ironwork and vines. He looked at the streets and people with wide eyes. “Where are we?” he asked, his voice filled with something like wonder.

“The French Quarter,” you explained, pulling the car off the street to squeeze it between two others. “It’s one of the oldest and most iconic neighborhoods in the city.” You gestured to the various establishments lining the streets. “It has everything, really. Bars, music, vices-“

Azriel’s dark brows shot up in surprise. He turned to you, his eyes full of amusement. “Vices? What do you mean?”

You chuckled as you undid your seatbelt and opened the car door. “It’s lively and vibrant, but sometimes it gets a little… wild.”

Azriel hummed as he got out of the car, fumbling momentarily with the seatbelt. “It’s… rather intriguing.”

The two of you walked in silence down the street, dodging the people stumbling out of the bars. Azriel took everything in with his eyes agape, glancing back and forth between the cars, drunkards, and street performers. He got particularly caught up on a gentleman doing some sort of performance with a sword.

He reached a hand out, placing it gently on your arm. His touch sent a bolt of something like electricity through your body. “Did you happen to see a black dagger around me in the water?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious. “Or on the ground?”

You kept looking at the buildings around you as you thought back to when you found him. “No,” you said at last. “It was just you.” You continued looking around, looking closely at the numbers next to each door.

“Damn it,” Azriel muttered from beside you, his tone sour.

You were about to turn to ask him more about the dagger when you saw the number you were looking for. “This is it,” you murmured to him, stopping as you took in the small building.

13 Arcane Avenue stood proudly in the heart of the French Quarter, standing out vibrantly amongst the rather dull surroundings. You looked to the shops next to it, muttering to yourself under your breath.

Azriel took a step forward, his boots stepping on some broken glass on the sidewalk. “What is it?”

“That’s strange,” you said as you looked at the number next to the door. “All of these building numbers are in the thousands, but this one is 13.” You turned to him with a wicked smile on your face. “Think it’s a bad omen?”

He squared his broad shoulders, tilting his head back to observe more of the area. “Numbers are just numbers, Y/N.”

“Not to the weirdos around here,” you responded as you started to walk up the steps that led to a bright red door.

Above it, there was a giant black sign with Serena’s Art Emporium written in bright gold letters. The exterior of the shop was adorned with vibrant, hand-painted murals depicting scenes that looked straight out of the fairy tales you read as a child. They showed majestic dragons soaring over mountains with fire pouring from their mouths. Some showed misty forests where unicorns grazed beneath a canopy of stars, and ancient-looking castles overlooking stormy seas.

You whistled softly, taking in the paintings with critical eyes. “She’s quite the artist, huh.”

Azriel straightened as he laced his hands behind his back. He was also taking in the paintings but with much less criticism. His gaze was soft, almost contemplative as he examined the various scenes. “I know a better one,” he said, and there was a distant sadness in his voice as he spoke.

The sadness in his tone startled you, so you took his arm, gesturing toward the door. “Shall we?” He nodded, and you led the rest of the way up the stone steps.

When you opened the door, a small bell tinkled throughout the empty shop, echoing along the walls. The interior was cozy, with twinkling lights hanging across the beams above. In the background, the smooth, mellow notes of jazz music drifted through the air.

The walls were filled from floor to ceiling with paintings, each piece portraying various scenes. Some of them showed modern people dancing and drinking at a Mardi Gras parade, while others illustrated more scenes from a fantasy world.

A particular painting caught your attention, and you found yourself walking toward it. The canvas depicted an ornate black throne crafted from weathered wood with intricate symbols and ancient runes. The throne itself was draped in an iridescent veil that shimmered with something that looked like starlight.

At the center of its high backrest was a crest. It had a pair of outstretched wings, meticulously carved with sleek, smooth lines, showing off the delicate membranes. Where the wings converged at the base, there was s small flame, its carved tendrils rising and intertwining with the lower parts of the wings.

Though it was a painting, you swore you could see the flames moving, as if the wings were truly on fire.

“That’s my newest one,” a voice said from behind. It was that same velvety smooth voice from the phone call. “But it’s not for sale.”

You turned to face Serena, and your breath caught in your throat as you took her in. Her tousled chestnut brown hair fell in loose waves around her heart-shaped face. She had sun-kissed brown skin with vibrant emerald green eyes that glittered in the dim lights. Her bohemian-style dress flowed around her slim body, and it had various spots of paint splattered across it. Around her neck and wrists, she had handcrafted jewelry painted in bright turquoise, orange, and red.

Azriel cleared his throat, taking a step forward to stand beside you. “We’re not here for your merchandise,” he said politely. Though his tone was warm, you couldn’t miss the intensity in his eyes as they subtly analyzed the artist.

He looked like a warrior assessing a potential threat.

Serena chuckled lowly. “Oh, I know,” she said as she used her dress to wipe some paint from her fingers. “I’m assuming Y/N relayed my message to you.” Her voice was calm, as if telling someone she saw them fall through a portal was normal.

Azriel said nothing as he nodded once, his black hair falling across his brow.

Serena clapped her slim hands together, a smile forming on her full lips. “Excellent!” she exclaimed. She turned around, heading for a black door on the other side of the shop. She gestured for the two of you to follow. “This way.”

You and Azriel followed her through the door and down a dimly lit hallway. The walls here were lined with more paintings, each one portraying a more intense scene. There were soldiers on a battlefield, slaying creatures with massive wings. Others showed human-looking people with pointed ears gathered around a bonfire in the middle of the woods.

How strange, you thought to yourself as you walked. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something… different about this woman. You looked over at Azriel to see if his face showed any sign of wariness, but his features were closed off. So closed off that the walls around you seemed to have more emotion than him.

Eventually, the hallway ended, opening up to a small art studio. There was a small desk along the far wall and some comfortable-looking chairs in the center. Serena’s art supplies were scattered throughout the room, making everything look rather unorganized and chaotic.

“Please,” Serena said at last, walking over to the coffee bar situated in the corner of the room. “Have a seat.”

You looked at Azriel, waiting to see his response. After a few moments, he took a seat, leaning back comfortably in the chair. He didn’t seem to care that he was still covered in grime, and you winced as you saw some of it stain the clean fabric. “What do you know about the portal?” he asked.

Straight to the point, then.

Serena grabbed some cups from the rack above the coffee bar. “Can I get you anything to drink? I have water, tea, coffee…” she trailed off, taking in Azriel’s rigid frame. “Bourbon.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, a sign of his anger and frustration. “Once again, we did not come here for your merchandise… or your courtesies.” He gestured to you with a hand. “Tell us what we want to know.”

Serena looked over at you, amusement flickering in her green eyes. “He’s a difficult one, isn’t he?”

You plopped down in the chair, leaning back against the soft cushions. “You have no idea,” you responded as you smirked over at Azriel.

Azriel made a noise that sounded something like a snarl. “Forget it,” he said through gritted teeth. He pushed himself out of the chair, wincing slightly. “We’ll find someone else.”

Serena faced him, all amusement gone from her pretty face. “The portal took your magic, didn’t it?” she asked, her tone smug. “It’s slowing down your healing.” As she spoke, you could hear the faint traces of her Creole accent. Something about it sounded odd, though, as if she had to force the accent to come out.

He met her eyes with a fierce glare. “What. Do. You. Know. About. The. Portal.” he said, his words full of venom. He turned his head to the side, his hazel eyes full of rage. “I can get you to talk.”

Your heart was beating rapidly as you took in the confrontation. You stood from the chair, meaning to step in and diffuse the situation, but Serena cut you off with a hand.

“I will tell you what I know, though it’s not much,” she said, walking over to take a seat in the third chair. She gestured for you and Azriel to sit down as well. “Sit. You’re making me nervous.”

She sat back, crossing her long legs as she began to speak, “I’ve seen Prythian, your world, in dreams and visions. I’ve had them since I was a little girl. They’re always foggy, and they never last long, but I’ve seen things.”

Azriel gripped the chair, his knuckles whitening. You had the sudden urge to place a hand over his to comfort him, but the angry look on his face stopped you. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

Serena gestured to the walls in the studio, all filled with different paintings. “Look around the room. Tell me what you see.”

With calculating eyes, Azriel looked around. You watched his expression carefully as it went from angry to shocked to outright livid. He stood from the chair with such force that it flipped over, sending the pillows scattering across the floor. You jumped at his sudden outburst, eyes darting over the paintings to see what had made him so angry.

They were just… paintings. Nothing more unusual than what you had already seen in the shop. One of them showed a mansion surrounded by roses and various other flowers. The mansion looked destroyed as if someone had tried to tear it down from the inside out.

Another showed a large mountain with stars above it. On the mountain, Serena had painted what looked like people with wings, fighting with swords and daggers.

The third painting you looked at was a nighttime scene, and it portrayed a city above steep, rolling hills, with a sapphire blue river winding through the center. The buildings were white, sandstone, and red, and you could see little people painted throughout, carrying on with their daily tasks.

On the bottom of the painting, there was a phrase, written in pretty calligraphy: The City of Starlight

“How the hell do you know of Velaris?” Azriel roared, stalking over to Serena. He bent down, his face mere inches from hers. “And the Spring Court? The Illyrian mountains?”

Serena leaned back in her chair, completely unphased by his outburst. “I told you. I see them in visions and dreams.”

For a moment, you thought back to how normal your life had been just twenty-four hours before. All you cared about was going to work at the hospital, paying the bills, and spending time watching your shitty reality TV shows.

Now, you were in the middle of a conversation about some foreign world you had never heard of, coming from an insane artist and a mysterious guy who washed up in the middle of the night.

Maybe you should have gotten that bottle of wine before coming here.

“Azriel,” you murmured from where you still sat, your voice soft. “Calm down. Snarling at her won’t get you the answers you want.”

“Smart girl,” Serena muttered beneath her breath. She nodded her head toward you. “You should listen to her.”

Azriel took a deep breath as he stepped back, his body shaking as he tried to calm himself. “I am sorry,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “I just- I don’t understand what happened.” He sounded defeated, his voice dropping, his strange accent thickening for a moment.

Your heart went out to him. You didn’t necessarily believe any of this nonsense, but it was clear that he did, and he was in distress about it. “Come sit by me,” you offered, reaching down to straighten his overturned chair. You pulled it next to yours as you said, “Just listen as she explains.”

Azriel took the seat, his eyes empty as he glanced at you. The dim light of the room cast long flickering shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the dark circles under his eyes. “My apologies for being rude. Please explain,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

The artist smiled softly as she took in her paintings on the wall. “The visions are fleeting. They come in flashes, and I only see bits and pieces of the scene. That is why I paint them,” she said, gesturing to her artwork. “So I don’t forget what I saw.”

“Are you human?” Azriel asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “It’s strange that you’ve seen my world, while she,” he said, gesturing to you, “has no idea about it.”

Serena looked over at you, her eyes squinting slightly. “Oh, there’s more to that story, but that’s for another time.” She sighed, running her hands over the arms of the chair. “But to answer your question, yes. I am human.”

What story? You wanted to ask, but Azriel cut you off before you could respond. “How.” Not a question; a demand.

“My family comes from a long line of witches and warlocks. Voodoo priests and priestesses,” she responded, playing with a string on the arm of the chair. “At least that’s what I was told by my parents.”

“All of that is bullshit, and you know it,” you said, anger rising in your voice. You stood from the chair, ignoring Azriel’s hand grasping your wrist. “We have come to you for help. He has come to you for help, and you’re speaking nonsense.”

“Are my paintings nonsense, Azriel?” Serena drawled as she examined her paint-covered nails.

Azriel’s grip tightened on your wrist, causing you to turn to him. He gave you a soft nod as he said, “No.” He made eye contact with you again, and you felt your heart skip a beat at the softness in his gaze. “That’s my world, Y/N.”

You held his stare for a few seconds before turning away to face Serena. “What else do you know, then? Can you even help him?” Not that you believed any of this. You just wanted to get this over with so you could go home and sleep.

Maybe stop on the way home and get that wine you’ve been thinking about first.

She held up her hands, her face somber. “I don’t know how to get you home if that’s what you want to know.” Azriel opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a piercing stare. “But I saw you fall through the portal. It took your magic, shadows, and wings.”

Wings? Was she being serious?

“There was a strong magic at work, so strong I felt it, even when the vision ended.” She leaned forward, bracing her forearms against her legs. “There is something… dark and evil happening in Prythian, correct?”

Azriel nodded, his eyes darkening. “Yes.”

Serena nodded, her brown hair falling over her shoulders. “I’ve seen that, too. It’s poisoning the land, the magic…” she trailed off, her eyes going distant for a few seconds. She blinked rapidly, coming back to herself. “I will say, I don’t think that had anything to do with you coming here.”

“What did, then?” you ask in a clipped tone.

“I don’t know.” Her smooth voice carried a faint tremor of frustration as she spoke.

That did it. “Oh, fuck this!” you screamed, throwing your hands up in the air. You looked at Azriel, grabbing him by the arm. “Let’s go.” You started to haul him out of the chair, but you were cut off by your phone ringing. You pulled it from your pocket, your face turning white as you looked at the caller ID. “Shit. It’s my boss. I forgot to call in.”

Azriel stood up on his own, shaking off your arm. “I think we’re done here, anyway.”

You looked over at Serena, giving her the most scathing look you could muster. “Nice meeting you, I guess.” You started to head back through the hallway, but you were stopped by her silky voice.

“Wait,” she called out, rising from her chair. “Azriel, I need to talk to you.” She looked at you, her expression firm. “Alone.”

Azriel offered you a slight nod. “Go. I’ll follow you when I’m done here.”

You didn’t want to leave him alone with her. You had this strange urge to protect him from any more harm that could come his way. Something about the way she spoke and moved made it difficult for you to trust her. But your phone was still ringing, and you wanted to keep your job.

“Fine,” you retorted, starting back down the dim hallway. You moved your gaze to Azriel, giving him a wink. “Scream if she tries to murder you.”

——

Azriel turned back to the artist, laughing internally at the thought of this woman trying to murder him. She was odd and peculiar, but he didn’t sense anything particularly threatening about her. It was obvious that she was telling the truth about her dreams and visions. Nobody from this odd world should know about Prythian, so he had no choice but to trust her.

If he had any hope of getting back home, at least.

“What did you wish to speak to me about?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain polite and steady. He was tired, and his body still hurt like hell. He wanted to get this over with as fast as possible.

Az still didn’t know how he could understand and speak this strange tongue. He vaguely remembered the bright light from that stone hitting him in the head, followed by the odd language. This language. It was like his brain suddenly had a built-in translator.

But honestly, being able to speak a new language was the least of his worries right now.

Serena walked toward him on light feet, her dress flowing around her. “When you fell through the portal, I heard something. Did you?” she asked, arching up an eyebrow at him.

Azriel thought back to falling through the portal, his mind whirling as he tried to remember anything other than excruciating pain.

His shadows dispersing, Truth-Teller falling from his hand, the bright light hitting him in the head, that strange language, those prophetic words being spoken to him-

“I heard words,” he said at last, meeting her amused gaze. “Something about a veil and a counterpart and… ancient blood and shadows.” The words didn’t make sense to him at all, but if this woman had heard them…

Serena pulled a piece of paper from a pocket on her dress. She held it out to him as she said, “I wrote them down. I think I got the whole thing. Can you check for me?” she asked, her voice full of innocent curiosity.

He took the paper and unfolded it, reading the words written there:

“Across the veil, in worlds apart,

A warrior's heart seeks its counterpart.

Where ancient blood and shadows meet,

The lost queen's reign, his fate shall greet.”

He read them two more times before saying, “Yes. Now that I’m reading them, I can confirm this is what I heard.” He looked up at her, meeting her intense gaze. Her eyes had darkened slightly, filled with something that looked like satisfaction. “What does this mean?”

“Again,” Serena said, lacing her hands in front of her. “I don’t know. But I will tell you this: I’ve seen Y/N in my visions and dreams. They are… foggy to say the least, but it’s her.” She paused for a moment, as if contemplating what to say next. “That’s why I called the two of you here today. I needed to verify my suspicions.”

Azriel was at a complete loss for words. Just when things start to make a little sense, it all goes to shit again. How could that human woman be tied into this?

“Can you help me at all?” he asked, his voice quiet. He wanted, no he needed to get back to Prythian. He would tear this world apart if that was what it took to accomplish that.

Serena bit her bottom lip, her eyes looking to the ground.

Because of her silence, Azriel sighed as he turned around to leave. He stopped as he heard her call out, “I do know someone who might be able to help. But she will contact you on her terms, in her own timing and way.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, not bothering to face her. His neck ached at the movement, but he ignored the pain. “What do I do until then?”

Serena let out a low chuckle that seemed to vibrate through his bones. For a brief moment, his senses pricked with unease, detecting something off about her. The warmth in her voice washed away his suspicions as she said, “In the meantime, I suggest you make yourself comfortable in this world, Azriel.”

——

The journey home in the strange contraption called a car had been tense and silent. Y/N had been called into work, so she had decided it was best to take Azriel back to her home to rest.

“You’re not taking me to the doctor?” he had asked, mind still whirling from what Serena had said. How was he supposed to get comfortable here, with the mechanical beasts, loud alarm clocks, and small rectangular devices that rang? Not to mention all of the strange people, dressed in their vibrant, and somewhat revealing, clothing.

“No,” you had responded, your grip tight on the steering wheel. Your face had been a mask of quiet rage, the tips of your ears turning an adorable shade of pink. “I’ll deal with you later.” And that had ended the conversation.

The compassionate human woman was kind, he thought, but when you were pissed off, there was a hidden fire beneath your gentle features. Despite his inner turmoil, Azriel couldn’t help but be amused by the contrast, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he observed you.

As you pulled into the driveway, he let himself take in your home for the first time. It was a small white cottage, wrapped in green vines and flowers. It had a small porch that contained a table with two chairs on what looked like rails. The porch offered a good look at the water out in front of the house, with its muddy, slow-moving current.

Out of all the places in this strange world, why had he landed there?

You stopped the car in front of the house and turned to Azriel. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” you said. “Make yourself at home, I guess.” You leaned over to him and sniffed, your face grimacing. “And take a shower. You smell awful.”

Indeed, he was still wearing his torn fighting leathers, and they were covered in grime, blood, and dried sweat. Azriel grimaced himself as he murmured, “I don’t know what that is.”

You rolled your eyes, gesturing for him to get out of the car. “I don’t have time to explain. You’re a big boy. You can figure it out.” Your words were short and clipped, filled with an emotion Azriel hadn’t heard from you before.

Azriel nodded as he fought to untangle himself from the car. As he closed the door behind him, he could see the bleakness on your face through the window. He had the odd desire to get you talking, to figure out what was going on in that head of yours.

But his own desire to sit in silence and think through everything won. He numbly walked up the steps to the front door, turning around in time to see your small car turn off the driveway. He watched until you disappeared, and he felt an overwhelming wave of loneliness wash over him.

He opened the door and let your sweet scent fill his nose as he walked inside, taking in the interior for the first time. It was cozy but spacious, with hardwood floors and exposed wooden beams. The décor looked a little old, and there were various pillows and blankets scattered on the furniture.

The walls were filled with different pictures of you. They weren’t paintings, he realized. They looked extremely realistic as if someone had captured the exact moment and printed it on the canvas. Some of them were of you hiking in some mountains, while others showed you lounging on a beach with a drink in your hand. One in particular caught his attention, and he found himself walking over to it.

It was a small picture of you with a middle-aged male and female. You had this strange gown on with a square hat on the top of your head. All three of you were laughing, and the beautiful smile on your face eased something in Azriel’s chest. He wondered who the older couple was in the picture because they shared no resemblance with you.

Azriel sighed, his head dropping slightly. He leaned his head against the wall as his mind whirled. The thoughts he had been pushing down came bubbling up, rising to the forefront of his mind.

Did his family know he was here? Did they think he was dead? Were they dead?

He quickly turned around, pressing his back against the wall. He slid down as his breathing sped up, his vision narrowing. His stomach rolled as wave after wave of nausea hit him. He recalled the words that had been spoken to him earlier.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright. Try placing your head between your knees.” The words you had said in that soft voice washed over him, calming him enough to follow your instructions.

With his head between his knees and his back against the wall in a strange land, Azriel breathed deeply. He thought back to the few memories in his life that brought him happiness, knowing that would center him.

Training with Cass and Rhys, faces full of smug grins and bared teeth. Helping his mother around Rosehall, listening to her soft voice as she sang a lullaby in an ancient language he didn’t understand. Family dinners with the Inner Circle. Flying over Velaris, the stars bright above him as his wings caught on the wind.

Azriel pulled his head up from between his knees, his face filling with determination. If he wanted to get back home, he had to get his shit together.

“Make myself comfortable here,” he murmured to himself with a laugh, remembering Serena’s words. It seemed that, at this point, he didn’t have a choice. So he slowly stood, muttering a prayer to the Mother for help and guidance as he did so.

He looked around the small house, trying to think of what to do while he waited for you to return. He placed his hands on his hips, spinning around in a circle as he observed more about the room. He stopped as he took in the large black square hanging on the wall in front of the couch. It must have been some kind of mirror because he could see his reflection in the glass.

He grimaced as he looked at himself. His hair was standing out in all directions, and he could see the lines of dirt and dried blood on his face. He looked down at his hands, noting the mud caked under his fingernails.

He hadn’t felt this disgusting in years.

Take a shower. You smell awful. He didn’t know what a shower was, but apparently that’s what he needed.

“A shower must be something like a bath,” he murmured to himself as he walked through the bedroom, doing his best to ignore the stains on your bedding. He distantly felt a wave of regret at the sight, and he made a mental note to figure out a way to clean it.

Azriel walked into a small adjoining room, his eyes wide as he took everything in. The counter was simple white marble, and it was filled with various bottles and brushes, all scattered haphazardly across the surface.

“She must not be one for organization,” he said, a faint smile gracing his lips. He kept looking around with curious eyes. He saw a porcelain fixture that had to be a toilet, and he was thankful that at least something here seemed straightforward and familiar.

Eventually, his gaze fell upon a glass enclosure surrounding a tile-lined floor. Inside, there was a metal fixture mounted high on the wall, as well as some metal knobs below. He hastily looked around the room, checking to see if he was missing something.

There had to be a bathtub somewhere.

No, it was only the cluttered counter, the toilet, some towels hanging on a rack… and this glass-encased monstrosity.

“Well, this has to be it, then,” he said as he cautiously pulled the handle on the glass door. He watched it swing open, his mouth opening slightly in surprise. Stepping into the enclosed space, he turned his attention to the metal knobs, reaching out a tentative hand as he turned one.

“Shit!” he yelled as waterfell like rain from the fixture on the wall, drenching him from head to toe. He scrambled back, pushing against the glass door, trying to get it to open again. He tumbled out, catching himself against the edge of the counter. Looking at his dirty reflection in the mirror, he whispered, “You can do this, Az.”

It was just fucking water.

With methodical movements, Azriel peeled off his leathers, throwing them onto the floor with a loud plop. He removed his empty siphons, ignoring the slight pang in his heart as he did so. He had no use for them now.

He went back through the motions again, opening to door to step inside. He yelped as the freezing cold water hit his skin, causing him to throw himself against the tile wall.

“How in the hell do these people do this?” he groaned, trying to think of some sort of solution. After pondering for a few moments, he came up with nothing, so he steeled himself, preparing to lock the pain away.

Without thinking it through, he grabbed a bottle of liquid on one of the shelves. He poured some into his hand, the sweet smell wafting to his nose. Vanilla and jasmine, just like you. He quickly went to work rubbing it all over his body, paying special attention to his face and hair.

For a few moments, Az watched the dirt and blood flow down the drain with the water, never to be seen again. “How convenient,” he said to himself. Looking back up at the fixture on the wall, he bit his lip as he threw himself under the water stream. He quickly rinsed himself, even though it felt like his skin was being pelted by a thousand tiny needles.

After turning the knob in the opposite direction, he got out and dried himself with one of the towels hanging on the rack. Azriel wrapped it around his waist and turned to the mirror to look at himself.

His ribs were healed, but there was a deep purple bruise on his side that was tender to the touch. There were strange cuts along his chest and stomach, and he vaguely recalled the feeling of his skin being shredded as he was ripped from his world.

Azriel took a deep breath and turned around, afraid to look at his back where his wings should be. He slowly turned his head, gasping loudly as he saw the smooth brown skin on his back. It truly looked like his wings had never been there.

But now that he could focus on something other than pain, he could almost feel the sensation of them, as if they were there but invisible. The distant feeling of the connecting tendons along his spine and shoulders was proof of their existence, even if he couldn’t see them with his own eyes.

He focused, letting his mind wander deep into that well inside of himself from which his magic flowed. Under his skin, he could still sense the remnants of his magic, but it was like trying to grab fog in his palm. It was there, lurking in his veins, but it was muted. Dimmed.

With a groan, Azriel forced himself away from the mirror, unable to let himself think of what he had become. Who was he without his magic, his shadows? His whole identity was defined by his ability to slaughter, kill, and torture. He was more spymaster and shadowsinger than he was Azriel on most days, and he felt as if some core part of him had been suddenly ripped away.

He walked back into the bedroom, stopping once a horrifying realization dawned on him: he didn’t have any clothes. His leathers were torn and disgusting, and the portal that threw him here hadn’t been kind enough to send him an overnight bag for the journey.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Azriel muttered, rubbing his face in his hands. He sat down on the bed, staring at the wall with vacant eyes. He forced himself to turn his thoughts off, willing his brain into that warrior focus that had carried him through countless battles and risky missions.

Breathe. In. Out. Repeat.

Azriel sat on the bed as still as a rock as the sky outside grew darker, casting the room into blackness. He jumped as he heard a car door slam, followed by light footsteps on the stairs. “Oh, gods. Please no.” He couldn’t let you see him like this.

The front door opened, and Azriel’s heart stuttered as he heard you call out, “Azriel. I’m home.” Your voice no longer carried the anger from earlier. Now, it was just distant and empty, and he could hear the weariness in your tone.

He didn’t respond as he tried to focus on the shadows lurking in the dark corners of the room, willing them to cover him. Only silence followed, and Azriel cursed his entire existence as he sat on the bed.

“Azriel?” you asked again, worry filling your sweet voice. “I swear to God, if you are ignoring me, I will find you and break your ribs again.” The tone in which you threatened him reminded him of a wildfire, your voice untamed and adorably ferocious.

You were a feisty little human.

No point in hiding from her, Az thought to himself as he stood from the bed. He had nowhere to go, and this house wasn’t big enough to hide in, anyway. “Calm down. I’m right here,” he said as he walked into the living room.

You stood next to the couch, still dressed in that cobalt blue outfit. Your hair was a mess, as if you had been running your fingers through it, and your face looked tired, the dark circles under your eyes prominent. As you took in his almost naked form, your eyes widened, not bothering to hide their wandering trail up and down his body.

Despite the embarrassment he was feeling, Azriel felt a little smug at the sight of the small blush creeping onto your cheeks. He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. “How was work?” He still didn’t know exactly what you did for your job, and he silently cursed himself for not asking.

Oh well. He had bigger things to worry about right now.

You gulped, your throat bobbing with the action. “Good, good.” Your eyes had stopped on his stomach, your mouth opening slightly at the sight of his muscles there. “It was a… hard day.”

Azriel hummed as he noticed a bag in your hand. “What is that?” he asked, taking a step forward. He placed a hand on the towel to make sure it didn’t crumple to the floor.

“Clothes. For you,” you said, your eyes finally meeting his. You held the bag out to him with a shaking hand. “I hope they’re the right size.”

Something in his chest warmed at the sincerity of the gesture. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, taking the bag from your grasp.

You chuckled, waving a hand toward his body. “Oh, I think I did.”

Azriel didn’t know what to say, so he started to take the clothes out of the bag, examining each item. They were plain and simple: a few pairs of black pants and soft shirts. Exactly his style, or at least what he assumed his style would be if he were from here.

“Um,” you murmured, breaking the awkward silence. “Everything that Serena said is real, isn’t it?” Your eyes were full of nervousness, and your fingers were fidgeting with the bottom of your shirt. “You- you’re really not from this world?”

Azriel was shocked, not knowing what to say. So, he only nodded.

“I mean, it makes sense the more I think about it. Your clothes, your accent… you’ve never seen a car or a phone.” You started pacing in front of him, your breathing rapid. “Those paintings. That’s where you’re from?”

He wondered what had caused you to come to the conclusion. “Yes. That is Prythian. My world.” He didn’t even know how to begin explaining it to you. He didn’t know if it was safe. The secrets and dangers of his home were not something he wanted to expose you to.

You were… kind and compassionate. There was something gentle about your demeanor, a warmth that spread throughout his body, thawing his cold bones and touching his lost soul.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you had steel beneath your skin, a core of resolve that was masked by your gentleness. It was as if beneath the softness there lay a strength, tempered and resilient, ready to emerge when needed.

Your eyes bore into his with such an intensity, he could have sworn he saw fire in them. “Tell me everything. If you want me to help you, I need to know.” You took a step toward him, placing your palm on his tattooed chest. Your hand was warm against his skin, and he had to fight the urge to place his over it. “I deserve to know.”

Azriel bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing the sudden desire to cradle your face in his palm. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, your expression tender. For a moment, the world stilled as you looked at him with those beautiful eyes, trusting and hopeful, yet full of an intensity that made his heart race. He wanted to tell you everything about him. He didn’t want to face this, whatever this was, alone.

The realization shocked him; he had always faced his problems by himself, not wanting to burden anyone else with his issues and trauma. But with you…

Azriel shook himself from those thoughts, forcing himself to return to the present. You needed to know what Serena had said about her visions, about seeing you in them. You deserved to know that first.

“I will tell you,” he murmured, tilting his head to the side. He found himself caught up in the way your lips parted slightly, the way your nose curved down elegantly. His eyes lingered, capturing the delicate details of your face. “But first I need to tell you what the artist said. She said-“

Az had been so caught up in the conversation, in you, that he hadn’t heard another car pull into the driveway. He hadn’t heard the footsteps on the stairs or the laughter of the people outside.

The front door flew open, revealing the frame of a man and woman. The same man and woman from the picture on the wall, Azriel realized.

The man was holding a plastic-looking bag, and the woman held a colorful box in her arms that had the smell of garlic and herbs coming from it.

“Y/N!” the woman exclaimed, her gentle face lighting up for a moment. That gentleness turned to shock as she looked at Azriel, still wearing nothing but a small towel around his waist. “Oh, we didn’t know you had company tonight.”

Azriel stepped back quickly, his hand tightening his grip on the towel. The last thing he needed to happen was for it to fall off. “Who are they?” he asked you, unable to hide the embarrassment in his voice.

You groaned quietly as you turned away from him to face the couple. “My parents.”

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