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duskandstarlight · 3 years

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Embers & Light (Chapter 27, Nessian multi-chapter)

Notes: Hello lovely readers! I am so sorry for the day's delay in posting this chapter. I was really poorly last week (and I'm still recovering) so I wasn't able to keep on top of my writing in order to bring you a chapter yesterday. That is not only because I found this very difficult to write, but because this is a LONG chapter. 14k words. There was so much to pack in, and as you all know, I am not one to gloss over certain elements, especially not Nessian goodness. Thank you to everyone who has sent me will-wishes this week and last. You are all lovely people and it's very much appreciated. Let me know what you think, as always. And apologies for any typos and inconsistencies—as I said, I've not been well so my brain has not been functioning like it usually does!

Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

Chapter Twenty-Seven Cassian

Frawley and Lorrian were all ready to go when Nesta came downstairs. Those ever-perceptive eyes—ice blue and brown—fell immediately to Nesta’s chest as she stepped into the hallway. But to Cassian’s relief, the witch remained relatively silent, mounting Caerleon and casting into the sky with her husband close behind her in a glow of emerald without more than a few crisp, comments.

Nesta flew on Sala. Despite knowing that she had trained on Caerleon enough the previous week to know what to expect, Cassian could not help the fear that wound its way into his mouth as beast and Fae left the ground. He needn’t have worried. Sala’s gait seemed as natural to Nesta as breathing; her legs tucked into the manticore’s flank just before the beast’s wings with a confident, determined grip and her fingers were secure in Sala’s ruff. Cassian had launched himself into the skies straight after her, watching Nesta as if he were a hawk. He knew the magic binding Nesta and Sala would keep Nesta seated despite the battering winds and any notion of gravity, but that didn’t stop him from flying a few feet below her for the first couple of miles, ready to throw himself into a nose dive should she fall.

But later, when he realised that Nesta was perfectly at home on top of her manticore, Cassian had risen to fly beside her. And when he had winked at her, his broad wings flapping to match her furious pace, the smile she had sent back had been genuine enough for Cassian to know that if he died that day, he would die happy. That he had seen Nesta offer him a true smile without any thought of stifling it, and it was beautiful.

A few miles from the camp, the four of them landed to leave the manticores in a thicket of pine trees. Cassian watched Nesta bury her face into the manticore’s neck and whisper in the beast’s ear before she wordlessly strode over to him.

They had decided the night prior that Frawley and Nesta would leave their manticores behind. It was an idea that had been met with great protest by Frawley, but in the end, Cassian and Lorrian had talked her round. They were both of the same opinion; bringing the manticores to the Solstice luncheon would probably push the already hostile Illyrian lords to self-combust. So the manticores would remain on stand-by, out of sight but near enough to the camp to intervene if necessary.

“Ready to go for a ride, sweetheart?” Cassian teased Nesta as she walked towards him.

Cassian had expected things to be strained between them since he had given Nesta the necklace. There was also the small matter that they would be publicly declaring themselves together today, but Nesta appeared wholly unfazed. If anything, she looked happy, despite the sexual innuendo which usually had her dropping swiftly into irritation. Her cheeks were stung pink from the cold air, giving her a healthy glow, and her eyes were impossibly bright in a way that made his own heart ache.

Her lack of reaction didn’t help Cassian to stop thinking about Nesta in a sexual capacity. And the thought of Nesta actually riding him… He had dreamt of her so many times now that their imagined actions had become a well-rehearsed dance. He knew what it felt like for her to straddle his hips. Knew what she sounded like when she sighed and sank down onto the length of him, his lips attacking the column of her neck. Of how he groaned so deeply that everything in him shook. Nesta’s phantom hands always weaved through his hair at the sound, and when she bent to kiss him, she tasted entirely right...

“I suppose I’ll have to make do with you,” Nesta struck back, pulling Cassian out of his salacious thoughts with a jolt. Her tone was playful, but there was an underlying edge of disappointment that told him she was fed up of being carried around.

Even though it hurt, Cassian understood. He wouldn’t want to be carted around the skies when he could fly through them. So, he only cast a new protective shield over them, knowing that Nesta would spit blue murder if he ruined her hair. He also knew that he should look presentable for once, rather than turning up in blood-stained armour and hair so wind-snarled that running a brush through it threatened to break it more than it promised to ease out the knots.

Cassian might be the Night Court’s general, but that didn’t mean it was beneath him to look presentable.

For a long, the two of them travelled in silence. To his surprise, Nesta had curled her fingers into his chest, an action which had been lost long ago with her fear of flying. The action was absent-minded enough to tell him her thoughts were elsewhere. Indeed, when he glanced down at her she looked far away.

Cassian was just about to ask if she was all right, when Nesta asked, “Sala will be ok in the forest?”

He bit back a smile at her concern. Somehow, he knew that would upset her.

“Yes, she’ll be fine,” Cassian replied sincerely. “She’s an alpha predator and she’s with Caer.”

Darting another glance downwards, he found Nesta chewing on her lip. The action made her appear even more beautiful. Cassian didn’t know how Nesta always managed to look so arresting. Sometimes, he thought it was because he saw her through rose-tinted lenses, but then someone else would make a comment, like Lorrian yesterday, and he’d know it wasn’t in his imagination at all.

“If you need her, she’ll come,” Cassian assured Nesta, locking his eyes with hers so his words held weight. “Sala is bound to your magic, just will her presence and she will find you.”

Slowly, Nesta nodded. When she unclenched her teeth, her bottom lip was swollen and flushed. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss her when they weren’t dying. Whether she’d let him. Sometimes—only rarely—Cassian thought she might. Like earlier, when he had given her the necklace and she had twisted to look up at him. It would have been so easy to cup her cheek and bow his head that little bit further. And for a second, he’d thought that was what she had wanted. Her eyes had darted to his lips, but rather than satisfaction Cassian had felt a stab of mutual fear. Because they both knew that if Cassian was to give in to temptation—if she let him and wanted it—they would not stop until their skin was bare and their bodies were moulded into the other.

Cassian fortified his ring of fire at the thought. Made it even tighter and more formidable. Blocked out the thought of Nesta’s endless skin and her unforgiving curves. Since the kerits attack on Windhaven, Cassian felt more of Nesta down that shared tether. It was still constricted, but it was enough to get hits of emotion more frequently than before. And even though Cassian was desperate to, he hadn’t dared to reach out and touch that twisted rope again.

It hurt to deny himself the pleasure of brushing against it. The urge pulsed beneath his skin, whispering her name over and over: Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

“You’re ok with today’s plan?” Cassian asked Nesta, because he needed to say something that didn’t make him think about how they would be sharing a bed later. How he would be so consumed by her scent it would be hard to breathe, let alone think. Needed to focus on the fact that today could be very dangerous and that he was willingly carrying her right into it.

It would not be like last time when she had been suffering from nightmares. This time she would be lucid. He would not be able to arch a protective wing over her and ghost his body alongside hers. It was going to be necessary torture and he had no idea whether she had yet pieced together that they would not have separate sleeping arrangements. Nesta was usually so quick to put two and two together, but she had not truly snapped or refused point blank to be anywhere near him, which made him suspect that it hadn’t yet clicked.

“Aside from being promised to you?” Nesta asked, a slight crease appearing between her brows.

The words were not vicious, but Cassian still had to snicker away the hurt. “Aside from that.”

“Yes, I’m ok with the plan,” she replied. She craned her neck up to look at him. “You’re worried.”

Cassian could not help but press his lips tightly together. He thought about denying it, but somehow he knew that she could read his expression too adeptly.

“I’m always wary before I meet with the war-lords. I’m even more wary when a meeting has been brought forward,” Cassian admitted. He cast his gaze forward to the skies, to Lorrian and Frawley who were flying ahead of them. Lorrian’s natural gait had always been faster than Cassian’s. Whilst Cassian’s wings were bigger, Lorrian’s build was made for speed. “I’ve got a bad feeling about it,” he admitted. “Marsh is a notoriously harsh war-lord, but he’s been unwell in recent years. Usually, a war-lord would not think twice to rid himself of a son who would pose as a threat. Kallon has openly claimed to have Enalius’s sword and his father has not made a single move against him, even though it threatens his position.”

“You think Marsh would kill his own son?”

Cassian snorted. “It has happened before. That, or a son would be cast out of the camp and stripped of his entitlement.”

Nesta frowned. “So, what you are saying is that you do not think that Marsh has long left to live and he is allowing Kallon to rule in his stead?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I think,” Cassian replied seriously, not at all surprised at Nesta’s intelligence. “And that means Kallon could soon be in a position of great power and influence, especially if he claims to have been chosen by Enalius to unite the Illyrians.”

They flew in silence for a few minutes. Cassian could almost hear the cogs turning in Nesta’s mind, as she digested the information he had just given her. But when she finally spoke, it was not about Kallon or the rising discontent. “I won’t be subservient.”

Cassian looked down at her in surprise. Did she mean today? “I don’t want you to be,” he said carefully. Honestly.

“Aren’t you going to remind me of the Illyrian customs and how I shouldn’t behave considering I’m a female?” Nesta asked stiffly.

Cassian frowned. Maybe things weren’t fine between them, after all. There was a sudden edge to her voice that he had heard when he had first shown her the necklace. That sharp, brittle parry that had almost seemed like she was purposefully attempting to put distance between them. He had felt her panic. She hadn’t been able to stifle that emotion before it flew down their tether. Nor had she been able to disguise the beating of her heart, which pattered at such a rate that it had melded with his own terrified rhythm.

Nesta knew what the necklace was, Cassian was sure of it. Knew by now that he had dived back into the Sidra to retrieve the gift she had refused, just as she had rejected him.

Now Cassian was no longer clouded by the fierce grip of rejection, he could not entirely blame Nesta for turning him away on Solstice. She had spent the evening sitting as far away from the fire as possible during a visit against her will. And not only had she had to fight battle trauma, but she had been forced to endure how they were all moving on without her. It was what Nesta had insisted upon, but Cassian was not stupid enough to think that it hadn’t hurt, especially when he had opened Mor’s gift and laughed along with everyone, pretending everything was fine when it most certainly was not. When it had felt as if someone had already thrust a hand into his chest and thrown out his bloody, bleeding heart for everyone to see.

To see the world through a pair of dusky blue eyes rather than hazel had everything tilted sideways, but it was necessary, he knew that now.

“No,” Cassian replied shortly, and meant it. Nesta was wild and he hungered for it. To see her chained and timid went against every fibre of his being.

“Is that not what is expected of the females here?” Nesta questioned, her voice that little more pointed.

Cassian frowned again. “It is, but I like you just the way you are,” he confessed slowly. “It is not what I would ever expect of you.”

Then, he barked a laugh, missing the sudden change in Nesta’s expression. “And you’ll find your defiance is in good company. You and Frawley are going to make a formidable pair.”

A soft snort. It was as close to a laugh as Cassian was going to get, but he would settle for it, even if it was nothing on the joy that had hit him square in the stomach a few weeks prior. He had been eating breakfast in the kitchen when he had felt it: pure, radiating laughter that had somehow ghosted into his ears and wound itself around his most vital organs. He had been out of his seat and in the skies before he had a moment to catch himself, following that tether between them that was more defined than ever before. But the cold, bracing air had done him good, and Cassian had turned sharply around, suddenly understanding that it was not his moment to share. That it was something Nesta needed to experience independently from him.

So, Cassian had waited at the bungalow for Nesta to return, every second a new form of torture. And from the moment she stepped through the front door, he had known they had reached a turning point. There was a lightness to her features that he had not seen before. As if the laughter had broken through that expressionless mask and rendered her new.

Cassian had expected to have to wait for a glowing retelling from Mas the day after, but Nesta had told him herself, a ghost of a smile on her lips as he made her breakfast and a mug of chai, listening to her talk and talk and talk.

He would have sold his soul in that moment. Would have done anything for her. But he had only sat opposite with a cup of steaming coffee and watched her eat as if she hadn’t for days. And when he had asked if she wanted to come with him to oversee his camp duties, she had nodded without hesitation, telling him she had a few hours before she was due to show Feyre around the camps with Mas.

“I should warn you that they’ll be interested in you,” Cassian told Nesta after a moment.

Nesta’s body turned stiff in his arms. “What do you mean?”

“Word has spread amongst the camps about what you did,” Cassian explained.

Mas had encouraged the widows to do as much. The monthly market set deep in the mist-shrouded valley of Empyr, was the perfect opportunity for those that could fly to spread word, just as Kallon’s recruits spread vicious discourse about the Night Court. The valley was flanked by lush forest green and cascading waterfalls, and Illyrians flew from all over the mountains to stock up on essentials, from grains and spices, to weaponry and healing medicines. It was also the location of the Illyrian festival Kharon, where once a year, Illyrians congregated to sail souls to rest down the River Styx.

Cassian couldn’t wait to take Nesta there. Was waiting for the perfect moment.

“Feyre was there, too,” Nesta reminded him, but Cassian only shook his head.

“You brought Mas back to life. A lowly widow in the eyes of the average Illyrian. You gave someone worth who was deemed as having none, Nesta. You sparked an oppressed female to lead others and finally stand up against cultural traditions that have been engrained for centuries—”

“But the males don’t see it that way?” Nesta guessed, cutting him off. Her expression did not give any indication that his praise had either pleased or irritated her.

Cassian tilted his head in a shrug, but he did not stop staring into her eyes—into the smoky blue that mesmerised him even now. “Should the dissent continue to rise, we might be forced to invoke a referendum about whether Illyria should become an independent nation,” Cassian explained. “Females have the right to vote. Rhys instated the law many years ago, much to the chagrin of the Illyrian males. I think that’s why Kallon has been targeting the females who lost their husbands and sons in the war—in the hope that their support would swing the cause in his favour.”

“But if he is behind the orchestrated attacks, then we could stop a divided nation?” Nesta asked, finishing his strain of thought.

Cassian’s smile was grim. “Exactly.”

“You think he did it?”

Cassian shrugged. “I keep thinking about those bastards who have disappeared. I would not be surprised if their allegiance had been bought by the rebellion. I’m sure they have been promised a station above the lowest ranking foot soldier. You heard Devlon, they are all exceptional in the skies, but they aren’t recognised for their talents. They have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

“What would happen if you captured them?” Nesta asked quietly.

Cassian looked into the distance—at the pine-capped mountains and the craggy mountain stone. He didn’t want to think about what would befall those males. He knew them. They were good soldiers with no sense of self-worth.

Nesta touched Cassian’s shoulder. “Maybe it won’t come to that,” she said.

“Maybe,” Cassian replied, but he knew he didn’t sound convinced.

Lord Marsh’s residence was a too-large stone building set deep into the forested mountain ledge that overhung the rest of the mountain pass. Flags bearing the Ironcrest insignia—a crested hawk eagle with its wings spread wide—rippled in the breeze, and Fae males armed with spears flanked the huge double-doors, which were made of heavy pine and punctured with black iron studs and heavy handles in the shape of Illyrian wings. The guards iron helmets were plumed with pointed black feathers tipped with white, just like the hawk that had given Ironcrest the latter part of its name.

Carefully, Cassian touched down onto the stone a careful distance from both the entrance and Lorrian and Frawley. He did not give Nesta the opportunity to step away. Instead, he tightened the arm that was still wound around her waist and curled a wing around them like a shield.

Already he felt territorial. Already he did not want to let her go.

“You stay with me tonight.”

Nesta’s head whipped up at the dead seriousness of his tone. His words were not up for debate but to his surprise, she did not hiss ‘no’ and he did not feel that silver power push against her skin. Cassian suspected that Nesta’s nerves had started to fray at the prospect of being somewhere that was not the bungalow or Lorrian and Frawley’s cottage.

He touched her hand to bring her back. Nesta stared down at the fingers that clasped hers as if she did not understand how they had got there, before she tightened her grip and turned to face him. As she met his gaze, that smoky blue latched onto him and he felt as if he was a predator who had crawled into the palm of her hand and rolled over in surrender.

“If you need to get my attention when we are inside then send me a subtle signal,” Cassian told Nesta in a quiet voice. Already there would be too many prying eyes and ears. He could already feel Fae watching him from the crown glass windows, their faces distorted by both the plain whorled glass and the stained colours of the insignia set into their middle.

Nesta frowned. “How—”

Cassian pressed his fingers gently against Nesta’s stomach. He felt the wings of her ribs and the muscles of her core. “Here,” he said softly, his heart battering against his chest. “Like you did the other day at Kanaman.”

This close up Cassian could taste the sweetness of Nesta’s breath. Could see every single one of her eyelashes and the black-blue kohl that rimmed the upper lids. Nesta was not usually one for enhancing the features she already had. She did not need to. Staring at Nesta as a human had been enough for Cassian’s breath to catch in his throat, but as Fae… she was devastating. And whilst Cassian preferred Nesta windswept in leathers and a simple braid, he could not deny that when he had found her that morning to give her the necklace, his knees had gone weak.

Yet, there was something about Nesta being dressed up which made Cassian feel as if he were at a distance from her. As if the formal garments and the tight, intricate arrangement of her braid slammed a partition between them, highlighting how he was only a lowly bastard and she was too good for him. It was why he had often kept his distance before, too fearful to speak with her in front of his friends in case she were to shoot him down publicly. And the truth of it was that Nesta made him feel like he was young again. He had played games without realising it. Ignoring her to feign indifference, hoping to hide just how affected he was by her mere presence in a room. How scared he was to let his friends see just how much his wild and vulnerable heart had been flung out before this bewitching female for the first time in centuries. Because Nesta was not like anyone else he had ever met. He had never felt like this. Not just an undeniable pull of attraction, but something deeper than lust or fancy. Something more.

It was only when Cassian spied the pyrite laying below her collarbone did he relax a little. Perhaps it was too simple for someone as arresting as Nesta, but she hadn’t rejected it. Had let him put it on her and she had not taken it off, not even when she had realised what it was. How it highlighted that painful memory that was strung between them.

She had called the necklace beautiful. Had meant it.

“What—” Nesta started, but she broke off suddenly, a flicker of recognition dawning on her face. Absent-mindedly her fingers closed around the pyrite, as if touching it allowed her to understand—to tap into his mind and read his thoughts.

For a moment, they stared at one another. Both of their hearts thumping even as their expressions remained impassive. If not for the slight stain on Nesta’s cheeks Cassian would not have known she was affected at all.

It amused him that she had thought she had gotten away with sending an emotion back without him noticing. It was the first he had felt something gentle from her, rather than a blast of emotion. And whilst the sensation had still been stifled down that constricted tether, it had touched him in a way he could not explain. That she had cared enough to soothe his torment.

In that moment, Cassian had felt wholly connected to her, but Nesta hadn't even glanced his way.

Outside of their cocoon, Cassian heard approaching voices and the clink of armour. Even still, he found himself hesitating, wanting a private moment with Nesta for a little longer before they were thrown to the vultures.

So, Cassian surprised her, raising her knuckles to his lips. Her skin tasted so intoxicating the primal part of him internally growled, but he only looked at her with dark eyes as he slowly retracted his wing — at the smoky silver that slid behind her irises, and unable to help it, breathed softly, “Pulchra.”

His lips quirked against her skin when her breath hitched. Then, slowly, he dropped her hand and offered her his arm with a smile that for once he did not have to catch and shape into something else. “After you, amore,” he said.

Nesta studied him for a moment. He watched her eyes slide past him to the stone building—to the window and the faces that he knew were staring, prying and scheming. Saw the understanding dawn on Nesta’s face that told him she had believed the kiss for show, when really it had been nothing but a perfect excuse.

And then she took his arm.

Warriors on duty armed only in fighting leathers and what Cassian suspected was a number of well-hidden knives led them to the drawing room. Stone walls lit by bobbing faelights cast dark, long shadows in the hallways and onto the faded rugs. As they turned a corner, female servants came into view laden with silver plates piled high with food. In the near distance, a wide doorframe gleamed, light spilling into the corridor and with it, the rumble of forced conversation and the clink of glasses.

One step into the bright room had Cassian on high alert and scanning for every possible exit point. As usual, the Solstice Luncheon did nothing to bring the Illyrians together. Instead, the clans remained steadfast in their own groups of lords and ladies, save for the odd stiff conversation between camps with long-formed alliances. Cassian spied Lord Condor from Forktail speaking stiffly with Devlon, and Cassian immediately thought of Lorrian. How would he fare coming face-to-face with his younger brother today? Notoriously they did not get on. Rumour had it that Lord Icor Condor had not been happy that Lorrian had been promoted from outcast to Colonel. Cassian had received a hate letter for it, not that he cared. Everyone knew Lorrian was the best equipped Illyrian to get their warriors back to a high-level of skill in the skies.

It did not take Cassian long to locate Ironcrest’s war-lord. He was sitting at a large pine table laden with Illyrian cuisine in front of the right-hand bay window. In front of him, a large silver goblet was full to the brim with red wine, as well as a plate piled high with untouched food.

Lord Anguis Marsh had always been a broad shouldered male who was unusually well-kept for a warrior. His dark hair was slicked back to feather at the nape of his neck, and he sported a hooked, crooked nose and an ugly scar which effectively splitting through his upper lip. When Marsh had been in good health, he had been known for his alarming speed on the battlefield and the vicious nature with which he gutted his opponents. Now, Cassian could not find that male in front of him.

Marsh was the eldest of the war-lords—a few millennia old, perhaps—and as Azriel had reported, his health was not what it was. The lord—or prince, as all the top ranking war-lords were referred to (with Enalius being viewed as their God and King)—had not been able to fight in the most recent war, nor had he made a point of sitting in on the War Counsel. Kallon, who was Marsh’s only princeling and son, had been denied a place on the Counsel in his stead, with Cassian arguing that it was not only because Kallon was unseasoned, but because he wasn’t intending to fight against Hybern himself. It had been a decision that Cassian knew had not been taken lightly, and he did not delude himself to think that the repercussions weren’t now stacked against him.

The prince’s declining health was far worse than when Cassian had last seen Marsh. That much was evident from where he remained seated at the thick pine table rather than standing with the majority of his guests. Although, Cassian mused, he would not put it past any Illyrian war-lord to feel so superior that they remained seated at their house table as if it were a throne.

Steering Nesta over the table to get the formalities over and done with, Cassian deliberately shortened his strides to match hers. As he did so, he tracked Marsh reaching stiffly for his goblet to take a deep drink. It did little to disguise the unmistakable tremble of his hand. Only the war-lord’s eyes remained the same as Cassian remembered; small, yellow and beady — alert and vigilant in the way that only a true Illyrian warrior was. They slid from Cassian to Nesta, before moving on to Lorrian and Frawley behind them.

“General.” A deep, drawl laced with the faintest rasp. Not as fierce as it used to be, that was for certain.

Yet, the sneer that twisted the male’s tan face as they came to a stop a few feet from the table undoubtedly belonged to Marsh. The movement highlighted the scar on Marsh’s lip, the skin crumpling as the split caused it to curl in the wrong way. “I see you brought company, bastard, when usually you do not grace us with your presence at all.”

Cassian did not let a flicker of expression taint his blank canvas. He had sent word of their intended stay well ahead of time, but Cassian knew that Marsh would feign ignorance just for the spite of it. “Yes,” he replied. “As I am sure you are already aware, Colonel Lorrian has been reappointed and is overseeing the armies aerial fleet. Neither of us would miss the Rite counsel.”

It was true, Cassian would not miss the Rite counsel that would take place later that afternoon. It was unusual that it had been moved. Usually it took place mid-January, but seeing that it was Ironcrest who was due to hold the ceremony that year, combining the Solstice luncheon and the Rite counsel made sense. It didn’t stop Cassian from being suspicious. Any deviation from the Illyrian’s deepest traditions always had Cassian’s hackles raised, not because he did not appreciate progress or the ability to adapt, but because it was not the Illyrians usual way, especially when it came from one of the oldest Illyrian war-lords.

Marsh did not acknowledge Cassian’s comment regarding the Rite. Instead, he said maliciously, “I didn’t believe there was an aerial fleet left.”

Cassian did not allow his body to stiffen. Did not allow to show how they affected him, even now. He could beat them all to a pulp if he wanted, Cassian reminded himself. He had more siphons than all of them. More Killing Power. He may be a bastard but he was a worthy warrior and better suited to lead the armies than any one of them.

So, he dropped into a voice that he saved for occasions like this. A voice which promised death and destruction and was not to be disputed. “Colonel Lorrian will oversee the training of your aerial warriors tomorrow morning,” Cassian clipped coldly, as if he had not heard the rebuttal. “And we will see how much of that rings true. I am sure Ironcrest would not have allowed their warriors to sink in standard.”

Another curl of the lip as Marsh sneered. Without looking behind him, Marsh raised his goblet with a shaking hand. A female servant rushed forward with a tall, heavy pitcher of wine. When his goblet was refilled, Marsh did not shift his yellow, beady eyes from Cassian as he lifted the goblet to his lips. His hand shook with enough effort that the contents spilled over the lip and onto his arm.

A snarl unleashed itself from Marsh’s throat, the sound not unlike a whip hitting home. The goblet thunked onto the pine table, wine sloshing over the surface. “Maya, you useless female,” Marsh chastised the female servant, whose eyes had widened with fear. “You jostled me. Get me a napkin at once or I will banish you to the widows camp and be done with you.”

The hand that was still looped through Cassian’s arm tightened slightly, and Cassian felt the threat of Nesta’s magic push beneath her skin. Training regularly with Nesta had allowed Cassian to become used to the seal of her magic. It was something which had become as naturally as breathing to him since that day at Spearhead, when they had first trained with his siphon. It was almost as if Nesta’s magic had imprinted onto his very being. When it moved, he felt it. When it blazed, he burned without fire.

As if it were the most natural gesture in the world, Cassian brought a hand to cup Nesta’s where it lay on her arm. It was a reminder to stay calm. Nesta’s job was to scout out the emotions in the room, not set it aflame.

“Father,” a male voice announced.

Cassian turned to see a male standing a few feet from them. Kallon was the imitation of his father when he had been in good health: impossibly dark hair scraped back to the nape of his neck; yellow eyes; a chiselled jaw; and sharp cheekbones. He was handsome in the way that most Fae were, and his skin betrayed his youth; the majority of brown unmarred, save for a vicious looking scar on his arm and half of a missing index finger on his left hand, which left the digit intact only to the knuckle. Kallon did not have Illyrian tattoos yet—had not seen war to earn them—and on the backs of his hands lay no siphons.

Given the steadfast rule at all gatherings for the war-lord, Cassian was not surprised to see that no sword lay either in a scabbard by Kallon’s side, or strapped down his spine, as was Illyrian custom.

“My son, Kallon,” Marsh announced with the stiff flick of a trembling hand, “who I presume you have met before.”

Cassian did not bow his head. “I don’t believe we have met in a number of years.”

Piercing yellow eyes studied Cassian. “I don’t believe I would have had cause to, considering our General does not visit Ironcrest often, and given that I was not permitted a place on your war counsel.”

An insult already and one that was not entirely true. Cassian had visited Ironcrest a fair few times over the last four months, but Kallon had never been in the training ring or with his father at the same time.

Kallon’s luminescent yellow eyes moved from Cassian’s to the female beside him. They stilled and then, painstakingly slowly, they deliberately raked a path over every inch of Nesta’s body. The movement was purposefully claiming, and Cassian suppressed the growl that came roaring to the forefront as Kallon dared to flex the claws on his wings. “And who is this bewitching female?” he asked.

Nesta had turned preternaturally still, and not one part of her body moved save for her eyes, which slid to the talons at the apex of the princeling’s wings. In fact, Cassian noted, Nesta’s posture had not changed since she had entered the house; her spine stacked tall, her chin slightly raised, those beautiful eyes lined with silver shimmering mercury blue. But there was something in her stillness that made Cassian wonder if Nesta, too, had dissected that Kallon’s good looks had a cold and unreachable quality that hinted at something far sinister. As if he used them as a way of luring in victims, much like sirens tempted sailors to the rocks at sea.

Nesta would have felt distant and otherworldly if she had not been holding his arm. If he could not feel her, ever so slightly, down that bond thanks to her lowered walls.

“This is Lady Nesta Archeron,” Cassian replied, forcing all malice from his voice.

“Oh, yes,” Kallon mused smoothly, his irises flaring as if they were an extension of his nostrils. No doubt trying to scent whether Cassian had claimed her. “I have heard of you. I can feel your power. I’ve heard others call you a witch, but I have also heard that you have taken a power that is ancient beyond reckoning. Something that is not yours.”

The princeling’s voice had dropped into a purr and a snarl roared inside of Cassian as Kallon closed the distance between them to take Nesta’s hand. His signet ring flashed in the faelight as he placed a slow, deliberate kiss to Nesta’s knuckles—the exact same spot atop Nesta’s ring finger that Cassian had kissed moments earlier.

“Such a touching story,” Kallon continued, his voice unbelievably even as he looked up at her, “about how you defended one another on the battlefield.” His gaze intensified and sharpened on Nesta as he lowered her hand from his mouth. “Rumour has it that your dedication did not last long, but who can blame you for deciding not to settle for a lowly bastard?”

The way in which Kallon straightened was slow and deliberate. He did not let go of Nesta’s hand, his yellow eyes continuing to stare pointedly at the female before him, as if he had been privy to every night she had fucked someone else and Cassian had perched outside on the rooftop.

Hot and cold washed over Cassian’s body with such ferocity it felt as if he had jumped into both ice and fire. Rage and humiliation battered against his shields, but he did not lower them. Would not allow Nesta or anyone else in the room know how much those words affected him.

But then he felt Nesta’s anger fling itself hard down their tether, the sensation not akin to a blow to the stomach. It pierced through his fire, his heart, and for a moment he felt as if he had been set aflame. He knew she had lowered her shields so she could sense others' emotions in the room, but to be reminded how much she truly felt when she let every barrier fell away was astounding.

Even so, when Nesta spoke, her voice was icy and level beyond reckoning. “Evidently that is not true, otherwise I would not be here.”

She retracted her mist-wrapped hand from Kallon with such care Cassian knew that she was considering smacking him round the face.

A low, sensual laugh that was more fitting for jovial conversation than it was here. “Do not try to convince me that you, a High Fae, has settled for the lowest born faerie? Just how poor was the offering back in Velaris? I hear there was no shortage of males in your bed…”

Cassian had stopped breathing for fear that if he did he would launch towards Kallon and use his fists to beat him bloody and blue. His shield had faltered, the fire sputtering as the words hit home like a spear to the heart.

Nesta did not rise to the bait. She only clipped, “It turns out that the only male I found to be worthy was an Illyrian bastard, so that is no longer relevant.” That chin of Nesta’s rose defiant, and with it, she grew even taller; a vengeful mighty queen looking down on her subjects with pure loathing. “And I may have been Made High Fae against my will, but I am human at heart. I believe you think them to be at the bottom of the chain, so perhaps that will help you sleep easier at night.”

Kallon blinked at Nesta, momentarily stunned. His gaze slid to her fingers, where mist was still seeping from them, curling around Cassian’s bicep. The heat was a welcoming lick rather than hot enough to burn, but the way her fire started to take form, the mist turning into a rope which blazed in coils around her forearm was enough to insinuate otherwise. And there was the fact that Nesta could will it to burn hotter if she liked. Cassian did not doubt that she could incinerate the room with a mere flick of her fingers.

The thought thrilled him. Stacked up the fire inside of his own body, his internal shields answering to hers as his flames licked higher.

Kallon did not step back, although Cassian saw the muscles in his body tense as if to fling himself out of range. He cocked his head to the side, contemplative, as if Nesta were a puzzle he wanted to figure out. And then, he slipped. For a fraction of a second his right hand fell to his hip, where a sword or knife usually hung from his weapon’s belt. But the way his fingers remained there, lingering… it was enough to tell Cassian that he was hiding something. That he was armed, even though he was not supposed to be.

And the knowledge clearly gave him courage, because he stepped towards Nesta, his eyes gleaming—

Nesta snarled, her whip uncoiling itself, the tip lashing out across the clearing with such speed Kallon recoiled.

“It’s true then,” Kallon said, his eyes bright as he took a step backwards. “Silver flames—”

But his father interjected, as if he had endured enough of his son’s games. “I do not remember inviting two witches and an Incomplete to this luncheon,” Marsh snapped.

“Scared of what we’re capable of?” Frawley asked, speaking up for the first time since they had stepped into the room. Her voice was quiet but chilling, and her ice-blue eye levelled Marsh with such a glare that Cassian found himself tensing. Frawley was not irresponsible enough to start a fight, but she had been known to provoke the war-lords when she saw fit. Usually when they insulted her husband.

“To think that you would be in the company of two females more powerful than you,” Frawley mused with the deathly sort of calm that Cassian usually harboured for himself during battle. “And that’s not to mention that one of us beheaded the King of Hybern.”

That lip twisted and contorted, but Kallon spoke before his father had the opportunity to do it himself. “I do not think that we need to thank a witch for ending a war where Illyrians were treated as disposable,” Kallon said.

A murmur went through the crowd. But that did not deter Nesta, who levelled Kallon with a gaze which had him stilling as a slow, cruel smile crept across her face. “I’m not a witch,” she vowed. “I’m something much worse.”

True silence. So quiet that Cassian could have heard a pin drop.

And that was when, without waiting to be dismissed, Cassian chose to steer Nesta away from the war-lord’s table and into the watching crowds.

Nesta moved beside him as if she were floating, as if gravity did not apply to her. Cassian challenged every stare and every curling lip they passed. When they reached the large windows farther down the room where it was less crowded, he drew them to a halt.

Begrudgingly, he dropped his arm, but then he felt couldn’t resist the temptation this partnership had granted him, so he dared to raise a hand to touch his fingers to the nape of Nesta’s neck. As well as being self-indulgent, it was also a gesture of intimacy that he thought would make Nesta least uncomfortable. It was a self-indulgent move, something that sung intimacy and was designed to stake a claim. Because he had seen the way in which Kallon had stared at Nesta. The way he had tried to scent for a bond or claim on her. The gleam in Kallon’s eyes had told Cassian he was not wholly convinced about their claim of being partners, enough for him to prod and poke about Cassian’s bastard status and Nesta’s bedding habits. To see what they said and how they behaved.

And whilst Illyrian males were not overly affectionate with their partners in public, Cassian never intended to take a wife who he did not openly cherish.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked softly.

To his surprise, Nesta did not flinch. Instead, she turned into his touch, lifting those smoky blue eyes to his as if this impromptu dance they were orchestrating was as natural as breathing. That she hadn’t just been called out on her promiscuous behaviour and her continual rejection of him.

She gave a short nod. “Please.”

Her expression, Cassian noted, might be carefully blank, but her eyes were readable to him. He had spent four months living with her. Had learnt to dissect every hollowed out stare and every dulled light whenever she was unguarded enough to let him. And whilst Cassian had expected Nesta to wear the mask she so habitually wore, her eyes were open enough for him to know that she was still angry.

Sweeping up four goblets of wine from the closest servant, Cassian tried not to mourn the loss of Nesta’s skin beneath his fingertips. Frawley flicked her hands casually at both Lorrian’s and Nesta’s drinks, turning the wine to juice before either of them had a moment to comment.

“I could do with some wine,” Lorrian confessed to Cassian in a low, bitter tone as Nesta turned to respond to something Frawley had just said. His friend’s face was wholly impassive to the outsider, but Cassian knew Lorrian well enough to catch the slightly mournful look in the Lorrian’s eyes as he glanced down into the depths of his goblet. “I give it five minutes until I have a war-lord upon me demanding for an update on the state of the aerial fleet.” He cast a slow, hard look around the room. It was a look that Cassian had honed himself over centuries of learning how to assert authority. “That being said,” Lorrian continued, “I think that could have gone a lot worse.”

Cassian grunted, the sensation making his chest jolt and his armour clink. “Speak for yourself.”

Lorrian shot Cassian an apologetic look. He watched Cassian take a deep sip from his goblet. At least the wine was good, Cassian thought bitterly, as if the silver lining would smooth over the battering he’d just received.

“If it’s any consolation, my brother has been sneering at me since we set foot in the room,” Lorrian admitted to Cassian, as if he knew what Cassian was thinking. “I’d sell my other arm in a wager that he’ll have strut over here by the end of this damn luncheon to give me hell.”

It was intended to be a joke but Cassian knew how sensitive Lorrian was about his missing limb. And understandably so. Illyrians were cruel at the best of times, but to have already been referred to as an Incomplete was enough to have a traumatised warrior drowning in a sense of underserved dishonour.

Like Cassian, Lorrian was resplendent today in his black scaled armour, and his right arm glowed a soft emerald from where he had used his magic to temporarily reinstate his limb. “At least we took Frawley’s poison blocker before we left,” Lorrian continued to mutter under his breath. “I bet the majority of this room would take great joy in our deaths.”

Another grunt from Cassian—this time one of agreement. He glanced down into his goblet which was now empty. It was not like him to drink so quickly in the company of the lords, but Kallon had Cassian’s anger pushing at his skin, ready to jump to the forefront with one sneering look.

He lifted his eyes to search for another servant, but the same female Marsh had snapped at earlier—Maya—appeared at his left-hand side with a silver pitcher of wine as if she had been watching him.

The first thing Cassian noticed about the widow was that she had large, almond shaped hazel eyes that were so light, they were almost amber. Her long, ebony hair was fashioned into a double bun at the nape of her neck—a style at odds with her servant status—and on the inside of her wrist, as she lifted her arm to pour him a drink, Cassian spied a tattoo of a sun and moon.

A twin.

Cassian was so distracted by the ink that he didn’t realise he had moved his goblet away until it was too late. The wine spilled over the rim of the cup and onto the flagstone floor, the red liquid splattering over his leg and onto the back of Nesta’s dress.

Maya’s eyes went as round as saucers and he saw the panic flood her expression in a way that told Cassian she was not treated well in the Marsh residence. Nesta turned around sharply, most presumably, from feeling the females terror with her magic.

“I—I am so sorry, my lord,” Maya stammered. Her eyes, which had been dutifully downcast, had snapped up in alarm to connect with his. “Please, let me clean this up. I—”

But Cassian only shook his head, wordlessly taking the handkerchief Lorrian passed to him and took a deliberate step backwards so Maya was deliberately placed in front of him. “I think you will find that it is me who should be apologising,” Cassian corrected kindly. “I moved my goblet.”

He turned to Nesta. “Are you wet?” he asked, holding out the handkerchief to her before even thinking about drying off his wine-covered hand.

“I’m fine,” Nesta replied, shaking her head. She had not made any movements to draw attention to herself like many other females would have done. It was as if she, too, had deduced that if Marsh was to catch wind of the incident, Maya would be cast out into the cold. “It’s only a little on the bottom of my skirts. It will soon dry.”

Maya’s eyes slowly fell to the floor at Nesta’s words. They widened in horror at the spatters of red that had already seeped into the light fabric.

“I am not wed to this dress,” Nesta assured Maya. Her usually clipped manner had fallen into something softer and more sincere. It was a voice she used with a fair few: Elain, Roksana and Mas. Sometimes him.

Sometimes.

Cassian pressed his lips together to stop himself from protesting. Because whilst Nesta might claim not be wedded to her dress, he certainly was. The floating material was the colour of dusky cornflower, a shade which made Nesta’s irises so light they shimmered ice blue. The effect was so startling Cassian’s heart had stopped when she’d opened her bedroom door that morning. If he hadn’t been so nervous he would have probably gone to hell with it all and bent his head to press his lips with hers. Instead, he had stared into those mesmerising eyes and, for a moment, forgotten the silver chain that was burning into his fist.

Avoiding the puddle of wine, Nesta stepped deliberately closer to Cassian, using their bodies to shield the spillage from the war-lord’s table. She touched his arm with her fingertips and looked up at him. “It’s nothing our housekeeper can’t fix. Isn’t that right, amore?”

For a moment, Cassian stared at Nesta, unable to process that she had not only spoke a word of Illyrian, but the term of endearment he had used earlier. Her voice was matter-of-fact, but there was something lacing the words that made him, for a stupid second, believe she meant it.

“Our housekeeper is very skilled,” Cassian assured Maya, allowing a rare smile to slip across his expression. “It won’t be an issue.”

But Maya was still pale. Her eyes slid past them, to the war-lord sat at the far end of the room.

“He can’t see you, Maya,” Cassian assured the servant evenly, as he finished wiping the wine away from his arm and sleeve. When he was finished, he wound an arm around Nesta’s waist, intending to pull her closer to his body, but she moved for him, moulding her curves against his hard lines, blocking Marsh completely from view. Jasmine and vanilla washed over him, the scent a relief. He rubbed a thumb over the fabric of her dress in thanks for playing along. For the blessing of having her pressed up against him.

“I can take care of it.” Frawley took a small step forward to close their circle.

She held out her goblet purposefully outwards, as if she were in need of a refill, and Maya tentatively topped up her a drink as Frawley subtly flicked her fingers. The puddle of wine and the stain on Nesta’s dress vanished.

Again, Maya’s eyes widened, but she was clever enough not to make any kind of movement to attract attention.

“Th-Thank you, my lord. My ladies,” Maya said gratefully, the clear relief in her voice enough to make Cassian angry. When would the injustices inflicted on Illyrians by Illyrians stop? Cassian had no doubt Maya had been mistreated, despite the fact that her twin status must provide her with a certain amount of protection. Illyrians were a superstitious race and would not risk the wrath of the Gods for casting a twin out into the cold.

In fact, Cassian was surprised that Marsh dared to keep her as a servant at all. Usually twins were the only low-born Illyrians that were established into civil society. And they were always low-born and always unbelievably rare. More often than not they were the product of lords unable to keep their cocks in their pants outside of their marriage bed.

Holding back a grimace, Cassian made himself nod at Maya as she bobbed a perfect curtsey to each of them, her golden eyes downcast and submissive, before she took leave.

Curiously, Cassian cocked his head at the widow as she quickly disappeared into the crowds, no doubt to find solace in the kitchens for a moments reprieve.

“Do you know who that was?”

Lorrian’s voice brought Cassian out of his thoughts, and he dragged his eyes away from Maya’s retreating figure to look at his friend. He continued to slowly rub his thumb over Nesta’s ribcage, the curve of her bone beneath the his skin a comfort, somehow.

“No,” he admitted to Lorrian, because he didn’t.

“That’s the widow of Halias Marsh.”

Cassian caught the eyebrows that wanted to disappear into his hairline just in time. “Marsh’s younger brother?”

Halias had not been alive in Cassian’s lifetime, but he knew that he had been a cruel male who had made Anguis Marsh look positively sweet in comparison. Whilst Anguis was known for his sharp, cunning intellect, Halias had been made of a brute strength which had led to an arrogance and dominance both inside and outside the sparring ring. It had been no secret that the brothers had an ongoing rivalry, with Halias believing he was best suited to the role of prince. When Halias had died in a fire, there had been rumours that Marsh had orchestrated his brother’s death, but those sorts of whisperings weren’t uncommon amongst the Illyrian camps, where everyone was out for glory at the expense of others.

“Yes,” Lorrian confirmed in a low voice.

“What happened to her twin?” Cassian asked with a frown.

As Cassian and Azriel’s self-appointed guardian, Rhys’s mother had done her best to teach them the history of the Illyrian camps and the war-lords family trees. They had been lessons which Cassian had found inanely dull at the time, usually because he had been exhausted from a rigorous day of training. But he did remember learning that the Ironcrest brothers had secured twins for brides. He also recalled that it had caused uproar amongst the clans at the time. Twins were rare in Prythian and a symbol of fertility, power and good luck. As was usual for twins, they weren’t of high status, but had been plucked from the mud and inserted into elevated society from birth—reared for the two princelings for when they came of age.

The tattoo Cassian had spied on Maya’s wrist was a part of Illyrian culture. When twins were born, they were marked with the tattoo of a sun and moon: separate yet integral to one another, forever entwined. They were said to be a gift from the Gods: fertile and harbouring power beyond reckoning which would be passed down to their offspring. Their wings were cut at birth. Twins were too precious to risk flying away when they could produce offspring with hearty Killing Power.

“Her twin died in the fire with Halias. I believe she was called Lyanne.”

It was Frawley who had spoken and Cassian looked at her with a frown on his face. “With her twin’s husband?”

“It was quite the scandal at the time,” Frawley said in low tones. “Her twin sister was married to Marsh but sleeping with his brother. I’m surprised you have not heard of it before.”

“Marsh loved his first wife.” It was Nesta who had spoken, and Cassian instinctively tightened his arm around her. “I felt his pain when he looked at Maya. It ran deep, as if he could not bare to look at her.”

That would explain why Marsh had not taken Maya as his wife, Cassian thought. To be wed to a replica but know that they were not the Fae you loved… The heartache would be too much, especially if the female you had given your heart to had bedded his brother, and whilst Marsh was cold beyond reckoning, it was interesting to know there was a side of him that was warm-blooded.

“I bet there’s a reason she’s not in the widows camp,” Lorrian said quietly, and Cassian’s eyes snapped to his friends so quickly his neck cricked.

His neck burned but he was too busy processing what Lorrian was saying. To think that Marsh had kept his wife’s sister in his residence so she could warm his bed when he willed it… the hairs on his arm stood up and something inside of him recoiled, even as he knew that it was incredibly likely. It would explain how well-kept Maya was. How, like Lorrian had said, she had not been turned out into the widows camp and into the cold.

“How long have you known that?” Cassian demanded quietly.

Beside him, Nesta had turned rigid. He didn’t have to look at her to know her skin had turned pale. And despite their constricted bond he felt an unfathomable icy rage force its way down the tether of twisted rope to meet his own.

He did not look at Nesta as he sent an emotion to soothe. A heat to lick against their anger until it had thawed.

He dragged his thumb across her rib cage in a slow, deliberate motion. He felt her let out a long, measure breath.

“I don’t know it,” Lorrian corrected Cassian smoothly, as if he were discussing the weather, not wanting to raise his voice so others could hear. His eyes burned when they connected wth Cassian’s. “But it would be interesting to find out, wouldn’t it?”

By the time Cassian and Lorrian headed into the Rite meeting, Cassian wanted to leave Ironcrest so fiercely that he had almost refused to leave Nesta behind. As usual, as the lords consumed more wine throughout the luncheon, they seemed to overcome their disdain at approaching rival clans. It result in the pursuit of a kind of hostile, verbal swordplay that reaffirmed why no-one had been permitted to enter the residence with a weapon.

Not, Cassian thought grimly, that it would stop any of them from magicking one with their siphons anyway.

Icor Condor—Lorrian’s brother—had been the first to stride over to them and interrupt their conversation to publicly sneer at his sibling

Despite being the eldest of the two, Lorrian had lost his right as princeling heir when he had left the camp for Frawley’s heart. When their late father had died, his brother Icor had inherited the status of war-lord, much to his pleasure and Lorrian’s disgust.

Icor was Lorrian’s sole sibling, and at a first glance, the two of them were almost identical in looks. It was only on closer inspection that one noticed the unrelenting hardness to Icor’s dark features—something that was due to the constant state of stark displeasure that hung across his expression. He was also slightly broader in build, the twisted cords of his muscles pushing against what Cassian suspected was too-small armour, and whilst Icor’s eyes were technically hazel, the majority of the time they were a light, unnerving jade.

To the untrained eye, it was Icor who appeared more formidable. But outcast or no outcast, Lorrian was the finest cut of Forktail princeling, made for the skies in a way his brother was not. And whilst Icor was undeniably an exceptional warrior—his primary skill was with the spear—Forktail’s ancestry boasted formidable warriors from the skies, and Icor had been loath to forget it.

To his credit, Lorrian had appeared completely unaffected as his brother barrelled insult after insult his way, but when Frawley’s ice eye had glowed brightly with threat, Icor had taken sudden leave, claiming that he couldn’t stand to breathe the air of someone who was not only Incomplete but a defector of his race, as well.

Nesta had dug her fingers so hard into Cassian’s armour at that point that Cassian had thought her fire might beat Frawley’s own magic to throwing itself across the room and hitting Icor square in the chest.

Now, Lorrian and Cassian followed the rest of the war-lords as they made their way to the war-room, which was situated in the right-hand wing of the residence.

They had barely had time to say goodbye as Frawley and Nesta were ushered into the parlour with the war-lords and Rite representatives partners. Frawley’s eyes had gleamed as she and Nesta floated from the room, and Cassian knew that the witch hoped to wheedle out some information from the females whilst their husbands weren’t by their sides.

The issue of oppressing others, Frawley had said the evening prior, when they were hashing out their plans, was that oppressors had a tendency to become over-confident and over-trusting in their tyranny; so sure of their unwavering power over others that their mouths became loose. And if the females did prefer to keep quiet due to fear of being found out by their husbands, Nesta would sense it.

It was, Frawley had insisted, a win-win situation, and Cassian would have been inclined to agree, if the Illyrians didn't harbour such a fear of outsiders, especially those that were not only powerful but looked terrifying, as well.

Lorrian, Cassian had noticed, hadn’t pointed that out to his wife. Nor had he reminded her that her independently moving eyes had a tendency to put Fae on edge rather than at ease.

Which, Cassian thought with a near huff of laughter, probably made Nesta the most approachable out of the two of them.

That knowledge grew inside of his mind until he wanted to howl, and he clamped his lips tightly together to stop a sound from escaping.

He supposed it was a good sign that he could still find humour in things, especially when he had a looming sense of dread that everything was about to go southward.

“She will be fine,” Lorrian told Cassian, frowning at his friend as they walked through the dimly lit corridors which were darkened all the more by heavy tapestries. “Nesta is more than capable of looking after herself, and she has Frawley with her. They are probably safest with the females, anyway.”

Cassian didn’t want to explain the reason for his expression, so he just nodded. It wasn’t as if he liked being separated from Nesta. The more time they spent together, the more he dreaded their time apart. It was a constant sort of worry that gnawed at his insides and made him feel as if someone had ripped a limb clean off his body. And since Nesta had nearly died healing Mas, Cassian had started to experience incandescent, sporadic flashes of panic that Nesta was dying and he did not know. That she was suffering and he was not there to ease it, even as reason told him that anything that urgent would fly down their shared tether.

“That’s what it was like with Frawley,” Lorrian added to Cassian, his hazel eyes discerning as they followed the hulking, retreating backs of the other war-lords.

“What it was like?” Cassian repeated, feigning confusion. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to partake in the discussion.

But Lorrian only dipped his chin. “It’s when I knew we would be chroí . After we were joined, it felt like the greatest relief, as if a spool of yarn had been pulled tight between us but now it could just… exist. Relax a little.”

Cassian thought of the constricted tether between them and the way his light was desperate to push against the inner walls, until that rope had widened into a tunnel clear of brambles.

Not once had Cassian spoken with Lorrian or Frawley about Nesta. About how he was in so deep that sometimes he thought that if she were ever to reject him again he wouldn't be able to climb out of the pit he had fallen into. Both of his friends were sharp enough to have dissected his feelings, he wasn’t naive enough to pretend otherwise. He had never introduced them to a female before, had never allowed them to get to know someone so intimately that was clearly not a friend.

Not that Cassian knew what he and Nesta were. Wouldn’t dare to ask for fear of ruining it all.

And his friends had not pressed him for more information or, to his knowledge, asked Nesta about the two of them. The latter of which he was immensely thankful for.

Yet, that didn’t mean that Cassian hadn’t felt Frawley’s ice blue eye swivel carefully between the two of them, or Lorrian’s knowing smile as Nesta joined in with his friend to torment him.

In fact, the only thing Frawley had commented on was her fondness for Nesta.

“I hope we get to keep her, Cassian,” the witch had said sternly when he had arrived at the cottage earlier that week, as if, ironically, the decision was up to him. Then, without commenting on how premature his arrival was, Frawley had waved impatiently to the back door, “She’s training with Lorrian.”

Having been thoroughly dismissed, Cassian had headed into the backyard to find the paddock to the left of the barn had been cleared of its usual horses. Instead, Nesta stood at a shooting line that Cassian suspected had been made by Lorrian dragging the toe of his boot through the mud. At the far end of the ring —20 metres or so away—stood an archery target.

His friend had not turned as Cassian drew up beside him. Instead, they had both watched in silence as Nesta pulled back the bow string with a strength that no other Illyrian female possessed before releasing it.

Together, they watched an arrow fly across the clearing and hit clean into the outer yellow ring of the target. Lorrian had still not looked at Cassian, had only kept his arms crossed firmly over his chest as they watched Nesta stride over to the target on her long legs to collect her arrows.

“You’ve met your match,” was all Lorrian eventually said, shaking his head in disbelief, before he went over to correct Nesta on her stance.

Now, Cassian glanced sideways at his friend. Lorrian’s eyes were full of a shared understanding that Cassian could not bear. So he looked away, and before he could stop the words, he admitted tightly—quietly, “It’s going to be the death of me.”

Ahead of them, the heavy double doors of the war-room came looming into view, and with it, another layer of dread. Cassian flared his siphons, breaking the sound bubble Lorrian had encased them in, and stalked into the room.

Marsh was already seated at the long, wooden table. He had left the drawing room well before the rest of them, no doubt to hide the extent of his illness, but Cassian could almost taste death on the war-lord.

The others could, too. Those sharp, beady eyes never missed a thing. And if they had not gleaned it for themselves, the way in which Kallon seated himself beside his father was enough of an indication of who was truly intending to run the meeting.

There was a growing expectancy in the air. The deafening kind that was almost like a ringing silence, even as chairs scraped against flagstones and war-lords muttered to their Rite representatives, who took a seat beside them.

It did not escape Cassian that one of Ragar’s friends was seated beside Devlon. That beside the other war-lords, Cassian recognised lordlings who had been reported to have met with Kallon all those weeks ago.

That sense of apprehension intensified, but Cassian settled his wings over his chair and waited for the first war-lord to break the silence. Even as his mind worked at a hundred miles per minute, trying to piece together what he was clearly not seeing.

Unsurprisingly, it was Icor who finally broke the silence. “A representative can’t take place in the Rite,” Lorrian’s brother sneered from where he sat opposite Cassian and Lorrian, his lip already curled as he narrowed his eyes at Kallon.

The princeling did not rise to the barb. He only settled back into his chair with an unrivalled arrogance and smoothness that made Cassian want to smack him in the face. It was an action that almost reminded Cassian of Rhys when he was playing wicked, but there was something impossibly cold and threatening beneath the movement which set Kallon apart from his brother. It made Cassian want to sit up straighter, but he did not allow himself to do it. To let others know that Kallon held his attention so fiercely.

“I am aware of that, Icor,” Kallon replied, once he had taken his time getting comfortable. “I do not intend to partake in the Rite this year.”

Not a murmur ran down the table, but the air became tight and pregnant again. Expectant. It was almost unheard of for a princeling not to partake in the Rite past a certain age, and Kallon was near twenty-five.

It meant that he would not earn siphons of his own for another year.

It was an unusual move, especially given that Kallon was trying to stake authority amongst the Illyrians. Siphons were the quickest way to earn respect amongst Cassian’s race. It was why they begrudgingly accepted Cassian.

Kallon’s birth as a princeling meant that he was born with a natural amount of Killing Power that superseded low-born foot soldiers. Azriel’s information had detailed that Kallon usually trained with three siphons in the sparring ring. That although he was green, he was better than most with the Illyrian saber. That since he had been training with the sword he claimed to be Enalius’s, he had taken to using a fourth siphon to contain the Killing Power that seemed to still be growing within him.

That, in itself, was a worry. Cassian’s Killing Power had reached its maturity at the age of twenty-five, training with seven borrowed siphons in the sparring ring until he finally earned his jewels after the Blood Rite.

The Siphon Master had not hesitated in giving Cassian siphons the colour of blood.

For the blood glory you will earn in battle, ratnik, the Siphon Master had said at the Rite ceremony, as he placed red siphons atop Cassian’s hands, on his knee caps, his upper arms… And across his heart, a flawless star ruby. Even now, Cassian remembered how the jewel had beat a deep, dark red that took on a blueish hue, as if it were kicking into life for the first time. Cassian remembered the gratification that had flickered over the Siphon Master’s face as the ruby did not shatter but became an additional heart, pulsing gently in the spring light.

“Shall we begin, Father?”

This time, every war-lord bristled as Kallon spoke. Somehow, the air became even thicker. A princeling did not order a prince. Yet, Marsh only raked his shrewd eyes over every single male in challenge, before he waved a trembling hand at his son, commanding him to start.

Kallon stood with a confidence that superseded his age; as if he were a messenger sent by the Gods and had the intention of delivering a fucking sermon. Cassian’s stomach dropped leaden to his toes at the same time that his blood began to boil beneath his skin.

Beside him, Lorrian stiffened, as if he too knew that they had been foiled, even though neither of them had yet learnt why.

“Many of you are probably wondering why my father and I have called this meeting early,” Kallon started. The princeling stood tall, his feet slightly apart, his shoulders squared, his wings held up high… A warrior’s stance. But there was something infuriatingly relaxed about his posture, as if commanding an audience was all completely natural to him.

“Tradition states that the first Rite counsel is not held until the new year, but given that Ironcrest is hosting the ceremony this year, we thought it made sense to arrange for this meeting to coincide with the Solstice luncheon.”

There was a pause in which Kallon looked around the room. His voice was too cordial for an Illyrian, especially a princeling, and if it were not for that unfathomable chill to his voice—a carved out emptiness—Cassian would have been willing to bet that he would have been sneered back into his seat. And of course, there was arrogance, too. An entitlement that came with those born into wealth.

“Since Enalius gifted our ancestors with a drop of his power and we were able to mine siphons, the Blood Rite has become the most important tradition in our culture,” Kallon continued. “Illyrians produce the best warriors Prythian has ever seen. Our bloody history shows that whilst we are perceived by High Fae and many others of our kind to be the lowest of faeries, we are triumphant in battle and far supersede not only the Night Courts forces, but the forces in every other court. We Illyrians are relied upon for our gifts, but we are treated as disposable when our talents are not required. The recent kerit attacks on our camps has highlighted what we have known for centuries; that the Night Court does not care about our race to provide sufficient protection.”

Another cessation of speech for what Cassian expected was not for Kallon to catch his breath, but to allow his words to settle. All of the war-lords and representatives remained eerily silent, and whilst they had originally sat forward as if they were waiting to jump in and protest, they were now stock still, drawn in by the words that they all already believed to be true.

“We suffered many losses in the war against Hybern,” Kallon pushed on. “Forces across all of our camps are drained and depleted. Whilst the Rite is an important part of who we are, the loss of more Illyrian lives would be the greatest sin. Enalius gifted all of our families with a drop of his blood so we could ensure that the Illyrian lines did not die out. That we could continue to perform our duty to honour and protect. My father and I have called you here today to consider a hiatus on the Blood Rite. To focus instead on strengthening our troops rather than inflicting more bloodshed upon our kind.”

Silence fell again as Kallon stopped talking. As, with a sweeping look around the table, the princeling sat back down and leant back into his chair with a superior expression on his face. No doubt a sense of achievement that he had captivated the hostile war-lords for enough time to say exactly what he intended. To plant the seeds in the minds of those who already did not look favourably towards their High Lord’s rule.

Lord Alcathoe was the first to snap. The war-lord from Swallow’s Ridge leant forward, his expression dark and openly aggressive. “The Blood Rite has been performed every year without fail. What claim do you have to suggest a hiatus?”

“We have not ceased the Rite in the aftermath of war before,” Lord Hamel added. Hamel’s voice was monotone and bored, but Cassian had learnt from his many visits to Craggs Peak that the war-lord was as vicious as any of the other males around the table—worse than some, actually. One misplaced word and the war-lord was known to explode.

Cassian thought it only a matter of time until everyone at the table witnessed it.

“I don’t think a young whelp who has not fought in a war or earned his own siphons should be leading a discussion in which he has no place.”

“Watch your mouth, Hamel,” Marsh snarled in warning. “My son is smarter than all of your offspring, both the bastards and your true heirs. If you have any true heirs, that is.”

Hamel’s answering snarl had him rising out of his seat. The war-lord’s face had turned purple with rage and his teeth were bared. Spittle flew across the wooden surface of the strategy table. “If you weren’t already on your death bed, Marsh, I’d—”

“It is true that I do not yet own my own siphons and that I have not yet fought in a war,” Kallon interrupted, standing again with a flare of his wings. The sound snapped around the room, like a nine-tail whip cracking against skin. “But I see what our race has suffered at the hands of the Night Court. We are treated as expendable and as bodies rather than being valued for who we are and what we stand for. To put a hiatus on the Blood Rite will allow us to become stronger. It will allow our warriors to become proficient in the art of battle and for our numbers to rise. We cannot afford to lose any more warriors.”

The blood in Hamel’s face was slowly draining from purple to red. Still angry, but not as if he was going to self-combust. The war-lord had sunk back down into his seat, and it was clear that an internal conflict was going on in his mind; as he decided what held greater importance, his hatred of Anguis Marsh and his son, or his opinions on Night Court affairs.

And the issue was that whilst there were statements of Kallon’s that were wrong—namely that the war was not an Illyrian cause and that Rhys saw the Illyrians as disposable— the princeling was also right. The Illyrians could not afford to lose any more warrior blood in the upcoming Rite. It was an issue Cassian had deliberated over repeatedly. One he had brought up with Rhys and Azriel. A problem they had decided not to interfere with for fear that it would set the Illyrians against them even further.

But what Kallon was doing… it was clever. It played on the Illyrians sensibilities and the ever-growing notion that they should not be ruled by Rhys’s hand. And if Kallon could get the war-lords to agree… he would be seen as a martyr, whilst the Night Court would be viewed as complacent in further deaths of the Illyrian race.

It would gain him support amongst the most influential of the Illyrians. It would strengthen the dissent. And if the war-lords made it clear that they were openly opposing Rhys’s rule, then many more Illyrians would follow their example.

As if Kallon knew he was triumphant, he pinned Cassian with a stare. “Do you not agree, General? We have suffered the death of an entire aerial legion, plus many of our strongest warriors against Hybern. Surely you cannot argue that we should go ahead with the Blood Rite rather than strengthen our forces before we allow ourselves to suffer any more losses?”

Cassian and Lorrian were rabbits caught in a hunters snare and Kallon knew it.

“The Night Court agrees that we cannot afford to lose any more males in the Blood Rite,” Cassian replied, his voice so deep and commanding that he did not recognise his true self—the part of him that was not General but Fae. “Should another war come to Illyria, we need to ensure we can protect our kind and those throughout our court. A reprieve from the Blood Rite is the best way to prevent further bloodshed.”

A growl sounded from Icor. It was an abrupt, guttural sound that sounded too much like a temper tantrum. He had no doubt been expecting Cassian to side with him. “You have not answered the question, princeling. What right do you have to suggest a hiatus?”

Across his cruel face, Icor looked briefly triumphant. A petulant child believing he’d won a game rather than contemplating the life or death of his best warriors. “So tell me, what right do we have to interfere with the will of our warrior Gods?”

“My son has been chosen by the Gods. By Enalius himself.” Marsh’s grating voice was deep and commanding. Forceful.

A dismissive snort. “I do not think—” Icor started, but Marsh dismissed Forktail’s war-lord entirely, and looked towards his son. His heir.

“Show them,” Marsh ordered Kallon with a wave of his hand.

The princeling turned his head in a way that was more automaton than Fae. He looked towards the doors, where a male steward wearing Ironcrest colours stepped out of the shadows.

In that moment, Cassian wished Nesta was in the room with them, if only to sense the emotions of every single war-lord as their lofty expressions turned carefully blank. As their eyes fell to the sword laying atop a velvet-crushed cushion the colour of mustard.

Enalius’s sword. Or at least, a sword with ancient magical properties.

Cassian could feel the hum of it in his blood—his magic—turning over inside of him, pressing against his skin as if it was trying to leap from his body and join with the steel. His siphons pulsed, his star ruby beating like a star-blessed heart. And from the look on every other males face, they could sense the magic of it, too.

The sword looked exactly as it did in the drawing printed in Heroicis. The sword Cassian had committed to memory as a youngling, as he stared at that inked drawing—the only thing he could understand as an illiterate bastard trying to make sense of a book full of words. The blade was arced, the steel etched with the Illyrian marks of glory that each of the war-lords wore on their own skin. The curved bone pommel gleamed as if it had been recently polished, even though the handle looked well-worn and cracked.

Just as Frawley had reported, the oval jewel was missing from where it should sit on the wide guard.

Cassian knew without Frawley having to confirm it—with a certainty that was completely devoid of doubt—that Kallon was presenting them with Enalius’s sword.

And worse, that the princeling would gain the begrudging respect of the males around this table for it.

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

#embersandlightfic #embers and light #nessianfic #nessian #nesta x cassian #acotarfanfiction #acotar #acofas #acosf #cassianfic #cassian #nestaarcheron #nestafic

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

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Callisto (Arrival - Bit 2)

Prologue Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2

Well, these posts seem to be getting longer. I’m pondering if I should make them shorter and more often.

As always, many thanks to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 @janetm74 and @onereyofstarlight for their amazing support and who without putting up with my crazy this fic would likely not exist.

We are finally there and things can start happening. Wow, planning makes for longer fics apparently.

I hope you enjoy it ::hugs you all::

-o-o-o-

As the rest of the family exited the cockpit, Michael watched John deploy the last of the long chain of communication buoys into orbit around Callisto and held his breath.

The space monitor was frowning at his console as they both waited for that final connection to click into place.

A moment and John’s face relaxed.

And Michael with it.

His own board flashed up with a connection confirmed through the chained micro-tunnel drives.

John hit his comms. “Tracy Island, this is Thunderbird Excel. Do you copy?”

They waited.

A heartbeat.

“Thunderbird Excel this is Tracy Island. Great to hear your voice, John.” Even Michael could hear the smile in Kayo’s voice. “I have a lot of green and pretty lights here. Send me the tests and I will bounce them back.”

“Sending now.” John’s fingers darted across his board and Michael watched the system take on the workload and churn data all the way back to Earth. “And I must say, Kayo, it is lovely to hear your voice, too.”

“Looking forward to hearing yours often. Data incoming. Will apprise results.”

“Looking forward to it, Thunderbird Excel out.” John’s fingers flicked again and the comms signal closed.

“Thunderbird Excel?” Michael arched an eyebrow at the astronaut.

John shrugged. “Well, I think she’s earned it now, don’t you?”

“Mmmm.” He looked back down at his board. The thought of having contributed to creating an actual Thunderbird...

He was startled when a shadow passed over his hands. “You’ve done well, Michael. Thank you.”

He looked up at the red-headed Tracy floating beside him. John was an enigma. He was a brother like any Tracy, but unlike the eldest who hated him with a passion that saw no border, John was quiet, even kind. Michael had been working alongside Brains and John and occasionally the youngest, for over a year now, and while he doubted he and John would ever be close friends, there was a mutual respect.

Plus, the distinct feeling that if Michael ever laid a finger on any of John’s brothers ever again, he would not survive the attempt.

It was definitely the quiet ones who should be worried about.

Not to mention Eos.

Michael really wished he could get his hands on that piece of code.

But again, he felt that it would be his last action in this universe.

Not that John had ever threatened him.

He didn’t need to.

“Are you feeling okay?” Turquoise eyes were peering down at him.

“I am well. No need to worry.”

The astronaut smiled. “Good. Monitor the comm network and liaise with Brains regarding the T-Drive’s performance. Let’s see if we can cut down on the jumps on the way back. I’d prefer to go through as little of the nausea as possible.”

“Agreed.”

John arched an eyebrow and his lips curled up. “I’ll be in Thunderbird Five assessing the danger zone and coordinating with Thunderbird Three.”

“FAB.”

The astronaut stared at him for just an extra moment longer before pushing off Michael’s console and throwing himself towards the cockpit exit.

“Thank you, John.”

A flicker of a smile and the last Tracy disappeared through the door, leaving Michael alone.

-o-o-o-

Virgil hated the IR spacesuits. They were far too tight and left nothing to the imagination.

Also, the red baldrics clashed horribly with his green stripe enough to rip his eyeballs out.

But although his standard uniform was satisfactory for short forays into space, it was not enough for a space mission of this magnitude as it did not have the survival and safety mechanisms needed in an emergency. So, here he was dressed like some kind of spandex wearing superhero, his heavy lifting muscles providing a great anatomy lesson to any within eyesight.

“Looking good, Virg.” Gordon’s eyes were laughing.

“Shut up, Fish.” The aquanaut was used appearing all but naked in front of thousands. Hell, Virgil had nothing to be ashamed of, it was just difficult to keep a straight face in a professional capacity.

How the hell John lived in one of these things was a mystery Virgil had no interest in exploring.

The alternative was wearing something like Alan’s spacesuit, but that had its own issues regarding his exosuit and despite the...exposure, this was the best option.

At least he had a little security with the addition of his exosuit support padding and his harness – never leave home without it. That and his baldric covered a little of his modesty.

Didn’t stop his brothers’ comments though.

Alan actually snorted in laughter.

Scott raised an eyebrow, but then their commander was dressed the same and, much like John, was giving the Greek gods a run for their money in the process.

Virgil felt like a dwarf from The Lord of the Rings. What was his name? Gam? Gim? Gimli? Standing next to that bleached elf.

Virgil grunted. “Let’s do this, already.”

Okay, the grin on Scott’s face was both worth it and damned annoying.

Dad had chosen a version similar to Alan’s suit. Due to his health concerns, Virgil had recommended extra support with arm guards and greaves built into his boots. He had glared at Virgil, but Virgil was a Tracy and just as stubborn as his father and if he wanted to go on this mission he could damn well meet him halfway.

Dad wore the protection.

They had Uncle Lee’s ‘space skivvies’ measurements on file and the IR fabricators had churned out an IR uniform echoing their father’s. Considering the astronaut’s skillset, Virgil had coloured his baldric stripe as green as his own and thrown in some of his own kit.

The colour combination still ripped out eyeballs.

Thunderbird Three was nestled into the Excel much like she had been into the XL, but higher up, leaving the massive thrusters behind her and nestling instead of providing the main superstructure of the craft.

To compensate for the loss of One and Two, the Excel now had a third engine on her dorsal plane to offset the two massive pectoral lightspeed engines. Together the three engines provided the huge ion thrust needed to propel them vast distances. And when the T-Drive was required, the third would go dark, the original two engines would flare up and give him his next case of nausea.

Three still connected with Five for extra stability, but she was no longer mandatory for the Excel. Where the XL had basically been an exosuit for Three to break the lightspeed barrier, the Excel was now more Five’s exosuit as she was the one Thunderbird the Excel needed to operate at her best.

Johnny’s ‘bird now had wings.

Very, very big ones.

The cockpit was crowded but quiet as Alan smoothly disengaged Three from the bigger craft, spinning her in space and pointing her towards the moon.

Virgil shifted in his suit, uncomfortable as hell. Not enough to be world ending, but annoying. Beside him, his father glanced in his direction with a concerned frown.

“Are you okay, son?”

That, of course, prompted an equally concerned frown from Scott in front of him.

“I’m fine.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he could live with the suit. His arm was still aching and his stomach had yet to forgive him despite the food he had shoved into it, but he could probably get away with that.

The worst of it was the lack of sleep.

Scott’s eyes were far too knowing.

The medic in him knew that they were going into a potentially dangerous situation. Hell, they were in space right now, not exactly Tracy Island’s pool patio for relaxation. They needed to be alert and ready.

He had tried to sleep. He had sent all of his brothers to nap during the voyage out here. But he doubted any of them managed much.

He certainly hadn’t.

Scott knew because Virgil could see it reflected in those blue eyes of his. He still looked worn, though he tried to hide it, ever the professional.

Dad.

Dad was still looking at him with questioning eyes.

Virgil sighed. “I’m just tired. I can manage.”

Those lips pressed together, obviously displeased.

Typical.

His father was so like Scott in so many ways that having both of them to contend with on this mission was going to send Virgil grey.

It was okay for them to go out on a limb, risk their lives for the greater good, but if someone they cared about did the same, they were all worry and you can’t do that.

As if to emphasize that thought, his father’s frown fixated on Scott. Virgil followed his gaze, but from his angle could only see the back of his brother’s head.

Another glance at his father and the concern was clearly there.

Perhaps something was starting to sink into Dad’s head. Maybe he was realising what he was risking.

Who he was risking.

Three shook a little as she breached the minimal atmosphere of the moon. Alan was muttering orbital calculations. Each large planetary body was different and required a catered approach.

The Base had sent vectors and the conditions that constituted ‘weather’ on the barren moon, but there were many firsts in this mission and this was one of them.

For the benefit of the rest of them, Alan threw up a hologram of their approach.

The massive crater known as Asgard swelled on the screen. It was very bright, even in the weak sunlight. Probably ice. To the north of it lay an even brighter splash of white, rays extending out across the heavily cratered surface for miles.

As they sank, the horizon formed in a sharper curve than Virgil was used to. Sharper than Mars which was the only other planetary body beyond Earth’s Moon Virgil had ever set foot on.

“There it is.” Alan, ever enthusiastic in his element, pointed out a spot quickly growing on the display. “Callisto Base.”

It was a white cross with a massive airlock at its centre. Surrounding the arms of the cross was machinery, storage tanks and energy production facilities. It shone ever so bright, like a blunted star plastered on the side of the moon.

As they drew closer, the Tracy Industries logo could be seen branded across the airlock doors.

The base was a massive endeavour. Almost entirely underground taking advantage of a small crater in the Doh crater wall, it had capped the landform and sealed off the space creating a series of caverns to house the transport ships moving between the Base and the Jefferson or any other destination they chose.

Entirely self-sufficient, TI’s hydrogen technology gave it power, TI’s heavy duty excavation equipment gave them the power to dig the base out of the rock and ice. It had helped to find unexpected caves under the surface. All and all the Base was a robust structure, protecting its fifty-odd inhabitants from the hazards of living on an exposed and radiated moon.

“Callisto Base, Thunderbird Three requesting permission to dock.” Virgil was suddenly irrationally proud of his little brother.

Commander Walters answered immediately. “Permission granted Thunderbird Three. Hold in the airlock for repressurisation and permission to proceed.”

“FAB, Callisto Base.”

“One of these days, Jeff, you are going to tell me what that means.”

Both Alan and their father snorted.

As they approached, the big airlock doors slowly began to open, splitting the TI logo in half. The hologram stayed fixed on their destination, but Three pivoted her nose to the darkness of the sky bringing the ever-hovering presence of Jupiter back into view through Three’s windows. Alan flicked a wrist and the Thunderbird started lowering into what was now a gaping maw below.

Three slipped into the airlock and the doors closed behind them.

-o-o-o-

Alan was a professional, but he had to admit that he was internally bouncing around in joy. The air was still thick with tension, his family caught up in this thing with Dad, but Alan was doing his best to ignore it and focus on his job.

And oh my god, he was landing on his second moon of Jupiter! This had to be a first. He could go down in history as the first person to land on several moons, another planet and multiple random comets and asteroids.

Okay, so Virg and Scott had been with him, even Gordon on Europa – that had been one hell of a mission that still gave him both dreams and nightmares – but he had been the only one to land on all of them.

Alan Tracy, astronaut extraordinaire. He couldn’t help but grin as the airlock repressurised and the Callisto Commander finally gave him permission to land.

He slowed his ‘bird to a perfect touchdown as the secondary airlock doors closed above him.

He killed her engines and let her begin her cool down sequence.

The whole cockpit sighed a little in relief. A pause as if to reset and then everyone was moving.

-o-o-o-

Gray Walters rubbed the back of his neck as Thunderbird Three coasted smoothly from the decontaminating airlock into the main hangar. The pilot of that ‘bird had to be a Tracy. The huge red rocket barely fit nose to tail with only inches to spare between the two massive sets of doors. After all, they had never expected such a large craft needing to dock.

He had Kate to thank for arguing the hangar’s size...with Ju backing her up as usual.

The thought of his wife froze him for a split second. Ju was going to be okay. Jeff was here now. He had always been their good luck charm. Hell, the guy had survived eight years in space alone. Ju could manage a few days.

Couldn’t she?

“She’s docked.” Mary, his second, looked up from her station. “Shall I shunt her into a bay?”

“Leave her in central for now. We’re not going anywhere and they may need to leave in a hurry.”

“That will piss Benji off.”

“Benji can stew. His team still has a week left of their Jefferson rotation.”

“He will cite regs.”

Gray turned away. Let him cite regs. “This is an emergency and takes priority.” He sighed. “Run decon in the central core. Anyone not crucial to this operation is to steer clear of International Rescue. Lock off environmental systems. Keep the two crews contained to keep the risk of contamination as low as possible. We can’t afford an accidental bug in the system.”

“Will do.” She paused before bringing up the topic he knew she would. “What about Jeremiah?”

“What about him?”

“You need to tell them.”

“One thing at a time, Mary.”

“But-“

“First we find Kate and Ju.” He swallowed. They had to find Ju.

They had to.

-o-o-o-

Stepping onto a new world was never as grand as it appeared. Hell, landing on Mars for the first time had been a trip over his own toes’ moment.

Stepping onto Callisto was no different.

It was Scott who grabbed him before he could flip head over heels across the gantry. Changes in gravity always took time to get used to and less than twenty-four hours ago, it had been Earth oppressive.

Callisto gravity was a relief…if a little disorientating.

His eldest’s strong grip wrapped around his arm and held tight. Jeff looked over at Scott and was pinned with such worried bright blue eyes that his heart clenched.

All the tension, the argument, the resistance to his presence on this mission boiled down to the emotion in those eyes.

Love.

And fear.

Scott was terrified.

Jeff did it without thought or care for what anyone would think. He grabbed his son and yanked him into a hug, holding him close. The squawk across comms and the scrape of their helmets against each other did nothing to stop him.

“I’m sorry, son.”

“Uh...”

Scott’s arms wrapped around him, ever so hesitantly.

That hesitation hurt almost as much.

He clung that much tighter.

“Dad?” It was breathless.

He clung a second longer, but… Yes...right.

It was a moment stolen.

Because they were on a mission.

Jeff let Scott go.

His son pulled away slowly, not quite fully releasing him, and again those blue eyes were fixated on him in worry.

So much worry.

“You okay, Dad?”

Jeff straightened with more ease than he had managed in a long time and became aware of all the other eyes on him.

The ever-present echoes of Lucille’s beautiful brown eyes were assessing him. That was a given. But another two pairs of blue and a frowning fishy amber had him targeted as well.

He looked at each of them before turning back to the massive cavern around them. A mix of rock wall, structural support and storage, the docking cavern was lit with strong lighting, the red of Three reflecting on patches of frozen water embedded in the walls.

They were standing on a walkway that had been extended out to Three’s hatch. It was obviously of variable height and length and Jeff couldn’t help but admire the design.

He wondered who was responsible.

He wondered if it was Kate.

Her green eyes smiled at him at the back of his mind.

His lips pressed together as his sons and brother-in-law continued to shoot concerned expressions in his direction.

A breath.

“Let’s do this.” And he led them out and into Callisto Base.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Alan Tracy #Jeff Tracy #John Tracy #the mechanic #callisto #Gordon Tracy

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aprxl-showers · 3 years

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klance x pirates of the caribbean

bc apparently when i'm upset i listen to newsies live and think up weird klance aus

in my head this could go one of two ways:

keith and lance as will and elizabeth

keith and lance as jack and will (i'll explain later)

a lot more under the cut bc i got a bit carried away...

if it follows the canon love story i picture lance as will and keith as elizabeth. (i could see it the other way around bc keith could be the orphan pirate boy but i’ve written too much to go back now).

when they were young, keith was on a ship with his father and he spots lance on a piece of driftwood. they save him ofc and keith spots a jewel necklace around lance's neck. he takes it and later has it fused in the hilt of his mother's knife that is now his.

keith hates being the governor's son with a passion. he hates the formality of it and how restrictive it is. lance is the weaponsmaster's apprentice (that's how he gets good with a gun) and he is always under appreciated! give this guy some recignition!

anyway, he has been silently pining for keith for ages. little does he know, keith kind of likes him too. a lot of mutual pining has been going on for longer than either can recall.

anyhoo, pirates invade the town and kidnap keith. he puts up a fight but in the end he's outnumbered and taken aboard the ship as leverage. he says his surname is mcclain bc it's on his mind. wink wonk. captain of the evil pirates is zarkon and when the pirates who kidnapped keith hand him the knife he realises it is the jewel that can break their spell. since keith uses lance's surname, he also thinks it is keith's blood they need to finish the ritual since lance's family are the one's who sent the jewel away with lance. but it's not. obvs.

lance, after saving a baby, watches keith get taken in horror and tries to call out but is knocked out before he can act. once he's awake he hears that there's a pirate who was caught in the dungeon. that's allura. yes, eccentric captain allura is a choice i am making.

lance manages to break her out of jail, thinking she is one of the evil pirates and he can persuade her to help him. she is not but decides to help him anyway in an attempt to retrieve her ship 'the voltron' from zarkon. the two of them go off on a quest to save keith.

meanwhile, hunk and pidge are guarding keith. they are new recruits to zarkon's crew after their other crew threw pidge out when they discovered she was a girl (silly pirate superstitions). hunk went with her. they are easily persuaded to help keith bc zarkon's a meanie and promise that they'll help him out when they make it to land.

lance and allura arrive on an island and find coran who is allura's closest friend and ally. shiro is also there. he has a peg arm (is that a thing? idk it's a weird mechanism but it does the trick). coran explains that the ship keith is on is cursed and they will be going to the mysterious isle of daibazaal to break the curse.

they get there and watch zarkon attempt to break the curse using the jewel (which he pried out of the blade) and keith's blood. nah, it don't work. they still turn into creepy looking skeletons in the moonlight. damn. he threatens keith and then all hell breaks loose bc lance shoots him. it would have definitely killed zarkon but he can't die bc... the whole undead thing, and in doing so all lance does is reveal their position. they fight a bit, as you do. keith gets hold of a sword and kills three evil pirates in about five seconds. lance falls a little bit in love with him.

in the midst of the battle, lance makes a deal with zarkon that he will stay if keith and the others can go (this now includes hunk and pidge bc they helped keith get free). lance is stripped of visible weapons and zarkon agrees to break the curse immediately. lance cuts his hand and drops the jewel into the chest.

then he grabs keith's jewel-less knife from where it lies beside the chest. zarkon, distracted, doesn't notice until the blade is buried in his gut. he dies. keith and the rest act immediately and kill any other pirates who don't surrender. keith kills an evil pirate about to shoot lance.

they return keith in exchange for allura, coran, shiro, pidge, hunk and lance's pardon. keith expresses his wish not to be governor in the future and allura invites them on 'the voltron' ship with her since she reclaimed it from zarkon. keith and lance then have a moment where they thank each other for saving each other's life. keith thanks lance for coming after him and lance confesses. it's all very sappy and they kiss for ages.

lance is still will. i stand by everything i said about him in the previous version. his parents caused the curse to endure and sent him off. but instead of keith finding him, it's allura. she's the governor's (in this case, alfor's) daughter. she takes the jewel and keeps it as a necklace. lance and allura are more like besties but they're not really allowed to see each other because of their differing classes.

keith arrives and escapes the navy. hides in weaponsmaster’s shop. lance tries to fight him but he’s not as good with a sword as he is with a gun. lots of sassy banter where lance is tryna be noble and keith doesn’t care for it.

anyway, we sort of know what happens. allura gets kidnapped and uses lance's surname bc they had a conversation beforehand. lance stresses, hears about a pirate they captured, assumes it's one of the evil ones he can persuade to help him.

but instead he gets keith who he met earlier. in the time they’ve been apart he’s got himself landed in the dungeon. and he’s notoriously one of the most stubborn, grumy pirate captains in all the seven seas.

he's overall unimpressed with lance as a person and with his plan, only agreeing when he realises he might be able to get his ship, this time called 'the red lion', back. lance decides he's going to prove himself to keith. he doesn't know why he's so offended by a pirate's opinion but he just is. hmmm...

they pick up shiro and coran, pidge and hunk promise to help allura out yada yada yada and they start making their way towards the island.

they run into lotor and his crew (acxa, ezor, zethrid etc) who are unrelated to zarkon and that whole... thing but they're your typical pirates and they want their stuff. which is annoying af bc allura is missing and they have somewhere to be thank you very much.

they put up a good fight. lance has plenty of opportunities to impress keith with his pistol skills. consider keith very impressed and mildly enamoured. but he doesn't do feelings so he stuffs them down inside him as you do. they win and move on. afterwards keith asks lance where he learned those moves and lance tells him stories of his time in the weaponsmaster's workshop. they bond.

they get to the island and find allura. they fight and keith and lance save each other's backs too many times to count. lance has a revelation (inconveniently mid battle) that he actually really likes this. this is fun. this is exciting.

then keith fucks up. he says that he'll hand lance over if zarkon gives him his ship back. lance is fucking fuming and feeling very betrayed and hurt bc he actually felt like he was getting somewhere with keith. keith gets what he deserves though bc zarkon dumps him and allura on an island and takes lance away.

while they're on the island allura knocks some sense into him regarding his life generally and lance specifically. she tells him loads of cute lance-as-a-teenager stories and keith feels awful. he helps her light a signal fire using some rum he has on his person.

they spot the ship alfor sent to find allura. they persuade them to go to where lance and the rest of the crew is. keith tries to act like he's on zarkon's side when they get back to the cave and then he takes one of the cursed jewels so he's now immortal. aha! while this is happening allura has infiltrated zarkon's ship, 'the red lion', so shiro, coran, pidge and hunk can be freed.

allura then frees lance from where they were keeping him in the hull. lance runs to where keith is. they share a look. keith cuts his hand and throws the jewel to lance who does the same and drops it into the water. the curse is broken. keith goes to grab zarkon's sword so he can kill him but zarkon grabs him by the throat. lance shoots zarkon in the side before keith can pass out. he runs to keith who has collapsed. keith apologises and thanks him and promises not to betray him again. lance laughs, says he better not and helps him up.

they return allura safely in exchange for their pardon. keith asks lance to join the crew of 'the red lion' and gives him loads of reasons that are really just disguised compliments. safe to say lance kisses him senseless and they run away together, sailing off into the sunset. bc. klance. there's got to be a sunset somewhere.

hope you liked my what-were-meant-to-be-headcanons-but-just-became-plot-summaries!! i promise i’ll post some general pirate voltron headcanons unrelated to this au at some point. i wrote a pirate au piece for klance au month on my ao3 so some might be related to that?

if you want to send asks or whatever that would be cool - even if they're just random ideas for the au or changes/additions to the plot. i also might write little snippets for this at some point (i’ll tag them under ‘kl potc au’ like this post) bc i'm suddenly crazy invested so if you have any scenes from this you want (from version 1 or 2 or any scene in the plethora of potc movies) send a message and i'll probably get around to it :))

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selfships-in-spanish · 3 years

Text

The Queen of Demons

Pairing: Erwin Smith x OC, Levi Ackerman x OC

Rating: Gen (the rating will go up as the story advances! But it will totally be explicit ;D)

Warnings: None for now, but sexist and misogynist upbringing (Eva's father is a huge asshole).

Word Count: 2.085

ALSO POSTED ON AO3

A/N: This is it! The first chapter of the Arranged Marriage!AU I've been working and drawing about! I'll be posting it on AO3 too since I don't know if Tumblr will screw me over again and give me trouble for posting text >_> This wouldn't be possible without @spirit-in-the-library's help, so I got so much to thank my friend for <3 I really hope you enjoy the story, I've got so much written and planned already jajajaja Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1: THE PATH TOWARDS PERDITION

The scenery before her was breathtakingly beautiful, although it sent her a chill down her spine as she knew she went further into the unknown and her sealed fate. Snow was pretty, but silent and deadly too, and these woods weren’t familiar to her. The serene landscape didn’t calm her as it should have, only sending her nerves into a spiral of never-ending anxiety.

The cold bit at her hands and feet, the carriage did what it could in matters of isolating the cold, and she burrowed further into the thick winter coat, clinging desperately to it. Her handmaiden, Flora, looked pitiful too, her cloak not as thick as Eva’s. They tried to talk to ease both their minds, but it turned out it was better to let silence reign over them and try to enjoy the ride and the scenery as much as they could. Eva had never ventured this far when she accompanied her brothers on their diplomatic missions, Flora always excitedly travelling with her, eager to know the neighbouring kingdoms and people; she was a social hurricane and always ended up making friends with all the other maids (Eva made sure Flora could send letters and gifts, often pulling strings herself to make sure the packages were delivered safely), so both women knowing this was their final travel sent a freezing cold knot deep in their guts.

Eva saw Flora shiver, and with a tiny smile she scooted over, making room for her handmaiden under her cloak.

“Come here, I don’t want you to freeze.”

“Your skirt will wrinkle, your Highness.”

“As if it wasn’t wrinkled enough from sitting here for God knows how many hours. Come here, you stubborn mule.”

Flora snorted but obeyed, not wanting to be in the cold any longer. Eva covered them both, cuddling and letting out a sigh as she let her cheek rest on Flora’s head, looking out of the carriage’s window. She always hated the cold.

Eva probably dozed off while Flora was talking about some silly nothings, lulled by the rocking of the carriage and the shared warmth under her thick winter cloak. She realised Flora put her hood on so she didn’t let her neck stick out for too long.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty! I won’t let Diana know you fell asleep listening to her epic romance with the guard captain’s son.”

“God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Please don’t tell her, she wouldn’t stop reminding me of it.” Eva rubbed her temples, still hazy.

“Your secret is safe with me.” Flora crossed her heart and looked at Eva trying to stifle a giggle. She failed, and both women laughed out loud, picturing Diana’s irked expression and waving hands.

They kept looking out of the window, enjoying the small moments as this one; they both knew they would be sparse now.

The landscape outside the window changed, having less never-ending fields of pure white snow and heavily covered trees and mountains, to more fenced fields with cattle and horses roaming around with some lonesome wooden houses in an architectural style so different from the ones back home.

Eva’s heart thumped painfully in her chest, knowing the carriage ride was about to end as they neared the fearsome warrior’s village walls. Flora squeezed her when the carriage came to a stop, trying to reassure the princess upon seeing the gate guards on the entrance talking with the royal soldiers at the start of the entourage, and the tremendous amount of people running around inside the village as both women peeked from the cold glass. They looked at each other in a silent and mutual exchange of comfort.

The townsfolk stopped on their tracks upon seeing the carriages entering the village, their gazes wary and distrustful, a contrast to the children shouting excitedly at the shiny armour the royal guards wore. Their mothers stood proudly, in defiance, reminding Eva of the fierce stray cats that roamed the Royal Palace gardens, hissing and standing tall whenever someone approached their kittens. Eva recalled the talk she overheard of Father and his advisors about this nation of warriors, how every single one of them had the blood of a terrifying fighter running inside their veins, how every single member of their society was trained to enter combat. Demons , that’s what her Father called them more than once, The Demons of Eldia. Whether that was true or not, Eva was downright terrified. Hostility was clear in their eyes and postures, not happy at seeing foreigners entering freely their territory. How did Father suppose she could survive this?

The carriages kept going, entering further into the maze of beautifully crafted houses. Flora parted from her embrace with Eva, knowing they would step out of the secluded space soon, and would need to make Eva look as if she hadn’t spent countless hours inside a wooden box; she had to make a perfect first impression. Eva wondered how different the village would look without all the snow covering every inch of it. Would it look as intimidating, but still beautiful, as it looked now?

Lost in her thoughts and Flora’s fussing, the entourage stopped in front of the biggest house Eva saw until now. It was massive, artfully crafted by the best artisans when it was built. Intricate markings decorated the wooden pillars holding everything together, and Eva could tell they had a meaning for these people. Right in front of the steps Eva saw more Eldian warriors, and in the middle stood those who Eva guessed probably were the welcoming party. She wondered how this Chief her father gave her hand into marriage was. Would he be a decrepit old man? A greedy one with lecherous fingers? A barbarian who would only use her for his own gratification? Was this Chief so entitled to himself and his pride that he would not even step down his throne, or the equivalent these people used, to greet them properly? What saddened her deeply was how her brothers, Hans and Friederich, agreed with Father.

Her questions would be answered in just a moment, hearing how the other two carriages, where her older brothers were, opened their doors, their heavy boots falling down the snow with a solid thud. Both women heard voices and movement outside. It was time.

“Remember, your Highness,” Flora began, giving her hands a final squeeze. “You have the strength to proudly hold your head high. The people of Gottesreich are by your side in here.” Flora touched with her finger where Eva’s heart was. “And I will be right behind you.

Eva let out a shaky exhale, a trembling smile on her lips.

“Thank you, Flora.”

The door of the carriage opened and a gush of freezing cold air hit both women. Flora tightened her cloak around her and waited patiently for Eva to exit first. It was Friederich who came to get her, gracing Eva with a tired smile while he offered his hand to help her out. Eva delicately posed her hand on the outstretched hand of his brother, the other pulling slightly up the skirt of the dress so she wouldn’t accidentally step on it and cause a scene. God forbid that happened, she couldn’t afford any humiliating mishaps of any kind. Eva stepped aside as Friederich also helped Flora out, and turned just once to see her sister following him behind, still with her hood pulled up; that was definitely Flora’s doing, knowing how the woman liked the tiny dramatics. Friederich huffed, amused.

Once they stopped just right next to Hans, his stance truly the epitome of a proud and regal prince, a member of the Eldian welcoming party walked over them, bowing their head lightly and making his light brown hair move.

“The people of Eldia welcomes you, your Highnesses, and hope you had a pleasant and safe trip.” The man had a soothing voice, calm, and such feelings carried into his eyes. “My name is Moblit and I’ll be your interpreter throughout your stay.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Moblit. I’m prince Hans Stein, heir to the throne of Gottesreich.” The crown prince bowed, right hand on his chest, and waited for Moblit to translate his words into the Eldian language. Looking at each one of the Eldians of the welcoming party, Hans turned to his other two siblings. “This is the second prince of Gottesreich, and General of our troops, Friederich Stein,” Friederich mimicked his brother, bowing respectfully too with his right hand on his chest as Moblit kept translating. “And last, princess Eva Stein, our younger sister.”

Eva felt her hands tremble and not because of the cold. She could feel everyone’s eyes fixed on her although she kept her own to the floor as her father taught her— never look at them in the eyes, only when you are being presented, but then quickly look away, never speak unless you are being spoken and addressed first, never—

She could do this.

Eva raised her hands, carefully lifting the hood of the cloak so it wouldn’t disturb her hair and tiara, and let it fall gracefully on her shoulders. She raised her head to proudly display her long neck, knowing it was being accentuated by the collar of the dress she was wearing, and looked at each member of the welcoming party before elegantly bowing towards the Eldians while delicately lifting the sides of the dress skirt as she was taught as a child. Once done, Eva returned to the position she was before: gloved hands in front of her, clasped together, head slightly tilted downwards and her eyes refusing to meet anyone’s unless she was required to do so. Father would be proud of how well she performed.

Some warriors whispered to each other, and Eva didn’t know if to feel grateful to not know what were they saying. It was just a quick glimpse as she wasn’t able to properly focus, but, where were the horns? The claws? The evil smiles with mouths full of sharp teeth? Her books depicted Eldia as demons, as creatures taking humanoid forms but with grotesque features. Eva couldn’t help but to feel thoroughly confused at the difference. Were the books wrong? Were they waiting for the right moment to show their true selves...?

A deep baritone voice quieted all the murmurs, speaking in a calm and collected tone that didn’t leave room for questioning. Eva would have called it a beautiful voice if she wasn’t being eaten alive by her fear and anxiety. The voice kept talking, and was now joined by Moblit’s translations. It was time to raise her eyes again.

“We welcome you, your Highnesses, and thank Goddess Maria for your safe journey to our land.” Eva briefly looked at Moblit, and was taken aback by the gentle appearance he displayed; she expected a brute, like her books said, but was met with soft amber eyes and sandy brown hair. Her attention was swiftly moved to the Eldians before them as Moblit gestured towards them. “My name is Erwin Smith, Chief of the proud Eldian tribe, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance too, your Highnesses.”

Eva’s eyes frantically fixed on the man Moblit was gesturing with his hand and claimed to be the Eldian Chief. Her husband to be. Eva was met with an icy blue gaze and intense like the sea she saw once when she traveled with Hans to a southern kingdom, but Eva noticed a hidden cleverness behind the stern glare. The eyes belonged to a handsome face, with sharp and chiselled features like his cheekbones, a beautiful aquiline nose and thick, blonde brows framing his face. His blonde hair was neatly parted to the side and Eva never saw a haircut such as the one he was displaying, both short and even shorter hair, but judging by the other Eldians, it was a common style. He was big, tall, and Eva saw the true poise and demeanor of a proud warrior. The blue war paint smeared on his face and exposed arms made Eva unconsciously gulp down; he looked terrifying. Even if the Chief was wearing thick clothing, there was no doubt there weren’t feeble sticks for limbs underneath them.

The princess was taken aback, unable to tear her gaze away from the Chief’s ones, and going against all her modal teachings. Those blue eyes were hypnotic and unreadable, like his face.

That was the man she was going to marry.

Erwin Smith.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #erwin smith #erwin smith x oc #erwin smith x reader #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #arranged marriage au #queen of demons #mius writes

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thisdreamplace · 3 years

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I had a nasty fight with my former bff. This was long ago. She did the whole 'boycotting me' thing at school and afterwards had a mutual friend pass her msg to me, saying "tell her [me] to get it into her skull that she's not the center of the world, who does she think she is? Stop acting like a #" Im simplifying the words, her actual words were nastier

I got thinking today abt this fight, and her comment abt me that is still way too fresh in my mind even tho I hadn't recalled it in 2-3 yrs!, and I actually decided to use the law to revise my friendship to feel better as what happened after the fight was shameful on my part. But before I knew it, I started rmmbring my relationship with her. How I became a total victim. Got so stuck on her validation, begged her to be friends with me (after I got the degrading msg. 🤕 silly me w/o a backbone lol) and stayed her 'bestie' for way too long. Only after it's all over im noticing smth messed up abt out 'feiendship'. It wasnf that normal I think. She would get so pissed if I did anything that went against her thoughts/beliefs/way (which is why she called me a selfish # that major fight). It was so subtle the way she showed her disapproval. To her, if I did anything not aligned with her, or even makih decisions on my own which didn't involve her, it was wrong. And had consequences like her beinf distant for days etc, or getting angry if I didn't mind read her bla bla, I just had to keep her at the top 24/7 and she expected everyone else to do the same... which I thought was normal... It wasnt. And what would be even more crazy is she never realized how that meant she always wanted the attention. That she always wanted it her way! It just makes me feel... Sad.... When I look back. How couldn't I have notived it before? I used to be strong headed, opinionated before I became 'besties' with her.. That all has changed. I wonder why -_-

It may be dumb on my part but with the weak mind and insecurity I had then, I took that fight/her reaction to the heart and internalisef this stupidiy (DENY MYSELF if the other alternative was denying HER. I didn't think it was wrong. For the oldme, it really wasn't wrong smh). Aaah I'm so sorry old me :(

This fight started bcoz she asked me for smth and I refused, instead of relenting like I always would, and I see now that her reaction (to me not being an obedient # to her ig?🤢) was basically her setting rules. It was wrong of me to refuse, yes, but why did she react that way? Why did this pattern continue? That everyone was selfish if they didn't think of her ;_; like how do u deal with this? And the icing is when I too started to defend her and make excuses for her all the time. And ik I'm making her out to be so strong, don't worry... I accept the strong only rule when the weak submit. And I was weak as hell, so its understandable this whole thing. I think 😅

Idk. I seen your posts abt eyipo with other anons so i hope u can tell me figure out what this was. Its clear to me she was projecting smth about me, and mb throughout our whole friendship she was projecting me. And I would think it was her hurting me, that she was right and I was wrong or maybe I did smth wrong. Mb I thought I deserved being punished that way?!

Today I suddenly had an aha moment and I realised... this is how a victim thinks. I didn't know I was a victim when I was living that stoey aka thought I was powerless. When in fact I really wasn't?! Haha still accepting I 555% created ALL that. The law can knock you out haha

Enough old story I just want to ask, what du u think the msg she sent to me was? Did I really deserve such a reaction (did I mention she included other girls in the boycot? 🤢) just for standing up for myself? What about the whole 'fight' aka showcase of power? And the entire yrs of being friends why did I never realize I was only hurting myself so much by putting her before me? And also, with the everyone pushed out thing, how did it fit in? Like why the hell did I give her too much power in validating me by giving in after the fight in the first place?, and while I did have some fun times (saying this so anyone else who reads this doesn't think it was pure torture lol. We had some common interests tyat no one else in the class shared when we first became 'friends'), deep down I was so unhappy so why didn't this reflect on her? I mean why didn't she ever sense just how much she'd hurt me, why didn't she see how much I put on the back burner coz of her?! Was it as she saw it as her right? I'm just so confused

This is still a bitter pill to swallow tbh but I have to face this in order to move on. This person and my life with her has left me wit many scars and I got to understand how I did this so I never attract such a person in my life again. Its not even abt bejnf a victim. As I said, these victimy things were subtle and I only noted them when it was too late and I was a shell, like she getting super pissed and disapproving if I had a differing opinion and me blowijg it out of proportion and tailoring my views or not expressing them so as to not feel the disapproval...thanks boycott conditioning ig? 😭 Aaaah even talking agaunst her rn is making me uncomfortable. Which makes me think I still am scared of her subconsciously even tho she's no longer in my life. Like, what in me made me choose her? I haven't healed, obviously by this ask as u can tell, but idk what is it in my self concept that had this whole thing in my past even happen

My friend, I also want to say I think you're a beautiful soul 🥺. And im sorry for the long ask lol. And I pray you'll always have all your desires. And plz, was it hard for u at first when u learned about u creating everything? The good, the bad, and the repulsive (like this story)? How did u get over old stories? Ty ty ty 😭

To begin with you're being really harsh on yourself. Like, I know it's hard, but it's never that serious. And trust me, this is something I have to remind myself of regularly. Because there have definitely been moments in life where I look back on myself in that moment, and I feel like I was pathetic and would slap myself if I could. But the truth is, there's just no need for any of that. We always did the best we could. We always did, period. We couldn't have done anything differently and this will continue to be true our entire lives. Looking back on the past with such overwhelming feelings, is really not needed. I get looking back to learn from it, but practice coming from a place of love and acceptance instead. It will help you grow, rather than get stuck back in this cycle of self-hate and confusion. Plus, you actually never need to analyze the past to grow but that's beyond the point right now.

To me, by reading your ask, the message she sent to you was clear. You feel you deserve less in life, you feel you're not good enough, you feel like a victim to life and others, you feel like you're not empowered or the operant power of your reality. It's not about her being wrong and you being right, and I get this is one of the hardest pills to swallow. Everyone is you pushed out. Therefore, there's simply no such thing as who is right and who is wrong anymore. It was only ever you.

When it comes to everyone is you pushed out, you have to understand this person isn't this way because that's who they are. They were that way because that's who you were. Inside of you, you brought their character to life. Therefore, the same way you are not stuck to such an undesirable self concept, neither is that person. It's not that you chose her and attracted her in. You were just dealing with yourself. That's what I hope you walk away from this response understanding. Because by thinking she was outside of you, you're missing the mark. And this is such an important concept to understand when it comes to the law of assumption, because it's really at the forefront of everything. People play such a huge role in our lives, whether it's relationships, jobs, opportunities, etc etc. So understanding how everyone is you pushed out actually works is extremely important.

So instead of putting all this blame on her or even putting the blame on yourself, all these memories really do is give you a glimpse into who you were at the time. It shows you the beliefs you held about yourself. It shows you what your self concept was. That's all it's doing. So in that way, there's actually no one to blame at all. I know it feels good to put blame, even when it's on yourself, but the truth is there's no room for blame when you learn about the law. You simply take responsibility and become empowered by the power you have held this entire time. And you practice making it work in your favor.

If you want to see how something was apart of your self concept, all you have to do is pay attention to what you are thinking/feeling. Shame, not being good enough, etc etc is all just stories you once held onto. Now you don't have to hold onto those stories anymore. Now that you know the power you hold, you get to make a new decision for yourself. Rather than ruminating of the painful past, allow it to be and know how that's not your story anymore.

Was it difficult for me to accept how I created everything? Yes and no. It's been a journey. While I could accept it logically, emotionally it was still very painful. Many times I wanted to cry and lash out when I felt alone and felt upset that no one was there for me. Although, I knew deep down it appeared that way because of my own concept of self. So yeah, it's been a journey. And it's honestly not always delightful. But this is the journey we have to take for the rest of our lives, so we might as well get used to practicing and applying these concepts. Instead of continuing to hold ourselves in such painful lights. I got through old stories, and I continue to get through old stories, by feeling all the pain that came up. By allowing myself to cry and feel however I felt like during those times. And in the back of my mind I knew I was getting stronger in my power. I knew how I would keep persisting once the pain subsided. And little by little, old stories fade more and more. That persistence to continue choosing better for yourself, is truly more powerful than it may seem in a difficult moment. Have trust in how it's all working out for you regardless.

Hopefully this is helpful! Thank you for your kind words. 💖

#eiypo

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wellthatwasaletdown · 2 years

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I saw someone talk about SHE before on here and it reminded me of this post I was sent by my mutual on Twitter and I think she is onto something with what the song is about. (What she sent)-

is kind of 😅 but I think it’s about self pleasure. I don’t know if this is a popular theory bc I see the one about it being his feminine side all the time. He is saying he “daydreams” about this woman who he knows/doesn’t know (porn or using his imagination ?) Him saying the line “send his assistant for coffee in the afternoon, around 1:30-2, like he knows what to do” I interpret as he sends them away so he has some alone time to self pleasure. “Like he knows what to do” is again sarcastic in a way bc we all know what to do and have all been there before when we have our own pleasure. If you get what I mean. “The man drops his kids off at school And he's thinking of you Like all of us do” again don’t we all fantasise about sex and love ? I also think it’s about him wanting to find someone to live or “be with”. “He takes a boat out Imagines just sailing away (away, away) And not telling his mates (not telling his mates) He wouldn't know what to say (wouldn't know what to say, to say)” I think is him saying it’s embarrassing to imagine and be alone at his age when all his friends have kids/married/engaged or in long term relationships and he is alone. Also self pleasure can be a taboo topic for some to have deep conversations about with people. Then again “Lives for the memory A woman who's just in his head (just in his head) And she sleeps in his bed (his bed) While he plays pretend (pretend) So pretend (pretend)” Him imagining a woman next to him to get off with but he doesn’t really know/care who this woman is. Again it could reference porn or just imagination. Idk if this sound stupid but I have thought about it many times and to me the feminine side of the song theory doesn’t make sense with the lyrics only the chorus and Harry has said he identifies as a man in interviews. Also his clothes don’t have a deep Meaning as he said he does it bc he likes to have fun. Plus Mitch and Harry were drunk/high when they wrote it so I doubt it was a very deep and meaningful message. I see it as them having a laugh and writing a good song without realising and then Mitch had to go back a re-learn the song…… The end cuts off after a big climax of mitches solo. To me sounds and reminds me of a sexual climax plus the way it cuts off suddenly like an orgasm does after it’s peak. I’m probably wrong but I like This theory and all the others. However him singing 1:30-2 made me think this is more likely to be the vibe he was going for in the meaning of the song. *The 1:30-2 thing was when he sang it like that during tour a couple times and not just 1:32. Either way the 1:32 still applies and makes sense with the theory.* The song is also quite sad and lonely especially the way he sings it on stage. It’s not a happy song nor does it have a self discovery type of feeling to it. When he wrote it he wasn’t in a relationship and had not long left things with Camille so he was lonely. He also said the album is about being sad and having sex. It makes perfect sense. The last lyric is “I don’t know where she is” before the guitar climax. To me again is a reference to not having this woman he wants on his life and is missing. It links to the part of the song about going out on a boat to find a woman. Boats reference journeys and going off the find things, therefore a woman he wants in his life. Hopefully this made sense.

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currywaifu · 4 years

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𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: mutuals 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: miyoshi kazunari/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 1.9k words, 2 images

𝐚𝐧: me? back w/ fluff? it’s expected at this point! his speech is hard for me to replicate, but I rly do love Kazunari so I hope I did this scenario justice! I, uh, got too excited at the prospect of “insta mutuals” oops~ hope you don’t mind the additional media TT

The Insta notification that popped up on the top of your screen distracted you from the game you were playing. Normally you’d flick the notif away, but as soon as you realised what it was about, you rushed to finish the rest of the stage.

You and Kazunari have been Insta Mutuals for nearly a year now, ever since he hit you with a follow and you proceeded to stalk his readily-available socials.

The two of you had been liking and commenting on each others’ posts for weeks on end, starting off with you praising his most recent graphic design work to him sending a paragraph of heart emojis on the most recent fan art you drew.

Somewhere in between following each others’ spam accounts to tagging each other on Insta story games, he finally slid into your DMs and the rest was history. Sort of.

You knew what people said about online dating, or even just long distance relationships in general, but try as you might it was hard not to fall for Kazunari.

The more you talked to him, the less he stayed as your “funny artist mutual” and soon enough he progressed into the “still funny but also really sweet and cute artist online friend, 10/10 would date if asked” category.

You didn’t bother stifling your laugh as you looked at the message he sent you, immediately liking his selfie before saving it on your phone.

Okay, no. He can’t just hit you with an “I do wanna meet u already” and then take it back but not fully commit to it!

You waited for him to respond through text, but instead got hit by your ringtone blaring loudly at such an ungodly hour. At the sight of your contact nickname for him, you eagerly answered his call. You rushed to get the first word in, him doing the same unbeknownst to you.

“Kazu-“

“Babe, I-“

The both of you paused, his eventual laughter easing up your tension as you let out a giggle of your own. You mentally told yourself not to be so nervous— Kazunari and you would have this conversation eventually anyway; besides, it wasn’t as if you didn’t want to see him in person. It was quite the opposite, actually. You just figured that conversations like this needed to happen in call, at least.

“Shoot, should probs shut up so Mukkun doesn’t wake up,” Kazunari commented, his voice volume already lowered, “do you wanna go first?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you replied with resolve. You gathered up your thoughts, formulating the next set of sentences that would leave your mouth, before ultimately deciding on one question. “I just need to know first… how serious were you about meeting up irl?”

“I mean, that wasn’t what I meant when I sent the message? But like, it’s still valid, you know?” he paused, but when you didn’t say anything he decided to continue, “it’s not the first time I’ve thought about meeting you. I think about it a lot, actually.”

It was a bit of a shame the two of you chose to voice call instead of video call. You would’ve loved to see your boyfriend’s face just about now, though you supposed it wouldn’t be a good idea to have a heart attack a quarter to 4 in the morning.

Plus, you weren’t sure you could handle him teasing and throwing compliments at you due to your clearly visible elation, if the upwards stretch of your lips was anything to go by.

“Babe? You still there? Did you pass out, or…” In reality it had only been a few seconds, but still you didn’t want to leave him hanging. Not when the two of you were talking about something that meant taking the next step in your relationship.

“I’m still here, Kazu,” you reassured him. Your voice shook slightly, a sliver of your excitement slipping through the cracks. “I’m the same. Like, no lie I was shocked we brought it up like this, but, um… I’m ready, and if you’re ready, too, I want to meet up with you.”

“Wait, wait, wait— hol’ up! So we’re finally going—“ he laughed for the second time tonight, a fuzzy-wuzzy warmth escaping as its sound equivalent. “Wahh! Of course I’m ready! Can’t wait to finally see what a cutie you are irl♪ Hngg, how am I supposed to sleep now? I’m too hyped up!”

You rolled your eyes, despite understanding exactly how he felt. His infectious cheerfulness amplified the blossoming commotion occurring inside your brain. Despite not making any official plans yet, the prospect of finally meeting up had you frenzied.

Still, one of you had to be at least slightly responsible. While you wouldn’t claim to know his daily schedule, if Veludo Arts was anything like your university, he should be as swamped with workload as you were. Actually, maybe that was the reason he was up so late? That’s how it was for you, anyway excluding the fact that you took a break to stamina clear.

“It’s nearly 4 am… do you wanna continue planning this tomorrow? Err, rather, in a couple hours? After our lectures end, maybe?” You asked, though by the tiny whine Kazunari let out you had a feeling he wasn’t going to agree so quickly.

“Ehh? Why don’t we do it now? I have so many ideas about where we could go, and what we could do… oh! I could introduce you to everyone in Mankai! I’m sure they’d love-“

“I’d love to meet them too,” you cut him off, tone as firm as you could manage at this time, “and I want to hear your ideas, really, but I just know if I let you keep talking the sun will rise before we’ve even decided on a date.”

You chuckled as Kazunari let out a sound of protest, though you had a feeling he knew you weren’t wrong about your assessment. “Zuzu~ Let’s go to sleep now, okay?”

His phone microphone picked up on an audible gasp. “Ehh, how come you rarely call me Zuzu? It’s cute when you say it!”

“Because it sounds like a nickname you’d give to a Pokemon!”

“Uwu, maybe I’ll get Itarun to lend me a copy? Then I’ll catch the cutest Pokemon and name it after you~” you nearly groaned at how fluffy he was being. Seriously, he was distracting you from your agenda of going to sleep!

“Kazu! Stop flirting with me at 4 am or we might not fall asleep!”

Though you couldn’t see him, you were 200% sure he had a wide grin plastered on his face right now. “Me? Using tactics to get you to keep talking with me? Never,” he claimed, professing his false innocence.

“Well, I’m not falling for it! I may not be able to physically tuck you in bed right now, but I can in spirit!”

“Oh!? Then can you give me a goodnight kiss in spirit, too?”

At this point, you were sure that even with just a poke on the cheek you’d be able to feel the heat beginning to envelop your face.

As Kazunari finished laughing, you let the quiet lull of the night seep in the conversation for a few moments before gently breaking it.

“I’d rather give you a kiss irl, though.”

And just like that, you claimed victory over the game he started. With how Kazunari sputtered, a part of you worried that he’d disturb his roommate’s slumber. Still, an even bigger part of you was smug to have him speechless for that much of a duration.

“Babeeeee,” he drawled, “you’re so, so, so unfair… I, like, really want to hold you tight right now…” he murmured, the rustle of his bedsheets discernible through the call. You found yourself nestling onto your bed, too, snuggling up to a soft pillow.

“Soon,” you suddenly yawned, your tiredness seeming to have settled in the comfier you got on the bed. “We’ll have a lot of time to plan tomorrow and the days after, yeah?”

Kazunari let out a hum in agreement, a comfortable silence following suit.

“Kazu?” You muttered quietly, careful not to disturb your peaceful atmosphere.

“Yeah?”

“I love you. Good night,” you said, heart aflutter as you heard his response.

“I love you, too, cutie~ sweet dreams♪” he said in an unbelievably soft tone, before ending the call.

After quickly connecting your phone to a charger, you fell back atop your bed and hugged your pillow tight, already anticipating the day you’d be able to hold Kazunari in your arms, and you in his.

…

Morning come, you hastily prepared for class as you always did. You fell into your usual routine— as soon as you were out of the bathroom, you selected an outfit and went over the things you needed to bring to uni today.

You stopped for a minute; taking a quick selfie to post on your story and emphasise your exhaustion to your close friends, before making yourself some breakfast. Within less than 5 minutes, your phone pinged— a recorded message from one of your favourite people this early in the morning.

"Mornin' piko☆ You're looking cute as always today♪”

There was no way you would admit to how many times you replayed it to Kazunari, but even so it was a good way to keep you positive for the rest of the day.

You don’t remember Veludo Way being this rowdy, though it was hard to trust your memory when it’s probably been years since you’ve last visited. Somehow, it was not tough to imagine Kazunari walking around and performing here— the liveliness of the streets difficult to not associate with one of the liveliest people you knew.

While the original plan was to meet up at a cute and trendy cafe you saw all over people’s SNS, the two of you agreed to meet up somewhere less crowded and more meaningful to him— the theatre which he’d performed at multiple times in the past.

As you saw the building from a distance, you wondered when you’d be able to see him on stage, too.

A shout of your name pulled you out of your thoughts, and you couldn’t help yourself from running over to meet up faster with the figure that was jumping and waving around in your direction.

Had you any sense left, you probably would have told him that you didn’t want him embarrassing himself in public, but in reality it was quite apparent that you were just as excited to finally see him in person.

“Kazunari!” you can’t help the little shriek you let out as you finally embrace him, only joyous laughter and each others’ names escaping the both of your lips. When you finally got a good look at Kazunari, you nearly wanted to bury yourself into his shirt again.

Everything still seemed so unbelievable. That this was real. That it was finally happening. It almost felt like the dreams you’ve had of this moment many times before.

“How are you so beautiful in person, too?! It’s totes like I’m falling in love with you again♪” Kazunari exclaimed, squeezing you one more time before finally settling on holding hands with you. “Ahh! I super, duper love you!”

Except it wasn’t. There was nothing imaginary about his warmth, and the way his words made you feel, and the beaming sunshine of a smile he aimed at you.

“I love you, too!”

want to order again?

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3! kazunari #kazunari miyoshi #miyoshi kazunari #cafe: dessert menu #a3 x reader #a3 actor training game #a3! game #a3! actor training game

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syms-things-5 · 3 years

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Clear The Area - Chapter Sixteen

Previous Chapter Here

Warnings: Language, scenes that are NSFW, angst, slightly annoying people

Tags: @kelbabyblue @jennmurawski13

Notes: I am so sorry for being rubbish in posting this. I started writing it weeks ago and then work took over my life. Thanks for sticking with me and I hope this was worth the wait (somewhat).

Chapter Sixteen

“So, what do you want to do now?” Audrey asked, hands firmly planted on the Diner table in front of her. She had the same careful posture and look on her face as when she had to relay bad news to a family. It certainly wasn’t providing much comfort now.

She tilted her head to one side and offered a soft smile to try and assuage Sarah’s anxiety but it was no use. This kind of information wasn’t deserving of a casual reaction. She’d pretty much dropped a bomb on her friend and she was expected to deal with the fall out. To Audrey’s credit, though, she appeared to be taking it in her stride which was a bit surprising to say the least.

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Sarah shook her head despondently before her forehead connected with the table.

Three Days Earlier…

The convenient thing about being a nurse and working long and tiring hours, Sarah found, was that you almost always had the perfect excuse for getting out of plans. Or not replying to messages you were deliberately avoiding. “Sorry I didn’t reply earlier, I lost track of time” quickly becomes an acceptable code for “Sorry I didn’t reply earlier, I didn’t have a clue what to say.”

No one would ever dare call you out on it.

It had been almost a week since Sarah had arrived home and the questions from her family had yet to subside. For someone quiet and relatively lacking in a desire for attention, people sure did have a vested interest in her whereabouts. They wanted to know about the exam and when she was likely to hear the outcome. They wanted to know what would happen next and whether she could appeal it if she didn’t like the results. They wanted to know whether she would try again or if she was just happy doing what she was doing now, and please can you call your grandmother because she wants to hear about it, too.

She was exhausted.

But dealing with those messages was an absolute dream compared to messages Chris was sending her. She could copy and paste generic responses to all of the above but with Chris? That was going to take some more thought.

Chris: You’re so pretty. I miss your face so much x

Chris: …..And so many other things x

Chris: It’s not the same waking up without you x Chris: Do you remember me waking you up last week………?

Chris: Did you pick up my sunglasses?? I cant find them anywhere……..

Chris: Just found them! Duh!

Chris: Have you seen the Last Week Tonight? I think you’d love this one……. X

Chris: I’m thinking of getting a dog x

Chris: Can you just tell me ur OK so I can stop worrying?

After coming home late one evening following a long shift, she found herself face-to-face with the most beautiful array of flowers she had ever seen. Sunflowers, glorious white roses, gerberas, tulips, peonies… Truly, indescribably beautiful.

“Someone sure is popular.” Shanna called from where she was sat at the dining table. “They got delivered earlier today. I don’t mean to be a bad feminist but you should probably think about putting out for Greg ‘cos if you don’t, you can let him know that I am definitely up for it.”

Sarah side-eyed her friend and tried to locate the card in amongst the substantial spray. “I can’t remember the last time someone bought me flowers that wasn’t my Dad.” Shanna barked out a laugh as Sarah pulled the card out, recognising the handwriting instantly.

I really miss you x

Now she felt bad for her lazy response to him earlier that afternoon. The second-hand embarrassment was creeping up on her after she tried to casually allay his concerns with an “All good!! x” and regretted the double exclamation marks. That was bound to give the game away.

She regarded the flowers standing proudly on ceremony and waiting for her to smile at them in utter joy so they knew they had done their job. They deserved that at least, but all she could manage was a sigh and a somewhat reluctant smile at their glowing beauty.

“I mean there’s certainly no denying he likes you a lot.” Shanna crept up behind her and narrowly missed Sarah scrunching up the card in her hands. “You don’t buy flowers like this without making your intentions clear.”

“Who says he has intentions?” Sarah playfully jostled with Shanna. “This isn’t Downton Abbey.”

“Oh, come on!” Shanna regaled in disbelief, running her fingers over the large, open sunflowers. “You can’t fool me, Bernette. These are statement flowers if ever I saw them. He wants you baaaad.”

She walked back into the kitchen and Sarah could hear her locate and clang the only two vases they owned in the apartment. Neither of them had much need for vases and even if they did, one thing that made them good flatmates was their mutual distaste for needless crockery lying around the place. Neither appreciated dusting as a chore; it was much easier this way.

“Fuck. I’ll have to ask Mom to bring one over.” Shanna said. “We’re gonna need more to cope with that.”

As expected, Chris was pretty proud of himself. She couldn’t deny him that as he saw the flowers blossom in and around her apartment. He had popped by under the premise of annoying his sister for the evening but flirtatious glances across the lounge gave away his true intentions.

“You should be flattered, I don’t normally do flowers.” He joked when he sidled up next to her in the kitchen, tossing an apple back and forth between his hands.

“You don’t “normally” do anything.”

“Not true. I once sent a girl a peace lily that came in that nice, tall glass vase. That big blue thing.”

“Wasn’t that just to replace the one you smashed at her mom’s place when you were trying to sneak out?”

Chris froze on the spot, staring at her. “I actually can’t remember now, was it? Scott ordered it for me.”

Sarah rolled her eyes before continuing to tidy around him, Chris evidently deciding not to make her job any easier by moving out of her way. It was the equivalent of him lazily lifting his feet off the floor while she tried to vacuum underneath.

“Seriously, though, did you like them?”

“They’re lovely, thank you." Sarah moved to the other side of the kitchen as she continued to dry and place back some wine glasses in the cupboard. “You really didn’t need to do that. It was kinda hard to explain them away.”

“What did you say?” He rubbed at the back of his neck, turning serious for a second.

“I didn’t really say anything. She just assumed they were from Greg.” She leaned against the counter across the room from him. He could make out the worry in her eyes. “Which makes me feel like I’ve lied to her twice.”

It was hard to sleep that night. Chris had somehow got her to agree to meeting him the next day so they could talk some more but she refrained from agreeing to meet him at his place after work. She knew how that was likely to end and she couldn’t face being with him in that way right now so he had finally relented and agreed to a simple coffee at lunch instead. He was less than pleased when he left and Shanna spent half an hour complaining through the bathroom door about his “issues” as Sarah was trying to clean up before heading to bed.

“He’s always been an entitled asshole.” She started before ending with a one-two punch of “He’s not happy unless he’s in control” and “I wish for once he would experience being told ‘no’” She wasn’t wrong but she also didn’t need to hear just how right she was in this moment either.

A couple of things happened in relatively quick succession.

The coffee was every bit as awkward as she knew it would be, only not exactly for the reasons she had anticipated. It was times like this she relished Chris’s ability to have it all figured out and to be able to express himself clearly and succinctly, but she should have known better. As a result, Sarah was left more anxious and unsure of what it was she was feeling. Guilt she figured, not just for the knowledge that she was lying to her best friend but also for leaving the man sat in front of her looking like he had not slept properly in days.

He cleared his throat and shifted to sit up straighter in his seat. They were sat in the corner of the diner, as always, and barring a couple of people having a relatively animated conversation a few booths away from them – relatives of patients, she figured – it was pretty quiet for this time of the day.

“So, time to be honest but there was a reason I sent those flowers.” He had the look of someone who had just been told off by a teacher. “I sort of thought you might have seen something but I guess it went away. I think Matt dealt with it OK.”

Sarah put her cup down and looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“OK, don’t get mad but there may have been a photograph.” He barely looked up as he spoke. “Of us at the hotel.”

Her eyes widened at him and she was about to panic out loud until she realised where she was. “A photograph?”

“Well, technically a photo of me and an ‘unidentified female companion’.” He deadpanned making air quotes like it was nothing before finally making eye contact with her. He frowned but she knew it wasn’t directed at her. He looked down at the table again and then back at her when he realised she hadn’t said anything. “Don’t worry. It’s sorted. I explained things. I just figured someone might have put it on social media or something but I guess I owe him one this time, which he’ll love no doubt.”

“Oh.” She knew it was a pathetic response. “What do you mean you explained things?”

“It looks like a fan spotted me and took a picture at the right time. For them, obviously, not for me. Or us. A magazine picked it up. You actually look a little blurry so technically it could be anyone.”

“Unless you know me. It’ll probably be really obvious then.”

“Well now you don’t need to worry because it’s gone away. We’ll call it one of our nine lives.” He sipped his coffee again, slowly regaining his confidence now that he knew she wasn’t mad with him. She began rubbing her temple, a predictable move for when she was feeling stressed out and he realised he’d crossed a line. “Sorry.”

“Maybe I should seek a career in espionage. Clearly I can hide in plain sight.” She finally spoke and he smiled softly at her in a way that would unnerve her under certain circumstances but for obvious reasons wasn’t having that same effect right in this moment.

“Trust me, OK? I know how these things play out and people forget quickly. I’ve done this hundreds of times.” He was about to sip his coffee again until he was met with a sterner look from across the table. “That was supposed to sound reassuring but I, er, misjudged it.”

“Does Matt know about me?”

A few seconds of silence passed between them, Chris looking slightly to his left before making eye contact with her and pursing his lips, giving her the answer.

He leaned in and spoke as quietly as he could manage. “But he won’t say anything. He’s a good guy and he looks out for me.” \

“Yeh, I know.” She nodded. “Just doesn’t feel great at the moment.”

“You know I would love it if you talked to me about this.” He lowered his head so much he was now practically touching the table with his chin. “I feel like ever since we got back from New York things have been really weird and normally I would think I was overthinking things but I don’t think I am, am I?”

She turned her cup a few times before she felt his hand connect with hers. She saw how small she looked in his and when she looked back up at him, she was met with his doe-eyed expression. The expression which all you could do was smile back, which she did, and she was glad she did because he seemed to lose some weight from his shoulders at that point. His fingers lightly rubbed across hers and she enjoyed the warmth spreading across her skin and up her forearms.

“I’m sorry,” She spoke after a minute. “I didn’t mean to cause you any stress.”

Surprised by her apology, he leaned back in his chair. “You don’t need to apologise to me, Bernette. I get it. It’s strange.”

“I guess I just didn’t know where things would go after, y’know, everything. I wasn’t sure what to say.”

“Well, I know where I want things to go but something tells me we’re not on the same page.”

More silence.

“Look, I get it, OK? Nothing about this is straight-forward.” He rubbed a hand over his beard and over the back of his hair. “But we’re doing OK, right? I mean, I don’t think this needs to end any time soon. We don’t need to make any rash decisions just yet.”

“But how do you see this ending?”

She missed his hands when he pulled them back and let them rest on the table in front of him. “Umm…”

“Because truthfully, I figured it would have ended as soon as it started. You might have got bored or maybe you got a job and you left for months and we’d just…forget about it.” She shrugged back at him.

“Forget?” He tried to mask the disbelief creeping into his tone. “I don’t think either of us could forget about this.”

“But you think about our lives and how different we are and even if we take the family out of the equation, like, it was always going to be tough, right? We would have to figure these things out eventually. It would be naïve to think we could carry on as we have done without feeling guilty and…”

“I don’t feel guilty. Do you feel guilty?”

“Well, yeh. From time to time. It’s not so bad when we’re at yours because it feels like it’s out of sight, out of mind, and-”

“-then we’ll just have to stay at mine more.” He raised his eyebrow at her in an attempt to bring some playfulness back to their conversation.

“That’s not what I’m getting at.” She shook her head at him. Now it was her time to pull back as her head connected with the headrest. “This isn’t gonna last forever, is it? We need to be more rational.”

“Well…”

“And it’s only going to get harder and feel more…stressful.”

Chris narrowed his eyes at her. “Why now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, where is this coming from?” he asked. “We seemed to be OK and I thought we had a good time in New York. Then it’s days of near silence and now I think you’re trying to end this but you don’t have the guts to say it out loud.”

He had her there. She didn’t feel particularly offended or caught off guard by his assumption and he saw that because, truthfully, he’d finally put a name to her thoughts. He wasn’t giving her a way out as such but he was at least addressing the elephant she had planted between them.

He looked away from her and took in a sharp breath. “Look, I don’t want to have this conversation here, OK? I think we should have taken up my idea and spoken about this later at mine and in private. Will you please just come and see me later?”

He didn’t give her the softer, more pleading tone she was normally used to when he was trying to make an appeal to her. She wasn’t expecting it given the circumstances but…it would have been nice. How was she going to get through the next few hours of work if she had this struggle to look forward to?

“Because if you’re gonna dump me, I’d rather have a whiskey in me than whatever crap this is.” He flicked his cup away from him on the table and smoothed his hand over his beard again, still not making eye contact. “I’m gonna go. Just text me when you’re on the way, yeh?”

So that was that, then.

She could have cried, it felt so good.

She didn’t intend to let things get as far as they did. She was trying to figure out what to say to him. She spent a good portion of time standing outside his front door building up just enough nerve to knock. When she saw him, in a slightly-too-tight sweater, sweatpants hanging loose on his hips, eyes glossy from the alcohol she suspected he had started drinking as soon as he had arrived home, she couldn’t help herself.

He looked gorgeous. He looked warm and comforting and soft and hot and…all the things that had become so familiar to her now. And when he held his hand out to pull her in, she willingly went to him.

One thing that struck her as he was entering her over and over again was how tightly he held on to her. After she had finally managed to catch her breath from the onslaught of kisses and touches all over her body. His hands held hers firmly above her head as they fell onto his bed. God knows how they managed to make it that far.

He hadn’t let her up for air as soon as his lips connected with hers. He pulled her inside his apartment and pushed her towards his bedroom. She knew the layout of his home like the back of her hand, knowing exactly when they passed his kitchen as he dragged her jacket from her shoulders and left it by the table. She felt the curtains in his hallway brush passed her hair and the breeze from the skylight in his bathroom reach the base of her spine, his hands having pushed up her t-shirt and exposed her skin to the brief chill. His arms wrapped around her and held her like he was scared she was going to fall away from his grasp. She can’t remember connecting with anything else after that point; she was focussed solely on the way he was loving her. \

Clumsily, he used to his leg to kick the bedroom open so she wouldn’t bang into it and he got her flat on the bed with minimal effort. He carefully removed clothes until she felt his hot skin smother hers and she realised she made the right decision in just going with it. There was a sweet hint of whiskey to his breath but she didn’t much care. As he looked into her eyes, resting deep inside her, she didn’t much care for anything. This was the power he held over her.

She could tell he was thinking of something to say. Something he had probably practiced in the few hours since they last saw each other but now was coming up short. She instinctively placed her hand gently over his mouth, an acknowledgement of sorts, and asked him to move again, slower this time as he made sure she could feel all of him moving inside her.

She was on the edge of her orgasm for a long time. His breathing grew laboured, his hot breath fanning over her face and surrounding her before, without warning, he shifted them both in one fluid move so she was lying on top of him.

“Ride me,” he whispered, a softness belying his request, and she complied.

She gripped at his upper arms so they would hold her weight as she moved purposefully on top of him. It was bliss. She couldn’t look away from him as he struggled to keep his eyes open, taking in everything she was giving him. They had experienced a few moments like this, moments that felt so tender if it wasn’t for the way his hands were gripping her hips to keep her going.

After they had both come together, she collapsed down over him, her head resting over the top of his chest, him still inside her. She felt sure she had accidently bumped his chin but couldn’t quite manage the energy to vocalise an apology. He wrapped his arms securely around her to hold her in place when he thought she would try and move away from him. They’d slept like this in New York and he had decided he liked it more than the alternative.

“If that’s the last time we do this, at least we went out on a high.” he sighed.

“True.” She replied, equally as breathless.

He turned his head to look down at her, stroking a hand over her hair and the side of her face. “It doesn’t feel fair, though. Life’s gonna be a little bit shitter without you to look forward to.”

“We’ll still see each other. We’ll find a way to make it work.” She shifted her legs from off his before turning slightly to take the rest of her body away from his and he reluctantly let her go.

“Do you think we can?” He asked as he stared up at the ceiling. He already knew the answer in his mind but he wanted to hear her try and convince him.

“We have to.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across her forehead, letting it rest it in her hair. “She’s my best friend. You guys are my family. We have to at least try.”

Chris turned to look at her just in time to see a tear form in her eyes. She gently blinked and sniffed it away not realising he had already seen.

“You’re gonna be a hard act to follow, Bernette.”

“So you slept with him again?” Audrey worried.

Sarah nodded carefully, holding one hand in the other. “I know, I know…but when I saw him I just couldn’t help it. I couldn’t pull away from him, it’s like he-”

“Oh honey, listen, I get it. Completely.” Audrey’s eyes widened and she had to stop herself laughing. “I can imagine he’s been very supportive to you with everything that’s been going on but I think when all is said and done, maybe you both needed this?”

“I wish it was that simple, Audrey. It’s not just the two of us that needs to consider things. Y’know, Shan actually apologised to me, saying she’d been a bad friend and that she would try to be more supportive from now on and…it hit me. It just knocked me for six that I’ve betrayed her completely and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to go back.”

“It’s obvious this isn’t just sex. I mean, he drove to see you in New York and fucking…” She waved her hand around at nothing in particular. “…fucking tested you on fucking blood diseases and ECGs. Michael doesn’t even do that and I fucking married that guy! Come on, Sarah. If this was just sex, it wouldn’t be an issue, would it? You’d be able to close the book and move on. End of story. The only reason this is causing you strife is because you have feelings for each other. And very serious ones at that I might add.”

“Ah well, that’s easy. You don’t go back. You don’t just forget the last few months. What’s done is done now and maybe there’s a better way out of this.”

“How?”

“Oh Sarah, I love you but you really are friggin’ naïve sometimes.” Audrey pointedly rolled her eyes for the tenth time since they sat down. It wasn’t something Sarah was appreciating right now, this feeling that she was continuously missing the damn point.

If this was Oprah, the audience would be clapping and whooping loudly right now and Audrey would do her finger-snap that she reserved for drunken arguments in bars with ladies that pushed in line for the toilets. Instead, she took a sip from her sparkling water and raised an eyebrow at her, content in her response. Your move, she was saying.

Sarah rubbed her eyes and painfully pulled at the skin on her eyelids. “I should have told you about this sooner. I’m sorry, Audrey. I’m sorry I’m landing this on your now.”

“Well, while we’re being honest, I guess I should tell you that I kind of already knew.”

Sarah looked at her incredulously. Audrey didn’t bat an eye and just sat looking back at her.

“How long? When did you…?”

“It’s not every day a movie star wanders into the reception of a crumbling ER department.” She said, matter-of-factly. “Plus, I saw you both outside the diner. Aaand I’m guessing the accident you had recently was because of him as well?”

Sarah awkwardly bit at her bottom lip. She didn’t need to confirm anything; Audrey knew full well. She was astute as hell and while it didn’t feel like it right in this moment, Sarah was quietly relieved.

“What do I do, Audrey?”

She sipped her water again. “If you insist on being serious about this, you can’t let yourself be in a room with him alone. You know that much, hun. The rest is day by day. Maybe he’ll make it easy on you.”

She nodded in understanding. Audrey took that at face value, giving her a sympathetic smile in return while mentally making a bet with herself about how well things would turn out.

#chris evans #chris evans fic #fanfiction #evans fic #clear the area #sarah bernette #chris evans x original female character

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writingwithacupoftea · 4 years

Text

It’s been one hell of a week, and I want to share a life update with you all...

I don’t really know what this post is gonna be. I think it’s gonna be kinda like journaling, but I actually wanted to feel like I was talking to someone about it, even if no one reads it. I’m going to put everything below the cut, and if you wanna read it, cool, and if you don’t, that’s equally alright. I’m not scrapping for sympathy, I just want to talk to people that aren’t in my quote on quote ‘real life’ (pls don’t be offended, I love you all dearly).

So, feel free to ignore, this is going to be completely unedited, raw rambling about stuff that I need to get off my chest.

I guess I’ll start with the good stuff: I got accepted to interview for my teacher training course!!!!! I’m absolutely over the moon, and incredibly grateful to have this opportunity 🥰

I’m having a long weekend at home with my family, which is lovely, because it feels like ages since I was back at home. My amazing bestie/house mate sent me the cutest little care package this morning and omg I love her so much 🥺

I’m also finally starting to get on top of uni work, which is a big weight off my shoulder now I need to start with interview prep as well.

Now, before we move onto the bad stuff, a bit of backstory...

In December 2019, I got into a relationship with a guy who, quite frankly, is unlike any other boy I’ve ever met. He’s so kind, considerate, selfless, generous, funny, caring - basically every girl’s dream guy. We have similar interests, have never fought once, and were friends before we got into a relationship.

We had an incredible 3 months together as a couple, with so many incredible memories and laughs... and then lockdown happened in the England.

The announcement on 23rd March this year that England was going into lockdown sent me spiralling into my first ever panic attack (which was an absolutely horrendous experience) and my Mum drove up to my uni house in the middle of the night to bring me home.

I anticipated being at home for a few weeks, and then it turned into months. But these months were some of the best months of my life - Mum and I would go walking in the fields around where we live and have tv nights together, me and my friends from held games nights over zoom every Friday night so that we could see each other - it was incredible.

It was during these months at home that I decided, on a whim and not telling anyone other than my parents, to email my old school to see if they were part of any teacher training courses. At this point, I didn’t know for sure if I wanted to go straight into teaching after finishing my degree or if I wanted to do another job for a few years before committing myself to teaching. I’m a big believer in fate, and thought the response that I get to this email will decide.

So I sent it and, miraculously, got a response within a week, saying that they would be delighted to have me. I was ecstatic. Obviously nothing had been confirmed, because I still had to apply and be interviewed, but I had been given the confirmation that I didn’t realise that I so desperately wanted.

I texted my boyfriend and rang my best friend to tell them the news, and they were over the moon for me. But I also had to tell my boyfriend that this meant that I would be moving back to my home town once I finished my degree, something which is now mere months away.

I now had a clear direction in which my life was going, I’d smashed my second year at uni with flying colours, and my confidence in myself had flown up to an all time high. I had completely fallen in love with the person that I had become. Lockdown had also meant that I regained my love of my independence, and I realised that I wasn’t missing my boyfriend at all. In fact, the main person that I was missing was my best friend.

It was at this point that I started to have doubts about my relationship.

Surely after months of being apart I should’ve started to miss him? I even found myself not looking forward to going to see him for our birthdays as planned. Our text conversations had grown stale, and I didn’t want to call him because I had no clue what to say to him.

I’ve always been very career-minded. My focus was completely on my future plans, and he wasn't there in my visions as my boyfriend. He was there as a friend, yes, but not my boyfriend.

When I went to meet him in our uni city for our birthdays, I felt more like I was meeting up with a good friend and not my boyfriend.

I think by this point I had built all these feelings up so much in my head that it was always going to be hard to move past them. But I said to myself that I wasn’t going to make any decisions about what to do with my relationship until I had moved back to uni for a couple of months and we spent some time together again properly, going back to near enough the way that things used to be before the pandemic took over.

So I moved back to uni, and this takes us nearly up to present day.

First of all, we both worked to run some of the event during the uni’s freshers’ week, which left us exhausted and busy. The week after we went into lectures, and the pressure hit me straight away.

To work at my dream school, I need a first-class degree (that’s the highest ranking of undergraduate degree that you can get in England). Yes, I’m already averaging at a good first, but the pressure to keep it up is immense. If I don’t get this grade, all the things that I’ve worked so hard to achieve will go down the drain.

On top of all my degree work, I was completing my teacher training application, running weekly events at the Students’ Union (SU, for short), being dragged into meetings every other week...it’s been insane.

So me and my boyfriend hadn’t had a single date night since we got back. Again, I hadn’t missed it and I was completely fine with it.

I then got invited for an interview for my teacher training course, and realised how busy I was going to be for the rest of this academic year. I didn’t know how the hell I was going to maintain a relationship on top of everything else. I then thought about what my life would be like when I started my course next September. If I was being realistic, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to maintain a long-distance relationship.

I also didn’t think that I wanted to maintain it. I missed being single, I was putting off date nights that he was trying to arrange in favour of chilling by myself in my room. But I also felt bad that I was essentially going to be putting my relationship on hold for a semester, to then resume as usual for a few months at the beginning of 2021, to then say actually I don’t think I can make this work when I moved home.

So on Tuesday, after much deliberating and talking, my boyfriend and I mutually decided to part ways as a couple after 10 months of being together, but remain the best of friends.

I was a lot more upset than I thought I would be, considering that I had brought the topic up and essentially instigated it (although the decision was mutual).

I sobbed and sobbed, and it was then that I started to doubt my decision. He’s devastated, my Mum too, and I started to wonder if I’d made a mistake.

When talking to my Mum on the phone, I listed all of his good qualities and how amazing he his and my Mum just asked “If he’s this good, as I know he is, why did you want to break up with him? There’s not many like him out there.”

I’m still thinking about that question. It genuinely haunts me.

I’ve been alright for the past few days. After a good sleep on Tuesday night, I woke up feeling okay and like all my doubts about my decision had vanished.

I’ll be honest, I’ve always been a Mummy’s girl. Her opinion and advice mean the world to me. And I know that she disagrees with the decision that I made to leave my boyfriend, she’s said it to my face multiple times. And now, the only thing making me doubt my decision is the fact that she is completely in disagreement, saying how amazing we were together as a couple and questioning how I could let him go.

I know it’s my decision, but her opinion means a lot to me. She’s always known what’s best for me, been so right about so many people, and that’s scaring me beyond belief.

We’re going to talk about it later today, and I have no clue what’s going to happen.

So I’m feeling a bit all over the place at the moment, that’s the only way I can describe it. Who knows what’s going to happen next - I sure don’t...

If you made it this far, honestly congratulations because I don’t think I would’ve 😂

Thank you for listening to me ramble, and thank you for being there for me to talk to.

All my love,

Emily x

#emily rambles #personal #as in #hella personal

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oswildin · 4 years

Text

What’s My Name? ~ Dhawan!Master x F!Reader

Summary: You had a best friend, who you thought you knew everything about... Turns out you didn’t know him at all... Let alone expect him to be your friends oldest enemy.

Warnings: Possible spoilers.

**EDIT**

There’s now a PART TWO: https://oswildin.tumblr.com/post/190148897825/unlucky-in-love-dhawanmaster-x-freader-part-2

“Where are you going now?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, turning round to see her friend giving her a knowing look. It had been a few months since she’d started travelling with the Doctor and the fam. She loved every second of it, but she wasn’t going to let it take over her life completely. She still had to work, keep her flat, and have a social life outside of fighting aliens in space.

“Out. Is that ok?” She retorted, seeing her friend stood with folded arms before her.

“Again? You only just got back.” Her friend, Mason, raised an eyebrow.

(Y/N) had met Mason through a mutual friend on a night out. Since then they were inseparable. Well, until she started travelling with the Doctor. She had to admit she was beginning to go AWOL on her friend. She felt guilty.

“I know- but- It’s really important. Like, really really important.” She tried to explain herself, but couldn’t give too much away. He’d think she was mad if she told him the truth.

“But I came round to spend time with you!” Mason insisted, standing from his seated position on her sofa. Oh no, he was giving her the puppy dog eyes. She hated when he used them.

“I’m sorry-“ She looked at her friend sadly before her phone started to buzz. “I promise, when I get back, we will play any board game of your choosing. As long as it isn’t operation cause by god you are awful at that game.” She laughed. “It’s almost like you want to kill the patient.”

“Maybe I do.” He teased, his eyes going dark for a second before smiling. She lightly hit him on the arm before her phone once again buzzed. She answered it.

“Yes! I’m on my way!” She ended the call, sighing to herself. “I’ll see you later ok? Let yourself out!” And with that, she left her friend alone in her flat, as she ran out the door, running to where the Doctor had told her to meet.

Hours later, (Y/N) finally had arrived home. She was exhausted, and quite frankly was ready for bed. She didn’t know how the Doctor could keep up with the adventures and not need rest. She knew Yaz, Ryan and Graham felt the same as her.

“You’re back late.”

(Y/N) jumped, her hand landing on her heart as she swore to herself.

“Jesus Mason.” She switched on the light, revealing her friend sitting in the dark on her sofa as she raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing here? And why are you in the dark?” She asked confused, folding her arms.

“Just thought I’d make sure you got home safely.” She rolled her eyes at his antics.

“It’s 1am.” She looked at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping. Don’t you have work tomorrow?” She countered, sitting beside him on the sofa, sprawling out as she closed her eyes for a moment.

“You look exhausted.” He commented.

“Geez, thanks.” She laughed lightly. “You do know how to make a girl feel beautiful.” She joked, as he stared at her, trying to analyse her. “I just went out with a few mates that’s all.”

“Really? So what is that on your wrist?” He nodded to the device on her left wrist as she swore under her breath. She had forgot about the perception filter device the Doctor had given her and the others on their adventure.

“Oh it’s er, the new Apple Watch.” She shrugged, pulling her jacket sleeve down to cover it. Mason shook his head at her answer, knowing he wasn’t going to get anything else.

“Thought you should know, I’m going away for a bit.” He told her as she looked saddened by his words. “Going to travel to Australia. Spend some time out there. Got a mate out there. She’s coming to visit.” She couldn’t help but feel her heart sink at the ‘she’ in his sentence, but she soon recovered as she plastered on a fake smile.

“A she huh?” She teased, nudging him. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“We go way back.” He seemed to reminisce. “Grew up together. We’ve drifted over the last few years. Thought I’d get back in touch.” He wore a slight smirk as he spoke.

“Well... considering you’re going away for a bit, let’s say for old times sakes we play some Operation.” She reaches beside her sofa to grab the game.

“I thought you said I wasn’t allowed to play it anymore.” He inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah well... gonna miss you annoying me with your deliberate losing.” She smiled, setting up the game.

(Y/N) felt herself wanting to tell her friend how she felt. But she couldn’t. Not with her hectic life, she couldn’t drag him into it. Nor could she possibly ruin their friendship. So instead she stayed silent, playing board games with her friend until stupid o clock in the morning.

It had been a few months since Mason had left to go away. (Y/N) missed him massively, and found herself travelling more with the Doctor to cope with the quietness of her social life. The Doctor knew about Mason, she could tell how much he meant to (Y/N). She still had texts from her friend every now again, but not much contact since, which worried her. She thought they were drifting.

On their next adventure, Yaz, (Y/N) and Ryan were going undercover as journalists, to interview Daniel Barton head of VOR, as he seemed to be prime suspect in their latest situation. However, it didn’t just stop at them questioning him, oh no, they just had to break into his office to get as much information as possible from his computer. From nearly getting caught, they ended up in an even worse situation, confronted with the aliens who wanted to take over the planet.

The trio stood in front of the creature as it reached out, grabbing (Y/N) in the process, as the glow intensified, causing the girl to disappear before her friends eyes.

“Bring her back!” Yaz ordered the alien, which of course took no notice, beginning to also reach out for her. Ryan grabbed his friend, dragging her out of the office with him as he got on the phone with the Doctor.

(Y/N) found herself alone. She looked around as she was surrounded by what appeared to be large wires. Lights ran up the wires as she called out for anyone. She felt her heart rate increase as tears welled up in her eyes. Where was she? Was she dead? Was she inside some sort of giant computer? So many questions ran through her mind... but as quickly as she arrived, she had left, transporting elsewhere.

“(Y/N)! Turn the power off in there.” She heard a familiar voice as she opened her eyes, which she hadn’t realised she’d kept shut. “(Y/N)! How are you even here?” Her eyes focused as she saw the Doctor with her hands against the glass container. Her eyes scanned the room as she spotted her other friend, Graham, and a face she didn’t expect to see.

The container lifted as she was free, the Doctor instantly hugging her friend who still seemed terrified. Not much scared her, but the thought of being all alone in such a dark, empty space scared her to the core.

She looked over the Doctor’s shoulder seeing Mason, looking somewhat concerned before he held his finger to his lips.

A moment later, the Doctor was back at trying to work out the aliens plan, whilst Mason lead her over to a chair to sit down.

“What are you doing here?” (Y/N) quietly asked, sending him a confused stare. He sighed.

“Alright, shows over.” He sat opposite her. “I work for MI6.” He said bluntly causing (Y/N) to blink in shock. “I have done for a while now.”

“How- Why didn’t you tell me?!” She lightly whacked him on the arm, causing Graham to send a glance their way.

“Because I can’t talk about it! Being an agent kind of means being secretive.” He whispered, as he smirked. “Also you weren’t exactly telling me the truth about where you were running off to either.” She rolled her eyes, knowing he was right.

“Is Mason your actual name?” She inquired, swallowing the lump in her throat. He sent her a sad smile, which gave her the answer she already knew. “Yeah, I guessed not.” She laughed lightly. “I have so many questions.”

“I bet you do.” He stood up. “But we need to focus on the job at hand. Stopping whatever those creatures are.”

Whilst the pair were talking, the Doctor went to pick up Ryan and Yaz, as Graham and Mason, or O, should (Y/N) call him, had a chat. (Y/N) stood looking at all the paper work that was laying around, shaking her head in surprise at how much her friend actually knew about alien life. Small world. She thought.

“We need to pay Barton a visit.” The Doctor declared.

“Good thing he's having a party, then. We got invites.” Ryan grinned, looking proud of himself.

“Yes! Nice work, you three. Got invites for us all, have you? I'm sure I can hack a guest list.” The Doctor beamed, turning to O.

“What do you reckon, O? Fancy a trip in the box?” She nodded to the TARDIS as he began to grin.

“I really, really would.” He sounded like a happy child as (Y/N) smiles fondly at her friend.

“Be my guest.”

O walked in, taking in the TARDIS interior as (Y/N) watched from outside with everyone else.

“Shut up!” He mumbled to himself as he reappeared at the door. “Ridiculous.” He looked confused as (Y/N) laughed.

“Yeah well, get used to ridiculous.” She commented, walking towards the TARDIS. “Cause that’s the word I was use to sum up over 80% of the adventures we have.”

“Oi!” The Doctor retorted as the others smiled upon entering the ship.

They all decided they needed to change into clothing more appropriate. If they were going to crash a party, may as well look good whilst doing it.

(Y/N) decided on a deep purple velvet tux, pairing it with black heels as she put on a dark purple lipstick to correlate with her outfit. She had to admit, she hadn’t dressed up in a while. She’d never had the time or the energy to do so since travelling with the Doctor. As she exited the wardrobe, she headed back to the console, seeing everyone in their tuxedos. Her eyes landed on Mas- O, as she felt her heart skip a beat. Damn, he looked good. She’d never seen him dressed up before. O made his way over to (Y/N) after he spotted her reappear.

“You look... lovely.” He complimented quietly, not wanting the others to know they knew each other. “Never seen you dressed up like this before.”

“Not exactly had the chance over the last few months. Been a bit busy.” She commented. “Also I could say the same for you.” She smirked. “Suits you, this whole James Bond look.” She teased as he bashfully smiled.

“Right!” The Doctor exclaimed. “Let’s go crash this party!” She beamed as she pulled the lever.

The six headed into the mansion, as (Y/N) stared in awe of the size of the place.

“Barton has all this, and yet he’s still wanting the universe?” She muttered under her breath.

“Sometimes it’s never enough.” O replied, as they all split off to look for Barton, whilst of course getting distracted.

O and (Y/N) found themselves at one of the many gaming tables.

“It’s like they knew we were coming.” (Y/N) laughed. “Games are our thing.” She picked up the dice, shaking them in her hand before throwing them down the table. Everyone made noises around her as she cheered for herself, causing O to stare at her.

“Did we win?” She asked, confused by everyone staring at her weirdly.

“No.” O smirked, appreciating her enthusiasm.

“Didn't know what I was doing anyway.” She shrugged. “Im used to playing Operation.” She retorted as he smiled.

“You know what they say - lucky at dice, unlucky in love.” He commented as she raised an eyebrow. Her heart skipping a beat once more as they looked each other in the eye, (Y/N) being very conscious of how close their faces were.

“Do they really say that?” She said quietly, almost breathless.

“No.” He replied, causing her to shake her head at his antics.

“Well, I guess we should try another game then!” She exclaimed, pushing herself away from the table as O watched her admiringly.

The gang quickly ran out of the mansion as they heard Barton was getting away. They saw him enter a black car as the Doctor shook her head in defiance.

“Oh no you don’t.” She ran towards the bikes that were outside the front of the mansion. (Y/N)‘s eyes widened.

“You’re not serious, Doctor!” She shook her head running after her friend.

“Deadly serious.” She hopped on, putting on a helmet as the others followed suit.

“This is crazy.” (Y/N) shook her head, jumping on one of the motorcycles, O sitting behind her.

“Have you ever driven one of these before?” He asked, placing his helmet on.

“Would it make you feel better if I lied and said yes?” (Y/N) remarked.

“No.” O looked at her in fear.

“Then no I have never ridden a bike before.” She twisted the handle, the bike starting to volt forward. O tightened his grip on her waist, causing her heart rate to increase. She didn’t know if it was because she was scared to die, or because of the closeness the two were sharing.

The six followed the black car, before gunshots started being heard ahead. (Y/N) yelled as one bounced off her bike.

“Oh my god! We’re gonna die!” (Y/N) shouted, whilst Graham yelled in front.

“Is this always what it’s like with the Doctor?!” O shouted, holding on tight still to (Y/N).

“Believe it or not. This is one of the quiet days!” (Y/N) yelled in response, trying her hardest not to crash or get hit by a bullet.

They all managed to arrive at Barton’s destination without any injuries, surprisingly. As they all quickly jumped off of their bikes; running after the plane that was about to take off.

“Oh come on!” (Y/N) sighed, trying to keep up. “Stupid heels.” She quickly kicked them off, running barefoot after the others. O was a little behind as she saw he was struggling. “Mason come on!” She called behind, forgetting all about the fact he was an agent for the moment. She held out her hand as he grabbed it, sprinting as fast as they could towards the back of the plane. The others were cheering them on as they finally made it, O being pulled up first as he turned as helped (Y/N) up too.

“Sorry. I've never been good at sprinting.” O commented as he tried to catch his breath as they headed into the seating area of the plane.

“Never been good at sprinting?” The Doctor asked, face full of confusion.

“I was the last one in every race at school.” He continued as the Doctor shook her head.

“No, no, no. I read your file. You were a champion sprinter.” She replied as (Y/N) looked between the two before O’s face turned dark.

“Mmm.” He mumbled. “Got me. Well done.” He said lowly, causing everyone to look confused. He stared at the Doctor with dark eyes as (Y/N) suddenly felt frightened by her friends gaze.

“What's going on, Doc?” Graham asked, sitting in one of the seats.

“I don't know.” She responded truthfully, as (Y/N) started to get a sickening feeling to her stomach.

“You'd best take a look out of the window.” O told them as everyone glanced out the right side, seeing his house flying outside the window.

“How's your house out there?” Ryan asked, looking back and forth between the window and O.

“Bit Wicked Witch of the West, but you get the gist. Maybe.” He had his back to the gang as he furrowed his brows. “Maybe not.” Everyone looked on confused, as he turned back towards them all, sparing a glance at (Y/N) as she looked frightened. “Oh, come on, Doctor, catch up. You can do it.”

“Ohh!” The Doctor seemed to have a realisation as her expression turned to pure shock.

“That's... that's my name, and that is why I chose it.” O laughed. “So satisfying.” He clapped his hands together. “Doctor, I did say look for the spymaster. Or should I say spy... Master?” (Y/N) couldn’t describe it he suddenly looked menacing. It sent a chill down her spine. “Hi.” He waved to the Doctor as she shook her head.

“You can't be.”

“Oh, I can be. I very much am.” He walked towards her.

“So what's going on, then? He's not really O?” Ryan asked, brows furrowed, finding it hard to follow.

“I'm her best enemy.” He chuckled lightly as he smiled at them all. “Call me Master.“ He looked over to (Y/N) who looked hurt. Betrayed. Confused. “Not O. Not Mason.” The Doctor looked at (Y/N) as she gasped slightly at the admission. “Master.”

“You were Mason.” The Doctor looked at (Y/N).

“So you... You tricked me?! Twice?!” (Y/N) exclaimed, hurt in her voice as tears welled in her eyes. The Master laughed manically, clapping his hands.

“I know! Isn’t it brilliant!” He laughed madly, causing (Y/N) to recoil.

“Why?” The Doctor questioned.

“To get close to you, of course.” He said casually. “Thought that was obvious.” He smirked. “And it was so easy.” He smiled. “She didn’t suspect a thing! Don’t know if it’s stupid or just... endearing how trust worthy she is.” (Y/N) felt like time slowed down, like her world was crashing down around her.

“Leave her alone!” Ryan exclaimed, as the Master laughed lightly.

“And what are you gonna do? Huh? Cause I control everything.” He breathed out dramatically after his sentence.

“Why?” (Y/N) finally spoke again. “Why me?”

“Cause it’s a game... and you like those, don’t you?” He gave her an almost soft look. “Humans. So simple. So easy to please.” She let a tear fall. “But it’s not over yet!” He shook his head. “Oh no!” He clapped his hands together before revealing Barton was no longer in the cockpit. “Cause you have roughly 50 seconds before you all die.” He paused. “But let’s play a game, shall we?” The Doctor tried to figure out what to do, her mind racing as the others seemed to begin to panic. (Y/N) stared up at the man she once called her friend, the man she adored deeply, the man she had grown to love.

“If you can answer this right, you get to survive.” He looked down at (Y/N). “What’s my name?”

(Y/N) paused, looking at the others in confusion, before glancing at the Doctor.

“No help from the others! You can’t call a friend!” He exclaimed as she jumped, looking back at him.

“What’s my name?”

(Y/N) blinked as she looked away from the man, looking down at her hands in her lap.

“Master.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Master.” She said louder as the others felt their panic rising.

“Is that your final answer?”

“Yes!” (Y/N) exclaimed. “Just stop this! Let me and my friends go.” He smiled bitterly at her.

“I never said I’d let them go.” He furrowed his brows as she felt her heart drop. He grabbed her arm, pulling her up with him.

“One last thing Doctor! Before you die!” He got close to her face, the cabin blowing up as the plane began to crash. “Everything you think you know, is a lie.”

He stood back up, pulling (Y/N) which him as he went towards the back of the plane, watching as the chaos unfolded. He laughed as he teleported off the plane with (Y/N) as she tried to shout for the Doctor.

#spyfall #doctor who imagine #sacha dhawan #thirteenth doctor #doctor x reader #13th doctor x reader #doctor who #the master x reader #master x reader #the master #dhawan!master x reader #dhawan!master #reader insert #fanfic

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xhxhxhx · 4 years

Text

Saw something in the further reading section of Michael Kulikowski’s Imperial Tragedy (Profile, 2019) today:

There are countless books on the fall of the western Roman empire, and more appear annually, with variable scholarly trappings but nearly all quite conventional. Still, ripping yarns and neo-Victorian analyses can be found in any bookshop. So, for those so inclined, can thinly disguised nativist tracts on how immigration (and ‘immigrant violence’) brought down the empire. To name names would be invidious.

I thought this was a dig at Peter Heather, Professor of Medieval History at King’s College London and author of The Fall of the Roman Empire (Oxford, 2005) and Empires and Barbarians (Oxford, 2009), so I looked it up and discovered that not only was I right, but Kulikowski has serious beef with the guy:

Peter Heather has been fiercely criticized by members of the so-called Toronto School of History. Michael Kulikowski, who belongs to this group, has accused Heather of neo-romanticism and of wishing "to revive a biological approach to ethnicity". Kulikowski claims that Heather "manifests a clear methodological affinity" to the 19th-century writer of the Goths Henry Bradley.

But Kulikowki’s beef is nothing next to the righteous fury of Guy Halsall, Professor of History at the University of York:

Guy Halsall has identified Peter Heather as the leader of a "counter-revisionist offensive against more subtle ways of thinking" about the Migration Period. Halsall accuses this group, which is strongly associated with University of Oxford, of "bizarre reasoning" and of purveying a "deeply irresponsible history". Halsall writes that Heather and the Oxford historians have been responsible for "an academic counter-revolution" of wide importance, and accuses them of deliberately contributing to the rise of "far-right extremists".

Halsall got so mad at Heather, first at the 2011 Leeds International Medieval Conference and then online, at his blog, that he threatened to leave academia entirely:

Well, it's more or less a year since I started doing this blogging lark 'seriously' (the inverted commas are obviously necessary). And, as they say, what a roller-coaster of a year it's been. I've shut down the blog twice, brought it back twice, come to the verge of formal complaints being sent to my university twice (once justifiably, once most certainly not), lost at least one friend, lost 99% of the respect I had for someone I had hitherto held in high esteem, quite possibly lost the chance of a job I wanted because of this blog, taken some pretty visceral abuse, and so on. All good fun!

On the other hand I have learnt some lessons. One is that even bastards have feelings. Another is that if you have twenty-odd followers and maybe 100 hits a day, that (allowing for hits from people looking for something else, like Elizabeth Kostova's novel The Historian or ever-popular balding guitarist The Edge) does not mean that only twenty or thirty people in the whole wide world read your blog. Thus you need to be a bit more careful about what you say and how you say it. I've also learnt that eminent historians don't always read what you write very carefully, and just how deeply-ingrained the elitist culture of the British historical profession is, as well as just how few principles are actually held by the overwhelming majority of the practitioners of said profession. And this in response to something that I actually thought long and hard about how I wrote.

And as a result of all this I have realised that no good is going to come of me continuing to smack my head against the glass ceiling that those of us not from 'a particular socio-educational background' (you know the one) eventually run up against. I have instead come to the decision, essentially, to give up on it and 'seek my fortune' elsewhere than in the confines of the academic career-path, as it is now constructed in the UK at any rate.* I'm actually quite excited about this as I think it offers a lot of possibilities, creatively and ethically. It's been a liberating decision. Those of you who know that I set most store by the writings of those co-opted into the canon of the existentialists (almost none of whom ever called themselves by that name) will appreciate exactly why I am proud of this decision.

To some extent it makes up for the bad faith I showed in backing down and removing my post on why it matters to get angry about the lazy and irresponsible (indeed, yes, just downright knuckle-headed) way in which some historians in and/or produced by our most prestigious Thames Valley-based university write about politically and socially sensitive topics like migrations.

Halsall ultimately sanitized the 2011 IMC paper that started the war with Heather -- the neutered version is still up on his blog -- but the original was apparently quite something:

Perhaps unsurprisingly for those who’ve heard him speak or read him on the Internet, this was the one that really started the war. [Edit: and, indeed, some changes have been made to these paragraphs by request of one of those involved.] The consequences, if not of this actual speech, at least of its subsequent display on the Internet, have been various, unpleasant and generally regrettable, and I don’t want any of them myself.

Thankfully, the purged parts of the original were reproduced by some noble soul on the Civilization Fanatics forums before they were lost to the ages:

Thus we can have Ward-Perkins’ sneering parody of late antiquity studies and Peter Heather’s distortions of counter-arguments. In many people’s minds the choices before us are evidently, either, that nothing happened, or, that there was a huge catastrophe caused entirely by invading barbarians. Obviously this is not the case. Plenty of people other than me -- most famously, Walter Pohl -- have written about serious, dramatic change happening in the fifth century without blaming it on the barbarians and without denying that there were migrations in the fifth century. Yet this -- if I dare call it such -- third way seems nevertheless to be very much a minority position.

But I am not convinced that a simple lack of exposure to sensible alternatives really explains the continuing, fanatical devotion to the idea of the barbarian migrations, especially outside the academy.

I have recently said that:

“When a British historian places an argument that the Roman Empire fell because of the immigration of large numbers of barbarians next to arguments that the end of Rome was the end of civilisation and that we need to take care to preserve our own civilisation, when another British historian writes sentences saying “the connection between immigrant violence and the collapse of the western Empire could not be more direct” [a direct quote from Peter Heather’s Empires and Barbarians (Oxford, 2009)], and especially when the arguments of both involve considerable distortions of the evidence to fit their theories, one cannot help but wonder whether these authors are wicked, irresponsible or merely stupid.”

Obviously, these are not mutually exclusive alternatives.

Are these writers setting themselves up as ideologues of the xenophobic Right or have they simply not realised the uses to which such careless thinking and phrasing can be put? You can draw your own conclusions, although it is worth noting that Ward-Perkins has been happy enough to write on this subject for the neo-liberal magazine Standpoint, which regularly publishes pieces attacking multiculturalism. There comes a point when one has to admit that actually the most charitable explanation for all this really is that these writers are simply a bit dim.

Outside academic circles, it is certainly the case that the adhesion to the idea of barbarian invasion has a heavily right-wing political dimension. Apart from the barbarians’ role as metaphor, already discussed, it is worth, very briefly, thinking about the other reasons why people are so ready to pin the blame on the barbarians. Slavoj Zizek’s Lacanian analysis of antisemitism provides some valuable ways forward. Essentially, the barbarian, like the figure of the Jew, acts as a screen between the subject and a confrontation with the Real, which Zizek sees, slightly differently from Lacan, as the pre-symbolised; things that haven’t been or can’t or won’t be encompassed in a world view. Zizek showed that arguments that “the Jews aren’t like that” are almost never effective against anti-Semites because what real Jews (or actual immigrants, one might say) are like is not the point. Similarly, arguments about the empirical reality of the fifth-century cut little weight with those wedded to the idea of Barbarian Invasion. Just as the anti-Semite takes factual evidence as more proof of the existence of the international Zionist conspiracy, the right-wing devotee of the Barbarian Invasions sees factual counter-arguments as manifestations of the liberal, left-wing academy peddling its dangerous multicultural political correctness. I have read a great deal of this on internet discussion lists -- including a review of my own book, and one of James O’Donnell’s! Michael Kulikowski received a similarly-phrased review from a right-wing academic ancient historian.

The barbarian is the classic “subject presumed to”. The barbarian can change the world; he can bring down empires; he can create kingdoms. The barbarian dominates history. “He” is not like “us”, enmeshed in our laws, our little lives and petty responsibilities. The barbarians -- and you only need to read Peter Heather to see this -- are peoples with “coherent aims” (a quote), which they set out single-mindedly to achieve. No people in the whole of recorded human history have ever had single coherent sets of aims. Well -- none other than the barbarians anyway.

Halsall has never resiled from his belief that Heather was essentially a fascist, nor backed away from his commitment to resign from his post in righteous indignation -- maybe not in 2011, or 2019, but certainly by 2023 at the very latest:

My anger about all this is justly infamous but has been badly misrepresented. I do think that some things are worth getting angry about, and the misuse of the Barbarian Migrations and the End of the Roman Empire to fuel xenophobia and racism, and the way some modern authors pander to this, is one such. However, to look at the origins of this ire and animus, I invite you to compare my engagement with Peter Heather’s work in Barbarian Migrations, and its tone, with Heather’s engagement – if you can call it that – with my work, and its tone, in Empires and Barbarians. I never expect to be agreed with; I do expect basic academic courtesy to be reciprocated. If people see fit to treat me intellectually as a second-class citizen, the gloves will come off. That may stem from my own biography as (unlike so many) a first-generation academic not educated at the 'right' schools and universities, but there we are. I will be leaving the profession within the next four years (well done, guys) so I have nothing to lose by not apologising for that.

Kulikowski might have gotten in a good dig, but Halsall will always be a true master of the art of Being Mad Online.

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writingfromkitchenator · 4 years

Text

A Not So Dreamless Sleep ~ Part 1

A Crowley x Winchester!Sister OC

Welcome to this three part series. I’m super stoked to be posting this and sharing this with you all and you can enjoy. I would love, love, love some feedback, it’s the longest thing I’ve written in quiet a while, and I’m really proud of it. The following two parts will be posted the following Friday’s.

Lucy Winchester wakes up to a normal life, a life she had always wanted with a loving partner, a solid career with her brother, and a family that is complete. The problem is, she’s knows that it was wrong, a feeling nagging away in the back of her mind, and once she figures out what is going on, the consequences bring up a whole new set of problems that she wasn’t quite ready to deal with.

This is an 18+ story. Warnings below.

Series Warnings: Suicide, talk of suicide (fair warning, the suicide isn’t technically real in the context of the story), angst, violence, torture, severe injuries, near death experiences, NSFW content, unprotected sex, fingering, plenty of fluff and teasing, mutual pining, minor touch starvation.

Words: 8,166

Part Warnings: Suicide, confusion, angst, chronic pain, family teasing, minor violent scene

Part 1

Something felt weird as Lucy stirred from sleep. She felt too comfortable, too at peace and warm…why was she so warm?

Moving slightly, she registers being buried underneath a duvet, a large, fluffy, duvet, and before she can help it, she yawns widely, reluctant to open her eyes, even as an alarm buzzes somewhere behind her.

Movement on the bed behind her causes her to still for a moment, her mind whirling and coming up short on just what was happening and who exactly it could be, the room going silent. She remains motionless, even as they climb from the bed and she can hear them moving about.

Lucy felt oddly unrushed, safe, and it was such a strange sensation, she couldn’t recall having a reason to not feel safe, but…somehow she knew she shouldn’t.

There is a chuckle, one that was familiar, and next thing she knew, a kiss is pressed to her forehead. “I hate to tell you this, but you’re not going to be very popular if you stay in bed all day. That brother of yours is harder on you than you are on him.”

Frowning, Lucy finally opens her eyes, blinking in the morning light and having enough time to see a blurred figure disappear into a room on the side, a shower starting moments later.

Allowing her mind to clear for a moment, Lucy slowly sits up, her green eyes taking in the room which was neat and clean, minus a few clothes thrown over a chair on the side. Her frown deepens, the whole scenario making her feel much better off than she deserved.

Sighing, she rubs her head, feeling a headache coming on. It was too early to deal with all this.

The shower stopped and Lucy huffed and laid back down, throwing a pillow over her head, not wanting to deal with the morning and whatever nonsense was going to happen today, she decided it could all wait until her head had cleared properly.

Wrapped back up in the duvet and buried under the pillow as she was, she didn’t hear the footsteps creeping back towards the bed.

Hands suddenly found her sides and before she could even draw in a breath, fingers dug in her ribs. Lucy squealed and started laughing, twisting and turning to try and escape the onslaught from the hands, who’s owner was also laughing. She finally managed to grip their hands, only for them to turn it on her and pin both of hers above her head, lips pressing to hers through a grin.

The kiss felt new, but somehow familiar, and if she hadn’t been giggling through the kisses, she would’ve questioned it more.

Finally, the kiss broke away and a nose nudges her. “Time to get up love, no matter how much you don’t want to.”

She opens her eyes and meets his gaze, his lips pressing to hers again briefly before he steps away, still smiling, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Crowley?”

The weird feeling returned as she watched him, a part of her admiring him and the tattoos he had. She didn’t even realise he’d responded to her question until he sent a smirk her way. “Are you enjoying the show love?”

Lucy blinks and throws a pillow at him, making him chuckle. “Shut up. I was enjoying my sleep.” She flinches at the increasing headache, rubbing her temples. “And I have a headache.”

Crowley’s amusement died a little. “Would you like me to get you some aspirin?”

Waving a hand, she yawns and throws the blanket off, finally dragging herself from bed. “No, I’ll have a shower first, see if it helps. If not, then I’ll take some. Nothing like drugs for breakfast.”

He shakes his head, his smirk returning. “You could’ve joined me in the shower, I know the perfect way to get rid of any headache.”

Lucy shoots him a look as she reaches the bathroom door. “If you had it your way that would be your solution to everything.”

Crowley grins. “Only for you love, I don’t know about you, but I don’t like sharing.”

“That’ll be my little secret,” She winks at him and laughs as she closes the door, his eyes narrowing a little after her. “Relax Crowley, I’m not going anywhere without you. It took us too long to get to this stage.”

His amused snort was audible on the other side of the door, but the conversation was soon pushed aside as she let the hot water wash over her. It was easing the ache in her head and she let herself relax, pushing away the worrying thoughts from earlier. This was what she’d always wanted, she decided she only felt odd because things were so right for once.

Showered and dressed, Lucy turned her attention back to the bed and started straightening it out, humming away to herself, and it wasn’t until she reached for the pillow, intending to collect the knife underneath, that she froze again.

Under the pillow was empty. Why would she have a knife under there?

Shaking her head, Lucy thought that maybe she’d had some sort of weird dream that she couldn’t quiet remember, that that was what was throwing her off and unsettling her this morning.

“Lucy, are you coming down for breakfast?” Crowley called.

“Be down in a minute.” Lucy finished straightening up, shook off the feeling again and heads downstairs.

Her mouth waters a little at the freshly cooked bacon and eggs already plated up for her, Crowley eating and scrolling through his phone, smiling as she comes in. “Feeling better?”

“For the most part,” She returns the smile and joins him at the table. “It seems to come and go, so I might still take something after I’ve eaten.”

“Well, don’t go overworking yourself today,” Crowley said, the concern clear in his voice. “And don’t let Dean bother you about every small detail.”

Lucy chuckles. “I’m not the boss for nothing Crowley, I can say and do whatever I want.” Her own phone buzzes and she sees a message from Dean asking when she was going to be in. “And arrive when I want, something my brother doesn’t seem to realise.”

“Don’t let your father hear you say that, considering he did leave it to both of you,” Crowley said and was about chuckle when he saw her brow knit in confusion. “Is everything alright?”

She quickly nods and rubs the bridge of her nose as the headache returns. “Yeah, just the headache again. I think it’s going to be one of those days.”

Crowley hums and gets up, coming back a moment later with aspirin and water for her. “Take something now love, you don’t need it getting worse.”

Sighing, Lucy leans back as his hands rest on her shoulders, smiling softly at him. “Thank you Crowley, sorry I’m not great company this morning.”

He smiles and kisses her gently. “Don’t stress over it love, just take it easy today, if you are even capable of taking it easy.”

“Maybe, because you asked so nicely.” She pulls him back into a kiss, the two of them staying like that for a moment before Crowley sighs contently and pulls away.

“Don’t tempt me to take you back upstairs,” He growls playfully, grabbing his cleared plate and putting in the sink. “I have far too many important meetings today.”

“Meetings you hate,” She smiles, taking the aspirin as her head throbs again. “But I guess that’s also the perks of being in charge.”

Crowley chuckles and places a final kiss on top of her head. “Unfortunately so. I’ll see you tonight love.”

Lucy waves and watches him go with a smile, one that slowly fades as he disappears from sight and she hears a car start up, frowning once again as she looks around the open plan room, kitchen, dining and lounge combined, all furnished nicely but not too lavishly. Again, the weird feeling returned, of something being wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was.

Her and Crowley had been happy here for a while, right?

Her frown deepened further. How long had they been together now?

There was a whine from the back door and she looks around and sees a large, black German Shepherd. She smiles and gets up, stepping outside and sitting down, the dog quickly joining her, its tail wagging.

“Hey Juliet,” Lucy scratches her ears. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

She whines and rests her head on Lucy’s laps, looking up at her.

Lucy chuckles. “Don’t look at me like that, I can’t make him come back any quicker, you’re just going to have to entertain yourself like you do every other day.”

Juliet huffs and licks her hand, her tail wagging some more.

“You are a very good and smart girl,” Lucy scratches her head more enthusiastically, making Juliet whine and try and kiss her. “You will be absolutely fine.”

Juliet finally manages to kiss her and then bounds away, tail wagging, making Lucy laugh some more. She plays with her for a little while, before checking her food and water and heading back inside, knowing she had to get moving for the day.

Lucy jumps as her phone starts ringing and she stares as Dean’s name comes up. “Hey Dean.”

“Hey boss,” His tone was both amused and slightly annoyed. “You planning on coming in today?”

Lucy sighs and rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah boss, just been trying to shake a headache first.”

There was a brief moment of silence. “Is everything okay sis?”

It took her a moment before she realised she had to answer. “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“You don’t sound too sure of that.”

Lucy huffs a small laugh and moves, putting her own plate in the sink, deciding it can wait till later. “I’m fine Dean, just a headache that’s been throwing me off all morning.”

Dean’s hesitation was clear. “Luce…he’s not doing anything to you, right?”

“Who? Crowley?” Lucy laughs a little. “No Dean, of course not. How many times do I have to tell you I don’t need protective brothers on this?”

He mutters something on the other end of the phone. “You know both Sam and I have our concerns.”

“I love him, that should be enough for both of you,” Lucy sighs and shakes her head, wishing the aspirin would take a hold quicker. “Look, let me shake this headache and I’ll be in.”

“Okay,” Dean said, and she could by his tone that the conversation wasn’t over. “But don’t blame me if I stuff any of these up, I know how particular you are with your own one.”

“Are you a mechanic or not Dean?” She laughed. “I’m sure you can handle it until I get there.”

“I’d feel better if I’d been allowed to work on your car,” Dean grumbled. “But that was just too much to ask, wasn’t it Luce?”

“No one touches my girl but me,” Lucy said. “Now, bugger off and let me get a few minutes of quiet so I can get rid of this.”

“Alright, alright, you’re the boss,” Dean chuckled. “I’ll see you soon.”

Hanging up, again Lucy is left feeling out of place, and she sits down for a moment, trying to place it.

She had a car?

It takes a moment, but she hunts down the car keys and moves out to the garage, stopping dead in her tracks as she stares at it.

A 1965 red Ford Mustang convertible.

Her chest ached as she stared at it, reaching out and gently touching the hood, before her hand slides along it, admiring it. She’d always wanted one as a kid, had been her favourite even above the Impala that he dad drove around in.

The chest ache grew worse and she stepped back for a moment, blinking at it.

How did she get this car?

She pulls out her phone and finds Crowley’s number, generic texts back and forth from the previous day filling the screen until she starts to type a new message, one that she stared at after she sent, the wording feeling odd, but right.

Did I sell you my soul to get this car?

There was a moment of silence as she waited for a response.

Haha, very funny. More like I had to sell you my soul to get you away from it.

Lucy licked her lips. That didn’t seem right.

Well, she is beautiful.

Don’t rub it in love, I might just get jealous of it. It’s bad enough seeing you working on it all weekend at times.

The tension in her shoulders eased and she sighed. She does have one disadvantage. I can’t tease her like I do you.

You wound me, and you are definitely going to pay for that later.

Lucy laughs to herself and jumps in her car, the top already down. Soon, the fresh air seemed to be doing more than what the aspirin could. She didn’t drive anywhere in particular to begin with, just enjoying clearing her head and the wind whipping through her hair.

Finally, she turns and heads towards work, deciding it wasn’t worth putting it off any longer, lest she get a roasting from Dean.

Winchester Restorations seemed to always be busy these days, and being mostly handled by her and Dean, it was sometimes stressful. John and Bobby would join them when it got too bad, but officially the two of them had retired from the mechanics life, passing it over to Lucy and Dean who’d all but grown up in the workshop.

She yawns as she enters, tying up her messy brown hair, just in time to hear a thud followed by an ‘ow’.

“I hope you’re not hurting those cars, Dean,” She teased, eyeing off the three Mustangs in the shop, Dean’s head poking out from underneath the hood of a black one. “The client’s paying a lot of money for us to get these in tip top shape.”

“Says the one that’s late,” Dean replied, rubbing his head. “And I’m fine by the way.”

“It’s only your head,” She shrugged. “It’s not like you use it anyway.”

Dean threw a dirty rag at her, making her laugh, and soon the two of them are at ease, working away on restoring the cars, conversation light when one of them wasn’t focused on a task.

After several hours work, both of them successfully dirty, Dean called a lunch break.

Lucy throws him a beer from the fridge, and the two of them sit in a small patch of sun out the back of the shop, more interested in their drinks than the sandwiches sitting in their laps.

Dean watches Lucy out of the corner of eye, her gaze distant as if her mind was far away. The silence dragged on for a few more moments before he clears his throat. “So, how’s the head doing?”

“It’s manageable,” She said, followed by a small shrug. “It’s kinda like a constant nagging feeling at this point.”

“Nagging? Last I checked Bobby wasn’t around.”

The two of them share a laugh.

“If it only were that type of nagging,” Lucy sighed a little and hesitates, she wasn’t sure whether to tell Dean that the longer today had gone on, the more out of place she felt. “Have you heard from Sammy recently?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “What? On his honeymoon? Are you kidding me? I don’t need to be involved in any of that.” When he sees Lucy frown, his expression grows more worried. “He’ll be back late tonight Luce, but you know that. I still think they’re coming home too early, but you know him and Jess, family is family, even though they should now be more worried about each other.”

“Jess…” The name sounded strange to her, like it was some long forgotten memory, and it wasn’t until she caught Dean’s look that she realised she’d even said anything out loud. “Right, of course. Um…why are they coming home early?”

“For…us,” Dean said slowly, frowning at her. “You know, our parents insisting that we have family birthday celebration tomorrow night? No matter how old the two of us get.”

Lucy smiles. “You mean me getting to celebrate watching my little brother get a year older.”

Dean snorts. “You’re thirteen minutes older bitch, I get to watch you go grey first.”

She chuckles, but it hangs a little hollow in the air, very aware of Dean watching her.

“Lucy,” His voice is soft. “What’s going on?”

Sighing, Lucy picks at the label on her beer. “I don’t know. Ever since I woke up this morning I’ve just felt out of place, like…this isn’t real, or I don’t belong here. It’s weird, but anytime I seem to think on something too much, this damned headache gets worse, but no matter I do to get rid of the headache, it just keeps coming back. I feel like I’m going crazy Dean, and not in a good way.”

Dean frowns. “Does Crowley know this?”

“No,” She rests back, closing her eyes. “It’s only been as the day’s gone on that it’s been plaguing me more and more. I don’t want to worry him with anything while he’s at work, he’s got enough on his plate as it is.”

He is silent for a moment thinking. “Why don’t you and Crowley come over for dinner tonight? I’m sure Lisa won’t mind and I know Ben would love to spend more time with his aunt.”

Her head throbbed painfully and Lucy winces, sitting up straight with a sigh. “I…I dunno Dean, I don’t want to worry everyone,” She shoots him a look. “And you hate Crowley.”

“I don’t hate him,” He said, a little amused. “I just don’t like him, there’s a difference. I’m sure I can put up with him for a couple of hours, not to mention he’s virtually family at this point anyway.”

“Wow, how did that taste in your mouth?”

“Terrible,” He chuckled. “Repeat it to anyone and you’re dead.”

Lucy laughs softly and breaks away from his gaze, pausing for a moment, Dean waiting for whatever she wanted to say. “You know…making the bed this morning, I expected there to be a knife under my pillow. I went to pick it up, like it was completely ordinary, and then stood there confused when there was nothing there. I can’t escape this feeling that all this safety is just…wrong. I don’t need to burden you and your family with that.”

“Well, the offer is there.” Dean said quietly. “And as for the whole…feeling thing, it could just be one of those days Luce, you know, when you wake up thinking it’s Friday but it’s Monday type thing.”

“Maybe…” She said quietly without looking at him, but Dean could tell by the slump in her shoulders that she didn’t believe him.

It reached about 3 o’clock when Dean sent her home, letting her know that he would cover the rest of the afternoon and that she needed to rest, her face having turned pale and her hands clammy.

She didn’t bother with aspirin this time, heading straight for the liquor cabinet and pouring herself a glass. As she sits heavily on the lounge, she shoots Crowley a text letting him know that she was home early, that the head hadn’t cleared.

Each sip that burns down her throat seemed to ease the pain, but in doing so brought more thoughts to her mind, things that didn’t quiet add up, her stomach churning away.

Lucy didn’t remember dozing off, but a warm pair of hands on her shoulders soon disturbed her from sleep, stirring and opening her eyes enough to see Crowley standing behind her, making her smile softly. “Hey…”

“Hey,” He said quietly, smiling but concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” She leans into arm. “I could use a cuddle.”

Crowley chuckles softly and kisses the top of her head. “Let me go get changed and then I’m all yours.”

Lucy hums and waits for him, half dozing again, realising just how much the headache had taken out of her. A soft sighs leaves her as Crowley joins her on the lounge and pulls her carefully into his side, fingers brushing through her hair.

“How was work?” She mumbled tiredly.

“Boring, as usual.” He said lightly. “Although, I did get to fire someone.”

“Bet you liked that.”

“It certainly changed the day up,” Crowley gently brushed her cheek. “There were lots of tears and yelling to the point security had to be called, nothing you have to worry about of course, he had just messed up for the last time. I keep warning them all that I can only give so many warnings.” There was a pause. “How was your day?”

Lucy relaxes further into him. “Ordinary, Dean being Dean, nothing unusual apart from the headache.”

“Ah, any insults thrown my way again?”

“You could say that, each time Sam and Dean talk, I can’t decide who likes you less,” She gave a small chuckle. “Although, Dean did invite us around for dinner.”

“Oh, I’m sure that would be lovely.”

She moves a little so she can look at him. “That was nice for him Crowley, give him some slack.”

Crowley smiles. “Maybe, because you asked so nicely.”

Lucy snorts and the two of them chuckle before she snuggles back into him. “This is nice, we should do this more often.”

His hand, which had returned to her hair, pauses. “We do this every night love.”

“Well…more than that then.”

He remains still for a moment longer before he chuckles softly and continues. “Maybe we should have a holiday, we don’t even have to go anywhere, we can sit here like this all day.”

Lucy smiles. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Juliet would certainly like it.”

“You know if you don’t take her for a walk tonight, she’ll start chewing through the fence.”

Crowley hums a little thoughtfully. “Probably, maybe I can sick her on Dean.”

“Crowley…”

He chuckles. “I know when to play nice love.”

Lucy makes an indignant noise, but doesn’t move, curling up tighter and closing her eyes.

“Did you want some dinner?”

“Later, I’m comfortable.”

“Hmm, and if I’m hungry?”

“I’m sure you can manage for a little while.”

“Oh, the things I do for you.”

“You love me.”

Crowley chuckles, just letting her lay there quietly, content for the moment that this was how they were going to spend their night.

The next morning, Lucy happily awoke wrapped in Crowley’s arms, her head feeling clearer. She yawns and stirs a little, snuggling in closer to him, a sleepy chuckle reaching her ears before kisses are pressed into her hair and face, making her giggle.

“Happy birthday love,” Crowley said sleepily. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Much better thank you.” She tilts her head enough so that their lips can meet, their kisses soft and lazy. “Do we have a plan for today, apart from work?”

Crowley smirks and captures her lips in a deeper kiss, gently pushing her onto her back, making her smile, a small moan leaving her, her hands burying into his hair.

She broke away from the kiss to draw in a breath, shivering as Crowley continued the kiss down her jaw and throat, his hands slipping under her shirt.

“You know we’re going to be late if you keep this up.” She said, a little breathlessly.

Crowley lets out a low growl. “We’re in charge, they’ll manage.”

He slips her shirt off and Lucy arches into his touch, biting her lip, tugging his mouth back to hers, her legs wrapping around him, making him moan and start to grind against her.

That was when a bolt of pain shoots down her spine, making her gasp, the headache from the day before returning tenfold.

Crowley breaks away instantly, his expression worried at her very pained expression. “What happened?”

Lucy groaned, her eyes screwed up against the pain, a tremble going through her body. “I…I dunno. Fuck that hurts.”

She whimpers as he moves away, curling up in on herself, the pain in her back easing slightly, but doing nothing against the pain in her head.

Crowley returns a moment later, a glass of water in hand. “Here love.”

Her hands are shaking as she takes it, eyes blurred and barely making out the tablets in his other hand. With his help, she managed to down them, draining the glass of water, before wrapping her arms around him, burying into his chest, more pain bolting through her.

His hands are gentle as he rubs her arms. “Do you want me to get you to a hospital love?”

Lucy shakes her head, despite the pain. “No, it should ease up.”

“Lucy…” His voice was filled with concern. “You’ve never had anything like this before.”

“I know,” She whimpers. “But please…not today…I can’t…”

She didn’t know how long she was there curled up in his arms, but Crowley didn’t move until she did, the pain having eased, but it was clear from her expression and the paleness of her face that she wasn’t going to be up for anything.

Crowley brushes her hair back gently, still worried. “How are you feeling?”

Licking her lips, she manages to sit back on the bed slowly. “Ah…I could use some more water…”

He nods and grabs her glass, disappearing quickly and returning with a glass and a jug, both full. She takes it and drains it quickly, not understanding why she was feeling so parched.

His hand rests on her knee. “Love?”

Lucy sighs and nods, feeling better. “I’m…I’m okay, I just…need to rest I think.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll give Dean a call, let him know you won’t be in, then I’ll call my office.”

“Crowley, you don’t have to…”

“I do,” He said softly. “I can’t leave you here like this. If something happened I would never forgive myself.”

Lucy shudders against another wave of pain, not anything like the first, but still very prevalent and she forces her eyes shut.

“That settles it,” Crowley said firmly, but gently. “I’m not going anywhere today, and neither are you.”

“But we have dinner tonight…” She whined a little, turning away from the light that even behind closed eyes felt too bright.

“Well, let’s hope it’s cleared up by then,” He moves and kisses her forehead softly. “Get some sleep love, let me handle today.”

Lucy spent most of the day sleeping, much to her own dismay, it wasn’t exactly how she wanted to spend her birthday. Crowley would check up on her constantly, usually including food and fresh water, and she had a quiet chuckle to herself when she woke up at one point and Juliet was curled up on the bed next to her.

It was late afternoon before the worst of the pain had eased and she managed to drag herself to the bathroom to have a shower, it helping to ease some of the last of it, only left as a niggle in the back of her mind. Crowley joined her and made sure that she was alright, making sure that she didn’t rush and trigger anything again.

“We don’t have to go,” Crowley said, watching as she slips her shoes on later that night. “I’m sure they’ll understand you haven’t been well.”

Lucy smiles a little wearily at him, the tiredness still in her eyes but colour had returned to her cheeks. “I’m okay Crowley, I promise, I feel a lot better than I did this morning. Besides,” She stands and moves to him, her arms wrapping around his neck. “I’m sure you don’t want to miss a Winchester celebration, it’s always one hell of an event.”

Crowley doesn’t look convinced. “Right now, my concern is you.”

“Then let’s go,” She said. “Because I want to go, I’m not going to have my whole birthday be a total bust.”

He sighs and relents, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. “If you feel anything close to what you did this morning…”

“You’ll be the first to know, I promise,” She kisses him softly and can’t help but let a small smirk come to her. “And if all goes well, when we get home we can continue what we were doing this morning.”

Crowley finally gives a small smile in return and the two of them finally leave, Crowley driving. Lucy doesn’t miss the sidelong looks he gives her as they drive, but she decides to ignore them, letting the cool night air wash over her from the open window, breathing deeply to keep any remaining pain at bay.

They reached her parents’ home and there was a round of greetings and concerns about whether she was alright. It took a little while, but through some laughter, eventually everyone settled back down and she got to ask Sam and Jess how their honeymoon was, while Dean made faces behind Sam’s back, Lisa hitting him to stop, making him laugh.

For such a small group, there seemed to be a lot of talking, but with the talking was a lot of laughter, and Lucy could feel herself relaxing a little, letting the noise wash over her, even excitedly talking with Ben over the latest video game that was due out soon, only being stopped by Lisa who dragged him outside to help set the table.

Lucy finds herself alone for a moment, and she watches her parents interact out by the barbeque, a soft smile coming to her as they laugh together, Mary hitting John on the arm with a towel. The longer she watched though, the more the moment seemed wrong, the smile fading from her lips and something tugging from deep down in her memory.

Dean comes in and throws her a beer, one she barely manages to catch in time as he sits down next to her. “Lucky you didn’t drop that.” He looks at her carefully. “So, you sure you’re okay? You’re still looking very peaky.”

Lucy nods. “Says the one that just threw me a beer.” She could feel Dean’s gaze on her, knowing that the usual jibe wasn’t in her vice. “I’m fine boss, you don’t have to check up on me.”

“Sure I do,” Dean said. “What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t? Not to mention, I’m a valued employee, I need to impress the boss.”

She gives a small laugh, before her smile slowly fades, the memory tugging at her again. “Dean…did we ever go hunting as kids?”

He frowns. “What makes you ask that?”

“I don’t know,” She said quietly, looking out the window again at Mary and John. “It just…came to me, as I was watching Mum and Dad, this weird memory of hunting…”

Dean thinks and slowly shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Mum never liked the idea from memory.”

“Huh,” Lucy frowns, trying to ignore the new twinge of pain starting in her mind. “So we don’t…Dad never taught us to shoot?”

“Oh yeah, he did that,” Dean said, smiling at the memory. “You and I both made Nationals one year, man that was fun.”

“He taught us on a shooting range?” She asked, confused.

“Well, yeah? Where else was he going to teach us?” Dean leans forward to look at her, even as she carefully avoided his eye. “Luce, are you sure you’re okay?”

She had no answer for him, more memories coming through, some she didn’t want to ask about, her gaze wondering back to her parents.

She’d mourned her mother, although, she was just a little too young to remember all of it, each memory seeming vague. Many years later, as an adult, she’d mourned her father, something that had devastated her at the time.

What was this?

“What are the two guest of honours hiding away in here for?” Sam asked loudly as he enters, grinning between the two them. “I know we said we’d all set up, but that doesn’t mean the two of you can just sit in here and do nothing, or have both have you really gotten that lazy?”

“Cute Sammy,” Dean said. “I think being on your honeymoon has addled your brain on who has a physical career here.”

Sam laughs. “Physical career? Sitting there drinking beers all day? Now that’s cute Dean.”

Lucy huffs a laugh and nudges Dean. “Leave Sammy alone Dean, he came back early for us, remember? I think it’s more he didn’t get his brain addled enough.”

Dean laughs loudly, even as Sam flushes. “Aww, are we spoiling your fun times?”

Sam rolls his eyes, smiling. “You’re spoiling something, but I’m going to give you the satisfaction of knowing what. Are you two going to come outside or what?”

A sharp pain made Lucy flinch slightly, rubbing her fingers over her temple, a faint high pitched ringing starting in her ear.

“Uh…yeah, sure.” Dean said, casting a worried glance at Lucy. “We’ll be out in a minute Sammy, just give us a sec.”

Sam’s grin drops and he looks between them for a moment before looking at Lucy, who’s gaze had gone distant, her discomfort clear. “Is everything okay Luce?”

Sam…Sam had been studying to be a lawyer, but he’d never gotten the chance to put it to use, he’d escaped the life altogether until…until Jess was killed…the same way as Mary…

Dean had been with Lisa for a while, but then…then he’d had to erase her memory of him…to…to protect her…protect her from what?

Lucy’s expression screws up in pain and she pinches the bridge of her nose, drawing in a deep breath, trying to force whatever this was into clarity, her head throbbing. None of this was real, was it?

A hand rests on her knee and she meets Sam’s gaze as he crouches in front of her. “He hasn’t done anything to you, right?”

Sighing, Lucy stands, suddenly irritated. “Why is it that that is the first thing you guys go to? No, it’s fine, we’re better than fine, so just keep your noses out of it.”

Sam holds up his hands, apologetic. “I’m sorry Lucy, this has just seemed to come on suddenly, we’re just worried, that’s all.”

“About the wrong things,” She said, frustrated. “Honestly we have more important things to worry about than what Crowley is doing and whatever he might be…be…” The words stopped on her tongue, trailing off, not even entirely sure what she’d been about to say. She grits her teeth and glares between the two of them, just catching their shared worried look. “Look, I love Crowley, and neither of you are ever going to change that, got it?”

They both nod, remaining silent.

“Good.” She snapped. “Now, I’m going outside. I need some air.”

Lucy storms away before either of them can stop her, the back door swinging a little wildly as she hits it.

“Hey! Easy on the door!” John called, but Lucy ignored him, going and standing in the middle of the yard, staring at the sky as she draws in several deep breathes.

She knew that eyes were on her, but right now, it didn’t matter, she had to get her focus back here, back in this moment, whatever else was going on, could wait.

“You okay there kiddo?” John asked, approaching quietly. “You look rather distressed.”

Lucy lets her shoulders relaxed. “I…I don’t know Dad, I feel like I don’t know anything right now and it’s frustrating me. There’s just…there’s something going on and I don’t know what to do about it, or how to handle it and…ugh…”

John gives her a small smile and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Welcome to the wonderful world of adulthood sweetheart, nothing ever makes sense.”

She gives a harsh laugh and looks at him. “That was cute when I was eighteen Dad.”

He grins. “Got you to smile didn’t it?”

Her laugh is softer this time and he gives her shoulder a squeeze. “Come on, just enjoy tonight, tomorrow I’ll come round to the shop and help out whatever way I can, how does that sound?”

Lucy nods slowly, smiling. “Okay…I think I can manage that.”

“That’s my girl,” He gives her shoulder another squeeze and kisses her temple. “Now, come on, I’d hate for those boys of mine to get all the best cuts of steak!”

There was denials from Sam and Dean, but Lisa, Jess and Ben were quick to jump against the two of them, starting a round of laughter around the table as Lucy takes a seat next to Crowley, his arm wrapping around waist as he leans into her.

“How are you feeling?” He asked quietly.

She pats his leg and smiles at him. “I’m fine, just had a moment with Sam and Dean, that’s all, got me a bit agitated.”

His gaze is concerned, but there was no time to ask anything else as food was handed around the table and everyone got to dig in.

The more the others talked and Lucy could sit and listen, the more comfortable she felt. Soon, whatever had happened earlier was at the back of her mind and she was comfortably joining in with the others.

The time came for cake and there was a round of cheers and applauds as Lucy and Dean were forced to the head of the table, both grinning a little awkwardly as the worst rendition of happy birthday was sung and they had to blow out the candles, something that quickly ended up in a food fight to see who could get the most cake on each other’s face.

Luckily, after a similar incident the year before, Mary had made two cakes.

“The joys of competitive children,” Mary said, putting down the second cake and starting to cut it up. “I should make you two eat that one.”

This earned another round of laughter, but soon settled as cake was handed around.

Dean, who had drastically lost, shot a glare at Lucy across the table. “You cheated.”

Lucy smirked at him. “A lady never cheats Dean, she just uses what she can to her advantage.”

Dean’s retort was cut off by a ‘hear, hear!’ from Jess and Lisa, who promptly broke into giggles and firmly distracted Dean from Lucy.

As things began to wind down, she found herself helping Mary start to clean a few things up, barely even registering Crowley and John moving further into the yard to talk.

“You shouldn’t be helping me dear, especially when you haven’t been well,” Mary said, smiling at her. “And on your birthday to boot.”

“Don’t be silly,” Lucy said, dumping a pile of plates into the sink. “I’m hardly going to let you do this all by yourself.”

Mary pats her cheek affectionately. “What would I do without you my girl?”

Lucy smiles at her and then stares down at the sink, as she did, the feeling returned, and she found herself motionless for a moment, staring at the bubbles. A flash of blue makes her frown, and she closes her eyes, hoping to chase it away.

Your mother was never in this part of your life, you haven’t seen her since you were four, since she was killed by Azazel. Your father taught you to hunt but he was a broken man, he did his best, taught the three of you to survive, and then saved Dean’s life with his own. This isn’t real.

Her heart pounded, there is another flash of blue, this time behind her eyes, and she presses her fingers to her eyes, the ringing returning to her ears.

The three of you managed to kill Azazel, but not without the cost of Dean’s soul. You and Sam did your best to try and fix it but the Hell Hounds came, the two of you going your separate ways until Dean was brought back by Castiel.

Castiel? Why was that name familiar?

This led to a whole new problem, of seals being broken and Lucifer being set free from the cage. Crowley helped but he was still-

“Lucy?” A hand shook her slightly and she starts, looking back around at Mary, who was watching worriedly.

“I-I’m fine!” She stammered, staring back at the sink and starting to wash the dishes, perhaps a little hastily. “Just-just got lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears now that she didn’t know whether Mary replied, she could barely even hear her own thoughts, panic sitting in her throat making it difficult to breathe, her head throbbing from whatever that voice had been, the voice that sounded so much like her.

“Luce? Sweetheart?” Her head snapped up and she looked at John, feeling oddly frozen in place, everything feeling distorted, even as he gives a sympathetic look and holds out his hand. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Not knowing what else to do, she went along with it. This was her family, her home, she could trust everything and everyone here, right?

There were some candles set up outside and Crowley was standing there looking a little nervous, but still casting her that smile that she loved.

There was something about Crowley…

She barely even registered as John’s hand left hers, leaving her in front of Crowley. Nothing felt real. Nothing felt right.

Crowley took her hands in his. “I know it’s only been a couple of years Lucy, but in all honesty, nothing has ever made me happier and I can’t see myself being with anyone else, and so, very much in front of your very nosey family, despite your brothers well versed accusations, I have something to ask you.”

This should’ve been the happiest moment of her life, but instead, she found herself staring with wide eyes as Crowley gets down on one knee and pulls a ring out of his pocket.

“Will you marry me?”

It was like her head exploded, more memories flooding forth, that blue light burning her eyes, tears starting to roll down her cheeks.

Crowley is a demon! That’s why Sam and Dean don’t like him! This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real!

Her own voice was loud in her ears, her heart breaking.

We are Hunters, we’ve tried this life before and it’s never worked. We always end up back on the road. I know this is what you want because this is all I’ve ever wanted! But please! SNAP OUT OF IT.

The crystal clearness of the thought made everything suddenly snap into place, drawing in a sharp breath as her hunter instincts kicked back in and she understood what sort of world was being shown upon her, she understood why it all felt so wrong.

None of this was real. This was a wish.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck!” The words stammered out of her mouth before she even registered them.

She’d been stupid, hunting alone, and now she’d ended up here, a slow feast to be drained day by day by day.

“Fucking Djin!” Lucy spat, ignoring the confused glances from her family and an especially concerned looking Crowley. “Oh Crowley, I’m so sorry…”

Her chest hurt, her mind working a hundred miles an hour, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked around a little wildly, knowing that she had to get out of this now if she wanted to survive.

Dad still taught us to shoot. There was a gun in the house.

Lucy’s feet were moving before she thought about it, adrenaline pumping through her blood. She could do this, she could still beat this damned thing and hopefully get herself out without dying. It wasn’t a pleasant thought but there was no other choice. She wasn’t going to die like this.

She took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the shouts after her, and she bursts into John’s office, quickly hunting down the pistol in his desk draw and checking whether it was loaded.

Crowley reached the room first. “Lucy, what are you doing?”

For a single moment, she hesitated, the desperation and confusion clear in his gaze. Lucy’s heart hammered in her chest, knowing that this could be the only way that she’d ever get to live like this, but then, it also really wasn’t living.

Her heart broke further, knowing what she was going back to, knowing that her true feelings could never be revealed to the one she loved, that it would end in nothing short of disaster. “I’m sorry Crowley. For what it’s worth, in another life, at a better time, should we even dare…if you asked, I would’ve said yes.”

With that, she put the gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

Adrenaline still coursed through her veins as she jerks awake, hanging up by her wrists in whatever dirty, dingy warehouse the Djin was keeping her in, and through gritted teeth, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, she managed to move, getting motion into her stiff body, ignoring the pain and light-headedness threating to overtake her, feeding on the adrenaline and anger at having been caught like this.

The Djin approached with a scowl, blue light filling the room as he came for her. Lucy swings her legs up, hitting him square in the chest, giving her a moment longer to try and fight free from whatever he’d tied her wrists up with. He was quick to recover though, moving swiftly to grab her, his hand reaching for her head, determined to put her back under.

“I don’t think so fugly!” She spat and twisted out of his grip, managing to swing a little, her feet barely touching the ground.

There was a pillar behind her, one she kicks off, building more momentum and kicking the Djin down again. Her feet hit the pillar again, only this time she ensure she hits a hidden mechanism she’d built into her shoe, a silver blade sticking out, one she promptly uses as she turn and kicks out at the Djin approaching her again.

It only knicks him, but it was enough to slow the attack, enough for her to be able to plant a firm foot on his chest and swing the other leg in, the blade burying into his skull.

The Djin dropped, dead, Lucy letting her legs drop, swinging back and forth a few times before she stills, breathing heavily, her heart pounding. It had all happened so fast, she wasn’t entirely sure if she’d ever be able to really tell what just happened.

Her body relaxed, out of danger, and that was when the real tears started. God, she hated Djin, she hated Djin so much, her body trembling at the memory of all the desires it had pulled forth and twisted into its own sick game. Her head was hurting and she honestly wasn’t sure whether it was from the memory alone, or whether or not she’d actually been hit.

She had to get out of this. She had to get away from here.

Looking up, she realises that getting her wrists free was going to be no easy task, and as her head reeled, she realised that she’d been out a lot longer than what she originally thought.

She’d lost a lot of blood.

Lucy quickly lost track of how long she struggled to try and break free, of how long she hung there, desperately twisting and turning this way that. Her arms were burning, her chest heaving, and she could feel herself getting weaker and weaker.

This is not how I die. She told herself hotly, ignoring the heavy tears still rolling down her cheeks. This is not how I die!

Eventually though, the exhaustion was too much, her body hanging limply as she fought to get air into her lungs, to focus herself.

Out of options, and feeling weaker by the minute, she begs for help.

“Sam?” Her voice breaks into the empty room. “Dean? You guys haven’t heard from me in a while right? You’re out their looking for me? Tracking my cell?”

The silence was deafening.

“Castiel?” Her voice croaked, her head hanging, not wanting to look around her anymore, the feeling of defeat creeping up her spine. “I know we’ve never seen eye to eye, I know that we’ve had our differences, but please, I could really use a hand right now.”

The silence dragged on and dry sobs left her, no more tears coming, darkness starting to setting in.

“Crowley…” She pleaded as her vision goes dark and the peaceful state of unconsciousness sets in, her voice breaking, knowing that, despite what she’d just been through, the chances of him coming were so small. “Please…”

She remembered no more.

#supernatural #crowley #crowley x winchester!sister #crowley x oc #part 1

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