reincarnated. pv azzure

Banner by: me	OUTFIT
Dialogue: #696969, thoughts	GLASSES
Thread with: @Violence Bloodthorn	WC: 2,405

If all she had done was see Violence kiss someone else, she could’ve swallowed it down and pretended it didn’t matter.

If she had only run from the shipwreck–– before the warmth of Violence’s hand could remind her of a love she never deserved, maybe Violence could’ve walked away unmarred by the rot that was Azzure.

If she’d never sat beside her in that drowsy Defense Against the Dark Arts class, maybe she wouldn’t be choking on the taste of what-ifs now.

If she had never met Violence, maybe Violence could still be happy.

The night blurred around her. Shapes and sounds bled together, a single smear of motion. Around Azzure, every sound was muffled, every light too bright. Azzure didn’t remember being helped up from the ground of the shipwreck. She didn’t feel her feet against the floor. The only thing she knew was the trembling of her hands, heaviness in her bones, and the weight of Violence keeping her up. Her tears had long dried, leaving behind streaks made of salt and humiliation in their wake. But what stung even more was the looping question in her mind, ‘Why did I have to ruin it? Why do I ruin everything?’

Azzure leaned against Violence for support, if it wasn’t for her––Azzure would have collapsed on the ground–– her legs shook with every shallow breath, but through it all, one thought carved its way deeper than the pain, 'She’d be happier without me.' All that therapy, the endless summer of rehab— stuck within stifling white walls of a hospital. It meant nothing.

She’d told herself she’d come back stronger. That she’d say sorry, explain, maybe even earn forgiveness–– but reality had never been kind to her delusions, it spat on her shoe, and shoved her face into dirt. It made her see the truth she kept trying to bury. Her body was a patchwork of pain: the house fire’s legacy, stitched flesh and memories, a walking collection of what she’d survived but never outgrown–– and tonight a new scar would join, a wound that now pulsed under her skin, screaming like fire that seeped into her bones.

No one ever stayed. No one ever could. Not when they saw her like this––broken, stitched together by guilt.

No one except for Violence.

When Violence led Azzure to the small hall and let her sit down against the cold stone floors, she finally looked at Violence. Really looked at Violence. Deep in her heart, Azzure prayed she’d hate her. It would’ve been easier that way. But Violence looked at her with that same unbearable tenderness, and it made Azzure want to scream because she saw it–– Violence’s worry, her love. And all Azzure could think was ‘I’m going to destroy her.’

The silence between them felt like glass, fragile and sharp. Then Violence started to talk, and suddenly all the noise and turmoil in Azzure stilled, as if hanging on to her every word with bated breath. But that relief didn't last long. Azzure’s face fell when Violence began to correct herself, Azz wanted to speak up, to tell her that she didn’t have to throw away their nickname, that she’d just prefer if Violence called her Azz. She desperately wanted to say something, anything–– but her throat was dry, closing up under the weight of her emotions.

It gutted Azzure to see Violence hold onto her, even when it's so undeniable that she’d be happier without Azz in her life. It was like the world was playing a cruel joke on her. Azzure only ever wanted Violence to be happy and she was… wasn’t she?

Back at the ball with Dennis, she looked so happy. Dennis provided Violence with a type of love that was... natural. One that didn’t cause people to whisper behind their hands and stare. That's the type of love she deserved, one that was peaceful and light. A love Azzure couldn’t give simply for the fact that they were both female.

In all honesty Azzure couldn't give a damn about Dennis, he did nothing wrong by falling for her–– of course he would, Vi is beautiful, but more than that, she was so heartbreakingly kind. When Azzure looks at Violence she sees the person she’d want to spend her whole life with... someone who has seen the worst parts of her and still chooses love.

That's part of the reason why it was so agonizingly painful to see that Violence was so much happier without her… and maybe that's the problem. If Azzure could have only let go, if she could have only turned back time and stopped them from meeting, maybe then Violence wouldn't have to deal with this bullshit, maybe she would still be at the shipwreck, enjoying her time with someone who could give her everything Azzure couldn't.

Then Violence handed her the potion, and for the first time, Azzure saw the full extent of the cut on her finger––the whole thing felt like an elaborate joke. It just had to be that finger.. It wasn’t as deep as her own, but the sight of it still made her stomach twist. Blood welled at the edge of the wound. A wound she’d caused. Azzure wanted so desperately to reach out and take her hand in hers–– she wanted to cradle it in her own, to whisper a thousand apologies against her skin, to hold her with all the tenderness in her heart.

But the image of that kiss—Violence’s lips on someone else’s, it flashed through Azzure’s mind like a cruel reminder. and in the throes of nostalgia. The memory of last year’s spring soiree resurfaced in her mind. The weight in her pocket, the ring she planned to give–– the stress, the beauty, the love. They burned into her heart, a permanent scar that Violence had inflicted into her very soul–– and now in the faint glow of the hearth, Azzure had scarred Violence as well. One that burned, one that hurt. A confirmation of the one thing she already knew:

‘No one could love her without bleeding.’

The small vial hung between them. Azzure hesitated, her hand faltering as she looked back at the red line along Violence’s finger––blood pouring down from the cut. Azzure had half the mind to refuse–– to tell her that she needed it too. But when Azzure’s hands brushed against hers, the will she had to argue immediately dissipated. Leaving her able to only nod, reluctantly taking the potion from Vi with shaky hands.

For a fleeting second, it felt like the world held its breath. Then Violence’s words stumbled out, raw and uncertain, "This will help, sweethe- Fuck, I'm so sorry, I just- Azzure. This will help, Azzure. I'm just really used to calling you a nickname. I get it, it's wrong. I shouldn't have said that. Am I rambling again? I'm rambling again right, old habits die hard, I guess."

Azzure twitched when she heard the word 'rambling’. Her mind instantly flashed back to the that night at the soiree—how Violence had talked too much out of nervousness, and how Azz had laughed... her first genuine laugh in 4 months. How she’d brushed it off because she’d found it endearing. Back then, Azzure had thought she’d never want her to stop talking. Now, every word felt like a knife twisting somewhere under her ribs.

And yet she still found herself instinctively leaning closer to Violence. For a moment Azzure let herself believe that nothing had changed, like the sickening guilt in her heart was a mere illusion of the mind.

The space between them pulsed with everything unsaid. Azzure could almost hear her heartbeat in it—raw, desperate, pleading.

Then Violence parted her lips and Azz already knew in her heart what her next words would be,
"I just have to say this,”

“Violence, don’t––”

“I miss you. I miss you so much, Azz—ure.”

“What. The. Fuck?” Azzure spoke, exasperatedly, her voice an octave higher with confusion and disbelief.

‘I miss you’? ‘You can’t just say that!’ Azzure wanted to scream. ‘You can’t say that to someone. Not after kissing another man, not after slow dancing with him under romantic candlelight, not after choosing to be his date, not after throwing away all we had!' Azzure raged internally, there was so much she needed to say–– so much she didnt know how to say. No! No, she wasn't going to accept an 'I miss you'

Azzure couldn’t help but feel the bitter boil of jealousy lurch in her stomach. And what was worse, Violence had the gall to turn away like she hadn’t just dropped the most offensive thing to say to someone. And Azzure hated it–– she hated her and how pretty she is as she stares into the fireplace, how wonderfully her mind worked, how her eyes concealed a pain Azzure would give anything to learn. Azzure hated how much she loved Violence–– but in the deepest pits of her hear, Azzure Solace knew that she can’t have her.

Azzure followed Violence’s gaze to the hearth The fire in the hall flickered just a tad bit higher, throwing light across the walls. Azzure’s body stiffened. For a split second, the crackle of burning wood became the roar of that old inferno—the night her house had gone up in flames, the night she’d learned how fast love could turn to smoke.

Without thinking, Azzure stood up. The outline of her shadow stretching over Violence’s figure as she stepped between Violence and the fire. If history repeated itself–– if the flames turned wild again— Azzure would take the burn first. She needed to. It was the only way she could make things right. A long time ago, Azz promised herself that no matter what happens between them the one thing Azzure knew she’d always do without fault, was protect Violence with her life–– now outlines by the glow of the flames, Azzure was determined to keep that promise.

Slowly, Azzure sank down to one knee, taking Violence’s hand in hers in the same fashion she did during that night at the spring soiree. The albino leaned down to kiss the back of Violence’s hand–– the metallic taste of blood on her tongue as their open wounds stained the other’s skin with blood. Azzure could feel the way Violence shivered at the contact, and deep down some cynical part of Azzure smiled.

“Dance with me, one last time. I wouldn’t want to waste the night.” Azzure spoke, her words dripping like sweet poison from her tongue. But underneath her words was a possessive wish. A selfish desire she wouldn’t dare to speak aloud:

‘Let me haunt you, Violence Bloodthorn.’

ꜰᴀʟʟ ʙᴀʟʟ ꜱᴀɢᴀ 25'

I.

II.

III.

IV.

Banner by: me	OUTFIT
Dialogue: #696969, thoughts	GLASSES
Thread with: @Violence Bloodthorn	WC: 1,217

Azzure didn’t know what she was doing on one knee. Violence had a way of unmaking her—of scattering every certainty she had ever built about herself the moment she stepped too close. Walls weren't a word when she was around–– it was like Violence saw her through transparent glass. Rules dissolved. Caution vanished. All that remained was her, and the unbearable need to stay.

But when Azzure lifted her gaze, she faltered. Violence’s eyes— once a deep blue Azzure had learned to steady herself on—had gone sharp and cold, winter settling in them without warning. Not anger. Not exactly. Something brittle. Something wounded.

“Dance?”

The scoff hit like a slap. In the vague crackling of the fire, Azzure heard her heart shatter. Her chest dropped, her pulse stuttering as her thoughts collided all at once. ‘I misjudged. I pushed. I shouldn’t have—’

I fucked up,’

The thought echoed uselessly in her head as she bit down on her lip, fingers tightening around Violence’s hand like it was the last thing keeping her anchored. Letting go of Violence’s hand felt like letting go of the only remaining reminder of what they used to be.
Azzure would rather die before letting Violence go. They could fight each other to the death and Azzure would still walk through the burning flames of hell if it meant giving Vi a chance at heaven. The nights spent pouring tears and sweat into relearning how to be human just for the chance of seeing Violence again, Azzure couldn't let it go to waste.

She opened her mouth, ready—desperate—to finally say the apology she’d carried for months.

Then Violence screamed.

The sound tore through the haze of her thoughts, raw and sudden, shattering everything Azzure had been bracing herself to say.

She spun toward it on instinct––eyes blowing wide as she caught sight of the trailing edge of her dress kissing the embers. The fire was small, almost nothing, but Azzure knew better than anyone how quickly a single spark could grow. But just before she could swat it away…

the world lurched.

Violence was on her feet in an instant, hands clamping around Azzure’s arm and yanking her upward with a strength born of panic. Azzure stumbled, her vision blurring at the sheer force she was pulled up with.

“It’s—Vi, it’s fine,” Azzure tried to say, already stamping the flame out beneath her heel. The fire died quickly, collapsing into smoke and glowing cinders. Nothing dangerous. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

But Violence didn’t stop.

She kept pulling—harder now—as if the fire were still alive, as if it were reaching for Azzure, as if the past had claws. Azzure staggered, nearly losing her balance as Violence dragged her back, turning the moment into a clumsy, breathless tug-of-war.

“Vi—shit, stop!” Azzure gasped. “You’re going to pull my arm out—”

“BELLA!”

The name ripped out of Violence’s throat, raw and torn.

Azzure’s protest died instantly.

Her breath hitched, her body going unnervingly still as she finally looked at Violence—not the fire, not the smoke, not the dress—but her. Tears streamed down Violence’s face, panic wide and unconfined in her eyes, her scream cutting straight through Azzure’s chest like a blade.
The world narrowed.

The fire crackled behind them, harmless now, but Azzure barely noticed. All she could see was Violence breaking apart in front of her—and the horrible, sinking realization that this wasn’t about flames at all.

Azzure saw this all before, screaming and shaking. She felt it in the night alone in the hospital. Haunted by dreams or nightmares, fears that grew but never got better.

Fear, was something Azzure could recognize from a mile away. This was about something old, sharp, a hurt buried too deep its name was lost in the shadows it cast.

And so Azzure didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. The tears that fell down her cheeks and the sobs that tore through her body were enough proof of pain.

Azz didn’t hesitate, her body moved on the instinct of keeping Violence safe. Understanding was clear in mind, but love flared in her chest. Azzure dropped to her knees, scooping Violence in her arms. Not crowding her—just close enough to be an anchor if she needed one.

Azzure’s arms wrapped around her slowly––deliberately like a shield, protecting her without trapping her. Azzure tucked Violence ‘s head under her chin, holding her there to feel her breathing––feel that she was real. Her other hand carded through Violence’s hair in repetitive grounding motions

Violence was shaking. Not crying, but shaking, like her body hadn’t gotten the message that danger had already passed.

“Hey––can you hear me, Vi?” Azzure whispered, concern evident in her voice.

Azz bit down on her lip, her chest tightening. She knew this all too well. Knew how fear could hollow someone until their eyes bled and their throat ran dry. Knew how it feels for your body to remember something your mind couldn’t stop.

Her grip tightened around Violence, not in panic, but in certainty.

“Babe, your safe.” Azzure whispered even as her heart tightened in her chest. “I’m right here I’m not going anywhere.” her voice broke, walls coming down. “My arms aren’t letting you go––You’re not losing me. Just… just follow my breathing, honey. I’ve got you. In and out, Vi. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Azzure pressed her head against Violence, breathing slowly on purpose. Offering the rhythm like a lifeline.

“Look at me Vi, you’re not alone. Not tonight. I’m right here.”

She reached out her hand, slow enough that Violence could stop her, and gently cupped Violence’s shaking hand.

"I know you don’t believe it," Azzure said, "but there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not broken. You’re not insane. You don’t scare me."

Then, a small smile ghosted across her lips— soft in a way that was only meant for Violence.

"You are the brightest thing I’ve ever known. Even when you don’t feel like light. Even when you’re all smoke and shadows and memories that hurt to touch."

Azzure squeezed Vi’s hand in a show of support. “You don’t need to say anything. I don’t need to know what happened, just let me hold you, Vi.” Azzure whispered against the shell of Violence’s ear, her warm breath fanning against Vi as Azzure hugged her closer. Azzure nuzzled her face into Violence’s hair, holding her like a vice, afraid Violence would disappear if she let go.

“You could show me every version of yourself,” she whispered, “and I’d still be here. I’d still choose you.” Azzure pulled away slightly, if only to press their intertwined hands against Azzure’s heart while her free hand cupped Violence’s cheek, wiping away the tears that wet her face.

Her own emotions—jealousy, longing, the sharp sting of hurt she’d been carrying since the kiss—she shoved them down, folded them away. Violence needed her. “You’re here,” she murmured. “You’re not in the fire. You’re not in the memories. You’re with me. You’re safe.” Azzure spoke, her voice soft, her tone bordering on desperate.

Behind them, the hearth still crackled behind them, the stone floor and high walls that surrounded them flickered a warm orange, but now as they clung to one another for comfort. The world around them faded away, giving way to the rhythmic thumping of hearts, joined together by both a love deeper than love, and a care no existing word is able to encompass. A feeling so ineffable, it can only be heard in silence.

There in her arms, Azzure felt free, real, alive. And the slow vulnerable beating of their hearts was proof.

ꜰᴀʟʟ ʙᴀʟʟ ꜱᴀɢᴀ 25'

I.

II.

III.

IV.