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duskandstarlight · 4 years

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Embers & Light (Chapter 28)

Notes: Happy Sunday every one. Thanks for last week's comments. They were so lovely and I love to hear from you all!This chapter is the one lots of you have been waiting for... not smut, but THE conversation. I hope you enjoy it... And sorry about the typos in this chapter, I can't look at this chapter any more! I'll try and scan over it tomorrow...Lastly, just a head's up that I might not be able to post next Sunday. Work is super busy this coming week and I haven't yet started the chapter. I'll try my best, though :)

Oh, and for those of you who ask every week, I post Sunday evening UK time between 7-10PM. I will rarely change and if it’s late, it’s because I’m still working on it :)

Also, sorry, there should be italics in some places but I am done editing so Tumblr will get what copy and paste has done!

Twenty-Eight Cassian POV

Lorrian and Cassian walked silently down the hall, following the servant who was scurrying in front of them. The sound of their footsteps rang around the hallway in an echo that was almost haunting, and if it wasn't for the meeting that has just adjourned—the Rite meeting which that was whirring around in his mind—Cassian would be contemplating how quickly he could organise their departure despite the wishes of his High Lord.

As distracted as Cassian was, he had still committed every corridor to memory. Every twist and turn as the house tunnelled into mountain rock. Up the wide staircase, right, second left, first right, next left…

Deeper and deeper they moved into the mountain. No doubt to ensure that the General and Colonel felt as uneasy as possible. No Illyrian liked being unable to escape through a window and step straight into the skies, and from what Cassian could tell, there would be no windows or doors that led them straight out into the heavens. Only endless crystalline rock and shadow.

Lord Marsh’s property always had been unusual in that way. Even though it was positioned on the wide ledge of the mountain pass, suspended high in the sky above the rest of the Ironcrest camp, the house did not stop when it hit the mountain wall. Instead, it tunnelled inside of it, providing a lodgings that was a vast, confusing labyrinth that was too easy to get lost in.

It was why Cassian had been so loathe to stay the night. To stay any longer than necessary.

Cassian could only thank the Cauldron that Rhys and Feyre’s presence had not been required. Neither of them deserved to be trapped inside a mountain again. Cassian supposed he could count his lucky stars that their presence had not been necessary. Would not be able to bear their anguish, even if they did their best to conceal it.

“Your rooms,” the servant announced suddenly, with a bow that was so deep Cassian wouldn’t have been surprised if the male’s nose had scraped the floor.

They had reached the end of the hallway, and in front of them was a heavy wooden door set into an arch.

Even through rock and stone, Cassian could sense Nesta. Knew she was located somewhere to the left with Frawley, thanks to that magnetic pull which never seemed to cease, even just for a moment. That was the one thing Nesta hadn’t been able to stop. She could constrict their bond as much as she liked—could freeze him out so nothing could travel up and down their twisted tether—but it didn’t stop him from being able to sense her. It was as if he was hyper alert to where she was. His body moved when hers did. His heart did its best to beat in tandem with hers. And when they were near, everything in him had a tendency to relax, as if he no longer had to worry.

Cassian didn’t know if Nesta felt the same. Would never know, given that they did not discuss their fate at all.

Lorrian bid goodbye to the servant as Cassian stepped through the door and into a hallway that was equally as dark. Two doors flanked the short, cramped hallway and Cassian took the immediate left, pushing the door that was ajar so it creaked wide open.

Unlike the rest of Marsh’s residence, the room was cast in a light that was almost unforgiving, betraying the dark ominous furniture and the gloomy crystalline rock thanks to bobbing faelights which Frawley had magicked to illuminate the room. To his left, fire raged silently in the grate, and ahead of him, in a huge stone bay straight ahead of him, sat Nesta.

The carved out rock was fashioned as if it were a window—an irony, given how deep underground they were—and Nesta’s back rested against the far left-hand wall. Her knees were bent, and her long legs, which were hidden beneath her skirts, stretched across expanse of the ledge. She was facing Frawley, who was sitting on the huge Illyrian bed which took up most of the floor space.

Cassian just had time to catch Nesta’s unfettered expression—the tight, bracketed mouth and the downward pull of her brows— before it was wiped clean.

“What happened?” she demanded, as Cassian cast a shield which threw the whole suite into an impenetrable sound bubble.

Her eyes bore into his, and across the surface, silver roiled like liquid mercury. Despite her careful expression, he felt her worry and Cassian wondered just how much he had accidentally hurtled down their shared bond whilst he sat in that meeting to have her so concerned.

“They’ve cancelled the Blood Rite,” Lorrian announced grimly, from where he had entered the room behind Cassian.

Nesta’s eyes snapped to Lorrian. Confusion twisted across her features, but she did not say anything.

“That,” Frawley said after a moment’s pause, “is very clever.”

Begrudgingly, Cassian nodded. Because it had been clever. None of them had seen it coming. The Solstice luncheon, which invited all of the nobility across Illyria, had been enough to ward away any suspicion when it came to the lordlings presence. Rite representatives were chosen privately by each camp, so there was no way that Cassian could have known that the lordlings who had recently met with Kallon planned to fill many of the positions. Nor had it crossed Cassian’s mind that the Rite meeting might have been pulled forward only for it to be cancelled, especially given how steadfast and stubborn Illyrians were when it came to tradition.

But, even if Cassian had asked Az to find out what representatives had been chosen for the Rite that year, they never could have predicted that Kallon intended to instate a hiatus on the most important ritual in Illyria’s long history—a political manoeuvre that would make the Night Court look even worse than it already did.

“How did he get the lords to agree to it?” Frawley asked, as she watched her husband sink down into a chair that sat in the right hand corner of the room next to a dark, looming wardrobe that only served to make the room feel even more cramped. “Those princes will usually be damned if they listen to a word the other says.”

“The Rite representatives,” Cassian announced with a heavy sigh, wishing he too would give in to the temptation to sink down and sit somewhere. Next to Nesta, ideally. “All of them were lordlings who met with Kallon all those months ago. And the worst thing about it all is that Lorrian and I swayed the vote in Kallon’s favour. He played us and we walked straight into his damn den. It made us look as if we were agreeing with him for the sake of politics, rather than because we thought it ourselves.”

Which was the irony of the situation, Cassian thought to himself grimly. Cassian had been worried for a long time about the unnecessary loss of further lives due to the Blood Rite. Had been losing sleep over it, just as his nightmares continued to plague him whenever he did succumb to the clutches of the unconscious. There was already so much ash of flesh and bone on Cassian’s hands from when he had deserted his legion for desperate screams. And now… he was existing on stolen time—a time which had been bought by a female who at the end of it all, had not accepted his heart.

“Every word of Kallon’s appeal resonated with the Lords,” Lorrian told Nesta and Frawley as he ran his hands over his face… over his dark, close-cropped hair and the nicked scars on his scalp. “He played upon the sentiment that is already festering inside so many of the Fae in Illyria. That the Night Court uses our warriors for their own gain in war but does not care about them in the interim.”

“And then Kallon presented them with the damn sword,” Cassian growled, clenching his fists at the memory.

Frawley’s eyes gleamed so brightly her irises turned glacial blue and amber. “You saw it up close?” she asked, leaning forward so eagerly from where she was sitting on the mattress that she near folded in half. “And what did you feel?”

“Ancient magic,” Lorrian replied grimly, even as his wife continue to stare at Cassian. “My own magic spiked at the sight of it. It was…” he broke off and shook his head, “It was odd. All of the lords could feel it, I am sure of it. Not one of them disputed that it was Enalius’s.”

Cassian remembered the way his siphons had throbbed and the ruby star over his chest had pulsed so fiercely it felt like a second heart—as if it were answering a silent call that even he couldn't hear. Only Nesta’s power had made Cassian feel like that before. It didn’t matter if it was silver fire or healing light, Nesta’s magic called to him, chanting and moaning until he thought he might combust from it.

But Cassian did not say any of that. Had barely dared to admit it to himself, let alone voice it out loud. So, instead, he flared his siphons and rummaged through the travel bag which appeared on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.

His fingers found the book without having to search for it, his callouses brushing against soft brown leather. He pulled out Heroicis, the gold-lettering on the cover shimmering as he flipped it open to peel back the delicate pages.

It was easy to find the illustration of the sword. Cassian had stared at the drawing so many times the book wanted to be opened to that page.

He placed the book down on the vanity. “It looked exactly like that,” he announced wearily, waving a hand to the illustration. “Except the jewel is missing.”

The rustle of clothing sounded as three Fae moved towards him. Cassian did not turn but he scented all three of them. Lorrian’s gentle rush of heat and sandalwood. Frawley’s damp forest earth after rain and air streaked with fire smoke. And then Nesta. She had drawn up to his left, but he would have known where she was in a room without scent or sight. Yet, he allowed himself the privilege of scenting her all the same, as that rush of her became sharper and more focussed, like a blade narrowing to an essential point: jasmine and vanilla and Nesta.

Rivalling most Fae in height, Nesta’s head barely reached his shoulder. Cassian desperately wanted to wind his arm around her and pull her close, but out of the public eye they were no longer pretending. He didn’t want to push the boundaries that were already so brittle. Would not disrespect Nesta by overstepping the mark. Not unless she indicated she wanted it otherwise.

So, Cassian pushed away the stark vision of him moulding her to his body, or the way he had bowed earlier to press his lips to her knuckles. Tried not to ponder over the temptation of brushing his lips over her cheek by the end of their visit…

“I did not expect a General to carry epic poetry,” Frawley drawled in amusement, but there was an edge to her voice that told Cassian she was holding something back.

Lorrian snickered at his wife and did what Cassian had yearned to do to Nesta—he dropped a kiss to the top of her white head. The Colonel had used his siphons to peel back his armour as soon as the door had closed behind them. With it, his arm had disappeared, and the Colonel looked more like himself.

“Well, witch,” Cassian demanded with forced lightness, “is this an accurate depiction?”

“It is the only illustration I have ever seen that is correct,” Frawley said simply, her head cocked to the side so the white of her hair fell in an impossibly straight stream. The strands shimmered pearlescent in the light. The colour was almost otherworldly.

“Did you find anything out from the females?” Lorrian asked. He was rubbing over the stub of his limp, as if it was causing him phantom pain, his expression drawn tight.

The change of subject wasn’t as abrupt as it seemed. Cassian knew why Lorrian was asking. If they found anything incriminating against Kallon or the Ironcrest clan, it would aid them in stifling the rebellion that at this point seemed inevitable.

A fierce flare of pain wrangled through Cassian’s gut and his head snapped to Nesta, but she was staring fixedly at the book.

Lorrian had also turned sharply to Nesta, his eyes wide. His hand dropped from where he had been trying to ease the pain from his arm and his expression, although surprised, was free of any discomfort.

“Thank you,” Lorrian said quietly.

There was a pause that stretched out too long. All of them were silent, but Nesta dipped her chin without turning her head.

“The females didn’t speak beyond polite conversation,” Frawley began, steering all of their attention from Nesta. “But I did mention the kerit attacks on the widows camps.”

“Did you pick up any emotion?” Cassian asked Nesta.

“Yes,” Nesta replied, but her shrug dismissed the notion that she may have felt anything prominent. “Fear, disgust, anger towards the attacks. Most of it low level.”

Cassian frowned. “I suppose the attacks have not hit Ironcrest. They have not experienced the damage first hand.”

“There was a spike of horror and despair,” Nesta told him. “From someone. But I couldn't place it. It came from behind me and by the time I had turned the emotion had gone.”

Cassian stared down at Nesta. “Did you scent it? The insignia behind the emotion?”

Nesta shook her head. “All of the scents were jumbled. I got a flash of something, but I couldn’t—” Nesta stopped abruptly and her beautiful face twisted into a dissatisfied grimace. “If I sensed it again, I might recognise it, but—”

Already Cassian knew she was punishing herself. He refrained from putting a hand on her shoulder in silent reassurance.

“Even a Fae with years of practice would find it difficult to associate the source of an emotion in a crowded room,” Frawley said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if she too knew that Nesta would not stop the self-blame. That it would rage internally until it consumed her. “You do not have eyes in the back of your head.”

“And from Kallon?” Cassian asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer, and that he wasn’t going to like it.

They all watched Nesta’s lips tighten into a thin line. Eventually, she said, “He likes my power.”

Cassian knew that expression. Knew from the way everything had gone very quiet that she had frozen him out so he would not know how the promise in those yellow eyes had turned triggered Nesta’s trauma.

But the problem was that Cassian had learnt to notice the slightest change in Nesta’s expression. Had catalogued every movement in the four months they had lived together, even when he didn’t know what it meant.

Frawley’s brown eye flicked to Cassian. Even behind the brisk facade, Cassian could tell she was worried about Nesta. Cassian wondered what they had spoken about whilst he and Lorrian had been gone. “What time is this dreaded dinner?” she asked.

“In an hour,” Cassian grimaced.

“And do you think the princeling will be carrying the sword with him, now he has confirmed the rumours?”

Lorrian grunted a laugh. Cassian wondered if he, too, was thinking of the way Kallon’s eyes had gleamed triumphant. How tempting it had been to smack the princeling around the face. “I think we can count on it.”

***

An hour later, the same servant escorted the four of them down the warren corridors to dinner.

Both Lorrian and Cassian had discarded their full-scaled armour for tunics layered with a stainless steel cuirass over the top. That, coupled with plates and fingerless leather gauntlets on both of their hands, allowed Cassian and Lorrian to showcase their siphons. The light-weight pieces of armour were made of the usual Illyrian scales, and whilst the armour was more ornamental than for the purpose of fighting, Rhys had worked his magic so it was as indestructible as carbon steel, if not more.

Lorrian’s right arm was back and glowing. Cassian understood why his friend wanted to face the vultures with all of his limbs, but he wished he could take Lorrian’s shame away. He supposed there was nothing to be done but to hope that time led to acceptance. Already Lorrian had come a long way. Had even started training with Cassian without his arm, learning to wield a sword with his left-hand should the occasion every call for it.

It was that willingness to adapt that reminded Cassian why Lorrian was an exceptional warrior. Why he would conquer where others would fail. The Colonel would be prepared for every scenario. Would know how to balance his body with and without a limb.

Opponents would not expect it. It would give Lorrian the upper hand in battle, rather than showcasing a weakness that anyone who knew about his limb would expect.

It meant that if Lorrian’s siphons ever became drained, that he could still fight.

Nesta and Frawley had also changed for dinner, even though the witch had grumbled at having to dress up for company she would rather obliterate from Prythian. Unsurprisingly, Nesta had only grown more divine with a change of clothes, but she had barely spared him a glance as she looped her hand through his arm.

Which, Cassian thought, had been just as well, because he had not been able to stop his eyes from darkening and his wings from rustling at the sheer sight of her.

Now, Nesta held onto him as they followed the backs of Lorrian and Frawley from where they walked in front of them. The two of them had fallen slightly behind, most likely because of their hesitancy to fling themselves back in the path of the vultures that were Marsh and Kallon.

And, Cassian admitted, because he had purposefully shortened his stride so he could glance surreptitiously at Nesta—at the dark, deep forest green of her long-sleeved dress, which had actually stopped Cassian’s heart and made his breath catch in his throat. Something which he knew Lorrian had clocked but had decided not to mention— thank the Cauldron.

The top half of the velvet material wrapped around Nesta’s every curve, before it billowed out softly at the hips into an A-line skirt. At her chest—which was bared rather than hidden away—the silver chain of the pyrite necklace fell tauntingly below the v-neckline.

Cassian thanked his lucky stars and the Gods combined that he could not glimpse her cleavage.

“Want to go home yet?” Cassian murmured, breaking their silence.

They had barely spoken since the luncheon and certainly not alone. Nesta had not commented when she had emerged from their bedroom. Had not mentioned the single bed that had taunted him when he had first entered to change.

Cassian had ensured they were not in the room at the same time. Was actually terrified to close himself into such a small and cramped space with her.

The way in which Nesta did not look up at him as he spoke told Cassian that she was very far away. Her huffed breath was practically inaudible, and she had an almost unreachable air about her that told him that for some reason, her trauma had caught up with her.

So, Cassian did what he did best. He decided to rile her.

“You’re going to have to lower your shields,” he warned her.

The slightest of frowns graced Nesta’s expression as they came to the end of a corridor and entered the vast landing that graced the first floor. Here, the flagstone floor was layered with a carpet runner that was dappled in brown and white, like the feathers of a hawk-crested eagle. “I’m aware,” Nesta clipped, that chin of hers raising as her back straightened.

Cassian brought a hand up to cover hers. Anything to get her to look at him. “You can stay in the room if you’d prefer,” he said quietly.

Those tempting lips thinned into a straight line. She turned her head away from him, so he could only see the intricate braid that weaved a halo around her head. “No, I can’t,” Nesta replied shortly.

She was not wrong. Cassian would not leave her deep in the mountain where he could not protect her. Even if that meant taking her to a place where her trauma would intensify.

He hated himself for it.

“I won’t let him harm you. I won’t let them touch you.” The words came out fiercer than he had intended, even if his voice was a low rumble.

There must have been enough urgency in his voice, because finally Nesta twisted her head to look up at him. Those eyes were a little less hollow. “I know,” she replied simply. Her eyes slid to a spot past his head. “I might harm them, though.”

A dark, please laugh issued from his throat, even as he wished that mercury would slide over the frosty blue of her irises. Nesta had issues summoning her magic when she succumbed to the numbness, and Cassian did not want her in this Gods damned awful place without her power at her disposable.

“I look forward to seeing it,” he responded smoothly, but his heart fell as she turned away from him again.

Desperation clawed at his insides—at the bond which was constricted by ice—that the next words left him without contemplating the gravity of them. “Are you wearing that dress to taunt me, Nesta?”

Nesta’s eyes snapped to his so quickly that everything in him jolted. A dim light throbbed in the depth of her gaze. “Excuse me?”

“This dress,” he said in a low confession, “has become my favourite thing.”

An unamused snort, even as a glimmer of embarrassment forced its way down their bond. It was fleeting and barely there, but Cassian felt it. Grasped for it. “Your favourite thing is chocolate.”

“My favourite thing is you,” he corrected, scarcely believing his loose tongue. He made his eyes glint playfully. “Chocolate is a close second.”

“In fact,” he mused after a moment’s pause. “The two together—”

“In your dreams,” Nesta snapped, her words coming out so sharply and with such aggression that both Frawley and Lorrian’s heads whipped round to stare at them.

Cassian grinned wolfishly, watching Lorrian shake his head at the obvious fire in Nesta’s eyes. The fire that Cassian was doing everything to rally.

Both of his friends had noticed Nesta turn silent in the hour before dinner, but neither of them had uttered a word. They understood the peaks and troughs—the challenges of life when things became too hard.

“That comeback again, sweetheart? I’d have thought you’d have something more original by now.”

“You are insufferable,” Nesta clipped. And at her hands… a wisp of that mist.

“Do you not like being complimented” Cassian taunted, stifling the way his blood soared at the faint pink that stained her cheeks—another blessed reaction.

Together they descended the elaborately wide staircase, moving slowly to accommodate for Nesta’s skirts. Usually, Cassian had no time for impractical attire, but he had long learnt that Nesta could wear whatever she liked and he would accommodate it, no matter how ill-thought-out.

Nesta’s grip on his arm tightened into a death grip.

She was not looking at him again. Deliberately avoiding his gaze, even as his eyes did not once stray from her face, his legs carrying him blindly as he furiously scanned her for expression.

Finally, Nesta said with a quiet that did not lack in intensity, “A compliment isn’t true if it’s designed to be a distraction.”

Cassian huffed a breath of laughter. Of course, she had seen right through him. Yet…

He dared to lean towards her, to close the distance between them so he could murmur into her elegantly tipped ear. “It was a distraction,” he confessed honestly as they turned down the corridor that led off to the right-hand side of the foyer, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true, does it?”

Blue, smoky eyes latched onto his, Nesta’s chin tilting upwards to meet his gaze. It was a torturous form of bliss, the movement bringing her face far too close to his. She stared at him and he stared right back, even as his heart thumped hard against his ribcage.

He lowered his head further. Watched Nesta’s eyes widen ever so slightly as he closed the distance between them. She had stilled completely, halting them just outside of the dining room.

This time he allowed his lips to ghost her ear. Let the Illyrian roll of his tongue and savoured her suppressed shiver. The spark of something which wound itself around his ribcage. “After you, amore.”

Cassian made himself wink as he straightened up, as if he were entirely unaffected by her proximity.

And then he steered her into the dining room.

***

Dinner was worse than Cassian had anticipated, and by the time the four of them arrived back at their suite, none of them were bothering to hide their exhaustion. The door had barely shut behind them when Frawley brusquely announced that the sword which had been showcased at the dinner was undoubtedly Enalius’s, before she disappeared into her room with Lorrian following closely behind.

The first thing Cassian had done upon entering he and Nesta’s shared room was to flop onto the bed. Dealing with Lord Marsh was trying at the best of times, but tackling Lord Marsh, Kallon and the other arrogant lords, as well as the drama that came with it… Cassian had been fighting a headache all day and the pressure was now a keen, insistent throb behind his eyes.

That, coupled with a tense dinner that had slowly chipped away at his pain threshold, had Cassian desperately wanting to slide beneath the sheets and succumb to sleep.

To Cassian’s surprise, Marsh had not been present at dinner, and from the way that Kallon sat unfazed at the head of the table, Cassian gathered that it was not an unusual occurrence.

Kallon had held audience with an ease that had rivalled Rhys when he was playing cruel High Lord during a visit to the Hewn City, and apart from the shadows of servants lining the walls, no other lords and ladies had been present at dinner. It had been a surprising move. Cassian had expected Kallon to parade and taunt in front of the watchful eyes of the Illyrian nobility, who would no doubt disappear later to whisper into others ears…

But, instead, it had only been the five of them. That had been enough to tell Cassian that whilst Kallon might have no qualms in wielding words as vicious as Nesta’s, he also did not believe he could control the tongues of those he was dining with. That he knew that despite the sword that lay gleaming on the gilded cushion further down the table, that they his company had the capability of maiming him if they saw fit. Something which Kallon could not afford given his victory earlier that afternoon.

This fear came to a conclusion halfway through their main course, when Kallon deigned to insinuate that females were not designed to wield a sword.

“Are you saying,” Nesta asked with a deathly sort of calm that had Cassian tensing, “that you do not deem females worthy of protecting themselves?”

“I think that the Night Court should protect the entirety of its court so the females don’t have to worry about protecting themselves,” Kallon had responded swiftly, his sharp knife slicing into his bloody steak as if it were nothing but butter.

“What you are saying,” Frawley corrected, her voice brusque and hard, “is that you do not see females as having any other purpose than bearing younglings.”

“Is that not their purpose?” Kallon had challenged. He paused, surveying all of their faces with a grim sort of satisfaction, before he had pressed on, “Is that not what is needed for a race who has lost more males in this war than it has seen in hundreds of years?”

“A female’s worth is not found in their ability to reproduce,” Nesta had responded coolly. Her voice, Cassian had noticed, had dipped into the deathly sort of calm that usually preceded an outburst of flame. “In fact, I have not met one male in Illyria who is more worthy of learning how to wield a weapon than the females in Illyria’s camps.”

“And does that sense of worth extend to the males around this table?” Kallon had replied, his yellow eyes gleaming at a sudden opportunity. Like the rest of the residence, the dining room had been dimly lit, illuminated by faint faelight and the fire that raged in the hearth. It meant that shadows had crept across the walls and table as Kallon leant forward to where Nesta was sitting at his right. “I assume not, given your tendency to fuck anything that moves.”

The sentence was as abrupt as a slap to the face, but Nesta did not move. Did not give any indication that the princeling’s words had hit home, even as Cassian’s gut had wrenched.

“It is funny,” Nesta had mused icily, her voice as cold as the fiercest Illyrian winter, “that you should try to shame me, especially given that if I was a male, I am sure you would be praising me for such a consistent pursuit of pleasure.”

Carefully, Nesta had set down her goblet, her eyes boring into the princeling’s with such intensity that Cassian had been surprised that the male hadn’t burst into flame.

Other than Frawley’s snort of agreement, nobody had dared to move. Time had passed. Time in which Cassian vowed to remain steadfast to his silent promise that he should not interference unless it was absolutely necessary. Even as Kallon did not back down.

Together, they had all watched the princeling settle back into his chair with the relaxed sort of ease that had Cassian wanting to castrate him. “Perhaps then, I should surprise you by showing you my room in case you fancy pursuing some real pleasure later—”

“That is —” Cassian had started to snarled, banging a fist on the table just as Lorrian had growled, the sound a low, deep warning—

And that was when the entire room had glowed silver, the magic snapping around the room with such ferocity that it was like a whip cracking against bare skin.

When Nesta’s magic dropped—when Cassian’s blood had reduced to a simmer rather than boiling—Cassian realised that exercising her magic had been the perfect excuse for Nesta to silence the fire that had been crackling fiercely in the grate behind them. The fire from which Cassian had spent the entirety of the meal trying to shield her from as best as possible, his wing curled protectively around the back of her chair.

Even so, the showcase of Nesta’s power had been startling and undeniably effective. As Nesta’s temper had flared, that silver fire had ignited in the grate, swallowing the orange flames as mist wreathed up her arms, eddying around her at such speed that it began to seep across the table towards Kallon.

And the whole time Kallon’s eyes had gleamed. Not with fear, but with the kind of awe that Cassian felt when he’d first witnessed how magnificent Nesta was.

It had taken everything in Cassian not to leap across the table and rip the princeling’s head from his body. From the way Frawley was gripping Lorrian, it had seemed as if his friend felt the exact same way.

But to Cassian’s surprise, Nesta had only let out a low, cruel laugh which had sliced through any of Cassian’s intention to intervene.

Instead, he had watched, riveted as those eyes of pure mercury raked up and down Kallon’s body with a look of unbridled disgust. And when Nesta had spoken, her voice was as terrifying as the promise of death, “I would never deign to lower myself by sharing a bed with you,” she told Kallon, “and I certainly hope that no other female has been forced to endure it.”

Infuriatingly, Kallon had only let out a musical laugh rather than a snarled retort. “And I suppose you would rather pair yourself with a male who has nothing to give you—not a title or a name, only the promise of a cheap necklace. Perhaps that is why you seem to have no true inclination to secure your future with him.”

Then, Kallon had slowly dragged his eyes to Cassian. “I would have thought your role in leading the Night Court’s armies would pay better than that, General. But I suppose you can’t take the bastard out of the slums.”

It had been at that point that Nesta had found Cassian’s hand under the table. It had been the most careful of movements—unnoticeable to anybody but them. The clasp of her fingers around his and the easing of the pain and fury in his gut had been the only thing that had stopped him from either beating Kallon to a pulp or leaving the meal in a rage.

Both of which would only have allowed Kallon to emerge triumphant… So, they had eaten in the sort of tense silence, speared sporadically with the odd ferocious comment. And at the end of the table, that damned sword had lain on the gilded cushion, gleaming magnificently in the firelight, calling to Cassian’s power in a way that pulled at his skin…

Now, recollecting the monstrosity of the evening, Cassian wanted to ward away the feeling of unworthiness that still lay bitter on his tongue. There was also a sense of foreboding that he could not shake. A terrible knowledge that whatever he and Nesta had constructed between them was something false rather than true.

There were so many cracks they had hastily tried to ignore. So many past actions that had been pushed to the background rather than being acknowledged.

Cassian didn’t know what would happen if they were addressed. If it would fling the two of them so far back into the past that it would shatter the present.

Yet… it seemed inevitable. A hulking, looming presence that clung to them like a shadow.

But for now… Cassian wanted lightness. He wanted to know that he and Nesta were ok. So he waved a hand tiredly at the room, and said, “Sorry we have to share.”

“It’s fine,” Nesta replied finally, as if she had been so far away it had taken her a while to rope herself back to reality.

Cracking open an eye, Cassian watched her close the bedroom door behind her. She had closed their bond as soon as they had left the dinner table. Cassian did not know if it was a deliberate move to shut him out, or just an attempt to sever any emotion. He knew she must be feeling raw. Lowering one’s shields did that, especially for Nesta, who felt more than everyone else. Azriel had warned him of that. Had confirmed what Cassian and Feyre had always thought. That Nesta’s gift expanded outside of the power she had clawed from the Cauldron. Something which had always existed inside of her but which had been magnified further when she was Made.

“I wouldn’t want my own room here,” Nesta elaborated when she caught him studying her.

Cassian watched Nesta’s ever perceptive eyes scan the room: the simple, whitewashed walls and the pine furniture. The room was of moderate size, although Cassian would wager that it wasn’t Lord Marsh’s biggest guest room. That silent rebuff hadn't gone unnoticed — not that Cassian cared. He had endured far worse conditions, after all.

Most of the floor space was taken up by the Illyrian bed, which was big enough for two sets of wings. Now, Nesta hovered beside it as if she were unsure what to do next. It was the most awkward he had ever seen her.

“By all means,” he drawled tiredly, waving to the other side of the mattress. He folded the wing that he had spread onto the other side—her side—of the bed, “I can sleep on the floor. Just...give me a moment.”

Ignoring his invitation, Nesta floated over to the dressing table instead. Propping his head under a bent arm, Cassian watched her as she started to slowly take the pins out of her hair.

For a long while, the clink of metal on wood was the only noise that filled the room, and Cassian was just about to ask Nesta how many gods damned pins she used, when she started to slowly unspool the hair from the top of her head. Jaw slightly slack, Cassian watched in awe as Nesta parted the thick strands of the braid with well-practiced hands. When she was finished, she began to brush it out, until the light brown strands shimmered gold in the faelight and the teeth no longer snagged on knows.

Cassian wondered if any male had ever seen her do this: the simple act of getting ready for bed. He hoped not. There was something intimate about watching Nesta let her hair down, as if every pin that came out of her head removed a little bit of that mask, revealing a younger, softer version of the hot-headed hellcat he usually had to contend with.

“You’re staring.”

The words clipped through the silence, as sharp as a cutting knife.

Well, perhaps she wasn’t a softer version, after all.

Cassian’s eyes slid to Nesta’s in the mirror. In the dim faelight, the blue of her irises had given way to a stormy, mesmerising grey. He made his lips pout, even as he imagined running his fingers through the soft strands. “Your hair looks prettier than mine.”

The faintest of smiles tugged at Nesta’s lips. It was slightly wicked, the only warning she gave him before she tossed him the ivory-handled brush.

Cassian’s hand snapped up, catching the brush inches from his face, his eyes never straying from hers.

His grin was triumphant and when Nesta rolled her eyes at him, the gesture so uncharacteristically playful, satisfaction burned through every pore, every fibre of his being.

How far they had come.

“Then brush it, you stupid brute. I won’t deny that it needs it.”

Cassian laughed throatily—the first true laugh he had let loose that day. “I thought you liked my rugged looks?”

A soft, unimpressed snort. “A wholly made up notion.”

He watched Nesta rummage through her travel bag and pull out a white cotton nightdress and some toiletries, before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. He brushed his hair whilst the water ran and then peeled off his clothes, baring his skin to the chill air.

The glare Nesta sent him when she reemerged would have sent a lesser male scarpering. It made him wonder how any of the males she had bedded had even made it home with her in the first place. She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, which only emphasised the swell of her breasts beneath the cotton. She was still wearing the pyrite, and the metal shone mockingly against her creamy skin—silver flecked with gold.

The sight of it so close to her cleavage had him biting back a groan.

Mother Above, he had to get a grip if they were going to sharing a room all night.

“You can’t wear night clothes like a normal person?” Nesta hissed at him.

With a taunting grin, Cassian rested a hand on a hip, highlighting his tight undershorts. He refrained from flaring his wings—largely because the space did not accommodate for it. “I usually sleep nude sweetheart, which would you prefer?”

And then, not waiting for her to start on him, he headed straight for the bathroom, making sure their skin brushed as he passed.

To his delight, Nesta’s angry snarl chased him until he closed the bathroom door firmly behind him.

When he reappeared five minutes later, Nesta was already under the covers with her nose buried in a book. Silent, silver flames licking fiercely up the chimney from the open fire grate. The heat was fiercely warm and very welcome, especially given that this deep underground, there was little warmth to be found. The heat sunk deliciously into his skin, and Cassian flared his wings slightly to fight the goosebumps that were scattered across the sensitive membrane.

Since Nesta had lit the torch at the widows funeral, she had taken to lighting the fires throughout the house, and Cassian had become so used to the glow of silver flames in every fire grate around the house that he barely bat an eyelid.

It warmed him, though, to see the house alight with silver and warmth. To see Nesta unafraid and relaxed. To see her sit near the fire, rather than as far away from it as possible.

“I didn’t see you sneak a book into the bag,” Cassian commented, as he pulled a blanket from the wardrobe and pulled on some loose pants. He had been teasing her before about sleeping in his undershorts. He’d mainly wanted to pull a reaction from her, to see how she would respond to his bare skin.

Her hiss had been satisfying enough. Not that Cassian hadn’t hoped for more. A too long glance, or even better, a blush.

Nesta didn’t glance up at Cassian as she turned the page. “You should know better than to think I’d travel without a book.”

He watched her eyes move across the page, utterly absorbed. Her long hair fell over her face and unconsciously she tucked the strand behind an elegantly arched ear. A signature move of hers, however unconscious, that he had yet to name. It was fast becoming one of his favourites.

Nodding, Cassian reached for the pillows on his side of the bed to distract himself from looking at her. Her next words made him pause.

“Just stick to your side.”

Nesta did not look up. She gave none of her focus to him yet she must have been watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“I don’t mind,” he reassured her after a moment.

A flip of a page. “There’s no room for your wings down there.”

She was right. It was a tight enough squeeze for his body let alone the wings on his back, and the blanket would do little to protect him from the cold flagstone floor. Cassian had endured far worse of course, but the thought of tucking his wings in that tight all night... well, he’d suffer for it tomorrow. And even though he knew sleeping an arms length away from her would be torture of a different kind...

“Thank you,” he conceded softly.

No acknowledgement, yet… this was progress. Only months ago, Nesta would have made him sleep on the cold just to watch him suffer.

A contented groan escaped him as the mattress moulded to his sore back. He rolled onto his side, flaring his wings to settle behind him and examined her.

The faded paperback Nesta was reading was well-worn. Many of the pages were dog-eared and Cassian knew that he’d seen her curled up with it before. He craned his neck in an attempt to try and read the title on the spine. He would bet good money it was a love story. No, he would bet his entire wealth that it was a love story.

It was quick, but he caught Nesta’s darting glance. It was enough for him to break the silence.

“Why do you read romance novels?”

A burning question Cassian had wanted to ask her more times than he could count. On both hands.

Not that he didn’t have his own theory on that.

“Why do you read books about war?” Nesta countered.

A slow, taunting smile. “I asked you first, sweetheart.”

Nesta rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Why can’t I read them?”

Cassian bit back a growl of frustration. “You can read whatever you like. What I mean is why do you enjoy reading romance novels so much?”

Nesta bookmarked her page with a scarlet ribbon—a gesture at odds with the earmarked pages—and placed it on the nightstand with a sigh. “I revoke my offer, you can sleep on the floor.”

“But what about my poor wings,” he whined.

“Feyre’s right, you really are Illyrian babies.”

Cassian scowled. “I’m full of testosterone, thank you very much.”

Nesta snorted. “Rumour has it that Azriel has the largest wingspan.”

The soft snarl that tore out of Cassian’s mouth surprised even him. He hadn’t made the noise deliberately, it had been completely unconscious, just as much as the next words out of his mouth. “Would you like me to prove you wrong, Nesta?”

His voice had turned low and husky without his bidding, as if it had done so purely on instinct. Maybe allowing himself to get in the same bed as Nesta had been a mistake. The scent of her was enough to cloud his judgement and this close... He could have his mouth on hers in seconds.

“I’d like anything but, actually,” Nesta clipped, completely unfazed by his act of dominance. “Besides, males seem to forget that it’s style over substance.”

Propping himself up on an elbow, Cassian leant towards her. He arched an eyebrow at her, his expression cocksure. Somehow, his headache had completely vanished. “Lucky for you, I have both.”

Nesta’s groan was one of long suffering. She reached to undo the clasp of the chain around her neck.

“Don’t take it off.”

Nesta’s head snapped round to his, his sudden command at odds with their banter. He held up his hands, the two ruby siphons glinting from where they sat firmly on the leather straps.

“We’re in that much danger?” she asked.

Cassian sunk back down onto his side, “I’m not taking any chances, and... I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re not wearing it.”

Nesta’s lips parted slightly but her hands slowly withdrew from her neck. The stone glinted briefly against Nesta’s skin and then she extinguished the lights.

The soft flicker of silver that glowed from the hearth was the only reprieve from the darkness that fell across the room. Cassian wondered if flames would go out when Nesta fell asleep or if they would keep on burning.

The sheets rustled as Nesta got comfortable. In the following silence, Cassian could make out the reassuring thump of her heart. It wrapped around his own, the feeling a comfort until his breathing slowed and his muscles relaxed.

“He’s horrible,” Nesta said suddenly into the darkness.

“Marsh?” Cassian asked, but he knew who she meant. Wasn’t sure why he didn’t say it out loud.

“Him too, but I meant Kallon.”

Cassian grunted in agreement. Then, he dared to say, “He’s taken a liking to you.”

Revulsion forced its way down their constricted bond and into his gut.

Cassian didn’t need to look at Nesta to know her expression was hard. “He’s a pig-headed Illyrian brute.”

A flicker of a smile tugged at Cassian’s mouth, despite the subject. “I thought I was a pig-headed Illyrian brute?”

“Then I’ll have to rework my insults for you in light of recent events.”

Cassian barked another true laugh. Would Nesta ever stop surprising him? He suspected that if they were to spend a lifetime together, he would never grow bored. Would never be tempted to look in another female’s direction.

“I feel both triumphant and expectant,” he confided, before he sobered. “You didn’t have to defend me, earlier. I’m used to the comments. It doesn’t matter what I do, but my race will always see me as a bastard first and a General second. Being coupled with you is not something they will ever believe I deserve.”

More rustling of the sheets as Nesta turned onto her side to face him. Through the shadows, Cassian’s Fae eyesight could make out Nesta’s eyes staring directly at him. Even in the muted light, they were mesmerising. “I had a pretence to upkeep,” she replied shortly, as if that explained everything. But then her voice became so quiet that his ears strained to hear her. “You’re worth more than them.”

Usually, Cassian would have teased Nesta for voicing something so groundbreaking, but in this room—in this shared bed—the words dissolved on his tongue. He was momentarily speechless, so much so that the silence became awkward and weighted. His family had attempted to address his insecurities before, but it had never been enough to quash the beliefs that had been drummed into him from a young age. Cassian, too proud to succumb to the seriousness of the conversation, had brushed his family off until they left him well alone.

Azriel was the only one who truly understood; it was why he had never seen himself worthy enough to pursue Mor.

By the time Cassian summoned the courage to open his mouth, Nesta was already speaking, “How do they know about the war?”

The question made his heart stop. Not just because Nesta had mentioned a subject they usually stayed well clear of, but because, for the first time, she was addressing what had happened between them on the battlefield.

“I don’t know,” he admitted softly, ignoring the way his heart had begun to hammer in his chest. “By the time the healer had mended my wings everyone was talking about it. I think a conversation must have been overhead by a healer.” He paused, hoping Nesta might speak again. When she didn't, he added, “I was… very angry when I found out.” He palmed a hand over his face to try and soothe away the nerves that were humming agitatedly inside of him. He had done his best to ignore the whisperings behind his back.

It hadn’t been hard at first. The aftermath of the war had taken all of his attention. He had barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone digest the gravity of what others had found out. Not that he had gotten the gist of it in drabs: the entirety of the Night Court knew of how they had defended one another; how Nesta had been willing to die with Cassian when she could have run.

They did not know what he had promised. That he had kissed her, even though they were calling it the greatest love story in centuries. Cassian would never forget how Nesta had lain over him when she’d had the chance to run, and the urgency to her voice—the way it had cracked—as she had said; I can’t.

It was those two words which hounded Cassian the most, because even now, he did not know whether Nesta had said that because she hadn’t wanted to leave him, or because she had no choice.

“I assumed it was my sister and her loose mouth.”

Nesta’s words startled Cassian, bringing him back to the dark room rather than the muddy battlefield where his body was broken but his heart was full and aching. And in truth, Cassian had expected Nesta to draw a line under the conversation by ignoring him and feigning sleep, the next morning a fresh page where they need not bring up the previous night’s discussion.

Despite the dark, Cassian nodded, even though he was unsure as to whether Nesta could see it.

He had considered the same about Feyre. Not on purpose, of course, but by mistake. Feyre had been a witness. The original witness. “One thing I’ve learnt growing up Fae is that there are eyes and ears everywhere,” Cassian said eventually. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t prefer having my business kept to myself.”

Cassian knew Nesta was fiercely private, far more than him. Was it that invasion coupled with the monumental pressure that came with being spoken about by Fae and humans alike, as they whispered about the greatest love story in Prythian—the lowly bastard and the human Made Fae—that had been the final straw for her? Or had it been the death and destruction which had slammed the door shut on something as naive and fanciful as love?

The desperation to know—to understand—was so fierce that Cassian could not stop himself from asking what he had never dared, “Is that why you wanted nothing to do with me?”

A long, stony silence that eventually began to simmer with anger. Cassian did not know if it was the audacity of him having asked or for bringing unwanted memories to the surface.

Finally, Nesta clipped, “I wanted nothing to do with someone who treated me as second best.”

The icy dismissal in Nesta’s tone had goosebumps rising on Cassian’s bare arms. Recently their conversations had been a torturous, delicious heat rather than frosty, but this delivery… it made Cassian feel as if he had stepped back into the past.

They were going there then. A conversation Cassian never dreamed they would have. Yet here they were... and suddenly he was so terrified it would ruin everything he wished it would stop, even as he asked in a low voice, “In what capacity?”

Snapped words like the crack of a whip. “In every capacity. Let me go to sleep.”

“Nesta,” Cassian pressed, not caring that it was dangerous. Desperate to try and understand why they were not together when his entire body was begging him to close the distance. He knew she must feel it too. Hoped that she did. That it was not just a wishful fantasy on his part. Cassian had always thought their chemistry undeniable. It was what scared him.

It never went away, the wanting.

“What do you mean second best?” he urged.

“The fact that you do not know shows how stupid you are,” Nesta replied coldly, turning away from him, signalling that the conversation was over. Through the shadowy dark, Cassian could make out the slope of her shoulder and the outline of her curvaceous side. The spill of her hair, a tempting drape across the pillow.

He curbed most of the desperation that wanted to creep into his voice. “You are speaking of Mor.”

An abrupt snort of confirmation.

“Mor is my family,” Cassian said carefully, even though he knew his words would not convince Nesta.

“Your dynamic is not familial.”

“Not at the start, no,” Cassian admitted, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. To give himself distance. Because he could not bear to stare at her turned back as she tried to shut him out. “We slept together once when we were very young. It has never been repeated.” He blew out a long breath as he ran a hand over his face, trying to smooth over his pained expression. “She used me to lose her maidenhead. I don’t know how much you know, but Mor was mutilated by her family for it—she was dumped in the Autumn court with a note nailed to her womb for her betrothed to find her. It collapsed her marriage proposal and I have been responsible for that mutilation every day since, not least for driving a wedge between me and my brother.”

As he trailed off, the blankets moved and to his surprise, Nesta’s shoulder dipped slightly towards him. He’d clearly piqued her interest. “You mean Azriel.”

“Yes,” Cassian admitted bitterly. “I slept with Mor because I was a jealous prick and Az was besotted with her. His diverted attention made me feel like I had lost my brother and I thought it would make him move on.” Loosing another sigh, Cassian rubbed his tired eyes with the heel of his palms. “I grew up alone, so when I moved in with Rhysand’s mother and Azriel joined us… he and Rhys were the closest I had ever had to a real family. When we were a three, it was the first time I remembered being truly happy. Mor threatened that, so I did what I thought would remedy it. I was a naive, arrogant prick and bedding Mor is a regret that I have lived with ever since.”

Pausing, Cassian took in a deep breath. He’d never voiced any of this out loud before. It had always been something he and his family did not discuss out in the open, not until recently with Mor, anyway. And he had not gone into so much depth.

He hoped that Nesta understood what it had meant for him to be happy for the first time, when before that he had been miserable and alone. Nesta herself had confessed to Frawley that she did not know when she had last felt joy, but then Cassian had felt it the other day, the sensation so wonderful in her stomach he felt as if he had been knocked of breath. He had flown to find her, followed that tether between them that was more visceral than he had ever felt it, before he realised that this was not his moment to experience. So he had turned around in the skies, headed back home, waited to see Nesta later. Her face had been flushed and she was dirty from a day of helping in the widows camp… but her face, it was free of that mask. With it, her expression was less severe and the light in her eyes made her irises a shade lighter. It was the most beautiful thing Cassian had ever seen. And when she had seen him, she had smiled without thinking. As if he, too, brought her joy.

It had been a quiet smile. Secret. His.

But where could Cassian even start to begin explaining the mess of the love triangle between Mor, Az and himself? Of the guilt he felt for a few minutes of pleasure which nearly costed Mor her life.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “I felt so much guilt over what I had done—over what happened to Mor and for betraying Azriel like that—I spent the next five hundred years doing everything I could to make things easier between them. Azriel doesn’t think he is worthy of Mor and Mor isn’t interested. So I stepped in when I could… I eased the tension. I let Mor use me as a buffer and it just… it became a bad habit. We fell into an unusual friendship. Mor can be very protective of me.” He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I can see how things were misconstrued. I think about it a lot, Nesta. I think about it all the time.”

Only silence met his confession.

“Things won’t be like that anymore,” he pressed on. Because he needed Nesta to understand that Mor was not in the equation—that she never had been—even though he was sure he and Nesta would never be anything but two Fae forced into close quarters. “Mor has finally been honest with Azriel.”

No reply. Nesta had turned preternaturally still again, as if she weren’t breathing.

“Nesta?"

“What.”

It was only one word but it was more vicious than anything she had said to him in months.

He felt his blood heat as he propped himself up onto an elbow. “Are you going to say anything or are you going to ignore me and pretend this conversation never happened?”

Nesta’s body moved slightly beneath the sheets as her muscles seized up. “I don’t think any of it matters now, so it’s not relevant.”

“It has always been relevant to me.” Cassian’s voice came out as a low hiss, his self-control snapping as his vulnerability became too much to bear. He threw a protective bubble around the room, sound proofing them inside. For the sake of their pretence, he couldn't have Fae ears overhearing their conversation. And… he could not bear Lorrian and Frawley overhearing something so painful. “You terrify me, Nesta, because I have never been so fucking captivated by anyone in the whole five hundred years I have been alive. From the very start you were different and it scared the shit out of me. My entire family knew it, too. I’m not a fan of everyone knowing my business, either, believe it or not, and they witnessed you putting me down at every step.”

Nesta’s snort was so cold that his entire blood heated fire. He was thankful for the dark to conceal how red his face has turned. He wanted to throttle her at the same time as he wanted to press her into the mattress and slant his mouth on hers. To show her that even now he only wanted her. That Mor meant nothing. Hadn’t for centuries. That he’d royally fucked up in so many ways that he didn’t even know how to start apologising.

“If you cared so much, perhaps you would not drop my hand when your friend enters the scene or gift her lingerie whilst I am in the same room. You are disgusting,” she spat.

Then, Nesta was facing him again with such sudden speed that Cassian braced himself for an attack, but Nesta only propped herself up onto an elbow. Her hair fell like a curtain over her shoulder, the flare of silver from her fingertips lighting the room with a sudden brightness.

“You asked why I read romance novels,” Nesta said, her voice having dropped suddenly into a quiet fervour that was no less chilling. “I read them because I was engaged to a boy who turned out to be cruel and I have watched a five hundred year old male discard and ignore me as he pleased. I would rather read about love than be in it. After all, I recall you saying that I was not worthy of love.”

“Sweetheart—” Cassian croaked. The blood had drained from his face and he knew that if he were to look in the mirror all he would see was a haunted ghost of himself. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to say that. You were so empty. I couldn’t reach you and so I lied. I thought you’d get angry at me, but instead you just walked away.”

“You are not unloveable,” he told her fiercely, when she remained silent and so fiercely sad his heart clenched. He had not known that she was engaged to that human filth. “You are the exact opposite. If anything—”

He stopped abruptly. Took stock. Her light was still glowing around them, illuminating the room in an ethereal mist which he would have considered beautiful if the two of them hadn’t been consumed by such agony.

“You’re not unloveable,” he insisted vehemently, after a moment’s pause. “And love doesn’t work like that. You can’t choose not to love, sweetheart. You know—”

“We decide how we act on it, that’s what matters,” Nesta interrupted, that mist sparking momentarily into flame before it was eaten by shadow.

And that was the crux of it. The truth behind the words—the calculated response that told Cassian that Nesta had thought of this over and over again. He would not change her mind when it came to him, because it all boiled down to her ability to choose. And he was not a choice. He had been thrust upon her. They were history rather than present. Would always be that way, it seemed.

Cassian fell onto his back as the gravity of the realisation crushed him with such force that for a moment, he felt as if he was choking.

“It was wrong of me to do those things,” Cassian said quietly, forcing out the hoarse words through the tightness in his windpipes as a result of the crushing disappointment. “All of it was wrong of me. I know that, Nesta. You may think I’m old but around you I find myself a teenager. On Solstice last year I didn’t know how to deal with the situation so I ignored you before you could do it to me and then regretted it later. I hoped you would speak to me. I hoped—”

That you would change your mind. That you would want to be with me. That you would stop fucking all those males. That you would forgive me.

But Cassian did not say those things. Instead, he said, “Look, we just need to pretend to be together for one more day and then you don’t have to think about being tied to anyone ever again.”

Silence.

That as all he needed to move. Logic told him that he should stay put—that he should remain calm and rational rather than affected—but the pain was too much and he found himself sitting up and pushing off the covers. He needed distance. In this room all he could scent was her—jasmine and vanilla—and it hurt, to be so close and know that he could not comfort her without the knowledge that she’d set him alight.

Cassian had thought he’d drawn a line under it all. Thought he’d accepted that he was content to co-habit with her and resist the undeniable pull between them for the rest of his days. But they had taken such big steps forward recently. Had thought things had continually shifted until all it boiled down to was their connection, which ran far deeper than twists of rope and a damn Cauldron.

At times, Cassian had even thought Nesta had wanted him to touch her. Had almost leant in to him. Walked close, stayed close.

Snorting, he discarded the memories, angry at himself for having wished for something that he had tried to put to rest.

“Where are you going?” Nesta’s words were sharp. The fanciful part of him detected alarm, but Cassian pushed it away. He knew better.

“To sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Again, Nesta moved with that extraordinary speed that Cassian should have accounted for. He had seen her in the sparring ring, had witnessed her move so fast that she was almost a blur. Only he could move that fast.

A mist-wreathed hand closed around his wrist with a strength that had his heart beating in his mouth and his siphons flaring. “Stay.”

Cassian ran a shaking palm over his face, pressing the heel of it to his eyes, hoping the pain of it would ground him. “I can’t,” he lied.

“You can,” Nesta said shortly, but there was a quiet plea lacing her voice. “You will.”

When Cassian didn’t move, Nesta tugged on his arm, urging him to join her back on the mattress. “Please,” she breathed, and this time Cassian did detect panic, as if Nesta had not bothered to conceal it. “I don’t want to fight with you. You’re the only—”

To Cassian’s dismay, Nesta broke off as her eyes filled with tears. When she spoke, her words were barely audible—small, “I like my life at the moment. I’ve never liked it before.”

Something cracked inside of Cassian, the sound internal and akin to the smashing of china.

“I don’t want anything to change,” Nesta continued. “I don’t want to have to move back to Velaris. I want to stay with you where I feel safe.”

Her expression cracked. The tight line to her mouth trembled and a frown twisted across her features. A tear slid down her cheek. “I said awful things to you,” she admitted.

“Yes,” Cassian conceded with a sad, tremulous smile, because even now he did not want her to hurt. “And I said awful things to you.”

“I wanted you to leave me alone. You scared me.”

“I know,” he replied. Because he understood what she meant. How even though his blood sang when she was near, he was equal parts terrified. “You scared me, too.”

“I needed to make you leave.”

“I know,” he repeated again. Because he knew that, too. Knew she had purposefully driven him away. She had wanted to hurt and be consumed with trauma. To finally feel nothing. To make sure the those she cared for were safe from her.

A broken sob had Cassian cupping Nesta’s face before he could help himself. Her skin was unbelievably soft against his calloused palms. He brushed a thumb over the arch of her cheekbone. “Nesta,” he breathed, waiting until she looked at him, until blue and hazel clicked into place. “I want you to stay with me. You never have to move back to Velaris, not if you don’t want to.”

Nesta did not reply. Did not move away. He bowed his head until his forehead was resting against hers, wanting her to know that he was sincere. That he wanted her to stay not because that’s what she needed to hear, but because he didn’t know what life would be like without her in it.

“I like living with you,” he told her again, because he knew somehow that she didn’t believe it. “I don’t want you to leave, either.”

Then he pulled her to him. She didn’t resist, her body pliant as he wrapped his arms around her. Cassian could feel Nesta’s heart, the sound pattering to meet his, as she wound her arms around his bare waist.

Her furled fists rested lightly against his skin, the pressure welcome and wonderful as she finally held him back.

“So, you won’t sleep on the floor?”

Such a small voice. Vulnerable and trusting. A voice she didn’t use with anyone but him.

“No,” Cassian assured her, knowing that staying was something he would never refuse. Something he couldn’t. “I won’t sleep on the floor.”

When he lay on the edge of his pillow closest to hers, Nesta settled beside him. She found his hand beneath the blankets, her fingers threading through his.

The initiated contact had his blood thrumming and he resisted the urge to pull Nesta back to him and wrap her in his arms.

An indeterminate amount of time passed.

Cassian listened to Nesta’s breathing as it became even; the slow, relaxed beat of her heart. The sound of his, thumping in tandem. Watched her eyelids flutter shut and her features soften. Felt how her fingers remained entwined with his.

“We would have crashed and burned. I would have dragged you down.”

Quiet, sleepy words. A confession, really, and Cassian stilled in surprise at the honesty that was not spat or wringing with deadly venom, but level. And if Cassian allowed himself to be rational, he knew that Nesta was right. Despite the thorny, overgrown path they were trampling down, it had all been necessary. Trauma, internal conflicts, self-doubt, complicated relationships… there were so many things that the both of them had needed to face before they could be truly content. What was it Cassian had said to Rhys when his brother had asked about his happiness? I’m working on it. He still was, but with Nesta beside him, still holding tight to his hand, Cassian found the world a little brighter, despite the shadowy future that lay ahead of them—a shape that had not yet taken form.

So, Cassian allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. “Maybe I’d like to be set alight.”

A soft snort. “That doesn’t mean you should.”

Then, Nesta’s fingers squeezed his. Soft breath travelled across the pillow to caress his cheek. “Goodnight, Cassian.”

He wondered how many times Nesta had actually said his name without being in mortal danger or when she had needed to get his attention. His name sounded intimate on her lips, a whisper of a prayer across the void that he hoped was narrowing between them.

In his mind, Cassian raised her hand again to press a kiss to her knuckles, even as he merely tightened his hold on hers.

It was in that moment of calm that Cassian vowed that he would change Nesta’s mind. That he would spend this gifted time showing Nesta that they might be strung together but that he had chosen her, if she would have him.

In the flickering silver light, Cassian felt Nesta began to slip into unconscious. Felt her fingers loosen their grip on his, but he held on tight, and said, “Goodnight, Nesta.”

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @iwastoowildinthe70s @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @san-y-a-blog

#embersandlightfic #nessianfic #nessian #nesta x cassian #acotar fanfic #acotar #acosf

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rei-does-stuff · 3 years

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Hii!! Here’s a CH fic! It’s a lil gift for @dinolil1 but I thought y’all would also enjoy it!

Lmk your thoughts!!

—

“You have nothing to worry about, relax. You’re all worked up over nothing…” England said gently. Yet he had a bit of malice in his voice. It was…concerning. His hand pressed gently against Germany’s shoulder. “Would I lie to you…?”

I think you would lie.

I think you have lied.

Germany was in his office. He seemed stressed, well, more stressed than he usually was. Something was clearly on his mind. Though he tried to distract himself it wasn’t very effective. He sighed, leaning back in chair. Seems like burying himself in work wouldn’t be helpful this time.

But suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Germany tried ignoring it. But it got louder and louder. He went up and unlocked the door. And there stood England, right outside the doorway. Germany grimaced. “What could you possibly want at this time? I’m really busy and you aren’t even supposed to be in the EU building.” He said bitterly. “Woah woah there’s no need to be that aggressive!” England said. “I just wanted to talk with you, I was thinking we could maybe go somewhere or something-“

“So let me get this straight, you decided to come all the way to the EU building, climb up three flights of stairs, and manage to avoid the EU but also any other countries that would’ve stopped you from knocking at my door, all because you’re bored and wanna chat?” Germany said blunt. England chuckled nervously. “Well when you put it that way—“ He was cut off by a stern ‘no’ from Germany.

However before Germany could close the door, England quickly spoke again. “W-Wait! C’mon Ger! It’ll be fun! I know you never go out with anyone so today would be great! We all need a break! I’m sure it’ll be at least a little better than staying in a cramped office all day!” England said, trying to convince him. Germany groaned. “I hate when you’re right..” He mumbled, “Fine. If I say yes will leave me alone?” He asked. “Yes sir! I’ll pick you up!” England said happily before leaving.

Germany closed the door. Sighing. Why did it have to be HIM, out of everyone. He would’ve been fine if it was someone else, America, France, hell he’d even be fine with the UK! But it just had to be him. God…This was gonna be a long night, he could tell that much.

He couldn’t shake off the memory. Usually he was fine around him, why was today any different?

“Why are you nervous? You have no reason to be. Everything is fine.” England’s words from back then were cold, quiet, yet had a hint of sincerity. Only a hint though. Regardless it hurt all the same. Everything was fine, calm down. Why was he worrying so much? “You’re fine, you have nothing to fear, are you really gonna cry because of all that?” Relax, relax, nothing is wrong! “I don’t know about you, but if I saw my own brother breaking down over something so small, I’d be so disappointed…” YOU ARE FINE! FUCKING RELAX ALREADY!

Beeep beeep.

Oh. It was time to meet up with England..

It felt like it was only a few seconds since he was in his office. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. But he was fine. He just had to relax. He was at home, nothing was wrong. England was waiting for him. He couldn’t just sit here stunned. He got up and faced his front door. Hesitating to go outside. You’re fine. You’re okay. You need to calm down..

He opened the door. “Germany there you are! I was thinking you fell asleep or something!” England chuckled. “C’mon I was thinking of going to this park, it’s great place to relax and stuff! I take Sealand there all the time! But it’s especially amazing at night!” He said excitedly. “Plus you out of everyone definitely needs to relax a bit!”

“Haha..Yeah. Well, we better get going. We wouldn’t want it to close…” Germany said softly. He was still shaky. He still needed to calm down.

The Car ride was quick. Thankfully there was little traffic. England seemed so happy and calm. It made Germany feel a little better, but the pit in his stomach was still there. By the time they got there basically no one was at the park. Only the the two of them. “Are you sure it isn’t closed?” Germany asked. “Noo it isn’t closed! Maybe—“ “Maybe—“ Germany was cut off by England. “Besides!! No one is here to kick us out so c’mon!!!” He said happily.

Germany went a sat in a nearby bench. England was quick to sit nearby. “So…What do you want to talk about…?” England asked happily. “Uh…Haha…I’m not sure…” In reality Germany had a lot he wanted to talk about. About the past, about how England used to be like. About how he even felt about the man. But he seemed to nervous to even say anything. He didn’t want to ruin anything, but at the same time he desperately did. It wasn’t a nice feel.

England put a hand on Germany’s shoulder. He had a concerned look in his eyes. “Hey, you alright? You can talk to me about anything y’know?” He said gently. “You have nothing to worry about..”

That phrase..God Germany was starting to hate it. This time, there was no malice, no hint of any ulterior motive but the phrase still was so frustrating. It kept bubbling and bubbling until…

“Shut up!”

“Huh…?” England was confused, a little startled by Germany’s aggressiveness. “Just shut up! You have no idea what you’re talking about! You keep saying things will be okay but they clearly aren’t!” Germany said angrily. “I-I don’t understand—“ “Yes you do!” Germany said. “For years you’ve excused all your shit behavior behind a nice smile and trying to convince me that I had no reason to be upset! That ‘everything would be okay’ when even you knew they wouldn’t!” Germany was so angry and upset that he was actually shaking a bit.

“Oh…Oh.” Looks like England finally understood. “G-Germany look I understand you’re angry but that was all in the past—!” England didn’t really wanna admit what he did was wrong. He wanted all of that to stay in the past, but he knew that wasn’t a good way to think. But before he could say anything else Germany spoke again. “That’s what you always say! I fucking know it’s in the past that doesn’t make it okay!” He said angrily. “I know! I know I just..! Why bring it up now? Why not tell me earlier?” He asked. “I..! I don’t know…I don’t know! But I’m telling you now aren’t I?” Germany was frustrated.

“Germany I…You’re right…” England said gently. “Huh-?” Germany was a little surprised. He wasn’t expecting that. “You’re right.” England repeated. “I…I treated you horribly…I treated a lot of people horribly. I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t act like nothing happened. And I’m sorry for that.” England said sincerely. “I…Thank you..I actually didn’t think you cared..” Germany admitted. “Of course I care! You’re my friend! Well- I consider you, a friend..!” England replied. “Thank you…I don’t really know if we’re friends but, I’m glad you care..” Germany said.

“Haha…I guess the park wasn’t that relaxing today huh?” England said jokingly. “I can drop you home if you want..” He offered. “No, I’d actually prefer to spend a little more time here. If that’s alright with you..” Germany said. “Of course! I’d..Love that!” “Then c’mon! Otherwise the park owner will kick us out!!” Germany laughed.

Maybe things will be okay.

#my post #countryhumans #ch #countryhuman #my writing #fanfiction

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visionsofus · 4 years

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Wanda and Vision's Mixtape

track #5: The Best by Tina Turner

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your request | synopsis: In which Wanda searches Edinburgh for Vision after she arrives late at their safehouse. When she discovers his energy signature floating around the city, she decides to follow the threads to their source. Along the journey she recalls the complications of their long-distance, secretive relationship but by the end recalls exactly why they sacrifice so much to be together.

a lifetime of promises, a world of dreams

Wanda was frantic as she hurried out of the airport. She’d been anticipating this trip for a month, her heart set on the two weeks Vision had managed to buy away from the compound. She’d planned out all the details to make sure she was on the right flight, that her fake passport was in order and that Nat was aware of her location if something went terribly wrong. Even her status as a fugitive was relatively under control thanks to some false information she’d planted over in Ohio last month. She’d left behind a trail of misleading clues that the Secretary of State and his team were lapping up eagerly, thinking they were getting closer to her capture for the first time in eighteen months.

Instead, here Wanda was halfway across the world having just landed at Edinburgh airport.

No matter how much she had planned things out, no matter the scope of her powers, nothing could have stopped the wave of snowfall that the UK had received in the last few days, coming to a head the previous night. She’d timed her flight to arrive, as they’d agreed, at 9pm at a predetermined destination in the city. To her dismay she’d found herself on a crowded red eye flight that had left 6 hours later when the runway had to be cleared of snow.

The worst part was that she’d had to sit there for those hours that dragged on for an eternity, knowing that at that very moment Vision would be waiting at the airbnb they’d rented out, alone. Wanda had no way to contact him, not with such short notice. Technology was too easy to track but it didn’t stop her longing to go and buy a cheap international sim from the technology stand at the airport and use it to just send one message. At this inclination Natasha’s voice had rung out in Wanda’s head, ‘the next time they catch you it’s as a war criminal, don’t give them a reason to decide you’re better off dead than locked up’.

So it wasn’t worth the risk but it didn’t stop the sick feeling that grew in her stomach as she waited nervously to be let through passport control, then at the taxi stand and finally on the doorstep of the flat they had booked just off West Port.

It was early morning by the time she arrived, but the wintery sky was still hazy with the night’s darkness so she hoped that Vision might be waiting inside. The key box, which they’d been given a code to open from the host, was empty which further confirmed this conclusion. She rang the doorbell twice and waited. And waited and waited some more. There was no answer.

Wanda looked at the houses around her, streetlights reflecting their orange glows off of second story windowpanes. There were few lights on inside at this time of morning, but she still needed to be careful.

Leaving her only piece of luggage, a small carry-on bag that held the bare essentials of what she kept with her at all times these days, she looked up to the windows above her. Perhaps one of them would be open.

Wanda took a deep breath and let her power grow in her palms, red mist arcing out to push her from the ground. Her ascent was controlled and slow and she reached the windowsill with ease. It was just wide enough for her to grasp the waterpipe next to it and rest her feet on the sill. She froze when a light switched on next door and what sounded like a radio began to play, rather loudly considering the time of day. She used the music (it sounded like Tina Turner but she couldn’t be certain) to hide the distinct click that sounded from the window as she forced the lock open with her powers. Inside was quiet, all the lights were off, and Vision was not there.

“Vis?” Wanda called out nonetheless.

If he wasn’t here were could he be? Their general rule of thumb was that if one of them couldn’t make it to the predetermined location they had to wait 24 hours given it was safe to do so. It stood to reason that he’d follow the protocol this time, particularly given how long they were due to spend in Edinburgh and the months it had taken to concoct a believable excuse for why Vision wasn’t going to be in America.

Wanda returned to the window quickly and looked out over the limited view it gave of Edinburgh city and the castle rising up behind, providing a somewhat medieval backdrop. She raised her fingers to her forehead and took in her surroundings, focusing on the sound of early morning commuters from the main street, the sound of a ticking clock at her back, a car door closing down the road, and beyond it all she felt for Vision. Wanda hadn’t used the telepathic dimension of her powers in a while, or at least not as much as she had used to. They were a little rusty, making it hard to pinpoint precisely where Vision was but, when she opened her eyes something similar to an energy field could be seen gracing the cityscape before her. Certain structures stood out to her, outlined in a golden haze that couldn’t be anything but the mind stone calling to her.

Without hesitating Wanda vaulted out the window and hit the pavement below, her powers softening the landing. A flick of her hand sent her bag flying up through the open window.

Wanda grinned in anticipation and set off in the direction of the nearest golden glow, her boots hitting the cobbled streets one after the other. It had been freezing when she landed but as she ran through the slowly waking streets of Edinburgh Wanda removed her scarf and let it trail behind her.

The sun had not yet crested the horizon, but its light was turning the sky a nice lilac colour highlighted by the grey expanses of cloud hanging over the city. She briefly wondered whether it might snow today or if it was going to be too cold.

As Wanda rounded the corner onto the main street she nearly lost her footing on a stretch of dangerous black ice on the pavement only just catching herself on a nearby bus bench. She’d reached the first place Vision’s energy signature was calling her to, a small café down a wynd bordered on both sides by the back walls of town houses. The interior of the store was dark but a soft light glowed at the back where Wanda assumed the bakers had started their morning preparing the delicate pastries the café was known for.

Wanda walked up to the window and looked at the ground where a strong outline of gold was hovering just above the icy cobble stones. Vision had been here recently, but he hadn’t gone inside, he’d just stood in the exact space she now hesitated at. They hadn’t had plans to meet here but it was a place they frequented any time they met up this side of the world.

Beyond the dark glass a few inches from her nose Wanda could see the cozy window seat that had become their spot. The café opened early and closed late at night so the pair had become frequent patrons what with Wanda sometimes kept up by recurring nightmares from her childhood and Vision who refused to let her be alone in those darkest hours.

Wanda’s fingertips brushed against the cold glass, leaving little prints in their wake at the tenderness of those memories, of her leaning against Vision, her hands clutching a warm cup while his arms encircled her waist. They’d sit there until the late hours when the store finally closed often talking about the other patrons in hushed tones. The students nursing late night coffees as they sat before computers, the lonely ones in new cities come to reclaim some control over the evening hours and, like them, the other insomniacs all drawn to the same place in this historic city. The conversation inevitably turned to their future and Wanda enjoyed thinking up ridiculous scenarios where they had a house in suburbia and didn’t have to run from anyone anymore. Things stayed lighthearted until they both grew too invested in the imaginary life they were discussing and returned back to wherever they were staying.

Wanda looked skywards again in the lightening morning and caught site of threads of gold leading her further down the street.

A mere block away was the only bookstore that stayed open 24 hours in the city. Some nights when the café had closed for the evening they had come here. The bell jangled, sharp in the serene silence of the store, as Wanda entered the maze-like stacks. Her fingers tingled in response to the energy signature that Vision had left here and she followed it to the back of the store which housed a few comfy armchairs and a long couch that they’d often set themselves up in for the night.

She could see it now as Vision’s energy shifted around her, as though it was responding to her presence. Could see him sitting across from her in her minds eye, a memory tucked away for safe keeping of when they’d last been in Edinburgh. He’d sat reading a book of poetry that he’d found amongst the stacks, his hands running gently across worn pages as he took in each word. She’d been perched at the other end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her and a sketch book resting on her knees as her pencil arced across the page creating the basis of his form, the curve of his shoulders, bend of his elbow, his legs crossed at the heal as he relaxed. Every now and then he’d glance up and she’d tilt the sketch away form his watchful eyes with a smile, or he’d take the moment to read out a particularly beautiful piece of poetry from the collection he was perusing.

Wanda had picked up drawing in the aftermath of the events in Sokovia and had been encouraged by Steve and Nat who had acted as her caretakers in those first few weeks after arriving in America. It had started as a simple activity to quiet her mind and draw what was happening within her, the first drawings hadn’t been good in skill or message, they’d started out dark. Vision didn’t know it, but she’d been drawing him for years, fascinated by trying to capture the feeling in his eyes or the gentle grace of his movement. Most of all this act of creation served to remind her that her hands could create beautiful things too, it didn’t all have to be death and destruction.

Wanda started as the energy rolled around her ankles before arcing back to the door. So, he wasn’t here either.

Out on the street gold threads guided her further up towards Edinburgh castle, the energy was growing stronger, and Wanda ran faster no longer just concerned about where Vision was but whether he was worried by her absence.

A small thread of energy darted off to the side and was so imperceptible that Wanda almost missed it. It was so weak that she knew there was no chance he’d be there but nonetheless she slowed down to a stop in front of a small newspaper stand that was being set up for the day. It was one of those metal domes that folded out to reveal the magazines and papers within. The elderly gentleman behind the counter gave her a warm smile as Wanda turned to the magazines, the cogs in her brain turning.

Of course he’d tried to stop here. Before they had brought Natasha into the picture, Wanda had communicated with Vision through the missed connections pages of local newspapers and gossip magazines. They’d leave each other a note, usually encoded so only they would understand it, detailing a time and place for their next meeting or what magazine they were going to put their next message in. In hindsight Wanda smiled at the memory but at the time she had been something of a mess. She’d come to rely on Vision for so much in the year they had spent living together, their first home. Being torn away from each other the way they were had been difficult, and the challenge of meeting each other in safe places for both of them had weighed down their evolving relationship. She wondered what might have happened if they’d been given the time they needed.

The owner of the stand was twirling the dial of a small radio moving from static to static until he found the radio station he wanted. To Wanda’s surprise, it was Tina Turner once more:

Each time you leave me I start losing control.

You’re walking away with my heart and my soul.

Wanda realised she was wasting time and hurriedly thanked the man before turning on her heel and starting down the street again. From here the incline grew but she hung onto the knowledge that when she eventually reached the thread’s end, Vision would be there waiting for her. Another lyric from Tina Turner’s song fluttered around her head as her chest burned from the running.

I can feel you even when I’m alone.

It was true that she always carried him with her when they were apart, but it was never the same as being with him in person. Nothing could beat that.

Wanda hadn’t realised but, whether from the intensity of the moment, or the cold, little tears had started to trickle down her face, blow away by the brisk wind.

The energy was growing stronger.

In your heart I see the star of every night and every day.

She ran faster, leaping up some steps two at a time and spinning around the corner.

In your eyes I get lost.

The gates to the public entrance to the castle tour were yet to open but Wanda wasn’t about to let a bit of steel stop her from getting to where Vision was. She did a quick 360 to make sure that she was alone before pushing off the ground with her feet and a jolt of power. She was up on the nearest rooftop and past the entrance in moments. Running around corners and up steps she felt like the threads were pulling her up towards him. She finally reached the top section of the castle – the battlements.

Just as long as I’m here in your arms

That was when she caught sight of him, the energy grew stronger until it was so bright, she might as well have been looking at the sun. For one horrifying moment as she waited for the light to clear she feared she had imagined it all. As fear seized her heart, she slowed down a bit, gasping a little at the exertion.

I could be in no better place

There he was, looking out over Edinburgh’s fading night lights in the early morning. He turned around in surprise, immediately glamouring his appearance before he caught sight of who was there.

“Wanda,” he whispered, the illusion dropping instantaneously as she stepped towards him.

“I’m sorry,” she said so quietly that she was worried he might not hear her, “my flight got cancelled.”

He reached her in a few large strides and wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing her close to him. Wanda led out a shaky breath that was somewhere between a sigh of relief and a sob she’d been holding in since that morning. She buried her face in his shoulder relishing in having him here before her at last.

“I know, I know,” he whispered into her hair. “I figured you’d been held up with all the cancelled flights from Heathrow.”

They held each other for a few moments longer, swaying back and forth a little.

“How did you know where I was?” Vision asked pulling back a bit and brushing Wanda’s hair over her shoulder so he could cup her cheek, his eyes searching her face as though not quite believing that she was here, before him.

“I’d always find you,” Wanda said before laughing softly, “I can feel you even when I am alone.”

Vision tilted his head at the abrupt change in her tone, but Wanda couldn’t help it. It was impossible not to be happy as she stood there, atop Edinburgh castle in his arms halfway around the world from all of their problems.

“Well, I’m glad you found me.”

They stood there watching the sun rise, colouring the clouds in soft hues of lilac and lavender. Vision sighed in contentment, his chin resting on her shoulder from where he stood at her back, arms wrapped around her and holding him warmly to him. It wasn’t until sounds of the morning rush in the city below began to reach them that Wanda pulled away to look at him.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind if we spend the day in bed? I need to sleep off last night’s flight and recover a bit,”

“Of course not, my love,” he said raising her hand and kissing it. “You rest, I’ll pop out to get something for you for breakfast.”

Wanda sighed in happiness as they started to walk down the hill together. “I got lucky y’know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I have my perfect synthezoid partner willing to go and get me breakfast in bed despite the fact that I basically stood him up.”

Vision chuckled, swinging their hands back and forth together. “Not quite what happened, but I suppose you could say I am simply the best,” he said nonchalantly waving a hand.

“You caught me! You should have told me you knew the song before I tried to use it as a romantic line,” Wanda mockingly scolded.

“I’ll always catch you,” Vision replied, pulling her closer as they emerged after the eventful night into the city welcoming them home together at last.

#Wandavision #scarletvision #wandavision fanfiction #wanda maximoff #wanda x vision #scarlet witch #visionsofusworks

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classicmemorialbenches · 1 year

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gaythingliker69 · 3 years

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Introspection

Hey, so this is quite different to what Id normally write. It’s the old draft that I deleted I talked about a while ago. Please give feedback, cause it’s the only non fic thing I’ve ever posted. And if you like it, please reblog, I’m not really sure what to tag it and I want it to get out there.

CW: violence, misogyny, alcohol, body horror, horror themes

———

Josh woke up to a pounding headache. He tried to swallow only for that to hurt too. He tried to turn on the bedside lamp, only to cower from its feeble light. He turned it off, and rolled onto the other side of the bed, groaning. He searched back through his mind, trying to think where he’d been, who he’d been with, what he’d drunk, only to find nothing. Fucking hell, he was getting too old for this. A guy well into his twenties going and getting blackout drunk once, sometimes twice a week. But that was the only way he ever got any release. He couldn’t afford tickets for the football anymore, and he only ever seemed to see other people at work. He stayed on his side for a few more minutes, before hauling himself to his feet and dragging himself into the kitchen.

Josh grabbed a glass, desperate for a drink. He turned the tap, but nothing. The water was gone. There was always an issue - gas, electricity, water, the phone lines… always. He sighed again. Coffee. That was normally a good starter to getting rid of a headache, and some sugar in it wouldn’t do any harm. He opened the cupboard to get the coffee, only to find nothing. He groaned. To the shops it was then. Maybe they’d get the water fixed while he was out.

Josh pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms, an old t-shirt for a band he hadn’t listened to in years, and a hoodie. He pulled up the hood, pulled the drawstrings tight, and set off, trudging through the overcast late morning. He reached the supermarket, an Aldi situated just off a main road by his apartment building. He made his way through the doors, looking up to scan the shelves. The empty shelves. There was nothing - no food, drink, the famous middle aisle left derelict. Then he realised there was no one there either. No confused shoppers, no apologetic workers dealing with the customers’ ire. Nothing. It was quiet. Too quiet. He realised the car park was empty, and there was no noise of engines from the road. There hadn’t been on his whole walk. He’d been stuck in a hungover stupor, so hadn’t noticed, but the silence was so complete it was eerie. It swallowed up any noise he made in an instant. Josh felt his stomach pitch and his heartbeat quicken. This wasn’t right. None of it was.

His wretched state temporarily forgotten, Josh set out on a jog for what counted as the town centre. A grey area plagued by empty lots and a distinct lack of character. He ran into McDonald’s first. Nothing. No cashiers, no customers, no noise from the kitchen. Panicking, he ran into the Cancer Research UK shop, the Halifax bank, and the only sort of upmarket restaurant he could think of, an Italian called Silvio’s. Empty seats. Empty shelves. Empty desks. Empty counters. Everything was empty. There was nothing and no one left.

Josh walked toward the centre of the town, an open plaza with a statue of the town’s founder at its centre. He was some English general from hundreds of years ago, stood with his arms folded, looking over his concrete empire. He was made of slate, the only thing that wasn’t concrete or Tarmac. Yet he was still grey. Josh sat on a bench, back to the statue, and put his head in his hands. He cried. For the first time in what felt like years, tears flooded down his cheeks. They ran off his cheeks, settling on the floor below him, the only signs of life in the abandoned world he now found himself in.

“Why? Why me? What’s happening?” he cried.

“Have you been unable to make sense of your situation, Joshua Bowyer?”

Josh looked around , startled. Who was it, and why did they address him like that? The voice rasped out of the air, as if the speaker was in immense pain as they spoke.

“W-who are you? Show yourself!” Josh shouted. He sounded pathetic. His shaking voice echoed around the plaza, his weakness taunting him.

A great crash rang out. Josh shot to his feet, startled, and turned to see the slate of the statue crashing to the floor. There was the outline of a shin, as if the statue were hollow. He turned to face the slate baron, and jumped again at a finger falling, again hollow on the inside.

The slate began to flake away before him. Forearms, shoulders, the jacket he wore on his torso, and the ridiculous wig on the state’s head, all falling to the floor. Some shattered. Some lay whole. But Josh hardly noticed.

Beneath the slate was a body, but no flesh. White bone visible under layers of muscle, cartilage, and veins. Organs on full display, lungs inflating and deflating, heart pumping. All suspended in midair, not collapsing despite gravity’s best efforts. The thing stayed still for a moment, and kicked out with its left leg. Slate flew past Josh’s head. Then the right foot. It was free. The smell of blood filled the air. The final piece of the statue that remained was the face, stern, painted by wrinkles and a frown. The thing raised it’s hands to its face, muscles visibly contracting and retracting all the way. It let out an almighty scream as it tore the slate away, splitting the silence of the town. It came away, and was thrown to the ground, shattering.

It’s face was the same as the rest of its body, skinless. It’s visible teeth barely caged it’s twitching tongue. It’s lumpish and grey brain was miraculously was still atop its stem and in its skull. Its eyes rolled and spasmed in its head, suffering from the light and dust. They stopped, and bore into Josh’s. They were red. Or incredibly bloodshot. It didn’t matter. It laughed, that rasp cutting through Josh once again.

Josh blinked, and the thing was stood barely a foot away from him. He recoiled, and tried to run. But he was frozen into place, staring at the creature’s awful features. The stench of blood was overpowering at this distance. Josh retched, the smell and aight combined proving too much.

“We have much to discuss, Joshua Bowyer.”

“W-what are you?” Josh sobbed.

“Me? I am The Ombudsman. It is unfortunate we should have to meet, Joshua Bowyer.”

“What are you talking about? Where am I?”

“The Ombudsman’s duty is to hand down punishment,” it continued, as if it hadn’t heard him. “I only deal with the most… reprehensible of scum you humans produce.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not a crim-“

Memories. Flooding in, incoherent at first. Then forming a story.

The kebab house was bustling. Being over the road from a pub will do that, especially when the pub kicks out. Groups and couples stood or walked, shovelling in food in their alcohol infused daze. Cars drove past occasionally, and a Kasabian song could be heard drifting into the street from the kebab shop. A taxi pulled away, and two guys, probably not ok enough to get served, hoisted with paper cutlery from the shop. The air felt light, and everyone was relaxed.

Josh, however, wasn’t relaxed. She’d rejected him, gone off with her friend, probably just some girl she was pretending to know to get away from him. He was only trying to be nice, fucking bitch. His chest tightened, and his grip on the pint glass did too. He downed the dregs, and looked to the bar. Closed. He’d wasted all his time on that bitch.

There was a group of girls stood outside. Laughing. How could they laugh? This night was shit. The red mist descended. He’d show them, fucking show them all. He marched outside. The was a shattering of glass, screaming, blood. She stumbled backwards. A car turned the corner as she fell.

Josh fell to his knees, tears pouring down his cheeks.

“You see now what you have done?”

Josh’s tears gave the answer. Him. A killer.

“Amelia Salazar. 18 years old. She is due to go to the University of York in September to study English. Or she was.”

The rasp turned from mournful and sad, to one filled with hatred and scorn. She’d never study anywhere. All because of Josh.

“So, perhaps now you see, prison is perhaps not sufficient. So you will be left here for your Introspection. You will rot. You will pay for her life with your mind. Your length of Introspection is of no concern to you. By the time your term ends, there will be no ‘you’ to release.”

It suddenly reached out, pressing a bloody ‘palm’ to Josh’s face. It burned, white hot pain searing for a second. When the creature took its hand away, the imprint was left on Josh’s face, burning red against his pale skin.

“A marker. To let anyone who has the unfortunate fate to cross your spirit’s path know. I trust you will find your stay here enlightening.”

The creature disappeared. But Josh hardly noticed. Wrapped in crushing grief, he knew this was it. This was how it ended. He’d lie here, rot, maybe end up looking like that thing. He drowned in his misery.

#writing #horror #horror writing #original writing #original content #writeblr #writer #wtiters #writers on tumblr

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mariinara · 4 years

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REDAMANCY. (Sam Drake x Reader) PART 1

Tags: @the-winchesterboys , @the-drakeboys , @missdictatorme , @s4mdrake , @samdrakeftw , @purplezebra68 , @hrgnm , @unchartedterritoria

Word count: 3,107

(PROLOGUE, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)

Location: London, UK, Bloomsbury district

______________

The smell of cheap liquor and perfume filled your nostrils as you walked through the hotel's hallway, your eyes glued to the crimson carpet beneath your feet, a small shiver running up your spine as cold goosebumps riddled your skin.

Even in summer, London was chillier than Boston at night and you wore a grey sweater just in case it started to rain out of nowhere. You've been there before and you didn't want to repeat the same mistake. Not that the sweater made much of a difference.

When you were at the intersection of two hallways, you snapped your eyes up to look at the gold-plated signs on the wall that were engraved with a deep black color, indicating the range of the room numbers in both hallways.

'Third floor, room 303..'

You repeated in your head as you walked down the correct hallway, your eyes scanning the rooms on your left and right, in search of his room.

You were so engrossed in your search that you left Connor hanging on the phone that you loosely held against your ear.

"Babe?"

You blinked twice, "Yeah, I'm here.." You licked your dry lips, feeling them get a bit tacky from the cold weather and your shallow breaths, "Just, uhh.. Haven't been here for a while." You replied, a bit absentmindedly.

"So you're there?"

"Yeah."

"Keep me updated, okay?"

"I will, baby.." You stopped in your tracks once you saw room 301 and, suddenly, you didn't want Connor to get off the phone. You knew that as soon as you'd hang up, you'd feel the anxiety again.

"You wrap it up and come right back, okay?" He told you, and you could hear the cute little whine in his voice that made you smile.

"How could I do anything else?"

He chuckled softly, "Alright, I love you."

You pursed your lips, "Love ya, too, hun.."

A pang of guilt hit you. You knew you shouldn't be lying to him about your whereabouts and about what you'll be doing for the next few days. You'd told him that you were flying to Nate and Elena's house in Nassau to do big renovations for the place while they were away. Connor knew that you've always wanted to be an interior designer, and he got you multiple, big gigs in his show as prop manager and designer, which got you into the business quicker than you expected.

The lie you concocted was not fool-proof but it was the only thing that rolled off of your tongue once Connor asked who it was on the phone the other day.

You didn't like lying to him. Relationships were all about the truth. That was something you firmly believed in. But he wouldn't understand this. You promised you were done and just setting out to fulfill a childhood dream would actually sound really stupid to him.

You heard the line go blank, which made you inhale deeply. There bubbled your anxiety again, causing your stomach to do cartwheels. Uncomfortable ones.

'Room 303..'

You chewed down on your bottom lip and pushed your phone back into your pocket, switching your duffel bag to the other hand that wasn't as sweaty and, as you took cautious steps towards the assigned room, you felt the air getting thicker and everything grow silent, only hearing the pounding of your heart.

'You got this. He's just an old friend.. a-an acquaintance.. a.. brother..?'

You stood there, eyeing the wooden door with your eyes nervously flickering. With a shaky breath, you pulled up your hand to check the time on your wrist-watch.

9:10 P.M.

You were supposed to be in there ten minutes ago. As an extremely punctual person, something bothered you about that, and, hurriedly, you found yourself knocking twice on the door. When your hand dropped to your side, your chest filled up with instant regret.

'It's not too late to turn back around, is it..?'

You asked yourself, looking down the hallway you came through earlier, pondering the idea of making a beeline out of there.

But, suddenly, the door in front of you creaked open, and you whipped your head to look at the man standing there, staring back at you with an almost surprised expression, like he just knew that you wanted to turn and run last second.

There it was again. That feeling in the pit of your stomach that made your breath hitch in your throat. Just staring into his eyes brought back all those bitter memories, but you quickly shoved them to the back of your head, letting a shaky sigh leave your nose. It was then that you noticed that he was in a dress shirt that had the first few buttons open and the bowtie around his collar was loose. The shirt was tucked in formal suit trousers, too, which meant that he was getting into something fancy for.. what exactly?

He leaned closer towards you, looking left and right down the hallway. You'd pulled your face away with wide eyes when he got that close and grabbed onto his upper arms when one of them snaked around your waist.

"What.. are you doing?" You slowly asked him, staring at him with furrowed brows as he studied the hallway.

Without replying or looking at you, he pulled you into his warm hotel room and let go of you to close the door.

You blinked in confusion, staring at him with furrowed brows as he turned to look at you, his eyes studying you closely and intimately. His gaze trapped you and you almost felt as if he had a hostile air about him.

"Have a seat." He simply told you, gesturing to the table next to the terrace that had a half-finished bottle of whiskey, an ashtray with a cigarette still propped on, the smoke slowly rising in the air, and an array of maps and books, all stacked in a messy heap.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, "Nice to see you, too.." You muttered, discarding the black duffel bag on a bench pressed against the wall and dragging a chair to slump down on.

"How was your flight?" Came his voice as he made his way to the table, circumventing it to stand on the opposite side of you, picking up his cigarette and flicking the ash off before pulling it up to his lips.

You crossed your arms over the table and nodded, trying to avoid his intense gaze, "It was fine." You simply replied with a small nod.

Sam held the cigarette between his lips and unscrewed the cork of the whiskey bottle, "Drink?" He offered before pausing to raise an amused brow at you, fighting back a teasing smirk, "You do still drink, right?"

You sent him a glare, your hands intertwining together a bit tighter, "That's funny." You humorlessly replied, "I do. But no i–"

"No ice." He continued, pouring some of the golden liquid into a glass cup that he set in front of you, "I know." His eyes were on you as he sat down with a small sigh, his back relaxed against the chair as he took a drag from his cigarette.

You ignored his stare and brought the glass to your lips, "So.." You clicked your tongue, "What was that all about?" You asked, your fingers tapping against the glass. He shook his head slightly, his eyes narrow. "At the door? You looked like I'm not the only one you were expecting." You elaborated.

"Mmmm.." He nodded, leaning forward to put off the cigarette in the ashtray, blowing out a cloud of smoke, "I was expectin' star boy to be there.."

You rolled your eyes, "His name's Connor." You corrected him, sitting back to cross your arms over your chest. You saw his brows twitch up in silent agitation, a forced, lop-sided smile on his face, despite that. "If you don't trust me, why'd you call me?" You questioned a bit defensively.

He hummed while taking a swig from his drink and shook his head, putting it down, "I trust you. It's you who doesn't trust me." He pointed an accusatory finger at you, making your brows pull together.

"Can you blame me?" You retorted. He paused for a second to search your eyes and he immediately knew you were talking about what he'd done back in Libertalia. It stung, the way you viewed him. Especially you. But he swallowed his tongue, nonetheless.

His eyes flickered down to your hands, spotting the engagement ring almost immediately. It drew an amused smirk to his lips when his eyes met yours, "That's a big rock." He commented, "I take it he finally got his big break, huh?"

You looked down at your hand, turning it to take a look at the ring. Your eyes rolled and you put your hands on your lap, wiping your sweaty hands against your denim-clad thighs, "So, what're we doing?" You gestured to the papers and documents and maps all sprawled on the table.

He cleared his throat and started to search for something in particular and, finally, he pulled it out from the pile of papers, then silently passed it to you.

You glanced at the folded paper that seemed to be ripped out straight from an illustrations’ book and raised a brow at him, “This is..?”

Sam chuckled, “Open it, genius.”

“Right.” You unfolded the paper quickly and narrowed your eyes at the ink drawings of the Unicorn ship. It was illustrated at different angles, with very detailed focus on important attributes that made it special, “Fifty cannons.. Triple masted.. Two decks..” You nodded, “That’s our girl.”

“Okay, now look at this..” He quickly shuffled to look through the pile for a certain book and, when he pulled it out, you immediately recognized the cover of his favorite pirate book. You watched him flip through it quickly, humming under his breath. It was something he often did when he was deep in thought or onto something and you remembered how you would point that out, back when things weren’t so rocky with him, but the thought made you smile, nonetheless, “There it is.” He motioned you to come closer and you instantly scooted your chair to his side to peek at the book with him, “Sir Francis Drake from Marlinspike hall..”

You sighed at the pirate’s name, “This guy just didn’t know when to quit.”

Sam sent you a proud smirk, “Runs in the family.”

You smiled at him and, you could swear that you saw his younger self for just a split second, but once you realized that you were gazing at him for too long without uttering a word, you looked back at the book, “The last captain of the old, beaten Unicorn..” You read.

Sam’s focus was back on the book and he skipped a few unimportant lines, “The ship set sail from Barbados in 1676 on one of the most ruinous voyages in maritime history.” He had that part underlined lightly with a pencil and your eyes moved lower to spot another underlined paragraph.

“Ship never reached its destination.. Attacked by pirates, all hands lost except for one survivor, yadda yadda..” You muttered. But then, at the next line, your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, “When Sir Francis Drake was rescued and brought back home, he was convinced his name had been cursed.” You glanced at Sam with a small snort, “Go figure..” He chuckled at you and listened closely as you read. “The Unicorn’s manifest states that the ship carried cargo of tobacco and rum bound for Europe, but, it’s been long claimed that it carried a secret cargo..” You slowly turned your head towards Sam, your eyes wide and a grin slowly spread on your face, "So, Drake was connected to Red Rakham's treasure.."

Sam returned your grin, "I'm willin' to bet that it wasn't even Red Rakham's treasure in the first place." When he saw your intrigued, yet contemplative expression, he looked at the book and pointed at a certain line, "Here. Look. When Sir Francis was questioned about the voyage, he replied with: "This treasure drowns with my bloodline and shall remain so. Only a true Drake will be able to find it.""

"The treasure belonged to Drake.." You trailed off, your eyes glued to the book, "Red Rakham's ship was the one that attacked Drake's." You concluded, sitting back and crossing your arms with an impressed nod, "And.. you found the link between him and Drake on your own.."

Sam raised a brow, closing the book, "You sound surprised." He smiled and you reciprocated it cordially, but something about it seemed too forced.

"Just take the compliment."

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, his smile faltering. You noticed it. How his eyes lowered to look at the carpet underneath the table. He seemed to want to say something. Like an apology of some sort, but you ripped your gaze away from him before he could speak. You didn't want him to apologize. You didn't want him to say anything that would remind you of the man you used to love. That was the last thing you needed.

Sam put the book to the side and cleared his throat, getting up from his chair and walking over to the dresser to retrieve a rolled up newspaper from there quietly, and walked back to the table to put it in front of you, "That's our next stop."

You raised a brow up at him and grabbed the paper, opening it to the front page, your eyes immediately landing on an announcement that there was an auction held near your district, which brought unpleasant memories to you, "The Bedford estate auction.." You muttered.

"Mm-hmm." His finger hovered over the page and he tapped at the auctioned items list, "Look here. Sound familiar?"

You squinted your eyes and read over the line he pointed at, "Battleship model, seventeenth century, reign of Charles the second.." You trailed off and inhaled deeply, leaving the newspaper and sitting back to look at him, "You do remember what happened the last time we went into an auction uninvited, don't you?" You asked him, an uninterested look on your face.

He smirked and nodded his head, resting his hands on the back of your chair, "Sure, but this time is gonna be different."

"How come?"

"We're invited." He wiggled his brows once, like he just let you in on the most dangerous, tempting secret in the world.

Your brows pulled together in confusion, "What?" You shook your head, "How?"

He sighed and turned his back to you, walking over to his bed, "I'll fill you in on the way." He then removed the white, signature hotel duvet, only to reveal a whole set of guns from different calibers, small boxes of bullets, extra magazines. Your eyes widened for a split second at the view and you looked up at Sam as he turned to you, his hands on his hips and a stupid grin on his face, "You still remember how to handle those?"

"Jesus!" You exclaimed, practically jumping from the chair and taking wide steps towards the bed to take a closer look at the weapons, "What— How did you even get those in here?"

Sam pushed his hands in his pockets, "Had to grease a few palms." He shrugged nonchalantly, sending you a calm smile.

"Why do we even need those?!" You whisper-shouted, behind clenched teeth, your eyes wide and crazed.

He rolled his eyes, "You do remember what happened the last time we went into an auction, right?"

"You said we were invited!"

"Never said I had the money for bidding." He retorted quickly.

You threw your hands up in frustration with a humourless laugh, "Well, of course not! You wasted it all on those!" You argued, gesturing to the guns on his mattress.

"Uh, no. First of all, those were already in my possession–" You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it, "Second of all, you're gonna need to be more lenient and cooperative or else we're gonna end up dead. Those people don't mess around."

Your eyes widened, "What?" You watched him walk past you and to the body mirror, buttoning up his shirt silently. You followed him and stood right behind him, "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Sam did his bowtie silently and ran a hand through his hair, glancing at you through the mirror. He then stopped completely and hummed, narrowing his eyes.

"Samuel–"

He stepped behind you, grabbing your upper arms and letting you see your reflection, his chest pressed against your back and his eyes roaming your body through the mirror, "You don't happen to have a pretty lil' red dress, do you?"

You snorted a laugh of disbelief, "What?"

His hands came up to hold your hair and twirl it in his hands, holding it into a low, messy bun, "That oughta show some skin, too.." He muttered, studying your pretty face that was hidden by your loose hair, "You didn't answer me." He reminded you.

You shook your head in confusion, "I.. do, but–"

"Perfect." He stepped away from you to go over to his wardrobe, pulling his black suit jacket from the hanger, throwing it on his shoulder and letting it drape there, "Wear your hair like I just showed you and put it on." He instructed you before tilting his head and reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, "And – y'know – doll up a bit." He put it in his mouth and lit it, narrowing his eyes at you as he took a drag.

You scoffed, watching him turn away and open the door to leave, "Sam!" You yelled for him as he slipped outside, and he stopped to look at you.

"Yep?" He looked over his shoulder and you swore you could see a smirk play on his lips.

You gave him an incredulous look, "Is there something you're not telling me?!" You repeated, slower and louder in case he didn't quite catch you.

His lips slowly curled up to a smile, his cigarette still held between them. He then glanced at the bed full of weapons and back at you, "Pick something inconspicuous, will ya? I'll be waitin' for you on the sidewalk."

"Sam!–"

He shut the door and left you in your predicament, making you growl out in utter and absolute frustration, your fists clenched and your breathing uneven.

And you wondered if this was all a plot of revenge from the older Drake for the way you treated him in Libertalia.

_____________

#sam drake x reader #samuel drake #sam drake #uncharted fluff #uncharted #sam drake fanfiction #uncharted4 #naughty dog #peakymarvels

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jamiejohnsontalk · 4 years

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LGBT Representation in Jamie Johnson as Compared to Other Kids’ Media

Pinned to the top of my blog because I’m quite proud of this post, and I still want newer followers to be able to see it.

From what I know, LGBT representation is relatively new in media. Not just kids’ media, but media in general. I don’t even think I knew what gay meant until I was like 11. And I didn’t know that religions didn’t exactly have the greatest opinion of gay people till my GCSEs. In that sense, I was lucky. I knew I was gay before I knew what homophobia was, so I have always been comfortable with who I am. But others didn’t have life that... Well, simple I suppose. I’ve always known who I am, but other people, well, in the worst case scenario, gay people can become homophobic themselves and grow to hate themselves. This might seem like a sidetracky introduction, but I think it shows the importance of LGBT in media. For someone like me, it can help to start to normalise gay people to my family. Even though they’re still homophobic, at least they’re able to watch programmes with LGBT characters in. I met someone who’s dad wouldn’t watch any shows with LGBT characters in it. And for how rare gay people used to be in media in general, they’re even rarer in kids’ media. Why is it that Disney Channel only had their first gay main character in 2017 when homosexuality was legalised in... 2003 in the US. Wow, I can’t lie, I looked up that statistic expecting it to be way earlier. OK, but it was legalised in 1967 in the UK. So why did I never see any gay characters in my childhood? I’ve known I was gay since I was 9, but I must have first seen a gay character in, OK, it was Doctor Who. Captain Jack was pansexual. So I did have some LGBT representation. But there wasn’t much. And again, not in kids’ media. So, let’s look at some of the kids’ media that changed the landscape for LGBT rep in kids’ media. Sarah Jane Adventures and Wizards vs Aliens We’ll start with what I think is probably the worst types of LGBT representation. First of all: Wizards vs Aliens. Benny came out. But I can’t remember the show ever talking about it again after he came out. Sarah Jane Adventures. Yes, it’s not Russell T Davies’ fault that he never got the chance to let Luke come out in the show, and yes, he got to have Luke come out in the memorial episode for Sarah Jane on YouTube, but even before Liz had... Luke had left the main cast, so his coming out would have still meant less to audience members. Gravity Falls had a coming out at the very end of the show, and I believe so did Adventure Time, so they fit in this category too. Compare that to Dillon from Jamie Johnson. Yes, there’s a reasonable chance we won’t see him again after this season, but if it is, he gets to leave on a high. We get to explore his coming out journey. Steven Universe Steven Universe is great for LGBT representation, and it’s great for normalising LGBT representation. You’ve got a huge variety of LGBT characters, because the Gems are all gay (Except Rose). So you can understand that there are different types of gay people (Love Victor did that too, but I’m not sure how many people would watch it). Steven universe is definitely the gayest kids’ show. High School Musical the Musical the Series fits in this category too. Carlos is out and proud. And we don’t see his coming out, more his love life. Again, great rep. Normalises gay people. Jamie Johnson is nowhere near the level of gay that Steven Universe or High School Musical the Musical the Series is, but I think that it’s less meaningful than other shows I’ll mention and Jamie Johnson. It’s the same reason Victor said “Screw you” to Simon at the beginning of Love Victor. We don’t want to see gay people who have it easy. We want to see gay people who are like us. Who have been through stuff and have come out the other side alive. We want hope, but that doesn’t come from seeing gay people who have it easy. I see people playing football and risking corona and I’m jealous. I want to play football again. I see gay people have it easy: Same. I wish I could have it that easy, and it makes me sad. Steven Universe is a great show, and has great rep, but I think even kids’ media should have something closer to home. Andi Mack and Diary of a Future President I love how they portrayed Cyrus and Bobby. We got to see Cyrus’ story from realising he liked guys to being able to say “I’m gay” to showing his crush he likes him (though homophobes can pretend the bench scene was just a friendship scene). Cyrus’ arc was great, and the bench scene was perfect and the only problem with it was that it deserved a fourth season so we could see Cyrus and TJ in a relationship. Diary of a Future President though. I was heartbroken when Bobby didn’t come out to Liam. But then I found out there was a season 2 and I was OK, because it’s hard to come out. It’s as if all the shows make it so easy to come out to the first person, but it’s not. The first real life person I came out to, I came out at 22. And they had come out to me first. And I had to write it down on my phone. I couldn’t say it out loud. So yeah, seeing Diary of a Future President take it slow is amazing, and I love it, and it’s also what they did with Dillon. Some people think that they only really intended for Dillon to be gay from season 4. But, I think that they’ve known since the beginning. I plan to do a character analysis on Dillon after my rewatch, but I think I found something that shows they must have known since at least season 2. (I expect the analysis will be a lot shorter than this. Sorry for the crazy length. And if it’s a crap read. I don’t essay well). But if they knew from the beginning, that was a brilliant move on their part. The only thing that makes me unsure is how Dillon took 3 years to realise he might be gay, but it’s possible that he denied it to himself until he realised Elliot was gay. Because there’s no way he wasn’t thinking he was gay in season 4 episode 5. He didn’t think he was asexual, his reaction to Ruby’s foster mums suggested that he was interested because they were gay. But regardless, I love that they took it slow. Not everyone can come out as easily as others, and having someone like Bobby, or like Dillon, is so much more meaningful than Cyrus, even though Cyrus is an amazing character. Bobby and Dillon are more relatable because they’re finding it tough to come out. The Dumping Ground I kept trying to decide whether I thought the dumping ground or Andi Mack/Diary of a Future President had better LGBT representation. In the end, I decided that I preferred the Dumping Ground’s representation. Yes, in Andi Mack and Diary of a Future President, we get to see the coming out journey of Bobby and Cyrus, but even though Andi Mack touched on homophobia, a lot of people didn’t even realise Kira was blackmailing TJ, making him afraid of how people would react if they found out he was gay. A number of people just thought TJ was being an idiot. But the Dumping Ground had a gay couple wanting to foster Gus. And IIRC, Johnny thought it was wrong because they were gay. Something like that would foster (see what I did there?) potential discussion between parents and children about gay adoption. Some kids watching the show might have been gay and if they watched it with their parents, they could talk about it with them. Gage their reaction. Maybe even come out to them. The Dumping Ground’s episode was great. And then May-Li came out. And we never got to see her full journey, But we did get to see her journey to being accepted by her grandmother I think. And that’s something. And Now On To Jamie Johnson Just like the Dumping Ground, Jamie Johnson has been able to tackle serious issues. I mean, season 1 dealt with Jamie’s cheating father. You’ve got Zoe being a carer, Dillon getting diabetes. But in terms of LGBT representation, it’s season 4 and season 5. Season 4 episode 5 was incredible. I remember telling all my friends about it, and how amazing it was that CBBC were doing this. To recap: Ruby said her heroes were her foster parents, causing Dillon to ask Ruby about it. She thought he was being an idiot, even though in actual fact, he was excited that someone else was gay and trying not to show it. Dillon told his dad that Ruby had foster mums while he was telling him how Ruby’s biological parents weren’t in her life anymore. Liam, Dillon’s brother, used it to rile up Ruby’s sister Alba until she attacked him. She probably would have gotten expelled from the club, but Sienna filmed the incident so everyone found out what really happened, and it was Liam who got expelled. I think Alba only got excluded. What I find really awesome about the storyline though is not just that they had it. It was that the consequences of Liam’s actions set the course for the rest of the season, aka Dodgy Duncan. Liam’s actions caused the club’s image to go down the drain, and sponsors to leave, and that’s what made Duncan turn to the dark side. And it’s a subtle way to just say “Homophobia is bad”. Because Liam’s homophobia caused all the problems in the rest of the season. The First Time Dillon Let Himself “be Gay” Dillon took a long time to come out. And, like me, I think for a long time, nobody really suspected he was gay, in real life or in the audience. He never really showed it. I’m pretty sure when I was a kid, I would act super offended and upset if someone jokingly called me gay. So, yeah, it’s a slow burn. And we didn’t get any hints that he was gay, but that happens. Gay people are good at hiding, I think that’s why gay kids are often portrayed as loving theater. They already have to act their whole lives. It’s not easy to be in the closet. But I think that once Dillon was able to leave his father’s shadow, he was able to be more comfortable with himself, leading to him coming out to Elliot in episode 7. I think he had crushes before, specifically Michelle from season 2, but Elliot was the first time he felt like he could be himself. So here we have two massive points from other shows, but they haven’t been done together. The discussion of homophobia in the Dumping Ground, and the Slow Burn from Diary of a Future President. Social Media Presence Andi Mack made a huge deal about Cyrus being gay, like a week before the episode where he came out aired. HSMTMTS had Carlos be a gay stereotype from the trailer, and OK, Steven Universe was always gay. But Jamie Johnson, and the Dumping Ground didn’t make a big deal about it beforehand. They didn’t scream to the world “Look at us! We’re woke!” They showed it. They let people see for themselves, they let people debate for two weeks on Dillon’s sexuality, and they didn’t tell everyone that this was the episode Dillon would come out (though they made sure that everyone knew they should watch this episode). They just let people see for themselves. And after the episode aired, they made their move. They had the Jamie Johnson logo in rainbow colours to celebrate pride, they had a guide on how to react if someone comes out to you, and they had a history of pride, and I expect they’ll do even more on their social media after this week’s episode. @tkstrand reckons the Delliot post is Jamie Johnson’s most liked instagram post. I don’t know whether the other shows did this, but it’s a great gesture regardless. Oh, and there’s the fact that they’re doing a Bafta zoom conference on how they tackle issues. Choosing the Right Character and Breaking Ground for CBBC A lot of people on Instagram said that they thought it was Boggy who should be gay, and while I think either storyline would be great, I think that the writers made the right decision. 1) Boggy is an amazing person. He’s not afraid to be himself. I think, if Boggy was gay, then he wouldn’t have as much trouble coming out as Dillon is having. Of course, Boggy is going through stuff right now, but I still think he would have been a lot braver than Dillon and so we wouldn’t get the storyline we’re getting now delving into homophobia 2) If Dillon does have a minor or major role in season 6, we might get to explore homophobia in professional football, which would be super exciting 3) While Boggy is an amazing character, I’d reckon kids tend to gravitate to the coolest character as their favourite. And while Boggy radiates cool. (Seriously, check out the two posts I made on how sarcastic he is. And just look at his hat at the beginning of episode 1!

But Dillon is the more traditionally cool character, so he’s more likely to be a fan favourite (that and the fact that he’s the best developed character in Jamie Johnson). So for those who aren’t necessarily homophobic, but don’t really understand homosexuality, Dillon is the perfect choice to have written as gay. Because after next week, the people who don’t believe Dillon is gay might leave the episode with a new understanding of LGBT people. It’s been done with TJ, who’s also a cool character, but people who want to ignore the gay subtext can because it was never said out loud in the show. And I reckon Dillon is a groundbreaking character for CBBC. Benny left soon after he came out, Luke left before he came out, May-Li is part of an ensemble cast, so in terms of a small number of main characters (the core 4 in JJ being Dillon, Jamie, Zoe and Boggy), so I think Dillon is the first gay main character (not ensemble character) on CBBC who has gotten a major gay storyline. Could be wrong, let me know if I am! Groundbreaking in General From what it looks like, the next episode is gonna focus completely on Dillon’s coming out storyline. Forget kids’ media, I don’t think I’ve seen an adults’ show that has an entire episode solely dedicated to an LGBT storyline. (Even Reunited from Steven Universe wasn’t completely focused on Garnet). Love Victor was jam packed with side stories and I think even Real O’Neals always had side stories to it. If another show has done this, I’d love to hear, but if Jamie Johnson really has the whole episode dedicated solely to Dillon, I think it’s huge. I only hope it doesn’t mean that the storyline will be forgotten about in the last 4 episodes, but since the head writer of Jamie Johnson is LGBT, I have no doubt they’ll do it justice. Does Jamie Johnson Have the Best LGBT Representation in Kids’ Media? No, I don’t think it does. Andi Mack has 2 seasons where we follow Cyrus on his coming out journey and Steven Universe has a lot more LGBT people, including a non-binary character. But in the aspects Jamie Johnson does well, it excels at. The homophobia storyline(s), and Jamie Johnson’s instagram presence. And having the best developed and best defined character be the one to show kids how to treat gay people. Thursday could be a historic moment for Kids’ television if they do this right, and I think they will. So I hope that everyone enjoys the episode! No, I swear this wasn’t a long promo for the next episode. No, I am not sponsored. Yes, this post was extremely long, I’m really sorry about that. I hope it’s worth the read. If not, don’t worry, this will almost definitely be my longest post. No, I don’t know how to have a “continue reading” button. Does anyone happen to know how? Thanks! Edit: Apparently 4 O Clock club had a gay main character first, so I got that wrong, but I still hold that Jamie Johnson is groundbreaking.

#jamie johnson #delliot #lgbt representation #analysis #long post #Seriously this is a super long post

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k2054145 · 3 years

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My first blog post is about history behind a photo essay that I did for my University project in Digital Media Foundations. The photo essay contains 5 pictures that I took myself and edited using photoshop.My topic is urban landscape and culture .

I was inspired to choose this topic because of my cultural background. I come from Russia where any city that you go to look alike: rows of grey panel buildings - the landscape of despondency and monotony.

The reason for this is post war times when people had to be moved out of barracks and communal flats to a better housing. In 1955 there was a new policy adopted that enforced elimination of excesses in design and construction . The government did this in order to save as much money as possible.

An architect L.Z. Cherokover who designed the interior of the block flats measured everything in centimetres : how much space you need to take off you boots , wash your face, dry with a towel and how many extra steps a soviet woman rake in the kitchen .

There was a lot of propaganda films to promote the new ways of living and people were happy with it . Living in panel buildings allowed people to have their own space unlike living in a communal flats where 2 families could live in one room separated by a curtain.

Bad soundproofing set a famous Russian trend of hanging carpets on the wall .The blocks created its own aesthetic of Soviet romanticism and shaped the reality of Russia .

These panel houses with no lifts were supposed to be temporary measures but in Russia we say : " Nothing is more permanent than temporary". People live in them till this day and they love it believe it or not.

The aesthetic of panel houses and the yards in Russia seems to be grey and ugly for a tourist but for people that were born and raised there it hits different. It is full of history and gives you understanding of the Russian mentality.

For me the blocks associate with sweet childhood memories: kids running in the playground, our mums shouting from the windows that it is time to go home , a cup of hot tea after the whole day of sledging in the freezing cold , home made food that tastes better than any restaurant, grannies gossiping about everyone on the bench , snow flakes falling down illuminated by street lights and fat cats that always left nasty surprises in the sandbox.

Moving to the UK was a life changing experience for me .Everything here is totally different from Russia. I really miss home and I was able to feel closer to it through urban London .The way i see estates and its culture through the lens of someone coming from Russia is different to the way people from here see it .I showed the estates that are considered to be ugly and dirty from a pretty and romantic perspective.

#russia #london #urbanphotography #history #pretty #contrast

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allaboutthebooz · 5 years

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I See The Light Pt. Four

Summary: Tony takes the team to Walt Disney World and Steve is understanding why it’s so magical.

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: angst. Gotta have the angst.

A/N: Well when I typed this up it came out to over 2300 words and I could have kept it going, but I figured I would cut it where I did and just make add another part. Have mercy. There are a few scenes from the actual movies added in and, well you’ll see. Memories will be in italic. The majority of this will be memories. And don’t worry, this is just scratching the surface of the relationship between Steve and the reader.

Sweat dripped from Steve’s forehead and covered his back, chest, and arms. It soaked his shirt, causing it to stick to his body with each hit he landed on the punching bag.

‘whack’ ‘whack’ ‘whack’

Memories of his past flooding his mind with each swing. The life he lost when he put the aircraft into the ocean the frozen Artic. The war. Bucky. Peggy. Peggy. Peggy. Nothing, but anger pours from him. His hits growing harder and harder until the bag rips from its steel hinges and crashes onto the floor, sand flying from the busted stitching.

Breathing hard, he takes a moment to calm down before brushing his hair back in place and picking up a new bag and hanging it up. Replacing the broken one. Another deep breath as he resumes his workout.

‘whack’ ‘whack’ ‘whack’

“Trouble sleeping?” A voice calls from the front of the gym, pulling Steve’s attention away from the task at hand. He looks for the intruder to see Fury standing in the shadows, except he’s not alone. A smaller, slim figure stands beside him. A woman. They move forward together, stepping into the light.

“I slept for seventy years, sir.” ‘whack.’ More punches land on the hefty sand filled bag. “I think I’ve had my fill.”

“Then you should be out. Celebrating. Seeing the world.” The two stop about five feet Steve. He stops his hits and finally looks at his company.

Fury the same as always. Dark clothes and eyepatch. Face void of emotion. But the woman. The woman was someone Steve had yet to meet. Her hair was long and a rich shade of burgundy. Her face almost completely void of makeup. Freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose. Eyes big and round. Her suit skin-tight, like Maria’s, but more blue than grey. Still dark, though. He tries not to stare too long, but her small smirk tells him that he failed.

He turns from then and starts to unwrap his hands. “I went under, the world was at war. I wake up, they say we won. They didn’t say what we lost.” He stuffs one wrap in his bag and begins to unwrap the other.

“We’ve made some mistakes along the way. Some very recently.”

Steve peeks at them and notices the file in the woman’s hands.

“You here with a mission, sir?”

“I am. Agent Y/L/N.” She takes a step forward, holding the file out to him.

“Trying to get me back into the world?” He asks, not taking the file.

“Trying to save it.” She tells him, speaking for the first time. Her voice calm, but stern. She opens the file, urging him to look.

The subject within grabs his attention. He puts his other wrap in the bag, joining its friend. He takes the file from her and sits on the bench.

“Hydra’s secret weapon.” He starts flipping through the pages and pictures of the Tesseract.

“Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you.” Fury explains, causing Steve to look at him. “He thought-we think the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy. That’s something the world sorely needs.”

The super soldier closes the file and hands it back to the agent. She takes it. “Who took it from you?” He asks.

She sighs. “He’s called Loki. He’s…not from around here.” She taps her fingers against the folder.

“There’s a lot we have to bring you up to speed on, if you’re in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”

Steve stares beyond them, contemplating. “At this point, I doubt anything will surprise me.” Agent Y/L/N smirks when he stands and turns away from them. “Ten bucks says you’re wrong.”

He gathers his bag and walks to the row of punching bags that are lined on the floor. Picking one up and putting it on his shoulder. Fury continues. “There is a debriefing packet waiting for you, back at your apartment.”

Steve keeps his pace, heading towards the exit.

“Is there anything that you can tell us about the Tesseract, that we ought to know now?”

“You should have left it in the ocean.”

That was the first time he had met Y/N and all he knew about her was that she worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. and was nice to look at. Except, he never admitted that to anyone, not even himself. He remembers seeing her in the control room of the Helicarrier and the way she let out the biggest belly laugh as he handed her a ten-dollar bill. “Thanks, Cap.” Was all she could manage to say between her laugh.

He learned that she and Natasha were extremely close, and both had a personal mission to save another agent that had been compromised because of Loki. The two women were very similar in skill and attitude, which he believes is because of their time in the Red Room, but Y/N was just a bit more carefree. She laughed more than Natasha did. He never had to ask her name. He didn’t have to. It was in her file in the debriefing packet. Y/N Y/L/N. Simple yet fitting.

Both she and Natasha hail from Russia, saved by Clint, and are now the top spies working for Fury.

Said spies were currently sitting across the table from he and Bucky. They were sharing pictures from the trip. This was the first time they’ve actually sat together as a group for a meal. They decided to meet up in the UK at Epcot to eat at the Rose and Crown.

They ordered drinks while waiting for Sam and Wanda. Laughing and telling stories of different events that happened during the trip.

“I didn’t think I’d ever hear a grown man scream the way that Bucky did on Space Mountain.” Nat tells the other’s as y/n hunches over the table, laughter spewing from her lips and tears falling from her eyes.

“It’s a rollercoaster in the dark!” Bucky states, trying to defend himself. “You can’t see anything except for some fucking lights that look like stars. You think you’re gonna go one way and it’s like ‘no man, you’re going this way.’” All I could think was ‘All of this bullshit that I’ve dealt with, and this is how I die.’”

His admittance makes the other’s roar with laughter again, drawing unwanted attention to their table.

Another successful mission means another party thrown by Tony. Various friends and heads of business to rub elbows with. The team is required to attend to kiss the asses of every old rich snob that walks through the door.

Everyone in their best. Steve in his usual button down and black slacks. After watching a couple of World War II vets- who were as old as he is- get taken down by Thor’s Asgardian elixir, he moves to find more of his friends. He spots Nat behind the bar, mixing drinks. She’s talking to another woman. As he moves closer, the woman turns her face to the side as Bruce steps up beside her.

Steve stumbles the slightest when he realizes it’s Y/N. Her burgundy hair looks almost black in the dim party lights and curled in soft waves down her back. Her dress, like everything else she wears, clings to her curves in black silk, stopping at her knees. Her shoulders covered in nothing but two thin straps. A giant bow on her left hip. Her soft skin tempting to touch.

He shakes his head and continues his walk to the bar. Y/N turns from the semi-private conversation that was occurring between the beast and the spider. She gives Steve a smile when she sees him coming her way.

“Hey there, soldier.” Her soft voice calls to him.

“Hey, yourself.” He replies, leaning against the bar.

“Having fun?”

“Impossible not to. There’s some interesting characters here tonight.”

She laughs and nods. “Do you expect anything else from Tony?”

He chuckles. “No, of course not, but it’s fun no less.”

“Well, good. You deserve to have fun.” She stretches over the bar, giving Steve a good view of her long frame, and pulls a couple bottles of beer from behind the counter. She pops the tops off of both of them and hands one to him. “I talked to Sam. Still no word on Bucky.”

The soldier sighs and nods, taking a sip of his beer before answering. “Yeah, he’s still missing.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him.” She puts a hand on his arm, stroking her thumb across the skin that’s exposed under his rolled sleeves. His skin tingling at the simple touch.

All he can do is nod.

The night is drawing to a close, all the guests have left, and the team is sitting around a table, littering the couches and floor. Thor laughing.

“But it’s a trick.” Clint calls from his spot on the floor, drumstick twirling between his fingers.

“No, it’s much more than that.” Thor tells him, clinking beer bottles with Steve, Y/N perched against his legs in the floor.

“Whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power.” Clint exclaims in a mocking tone. “Whatever, man! It’s a trick!”

The God of Thunder chuckles raising his hand to Mjolnir as a welcome gesture. “Please, be my guest.”

This begins the entertainment on the guys each taking their turn trying to lift the hammer. Each of them failing after countless tries. The women sitting around, smirks in place and eyebrows arched.

After Bruce jumps away from it with a tease of Hulk rage, Steve pats your shoulders, urging her forward so that he can have a try.

Everyone giving words of encouragement, while he struts the short distance to the table, rolling his sleeves up once more, a smug look on his face as he observes the taunting hammer. He grips Mjolnir’s handle and tugs. Muscles straining with the resistance she gives.

The hammer budges just a bit, but quickly sets back in place. Thor’s smile slipping and Y/N’s eyes growing wide, her drink stopped on her red lips. He gives a final tug, before raising his hands in defeat. Thor gives an anxious chuckle as Steve resumes his spot on the couch. She stands, handing him her drink.

“Let a lady show you show it’s done.” Her bare feet pad quietly across the floor, Sam giving a cat call from his hair by the bar. Steve watches her observe the hammer, placing her hands in the same position as the other’s had. Giving it a good pull, the table groans beneath it and the hammer ever so slightly scoots across the surface. Another pull and it lifts only a centimeter up.

The others fall silent, watching in awe of what was happening before their eyes. Thor’s drink long forgotten as it tips in his hand and drips down his arm. Steve sits unmoving, watching this killer assassin, move the hammer more than he ever thought possible, by someone other than Thor.

She releases the handle with a huff and step back. “I didn’t want to be queen, anyways.” She smooths out her dress, ignoring the silence and stares from the team, sits on the arm of the couch next to Thor’s shoulder, snapping him out of his shock.

Bruce clears his throat and gestures to Net. “And, Widow?”

“Oh, no, no, no. that’s not a question I need answered.” She responds, leaning back on her elbow.

Tony, ever the skeptic, carries on with his belief. “All deference to the man who wouldn’t Be King, but it’s rigged.”

“You bet your ass.” Clint chimes in, patting Tony on the shoulder.

“Steve, he said a bad language word.” Maria calls from her place on the couch.

Steve sighs. “Did you tell everyone about that?”

After Sam and Wanda finally join the table, everyone orders their food and the laughter continues. Steve sits back, trying to remember everyone got to be carefree like this. He can only think of one time and even then, they were hiding from something.

Clint had a family. A family. And the only people who knew were Y/N and Nat. After they had all settled in and gotten washed up. The girls helped Laura get dinner ready. They laughed and drank, well Y/N and Nat did, and they caught up on everything. That night, Steve found himself standing on the porch with the burgundy haired Avenger next to him. Both sipping from a bottle of beer in their hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Because it wasn’t my secret to tell. He wanted to keep them safe. We all did. They’re the only family, I have. We couldn’t tell anyone.”

Steve’s gut twists at her admission. Her only family? What about the Avengers? Weren’t they a family? “They’re not you’re only family.”

She pulls her big eyes away from the night sky and turns them on him. “You don’t know anything about me, Steve? You know me as well as Tony does.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“It is true. You only see what I allow you to see.”

“Why? We’ve been working together for a long time now. How many times have we almost died together? How many times have we saved each other’s lives?”

“That’s work, Steve. That’s not personal.”

“Then let’s make it personal.”

Y/N sighs and shakes her head, looking down at her lap. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not? You know everything about me.”

“The whole world knows everything about you. You’re an open book. They have a fucking exhibit dedicated to you at the Smithsonian for Christ sake.”

“That’s not everything. That’s what I did during the war.”

“Then tell me something that no one else knows. If you want to get personal, then you can start.” That stops him. He wasn’t expecting her to turn it around on him. “That’s what I thought. How about this, Cap. When you can be honest with me, I’ll be honest with you. It goes both ways, if you want to be a family.” She hops down from the rail and goes inside, slamming the door behind her.

Tags:

ISTL:

@chocolate-cutting @kakakatey @capsiclesdoll @lilangeldevil006 @denisemarieangelina @avngrsinitiative @itsallyscorner

Marvel:

@shreddedparchment @wonderlandfandomkingdom

Forevers:

@jamielea81 @gh0stgurl @pretty-fortune@psychoredpanda@mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @tmiships4life@babypink224221 @20gayneen @simonsbluee @flamencodiva @captaindorit0 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @glennacocoa@aomi-nabi @invisibledevour @wayward-river @housav @crystallstaircase@jessieray98 @logical-princey@cookiechipdough @81mysteriouslyme @deans-baby-momma @lilliannaasalla @nea90sweetie

*if your name is crossed through, it is because I am not able to tag you. Please make sure you’re open to being searched, otherwise you will be removed after three tries.

*if I forgot you, please let me know! I always feel like I’m missing someone!

*If you would like to added to the tag list, please send me an ask. I am able to keep up with them better that way!

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #marvel #Avengers #marvel series #marvel reader insert #Disney #disneyland #disneyworld #i see the light #i see the light series

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secretradiobrooklyn · 4 years

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SECRET RADIO | 9.26.20

Secret Radio | 9.26.20 | Hear it here.

“We don’t know where you are but we’re glad you’re here”

Liner notes by Evan, except * means Paige

1. Ayalew Mesfin - “Hasabe (My Worries)”

This track comes to us via Marc Hawthorne in San Francisco and is some hot Ethiopian stomp. Marc has been turning me on to crucial music for years, but I feel like both of our palates have expanded in unexpected directions lately. I love how foreign and how relatable this song sounds at once — “hasabe” really does sound like a guy singing about his worries, which makes it feel like he’s speaking the same language.

2. Witch - “Introduction”

Such a commandingly hip voice announcing the band and getting us all in the groove. Witch is Zambian rock in a pretty unhinged style — apparently WITCH stands for “We Intend To Create Havoc,” which if true is basically the greatest band name ever.

3. Erkin Koray - “Cemelim”

Every time I hear this track I think of Jefferson Airplane’s foreboding sense of dark anticipation. The added frills of shifting into Turkish bent-note vocals takes it up another level. This track is from 1974 but carries the whole psychedelic ‘60s wave forward in an unbroken wave. As we mentioned, the video is worth checking out not just because the singer/guitarist is mesmerizing or because the bassist is inherently hilarious but because their outfits are legendary. Our thanks to Brian and Mona for the heads up.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-k_Fr67bPQ

4. The Velvet Underground - “Coney Island Steeplechase”

“Lies and betrayals / fruit-covered nails” — naw, just kiddin, this song happens long before Pavement, or the Strokes for that matter. I never really understood what people meant when they said that the Strokes sound like VU, but listening to this song in headphones it kinda feels like the Julian Casablancas built an entire career off Lou’s vocal delivery on this song. And who could blame him? Lou wasn’t usin it anymore.

Hailu Mergia - “Sintayehu”

We got this record during the pandemic and it has been like a stress dissolver. There’s a tape that we got in Manhattan Kansas at a house show we played, a band called Casino Gardens, that I think of every time we hear this album. Not the same in particulars, but very much the same in spirit.

5. Divino Niño - “Melty Caramelo”

One of Sleepy Kitty’s first tours was with Divino Niño (thanks, Brandon!) just as they were assembling, and they have always been a band of fellows we enjoy as much as the music that they write. I did this set of dates with a broken bone in my swole-up, purple right hand, which I wouldn’t recommend to any drummers out there. I will say though that every single drummer in the bar that night told me that they had broken the same exact bone the same way. Not by drumming but by punching an inanimate object.

6. Moodoïd - “Je suis la montagne”

I think this song is a benefit of Paige learning French for the last couple of years. Found it on a 3.5 hour French mix on Spotify.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCuthCn8zxs

7. Sleepy Kitty - “Dreaming of Waterfalls” demo *

There are like, 7 people who have heard this song until now. This song came pretty mysteriously to me after a completely transformative trip to Kauaʻi for the wedding of ace folks and dear friends Stewart and Trenton. People who have gone to Hawaiʻi have always told me how amazing Hawaiʻi is and how it’ll change your life and it’s the best place in the entire world, and I was always like, “ok, sure whatever” until we went and now I am forever changed. I won’t get too into it here, but it’s all totally true and as amazing as they say. I can’t remember if this song was literally in the dream I had in San Diego the night we returned to the contiguous 48, or if it somehow emerged out of thinking of that dream, but it basically just appeared and I thought about it and thought about it and kept it in my head the whole plane ride back to St. Louis and recorded it pretty much immediately when we got back. I played 2 songs at our friends’ wedding on uke (where I was relieved to get approval from the Hawaiian family, ha ha) and it’s still a very unfamiliar instrument to me but it was the only answer for this song.

This is also one of a few recordings I made shortly before the first of 2 vocal surgeries around that time. It was kind of a stressful time musically; I was still figuring out what was going on, knowing something was wrong, getting hoarse all the time but not knowing what was going on yet. Learning the songs for the wedding, and this song and this recording are positive memories in what was a very uncertain period in Sleepy Kitty life. I can definitely remember the challenges and limitations of that time, but it’s great to have this beautiful little moment that came out of that time too. When I hear this now, I like it and I’m glad to have it. It transports me back to that magical place and I’m thankful to Stewart and Trenton for having us there to celebrate with them.

8. The Fall - “Arms Control Poseur” (Bonus Version) (whatever that means)

“What do you fear?”

“Being found out.”

“The why do you always give yourself away?”

After initially being repulsed by The Fall, I eventually had what felt like essentially a religious experience after falling asleep listening to them on repeat in the tour bus — somehow their perverse aesthetic had become grafted into my DNA. I became an avid proselytizer for the band, with few takers, for years. Eventually I kind of gave up, baffled both by how intensely I felt their music and how immune everyone else apparently was to it.

Cut to years later in an apartment on North Ave in Chicago, watching Paige bike up the street towards the window where I stood. She apologized as she walked her bike up the stairs. Sorry I’m late, she said, I just got caught up in the Fall. I don’t know how to explain it. You don’t understand, The Fall is not like other bands.

I literally thought that she was teasing me, and that I must have talked her ear off about the band at some point. But NO — she’d had the exact sort of conversion experience as me. In her case it was to “Extricate,” which was one of my very favorite albums, being the second one I personally owned.

Still, this record’s aesthetic is completely dominant in my life. I couldn’t even guess how many times I’ve listened to it, and it still fascinates me every time.

“I quite very very much enjoyed

his jovial lies

lying”

9. T.P. Orchestre Poly-Rythmo - “Wodeka Kpoe”

The day I found this track I was completely distracted by it. It’s so muscular and lean and intense. I love everything about the almost metallic drum sound, the dry vocals, the guitar telling its own narrative, the sharp little shaker going the whole time. It’s the closest thing to punk in Beninese music that I’ve heard. I read recently that this was on a 1983 Albarika Records comp LP (the person referred to the as “legendary,” but I don’t know to whom, or when), and when I looked it up a lot of other tracks that we love from the Soundway comp were there. But as far as I know, it’s not on any of those 21st century collections. So good!

10. Orchestre Abass - “Haka Dunia”

The cover of this 6-song burner shows a guy with a guitar behind a keyboard called TIGER 61, with his foot up on… what? the keys bench? There’s a single pedal on the floor that leads up into the keyboard. The sounds that come from that board though! This is a tone I think of as completely desirable. I guess this is also punk, this one from Togo. I mean, I have no idea what he/they think they’re doing, but to me it feels like it has all the stuff that I love in punk music.

Hailu Mergia

11. T.P. Orchestre de Cotonou Benin - “Moulon Devia”

I just realized this track can be found elsewhere, but I found it on a record credited to T.P. Orchestre Poly-Rythmo de Cotonou Benin, with a great photo of Yehouessi Leopold and Zoundegnon Papillon Bernard on the cover looking like the coolest dudes in the world cos they are. There are some great stereo panning effects, no doubt done live, on the horns at the beginning and the keys solo in the middle, which really enriches the headphone experience. This keys solo uses a suite of sounds that I absolutely love from them — and which are apparently the work of Papillon himself! I knew he was the guitarist who builds sand castles in the air of T.P. songs, but I only just realized that he’s also the guy throwing down those supper trippy Farfisa sounds! Holy smokes, that’s just ridiculous. He and Yehouessi are probably my favorite rhythm combo ever. PLUS they’ve got Bentho Gustave on bass, whose T.P. album was the first one we bought abroad. I mean, this track is so epic.

12. Patrick Juvet - “Où sont les femmes”*

I have a new awesome French teacher, who sends me cabaret songs to check out and says things like “I’m an old queen! What am I to do!” He played this song over Zoom for some live hold music while I was printing something for a recent lesson. I’m excited to hopefully hear more French music from him and also to hear more of his stories of discotheques in the 80s.

Evan adds: The video is well worth your attention as well, especially if you like red sequins glinting disco diamonds beneath deeply feathered hair.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zqc7mVZQNFo

13. Le Tigre - “Deceptacon”

This is one of the all-time top art school party songs as far as I know. And why the hell not? It’s pure Olympia, and all the hooks line up all the way down.

I video that someone made for school has essentially become the official video of the song because it’s totally awesome and fits like a pure expression of the song.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-SyBR-M2YvU

14. Themne Song Track 1

I don’t know who performed this track or what it’s called — it’s just identified as “Themne Song Track 1,” Themne being the name of a tribe in Sierra Leone. I think it might be a “comedian story teller” called Miranda T Denkenneh, but can’t tell.

I’ve been into Janka Nabay and the Bubu Gang for a couple of years now. Nabay is a Sierra Leonan musician who came to NYC and put together a band of hip NY musicians who make this rhythmically complex yet somehow austere dance music that I find totally fascinating. Reading up on them, he was described as translating the music he came from into a more electric style. Well, it turns out that is indeed the case, based on this track from Sierra Leone. This sounds like Janka Nabay but warm and large where his music is focused and tight. I totally see both how damn danceable this Themne

One of my favorite things about discovering this song is: the notes on the YouTube track are exclusively from ex-pats loving music from home and the old days, calling out their tribe and checking in from wherever they are. One guy, Ibrahim Noah Koroma, writes from Senegal:

tears fall down in my eyes when I listing dis song missing u SL 🇸🇱🇸🇱💪💪💪 I'm proud of my tribe temne 💯💪💪💪

15. The Sugarcubes - “Regina”

The setup of this song is such an angular, proggy spiky comic thing, definitely cool in its own way, but man, when it hits the chorus, it’s absolutely the most gorgeous thing. The lyrics are truly bizarre, and they’re making me appreciate how this band impacted Bjork’s later work. One thing I don’t understand: does she pronounce “Regina” with a hard G because that’s how that word is pronounced in Icelandic? Or is that just something she does?

16. Gétatchèw Mèkurya - “Ambassèl”

The more we learn about Ethiopian jazz and popular music before and after their political strife, the more there is to learn. In fact, one thing I learned about Mèkurya is that he played with Dutch socialist punks The Ex, a band I have admired for a couple of decades now, though mostly because I’m stuck on their album “Scrabbling at the Lock.” They apparently toured together in the aughties… and all of a sudden I can hear how their very different sounds actually relate very aptly. Man. That’s enough to fall in love with music all over again.

Also, one fact that must be acknowledged: Gétatchèw is maybe the best first name ever.

17. Jacques Dutronc - “Et moi, et moi, et moi”

I just dropped these lyrics into Google translate and it turns out he’s got a very identifiable brand of humor — wry, confident, diffident. He always makes me think of Dylan with his delivery.

18. Meas Samon - “Jol Dondeung Kone Key (Going to Get Engaged)”

So much feel! Those key dives just to open the song, man, I don’t even know. And the vocals are spilling over with character — it’s like watching a movie unfold. This is Cambodian, from the late sixties or early seventies. Every time it gets to the keys solos I think about how much I want Dave Grelle to hear this track, like, right now. It’s between this and Abass for sickest keys distortion to be found.

19. T.P. Orchestre - “Senamin” *

What is up with this song? We came across it and kind of set it aside, and then it was just in my head all. the. time. At first I wasn’t sure about the 1996 movie version “I’d Be Surprisingly Good For You” style sax (my LEAST favorite song in Evita) But, even so this song is so...majestic! And mysterious! The haunting melodies dancing around together at the end really got me.

20. Hallelujah Chicken Run Band - “Alikilula”

The constant interaction of 3s and 4s in Chicken Run songs never fails to delight me. The shapes of the songs are almost like Guided By Voices tracks — one good idea perfectly expressed, and then they’re outta there.

21. Antoine Dougbé - “Nou Akuenon Hwlin Me Sin Koussio”

If I could pick one album for all of my friends to spin a few times in a row… that would not be easy. But lately, that record would be “Legends of Benin,” the totally headspinning comp put out by Analog Africa. Every track is a deep insight into what rock music can be. In the liner notes, Samy Ben Redjeb takes the listener on a whole record-buying expedition through the southern coast of west Africa, describing where he picked up particular LPs, falling into conversations with some of the musicians, and generally providing insights both romantic and invaluable. (His notes on Dougbé are worth the price of admission.) In one note he mentions talking to a friend about how Africa doesn’t seem to deal well in reggae, and he considers “Nou Akuenon” one of the best attempts on the continent. It hadn’t occurred to me to think of this as reggae… and I still don’t hear it that way. But I like thinking of the band reaching for reggae and making this instead.

22. Francoise Hardy - “Les temps de l’amour”

23. Ros Sereysothea - Chnam oun Dop-Pram Muy “I’m 16”

I love how fully developed these Cambodian songs are. They’re not aping a particular song or building replicas of songs in English or French: they’re working in pop music just like anyone else. The arrangements are so tight and well structured, and everybody is adding in more than their share on their instruments. Though Ros’s voice steals the show, the backing vocals on this song are especially good as well.

24. Aerovons - “Say Georgia”

Man, one of the pleasures of living in St. Louis was learning the story of The Aerovons, a group of high school kids who got flown across the Atlantic to record at Abbey Road with all of the same gear and technicians who were busy putting together records for The Beatles… only to have the album go unreleased for decades. It’s truly a reminder to appreciate the experience itself and not just the results. These guys experienced the absolute pinnacle of the studio recording dream — there is none higher — but that’s it. None of the fame or the attendant glory, just the knowledge of what they’d been able to do together.

“Texas Thunder Soul 1968-1974”

25. Ravi Shankar - Jazzmine - “Mishrank (Finale)”

The whole “Jazzmine” album is a mindblower, and it’s almost a shame to cut right to the finale of an album that builds its case song by song, illustrating the paths that Shankar’s raga and jazz take toward each other, from “Melodic Moods” to the amazing tabla solos of “Taalank” to “Deshank (Folk Patterns)” to crest with “Mishrank,” where Zep meets jazz club meets Somalian backroom in an Indian realm. Every solo brings a ton of new information about whose voices are adding to this total experience. And more than anything, it sounds like fun.

One thing I dig about this recording is that, as far as I can tell, more than one performance of this song is spliced together into this single track. That seems like a big no-no among jazz folks, but I really don’t mind it one bit — if anything, that helps me hear the song relative to more jarring experimental tape manipulation bands.

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visionsofus · 4 years

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For your songfic, may I suggest Heart of Stone (Six)? Not all the lyrics are applicable, bc neither Wanda or Vision are Henry VIII (thank god lol), but the steadfast and enduring love and devotion that drives the song seems especially pertinent given that finale 😭. Or Simply the Best by Tina Turner? ❤️

hey anon! thank you so much for your requests ❤️

I’ve finished The Best by Tina Turner but I’m still working on the Heart of Stone prompt (please bear with me while I tear my heart out and put it back together because I wanna do the prompt justice)

please enjoy!

wanda and vision’s mixtape | read this part on AO3

synopsis: In which Wanda searches Edinburgh for Vision after she arrives late at their safehouse. When she discovers his energy signature floating around the city, she decides to follow the threads to their source. Along the journey she recalls the complications of their long-distance, secretive relationship but by the end recalls exactly why they sacrifice so much to be together.

Instead, here Wanda was halfway across the world having just landed at Edinburgh airport.

“Vis?” Wanda called out nonetheless.

Without hesitating Wanda vaulted out the window and hit the pavement below, her powers softening the landing. A flick of her hand sent her bag flying up through the open window.

Wanda looked skywards again in the lightening morning and caught site of threads of gold leading her further down the street.

Wanda started as the energy rolled around her ankles before arcing back to the door. So, he wasn’t here either.

The owner of the stand was twirling the dial of a small radio moving from static to static until he found the radio station he wanted. To Wanda’s surprise, it was Tina Turner once more:

Each time you leave me I start losing control.

You’re walking away with my heart and my soul.

I can feel you even when I’m alone.

It was true that she always carried him with her when they were apart, but it was never the same as being with him in person. Nothing could beat that.

Wanda hadn’t realised but, whether from the intensity of the moment, or the cold, little tears had started to trickle down her face, blow away by the brisk wind.

The energy was growing stronger.

In your heart I see the star of every night and every day.

She ran faster, leaping up some steps two at a time and spinning around the corner.

In your eyes I get lost.

Just as long as I’m here in your arms

I could be in no better place

There he was, looking out over Edinburgh’s fading night lights in the early morning. He turned around in surprise, immediately glamouring his appearance before he caught sight of who was there.

“Wanda,” he whispered, the illusion dropping instantaneously as she stepped towards him.

“I’m sorry,” she said so quietly that she was worried he might not hear her, “my flight got cancelled.”

“I know, I know,” he whispered into her hair. “I figured you’d been held up with all the cancelled flights from Heathrow.”

They held each other for a few moments longer, swaying back and forth a little.

“I’d always find you,” Wanda said before laughing softly, “I can feel you even when I am alone.”

“Well, I’m glad you found me.”

“I don’t suppose you’d mind if we spend the day in bed? I need to sleep off last night’s flight and recover a bit,”

“Of course not, my love,” he said raising her hand and kissing it. “You rest, I’ll pop out to get something for you for breakfast.”

Wanda sighed in happiness as they started to walk down the hill together. “I got lucky y’know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I have my perfect synthezoid partner willing to go and get me breakfast in bed despite the fact that I basically stood him up.”

Vision chuckled, swinging their hands back and forth together. “Not quite what happened, but I suppose you could say I am simply the best,” he said nonchalantly waving a hand.

“You caught me! You should have told me you knew the song before I tried to use it as a romantic line,” Wanda mockingly scolded.

“I’ll always catch you,” Vision replied, pulling her closer as they emerged after the eventful night into the city welcoming them home together at last.

#wanda maximoff #vision #wandavision #scarletvision #wanda x vision #fanfiction #AO3 #visionsofusfics

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