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nomie-11 · 3 months ago

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Chapter 1 - Chains of Starlight*

masterlist! | series masterlist | next part ->

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Dark, damp, and the smell of mildew. A room, no bigger than 5 feet long and 5 feet wide, a single mattress and a ratty blanket, a sink, a toilet, and a boarded up door with a slit for food. The faucet never stopped dripping, the hollow plop, plop, plop haunting her as it rang out in the room, all day every day, for what felt like an eternity. Stone floors, stone walls, and stone ceilings. The smell of mildew.

There’s no escape from the humidity of this dungeon, not without a compromise Genevieve doesn’t want to make.

For every day of this torture, Genevieve Hale etched stars into her ceiling, one star a day, forming constalations she once mapped in the mountains of Aretia. Her hands grew raw from months of searching the stones for a crack, her body grew wearing from days of practicing her sparring on the door that blocked her from the outside she once loved.

Each kick against the door resonated against her, a cruel reminder of her futile struggle against confinement. She could almost hear the rustle of the leaves, the rush of rivers—it was a cruel juxtaposition of her current situation.

The only solace she found in the darkness was the faint memory of the stars above her grandmother’s manor in Aretia, twinkling above her like the promise of freedom. Every star etched into her sky mirrored the nights her mother would spend in her library, teaching Genevieve the stories of astronomy.

In this damp prison, Genevieve replayed her memories, each in a flickering flame against the encroaching despair. She remembered the warm embrace of the sun on her skin, the thrill of a sparring match under the sprawling sky, the feeling of her grandmother’s weathered hands braiding her hair into Tyrrish knots—moments she clung to as she counted the four hundred and seven stars on her ceiling. One for each day.

But hope, however fragile, flickered within her. As the familiar click of heels descended the stairs to her dungeon, she could see the light filter through the cracks in the bottom of the door. The dull thud of the dripping faucet became a metronome for her determination, but the sound of the heels descending was an omen for the future. General Sorrengail was coming.

Genevieve straightened her spine, feeling the tight pull of the raw skin around her wrists. The iron cuffs, long since rusted, had bitten into her flesh enough times that the pain was now a dull hum in the background of her existence. She wouldn’t flinch, though–not for Lilith Sorrengail. Not for the woman who had put her here.

The footsteps stopped just beyond the door, the shadow of boots barely visible in the narrow slit meant for her meals. A familiar, suffocating silence filled the room as Genevieve’s breath caught in her throat. She had heard this ritual countless times, but each visit, every word from the General, left fresh scars.

The boards covering the door creaked as they were pulled aside, and a sliver of magelight leaked through the opening. A face appeared. Cold eyes, just like she remembered.

“Still alive, I see,” Lilith’s voice cut through the quiet, it’s tone sharp and unforgiving. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

Genevieve didn’t respond. She had learned early on that silence was her only defense. Lilith wanted her to break, to beg for mercy, to plead for release. But Genevieve knew better. Every word would be twisted, every crack in her resolve a victory for Lilith. So, she remained still, her fingers tracing the stone wall behind her.

“You must be wondering why I kept you here,” The general’s voice was almost conversational, as if she were discussing the weather or a new recruit. “Why someone like you–someone with such potential–would be wasting away in this pit?”

Geneveive’s heart pounded in her chest. She hated that part of her that wanted to know the answer. There was no denying the lingering question that had gnawed at her since her imprisonment. Why had she not just killed her? What did she really want?

“Why are you here?” Genevieve prompts, her voice smooth and calm, not betraying the racing of her heart. “Who do you want to protect so badly that you keep me alone down here?”

“I’m not here to spill my life secrets to you, girl,” She practically spat, her resolve shattering. “You’re lucky I kept you down here instead of just killing you.”

The younger girl bites her tongue, but she’s itching to scream.

“I’m here to propose a deal, a compromise of sorts,” General Sorrengail says, her tone evening once more, her mask of power and indifference settling softly onto her face. “I’m going to let you out of here, and you’re going to go to Basgiath and become a rider.”

Genevieve made no moves, no motions to say yes.

“While there, you’ll watch over Xaden Riorson for me. Do you understand? You watch him, and report back to me when you see anything… strange.” She leaned down, her face still as she crooned over Genevieve. “You’re in my hands, either you say yes, or you die.”

The words lingered in the air, thick with threat. You watch him, or you die.

Genevieve’s breath came out slow, controlled. She had learned not to react too quickly, not to betray her thoughts, especially when dealing with someone like Lilith Sorrengail. The General was dangerous–cold, calculating, and capable of twisting any situation to her advantage.

Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, yet her face remained impassive. She didn;t need to ask why she was chosen for this task. It was obvious. Xaden Riorson–son of the man who had led the rebellion, the rebellion that had nearly toppled Navarre, the rebellion her own father had supported. And now, General Sorrengail suspected Xaden was the leader of the rebellious remnants of Basgiath. What better way to ensure control than to send someone who had just as much reason to hate him as to ally with him?

But Genevieve wasn’t stupid. She knew this wasn’t just about spying on Riorson. There was always something more to Lilith’s plans. The General didn;t make moves unless the outcome benefited her in more ways than one.

“Why me?” Genevieve asked, her voice low but steady. She could feel Lilith watching her, evaluating, calculating.

“Because you’re nobody,” Lilith replied, her words cutting with brutal honesty. “You have no alliances, no family that matters anymore. No one will miss you if you disappear.”

Genevieve’s chest tightened, but she fought to keep her expression neutral. She wasn’t a nobody. She was a Hale. Even if her family had fallen from grace, even if her father had been branded a traitor, she still had her name, her skills, her strength. She still had something left, even if it was just the fire of her hatred for the woman standing in front of her.

“And what if I refuse?”

Lilith’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “And miss out on seeing the stars from the back of a dragon?”

Genevieve’s fingers tightened against the cold stone behind her. She knew Lilith was right. This isn't a choice. It had never been. If she refused, she’d die in this cell, forgotten and discarded like so many others before her. But if she accepted… if she played along… freedom was hers. She could see the sky, see the sprawling mountains, and watch the eagles fly.

“I’ll do it,” she said finally, her voice quiet but firm.

Lilith straightened, satisfied. “Good. You leave tomorrow.”

The general turned to go, but before she could leave, Genevieve spoke again. “One more thing.”

Lilith paused, glancing over her shoulder.

“When I’m done with your little task… what happens to me?”

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken implications. Finally, she spoke, her voice cold and distant. “Then you’re free.”

And with that, the door slammed shut, leaving Genevieve alone once more. The sound of the dripping faucet resumed, but this time, it didn;t seem as loud. Instead, Genevieve’s thoughts raced. She had a mission now, a purpose, even if it was wrapped in chains.

But she wasn’t a pawn, no matter how much Lilith Sorrengail believed she was.

If Lilith wanted her to spy on Xaden Riorson, she would do it. But it wouldn’t be for the general. It would be for herself, for her freedom.

Genevieve leaned against the cold stone, staring up at the stars she had etched into the ceiling. Tomorrow, she will leave this basement. Tomorrow she will prepare herself for Basgiath.

For today, she will sit in her dungeon, the flicker of hope growing into a flame.

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The heavy iron door was ajar the next morning when she woke up, and alone and cold, Genevieve rose to a stand, the iron shackles clattering to the floor without a fight. Her tattered clothes hung loose, her hair grew long, her skin pale, but she was still her after all this time as she crossed the threshold of the doorway. She had been prepared to die in this basement, but now, a world that she had once thought was dead to her was opening right back up, now with a mission she despised and a future she couldn’t predict.

She straightened herself, pushing her shoulders back and forcing herself to stand tall as she would when she was free. As she entered the stairwell, light from the top of the hallway hit her eyes. The walls still surrounded her, and it still smells like mildew, but the climb wasn’t daunting as she ascended the spiral staircase to freedom.

Genevieve ascended the spiral staircase, each step echoing off the stone walls of her former prison. The mildew still clung to the air, but the light at the top was more intoxicating than the stale darkness she had known for months. Every breath she took felt sharper, crisper, like a blade slicing through the haze of captivity.

Her bones feel brittle, her muscles tight, but none of it mattered. Not now. Her skin tingled as the late summer air slowly filtered down towards her. She stepped out into the sun, blinding her with its warm rays, a stark contrast to the cold, damp dungeon below. Her heart pounded as the light engulfed her, squinting against the brightness, but the moment she stepped out into the open air, the scent of earth and grass filled her lungs. For a brief, fleeting second, she almost felt free.

As much as she hated Lilith Sorrengail, she couldn't deny the excitement that flickered and breathed like a candle to a breeze within her. An endless sea of stars, and endless stream of sunrises. The sky, the stars, the dragons, the earth, it was once more hers.

Taking a deep breath, she savored the fresh air, the scent of life around her. The world was wide open before her, and for the first time in one year and forty two days, she felt the hope inside her shine. A small spark of dangerous desire, laced with anger and a need for vengeance. Genevieve Hale was free, but she was not the same girl that was locked away all that long ago. She was harder, colder, and every step forward was a step closer to making Lilith Sorrengail pay for what she had done.

Her fists clenched tightly as she stood there in the sunlight. Basgiath War College would be the battlefield for now, and she would make sure that every player in this twisted game understood one thing: Genevieve Hale was not to be underestimated. Not anymore.

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Hey guys! attempting to actually write a fanfiction for once after reading so many (cough cough Fear and Flame), so lmk what you think!

*Rewritten!

#fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #fourth wing xaden #fanfic #liam mairi #the empyrean #violet sorrengail #x reader #reader insert #xaden and sgaeyl #basgiath war college #liam mairi x reader #the wounded healer

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velvetlilacsdaisies · 8 months ago

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Shit at Feelings iv

Bodhi Durran x fem!reader

Synopsis: Bonding with dragons? No issue. Killing venin? Unfortunate, but doable. Confronting your feelings towards your childhood best friend? No thanks.

Word count: 6k 🫢

Warnings: swearing (ofc), drinking, angstttt, y/n lore, lmk if I missed anything, not proofread at the end lmaooo

A/n: the long awaited part 4!! Hope y’all aren’t disappointed, trying not to think so hardly on this part bc I scrapped and rewrote this so many times 😅

You're unsure of when it started during the night, but as you sat at the booth with Violet, Rihannon, and Nadine; something stirred in your chest. You desperately tried to look interested in the conversation, trying to meet the eyes of Rihannon trying to focus on the way she animatedly told a story. Laugh when the women poked fun at Violet for something cheeky she’d bring up. Adding input to Nadine’s questions despite having to ask her to repeat herself without having your eyes dragging themselves to look at the other side of the bar.

Who was she?

She wore a dressed down pale blue healer uniform, her skin flawless free of relics and tattoos, glossy perfect red hair that cascaded down her back in waves. She radiated bubbliness from what you observed as she laughed at whatever Bodhi said or did a little dance when her friend sunk a billiard into a pocket. She always seemed to go right back to chatting with him. You couldn’t bear watching her cling to him, but you couldn’t drag your eyes away.

You were well aware you had no right to be sitting there, stomach churning with a bitterness of cold ire…but here you were doing just that.

Rihannon clicked her teeth, making you snap your attention back to the group. You didn’t even try to offer a coy look—this was the second time one of them caught you. You had tried the last two hours to hide your irritation, but it just kept beckoning to the surface. Slowly ticking away within you as if you were going to burst at the seams.

“Okay, what is going on between you two?” She laid her palms flat on the table.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You took a sip of your drink, acting as nonchalant as you could.

She gave you an incredulous look. “The fact you shied away from him all first year, then the first night of break whatever that was.” She waved her hand. “The other day during breakfast, when Dain came to grab him for the leadership meeting, and it was clear as day he was practically undressing you with his eyes when we first arrived.” she rattled off.

“It’s like I’m watching a romance novel unfold in real time.” Nadine said dramatically, a hand moving to her forehead feigning fainting.

You cringed, “it’s-it’s definitely not like that.”

“Not like what?” Quinn interrupted walking up to your own group. Bodhi and Imogen still had been at the table.

The mystery girl touching his built bicep. He had discarded his jacket an hour ago, his rebellion mark on display underneath his tight short sleeve t-shirt. “Ohhh,” she followed your gaze to Bodhi. “Immy told me all about this.” She said in delight to your dismay, taking a seat next to Nadine.

You brought your attention over to the curly haired blond girl. “Does everyone know about this ‘something’ except the two people this ‘something’ is about?” You snapped.

Everyone seemed to have an exciting interest in the nonexistent relationship between you and your childhood best friend.

Quinn merely raised her hands defensively, Rihannon and Nadine awkwardly sipping their drinks looking at the table interested in the wood grain.

“We’re all in the same wing, same section, Y/n it’s hard to ignore the hot and cold between the two of you.” Violet had a softened look in her eyes, being the most sympathetic toward you.

You flushed realizing your outburst, not meaning to aim it at your new found friends. The gnawing bitter feeling was just eating at you, and you couldn’t stop it from being all consuming.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, a scowl on your lips, staring into the clear fizzy liquid in your glass. Despite the tension you created, you looked at the bubbly girl across from you. “Quinn, who is that girl?”

She had a hesitant look on her face, her brown eyes swirled with trepidation. “Ariante, a third year healer.” She offered a short response, seeming to know more than she let on.

You only nodded, turning back to the other side of the bar watching the billiards tables. Ariante, the beautiful young woman, was lining up to shoot the shot, and shot Bodhi a wink before shooting. A small snarl left your lip unknowingly at the sight, leaving all the group to cast worried glances your way.

You grimaced at your behavior, not entirely sure why you had visibly been so riled up at the sight. “I’m gonna get some water.” You stood up, and left the group without another word.

Ariante skimmed her dainty plain manicured hands over Bodhi’s biceps as she giggled over something he told the group he played with. Usually her advances didn’t bother him, last year he had given in to them as a distraction many times when Y/n avoided him like a disease. Tonight though, his chest hammered in annoyance—maybe not just with her in general, but everything tonight seemed to be so overstimulating.

The loud tavern, how he fought a flinch every time the que would knock against a billiard, the musty smell of alcohol and fried food permeating the space, and how fucking unbearably hot he was.

He knew it had nothing due to the summer weather, that the heat that festered deep within him was caused by something wholly different.

Usually he’d use churam to block Cuir out, but the effects of the few drinks he had made it harder to keep that mental shield up and his dragon’s emotions started to take over. Of course Cuir and Cleasaí chose tonight of all nights to fight.

He had spent a year being accustomed to this, but he worried about you.

You still had been clueless to everything, your dragon stubbornly kept you in the dark, which had frustrated both him and Cuir. You didn’t deserve any of that, and he couldn’t help the pang of guilt he felt when he thought about it. He watched how tense you were at the booth, the girl’s giggling at what seemed like your expense; a scowl on your pretty lips at the interaction.

Another wave of heat filled and irritation rippled through him, and he screwed his eyes shut trying to ground himself. He had ripped his jacket off an hour ago, but to no avail aided any relief to his skin. It seemed it only made the pretty third year healer cling to him more. And the only aid that was brought, was to the disdain that rose with the proximity of her.

“Damn it Henrick!” Quinn stomped her foot frustratedly, making him open his eyes again. “I thought I was playing with an amateur?”

Sawyer had a broad grin as he nabbed the gold coins on the corner of the parallel table across from the one him and Imogen played at. “Beginners luck?” He shrugged casually.

The curly haired blond furrowed her eyebrows at the redhead. “Mhm, sure. Beginner’s luck my ass.”

Imogen cackled at her friend. “You’re the one that suggests putting coins down.”

Quinn mimicked Imogen, before a playful glare settled on her features. “Shove it Cardulo, I’m gonna go wallow in pity now if you need me.” She handed the cue to Sawyer before flouncing off to the rest of the group they came with.

Bodhi’s brown eyes not paying any mind to the feisty third year rider as she joined the booth, he instead had been focused on you again. Watching how your tongue darted in between your soft looking lips licking them, the same scowl still lingering on your face.

He had longed to get a feeling of what your lips felt like since he was barely an adult. Doing anything at this point to have a taste of you, knowing he shouldn’t have felt that way. You had always been just barely out of his reach, but he would have risked anything to have that moment as selfish as it sounded.

You were his best friend.

It was more than the idea of blurring the lines of your friendship that stopped him in the past; you were never meant to be anyone else’s, but who was chosen for you. Your parents had made you a lady of the Aretian aristocracy. The intent to secure a cushy life to make sure you would never have to experience war and hardship like they had—even if it wasn’t a love match. You were forced to take the decision they made for you with poise and grace. Exposed to the corrupt society of the aristocracy that lurked behind the violence since a preteen, never supposed to know war and violence like he had. But by the time the peak of the rebellion happened, and Execution Day arrived—it had been too late for the first hand you had been dealt with. Another decision instead handed to you from a choice that hadn’t been yours to ever make.

It was self indulgent thought, but the moment he knew you safely crossed the parapet—there was a hope that ignited in Bodhi’s chest he hadn’t felt in a long while. Despite the blatant act of avoidance on your part, he quietly watched your every move the first year.

Made sure Imogen spent extra time training with you so you’d be ready for your next challenge, telling her what she needed to critique you on from sparring lessons. Insisting Garrick to convince you to eat more than what you usually did so you could bulk muscle to help ease through the gauntlet. Pleading with Xaden to rearrange squads in the flame section so he could keep a better eye on you. Every action in efforts to aid you from the help of your mutual found family was a coercion from him; so he would know you’d have a shot at surviving this hellscape.

For only a measly chance of you to finally acknowledge him.

It had only been a coincidence (or was it? Cleasaí was known to be petty) you had bonded with Cuir’s other half. The mated dragons hadn’t talked since the end of his first year. The first half of being bonded to the notorious green filled with tumultuous arguments that he didn’t know what started from. They had only been recently mated in the last decade from what Cuir told him.

Bodhi swore he did more supply runs for churam than weapons by the end of the year before they went no contact, and just coexisted in the Vale with one another.

He would have preferred that over feeling the wavering aggression through the bond at this very moment.

“Handsome boy,” Ariante cooed, snapping her fingers to get his attention from across the table. Realizing he had zoned out again staring at you, Ridoc clapped him on the back.

“Yeah handsome boy...” he purred mockingly. Bodhi shrugged his hand off quite hastily. He was not in the mood for the second year’s comedic relief…and the overly inebriated physical touch of the counterpart.

Imogen sensed his discomfort by how tense he had looked, his posture usually more lax, or a boyish grin that had been replaced with a grimace. “Gamlyn, go get us some water.” She barked, face set to a hard grimace.

Ridoc with wide eyes in the fear of the short woman, saluted the group before walking off to the bar.

Bodhi reminded himself to thank her later once he was in a better mood. Instead he twisted his face into something that barely showed interest, not like it mattered, the healer was two shits to the wind at this point. Just caring his eyes were on her. Smiling brightly once he turned back to her, even if it was a stoic look he had on.

“I need you to watch as you lose this round.” She giggled, grabbing the cue from her friend’s hand.

The tawny skinned man watched disinterestedly as she made a show of setting her shot up. She swayed her hips to the table, making sure to press her chest down into the polished wood edges so her low cut tank top showed her cleavage as she lined up her shot. She made eye contact with him, offering a seductive wink, before clumsily shooting and completely missing the pocket. If he wasn’t so aggravated, he could have laughed at the scene.

It was Imogen’s turn now, and he subconsciously let his attention wander back to the booth again, noting you were now absent from the table.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but his heart skipped a beat in panic. He scanned the tavern looking for a glimpse of where you could have gone. He could spot you out of a crowd anywhere—from the way you wore your hair to the way you carried yourself.

His brown eyes searched the makeshift dance floor in between tables, the line for the bathroom, the exits of the tavern. The sense of relief when he finally found you should have eased his heart, instead it pounded louder and louder as his vision tunneled. Bodhi’s stomach churned with a burning green feeling, watching you sit at an empty side of the bar with Ridoc, smiling at him as the pair of you talked.

“So yeah, then Imogen told me to grab some water for them, and now I’m here doing that.” Ridoc rambled on about his night. Unbeknownst to him, you had spent the majority of the night meticulously eyeing the group from the booth. But you nodded along, idling swirling your finger along the lip of your cup, letting his word vomit become a white noise in your brain. “Imogen has a scary way of demanding things.”

A smirk had crept onto your face, replacing the frown you wore. Ridoc was always honest, but it was amusing to hear him drunkenly bare his soul at the bar over the silliest details. It had almost been enough to forget the prying animosity that filled your veins.

“Who are you telling? I have known her my whole life.” You reminded him rather distractedly.

Despite talking to him, your attention was still flicking towards the quieter side of the tavern—still invested in the man you’ve been stubbornly hiding your feelings from poorly and the pretty girl that clung to him. The game of billiards was dying down, only her friend and Imogen still playing one another.

Bodhi sat backwards in a chair off to the side, his chest pressed against the back, arms casually draped across the wooden top rail, and head hung low as he sipped from the bottle of ale he had been nursing. Ariante perched in a chair beside him, leaning over into his ear to talk. Her lips mere centimeters from him had your heart thumping so hard that you could hear it in your ears.

“Yeah, but you’re not like her or them in fact.” He shrugged.

That made you turn back to Ridoc, who didn’t realize you were only half heartedly invested in the conversation. Or if he did, he didn’t make it known.

“Like they’re all scary broody motherfuckers, and you're just you. Intimidating sure, but not all broody and aggressive.”

You let out a dry chuckle, “language please, they are my friends.”

He raised his full hands defensively, ignoring the fact he sloshed water all over him. “Sorry. You know what I mean though.”

You leaned your head to the side, a quizzical expression on your features. “Elaborate Gamlyn.”

You might have been aware of what he meant, just for the sake of your entertainment you didn’t mind hearing the inebriated man’s ramble of what he thought. It was the only thing that was keeping the pent up emotions beneath the surface.

“Well, you’re kind of lady-like?” He tested the word then nodding. “Yeah, lady like. Not that they don’t have manners—they have better manners than me, but you’re like a refined woman.” His eyes got big and arms were flailing as he animatedly spoke, water sloshing on him.

“Would you be surprised if I said I had been a lady?” You interrupted his spiel.

“No shit, like tea and biscuits, go for a promenade around the garden kind of lady?” He slurred in disbelief with an attempt of an accent.

The way he had said it made it hard to stifle your laugh. “Dowry to my name and all.” You mocked using a posh accent as well.

He made a strangled noise, as he puffed his cheeks out to prevent laughing. “Shit that was the worst accent I’ve ever heard.”

You tilted your back, laughing loudly as he snorted, unable to contain himself. “Thanks for your honesty, yours was just as awful.” You tried to compose yourself.

“I’m not the one that comes from the Aretian aristocracy though.” He said through a fit of giggles. You scoffed, shoving him slightly, giggling more when you had to grab his arm to keep him from stumbling over.

Once the laughter died down, Ridoc had started to talk your ear off again, but of course your focus went elsewhere. Your breath caught in your throat, the amusement on your face slipping.

Bodhi was shamelessly staring at you when you looked over this time. His eyes dark, and stone faced watching the side you resided on. He tilted his head back, draining the remainder of his drink. You couldn’t help to watch the expanse of his throat as he drank the rest of his drink, watching how his Adam’s Apple bobbed as he did so.

You gulped quietly, suddenly imagining how it would be to nip at the column of his thick neck. If he would squirm under your touch or make any soft noises if you kissed up his jaw…you were just torturing yourself at this point.

He the. swung his leg over his seat, muttering something to the pretty redhead, not waiting for a response as he made his way towards you.

Shit.

You panicked drifting back to the drunk man in front of you.

“So did you have—like—a betrothed before this?” Ridoc asked, rubbing the back of his neck, still oblivious you hadn’t been listening. “Is that why we’ve never seen you hook up with someone?!” He gasped as if he solved the biggest mystery, connecting non existent dots.

You could throttle him, trying not to watch the towering figure approach you.

“No, no, no!” You covered your face in your hands, cheeks flushing. “It never got that far, well there were a few arrangements that never went through.”

“Damn, your parents were slacking.” He scoffed jokingly.

“Ridoc,” you glared at him. Any amusement or relief from Ridoc now gone, hitting a nerve within you. The thought of your late parents always causing an ache in your chest and a knot in your stomach.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,” Bodhi finished for you, coming up right behind him. He jumped, obviously startled by the new presence, and that it was Bodhi nonetheless. But he quickly recovered, turning to the taller man.

“You always jump right in at the most convenient times, handsome boy?” He questioned in a teasing tone. Handsome boy?

Bodhi glowered, stepping closer to your squad mate. “Call me that again—”

“Bo!” A high pitched shrill voice cut him off. It resembled nails on a chalkboard causing you to wince. Ariante appeared from behind Bodhi, a bright bubbly smile as she stumbled around him, grabbing his arm for support. “You didn’t wait for me.” She pouted playfully.

You had to fight the noise of disgust that wanted to escape your lips, but your facial expression gladly showed what you couldn’t verbally. The rational side of you knew you shouldn’t be reacting this way to a girl you’ve never met. You were past the point of rational though.

She then acknowledged you, her eyes a bright teal that sparkled sticking out her manicured hand. “I’m Ariante.”

You subtly glanced at your hands that were unkempt, nails nearly to the nubs with hangnails.

Gods, she really was everything you weren’t even down to the fingers.

You politely stuck your hand out, limply clasping hers. You hoped she wouldn’t feel your calloused fingers or notice how unladylike your hands were compared to hers as you introduced yourself.

“You know Bo?” She mused. Her hold still on him, despite her being perfectly stable. And the way his nickname came out of her mouth, you think you could regurgitate everything you’ve consumed today.

You offered a strained smile. “We grew up together actually.”

“How sweet!” She practically squealed. “I think it’s great how close knit all of you are!”

The tone deaf statement snipped the final straw of your patience and self control. No, you couldn’t let the feelings lay idly underneath any longer.

“I would say we all are,” you nodded. “I guess that’s what happens when all your parents are murdered in front of you.” You said it as if it was the most casual thing to leave your lips. The smile she wore faltered, and you could see Ridoc shove his hands in his pockets, whistling.

“Y/n…” Bodhi warned.

It could be treason speaking so freely of this, you hadn’t cared at the moment.

“What?” You said innocently, brushing off the warning look you know so well. She had started to sputter an apology, but you cut her off. “But how does such a sweet thing like you know Bodhi?” You asked, a smile growing sinisterly.

In your peripheral vision, you see Bodhi’s face pale.

“We’re acquainted.” He quickly answered, getting out of her grip as he reached over and grabbed the water out of Ridoc hands that were nearly empty from him constantly spilling. He gulped the water like a fish needing water, clearly uncomfortable.

“Very acquainted.” She fluttered her lashes towards him, tone suggestive. Brushing off your awkward interaction.

You made a noise of understanding. Everything you thought was confirmed by two words. Your thoughts lingering and spiraling. The idea of Bodhi intertwined with someone else was nauseating…even infuriating. Everything had drowned out by your heartbeat in your ears, Ridocs words were now inaudible, but assuming he was making a joke. Ariante shrilled giggles didn’t even affect you.

Why were you so mad? You had no right, you’ve been so awful to him the last couple of years—there was never a chance for you. Every interaction you two have had was just rekindling your friendship the past week not meaning anything more. Every poke and prod from your group of friends was something they misinterpreted between the two of you. You knew you shouldn’t have thought too hard on their words and jests, but deep down you only felt crushed of the hope there could have been.

Crack. You looked down at your glass that had been in your hand, the glass in between your knuckles nearly crushed.

The group flitted to you and the cup, even some of the surrounding patrons looked towards you warily.

“Are you alright?” Bodhi was the first to speak up.

“Just absolutely peachy.” You murmured, sliding the object towards the other side of the bar.

“Wow, all you riders are so strong.” Ariante laughed nervously. If this could have been any worse, you weren’t sure if you wanted to punch something or cry now.

“Excuse me,” fighting the lump in your throat. Standing up quickly walking towards the nearest exit without a word.

You walked outside, not quite being able to comprehend what just happened in the matter of seconds. Clenching and unclenching your fists, your chest heaving as everything felt as if it was closing in, pacing on the cobblestone outside the tavern. The smell of incoming rain permeating the humid air that blanketed over the quaint town. Usually a smell that eased your mind, was an overbearing semblance to the internal storm inside you.

“Y/n!” Bodhi called out your name, walking out the door you walked out of moments prior. The bass in his voice stoked the fire that formed in the pit of your stomach, ready to burn you from the inside out. Turning on your heel you faced the 6’3 man, brows already furrowed in glaring daggers towards him, chest still heaving erratically unable to control your breaths.

“You need to breathe.” He didn’t let your behavior deter him. His tone smooth and even, several feet away, not meeting your gaze like if he did he would combust into flames from your glare.

You scoffed, “shouldn’t you be inside with Ariante?” Her name dripped off your tongue with venom.

He opened and closed his full lips, setting his hands on his hips; absolutely dumbfounded. “Y/n…” he said through staggered breath. “I came here with you tonight.” He took a few steps towards you cautiously. “I came up to talk to you at the bar, trying to leave her with her friend.” His focus seemed to be on the wall behind you, and not your own eyes as he still walked towards you. “I followed you out here, leaving her in there.” His words slow, as he stepped right in front of you. “Does it look like I give a fuck about her?” He didn’t let you answer.

“Has everything this past year made it look like I give fuck about anyone else, but you?”

Despite the tug in your heart you felt at his words, pulling you out of your blind rage and jealousy for a split second—it was frustrating how he refused to look you in the eyes.

“You were letting her hang all over you tonight, how can I believe that?!” You held your chest with one arm, the other outstretched to the door.

He gave an aggravated shout, lunging and grabbing your arms. You stiffened at his touch, his hands were just as hot as you felt. He seemed to notice as well, flinching at the realization, but his hold stayed secure on you. He leaned down, his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

“If you watched my every move, you would have noticed I wasn’t interested in her. I was only watching you the whole night.” That Gods forsaken deadly calm tone sent a shiver down your spine despite the heat you felt. “Now lift your arms up.” He ordered, the sentence barely above a whisper.

His usual honeyed brown eyes finally locked with yours, dangerously darkened. A silent gasp leaving your mouth agape, unable to pull away from his dark orbs submitting to his quiet demand, your arms rising up slowly.

His rough calloused skin brushing your arms ignited a solely different fire within you as he slid the sweater off your frame. “Fuck, you’re burning up.” He muttered, throwing the sweater on the cobblestone leaving you in the corseted tank top you had on underneath. Lightning flashed in the skyline, thunder following a moment later, and rain started to pour from the clouds moments later. The droplets are warm from the summertime, but still cooler than both your skin, creating a steam that ghosts around the both of you.

“So are you,” you said breathlessly. “Do you have any idea why?” You two were so close your chests brushed together, every time one of you breathed. You anticipated what he would say next, but Bodhi kept quiet, tugging on his lip, seeming to be fighting a battle with himself. He turned away from you, rubbing a hand over his face, looking up at the rain stricken sky.

“You do know don’t you?” You rasped.

“I just want to preface I wanted to tell you—”

‘Don’t. You. Dare. Tawny. One.’ Cleasaí dangerously seethed through your head.

It had been silent on the other side of the bond all night, you tugged the invisible string to her countless times, but no answer. Now she wanted her presence known? Known to someone that couldn’t hear her nonetheless.

‘She deserves to know what you’ve been hiding.’ Bodhi glowered. You were still watching him, and he hadn’t opened his mouth…and he heard your dragon?

A new deep sophisticated tone entered your mind, ‘Cleasaí the inevitable is going to happen—‘ Cuir?

‘That I’ll find out?’ You stood in that mental art studio you were taught to use as your source for grounding. The door wide open letting in the thoughts and voices that freely flew through your mental guards. That one invisible string that led to the door seemed to have an added two now.

“Shit,” Bodhi hissed.

“How long?” You gritted your teeth, focusing on the man in front of you. He stayed quiet. “How long did you know?” You repeated louder.

He looked at the ground, “since my threshing.”

You tensed, how come he knew, but you had been clueless this whole time?

‘It’s not ideal to have one rider running from the other while their supposed mated dragons aren’t even on speaking terms.’ Cuir explained.

You fought the tears that lined your eyes, ‘he gets to know, while I’m left in the dark?!’

‘That was for Cleasaí to tell you, my rider had no choice to listen to us dragonkind.’ Cuir explained with a steeliness.

‘And I told her I would tell her in due time.’ Cleasaí chuffed in the corners of your mind.

It felt crowded in your brain, two additional voices, on top of your grappling emotions. You inhaled deeply, blinking tears away furiously.

“Y/n,” Bodhi came towards you. “I wanted to tell you.”

“When was I going to be told?” You snapped. “When you graduate?!” A couple tears now silently slip down your cheeks.

You didn’t know where to point the frustration at. Cleasaí should have told you it was her responsibility, but if Bodhi wanted to talk to you so badly that would have been the topic to start with.

“Our luck would be they would stick you in Samara like Xaden!” You shouted.

“When was I supposed to tell you? When you were running the other direction?! Or would you have preferred a note during Battle Brief only for you to go into a volatile meltdown?” He argued.

You laughed harshly, “I would have not—”

“Oh yes you would have.” Bodhi rolled his eyes. “That’s why Xaden warned me not to.”

Your eyes widened, “Xaden knew?”

‘Why wouldn’t the Wingleader know?’ Cleasaí snorted humorlessly.

‘I don’t want to hear it from you.’ You growled shutting the mental shield up from her and hopefully Cuir. You didn’t know how this all worked.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “He’s known since before you even crossed the parapet.”

“Does anyone else know?” You crossed your arms.

“Assumedly Violet, but no one else.”

Your eyes narrowed, she seemed to know everything didn’t she?

You grew quiet, mulling over everything as the rain was the only sound that filled the streets. You felt betrayed, not only by the creature that put their faith into you and vice versa, but by the man you had grown to love. Was that why you had felt like your irritation was an out of body experience earlier?

“Why do you think I have a churam dependency?” Bodhi bit the corner of his thumb, looking at you.

“Can you get out of my mind?” You frowned, picking the soggy sweater up off the cobblestone. You sniffled, wiping your face, before proceeding to walk towards Basgiath, wanting to get out of the vicinity of him. To think you could have died without even knowing… what would have happened to the dragons—yet worse—him? You didn’t even want to ponder over the details that entailed that yet.

“Trust me I’m not trying, but your thoughts are so fucking loud.” He muttered, following you.

“Then can you not follow me?” You turned, walking backwards wiping wet hair out of your face. The sting in your eyes is almost blinding from fighting the glaze of tears.

“It’s not safe to walk by yourself this time at night.” He said as if it was obvious.

“I’ll be fine,” you tried to reassure as you slipped the dagger out of your top, you tucked between your breasts when getting ready.

“You’ve been drinking, Y/n. That’s not going to do shit.” He tried to catch up to you, but you were a step ahead, even walking backwards.

“I feel stone cold sober at this moment.” You half lied, quickly turning back around, putting the dagger back where you kept it. You didn’t want him to see how your lip trembled, and you were ready to break. That was the last thing you needed was to have a ‘volatile meltdown’ in front of him. Though that’s what this whole night felt like, a tantrum of a fever dream.

You two came to a fork in the path that led to Basgiath from Chantara. You may have forgotten which path you took earlier in the night. So you hoped as you veered left, you would be going the right way, anything to just get away.

But his hand caught your arm, pulling you around to face him.

“I just got you back, I’m not letting you just be barely out of my reach again.” He seethed, his grip firm, but gentle. His touch was still blistering against your own skin.

“I’m not doing it, Y/n. I’ve already spent years running for you when you just kept running backwards for whatever reason!”

The tears had silently begun to fall again down your cheeks, this time unable to stop. “Do you want the reason, Bodhi?” You could feel yourself start to shake as the words left your mouth. “Because I love you!” You finally admitted, the confession a hushed whisper.

You watched with tears flowing freely as he staggered back a couple steps at what you said. He remained quiet as you continued. “I was never meant to love someone freely. And everyone I loved left—”

Your declaration is cut off by his lips smashing to yours. A primal fiery heat as your lips connected, his hands cupping your jaw, your lips melted with his realizing he was kissing you. The taste of the saltiness from your tears mixed with the essence of alcohol on both your lips was dizzying.

This was everything you could have imagined and more since you were a young woman. Everything you wanted the past five years. You felt his thumbs brush underneath your chin as you relished the feeling as you continued to kiss him with a fervor you never experienced. Your hands sliding up his chest around the back of his neck, gripping on his wet dark curls you’ve always admired. A soft sigh left his lips, and it was a noise you could listen to forever, but of course your thoughts spiraled.

A much more important secret was withheld from you, not only by him, but Cleasaí. A petty love confession that you withheld as a way to protect yourself and what you thought would protect him, when the secret of bonded dragons affected four beings outweighed it all. Whether it was his choice or not.

You pulled away abruptly. “I-I can’t.” You said, feeling your own heart break.

“What do you mean you can’t?” He sputtered, confused.

“Me professing my love doesn’t change any of the circumstances.” You shook your head, letting go of him reluctantly. “If anything it only adds to the risk of this whole situation.”

You needed to think about everything thoroughly, and away from him. If not, you might not think straight. You had to go.

“Y/n,” Bodhi pleaded desperately. He watched you turn and make your way back to the war college. You ignored him, even when your bones itched to turn and run back into his arms. “Do my feelings mean nothing to you?!” He shouted, standing where you left him.

Your steps faltered, and that break you felt in your chest worsened. You turned, with a strained smile on your face through your tears.

“They do, more than you could ever realize.”

Y/n is definitely Violet coded I’m sorry 😅 and the y/n lore will thicken in part 5 hehe

Thank you sm for the comments and support, it means a lot to have people that actually enjoy what I put out and try to have patience for my posting inconsistency!! I love talking with you all about it and hearing your conspiracies through out the whole series. I think there will be 2-3 more part before I finish and move on to my next ventures, but as always like, reblogs, and comments are appreciated 🫶🏻🫶🏻

#bodhi durran x reader #bodhi durran #bodhi durran fanfic #fourth wing fanfic #iron flame fic #bodhi fourth wing #fourth wing bodhi #iron flame fanfiction #shit at feelings fic #Bodhi Durran x y/n #Bodhi Durran reader insert #bodhi durran fic #bodhi durran smut #bodhi fic #bodhi durran imagine #fourth wing fanfiction #iron flame fanfic

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luniellar · 10 months ago

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Breathe Me (Garrick Tavis X OC/Reader) - Chapter 2 - The Empyrean Series Fanfiction

When Xaden Riorson and Garrick Tavis arrive at Samara, they are forced to prove themselves all over again. When Xaden heads off to see Violet at Basgiath since their dragons are mated, Garrick finds himself alone in this unfamiliar area trying to get his name established navigating fights and ambushes. He owed his life to the man.

One particular night when Xaden leaves for Basgiath, Garrick finds himself with a new company. One who starts turning his world upside down and giving him something, that isn't just the Xaden and rebellion, to fight for. ______________________________________

All rights to Rebecca Yarros for her original work and original characters. My scenes and characters are my own. ______________________________________

Contains: Iron Flame Spoilers Warnings: Language

Chapters: 1 | 2

Read on AO3 | Wattpad

Author Note: As I'm writing this (February 2024), Garrick's signet is not revealed in Iron Flame. For this story, I followed my theory about Garrick's signet which is Near Sight (opposite of Liam's Far Sight). Near sight can easily recognize emotion changes, whatever emotion someone displays Garrick will pick up. This also relates to his dragon (Chradh) who is able to locate certain objects and is sensitive to runes. Garrick uses this to quickly learn who is trustworthy and gain information about people's true intentions making him a strong asset and an exceptional fighter.

Chapter 2: The Feelings

< Garrick Tavis >

The sun from the morning was nowhere to be found and the clouds were looking seriously ominous today. Temperamental like this guy, I glanced over at Xaden and his expressionless face from the hard floor of the outdoor sparring field. Something was definitely on his mind. My first guess would be Violet related.

I welcomed the breeze against my shirtless, overheating body as my mind wandered off to what Lei was up to. Her smile from the morning flashed across my mind and I exhaled. Maybe it was her hair? I knew that most female riders kept their hair short, braided, or tied up to keep it from getting caught, but Lei’s ponytail was long enough and always swaying from side to side, like it was tempting me to grab. Oh gods, I shouldn’t have thought that.

From the side, Xaden threw a clean towel that landed directly on my face, dragging me out of my thoughts. Right, this was supposed to be a quick break before another set. “Thanks,” I muttered as I grabbed it and wiped the dripping sweat across my face.

“Riorson!” A familiar voice called out, full of disgust with each syllable. Tightening my core, I peeled my upper body off the mat and saw that bitch from last night. Fuck, what was his name again?

Lei’s sharp, venomous tone saying his name last night replayed in my mind. “Move along, Pratt.”

Oh yeah, Pratt.

I looked up to see Xaden turned towards him with a blank face across the field. He didn’t answer, he just stared. Then a second later, Xaden looked over at me and was that worry that just flashed across his face? Pressing his lips together, he looked towards Pratt’s direction again.

Did Xaden know Pratt? Maybe he was an old friend? I could see the gears turning in his head staring at the blonde boy.

“Where the fuck were you last night?” Pratt shouted.

I scoffed and shouted back at him. He didn’t even have the courage to walk closer to us. “Damn, Pratt. I don’t think you wanted an audience to witness your ass getting whooped.”

“I would keep your thoughts to yourself if I were you,” Pratt said my name in the same disgust he did with Xaden’s. “Your days at Samara are getting shorter with each word.” What the fuck was his deal?

Before I could quip back, Pratt looked directly at me. “Oh and leave Lei alone. She isn’t into dirty traitors like you two.” Pratt walked off with his “friends” trailing behind him. Two of the guys behind him moved with uncomfort and I could immediately identify they were the same boys from last night.

“Watch your back, Garrick. He plays dirty.” Xaden replied. From the tone of his voice I knew that it wasn’t a guess, it was a statement.

“Good, I like it dirty anyways.” I muttered back, my body making a dense thud against the hard floor surface as I dropped in exhaustion.

✦ ✦ ✦

Xaden and I managed to keep the score even until the very end. Maybe it was the years of training we did together and how we knew each other better than we knew ourselves? Every move I threw at the guy, he managed to block. Thanks to my signet I was able to see the way his eyes moved before a punch or a jab and countered each step. But, he was still able to get a good punch on my jaw right when my mind was starting to wander off.

Chradh loved reminding me how I should be paying attention whenever Xaden broke through my concentration like that.

“Lei! Can you help?” A voice called out on our way to the showers and my head immediately turned. I scanned the fields until I saw Lei running over to another rider with short blonde hair reaching down to pick up buckets off the floor. I made eye contact with the blonde rider’s green eyes. Her eyes widened and immediately tilted her head up at Lei, her eyes moving in my direction. She clearly knew me, but I didn’t know her. Shortly after Lei turned in my direction.

Her shiny, dark as night ponytail tossed above her shoulders. The shorter strands of hair fell into place, framing around her round rosy cheeks. I couldn’t turn my eyes away from her as I stood there watching. The short haired rider said something to Lei and after a quick nod, Lei jogged over.

“Hey! Do you have an outpost shift tonight?” She asked when she reached me. Her scent filled the space between us. I held my breath knowing that I could just drink her up.

I nodded. “It’s mine this time around.”

“Great,” she gave me a gentle smile. She opened her mouth to say something, but glanced behind her looking back at the green eyed rider who was struggling to carry two buckets in each hand. “Oh gosh, Iris! Wait!” Lei turned to me. “I’ll catch you later, okay?”

Before I could reply, she turned and jogged back. I felt a hand hit my bare back.

“Do me a favor and remember to breathe,” Xaden sighed, walking ahead of me.

✦ ✦ ✦

Fuck, this outpost was so small. The moment I showed up for the shift, Lei was already in here marinating every corner of this space with her delicious scent. Thank gods there was a breeze blowing tonight circulating the air around us. Her warm vanilla scent stirred around me. I’ll need to ask Xaden about an olfactory dampening rune next week.

That’s going to be a fun conversation. Chradh said amusingly.

The conversation started with us catching up on what we did during the day. I learned that Iris, the short haired blonde who I briefly saw earlier today, was her closest friend here. I told her about Xaden and the bond we shared for many years. You would have to be blind to not see our rebellion relics. So I told her what I could without bringing up Aretia or the impeding doom Xaden carried on his shoulders. Lei carefully watched my expressions, smiling and encouraging when appropriate, She always made she didn’t step outside her boundaries.

I asked about her signet and she told me that it was a form of distance wielding. She wasn’t sure if she could do long distance wielding because her power burns out when channeled for a long time. It surged quickly in powerful consecutive bursts. When mentors said she drew the short end of the stick, she learned to hone the power to her advantage. She could shorten distances so fast that it gives off the illusion that she was teleporting in short distance increments. They must have had their head stuck up in their ass not to see how lethal she could be.

For the most part, it sounded like she trained on her own. Last year was when she learned that she could travel more than just her surrounding areas only if she could paint in her mind where exactly she needed to go. I made a mental note to ask her if she wants to join us on a sparring session one day. She had so much potential in that small body of hers and I wanted to see more.

Near the end of our shift, I built up courage to ask her. “Um,” I started. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“What’s on your mind, Garrick?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side.

“How does someone like you end up knowing a guy like Pratt anyways?” I asked cautiously. I watched her gentle smile drain from her face, like a sad memory was dragging her back down. Her blue irises trembled with hesitation as she held my gaze.

“We were engaged,” she started, looking ahead at the mountains. “We met as a part of a political alliance. I don’t come from wealth or power, Garrick. I come from a small, insignificant island in the Emerald Sea.” She lowered her head.

Like Xaden and Cat. Power was never something I craved. Sure, I saw the allure of it. But when you watched public executions of hundreds, including your family, for challenging power, you learn survival is more important. You do everything you can do to survive. You survive to remember each name, each story, and each face as a big fuck you. Maybe I was like Lei, I just didn’t like bullies.

One of the many reasons I chose you, Big One. Chradh echoed with pride in my mind.

Lei let out a soft exhale. “When I was 10, my father realized that the island resources were finite and started inviting aristocrats from the Continent to create trade routes. Pratt’s family was the first to visit. Within days of them leaving, his family made us an offer for an arranged betrothal under the condition that I survive the Threshing when I turned 20.”

“Threshing?” My voice rose in anger and my hands curled into fists. “Lei, you could have died! Did your family know how dangerous that was?! Pratt gave you a fucking death sentence!” I broke my composure. Why was I so angry?

She laughed a short, gentle laughter turning back to me. “Honestly, no. No one knew about the Threshing where I was from. Riders and dragons were stories that I only heard from elders in the island when I was growing up. Myths and legends with heroes, not a girl from an island somewhere.” She paused, muscles around her eyes tenses and her eyes were focused like she was calling for Cosheirm in her mind.

I watched as she found her peace again. Cosherirm, the word for harmony. Lei found her harmony through Cosheirm. Her pale skin against the stark contrast of her dark as night hair. She was beautiful.

“But Garrick, if I was given the decision again knowing what I know, I will always take the path to Cosheirm. Even if I wasn’t guaranteed that Cosheirm would choose me again.” Her determination was so strong that I could see an aura of confidence cloaked her body like a glowing shield. She was glowing.

“Lei,” I started and she got up from her wooden seat.

There were sounds of footsteps coming from the outside. “It looks like the next patrols will be coming soon. Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

✦ ✦ ✦

"You have to admit. If this walking to my bedroom becomes a regular occurrence, people are going to start talking." I said as we headed toward my barrack for a second night in a row.

"You need to check that masculinity, Garrick. I can help if you need more practice getting down on your knees again," she shrugged.

Oh, we were on a joking basis now.

"Hey, I'm not complaining. I've done it plenty of times, the whole escorting and getting on the knee thing... for other reasons," I glanced down to be greeted by her rosy cheeks. "I was just saying that I could get used to this."

It was Lei's looked flustered as she cleared her throat. "Anyone who sees us is going to think you're taking me to your room. We can stick to that story if you're worried about what people say. Deal?"

"Oh, I give zero shits about what anyone thinks about me, Lei. I just didn't know that was what you wanted others to think about us," I teased.

An audible groan came from Lei. "Garrick, you're impossible."

✦ ✦ ✦

Wake, Big One.

I rolled over in my bed, my eyes still closed. What’s wrong, Chradh?

I sense something unfamiliar in the south clearing of outside of Samara. In the pit of stomach, I felt it too. I’ve felt this before.

Before Chradh could finish, my body was already up. I quickly got dressed and strapped on my rider leather. I walked over to the doorway and grabbed the two swords propped against my desk. In the same motion I’ve been doing for years, I crossed them on my back.

Wyverns. And I sense a venin, Big One.

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audreyclimbs · 2 months ago

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about me!

Quick links:

masterlist

taglist form

Hi everyone! I’ve had tumblr for ages and have only just decided to get back into writing (after a three year hiatus oop). Here are some quick facts about me:

I’m Audrey, I’m 19 years old (she/her, bi)

Fluent in English and Spanish

American college student, studying nursing

Lover of: taylor swift, God, marvel, hotd, noah kahan, daredevil, fourth wing, science, hozier, mythology, working out, grishaverse, acotar

Hater of: bigotry 😚

New member of the Matt Murdock Tuna Team!

I’d love to start taking requests, so even if you don’t see your fandom mentioned in my “lover of” category, feel free to drop an ask and I’ll get back to you asap!!

MDNI: there will eventually be 18+ nsfw content on this blog, so I will make sure to mark mdni posts! I will not be held responsible if any of yall choose to ignore that warning 😀🤚🏼

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azrielsreign · 10 months ago

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Reign’s Fandom List

A/N: Hello my darlings ☆ These are all the fandoms I’m currently writing for! Assume I write for all characters unless said otherwise, and if you’re unsure don’t be afraid to ask. I will update the character lists here as I post 💙

Requests: I’m a mood writer (ik…sue me) so feel free to send in requests but they might take a while to be posted if I’m working on other projects. I write any genere (give me all the smut) 🫣

Key: Smut - 💋, Fluff - ☁️, Angst - 🥀

~₊✧₊˚: *☆~ •.☆*.•~ ✧₊ ~₊✧₊˚: *☆~ •.☆*.•~ ✧₊ ~₊✧₊˚: .*~.

Acotar:

Fourth Wing:

Haunting Adeline:

Baldur’s Gate 3:

Marvel:

Bridgerton:

Harry Potter:

TVD:

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immeasurablesaladagere · 3 months ago

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can we pleaseeee get a house or wilson taking care of a regressing reader?? idc scenarios i just neeed more of them taking care of me mngff…

Here you go :) I don't usually write reader inserts and was going back and fourth on what thing to use for the reader, whether it be Y/N or Traveller or something, which I've seen in other works. I went with They/Them Y/N in this to make it as neutral as possible!

-----

Word Count: 1054

Summery: House and Wilson take a regressed reader to the park.

-----

“Are you ready to go, Y/N?” Wilson asked from the kitchen where he was packing all the snacks you were going to need into the bag.

“Yep!” You called back, tugging on your velcro sneakers and fastening them tight. That way, they wouldn’t fall off when you were running around the park.

House staggered up behind you and watched you rush to get ready with a smirk. “Very excited to see the ducks, huh?”

You nodded. “Mhm! Do you think there’s gonna be any baby ones?” The baby ones were the cutest. You wished that people were allowed to pick them up and hold them, but there were a bunch of signs at the park telling everyone not to bother the birds.

Wilson came into the front hall with the packed bag and put on his shoes. “Probably! It’s right around that time, so I’m sure there’ll be some.” He turned to House, “Are you sure you’re good to come along? It’s going to be a lot of walking.”

House waved him off. “Don’t worry, I’ve already taken a bunch of, uh— candy, I’ll be fine.”

You got to your feet and bounced up and down on your heels. “Can we go now? Please?”

“You heard them, Wilson! The park awaits.”

The car ride to the park felt like it took forever. You jumped out of the car and impatiently waited for Wilson and House to get out too. “Come on! I wanna see the duckies!”

Wilson chuckled. “I know. Come hold my hand while we walk, okay?”

You whined. It was gonna be so much slower that way! You weren’t gonna run off!

“I know, but we have to walk with House, remember?”

House scoffed. “Oh, let the kid run. Just stay where we can see you and don’t go drowning in the pond, got it?”

“Okay!” You didn’t want to leave them behind completely, so you just walked a little bit ahead of them. Besides, Wilson had the snacks for the ducks, so you were gonna have to wait for him anyway. But once you saw the pond, all of that went out the window. You could already see a family of duckies swimming in the middle of the pond, and you ran over to the shore where there were a few picnic tables shaded by the trees.

“Look!” You yelled out to your caregivers as the caught up, “Ducks!”

“Look at that! Do you want to feed them?” Wilson set the bag on the table and pulled out a container of bird seed and oats and gave it to you. “Just small handfuls at a time.”

You took the cup of seeds and tossed a handful towards the ducks, cooing with delight as they noticed the food and began eating it. You turned to Wilson, “Can we feed the duckies other stuff? Like our sandwiches? I wanna share with ‘em.”

House shook his head. “Nope. Bread isn’t good for ducks, it makes them sick. Only we get to have the fun stuff.”

“Oh. Okay.” You thought lots of people fed ducks bread, but if House said it was bad for them then he was probably right. You threw in another handful, closer this time, and the ducks followed it. An idea popped into your head. Maybe you could get them to eat out of your hands! You kept throwing food, closer and closer, until the mama duck and her babies were very close, then put a small pile of it into your hand and offered it out to one of the ducklings.

It hesitantly swam towards your outstretched hand, and just as it was about to nibble the seeds, the mama duck hissed loudly and flapped her wings at you. “Ah!” You fell backwards and shuffled away from the shore, and watched sadly as the duckies quickly swam away.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” Wilson crouched by your side and began checking over your hands, “Did the duck bite you?”

“No…” You said. The mama duck had just scared you. “Why did she get mad at me? I was just trying to feed them! I was being nice!”

Wilson sighed. “She probably didn’t know that, she just wanted to protect her babies. You probably look pretty big and scary to her.”

“Oh…” You looked out at the ducks, which had gone to the other end of the pond. “Sorry mama duck!” You apologized. Hopefully she knew you weren’t trying to hurt her babies.

“Why don’t we have our lunch now?”

You let Wilson pull you up and sat down at the picnic table where the plastic Tupperware of sandwiches and fruit were set out. House had already taken half of the ham and cheese, so you took a triangle before he could eat them all, and one butter and jelly. You ate them quickly. Wilson made the best sandwiches. You thought House’s were okay, but somehow Wilson just made them better.

“Kid, you’ve got jam on your face.” House pointed to your chin.

You used you sleeve to try to wipe it off.

“No, to the left.”

You tried again.

“Just— here.” He grabbed a napkin from the bag and reached across the table to wipe it off for you.

“Thank you!” You said politely. Sandwiches finished, Wilson began to pack up the dishes and you looked around for something fun to do next. Then, out of the corner of your eye you spotted it; the bright neon colours of an ice cream truck parked alongside the walking path. You gasped and grabbed Wilson’s sleeve. “Look! There’s an ice cream truck over there! Can we get some, pleasssee?”

House and Wilson shared a look.

“…Well, we have ice cream at home already, so—“ Wilson started, but House quickly cut him off.

“So Wilson can have that, and we’ll go get the fun stuff. Come on.” He got up and waved for you to follow, and you eagerly did, abandoning Wilson at the picnic table.

“Hey!”

You turned to look back hesitantly as Wilson scrambled to pack up all of your things to follow. You didn’t want to leave him behind! “Should we—“

But House just nudged you along. “He’ll catch up. He’s been practicing, he’s almost as fast as me now.” He joked, and you giggled. Sure enough, Wilson was catching up quickly. “So, what flavour are we thinking?”

#sfw age regression #sfw agere #agere blog #age regression #fandom agere #house md agere #house md #fanfic #gregory house #james wilson #reader insert

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ryuzakemo128 · 2 months ago

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Behold A Pale Horse

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x female reader/ you

Content Warning: Kyle Gaz Garrick the son of a billionaire from generations of old money, mental health issues touched on and briefly explored, philosophy explored to an extent, therapist and therapy session briefly inserted. Y/N is not metioned. Reader is called nicknames like: Firecracker.

Words: 5374

Masterlist

Credit for Dividers: @strangergraphics

Note: Italic writing are your thoughts are. In the case, I might need to tell you before you go ahead and decide to read this.

Note 2: Listening to Moonlight Sonata 1st movement is reccommended in my opinion. But any kind of classical music will fit as well.

Summary: You drape the black shirt over your body like a satin cloak owned by the angel of death and cut from the wings of the fourth horseman of the apocalypse, named Death.

You frowned as you looked at your paycheck, you didn’t know what to think of it. You weren’t used to having a large amount of money. Seventeen thousand pounds for the past month. It wasn’t something you felt like you could get used to anytime soon. You didn’t want to receive the pity of others.

You would rather die than receive the pity of others. Trust no one. Not even the people who call themselves your friend.

Do not mistake their kindness for affection. Show them nothing. Give them nothing.

You drape the black shirt over your body like a satin cloak owned by the angel of death and cut from the wings of the fourth horseman of the apocalypse, named Death.

A loud voice said, come and see. Behold a pale horse. The man that sat upon his steed was death, and hell followed him like a strong stench.

You had seen enough of death to know that the voice was a mere echo of your own thoughts. Taken the name of the Grim Reaper as it was yours to keep close to your heart and soul.

You didn’t care if it was never yours to have in the same sense of those of ‘the faith’. But what they wanted didn’t matter to you.

What you needed was far more substantial, in terms of ‘soul-searching’ and finding yourself all over again. What the fuck does finding ‘your truth’ mean, anyway? It sounds more like an excuse to spend frivolous amounts of money on a useless life coach they don’t need.

You had seen the horrors of war. The screams of the innocent, the smell of burning flesh, the cold touch of death, it all clung to you like a second skin. A reminder of what you had done. What you have been a part of and still work in, manners of death.

You might as well become the fourth horseman of the apocalypse at this stage of your life with all the lives you have taken by your own hand or by the hand of fate, which you had a say in.

The voice, it was, persistent, whispering sweet nothings of destruction into your ears, guiding you through the fog of war like a siren's call leading sailors to their watery graves.

My hands are covered in a sea of blood I will never wash away. Some nights I wake screaming, thinking I’m back there in the middle of the bodies of the people I have given the death sentence to.

I do not wish to be there again.

Ever.

Yet every night I am all the way back.

Over and over again. I see each of their faces painted, tattooed into my subconscious.

I want them to leave. Not only that, but I tell them to leave.

Yet they never seem to listen to me.

As if all I say is empowering them to remain in my mind.

Religion cannot save me.

Therapy is the route I have not taken seriously as of late. It is a sign.

I will go upon this path. Before hell itself consumes my soul.

Father, have I done the right thing?

Mother, are you ashamed of what I have unleashed?

I have created many men and women widows.

Created many children into a mass of orphans.

Yet the superiors of mine clap my shoulder and congratulate me as if I had done the greatest deed man could ever accomplish.

To me? It is the greatest burden I have dealt with.

The weight of their lives on my shoulders, a heavy crown of thorns digging deep into my skin. But I wear it, for the sake of what? The country? The queen? Or the fear that I might just be a monster in the eyes of society.

Yet nothing I could have done while you were alive would have been good enough for either of you.

The push to succeed, much like my older brothers before me. You neglected what I wanted in service to your own needs.

To your own wants and desires. Inside layers of a play written by William Shakespeare.

One where everyone has their part but me. One where everyone knows what their part entails and the consequences that come with it.

But I don't. I am the puppeteer whose strings are tangled, and the puppet is dancing to a tune I never knew.

But you can’t force people to like you. To love you. To adore you.

You cannot force people to do anything.

A dance where everyone expects you to know all the steps of once you have reached a certain point in your life.

“Dr. Stone. I was sincere in hoping therapy might unearth a lot of my….emotional baggage.” You told your doctor.

Your black skirt feeling more like a twisted contraption you were dying to take off by the time you were done in the doctor's office.

Her eyes were kind, understanding, a tad bit pitying. The kind of pity which always seem to make you want to scream. She nodded gently, her long platinum blonde hair brushing past her shoulders.

“It’s okay. Your feelings are valid. The first step is acknowledging that you need help.”

You always had ADHD, but your father didn’t believe it was a cause for alarm. Telling you, it was a hoax from ‘big pharma’ to get people to spend more on medication than to actually help people.

You felt like a burden. A failure. Especially when you were diagnosed with it at seven years old. He would yell at you, scream at you, tell you that you were just being lazy and that you needed to pay more attention.

How could you when everything was a blur of colours and sounds and words didn’t make sense?

When you were diagnosed with psychosis depression, in conjuncture of Synaesthesia and sensory processing disorder, it was like a sledgehammer to your already fragile sense of self. You felt like you were drowning in a sea of emotions and stimuli, with no one to throw you a lifeline.

Your father's dismissal of your struggles only served to fuel the fire of your isolation. You had always felt like an outsider in your own family, and now you had scientific evidence to prove it.

What good was evidence when the people who were supposed to support you didn’t believe in it?

A support system that couldn’t be bothered to support you. So, you learn to pickpocket from wealthy strangers in order to get the money you need for school supplies and food to eat during the school day. Lest your parents get a phone call from the school’s administrator to the child protective services.

The last thing you needed was to be taken from your home and placed somewhere else.

Keeping a sharp knife in your hoodie’s pocket, a silent reminder of what you were capable of unleashing unto others if you were given no other choice but to defend yourself.

“Cos I'm th' one gettin' in'a more fights than thee.” You reminded him with an eyebrow raised at him.

He chuckled before his expression grew serious. “Remember, it’s not for fights. It’s for when things get really bad. You're smarter than me, you’re smarter than all of us. Use it wisely.”

“Ta.” you muttered sheepishly in a bashful thanks.

It’s a long memory from years ago. Now, he is a married man with three daughters of his own, still living back in Yorkshire. After your father decided it was for the best that your brother, Caiden, had taken over the family farm. Leaving you to fend for yourself in the city with an alcoholic of a father who couldn’t even bother to remember your birthday.

You didn’t want to think what kind of desperation your mother would have needed to go through to leave you behind and cheat on your father repeatedly. Though, you know for a fact she didn’t care much about you or your older siblings, either. At least it was what your father drilled into you since you were sent off into the military at sixteen years old.

This is the least of your worries now.

The military charity dinner held by those in a level of wealth you were given the privilege to gawk at. Gaze upon in a hopeless wonder of knowing you were deemed less than in the grand scheme of the capitalist agenda.

“I don't know whether to be insulted at the gesture or wonder why they couldn't get someone else to attend in my place.” You told her as you stared at the window past her into the light grey cloudy sky.

“I could, no, I would be back there on the coastal shores in a heartbeat if they said they found someone else.” You continued to stare past her.

“I could be fishing for hours out there, and I wouldn’t have a care in the world.” You mentioned your diet of fresh fish, crab and the odd catfish if you were lucky enough to catch one.

Dr Stone nodded, scribbling notes on her clipboard, her pen moving swiftly, gliding across the page like an ice skater. As she processed your words.

“It’s important to find healthy ways to cope with your past traumas and the stress of your current job. Is there something you’ve always wanted to do, a hobby perhaps, that could help you find some peace?”

“I do MMA, Kickboxing, Axe-throwing, Javelin. I’m always studying anything to do with Electrical engineering. Even though I have doctorate now.”

“I haven’t found a reason to do much else other than fish as soon as I’m on leave. I leave out crab nets to catch crabs overnight. Primrose Valley is peaceful enough for someone who doesn't need much of anything.”

The doctor nodded, her gaze never leaving yours. “But what about something more…social? Something that doesn’t involve you being alone with your thoughts?”

“I don’t venture out much. I visit London for a two week vacation every three months. I come out more often if I need to get more clothes, shoes and tech for my workstation in my office.” You answered.

“My older brother said this military function was likely an excuse to parade around a poster child of a poor sod, a poverty-stricken soul who crawled her way to Colonel without wealth to back her up.” You mentioned.

Dr. Stone put her clipboard down and leaned slightly forward, her eyes searching yours. “And how does that make you feel?”

“One. It feels too convenient for him to say it. Two. I don’t know what to feel about it. Suspicious at the timing. But grateful for the opportunity at the same time.” You answered.

“I’m sorry for being so blunt, but I need to know where you’re coming from to help you better. How do you feel when you’re around others at these events?” She asked gently.

“I would have been offended if you weren’t blunt. It feels convenient they chose this time of year to do it. They could have chosen any other time of the year. But for some reason now felt like the ‘right time’. I feel like a zoo animal on display for them to gawk at and whisper about. Like they’re all expecting me to break down and show them the horrors of war. Like that’s what they want to see. That’s what makes them feel alive. That’s what makes them feel like they’re doing something noble by pitying me. Though, what is the use of pity now?”

You sigh heavily, feeling the weight of your words. “I feel like a fraud. Like I’m wearing a mask. A mask of success, of bravery, of strength. But underneath, I’m just a scared little girl who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing in a room full of lions dressed as sheep.”

Dr. Stone nods thoughtfully. “It’s normal to feel out of place in such situations. The military has its own culture, and transitioning to civilian life can be challenging, especially when you’re thrust into the spotlight like this. But remember, you earned your rank through hard work and sacrifice. You’re not just a story for them to tell. You’re a person with feelings and experiences that have shaped you into who you are today. It’s okay to set boundaries and to choose how much you wish to share with them. They may not understand, but that’s their problem, not yours.”

“Progress without work is not real progress.” you responded remembering the first session with her.

“How about trying to find someone to talk to at the dinner tonight? Maybe someone who you can connect with on a deeper level, someone who won’t see you as a charity case or a trophy, but as a human being with a story to tell.” Dr. Stone suggested, her voice a gentle nudge towards the social horizon you had long avoided.

“Only one way to find out right?” you sighed thinking of it.

The military charity dinner was held in a grand ballroom, the kind you only saw in movies. Chandeliers sparkled like diamonds hanging from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden light on the marble floor.

The walls were lined with portraits of important figures, their stern faces watching over the event like guardians of the past. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the murmur of polite conversations.

You felt more like you were going through an outer body experience than actually attending the dinner. The room was filled with the who's who of society.

All dressed in their finest attire. The clinking of silverware and the soft laughter echoed around you.

A stark contrast to the chaos you were used to in the battlefield. You wore a sleek black dress that hugged your toned body. The fabric whispering against your skin as you moved.

It was a stark reminder of the armor you once wore. The one that actually kept you safe.

Looking for a seat painted. Coated. Dyed. Twisted inside the depths of both darkness and shadow.

The dinner was a masquerade ball of sorts, the kind where everyone wore their masks of charity and compassion while their true faces remained hidden behind a veil of wealth and privilege.

You walked through the crowd, the heels of your black stilettos clicking against the marble like the ticking of a time bomb, drawing glances that ranged from curious to pitying.

You felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing, armed with your sharp wit and the stories no one genuinely wanted to hear.

You were sipping on a potent amber liquid in the corner out of the view of those who would rather pity you from afar than muster the courage to speak to you.

The gentle tapping upon your shoulder you were determined to ignore. Yet as you pretended to ignore them as if they were not quite there. A deep voice, the accent of the queen’s English breaking through his lips as if they parted in gentle parting waves rather than words.

“Excuse me, colonel, if I may, your presence here is quite the talking point.”

“I suppose it would be. Most oddities of the norm are spoken of. Are they not? Those who do not fit within usually stand out as clear as daylight or a black sheep born from white.” You responded fixing the leather gloves enclosing your hands from view.

He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that seemed to fill the empty spaces in the room. “I suppose that’s true. But you, Colonel, you’re more like a diamond in the rough, aren’t you? Shimmering brilliantly amidst the coal of our mundane existence.”

“I find the apt description of a black sheep more befitting. A black sheep need not take dye to turn into a different colour, it is simply born that way. Wool worth more because it doesn't need to change into a different shade. It is just as it is meant to be but is often discarded for not fitting in with the flock.” You replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

“I’m Kyle Garrick. But you can call me Gaz. I’ve heard quite the tales of your valour, Colonel.” He extended a hand, his grip firm but not overpowering, a sign of respect.

“Of that I have no doubt.” You took his hand and shook it firmly, looking into his eyes without blinking, as if to prove that you were not intimidated by his status. “Tales are often exaggerated to suit the teller’s needs. And I suspect that in this room, the truth is as elusive as a mirage in the desert of deception.”

Gaz chuckled again, his smile genuine. “Fair point. But I’ve seen enough of the world to know that true grit isn’t something that can be faked. So, tell me, Colonel, what brings a diamond in the rough to an event like this?”

“Other than being invited to it?” You questioned the young man.

He nodded in understanding, his eyes never leaving yours. “Indeed. Besides that, I mean. Is there something you’re hoping to get out of tonight?”

“I suppose I don't know. London is nosier than Primrose Valley. Lacks the sea air I have become accustomed to.” you answered.

Gaz leaned against the wall beside you, his eyes scanning the room as if he were assessing the situation. “I can understand that. The city can be...overwhelming at times. But there’s also something to be said for the energy here. The constant movement, the stories hiding in every corner. It’s like a battlefield in a different way, isn’t it? Just with less danger and more champagne.”

“You are just as likely to drown in it as to swim inside it.” you quipped. “Also, I don't know what battlefield you've been on. Most of mine have been as hectic as the daylight savings.”

Gaz’s eyes searched yours, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. “You’ve seen a lot, haven’t you?”

“One would certainly hope so. I started at sixteen at the behest of my father. My mother left one night, and she hadn't come home back since.” you answered.

Gaz’s eyes widened slightly, and his smile faltered. “That’s...young. Too young, really. But I suppose necessity is the mother of all invention, isn’t it?”

“Necessity breeds innovation. Innovation breathes in the soul of the desperate.” You said, taking a sip of your drink, your eyes never leaving his. The liquid burned down your throat like a trail of fire, a comforting pain, a familiar one. “Mr. Garrick, why do you find yourself here this evening, you do not strike me as a charitable soul.”

He chuckled, a sound that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the ballroom. “You’re right, Colonel. I’m not exactly the charity type.

But, my father’s a high-ranking general, and he believes in supporting our troops.

Plus, it’s a good way to network, keep an eye on the new recruits, and maybe, just maybe, find a bit of the excitement I’ve missed since leaving active duty.

And you? What’s your reason for being here?”

“Do I require one?” you answered.

“No, I suppose not. But it’s always interesting to know what brings people together in a place like this. Besides, I find that the most intriguing people often have the most intriguing stories to tell. And I’d wager yours is quite the tale.” Gaz said, his eyes still holding yours, a challenge in his gaze.

“Not quite for those who cannot stomach the taste copper.” you responded.

“I see. Then tell me, what do you do in your free time?” Gaz asked, his gaze never leaving yours.

“MMA, Kickboxing, Axe-throwing, Javelin. I’m always studying anything to do with Electrical engineering. I haven’t found a reason to do much else other than fish as soon as I’m on leave. I leave out crab nets to catch crabs overnight. Primrose Valley is peaceful enough for someone who doesn't need much of anything.” you answered looking at the ornate fork on the table.

Gaz’s eyes lit up at the mention of MMA and kickboxing. “Now that’s a side of you I wasn’t expecting. Most women in the military I know prefer the more…traditional forms of relaxation. How did you get into that?”

“I'm a close combat specialist as well as a sniper. Best of both. A combination of two deadly worlds. I enjoy the rush and the discipline it brings. It keeps my mind sharp and my body in check. Plus, it’s a good way to let off steam. As for electrical engineering, it’s always been a passion of mine. Something about the chaos of circuits and wires makes sense to me when nothing else does. It’s like a puzzle, but instead of a picture, you get to build something that actually works.” You replied, your eyes never leaving the fork.

“Fascinating. You're a woman of many talents, Colonel.” Gaz said, his voice filled with genuine interest.

“You have to be. To survive and thrive in this type of world you need it. You require it. You must find yourself utterly complete inside and out.” you replied with a shrug of your shoulders.

“Ah, I see. So, tell me, what’s the most thrilling part of your job?” Gaz asked, his gaze still on you, as if he was trying to piece together the puzzle of your life.

“The technology. It adapts faster than we can ever learn to use it. Delightful to see the older generations scramble around as they shriek, 'How do I use this?' in different words. But the question always remain the same.” you snorted.

“But the most thrilling part would be when you can outsmart it. When you can use it in ways it wasn’t intended to be used. That’s when you know you’re truly ahead of the game. Like using a smartphone as an explosive device or a simple USB stick to bring down a network. The simplicity is the best part. It’s like watching a magician pull a rabbit out of a hat, except the rabbit is a bomb and the hat is your enemy’s security system.”

Gaz’s eyes widened, a spark of intrigue lighting up his expression. “Remarkable. It’s not often you find someone who can appreciate the beauty in chaos quite like that.”

“Chaos is everywhere. From the sea, to the sky and the creatures just below the ground. To the very sciences. We know less of our ocean than we do about our moon.”

“Indeed. But chaos is predictable if you know the patterns. And when it comes to technology, I’ve found that the patterns are quite…beautiful, in their own destructive way. Like a tornado, you see it coming, you know the path of destruction, but there’s a certain…elegance to it, isn’t there?” Gaz replied, his voice low and intense.

“Not quite. It is safe to assume we know because of what we already do know.” you pointed out. “A fool assumes he has all the answers. A fool denies truths revealed later to writhe in his 'limitless' ignorance. A smart man knows he does not know everything. A smarter one knows the right questions to ask to find the answers he does not know yet. And the smartest knows when not to ask at all, for fear of what he might find out.”

Gaz nodded thoughtfully, his gaze still locked with yours. “A philosopher and a warrior, Colonel. Quite the combination. I can see why they picked you as the face of this event. You have a way with words that could charm the birds from the trees.”

“My therapist recommended most of the books I have read on Existentialism Absurdist philosophy. It made life seem to look like it had more sense than it truly does. Like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing, or a goldfish than happens to be koi fish. It's all in how you look at it.” you said with a shrug.

As the dinner came to a close, you were left with your thoughts and memories stirred up. As you walked over to your car, the cool London night air slapped you with reality. You were still the Grim Reaper, haunted by the ghosts of your past. You looked at you car, a 1966 black dodge charger, a symbol of your old life.

As you placed your vinyl leather handbag, until you heard your name, your heart skipped a beat. You turned around to see a man in a sharp navy blue tuxedo with a crimson tie walking towards you, a smile playing on his lips.

“Colonel, I hope I’m not interrupting your quiet moment.”

“If you call heading back to a hotel room as a 'quiet moment' then I would hate to see what you define as a party.” you replied dryly.

The man chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Fair enough. But I must admit, I found your company quite refreshing tonight. A breath of fresh, if not salty, sea air.” He extended his hand once again. “John Price, at your service. And before you ask, no, I'm not related to the hotel chain.”

“I was thinking of of a tinned fish brand than a hotel chain.” You said as you took his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Price.”

Price's grip was firm, but not overpowering. His smile remained, but his eyes searched yours, as if looking for something hidden beneath the surface. “Please, call me John. And the pleasure is all mine, Colonel. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Gaz. Quite insightful, really. Rare to find someone who understands the complexities of our line of work.”

“I would hope so getting shot at at the ripe age of 17 is not something I would have wanted my own children to go through.”

“Indeed, it’s a path that shapes us, whether we wish it or not. Tell me, Colonel, are you ever haunted by the ghosts of your past?” John Price asked, his voice carrying a weight that suggested he was all too familiar with such hauntings.

“John. No one can kill someone and come back the same as they were. It’s like trying to walk through a forest fire unscathed. The heat changes you, the smoke fills your lungs and alters your breathing forever. You’re never quite the same.” You replied, your voice a mix of honesty and resignation.

John’s smile remained, but his eyes grew serious. “Wise words, Colonel. And I suspect you speak from experience. I’ve seen enough of those fires to know that you can’t escape them untouched. But sometimes, those ghosts can be…useful. They can drive us to do things we never thought possible, push us to be better than we ever imagined we could be. And sometimes, just sometimes, they give us the strength to keep walking when we feel like we can’t go on anymore. Have you ever felt that way?”

“On and off. Most days yes. On others I want to be on my boat and fish for two hours.” you answered.

John's eyes searched yours, a silent understanding passing between the two of you. “Fishing, huh? I’ve always found there’s something peaceful about being out on the water, just you and the fish. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos we deal with in our line of work, isn’t it?”

“Nothing like catching a fish, cutting it up and eating for dinner later.” you smirked.

John chuckled, the sound echoing in the emptying ballroom. “Indeed. But tell me, do you ever find that the quiet of the water gets too…quiet? That you miss the rush?”

“Covert ops. Those ones are the ones I liked most of all. Its the combination of the James Bond spy feeling and the reality of it all. You get to save the world and look good doing it, minus the fancy cars and the women of course. Just me and my trusty boat, a fishing pole, and a whole lot of patience.” you said, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips.

John’s eyes lit up, a spark of shared experience in his gaze. “Ah, the quiet before the storm. The thrill of the hunt, the anticipation of the catch.

It’s quite a rush, isn’t it? The adrenaline pumping through your veins as you wait for the right moment to strike, knowing that one wrong move could mean the end of the mission. And yet, when you succeed, it’s like nothing else in the world.”

You ended up giving him your number to him. You don't know why you did. You felt compelled to do it. It was a choice you have decided to do in the heat of the moment.

Thinking nothing of it. As you drove to the hotel you booked to stay in for the duration of your stay in London. It wasn’t as nearly draped in luxury expenditures as one of the wealthy would have.

However, it wasn’t the cheapest either. It was the perfect kind of ‘safe’ middle ground you could find. It was enough to satisfy your needs without making you feel guilty for spending your hard-earned savings.

You decided to text your friend to check on your home along the coast. You weren't sure what to feel about this London trip. It was a new thing for you. A time for just yourself. And your mind. Everything else is extra.

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callsign-rogueone · 10 months ago

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what was I made for? - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x Marked!Pacifist!Reader (continuation of keep her safe) The aftermath of War Games has you questioning your purpose, and what your signet truly is. wc: 4.4k 🏷: FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME SPOILERS (I have 50 pages left, but I just can’t do it. send help.) canon-level violence, injury, canon character death, self doubt, anxiety. oops, I made Dain tolerable again. angst, then happy, then more angst. I also skipped over a smut scene / just made a reference to it happening, so if anyone wants that as a separate post, lmk and I can make it happen 👀 thank you to everyone who liked/reblogged/commented on part 1! it means a lot to me 🫶

Riorson House is more your home than Basgiath ever has been, but it’s become foreign to you in the three years you’d spent at the college. It feels like you’re hallucinating as you wander the halls.

Maybe everything that’s happened in the last few days has been a hallucination -- it wouldn't be the first time Varrish or Carr had pushed you to delirium with the amount of pain you’d taken for others.

Maybe it’s a dream. That’s it. A really bad dream. Any moment now, you’re going to wake up in Garrick’s bed and get ready for morning formation, and you’ll forget the sight of Liam dying by breakfast, when you’re sitting across from him at the table like you always do. Violet’s screams of pain will stop playing in your ears, replaced by her laughter at one of Ridoc’s jokes.

But no matter how much you pinch at your skin, you aren’t waking up. This is reality.

“I hear you’re a mender, too,” someone says in a gentle voice, bringing you out of your daze. Violet’s brother, Brennan.

“Does it ever get easier?” You ask quietly. “Does it always hurt this much?”

“Mending becomes easier. Seeing that kind of stuff every day doesn’t,” he replies, and the exhausted look on his face tells you he’s being honest. “But it shouldn’t hurt. Tell me more about that.”

“The second person I mended was a scribe who’d fallen from a ladder in the library and broken her leg. I did everything right, the bone set properly, but my leg hurt for a week, right where she’d broken hers.”

Brennan is silent, letting you continue.

“They broke Garrick’s arm in RSC. I was able to fix it for him, and I took the pain, but they broke it again two hours later. I mended him and Xaden over and over until I collapsed. I didn’t wake for two days. They both still think it was just exhausting for me. They don’t know about the pain.”

The tears are coming openly now, dripping down your cheeks, and you bring a hand up to wipe them away with the sleeve of your flight jacket. “But it isn’t all bad. I couldn’t save Liam, but I was able to make him more comfortable in the end. I took his pain away, and let him go in peace.”

You don’t tell him what death feels like. No description you could give could adequately prepare anyone for the cold sensation that still lingers in your chest. It will likely remain there for the next few days.

“Hey,” he says softly, “We’ll figure this out, I promise. For now, just try to get some rest.”

You nod quietly, looking back up at him. “Can someone please tell Garrick that I’m okay?” You ask in a small voice, folding your hands in your lap. You’d been heartbroken to realize that the rest of the squad had left for Basgiath before you woke, leaving you here alone.

You didn’t get to say goodbye to any of them, and you don’t know when you’ll see them again. Or if you’ll see them, you think, but you push the thought away quickly. They’ll survive. They have to.

Brennan cracks a smile - everyone in the rebel cause is aware of how deeply Garrick loves you. “Of course.”

———————————————————————

“Cadet Mairi died alongside his dragon, who was attacked by a drift of Gryphon riders. Cadet Avan attempted to mend them, and died trying,” Xaden says levelly, staring down the group of professors on the dais. “They both died honorable, but preventable deaths.”

Garrick knows Xaden is lying, knows you aren’t dead — or you hadn’t been when they left for Basgiath, at least, but his friend’s words have him on edge. Have you woken up yet?

Chradh speaks into his mind, sending a wave of hot rage through him. “Relax.”

“Relax?” He echoes, irate. “You’re telling me to relax right now, when-”

Chradh doesn’t bother to argue with him. “She is safe under the care of the silver one’s brother, where she will remain until the moment is right. It is better this way. She won’t be in pain anymore.”

Chradh doesn’t elaborate further. Fucking dragons and their constant need to speak in riddles.

The rest of the quadrant spends the night drinking and congratulating themselves on surviving, but Garrick doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol. The three of you were supposed to do this together. It wouldn’t be right to celebrate without you.

———————————————————————

“We’re gonna start from square one, with something that can’t hurt you,” Brennan says, placing two halves of a cracked plate on the table in front of you.

It’s simple enough to make the pieces rise into the air, using the same magic required to make a pen write for you. You concentrate, willing the halves to fuse together. They touch, and you think you’ve done it, your heart leaping, only to fall as they crash back down to the table again, splitting into even more pieces.

Brennan touches one of the shards, and they glue themselves back together perfectly; no cracks, no trace of the plate ever having been broken. “That’s what I thought.”

“Let me keep trying,” you begin, heart pounding. Brennan can’t think you’re a failure, not this early.

“You could sit here with this plate all day and it wouldn’t change,” he says gently, confirming what you know deep down. “I don’t think you’re a mender. I think you’re something else entirely.”

You sit with the information for a moment.

“Signets take the form of our base need as a person,” he says. “We need to find out what that is for you.”

You already know. “I wake up every day grateful that Xaden bargained for our lives, but I have done too much harm in my time at Basgiath. The crown has done too much harm to Tyrrendor. All I’ve ever wished for is to fix that, to undo the pain.”

“To undo the pain, or to help move forward and grow?” He asks gently.

You aren’t sure.

———————————————————————

You go through your morning stretches, as always, focusing on your breath to distract from the pain in your side.

“Your mate has returned.” Tab says, interrupting. “Thought you’d like to know.”

You bolt upright, running through the house toward the gates, bypassing Xaden to sprint straight toward Garrick.

He wraps you in a warm embrace, resting his chin on the top of your head. You still fit together like puzzle pieces, even after months apart.

“You’re alive,” you breathe. “Nobody would tell me anything, I was worried sick,”

“Of course I’m alive, angel. Had to come back to you.”

You trace the Lieutenant’s patch across his collarbone, memorizing the shape. It looks natural on him, like it’s always been there. It sounds good, too. Lieutenant Garrick Tavis.

“I need to tell you something,” you say quietly, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you about-“

Footsteps approach. “Sorry to break up the reunion,” Felix says, “but Avan, we need you.”

There’s something in his tone that has your heart pounding. Which of your friends is it going to be this time?

“Tell me later,” Garrick says. “Go. Do what you were made to do.”

You know he means well, but his words tie your stomach in a knot. What you were made to do. Were you truly made to endure the suffering of others?

———————————————————————

Every muscle in your body feels like it’s on fire as you slump into a chair, sitting down for the first time that day. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to get some sleep before you’re needed again.

“There you are. I didn’t see you in battle brief.” Garrick says, relieved.

“Haven’t been going,” you mumble. “They need me here. Bren’s teaching now, so s’ just me and one other mender.”

He realizes no healers had come with the riot from Basgiath. You likely haven’t left the infirmary since they’d arrived.

“Come to bed,” he coaxes softly. “You need sleep. You can't pour from an empty cup.”

Yes, you can. You have been for months.

He takes your hand, not giving you a choice. You lean into him as he leads you up the grand staircase to a room near Xaden’s. Your muscles protest every step, but you keep quiet.

You haven’t been in here for years, not since you’d left for Basgiath as candidates, but it’s exactly the same as you remember; dark drapery, bookshelves, a neat display of the knives that he hadn’t taken to school with him.

The sight has you in tears.

“Whoa, hey,” he says softly, pulling you closer, and you whimper in pain at the pressure against your ribs. He lets go immediately. “Angel, I’m sorry — are you hurt?”

You sob, the dam finally breaking and grief flooding out of you. You haven’t seen each other since that horrible day, you haven’t seen anyone from the squad you went with to Resson, haven’t had anyone to talk about it with, until now.

You shake your head, tears dripping down your cheeks. “I couldn’t save Liam. I tried, I really did. All I could do was take his pain away.”

So Xaden had told Basgiath the truth, to some degree: you tried to fix Liam, and couldn’t. The boy’s death had hurt you badly enough that Xaden wouldn’t let you return to the school.

“There was nothing else you could do. Nobody could save him, not after Deigh…”

“I know that, but it wasn’t just him. Everyone I’ve ever… fixed, I’ve taken the pain from their body into mine, and I can’t get rid of it for days.”

Garrick’s heart breaks. So that’s what Chradh meant when he said you wouldn’t be in pain anymore if you left Basgiath. Those eight-hour days of mending infantry may as well have been torture for you.

Torture. RSC. You’d healed his wounds, Xaden’s, Bodhi’s, Violet’s, time and time again without complaint, and he knew it took a lot out of you, but not that it hurt. “Angel, why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known…”

“I wanted to,” you sniffle, “I wanted to tell you a year ago when it started happening. I thought it was normal, that I was just weak, until Brennan told me that this doesn’t happen to him. He just gets tired, like everyone else does when they use their signets too much.”

You try to steady your breathing, but the pain in your not-broken ribs is too overwhelming. “I’ve spent hours practicing and I can’t even fix a broken plate. I’m not a mender. I don’t know what I am. Nobody does, not even the professors. Brennan thinks it’s getting better, but I don’t have it in me to tell him that it isn’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He wants to pull you into an embrace, wants to stroke your hair and tell you it’ll be okay, but he doesn’t want to hurt you any more than he already has.

“S’ not your fault.” You sniff.

“But it’s not yours, either,” he reminds you gently. “You’re so strong, angel. You crossed the parapet, ran the gauntlet, you bonded a dragon, and you’ve endured everything else. Please don’t ever think for a second that you’re weak.”

He takes your hand in his, watching your face carefully, but you don’t wince at the touch. “We’ll talk to Brennan tomorrow, together. For now, I just want you to get some sleep, okay?”

You nod silently, having run out of tears.

“Attagirl.”

As you settle into bed next to him, freshly showered and wearing one of his warm sweaters, you swear the pain has dimmed.

———————————————————————

When Garrick takes you to see Brennan the next morning, he isn’t alone. Your professors are seated beside him, along with some of the Tyrrish elders.

Devera speaks first. “We owe you an apology, Cadet Avan. The faculty was unaware that Carr and Varrish were using your signet as a method of punishment, or that it pains you to use it.”

“And I owe you an apology,” you say quietly. “I should have come back after the War Games.”

“That was my decision,” Xaden says firmly, “and I stand by it. She was in no condition to return to the school, much less to graduate and be stationed at an outpost across the continent from her support system, while still feeling the coldness of Cadet Mairi’s death.”

How does he know that you could feel it? Had you told him in your delirium? Had Brennan told him? Had you even told Brennan?

“Your friends have effectively plead your case, and we agree that you have satisfied all the requirements for graduation from the Rider’s Quadrant.” Emeterrio says. “Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

Garrick slips your flight jacket onto your shoulders, and you notice the Lieutenant insignia has already been sewn on, to match his. When did he…?

You accept the handshake Devera offers you, still a little dazed, but there’s one more order of business to address.

“May I rejoin my old squad?” You ask the table of professors quietly. “They are family to me. I would like to ride with them again, and aid them however I can.”

They exchange hesitant looks, and your heart sinks. Do they not think you’re good enough?

“I don’t see why not,” Brennan says firmly enough for everyone else to agree — he outranks the professors with the years he’s been part of the movement.

You exhale in relief.

Garrick cheers. “The dream team is back, baby!” He pulls you into a gentle embrace, knowing you’re still in pain, but wanting to hold you close.

You laugh, not minding the ache in your ribs.

Xaden is unimpressed. “When have we ever once called ourselves the dream team?”

“We haven’t, but I’m starting now. It’ll stick. I’ll have it embroidered on your flight jacket, Xay.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Xaden replies, setting off a brotherly argument behind you.

You look to the leadership once more, bowing your head in respect. “Thank you. For everything.”

Devera gives you a warm smile. “I am glad to see you have found your place here, Lieutenant. Remember that your empathy is a gift, even in times of war.”

Empathy.

“Am I dismissed?” You ask.

“Yes, Lieutenants, you are all dismissed,” Emeterrio answers dryly, looking over your shoulder at Garrick and Xaden. The latter has the former in a playful headlock, messing up his hair.

“Human boys,” Tab says, exasperated. You laugh in agreement, leaving them in the Assembly room to sort themselves out.

It’s easy enough to find who you’re looking for — he’s the only person sitting completely alone in the mess, a textbook open in front of him that he isn’t reading. He’s gazing into the distance, eyes unfocused, but he looks up when he realizes you’re standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “about what I saw in Varrish’s office. I had no idea how much you all have endured. What we are taught in Navarre is only one side of the story, but you showed me the other.”

“I’m glad I could help change your mind.”

He reaches into the pocket of his flight jacket and extends a hand. Your protection rune sits in his palm, complete with a new leather cord. “A peace offering. I stole it back from Varrish, and Brennan mended it.”

You smile, taking it from him and slipping it back over your head. “You’re turning into quite the rule-breaker, Aetos. But thank you. It means a lot to me.”

You’re about to leave, but something compels you to impart a piece of advice. “I know how it feels when people don’t want to trust you because of your family history. It’ll take a while for some of them to warm up to you, but you can make it go a lot faster if you keep yourself out of trouble.”

———————————————————————

Your first flight back with your squad is supposed to be easy, a surveying flight with a small riot, just to check their perimeters, but you can’t seem to quell your anxiety as you take off.

“We will be fine, gentle one. We’re in strong company,” Tab reassures. He stays close to Chradh, knowing Garrick’s proximity will calm you. “How does it feel to be back?”

“Good. I’ve missed this.”

“You have always enjoyed being up this high,” he agrees. “Shall we review some of our basic maneuvers?”

“Sure.” Maybe that will settle your nerves.

“Hold on.” Tab dips, practicing all the angles — banking right, left, up, down.

“Something is wrong,” you blurt, and Tab straightens his path immediately, falling back into the formation. Every nerve in your body pulses with a sensation you’ve never felt before, standing on end. “Something really bad is going to happen.”

You’re right.

“Wyvern,” Tab warns just as they come into your line of sight. They charge straight at the front of the riot, where Sgaeyl leads the pack.

You’re outmatched, nearly two dozen of them and only ten of you. You’re going to die here. At least you’ll be with your best friends.

“That kind of thinking isn’t helpful!” Tab scolds, tightening the formation.

One gets too close for comfort, spewing blue flame, and Chradh banks hard - too hard. You gasp in horror as Garrick is thrown from his seat down to the ground below.

“Dive!” You yell, and Tab follows without hesitation, making a near-vertical drop.

You’ve never been so grateful for the running landing they’d taught you last year. It had been excruciating to execute on top of the pain of unbroken bones, but it’s just manageable now after a few days off from the infirmary.

Clutching Failsafe for dear life, your only defense, you sprint toward Garrick’s limp body, ripping off your goggles.

His heart still beats, but multiple bones look broken, his breathing labored. Touching him is almost unbearable, which tells you he won’t last much longer if you don’t do something.

Deep breaths, like Brennan had taught you, to accept their pain as it entered your body, holding it before batting it away like a fly.

You still haven’t figured out how to make that work.

Hot tears roll down your cheeks, and you start to berate yourself; Why can’t you do this? Compose yourself. Garrick is going to die if you can’t pull it together. Garrick is going to die, just like Liam did, because you aren’t strong enough to fix a fucking plate.

Anger overcomes you for the first time since you’d watched your parents die six years ago. You scream, a sound like nothing you’ve ever heard before splitting the air. The pain dissipates almost instantly. For the first time in two years, your body isn’t aching, and you sob in relief.

Garrick bolts upright, gasping for breath as spring blooms across the snowy plain, trees with bare branches suddenly teeming with green leaves.

Tab roars in pride and the rest of the riot joins in, the cliffs shaking from the volume of their celebration.

“Lifebringer!” He thunders into your mind.

Your head snaps upward, and you realize that the ground is littered with motionless wyvern.

Garrick pulls you to your feet, brushing the tears from your cheeks. “Come on, angel,” he says, grinning, “we have a war to win.”

You’re still dazed as Tab brings you back to Riorson house, Garrick helping you dismount and leading you inside.

“We have a weapon,” Xaden says, actually smiling as he faces the assembly. “Something, someone, that can destroy wyvern in their tracks.”

Garrick keeps you glued to his side as Xaden tells the elders what happened, but it’s all in one ear, out the other.

You’re dismissed after a few minutes, heading back out to the mess, where your friends gather around one of the large tables in the library.

“Tab called me lifebringer,” you say, confused. “What is that?”

“I thought it was just folklore,” Violet says from a few rows down, scanning the shelves, and everyone turns to her, listening. “Lifebringers are said to influence healing and growth. In some cultures, they’ve been credited with ending famines by rejuvenating harvests, and saving the innocent from the grasp of Malek and his Death.”

“Wicked,” Ridoc appraises quietly.

“Aha.” Violet produces a thin volume, cracking it open to the right page. The illustration there looks uncannily like you.

“Only the purest of heart can be lifebringers, those who hold no malice toward their fellow man. The weapons they carry are sharp, but unused,” she reads aloud. “Garrick gave you Failsafe as just that — a failsafe. You never drew blood with it. You never hurt anyone except in challenges, when it was kill or be killed, and even then you held back.”

Bodhi speaks next. “With most signets, the stronger the wielder’s emotion, the more powerful the ability becomes. You feel empathy for the wounded, so you can fix them and ease their pain, but when you thought Garrick was going to die, that was another level of distress, and I guess it was enough to overcome the dark magic.”

Garrick squeezes your shoulder in reassurance that he’s still very much alive beside you.

Violet closes the book, setting it down.

“I’m not in pain anymore,” you whisper, still dazed. You’ve almost forgotten what that feels like, having spent the last three years holding both your own and that of all your friends.

“You needed an outlet,” Xaden says. “Pain makes it harder to channel, and you were in pain 24/7, which is why the professors thought your signet was underdeveloped. Getting angry, and getting that energy out of your body allowed you to use the full extent of your power.”

“If I had known this earlier, do you think I could have…” you don’t finish the sentence. Everyone in this room knows how hard you’d tried to save Liam.

“Maybe,” Violet says quietly, “but that is not a path you want to go down. Trust me.”

———————————————————————

“Do you want to explain why the hallway was full of sunflowers when I went to bed last night?” Xaden asks slyly, dropping into a seat in front of you with a plate of eggs and bacon.

You burn with embarrassment.

Bodhi grins. “You see, cousin, when a man and a woman love each other very much, - ow, fuck!” He exclaims, rubbing the back of his head where Garrick had whacked him.

“At least they didn’t set the vale on fire,” another of your squadmates says, looking at Xaden and Violet pointedly. “You still owe me for putting that out, by the way.”

Your eyes widen as you connect the dots. “So all that dry lightning last year was you two…”

“Okay, changing the subject!” Brennan says loudly, not liking the way this conversation is headed. “We need to figure out how to use your signet without endangering Tavis’s life again.”

“Well, it sounds like they already found another way,” Ridoc says, grinning, but he squeaks out an apology as Garrick begins to rise from his chair.

You tug your boyfriend back into his seat by the sleeve, looking past him at Brennan. “I think I need to work a few days in the infirmary between flights,” you propose. “If I build up enough pain, I could probably-“

“NO,” the whole squad says at once, Tab included.

“Your healing is only to be used when absolutely necessary,” Xaden orders, and even though you’re on equal footing now, both newly-minted Lieutenants, you agree quietly without protest.

“See, that’s your problem,” Sloane says, and all eyes turn to her. “You defer to literally everyone. You’re an officer now. Act like it.”

“Pardon?” You ask, looking at her in disbelief.

“That’s exactly what she’s talking about,” Imogen cuts in. “Pardon? You can’t even discipline a first-year cadet. Do you really think any veteran rider will ever listen to what you have to say?”

“Enough,” you say firmly, your nails digging into the wood.

None of your friends intervene, not even Brennan. This has to be another nightmare. There’s no way they'd hang you out to dry like this. Right?

Sloane isn’t finished. “It’s a miracle you made it out of Basgiath alive. You’re too soft. If you won’t kill anyone, what are you going to do when it’s between your life or someone else’s? Their life or his?”

The mention of Garrick is your last straw. “That is enough from both of you, Cadets,” you reprimand. Thorny vines burst from the seams of the table, whipping out toward them, and they stagger back to avoid being cut.

You startle, your heart pounding against your ribs as you realize what you’ve done.

Sloane is the first to apologize. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean any of it. I just thought that provoking you might…” she doesn’t finish the sentence, looking down at the still-twitching vines covering the tabletop.

“We definitely took it too far,” Imogen adds, sounding genuinely remorseful. “That was a really fucked up thing for me to say. I’m sorry.”

Bodhi waves a hand, and the vines slither back into the table, as if they were never there.

Your eyes widen at the blood on his cheeks — he’d been caught in the crossfire. You touch his face with a shaky hand, only brushing your fingertips across the skin, and the scratches disappear instantly, leaving no trace of the harm you’d done.

Somehow that makes you feel worse.

“Well,” Garrick says in his section-leader voice, “that was certainly informative, but none of you are to ever disrespect her like that again. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” both girls answer quietly, heads lowered in shame.

Your breathing has steadied enough to speak. “I understand why you did that, but I’m not going to tell you that it was okay, because it wasn’t.”

With that, you take your plate and leave. Nobody follows you.

———————————————————————

The balcony door slides open, soft footsteps approaching.

“I want to be alone, Gare,” you say quietly.

“Not Garrick,” Xaden replies, settling down next to you on the stone floor, “and you may want to be alone right now, but you probably shouldn’t be.”

“I didn't mean to hurt anyone, Xay. You know that,” you whisper. You don’t move your gaze from the potted plant in front of you, as if you’re worried it will lash out at you — or him — if you turn away.

“I know, angel. I know.” He exhales deeply, a gentle cloud forming with the warmth of his breath.

There’s a moment of quiet before he speaks again, just the sound of the cold wind over the valley and the distant footsteps of cadets running on the trail below. “Working through this is not going to be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You’ve come to hate that notion, everyone’s insistence that the pain you’ve been through has primed you for more pain, different pain. Why can’t it ever end?

#garrick tavis x reader #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing reader insert #garrick tavis #fourth wing #reader insert #imagine

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empressofthesunwriter · 5 months ago

Text

One Punch Girl! 01

Inspired by One Punch Man!

In a world full of Quirks, you were born quirkless.

However, this doesn’t stop you from defeating villains left and right with just One Punch, all while you just want to eat junk food and watch anime.

What a drag.

I got this idea while watching One Punch Man and thought that would be a funny Reader Insert!

Expect a lot of cracks and you the Reader just finish off all the villains before they can do anything :D

Also, multiply endings cause anybody should get the chance to smooch who they want :D

Tell me who you want to end up and I will count the votes.

The character who gets the most votes gets the first ending and then so on.

And yes we can date the girls and also poly is possible and harem if you like! ;D

Chapter 1: The Origin Story or Something

There was absolutely nothing special about your birth.

You weren't a prophecy savoir of the world.

You were just a tiny baby, who screamed.

Loud.

And annoying.

Still other than most protagonists your parents weren't shitty assholes and actually loved you.

So good for you.

The first four years of your life were dull and boring, so we skipped that.

You just did what kids did at this age.

Playing, eating, shitting your pants, you get it.

Only when you came to kindergarten and some of your friends started to sprout wings, making things float and one memorial occasion wetting your teacher from head to toe since they turned into literal water, did you know that something wrong was going on with this world.

A normal child would have surely freaked out but you weren't exactly normal.

You felt often like an adult in a child's body.

So calmy this evening during dinner you asked your parents what was going on.

Did you live with mutatens or what?

Both your parents started to cry and hug you.

They confessed how they were Quirkless and the chance was high that you were it too.

Yeah, thanks it didn't really explain it.

A long explanation about Quirks and what being Quirkless meant followed.

You felt how your parents suffered under it being two of the 20%, who didn't have a Quirk.

You did feel sorry for them.

However, if you were also quirkless you didn't care.

A Quirk had never been a part of your life, why should you wish for one?

Nah, too troublesome.

You thanked your mother for the meal and wandered over to the TV.

Your favourite cartoon was about to start.

Your parents stared in disbelief at you.

Then your mother turned to your father and told him you got this aloofness from his side of the family.

Your father pouted.

/*/

Even if you didn't care for a Quirk, the world didn't make you forget it, how you were a freak without one.

Your fourth birthday came and went and after months of nothing and a doctor's appointment, it was clear you were Quirkless.

Again your parents embraced you crying, begging for your forgiveness.

Awkwardly you patted their heads.

They made such a drama over nothing.

You were fine.

You were still fine as your friends started to avoid you and some even bullied you.

You just punched them in the nose.

Quirk or not Quirk if someone is fast enough they can punch anyone.

Still, it got on your nerves.

Years passed and it got difficult to punch back against the bullies.

They had their Quirks to back them up and you...just your own muscle strength.

Well, before Quirks people trained their muscles to be stronger.

Why shouldn't you do this too?

So at the age of ten, you start with your workout routine.

It consists of 100 situps, pushups, and squats followed by a 10-km run.

For three years you go through this hell, no break, never.

Only training.

Then one day when you were thirteen you woke up and your [haircolour] hair had turned long and white.

It was also the same day you managed to land a punch at one of your bullies and..well they died.

Ups.

Yeah, it was chaos after.

Police, your parents, the parents of the child you murder.

So troublesome.

After a lot of tests, you still turned out to be quirkless, no one could explain where this power came from.

Since you did kill someone, even if you didn't want to, you came into a special facility run by the government.

Away from anyone, where scientists tried to crack your mysterious power.

God, it was so boring.

Day and day the same tests, the same tasteless food and the same session with your shrink.

Your aloofness was worrying them too.

You did feel bad that you killed the kid, but the asshole had bullied you your whole life, he just got what he sown.

So no regrets.

Okay, that your poor parents lost their only daughter to the government and all the kids you traumatized was not good, but what could you do?

You couldn't change what had happened.

So you lived your life as a labour rat, having not much hope of getting out of there.

Till the day a literally rat-dog-bear thing visits you.

/*/

It was actually the end of your normal day as a labour rat when anything changed.

Finally, you could relax in your room and read some manga.

Watching anime you could only do on two days a week.

But reading you could anytime.

Surprisingly someone knocked on your door.

"Who?", you asked bored.

"You have a visitor.", told you, your guard.

Okay, you got curious.

Besides your parents, who finally got permission to visit you once a week, you never had visitors.

You sat up on your bed and a rat-dog-bear thing in a fancy suit entered.

He gave you a friendly smile.

You blinked.

"Are you also here to get experimented on?", you asked aloof.

He laughed.

"Oh, these times are long over...I'm actually here for you."

"For me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know how much news you heard but did you hear about the attack on the USJ?"

You frowned for a second before you remembered.

"The hero school U.A. got attacked by this lame ass named League of Villains, like if you are evil then choose a treating name.", you told the speaking animal.

This made the animal laugh.

"Couldn't agree more, I'm Nezu the principal of the U.A. And I came here with an offer for you."

"What offer?"

"What would you say about visiting the U.A. as a normal student and using your mysterious power for the good."

You just stared at Nezu.

/*/

After a long discussion with Principal Nezu, you agreed to go to the U.A.

You got your freedom back and could return to your parents if you had to play his guard dog then by all means.

Better than being a labour rat.

The principal hoped to have someone with your power on their side, a power who was even stronger than All Might himself, would give them a chance over the villains.

You were just happy to be home again.

Your parents had been so sweet to turn your room into a room for a 15-year-old, even if you were so long in the facility.

Being back home, made you for the first time really happy in your life.

You only realized how good you had it when you lost it.

Then when your mother made your favourite dish, a single tear fell from your eyes, which was bawling your eyes out for you.

In the embrace of your parents, you felt loved and ready for anything.

Because you just needed One Punch to clear all the problems.

#my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #reader imagine #x reader #reader insert #fem reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x fem!reader

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thoughtswordsandnonsense · 1 year ago

Text

Panic

Asks are open if anyone wants to submit Fourth Wing/ The Empyrean series imagines/ fanfics (reader inserts are fine as well!) Sorry if this isn't any good, I'm just getting back into writing after a long time of not writing.

Concept: Xaden tries to comfort Violet from an anxiety attack that Andrana accidentally causes before Violet can shield fully. Takes place in Fourth Wing, there are no Iron Flame spoilers & Liam is still alive. (RIP)

Trigger warning for anxiety attacks and sorta self-harm though it’s not consciously intentional. (nails biting into skin, scraping one’s self purposely) Also mild blood.

Violet POV:

My heart races as I borderline run back to my room, the walls feel like they're closing in as my vision spots in and out. I’m going to fail for everyone, I’m not good enough to be Tarins. I’m going to get them killed.

Everything is too much, everything is too loud, Tarin's shouts in my brain are too muddled as I slam open my door and close it just as hard. My hands tremble as I grip my chest. Nails bite into the little exposed skin I have on my neck as I claw at myself. My clothes feel too tight as if they are choking me as the room spins violently.

My door slams open and Liam stands there looking panicked, accessing the room for danger before his gaze lands on me. “Violet, what the hell is going on? You just fucking bolted from sparring like you saw Malek himself” He stands in my doorway and tried to step forward but stumbles back as though he can’t get in. “I can’t-” My throat closes as I wheeze for air, my lungs completely incapable of letting me get the slightest breath in. My eyes tear up as Liam turns on his heel and races off, slamming the door behind him.

Xaden won’t get here in time, my lungs are killing me, he’s going to be too late and I can’t do anything about it. My own body is going to get all of us killed, I’m going to die, Barlow is going to be so pissed that he’s not the reason I’ll be announced on the death roll tomorrow.

“Child, you need to calm yourself.” A low-pitched feminine voice cuts through my scattered thoughts. I stand there shaking, breath laboured as I squeeze my watering eyes shut. “He’ll be there soon, just hold on.” Sgayel, my brain catches on, to her firm tone. “Tairn, what's happening?” I plead down our bond, desperate to make this stop. My head pounds as my breath catches again, a garbled wheezing noise comes out as I trip backwards and onto the floor. Pain lances through the back of my skull as it hits the edge of the bed frame. “Andarna, she’s panicking about what would happen to you if something were to happen to me, unfortunately, she’s forcing her emotions onto you.” His tone has an aggressive snap to it as if he’s lashing out at Andarna. “How, how do I make it stop? Please.”

Before he could respond my door opened again, Liam found Xaden.

Heavy steps fall in front of me as my gaze snaps up to Xaden’s onyx eyes, wide with worry as he sinks down in front of me. My ears ring as I try desperately to focus on him, my head throbbing more with each passing second as I wheeze again. He grasps both of my hands in one of his, his mouth moving though I hear no words. “Violence, I need you to focus. You’re okay, you need to shut the bond with Andarna down. Close the door just like we practiced a few weeks ago.” Xaden’s voice rings softly through my head, words commanding but not in his usual bossy tone. “I can’t. Make it stop.” I plead with him as tears fall from my eyes, burning as my walls come down.

Another set of hands is on me, touching the back of my head and I jump forward. Xaden catches me, holding me against his chest. Arms circling me as I grip onto him tightly, faintly I hear someone curse. “Listen to the Wing Leader. Focus.” Tairn’s stressed voice chimes in. “Focus on me Violence, you usually don’t have a problem with being distracted when I’m around.” Xaden chimes up through the bond. “If it wasn’t for the fact of I feel like I’m dying I’d stab you.” I shoot back at him, and he has the nerve to laugh while I struggle to breathe in his arms. “Just focus, study your bonds. Take your time. I’m right here.” His calming voice helps break through the intense panic.

Picturing Andarna’s shimmering gold door I try to shove against it, but it barely budges as it pushes back, every push makes my lungs wheeze again. “It’s okay, you’re doing great. Just try again.” Xaden encourages.

The ringing lessens as I feel Tairn trying to help as I push again, slowly it begins to close, my head throbs harder as we keep going. “That’s it, good girl. You’re doing so good.” Xaden says again, his deep voice helping ground me even more. One of his hands runs up and down my back, and I can feel another set pressing against the back of my head. Finally with one last shove her door closes as I sag with relief into Xaden’s leather-clad arms.

Turning my head slightly I look up and see Liam crouched just behind me, holding a black cloth against the back of my head, though there’s blood flecked against his hand. Tairn rumbles as I hear Sgayel pipe in. “She’s just an adolescent, her emotions are more intense than ours. She’ll be okay now.” Her tone is that of a mother consoling a child. The ringing finally stops as I take in my room, breaths still shallow as I can finally hear Liam.

“She should be okay, the bleeding is stopping now. You still with us Vi?” His sky-blue eyes flick down to my lingering gaze. “Yeah.” I manage to choke out as my head swims, Xaden sighs in relief as I unclench my hands from the back of his flight leather. “Thank you,” Xaden says to Liam as he continues to hold me, Liam takes the cloth away from my head as I shift to rest my head into the crook of Xaden’s neck. Exhaustion settles over my body quickly as the adrenaline leaves, Liam crouches in front of me, one hand resting against my shin as Xaden pulls me further into him. “Have you ever had this happen before?” Liam asks and I shake my head no. “I’ve felt something similar when Brennan died, but not to this extent.” My voice is hoarse as I answer. “It’s normal, my sister Sloane used to get them when we were kids. It’s called an anxiety attack, physically you’re okay but you spiral so bad mentally that it puts you in fight or flight. Take it easy the rest of today. You’re probably already feeling like shit?” He questions and I nod yes. “How bad?” I ask “You aren’t concussed, but head injuries bleed like a bitch. I’ll grab you some water okay?” He asks softly and I give him a small smile. “Thank you.” He nods and stands, throwing the cloth to the hamper by my desk. “Yeah, it’s no problem. It’s what friends are for.” He ruffles my hair as he walks by. “Oh and you definitely need to wash your hair, those silver tips are kinda dyed red now. Though it does look kind of badass.” He throws it over his shoulder as he walks out of the room and softly shuts the door behind him.

“Let’s get you up,” Xaden says as he lifts me bridal style and then lays me down on my bed. I move over some as he sits on the edge of my bed, looking down at me. “Do you want me to stay for a bit?” He asks “Please” I respond and he throws his legs up, shifting himself so his back is against the wooden headboard. “Has this ever happened to you?” “No, not from Sgayel at least, and never to the extent you were at.” “What exactly happened?” I ask. “From what Sgayel is telling me, Andarna got herself worked up and because she’s young she didn’t realize she was sending her crisis and panic down the bond to you. Tairn and Sgayel are with her right now, though I don’t think Tairn is helping the situation.” “Ease up on her, she didn’t mean to.” I shoot to Tairn and he replies instantly. “We will discuss this later, you focus on letting the Wing Leader take care of you while we deal with the child.” His grumpy tone leaves no room for arguing. After a few moments of silence, I ask Xaden.

“Can I have you undo my braid please?” he sucks in a breath as his hands move. “Yeah, come here.” He helps shift me as I lay my head in his lap. Fingers softly moving through the motions of untangling my crown braid, my eyes flutter shut as my body finally relaxes into his tender touches, being careful of where my head hit the bed frame as he finally unravels it. “Mira used to play with my hair to get me to sleep.” I yawn out, the moment feeling intimate between the two of us. “It’s okay, just sleep. I’ve got you.”

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