#him and this heart mender

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Rookie (ABC Series)

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Page 2 (series and blurbs)

This list contains all fics and sequels.

all Tim Bradford x reader stories (newest to oldest)

Poisonously Bad Day

4.1k+ words | angst to fluff | Just before your anniversary with Tim, you receive threatening messages. When someone tries to take your life, you and Tim learn the importance of talking to one another. (Or, Tim's crazy ex stalks you and Tim gets really worried about you.)

A Room Away

4.2k+ words | angst/fluff & hurt/comfort | Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

A Room Away (No More) 3.7k+ words | angst/fluff & hurt/comfort | Your abusive ex reaches out, and you hide it from Tim until it's almost too late.

Secret Admirers

1.9k+ words | fluff | You become Tim's secret admirer, and when you get your own in return, you struggle to accept what your feelings toward Tim mean.

Broken Heart Mender

2.4k+ words | angst to fluff | After hearing Tim tell Angela why he's not in a relationship with you, you pull away and make yourself sick with a broken heart. After too long without hearing from you, Tim finds you and promises to make everything better.

Falling Slowly

4.0k+ words | fluff | You are Tim's newest rookie, and his favorite. He treats you differently, able to see that your past affects you, and the little things build up until you can't deny your feelings.

Tim Testing

2.5k+ words | angst to fluff | After transferring to the Mid-Wilshire division because of toxic male officers harassing you, you find yourself partnered with Tim Bradford. When you are injured during a Tim Test, you hide the injury so he doesn't think less of you.

The Better, Hidden Half

3.9k+ words | angst to fluff | wife!reader | Tim doesn't tell just anyone that he's married. When he's quarantined and his life is threatened by a fatal virus, he asks Lucy to call you, and ends up showing everyone what you mean to him.

The Better, Not So Hidden Half 1.9k+ words | fluff | After Tim decided he didn't want to keep you hidden any longer, you meet the rest of his friends (colleagues, as he prefers), but not the way he planned.

Not So Grumpy

1.8k+ words | fluff | pregnant!wife!reader | Tim is grumpier than usual, and when you decide to visit him at the station, the rookies get an idea of why.

Not So Grumpy (Part 2) 1.3k+ words | fluff | Months after being introduced to the rookies, you get a chance to see them again. After your baby is born and Tim's grumpiness continues, you finally have a chance to properly meet them.

Firefighters: Friend or Foe

1.8k+ words | fluff | shy!pregnant!wife!reader | You spend the night at the fire station with your best friend, not realizing how jealous your husband Tim is.

Firefighter Friends (prequel to Friend or Foe) 1.9k+ words | fluff | shy!wife!firefighter!reader | After you become a firefighter, your friends convince you to make a funny video. Tim walks in while you're filming and finds a new reason to tease you.

The First of Many

1.4k+ words | fluff | Tim has to work late on your first Valentine's Day together, and apologizes with a huge teddy bear, takeout, and both kinds of wine.

Don't Leave Me for Her

2.0k+ words | angst to fluff | pregnant!wife!reader | You see Tim laughing with Isabel and begin worrying that he will leave you and your unborn child for her.

Is It My Turn to Panic?

2.0k+ words | fluff | shy!pregnant!wife!reader | You go into labor while visiting Tim at the station, and you both panic before getting to the hospital.

A Family at Your Side

2.6k+ words | angst to fluff | shy!paramedic!fem!Buckley!reader | You, Evan Buckley's sister, are a paramedic with the 118. When you're called to a fire, it quickly becomes a crime scene when someone opens fire on you. Your boyfriend Tim Bradford and your fire station family have to work together to save you.

Anything Can (And Will) Happen

2.1k+ words | fluff | Chen!reader (Lucy's sister) | When Lucy tells you about Tim's eventful Halloween a few years ago, you use it to tease him. When he gets annoyed, the truth comes out.

Kojo Bradford, Wingman

1.4k+ words | fluff | Tim is (still) a bachelor, until Kojo decides to change that.

Mini Me

1.3k+ words | shy!mom!reader | fluff | After giving birth to your twin boys, Tim is upset that they look just like you. He's momentarily distracted by a visit from the godparents, Angela Lopez and one of your best friends, who Tim only refers to as soldier.

Mini Me and Dogs 1.3k+ words | fluff | The godfather of your twins (soldier) brings his friends and some dogs to visit you in the hospital. While everyone tries to make you shy, the dogs and your new friend help you out.

Mini Me and Battlefields 1.8k+ words | fluff | When you drop by the station to surprise Tim, you accidentally start a battle for who gets to hold your twins next.

Flirting with Cops

1.8k+ words | fiancée!rookie!reader | fluff | On plain clothes day, you pull over your fiancé, Tim Bradford. Your TO, Nyla Harper, grows very interested in your personal life.

Yelling at Cops 1.7k+ words | angst/fluff | After you are injured, your fiancé Tim yells at you and treats you like a boot. When Wade and Nyla find out, they tell him what really happened.

Popstar Protection Program

2.8k+ words | singer!reader | angst to fluff | As a young popstar performing in LA for the first time, you don't expect to need police protection. A very reluctant and grumpy sergeant keeps you safe and gives you inspiration.

Just a Dog Walker

3.5k+ words | grad student!dog walker!reader | angst to fluff | As Tim's dog walker, and nothing more, you grow close to him and Kojo. After protecting Kojo from a dog fight, you learn how Tim really sees you.

Hold My Hand

1.4k+ words | angst to fluff | When you receive unwanted attention on a weekend staycation with your friends, a knight in a shining navy suit saves you by offering his hand.

Doggitude

2.8k+ words | angst to fluff | After Tim takes his bad day out on you, you leave. Kojo misses you and does everything he can to see you again.

Chase You Down

2.5k+ words | angst to fluff | Hiding after being robbed, you find comfort in a dog and his handsome owner. In the days following the crime, they protect you and care for you.

It's Commander, Sergeant

2.7k+ words | Army-FBI!reader | fluff | After years of thinking about Tim Bradford, you meet him again during a riot in Los Angeles. When he learns you outrank him, he falls... hard.

Keep Living with Me

4.6k+ words | angst | You fell in love with Tim Bradford quickly, and he receives your mother's blessing to propose. After you watch your mother's murder, his plans are thrown off and he gives you a place to heal.

Keep Living with Us 1.8k+ words | fluff | After the death of your mother and getting engaged to Tim Bradford, you take another step in life.

We're Getting Married Now?

4.3k+ words | fluff | When Tim finds out you need a fake boyfriend to take to your cousin's wedding, he steps up and offers to go with you. After a night in his arms, you learn that his "boyfriend act" isn't just an act.

Quit for a Reason

2.1k+ words | wife!reader | angst to fluff | When a suspect begins looking for you while you perform a surgery, Tim finds out why you quit your job in law enforcement.

We've Got a Problem

1.1k+ words | fluff | When you get arrested on Tim's day off, you have to call someone to get you out of jail. Tim doesn't answer when you call, but when he finds out what happened, he makes it a bigger problem.

It's Not About You

2.1k+ words | fluff | When Tim overhears his fellow police officers and your other neighbors flirting with you, he gets jealous, and takes it out on you.

Finally Home

1.6k+ words | shy!military doctor! reader | fluff | You enlist your boyfriend Tim to help you surprise your (adoptive) sister Lucy after being deployed for several months.

Pictures of You

1.3k+ words | wife!artist!reader | fluff | While patrolling the fairgrounds, Lucy convinces Tim to have their picture drawn. She doesn't expect you, Tim's wife, to be the artist.

Yell at Me and Tell Me You Love Me

3.0k+ words | angst to fluff | You distance yourself from Tim because you think he is still in love with Isabel. When he confronts you about why you've been avoiding him, you accidentally tell him the truth.

Rook Book

2.4k+ words | fluff | When you return to the Mid-Wilshire station for a Metro inspection, you don't expect to run into your former TO, Tim Bradford.

Rook Book to Remember Me By 3.6k+ words | angst to fluff | Tim's delay in transferring to Metro may have cost him everything, and as he and Lucy search Los Angeles for a killer, he only has his memories and a fake rook book to remember you by.

Carry Us

1.2k+ words | fluff | Tim carrying your son out of the hospital is the cutest thing you've ever seen, and you make sure you'll never forget it.

My Wife

2.2k+ words | angst to fluff | While you're out running errands, a man takes a special interest in you. When he grabs you and thanks a police officer for finding you, his wife, he doesn't expect it to be your husband.

Constant Faith

1.4k+ words | worship pastor!reader | angst to fluff | When your church is robbed during worship practice, you try to remember as many details as you can to tell the police. Tim is the responding officer, and despite his worry about you, he's impressed by what you remember.

Constant Faith and the Life it Brings 1.8k+ words | fluff/comfort | After your church is robbed, Tim learns how you got into faith and helps you learn to share your story.

Why Don't You Flirt with Me?

3.7k+ words | angst to fluff | 5 times you're jealous of someone flirting with Tim Bradford, and the 1 time you tell him why.

I Don't Want Easy

2.0k+ words | angst to fluff | wife!r | When Tim leaves in the middle of the night, you don't know what happened. After you find out you're pregnant a few weeks later, you must decide whether you want to wait for the man who abandoned you or move on.

Cop Meet Cop

2.6k+ words | fluff | + platonic Deacon Kay x r | When your best friend, Deacon Kay, finds out that you're dating a cop, he wants to know everything. Introducing him to Tim Bradford is easier said than done.

Speed Limit 2525

11.7k+ words | angst to fluff | Speed (1994) AU | When Tim Bradford goes head-to-head with a bomber, he finds himself on a bus carrying a bomb and you.

With You, Even When I'm Not

5.5k+ words | angst to fluff ; hurt/comfort | When one of Tim Bradford's enemies is released from prison, he sets out to hurt Tim by hurting you. You trust that Tim will save you, but time is not on your side.

Devastation

3.4k+ words | angst (w/ brief fluff) | cop!reader | You leave Tim because he takes out his frustration about a long day on you. The next day, everyone in the station can tell you're both miserable. A surprise calls sends Tim into a devastated spiral as he wonders if what he said was worth it.

Walk Dates

2.8k+ words | fluff | You and your service dog meet Tim and Kojo during a walk. The dogs force you and Tim to keep meeting, but neither of you mind. When you're late for a walk because of an emergency, Tim decides he would like to be more than walk-buddies.

California Dreams

2.8k+ words | fluff | You move to California to be closer to your brother John after your mom dies. There, you meet Tim Bradford and begin dating. When your boyfriend and brother meet each other, you're surprised to learn it isn't their first interaction.

Confident in Us

2.8k+ words | fluff | confident!reader | You're confident, you keep Tim on his toes, but he realizes that it's not enough. He learns that you have a son from a previous relationship while Angela is pressuring him to ask you out, but you beat him to it.

Call a Truce

3.6k+ words | angst to fluff | You and Tim have a rivalry that began when you were rookies. Years later, you continue competing in everything you do, even when you're helping Tim get out of a dangerous situation.

Better Care

3.1k+ words | angst to fluff | teacher!reader | One of your students is absent, and you worry about her until you return home and see her with your husband, Tim Bradford. He's taking care of her following the death of her parents, but neither of you want it to be a temporary arrangement.

Arrest Me, But Make it Sexy

1.5k+ words | fluff | cop!reader | Tim recruits you to aid in a Metro op. When you ignore his direct orders, you dare him to arrest you, but you have a request.

Arrest Me, But It's Not So Sexy 1.6k+ words | fluff | While you're undercover, Metro raids the drug manufacturing facility you're in. Tim tries to arrest you again, but you have a job to finish.

Talk To Me, Baby

1.0k+ words | fluff | shy!wife!reader | Your son loves to talk to you. Unlike his dad, Tim, he doesn't try to make you shy.

No Party Like a Costco Party

1.9k+ words | fluff | shy!reader | You enjoy going to Costco, so Tim decides to take you shopping on your birthday. With a little help from your best friend, it turns into a party.

What I Didn't Know I Had

1.7k+ words | angst to fluff | pregnant!wife!reader | You get shot, and Tim nearly loses something he didn't know he had.

Skepticism

2.1k+ words | fluff | fem!NFL!reader | Tim is skeptical about the first female NFL player. When he shares his opinion with you, he doesn't realize that you are the woman he's talking about.

Lonely in Misery

2.0k+ words | fluff | paramedic!reader | Bailey notices that you're lonely and miserable while Nolan notices the same about Tim. They decide to set you up on a blind date, but it only ends with more sadness.

Lonelier in Misery 1.7k+ words | fluff | After you first date with Tim, you decide to keep your relationship from Nolan and Bailey for as long as possible.

Truth Serum

2.6k+ words | fluff | cop!reader | While searching for an abducted child, you and Tim are abducted and injected with truth serum.

Defend Myself

1.9k+ words | fluff | During a hockey game, you get into a fight with the drunk man sitting beside you. When Tim Bradford arrives to break up the fight, he decides he'd like to see you again.

Stay in the Car

2.3k+ words | fluff/comfort | cop!wife!reader | Tim disappears from the station, and you and Aaron have to find him. After a heroic leap of faith, you save him in more ways than one.

No Bad Days When You're in Them

2.3k+ words | angst to fluff/comfort | Tim has a bad day, but he forgets about it when he sees you get hurt.

All The Reasons We Can't

2.6k+ words | fluff/comfort | When you move in with Lucy Chen, you don't expect to fall for her ex-boyfriend.

Dodgers Date

1.5k+ words | fluff | shy!wife!reader | For your weekly date night, Tim takes you to a Dodgers game.

Celebrity Crush

1.1k+ words | fluff | You have what some might consider to be an odd celebrity crush. Until you meet him in real life, that is.

Celebrity Crush, Table for Two 1.2k+ words | fluff | You go on a date with your celebrity crush after meeting him in uniform.

More Than Meets the Eye

3.4k+ words | documentary-style | You and Tim go undercover as your criminal doppelgängers. When the case is turned into a documentary, the interviewer and viewers learn that there's often more than meets the eye.

With You and For You

2.2k+ words | angst to fluff | When you're involved in your first shooting, Tim tries to give you the comfort you need. You push him away until you realize why he's there.

Girls' Trip (Plus Tim)

1.3k+ words | fluff | You and Lucy go on a road trip together, but Tim crashes your girls' weekend when the car breaks down.

Creepy, But Special

2.5k+ words | fluff | goth!ME!reader | Tim sees a woman in a cemetery after dark and can't stop thinking about you. When he calls for the M.E. and you arrive, he gets a chance to find out more about you.

Friends from Here

1.7k+ words | fluff | Chen!MP!reader | When you return to the States, Tim Bradford confuses you for your sister Lucy. That night, you realize why he seemed so familiar and gain a new friend.

A Manly Guard Dog

1.2k+ words | fluff | You've been asking your husband for a dachshund, but he tells you that you need a manly dog. When the K9 unit gets a new recruit, Tim reevaluates his view of dachshunds.

A Very Handsome Boy

1.6k+ words | fluff | While you're at a party, your friends mistake a cop for a stripper. He has a way you can make it up to him.

Divorcing Dad

1.5k+ words | fluff/comfort | When your daughter asks Tim if he's getting a divorce, he doesn't know what to say. In the aftermath of the question, you have to comfort both Bradfords.

The Slayers

2.5k+ words | angst to fluff? | Vampires begin attacking people in Los Angeles, and as the chosen one, it's up to you and your partner to stop them.

Home to My Family

1.7k+ words | angst to fluff | After you give birth to twins, they're taken by a nurse for checkups. You soon realize that she's not a nurse, so Tim calls in reinforcements to save your children and catch their abductor.

Party Favors, Bribes, and Sharks

2.0k+ words | fluff | When Tim finally invites you to meet his friends, it takes more than party favors and promises to convince you to go.

Good Luck Charm

1.4k+ words | fluff | At a Dodgers game, you meet Tim Bradford, who thinks you're a good luck charm for the Dodgers.

Only Choice

2.4k+ words | fluff | You and Tim go undercover to catch a serial killer because you're the only choice.

[yiiyiiwrites]

🗡️ | Relics and Ruin | 2 |

Part Two [Previous part] [series masterlist]

Summary: you're a mender in the dawn court, tasked with fixing cursed and broken relics. Azriel x dawn court reader 2,546words

Two days of staring at the truth-teller and it kept repeating the same word. Lies.

The dagger rattled on the table, your older sister pacing the free space in front of you. If you didn't know any better you'd think the relic wasn't fond of her hurried speech or tone either.

"Mother above," she snapped, her hand steadying the truth-teller. "You can't even talk about it, yet you're going down there with those people."

"I think they're more than capable to go there," you said swatting her away from the table.

Truth truth, the murmurs somehow reassuring your fears. You wondered what other energy surrounded the dagger, the thought pulling you to pick it up. The hilt warm against your skin, surprisingly light and it moulded to the curve of your palm as if it were meant to be.

Your sisters words were muffled, the sharp blade drawing your attention. The hold it had on you, intense. A dull twinge pierced your chest and you recognised the aching tug of longing. You'd felt it under the mountain, the burning desire to feel the sun upon your face and breeze washing over you.

A gloved hand circled your wrist and you gasped, truth-teller clinking to the table. Blinking back the blurry vision, shadows swarmed around you, the wind tracing your cheek. The hold on your wrist acted like an anchor, firm but light as you calmed your racing heart.

"Hello," a low, smooth voice spoke beside you. If there wasn't a weight clutching you, you'd think it was the shadows speaking.

Just like the truth-teller, it's owner seemed to tug and draw you in. His touch oddly welcome and familiar, it had been years since you'd allowed someone so close. You stared up at him, hazel eyes focused on your sister.

You slipped out of his grasp and stepped back, your hand shooing the wisps of darkness. Of course he'd look at your sister, so much light and love.

Lies, lies.

The difference was startling as Lena, your sister stood in the golden light of the sun. Her bronzed skin held a warmth you denied yourself, keeping yourself in your studio. Hair that reminded you of rising sun, long and swishing halfway down her back. You on the other hand had chopped your hair off as soon as you were free from under the mountain.

As Lena spoke to the Illyrian, you took the opportunity to study him. He's quiet, but his gaze focused on Lena's as he listened to her rambling on. His gloved hands tucked behind him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as if he knows you are admiring him.

He didn't say a word to your sister, but she's leaning closer and smiling up at him as if he's inviting her. Maybe that's why you feel a pull towards him, he's magnetic and drawing anyone in.

Lies, Lies.

Lena placed her palm on his arm, "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name." She'd been weaving through the court, denying her hand in marriage until she either met her mate or someone with high nobility.

You couldn't help but feel the burn, brows furrowing at your sister and the smooth action, something you'd never dare to do.

"Azriel," he said, stepping back and bowing his head slightly.

His gaze met yours and you looked away, finger following the woods grain of the table. The relics hoarding your studio were quiet, truth-teller the only one seeking your energy. The silence all too consuming, your thoughts flowing freely. Multiple energies were dulled since the dagger had been left in your possession, commanding you to face your mind or maybe your own truths.

Bidding your goodbyes to your sister, eyes trailing after her to make sure she left. As you turned back to your desk, you flinched away from the shadows. You hadn't realised how close he was, didn't hear him approach your workstation.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, regretting the harsh tone of your voice.

Azriel picked up his dagger, turning the blade over and inspecting it. His shadows snaked around his gloved hand and to the scripture on the hilt as if reading it aloud. "Just wanted to see if you'd familiarised yourself with the energy."

Lies,lies.

He tensed, wings twitching briefly, but you caught it. Could the truth-teller speak to him too? Truth, truth

"You lie." The words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.

His brow arched, "so you have familiarised yourself. Truth-teller rarely calls or speaks to others, you must be special." You didn't say how his energy matched, how you felt the same tug to him. A reason you couldn't hold his gaze, didn't want to get lost in the possibilities of your emotions.

You shrugged, "I'm not, just merely open to an objects energy and have a well trained ear to seek them out." The one advantage of rotting under the mountain meant you could hone your mending abilities, not that you had any choice. Fifty years tethered to cursed objects and magical relics, haunted by touch alone.

"And what do the other relics tell you right now?" Azriel asked, once again distracting you from your thoughts and memories.

The energy you used to seek comfort in was nothing but a withering buzz. Even the cursed relics usual shrieking, underwhelming. “Truth-teller calls above them all, draws me in as if it’s the only thing that matters.”

Two sides of the same blade.

The boundary of the dawn court and the beginning of the middle was somewhere you vowed never to step over again. You glanced over your shoulder at the rising sun, as if you’d never see it again for another fifty years.

Your body moved on memory alone, legs carrying you through the large stones entrance hidden beneath the weaving branches of trees. All source of natural light vanished as you stepped over the threshold. Your boots squelched in the trickling water that ran down the caves wall.

A small ball of light floated in front of you, but you were the one guiding them through the maze of passageways. Your head tilted to the side, pointed ears straining to hear of anything beyond your path.

Under the mountain was a place no one had mapped out completely. This entrance however led to the least desirable section. Not intricately carved out like the main area or the throne room. Granted, you’d never been out of this quarter, only three times had you walked the narrow passageways. You’d always remember though, your memory being something you trained as well as your mending skills.

No one had uttered a single word, afraid to hear your voice echoing back to you or summoning something from the depths of the darkness.

As you rounded the corner, your steps faltered. The familiar dingy hallway, doors lining each side. It felt just like before, the deep rooted knot in your stomach twisting. You expected to be shoved forward, but a light touch pressed against your lower back and you leant into the warmth.

“Rhys will go in if you cannot face it.” Azriels whispered breath fanned against the shell of your ear. You’d gone over the plan with them over a hundred times, each time Azriel had reassured you that you were not alone. That you did not have to do anything you were not comfortable with.

You shook your head, retreating from his touch and away from the warmth. Seven doors down, you stopped outside and glanced to the one opposite, the one that still haunted you at night.

“This is the relic room, I will check the other.” Your hand hovered over the broken chain, the ward spelled over the wooden panel zapping your fingertip. Thesan had warded the room so that no one could steal the relics, Rhys learnt how to break and remake it from entering his mind.

Rhys nodded, “we’ll meet back out here, try to keep it quiet. Don’t want to wake anything lurking,” he said, his magic making easy work of dropping the ward. The energy of the spell fell like a sheet of liquid gold, particles disappearing into the gravel.

Halfway through the door opposite you paused, “oh, stick to the shadows and if you hear screaming do not follow the light. Stay in the darkness and do nothing.”

The floating light whizzed past you into the room, it followed your gaze and lit up the areas you searched. You took the gloves from your pocket and shoved them on, the one thing they never allowed you under the mountain.

Touch meant more to menders than any other fae. It being both creation and destruction. Normal fae were more inclined to destroy something they did not understand, whereas you studied and mended. Just couldn’t mend all the destruction they’d done to you.

You tried not to remember this room, the contents still exactly how it had been when you’d last been there. The bed unmade, desk strewn with papers and his messy cursive writing. He’d always have ink staining the side of his fingers, sometimes it’d transfer to your jaw or cheek.

“This was your room?” Azriel asked, sifting through the papers on the desk. His hazel eyes glistening in the dull light as he glanced to you.

Those eyes, you couldn’t quite hold for longer than second. “No, this is someone else’s.” You dropped to your knees and pressed your cheek to the ground, arm sweeping underneath the bed. A small silver box scraped towards you, lock sealed shut.

You didn’t miss the scrunch of Azriel’s brow or the burning gaze that trailed your movements. It’s like he’s in a trance, that or he’s trying to figure you out in a room that isn’t, wasn’t yours. You removed your gloves, the leather too stiff, the constant squeak unbearable in the silence.

He sidestepped you as soon as your hands traced the side of the desk and opened the drawer. Vials of ink rolled to the front, a set of keys jingling on a metal ring. You took the keys, knowing what each one was for.

“I have what I need, let’s go to the relic room,” you said, glancing over your shoulder one last time before you leave the room for good.

Azriel’s hand hovered behind you, but you can feel the warmth and energy alone without his touch. It calms your racing heart and gives you the strength to the meet the relics again.

Cassian’s gaze flicked from the box in your grasp and to Azriel who remained close to you. Rhys staring at the hoards of relics, eyes glazed as he tried to listen for the murmurs of the desired object.

Dark wisps tumbled over your shoulder and twisted around one another as they travelled towards a glimmering spec of light. You would have missed it, if it wasn't for the pesky shadows whirling around the hilt.

The moment your gaze latched onto the relic, a high screech tore through the room and you dropped the box, silver slipping through your fingers. You heard the echo of voices, they merged with the swords energy as if they were connected.

"We've got company."

Azriel spoke, but as you turned to look at him you were met with nothing but shadows. Rhys vanished in a blink of an eye, Cassian crossing the space between you. He balanced a small dagger, blade between his fingers waiting for you to take it. You shook your head and picked the small silver box from the floor.

You grabbed his wrist, "stay in the shadows, don't go to the light." The lock clicked open with the turn of the key, you hesitated with the clasp, steadying your breath for what was to come.

Before you could open the box, Azriel's heavy hand slammed into yours keeping the lid closed. "Together," he said, giving you a slight nod, keeping his promise of not doing anything alone. His shadows swarmed around the two of you, those Illyrian wings curling in as you opened the lid.

You did not know, nor did you ask what spirit lived within the box. Only knew that when you closed it again, you would summon it back to its dwelling it was contained to.

A grey mist snaked out of the top and dove towards the remaining light through the gap between Azriel's wings. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, goosebumps rippling your bare arms. An icy cool breeze hung in the spirits wake, but it seemed to drag Azriel's shadows with it.

The darkness cloaking Azriel and you faded, his grasp on your hand loosening. "Go, help your friends," you whispered. You don't know what possessed you, but your finger smoothed the line of tension settled on his forehead. Blue ink stained his forehead, your fingertips painted the same colour.

"Autumn guards are here, the darkness devours them," he said, more to himself than you. The screams in the passageway filtered through to the relics room, high pitched shrieks tugging at Azriel like his shadows were trying to draw him out to the destruction.

He moved as quick as the shadows, the floating ball of light flaring in front of you. You saw the darkness shift, felt the breeze knock you back a few steps.

Stumbling back, you crashed into a firm chest. Scorching heat enveloped around you, burning touch forcing your hands to close the lid before the spirit devoured your light. You leant into the embrace, eye's closing as you savoured the thousand sparks of energy spreading like wildfire through your body.

"Do not touch her," Cassian spat.

You opened your eyes, the three Illyrian's scowling at the one behind you. The one you knew so well, the one that knew you too well. He let go and you turned to face him.

"Vanserra," you whispered. Eris Vanserra smirked down at you, his hand picking yours up. Ink smudging his fingers, he glanced between your stained hands and the blue smeared across Azriel's forehead.

"It's good to see you," Eris crooned, lifting your chin with his ink splotched hand. "My little mender."

You hated the way your body betrayed you, the mark on your chest burning at his silent command. The tethered bond coaxing you to lean into his touch, despite the stinging burn. You couldn't bring yourself to look at the shadow-singer or his friends, but you knew from his silence that whatever he thought of you before, was nothing now. Why did it bother you so much though?

Before your lips could touch Eris's, he'd winnowed you away in a blur.

taglist: @rcarbo1, @st4r-girl-official,@azrielswhore, @cynthiesjmxazrielslover, @shizukestar, @wolfbc97

I'm already writing the next part, sorry for the long wait between the first part...I was sick so only just getting back to writing now -Yiiyii

[xxchumanixx]

tim bradford x reader

tim knows the reader has a crush on him and so he likes to play around with her about it (flirt, etc) maybe a confession at the end after the reader has finally had enough

Stop talking

Tim Bradford x reader

Warnings/Tags: hurt, angst, fluff Word count: 2.508 Authors note: Hello love, I hope you'll like how I wrote it! I'm not a hundred percent happy with it, but that could just be me being tired of studying. Anyways, let's get going!

Enjoy!

Tim and you had been best friends for years now.

You two had went through thick and thin.

He was there with you, whenever you needed him, being your shoulder to cry on or being your support.

You were there for him, when things with Isabel went downhill, her addiction breaking him apart piece by piece, until she had left him in the middle of the night, shattering him completely.

You remember him calling, frantically asking where she went. But you didn't know, being as clueless as him - even more so, not knowing that she was doing drugs in the first place.

When he then confessed her addiction, you nearly lost it. He had went through all of this suffering, carrying this burden for months, all alone.

He should have told you, even if you might would have ratted her out - she couldn't have been going on carrying a weapon whilst being high.

A responsibility she wasn't able to hold anymore.

You've been there for Tim, never letting him down. But as you were taking care of him, supporting him, something inside you slowly shifted.

Or maybe it had been there all along, but you never would have dared to dig further.

You fell in love with him, as wrong as it was. You couldn't love him, not like that, he was your best friend. But as time carried on, your feelings only grew stronger.

It didn't help that he dated a few women over time, breaking your heart again and again.

Somehow along the way of you being his heart mender, he became your heart breaker.

One night, when you were drunk as hell, having gone out to a party, you might have let it slip - or at least hinted at it. You didn't remember everything, but you were quite sure that he knew about your feelings.

Still you hoped for the contrary.

He occasionally would flirt with you - nothing he never did before, no matter with who. But it made your heart flutter, nonetheless.

Especially since he did it more frequently. You weren't able to tell a joke and an earnest flirt from him apart anymore.

It went from him brushing your hand, hugging you on a night out with a few friends to him kissing your cheek, whispering things into your ear.

Nothing seemed too serious, but it confused you, fueling your feelings for him even further. He wasn't like this before.

"Come on, don't be a party pooper!" Tim complained, pointing at the shot of tequila in front of you. Rolling your eyes, you downed it, before slamming it back on the table, after you had refused to drink it at first.

"Happy now?" you retorted, narrowing your eyes at him, even though you weren't really angry with him.

You were at the bar with a few friends, including Tim. He had brought a round of tequila shots to your table, causing you to grimace.

The last time you had tequila, you almost confessed your feelings to him.

He nodded proudly, grinning at you, the action making you swallow, as your heart beat a tad faster.

He would be the death of you.

"What do you say we dance a little?" he asked, already standing up, not giving you any chance to protest. Rolling your eyes playfully, you grabbed the hand he was offering you, following him onto the dance floor, to where most of your friends had already went off to.

Your fingers tingled as they came in contact with his, sending pleasant shivers up your bare arms.

He normally isn't one to dance, you noted. But he seemed a little different the past few weeks, anyway. Maybe it's nothing.

He chuckled, as you clumsily followed his movements.

Yeah, you really weren't one to dance, either.

He approached you, hands on your hips as he started to guide you. "I'm not that bad." you complained, causing one of his brows to rise. "Tell that to my feet." he retorted, grinning.

You blushed, looking away for a split second, as his hands sent a certain warmth through you.

"Are you okay?" he wanted to know, sounding worried. You nodded, sending him a smile that was meant to reassure him.

Even if he wasn't yours, he was at least for this moment.

His fingers dug into your waist, his thumbs brushing circles on your skin, were your shirt had cutouts.

Maybe you shouldn't have listened to Angela when she told you to buy it. It seemed a little flimsy, nothing you would have typically picked.

It just was too exposing.

Now, you were pretty sure every being on planet earth was able to see the goosebumps forming on your skin.

Tim tugged you a little closer, his breath fanning over your face. He did that often lately, you noted again. He more frequently would seek your proximity, even if it was just a brush of his hand against yours, or something as simple as a hug.

He did it on purpose, you were sure of it by now.

He had to bite his tongue, when you entered the bar earlier. Angela really had it coming for him, your shirt with the cutouts surely her doing.

She knew that it was complicated - at least for him it was. He had refrained from thinking about you in a different way more than once, knowing it would lead to no good.

At least not for him.

He wasn't blind, and he wasn't dumb either. When he had picked you up from a party a few weeks ago, you said something that wouldn't leave his mind.

"I'm never the one."

He had asked what you meant, his gaze briefly wandering towards you, as he drove on the still crowded streets of LA.

"I try so hard but I'm never the one." you had just mumbled, looking out of the window. "I'm so dumb. I'm in love with my -" your words were drowned out by someone honking, clearly unhappy with Tim stopping at a red light.

Dumbass.

He could only assume what you were talking about, or rather who, having to bite his lip as the possibilities of how your sentence would have ended pointed at him - your best friend - as well.

It wasn't like he didn't harbor some feelings for you, too. No, in fact they kept him up at night, plaguing his thoughts even when he was dating someone.

But they weren't you.

When you cared for him when Isabel left, he truly learned to value you. He got to know you in a different way, not the best friend one, but the passionate woman you were.

And he couldn't help but keep thinking about it. About you.

"You look good tonight." Tim noted, causing you to blush again, as you swayed to the rhythm of the music. A smile lightly graced your lips, as your eyes met his, the intensity of his stare stealing your breath.

"Thank you." you returned. "You look pretty good as well." He chuckled, smirking. "I know, baby." he agreed playfully, causing you to huff out a laugh, shaking your head at him.

The endearment made your heart flutter, the sound of it still ringing in your head.

Baby...

You liked it.

It added to the list of names he had called you during the past few weeks: darling, sunshine, sweetheart and now baby.

But, over the time he acted different towards you now, it came to bother you a little bit. Did he nowadays call everyone of his friends baby? Did his hands brush those of others like they did yours?

You knew it was silly - to even interpret something into it, was silly as hell.

But you couldn't help it.

Sometimes, like right now, as one of his hands slid a little more downwards, his face inches from yours, you were unsure, not knowing why he did it.

Did he even know himself?

His cologne clouded your senses, the room slightly spinning, and you finally had enough.

"Excuse me." you mumbled, slipping out of his grasp, before hastily making your way towards the front door, pushing it open.

You needed fresh air, otherwise you couldn't think straight.

Fighting against the tears in your eyes, you let out a silent, frustrated cry, hands balling into fists, after you stopped a few feet away.

Something you realized a while back, came to your mind again.

Either you had to quit your friendship, or you had to get rid of these feelings for him.

Both options were heartbreaking.

The door pushed open behind you, steps echoing through the night, before he stood before you. Of course his protective instinct had to kick in.

"What happened?" he wanted to know, confusion and worry etched into his features. "I'm good, just needed some fresh air." you lied, trying to reassure him, not looking at him though.

He shook his head, not believing you. "Y/N, you know you can tell me everything." he tried to get you to open up, but you just snorted.

You didn't mean to, really, it just slipped out.

He leaned down, his eyes searching yours. "Y/N." he pressed, even more worried by your reaction.

"Are you having fun?" you snapped at him, finally looking up. He leaned back a little, brows furrowing. "What do you mean?" he asked, knowing that you didn't mean hanging out at the bar.

You huffed, barely being able to contain a frustrated laugh.

"Do you like making a fool out of me?" you asked a bit louder, arms crossed over your chest. "Because I don't. Whatever it is you are currently going through, don't let it out on me."

His mouth was agape, as he tried to process what you said. "What do you mean?" he wanted to know, though it seemed to dawn on him. He really should have kept more to himself.

"I mean your-" you searched for the right words, getting frustrated again. "Your constant over the top flirtatious behavior, the touches! Maybe I'm just misinterpreting things, but something's been different for the last couple weeks!"

He huffed, brows raised. He was right with his assumption, he had to admit that he went overboard with it. But he wanted to test his theory - and he had desperately hoped he was right.

"Do you remember the night I picked you up, after that party you went to?´" he inquired, biting his cheek.

Of course you did - how could you not if you almost spilled the truth in your drunken state?

"What about it?" you gave back, not sure if you really wanted to hear it. "Do you remember what you said?" he asked, eyes fixed on yours. Inhaling shakily, you licked your lip.

"I don't know what you mean."

His eyes rolled, as he shook his head, getting worked up. His patience was running thin, you playing dumb not helping the case.

"You know exactly what I mean." he deadpanned, arms crossing over his chest. Trying to hold back the tears that welled up, you looked down at the ground. "And?"

He sighed, taking a small step closer.

"I know what you feel."

He risked it, he had to. He didn't have the patience to play around. He needed to know if he was right.

"I know that you have feelings for me."

Your heart stopped, before it doubled its speed, as your cheeks grew unbearably hot.

"You don't know what I feel." you tried to deflect, shaking your head as a tear managed to spill. "You don't know how it feels to love someone you can't have, to watch the person you have feelings for go out on dates. To watch said person delve into a relationship, breaking your heart over and over again."

He sucked in a breath, finally having his confirmation.

"But I-" he wanted to interject, but you didn't let him.

"You don't know, how hard it is to have to choose." you continued, briefly looking up at him. His face was contorted, like he was in pain, as he opened his mouth to speak - but you didn't let him, again.

"Either I get rid of these feelings as quick as possible or I distance myself. It both fucking hurts to think about."

He grew impatient, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, as he waited for you to shut up. But you were rambling on, eventually causing him to snap.

"You-" He didn't let you talk this time, as he grabbed your face, pulling you closer, not giving you any time to process, as his lips met yours. They moved demandingly against yours, his hands tilting your head to get better access.

When your mind finally processed what was happening, you returned the kiss, leaning towards him.

Why was he kissing you?

Not that you complained, though. It felt heavenly, his lips being soft and warm. They moved in synch with yours, his tongue licking into your mouth.

When he let go of you after a while, you gasped for air, eyes wide as you looked at him.

"Stop talking." he muttered, breathing heavily, his pupils blown wide. "I wasn't sure if I heard you right. But I had to try - I had to know it. Yes, I fooled around by flirting with you, but that was to find out how you'd react."

One of his hands brushed a few strands of hair out of your face, before it stilled on your cheek.

"I have feelings for you, Y/N." he admitted and the butterflies in your stomach exploded. "I know that it's wrong, but fuck it. After what happened with Isabel, I didn't want to fall in love with someone like you again - someone that knows me like the back of her hand, someone that knows all my weak spots. But I was wrong. I never should have dated someone just to get rid of these feelings for you - instead I should have asked you out on a date."

Mouth agape, you stared at him, pure happiness and warmth pulsing through you.

"And that's what I'm gonna do now." he continued, eyes locked onto yours. "Do you want to go out for dinner with me?"

A tear managed to escape your eye, but he was quick to wipe it away.

"Yes, Tim, I'd love to." you spoke shakily, smiling at him through the tears in your eyes. "And yes, you are right - I do have feelings for you. I just never thought you would even consider me."

He rolled his eyes, muttering a bullshit.

"Let's go out and we'll see if my flirting is appreciated now." he offered, smirking a little. Huffing, you swatted at his arm. "It was appreciated, thank you very much."

He laughed, one of his arms wrapping around your shoulders, as he guided you back to the bar.

"Let's go, or we'll be arrested for not paying our bills."

"Our first date being in a cell at the police station - how romantic!"

[gh0stsp1d3r]

𝒮𝓌𝒶𝓃

-coryo with a dancer! Reader cause why not. Might make this a series. Love at first sight type trope

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Part 2, part 3

Coriolanus Snow's heart belonged to you the second he laid his eyes on you. The dancer girl he's been told he had to mentor.

Everyone in district 12 knew you, the girl who danced before she walked, some liked to call you. Though you were mostly known as swan. The white frilly dress you usually wore was the main reason, the way you danced so gracefully.

You, like everyone else in the districts, were poor. You had no family, no one to go home to. But still, you were happy. You served as a sign of hope, of love and care to everyone who could see you dance.

Your heart sunk as your name was called, people murmured as they turned to you. You took a deep breath before walking up, ignoring the stares and the whispers.

You stood up to the stage, looking directly into the cameras with a glare. You detested the games, they were inhumane and terrible.

“The “runt girl” from district 12. She belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

That’s the moment that the entirety of the capital knew Coriolanus snow would have his hands full with this girl.

The train came to a slow stop, you were helped out by Jessup, the man from your district who you’ve gotten to know.

You both had turned around when a blonde haired boy came up. He was gorgeous, he stood in front of you and held out a white rose.

“Welcome to the capital.”

You looked at the rose, slowly taking it and admiring it.

“You look like you shouldn’t be here.” You remarked, a small smile on your face as your fingers pulled off a petal or two.

“Well, I shouldn’t. But I’m your mentor.” He was interested in you.

“A rebel, huh?” You joked. “What is a mentor supposed to do, exactly?” You asked curiously.

“To take care of their tribute.”

“What’s your name..?” You asked him.

“Coriolanus Snow.”

“Y/n L/n. But most people in 12 know me as swan.”

He was about to ask you something when he was cut off by a scream.

“No!” Some girl shouted as she was thrown out, you looked up and frowned as the peacekeepers grabbed her and forced her to stand up.

“Assholes.” You mumbled when they walked past you, looking them up and down. Some others came from behind and told you guys to move along.

He had followed them into the truck, once the peacekeepers were distracted, running into it. You watched him with a furrowed brow, he looked back and saw all the tributes looking at him.

What an odd man, you thought.

“Hi.” He said to them.

“What’s the matter pretty boy? You in the wrong cage?”

“No. This cage is delightful.”

“Get him reaper.” One said.

“I will kill you right now.” He pinned him to the wall of the truck.

“He’ll do it too. He killed a peacekeeper back in 11.” One girl said.

“I say we all kill him.”

“Do you guys have family back home? Friends? They’ll kill everyone you know if you kill him. Probably not the best idea.” You shrugged, not looking up at them and still just messing with the rose.

“And he’s my mentor, I would rather you not kill him.”

“How come you get a mender?”

“Mentor. You each get one.” He corrected.

“And we’re all just supposed to believe you?”

“I’m just.. here to help you.”

“Why does uh.. dancer girl here get special treatment? Why aren’t our menders here?”

You looked up from the rose now, looking at the girl in your face. You then looked over to the blonde boy, he was looking back at you. You shrugged, “Just not inspired, I guess.”

He sent you a small smirk, and the truck started to beep. Everyone started falling, and the blonde boy quickly grabbed you, holding you. You both had fallen down together, and looked out.

You were both inside some cage, there was a crowd of people outside, looking as if you were all animals.

“It’s terrible.” You mumbled out, he looked at you now, curiosity in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Everything. Why do we have to pay the price for something we had no part in? It’s like we’re fuckin’ animals.” You turned to him now.

He didn’t say anything, instead swallowing the lump in his throat and looking at the crowd. You did as well.

He liked that you were fierce. You weren't afraid to speak your mind, or your truth. It made him all the more enamored with you.

A performer forced to fight. That’s all you were. He knew it, of course he did. He was your only shot of winning, of surviving. You slowly learned to trust him and began to do what he had asked of you.

He asked you to dance once you got up on that stage, and he was right. The donations came pouring in, the people loved you, and now it wasn't people only from the districts, it was people from the capitol.

He watched with a small smile on his face as you leaped across the stage, you seemed at peace when you danced. It was graceful, and elegant even with the now worn-out dress.

You truly were just a little swan, his swan to protect and keep.

[callsign-rogueone]

resson (garrick's version)

Garrick Tavis x reader a Garrick and Angel chapter! I need to re-number these at some point, but this happens between 1 and 2 — some of the events at Resson, and them going back to Aretia. written in Garrick’s pov, since Angel isn’t exactly conscious at the moment... words: 2.9k 🏷️: fourth wing spoilers, major character death, canon injury, allusions to hypothermia, writing as Garrick is hard but I tried, poor boy isn’t sure she’s gonna survive this (we know she does, since I wrote this out of order, but still), he takes good care of his girl, Sweetheart makes an appearance along with Darling Spark and Love, somewhat proofread but not really. I’m sorry this took me so long, but here it is. better late than never?

There’s a red dragon lying on the ground, wounded. It’s either Cosa or Deigh, but I can’t tell from this far out. Deigh, I realize when I’m close enough to see his horns, and he isn’t moving. If he’s dead, then Liam only has a few minutes left.

I make the jump too quickly, scrambling to get my feet underneath me, but I’m too late. Liam’s gone. His girlfriend is sobbing into his shoulder, Bodhi attempting to soothe her through his own tears. He has one arm held to his chest, the other rubbing her back gently. 

But there’s a second body slumped against Deigh’s side, and my heart nearly stops when I realize who it is. 

“Angel,” I breathe, kneeling down beside her, brushing my hands over her cheeks. She’s cold to the touch even in the July heat, her head lolled down onto her chest and her body completely limp, but she’s still breathing, thank the gods. I couldn’t bear to lose both her and Liam on the same day. It would destroy me. 

A quick inspection and confirmation from Tab tell me that she’s not wounded — a few scratches here and there, and some tender points that will be bruised tomorrow, but nothing major.

“She tried,” Bodhi tells me quietly. “There was nothing she could do, but she tried anyway, and…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, knowing that I can see it as well as he can.

I’ve seen her drained before, completely exhausted after a long day mending in the infirmary, unsteady on her feet and ready to flop facedown onto my bed and sleep it off, but this is several steps past that. It’s clear that she’d used absolutely everything she had in trying to keep Liam and Deigh alive, and I don’t know how long it will take her to recover. 

If she does recover, I think for a single second before crumpling the thought up like a piece of parchment and shoving it deep, deep down. She’s going to live. She’s going to recover. She has to. There is no way that the two of us could ever be separated like that. 

I have to do something, but what? Is sleeping it off followed by a giant bowl of pasta going to be enough this time, or does she need to see a healer? Could the healers even fix this? Is there a cure for burnout other than rest?

“The Lieutenant Colonel would know. He’s a mender as well.” 

Brennan would know. Him or Colonel Colbersy would be the best bets — but the idea of taking her back to that hellhole school right now is enough to light my blood on fire. Graduation is in less than a week, and I know they aren’t going to give her any time to recover before they transfer her across the continent to gods-know-where and expect her to start working.

I hook an arm under her knees, another behind her back, lifting her up from the dirt and gathering her into my lap. She’s too drained to speak, to open her eyes, but I feel a little flare of recognition from her as she leans into my chest — she knows it’s me. She’s still in there. 

I tuck her head into my shoulder, stroking a hand over her disheveled braids, because that’s all I can do right now.

Our little sister has silently slotted herself between me and Bodhi. She leans her head against my shoulder, sniffling quietly. She looks unharmed, but there’s dried blood coating her nose and upper lip, and her cuticles are shredded; she’s been peeling them since we left the school, as a nervous habit. Something’s bothering her, but I haven’t had time to ask what — though I have a suspicion that it has something to do with that little joker in Violet’s squad.

And now this. Liam had become her best friend, the first person her age that she was truly comfortable with, and now… I put my other arm around her, squeezing gently. She’s trembling, crying as quietly as possible — even in a situation like this, she doesn’t want to make a sound.

“I’m so sorry, kid,” I say softly, as if that will make it hurt any less.

She leans into me a little further. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” I promise her, “She’s gonna be fine in a day or two. She just needs rest — you know how it is.”

I pray to every higher power that exists that I’m right — that Angel will be fine, that our sister won’t lose yet another loved one. She’s finally coming out of her shell, starting to let people in, but I’m afraid that losing Liam might send her right back to square one: the girl I’d met six years ago, who was too scared to speak. I didn’t hear her voice for a week and a half — only timid nods or shakes of the head for yes or no questions.

My eyes widen as I see Xaden approach, a limp-looking Violet in his arms. She’s wheezing, black blood trickling from a wound in her side.

“It has to be poison,” Imogen reasons, sounding more torn up about this than I thought she’d ever be. “Look at it! We have to get her back to Basgiath. Nolon might be able to help.”

“That’s a twelve-hour flight.” Xaden’s voice rises. “And I’m pretty sure her arm is broken.”

Is she going to make it that long?

“There’s somewhere closer,” he says quietly.

“You can’t be serious,” Ciaran interrupts.

“You’ll put everything at risk,” I warn.

Tairn roars in dissent.

“I wouldn’t say that again,” Imogen mutters, “or he’ll probably eat you. And don’t forget, if she dies, there’s a damn good chance Xaden does, too.”

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t, just reminding him what the stakes are.”

“I don’t give a fuck what happens to me!” Xaden yells. “We’re going, and that’s an order.”

Bodhi agrees without protest. “No need for orders, man. We’ll save her.” 

“You’re sure about this?” Imogen asks.

“Stop fucking asking him that,” I snap without thinking. “He made his decision. Support him or get the fuck out, Imogen.”

“And it’s a bad one.”

Bodhi turns his head to glare at him. “When you have a hundred and seven scars on your back, then you get to make the fucking decisions, Ciaran.”

Rocks crunch under a pair of boots as another of our friends approaches. She looks utterly defeated — her face, neck, and hair are splattered with wyvern blood, and the makeup she’d so carefully applied for the Reunification Day party is running in dark trails down her cheeks, her eyes swollen and red from crying. She’s unusually quiet as she speaks. “X is right. We need to lie low for a few days — get our wounded help, and…”

And bury Liam. Her little brother. 

A wave of guilt floods through me. I had been too focused on Angel to fully process the fact that Liam, Xaden’s little brother, who may as well be mine too, is gone forever. We have to bury him tomorrow. I’ll never hear him laugh again, never receive another one of his little wood carvings… Oh, fuck. Sloane. She’d been counting down until her conscription day, when she could see him again, but now she never will. 

“It’s settled, then,” another soft voice says — Bodhi’s wife. “We’re going home.”

Nobody dares to disagree with her.

I give our sister one last gentle squeeze before I rise from the ground, Angel in my arms, and carry her the hundred yards to the rest of the riot, who have been keeping watch over us.

Tab lowers his head, mournful and dejected. He must regret not cutting her off, blocking her out from his magic before she overdid it. She’d never forgive him if he had interfered with her efforts to save Liam, but if he had, she might still be lucid. 

It’s absolutely terrifying seeing her like this. 

Chradh nods in understanding before I can ask, lowering himself flat to the ground so I can climb up while still holding her. I know it’s a major no-no for a dragon to bear anyone but their rider, but all of ours understand the gravity of the situation — a few of us aren’t in condition to fly, and will need to double up with someone who is.

She’s still freezing cold, and I know that the altitude and wind on our flight home won’t help. I sit her up in front of me, removing my flight jacket one sleeve at a time. 

It’s like dressing a doll — she’s completely pliant in my arms, and I have to keep moving her to get the jacket on, guiding her hands through the sleeves and buttoning it closed on top of her own. I pull her goggles up so the wind won’t hurt her eyes, and turn her head to tuck her face into my neck. 

Chradh wraps an invisible band of power around us to help keep her in place. 

“Just hang on for me, Angel,” I murmur, my lips brushing her hairline. “We’re taking you home.”

———————————————

Every step up the staircase sends a wave of pain up my left leg. I fucked up my knee in my running landing, too panicked to think straight once I realized that one of the dragons was wounded so severely.

I can worry about myself later. Right now I need to get her in bed, and prepare her for Brennan’s assessment.

My magic works to open the doors here, too, so I don’t have to worry about dropping her while I get us inside. I sit in my desk chair and prop her up in my lap, the wood creaking under our combined weight. 

I get her out of my flight jacket, then hers, and assess the state of her base layers. I decide to get her out of her leathers, at least — those are terrible to sleep in, and she’s always been picky about “outside clothes” on the bed. 

She was cold to the touch even with the extra layers, but without them I realize exactly how icy her skin is. I leave her with shorts and a tank top, but I pull back the bed covers with one hand and lay her down, piling her with blankets to make up for the loss. As soon as I drape them over her body, I’m rewarded with a small sign of life — she burrows deeper into the covers, seeking warmth.

Maybe warming her back up will be enough to get her lucid again, like this is some kind of hypothermia. But how did that happen? It’s July, the warmest part of the year across the whole continent.

I drag my desk chair over to the edge of the bed, taking a seat. It’ll be a while yet before Brennan can check on her — it’s going to take a small miracle for him to get the poison out of Violet’s system. 

She’s turned her head away from me, so I occupy myself with fixing her braids. They’re undone in places, big strands pulled out by the wind. I untie the leather band at the bottom, setting it on the nightstand and gently undoing the plaits. 

I’ve been practicing, but I’m not skilled enough to do the style she usually wears. I settle for detangling as best I can with just my fingers, and gathering it all into a low ponytail. It’s a small comfort to see her looking less disheveled. This way I can almost pretend that there’s nothing wrong, that she’s just taking a nap in my bed on a winter afternoon, piled up with blankets. 

“Can you ask Tab to keep an eye on her while I shower?”

“He won’t be taking his eye off of her anytime soon.”

If Tab can still feel her, that’s a good sign, I guess. I’ll take anything normal as a good sign right now. I cast one last long glance at her before I slip into the bathroom, keeping the door open just in case.

I look like shit after nearly two full days of flight and combat, but a shower and some real sleep should help. The water here is warmer than at Basgiath — though that’s a very low bar — and the pressure isn’t terrible. It’s almost nice. It would be a welcome reprieve, if I wasn’t so worried about her and Violet and all of our friends. I’m pretty sure Bodhi broke an arm back there, and our sister looked so shaken… she’d disappeared as soon as we got home. I need to check on her in the morning.

I haven’t heard anything from the bedroom, which is either a good sign or a bad one, but when I peek my head out, I can see the pile of blankets still rising and falling with her slow breaths. I dry off as quickly as I can and begin the search for clean clothes.

My old pajama pants are loose enough to accommodate the extra inches I’ve put on my thighs in three years as a dragon rider, but I can’t fit my arms through the sleeves of the first shirt I find. I make a quick modification with one of my smaller knives before tugging it over my head and settling back down beside her.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

Brennan looks absolutely exhausted, but he waves a hand at me in dismissal as I rise from the creaking desk chair and offer it to him. Stubborn fucking Sorrengails. 

He examines her for a minute, his eyebrows drawn together the way I’ve seen them when he’s looking over a battle map as he checks her pulse. Her breaths become even slower as he wraps his hand around her wrist, her body relaxing. 

“How long has she been like this?”

“Since we left Resson,” I answer. “She didn’t wake up on the flight.”

He blows out a breath. “I can fix the smaller stuff, but I don’t know what made her this way. I’ve seen burnout before, but this isn’t it.” He pauses, and his voice is strained as he continues. “It’s like she siphoned half her life away to try to save him.”

I can’t help but wince, knowing how his friend had done just that in the battle of Aretia five years ago — only Naolin had given up not just half his life, but the whole of it. And him being reminded of that on the day that he’d finally reunited with his little sister, who is currently residing on Malek’s doormat… 

I break the silence after a moment. “She’s not a siphoner, though. She’s a mender, like you.”

“That explains it, I guess. The loss of Deigh’s power is what ended Liam’s life, but we can’t mend magic. There’s nothing she could have done, but she kept trying anyway, and it was too much for her.”

Again, he sounds pained. 

I tread carefully with my next question. “Have you seen it happen before? A rider lose their dragon?”

“Yes. I tried as hard as I could to save her, but it was futile. I felt utterly useless.”

“How long did it take you to recover?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t need to. I was fine, just a little shaken.”

I exhale. “She’s always had issues with her signet. It’s easy for her to overwork herself, but I’ve never seen it this bad.”

He lets go of her wrist, setting her arm down gently, and I hear a soft sound of discomfort leave her lips. Why is she in pain? He’d just mended all of her visible injuries away, and I didn’t see anything under her clothes when I’d gotten her into bed. Maybe it’s the sudden cold — being mended always feels warm, and she’s still freezing.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” I say softly. “Thank you.”

He nods, looking ready to head up a flight to his own room and collapse.

The sun has set, the warm dusk we’d landed in now replaced with dark night, and I’m absolutely exhausted. I lift up a few of the half dozen blankets, slotting myself in next to her. My entire body relaxes as soon as I’m horizontal on a real mattress, the pressure taken off of my legs. 

She curls into me with a soft sigh, and it takes an effort not to flinch at how cold she still is even through the layers of blankets, but I wrap my arms around her, trying to warm her up. “Angel?” I ask softly.

No response — not even a hum. How long is she going to be like this?

“I love you,” I say quietly, even though it’s doubtful she can hear me. “Get some rest, okay? You need to recover. You have to recover. I need you. We all need you.”

Another sleepy sigh as she shifts over a little, resting her head over my heart like she always does. It’s probably just muscle memory from sleeping like this every night for years, but part of me wonders if it’s her telling me that she loves me too, and that she’ll be okay.

“Sleep,” Chradh encourages. “We’ll watch her.”

I don’t respond, my eyes already closing. Shitty circumstances aside, it’s nice to be home again, curled up with her in my — our — own bed, away from the demands of that infernal school. 

We can sleep as late as we want tomorrow morning.

[hellinistical]

fem! reader x rafayel. royal! au. sea horror! au. heavy angst. minor and major character death. slow burn. romance. fluff. explicit smut. trauma. religious themes. gore; hinted torture, cannibalism, decapitation, self-cannibalism. violence. wc: 1801 | status: on-going

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taglist

"He watched her from the ocean’s veil,

A creature wrought from myth and sea,

His love, a secret, soft and frail,

Yet in her gaze, he longed to be.

She knew him not, as days went by,

That eyes so wild could turn so tender,

She danced beneath the starlit sky,

While he, unseen, became her mender.

He shaped his voice to earthly sound,

His form to walk where mortals tread,

Yet in his soul, the sea was bound,

Its ancient call filled him with dread.

Alone she stands, with heart undone,

A lonely maid upon the sand,

shells do lay broken in hand,

The sea sings low of what’s begun,

A war of hearts, flesh, and blood."

I: LEGENDS OF OLD

II: GOLD-STRUCK

III: COLLECTION

copyright © 2024 Hellinistical all rights reserved. no part of this story may be reposted, edited, or reproduced without the author’s permission.

[angstywaifu]

You Think I Wanted This? Dain Aetos x Reader

Prompt - “You think I of all people wanted to fall in love with you?” by @fw-gt

A/N: For a prompt for a character I never thought I would write, I am honestly really happy with this. So I hope all you Dain girls like this. Pre Warning though, there is no happy ending. This is just Dain angst. So enjoy if thats you thing? As always requests are open if you want to suggest anything.

Masterlist

It was so hard to keep my focus on Devera and Markham who were talking about one of the current issues on our borders. I could feel his eyes on me and the bruise and cut on my eye. My squad had come back from our RSC interrogation training late last night. We had been told to let our injuries heal naturally if they weren’t life threatening. So here I sat in battle brief, with my squad, with very visible and notable injuries.

Most of the other riders had ignored it after our arrival back at formation this morning. But not him. I had felt his eyes on me as soon as I had taken my place in the rotunda. Had felt them in the corridors as our squads crossed paths. And I knew if I looked to my right I would meet the sandy brown eyes of Dain who sat a few seats away with his squad mates. His squad had yet to be taken for interrogation training. But we had seen enough come and go to know what it entailed. Knew from the injuries the other second years had returned with what awaited us. And yet I had felt his eyes on me all morning. I knew I wasn’t the only one. A few rows behind me I knew my closest friends were watching him as well. Probably wondering why Dain was watching me like a hawk.

Dain and I had become friends somehow. Somehow he trusted me unlike the other marked ones. All the others he kept his distance from. Somehow that one challenge had changed everything. The challenge where we had gone all out as it was one of the last of the year. We had ended up sending each other the healers quadrant, both being deemed a stay over night. We had also been the only cadets there. The joys of giving each other concussions and a mender not being available to heal us fully till the next day.

With only each other for company, we had begrudgingly talked to each other. We had then stayed up till the early hours of the morning talking till a healer had told us off and demanded we get rest before being mended in the morning. From there it had spiralled. Late night sparring sessions, catching each other in the library while we studied. Keeping our new found friendship secret. Mainly for Dain’s sake than mine. I would definitely get a talking to from my friends, but Dain would have it far worse if his father found out he was friends with a marked one. A child of the rebellion.

But recently our friendship had changed. Something more teetering at the edges. Our library catch ups turned into study sessions in one of our rooms, our sparring sessions having a little extra tension when one of us managed to pin the other underneath us on the mat. I had started getting feelings for Dain. Very strong feelings for Dain. I would get jealous any time he doted after Violet, protecting her. But then my heart would do cartwheels whenever his eyes met mine. And my eyes would wander whenever I could see him during sparing and challenges. Admiring the way he handled himself, and honestly the view. Dain wasn’t as built with muscle as Xaden and Garrick were. But the amount he did have suited him perfectly.

I had fallen hard for Dain Aetos, as much as I had tried not to. I had fallen for someone that was considered my enemy. And I had to put a stop to it. Or at least get through the next year and a half where we would most likely get posted far away from each other and I would never see him again. Just another year and a half. In the distance the bell rings across the college, signalling the end of classes and the start of lunch. As I had been too out of it to unpack anything for the class I quickly grabbed my bag and rushed down the stairs. Away from Dain’s eyes. Very glad my spot in the room gave me a quicker escape than Dain who I had glimpsed fighting against the crowd to get to me.

I headed for my room, hoping Dain would head directly to the dining hall where most of the quadrant would go. Where I should be going seeing as I had slept through breakfast this morning. But clearly Dain knew me better than I thought. I had been so caught up in making it to my dorm room to change before challenges that I hadn’t heard the fast approaching steps. A yelp escaping my lips as a hand grabs my jacket sleeve and drags me behind a pillar. My eyes meeting the sandy brown eyes of Dain. His eyes are frantic as they take in my face properly. Focusing on the deep blues and purples around my eye, and the scar that extended from more fore head, narrowly missing my eye before ending halfway down my cheek.

”You should go see a healer.” He says as his eyes meet mine, his hand still grasping my jacket sleeve tightly.

”Not allowed to.” I say numbly as I cast my gaze away from his, feeling my cheeks starting to flush under his intense gaze.

I see his eyebrows furrow in annoyance, a slight tick in his jaw. “But you’re hurt. They can’t stop you. I’ll take you.” His hand releases my jacket as he goes to grab my hand.

I step backwards, his hand hanging in mid air where it went to grab mine. “I don’t need you to baby me like Violet. I’ll be fine.” I snap at him.

I hate myself as the words leave my mouth as he recoils. He had confided in me about his situation with Violet. From the kiss they had shared at Threshing, to the fights they’d had since she had arrived. He had confided in me about that, opened his heart to me and let me in. And I had just thrown it in his face. I knew he was just trying to help. But something in me had reared up at it. Telling me to shove it away. That I didn’t need his help. Didn’t need his pity. Didn’t want the help his name would bring if he took me over to the healers.

“I’m not trying to baby you. I know you’re different to Violet. But you’re hurt. You need healing.” He pleads to me as he steps towards me again.

”If I was out in the field I wouldn’t get healing. They’re just preparing us for when we leave.” I take a step back. I see the pain in his eyes as I step back, my words pushing him away. Maybe this was my way out. It pained me to do it, but I had to distance myself from him. Push the feelings I had away. I couldn’t be with someone like him. It would never work. Him the Colonels son, and me a marked one from the rebellion. A reminder of what happened. Our friendship would never leave this quadrant. “I don’t want your pity, and I don’t want healing the rest of my squad wont have available to them. I don’t want the privileges that come with your name.”

I go to push past him, my only avenue of escape. I had hoped my words would numb him. Stop any reaction he would have to me walking past him. But his hand reaches out and grasps my hand, spinning me around to him, his other hand cupping my cheek. His eyes go with with shock at the contact. I want to pull away, but its as if something is holding me there. Something willing me to not move. A connection. No. A presence? What was it. Whatever it is lets me go after a few seconds, Dain releasing his hold on me as he stumbles back. The shock still evident in his eyes. As if he has been told something he can’t quite believe.

”You love me.” He suddenly blurts out.

I stand there in shock as my own eyes go wide. How the hell did he know I had feelings for him? Wait. Did he say love? No. I just had strong feelings for him. Feelings I needed to get rid of. Feelings that shouldn’t exist. Feelings I was trying my best to get rid of by pushing him away. Feelings I had not told him about. But somehow he had know about them. Dain’s hand the had cupped my cheek still hovered in mid air as his eyes darted between it and me. Could Dain read my thoughts? It’s then I realise he has never told me his signet. That the patch on his uniform indicates classified. A mind reading signet that could only be activated by touch would definitely be one they would allow to stay. And one they would keep secret.

“No. No I don’t.” I tell him as I shake my head quickly.

”No you do. But you don’t want to.” He says with a sad tone to his voice as his eyes focus on me.

I swallow nervously as I stare back into his eyes. My suspicions confirmed. Dain could read thoughts at touch. And I had been practically screaming mine in my head as I had tried to push past him. I knew he hadn’t done it on purpose by the way he was reacting. But hard to ignore something when it is practically being yelled at you.

”You think I of all people wanted to fall in love with you? Gods I tried not to. I tried so hard.” I feel wetness on my cheek and realise I’ve started crying. “But I did. I fell so fucking hard for you it wasn’t funny. And I shouldn’t have. But here we are.”

”You make it sound like a bad thing.”

”Because it is Dain!” I yell, not caring who hears us now. “We shouldn’t even be friends. I should have ignored you that night in the healers quadrant. But I didn’t. I should have pushed you away when you sought me out after. But I didn’t. I didn’t because I didn’t want to push you away. But I should have. I should have ended this before I fell fucking fell for you.”

Dain just stares at me in shock. I swear I see some tears in his eyes as well. But unlike mine they dont stream down his face. He manages to keep his emotions in check.

”What if I fell for you to? What if I was dumb enough to fall for you to even though I knew I shouldn’t be?” He takes a step towards me.

I shake my head. “There is no what if, because even if you did Dain, nothing can come of it. This doesn’t end well for us in any scenario.”

He reaches out and takes my hand in his. He knows I will try to pull away as he links his fingers in mine and holds on tightly. “What if it did?” He asks softly, leaning down to rest his forehead on mine.

I close my eyes, not wanting to stare into his eyes that I know will have me succumbing to my emotions. I needed to push him away. I couldn’t let him in. I couldn’t go down this path. It only ended in heart break. It would not have a happy ending.

”We know it doesn’t Dain. Someone like you and someone like me don’t work together. We would constantly be hiding it. I don’t want that.” I say softly, still keeping my eyes closed.

I feel his breath across my face as he sighs. He knows I’m right. And I know he would constantly be torn between who he is, who his father is and me.

”We could just have this. Have us while we are here. Where we can hide it. Enjoy what time we have.” His voice pleads to me.

My breath comes out shaky. His grip on me tightening in response. “I can’t do that. I can’t do this knowing there’s an end date. I can’t Dain.”

I feel him nod. His movement causing mine to move with his. He knows I’m right. I open my eyes to see his sandy brown eyes already staring into mine. So much sadness in them. So much emotion in them. I know mine reflected the same. I wonder if he could sense my emotions with his signet, or if it was just past memories. Either way it didn’t matter. Everything was out in the open right now.

”Can I have one thing before you walk away? Before we go and pretend we don’t exist to each other any more?” He asks.

I nod at him, and in an instant his lips are on mine. I don’t even try to push him away. I let my emotions take over. Let my body do what I’ve wanted to do whenever he’s had me pinned underneath him on the training room mats. I grasp his jacket and pull him as close as I can as I deepen the kiss. His lips parting in response. His arms wrapping around me so tightly I don’t know where he ends and I start. The kiss is urgent and passionate, both of us knowing this will be the first and last time this happens. We pour all our emotions into it before shuffling feet has us breaking apart. No one could see us behind the pillar, but we couldn’t risk it. I can feel the tears threatening to flow again, so I push past Dain with ease this time as he lets me pass. Not daring to look back to see if he watches me go. But I know he does. I feel his eyes on my back like I had all day, but this time for a different reason.

[nurllius]

SAPLING AAHRTUR + Callahan

LORE TIME. So Aahrtur is actually not from the Pale Tree but from a tree based somewhere deep in the Shiverpeaks. However when he was to wake, Sons of Svanir that found the tree attacked it, killing everyone there without mercy. Some Norn that knew about the Tree and swore to protect it in alliance with it came to aid in the battle however they werent enough. Amidst the fight the svanir would destroy pods killing the sylvari inside. When one got to Aahrtur’s pod they striked once, stabbing him near his heart, however a norn that fought alongside the tree stopped him before he could completely destroy the pod. Aahrtur fell out of the pod, still asleep as he was heavily bleeding. The norn saw the fight was unable to be won and swore to save anyone that he could. With that he grabbed Aahrtur and ran to see the nearest mender. Many menders of many races tried to wake Aahrtur up even after the wound was tended to but he remained asleep, his breathing shallow. That’s when the Norn decided he would visit his dear friend that he knew to be the best mender he knew, based in the Caledon Forest. Once there. After a few days of trying different things, a white fern hound came in, one of the fern hounds that Callahan, the mender, took care of, and it licked the sleeping sylvari. To everyone’s surprise that woke him up as he slowly stirred awake.

Aahrtur however woke up feeling confused and…empty. He didnt know but the tree that he awoke from, had fallen in battle. Oblivious to the fact and absent of any connection with the Dream he over time learns from the ones around him, mainly Callahan as she agreed to keeping Aahrtur with her to see his recovery process.

This is why Aahrtur’s main goal was to find who he really was and to find his place where he’d feel like he belonged.

He did eventually, but at what cost.

ALSO IN THE LAST PIC the black on his body is suppose to represent his scars, the middle across his chest is from Balthazar’s sword, the one along his arm and face is burns from the fight, and the one above his heart is from Bangar. I mainly wanted to represent his significant scars.

[lewkwoodnco]

love to think you’ll never forget - lockwood x reader

bruised eyes. vacant smile. stitch through her gums like a promise.

a/n: decided to try a few new things to get out of my writing slump! this is a lil blurb set a little after the call w lucy in chap 3, the ntwdt chapter (so this is smth like ch 3.5) of my 1989 vault series. as you can tell by the slut! lyric from the title we're kind of backpedalling a lil to the vibe of the first chapter, but with more details and in kind of a flashback-y way

tropes/warnings: angst, yearning, tw blood, slight descriptions of injury/violence, reader bandaging lockwood up, mildly ooc lockwood (im SORRY blame taylor swift)

word count: 2.5k!

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 3.5 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

She was sitting at the ancient, tiny piano that had come with her apartment. It was mostly out of tune, and more than a few keys were quite piercing, but with little else to do outside of work, she enjoyed letting her fingers mender over it. This evening, however, she was feeling a little blue - a little fevered with the onslaught of memories. 

A certain kind of desperation had taken hold of her, an indignation over everything that had happened when she had loved him so much for so long. Her fingers had a slight tremble, but it was barely noticeable in the sparsely played chords. There was a glass of water casting marbled images of light on the beige walls. The sun had set far too early, as always, and now the room's only source of light came from the worn brick fireplace.

It reminded her of this one night at Portland Row when the four of them were having a late-night supper, curled up together in the library. As the hours went by, Lucy and George eventually retired to their rooms, but the two of them stayed. In the flickering light, Lockwood had been more than easy on the eyes. She was feeling pleasantly warm, and it had been a sleepy night, but the both of them still refused to go to bed. A moment later, she decided that it was just chilly enough to share a blanket with Lockwood. 

It made her giddy, the feel of his arm casually draped over her shoulders, the kind of feeling you got at a sleepover you never wanted to end. They talked about everything silly and mundane - anything to stretch the night a moment further. Despite her best efforts, her eyelids started to grow heavy. When she woke, she was wrapped up in the blanket, alone. And yet, her only regret was not staying awake for just a minute longer.

She didn’t known what she was doing then. She didn’t know what she was doing now. She’d always had the rather unfortunate habit of being tragically oblivious.

It had been simpler in the beginning. They may have shared a few lingering glances while on joint cases, but for a frustratingly long time, their time together began and ended with their jobs. That was, until one rainy afternoon when Lockwood ran into her waiting outside DEPRAC headquarters. He had just dropped off some long overdue paperwork and walked out to find her peering at the road from the edge of the building's awning.

"Terrible weather, isn't it?"

She jumped, but almost instantly relaxed when she saw who it was. His tone was exaggeratedly casual, and she pressed her lips together to stifle her smile. "S'pose."

"Waiting for a cab?"

She nodded glumly, looking up and down the empty street as the rain beat down even harder, threatening to crack the asphalt.

"Not having much luck?"

She pulled a face and shook her head. Lockwood's hand dove into his quote, and straightened his arm a moment later, pulling out an elegant, black umbrella.

"Live far?" He kept his voice light, turning his gaze to the road with a carefully rehearsed air of nonchalance. She knew she wasn't the easiest person to spend time with, given how tense the tabloids made her already flighty personality. So it was moments like these that tugged at her heart. It was moments like these that made her feel like he cared.

"I appreciate it, Lockwood, but I couldn't walk home with you."

"Why not? Don't want me knowing where you live?"

"Not if you're going to set my house on fire."

His lips twitched, and she smiled with a faux innocence.

"Sheen Road, tragedy that it was, was not my fault."

"That's not what Lucy says."

"Lucy says a lot of things."

"Something about missing equipment."

"...damn, she's got me there." He opened the umbrella with a flourish and raised it an inch above their heads. "Ready?"

She paused, looking at him expectantly, as if waiting for some divine intervention to tell her otherwise. When it didn't come, she stepped underneath the umbrella, and the fingers of his other hand slipped into hers, casual as ever. They walked with their clasp hands smothered between the folds of their coats, but they themselves were pressed impossibly close to each other. It made her butterfly heart beat impossibly fast.

They reached her home too quickly, even though it was a sizeable distance from the DEPRAC headquarters. She glanced at Lockwood's face apprehensively while she fitted the key into her door.

"I hope I haven't led you too far from home."

"It's no trouble."

"I'll bring my own umbrella next time."

"Or don't. I don't mind." What is wrong with you, she wanted to ask. She could feel the amused way he was looking at her, the mild yet firm edge to his gaze. That was the annoying thing about Lockwood - his presence demanded to be felt, not that he was the demanding type.

It had been easier to fall into him when they were comfortably distant when she wasn't so invested. It was downright beautiful, how romantic he could frame their endeavours. But then came a stronger, more forceful undercurrent to their relationship. It made him snippish, or deliberately obtuse, and it made her clam up while she internally unravelled pathetically. She kept wanting to stand up, to get her bearings, but wave after wave knocked her down until she felt herself giving in to the cruel whips of the unforgiving sea.

And yet, none of it stung as much as the thought of Lockwood feeling like he couldn't turn to her.

One night, she had needed to drop off some files at Portland Row for George, who had been helping them research for one of their cases. It was late, but she could see a dim light switched on in the front hallway, and she wouldn't be inconveniencing them long. She knocked thrice, watching the shadowy figure behind the frosted glass take an awfully long time to reach the door. It cracked open, and a worn face peered out.

"...Y/N?"

Lockwood's voice was hoarse, and something about it rubbed her the wrong way. Despite her growing unease, she tried to put it down to not having seen him the past few weeks.

"I don't mean to intrude, I just wanted to hand these to George. Is he - what is wrong with your face?!"

Lockwood had cracked the door open a little more to stick his hand out for the files, revealing a bruised eye and a badly scratched face. He winced at her raised voice, shushing her in alarm.

"Keep it down, you'll wake the rest. I'll pass these on to George, no worries. Good night, now."

"Did you get into a fight?"

"Uh, no. Is that all?"

She shoved the door open, catching him by surprise. He instinctively shielded his forearm, but not before she could see that it was bleeding. She was speechless. A few minutes later, she had him cornered at the kitchen table with their first aid kit, muttering furious threats under her breath.

"What happened?"

"You can't tell George or Lucy."

She swiped his sleeve to his elbow fiercely, leaving the small strip of unharmed skin stinging. She regretted it a moment later when she winced at the sight of the thin layer of flesh carved out of his forearm.

"I'm serious. You'd invoke a mutiny."

She clearly didn't take to his poor attempt at a joke, so the wry smile slipped off his face, his expression turning grim. "I haven't told them yet, but we received a case a few days back. Pays an insane amount."

"What's the catch?"

He grimaced. "Apparently, running around with the likes of Winkman's men."

"Lockwood!"

"In my defence, I was doing very well until I got whacked in the head. No, listen - you can't fault a guy for getting whacked in the head - "

"I'm going to whack you in the head myself in a minute -"

"I didn't think you'd be interested."

She was quiet, after that. The rest of the cleaning and dressing of the wound passed by in a blur, and the only thing she really remembered was how devastated she felt. Though she wouldn't be interested? Of course she was interested. He could drive her up the wall all day long and she would still be interested. How could he think she wouldn't? It was horrible - she was furiously blinking back tears, and she could tell Lockwood felt horrible for saying anything in the first place. It was an overall terribly unpleasant experience. Lockwood awkwardly tried to break the ice.

"I...I bruise easy. Ever since I was a kid. Drove my mum mad."

The edge to her movements softened a little at the mention of his mother, but she didn't respond.

"I got out alive, didn't I?"

"Barely."

"I'll be fine. You don't have to worry."

"Easy for you to say."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He was so fragile in her hands. It ached her. She let out a strangled noise from her throat, her voice overcome with emotion. 

"When I first saw - I just - terrified. I was so...terrified to see you like that. I'm scared all the time, Lockwood. I'm scared for you. I'm scared you'll die one day and I won't know until I get some stupid postcard from someone kind enough to keep me as an afterthought."

He covered her hand with his, and she held his face using the hand with ointment on the finger. Something to remind her that none of that had happened. He gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist. All of a sudden, she felt their dynamic shift, as if he was the one taking care of her now. Always a saviour, never a soldier.

"It's not going to be like that. This is...it's all in your head. You know that, right? It's not real. It's just all in your mind."

For a while, all that could be heard in the kitchen was the sound of her unravelling the coiled bandage and wrapping it around and around and around his forearm. It was the kind of repetitive task that was meditative but also caused her to further spiral in her scattered thoughts. When she finished, she held his wrist for a moment. She didn't quite know how to express the misery lodged in her throat. She didn't even understand it herself. Who was she to patch up his wounds, to sit by his fireplace, to hold his hand?

"If I find you keeping something like this from me again, I'll finish you off myself."

A few months later, she was standing at her bedroom window, sadly watching people walk up and down the street in front of her house. It was that peculiar time between afternoon and dusk, and from the outside, it looked as though she was completely oblivious to the birthday party raging on downstairs. Suddenly, she perked up at the sight of a figure stumbling along, trying to balance a cake box and a few other packages without tripping over his coat.

She heard the swell of laughter and noise coinciding with the figure's arrival, and a few moments later, there was a knock at her bedroom door. Lockwood stepped in, and she tilted her head only a fraction away from the window.

"There's the birthday girl!"

"Hey."

"I brought the cake."

"I saw."

"And your presents."

"Saw those too."

He shrugged his coat off, raking his fingers through his hair as he looked for a mirror. "Told you I'd get here in time for the cake cutting."

She finally turned from the window, unable to suppress her frustration any longer. "No, you said you'd get here in time for the party. As in, the start of the party."

There was a pause. "You don't seem to be enjoying the party much."

"Because you weren't here. Lockwood, you promised you wouldn't forget."

"I didn't! I was just...a little behind time."

"Maybe you should just go home after the party."

"Y/N. You're not going to make me sleep alone on your birthday, are you?" Silence. "I didn't want to be late, really, I didn't. It's just...the Investor's Party only happens once a year, and I don't have the connections everyone else does, so I've got to make my own if I want to stand a chance against them. You understand, don't you?"

By then, he had wandered into her bathroom, and the distant, echoey quality to his voice felt insultingly familiar. She sighed. He was never quite here, with her, was he? He just couldn't sit still. He was always going off on some new quest, forever propelled by ambitions yet unknown. With Lockwood, neither failure nor success was ever enough. It was always on to better, newer, shinier things.

"Yes, but...there aren't many people I want to celebrate my birthday with. But I wanted to celebrate it with you."

He must have heard something in her voice, because he finally slowed down. He stood in front of her with his bowtie draped around his neck and held her hands against his chest. "I know. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was late, and I'm sorry I upset you on your birthday."

Despite her better judgement, she relented, pulling her hands out of his and tying his bow tie. "I'm not upset." She fiddled with his bow, and he gave her a roguish smile before pressing a peck to her lips.

He went downstairs to join the others, but she stayed behind for a minute. She was suddenly feeling a little breathless, a little winded. She sat down for a moment, pressing a hand to her chest. Her heartbeat was a little erratic, but nothing out of the realm of normality. Maybe a little fast for someone only sitting. She closed her eyes, letting the sadness she was keeping at bay wash over her. Why was she so affected? It was only a birthday party. It didn't mean anything. He'd be there when it truly mattered. Oh Lord, she needed him to be there when it truly mattered.

She collected herself and joined Lockwood downstairs, where he was having a glass of champagne with the others. She joined him with a faint smile, looking only a little more flushed than usual. And he was laughing. He was laughing, and she wanted to peel her face off. Not that there was anything wrong with him having a laugh. She could have a laugh too. She could be downright hilarious. Egg on her face, idiot that she was.

But she couldn't really blame him. Not when there were better things and shinier people.

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @yourleastfavoriteguyinthechair @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

[cthoniian]

we’re told over and over how signets manifest as what YOU most need. excuse me while i cry over the fact brennan’s is mending. after years of watching his baby sister get mended by a master one, he manifests ??? as a mender. a master strategist. master tactician. 100% lillith sorrengails son. but also. the heart of a healer / mender. it isn’t about strategy, it’s about fixing, it’s about alleviating harm.

bites fist.

i love him.

[icarusmonsoon]

healed wounds, mender hearts pt III - rafe cameron

rafe cameron x reader

nothing much is going on in this chapter, just a filler chapter following the previous one. Hope you guys enjoy!

Part I

Part II

___________________________________________

The weight of the unconscious form in his arms felt both fragile and burdensome, like he was carrying a precious treasure that could shatter at any moment. Rafe's heart pounded in his chest, not just from the physical exertion of holding Y/n's body, but from the fear and guilt that clawed at him. He couldn't believe how much he had let things spiral out of control, how much he had lost sight of himself and the consequences of his actions.

Now, the consequences were staring him in the face, and he knew he had to make things right. Gently, he laid Y/n down on a nearby crate, his hands shaking with trepidation. His fingers hovered over her wound, unsure of what to do. He desperately wished he had some medical knowledge, but he wasn't even sure how to properly clean and dress the injury.

He berated himself for not paying attention during first aid classes, for being too reckless and impulsive.As the reality of the situation sunk in, Rafe's mind was flooded with regret and remorse. He remembered all the times he had acted callously, the times he had hurt people physically and emotionally, all in the pursuit of his father's approval. He thought about how he had let his obsession with the cross blind him to the real dangers around him, including the ones he had inadvertently caused.

Tears welled up in Rafe's eyes as he looked at Y/n's still form. He felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility for her well-being, and he knew he had to do everything in his power to ensure she survived. He took off his shirt and ripped it into strips, using them to try and staunch the bleeding from her wound. He winced as he saw her flinch in response to his touch, reminding him that he was the last person she would want taking care of her.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the ship's noises. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I never wanted you to get hurt." He swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. He knew he couldn't afford to break down now; he had to stay focused and keep her safe.

With trembling hands, Rafe retrieved his phone again and dialed the ship's infirmary, praying that someone would pick up on the other end. He explained the situation as best as he could, stumbling over his words and trying to convey the urgency of the situation. When he finally got through to the doctor, he was instructed on how to stabilize Y/n until they could reach the infirmary.

Rafe felt a mix of relief and anxiety as he followed the doctor's instructions. He was afraid of doing something wrong, of causing more harm than good. He kept talking to Y/n, hoping that his voice would somehow reach her unconscious mind and let her know that he was trying to help.

As he waited for the medical team to arrive, Rafe's mind drifted to the events that led them to this moment. He thought about the treasure hunt, the rivalry between his family and the pogues, and how it had all escalated into this chaotic mess. He couldn't help but feel responsible for the violence and danger that had overtaken their lives.His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.

The medical team had arrived, and Rafe quickly stepped back to give them space. He watched anxiously as they assessed Y/n's condition, their faces serious and focused. The doctor acknowledged Rafe with a nod, silently acknowledging his efforts in stabilizing her.

Rafe felt a mix of gratitude and guilt as the medical team took over. He knew he had done what he could, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had caused all of this. He stayed by Y/n's side as they prepared to transport her to the infirmary, his heart heavy with worry and regret.

Once Y/n was safely in the hands of the medical professionals, Rafe found himself feeling lost. He didn't know what to do next, where to go, or how to face the consequences of his actions. He knew he had to confront his father and put an end to this dangerous quest for the cross, but he also knew that it wouldn't be easy on him. After all, Ward's validation is all he ever wanted. And he was so close to getting what he wants, in exchange of the safety of the only person he can ever think about. The person he genuinely have feelings for.

Rafe's not sure what his feelings are, what he actually want. But as he wandered through the ship, Rafe's mind was a whirlwind of emotions. But one thing he knows for sure, he genuinely cared about Y/n.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Broken Heart Mender

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After hearing Tim tell Angela why he's not in a relationship with you, you pull away and make yourself sick with a broken heart. After too long without hearing from you, Tim finds you and promises to make everything better.

Warnings: reader gets sick (vomiting, headache, losing weight, crying), slight miscommunication, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

“You know, you’re here a lot for someone who doesn’t work here,” Smitty points out.

“And you’re here a lot for someone who doesn’t work at all,” you argue playfully.

“She’s got a point,” Tim adds, shrugging at Smitty’s offended look.

You smile at Tim as you walk out, needing to return to your own station after spending too long on paperwork (to visit Tim). He’s been your friend since you were a rookie, and now he’s so much more.

You and Tim are safe places for one another; whenever one needs it, the other becomes an unlicensed therapist, a no-strings-attached hugger or cuddler on bad days, and a good listener, no matter the time or problem. Part of why you’re so willing to do such things for Tim is because you have feelings for him, a long-harbored crush that grows each time he’s kind to you or asks for your advice.

Tim, however, will happily listen to your problems and provide a shoulder to cry on, but he prefers to show his care by being what some (Angela) might call a ‘protective menace.’ He’s had feelings for you for as long as he can remember and shows it by staying close and keeping you out of harm’s way.

Whenever you run into each other at work, you find a way to stay together, and while Tim protects you, you try your hardest to make him smile. You like doing small things for him to make him happy because he deserves it. Likewise, he stays close because you deserve more than anyone can ever give you.

The only problem is that you’re both scared to let your feelings show, so you disguise it as friendship, a special bond that no one can break. Only a few people, those willing to look, can see that there’s more to your actions and words than a time-tested and bulletproof friendship.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim sighs when he sees Angela sitting at his desk.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he asks.

“You have questions to answer,” she replies, moving out of his seat and blocking the door. “I want to know about you and your friend.”

Tim rolls his eyes at her tone and air quotes. She has asked him about you before, but she’s relentless.

“Why aren’t you in a real relationship? Why haven’t you asked her out?” Angela inquires.

“Not your business, Lopez,” Tim answers.

✯✯✯✯✯

You slow as you near Tim’s office, his voice and Angela’s drawing your attention as your smile drops.

“Just tell me why you won’t let her in that last little bit,” Angela demands.

“Not that it is any of your concern, but we won’t work. We’re not made for each other, we’re not soulmates, and we will not be good for each other, not like that,” Tim snaps.

Swallowing, you feel like your heart physically drops into your stomach, making you nauseous as you fight tears. You leave before Tim or Angela notice you’re outside, unwilling to see Tim after learning how he feels.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What does that mean, Timothy?” Angela asks, quieter as she digs for the real reason.

Tim shakes his head, not ready to admit that he doesn’t consider himself relationship material. Regardless, you deserve someone better than him, though he has never considered it the other way around: you are too good for him and always have been.

“You’re right, it’s not my business. But it is hers,” Angela reminds him before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Distancing yourself from Tim is hard, but after his comments to Angela, it’s what you have to do. Tim doesn’t have feelings for you and thinks you aren’t good enough, which hurts. More than your feelings, you are mentally distraught. Your emotions are all over the place, swinging aimlessly from anger to denial to an overwhelming sadness that makes it impossible to do anything but cry.

After a long night of fighting with your emotions, you try to eat breakfast and realize that the hurt is physical, too. Rushing to the bathroom, you empty your stomach before moving to the floor as your tears continue. Losing Tim is the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, and this is only the beginning.

The alarm on your phone goes off, and you pull yourself off the bathroom floor and get ready, ignoring the pain building behind your eyes and the churning sensation in the pit of your stomach. It will be a long day, but if you can power through, you will take some time off next week.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is neck-deep in paperwork for a Metro case, but every spare second he has is spent calling and texting you. You don’t answer, and Tim can't do anything as his worry increases. He realizes Angela was right, and you deserve to know how he feels and why he keeps you so close, yet not close enough.

✯✯✯✯✯

By the end of the day, you haven’t been able to keep a single thing down, and you’re not sure if the emotional or physical pain is worse. Collapsing onto your couch, you let the tears begin anew as your week of PTO begins and your life as you know it ends.

Each day seems worse than the last, as you get sicker and sadder with each passing moment. When you summon the courage to step on the scale on Sunday morning, just three days after hearing Tim’s comments, you’ve lost a concerning amount of weight. You know it’s dangerous, but between the constant crying and the anxiety and sadness eating at you, there isn’t much you can do. There isn’t much you want to do except find a way to make yourself good enough for Tim Bradford.

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s been days since Tim heard from you, and he’s worried. When Mid-Wilshire gets called to assist your station, he hopes to see you. Tim searches the crowd of blue until he finds your partner.

“Bradford,” your partner greets.

Tim asks where you are, curious as to why you aren’t together, and your partner explains that you’ve been off work since Saturday, sick with something.

“Do you know if she’s okay?” Tim asks.

“All I know is it has to be bad for her to take this much time off,” your partner explains with an apologetic shrug before being called away.

Tim’s protectiveness kicks into overdrive, his worry keeping him from being able to focus on anything else. He finds his captain and tells him what's going on before asking if he can go check on you.

As he drives to your apartment, Tim hopes it’s not as bad as it sounds while beating himself up for not coming to visit you sooner. The ignored calls should have been a sign that something was wrong, but he let work get in the way. Though you aren’t there to hear it, Tim promises he will never neglect you again.

✯✯✯✯✯

It takes a minute to realize that the pounding sound is someone knocking and not an effect of your headache. Stumbling to the door, you answer it without checking who it is. When you see Tim’s face, you try to close the door, but you’re too weak, and Tim is too quick.

He rushes inside, looking at your pale face, unruly hair, and how your clothes hang off of you: an indicator you're unhealthily losing weight. It’s enough to push his protective side to action even as he fears the worst.

“You should go,” you tell him.

Tim ignores you, walking to your kitchen and setting water on the oven to boil. While he waits, Tim straightens up your apartment, moving quickly from room to room. He hasn’t spoken to you yet, and as you watch him, your emotions take over again.

With a few tears running down your face, you raise your voice and say his name. “You need to go.”

“No,” he answers simply. “You need help, you’re obviously sick and you’re not answering my calls.”

Tim's presence and how he acts like nothing has changed, and he’s still the protective friend he pretends to be, hurts you.

“Tim, get out!” you demand.

“Let me help,” he argues.

Shaking your head, you walk to your room and close the door, curling around your pillow as you cry. Each noise Tim makes in the kitchen feels like he’s laughing at you, and you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

He lets himself into your room after knocking, setting a mug of tea beside your bed, and rubbing your back. He notices how you stiffen but thinks it’s because you’re sick.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks.

“I want you to go.”

Tim nods, more to himself than you, and walks out of your bedroom. 

You hear the door close behind him and roll over, unable to decide if you want to drink the tea or throw it at the wall.

✯✯✯✯✯

The following morning, you wake, and the first thing you remember is Tim leaving yesterday. Yes, you asked him to, but it still hurts. The cold mug beside your bed is a cruel reminder of everything you’ve lost. Rolling out of bed, you reach for the water on the nightstand. After the first drink, you race for the bathroom, wondering how long it takes for a broken heart to heal.

Someone pulls your hair out of your face, a kind hand pressed to your back as you cry. When you feel able, you lean back against the tub behind you. Tim moves back, wetting a washcloth before he kneels beside you. As he wipes your face and neck with the cool rag, you wonder what he’d do if you gave him an out.

“I heard what you said,” you admit quietly. “That we wouldn’t be good together.”

Tim slows his movements as he listens to you.

“It hurt.”

Fresh tears break over your waterline, tracking down your cheeks. Tim realizes that he’s the reason you feel so bad; that one comment made to protect his feelings, to hide them, made you feel so bad that you’re now physically sick.

“Hey,” he begins, moving to sit before you when you turn away. “Listen, I know you don’t want to believe me, but I only said that to get Angela to leave me alone, to protect myself. I don’t think that.”

“But you said it,” you point out tearily.

“I know, and I’m sorry. The truth is we wouldn’t be good together, but not because of you, never because of you. It’s me; I am not made for relationships and I’m not good enough for you.”

You choke on a sob, leaning toward Tim. He extends his arm, letting you move against his side.

“Since we met, I’ve wanted more,” he whispers against your hair. “But I was scared you’d realize I’m broken and leave… like everyone else.”

Shaking harder against his side, you cling to him as all your emotions mix. There is a chance this is a dream, but if you have to lose Tim, this seems like the best way to say goodbye.

“C’mon,” Tim urges gently, pulling you with him as he stands.

With a gentle hand on your back and one on your shoulder, Tim leads you to the couch. Covering you with a blanket, he promises to come right back. When he returns with a glass of water and a pack of crackers, you turn toward him.

“Are you going to leave?” you whisper.

Tim shakes his head. “Never.”

Nodding, you accept the crackers. After you eat a few and drink half the water Tim gave you, you sit back.

“I cleaned your apartment last night,” Tim tells you. “You want to change and clean up?”

You take a deep breath, and Tim senses your apprehension before adding, “I’ll help you.”

Taking Tim’s hand, you follow him back into your bedroom. After you change into the clothes he hands you, you sit on the bathroom vanity and let him wash your face and secure your hair.

“When’s the last time you ate? More than a few bites, I mean,” Tim asks, laying a hand on your thigh.

You shrug before admitting, “Last Wednesday.”

Tim’s jaw clenches, but he hides it with a quick nod. “I’m going to make you some more food. I know you probably don’t want to eat, and you don’t have to eat much, but you need something.”

Moving your hand onto Tim’s, you interlace your fingers with his. He leans in, releasing a chuckle when you throw your arms around his neck. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulls you to the edge of the vanity.

“I missed you,” you whisper in his ear.

“I missed you too,” he responds.

✯✯✯✯✯

As you dry the ends of your hair while you exit the bathroom, you feel like a new person.

“We need to talk,” Tim says when he sees you. Your smile falls, and Tim takes your hand. “Not like that,” he promises.

“Like what?” you ask, curling your legs under you as you sit beside him.

“I meant what I said, but I need to make sure you know that. I have feelings for you, I have for a long time, I’m just terrified to show them because I’m not good enough for you.”

Boldly, you press your finger to his lips to stop him. He raises his brows at your movement, smiling with you.

“Yes, you are. You’re more than good enough. That’s why I fell in love with you.”

Tim pulls your hand away from his face, kissing your finger as he does so. “Even though I broke your heart and made you sick?”

“Broken heart sickness is curable, and you’re a pretty good doctor,” you tease, leaning toward him.

“I promise to make it better, and never do it again.”

You nod, trusting him entirely. Now that you’ve had a shower and heard that Tim feels the same, your stomach growls.

“It’s working already,” Tim says.

“I’m hungry again,” you marvel, smiling at Tim.

“I’ll offer a trade,” Tim begins. “A home-cooked meal for you, and a kiss for me.”

You nod, but Tim adds, “And I promise never to lie to protect myself again. I’ll tell you exactly how I feel, as long as you do the same.”

“I feel like I love you, Tim Bradford,” you reply, pulling him in for the promised kiss.

Your kiss is better than he expected, and Tim loses himself in the feeling of you until your stomach growls again, and you laugh against his lips. Tim broke your heart, but he put it back together with a piece of his; the best-broken-heart-mender in the world was by your side all along.

[yiiyiiwrites]

🗡️ | Relics and Ruins | 6 |

Part 6 [series masterlist]

Summary: you’re a mender from the dawn court specialised in cursed or broken relics. When Azriel enters the dawn court the truth-teller is silent, it’s not till he asks for your help that realises who you are. 2001words

Gods, you were a fool. You wished that the flesh eating worm could finish the job. Azriel knelt in front of you, his scarred hands rubbing a cool balm into the open wound on your thigh. Touch light and brief as to not give you anymore pain.

Tingles erupted under each swipe of balm, you couldn’t take your eyes off his hands.

“I wasn’t under the mountain,” he said, cleaning the balm off his fingers with a cloth. “Why do you ask?” He gazed up at you, those hazel eyes like the sunsets at dawn, the fires warmth flickering in them. It reminded you of home.

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, your fingers clutched around the armrest so tight that you thought your nails would pierce the fabric.

“Because of your scars,” your voice nothing, but a whisper. How did he manage to coax words out of you without trying?

The bandage in his hold stilled, as if he'd just realised this was the first time you’d seen the burns curving against every plane of his hand. His shadows hissed, dark wisps clouding around to shield his face, but they fell away as quick as they came.

“I’m sorry, I just…” your words cut short as Azriel pressed the bandage to your wound. He’d practically slapped it on, adding weight for it to stick to your skin. You bit back a groan, eyes clamping shut at the pain shooting down your leg.

God’s he was mad. He wouldn’t glance at you, the clink of bottles returning to the worn leather bag beside him. “Is that how you got yours?” He spat, his deep voice startling you, heart pounding as he tugged your arm to him. His thumb trailed along the thick fabric of your sleeve, the layer on top of the burn scratching the marred skin beneath it.

“Yes,” you said, breath faltering as Azriel’s calloused fingers slipped under the cuff of your sleeve and pushed it back revealing the inside of your arm and the patchy tattoo. “The autumn brother’s favourite game.” Your body felt like a dead weight, back pressing into the chair with such force that you could feel the metal coils digging into your spine.

You don’t know why you said it so casually, as if you were testing the waters before swimming in the depths. Part of you wanting share a piece of your story, another wary of his pitying looks. You got enough of that back in your court, that you always covered up and stayed out of the sun.

But Azriel knew the pain those scars bared. The itchiness that crawled under your marred skin like a snake beneath your flesh. Sometimes you were convinced it was hot, burning like the flame that consumed it. Heat so prickling that you had to run it under cold water. Always reminding you of those years trapped under the mountain at their mercy.

Azriel did not say anything, hands slipping from your arm. Tic in his jaw pulsing as he zipped the bag up. He stood up, walking to the door but paused before stepping out. “I need to debrief Rhys on what happened,” he said, throwing a glance to you over his shoulder as he disappeared into the shadows.

You slumped back in the chair, chest heaving up and down. The worm writhed, teeth twitching as it tried to snatch the dagger, truth-teller from its body.

Truth-teller, whispering the same thing over and over since Azriel’s departure.

Lies, lies.

Why did he leave in such a hurry? If he wasn’t going to Rhys, maybe you’d triggered something for him by acknowledging his burns. Guilt and shame clouded your mind, but it felt different than normal. An urge pulling you to run to him, but you couldn’t, no you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t unravel his trauma, that was his and his alone. Not a story he’d share with you, you were nothing to him.

Lies, lies.

“Oh shut it,” you snapped at the dagger. You pushed yourself out of the armchair, wincing as soon as you put your full weight on to your foot.

The sun began to dip beyond the horizon, reminding you of home and how far away every little comfort was. Another flicker of want burning your chest, the want to be held and told what you wanted to hear, to fall into the warmth you found under the mountain.

You trailed your palm against the wall of the hallway, your shoulder crashing into it as a tremor shook through your thigh.

You were determined to drag yourself to your bedroom, eight doors down from the library. There was no way you could sit on that armchair any longer, waiting for him to come back and say something that made sense. Because lately nothing did, he seemed to leave your mind hazy as if his shadows had infiltrated your mind. You paused at the thought hoping they couldn’t.

A stray black wisp breezed past you caressing your cheek, your hair flicking along with it. It dove back over your shoulder and you felt the chill at the back of your spine. The pesky shadow pushing you along the hallway, like a phantom wind taking you to your bedroom.

You collapsed onto the bed, clutching the locket around your neck. You’d never felt so lost before, even with your freedom back. The night court too cold, the task unclear and Azriel, well you don’t know why he bothered you so much. Why did you think of him so much?

There was only one person you wanted to see, one who could hold you and know what you would want to say.

So you scribbled a note to Rhys, shoving the rolled up parchment in your pocket.

You found Cassian in the kitchen, finally taking him up on his offer to visit the shops in Velaris. You’d downed a pain tonic, reassuring him that the wound wasn’t that bad and you needed to get out, walk the cobbled streets.

You handed Cassian the note. “I’m sorry,” you said, hoping he wouldn’t hold it against you, but as you slipped between the crowd. Away from Cassian.

You called in your bargain and winnowed away before he could catch up with you.

Azriel could not focus on anything other than the blood pumping in his ears. If he didn’t get out of the library, he was going to snap and he didn’t want her to witness the rage rolling off of him. Everything amplified after the bond snapped, he didn't want to direct it her.

He zipped the bag up and shoved his gloves back on, not wanting to remind himself of her scars or who caused them.

That strand of fate, that bond twisted tighter and tighter the further he walked away. Azriel was used to denying himself of all the good dreams and wanted wishes. Centuries of pushing his feelings aside so he could protect others and in some ways punish himself. So he allowed the stabbing pain, the aching in his bones as his mind and body told him to stop, he pushed beyond it, adding to the suffering. The longing.

He’d wait, even if it took years to snap into place for her.

The past week had been a blur, his head clouded and attention divided. Gods his mind was full her, blossoming scent carried in the swirls of his shadows. The way his name fell from her soft lips, he could still the remember the weight of her fingers clutching the hair at the nape of his neck.

And then he thought of him, the tattoo and the bargain. Enough to send him spiralling, to send him to a court in the name of revenge, but it wasn’t his to take. The anger remained, he fed in to it and used it to fuel whatever task he could as spymaster. Took a few missions so that he could put some more space between them, but it all came crashing back down when he returned as it'd only strengthened the connection.

Everything was a mess, he was a mess. Her confession being the last thing to push him over the edge, he had to get out of there. Maybe he’d ask Rhys to send him on a mission whilst she healed, least he wouldn’t have to lock himself away to give her space.

The house flung Rhys’s office door open and slammed it in Azriel’s face. Lights flickering down the hallway, pointing him back the way he came like a beacon. He cursed the house, flames rising in the lanterns as if it heard him.

Azriel pushed his whole body into the door, forcing it open and stumbling into the office.

“Cassian already filled me in,” Rhys said, he scribbled the last few words of a letter, gaze flitting to Azriel. “What’s going on?” He raised a brow, his wandering gaze trailing after Azriel’s shadows as they fought between each other. As if knowing the shadow-singer was battling with himself and the bond.

“I’m going to go mad,” Azriel snapped, his focus on the uneven tiled flooring beneath his boots. Anything to distract him from his thoughts. “I don’t know how you didn’t go crazy.”

“It’s the bond, the more you run away from it, the more it’ll chase you.

“How is our mender? You did look after her, how is she doing?” Rhys asked after a moment of silence, Azriel lost in his head like he’d been ever since he’d set his eyes on her.

Azriel tensed, still trying to retrace his steps and everything he said to her. He groaned, hitting the side of his head against the window.

“I panicked,” he said, leaning against the frosted window. “I slapped the bandage on and got out of there as quick as could.” He ran his hands through his clipped hair, short tufts of his dark locks sticking up messily.

“You slapped it?” Rhys asked, he leant forward from his leather chair. “You slapped a bandage onto an open wound and ran away?”

Azriel’s brows shot up high, shadows swarming round him as if they were going to push him out of the window. How could he be so careless, he was too focussed on fighting the pull of the bond that he'd lost the bigger picture, her. All the little details he tried to ignore, forgetting the most basic need of comforting her.

“I was angry,” Azriel snarled, “she told me,” he closed his eyes, trying to shake the image of her scars out of his mind. The tremble of her voice and the echoes of deep breathes as she told him what they did. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t tell anyone. Was not his story to tell.

His shadows tore towards the open door, Cassian rushing through, breaths heavy. His wavy hair tangled and loose, but it was the yellowing parchment in his clenched hand that caught Azriel's attention. Her scent clinging to the smudge of inky words.

"I'm sorry, brother. She blindsided me, I couldn't stop her before she winnowed away," Cassian said, stretching his arm out to Azriel.

Dark wisps curled around the rolled parchment, black shadows tracing the neat cursive text. Azriel pulled the edges, eyes scanning the note.

Rhys, I’ve called in my bargain. I will return in a day once I’ve healed, Thesan will know where I am. Please forgive the rushed departure, it's better this way.

Azriel balled it up and tossed the letter in the bin. He didn't need Rhys to ask Thesan where she was and he didn't care about falling back into the dark planes, shifting through the shadows.

He stepped out of the darkness, boots squelching the soggy leaves.

Azriel wouldn't leave the Autumn court till he found her and if he came across the autumn brothers, well that would be a bonus, least their blood would blend in with the decaying leaves on the forest floor.

taglist: @rcarbo1 , @st4r-girl-official ,@azrielswhore , @cynthiesjmxazrielslover , @shizukestar , @wolfbc97 , @thecraziestcrayon , @i-am-infinite , @krowiathemythologynerd @nebarious @sidthedollface2 @sttvrdustt

Thanks for reading and all your lovely comments :) I hope you enjoy this chapter. Azriel is starting to go mad 😌

[f1crecs]

'Megaverse Monday - Week Two

if your fic is on this list and you don’t want it to be, please let us know and we will remove it immediately, no questions asked. we have contacted most of the authors on this list, but sometimes people fall through the gaps - just pop us a message🤍

have a pairing you want me to do next? please read the faqs and then head to the inbox.

don’t forget to give the authors featured on this list some love in the form of kudos, bookmarks, and comments!

did you know that this fandom has one of the highest percentages of a/b/o content? join us as we celebrate the fandom’s incredible omegaverse works every ’megaverse monday. 🤍

Esteban/Pierre

nsfw: hell is a mender by @geluksalig | E | 1.7k Esteban, a beta, is there when Pierre first presents as an omega. He helps Pierre through his heats as best he can. Esteban is desperate to take care of Pierre, but is is unable to be what he needs physically and never will be. Pierre will never go looking elsewhere, however, because emotionally, they are clearly it for one another. Neither of them seem quite ready to acknowledge this. Pierre and Este are an emotionally messy and complicated pairing and I liked that about this fic.

'Esteban gives himself to the wrist, keeping his hand clenched neatly inside Pierre, his other hand gentling him down from hysteria by his chest. He’s warm inside, strangely hollow. Empty. He’s always going to be empty, unfilled. If he’d gotten a knot before he’d got a fast car, things might have been different. Things might have been entirely the same. Esteban spreads his fingers out and strokes, trying to reach where it hurts, to see if it feels different. Pierre mewls, and Esteban feels the jackrabbit of his heart. The pulse is the same wherever he touches him, all-consuming. In that moment, all there is, is Pierre. Pierre, spread out before him, wanting him, mouth caught around his name. Where other omegas say alpha, Pierre says Esteban. He says it over and over and over again, the only word left in his vocabulary. A litany.'

Carlos/Charles

nsfw: healthy rivalry by venerat | E | 10k Omega Charles and alpha Carlos help one another out each month with their heats and ruts. Of course, they are madly in love with one another but neither of them realises it's mutual. This series is very hot but the guys also are incredibly sweet and caring with one another, each taking gentle charge of the other when it's needed. Neither one of them is in custody of the brain cell but there is a suggestion by the end of it that they are at least starting to figure out there is more between them than this arrangement they have.

'Charles is gorgeous when he comes, flushed and unselfconscious and all pure, unchecked need. Carlos fucks him through it until he’s is slack and spent, his eyes closing where his head flops against the leather of the seat. “Good omega,” Carlos whispers. His heart beats in his stomach, beats in his knot, which is still stretching Charles wide. Fifteen or so minutes, for the first knot. Fifteen minutes that they’ll have to stay in this position, since Carlos doesn’t trust himself to readjust without risking Charles’ discomfort. He curses his choices after just five minutes. His thigh burns as he stays crouched over Charles in the backseat, muscles shuddering from the effort of keeping still. By the time his knot goes down enough to slip out of Charles’ dripping hole, his body is stiff and screaming protests.'

Daniel/Max

nsfw: Dead Heat by @powerful-owl | E | 35k Daniel is an omega, Max an alpha. Both have deeply complex and uncomfortable relationships with their own designations. Each mistakes the other for the opposite designation to what they are, based on social stereotypes and a little bit of omission on Daniel's part. It really messes them up when they find their bodies responding to one another. I LOVE fic that really digs into and examines the assumptions we make about the world of a/b/o (and by extension, the world we inhabit). Both characters having such a difficult relationship with their own bodies, and the way they are expected to behave in their social framework really informs the way they relate to one another. The worldbuilding of this fic is considered and clear, and the challenges Max and Daniel face within it are complex and myriad. And just in case you thought this would make the fic a heavy read, it's also incredibly funny. Much of the badly needed comic relief comes from the viewpoint of the long-suffering Michael Italiano, who really does go above and beyond call of duty here.

'Michael’s phone buzzes with a text that makes him consider asking for a raise. It’s from Daniel. It says, Left max next to ice machine w/ a boner'

Logan/Oscar

nsfw: this is your life, don't play hard to get by @nothingelsematterswrites | E | 58k Regency AU in which Oscar is the adopted omega son of alpha Mark Webber (who is in a closeted relationship with alpha David Coulthard). Oscar must marry and produce an heir in order to secure his future. Mark arranges a match with Logan, the second son of an American family. This fic is delightful, leaning into a number of my favourite tropes, especially arranged marriage and found family. Oscar is less than enthused about Logan to begin with. Poor Logan is head over heels for Oscar almost immediately. I also love the Webber household dynamics. Mark is a wonderful father (as is David, behind the scenes) and Logan, who is from a far less loving family, gains the affection and parental support he didn’t even know he was missing.

“And that will mean,” Mark’s tone was warm and teasing, “that there must be no more late-night visits, at least for now.” Oscar sat up, all trace of sleepiness evaporating in panic. “What?” His heart was pounding. His father knew? If his father knew, others might know. He could not have word getting out, he could not afford rumours to start – “Calm yourself, Oscar,” Mark soothed. “I am not upset.” “How - ” Oscar could barely speak through his panic. “How did you - ” Mark’s expression was amused. “You say you have known since you were twelve the truth of what lies between David and I, and yet you have never seen me go to my bedchamber with him; how do you think he comes to my room? He saw Logan the very first night. He is the only other who knows.”

this list was compiled by @lydia-petze

[phantomwarrior12]

A Dance

---

A Hunter’s blade is everything to them.

A memento when a cloak fragment is impossible. A weapon of defense and a mender of minds.

The Young Wolf’s eyes drop to the blade in her hand, turning over the hilt slowly. It was a gift from Lord Shaxx. A year, maybe, after she came to the Tower and the two had become good friends.

She can remember it so vividly.

Leading up to that night, there had been flirtations. Passing glances as she went about her business in the Tower. Instances where the Crucible Handler stood closer than necessary as he showed her a roster or encouraged her to watch a quick match with him before she departed.

So many signs and yet? She could never bring herself to act.

Until he did.

Until she returned to the Tower just before sunset and Shaxx caught her on her way toward her quarters.

He asked her to attend a dance he had organized - for Crimson Days.

She agreed, of course. His laugh had made her heart flutter before they parted ways.

The night of the event, she wore a dress with a subtle pattern that may have held a color that faintly resembled the orange of his armor. He noticed, of course. Looked somewhere between excited and touched.

They spent the evening mingling for a time before Shaxx swept her out to the dance floor.

The Young Wolf is many things but a skilled dancer? That is not one of them.

She stepped on his foot more than once and the Warlord chuckled each time, easily

readjusting their movement to accommodate. He was so patient and gentle.

She tried to be mindful of his feet, her hands - how tightly she gripped his for balance versus the awkward splay against his shoulder.

The Guardian felt out of sorts. Clumsy, for the first time. The opposite of ease and poise she usually exuded. She could blame it on Shaxx’s proximity and the flutter that never seemed to be anywhere but firmly at the forefront of her senses. She could blame the fact she's trained for combat, not eloquence.

But she won't.

Because Shaxx’s arms around her is far too pleasant to spoil her mood with something so trivial.

But as most things are, her pleasant mood is disrupted when the Hunter nearly turns her ankle. Shaxx had tilted his head almost pitifully before guiding both of her hands to his shoulders. And instead of footwork, the two sway.

His head lowers, she manages a sheepish smile.

"Sorry…"

"You've managed well enough. But I think we've earned a break, don't you?" He tucks a strand of hair away from her eyes.

She barely manages a nod before the Warlord gently guides her arm around his and leads her from the makeshift dance floor.

They find their way to the edges of the festivities, the open hanger offering a breath of fresh air and a reprieve from all the chattering and music.

The Young Wolf hoods tight to Shaxx’s arm, enjoying his proximity as they stroll further down until there's a pleasant, distant thru behind them.

As they come to a halt, gazing out over the landscape, her Warlord seems a bit lost in thought. She looks up at him and his gaze is fixed on the horizon, his head lifted and the air around them exuding a sort of…determination? Is that the right word for it?

The Guardian leans in, pressing into his chest and his gaze snaps down to her.

"What is it?" She asks softly.

"Simply lost in thought is all," he assures her warmly. Shaxx’s posture shifts - more relaxed, his attention seemingly entirely on the Hunter.

And then his shoulders square and he seems lighter in that moment.

"I have a gift for you," Shaxx beams, stepping closer to her.

She straightens, preparing herself to argue that he didn't need to and she hadn't gotten him anything but he holds up a hand and she falls silent.

"It was meant as a surprise. Your reaction will be gift enough."

Her brow furrows and she nods slowly.

He gently takes her hand, lifting it and turning it palm up. "Close your eyes, Guardian."

She arches a brow but complies until she feels a weighted object placed in her palm.

"Alright."

She slowly opens her eyes, locking gazes with the excited Warlord for an instant before her eyes drop to her hand.

It's…a knife. An elegantly carved hilt and a sharpened blade with a Hunter mark engraved along the metal. She breaks into a smile, lifting her hand from his palm and begins to turn the weapon over to admire the workmanship.

Her fingers still along the hilt, staring at it for a moment before her eyes dart up to Shaxx’s horn.

"Is this–?"

"Yes." He smiles softly, "Arcite stumbled upon it in a crate we'd thought lost. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have it."

A smile breaks across her features and she bolts upright and wraps her arms around his neck for a tight embrace.

"Thank you," she whispers, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

His arms weave around her smaller frame, holding her tightly as he returns her embrace. "You're welcome, my little Hunter."

She isn't sure how long she clings to him, fighting to keep some control over the tears slipping down her cheeks. She knows the significance of his helmet to him. A barrier. A way that he maintains space between himself and the world beyond. The one thing he removes only in the presence of those he trusts.

He's offered, in the past. She's refused, assured him it's alright and he needn't feel pressured to. When he does remove it around her, it will be because he feels it's time.

But with the blade? It's a part of it all. He's cemented his trust in her, and in part, his affection. He chose a way that he knew she'd value.

"Are you alright?" He asks softly, giving a squeeze.

She nods against his shoulder, pressing a little closer as she sniffles softly.

Shaxx pulls back immediately, lowering himself just enough to meet her gaze as his thumb brushes away some tears. "Don't cry–"

She smiles as she takes his hand, "They're good tears, Shaxx."

"...you like the gift?"

She nods earnestly, "Very much."

He pauses for an instant before nodding and stepping closer. His arms wind around her, tucking her against him in a firm embrace.

"Good. I had hoped you would."

He's so warm and gentle. His Light washes over her, intermingling with her own a way that creates a sort of glow to the area around them. She can't imagine another place she'd rather be than his arms. There's an unparalleled feeling of safety that comes with his embrace. A force so consuming she never wants to leave.

She lays her head on his chest, closing her eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. His hand rubs along her back, soothing away any tension as one of her fingers gently brushes against his neck.

He chuckles softly, "What are you doing?"

She does it again, this time a bit more bold with the pad of her finger rather than just the tip of it. She traces along a muscle until she's met with the underside of his jaw.

Shaxx remains perfectly still, though his hand continues its soothing along her spine.

"You usually have this covered," she murmurs, repeating the slow trail of her finger along his skin.

"And?" He prods gently.

Her head angles back to gaze up at him for an instant before she pushes up onto the tips of her toes. She hesitates a moment but then Shaxx’s hand stills along her spine; it seems he's just as anxious to see what she does next.

The Guardian leans in, pressing a soft kiss against his throat. His hand curls around the fabric of her dress along her back just before she settles back on her heels.

Her head drops immediately and she hugs him, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping that wasn't the wrong thing to do.

Her mind is put at ease when he holds her impossibly tight and she can feel his helmet against the top of her head.

Neither of them speak for some time. They stay there in the moonlight clinging to one another for what feels like an eternity of comfort and affection.

Their silence shattered only by the approach of footsteps off to their left.

Both heads lift and look to the source.

It's Osiris and Saint-14. Neither of them are paying attention to their surroundings, lost in a deep discussion with Saint's arm around his Warlock's waist.

They are a ways down from them but the moment has passed and they'd rather not disturb one of the fleeting evenings Saint and Osiris are granted together.

The Young Wolf steps back, taking Shaxx’s hand and starts to pull him back toward the ball, intent on arcing up and around the couple. Their footsteps draw the gaze of Saint but Shaxx gives a wave and the Exo smiles before shifting his focus back to Osiris.

The tenderness in his eyes when he looks at his partner tells them both just how much tonight has meant.

Once inside, Shaxx comes to a halt and gently tugs the Guardian back toward him with a smile in his voice. "Well, seems we've had more than one success tonight."

She nods her agreement, entwining her fingers with his before their gazes sweep around the room.

With her other hand, she tucks the blade he gave her along the thigh holster beneath her dress. He notices, tilting his head with a soft laugh.

"Always carrying a weapon, aren't you?"

She looks up at him knowingly, letting the fabric fall back into place over the two blades.

I'm a Hunter. Of course I'm always carrying a blade. But the blade I'll always bear from now on is yours.

He squeezes her hand gently, "Come on. I believe it's time for another dance."

The Guardian knows she'll be no more graceful than she was a half hour ago. But with his blade secured?

How could she do anything but enjoy her evening with her Warlord?

After all, that's what a Crimson Day ball is for.

—

Taglists are open! Send an ask/leave a comment to be added!

Forevers: @halo-2 @reaped-winnower @forgotten-by-the-stars @sugarcoated44 @cayde-6 @aetosavros​ @niemands-bibliothek @paracausal-hunter @silverhandsamurai @orbdotexe

Shaxx's Guardians: @ataraxia101 @squirrel-stars @scattershotmind

[callsign-rogueone]

the last six years - b.s.

Brennan Sorrengail x reader Only one person has remained by Brennan’s side for the last six years, through the good and the bad. [requested] wc: 3.9k 🏷: SPOILERS FOR FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME. fatal injury, blood, and multiple character deaths. basically every bad thing that has ever happened to Brennan will be in this series. I took some major creative liberties with this one and made a bunch of stuff up regarding Tyrrish culture, but we’re just gonna breeze right past that. more to come, because Brennan is just so husband material… mans had me giggling and kicking my feet every time he spoke.

“Tairn! We need Naolin!” You scream, praying that he is alive to hear you. “Bren, please, stay with me.”

His chest rises and falls slowly; he's still breathing. Breathing is good. “Y’need to get out of here.”

“No. I’m not leaving you. Eyes open, Bren, please,” you beg, pressing your hands deeper into the wound. “Tairn!”

“Thirty seconds out!” He yells back.

There’s not much you can do. To remove the arrow is a death sentence when you don’t have any medical supplies. It’s the only thing keeping the blood in his body, but even then it’s doing a shitty job; the warm crimson continues spilling out through your fingers, seemingly endless. 

“S’ gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Brennan soothes, feeling your panic.

“Bren, you need to stay awake. You can’t die. I can’t keep going without you.” Tears are pouring freely down your cheeks, dripping down onto the dark fabric of his flight jacket.

“You’re bleeding,” he mumbles, ignoring your pleas. He’s slipping away, fast, falling into the slow confusion that comes with a shortage of blood to the brain. “Let me mend you.”

“I’ll worry about myself later. Right now we need to keep you alive.” 

Heavy bootsteps enter the room. “Holy shit,” Naolin breathes, at your side in an instant. He digs in his bag, producing sutures and gauze.

If you act quickly, and if by some miracle the arrowhead hasn’t pierced Brennan’s heart, you can keep him stable long enough to find another mender. You break the shaft of the arrow, Brennan whimpering in pain as it shifts within his chest. 

“I know, my love, I’m so sorry,” you soothe, wiping your palms on your pant legs and moving to cradle his head in your lap as Naolin takes over. You keep whispering reassurances to him, terrified that if you stop, it’ll sever the last thread holding him in this world. “You’re doing so good, Bren. Almost done, I promise.”

Naolin gives you a look that tells you no, he’s not almost done. 

Brennan’s grip on your hand loosens, and you scramble to grab his wrist, bloodied fingers trying to find a pulse -- to no avail. “No,” you cry, tears pouring down your cheeks, “Bren, please wake up, please.”

The slow thump beneath your fingertips stops. Brennan’s heart is no longer beating.

You sob, a desperate sound that splits the air of the ballroom, and Naolin makes his decision, grasping Brennan’s hand and yours. “The two of you need each other.” 

“Nao, you can’t-” you gasp at the rush of energy that rips through you, the pain in your broken ribs diminishing instantly. You feel like you’ve been given a shot of pure adrenaline.

Naolin stops breathing just as Brennan starts again, collapsing to the marble floor, and your lips part in shock.

“He is gone,” Tairn confirms, fighting to keep his voice even. “May your gods honor his sacrifice and reward him in the next life.”

“I’m so sorry.”

His eyes are closed. That comforts you in some tiny way, that he looks whole, uninjured, like he could just be sleeping, but you know that isn’t the case.

Brennan’s breaths are even, pulse steady. The wound looks days old now, the fresh blood coating the skin the only evidence that he had nearly died today. He’ll pull through, as long as you can get out of here.

You say a prayer to Malek on your friend’s behalf, casting one last glance at his unmoving body, and gather Brennan into your arms -- he’s still breathing, but limp, exhausted. You can carry him out of here, but where will you go?

A man bearing a crossbolt steps into the ballroom.

You make no movement toward your weapon, still holding Brennan’s body to your chest. “We surrender,” you rasp, praying he will take pity on a pair of bloodsoaked young lovers and their fallen comrade. 

He steps closer, not responding. 

The words escape you before you can think. The old language feels foreign on your tongue, misshapen from years of disuse. “I am a daughter of the house Lindell, and a citizen of Tyrrendor. I have sworn an oath to-”

“I know who you are, Lady,” he says. “Come with me.”

He stops in front of an abandoned farmhouse, painted gold in the sunset. “Bathe, sleep. I’ll be back when I can.”

You remain by Brennan’s side. You stitch up his wounds, wash the dried blood from his skin, count his heartbeats as he continues to sleep. 

Night comes, bringing freezing wind through the cracked windows, and you climb into the bed beside him, pulling the few blankets you’d found over the pair of you. He curls into your side, seeking warmth — his skin is still cold, but not as icy as it had been when you limped him over here.

When you wake the next morning, the man has not yet returned.

“Ban?” You ask quietly. You haven’t heard from the dragon since you’d dismounted over a day ago, but she must still live, as you do.

“Nearby, with Marbh,” she reassures. “Tairn has returned to Basgiath to be with his mate. It will take years for him to recover from this loss, but he will live on.”

You continue to stroke Brennan’s hair, taking solace in the steadiness of his breathing.

“Your devotion to the mender is the strongest I have seen from any human,” she says quietly. 

“He has become the air I breathe. It was unbearable when he…” you don’t even want to think the words. “I don’t know what I would have done, had Naolin not intervened.”

Brennan stirs, stretching in the cute way you’ve seen him do so many times after waking up, scrunching his face at the bright morning light streaming into the room. He takes you in, thanking the gods that the only injury you bear is a yellowing bruise on your cheek. A gentle hand cradles your face, and it vanishes.

“Naolin?” He asks quietly, and something tells you he already knows deep down.

You shake your head, your eyes brimming with tears. “He gave his life to save you.” 

He looses a shuddering breath, and you gather him into your arms, crying together.

You attempt to mentally prepare yourself to enter the assembly room, adjusting your posture -- shoulders back, chin up, eyes forward. 

“Not a word,” you warn Brennan quietly. “Keep your shields up, like I taught you.”

“I didn’t know we were taking prisoners,” a lanky teenage boy calls, eyeing you from his perch on the edge of a table. In the years you’ve been away, he’s grown into his father’s dark features, and the lazy confidence that can only come with a noble title. “I was wondering when you’d be back from playing soldier. Have they brought you here to negotiate?”

“Lovely to see you again too, Xaden,” you say dryly, addressing the boy by name, and Brennan’s gaze whips toward you in shock. “No, I am not here to negotiate. We are here to surrender, and if you will have us, we will take your side in this fight to free Tyrrendor from those who have oppressed her for centuries.”

“They would be an asset to us, should this prove to not be a setup,” one of the elders says, keeping his hand on the hilt of his longsword.

“She has proved her allegiance to Tyrrendor time and time again,” Xaden defends coldly, dismissing the man who looks old enough to be his grandfather. “It is the general's son that I’m more concerned with.”

You look him directly in the eye as you speak, raising your chin. “Sorrengail is a strong rider and skilled mender, but above all, he is a good man. I could not have chosen anyone better to share the crown with when the day comes.”

Brennan looks at you like he has no idea who you are, trying to discern if this is a dream.

Xaden finds this amusing. “She really didn’t tell you? Always so secretive, that one. Your girlfriend is heir apparent to the Duchy of Lindell, as I am to Aretia, where you stand.”

He looks to the elders, who all nod in affirmation, deeming your appraisal of Brennan satisfactory. “It’s good to have you back, Lady. Things were getting boring without you.”

You lower your head to him in thanks, Brennan quickly copying you.

You tug Brennan into the hall after you’re dismissed.

“Did you really mean that?” He asks, head still spinning.

“Every word,” you reply. “From the moment you extended that hand to me in our first year at Basgiath, I knew you were good to your core, Brennan Sorrengail. It would be an honor to share my duty with you.” 

“Your mate needs you,” Marbh says, making a rare appearance.

Your heart drops. You sprint down the valley trail back to the house, attempting to ascertain what had happened, but you aren’t given a response. Marbh has always been vague.

You find Brennan tucked into a corner of your shared room, back pressed to the wall. He’s clutching a piece of parchment that you recognize to be a Basgiath death roll. He extends it to you wordlessly, and your eyes race down the list, searching for Mira, his mother, another of your friends…

The final name on the list, below the rider’s quadrant cadets, almost as an afterthought… Major William Sorrengail. His father.

“Oh, Bren,” you breathe, gathering him into your arms, “I’m so sorry.”

His entire body shakes with a sob, and it takes everything in you to not cry as well, but you remain strong, needing to be there for him. “I knew I’d never see him again,” he says in a cracked whisper, “but now��” But now it’s real.

You’d never met the man, and now you never will, but you know what a profound impact Brennan’s father had on his life, imparting so many of the qualities that you admire about Brennan; his dedication to his studies, his respect for the scribes that so many others dismiss or overlook, his unwavering compassion…

You offer a silent prayer to Malek on his behalf, asking that He show the scribe the same kindness that he had shown others in life.

“I don’t know why, or how,” Brennan rasps, “I don’t know who was there with him in the end, if Mira and Violet got to say goodbye, if my mother…” he can’t finish the sentence, words cut with shaking breaths. He loses the strength to hold himself up, collapsing into your embrace. “I should be there,” he sniffles, “I should have been there.”

“I know how much you love him. He knew too, I’m sure he did. They all do.” You hold him tighter, stroking his hair. “The girls are strong. They will mourn, but they will get through it together.”

He’s run out of tears, leaving him with a headache and a hollow feeling in his chest. He eventually relaxes, not saying a word as you smooth down the soft waves of his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He’s fallen asleep. You just hope his dreams will be kind to him.

“Enough,” you command, and all heads turn toward you. “I will not have you disrespect Riorson nor his partner in his own home. Have you forgotten what he has done for our young?”

Ulices stiffens. “My apologies, Lady.” He says the title with an ounce of venom, but yields, returning to his seat.

Violet continues to study you. You’re dressed simply, head to toe rider’s black mixed with traditional Tyrrish leather armor and intricate braids that she has only seen drawn in history books, but it’s obvious in your posture that you’re nobility - you do not dip your head below the horizon even for a moment, and you speak with the confidence that others will listen.

“We have better things to do than argue about what should have happened. There is no turning back time,” you say calmly. “I agree that we have been given a legion of students rather than trained warriors, but it has become our job to train them.”

Brennan speaks next. He’s been silent since the meeting started. “What professors have joined us should resume modified versions of their courses, and we will fill in the gaps. Match up those with similar signets for mentorship. Emeterrio can continue to lead combat training, and Devera Battle Brief. Kaori has not joined us, but I think there is an obvious replacement.”

You’re saddened by the news, but you smile softly at his praise. 

Violet realizes that the scribbled amendments in the dragons section of Brennan’s book weren’t Mira’s, but yours. You’ve been close for years, then. You must have brought him here with you when you deserted. Part of her wonders if you’d attended Basgiath because you wanted to, or as a spy.

“Do not question the royal one’s integrity,” Tairn warns her, but does not elaborate further.

“The riot has decided that everyone here can be trusted,” you state. “And if anyone turns out not to be, we will do what we have to do, without hesitation, for the good of the movement.”

There’s sounds of agreement from the other six, and then the meeting is over.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning against the doorframe, clutching a bloodied rag to his face.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Mira’s fist happened,” he explains, lifting it, and you wince at the sight of his nose, the bridge split and bruising. “I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

Your heart twists. Brennan hasn’t been able to see his sisters for nearly a decade, spending the last six years in hiding and the two before that stationed across the continent with hardly enough leave to travel back and forth to Basgiath. For Mira to have punched him straight in the face instead of the tearful hug he’d dreamed of… it must have crushed him.

You press a gentle kiss to his cheek, careful not to bump his nose. “I’ll talk to her,” you say softly. “Go see the healers.”

You’ve only met the middle Sorrengail in passing, nearly ten years ago now, but she’s exactly as Brennan had described her; a younger version of their mother, and just as strong-willed. Evidently, she remembers you, scowling and crossing her arms at the sight of you, but still standing at attention — there’s no missing the Major’s insignia on your chest. Violet stands as well, but doesn’t look as sour as her sister. 

You wave a hand. “At ease. I am not here to issue orders, rather to talk about your brother.”

Mira prickles, Violet looking concerned.

You choose your words carefully. “I do not expect either of you to forgive him overnight, nor for you to forgive me for my complacency in this matter. All I ask is that you show him some compassion. It has been hard for him too, being apart from his family. When your father-”

“That is not a sentence you should finish,” Mira interrupts.

“Mira,” Violet scolds softly, “be nice.”

“No,” she snaps, “I don’t think you understand. We mourned him. We called him a hero, thought he died honorably in battle when he really just deserted and changed his name.”

“He did die,” you say, and the eyes of both women flit back toward you. You look over your shoulder. “He bled out on the floor of that ballroom, and his heart stopped. Our friend siphoned away his life to save him.”

“Tairn’s previous rider,” Violet says in a whisper, as if the dragon will not hear her that way.

“Yes. Naolin.” You say his name with a heavy voice. No wonder Tairn won’t speak to her of the one who came before. That explains the gruff dragon’s defense of you, too.

Mira is silent, likely feeling guilt over her outburst as she realizes her brother still lives in the house he’d been killed in, with the son of the man who had ended his life.

“The elders gave him the name Aisereigh — meaning resurrected — as a layer of protection from those who hold vendettas against your mother. It hurt him to take it, and to not be able to give me the Sorrengail name, but it was necessary for his survival.”

Violet’s eyes land on the band circling your ring finger, a smooth strip of silver carved with Tyrrish runes. Brennan had worn a matching one when she’d seen him the day after War Games, but she hadn’t thought anything of it until now. “You’re married.”

You nod. “Three years ago, right on that bluff at the top of the valley, on a gorgeous summer day. Both of us wish those he loves most could have been there.” 

“Thank you,” Violet says quietly, “for staying with him through it all.”

“I have been by his side since our first year at Basgiath, and I will remain there as long as we shall live, as I have vowed to,” you reply with the same blunt conviction that she’s used to from Xaden — that must be a Tyrrish thing. “Now please excuse me. I have a class to teach in a few minutes.”

Mira lowers her head to you in a gesture of respect. “I’m sorry,” she says, but she does not say what for.

You give her a soft smile in return, heading back into the house.

“Major Aisereigh will be taking over your dragonkind course, as Professor Kaori did not elect to join us here,” Professor Devera announces.

It’s strange to be standing on the dais as an equal with the woman who’d had a hand in kidnapping you from Brennan’s bed to torture you eight years ago, but nearly everything about your life since that night has been strange.

“I don’t know precisely what Kaori did and did not cover thus far in the term, but given that every person in this room has managed to bond a dragon, you are clearly proficient, and I will treat you as such,” you begin. “Dragons are independent, often to a fault, but do not forget that your health depends on theirs. As riders, you must learn how to care for them properly. That’s what we will be focusing on for the remainder of the term, along with flight mechanics and keeping your seat under stress.”

You glance at Brennan, who is sitting incognito in the back row, broken nose now mended, and he nods, an easy smile on his face. You’re doing great.

The lesson passes easily, your students much more engaged than you remember your peers having been in Professor Kaori’s class. 

“I will be needing volunteers to help with the maintenance of the riot while they’re grounded.”

At least thirty hands shoot straight up — half the class.

The trek up the valley wall is never easy, but you make winded conversation with several of the volunteers, mainly nervous first-years who confide that they need the extra practice.

You stop at the top of the trail, cupping a hand to your mouth and calling out a few short notes, and Banrion is at your side in seconds, shaking the ground with her landing. At least a dozen others land nearby, sitting upright in waiting. 

“You’ve brought children,” she appraises, eyeing them with distaste.

“Cadets,” you correct, “that you will be helping me teach. So be nice.”

She chuffs softly. “Fine.”

“I have chosen some more agreeable members of the riot to aid me today, to ease you into their care, but let me make this clear,” you say to the class, who have retreated to give you and Ban a healthy distance. “the majority still find it deeply offensive to be addressed by a human that is not their rider. Unless your bonded has joined us today, please refrain from speaking to any directly.”

You wait for nods of affirmation. “Banrion and I will demonstrate pre-flight checks once, and then you will split into groups of two or three to do the same with the remainder here.”

Once you get everyone settled, you find Brennan — he’d tagged along quietly, not wanting to part ways after the morning’s chaos.

“Well done, Professor,” he says, smiling. “You just might make this a day job.”

You laugh. “Is this everything twenty-year-old Bren thought it would be?”

“It is,” he says quietly. “And more.”

You gaze out at the field of cadets. “Marked and unmarked, living in harmony.”

Brennan squeezes your hand in acknowledgment, remembering how scared you had been when the first marked ones left for Basgiath, and each year since. It had hurt you deeply when not all of them returned. 

Tairn stalks up to you, dipping his head in greeting. “Good to see you again, royal one.”

You smile. “Glad you’re still around, big guy. You have made an excellent choice in Violet. How is the golden one?”

“Still dreamless,” he answers, not deigning to reply to your compliment. 

You worry your lip between your teeth, concerned. 

He casts a glance around at the young cadets in the vale, who are taking their tasks very seriously. “You remain as revered a leader as you were at Basgiath.”

You’re actually touched, but you won’t dare mention that to Tairn.

“It is not an easy feat to raise young,” a green scorpiontail says in agreement, looking down fondly at the first-years that are inspecting her claws for cracks, “but the two of you are doing a fine job.”

You smile. “And how are your young?”

“Safe,” she answers. “You may come see them after dark.”

“It would be an honor.”

“Professor?” A cadet calls from across the field, sounding mildly concerned.

You pull apart from Brennan reluctantly. “Duty calls. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Kiss for your thoughts?” you ask playfully, seeing the weary look on his face. It’s been a long day for him, with multiple arguments among the assembly and all the emotions of reuniting with Mira.

“I have both of my sisters back,” he breathes, still in disbelief. “I thought I’d never see them again.”

You lay a hand on his back, resting your head on his shoulder. “I spoke with them before class. Mira was particularly upset, but she softened when I told her what really happened.”

He’s quiet. “She has every right to hate me for what I did. She should despise me for the rest of my life.”

“But she doesn’t,” you remind him gently. “She holds anger, but she doesn’t hate you. You’re her brother, and she knows you love her. You wrote her an entire textbook on how to survive the rider’s quadrant. If that isn’t testament enough, I don't know what is.”

He shakes his head, smiling softly. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”

You grin, moving to climb into his lap. “Because I know you, and I know exactly what goes on in that beautiful brain of yours.”

“Yeah?” he asks, nose brushing against yours, a ringed hand settling on your waist. “What am I thinking about right now?”

“Hmm. Probably about how long of a day it’s been, and how you’d like to unwind after all of it?”

“You’re absolutely right,” he says. “I’ll take that kiss now.”

You lean forward, connecting your lips to his, and the rest of the world falls silent, melting away until all that’s left is you, your husband, and the love you share, love that has endured death itself.