#your honor i am not normal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fanwarriorfictions · 20 days

Text

Not Again - Part Eleven

Summary: The morning after leaves Y/n and Azriel wanting more, but that will have to wait.

Warnings: a little spicy, no smut but it’s close, and she is Angstyyyyy

Series Masterlist

-Part Eleven-

She woke, surrounded by a familiar warmth and scent, home, she was home. The sun was shining behind her eyelids, she was hesitant to open them, to completely wake from the deepest and most peaceful slumber she had ever had in her life. When she finally forced her eyes open, it had taken a moment for her to register exactly where she was, not her bedroom in the palace of Orynth, but her room in the house of wind, and the scent of a male beside her, one that smelled of the libraries she’d spent most of her life in.

Azriel’s arms were around her, holding her close to his chest, Y/n still completely bare against him, Azriel still only half dressed, his wings splayed out across the bed on either side of him, one wrapping around them like a blanket.

He was awake, scarred hand lazily tracing shapes across her back. He halted when she lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were so beautiful in the morning sunlight, so beautiful she wondered why he spent so much time in the dark, when he could look like this. His hair a mess from sleep, from her hands pulling on the strands. His skin washed in the golden light, displaying each of those slightly red lines across his chest and shoulders that matched the shape of her nails.

“Have you been staring at me all morning?”

His answering smile turns the pit of her stomach molten, “Good morning, Princess.”

“Morning, shadowsinger.” She raises a hand to his face, thumb lightly ghosting over the small split on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

Azriel nips lightly at her thumb, “Don’t be. You’re a vicious little thing but I can handle it.”

She grins, “You love it, don’t lie.”

His head tilts in that predator like motion, something in her likes the feeling of being his prey. Azriel’s hand continues to draw those small shapes across her back, his fingers trailing across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It reminds her that she’s completely naked, half laying on top of him. And she had a score to settle from the night before, a glorious score at that. She had never felt that in her life, the intensity of it, the passion, she had felt completely boneless afterwards, like her body was trying to process the sheer amount of pleasure it felt.

Her hand drifts lazily down his chest, over those raised scratches, over the dark black tattoos, down the hard muscles of his stomach. Only for her wrist to be caught between his large fingers.

She glares up at him, “Don’t ruin my fun.”

“Later, Princess.” There’s a dark haze to his eyes like he wanted nothing more than to say, now, now, now. “I promise you can have your fun, later. When did you last eat?”

She bristles at the concern in his voice, “I-“

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he interrupts, “Your stomach was growling in your sleep.”

She rips her hand free and smacks his chest, glaring at the way he laughs at her, “No it wasn’t.”

“You were drooling to,” he grins, “Dreaming of a roast dinner I’m sure.”

“You-“

He catches her hand before she can hit him again, lifting her wrist to his mouth to press a kiss to the inside, right abover her pulse. It flutters beneath his smirking lips and she wishes he’d press them to her own instead.

“Breakfast,” Azriel says, placing her hand directly above his beating heart, “You can tell me all about your little adventures from the past few days. And then you can have your fun, and I can have mine.”

The way his voice drops, that gravely sound that makes her clench around nothing. By the way he smirks, Y/n is sure he can scent the arousal pooling between her legs, she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of trying to hide it, despite how she desperately wants to press her thighs together.

“Fine,” she says, pushing off of his chest to sit up, “Breakfast and a story, and then I have my way with you, shadowsinger.”

She doesn’t miss the way his eyes fall to her breasts, to the purple marks littering all over her chest, she’d repay him for those too. His hand slides down her back, resting just above her ass, fingers pressing firmly into her skin to hold her in place.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, like a prayer only meant for her to hear.

“Still thinking about breakfast,” she taunts.

He answers without hesitation, “Yes.”

By the way his gaze travels down her body, whiskey eyes turning to the deepest amber she’d ever seen, Y/n is sure he’s thinking about another feast. Gods she wanted him to devour her again, to feel that tongue between her legs, those fingers stretching her, preparing her for the impressive size of him that she’d felt beneath his leathers.

“Breakfast first,” he groans, throwing his head back on the pillows, “Breakfast first.”

Y/n laughs at the image, “You ruin your own fun, shadowsinger.”

“It’s what I’m good at,” he says darkly, not looking at her, “Get dressed, Princess.”

Y/n rolls her eyes at the command, “What? You don’t enjoy the view?”

The hand on her back slides down, gripping the soft flesh of her ass almost painfully. Y/n nearly moans at the sensation, sitting back into his palm.

“Get dressed,” he orders again, squeezing her even harder, “You’re distracting.”

“Poor, shadowsinger,” she coos, pushing his hand off so she can climb off the bed, “Sees a pair of tits and loses all functionality.”

Azriel chuckles darkly, eyeing her chest, “Must you make everything more difficult than necessary?”

She turns towards her dresser, feeling the weight of his gaze drift down to her backside. There’s a set of night court style clothes, in her colors, green and silver laying out on the dresser for her. Y/n takes her time, bending over to step into the tiny little scrap of lace the house deemed as undergarments, slowly pulling it up her legs, over her ass. Azriel’s eyes burn into her, watching each deliberate motion as she dresses.

“Are you planning to eat breakfast half dressed,” she throws a raised brow over her shoulder, catching the hungry look in his eye, “I won’t complain.”

A plain black shirt appears in his lap, one he looks keen on ignoring, “It would seem the house would.”

“Insufferable busybody.” She lifts her own shirt above her head, making sure to turn just enough to let him see all of her, “Put your shirt on, shadowsinger. I’m hungry.”

“I can hear that from here.” He laughs at her glare, throwing his shirt over his head, deft fingers quickly buttoning the backs beneath his wings. “Lead the way, Princess.”

Azriel marked it as a testament of his will, to walk behind her, to have her lingering arousal in his nose, to watch those hips sway, to see that beautiful bruise on her neck and not press her against the closest wall and take her from behind. He’d spent enough time the night before admiring her front, he’d neglected the view from this angle, and what a view it was. He had many plans to rectify that.

She sends him a wicked smile over her shoulder, like she knew exactly where his thoughts had drifted off to, like he’d shouted them down the bond between them.

He hadn’t, the moment he’d woken this morning he’d taken that shadow that connected them and smothered it in his chest, locking away his raging need to scream that she was his mate, to beg her to stay with him, to accept him for all his faults and scars. He shoved it all in a box in the corner of his mind, locked behind chains and walls. When she’d woken, and she’d looked up at him with those eyes full of wonder, it almost broke him. That was a testament to his strength, to hold back the words, my mate, you’re my mate.

There was a feast prepared in the dining room. Pastries and fruits and meats and cheeses, several kinds of juices and teas and coffees to choose from. The house was a busybody indeed, he could hear Y/n grumbling under her breath at it. He wasn’t the only one that knew she was hungry, had she even eaten when she’d been gone? Had she even stopped to rest? The need to know where she’d been, what she’d done, overrode his need to fuck her against the table, barely, but it did.

Azriel carefully watches her fill her plate, noting the way she piles it high with the sweet pastries, little bits of fruit scattered throughout, like it would balance out the sheer amount of sugar. Once she sat, making a cup of black tea, the only thing not filled with enough sugar to send him into a coma, Azriel fills his own plate, balanced and protein filled like he always took his breakfast. He could almost hear Cassian chiding him for the single raspberry tart he adds to the mix.

Y/n bites into one of her own tarts, blueberry by the smell of it, and lets out a deliberate little moan. Every instinct in him zeroes in on the sound, but he forces it away, she wanted a reaction out him, she wouldn’t get one.

“Are you ready to tell me where you went?”

The sigh she lets out shows just how disappointed she is about her little preformance not working on him. He almost smiles, almost concedes that inch.

“I flew north,” she says, sipping on her tea, “I didn’t know where I was going, I just-“

She cuts herself off, and any lust fades from them both as she looks down at the table. Working through whatever it was she was thinking, whatever she was feeling. It was his fault, the things he’d said to her that night, lashing out at her because he was so scared of himself, of his own problems.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “About what I said, you’re not-“

“I am,” she interrupts, looking up at him with hazy eyes, “I am a coward, you were right.”

The resignation almost breaks him. Behind the thick walls of his mind he could feel her breaking on the other side, he hated it, hated himself for causing it.

“No I wasn’t-“

“Yes, yes you were.” She looks past him, out the windows beyond, “I flew north, as far as I could into the snow capped mountains, hoping if I flew far enough I would find Terrasen, that I could go home, go back to my perfect life, where I was safe and loved and had never felt the hardships that so many have been through before me.”

She laughs without any humor, “My mother was raised by an abusive monster after seeing her parents dead in their bed. She was a slave, she was tortured, beaten, forced to give everything she was to save the world. My father found the woman he thought was his mate, was to have a child with her, only to have her die while he was fighting for the queen who’d fucked with his mind. And then there’s me, the spoiled little princess who falls apart because she’s lost.”

Those silent tears fall down her cheeks, her breathing is steady, no sobs, just this quiet breaking. It shatters his heart.

“And I’m such a coward, that instead of facing my own bullshit, of pulling myself together,” she continues, “I try to force myself on you, try to force you to fix the broken parts of me. I don’t blame you for not wanting that, for calling me out on it. I ran away because you were right, and I couldn’t handle it. I ran because I couldn’t face the truth that, that I am nothing, my family is filled with hero’s, of stories, and I am nothing but a coward who failed her own.”

“No-“

“Yes,” she takes a deep breath, “I failed so spectacularly that I almost got myself and you-“

Her voice breaks for the first time and Azriel wants to hold her in his arms, to hold the shattering pieces of her together, but there’s the cursed table between them, holding him back yet again from her. He rests his hand on the table, scarred palm up in offering, for her to take it, for him to hold them both together, she takes it.

“I almost got us killed,” she breathes, voice so soft and broken, “and that scared me so much, and that scared me even more, the fear of losing you, of being the reason of it-“

“You’re not going to lose me, Princess.” He squeezes her hand tightly in his own, “We will figure this out, we will get you home, I promise.”

He hates himself for the selfish though that crosses his mind, the hope, that they wouldn’t figure it out, and if they did, maybe she would chose to stay with him. He knew she wouldn’t.

“Together,” she says, “No more fighting, we’ll do this together, shadowsinger.”

And he nods, ignoring the cracks in his heart, “Together, Princess.”

Y/n felt so tired, so raw after that conversation, after baring her heart and soul to Azriel. Any lingering heat in her from the night before, from that morning, had disappeared with every broken word that came from her lips. Azriel seemed to understand that without her having to tell him, like he always did. If she didn’t have that protection engraved into her brow, she’d assume he was a daemati, as Rhys had called his power, able to reach into her mind and read her thoughts and emotions.

Instead of dragging him back to her room, like she had originally planned during their walk to the dining room, she asked him to fly with her. And he said yes without hesitation.

The wind felt marvelous on her wings, the early morning spring chill still lingering. Velaris was beautiful in the morning light, though she knew it truly shone at night beneath the stars. There were fae roaming through the streets, some brave enough to look up and wave at the shadowsinger as he passed. Y/n almost laughed when he awkwardly waved back.

She dove down towards a bustling market, the palace of salt and bone if the delicious scents of fresh bread and spices drifting through her nose were any indication. With a flash she was in her fae form again, walking through a crowd of fae who starred at her and her winged companion who lands directly behind her.

“Trying to give someone a heart attack?” He asks, rolling his eyes at the grin she sends over her shoulder.

Azriel falls in step beside her and she notes the lack of his usual shadows. It reminds her of their first encounter, when she hadn’t been able to understand him, scared and hurt. He’d sent them away to not frighten her anymore than she already was. The people of Velaris were well aware of who and what he was, and by the gleam in most eyes they passed, she was sure none of them would be truly scared of the shadowsinger.

“The markets in Orynth are a lot like this,” Y/n says, admiring a baker’s stand, “My mother and I go once a month to buy as many sweets as our hands can carry.”

“I assume you inherited your sweet tooth from her?” Azriel picks up a decorated cookie and pulls a few coins from his pocket for the high fae female behind the stand. “Here.”

Y/n grins and takes the cookie from his outstretched hand, “My father swears he doesn’t have one but I’ve seen him sneaking through our hauls. And he always has a chocolate cake for his birthday. My mother once made him one, he told me it was the worst thing he’d ever eaten but he ate every single bite.”

Azriel chuckles, “If she’s anything like you I’d say he’s a smart male.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” she glares, fighting back a grin.

Azriel smirks, “nothing, Princess.”

“Careful, shadowsinger.” She lets a small ice cold breeze push through his hair, over his wings, noting the shiver that runs down his spine, “Oh? Are those sensitive?”

And something she never thought she would see happens. A flush covers the shadowsinger’s cheeks, faint and barely visible on his deep tanned skin. But she sees it and her smile turns feline.

“I can see the idea forming in your head,” Azriel says, forcing that calm mask over his features to hide the blush, “don’t start something you don’t want to finish.”

“Oh I definitely want to finish,” Y/n says, letting another breeze cross directly over the sharp talon at the tip of his wing, “I have a score to settle, remember?”

Azriel takes a step closer to her, looking down at her with delightful intensity, “Careful, Princess.”

“Or what?” She lifts her hand, lightly dragging a finger over his forearm, “Big sensitive male, can’t handle a little teasing?”

“Careful,” Azriel says lowly, so no one passing can hear, only for her, “Or I take you into the shadows, and we’ll see who’s more sensitive.”

Her toes curl, the pit of her stomach turning molten, “Scandalous, shadowsinger.”

The hand on his arm gently reaches back, dragging over the soft membrane of a single wing. Azriel doesn’t let her dig her claws into him, he wraps those scarred fingers around her forearm and she’s engulfed in shadows. The familiar feeling of transporting falls over her, like stepping through a door into another part of the world. Her uncle had the ability, one of the rare few in her world, he’d taken her on many adventures using the ability, she was used to the disorienting feeling.

She doesn’t have the chance to see where they are, the world still covered in shadow, before her back is pressed to a wall, her hands held firmly above her head. Azriel’s mouth collides with her’s in a burning kiss. No gentleness, only fiery passion. Each stroke of his tongue sends a shock of need through her, all the way down to her core.

“You test my patience,” he grounds out against her mouth, nipping at her already swollen bottom lip, “Is this what you want, to be fucked against a back alley wall?”

He doesn’t let her respond, only takes her mouth again in that claiming kiss. She wants to touch him, to run her hands over those wings and see just how sensitive they really are, but he keeps her hands trapped against the wall above them, both wrists held in just one of his scarred palms. His other hand trails down her body, ghosting over the places she really wants him to stop and take his time.

She tries and fails to arch into his touch, his body pining her to the wall, one of his legs shoved between her own, thigh pressed to her aching center. Her hips writhe, seeking the friction she desperately needs.

Azriel laughs against her lips, “What? Can’t handle a little teasing?”

He mocks her words from the street and she’s almost to lost in the intensity of everything to be annoyed by it, almost. Y/n nips at his lip like he’d done to her, catching that already spilt bottom lip with her canine.

Azriel winces, just enough for her to be satisfied, “Vicous little creature.”

His hand grips her hip, almost painfully, coaxing her to move against his thigh. The motion makes her dizzy, her head falling back against the wall. Azriel takes the opportunity to attack her neck, almost instantly finding that spot that makes her see stars, giving her a matching bruise on the other side of her neck.

“Az,” she gasps, “Gods please.”

She can feel him smirk against her neck, and she almost sobs when he backs away.

Her hands fall to her sides as she gapes up at the smirking male, “What are you-“

“The first time I take you,” he says wickedly, that insufferable smirk growing wider, “will not be a quick fix in an alleyway, where anyone could walk by and catch us. I plan to take my time with you, Princess, to make you scream without a potential audience.”

She glares up at him, “You bast-“

“You can curse at me all you want,” Azriel says, “when we get back home, Princess.”

Home, for the first time since she’d been here, the word didn’t send a shock of pain through her. Azriel gives her a look, like he knew what she was thinking, like he was asking her if she was alright. Surprisingly, she was.

“Lead the way, shadowsinger.”

Azriel holds out a hand to her, pulling her close to his chest when she grabs it. Shadows wrap around them and they step through that invisible doorway. It’s bright when they emerge, and they’re falling, towards the house of wind far far below them. Azriel’s arms wrapped tightly around her, wings flaring to catch the wind, it feels strange to fly not in her hawk form, to rely solely on another’s wings to keep her from plummeting to the ground below them. But Azriel hold firm, and they gently drift to the balcony. Y/n is itching to get on the ground, to drag him to her room.

They land, Azriel gently setting her feet on the floor, arms still wrapped around her, pressing her close to his body, shadows dancing around them. She can feel them whispering against her skin, she can’t understand them, but Azriel’s eyes shine with an emotion she can’t read.

“What are they-“

Footsteps, thundering down the hall beyond the open archway behind her. Her head snaps towards the sound, Azriel holding her tighter to him. His shadows press closely to her like they would shield her from whoever was running towards them, whatever danger they’d bring with them.

“Wrap it up lovebirds,” Cassian’s booming voice, he rounds the corner, wings flared wide in a fighting stance, “Something’s wrong with the gate.”

Y/n’s heart stops dead in her chest, she barely feels the way Azriel’s arms loosen in shock around her. She could feel it suddenly, that ancient and wicked presence, distant but growing stronger, pay the price.

She rips away from Azriel, wincing at that voice growing stronger, louder in her mind, it felt like claws tearing into her brain, gods killer, pay the price, pay her price.

“Rhys and Feyre are containing it as best they can, neither of them could reach you,” Cassian says, the voice of a general, “Nes is on standby with the trove.”

Y/n barely registers the words, what the trove was she didn’t care, just prayed that whatever it was could help them. She’s running for the hallway, only to be stopped by a strong hand wrapped around her bicep.

“You’re not just going to run in there,” Azriel says, voice as hard as the hand on her arm, “That thing wants you, I can feel it chanting your name. It’ll kill you.”

She could too, could hear it in her head, Y/n, Y/n, pay the price of the gods killer, pay it Y/n, pay it.

“I’m not going to sit here and let it kill all of you instead,” Y/n snaps, tugging at his iron grip. “Let me go, Azriel.”

His harden gaze breaks just enough, showing the fear behind the rage, “Y/n, don’t do this, we’ll figure this out together, I can’t, I-“

“Let me go, Az,” she repeats, more gently than before, yet still demanding, “Let me go.”

Cassian steps forward, a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “We’ve got to go, Az. They can’t hold it back forever.”

His whole face shutters, and Y/n feels the echo of his pain, it hurts her heart, her soul. She stands tall on her toes, tilting her head to capture his lips on her own, this kiss is the opposite of any they’d shared before, no heat, no passion, just the soft broken promise of whatever ties them together, whatever could have been between them.

“Let me go,” she whispers against him, and this time when she pulls her arm away, he lets her.

Come to me, Y/n, pay your mother’s price.

She’s running towards that voice, to that promise of death, she had no idea what she would face, no idea if her death would be painful, if there would be anything left of her soul or if she would be left with nothing.

Cassian and Azriel run after her, their footfalls like the ticking hands of a clock, marking the dwindling seconds left of her life. She’s half tempted to shift, to fly through the halls as fast as she can, to leave Azriel far enough behind so he wouldn’t have to witness the carnage.

They round the final corner, the green light of the gate flooding the hallway through the open door. Y/n charges inside, ignoring the shouts of warning from the males behind her.

Rhys is holding Feyre close to his side, both High Lady and Lord intensely focused on the shield they forged around the open gate. The black depths in the center reveal nothing of the world it resides in or creature beyond, but she can feel its presence, it’s anger.

“It’s waiting,” Nesta calls from the other side of Feyre, a glowing steel sword poised to strike in her hands, another is strapped to her back, the hilt as black as night, “It hasn’t moved since we got here.”

Cassian runs to his mate’s side, “Where’s the trove?”

“Ready,” Nesta replies, “In case this all goes to shit.”

Shadows wrap around Y/n’s wrists, gently caressing the skin and winding up her arms. Azriel stands by her side, the mask of deathly calm firmly in place, the only mark of his fear, his hand that firmly grips her own. She holds him just as tightly, he has to feel the way her hands shake.

There she is, finally. The voice shifts, female, ancient but somehow young. Your mother’s pride and joy, her precious Mala’s fire burning in your veins.

Y/n’s fire stirs in response, that deep well of it in the pit of her stomach waking up like the goddess had called for it, like it recognized the name of the other goddess it had come from. She has to dampen it with her own ice kissed wind. Keep it contained.

“Should I talk to a void,” Y/n says, using that bravado, hiding her fear, “Or are you to vicious sight to behold.”

The black hole ripples and a glowing pale hand reaches through. They all shift, drawing weapons, raising them towards the creature that crawls through the portal, the shield that Feyre and Rhys hold is reinforced by Y/n’s wind, and a red light from the siphons on Cassian’s armor. A blue light surrounds Y/n, and she doesn’t have to look to know it’s from Azriel’s own siphons.

The female that emerges from the inky black is beautiful, glowing skin, dark black hair that flows over her turned down face and across her body, a simple white gown covering her, long slits at the sides revealing sleek long legs, feet clad in golden sandals. Beautiful. Yet when she looks up, when her hair parts, Y/n feels like she’s going to be sick.

Turquoise eyes, ringed with silver, stare at her from a face so scarred that the rest of her features are barely discernible. Her mouth moves in what Y/n assumes is a grin.

“Beautiful,” the goddess says, “am I not?”

She’d survived the creatures her mother had subjected the gods to, somehow she’d managed to live, barely, but she’d survived.

“Who are you,” Nesta says, that blade pointed directly at the goddess’s throat.

Those eyes narrow at Nesta, and pass right through her towards the High Lady behind her. The attention draws a warning growl from her mate’s throat, one from Nesta as well, the goddess ignores them both.

“A huntress,” she coos at Feyre, “I’d recognize one of my own anywhere.”

Huntress. Y/n’s body locks up, and Azriel at her side takes a casual step in front of her, like he could sense exactly what dots she was connecting. The shadows wrap around her, that blue shield settling over her like armor.

The motion draws the goddess’s attention to them, her head tilting in a predator like motion, “Well this is interesting.”

“Deanna,” Y/n breathes, “You’re Deanna.”

The goddess chuckles, “So she didn’t erase us completely. Do the mortals in your realm still worship us faithfully? Or do they worship Aelin Galathynius, their glorious savior?”

Deanna practically spits her mother’s name, and that well of power inside of Y/n rumbles. Azriel, squeezes her hand once, twice, calm down, he seems to tell her, like he could feel the fire beneath her skin, warming their joined hands. He doesn’t flinch from the heat, doesn’t shy away from her, only holds her tighter, not afraid.

“Did she raise her precious daughter to hide behind pretty males?” Deanna laughs, “She didn’t want to share the spotlight I’m sure.”

“What do you want?” Azriel says, cutting straight to the point, “Why are you here?”

Deanna tuts at him, “You males have no manners. Someone aught to train you.”

To fast, she moved to fast. Y/n didn’t see her arm raise, didn’t see that bow materialize in her hands, didn’t see her draw back that string, all she saw was that golden arrow, flying through the air faster than it possibly could, propelled by that ancient magic of Deanna’s. It splits through every shield, through the wall of shadows, directly into Azriel’s chest.

She felt it in her own, that sharp searing pain, his and her own. The scream tears through her, ripping her throat to shreds, bleeding through her lips. Azriel falls, the grip on her hand falling with him, his shadows disappear, scattering into the corners of the room, leaving their master below her, bleeding, dying.

Dead, dead, she killed him, gone, dead. There’s this string tied to her heart, twisting and pulling, reaching for him, a tether between that she yanks on, begging him to stay. She’s screaming and screaming and lunging through those shields, Azriel’s own dagger in her hands, she doesn’t remember grabbing it.

Deanna is smiling beneath those scars, laughing, “Finally.”

Fire, burning through her, Mala’s fire, so hot it burns blue. It imbues into the dagger, the black blade spitting those blue flames as Y/n takes it to the goddess’ throat. Deanna doesn’t move, doesn’t fire an arrow, doesn’t burn her with that moon fire.

She simply sighs, “Pay the price, Y/n, finish what your mother started, let me finally rest with my kin.”

Y/n gives her exactly what she wants, what she gave Azriel, death. His dagger finds home in her throat, fire burning through the goddess, turning her to ash from the inside out. Time seems to completely stop, seconds turning to hours, to days, to years, Deanna burns and burns for a millennium, till there’s nothing left but that ancient bow and the golden arrow in Azriel’s chest.

Time shifts, moves faster and faster. The inner court is screaming around her, screaming for a healer, for Azriel, for her. She doesn’t hear them, doesn’t even know who or where she is, she simply collapses, throwing up a shield of hard air around her and Azriel. And she lays her head on her mate’s chest and screams.

Tag list

@inloveallthetime , @microwaveallthedemons , @nayaniasworld , @thecraziestcrayon , @fightmedraco , @blackgirlmagicforever , @nikt-wazny-y , @fangirlloza010 , @thisiskaylin , @wolfgirl624 , @khaleesihavilliard , @fluffy-bnny , @mariahoedt , @durgenyx , @glitterypirateduck , @byyalady , @amberlynn98 , @ferrarisbitch , @a-cup-of-nightshade , @breella , @hnnybee0 , @superspideyparker , @that-one-little-soybean , @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife , @websterss , @sassybluebird , @fakesocialmediaa , @balsalmic-vinegar , @lees-chaotic-brain , @yashiw , @a-mexican-waffle , @thefairlyaveragegatsby , @tele86 , @emidpsandia , @nickishadow139 , @basicwhiterat , @namelesssreaderrr , @feyres-fireheart , @some-person-somewhere , @flowersinvegas

#I am actually screaming over this one #i love them your honor #they finally are able to talk like normal people #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar x reader #rowaelin daughter #rowaelin #not again #a court of thorns and roses

242 notes · View notes

ghostboybrainrot · 1 year

Text

Out of Touch Part 2

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, AO3

Edit: I'm starting the process of transferring these to AO3. Click the link above to subscribe and get updates more reliably! (But don't worry I'll keep posting on Tumblr, too)

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

It’s odd being invisible to the living world. Danny doesn’t have to put on a performance. He doesn’t have to awkwardly smile at strangers. He doesn’t have to monitor his facial expressions to make other people feel more comfortable. In a way it's nice. Freeing, even.

He didn't have to worry about people misconstruing his actions or his words. Assuming he had ulterior motives. Looking at him like he was weird for asking clarifying questions.

He wasn't judged for asking someone to explain a joke. He wasn't called rude and self-centered for sharing a similar experience when a friend was venting about their problems. He wanted to understand. He wanted to connect. But it felt like the way he did it was always wrong.

He'd been lucky to find friends who understood him. Who shared in his idiosyncrasies.

He didn't have that anymore, but at least he didn't have to pretend either. It was a small victory, but he still counted it

Of course, his invisibility didn't affect the dead. They could see him just fine. And many do not like what they see. His ghost form had been shifting. He hadn’t made change consciously.

When he looked at himself he saw something sharper, something darker than he used to be. He wasn't happy about it but he didn't feel the need to dwell. This was who he was now. He didn't have any control over it.

If the other spirits he came across flinched away from him, he tried not to let it bother him. Spirits were just people. And he could deal with people.

Fortunately, most ghosts were too distracted by their own problems to pay him much mind. The shades floated around usually tethered to a specific location, sometimes a specific person. They interacted with things that were not there. They carried on conversations with themselves. If Danny attempted to talk to them, they would respond. He’d even held a decent conversation with a couple. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t seeing the same things he was. That their reality was much different than his. Once he’d finished talking, they’d continue about their business as though he wasn’t ever there.

)-(

Danny had settled in an abandoned apartment near Park Row, or Crime Alley, as the locals called it. The building was only 3 stories. It had been condemned but had never gotten around to being torn down. It's not property investors were going to want to build something in it's place. Not in Crime Alley.

The bottom floor had been boarded up at one point but the boards on the back entrance had long since been pried off. Several squatters had made the bottom floor their temporary home. If they heard odd noises coming from the upper floor they ignored it.

Once, a man had come to the top floor to look around. He stepped carefully, testing his weight on the unstable floor. He checked the empty apartments. They’d long since been picked clean. When he neared the door at the end of the hall a chill shot up his spine. This door was closed, unlike the other three which had been swinging ajar before he’d arrived. Was someone already squatting in there? No one had mentioned it to him. He’d stayed here a few times now. Surely, if someone had already claimed the room, he’d have heard about it. He continued to approach the door. The cold sensation was worse the closer he got. He started shivering slightly and he could see his breath misting in front of him.

Weird. He swore it hadn’t been this cold outside earlier. How could it be so cold INSIDE. Maybe a window had been left open? That would explain why this door was closed. The wind had probably blown it shut. It had to be empty. No one would be able to stay in these freezing temperatures.

If nothing else he should go and close the window. Wouldn’t want a draft to follow him downstairs. They needed to conserve the heat the best they could.

He grasped the door knob. For a moment he worried his hand would stick to it. It was like holding a ball of ice. He attempted to turn it. Locked.

He wasn’t sure why but he let go of the handle and raised his hand to knock on the door. Three short raps echoed in the empty hall. For a moment there was silence.

Then. Three short raps answered from the other side of the door.

He jumped back. Okay, someone was in there after all. Weirdo. Who the hell locked themselves in an abandoned freezing apartment. Before he could decide whether to tell this person off or just mind his business, he heard it again.

Three more knocks. These were much louder.

Suddenly there was a steady pounding on the door. It rattled from the impacts. The man’s heart leapt in his throat. He’d had enough. He started making his way back to the stairs. The pounding hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had gotten even louder. And closer! It was following him! It was coming from the walls in the hallway now. He could hear it coming from the other empty apartments. Everything was pounding. The whole building seemed to be shaking. He didn’t remember bolting but next thing he knew he was running down the stairs. Not paying attention to the cracks in the floor, as he had on the way up. He took 2 steps at a time. By the time he reached the bottom, the onslaught of sound had stopped.

At first he didn't notice. He could still feel the pounding. It felt like the banging was coming from inside his head. It took him a moment to notice it was his own heartbeat hammering in his ears.

He spent several minutes at the bottom of the stairs, hands on his knees gasping for breath. After his heart finally slowed and his breath came easier, he went back to the room where he'd placed his sleeping bag.

He thought about packing it up. This place no longer felt safe. What if whatever it was followed him?

He glanced at the door that led to the stairwell. If it were going to follow him it already would have. It was already late and this wasn't the first time he'd crashed here. And something told him, whatever it was, hadn't just arrived. He swallowed nervously. It had probably been above him this whole time.

He looked back down at his sleeping bag. He'd paused partway through rolling it up. Lost in thought. Finally, he decided to stay. At least for the night. He rolled it back out and got ready to get some rest. He was exhausted. The adrenaline from only 10 minutes prior had fled his system. Leaving his muscles weak and his brain foggy.

He wasn't going to be able to find a safer place this late. There were worse things than ghosts haunting the streets of Gotham at night.

If his upstairs neighbor didn’t want to be bothered. He just wouldn’t bother them.

—-

Danny felt a little guilty for scaring the guy. In the moment it had been exhilarating. Like playing a prank. After all, he had no intention of ACTUALLY harming him. He wasn't in danger. He just didn't want the guy poking his nose around his stuff.

But of course the man had no way of knowing Danny wasn't a threat. It wasn’t like Danny was going to jump out and yell 'Gotcha!' In fact, that probably would just scare the guy even more.

Danny looked down at his hands. They were clouds of black smoke. The edges were fuzzy and undefined. His fingers were long and came to sharp points.

Scary, he thought.

Before he could linger too long on that uncomfortable thought, Danny decided to make it up to the guy.

It took a while for the man to fall asleep, unsurprisingly. But Danny waited patiently.

)-(

When the man woke up the next day he found a few cans of soup, some clean socks, and a small pack of baby wipes. It had been stacked neatly next to his backpack. Clearly, it had been left for him. He looked around but no one else had come to join him in the night and the door to the room was still locked.

He didn’t mention the interaction to anyone. And none of the other squatters mentioned it either. He knew they had to have heard it. The pounding that shook the building. He knew he hadn’t imagined it. Even if he had, it didn’t explain the food left in a locked room in the middle of the night.

He decided whatever this entity was. It wasn’t kicking him out. Just expressing a boundary. He could handle that. As long as he left the apartment upstairs alone, he should be fine.

Hopefully.

)-(

Danny hoped the guy would see the gifts as an olive branch. He thought about leaving a note, but decided against it. It was one thing to insinuate that the building was haunted. It was another thing, entirely, to come right out and say it.

Hey I'm the ghost that haunts the upper floors! Sorry to give you a fright. Here's some food as an apology just stay out of my area, okay?

Thanks!

He smiled at the thought. It'd be funny but l would just bring more attention to him. The last thing he needed was other people finding his haunt. A note was tangible. The guy could show others. More people would want to investigate. Without any concrete proof, people were less likely to believe him.

Danny did not want to have to move, especially when he had just gotten settled.

He’d just gotten running water. It had taken a lot of time and effort but he'd finally figured out how to turn the water back on.. He'd had to phase through a lot of walls holding a flashlight in his teeth. It had taken a week of following pipes around and messing with valves, but he’d done it! Granted, when he first got it, it still went out randomly and it wasn't hot or even warm. But it was a start.

Now getting electricity, that had been much harder. He wasn't an electrical engineer. He felt uncomfortable with the idea of trying to mess with high voltage wires. Getting electrocuted again, scared him more than he'd ever admit, even to himself.

Eventually, he settled for a small generator. He'd pilfered it from a big chain farming supply shop several miles outside of Gotham. It was a pain lugging it all the way back. It wasn’t that he was too weak to carry it, but it had been very awkward to hold.

He set it up on the roof above his apartment. Feeding the wire down into the apartments poking holes through walls. It didn’t look professional but it worked.

The best part was that he’d gotten a model powerful enough to run the old hot water heater.

Danny hadn't taken a hot bath in months. The closest he got was taking quick showers in the 24 hour gym down the street. He'd go in the middle of the night after patrol when no one was around. But he tried not to linger in case someone decided to do an early morning workout. Those showers were more functional than relaxing.

He didn't need to bathe that often, anyway. He spent more time in his ghost form than his living form and he didn't sweat when he was dead. He'd been getting by on baby wipes and paper towel baths at the sink in public restrooms.

So, when he finally had an opportunity to have a real bath. He decided to treat himself.

He lit a couple tealight candles and set them on the counter. He turned out the lights. The bath/shower combo wasn't very deep but fortunately Danny wasn't a very tall teenager. For the first time he counted himself lucky that dying had stunted his growth.

He had swiped a bath bomb from a dollar store a few blocks away. He'd never used one before but he figured he should at least try one to get the full relaxing bath experience. He drew himself a warm bath and dropped the lavender-scented bomb into it.

As soon as he sunk into the water he immediately felt himself start to drift. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this relaxed. He closed his eyes and was asleep within minutes.

)-(

Danny was having a bad night.

Nights? He wasn’t sure.

He’d gotten carried away again. He felt that familiar tug at his stomach. He wasn’t sure for how long. He knew he needed to stop. To take a break. At least grab a drink or something to eat. But he knew if he stopped, if he switched forms, he'd be too exhausted to switch back.

He just kept telling himself one more. Just one more person to save. Just one more person to stop. And then he would rest.

As he neared his apartment he felt his form stutter.

Oh no.

Just a little bit farther. He could still make it! The form continued to stutter. He felt gravity pulling on him. He couldn't keep flying like this.

He looked for a place he could land. There was an empty alley below him. Only 50 feet or so ahead. He angled his descent. But he was falling too fast. His ghost form continued to flicker, petering out 20 feet above the ground. He plummeted, reaching out trying to find purchase on the side of the building. Only managing to scrape his palm. He hit the ground on his side, with a soft thud.

He groaned. He had definitely broken something. His earlier exhaustion had been replaced with sheer terror as he'd fallen. This was the only thing allowing him the energy to push up off the pavement. He sat in the alley wincing with every movement. He took inventory. His shoulder was bruised as hell. He'd, also, bruised his ribs, breaking at least one. He was lucky he was so resilient. Falling from that height would have been much worse if he wasn't already half-dead.

He tried to pull himself to his feet. His leg buckled under the weight and he fell back on his backside. He'd definitely messed up his knee. He reached down to palpate around the joint. It was tender and he could already tell it was starting to swell.

Great.

He pulled himself up again favoring the side that hadn't impacted the ground. He braced himself against the wall of the building. His vision swam. He realized it probably had more to do with the fact that his blood sugar was dangerously low than his injuries.

After a couple minutes, his vision began to clear and he could take in his surroundings.

Good news, he knew where he was. He was close to his apartment. Bad news, his apartment was in crime alley. And he had a couple blocks and two flights of stairs before he could get to it.

Danny did not like his chances of getting there unscathed. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem. He could just switch to ghost form and fly straight there. But seeing as how he'd already been doing that, and he'd fallen from the sky. He didn't think this was going to be an option.

He tried anyway. Focusing hard on fading into his phantasmal form. He felt the barest hint of a flicker but no transformation came.

Figures.

The adrenaline from the fall had worn off, at this point. He was feeling woozy again. His exhaustion and hunger hitting him full force.

The ground next to a nearby dumpster started to look very enticing. His eyes were drooping. He had enough awareness left to know if he was going to pass out he needed to hide.

It wasn't the first time he'd had to take an impromptu nap in an alley. Usually, he found a cozy dumpster to crawl in to sleep it off. Bit his leg was too injured and he was too weak to pull himself up.

Behind the dumpster would have to do.

He kept his hand against the wall as he stumbled forward, ignoring the pain in his palm from the scrape, he'd suffered during the fall. He wondered, dully, if it was a bad idea to be rubbing an open wound on a grimey building. Probably not, but he'd have to worry about that later.

He felt like he was moving through molasses. As he rounded the side of the dumpster he looked back, making sure no one was watching. Satisfied he was alone, he tucked himself into the corner behind it. He was already pretty small. It didn't take much to pull his hood over his head and pull his knees to his chest. He pulled a few loose pieces of plastic and cardboard over him. With that and his grimey clothes he was pretty sure it would be hard to spot him. At least, in the dark.

Certain this was as good as it was going to get, he closed his eyes and fell immediately into a dreamless sleep.

He hadn't noticed the figure in the dark when he'd fallen. He hadn't noticed its eyes watching him as he pulled himself up and limped toward the dumpster. And, he didn't notice as the figure approached the sleeping boy.

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

Sorry to anyone who was waiting for me to update my Ghost Zone Amity fic! This one was making my brain itch so this is the one you get.

I love getting comments! Keep them coming. Who do you think found Danny? Is it one of the bats? Is it a rogue? Let me know what you think so far!

Tags:

@alinmenttreasure @quirky-gardener @mnemovoid @amercurio @may-rbi

@allmune @i-havenothingelsetopost @kittenline @alienzil

652 notes · View notes