#brennan thicke

[nerds-yearbook]

The first episode of Mask aired on September 30, 1985. ("The Deathstone", MASK, TV Event)

[cakemoney]

going ;A; at evan and jammer clearing the air about what family on six means and going ;A; at tabby reflecting evan's desperation for belonging and fear of being abandoned and going ;A; at k asking if she has enthusiastic consent while going 👉👈

[lovecolibri]

I need them to stop talking about their bagel orders because now I want bagels! 😭

[the-stabbiest-dragon]

cereal

I HAVE THE POWER OF THE POLL AND SO...

These are really basic soups and I would've added more, but there was a limit. I'm tagging @rillette because they love soup :)

[sophiaforevs]

I wonder how well an "It's just an empty box" episode of Game Changer would go. Just a series of challenges that look fucking suspicious as hell but with absolutely nothing more than face value about them. Then you just have Sam act suspicious the entire episode and see where things go from there. Ideas I have are:

Ominous spotlight illuminates one of the players.

Pick a word someone says or action someone does a lot. Play a little chime anytime it happens.

Legal paperwork is brought out mid episode. It's dense and 200-300 pages thick.

A small black box is brought out. There's a small hole cut in it. Sam says the box is definitely empty and they just have to put their hands in. Don't worry, there's nothing there. Why are you crying?

Randomly start saying "Sam Says" but assure contestants they're not playing Sam Says.

Drop a mannequin from the ceiling.

This has been my pitch for "Give Brennan an ulcer 2024."

[callsign-rogueone]

you called - b.s.

Brennan Sorrengail x reader You're captured by gryphon fliers while out alone on patrol, but Brennan comes to your rescue. [request] words: 1.7k 🏷: no book spoilers, as this occurs years before Fourth Wing, soon after Bren graduated from Basgiath. gender neutral reader in an established romantic relationship with Brennan. brief / vague descriptions of interrogation, torture, and inhumane treatment of reader by fliers, but Bren mends you and takes care of you (lots of cuddles). your dragon is mated to Marbh. her name is Fuir, a shortened form of the word for "alive" since Marbh means "dead". you sleep in Bren's shirt but there's no description of how it fits on you. wrote this in an hour and didn't edit so be nice pls

It’s easy enough to find the cell block. You’re the only prisoner there, with just one guard posted outside that Brennan makes quick work of, taking the keys from his belt to unlock the door.

He kneels down by your side, comforted by the rise and fall of your chest -- he’d known that you were still alive, because he is, as are Fuir and Marbh, but the visual confirmation is soothing.

He wraps a hand around your wrist to block the pain, using the other to start mending your wounds. Whoever had been interrogating you must have had a very short temper; your temples are bloodied, a few of your ribs bruised or broken, several small cuts dotting the exposed skin of your arms -- they’d taken your flight jacket, as a trophy.

He burns with anger, but forces himself to focus on the good, the fact that you’re still alive in front of him, that he’d found you before it was too late.

You finally open those pretty eyes, struggling to focus your gaze on him, but you put it together quickly enough. “Bren,” you murmur, delirious, “you came.”

“You called,” he answers simply, still working on mending your wounds.

It takes you a moment to work through the thick fog of what is definitely a concussion, but you realize he must have heard your desperate cries for help down the bond and came to find you; your plan worked.

You’d wanted to give up hope after the first day, but accepting your death meant accepting Brennan’s as well, and you couldn’t let him die like that, so you persevered. You’d forced yourself to eat what meager portions of food they’d given you, to drink the foul-tasting water and sleep as much as you could, to keep yourself alive.

Whenever they left you alone, you’d tried to reach for Fuir, for Brennan and Marbh, for your magic, getting no responses. After two days, you realized that they must have put a power-dampener in that water, like the one the professors had dosed you with before RSC to disconnect you from your dragons. So you’d stopped drinking it, pouring it out instead to make it look like you had -- and that night, you’d finally felt that little red string connecting you to Fuir, and the shimmering orange one that leads you to Brennan and Marbh. 

You’d cried in relief, trying to reach out to them, but your words had quickly turned to screams of pain as the officer returned to try to get information out of you again. They must have figured out your scheme, because the beating was the worst that day -- they’d hardly ever left you alone, giving you less than an hour between rounds of questioning.

You close your eyes again, realizing that this is probably a dream, a hallucination brought on by days of isolation in this dark room with only enough food and water to keep you alive. You aren’t really aware of how long it’s been. There’s no sunlight down here, and they haven’t been feeding you on a regular schedule, so you couldn’t keep track by counting the meals, either.

��I thought Navarre didn’t bother with extractions,” you mumble. 

“They don’t. So I might be court-martialed when we get back, but I don’t care. I couldn’t leave you here.”

“M’sorry,” you murmur. “Shouldn’t have gone off on my own. Thank you for finding me.”

“Don’t apologize, love. And I’ll always find you,” he promises, stroking your hair. “We’re tied together, aren’t we?”

You manage a soft laugh that quickly turns into a cough, your throat dry and raw from the screaming and from days without much water.

He decides he’s mended you enough for now -- you should be able to move now without injuring yourself further, and you really need to get out of here. “Up you get,” he coaxes, hooking an arm around your waist and helping you up from the floor.

Someone is waiting for you in the hallway -- someone dressed in black. A rider.  “Nao?” you ask, blinking at him. You really must be hallucinating.

The older rider smiles at you. “Hi, kid. Good to see you in one piece.” He turns to Brennan. “There’s two guards at each exit. We can take them, but they’ll probably sound an alarm.”

The two men continue to strategize, and you try to follow along, but most of the words go in one ear and out the other. You settle for leaning against Brennan and trying to stay awake.

“Hello, sweet one,” Fuir says gently, and you nearly cry at the familiar voice back in your head after days of isolation.

“Hi,” you respond in a whisper.

Brennan and Naolin have agreed on a plan, and you follow them closely, staying by Brennan’s side as they lead you out of the compound. Naolin makes quick work of both of the guards, knocking them out easily, and you slip past the treeline into the forest.

It’s freezing outside, literally -- your boots make tracks through the half-inch of snow on the ground that continues to fall gently, tiny flakes drifting through the air and coating everything in a thin layer of white.

You rub your hands over your arms, trying to keep warm. Brennan drapes his cloak over your shoulders, and you burrow into it, happy to be wrapped in the warmth and softness of the fur-collared fabric and the comforting smell of your partner. 

You finally spot Fuir -- she looks a little worse for wear, too, cuddled up with Marbh, who is licking her wounds like an oversized cat. Cute.

“Can you still make it home?” you ask, concerned.

She sounds slightly offended. “Of course I can. It’s you I’m worried about.”

She lays down, making it easier for you to climb up her leg. As you settle into your seat, you can feel invisible bands of magic keeping you in place -- you breathe a sigh of relief that you won’t have to worry about keeping your seat as you pass over the mountain range. You have no idea how long of a flight it’s going to be, but you don’t think you could handle more than a few minutes in the saddle.

“Now would be an excellent time to leave!” Naolin shouts from his perch on the back of Tairn’s neck.

You turn your head, seeing three gryphons closing in from your right. Shit.

“We’ll be fine,” she soothes. “If we get high enough, they won’t be able to follow us.”

You shut your eyes tightly as the cold wind hits your cheeks, making your eyes water -- they’d taken your goggles too, and all your knives, everything except your base layer of clothing. She raises her head, blocking the worst of it, tightening up her formation with Tairn and Marbh, letting each of them protect you from one side.

“I think we lost them,” Brennan tells you through the bond, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

Fuir adjusts the invisible ties keeping you seated, guiding you forward to lean against the back of her neck. “Rest. It’s another hour to get home.”

You hum in reply, pulling Brennan’s cloak tighter around your shoulders and relaxing into her. She feels warmer than usual, likely because you’re freezing cold.

You wake to the feeling of the wind dying down, and her wings stilling as she lands.

She settles down into the snowy grass, letting you climb down slowly. 

Brennan is waiting on the ground to help you, gathering you into his arms. “Let’s get you to the infirmary,” he coaxes.

You shake your head no. “Want you to do it,” you say quietly. 

He caves easily, leading you to his room, keeping you tucked into his side with a strong arm around your waist. Nobody questions it or stops you on the way up, your bloodied appearance perfectly normal for a rider.

He settles you into his desk chair, starting to mend the smaller cuts and bruises that he hadn’t gotten to earlier. The warmth of his hands and the feeling of the aching pain subsiding relaxes you, your eyes falling shut.

“You think you can shower?” he asks gently.

You nod. You don’t want to get up, but you do feel absolutely disgusting after the last four days, and a shower is definitely in order. Two showers, probably. 

You follow him into the en-suite bathroom, going through the motions without thought -- washing the blood from your skin, scrubbing off the dirt and making an attempt at washing your hair. Brennan stands by your side, showering himself in near-silence, washing off the day. 

He wraps you in a warm towel, letting you rest against him for a moment. “You should eat something,” he says gently.

You burrow deeper into him in protest. “Later,” you murmur. You just want to sleep. It’s late, nearing lights-out anyway, and you need to rest up for the inevitable scolding you’re going to get tomorrow morning.

“Do you want one of your shirts, or mine?” he asks.

“Yours, please,” you answer quietly; his clothes are always more comfortable, more comforting to you, and you could use that extra layer of his presence right now. You finish drying yourself off, letting him slip one of his black tunics over your head and wiggling your arms into the sleeves.

He pulls the covers back, motioning for you to climb into bed with him. The softness of the mattress underneath you and the feel of warm, clean blankets against your skin after three days of sleeping on a dirty stone floor is overwhelming. You finally start to cry, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“You’re safe, my love,” he soothes, holding you close. “You’re home, with me.”

“I know,” you whisper, trying to steady your breathing. “I know, I just…”

He shushes you softly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Just know that I love you, and that I will never let anything like that happen to you again.”

You nod against his shoulder. “Love you too,” you sniff. “Thank you for finding me.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I will always find you.”

You relax into him, comforted by the warmth of his body against yours, the muscled arms wrapped around you and the smell of his cologne that lingers on the sheets. This is the safest place in the world, right here -- not Navarre, not the fortress, but this room, this bed, because Brennan is in it, holding you.

“Get some sleep,” he encourages. “I’ll be right here with you.”

You hum in reply, nuzzling your cheek into his chest and letting the steady beat of his heart lull you to sleep.

[keyaho]

.summary: terry and blaire are in shambles while aaron and brennan make things more official. .word count: 6k+ .co-writter: @zillasvilla

Blaire stood in front of her vanity toying with the zipper on her dress. The white dress was covered in red and blue flowers. She accented it with red jewelry and heels. Even Noah’s outfit for Sunday service matched. A red button up polo shirt and tan slacks. She had blown her hair out, the kinky texture creating volume. One side was pinned back in a twist. 

As she was getting dressed, Noah’s father, Terry, was getting him ready. He had brought over his clippers and it was his first big boy haircut. For the past seven years she kept Noah’s hair braided and she’d miss the way he fell asleep in her lap while she did his hair. He was already asking to spend more and more time with his Dad. 

Another frustrated grunt fell from her glossed lips as she tried pulling up the zipper, but once again, it caught on the inner fabric. She rolled her eyes and held the dress as she walked down the hall towards Noah’s room. Blaire could hear them talking and she called out to them as she came into their line of sight. 

Terry wasn’t dressed. His slacks were on and so were his shoes, but he was shirtless, holding their son’s head still as he lined up the back. Blaire looked at the sink. Her son’s curls in a dark brown pile. She turned around, the tears forming in her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to cry over his first hair cut, but seeing his hair gone sent her over the edge. 

Noah looked at his Dad after seeing his Mom walk back to her room. He knew she was going to cry over his hair. 

“Mommy cries a lot,’ Noah says. 

Terry stopped cutting and straightened up. “What do you mean?” 

”She cries a lot?” Noah wasn’t sure what else to say. “Sometimes I can hear her in her room.” He shrugged.  

Terry finished up Noah’s haircut and sent him to the kitchen for breakfast. Terry walked down the hall towards the main bedroom, where he used to lay his head. The door was cracked and he looked in to see Blaire trying to tug the zipper on her dress. Every now and then she’d sniffle; a sign she had been crying. He pushed open the door and slowly walked in. It was still decorated the same, earth tones. There was more green though he noticed. The wall behind her bed was painted in a rich emerald. The four poster bed was draped in green and brown sheets. There was a thick white comforter on top and tucked in between the pillows was a Lambchop puppet she had since she was a kid. It never left their bedroom. Her. Her bedroom. 

“You’re going to rip it,’ Terry whispers, coming up behind her to still her hands. She avoided his gaze as he looked at her in the mirror. “Blaire,’

"Not, now, Terry.” 

He placed one hand on her hip while the other zipped the dress easily. She moved to step away but he stopped her. His hands pulling her hips backwards. 

“Just listen to me, please,’ he asked. When she didn’t move he came to stand in front of her, his hands still holding her. 

There were moments when she trusted him enough to touch her, because he was quick to drop those hands where they shouldn’t be. However, when he wanted to be serious they stayed on her hips. He needed physical contact.  

“I miss my wife.” 

This had been the longest they went without being under the same roof. Yeah he was kicked to the couch a few times, or the guest room, but when she asked him to leave the house he knew he had fucked up royally. It’s been almost a year of him renting an apartment because she didn’t want him in the house. Not while he was still entertaining Summer from Rebel Ridge. And it was never like that. Blaire knew about his issue down there and what happened to Summer. She was a recovering drug user and he felt like he had to keep an eye on her. So much that it came between him and Blaire. 

“You haven’t divorced me and I think that’s because you miss me too.” 

Terry read her face and could see the truth in her eyes. He hadn’t been the only one to notice how they started to gravitate towards each other again. It wasn’t awkward at family dinners or when they had to sit beside each other. In fact, he had been able to rest his hand on her thigh. He remembered her curling her hand around his while she ate. Those moments of tenderness he missed. 

She hadn’t worn her wedding ring in months. Her hand felt light and odd without it. He still wore his. It hurt him a little to know he had upset her to that point, but she never explained how she was feeling so he was in the dark on what he himself had done. He apologized over and over to her, but he didn’t know what was holding her away from him. 

“Noah,’ she begins, shifting the focus to their son as she always did. 

“I’m talking about you. Noah is good. You’re not.” 

Blaire scoffs. “What are you talking about?” 

Terry got closer and her hands fell on his thick biceps. She could still feel the heat from his body and the bare skin was smooth to the touch, like it always was. He smelled good. He always smelled good. Blaire found herself relaxing in his arms, his scent, and the feel of his thick body against hers. He smelled like oak and pine, the outdoors, and something smokey. It was like smelling the earth after it rained. Terry knew just what to do to get her guard down. She let him do it every time. His hands rubbed her sides, pulling her back from the brink of crying again. She was such a crybaby. 

“There’s my girl,’ he coos. “Tell me why you’ve been crying.” 

“You need….,’ she stuttered, ‘you need to put on a shirt.” 

He let her go with a smile, but grabbed her hand as he was walking away. She followed him to the guest room and he made her sit on the bed while he finished getting ready. They could hear the tv going and knew Noah was waiting for them. As he did every Sunday. 

Terry was up to one night a weekend and he always picked Sunday night to stay over. It allowed him to see Noah off to school at the start of the week and he felt Sunday’s gave him more time with Blaire. 

“Why are you sitting there like that,’ he asked, frowning as she picked at the hem of her dress. 

She looked up and shrugged. “Because whenever you sat me on the bed you were scolding me for something. Acting like my damn daddy,’ she mumbled. 

Terry had been over protective since the day they met. He walked on the side of street when they were out, he opened her doors, held her hand when she wore heels because he knew she got tired, his jacket was hers while he was drenched in the rain, the list went on and on. Terry was what social media called a ‘traditional man’ or ‘masculine’ by their gendered stereotypes. Full on Daddy kink with him and he took it seriously. Despite all that, and despite her own independence, she liked that he made her feel helpless, she just hated when that turned into hopelessness. 

Blaire could go get all the jars in the kitchen and he’d stand there and open them for her, but she couldn’t tell him how much he had actually hurt her seven years ago. 

“Don’t leave out how much of a brat you can be.” He tsks. 

Blaire watched him pull a blue shirt from the closet, the material was stretchy but if it was the shirt she bought him, then it wasn’t going to stretch much. That shirt was sized perfectly. He slipped his arms into it with his back to her. She watched him tuck the shirt in and add a belt. 

Terry was rough around the edges. Always had been. He played football in high school, went to the Marines right after, she knows he does a few classes at the YMCA for boxing and still keeps up with his jiu jitsu training. When he wasn’t at those places he was hauling concrete slabs and shit with her father. He was blue collar through and through and at one point him coming home was the highlight of her day. She didn’t mind working and coming home to cook for him. He made her feel safe enough to do it. He never took advantage of it and when he would come home to her having forgot or was behind he’d step in and do it. 

Terry was damn near perfect. Except he was so damn helping. His morality being his vice. He would stretch himself thin trying to help and it would push her away. 

“I can’t begin to fix what I broke if you won’t tell me, dushi.”

“We don’t have time before Church to talk about this.” Blaire stood up and headed for the door. 

Terry would normally let her go, to not stir up another fight, but he was tired of her running. In a few strides he was in front of her, closing the door. 

“You can’t keep running from this Blaire.” 

“I’m not running.” 

Terry rolled his eyes. “We’re going to have this talk tonight. Or,’ he sighed. 

Blaire leaned back from him, crossing her arms at this point. “Or what?” 

“I’m done. No matter how much I miss you, if we can’t clear this up, I’m done.”  

The light from beneath their door shined through the cracks and her soft humming filled his ears. Aaron groans while stretching out his legs and swinging them over the bed. The morning sun was starting to peek through the windows as he squinted. He could feel when she wasn’t in bed, her side having been cold for a while. He reached for his glasses, the thin frames sitting on his nose as he stood up and stretched.

He sifted through large brown moving boxes–some of them labeled as clothes or shoes. They had yet to finish unpacking, living out of boxes in the shared bedroom. He and Brennan had been together for three years before finally moving in together. He finds what he needs in one of the smaller boxes, while picking his phone up. He checked his messages while peeking through the small crack of the bathroom. Her rich complexion shines in the mirror. Brennan’s hands were working the small black flat iron over a small section of hair.

Aaron: Come do Bre’s hair in two hours Nique: It's 4 in the morning. You're not about to sweat out her hair. Aaron: I will pay you. Nique: Text me a time.

Aaron shakes his head while putting his glasses back on the dresser. Her soft humming gets louder as he walks in the bathroom. Her eyes found him through the mirror.

“Gud mɔnin, ɔni”. 

Aaron’s morning voice was something Brennan had to get used to. It was deeper, raspier, and certain words just came out in that thick Krio accent that he husked in ear on the nights she used to stay in his town home.. Aaron’s lips leaned over to kiss her cheek. Brennan relaxes against him as his arms circled around her waist. This was their first Sunday morning together. They were used to parting ways the night before or she was already at her mom’s place. Aaron had become a nice change to her morning routine, usually sitting up with her, a book in hand while she did her morning routine–stealing quick kisses here and there. 

“What I say about talkin’ to me like that.”

Aaron only speaks in Krio when he wants to fluster her. She had learned what a few words meant.

“Oni.” Honey.

Brennan’s fingertips stroke lightly on his arms, the pads of them rubbing along the visible veins. The time on her phone reads four-thirty. Service started at 11, and she knew her momma was gonna have some words if they didn’t make it on time. She bites her lip. “Service starts at eleven, baby.”

Aaron turns his head into her neck, pressing soft gentle kisses along the length of it. “Mhm. then why are you up so early?” Her hair was already down, Nique had come over the day before and blown and pressed her hair–and here she was going over it when she didn't have to. He preferred it in its natural state, loving the way her curls bounced and framed around her face.

“You know how my hair is.” Her eyes closed at the feeling while he opened his eyes to watch her in the mirror. The curves of her body, and the swell of her breast covered in a thin silk material that stopped mid thigh. Her breast jiggled beneath the dress, he could see the outline everytime she moved. “Can’t be late for Church either.”

“We're making a baby.” Just as quick as he turned her around, he had her sitting on the sink, pushing his way between her thighs and making the nightdress bunch at the waist. His green eyes scanned over her features with a bit of his lip.

“Aaron.” She feels his fingers sneak up the material, his hands warm against her skin. She leans forward to wrap her arms around his neck.

7:30

Aaron sat up against the headboard with different hair products scattered around him as he adjusted Brennan's head in his lap. Their early morning session led to her hair getting wet in the shower. He had already texted a friend to come fix it, but decided to speed up the process by helping her blow dry and braid it. Brennan comfortably fell asleep during the process as his thick greased fingers parted and braided the last side of her head. 

He would've been done sooner but he found himself watching her sleep;  the rise and fall of her back, the way her nose and eyebrows scrunch together when she was dreaming about something. How she let out soft whines when he moved to grab some more grease into his fingers. 

Her hair soft between his fingers was braided down to the crown of her head He secured the last braid to the others with a clear rubber band.

“Didn’t I just do your hair?” Dominique asks. She had come over to fix her hair-having seen the braid down Aaron did, she sped through securing the wig for her. She spoke through the comb between her teeth. Her right hand held onto bonding spray–the left covered her eyes as she shook the can and sprayed wig glue across the wig cap. 

“A-a-ron thought it be a good idea to fuck in the shower.” Aaron in the guest room taking a shower. They had set up in the dining room–the only room set up with higher chairs. They only had an hour before they had to leave and now she was rushing to finish. 

“And you let him?” While she let Brennan’s hair air dry a little, she put up the stuff she brought, leaving out what she would need to style her hair. 

Brennan bites her lip, watching her face through the decorative mirror that she finally unpacked and made her Dad put up for her.. 

“Well this is our first morning in our first house.” Brennan was sentimental–everything always had a meaning for her and Aaron being the sappy man he was fed into that shit. The two were joined at the hip.. Dominique didn’t understand why they were hiding it. 

“Girl.” Dominique shakes her head–she has a blow dryer in hand on high heat to speed the drying process.

“What?” She bites back a smile. 

“You and him might as well be married.” She finishes, sectioning off the hair to curl the ends. “That man ain’t letting you go any time soon.” Dominique was the only one outside of her family that knew the two of them were really together–catching them both at the gas station down the street from Melanin Preparatory Academy.

Brennan stood between him and the car while he pumped gas in her car. His free hand rested on her hip as they talked–Brennan hid a smile behind the drink she was holding, whatever he was saying to her had her flustered. She had never seen Brennan so soft. 

“Kinda don’t want him to.” Brennan bites her lip.

Aaron had walked into the room fully dressed. He was simple when it came to fashion–especially when it came to church. The brown turtleneck shirt fitting loose around his frame-larger sizes gave his arms room to flex. A pair of black dark washed jeans that stacked a little at the ankles. She caught a whiff of the cologne he was wearing. Clive Christian. The wood spiced  scent made her wonder who else he was trying to smell good for. He glances at her frowning face with a chuckle.

He sets down their coffee to walk over to where she was sitting.

Dominique, having already finished the last curl, turned away to pack up her stuff. 

Aaron leans over Brennan to keep her seated in the chair. She had to tilt her head up to look at him. The smell of him was stronger than the moment before and she knew for sure it was about to linger on her. 

Their lips smack against each others in a quick, but lingering kiss.

“Fiks ya fes.” He whispers against her mouth before pulling back. 

Brennan’s mind was jumbled as he walked away. He grabbed the black mug and the caramel scent hit her nose as he sat  it on the table. Coffee–made exactly how she likes. He held his own while moving to sit in the den, the large tv playing several highlight reels and a few stack of papers and a stapler.

“Nigga-”

“You got until I'm done or we're gonna be late.” 

“I'm almost done.” Dominique curled the last few pieces of hair. Brennan was lucky she had bought a new wig. She didn’t like the length of it but knew Brennan would. “Are you dressed already?”

“Yeah, just gotta put my shoes on.”  

Brennan had already put on a black silk button up, and her own black jeans. The only thing she could get to with Aaron's clothes in the way. The closet was too small and she was really close to calling her dad to build her a new one. Brennan can feel the mist of hair spray being put on her hair, letting her know she was done. Aaron was half-way through with his task when she looked over at him. 

“You're stapling papers?”

“First day of school tomorrow and picture day.” He answers like she doesn't already know. He was the reason they were probably gonna be late. “Where's your shoes?” He looks back at her down to her pretty brown feet, toenails in a sharp white color- a small gold anklet peeking from the leg of her pants. The same one that dangled over his shoulder while he thrust–he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. If it was him they would stay home, but her mama would beat his ass if she knew he was the reason they were late. 

“I'm going to get them.” She pulls Dominique in a quick hug and thanking.

Aaron shook his head, turning around to pack up the last stack of stapled papers. He could hear hear race up the stairs and Dominique packing the last of her stuff and jiggling her keys. 

“Alright, I want my money Aaron!” Dominique rushes to the door, pointing in his direction.

She expected he would Zelle it to her until his voice echoes to her.  He had looked up just as Brennan comes around to stand in front of him. She wore a pair of black wedges that he was sure she was going to pull off in the truck.

“It’s by the front door Dominique."

She spots the bills peeking out from under the key bowl. It looked like a good four hundred.

 “Oooh! And you tipped! I see you big spender.” She grabs the money, pocketing it into her purse. “Bye girl, I’ll see you tonight.”

Once the door closed he pulled Brennan into his chest as he stood up. “You look real good.” He kisses her cheek and moves around her to grab his keys. “Let’s go before your mama beat my ass.” 

Sunday Service had been particularly short compared to the long services they were used to growing up– but they weren’t complaining. The sun beamed down on them as they exited the church. Aaron and Terry had gone to grab the car, Noah going along with them so the AC could be running before they got in. Brennan and Blaire waited for their mom to finish talking to a few friends back inside. They probably wanted her to cook for the next church potluck. 

“Thank you, again Angela.” 

“Alright, see you,” She waves at one of the other church members while coming down the steps to stand in front of her daughters with a shake of her head, she follows Brennan’s gaze to Aaron who was tossing Noah, their nephew in the air and catching him. She places a hand on her hip as Blaire completely ignores Terry looking at her.

“That was Ms. Gladys.” 

“Mhm.” Brennan hums, eyes never leaving him even as he gets in the truck.

“She said she dreamt about fishes last night. Brennan, are you pregnant?” 

“Why are we talking about this on the lord’s steps?” She looks confused trying to figure out what she’s talking about. Blaire laughs from behind her. “And why are you asking me? Blaire could be pregnant.”

“Don’t put that on me.” Blaire stops laughing and points her finger at her sister. “He’s already been bothering me to talk all week.”

”When are you going to tell him?” Brennan asks, not caught up on the latest Blaire & Terry episode. “It’s been seven years, Blaire, the man has practically groveled at your feet.” 

She knew her sister was right, but, if anything, she was scared. Not of Terry, but actually losing him. His ultimatum from this morning was heavy on her. The sudden fear of not having him at all? 

“He’s not going to wait long, Blaire,’ their mother added. 

“I know!” She hissed. Brennan and Angela looked at Blaire with wide eyes. “He told me that this morning. Either we figure it out or he’s done trying.” 

The last thing she wanted to do was tell her mother and sister what Terry had said, but pretty much everyone was on his side and they didn’t fully understand how she felt. 

“Wait,’ Angela softens her tone at Blaire’s somber expression. 

“He said what?” Brennan chimed in. “Oh he’s serious this time.” 

They quickly changed the subject when Aaron and Terry came back. Noah was already in his seat. 

“Y'all ready,’ Terry asked, his eyes on Blaire and she rubbed her arm. 

“Hell yes,’ Brennan shouts, then covers her mouth when Angela smacked her arm. “Ow, my bad!” 

Terry held out his hand as Blaire reached for the rail. She took his hand and let him guide her towards his truck. Confused, she looked over her shoulder. 

“Where are we going?” 

Terry stopped at the truck and leaned her against it. “I need to know now.” He says. 

“What? You said we would talk tonight,’ Blaire replied. 

“I don’t want to wait. I don’t want you to have time to give me some politically correct answer. I want to know now.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Do you want to stay married?” 

“Yes!” 

Blaire looked up at him. The word falling from her mouth with little hesitation made Terry feel slightly better about where this was going. 

“Do you want me back in the house?” 

She nodded. “All the time.” 

Terry was confused then. She wanted everything he wanted but she was pushing him away. 

“Then why are you so upset with me?” 

“Can we talk about this with a bit more privacy?”  

Everyone was waiting by the other car, staring in their direction. When she looked over his shoulder and waved, they all jumped- pretending they weren’t watching. 

“I don’t want to be church gossip.” 

“Come on so we can eat!” Brennan groans from the backseat of her mom’s car. “Noah, tell your parents to hurry up.” She glances at her nephew.

Noah looked to his aunt with a ‘do you think I’m dumb’ expression. 

“We’ll just see them at the house.” Angela waves them off. “And why ain’t you with Aaron, Bre?” She looks at her youngest daughter in the backseat. "Why are ya'll always I my car?"

“He said he had to talk to Daddy about something.” she shrugs, pulling off her heels. “Men things.”

“What he got to talk to him for.” Angela shakes her head. “Markus better not be at my house, Brennan.”

Marcus parked the truck in front of Angela’s house. He cuts the engine while looking over at the passenger side. Aaron had been quiet the whole ride. His leg bounced nonstop and he could see the nervous posture he had.

“You gon speak or what?”

Aaron didn’t get nervous often. He usually keeping his composure in any setting, however talking to Brennan’s dad about something so important. He just couldn’t shake the anxiety he was feeling right now. His hands were clammy as he wiped them on his jeans.

“It’s about Brennan.”

“Yeah? Something wrong?”

“No. No.” He sighs finally making eye contact with Marcus whose face was etched with concern. “She perfect… I just wanted to ask you something.”

“You want my blessing.” Marcus asks him, seeing where he was going with the conversation.

Marcus had half expected for them two to elope or have a Vegas-style wedding. His youngest daughter was his wild child. He’s learned over the years that she was mini-Angela. He thought she would be the one to end up with Terry, the both of them were hot heads-however Brennan wanted Aaron. “Thought you two would elope.”

Aaron lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. He doesn’t look him right in the eye. Marcus takes that silence for an answer to a question he didn’t even have to ask. “When.”

“June 17th.”

Marcus thinks of the date, turning in his seat to look at Aaron, an oh wow expression on his face. “And on her Birthday too.” He has to open the car door and get out, confusing Aaron and making him get out to. He stuffed in his hands in his pockets. Marcus walk around the front, stopping in front of Aaron in disbelief.

“So why are you asking me for my blessing. You did it behind my back already.”

“I wanna do it right this time.” Aaron could see another car pull into the driveway.

The doors open, Angela, Brennan and Noah. The three of them heading into the house.

“Right my ass.” Marcus grumbles. “What are you gonna tell me next, that she is pregnant?” Aaron makes a face and turns around, he jogs up the brick steps just as Marcus yells out. “Yo, Aaron! She better not be!”

Angela and Brennan had set the table, Noah in the other room, watching cartoons. The food was catered from Cajun Station, the scent of fish that lingered from being warmed in the oven masked by a lit candle. Brennan had snuck pieces of of shrimp to snack on, sneaking a few pieces to Noah.

“You’ve been gaining weight Bre.” Angela says from the kitchen. “You sure you ain't pregnant.” She brings the conversation from earlier backup. She noticed a certain glow to her and it wasn’t because her and Aaron finally moved in together.

“No mama.” She groans wondering where her sister is. She moves to look out the window. Aaron and her dad were still talking. She watched as Terry’s truck pull in.

Blaire slid out the front seat having stopped by the house to change. She switched to a white sundress and sandals. She had a bag in her hand and Terry’s half smile could be seen from the front porch.

”Stop looking at me like that,’ Blaire says.

“It feels good,’ he replies, while shutting her door.

“What feels good?”

“To know my wife missed me.”

He leaned in as if he was going to kiss her but instead pulled the bag from her hands to carry. The front door opened and the screen smacked against the wall as Noah ran towards his parents. Their private moment was interrupted, but Blaire knew it was going to be a long night.

“Let’s get inside, Terry,’ she pushed at his arm, guiding the son back towards the door. He followed behind them. She sent Noah back to the table and grabbed Terry’s hand before pulling him to the kitchen.

Terry had sent Blaire upstairs once they got home. It was the night before picture day and with it being the first day of school Noah had been anxious. So much that he had been telling Blaire he didn’t want to go. Knowing Blaire, she’d keep him home until he was ready, opting to homeschool instead of helping him to grow up. 

Helping Noah, Terry sits on the floor by his son's bed, mostly to get his backpack and clothes ready for the next day. He did his full nighttime routine while they waited for dinner to be delivered. Neither parent wanted to cook and with their talk looming over their heads, their minds were occupied. 

Giving Noah a snack he had him sit in the den. TV time was rare in the house, but Terry managed to get Blaire to compromise on a few shows on the weekends. Finding Blaire in the same place he did this morning, Terry closed the bedroom door behind him as he walked in. 

“Alright,’ he says, ‘let’s talk.” 

She sat up on the bed, tucking her legs under. 

“I miss you being in the house and the routine we had, just all of what we had.” 

“So why am I in an apartment?” He folded his arms across his chest. “If you want me here.” 

Her bottom lip started to poke out and her eyes welled up. Shit. Terry thought. He forgot she was a bit of a crybaby. 

“What did I do, Blaire?” 

Seven years of pent up frustration had finally blown over. The resentment she held onto had no base to hold onto once she spoke. 

“It felt like you put Summer before me and Noah.” 

Terry’s shoulders rolled back as her words blew him. “You weren’t answering your phone.” She went on, telling him the same story, this time he had perspective. Hers. “Brennan called, my mom called, my dad, your brother!” The tears poured down her face as she hissed the words at him, trying to keep her voice low. “You just barely made it to see him be born.” 

“I apologized for that, over and over, Blaire. I’ve begged you to forgive me for that.” 

“I have!” 

“Then..” 

“You shouldn’t have been late.” Blaire threw up her hands. “You should have dropped whatever you were doing and came to me. Your wife.” 

“She-’

"Oh fuck her!” She snaps. “Labor was hell for me. I had to lie there knowing where you were! And you to have the audacity to give me an ultimatum.” 

There was no arguing her on this. She was right. He cut it close to Noah’s birth and he knew she had been upset with him over it, but to cling to it for seven years? He understood the bitterness now. He never apologized for putting her second, because that's exactly what he had done. 

“You missed that. It wasn’t your hand I was holding. It wasn’t you telling me to push. You just barely made it! Then you came in smiling like you had been there! I wanted to sock that fucking grin off your face.” She punches her hand for emphasis and Terry looks down. 

“Now,’ she says, plopping down on the bed, ‘how can you fix that? How can you fix my trust in you?” 

Speechless, Terry rubbed a hand down the back of his head. 

“I’ve never felt so vulnerable,’ she explains, ‘and alone, my husband somewhere-’

Terry slipped into the bed with her, carefully reaching out to pull her into his arms. She fought him at first and he held his hands up. She didn’t get off the bed so he tried again and successfully pulled her into his chest. She looked up at him, eyes drenched in her tears. She couldn’t even keep up with wiping them away as they fell. 

He’d known Blaire all his life. Having grown up a few houses away from her she was one of the few neighborhood families that welcomed the Richmond family when they moved in. Blaire had always been a cryer. Her emotions so big she couldn’t help but cry. Instead, this time she was crying because of him. That he didn’t like. Holding her, he rubbed his hands up and down her back. He brought his hand around, using his thumb to wipe at the tears on her face. Blaire sucked in a deep breath, trying not to cry again. 

“Are you mad at me?” She asked. 

“What,’ he whispered, ‘no!” His head shook. “I just didn’t know how much I hurt you. Now I do.” 

She noticed he didn’t have on a shirt and she pushed at his chest. “Why don’t you ever have on a shirt?” 

“I’m hot natured, you know that.” Terry cupped her face, his fingers stroking the hair on the back of her neck. “Are you going to let me earn your trust back?” 

“Yeah I can t-’

"Don't try anything." His thumbs pressed to her lips. “Just be my wife again. Let me fix it.” 

The tv was on pause as Aaron kept her in a heated kiss. The two of them had returned home after a day with their family, Publix, and a quick run to Men’s Warehouse for Aaron. School started back tomorrow and it was picture day–he wanted to get a shirt that matched her outfit for their pictures. 

“We’re supposed to be watching the movie.” She reaches over him to sneak some popcorn and move her legs across his lap.

His arms come down from the back of the couch. His hands warm against her thigh while rubbing her smooth skin. After getting takeout, and coming home to finish unpacking, she found some of his old high-school shirts. Her name was etched into one of the sleeves in black sharpie and it became the shirt she decided she wanted to sleep in. His lips press against hers, using the hand on her thigh to pull her closer. She’s almost in his lap when she giggles.

“You’ve seen this one a thousand times.” He mumbles, rubbing his hand up to grab her ass, massaging the flesh between his fingers. 

“So, it’s my favorite movie.” she pushes him back to get up. She slides her feet into the stitch slippers he randomly got her.

Aaron’s face drops in a ‘where you going look', the dark lighting making his hazel-coloured eyes look sharper.  “I’m going to the bathroom.” She points to the tv. “Restart it.”

“We ain’t gon’ watch it.” He lets her go to grab the remote.

“You probably won’t but I am.”

Aaron shakes his head and restarts the movie but pauses it on the opening scene of SharkTale. Once he hears the bathroom door close, he rushes to a small room just off the den. 

Brennan took her time in the bathroom, relieving herself while reaching into the sink cabinet to pull out a small black gift bag. She set it on the sink vanity, finishing up to stand and wash her hands. Aaron was still sitting in his spot, arms resting in the back of the couch, phone tucked in his left hand to scroll through messages. Her eyes trail up his fingers–they look naked.

“You gon’ come sit down or keep starin'.” 

“I got something for you.” She moves around the couch, forgetting that she was staring. How could she not when he looked the way he does? He gives her his attention–phone dropping somewhere on the couch. 

“What is it.” 

Aaron sits up with a cheesy grin, eyes flickering from the small bag in her hands to her face. She sits next to him and puts the bag on the coffee table. “Gotta open it and see.”

“I got you somethin’ to.” He reaches on the side of the couch to pull out a small blue bag and place it in front of her. “Open yours first.”

Brennan grabs the blue gift bag–reaching inside she pulls out a small black velvet box. “Aaron.” She pulls her lip between her teeth to hide back a knowing smile. The material was soft beneath her fingers. The pads of them over the name ingrained in it. He reaches over to open it for her. The round cut diamond shines in her face that was accented with smaller ones. “This is beautiful.” 

Brennan had her eye on the woodland wedding set since the moment they decided to elope. Aaron had seen her looking at the rings on a jewelry website a few months ago. In the midst of them deciding to elope they hadn't thought about rings. She had been dropping hints the past few weeks, not realizing he already had the ring sized and delivered to his brother's apartment. 

She holds her left hand out palm down, making him chuckle at the excitement in her voice. “Put it on for me?”

He gently grabs the ring and silver band between his fingers. It slid on her fourth finger like butter. The silver-leafed band fitting snug below her left knuckle. Brennan would have to get used to the new weight on her finger, but her heart swelled knowing Aaron paid attention to details. 

Brennan almost forgets about her gift. “Open yours.” 

Aaron kind of had a clue on what it was when he pulled out the small wood grained box. The material smoothed against his fingers as he opened the box. “Damn.”

Brennan grins at the appreciative look on his face-eyes squinting as he pulls out the black and gold band. “Do you need your glasses?”

“Nah, baby. This.” He blows out with a small laugh and a smile that reaches his eyes. “It's perfect.”

Tungsten Carbide wasn’t a cheap material. The gold interior and then cut around it accented the black texture. She pulls it from his fingers and grabs his left hand. She had to sneak a couple of his other rings just to get it sized right. He watches her grin as it fits snugly around his ring finger.

“Now them bitches can know you're married.” 

@liquourlaughslove @heytaewrites @wrestlingprincess80 @simplyzeeka @prettyfilmz @venusesworld @nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @harmshake @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @eilujion @heytaewrites @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@browngirldominion @insidefeelingofanadult @blackerthings @gwenda-fav @brandithecrystalgem @captainwithoutmakingitlove @dremmmm @kindofaintrovert @thegreatlibraryofalex @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo @kuromiish @virgomess @bbyxgall @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz @dundienominated @mymindisneverhere

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I really liked the brennan x witch reader idea, can you also write with xaden? Where he saves the reader?

warning: blood, injuries, knifes, fun stuff.

Save you

They didn’t get mixed up in situations that didn’t involve them. Especially not when they were flying back from the Riorson house. Not after unloading the shipment. But it was the pained screeching that had Xaden glancing at Garrick who had simply nodded before reaching for his daggers.

The forest was thick and lushes down below, cutting out the view of what was happening. No chance of knowing what was truly waiting down there. Not worth it Sgaeyl muttered but Xaden was already jumping off her. Using the covers of the trees as he inched closer. The place had a strange form of pulsing around it. Vibrating. A glow eliminated the gaps between the branches. And then that same pained cry split the silence and Xaden felt his pace picking up. “Xaden”, Garrick called out, the last thing they needed was to break their cover. But the sound gutted him. He could feel the agony.

And then the clearance came into view. Garrick cursed from behind. This was the last thing on his mind. Not that he knew much of what he was seeing. A white circle. A humming of energy. A red thin thread of blood being dragged from the cuts made deep in your hands. Don’t you dare but Sgaeyl doesn’t get to finish before Xaden is running into an open field. His shadows trying to seep through the glow. Hitting against it with their full force.

That’s when your eyes meet his too. Tired. Xaden is not even sure how you’re standing. His hands come in touch with the glowing light but it shoves him away. Burning his skin. He hisses. “We need to break this, get her out of here”, Xaden shouts , looking over his shoulder. “How do you imagine we do that?”, Garrick huffs rounding the sacrifice stones.

But then Xaden catches your eyes, glancing at his dagger. He quickly pulls it out lifting it higher. Your eyes stay on it before dropping down to your hands. His gut drops for yet another time tonight. But he’s clenching his jaw, tightening, stepping back… “Xaden, what are you…”, Garrick barely lifts his hand before the blade flies through the air. Cutting through the bubble and sinking deep into your flesh. The scream that slips through your lips makes Xaden nearly turn around to vomit. But he’s stumbling forward, knees hitting the stone, as he presses his palm deeper into your flesh.

“I’m sorry”, he mutters, watching as your body twitches. Glassy eyes watching him. “Don’t pull it out”, Garrick cuts in, reaching out to wrap a strap of his leather around the dagger. Securing it in place. The bleeding. You would probably bleed out… “Come on we need to go. Get her to Colonel”, Garrick is already glancing at the sky. Xaden feels fuzzy. He doesn’t usually care. He’s seen worse shit. Worse torture. But there is something about you. The way your ashy skin and that drained gaze cut right through him. He scoops you up, mindful of your arm. Hissing at the feeling of your ice-cold skin pressing against his warmth. He catches you glancing at him. Lips trembling in anticipation of something that might slip past him. But then your body sags, head lulling back and a part of him ignites.

You’re not sure what parts of your mind were made up and what was actually real. There are muffled voices. Many. Then just a couple. Then just one. The place your body is placed in feels warm. Had they already brought you out for burning? That thought alone makes your body seize and whoever is there on the other side places a soft cold towel on your head. A hand runs up and down your upper arm. Fingers brushing away the hair from your face. A low shushing. You want to open your eyes. Want to see but the eyelids are too heavy. And darkness claims your body once more.

Xaden runs a hand over a slight stubble that he had let on. He’s been flying back and forth every day. “You can’t brood her into waking up”, Brennon’s voice fills the room, making Xaden snap his head to the side. They had found even more of your kind. Witches. Hunted and used. They had missed this. Missed that someone was using innocent people. “None of this is your fault”, Brennon says, even when both of their eyes fall to the bandaged hand, “You saved her with that and the wound will not scar. I will make sure of that”. He clasps Xaden’s shoulders right as a deep inhale fills the room. Xaden leaps out of his chair.

Your head falls back to the pillow but your eyes stay open, scanning the place. “Hey”, he breathes barely audibly, afraid to scare you even more. Your gaze only softens at the sight of him, your whole body easing. “You’re safe, no one will harm you here”, he continues, “I’m sorry for the knife”. But you shake your head. Silence falls.

“Yn”, you mutter, not dropping the gaze. It takes a moment for Xaden to realize that you have rasped out your name before he presses his palm to his chest, “Xaden”. You nod. He stares. He just stands there and stares because even now. Even all pale and weak you strike him as the most beautiful female he had ever seen. He quickly clears his throat, “I should go, let you rest. There will be people who will…”, “Stay”, you mutter back. A weak hand reaches out to him and his hand reaches back on its own. “If you can… stay”, you breathe out and Xaden finds himself nodding as he reaches for the chair, pulling it closer and taking your much smaller palm into his.

[galactickle]

Jealousy

James Maguire x reader

Summary: reader is jealous of james and katya, and becomes really good friends with david donnelly, but james thinks david and the reader are something more.

Masterlist

“Who is this?” Katya asks, her accent thick.

“Oh, that's just James,” Erin replies.

“You are handsome,” Katya says, “and also sexy.”

Everyone in the room was shocked by this revelation.

“Is her English not great?” Michelle asks.

Katya looks James up and down before getting up and kissing him.

The girls continued to make comments as you all watched them kiss, but you heard nothing they said. You had been secretly crushing on James for a little while, unbeknownst to your best friends, and the sight of him kissing the Ukrainian had you seeing red.

~~~

You were at Brennan's eating lunch with the gang. The girls were all fighting about something or other while you picked at your food silently, when Jenny showed up with her Ukrainian lad.

“Listen, I have a feeling Artem and a few of the others are a bit homesick,” Jenny explained, “It'd be nice for them to spend some time together. So I’m having a soiree at my place tonight. It's going to be great!”

Just then, Erin’s longtime crush and a good friend of yours, David, walks in. You were closer to David than the other girls, as your parents were friends with his.

He looks around the restaurant until he sees Jenny. “Hey, do you have the playlist for tonight then?” he shoots your group a smile and a nod.

Jenny hands him a piece of paper, “I'll need the sound system set up by 7.”

“Is your band playing at this thing?”

“Oh no, I just do a bit of DJing on the side.” he laughs and heads to order some food.

“On second thought, I think this party might be good for Katya,” Erin says to Jenny.

Just then you look up to see James and Katya making out right in the middle of the restaurant. You look down at your food in disgust, then excuse yourself to go to the washroom.

~~~

At the party, the first thing you saw when you walked in was David at his DJ stand, you waved hello to him before going to find your friends.

You mingled at the party a bit before you got tired of Erin freaking out about Katya taking James’ virginity. You found yourself hanging out with David, talking and drinking beer. David was cool and you enjoyed talking to him, it got your mind off of James for a bit… until you all heard a commotion upstairs, you followed David and the others to the stairwell, only catching the end of the argument.

“--How dare you? I am poor Ukrainian, so I must be prostitute!” Katya yells. You raise your eyebrows in shock.

Erin comes to address the crowd forming on the stairs, “Hear me out, first she comes on to James here. What would possess her?” you roll your eyes, “Financial gain, that's what!”

“He attractive boy, Erin.” Katya reasons.

“He's English, Katya.” Erin replies offhandedly.

“I have no problem with this.”

“You should,” Michelle butts in.

Erin continues yelling about the condoms in Katya's bag, and the money the Ukrainians have been giving her all evening.

“How the hell do you explain that?” Erin asks Katya in regards to the money.

“I organize, how you say it, whip round. We like to buy Jenny present to thank her for nice party.” Katya explains in her normal, but angry voice.

“Ohhh, you guys!!”Jenny replies sweetly.

Erin is left speechless, as is everyone else.

“So not only you insult me, but you've also spoiled Jenny’s surprise!” Katya adds.

“I think you should leave,” Jenny states. you sink back behind David in the crowd, not wanting to associate or even be seen by your friends. You could feel their eyes on you though, as they passed by in shame.

“You can still hang with me for the rest of the night,” David offered, you smiled slightly at him and nodded.

You spent the next little while drinking and talking, but David could tell you were a little off.

“So what’s up?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, taking a swig of your beer.

“You seem… distracted, sad even.”

“Nah, it's nothing,” you try to brush it off.

“Obviously it's not, so spill.”

“I… I.. have a wee bit of a crush on James…” you say with a pained look on your face.

David nods and hums in agreement. “So the whole Katya thing…?” he trails off.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.. that sucks, well, if it's any sentiment, he's gotta be into you too, because like every guy in Derry is into you,” He nudges you shoulder.

You laugh, “Yeah, OK.”

“It’s true!!” David chuckles.

“Okay, okay, I believe you!” you look around at the dwindling party, “Well… I should probably get going,” sigh, getting up from your spot on the floor.

“Want me to walk you home?” David offers, getting up as well.

“Yeah, I’d like that, thanks,” you smile at him as he sticks out his elbow for you to take.

The walk home is full of drunken giggles and nonsense.

When you reached your house, you turned to David to say thank you again, and, unbeknownst to you, James was looking out his window watching. He had been waiting to make sure you got home alright, after he realized you hadn't followed the group out of the party.

“Thank you,” you smiled up at David.

“No problem,” he replied, “we should hang out more.”

“I agree,” you laughed. You leant up on your tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek, “Goodnight, David.” With that, you turned on your heel and walked into your house, David yelling ‘goodnight’ after you.

~~~

The next couple weeks, James didn't talk to you, which you didn't mind because you had been ignoring him before anyways. Plus now you were in a good mood due to your blooming friendship with David. It’s not that you had romantic feelings for him, but you did really like him, although you would never do something to hurt Erin.

The whole friend group watched in confusion as you and David became closer friends. After a couple weeks of silence James finally blew up.

“Why are you hanging out with him?” You were at Michelle’s house, you and James were alone in the kitchen getting drinks.

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“David, why do you keep hanging out with him?” James repeated.

“I don't know, he's nice and fun to be around..”

“So are we!” James countered.

“Fine. Why did you let Katya kiss you?”

“I--I..”

The girls had heard the commotion and came into the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Erin asked.

No one said anything for a second..

“I saw Y/N kiss David Donnelley!” James exclaims. You gape at him.

“What?” The girls gasp.

“No! I didn't! I kissed him on the cheek-- which is a totally different thing! I was just saying thank you for walking me home!”

“How could you Y/N?” Orla asks, cradling Erin's head.

You shake your head, then turn and leave. James follows you outside, “So what? You're just gonna leave?”

“Yeah! Well, it doesn't feel like I’m welcomed there anymore!” you yell back, exasperated.

“Y/N!” you could hear a change in tone in James’ voice, was that desperation? “Wait! I've been a dick, I’m so sorry!”

You slowly turn towards him, “Yeah, you have been.”

“I’m sorry I just.. didn't like seeing you with him,” James reveals.

“How do you think I felt about Katya?” you say quietly.

James looks at you, confused, for a moment, “Wait-- you mean?” you nod in a response, smiling crookedly.

James runs forward, enveloping you in a hug, “I’m so sorry,” he whispers in your shoulder.

“Me too.” And your lips collide in the most beautiful kiss either of you have ever experienced

[asherlookit]

tulas relationship with violence is something thats so interesting to me. cause the moment her family's in danger, she will NOT hestitate, and it wouldve been easy to play that angle up so much more as the overprotective "ready to throw paws" character- but even so when I think about her the first word to come to mind is never "violent", and I think it's because throughout the season she's repeatedly chosen kindness in moments when she can. it's embedded into a lot of aabrias narration of tulas actions, this conscious drive of do good by others. tulas violence is never driven by a want to see others hurt, it's always a reaction rather than action- brennan has said a lot of her violent moments are driven by fear, and what she believes to be necessity. which is why (I'm 15 minutes in to the finale so far) her complete "bloodlust" as lila calls it is so jarring, and a real testament to how much tula sees phoebe as a threat- cause even when she's not in the thick of battle fighting to protect her family, this threat is big enough to her that she's actively planning to kill phoebe, which is just not something we've seen her really do as far as my memory goes??? idk I just love tulas character and she's very interesting to me

[nerds-yearbook]

The last episode of the Mask cartoon aired on November 26, 1986. The series ran for 2 seasons and 75 episodes. ("Cliff Hanger", Mask, TV Event)

[pit-and-the-pen]

My Sisters Keeper- PT I

Summary: Rose has protected Violet for as long as they've been alive. But in the riders' quadrant, you live to be a rider or die trying.

Content warning: Cursing, canon level fighting.

WC: 6.5k

divider by @tsunami-of-tears

I stood outside of my mothers office, ringing my hands. I had stopped minutes ago. Working up the courage to walk in there and give my mother a piece of my mind. Through the thick wooden door I heard exactly what I needed to. That tone my mother so often got. The one that I fought to make sure she never used with Violet. I shoved through the doorway, ignoring the tingle it shot through my arms. 

“You can’t let her go through with this mom.” 

“Rose!” Mira scolded me immediately. But I kept my eyes locked on my mother. General Sorrengail. 

As I held her glare, I heard the faint rumble of thunder. 

“Do not tell me what I can and cannot do with my daughter.” She spoke slowly, eliciting every word,

“I will if you’re sending her off to get killed.”

“Sorrengail’s are riders. You’re a rider.”

“Brennan was a rider too.” Her face fell for a fraction of a second before she stood up a little straighter, squaring back her shoulders. 

“She is going. End of discussion.” I opened my mouth to speak. “End.Of.Discussion.Rose. Now get out.” Her nostrils flared and I clenched my hands into fists by my side. Sensing that I was about to really lose it, Mira tugged on my arm. Pulling me from the room with  Violet walking behind us. 

“Do you have a death wish?” Mira scolds me the moment we’re out of earshot from the door.

“If it keeps her safe.”

“You keep her safe by surviving the parapet, not by pissing off the general so much she kills you before you can.”

“Mira-”

“Stop. I’m right here.” Violer cuts me off and I feel shame heat up my cheeks.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t think you can protect yourself…” I grapple with the words, they come out too fast and everything sounds wrong.

“I get it. But I need you to believe in me. I need someone to think that I’m going to make it.” The words cut through me. Sobering my rage and I nod. Mira rolls her eyes at the two of us.

“Now, if we’re done being so sentimental. Here.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out two matching vests. 

“Are those…” 

“Dragon scales. Yes. Got them from Teine during his last molt. Put them on, and don’t take them off. Both of you.” She hands Violet and I the vests and helps Violets into hers. I study mine as I slide it on. A simple vest but the scales extend up higher on mine, right to the base of my head. It would completely cover my neck. Mira sees me struggling to fix the top part in place and comes over to give me a hand. 

“It ties down into the vest, that way no one could cut it or untie it if they get your hands on you.” She pulls the leather ties into two holes on the top of my shoulders. I give my neck a twist back and forth. Surprisingly, it doesn’t cut off my movement. It fits perfectly snug.  She gives me a proud nod and I try not to blush under the weight of her gaze. 

“Now, other matters. This bag weighs nearly as much as you do, Vi. What the hell is in here.”

“Just stuff that I’ll need.” Violet answers as Mira starts pulling book after book from the pack.

“You’ll still have access to the archives. You don’t need all of these.” Violet starts to protest. 

“I’ll keep these with me. I promise.” Mira continues before Violet could interrupt her. “And you need to change. Those robes will become a sail up on the parapet.”

Mira quickly shoves some riding leathers into Violet's arms. Gesturing for her to change right there. She does and I get a view of just how small my sister is. She was trained to be a scribe. She hasn’t had years to build the muscle that I have. The gray tips in her hair tell just how much the fever affected her more. 

“And if you won’t cut your hair, at least tie it back.” Mira says. I sigh and motion for Violet to turn around so I can braid it back. She finally gives her a once over and makes a content grunt. “Better.”

She looks over at me and doesn’t seem to find anything she needs to change. 

“As expected. Although you should cut your hair too.” 

“I’d have to shave half of it to get rid of it, ya know?”

I know she’s talking about the silver streak that starts from my scalp. Only about the width of my hand but enough to let people know that both twins were affected. 

“Let them know, I don’t care. It’ll just make it better when I beat them all.”

“She’s got a point.” Violet murmurs in agreement with me. Mira rolls her eyes more dramatically this time. She looks like she is about to say something before a bell cuts off her words. 

“Shit. Okay, one last thing for both of you.” She reaches into her sheathes and pulls out three daggers and slides them into Violet’s vest. Then she hands me my sword. 

“Both of them are balanced for you. I know you’re used to that sword Rose. It’s better than any stock you’ll find in the college.” I put it in place on my back and the moment it’s settled Mira sweeps both of us up in a bone crushing hug. My hands go numb but I force them to hug her back anyways. She releases us as a second bell tolls and she walks us only to the edge of the steps. 

“Don’t make me an only child. Or make me live with only one twin.”

And that’s all we get before we start climbing the stairs, watching Mira disappear around a corner. I grab a hold of Violet's hand as we start climbing, my arm out behind me. Eventually we reach the rest of the group. The others that are waiting their turn to cross the parapet. The line is longer than I imagined. 

Violet and I are sandwiched in between a girl with dark skin and curly hair tied up against the crown of her head, and a blond boy who is fiddling with a golden ring on a chain around his neck. 

“I’m Rhiannon.” She says to me, I almost flinch. Not expecting her to talk to either one of us. When I don’t respond fast enough, Violet reaches past me to extend her hand to the girl.

“I’m Violet and the grumpy one is Rose.”

“Twins?” She says, eyeing the both of us. We nod. 

“Cool.”

“I’m Dylan.” The boy behind us chips in and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Dylan goes on about the girl he’s engaged to back home. “We’re waiting until I graduate but the first thing I’m doing is marrying her. We wanted to do it before but she told me she could wait.” 

Violet nods along and I try to look interested. Don’t make friends. That was what I’ve been told for as long as I can remember. You don’t make friends here. Because it will only hurt that much more when you have to watch them die. Violet apparently didn’t get the memo. 

Violet is quiet for a little bit and I can finally see the parapet ahead of us. 

“What size shoe do you wear?” She asks the girl in front of us, Rhiannon. I’m trying to forget her name but I just can’t for some reason. 

“Eight.” She answers, seeming a little confused.

“I’m a seven and half so it’ll be tight, but you need to switch shoes with me.” I snap my head back to Violet. 

“Are you crazy?” I hiss in a whisper to her. She ignores me. 

“With those shoes, you’ll slip right off the edge.” And she’s already taking off her shoe, holding it out for the girl to take. Rhiannon does the same. Whispering her thanks. 

We finally get to the front of the line. Rhiannon gives her name before the two of us. 

“Name?” The rider at the parapet asked the two of us. 

“Rose Sorrengail.” 

“Violet Sorrengail” The rider snapped her eyes up. Studying both of us. 

“As in General Sorrengail?” 

I rolled my eyes as I looked back at Violet before I quickly nodded to the rider in front of us. 

“The one and only.” 

“I thought there was only one coming through this year?” The rider quirked an eyebrow as her gaze fell to Violet. I felt that oh too familiar bubble rise in my chest. 

“Well there's two. So are you going to let us go now?” I crossed my arms, almost daring the rider to say something back. 

“Come on, some of us actually want to get through this thing. Are you both going to keep yapping or cross?” A voice from behind Dylan calls, and I turn my head around to see glacial blue eyes filled with so much pure loathing that it almost makes me flinch. “No one cares what your last name is. Either get moving or get out of my way.” I snap my jaw shut. 

“Go ahead.” She waves Violet through, giving my sister's hand one last squeeze. . 

“See you both on the other side.” Violet says as she takes her first step onto the parapet. It goes against everything I’ve ever been taught. Keep Violet safe. That was the reason I was the rider and she was the scribe. My breath catches as she stumbles for half a second. She’s nimble but I’m scared she'll be knocked over with the way her arms are limply held out beside her. 

Finally, she’s far enough across that they let me go. 

Mira was right, the wind was wicked up on the wall. The stray bits of my hair whipped around my face, luckily I had the sense to tie it back or else I wouldn’t be able to see a damned thing. I take a steadying breath to try to calm my raging heartbeat. I’m a Sorrengail. I am a rider. I was trained to be a rider my whole life. I will not die today. The words Violet said earlier echoes in my ears. Neither of us will. I keep my eyes trained on my sister's braid, the silver hair peeking out through the woven strands of hair. She stumbles again and I bolt a step or two closer towards her. Catching up to her as much as I can while still keeping my own footing. It’s slicker than mud up here on the smooth stones. I’m close enough to Violet that I could reach out and grab her if need be. But I know she needs to do this on her own. She’ll never let me live it down if I help her get through this. But she loses her footing as a strong gust of wind blows and she almost goes over the side. 

I curse and beg my feet to move faster. I swore I heard something pop as her knee landed on the hard ground. She’s half hanging on and I can’t catch up with her. No matter how hard I clench the muscles in my core, the wind is too strong to fight against so I’m forced to sit and watch as Violet scrambles to pull herself up. 

“Come on, Vi.” I shout and I see her rolling onto her back, safely on the parapet again. Well as safe as she’s going to get up here. I let out a relieved sigh and focused on the path in front of me again. 

But before I can pull my focus back to me, I hear a curse then a yelp from behind me. I risk a glance backwards just in time to see Dylan go over the ledge. My body acts faster than I do, leaping towards the spot where his foot would have just been but I’m too slow. Too slow by a long shot and I see his panicked look as he realizes he’s falling. I close my eyes before I can see him land. Damn it Violet. 

That move wasted strength and I have to push myself off of my stomach. Wobbling ever so slightly as I lock eyes with the boy from earlier. Jack Barlow, I heard him when he gave his name loud and proud for everyone to hear. He smirks and puts his head down like a bull as he starts to charge at me. He doesn't miss a step. Doesn’t stumble for a second as he closes the gap in between us and it’s my turn for panic to wash over me. I force my muscles to work, to turn in the opposite direction and run. I can’t make out the words Jack is screaming at me over the wind but I know that look. Jack is ready to kill me and my sister. He turns around and pulls another person over the edge of the parapet as if to prove his point. 

My side hurts, my calves are screaming at me as I put my weight into my thighs, forcing my center of gravity lower as I break into a run. 

“Violet, move.” I shout as I almost catch up with her. “Move. faster.” I grit out when she doesn’t speed up. She glances backwards and I know she sees the same thing I do. Jack barreled towards us at a breakneck speed. Her eyes go wide and she, thankfully, picks up the pace. We have less than a third of the parapet left in front of us but it’s more than enough time for Jack to catch up with us. I’m basically pushing Violet along with me, my hands on her back. Praying to Z that she moves faster. 

I feel the air whoosh around me as I push her towards the other side. Towards whatever semblance of safety becoming a cadet will grant us. And I almost sigh with relief as I see Violet land on the other side, rolling on her shoulder in an unnatural angle, but safe nonetheless. My feet leave the ground to leap and I feel someone’s arm wrap around my waist. Years of training make my body move faster than my mind. I push all my weight forward. Just barely wiggling out of the grip on my waist and feeling all my breath get pushed out of me as I land on my back. I fight back the yelp as I feel a stone press into my neck. Sending a wave of pain so sharp it brings tears to my eyes. I scramble to my feet just in time to see Violet with a dagger aimed right between Jack’s legs. 

“I’ll kill you.” He spits out. 

“No you won’t. Because the way I see it. You’re still on the parapet and she’s a cadet. And she literally has you by the balls on this one.” The rider at the ledge says and I see Violet’s hand push just a little further and I see a tinge of green color Jack's face. I fight the smirk off of my face. Maybe Violet will survive after all. He snaps his teeth at her and I’m beside her instantly. 

“Let me down.” He grits through his teeth and before I can protest, Violet is sheeting her dagger at her side and steps out of the way to let Jack step down. I gawk at her, but she avoids my gaze. Keeping her eyes locked on Barlow. 

He steps up to her, chest almost touching hers. “When I get the chance, you’re fucking dead. Both of you.” I push Violet out of the way and tuck her behind me. I make myself as tall as possible as I force venom into my words. 

“She might be our fathers daughter. But me, I got stuck with my mother.” I bit out. “So if you want to fuck with her, you go through me.” My fists balled against my sides.

“Bitch.” Jack spat near my  feet. I fought the urge to strangle him right there. But Violet tugged on my arm, pulling me away from him.. 

“At least think of something original.” I  muttered under my breath, letting my sister lead us closer to the college. 

The rider at the edge doesn’t look the least bit surprised at this interaction as she asks for our names. 

“Sorrengail?” She all but shouts and I wince. Suddenly feeling every set of eyes on us. I want to wrap myself around my sister. Shield her away from the wandering eyes of the other riders. And as I look around, there's only one that shakes me to my core. The dark hair, a rebel relic snaking along his neck. 

I watch his tan skin flush with anger for a mere second before his face becomes ice cold. I know exactly who it is. Xaden Riorson. And before I can spit out anything to him. A warm hand wraps around my arm. Tugging. I go to push whoever it is off and am met with familiar brown eyes that almost make me melt. Dain. 

“Shit.” He says under his breath as he looks from me to Violet. Violet who is desperately trying to hide the way she isn’t putting weight on her left leg. 

“Dain.” I fight to keep my voice neutral. To keep the way I’m swooning out of it. And he tugs both of us over to the side, out of hearing range from the other riders. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” And I know he isn’t asking me. His eyes are only on Violet, concern laced on every feature of his gorgeous face. I shake my head, trying to calm my mind. 

He’s changed in the last year since I saw him. His hair is a little longer and stubble covers the sides of his face. No longer the clean cut boy he was before he left for the riders quadrant. And I’m shocked at how…good he looks. Dressed in rider black, a sword peeking over his shoulder. He turns to me and I know he asked me something. Something that he’s expecting me to answer. 

Violet nudges me with her elbow and it snaps me back to where we are. I just got caught gawking at my best friend. My best friend who not so subtly told me he’d be counting down the minutes until he saw me again. My best friend who I may or may not have been in love with since he started sprouting like a weed when we were fifteen. 

“Sorry. Adrenaline.” I force the words out, my mouth suddenly feeling very dry. 

He sighs but a hint of a smile plays at the edge of his mouth. 

“Did you at least try to talk your mother out of it.” His words pull a snort from me. 

“Have you met my mother?”

His hand runs through his hair and I try not to think about how soft it must feel. Gods I need to get it together if I’m supposed to join his squad. 

“Listen, there's still time that we can sneak her into the scribes quadrant. They haven’t submitted the names and I know they would take her in a heartbeat.” Violet is already shaking her head. 

“She would just drag me back by my hair. She promised me as much this morning.”

“She’ll get over it. Once you’re in she can’t make them take you.”

“Dain, face it. I’m a rider now despite you being less than thrilled. I made it across. Doesn’t that count for anything.” I see the internal war he’s fighting as he chews on her words. Letting them sink in. 

“We’ll figure out something.” He says and Violet stalks away. Ready to give our names to the rider, not so patiently waiting for them. Leaving me alone with Dain for the first time in a year. 

He smiles my smile. The one that makes one side tug up higher than the other and makes  his eyes crinkle around the edges. Fuck it. I think and launch myself into his chest. Arms wrapping around his neck. He doesn't hesitate to squeeze me back, arms wrapping around my middle tight enough that my toes are the only thing touching the ground. He smells the same, cedar and wind and something that is utterly Dain. He releases me and holds me at arms length, looking me up and down so intensely that I fight the urge to look away. 

“You look good. And in one piece.” He puts another step in between us as I nod. “Tell the girl to put you in my squad. Flame section, second squad. Tell her this is me cashing in the favor she owes me.” He shots me a wink before he walks away, joining the rest of the riders who are looking at us with varying levels of confusion. Let them think what they want. I’m not here to make any friends. I repeat the words to the red-head taking names. And she nods. 

We wait for the rest of the rider candidates to make it across or fall. Once the formation is called, we find out that we lost almost 20 percent. The highest in the last decade. I blame the rain. 

We stand in a rough set of lines, Violet and I falling into near perfect formation as we guide Rhiannon behind us. Then I see him, staring directly at Violet and I with a look that roots me to the spot. He whispers something to the rider calling names, Nyra I think her name is. 

“Dain Aestos, you and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven’s.” All Dain does is nod, his face tense. Violet and I share a glance that lets me know neither of us know what is happening. 

But as we passed the next squad, I sucked in a gasp. We’re being moved to fourth wing. Xadens wing. Xaden just stands there with that smirk that makes me want to push him over the edge. But I can’t. Infighting is strictly prohibited according to the codex. Of course, unless it can be excused as training or punishment. Which is exactly what Xaden will be able to do now. Xaden nods at Nyra and steps forward towards all of us. 

“You’re all cadets now. Take a look at your squad, these are the only people who aren’t allowed to kill you, per the codex. You want a dragon? Then earn one.” 

Cheers erupt around us. Violet and I just  glance at each other. I break formation to grab my hand in hers and Dain looks back, looks down at our joined hands and shakes his head. I don’t let go as Violet goes to pull her hand from mine. 

“And I bet some of you are feeling pretty bad ass right now. You made it into your first year, right? The elite, the chosen. Invincible even?” 

More cheers but the tone of his voice makes my stomach curl. The cheers get louder but over them I can hear the telltale sound of wings. 

Rhiannon gaps besides me. I lock my muscles into place to stop from fleeing as the riot flies right towards us. Instead I keep my head held high. Forcing my heartbeat to slow. Dragons can smell a coward from miles away. 

They land mere feet from us, the force enough to shake the ground. Screams rip through the air, but I keep my gaze ahead of me. 

I hear the sound of footfalls as people start to dash out of formation. I don’t close my eyes in time as I see the curl of flame reach out. And that smell, the smell of burnt flesh is one that I know I’ll never forget. It’s enough to make me gag. Violet squeezes my hand but says nothing. 

“Anyone else feel like changing their mind?” Silence. “No? Well then, half of you will be dead by the end of this year. Another third the year after. And even fewer will make it ‘til graduation. No one cares who your mommy,” He stares right at Violet and I. “or you daddy is here. Here you’re nothing more than a cadet. So who here still feels invincible.” More silence weighs the air like a blanket. “Good. Because to them you’re not, to them you’re just prey.” 

We’re left to our own devices for the rest of the day. Dain quickly pulls Violet to somewhere deeper into the college once they dismiss us from formation. I don’t wait around for them, instead going up to the dorms to sit for a second. The dorms are already noisy. Full of cadets talking over each other and I just lay down in my bed, pushing my pillow over my ears to drown out the noise of people I don’t want to get to know. People that will most likely be dead in the next couple of months. The thought shouldn’t bother me. I was trained to be a rider. And the only thing a rider cares about is their squad and their wings. But that doesn’t stop the single tear that drips down my face as I recall the way Dylan looked at me when he realized he was going to die. When he realized he would never get to marry that pretty girl back home. I lock the thoughts away into some deep vault in my mind. I don’t have time for weakness. I grant myself the moment to feel and then sit up in my bunk. Rolling my shoulders back with a deep breath. I stretch out the tension in my neck. Feeling the nerves protest against the movement but ignore it. 

I stay in the barracks until it’s time for dinner then head back right after I’m done. Violet lingers, talking to Rhiannon and the rest of our squad. I have no interest in fighting through the awkward glances and down right hateful glares of some of our fellow cadets. 

The next morning we’re called to formation after breakfast. Then comes the worst part of the day, the death roll. Name after name is called. Not enough time to process them, let alone mourn. 

Suddenly the names just stop. And that’s all there is before squad leaders turn to talk to us. Dain only gives Violet and I a quick once over before his face takes on that neutral look that has something inside of me clawing to get out. 

“I expect to see you all alive when we get to the sparring gym later.” And I feel Violet tense beside me. Right, the first day meant we have trials. A simple way to assess where all of us are with fighting. This will determine who we are put up against throughout the year. Do well and you put a target on your back, do poorly and you get an even bigger target on your back. Either way you’re screwed. 

“Sawyer” Dain calls to the boy beside him. 

“I’ll get them to class.” 

Sawyer shouts out the instructions on how to get to the classroom and I try my best to picture the steps. Storing them in my memory in hopes that I won't forget them within twenty minutes. 

Rhiannon, Violet and I walk together. I really hoped she would let h er go after the parapet. But it seems she’s intent on keeping her around, so I’ll tolerate her for now. 

A faint bird whistle has my head spinning. I catch that familiar tuff of brown hair and hook my arm around Violets pulling us away from Rhiannon. 

He ducks into a corner, hidden from sight. 

“How’s your knee?”  

“It hurts but I’ll live.”

“Good. Did anyone try to screw with you two last night?” He’s scanning us for injuries. We both shake our heads. 

“No one tried to kill us last night, if that's what you're asking.” I cross my arms, already annoyed by his hovering. 

“Dain. Take a breath.” I snapped at him. 

“You should both cut your hair.” He points to both of our braids. 

“Don’t you start with me now.” Violet  groans. 

“Why were we moved to fourth wing?”

It’s Dain’s turn to groan. His hand went to the side of his face, rubbing the stubble. 

“Dain?” Violet presses expectantly. 

“Fine. Riorson want’s Rose dead. Well both of you. But when he heard Rose was joining this year, he never shut up about it. It’s common knowledge and you just so happen to make it even more fun for him. Two birds with one stone or something.” 

“He’ll have to get through me first.”

“And that’s exactly what he wants, Ro.” He snaps back at me. “Just try to avoid him. As best as you can. He’s a wingleader so he is personally allowed to make your life a living hell. So please.” He turns to me fully. “Please don’t give him a reason to.” 

I roll my eyes and he grabs my hand. I flush from head to toe. “Rose. I’m serious here. Don’t give him more of a reason. Please.” And it’s that hint of concern. Concern so deep it makes my face hot that has me nodding my head. 

“You’re thinking like a rider now.” Violet mutters to herself. 

“I’m still me. Promise.” he taps his shoulder, where his signet patch should be. “I just have this now.”

My eyes go wide as I realize what his patch means. Classified. What signet does he have that warrants that? 

“I can read a person's recent memories.” And it’s whispered like a confession. I feel a frisson of fear. 

“Dain, that’s illegal.”

“Not like that. I can’t hear them from across the room. I have to touch a person’s face and it’s incredible.” 

“Okay, we’re going to be late if we keep talking.” I say as I hear the noise above us grow louder. 

“Just remember, stay away from Xaden. Low profile. Both of you.” He points to us and we both nod our head before we part ways.  But as we do, I see Xaden leaning over the railing to shout down at us. 

“I knew your parents were close but this is something else.” He shakes his head. “Tell me which one of you is he fucking?” 

If I wasn’t blushing I am now. Even the tips of Dain’s ears tinge with pink.

“He can’t hurt you right? You’re a squad leader and he’d have to call a quorum?”

“Yes but he can hurt you two.”

“I expected better from you Aestos. Should learn to hide your friends better.” He locks eyes on me. He was trying to bait us and I gave him all the ammunition he needed to make my life hell. 

“Run. Now” Dain orders and I grab Violet's arm and we bolt. 

My brain is mush throughout history, but of course Violet is the star pupil without even trying. We just barely make it to battle brief. Stuck in the first row thanks to the seats Rhiannon saves for us. 

Professor Markham stands at the front of the class as Devra steps aside to make room for him. His eyes soften as he lands on Violet. Of course he would recognize her. She trained under him for most of her life and he was certain she would be the best scribe in years. And she would have been. Still is. 

We launch right into the first question. No preamble to get us ready, straight to business. My eyes cloud over as I try to study the map, trying to focus on the details. This was always Violet’s strength not mine but I fight to keep up with her as she mutters to herself. 

Markham pushes us for questions and I hear Vilet mutter something to Rhiannon who calls out loudly. 

“What altitude was the village at?”

His eyes flicker to Violet who makes a point of looking anywhere but him. 

“A little less than a thousand feet. Why?”

She shrinks into herself a little. I don’t blame her, MArkham is intense when he wants to be. 

“Just seems a little high for an attack.”

“Keep going.” Markham pushes and Violet chimes in when Rhiannon pauses. 

Question after question and my head is reeling trying to keep up. I’m trying to connect the dots that she’s already seen. Jack eventually cuts her off and I clench my hands by my side. Finding something to twirl between my fingers so I don’t choke him for the tone he uses with Violet. That self-righteous, pompous tone. The asshole has the nerve to try to talk down to her when she easily knows more than even the second years. Devra scolds him for it. And I only give him a small smirk as I turn back to the front of the room. 

We’re dismissed shortly after and we all file into the gym. Now this. This I’m ready for. Violet may have me beat in academics But I can run circles around the first years in the gym. 

We’re called to the mats in pairs. 

We all watch in shock as Jack Barlow snaps the neck of his opponent. The sickening sound of bone crunching threatens to bring up my breakfast. He lets go of the limp body as the instructor rushes forward. Shouting at him. Barlow just stands with a shrug as he looks towards Violet and I. He’s strong but he’s big. Uncoordinated. He’d go down easy but Malek help you if he gets his arms around you. 

I’m finally called to the mat after a flawless victory from Rhiannon. Stepping onto the mat, I will my focus on the person standing in front of me. I didn’t listen to their name. I don’t care about their name. I care about the fact that when they lunge at me, there's a slight twitch in their left shoulder. I dodge it easily enough. Side stepping out of the way. I catch their still extended arm between their wrist and elbow. He tries to swing out of my grip but I only use it as leverage to twist his arm behind his back, palm facing up. I don’t hesitate to bring my elbow down on his extended arm. The telltale crunch letting me know I broke some bone. He cries out and I follow him as he falls to the ground. I have to keep him from hitting me.

“Yield damn it. I broke your arm.” I grit out. But he doesn’t. Just swings widely, trying to find any purchase as I pin him on his side. And I’m suddenly more grateful than words can explain as his hand makes contact with the back of my neck. I tense for a second, expecting the wash of fire to explode from every nerve in my body. But there's nothing. Another heartbeat and nothing. I’m so happy I could cheer, but I only put more pressure onto his broken arm and he cries out again. I twist his shoulder back slightly, knee resting in the hollow of his armpit and I can feel the muscle tense under me as I place myself to dislocate his shoulder. 

“Fine. I yield. I yield.” He yells as I still my foot. Stopping just in time for me to push him off of me. My shove knocks him onto his back and I can see the way he’s fighting the urge to cradle his arm. I sigh and stick my hand out for him to grab. He shoves it away and struggles to stand, slightly off balance. 

Someone escorts him to the menders and I file back in line. 

“He didn’t even touch you.” Rhiannon gasps out when I stand next to her. I shrug. Little does she know I’ve spent my whole life avoiding that very thing. Because if they do, I’m down. If I’m down then I’m dead. And no one here needs to know that. It’s bad enough they seem to be able to sniff out Violet’s weakness. But seeing mine. That might just be a death sentence for the both of us. 

One more fight and then I tense as Violet’s name gets called. She paired up against a pink-haired second year and I freeze completely when I see the rebel mark on her forearm. Shit. 

The two circle each other on the mat, whispering to each other too low for me to hear over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. 

Imogen is fast. Faster than humanly possible. 

“You can’t use your powers here.” Dain shouts. As Imogen flips Violet onto her back, my hand shoots out onto Dain’s arm. My fingers digging into the skin on his forearm to keep me from sprinting into the ring to pull Imogen off of my sister. A quick flash of metal makes my blood pressure skyrocket. She tried to use a dagger. I don’t feel relieved as Violet sends a punch that I know messes up her hand. Her thumb tucked in at just the right angle for the ligament to pop. 

Imogen is a blur once again and has her pinned before the instructor can scold her for using her powers. “Yield” She calls as she shoves Violet’s face into the mat. She doesn’t and I watch in horror as Imogen pulls her arms further behind her back. Further than arms should bend and I lunge forward at the same time as Dain. 

“Damn it, Violet, yield.” I call out. My voice died down just in time to hear the sickening crunch of bone again. This time followed by a cry I’m too familiar with. 

Emetterio calls for the end of the match as Violet goes limp in front of me. 

I’m rushing past Imogen, shoving her out of the way as I grab Violet. Shaking her slightly to try to get her to come back around. 

“Oops.” Imogen says in a sickly sweet tone. She walks another step before I trip her, leg hooking against her ankle. She topples to the ground and I roll myself onto her. Straddling her hips, and pinning her wrists to her sides with my knees. She thrashes in my hold but I just place more of my weight on her, pressing harder with my foot. 

“Try that shit again and you’re dead.” 

“Not if I kill her first.” She snarls at me. And I push until I feel the bone move in her hand. 

Suddenly I feel someone lifting me up by the collar of my shirt. Dain’s brown eyes stare into mine. 

“She’s in your squad. Back off before you get in trouble.” He whispers as I try to squirm out of his hold. 

“I don’t care.” I hiss back. 

“But I do. Stop. Or are you going to make me pull rank?” I stopped squirming. Pushing myself out of his grasp. 

“Go calm down. Now.” Dain hisses when I find my footing.

 Imogen is smiling up at me. Like I did exactly what she wanted. And I probably did. But as I walk out of the gym, I realize I don’t give a shit what they think. Not if it means protecting Violet.

Taglist: @ninthcircleofprythian @sarawritestories @milswrites @daycourtofficial

[gloomwitchwrites]

An Unexpected Catch: Boromir x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: canon-typical violence

Word Count: 3.1k

Chapter Two

While investigating an attack on a Gondorian settlement, Boromir finds himself run through with a sword and tossed into a nearby river. When death seems dangerously near, Boromir’s body washes up to shore, tangled in a fishing net. A young woman living alone finds Boromir and brings him home to care for him. As Boromir physically heals, he finds that his heart is also missing something important.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // an unexpected catch masterlist

Boromir

The rains that come in the Night bring early morning mist and low clouds.

Upon his horse, Boromir observes the hazy horizon. The tall grass around his horse’s legs is dew-kissed and wet, darkening the horse’s coat until it appears black. The mist clings to his armor, creating a slick covering on the metal. When Boromir returns to Minas Tirith, the royal blacksmith will need to inspect it, cleaning it properly to avoid potential rust.

“Captain!” Brennan, one of the men that is accompanying Boromir trots forward, pulling up beside him. “The scout has not reported in.”

Boromir briefly glances at him before returning to scan the horizon. Even with the low clouds and mist, he can see enough.

Something dark stirs in these lands—awakening with malicious intent. It is palpable like the way butter sits salty and thick on the tongue when not evenly spread. It is heavy in the air and lungs, a vice around throats and hearts. It is a battering ram. It is everywhere.

Faramir is in Osgiliath.

The city conquered. Retaken. Conquered again. Mostly in sections, but it’s continuous. Unending. A brutal task that Boromir is only fighting because his father wants it so.

All who lived there are gone, moved to Minas Tirith. Boromir doesn’t know when it’ll be safe to return.

It might never be.

The orcs grow bold. A shadow is at their backs, spurring their forward momentum and bloodlust. As if they are sucking the darkness into themselves, they are relentless, fueling themselves on whatever drives them ever onward.

“What was the original report?” asks Boromir.

“Raids, sir,” answers Brennan. “Corsairs along the river. Mercenaries from the East. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” counters Boromir. “What other beings move along the Anduin?”

Brennan shakes his head. “Report didn’t say. Only that the Corsairs come and go. They advance and retreat in equal measure.”

“No pattern?”

“None that’s been revealed.”

Boromir nods, but there is no comfort. Acting on little information is a risk, and they are few in number.

“We will forge ahead,” replies Boromir. “Slowly. Keep to the trees. Avoid open ground.”

Boromir does not intend to engage. This is to gain information to relay back to Minas Tirith, to figure out a path forward.

The party is only ten in number on horseback. Boromir gathers the reins, and they depart, descending from the large hill they look out on to draw up next to the tree line. On the other side is the Anduin. It’s far enough that they cannot see it but close enough that Boromir swears he can hear the water.

They follow the tree line for several leagues. The day does not lighten. The skies remain grey and gloomy.

Boromir raises his fist, and the group halts.

He narrows his gaze, unsure of what he’s seeing.

“Do any of you see what I see, or do my eyes deceive me?”

“Looks like smoke,” replies Brennan.

“Or dark clouds,” adds Alden, scratching at his beard.

Boromir frowns. “Is there anything in that direction.”

“Likely a settlement,” answers Brennan. “Or a small village. Might not be on any maps expect local ones.”

Turning toward his men, Boromir keeps his tone even. “We will approach from the forest. Move slowly. Stay alert.”

Turning their steeds toward the forest, they enter one by one, trudging slowly through the undergrowth. The canopy swallows them up like a leviathan. Around them are large trees, and Boromir feels small—as if everything is tight and cramped.

To move through the trees, the group has to split, forming two lines.

At the edge of the tree line, Boromir brings everyone to a halt.

There is a town. A small settlement of a couple dozen buildings. To the left is the Anduin. The dock there is empty expect for a few fishing boats.

Some of the buildings still smolder. The rest are just blackened carcasses.

Boromir sees no bodies. Orcs would leave plenty behind. They rarely—if ever—take prisoners. Corsairs certainly kill but they tend to withhold their blades for profit. Living souls mean income. They can exchange hostages for coin, or take them to faraway places to sell them. Everything is a profit for them.

But there may still be bodies. Boromir just can’t see them.

It is he that takes the first step out of the trees. The others follow behind at the same pace, their hands on their weapons as they enter the settlement.

It is incredibly quiet. Hardly any noise. No birds or buzzing of insects. Only the occasional crackle of singed wood falling in on itself.

Moving like ghosts amongst a graveyard, they find themselves at the center of it all, and still, there are no bodies. Only blackened buildings.

“Captain,” murmurs Brennan. “Look.”

Boromir follows Brennan’s outstretched arm in the direction he indicates. There he finds a partially collapsed building. The door is open, hanging on its hinges, ready to fall off at the slightest gust of wind. Draped across the threshold is a pale arm, hand pressed into the earth as if the person tried to claw their way to freedom.

As a group, they approach, but it is Boromir who dismounts first. Brennan and Alden follow his lead while the others remain where they are. Cautiously, they examine the door and pale arm. Boromir leans in, only to find more the arm and who it is connected to.

It’s a woman.

Brennan kneels beside her, fingers pressed to the inside of her wrist before checking her neck.

Without speaking, Brennan turns in Boromir’s direction and shakes his head.

She’s gone. There is nothing that can be done.

Boromir nods his head, indicating that they should enter. He takes the lead, Brennan at his heels as Alden lingers back a bit near the door. They step around overturned furniture and over fallen beams.

“Touch nothing,” whispers Boromir.

It’s a small space, and reveals little. Bending at the knees, Boromir leans in to examine scorch marks along the floor that look like claw marks.

Behind him—distantly—there is a soft whoosh of air like a change in the wind.

A brief shout—quickly cut off.

Brennan and Alden draw their blades and charge toward the door.

“Wait!” says Boromir but they’re gone.

More shouting. The ringing of metal striking metal.

He sidesteps a beam and comes up short.

“Come out! We know you’re in there!”

Beyond the door are Corsairs. Not a handful. No. There are at least five of them to every one of Boromir’s men. But there aren’t many of his men left.

Most are down.

Boromir can only see about five of them on the ground in front of the house. He doesn’t see the others, but with how calm and unbothered the Corsairs are, they’re likely gone.

“Come out! Last chance. Won’t be lenient if we have to come in there.”

Muttering under his breath, Boromir exits, sword raised high, ready to swing.

The Corsair at the front of the group laughs. His black hair is thick and slightly tangled in a knot at the back of his head.

“Put your sword down. No use fighting.”

Boromir does not relent. He does not lower his weapon.

“A soldier of Gondor does not bow down to those poised to do evil.”

The Corsairs blinks, and then bursts out laughing again. He points, hand gesturing vaguely toward Boromir. “Armor is shiny. Fetch a pretty price.” He tilts his head to the side. “Bring it to me.”

Boromir is alone. Utterly alone.

Five Corsairs descend on him, and Boromir swings, hacking through two and ducking a third blow. This is easy. This is nothing. All the training is now natural, and Boromir is only an extension of his blade.

Until he isn’t.

Until there are far too many to fend off.

He lifts to swing again, but there is resistance in the swing. A pinch that becomes a sting and then bright, blinding pain.

Boromir glances down.

Impaled.

The Corsair holding the sword that sticks from his side grins wickedly before yanking it out.

Red comes with. Surprisingly dark.

The world spins. Boromir lands on his knees, and then all he sees above him is the grey sky.

“Take the armor. Then toss them all in the river.”

Reader

“I know. I know. Quit chiming. Giving me a headache.”

The bell does not cease. It continues to ring—loud and sharp in the small room.

That is its one job. It’s singular purpose. Your father designed it to be so.

The string that connects to the bell runs along a small tube in the ground which leads out to the fishing nets by the dock. Whenever the weight shifts past a certain amount, the bell will ring, indicating that it’s ready to be checked.

Depending on weight, the bell will give a soft chime or a loud one.

Right now, it’s loud. Angry.

And your father isn't here. He's been called away to serve in Gondor's navy. It's just you keeping it together.

When it was just the two of you, the amount of work didn’t seem so bad, but now that it’s just you, checking the nets consistently simply isn’t possible. It takes up too much time in your day, and hauling them up is a two-person job.

But with the bell ringing like it is, you’re going to have to check, even if you know it’ll take up far too much time.

Pushing your hair back and out of your face, you put on a fresh dress for the day. It’s simple. Meant to get dirty from garden work and wet from checking the nets. Grabbing your apron off the back of a chair, you tie it around your waist, exiting into the garden.

Opening the coop first to allow the chickens out, you then pop your head into the small barn.

“Hello, Daisy,” you coo, rubbing the cow’s side. She replies with a soft croon of contentment.

The two pigs snort in your direction but remain where they are. The sheep attempt to stick their heads through the wood slats to reach you.

“Behave,” you scold, pushing Tulip’s head back into the pen. “You’ll get stuck again and I’m not spending my day removing the boards to free you.”

Tulip baas a sharp reply.

Even in the barn you can still hear the bell from inside the house.

It’s misty out. A bit chilly.

The animals need space. They need to walk around and graze, but with the weather like it is, they might prefer to stay inside. Lightly chewing on the inside of your cheek, you decide to open the pens.

“Have at it,” you mutter, knowing you might regret this later when you try to round everyone up.

Following the stone path to the river, you gaze out across the landscape. There are dark clouds in the distance. At first, you think them storm clouds, but they appear far too dark for that.

Everything is odd now. There are whispers. Rumors of a spreading darkness.

But you are completely isolated. You are near no villages or settlements for a league or two at least. Whatever you have heard, it’s from passing travelers on the roads to said villages. When your father was called up, he didn’t know until he took a trip to town. They sent no one to fetch him, and the summons had come months ago.

“Strange,” you murmur, frowning at the dark spot in the sky.

Heading for the lever to raise the fishing nets, you sigh heavily, not wanting to do this at all. This is the part you hate the most. It takes an extreme amount of upper body strength, which is why it is a two-person endeavor.

Without your father to help you, you have to put your full weight behind each downward push.

Wrapping your fingers around the handle of the lever, you go up on your toes, and then allow your body to naturally fall downward, using your weight to crank it.

Everything moves. Turns. Creaks loudly.

You repeat the process until you’re sweating and the coolness of the air no longer kisses your skin with a chill.

Eventually the net begins to rise. Sticks and twigs and dead leaves appear. Not unusual, but there is typically movement in the water at this point. The fish don’t want to be dragged to the surface. They will flop about, the water around them churning with their wiggling bodies.

But there is nothing.

Not—no.

Not fish. Something…else.

Pausing, you step closer to the edge. Falling to your knees, you reach down into the water and push leaves and sticks out the way to get a better lock.

“Uinen’s tears!” you exclaim, jumping back.

It’s a man.

There is a man in your net.

Frantically, you reach out. Using the water’s natural buoyancy, you turn the man over. He is pale, and twisted in the twigs, hair a dark fan around him.

There are no fish. Just him.

With an urgency you didn't possess before, you go back to the lever, heaving yourself against it over and over again until your feel the wood biting into your skin. Once the net is high enough, you unclasp the lock, pushing forward, the net swinging toward you as it comes to hover over the dock.

You reengage the lock, and then the net settles, expanding outward to rest against the wood, opening wide to reveal everything inside.

The man tumbles out. Unresponsive.

Falling to your knees next to him, you push his wet hair of his face. Fingers pressing to his throat, you pray that you will find live beneath them.

There is nothing. Only silence. Not even a flutter.

As you reach up to remove twigs and leaves from his hair, there is a soft brush of breath against the inside of your wrist. Pausing, you bring your hand back, hovering your palm above his mouth.

Waiting.

Nothing.

And then—

It comes again. Soft, but there.

He is alive. This stranger is alive.

With both hands pressed to his chest, you shove down, over and over again. His body convulses, and you dart backward, turning him on his side and he purges brackish water from his lungs.

Coughing, the stranger groans, and you rub his back in an attempt to soothe him. He leans forward a bit, one hand pressed into the wet wood beneath him, cheek firmly squished against the dock.

He’s wearing nothing but plain pants and a tunic. He does not wear boots. Not even socks. From what you can tell, there is nothing that identifies him as belonging to any one person or place.

A stranger in your net.

An unexpected catch.

The stranger takes in big gulps of air, eyes still closed. His hand shakes slightly before he pushes himself onto his back. That is when his eyelids start to open, and you lean over him.

You don’t dare touch him.

“Do I behold an angel?”

You blink, stunned. “A—what?”

Eyelids fluttering, the stranger slips back into unconsciousness.

“Wake up,” you plead, grasping the sides of his face, checking for awareness. “Please.”

His breathing is even, but he’s out again.

Releasing the sides of his face, you survey the rest of him. His clothes are completely soaked, clinging to his skin. They reveal a muscled body beneath. But that isn’t all. On the stranger’s left side, there is a large dark spot in the fabric, and a small tear.

Slowly, you pull it up.

Your heart drops into your stomach.

The wound in his stomach is red and swollen. It’s bad, but might not yet be fatal. You’ve seen far worse. Helped heal worse. A wound like this will take time though.

While part of you wants to understand who this man is, it’s far from the most important thing.

“How am I to carry you?” you ask, as if he can answer.

If he were conscious, the stranger could help. But the man is out cold, and no matter how you try to rouse him, he won’t wake.

You don't want to drag him but you can't carry him.

“Oh, Uinen. Help me.”

Not that you expect an answer. You have to do this on your own.

Leaving the stranger on the dock, you rush back to the house. Grabbing a sturdy blanket, you head for the barn, bridling the horse, and attaching the contraption your father built for towing large objects.

Returning to the stranger, you do your best to push him onto the blanket. You half yank, half roll him onto the blanket before tying everything up.

“All right, Bessie. Forward now. Slowly. That’s it. Good girl.”

Bessie begins her ascent up the path. With the incline and oddly placed stones, she takes it slow, and you stay behind her, taking care to protect the stranger’s head. The process is slow, and takes up precious time, but Bessie makes it to the top.

From there, you guide her as close to the door as possible. Pushing the door wide, you return and detaching the makeshift sling. Bessie is too big to fit into the house, and this is the part where you have to drag the stranger into the house.

At least the blasted bell isn’t ringing anymore.

Your bed is too small. Choosing your father’s, you change course, dragging the stranger into your father’s bedroom.

You bring the stranger to a rest next to the bed. Taking a deep breath, you hook your arms underneath his armpits, and attempt to lift.

You fall right on your butt.

“Angel,” murmurs the stranger.

Leaning to the side, you gently cup his cheek. The stranger’s eyes are slightly open, awareness returning.

“I can’t lift you on my own,” you murmur, unsure if he’ll understand.

But he does.

The stranger nods. He’s a little out of it, but he assists in draping his arm over your shoulders, shifting his weight as you lift his upper half off the ground.

Groaning, you manage to get him partially onto the bed. Grabbing his feet next, you lift his legs, and then he’s in.

The stranger sighs, then winces, eyelids closing yet again.

His clothes will need to be removed and changed. Skin will need to be cleansed and any wounds checked over. The one in his side will likely need to be stitched closed. You’ll need blankets. A fire to keep him warm.

Already, he shivers.

Are there people looking for him? People searching? Or is he utterly alone? No family to speak of.

Lightly, your fingers brush the edge of his hairline. His hair is starting to dry. Small patches have turned auburn. It’s a lovely color.

“Whoever you are,” you murmur. “Wherever you come from. I’ll make sure you return.”

taglist:

@coffeecaketornado @glassgulls @foxxy-126 @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet

@singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @glitterypirateduck @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @ninman82 @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@weasleytwins-41 @thewulf @firelightinferno @protosslady @fstwdsstuffandthaaangs

[18catsreading]

Brennan: so with your wits, you've stashed the shadow falcon protocol -- the real ine -- deep in your gear. The fake us lifted up as you are arrested, and the fake one is crushed. You feel your leg becoming warm.

Rehka: uh oh

Brennan: you turn around. Completely naked, is Carter Haldwell. He can't stop pissing.

Rehka: and he pissed on me?

Brennan: he literally can't stop pissing.

Alex: where's the water coming from?

Izzy: *quietly dying*

Brennan: He grabs you, pulls you close, and goes [as Haldwell]: what the fuck did you do to me?

Rehka/Usha/G13: there is a thing as being too hydrated. Well -- he said "what did you do to me?"

Brennan/Haldwell: what did you do to me? I've been pissing gallons. I can't stop. It doesn:t even make sense. There's not enough piss in me!

Rehka/Usha/G13: I'm just making you as uncomfortable as i always am.

Brennan/Haldwell: oh, shit. I'm sorry.

Usha/G13: no, i don't have incontinence.

Brennan/Haldwell: get this freak in jail!!

Brennan: so, I think the shadow falcon protocol and the badge, where would you hide them in a place where they could not find them?

Jacob: Oh! We don't need you to say it for us!

Izzy: *overlapping with Jacob, same energy*

Brennan: Straight-up, Usha, where are they?

Alex: as this is happening, can Kingskin calmly walk up towards G13 and go--

Brennan: yeah

Alex/Kingskin: Gentlemen, i'm sure this is a situation that a little paper could --

Ally: you have that? You have that ability?

Alex: I have Wealthy. I have: Spend a turbo token to ease a bad situation with cash.

Brennan: hell yea

Alex/Kingskin: it seems like a very bad situation, but I just, you know, hand him a stack and a handshake, see what happens.

Brennan: hell yes, uh, you have him a stack. You give this naked pissing FBI agent a stack of cash.

Alex: that's who i give it to?

Brennan: he is the agent in charge. He is in charge.

Alex/Kingskin: Gentlemen.

Brennan: you see he looks at it and goes [as Haldwell]: a little donation to the Bureau, Kingskin?

Alex/Kingskin: hey, use it however you'd like. Maybe for that missing finger.

Brennan/Haldwell: yeah. Yeah, I lost my finger, and I can't stop pissing.

Rehka: never stop pissing

Brennan: and you see he goes [as Haldwell]: all right, boys. No need to arrest these two. Looks like they've volunteered to come downtown and have a little talk with the Bureau about what the fuck the Empresario was doing here at G&G Industries. Isn't that right, G13? *Pulls them close menacingly*

Rehka/G13: spits

Brennan/Haldwell: ow!

Jacob: a thick loogie

Rehka: it was a kidney stone

Ally: ow!

Brennan: he goes [as Haldwell]: Get them downtown. They're cooperating, aren't they?

Brennan: and you see one of the agents leans over and goes [as Agent]: Agent Haldwell you need to go to the hospital right now.

Brennan: And he turns around and says [as Haldwell]: never tell me what to do again.

Brennan: and he goes [As Agent]: no, you ... its the whole ... Its the floor of the warehouse. Its spreading. Its like 30 feet in all directions.

[As Brennan]: and he goes [as Haldwell]: don't you think I know that, you fucking idiot? All right, get them downtown, and get me a shirt and tie! Don't get me pants!

Brennan: and he storms out of there. And the agents don't handcuff you but begin to lead you to a black town car to get you down to the Bureau to talk to them.

[thoughtswordsandnonsense]

Throne Scene Pt 2

If you haven’t read/ finished Iron Flame, do not proceed. 18 + content minors DO NOT INTERACT.

Concept: There are about 30 minutes to kill before Violet leaves to go fight the Venin and she knows she needs to feel Xaden because this could be the last time she does. (This is before they go to the hill and she finds out about the second signet) 

Side note: The Throne scene really does live rent free in my head. Sorry if this sucks this is my first time writing smut.

Violet’s POV: 

Everything has descended into chaos, scribes, riders, teachers and griffon riders alike are running around preparing to leave and fight for the place most of us had fled from.

Marching the stairs I go on my hunt, I need him to know I love him, I need to feel safe for one more moment before I potentially never see him again. 

Marching into the war room I see Xaden standing rigid, analyzing the map as he and Brennan talk in hushed tones. “Bonding over how much you both dislike that I’m leaving to fight for Basgiath?” Brennan turns and shakes his head, striding across the room and getting in my face. “You shouldn’t be going.” I roll my eyes as I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re not my keeper Brennan. Now, if all you’re going to try and do is try and talk me out of going save your breath and get out. I need to speak to Xaden.” Brennan glares at me but turns on his heel “I hope you make it out of this alive Violet.” He tosses over his shoulder as he walks out, slamming the door behind him.

“We need to be leaving soon,” Xaden says, finally turning to look at me. His onyx and gold-flecked eyes access me up and down as he sits half on the arm of the throne, deflating from his previously stressed stance. Crossing the room I wedge myself in between his thick warm thighs and grab his face, kissing him like my life depended on it. “I need you. Please.” I send to him and he groans into the kiss, one hand going up my back and into my hair, as he tilts his head to deepen our kiss. My hands reach up, one going to push off his jacket while the other cups his stubbled jaw, his usually clean-shaved face has taken a shadow as of the past few days. 

“We don’t have enough time for everything I want to do to you.” His rough voice moans in my mind as I moan into him, his jacket falling into the seat of the throne. He stands abruptly, disconnecting our kiss as he stares down at me intensely, one of his large warm hands going to cup my face as I look up at him. “Let me have this, save the rest for when we get back.” I plead with him. “You’ll be the -” “Don’t finish that sentence Xaden Riorson, now can we continue?” I ask as he leans down to kiss me more tenderly, lips grazing mine as I rake my fingers through his black hair. 

“I’ll never say no to you Violence.” His hands snake around to rest on my ass as I jump up, he holds me with ease as I wind my arms around his neck. Moving to kiss down his jaw and down his neck, he groans as his hands grip my ass more tightly as he moves to sit on the throne properly with me in his lap. I grind against his clothed cock as I move my lips away from his neck to look at him. His onyx pupils look even darker than usual as he tilts his head back and growls deeply. “Violet please.” He begs and I feel my face and chest blush, Xaden begs for no one. “I’ll beg for you every day for the rest of my life if it makes you happy. “ His voice sounds breathy in my head. His hands move from my ass to the underneath of my jacket, pushing at the shoulders to get it down, lurching forward, his lips connect to my neck as white-hot pleasure shoots through my body as he sucks hard enough to leave a mark, teeth grazing as he nips at me. His lips slide lower as my jacket slips down my arm, kissing from my neck to my shoulder, to the exposed skin of my inner arm as he takes my jacket off my wrists, drops it to the ground and pulls back. His tawny brown skin flushed as he smirked at me. “If I could leave my mark on you all the time I would.” Xaden’s voice drops into a husky tone as I smirk back at him. “What’s stopping you from doing just that, because I’m not saying no to that offer.” 

His arms wrap around my waist and flip us around as he works my pants and underwear off, his broad body towering over me. In a few swift seconds, he’s got them exposed and the chill of the air hits my bare lower half. Flinging them carelessly across the room without breaking eye contact he grabs hold of my ankle and kisses it, leaving feather-light kisses up to my thighs and close to my exposed cunt. My head tilts back as his breath fans across me, my breath hitching as my hands move to grab the arms of the chair. “I need you this time. Not your tongue, as delightful as it may be. Please.” I beg. 

“Since you asked me so nicely.” He pulls back as my legs rest against the throne and I reach forward to unzip his pants and work them over his hips and down his toned legs. He pushes them the rest of the way off and steps out, hands grabbing my hips and lifting me again as I wrap them around his waist. He sits with me hovering over the tip, his cock hard and dripping precum as he latches back onto my neck teasing my cunt by sliding his cock from my entrance to my clit and back, I fist the hair at the nape of his neck moaning. Pleasure all-consuming and he’s not even inside me yet. “Fuck, I’ve needed you. I’ll always need you, Violet.” He shifts and finally gives in as the tip of his thick rigid cock pushes into me and I move to sink down onto it, Xaden’s grip on my waist is tight enough to bruise, though I don’t really care. “So good for me, good girl. God, you’re so wet” He praises as I feel him finally sheathed all the way inside me, he makes me feel so fucking full. I bounce on his cock, somehow making it go deeper with every movement and his hips thrust to meet me halfway. I press my lips back to his, our gasps and skin slapping filling the room. “I’ve needed you.” He rolls his hips in a way that has my back arching, cold shadows skate across my skin as Xaden bounces me up and down his cock. The shadows split two ways and I feel one skating across my nipples, tugging on them as the other goes to my clit, cold pressure hits me and feels like rubbing and I shiver as Xaden pulls back from me. Watching as I writhe against him, one hand moving from my hip to play with one of my nipples, the shadow on that side relenting. The sensation of rubbing against my clit gets even stronger as I shoot pleading eyes at Xadens lust blown ones. “Please, Please, Xaden I need you. Please.” I’m close to completely unravelling as he thrusts into me even harder, his chest heaving. “Yes Violence, come undone for me.” I throw my head back as I shutter around him, white-hot bliss over taking my whole body as he continuously thrusts into me. Using only one hand on my hip to bounce me up and down while the other moves away from my breast, the cold shadow working on my other nipple ceases. “I’m yours, all yours in this life and if Malek grants me another then that one as well. There will only ever be you Violet. Whatever is left of my life, it’s yours.” ‘I love you, in this life and the next.” Even mentally my voice sounds strained with need. His thrusts get sloppier as he pulls me back into him, his scent surrounding me as his tongue grazes my lower lip and I open my mouth to let him in as he gently traces his tongue against mine. The pressure on my clit intensifies as I feel his cock twitch inside me, the feeling of my releasing barreling towards me again, faster and harder than the last as the coil in my abdomen starts to come undone. He shudders as we come undone together, disconnecting our lips as we lean our sweaty foreheads together, panting. Silence fills the room and for a heartbeat, there’s only him and I. Complete, together and safe. 

“If you two are done we have a war to get to,” Ridoc shouts through the door as we startle apart, falling back, Xadens arms shoot out and grab my torso, pulling me back to his chest. “We’ll be out in a moment, jackass,” Xaden shouts back and Ridoc laughs. “Just be glad Rhiannon talked sense into Brennan from storming in there and trying to kill you when he clued into why there was suddenly a lightning storm.” I flush in embarrassment as I move to get up and off, some of Xaden’s cum dripping out and onto his lap, as I hop off. “Sorry!” I shout back and Ridoc laughs as we hear his steps go away from the door. Retrieving my clothes I hear Xaden shuffle and zip up his pants as I work on getting mine back on. Turning, I come face to face with his leather-clad chest as he holds out my jacket. I turn as he helps me get my arms into it and face him again as his hands move to zip it up. He places a tender kiss on my forehead before he steps back. Going back to the tense and rigid look he had when I had first come in, his hand reaching for mine and I lace our fingers together. “We’ll get through this,” I say and he nods, some black hair falling into his eyes. “We’ll get through this.” He says back as he leads the way out of the room with me by his side.   

[astralleywright]

re: last post, something that really crystallized for me around ep 92, specifically the Hells' talk with Liliana and the fan reaction, is that the narrative was just going to start leaving people behind. we were beginning the third act; the train was leaving the station and you were either on it or you weren't. plenty of people can recognize the nuances in the situation, but only up to the point that those play out in varying opinions or courses of action. there's been a persistent belief in the least complex possible version of this story being the one playing out on screen.

the concept of media literacy is rapidly approaching a level of overuse that renders it functionally meaningless, but this does really feel like a failure of media literacy. its a failure on people's part not just to understand what's being shown to them, but why. so much of the last 15 eps have felt like Matt and all the DMs he's worked with-shoutout Aabria and Brennan and Abubakar-were giving ppl one last chance to get on board by really laying it on thick. so at this point when i see people that don't seem to get it its like well. good luck!