#each of these panels are separated by hundreds of years but the stories are still the same.......

[hakuryuu]

every story starts this way

[doctornolonger]

The story of Tegorak

In one mysterious passage of Lance Parkin’s The Infinity Doctors, two members of the Chancellory Guard visit a long-forgotten room called Archive Chamber 403:

The room, like many in this part of the Capitol, was filled with dusty display cases and ancient lacquered cabinets. Raimor knew that this was part of the Citadel that dated back to the time of Rassilon. It was still possible to see that from the angle of the roof, the quality of the masonry, the shape of the room. The brickwork and panelling along one wall was recent, a partition perhaps only ten millennia old, but it couldn’t hide the room’s heritage: in former times this had been an open balcony which had overlooked the old starharbour. Since then this room must have been a hundred things, from the office of a high‐ranking Ordinal to student lodgings. Nowadays no one ever came here, except the patrol. […] One comer was dominated by a vast suit of armour. A rusty plaque informed anyone who read it that it had once belonged to Tegorak, although the name meant nothing to Captain Raimor.

The name “Tegorak” means nothing to the book’s readers, either – unless those readers are lucky enough to be familiar with an obscure fanzine called Apocrypha. We’ve joked about the idea of Doctor Who apocrypha, but this is the real deal: Adrian Middleton never wrote an official story, but his work in Apocrypha from 1993 to 1995 impacted some of the Wilderness era’s most influential authors, leaving his subtle mark on everything from Big Finish’s Gallifrey to – of course – Faction Paradox.

Copies of Apocrypha were shared with me by a generous friend who was researching some of these references, and as I make my way through the issues, I’ll be posting about all of the various ways they influenced later stories at my #Doctor Who Apocrypha tag. But for today, our topic is Tegorak.

Below the cut you can discover Tegorak’s full story, posted online for the first time. Travel with me to millions of years back in time, just 50,000 years after Morbius’ rebellion, 160,000 years before the birth of the Doctor…

Relevant entries from Apocrypha

THE INVASIONS     -12,188,000/-12,150,250 (112,000/149,750 Q)

After thousands of years separated from the rest of the galaxy, the Time Lords found that, for each culture that died, more new ones would arise. With the expansion of so many civilisations, Time Lord secrecy could not be enforced. A string of increasingly dangerous attacks upon Gallifrey were launched by successive cultures, all of whom knew of the legend of the Time Lords.

BLACK MOUNTAIN     -12,150,250 (149,750 Q)

As invasions against Gallifrey became more frequent and, potentially, more dangerous, a young Arcalian Cardinal named Tegorak rose to prominence.

Tegorak (whose name meant “Black Mountain”) called for a positive means of defending Gallifrey. In the midst of a particularly nasty invasion by a race known as the Sybarils, the old President was killed, naming Tegorak as his successor. Thus, at 330, Tegorak became the youngest President ever. Taking up a sword and donning the battle armour of an ancient Gallifreyan Warlord, he was forced to carry the battle to the steps of the Citadel itself. The last of the Sybaril invaders [pictured below – ed.] fell as an emergency meeting of the High Council was called.

THE GREAT CRUSADE     -12,150,204 (149,796 Q)

President Tegorak decreed that the preservation of Gallifreyan society could only be achieved by setting up a line of defence surrounding Kasterborus. To do this, all planets within the constellation would need to be controlled by the Time Lords. Recruiting a small army from the normal Gallifreyan populace, he took his fleet to the worlds neighbouring Gallifrey. There he recruited a vast mercenary army, establishing a number of defensive outposts.

Resentful of the new President’s policies, some worlds in Kasterborus moved against the Time Lords, having to be dealt with in what was described as a ‘necessarily bloody manner’.

THE BETRAYAL     -12,150,200 (149,800 Q)

While Tegorak was away the Matrix Lords made contact with Chancellor Garlan, ruler of Gallifrey in the President’s absence. Projecting images of a bloody future in which Time Lord society would be supplanted by the mercenary followers of Tegorak (who would go on to form a vast cosmic empire), the Matrix Lords convinced him that Tegorak would have to die.

Garlan dispatched an assassin to kill the President. The attempt failed, and Tegorak returned to discuss the attempt on his life with his fellow Time Lords. In the mean time, Garlan had convinced the remainder of the High Council of the threat that Tegorak now posed. So, when the President arrived to address the Panopticon, he was shot down by his fellow Time Lords.

THE ESCAPE     -12,150,200 (149,800 Q)

Avoiding death by use of the Presidential Time Ring, Tegorak returned to his TARDIS where he was forced to regenerate. Fearing his bloody revenge (he was easily capable of destroying Gallifrey), Garlan turned to the Matrix Lords for guidance. Rassilon himself intervened, and laid a trap for Tegorak, preventing him from taking any action against Gallifrey.

WHERE DO ‘BLACK MOUNTAIN’ AND ‘THE GREAT CRUSADE’ COME FROM?

Essentially, these are creations of my own, taken from a storyline that I have. Basically, Rassilon cannot, in Gallifrey’s 12 Million year history, be the only hero of Time Lord society. Black Mountain is the Gallifreyan equivalent of Alexander the Great, carving out a space empire to guarantee the safety of his own people. He is Julius Caesar, Charlemagne and King Arthur, an allegorical character who did nothing but good for his people, and who was repaid with betrayal by his closest friends.

Commentary

With the exception of my editorial comment (marked in brackets with “– ed.”), the quotes above come from Apocrypha issue 2 pages 4, 5, and 29. Regarding the dates next to each event, I’ll share Middleton’s original explanation in a future post, but the short version is that “-12,150,200” means 12,150,200 BC, and “Q” refers to years after Rassilon’s founding of Time Lord society.

Besides the namedrop of Tegorak in The Infinity Doctors, I don’t think the “Black Mountain” has been mentioned in any other official Doctor Who sources – although please tell me if I’m missing something!

But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t had any impact. Just one page before Apocrypha introduces Tegorak, it summarizes the story of another outsider Lord President who was exiled and then gathered a mercenary army to attack Gallifrey: Morbius, from the Classic serial The Brain of Morbius. It’s hard not to notice the parallels – and I think there are clear signs that the Tegorak story influenced later depictions of the Morbius Presidency.

The full discussion of that will have to wait for a future installment, though. There are more Apocrypha puzzle pieces to collect first!

[blushing-titan]

My reasons to ship Erehisu

About two weeks ago, I got an anonymous ask that reads:

what made you ship erehisu? I don't ship anyone in the series (and defo not eremika lol) and I want to understand the reasons

...but when I tried to answer it on my app, it turned out that I can only post 10 pictures per post, so I decided to make a longer, regular one with my thoughts on this topic 😄 Erehisu remains one of my favorite ships in the series (...with the other ones being Yumi/hisu and Levi/han), so I really enjoy talking about it (...well, at least I did, before I started moving away from the series after that mess of a finale). Without further ado, my reasons to ship Erehisu are under the cut (just a quick warning: the pictures are obviously not mine, and there are some anti-eremika themes in this post).

They had an actual developement

As we know: in the beginning, Historia was pretending to be this good, selfless girl Krista. Later on, we learn that Eren was not particularly fond of her façade (...keep in mind he was the only person who noticed that she was acting off, too - obviously excluding Ymir, who was Historia's closest person and knew about her secret). As Historia chooses to embrace her identity and stop pretending, his opinion on her changes - he reassures her and appreciates the real Historia.

You’re just normal. Just a normal girl who’s absurdly honest. (Eren, ch. 54)

Eren...that day...the time you called me...normal. That made me really...happy. (Historia, ch. 65)

Later on, after Historia saves Eren in the Reiss cave, his thoughts on her change even further. There isn't just something that he likes about her anymore - instead, he starts to actually admire her strength and actions.

(ch. 68)

(ch. 70)

Even further on, he prioritizes her safety and hides an important piece of information that could help Paradis' cause - only because it could potentially put Historia in harm's way.

(ch. 89)

(ch. 90)

(ch. 106)

Keep in mind that there was a time skip in between these chapters, which means Eren kept this secret for years. He hid it even from Armin and Mikasa. After it's finally revealed, he strongly disagrees with, and fights against Historia becoming a titan for the sake of the island. Eren’s sentiment towards Historia is even noticed by Hanji on a few different occasions - it’s something that Hanji brings up while questioning him, later on.

(ch. 107)

Eren also meets Historia in secret, warns her of danger, and downright doesn't let her sacrifice herself - even when she assures him that she's ready to do it. 

(ch. 130)

She's also one of the only people with whom he shares the information about the rumbling. He also brings up her own words that she said to him back in the Reiss cave.

(ch. 130)

I believe he doesn't fight for her just because she's one of his friends. It's a natural progression that comes from the shared experience they had in the Reiss cave. Eren got to know and appreciate the real Historia, so whenever she reverts back to the Krista persona, he's there to remind her that she should live for herself and don't let others use her - just like Ymir told her, and just like Historia told him in the Reiss cave. When Eren stands up for Historia in ch. 107 and blatantly refuses to let her get sacrificed, she's actually touched to the point of tearing up.

Their relationship changes and deepens with time, and it's actually shown in the manga - not just as symbols or small hints, but actual, full-fledged conversations/actions. In my opinion, this should be the base of any well-estabilished ship. We have quite a few one-on-one moments with these two that illustrate this progression. There are also panels in which we can peak into Eren's thoughts on Historia, which makes for an unfiltered source of his opinions on her.

They can relate to each other

Something I find really important as well is that Eren and Historia can find each other very relatable, and therefore - understand each other's struggles better.

Both were used by their fathers, and both caused their demise. Both were fiercely protected by someone. Both felt like the world would be better without them, at some point. Both had a big role to play, despite having doubts if they can do it right (Eren, being humanity's titan; Historia, being the queen). Both wanted to sacrifice themselves for their people's sake - and both intervened, saving each other from actually going through with this decision.

Their relationship is well-balanced

Eren and Historia don't clash when it comes to their personalities. As their relationship grows, they mutually admire, protect and motivate each other, while still remaining two separate characters - with their own goals and traits. They freely talk to each other about their struggles; they also care about each other’s actual feelings on them.

(ch. 54)

(ch. 70)

I can easily see them as partners, which is something I've always had troubles with when it comes to EM. It's just hard not to make this comparison, since Mikasa's character has always been pretty much fully centered around Eren, which - in my eyes - made their relationship look unbalanced and toxic. I've already spoke about my issues with EM in depth in this post, so I won't elongate this one with repeating the same arguments - still, one of the reasons I started shipping Erehisu in the first place is the fact that I immediately saw it as a much more normal, healthy, and well-balanced alternative to EM.

Parallels and relevance to the story’s themes

Parallels are something that, for some reason, make a lot of people mad. I have no idea why - these things appear in the manga, so why not talk about them?

Aside from parallels between Eren and Historia (...please, keep in mind that I didn’t list all of them in this post), there are also a lot of obvious parallels between Historia and the founder Ymir - to the point, when the entire Requiem der Morgenröte ending revolves around this theme:

I've also already spoke about how Ymir/Historia parallels could possibly be tied to Eren in this answer.

(Historia on the cover of vol. 16/Ymir in ch. 122)

Aside from that, there are a few subtle Grisha/Dina and Eren/Historia parallels, as well. Historia is a royal, hiding as a regular person - just like Dina did, before joining the revivalists. Dina also tears up when Grisha stands up for Eldians, just like Historia does when Eren stands up for her.

(ch. 68)

(ch. 86)

(ch. 67)

(ch. 86)

(ch. 56)

(ch. 86)

(ch. 107)

(ch. 86)

Quite interestingly, in a lot of these parallels Historia and Eren act in an opposite way as to previous generations. While Frida teaches Historia to be a good, selfless girl, Historia ends up abandoning this persona to save herself and Eren in the Reiss cave. She doesn’t want to devote herself to fate - instead, she’s prepared for a showdown with it. While the founder Ymir’s children are ordered to eat their own mother to ensure her power’s succession (...and a few hundred years later, Grisha fights to return the founder’s power back to his wife - Dina), Eren does everything he can to ensure Historia and her children are safe and never even titanised in the first place. 

As the story unfolds, we learn about it’s leading themes - some of which are: oppression and fighting for freedom, desire to change history, the mechanism of circle of hate, and how it affects children who are a part of it. In my eyes, Erehisu just perfectly fit with these themes, especially considering how later on Historia’s pregnancy was handled in the manga.

There were countless ways to answer the who’s the father question? immediately, without even starting up conversation about it - for example, I don’t understand why it was needed to bring up the fact that Historia didn’t marry the farmer in the first place. What was it’s purpose, aside from stirring up theories - especially considering how in the last chapter it’s revealed that they are married, after all? Why end up the Eren/Historia flashback on the What do you think about me having a child? question, when the whole conversation they had beforehand was literally about Eren disagreeing with Historia wanting to get pregnant just to save herself? It doesn’t make sense, and led me (and many other readers - judging from opinions I read online and chapter reactions on youtube) to belive that there were other reasons, and that there was more to this conversation then was initially shown.

If the conclusion to this plotline was always supposed to be that she got pregnant just to save herself...then what was this mysterious built-up for? Why show this conversation in the first place, and in such a weird manner, too? Why not have Historia just say it out loud in ch. 130: yes, I got pregnant to save myself in the beginning, and spare us this whole I will not allow it talk...you know, instead of ending the conversation on the What do you think about me having a child? when the whole previous talk was about Eren fighting against it? Where’s the logic?

The truth is - from my perspective, Erehisu had a lot of logical build up that would benefit the story, and stay true to it’s already established themes and both characters’ previous developement. On top of that, I also think they simply had great chemistry.

That’s all from me today 😄 I apologize you had to wait so long for this, anon...life got in the way, and as I said - I think I’m just getting over this series. Hope you’re doing well anyway 😊

[annonmaly]

Hi fellow lonely human!

No one cares, but there are hundreds of VnC panels saved for my series of useless thoughts about VnC panels. Yes, I have lots of thoughts (that will help no one) and minimal writing skills. So, I can't seem to sort things out, lol, just like my conflicting feelings between my massive crush with Noé and finding VaNoé's relationship (platonic and romantic) precious. But due to the latest chapter, my shipper mind is prevailing. That's why today, I will stay away from the canon story and indulge my lonely heart.

Ok, now that all is said and done, grab a coffee and let's make this scene a VaNoé confession.

"Vani's love problem and the two nosy uncles"

.

Photos are not mine. Spoilers and a very long VaNoé screenshot collection ahead (and I still have more saved).

.

Vani: Lately...no matter what he does, he can't get a certain woman out of his mind.

Can't we just have a VaniJeanne moment without Noé popping out in Vani's mind or Vani being worried about Noé.

.

Vani: His chest hurts and he says he can't sleep at night.

.

Olivier: Did something happen lately to make him conscious of her?

Vani: I don't know the details...

Vani: At first, he was only interacting with her him because her his reactions were entertaining, and yet...more and more she he began to show expressions he'd never anticipated. It threw him off.

They are so precious. Vani is really vocal with his interest with Noé in the first few chapters. And he's genuinely having fun with Noé, just look at him laughing like a normal 18 year old boy.

.

Vani: Just the other day, she pushed him down as if she meant to take everything (in his veins) and kissed him and then...

the probability of this happening with Vani and Noé right now is lower than my patience (which I barely have). Last time Noé tried (to drink Vani's blood) Vani almost killed him, so lets skip this one...

.

Vani: She He smiled in a way he'd never seen her him smile before.

Why so handsome, Noé? My heart is fragile, you know? Noé using Vani's words against him is just so funny and Vani can't really win against Noé since the beginning, lol. Anyways, we can't ignore what Mochijun-sensei mentioned in the bluebird app. This scene is the first time that older Noé smiled in the series.

.

Vani: That's all, That was all, but it completely changed how he saw her him.

Roland: She seems to shine then?

This is hard to dig because the story is told in Noé's POV. And Noé is shining like a lot specially for tarte tatin. But my shipper eyes won't lose. Yes, Noé's so handsome/pretty when he's with Vani. So here you have it.

.

Vani: You know!?

Roland: I certainly do, Vincent!

.

.

.

I just can't leave this scene alone, hahah. Vani you love Noé, just be honest! Oh well, that's all for today and I guess it's time to channel my inner Dante again:

.

So, before someone shouts at me, my canon mind and shipping mind are separate entities living inside my brain in harmony. I'm not disregarding the canon (and sometimes the subtexts), VaniJeanne or any other ships at that. I also love them, really. Though, VaNoé has a special place in my mind and eyes. That's why I'm posting this. I'm not here to fight anyone or force you to like the ship. Anyways, let's remember, we can ship whoever we want, like what we like, and hate what we hate. Just never forget to respect each other, the author, and her decisions.

| VnC vol.1-9, ch. and pg. too many to mention |

.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Thirteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: merry christmas

***

Nesta and Cassian agree to take separate cars to Velaris— not because they’re so afraid of being discovered together that they’ll risk global warming, but because Nesta has a preceding event and tells Cassian not to wait up for her.

After a rushed Secret Santa with the boys at Emerie’s apartment, Nesta drops by Gwyn’s place and leaves a small parcel at the doorstep. She doesn’t have time to knock and make conversation, but the gift is the least she can do after Gwyn surprised her the other day with a copy of a highly anticipated romance book weeks ahead of its official release.

“The library got early copies and I borrowed this one for you,” she said out of nowhere one afternoon, handing her the book. Nesta blinked in shock, not realizing that she and Gwyn were close enough for such acts of kindness. Even if their conversations felt like they’d been friends for much longer, they’d only known each other for a couple of weeks. It was then that she realized that’s just how Gwyn is. She does nice things because she can, not because social bonds or etiquette compels her to.

Guilt isn’t something Nesta feels often, but she was ravaged by it when she thought of not repaying Gwyn’s kindness. She couldn’t bear the idea of imbalances or debts being created in her relationships with her new friends, and spent the last two days searching everywhere for a decent gift to make up for it. She’ll have to text to make sure Gwyn got her present later tonight.

After a two hour drive (she might have taken detours to stall), Nesta is in the hallway leading to Feyre and Rhysand’s penthouse apartment. The door is cracked open enough that laughter and music float out to where she stands, and her fingers tighten on the bag carrying her sisters’ gifts. She checks her makeup in the hall mirror one final time, assuring that not a smidge of her perfect armor is out of place.

An in-and-out operation, she tells herself, flicking a lock of hair away from her face. She’s prepared for this.

Walking up to the half-open door, she’s struck down by the decision of whether to knock before going in or not. Luckily, the choice is taken away from her when the door swings open on its own, and Feyre is on the other side.

“Nesta,” her sister says in surprise, in a good or bad way Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta blinks. “Did you know I was here?” She gestures to the door.

“Oh, no...” Feyre pokes her head past Nesta into the hallway. “Actually, I was checking to see if the pizza guy was here yet,” —she looks back at Nesta— “but this is even better!”

The slight strain in her voice makes Nesta think otherwise.

She doesn’t play along with the game. She doesn’t even comment on how they’re having pizza on Christmas Eve. Feyre adds after a moment, genuinely this time, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Nesta glances down at her dress, a skintight ruched piece that shows more chest than usual, and then back up at Feyre’s designer jumpsuit. “So do you,” she says, her voice more flat than she’d prefer it. But she means it. “Can I come in?” she gestures inside, hoping to put an end to this conversation and her nerves.

“Right, duh,” Feyre laughs, grabbing Nesta’s gift bag and waving her inside. “Elain’s in the kitchen if you want to see her. Grab a drink and make yourself comfortable.”

Nesta steps past the door cautiously, eyeing the penthouse as if it’s her first time here. The winding iron-railed staircase is to the right, leading up to the second floor which holds all the bedrooms. The living area sprawls to her left, and through a wood-paneled threshold across from her is the dining room and kitchen. If anything is different from the last time she visited, it’s that the place is now considerably more lived in: pictures, hand-picked art, and other signs of life and love decorate every inch of the apartment, to the point where it makes Nesta feel like a home invader.

She’s so busy absorbing this place she doesn’t belong in that it takes her a moment to realize the room has fallen silent.

She turns to the living area, and her eyes land on Cassian first. He went so far as to put on a suit for tonight, and he’s watching her with a stunned quietness that makes her proud of her own outfit choice.

Nesta knows there are other people in the room, but she really can’t bring herself to care. Her hands twitch at her sides, instinctively reaching for him—

“Look who finally decided to show up,” a smug voice drawls.

Nesta looks away from Cassian to find that just about everybody else is staring at her, too. The voice who spoke up is that tiny woman named Amren, and she’s watching Nesta now with a sharp glint in her gray eyes.

Slick discomfort coats Nesta’s insides at Amren’s tone, and she lets her hands fall behind her back so they can’t reveal her anxiety. “Merry Christmas, everyone,” are the first words out of her mouth.

“’Sup, Nesta,” Cassian is the only one that bothers to respond. His tone holds none of the closeness or intimacy it usually does— it’s been replaced with a removed, almost strained friendliness instead.

Remembering that seeking him out for comfort is not an option tonight, she tries to find somewhere else to look.

In the span of a second, she spies Mor’s curiosity, Rhysand’s vague distaste, and Varian’s hesitance, before finally settling on Azriel’s bland look of disinterest. His phone dangles lazily from his hand, and he looks about two seconds away from going back to it and ignoring her completely.

It’s his detachment that grounds Nesta enough to remember her words. “I’m going to…” she gestures vaguely toward the kitchen, “get some food.”

“I can help—” Feyre starts.

“No, thank you,” Nesta quips, then hightails it out of there. The conversation, along with Nesta’s heartbeat, restarts as soon as she’s out of the room.

Following the short hallway connecting the dining space to the huge kitchen, she freezes when she finds Elain standing before the dual range oven, staring intently down at her phone. She curses herself silently— how did she forget her other sister would be waiting here right after being told so?

Elain’s head snaps up at the sound of Nesta’s heels on the tile, looking flustered. She quickly tucks her phone into the pocket of her apron before she realizes who she’s looking at, and a wide smile overtakes her beautiful face. “Is that really you?” Elain marvels in her lilting southern accent.

The words hit Nesta bluntly for some inexplicable reason. She shakes it off with a blink and smiles back, far more subdued than Elain but still genuine. “Lain,” she greets kindly, like they’re two old friends picking up right where they left off.

It’s Nesta’s fault that things are like this, she knows. She hasn’t bothered holding a real conversation with her closest sister in months, and now she’s in the same room as her hoping she won’t have to face Elain’s disappointment for her distance.

“Oh, get over here, how’ve you been?” Elain crosses the sleek kitchen and waves her into a hug. Nesta awkwardly pats her back, and is held even tighter when she tries pulling away.

She only manages to detach from Elain when Elain’s apron pocket vibrates. Stepping back, she takes her phone out and silences it before tucking it away once more. “So,” she grins when her focus returns to Nesta, “how’s the lone wolf life treating you? Isn’t it great to be back at your old apartment?”

“It’s good. I’m doing good,” she nods along. Nesta hates small talk more than anything, but this is the least she owes Elain. And the least she owes herself, if she’s being honest. Even if she knows she will never truly be fit for a life of socialization.

She takes things a step further and nods to the oven, asking, “What are you cooking up?”

She knows she’s done something right when Elain’s dark eyes light up, and she starts rattling off the three-course menu she’s prepared for tonight. (“What about the pizza on the way?” Nesta asks. Elain’s face darkens. “Don’t get me started. Some of the people in that living room have the taste palate of five year olds.”)

Nesta takes a seat at the island and falls into the age-old rhythm of listening to her sister talk, her heart feeling bruised and soothed at the same time. How similar and different they are now from the people they were ten years ago. Nesta doesn’t know if this is a good thing or not.

***

“That’s the thirtieth time you’ve checked your phone since Mor started telling her dolphin story,” Cassian mutters to Azriel sitting next to him on the couch.

Az clicks his phone off and turns it facedown so Cassian can’t see the screen, his face remaining blank the entire time. “I can’t help it if I’ve heard the dolphin story a hundred times already.”

“You’ve been staring at that thing the entire night,” Cassian calls him out. “Anyone on there more interesting than us, dear brother?”

Az snorts, not bothering to look at him. “Like you’re one to talk.” He reaches for his glass of liquor on the side table.

Cassian frowns as the chatter drowns out his murmur. “What do you mean?”

Azriel takes a sip from his drink, not replying. “When do you plan on letting us back at your cabin?” he says instead.

Cassian snorts. “It’s not like I’ve been keeping you away from it.”

“You turned Rhys and me down every time we made plans about coming over.”

“Because Nesta was staying there.” He is very, very careful about the way he says her name. Even talking about her is walking a thin line.

“She moved out a while ago, though,” Azriel continues. He leans back into the couch. “Speaking of Nesta, I don’t remember her being that hot. Did you see her in that little dress tonight?”

Cassian tenses, dull anger sliding over his bones and under his skin. “We all fucking saw her,” he says tightly.

Az clicks his tongue. “Damn. A woman like that shouldn’t be wasted in a small town.” His eyes slide over to Cassian’s with a dark glint of amusement. “You mind sharing?”

In that moment, Cassian is presented with the option of punching Azriel in the face. Hard. It’s only due to a divine miracle that he doesn’t.

Even with his temper, Cassian knows when he’s being played with. “How did you know.” His voice is flat, cold.

“You have ‘Nesta’s bitch’ written all over your face.”

Goddammit. Cassian clenches his teeth, saying nothing. Can everyone see it, or only his closest brother? How long has he known?

“I had my suspicions,” Az says simply, “when you ran out of Thanksgiving dinner like your ass was on fire after she sent you that thirst trap.”

Cassian blinks. Of course; the bastard peeked at his phone the last time they were together. No reason other than that.

“It wasn’t a thirst trap,” he grits, on high defense now. “It was a perfectly appropriate photo that you never should have seen.”

Az’s lips twitch upward. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you reacted to it.”

This— this is exactly why he doesn’t want anybody to know about him and Nesta. Because even though a weight has been lifted off his chest with Azriel knowing, an even heavier weight has started to sink in his stomach.

For months, Nesta has been his alone. And the idea of opening their relationship up to others’ opinions and judgements...

“Cass?”

He breaks his death glare at Azriel to find Feyre standing over the couch. He blinks; when did she cross the room? “Yeah?”

“You okay?” She glances between him and Azriel, clear-cut concern in her eyes. “You’ve been a little out of it tonight.” These last several weeks, actually, he knows she’s thinking.

He pulls his best Nesta face, all emotion carefully hidden behind a wall so blank it’s almost dead. “I’m doing fine,” he says simply. “Don’t worry about me; worry about Rhys spending all of your money on cards tonight.”

When Feyre still looks hesitant, Cassian summons his signature smile, the one that puts everyone and their babies at ease. He knows he’s succeeded when Feyre’s shoulders sink and she smiles back, nudging him in the arm. “Alright,” she says begrudgingly. “Just don’t keep pulling that long face. It’s Christmas Eve.”

***

Nesta is still hiding out in the kitchen while Elain finishes up a roast chicken when Feyre wanders in, eager to play the doting host.

Nesta pauses in the middle of telling Elain what she got earlier today for Secret Santa, waiting for Feyre to interrupt or insert her opinion, but Feyre only leans against the kitchen entrance and waits for her to go on.

“... So I thought it was hideous, but she insisted I keep it,” Nesta finishes cautiously.

“Who insisted you keep what?” Feyre speaks up.

“My friend Emerie got me a Christmas sweater.” Nesta waves a hand. “It looks like it came out of the recycling bin of a thrift shop, but I think she legitimately expects me to wear it tomorrow.” She huffs a lighthearted laugh, remembering how she and Emerie had cackled over the tacky gift together.

She finds she doesn’t mind talking about Emerie to her sisters. Rather, it’s something that brings her pride, like how she imagines new parents talk about their babies.

“Ain’t that amazing?” Elain speaks from where she arranges the chicken onto a platter, her back turned to both sisters. “While we were worried this whole time about Nesta being holed up in her room, she’s been going out and making friends.” Her voice is tight with a forced cheerfulness that only their mother could have taught her. Nesta stiffens in her seat at the island.

“Oh,” Feyre says shortly, blinking. “I see.”

The easiness Nesta had from talking about her friends slips away, being replaced with her usual mask of steel and ice. “See what?”

“Nothing,” Feyre defends, moving to lean against the island across from her. “We barely ever speak anymore, Nesta. How are we supposed to know what goes on in your life these days?”

“Well, I’m telling you now,” Nesta says coldly.

“She’s also in therapy.” Elain still hasn’t turned around from the stove. “How exciting.”

Nesta whips her head toward Elain in disbelief at the information spilled. So she is angry at Nesta for avoiding her calls.

“Therapy?” Feyre looks taken aback. “For what?”

Elain swoops in before Nesta can choose between scoffing or rolling her eyes at Feyre’s question. “Who cares what it’s for?” She finally turns around, bracing her hands on the counter. “Does it even matter?”

Nesta tastes venom on her tongue, and it wants to be spit in her sisters’ direction. “If you have something you want to say, Elain, say it. The passive-aggressive act makes you look like a fake bitch.”

Elain flinches, and Feyre looks away to hide her tired disappointment. “We still can’t have a single conversation without you going from zero to a hundred, I see.”

You haven’t even seen a hundred yet. “Tell me,” Nesta demands. “What did I do to mortally wound you this time? Is it the fact that I have a life away from your incestuous circle, or am I missing something else?”

Feyre scoffs incredulously, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s the fact, Nesta, that you have it in yourself to be good to everyone except for your sisters! When it was just me you hated, I could accept it fine, but then you left Tennessee and shut Elain out, too. With no explanation.” Hurt dances across her face. “It’s been years and it’s only gotten worse. And after months of near silence you show up here like—like you would rather be part of any family except ours.”

She keeps saying we, like her and Elain’s feelings are one and the same. Like they’ve talked about this before.

Nesta crosses her arms. “So you are mad I have friends.”

“How is that your takeaway from this?” Feyre has to struggle to keep her voice down.

Nesta’s heated eyes cut to Elain, who’s been silent during this whole exchange. “And you agree with her? Or is there something else you’d like to add?”

Elain opens her mouth to respond, but Nesta doesn’t give her the chance. “If I haven’t changed, then neither have you two,” she seethes. “You still think this is the fucking Disney channel or something, where we’re all best friends who have sisterly sleepovers and text each other good night. Wake the fuck up,” she bares her teeth. “Stop expecting things from me and just be happy I’m alive and doing well— because that’s the bare minimum that I’ve always given you!”

But no matter what Nesta says or does, they will never understand her. She will never be enough for them. The realization sinks in with a rattling finality at the resigned look on Feyre and Elain’s faces: like they didn’t hear a word she said. Nesta wonders when they stopped listening.

A throat clears behind her, and she whirls to see Feyre’s boyfriend at the doorway. His pretty-boy face is drawn tight, barely hidden rage simmering in the violet of his eyes. “Pizza’s here,” he says curtly.

Elain blinks tears out of her eyes, spinning back to the counter to pick up the platter of chicken. “Of course,” she says quickly, “the rest of the food is ready too.”

Feyre leaves the kitchen first, then Elain, then Rhysand with a final deadly glare at Nesta.

Nesta doesn’t know how long she stands there in the same spot, unmoving. Only when her phone buzzes from the island countertop does she turn.

Gwyn: did u get me a vibrator for christmas???

***

Cassian hasn’t looked at her all night.

Nesta doesn’t know what she expected when she told him they couldn’t be together in public, but it wasn’t this: him, laughing and talking with everybody at the table save for her. Like she isn’t even sitting there.

Nothing has changed. Least of all her.

She swallows around a mouthful of dry meat, feeling herself slip back into that old, familiar role: the background character. Except tonight is different, because everyone saw Elain’s watery eyes and Rhysand’s furious stare when they left the kitchen, and now Nesta is being ignored on purpose.

The buzzing in her head is louder than any conversation going on at the table anyway. Whether her sisters would believe her or not, Nesta had made plans. Plans to call more often, to make amends for the years of radio silence, to reintroduce herself to Feyre and Elain as a better sister. Not now, but one day— when she finally learned how.

Plans that were all dashed in the span of one conversation. Her knuckles turn bone white around her fork. So much for getting better.

The longer the night goes on, the more hurt and rage swells in her chest, until she fears she can’t say a word without screaming. How long will it be like this between her and her sisters, between her and the world? As if Nesta owes them all one thing or another: her time, her energy, her best smile and her affections. Why does everything have to be an exchange, and why is she always the one giving something up?

Cassian is the one person who always let her be, adjusting to her whenever she couldn’t adjust to him. But she’s having trouble remembering that fact when he won’t even spare a glance her way. When he’s sitting there laughing with Mor in a way he never laughs with her.

“And what about you, girl?”

Amren’s voice drags Nesta out of her haze, and she realizes the woman is speaking to her.

Nesta doesn’t like the way Amren speaks— with barely hidden cruelty, like she takes joy in watching people squirm.

Nesta blinks. “What?”

A slow smile creeps up Amren’s red mouth. “I said,” she repeats, “are you finding the pay for your work at Night Court sufficient?”

“Amren,” Cassian starts, but Nesta is already on her feet. The table falls silent.

“I have to...” she mumbles unintelligibly. She can’t come up with an excuse. Shaking her head, she leaves the table without finishing her sentence. Leaves the dining room and the whole damn apartment.

***

The slam of the door shutting echoes through the penthouse. No one speaks for a long moment, and Cassian finds himself filling the silence: “Was that necessary, Amren?”

Amren sneers. “What did I do?”

Because he’s counting down the seconds until it’s acceptable to go after Nesta, Cassian indulges her. “Not everyone has it in them to play Mean Girls with you whenever you feel like it.”

“Yeah, but did she have to ruin dinner over it?” Mor snorts, reaching over and plucking a roasted Brussels sprout from Nesta’s nearly untouched plate.

Feyre stands up. “I’ll go after her—”

“Don’t bother,” Cassian says, earning a raised brow from Azriel. Elain looks inclined to agree with Cassian until he adds, “I’ll check on her. You don’t need to stress, Feyre.” With a reassuring smile, he pushes out of his seat and heads for the door.

Each casual step toward Nesta lasts a million years, but he finally reaches the hallway beyond the apartment, letting his facade drop in the same breath that the door shuts behind him. Relief wracks his body when he finds Nesta waiting for the elevator, still here.

“Nes,” he calls, hurrying after her.

She punches the elevator button repeatedly, as if that’ll get it to hurry up. He catches up to her and takes hold of her hand, turning her around—

She snatches her wrist out of his grip like she’s been burned, her fingers flexing with pent up emotion. “Not tonight, Cassian.”

“I’ll go home with you, you can tell me what’s wrong—”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” he demands. She never shuts him out like this.

Nesta stares intently at the elevator doors. “Go back to forgetting I exist.” Her voice is flat.

He scoffs in disbelief. “You’re not serious—”

She whirls on him so quickly he almost stumbles back in surprise. “You didn’t look at me once the entire night.”

Cassian stills, stunned. Is that what this is about? “How could I have?” he laughs, shaking his head. “You’re the one who doesn’t want anyone knowing about us!”

“So you pretend I’m not there at all?” Hurt flares beneath her angered words.

“I can’t do both.” He fights to keep his voice low, aware of the thin walls. “I can’t look at you and not have everyone see what I feel for you— you’re all over me.” Even Azriel sees it, for God’s sake.

“What’s the truth, then?” she hisses. “Are you a terrible actor or a great one? Because in that apartment I forgot we were even in a relationship.”

“You walked in looking like that,” he gestures wildly at the black sheer mesh hugging her body, “and I was supposed to, what? Act like we were friends?” He hasn’t spent all night nearly losing his mind trying to fulfill Nesta’s wishes, trying not to let his feelings show, to get dragged through the mud for it.

“Is that your best excuse?” Nesta sneers. “I used to be too boring to spare a glance, and now I’m too sexy?” She steps closer to him, bringing them chest to chest. “We were good distractions for each other in your lonely little cabin, but deep down you know we wouldn’t last a day in the real world. That’s why we haven’t told anybody, Cassian.”

Cassian knows a spiral when he sees one, and he’s fighting not to get dragged into Nesta’s. “I know this isn’t about me.” He closes his eyes, praying for calm. “It’s about whatever happened with Feyre and Elain tonight.”

Which is the wrong thing to say, from the way Nesta’s face reddens. “Don’t even fucking go there.”

He doesn’t realize that the elevator has dinged open until Nesta reaches out her arm to stop the doors from closing. “You know nothing about me,” she says heatedly. “You were sad and desperate for acknowledgement when we first met, and you’re the same way now. You haven’t. Learned. Anything.”

Cassian almost wishes she would scream senseless things at him like she used to do whenever she was upset— because this refined wrath of hers is so much more hurtful. And it makes him angry, too.

He leans in until his nose is brushing hers. “If this is one of those things where you try to push me away by being cruel, I’m not fucking buying it.”

Like a switch is flipped, the flame in Nesta’s eyes flares out. He sees that dead nothingness and knows he’s lost. “You don’t have to buy it,” she says simply. She steps onto the waiting elevator, and he doesn’t try stopping her. She doesn’t want to be stopped.

Nesta gives him a final look before the doors shut between them. “And I wore this dress for you, asshole.”

Cassian stands there long after she’s gone. Not knowing what to do next.

A muffled laugh breaks through to him from the other side of the walls, and he realizes that everyone has moved back into the living room. Turning around, he goes back inside to his friends.

***

;)

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

The Voyage So Far: Paramount War (Part Two)

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

ace’s execution is, in a way, the exception that proves the rule when it comes to one piece’s themes of blood and family. ace is set up to die for the crimes of a father he never knew and never wanted, and he does die here, but in the end he dies for the family he did choose, in the form of luffy, rather than the one he didn’t. 

god do i wish we knew more about ms portgas d. rouge. with ace’s storyline pretty much wrapped it looks unlikely that we’re going to be learning more about her than what we got, which in my opinion is an absolute tragedy, because what little we do know about her is amazing and she’s an absolute badass. oda give us more female ds please.

whitebeard’s power is so cool. it might be one of the visually coolest devil fruits we’ve ever seen, in my opinion. he he causes earthquakes and tsunamis while far past his prime; he pulls the sky apart with his bare hands. this whole arc is world-shaking, and whitebeard’s power is perfectly appropriate for it. 

doflamingo’s speech on justice and rightness is one of the most well-remembered quotes from this whole saga, and rightly so. i’ve always found it fascinating, myself, because he’s right. he dead-on hits how the one piece world works- the world government and the marines rule the world not because of any inherent actual goodness or justice or right, but because they won a war a very long time ago. 

in a way, this reminds me of blackbeard’s line of “people’s dreams never die” from jaya. i like how oda isn’t afraid of letting his villains be right about the themes of the story, sometimes even having better awareness of them than the protagonists. 

man, if i had to pick a single favorite spread out of the whole manga, it might be luffy’s marineford entrance. it’s so epic, and so completely unexpected for everyone else there. absolutely nobody was expecting strawhat luffy to drop out of the sky with a posse including two former warlords. it just makes me grin!! so much!! 

it also gets followed up by a solid two pages of just people’s reactions, from smoker’s “what the HELL is he doing with CROCODILE” to moria’s immediate incoherent rage, and i just love that the world and cast of one piece is so well-established and built up that we know exactly how all of those people know luffy and why they react the way they do. 

going back to what i mentioned in the last post about marineford being luffy’s conflict of interest arc, i’d say it’s also the only time where he isn’t the future king first and foremost. in this arc, before anything else, he’s a little brother.

there are a lot of what-if moments in marineford. moments where you kind of have to ask “what if this specific thing hadn’t happened, had gone differently?” would things have turned out differently? squard’s betrayal is one of them. does this change the outcome? would whitebeard have been able to survive if not for this injury? there’s no way to know. marineford is a lot of little tragedies, and they just pile up and up.

marineford has just so many incredibly striking spreads. all of the momentous moments (and there’s a lot of them, in this arc) are done full justice. this is such an image heavy post just because marineford is such an incredibly visually strong arc. 

conqueror’s haki is so cool and i love the way it’s set up and built up throughout this saga, with luffy’s constant inadvertent uses of it, from duval’s bull to marigold and sandersonia to the wolves in impel down, all leading up to this moment. 

i’ve heard people complain about conqueror’s as kind of a deus ex machina, but i honestly love it, it’s very cool and honestly i think it just seems to fit luffy as a power. if there was ever gonna be a character who turned willpower into a weapon, it would be monkey d. luffy. 

i’m gonna take this chance to talk about garp, because this sequence of panels is heavily implied to be garp’s thoughts just before luffy punches him down, and it hurts. garp is a flawed person who makes some bad choices, and there’s no arguing that, but i think it’s very obvious he really, really cares about his grandsons, even if he never could understand them as people and that they never would have been happy as marines. and that’s just tragic, really. 

the moment ace gets freed and the brief span of time where he and luffy can fight together feel so triumphant, and i think it’s one of the reasons the final tragedy of marineford hits so hard and feels so cruel, because luffy succeeds, here. he saves ace. he gives absolutely everything he had and makes it, and saves ace. the ultimate failure isn’t his. there was nothing more he could have done. 

the first time i was reading one piece, i hit this page (which is also the last in the volume) and had to put the book away, take the bus downtown, wander around for a few hours, and buy myself some candy and some new books before i started feeling okay again.

the thing about ace’s death, i think, is that it’s a tragedy, but it also feels so completely essential to the story going forwards and luffy’s character growth specifically that it’s really, really hard to imagine one piece without it. there are a lot of (really excellent!) fix-fics out there for marineford, and although those are often really good and their authors super talented, i think it’s really hard for them to ever hit the same way canon does with regards to this. 

i always think of this scene specifically in contrast to zoro and mihawk’s fight, back on baratie. zoro and mihawk are both people who believe in honor in battle, true victory or death, and that’s reflected in their fight, in zoro’s refusal to turn and run even in the face of imminent death, and mihawk’s respect for that resolve. whitebeard, too, is an honorable man. he refuses to turn to run, even when facing certain death. 

the blackbeard pirates, however, are not. 

i do enjoy how, just like roger’s, ace’s execution backfires tremendously on the marines. this was entirely a predictable outcome, too! this exact thing happened twenty years ago! the marines don’t learn. they don’t change. they’re so assured of their own rightness and power that they make stupid mistakes like holding a massive public execution after the last one blew up in their faces. 

(this is why they need coby so badly, for the record, and why it’s important that he still decides to become a marine after witnessing their corruption firsthand in shells town. the marines are long overdue for a reformation, one that orients them towards real justice.)

i really, really enjoy crocodile in this saga. mostly because he hasn’t been redeemed at all, he’s still pretty much the exact same kinda awful person he was in alabasta, he’s just on luffy’s side this time, and it lets us see him in a better light, when he gets angry at whitebeard for nearly dying or when he helps luffy and jinbe escape to keep the marines from getting their way. few of one piece’s characters are truly so one-dimensional as they can seem, and i really appreciate that. 

i really really love all the interactions between luffy, ace and sabo as kids. they’re so fun and bounce off of each other so well. even though we only see them together for a brief time, they really feel like siblings. (which of course only makes later events hurt so much more.

i’ve always been a little fascinated by the fact that it takes us this long to get luffy’s full backstory. it’s almost a fakeout, because we get part of his backstory in the very first chapter, and we’re kind of led to believe that’s all there is. it’s not until ace’s introduction nearly two hundred chapters in that we’re given any indication there’s more.

but at the same time, it makes sense. marineford is luffy’s focus arc, as arlong park to nami or thriller bark to brook. he hasn’t had a focal arc that’s really about him before this, while all his other crewmates have. it makes sense that this would be when he finally gets his flashback. 

i think it’s cool that dragon and the revolutionaries show up at the grey terminal fire, because it’s one of the only looks we’ve gotten so far into what their actual regular operations are like. and, of course, they’re saving people. i really like this about the revolutionaries, that helping people in trouble is basically their modus operandi, when pretty much everyone else in one piece’s world mostly does saving on an incidental basis if at all. 

i think a lot about how the last line of sabo’s letter to ace is also both of their last words to the strawhats. 

death in one piece always feels much realer and more impactful to me than in most other series, and i think this is part of the reason why: in one piece, we are always shown the mourning. nami at bellemere’s grave, carrot grieving pedro, ace and whitebeard’s funeral. 

there are fewer deaths, comparatively, than most other series, but they’re given so much room to echo. we’re still feeling the impacts of ace’s life and death in the most recent chapters of wano. it ties into the theme of inherited will and all the way back to hiriluk’s final speech, of men not being dead so long as they’re remembered. 

the picture of luffy at marineford always kind of strikes me. he looks so young and so solemn, and yet much more himself than he did when we last saw him losing his mind on amazon lily. i really like it. 

sometimes i just think about the sheer depth of trust and love the strawhats must have in each other to separate for two years, far longer than they were ever together, to solely dedicate themselves to improving for the sake of crew and captain. none of them even hesitate, and none of them ever doubt that the crew will be reformed at the end of it.

after all, luffy keeps his promises. 

[palimpsessed]

Medieval History AU

for @carryonthroughtheages

For my piece for the medieval era, I took inspiration from illuminated manuscripts.

(Please click the image for better quality.)

Read more about the piece below the break.

I want to first say a huge thank you to @bazzybelle​ for organizing this event and also for just being a really great human. ILY! Despite the fact that I of course left everything to the last minute, I have had a blast working on my two posts and can’t wait until I have time to actually look at what everyone else has done.

About the artwork:

This is a haphazardly researched piece at best.

I initially planned to simply do a group drawing, showing the gang dressed appropriately for their places in my medieval AU. I had that sketch sitting around for months and never felt inspired. Then I started to think about how I could adapt my arsenal of art supplies to give the effect of something more suited to the time periods. And then I thought about a lovely comment that someone made on one of my drawings, that it reminded them of an illuminated manuscript. And then the book art nerd in me was activated. Thus, I spent the next week pulling references from various illuminated manuscripts that have made it online in some form or another over the years. Next came the design. I wanted to find a way to still include the whole group, but a simple line-up no longer made sense. I wanted to make SnowBaz the focal point, for obvious reasons, but I found a way to include the others in insets, as some full page illuminated manuscripts depicted smaller scenes around a central idea.

I knew that I had to include at least one dragon for Simon and somehow reference Baz's vampirism. Monsters appear all over illuminated manuscripts, after all, and I saw no reason why they shouldn't be in mine. Vampires in medieval folklore were different to the way we think of them now; they weren't living people who turned into blood drinking creatures, but rather reanimated corpses. These revenants are usually depicted as some variation on a rotting corpse or skeleton. I decided to stick with our modern understanding of vampirism, because I'm not wholly sold on the zombie thing. A skull and some rats chilling around it probably gets the point across, and ties in Baz's years in the Catacombs, which definitely still exist in this AU. Also, I see medieval Baz as a minor feudal lord of some kind, which plays into the classic vampire metaphor. Simon is a former knight errant who gave up his questing days once he faced the reality that perhaps he wasn't all that different from the monsters he hunted.

The vessel at their feet, which sits over flames, is a crucible. Because of course I was going to include a crucible in my medieval AU. The crucible is an ongoing metaphor in Simon and Baz's story, and I wanted to carry that motif into my piece, too. I based the shape off a couple different depictions I found that related specifically to alchemy. Alchemy is all about transmutation, rather fitting for two half monsters who continuously challenge the roles they've been assigned. (One of the crucible drawings I found even had a tiny dragon looking down the spout and blowing fire into the vessel!)

The alchemy theme continues to the top right corner, with a green lion eating the sun. This is a very common image in alchemical texts, a metaphor for vitriol purifying matter, which would then leave behind gold. Next to the green lion is Agatha, who finds far more to interest her in making friends with unicorns than in the attentions of any courtly suitors. The larger panel in the center shows the castle, the hub of medieval life, inspired by the look of Watford as depicted in the map at the end of Carry On. This version of Watford is also protected by a moat filled with merwolves, because they are exactly the sort of unholy beast that would appear in the marginalia of an illuminated manuscript. (Maybe the Mage got the idea of the merwolves from one of the "four-hundred-year-old texts" he dripped gravy on.) Stars fill the sky, because we all know how important those are. On the castle's other side is Penelope, bent over a parchment in a room filled with thick books, living her best scholarly life, now that she's retired from life as Simon's shield bearer. She and Shepard are both modeling the latest trend in eyeglasses, which is to say, the only trend, because that was cutting edge technology back in the day. (Would either one of them have had access to that kind of fancy tech in their respective positions? Idk, but they have unicorns, and flying sheep, and merwolves, and dragons, so let them see is all I'm saying.) Shepard is, if you couldn't guess, a shepherd, because I had to. But he's still a nomad at heart, and this new flock was acquired in a rather secretive deal during his last adventure. Lastly, the slogans on either side of Simon and Baz are the Google Translate Latin equivalents of: "Magic separates us from the world. Let nothing separate us from each other" and "Light a match inside your heart, then blow on the tinder." (If you can actually read my writing, and you actually know Latin, and these aren't correct, just pretend that they are.)

Illuminated manuscripts were usually embellished with gold leaf, and my budget version is metallic gold marker, which I used sparingly throughout the piece for fire and other objects of note (though it's probably hard to see in the scan).

That's all, I think. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk!

Bonus! Process shots;

[suckmykawaiidesu]

Compilation of Nessian Moments:  ‘A Court of Wings and Ruin ’ Edition

Hello loves! ♥️

I recently asked for a compilation list of Nessian moments and there doesn’t seems to be one so I decided to hurriedly put one together before the release of “A Court of Silver Flames”. I have probably missed some scenes but these are the ones that I came across during my re-read. I will be making a post for each book and will link them once available:

A Court of Mist and Fury

ACOMAF Target Exclusive Story uploaded by bookofademigod

A Court of Frost and Starlight

Sneak Peak at the end of A Court of Frost and Starlight

A Court of Wings and Ruin

Chapter 15

Nesta had been beautiful as a human woman. As High Fae, she was devastating. From the utter stillness with which Cassian stood beside me, I wondered if he thought the same thing. She was in a pewter-colored gown, its make simple, yet the material fine. Her hair was braided over the crown of her head, accentuating her long, pale neck—a neck Cassian’s eyes darted to, then quickly away from, as she sized us up and said to me, “You’re back.” With her hair styled like that, it hid the pointed ears. But there was nothing to hide the ethereal grace as she took one step. As her focus again returned to Cassian and she added,

“What do you want?”

But Cassian sauntered over to Nesta, a half smile spreading across his face. She stood stiffly while he picked up the book, read the title, and chuckled. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romance reader.” She gave him a withering glare. “And, again, why are you here?” She snatched her book from Cassian, who allowed her to do so, but remained standing beside her. Watching every breath, every blink. “Elain’s mate is here,” I said. And it was the wrong thing to utter in Nesta’s presence. She went white with rage. “He is no such thing to her,” she snarled, advancing on me enough that Rhys slid a shield into place between us. As if he, too, had glimpsed that mighty power in her eyes that day in Hybern. And did not know how it would manifest.

“If you bring that male anywhere near her, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Cassian crooned, trailing her at a casual pace as she stopped perhaps five feet from me. He lifted a brow as she whirled on him. “You won’t join me for practice, so you sure as hell aren’t going to hold your own in a fight. You won’t talk about your powers, so you certainly aren’t going to be able to wield them. And you—” “Shut your mouth,” she snapped, every inch the conquering empress. “I told you to stay the hell away from me, and if you—” “You come between a male and his mate, Nesta Archeron, and you’re going to learn about the consequences the hard way.” Nesta’s nostrils flared. Cassian only gave her a crooked grin.

Nesta only shook her head, turning toward the chair and her book. “I don’t care. Do what you want.” A stinging dismissal, if not admission that she still trusted me enough to consider Elain’s needs first. Rhys jerked his chin at Cassian in a silent order to leave, and as I followed them, I said softly, “I’m sorry, Nesta.” She didn’t answer as she sat stiffly in her chair, picked up her book, and dutifully ignored us. A blow to the face would have been better. When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well. I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister. The sorrow. And the longing

Chapter 16 I cringed. “I guarantee Nesta is now guarding Elain. I think she might honestly kill him if he so much as tries to touch her.” “Not without training she won’t,” Cassian grumbled, tucking in his wings as he claimed the seat beside Mor that Azriel had vacated. The shadowsinger didn’t so much as look at it. No, Azriel just walked to the wall beside Cassian and leaned against the wood paneling. But Rhys and the others remained quiet enough that I knew to proceed carefully as I asked Cassian, “Nesta spoke as if you’ve been up at the House … often. You’ve offered to train her?” Cassian’s hazel eyes shuttered as he crossed a booted ankle over another, stretching his muscled legs before him. “I go up there every other day. It’s good exercise for my wings.” Those wings shifted in emphasis. Not a scratch marred them. “And?” “And what you saw in the library is a pleasanter version of the conversation we always have.” Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times. “I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.” His jaw clenched. Even Amren didn’t dare say anything. “And I am going to peel the King of Hybern’s skin off his bones the next time I see him.”

Chapter 17 Not that there was much finery to bother with. I’d opted for my Illyrian leather pants and a loose, white shirt—and a pair of embroidered slippers that Cassian kept snorting at as we flew. When he did so for the third time in two minutes, I pinched his arm and said, “It’s hot. Those boots are stuffy.” His brows rose, the portrait of innocence. “I didn’t say anything.” “You grunted. Again.” “I’ve been living with Mor for five hundred years. I’ve learned the hard way not to question shoe choices.” He smirked. “However stupid they may be.” “It’s dinner. Unless there’s some battle planned afterward?” “Your sister will be there—I’d say that’s battle aplenty.” I casually studied his face, noting how hard he worked to keep his features neutral, to keep his gaze fixed anywhere but on my own. Rhys flew nearby, far enough to remain out of earshot as I said, “Would you use her to see if she can somehow fix the wall?” Hazel eyes shot to me, fierce and clear. “Yes. Not only for our sakes, but … she needs to get out of the House. She needs to …” Cassian’s wings kept up a steady booming beat, the new sections only detectable by their lack of scarring. “She’ll destroy herself if she stays cooped up in there.” My chest tightened. “Do …” I thought through my words. “The day she was changed, she … I felt something different with her.” I fought against the tensing in my muscles as I recalled those moments. The screaming and the blood and the nausea as I watched my sisters taken against their will, as I could do nothing, as we— I swallowed down the fear, the guilt. “It was like … everything she was, that steel and fire … It became magnified. Cataclysmic. Like … looking at a house cat and suddenly finding a panther standing there instead.” I shook my head, as if it would clear away the memory of the predator, the rage simmering in those blue-gray eyes. “I will never forget those moments,” Cassian said quietly, scenting or sensing the memories wreaking havoc on me. “As long as I live.” “Have you seen any glimpse of it since?” “Nothing.” The House loomed, golden lights at the walls of windows and doorways beckoning us closer. “But I can feel it—sometimes.” He added a bit ruefully, “Usually when she’s pissed at me. Which is … most of the time.” “Why?” They’d always been at each other’s throats, but this … yes, the dynamic between them had been different earlier. Sharper. Cassian shook his dark hair out of his eyes, slightly longer than the last time I’d seen it. “I don’t think Nesta will ever forgive me for what happened in Hybern. To her—but mostly to Elain.” “Your wings were shredded. You were barely alive.” For that was guilt—ravaging and poisonous—in each of Cassian’s words. What the others had been fighting against in the loft. “You were in no position to save anyone.” “I made her a promise.” The wind ruffled Cassian’s hair as he squinted at the sky. “And when it mattered, I didn’t keep it.” I still dreamed of him trying to crawl toward her, reaching for her even in the semiunconscious state the pain and blood loss had thrown him into. As Rhysand had once done for me during those last moments with Amarantha. Perhaps only a few wing beats separated us from the broad landing veranda, but I asked, “Why do you bother, Cassian?” His hazel eyes shuttered as we smoothly landed. And I thought he wouldn’t answer, especially not as we heard the others already in the dining room beyond the veranda, especially not when Rhys gracefully landed beside us and strode in ahead with a wink. But Cassian said quietly as we headed for the dining room, “Because I can’t stay away.”

Chapter 17 His focus shifted behind me before he replied—and Lucien shut his mouth. His metal eye whirred softly. I followed his glance, and tried not to tense as Nesta stepped into the room. Yes, devastating was a good word for how lovely she’d become as High Fae. And in a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric … Cassian looked like someone had punched him in the gut.

Chapter 19 Something drew Cassian’s attention behind me. And even as his body remained casual, a predatory gleam flickered in his eyes. I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there. “Care to join?” Cassian purred. Nesta said, “It doesn’t look like you’re exercising anything other than your mouths.” I looked over my shoulder. My sister was in a dress of pale blue that turned her skin golden, her hair swept up, her back a stiff column. I scrambled to say something, to apologize, but … not in front of him. She wouldn’t want this conversation in front of Cassian. Cassian extended a wrapped hand, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion. “Scared?” I wisely kept my mouth shut as Nesta stepped from the open doorway into the blinding light of the courtyard. “Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?” I choked, and Cassian shot me a warning glare, daring me to laugh. But I felt for that bond in my mind, lowering my mental shields enough to say to Rhysand, wherever he was in the city, Please come spare me from Cassian and Nesta’s bickering. A heartbeat later, Rhys crooned, Regretting becoming High Lady? I savored that voice—that humor. But I shoved that simmering panic down again as I countered, Is this part of my duties? A sensual, dark laugh. Why do you think I was so desperate for a partner? I’ve had almost five centuries to deal with this alone. It’s only fair you have to endure it now. Cassian was saying to Nesta, “Seems like you’re a little on edge, Nesta. And you left so abruptly last night … Any way I can help ease that tension?”

Chapter 22 The Carver purred to Cassian, “If I tell you a secret, warrior-heart, what will you give me?” Neither of us spoke. Carefully—we’d have to phrase and do this so carefully. The Carver stroked the shard of bone in his palm, attention fixed upon a stone-faced Cassian. “What if I tell you what the rock and darkness and sea beyond whispered to me, Lord of Bloodshed? How they shuddered in fear, on that island across the sea. How they trembled when she emerged. She took something—something precious. She ripped it out with her teeth.” Cassian’s golden-brown face had drained of color, his wings tucking in tight. “What did you wake that day in Hybern, Prince of Bastards?” My blood went cold. “What came out was not what went in.” A rasping laugh as the Carver laid the shard of bone on the ground beside him. “How lovely she is—new as a fawn and yet ancient as the sea. How she calls to you. A queen, as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter sunrise.” Rhys had warned me of the inmates’ capacity to lie, to sell anything, to get free. “Nesta,” the Bone Carver murmured. “Nes-ta.” I squeezed Cassian’s hand. Enough. It was enough of this teasing and taunting. But he didn’t look at me. “How the wind moans her name. Can you hear it, too? Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.” I wasn’t sure Cassian was breathing. “What did she do, drowning in the ageless dark? What did she take?” It was the bite in the last word that snapped my tether of restraint. “If you wish to find out, perhaps you should stop talking long enough for us to explain.” My voice seemed to shake Cassian free of whatever trance he’d been in. His breathing surged, tight and fast, and he scanned my face—apology in his eyes.

Chapter 23 “Would you be frightened of her, if Nesta was—Death? Or if her power came from it?” Cassian was quiet for a long moment. He said at last, “I’m a warrior. I’ve walked beside Death my entire life. I would be more afraid for her, to have that power. But not afraid of her.” He considered, and added after a heartbeat, “Nothing about Nesta could frighten me.”

Chaper 24 Mercifully, or perhaps not, Nesta’s retching filled the silence. Cassian gaped at Rhys. “What did you do?” “I asked him the same thing,” I said, crossing my arms. “He said he ‘went fast.’ ” Nesta vomited again—then silence. Cassian sighed at the ceiling. “She’ll never fly again.” The doorknob twisted, and we tried—or at least Cassian and I did—not to seem like we’d been listening to her. Nesta’s face was still greenish-pale, but … Her eyes burned. There was no way of describing that burning—and even painting it might have failed. Her eyes remained the same blue-gray as my own. And yet … Molten ore was all I could think of. Quicksilver set aflame. She advanced a step toward us. All her attention fixed on Rhys. Cassian casually stepped in her path, wings folded in tight. Feet braced apart on the carpet. A fighting stance—casual, but … his Siphons glimmered. “Do you know,” Cassian drawled to her, “that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?” Nesta’s burning gaze slid to him, still outraged—but hinted with incredulity. He just went on, “It was Amren’s fault, of course, but no one believed me. And no one dared banish her.” She blinked slowly. But the burning, molten gaze became mortal. Or as mortal as one of us could be. Until Lucien breathed, “What are you?” Cassian didn’t seem to dare take his focus off Nesta. 

Chapter 27 Cassian had stationed himself by the doorway, I realized, to be closer to Nesta. To grab her if Amren decided she didn’t particularly care for where this conversation was headed. Or for any of the furniture in this room. Precisely why Rhys now placed himself on Amren’s other side—to draw her attention away from me, and Mor behind us, every muscle in her lithe body on alert. Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order.

Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.

Chapter 30 Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. “Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.”

Cassian finished the muffin, licking his fingers. I could have sworn Nesta watched the entire thing with a sidelong glance. He grinned at her as if he knew it, too. “Ready for some flying, Nes?” “Don’t call me that.” The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up. I chose that moment to winnow to the skies above the House, chuckling as wind carried me through the world. Some sisterly payback, I supposed. For Nesta’s general attitude. Mercifully, no one saw my slightly better crash landing on the veranda, and by the time Cassian’s dark figure appeared in the sky, Nesta’s hair bright as bronze in the morning sun, I’d brushed off the dirt and dust from my leathers. My sister’s face was wind-flushed as Cassian gently set her down. Then she strode for the glass doors without a single look back. “You’re welcome,” Cassian called after her, more than a bite to his voice. His hands clenched and slackened at his sides—as if he were trying to loosen the feel of her from his palms.

Chapter 31 In the terrible silence, Cassian hauled me out—toward the dim center of the pit. Nesta was standing there, arms around herself, eyes wide. Cassian only stretched out an arm for her. As if in a trance, she walked right to his side. His arms tightened around both of us, Siphons flaring, gilding the darkness with bloodred light.

Chapter 32 I wondered what had happened in those initial moments, when he’d found my sister. As if he’d read my thoughts, Rhys sent the image to me, no doubt courtesy of Cassian. Panic—and rage. That was all he knew as he shot down into the heart of the pit, spearing for that ancient darkness that had once shaken him to his very marrow. Nesta was there—and Feyre. It was the former he saw first, stumbling out of the dark, wide-eyed, her fear a tang that whetted his rage into something so sharp he could barely think, barely breathe— She let out a small, animal sound—like some wounded stag—as she saw him. As he landed so hard his knees popped. He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and disheveled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching— She gripped his leathers instead. “ Feyre,” she rasped, pointing behind her with a free hand, shaking him solidly with the other. Strength—such untapped strength in that slim, beautiful body. “Hybern.” That was all he needed to hear. He drew his sword—then Rhys was arrowing for them, his power like a gods-damned volcanic eruption. Cassian charged ahead into the gloom, following the screaming—

Chapter 39 But Nesta was glancing between us all, her back still stiff, mouth a thin line. “Where is he?” “Who?” Rhys crooned. “Cassian.” I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one. And Nesta had been … pacing in the foyer. As if she was worried. I opened my mouth, but Mor beat me to it. “He’s busy.” I’d never heard her voice so … sharp. Icy. Nesta held Mor’s stare. Her jaw tightened, then relaxed, then tightened—as if fighting some battle to keep questions in. Mor didn’t drop her gaze. Mor had never seemed ruffled by mention of Cassian’s past lovers. Perhaps because they’d never meant much—not in the ways that counted. But if the Illyrian warrior no longer stood as a physical and emotional buffer between her and Azriel … And worse, if the person who caused that vacancy was Nesta … Mor said flatly, “When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.” My heart leaped into a furious beat, my arms slack at my sides at the insult, the threat. But Rhys said, “Mor.” She slowly—so slowly—looked at him. There was nothing but uncompromising will in Rhys’s face. “We now leave for the meeting in three days. Send out dispatches to the other High Lords to inform them. And I’m done debating where to meet. Pick a place and be done with it.” She stared him down for a heartbeat, then dragged her gaze back to my sister. Nesta’s face had not altered, the coldness limning it unbending. She was so still she seemed to barely be breathing. But she did not balk. She did not avert her eyes from the Morrigan. Mor vanished with hardly a blink. Nesta only turned and headed for the sitting room, where I noticed books had been laid on the low-lying table before the hearth.

Behind us, Amren murmured to Nesta, “Cassian has gone to war many times, girl. He isn’t general of Rhys’s forces for nothing. This battle was a skirmish compared to what lies ahead. He’s likely visiting the families of the fallen as we speak. He’ll be back before the meeting.” Nesta said, “I don’t care.”

Chapter 42 Nesta only lifted her chin. “I …” I’d never seen her stumble for words. “I do not want to be remembered as a coward.” “No one would say that,” I offered quietly. “I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but… avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. “It was some distant thing,” she said. “War. Battle. It … it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means …telling them what happened.”

Mor sagged a bit, jewelry glinting with the movement, and went to take Cassian’s arm. But he’d at last approached Nesta. And as the world began to turn to shadows and wind, I saw Cassian tower over my sister, saw her chin lift defiantly, and heard him growl, “Hello, Nesta.” Rhys seemed to halt his winnowing as my sister said, “So you’re alive.” Cassian bared his teeth in a feral grin, wings flaring slightly. “Were you hoping otherwise?” Mor was watching—watching so closely, every muscle tense. She again reached for his arm, but Cassian angled out of reach, not tearing his eyes from Nesta’s blazing gaze. Nesta blurted, “You didn’t come to—” She stopped herself. The world seemed to go utterly still at that interrupted sentence, nothing and no one more so than Cassian. He scanned her face as if furiously reading some battle report. Mor just watched as Cassian took Nesta’s slim hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. As he folded in his wings and blindly reached his other hand back toward Mor in a silent order to transport them. Cassian’s eyes did not leave Nesta’s; nor did hers leave his. There was no warmth, no tenderness on either of their faces. Only that raging intensity, that blend of contempt and understanding and fire. Rhys began to winnow us again, and just as the dark wind swept in, I heard Cassian say to Nesta, his voice low and rough, “The next time, Emissary, I’ll come say hello.”

Chapter 44 “You’re insane,” I breathed to Tamlin as Varian bared his teeth. “Do you hear what you’re saying?” I pointed toward Nesta. “Hybern turned my sisters into Fae—after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!” “Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress—I’m sure the trait runs in the family.” Nesta let out a low laugh. “If you want someone to blame for all of this,” she said to Tamlin, “perhaps you should first look in the mirror.” Tamlin snarled at her. Cassian snarled right back, “Watch it.” Tamlin looked between my sister and Cassian—his gaze lingering on Cassian’s wings, tucked in behind him. Snorted. “Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.”

Chapter 45 Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?” “I have not yet decided.” Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell. “Armies take time to raise,” Cassian said. “You don’t have the luxury of sitting on your ass. You need to rally your soldiers now.” Beron only sneered. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.” My heartbeat was so wild I could hear it in every corner of my body, feel it pounding in my arms, my gut. But it was nothing compared to the wrath on Cassian’s face—or the icy rage on Azriel’s and Rhys’s. And the disgust on Mor’s. “That bastard,” Nesta said with utter coolness, though her eyes began to burn, “may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.” She didn’t so much as look at Cassian as she said it. But he stared at her—as if he’d never seen her before.

Chapter 47 Helion paused his debating the wall to survey her carefully, as he had done earlier. Spell-Cleaver. That was his title. She surveyed him with her usual disdain. But Helion gave her the same bow he’d offered me—though his smile was edged with enough sensuality that even my heart raced a bit. No wonder the Lady of Autumn hadn’t stood a chance. “I don’t think we were introduced properly earlier,” he crooned to Nesta. “I’m—” “I don’t care,” Nesta said with a snap of her wrist, striding right past him and up to my side. “I’d like a word,” she said. “Now.” Cassian was biting his knuckle to keep from laughing—at the utter surprise and shock on Helion’s face. It wasn’t every day, I supposed, that anyone of either sex dismissed him so thoroughly. I threw the High Lord a semi-apologetic glance and led my sister out of the room. “What is it?” I asked when Nesta and I had entered her bedroom, the space bedecked in pink silk and gold, accents of ivory scattered throughout. The lavishness of it indeed put our various homes to shame. “We need to leave,” Nesta said. “Right now.” Every sense went on alert. “Why?” “It feels wrong. Something feels wrong.” I studied her, the clear sky beyond the towering, drape-framed windows. “Rhys and the others would sense it. You’re likely just picking up on all the power gathered here.” “Something is wrong,” Nesta insisted. “I’m not doubting you feel that way but … If none of the others are picking it up—” “I am not like the others.” Her throat bobbed. “We need to leave.” “I can send you back to Velaris, but we have things to discuss here—” “I don’t care about me, I—” The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.” He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere. But I said, “She senses something is off—says we need to leave right away.” I waited for the dismissal, but Cassian angled his head. “What, precisely, feels wrong?” Nesta stiffened, mouth pursing as she weighed his tone. “It feels like there’s this …dread. This sense that … that I forgot something but can’t remember what.” Cassian stared at her for a moment longer. “I’ll tell Rhys.” And he did.

Chapter 48 Nesta let out a breathy, sharp noise and surged from her chair. I lunged for her, nearly tripping over the skirts of my dress as she staggered back, a hand clutching at her chest. Another step would have taken her stumbling into the reflection pool, but Mor sprang forward, gripping her. “What’s wrong?” Mor demanded, holding my sister upright as her face contorted in what looked to be—pain. Confusion and pain. Sweat beaded on Nesta’s brow, though her face went deathly pale. “Something …” The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and Mor caught her fully, scanning Nesta’s face. Cassian was instantly there, his hand at her back, teeth bared at the invisible threat.

Chapter 49 Nesta smoothed a hand down her dark dress. “What do I do now?” A purpose, I realized. Assigning her the task of finding a way to repair the holes in the wall … it had given my sister what perhaps our human lives had never granted her: a bearing. “You come with us—to Graysen’s estate, and then travel with the army. If you’re connected with the Cauldron, then we’ll need you close. Need you to tell us if it’s being wielded again.” Not quite a mission, but Nesta nodded all the same. Right as Cassian clapped Rhys on the shoulder and prowled toward us. He paused a foot away, and frowned. “Dresses aren’t good for flying, ladies.” Nesta didn’t reply. He lifted a brow. “No barking and biting today?” But Nesta didn’t rise to meet him, her face still drained and sallow. “I’ve never worn pants,” was all she said. I could have sworn concern flashed across Cassian’s features. But he brushed it aside and drawled, “I have no doubt you’d start a riot if you did.” No reaction. Had the Cauldron— Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.” He wouldn’t be coming—no, he’d be mustering the full might of the Illyrian legions. Azriel would be joining us, though. Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. “A scratch can make you queasy enough to be vulnerable. Remember where the exits are in every room, every fence and courtyard— mark them when you go in, and mark how many men are around you. Mark where Rhys and the others are. Don’t forget that you’re stronger and faster. Aim for the soft parts,” he added, folding her fingers around the hilt. “And if someone gets you into a hold …” My sister said nothing as Cassian showed her the sensitive areas on a man. Not just the groin, but the inside of the foot, pinching the thigh, using her elbow like a weapon. When he finished, he stepped back, his hazel eyes churning with some emotion I couldn’t place. Nesta surveyed the fine dagger in her hand. Then lifted her head to look at him. “I told you to come to training,” Cassian said with a cocky grin, and strode off. I studied Nesta, the dagger, her quiet, still face. “Don’t even start,” she warned me, and headed for the stairs.

Chapter 51 On and on they went, until Devlon looked over Rhys’s shoulder—to where we stood. A scowl at Mor. A frown at me—wisely subdued. Then he noticed Nesta. “What is that,” Devlon asked. Nesta merely stared at him, one hand clamping the edges of her gray cloak together at her chest. One of the other camp-lords made some sign against evil. “That,” Cassian said too quietly, “is none of your concern.” “Is she a witch.” I opened my mouth, but Nesta said flatly, “Yes.” And I watched as nine full-grown, weathered Illyrian warlords flinched. “She may act like one sometimes,” Cassian clarified, “but no—she is High Fae.” “She is no more High Fae than we are,” Devlon countered.

Chapter 56 But Nesta had jolted to her feet, staring at Cassian, at the helmet he had tucked into the crook of his arm, the weapons still poking above his shoulder, in need of cleaning. His dark hair hung limp with sweat, his face was mud-splattered where even the helmet had not kept it out. But she surveyed his seven Siphons, the dim red stones. And then she said, “You’re hurt.” Rhys snapped to attention at that. Cassian’s face was grim—his eyes glassy. “It’s fine.” Even the words were laced with exhaustion. But she reached for his arm—his shield arm. Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing— “You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely. “I was busy,” Cassian said, not taking his focus off Nesta as she studied the swollen wrist. How she’d detected it through the armor … She must have read it in his eyes, his stance. I hadn’t realized she’d been observing the Illyrian general enough to notice his tells. “And it’ll be fixed by morning,” Cassian added, daring Rhys to say otherwise. But Nesta’s pale fingers gently probed his golden-brown skin, and he hissed through his teeth. “How do I fix it?” she asked. Her hair had been tied in a loose knot atop her head earlier in the day, and in the hours that we’d worked to ready and distribute supplies to the healers, through the heat and humidity, stray tendrils had come free to curl about her temple, her nape. Faint color had stained her cheeks from the sun, and her forearms, bare beneath the sleeves she’d rolled up, were flecked with mud. Cassian slowly sat on the log where she’d been perched a moment before, groaning softly—as if even that movement taxed him. “Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—” She reached for the basket of bandages she’d been preparing, then for the pitcher at her feet. I was too tired to do anything other than watch as she washed his wrist, his hand, her own fingers gentle. Too tired to ask if she possessed the magic to heal it herself. Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her— didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration. And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. Nesta did not yank her hand away. Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort. She only stared and stared at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, even more powerful in that beautiful black armor, at the strong column of his tan neck above it, his wings. And then at his hazel eyes, still riveted to her face. Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand. Nesta opened her mouth at last, and I braced myself— “You’re hurt?” At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.” Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent. Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead. Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time.

Chapter 56

Nesta did not flinch at the clash and din of battle. She only stared toward one blackarmored figure, leading the lines, his occasional order to push or to hold that flank barking across the battle.

Chapter 57 Nesta laid a hand against her bare, rain-slick throat. Cassian began another assault on a Hybern captain—slower this time than he’d been. Now. I had to go now—quickly. I took a step away from the outlook. My sister narrowed her brows at me. “You’re leaving?” “I’ll be back soon,” was all I said. I didn’t dare wonder how much of our army would be left when I did. By the time I strode away, Nesta had already faced the battle once more, rain plastering her hair to her head. Resuming her unending vigil of the general battling on the valley floor below.

Chapter 61 I squinted at the watery light—the very last before true dark. When my vision adjusted… Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced— “He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly. Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit. She’d saved me the trouble of hunting her down to ask her about tracking the Cauldron. Better to do it now, with some privacy. Especially before Amren arrived. But Mor said coldly, “Shouldn’t you be refilling that bucket?” Nesta went stiff. Sized up Mor. But Mor didn’t flinch from that look. After a moment, Nesta picked up her bucket, mud caked up to her shins, and continued on, steps squelching.

Chapter 62 Nesta still didn’t move. She could not use the bathtub, she’d told me. Because the memories it dragged up— Cassian said to her, “Nothing can harm you here.” He sucked in a breath, groaning softly, and rose to his feet. Azriel tried to stop him, but Cassian brushed him off and strode for my sister’s side. He braced a hand on the desk when he at last stopped. “Nothing can harm you,” he repeated. Nesta was still looking at him when she finally shut her eyes. I shifted, and the angle allowed me to see what I hadn’t detected before. Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Cassian remained at her side—his other hand on her lower back. And I marveled at the touch she allowed—marveled at it as much as I did the mudsplattered hand she held out. The concentration that settled over her face. Her eyes shifted beneath their lids, as if scanning the world. “I don’t see anything.” “Go deeper,” Amren urged. “Find that tether between you.” She stiffened, but Cassian stepped closer, and she settled again. A minute went by. Then another. A muscle twitched on Nesta’s brow. Her hand bobbed. Her breath then came fast and hard, her lips curling back as she panted through her teeth. “Nesta,” Cassian warned.

Chapter 63 Cassian chuckled hoarsely, and looked to Nesta, who remained pale and quiet. What she’d seen, what I’d seen in her mind… The size of that army… “Eat or bed?” Cassian had asked Nesta, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he’d meant it as some invitation. I debated telling him he was in no shape. Nesta only said, “Bed.” And there was certainly no invitation in the exhausted reply.

Chapter 64 “We’ll get her back,” Cassian rasped from where he perched on the rolled arm of the chaise longue across the small sitting area, watching her carefully. Rhys, Amren, and Mor were meeting with the other High Lords, informing them what had been done. Seeing if they knew anything. Had any way of helping. Nesta lowered her hands, lifting her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lips thin. “No, you will not.” She pointed to the map on the table. “I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart. Even you,” she added when Cassian opened his mouth again. “Especially not when you’re injured.”

Chapter 66 “Good,” Cassian said, glancing at Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.” Lord Devlon, for once, nodded his approval. I wondered if Cassian noticed it—if he cared. His face revealed nothing, not as his focus remained wholly on my sister.

Chapter 69 During the brief midday break in a large meadow, Nesta and I climbed inside one of the supply caravan’s covered wagons to change into Illyrian fighting leathers. When we emerged, Nesta even buckled a knife at her side. Cassian had insisted, yet he’d admitted that since she was untrained, she was just as likely to hurt herself as she was to hurt someone else.

Chapter 70 Nesta pushed herself onto her elbows, hair shaking free of her braid, lips bloodless. She heaved into the grass. Rhys’s magic shot out of him, arcing around our entire army, his breathing a wet rasp— Nesta’s hands grappled into the grass as she lifted her head, scanning the horizon. Like she could see right to where the Cauldron was now about to be unleashed. Rhys’s power flowed and flowed out of him, bracing for impact. Azriel’s Siphons flashed, a sprawling shield of cobalt locking over Rhysand’s, his breathing just as heavy as my mate’s— And then Nesta began screaming. Not in pain. But a name. Over and over. “CASSIAN.” Amren reached for her, but Nesta roared, “CASSIAN!” She scrambled to her feet, as if she’d leap into the skies. Her body lurched, and she went down, heaving again. A figure shot from the Illyrian ranks, spearing for us, flapping hard, red Siphons blazing— Nesta moaned, writhing on the ground. The earth seemed to shudder in response. No—not in response to her. In terror of the thing that erupted from Hybern’s army. I understood why the king had claimed those rocky foothills. Not to make us charge uphill if we should push them so far. But to position the Cauldron. For it was from the rocky outcropping that a battering ram of death-white light hurled for our army. Just about level with the Illyrian legion in the sky—as the Attor’s legion dropped to the earth, and ducked for cover. Leaving the Illyrians exposed. Cassian was halfway to us when the Cauldron’s blast hit the Illyrian forces. I saw him scream—but heard nothing. The force of that power… It shredded Azriel’s shield. Then Rhysand’s. And then shredded any Siphon-made ones. It hollowed out my ears and seared my face. And where a thousand soldiers had been a heartbeat before… Ashes rained down upon our foot soldiers. Nesta had known. She gaped up at me, terror and agony on her face, then scanned the sky for Cassian, who flapped in place, as if torn between coming for us and charging back to the scattering Illyrian and Peregryn ranks. She’d known where that blast was about to hit. Cassian had been right in the center of it. Or would have been, if she hadn’t called him away. Rhys was looking at her like he knew, too. Like he didn’t know whether to scold her for the guilt Cassian would no doubt feel, or thank her for saving him. Nesta’s body went stiff again, a low moan breaking from her. I felt Rhys cast out his power—a silent warning signal. The other High Lords raised shields this time, backing the one he rallied. But the Cauldron did not hit the same spot twice. And Hybern was willing to incinerate part of his own army if it meant wiping out a strength of ours. Cassian was again hurtling for us, for Nesta sprawled on the ground, as the light and unholy heat of the Cauldron were unleashed again.

Nesta had her brow in the grass as Cassian landed so hard the ground shuddered. He was reaching for her as he panted, “What is it, what—” “It’s gone quiet again,” Nesta breathed, letting Cassian haul her into a sitting position as he scanned her face. Devastation and rage lay in his own. Did he know? That she had screamed for him, knowing he’d come… That she’d done it to save him? Rhys only ordered him, “Get back in line. The soldiers need you there.” Cassian bared his teeth. “What the hell can we do against that?”

Chapter 72 Rhys made to shoot me back down to the ground, where Amren and Elain were still waiting. Nesta said, “Wait.” Rhys obeyed. Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.” I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.” Nesta ignored him. “The king is probably waiting beside that Cauldron. Even if you get there, you’ll have him to contend with. Draw him out. Draw him far away. To me.” “How,” Rhys said softly. “It goes both ways,” Nesta murmured, as if my mate’s words moments before had triggered the idea. “He doesn’t know how much I took. And if … if I make it seem like I’m about to use his power … He’ll come running. Just to kill me.” “He will kill you,” Cassian snarled. Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.” To guard her. Protect her. To lay a trap for the king. “No,” Rhys said. Nesta snorted. “You’re not my High Lord. I may do as I wish. And since he’ll sense that you’re with me… You need to go far away, too.” Rhys said to Cassian, “I’m not letting you throw your life away for this.” I was inclined to agree. Cassian surveyed the depleted Illyrian lines, now holding strong as Azriel rallied them. “Az has control of the lines.” “I said no,” Rhys snapped. I’d never heard him use that tone with Cassian, with any of them. Cassian said steadily, “It’s the only shot we have of a diversion. Luring him away from that Cauldron.” His hands tightened on Nesta. “You gave everything, Rhys. You went through that hell for us, for fifty years.” He’d never addressed it—not fully. “You think I don’t know what happened? I know, Rhys. We all do. And we know you did it to save us, spare us.” He shook his head, sunlight glinting off that dark, winged helmet. “Let us return the favor. Let us repay the debt.” “There is no debt to repay.” Rhys’s voice broke. The sound of it cracked my heart. Cassian’s own voice broke as he said, “I never got to repay your mother—for her kindness. Let me do it this way. Let me buy you time.” “I can’t.” I wasn’t sure if in the entire history of Illyria, there had ever been such a discussion. “You can,” Cassian said gently. “You can, Rhys.” He gave a lazy grin. “Save some of the glory for the rest of us.” “Cassian—” But Cassian asked Nesta, “Do you have what you need?” Nesta nodded. “Amren showed me enough. What to do to rally the power to me.” And if Amren and I could control the Cauldron between us… That distraction they’d offer … Nesta looked down to Elain—our sister monitoring the bloodbath ahead. Then to me. She said quietly, “Tell Father—thank you.” She wrapped her arms tightly around Cassian, those gray-blue eyes bright, then they were gone.

Chapter 74 Nesta surged to her feet, staggering across the clearing, blood at her mouth from where he’d hit her, and threw herself to her knees before Cassian. “Get up,” she sobbed, hauling at his shoulder. “Get up.” He tried—and failed. “You’re too heavy,” she pleaded, but still tried to raise him, fingers scrabbling in his black, bloodied armor. “I can’t—he’s coming—” “Go,” Cassian groaned. Her power had stopped hurling the king across the forest. He now stalked toward them, brushing off splinters and leaves from his jacket—taking his time. Knowing she would not leave. Savoring the awaiting slaughter. Nesta gritted her teeth, trying to haul Cassian up once more. A broken sound of pain ripped from him. “Go! ” he barked at her. “I can’t,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I can’t.” The same words Rhys had given him. Cassian grunted in pain, but lifted his bloodied hands—to cup her face. “I have no regrets in my life, but this.” His voice shook with every word. “That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.” She didn’t stop him as he leaned up and kissed her—lightly. As much as he could manage. Cassian said softly, brushing away the tear that streaked down her face, “I will find you again in the next world—the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.” The King of Hybern stepped into that clearing, dark power wafting from his fingertips. And even the Cauldron seemed to pause in surprise—surprise or some … feeling as Nesta looked at the king with death twining around his hands, then down at Cassian. And covered Cassian’s body with her own. Cassian went still— then his hand slid over her back. Together. They’d go together. I will offer you a bargain, I said to the Cauldron. I will offer you my soul. Save them. “Romantic,” the king said, “but ill-advised.” Nesta did not move from where she shielded Cassian’s body.

Chapter 80 My sister had barely spoken, barely eaten these past few days. Had not visited Cassian in his healing bed. Still had not talked to me about what had happened.

- END - 

[colorisbyshe]

if you want to complain more about clamp I am listening :) as someone who owns many volumes of the manga in multiple languages...... I am listening. <3

okay i’m just gonna rant in a very, very long post everyone please just avert your eyes mental illness is happening

but like....... as someone who was nostalgically reading these manga to bring back some happy memories i had as a kid, discovering that these series (ccs which i remembere dfondly despite not having actually watched/read as a kid, and trc and xxxholic which i read with some of my best friends at the time) are not just deeply flawed but harbouring so much like... frankly heinous shit in them is like??? deeply hurtful to me???

and like... i could handle cardcaptor sakura being full of evil shit because i had no deep personal connection, i just wanted to better understand ccs references in tsubasa and lik better appreciate syaoran and sakura and like its 90s shoujo OVER COURSE ITS FUCKED UP! just like sailor moon and fruits basket like it’s not good but like... i can process it

trc hurts me because like... the character writing for kurogane and fai is fucking PHENOMENAL, the concept is cool and interesting and unique, it (for the most part) has great themes and the way it explores concepts like grief, trauma, sacrifice, and healing was a balm to my quarantined soul

but you can tell where they realized they literally... did not know how to resolve their plot? and it got so complicated it legit gave me headaches but at least i had kurogane nad fai and then they’re shoved to the side just for it to be revealed that syaoran... is syaoran and sakura’s son... looking to meet up with sakura... to be with her... so they can be his parents

like... wow so great to watch this beautiful relationship be explored with kurogane and fai saving each otehr from the worst part of themselves just to be sidelined for “what if those fourth graders from cardcaptor sakura where husband and wife AND mother and son but like NOT REALLY becaues syaoran is also syaoran’s own dad so is it incest or just really confusing” but no it’s both like legit when falling in love with sakura he comments on how she’s just like his mom like hello bitch? you’re 14 but i’ll still kill you that shit is WEIRD

so that wAS NOT GREAT and then it ends with THE GROUP SEPARATED AT THE END?? SO I COULDN’T EVEN GET A HAPPY ENDING like yeah maybe it’s good sakura and syaoran were separated but kurogane and fai got to stay together beacuse... fuck the incest  but like... where is my catharsis where is my happiness??

and i’m rereading xxxholic which was my favorite of trc/xxxholic as a kid and... first off, it’s boring, secondly, it thinks it’s smarter than it is an dhas contradicting themes every other chapter, but FUCK it’s so interesting but doumeki, himawari, watauniki, and yuuko don’t have half the bonds as the TRC gang and like... i still don’t know why doumeki was going so fucking hard for watanuki

but the concepts were interesting enoguh and watching watanuki grow was nice

but you can ALSO tell AGAIN clamp just got bored and didn’t know how to wrpa it up so suddenly watanuki gives up ALL HIS BONDS AND HURTS ALL HIS FRIENDS just to be reunited with yuuko??? despite the themes of the story being about how self sacrifice causes scars on others?? and that’s BAD like if you love your frieneds you don’t hurt them by undervaluing yourself??? THATS A BASIC THEME OFT HE STORY

and then they rush to pair off doumeki with a girl THEY HELPED RAISE so he can have children to stay with watanuki... himawari is written off despite her last interactions with watanuki being about them caring for each other anad choosing to stay in contact despite her curse... and like yuuko’‘s entire character is never explained she’s just like “i’m a woman who exists as a vehicle of plot in both TRC and xxxholic i will never be given depth beyond that... well also i’ll ruin watanuki’s life”

and hen the last chapters are just watching everyone grow up while watanuki is alone, never aging, helping grant wishes where he watches other immortal beings suffer and lose everyone, and it just ends with him relizing he likely won’t ever see yuuko again but he’ll keep waiting?? even though it’s been 100 yers and everyone he loves is dead??

and that shit is not good for my mental health like i feel like i have been isolated fo ra hundred years beacuse of covid watching watanuki choose it hurt edeply

like half the manga is about syaoran and sakura begging him not to vanish (also that plotline was WEIRDLY dropped) and the series ends with him effectively... vanishing a sa person and just becoming shopkeeper

how fucking depressing??

i could handle a sad ending if it had value. if it said something. if it didn’t have doumeki marrying a girl he knew since she was an abused elementary schooler while he was like 17. ESPECiALLY when IN THE PANELS REVEALING IT it weren’t like “atcually neither of them love each other they love watanuki but it’s fine” like HUH????????? FOR WHY

and ive really had to grasp the reason why there’s so much fucked up shit (incest, pedophilia) in those series is core to CLAMP’s messages accross all their mangas about soulmates nad how about love can triumph over everything

and like using such a PURE message to be like “if an adult is in love with a child and they’re soulmates, it’s to be” is so fucking evil

like they’ll tip toe around kurogane and fai, yukito and touya, doumeki and watanuki, and all the gaybait that i KNOW is in their other series because i’ve grown up seeing shit like tokyo babylon and legal drug and all their other dropped manga

because gay peopl ebeing soulmates is a wink and a nod

but ADULTS WITH CHILDREN THEY ARE IN CHARGE OF??? MOTHER AND SON MAYBE??? oh that’s fine they’re REAL soulmates who will go against TIME AND DIMENSION MAGIC ITSELF to be in love

like...............................

gay people are second class characters compared to pedos and incest... does it get worse than that? like besides emotionally destroyed by the sad endings, i get that shit too?

it hurts on a deeper level like feels like a betrayal and i’m kind of really sad i revisited something i enjoyed so much as a kid (even when i didn’t understand wtf was going on, because i was literally reading it at the same time my friend was and rushing) andd discovered this like... deep rot inside it

i could have continued to remember it fondly but now it’s just like... reaching the last bite of cake and being told it was made with maggots like... well i already ate it all...

there’s no point reading clear card or the unfinished tsubasa/xxxholic sequels because they’ve already ruined themselves like they can’t fix it

kurogane and fai still won’t be allowed to be together. watanuki still outlived everyone who ever loved him for a mother figure that can never come back. cardcaptor wrote off the fourth grader engaged to hre teacher but like... sakura’s dad is still a preadator

like... what do i do with these left over feelings then?

i’ll be over it in a dya but like for tonight i really do feel unwell

okay thank you i got it out in one post i am processing the feelings

i am gonna cry about watanuki being alone tho

[avian-writes]

When the Stars Moved Opening

the opening excerpt of my WIP, word count: 701

Past the wheat fields of Stea Farm but before reaching the forest, a circular patch of scorched dirt was etched into the ground. It had been recently swept with their old hay straw broom. One that desperately needed replacing but they were all too attached to to do so.

The lights in Zach’s windmill home had flickered out minutes ago, leaving no power for the stove or light to see where he was going in the night time. He softly opened the front door and walked around the side of the wood house in the crisp cool air, perfect for the time of year and season.

He could hear the Santima River rushing along the carved out trenches among the growing wheat. Kris’ irrigation system wasn’t up to code just yet, so good ole fashioned watering methods were going to have to do. Even if they could be a tripping hazard.

Zach gathered up the metal rods in the box outside the windmill house, placing them gently on the ground. Each rod had long wires connected to nothing, just dangling in the grass and threatening to get tangled up.

He picked up a battery pack lying against the house and connected each rod tightly to it, then scooped the rods up in his arms while carrying the pack in one hand. The handle glued to the side dug into his palm and he shifted hands every other trench jump.

Making his way across the fields, being careful not to trample his own crops, Zach looked out into the distance. The shadowing of their fence keeping out wild animals and interlopers could be seen in the pale moonlight. Past that, no lights from the direction of town. Everyone would be asleep until just before sunrise.

Finally he reached the circle. He planted the metal rods firmly into the ground surrounding the dirt. Twisting them deep into the long dead soil but leaving them still out and open above ground to make trajectory easier. He left the battery laying away from the circle but still far from the grass.

Zach scanned the night sky and millions of stars stared back at him. Thousands of galaxies. Hundreds of worlds. Dozens of constellations. He could pinpoint every combination and every story told in the glittering abyss high above him.

Including his own star. Calcos. Zach reached out a hand to the dim star, open palm to the light that shone just barely towards his eyes. He curled his hand into a fist as if grabbing an invisible cord and yanked.

Lightning struck from Calcos across the sky. It skirted the surrounding stars and headed straight for Zach. The sky lit up purple as the lightning came down from the heavens to his waiting arm.

The bolt jolted his wrist and he took hold of the lightning, throwing it towards the nearest rod. It traveled with his movements and obeyed his silent commands. It hit the lightning rod and blue shock waves covered the metal, shaking it to its core.

Bolts of lightning split off the rod and headed towards the other metal around Zach. Tip tapping each tip and sending volts down to the ground and through the wiring. Sparks flew up from the wires connected to the battery and Zach would’ve been concerned if he hadn’t done this hundreds of times before.

The lightning sparked off and disappeared. Metal searing hissed but slowly the rods bummed off the blue one by one. Sparks were left behind but eventually those too died down.

He left the metal rods where they were to cool off, not wanting to put them back into a wooden box all hot to the touch. He unhooked the battery pack and carried it to the house, being idle as is to not drop the burning wire pricks into the wheat.

The home had two parts: the house and the windmill. Two separate doors led to each part along with an internal door connecting the two. Zach slipped inside the windmill, kicking the door open lightly with his shoe. Inside, a panel was cut into the wall. He opened it and slid in the battery.

All at once, the lights flickered on.

[kbstories]

What are some of your favorite one piece moments and why?

WHOO BOY thanks for asking and buckle up ‘cause this is gonna be a long one

(A note before I start: I read OP up to volume 63 in German and the rest in English, so I apologize if I get some pre-ts names wrong! Also these are in somewhat of a chronological order and based solely on the manga.)

Luffy giving the dog (Shushu?) the last box of food: This is the moment that made me love Luffy, it’s such a simple but effective way of showing his core philosophy that people’s treasures and dreams have inherent value and that everyone deserves to have someone by their side who will fight for them when they can’t do it themselves.

Bellmere: Just. Everything about her and that flashback. “They are my kids”, just... It made me emo back then, still makes me emo today. Love it, love her, love her design and what she’s all about. Yes.

Luffy going “I’m nothing without my crew!” in Arlong Park: Bear with me here ‘cause I was like 12 when I read this arc the first time,��and back then I didn’t get why Nami wouldn’t just ask for help (so the “Help me!” moment only became a tear-jerker during my many, many re-reads). Something that did make immediate sense to me was Luffy straight-up admitting his skillset is limited to punching things very good, and I was like hell yeah go Luffy because I was 12. (I also love that this sentiment was echoed by Luffy going “I can’t be Pirate King without you” in Whole Cake Island two years later, so that’s another favorite right there.)

Skipping ahead otherwise we’ll be here all day but Luffy carrying Sanji and Nami in Drumm. Seeing him climb up that mountain with his bare hands and feet fucked me up even as a kid, the way Oda paced it really made you feel what an absolutely harrowing experience that must’ve been and I still think about it a lot.

Zoro fighting Mr. 1 in Alabasta: That fight was just mindblowingly cool and I love Zoro. That panel of him kneeling in his own blood after winning the fight hrgghhgh and oh hey THE STRAWHATS SHOWING THE X ON THEIR ARMS FOR VIVI 🥺🥺🥺  how are those not permanent tattoos Oda FIGHT ME

The entirety of Noland & Kargara, how they died without seeing each other and fully mending the argument they had and how Luffy ringing the bell hundreds of years later redeemed it all. Oda went incredibly hard on Skypia’s backstory and I’m not entirely sure what possessed him to tell a story that tragic but I, for one, am grateful. (Fun fact I was extremely late to this whole shipping thing and thus One Piece is very much about the platonic nakamaship of it all for me but even as a clueless baby fan I shipped THE FUCK out of Noland & Kargara oh my)

“I want to live!” + Sogeking shooting the WG flag + Usopp’s speech to Luffy + Luffy almost fighting to the death to keep his crew safe + MERRY’S GOODBYE: I bawl my eyes out every time I read Water 7, it’s my favorite arc to this very day because it’s just so complex and nuanced and the crew’s limits being tested in every way is just a very rewarding (if incredibly emotional) thing to witness. It put both Robin and Usopp on the map as two of my absolute favs and I’m so grateful for that.

The Strawhats teaming up against Oz (?) was something I didn’t know I needed until I saw it and I’ve been gunning for another Strawhat group fight ever since. The team work, the absolute trust, just everything about it was a delight and made all the stuff that followed (Zoro & Sanji laying down their lives for their captain, the entirety of Sabaody) so much more painful. Also Bink’s Sake because Brook deserves to have friends to sing it with him every single day of his life!!!

Luffy refusing to ask if the One Piece is real or not on Sabaody: I just adore that moment. Rayleigh was so soft and indulgent with these baby pirates carrying along the legacy of Roger’s old hat... My heart...

Mr. 2/Bon Curry (?) in Impel Down. ‘Nuff said.

Ace saying “Thank you” after you-know-what but let’s not linger on that because I was reading One Piece weekly back then and it traumatized me to the point I didn’t keep up with it for 10 years haha!

The post-timeskip era is a bit of a blur to me because I binged it all just a few months ago and my memory is McFreaking Terrible but I’ll start with Law being warned on two separate occasions that he might not like an alliance with Luffy, making the alliance anyways and proceeding to burn in “Strawhat-ya is a fucking moron” purgatory ever since. I don’t care if it’s overdone, every year Law loses to Luffy’s idiocy is one added to my lifespan. Godspeed, king of emo pirates. You dug your grave now lie in it.

Sabo coming back: I know there’s discourse about that doing bad things to the plot and the stakes of character deaths in One Piece, bla bla bla, I truly do not care. Luffy getting one (1) big brother back and Sabo stepping up to Ace’s legacy was so monumental when it happened that it briefly brought me back from my One Piece hiatus and I immediately bought volume 75 when it came out in German. (Now if Oda will only let him live and let Luffy actually hang out with his brother I would very much appreciate that, huff huff.)

USOPP UNLOCKING OBSERVATION HAKI AND SAVING LUFFY AAAAAAAAAA

Corazon holding onto life until Law was safe + Corazon’s smile: Corazon in general, actually. Law harboring that little bit of kindness he was shown as a kid and plastering it all over his ship and his crew and his own fucking skin. Mmmm love me a big sip from that good ol’ heartbreak.

Still in Dressrosa, Zoro going “I wonder what he’s dreaming about” when Luffy smiles in his sleep. It’s this little line and kinda insignificant because they’re talking to Sabo in that moment (and that’s clearly like woah), but it’s so fucking soft and it made my heart grow three sizes so there.

Jack getting one-shotted by Zunesha: Get rekt you insufferable asshole oh my god

Whole Cake Island is practically 78 chapters of favorite moments but Nami saying goodbye to Sanji + Luffy almost ripping his arms out to warn Sanji about Pudding + Sanji making a Strawhat lunchbox by accident + “That’s just how you are” + Luffy muffling his pain in front of the mirror so his crew doesn’t worry (Oda turn on your location I just want to talk) + Sanji carrying Luffy back to the ship + “I’m your captain now! Don’t die even if it kills you!” so yeah, the entire thing. Also Katakuri??? What a loser I love him

[Spoilers for Wano]

And if I went into all the things I like about Wano we’d truly be here all day. Gun to my head I’d probably pick Zoro & Luffy reuniting, Kidd & Killer in Udon (of course) and “At sea you fight pirates!” as my favorite moments so far. Also Jinbei joining the crew after a million years holy shit FINALLY and Luffy getting angry over spilled bean soup and KIDD BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF APOO FUCK YES and don’t get me started on the new characters especially Kiku and Yamato and---

[End of Wano spoilers]

Anyhow. My answer to “What’s your favorite One Piece moment?” is basically “YES” to all of it, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[gothic-safari-clown]

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part Eleven: Exacting Revenge

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten

Word count: 2606

Trigger warnings: Needles, drowning

I know that I've written Arkham in this story is very different from the movie; it's part of the AU. It's mostly for atmosphere and aesthetic. Sorry if it's confusing, I like the thought of them sneaking around; it's kinda cute, isn't it? Sneaky little monsters? Plus, like, in the movie, they just go through a door, and the whole setup is just...there???? Where anyone with a key could just stroll in? That makes no sense to me; I had to change it for my own edification.

The trick to staving off impatience is to make yourself forget about whatever you're waiting for. Or at least, that was what got Elianna through the week. She had pushed the plan so far to the corners of her mind that the day of, she had forgotten that it had finally arrived.

Of course, once it did resurface on her radar, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

Paperwork finished, and nothing left to do but wait, Elianna found herself bored, playing the pre-programmed solitaire on her desktop office computer. No one else was left in the facility besides the night orderlies, security, and the inmates, so when Jonathan knocked on the door, she buzzed him in without question, eyes still focused on the screen in front of her.

He came in, closing the door behind him, and when she didn't greet him straight away, he walked around to her side of the desk to see what she was looking at. She just needed a place for the three of spades, and everything else would fall into place, but she was about to give up on it when Jonathan reached over and took the mouse from her, finishing the board in a few clicks.

"I hate you." El put her face in her hands, annoyed at having missed the clear space for the card.

"Thank you. Are you ready?" She nodded and shut off the dinosaur of a computer and gathered her things.

"Is there anything I should know before we do this? Anything you need from me?"

"No, all you need to do is watch, but you can administer the serum if you'd like." He pushed his glasses up his nose as they stepped into the hallway.

"I think I'd rather watch you do it the first time, just to get an idea of what to expect. Where are we going?"

"Service elevator goes to the basement. And that's fine, just don't report me."

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me." El pushed on the door to ensure that it was locked, a habit she had developed to make sure that Zsasz couldn't be waiting in her office for her when she returned.

"Damn," Jonathan replied with dry sarcasm before, "ow," when she smacked him on the arm as they started walking for the service elevator. "If you're going to hit me, can't you at least pretend that you don't want to hurt me?"

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe I'll be your bodyguard when people show up outside your apartment with pitchforks and torches."

"I'll hold you to that." He pressed the 'down' button to call the elevator and, once inside, produced a key to allow them access to the basement. "That woman from the DA's office, Rachel Dawes, seems to think I'm up to something; maybe you should track her down."

"You are up to something." El reminded him as the elevator began its descent.

"She doesn't know that. She just happens to be right." Elianna laughed softly and followed him into the dingy hallway when the doors reopened. He led her into the third closet on the left and shut the door behind them.

"Hey, this reminds me." She chimed up, and Jonathan squinted at her through the darkness. "If we don't start having sex, Harley is going to be really disappointed in us."

"Oh my God," he muttered, and she laughed as she followed him to the back of the closet.

"Yeah, that's basically what I said. I just thought it was funny. What are you doing?" Jonathan was pushing aside a stack of mattresses leaned against the wall, revealing a loose panel, which he removed and gestured for her to step in first. "Seriously?" He gave her a confused look, to which she sighed in conceit and walked through to the other side of the wall, muttering something about cliches. "Why is this even here?"

Well," Jonathan cleared his throat and stepped through after her, replacing the panel. "This place has been around for a couple of hundred years, and as you know, asylums used to be a place to shove people that society didn't want to deal with. They renovated a few decades ago but never actually got rid of these old chambers, just walled them off. In fact, they even had it soundproofed. I haven't been able to figure out why, but it's convenient. Believe it or not, I'm not the first doctor with cause to mistreat patients; I think whoever was in charge during that renovation probably wasn't the best person either." El nodded in understanding, and they went down a short flight of iron stairs, which took them around one last corner.

Elianna slowed at the tableau before her. Zsasz was strapped to an old transport dolly by the neck, abdomen, wrists, and ankles, clearly agitated by how he squirmed.

"How...how did you get him down here?"

"Well, those guards that were in the room with you that day felt bad about what happened and took the opportunity to make it up to you."

"The stairs?" She turned around and looked at them, then back at Zsasz.

"He was moved here on the dolly. It's my understanding that he didn't particularly enjoy being wheeled down the stairs." Jonathan put his hand on El's back and guided her all the way into the spacious...What would you even call this? A torture chamber?

When they came all the way into view, Zsasz finally noticed them. The way his voice washed over Elianna was all too familiar and reminiscent of something cold and scaley, like a dead fish, but this time she was able to brush off the sensation. She held the power here.

"Doctor Montgomery! Have you come to conduct our next session? I think we're really starting to make progress." The deranged man laughed as he struggled harder against the leather cuffs; as they approached, El could see that they were reinforced.

"Mister Zsasz, you'll be helping me with an experiment tonight. Doctor Montgomery is here as a witness, and I'm going to have to ask you to refrain from speaking to her." Jonathan interjected before El could say anything.

***

For the first time, Zsasz seemed uneasy, and his eyes followed Jonathan's briefcase as he set it on a nearby table, unlatched it, and then revealed a false bottom. "I do hope that you aren't uncomfortable with needles," he continued as he produced a syringe and a vial of stale-looking, yellowish liquid. "Usually, I would prefer to use a gaseous form of this compound, but I'm afraid I only have one gas mask with me, and Doctor Montgomery and I are both very interested in seeing the results of this experiment." Jonathan monologued as he prepared the syringe.

El moved to sit on the table next to the briefcase setup, and Zsasz made sharp eye contact with her, and she felt a chill run down her spine for the first time in days. She found that she had almost missed the feeling as she held his glassy stare with one of her own. A vision of him in a few minutes writhing against his restraints, screaming until his lungs filled with blood suddenly appeared in her mind, and the thought made her smile involuntarily.

Zsasz, on the other hand, hadn't been expecting for her to smile and frowned uneasily, making a more desperate attempt to wriggle out of the restraints as he returned his attention to what Jonathan was doing, which was to take a voice recorder out of his case, switch it on and begin speaking into it.

"Serum fifteen, experiment one. Subject name: Victor Zsasz," he spoke into the receiver before setting on the table and advancing on Zsasz, not bothering to sterilize the injection site. El leaned forward to watch the injection, fascinated to see what would happen next.  

Jonathan stepped away from the dolly, and already Zsasz was visibly shuddering and straining against the cuffs holding him in place. El got to her feet and slowly moved closer to examine the effects.

"How does it work?" She asked, observing the way Zsasz's eyes flitted about the room as his breathing intensified. Behind her, Jonathan smiled at her curiosity before explaining.

"The serum introduces higher glucose levels in the bloodstream. Once it reaches the brain,  the compound amps up the output of cortisol, glutamate, and adrenaline to the amygdala. In addition to that, the flower I told you about naturally produces a high concentration of a powerful hallucinogenic compound. Altogether, it causes the brain to go into a state of terror and hallucinate things they fear. The aerosolized version works faster, but you don't have a mask, so it should kick in any time now."

Just as Jonathan finished his explanation, Zsasz began screaming. Closer to howling actually, a haunting, inhuman sound that made Elianna furrow her brow as Jonathan spoke quietly into his voice recorder. El leaned closer to Zsasz's face to further assess his experience. His eyes shifted to her face with dilated pupils, and a look of horror overtook his face, all the while screaming and pulling at his cuffs so hard that she was surprised that he hadn't dislocated anything yet.

"What is he seeing?" El inquired, pulling away from the screaming, terrified maniac before her. Jonathan brought the voice recorder closer, now standing next to her.

"Mr. Zsasz, would you mind telling us what you see?" The howling and thrashing gave way to paranoid muttering and sudden, jerking movements as if he could catch the restraints off guard and trick them into releasing him.

"Get it out, get it out of here," Zsasz demanded in a desperate voice through gritted teeth, repeating it over and over. Jonathan frowned slightly, retreating to his briefcase and removing a burlap mask, at which Elianna couldn't help but laugh a bit.

"Was that Scarecrow, or do you still have a fixation on the one that was out on your property?"

"Where do you think Scarecrow came from, El?" He retorted distractedly as he removed his glasses and put on the mask, crossing back over to Zsasz. "Tell me what you see, Victor." He ordered again, looming over the scarred man.

"Get it out!" Zsasz screamed again in response.

"I can't take it away unless you tell me what it is," Jonathan's voice had become low and impatient; he must be trying really hard to keep Scarecrow back since I'm here. Zsasz looked Jonathan, or rather the mask, in the eyes—eyeholes?—and his breathing grew even louder as he ground his teeth.

"Don't you see it? The water! It's rising so quickly; you have to get it out if here, or we'll all drown!" The thought of drowning causes Zsasz to begin hyperventilating.

"Aquaphobia," El mused, leaning back in. "Does that stem from your parents' accident, Victor? They died on a boat if I'm not mistaken." The desperate screaming resumed, and El observed as it was interrupted by a coughing sputter, as though he were trying not to drown. That's interesting. Zsasz's mind had produced such a life-like delusion of rising water that his body was reacting as though it were really there, and all the while, Jonathan had taken the mask off and was speaking quickly and quietly into his recording device.

After only a few more minutes, Zsasz's gasping breaths and twitching slowed and eventually stopped as his head lolled to the side. Jonathan checked his pulse to assess whether or not he was dead.

***

"Subject has fallen unconscious at," Jonathan took a moment from his notes to check his watch, "twenty-five minutes." He switched off the device and turned to replace all of his equipment into his case, returning his glasses to his face.

"Twenty-five? Really?" Elianna took one last look at Zsasz's unconscious, vulnerable face. "Didn't feel that long."

"No, because you enjoyed it, you should have seen your face," Jonathan informed in a light voice as he relatched his case and tilted his head for her to walk with him back up the stairs. "Eyes all lit up-"

"Look who's talking. What's with that mask?"

"Some subjects react more strongly to it. It makes them more likely to cooperate."

"I guess that makes sense...hey, are we just leaving him down here?"

"The guards will take him back up when they see us leave; no one else will ever know." He reassured her and went first through the panel, pushing the spare mattresses back over it once they were both out. "Are you hungry? We can pick up something to eat on the way home." El hummed in response.

They emerged from the bowels of Arkham and were approaching the car when a sudden thought struck her. "Are you afraid of anything?" Jonathan looked down at her, face impassive, and opened the passenger door for her, moving to the driver's side once she was in.

"Just Granny," he finally replied after closing and locking the door.

"That's it?" She got a nod in response.

"In the early stages of the project, I hadn't figured out the system for test subjects yet, so I had to test it on myself. I had to learn to push down many things to record the results reliably, and eventually, I had done it so much that none of the other things even made an appearance anymore. I still get hallucinations of things that are traditionally 'scary,' but I get none of the accompanying physical symptoms."

"So, controlled, repeated exposure to the toxin can slowly start to eliminate your fear response?"

"It's either that, or it's possible to build up somewhat of an immunity to the toxin, which I think is more likely," Jonathan commented and finally started the car. They drove in silence for a few minutes, and Elianna found herself once again trying to make a life-changing decision.

"Do you think it would work on me?" The question catches Jonathan off-guard enough to tear his eyes away from the road for a moment to give her a look of surprise.

"Are you asking me to dose you?"

"I think I am, as long as you think it's safe." He sucked in a deep breath, his face stern, and Elianna fell silent to let him think.

"It could work, but we'll use the original formula just in case. It's the one I've tested the most, so there's less of a risk."

"Then let's do it." She said without hesitation. If there was one thing she had learned over the last week, it was that there was no use in resisting her impulses. Jonathan nodded slowly. Every day was becoming more interesting than the last with her around again, and he had the feeling that that wouldn't change any time soon.

[icreativethoughts]

How To Earn Online From Affiliate Marketing in 2020

Affiliate Marketing

Affiliate Marketing is all about making money from different affiliate programs just by selling digital or physical products of product owner through many online & Offline ways Like paid advertisements , multi level marketing , projecting on own blogs or Websites , posting your affiliate link of your products in many Social groups like Facebook , Instagram , twitter etc., so that if any one purchases from your affiliate links , you will get percentage of commission on the product price. 

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1) clickbank

2) CJ

3) Amazon Affiliate Program

4) ShareASale

5) Impact

6) 2CheckOut

7) Rakuten Linkshare

8) SiteGround

9) A2Hosting

10) Bluehost

11) SEMRush

12) SEO Power Suit

13) Godaddy

14) AdCombo

15) PeerFly

16) MaxBounty

17) VCommission

18 ) ClickBooth

19) FlexOffer

20) Shopify

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[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Devil in Disguise, Pt. 2

Dean Winchester x Reader

Part 1

Summary: Dean’s on the run from escaping a prison where a job went south. Sam is in the wind. With nowhere to go and an injured leg, Dean takes refuge in the only place he could find—an old remote cabin. Normally empty for long stretches, Dean happens to stumble in the same day that the cabin’s owner returns. After a rocky first encounter, Dean comes to believe that a distant connection they share could be the thing that saves his life and gets him back to Sam. But will it happen before Y/N’s finance, a prison guard at Green River, finds the secret she’s hiding in the woods?

A/N: The fic was inspired by the song “The Devil’s Backbone” by The Civil Wars. This is part 2 of ?? written for multiple bingo cards that go for both chapters. Set around S2 (Folson Prison Blues). New tag lists are at the end of the fic. I have tag spots open, let me know if you want to jump on or off for SPN (Dean and/or Sam, or RPF for Jensen)

Warnings: (Part One): Language, Mild angst, Hints of abuse 

WC: 4.9K

*Banner created by me. I do not own any of these pictures.

[Y/N] stood at the foot of the bed and examined her handiwork of cleaning and properly bandaging Dean’s wound. All the while thinking about the “BOLO” that came over the CB. Sure this stranger said he knew Deacon, but did he? Was he really who he said he was? Her eyes flickered from the fevered man in the bed to the task she was currently taking on, trying to figure out what her instincts were telling her. When she was satisfied, she moved around the room, cleaning up the leftovers from the bandages, along with the jumpsuit and discarded them in a big black trash bag. Leaving it in the corner of the room, she returned to the foot post, and leaned on it, wrapping both hands tightly around the frame. 

“Ok, you're patched up, you’ve got penicillin and soup is on the stove. Time to tell me a story, Dean. What was the job at the prison?” 

Dean used the strength in his upper arms to sit up straighter on the bed and watched her curiously for a beat before speaking. She wished she could read his thoughts and know exactly what he was considering, but all she could hope for would be his full cooperation and the complete truth.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked simply, and leaned back against the old, wrought iron bedpost. 

Her eyes snapped up quickly. “Ghosts?”

“Yeah. I don’t mean Casper the friendly, either. I’m talking about vengeful ones. Ones that use their anger to kill people.”

[Y/N] felt her throat run dry and was grateful she was already holding onto the iron arch of the frame. “Yeah,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “I believe in ‘em.”

“That makes this easier…” he mumbled to himself before continuing, “but the truth is, doesn’t matter if you believe. Because they’re real. So are vampires, werewolves, demons… all the nasty, vile monsters you can think of… all real and the prison had one that was killing inmates. Deacon called on us to help get rid of it.”

“Deacon… of course,” she whispered almost incoherently and expelled a long, slow breath. 

“You never did say how you knew him,” Dean said, and shrugged defensively when her gaze snapped back at him, flashing a warning not press his luck. “Just sayin’...”

“I’ve known Deacon since I was a kid. He used to come to my dad’s church.” There was so much more to it, but she wasn’t ready to share all her intel. “So, continue… ghost in the prison…”

“Right, so, Deacon called us in to figure out who it was. He thought we could get more info as prisoners then he ever would as the warden. The spook was going after his guys, he had to do something.”

“But you must have done something to get yourselves locked up. Deacon couldn’t just smuggle two people into Green River and pass them off as prisoners, warden or not. So, just breaking in somewhere was enough to get you thrown in prison? You were a little vague on the charges.”

“That’s… complicated and not relevant here. What is, is that we figured out who the ghost was, and Deacon was breaking us out to go--”

“Salt and burn…” she said, not meaning to interrupt but her blank expression and clouded eyes told Dean that she was suddenly lost a memory.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “How did you--are you a hunter?”

“Huh? What? No,” she stammered and pushed off the iron frame. “No, not a hunter, but I know what hunters are.”

“How?”

“Story for another time,” she said, waving him off. “Please. continue… how did you go from Deacon breaking you out, to bleeding in my cabin while pointing my own gun at me?”

“He opened a panel for us to escape through, was going to bring us out the rear exit. We must have taken a wrong turn somewhere and went out the wrong doors. Shit went sideways fast, had to improvise and we got separated. Sam took off in the direction of the cemetery where the body was buried and my only way out was the other direction. Spotlights caught me as I hit the tree line and got shot. Ran as far as I could… damn near through the night. Now here I am.”

[Y/N] just nodded slowly, as if she was trying to comprehend everything he was telling her. She began to pace the room, but not with any vigor. It was methodical and slow, each step seemed to be taken with a thoughtful purpose as she went over his story in her mind. 

“Who was it?” she asked finally, looking up to meet the pair of dull green eyes looking back. She had a moment where she wondered how they would actually shine when their owner was bogged down with fever because even as muted as they were, they were still beautiful.

“A nurse who died in a prison riot years ago. They started construction on an old wing of the unit, and it stirred her up.”

“Oh,” [Y/N] mused, then settled on the end of the bed, the opposite side of where Dean lay. She brought her knee up to rest on the mattress and twisted her body to face him. 

“And your brother… he took care of it?”

“I sure hope so. I’m hoping he found his way to the car and got over there. Kinda hard to check up on that, though.” He motioned towards his leg, his whole expression shrugging with a hint of exhausted sarcasm.

“What cemetery?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to check, that’s why. You may not be able to, but I can. I need to do a supply run to town anyway. So, which cemetery.”

“Uh… Green Valley, but… lady… I don’t think its a good idea. Our PD, if she was forced to talk, that place is gonna be swimming in uniforms.”

“It's fine. I have family buried there. I can always say I’m going to visit them. What was the nurses’ name?”

“Glockner,” Dean replied but shook his head as he did. “It's okay. I’m sure Sam got there to take care of it. Right now he’s probably free and clear and freaking out trying to figure out where I am.”

“[Y/N],” she spoke up softly. “My name is [Y/N].”

“Thanks for saving my ass, [Y/N],” Dean smiled, relieved.

“Thanks for not shooting me, Dean.”

Across the queen size bed, they shared a brief, yet slightly intense gaze before each of them broke away. [Y/N] found him intriguing, and without doubt, believed what he was telling her. Her instincts may have been quiet before, but after hearing what he had to say, and knowing what she knew about Deacon, [Y/N] knew that she could believe his story. Besides, with Dean’s confidence in the man’s voucher, she really felt that she could trust what he was saying. That made her want to do whatever she could to help him get better, and then get back to his brother. 

“Where can I find your brother?” she asked. “Where’s home? Would he go there?”

“Home is long gone. We never stay any place too long.”

“Damn. Then how do I find him?”

Dean thought for a minute. All their usual ways of communication after separation wouldn’t work. He figured Sam would have a new burner by now, but not like he could get the number. Any cop in a hundred-mile radius would be looking for the Impala, and even Deacon was most likely being watched like a hawk. 

“Right now, I don’t think we can. Let me fight off this bitch of an infection, and then when my head is clear, I can figure things out.”

“Okay,” she relented and went to stand from the bed. Before she reached the doorway that led to the kitchen, she turned and faced him one last time. “You can stay as long as you need to. Take this room. I’ll stay in the loft. But, Dean... “

“Yeah?”

“If you ever point my own gun, or any gun at me again, I won’t hesitate to shoot you once I get it back.”

Twenty-four hours later, and Dean’s fever was still ragging. He was semi-aware of her sitting in the rocker placed in the corner for good stretches of the night, and when the sun peeked through the thin lace curtains it caused black spots to pulse behind his eyes. Somehow, [Y/N] could tell, and she moved to pull the heavier curtain closed.

Dean was also vaguely aware that she kept putting a cool cloth to his forehead and checked his leg a few times. At some point during the long night, he remembered wondering why she was going through all this instead of just getting on her CB and bringing the cops to her door.

Even with no clock present, when Dean finally came fully to consciousness, he could tell that it was sometime in the early afternoon. The birds weren’t as loud, and the brightness of the day had moved higher in the sky. He was able to push himself up to sitting, though it caused a burst of pain to ripple through his injured leg. 

“Sonofabitch!” Dean grunted through gritted teeth, as he tried to swing the leg off the bed. The motion of which caused a swirl of blurry vision, his head swimming in static and black spots again. “Nope,” he said to himself and moved his leg back to where it had been. 

Dean was still for a few minutes, making sure the pain evened out and that he wasn’t going to pass out again. Once he was sure he could focus, he listened closely to any sounds coming from out in the cabin. 

It was silent. But that’s when he noticed the folded scrap of paper sitting on the bedside that had his name written in a blunt, but feminine script.

Dean,

Making a supply run. Stay put. If you can manage to move, there’s cold water in the fridge. If not, there’s a room temp bottle and your meds by this note. Also a protein bar. See if you can choke that down. Be back soon.

[Y/N]

She had done as promised, and left the water bottle and pills behind the note, along with the protein bar. Dean felt himself smile despite his deteriorating condition. He made quick work of powering through the food, pills, and water, and then settled back onto the bed and closed his eyes. When they fluttered open again, the sun continued its descent into the sky, and when he peeked out of the curtains again, there was a soft twinge of pink and orange sky acting as a backdrop to the autumn colored trees. 

Noise from the kitchen snapped his attention back, and he instinctively reached under the pillow for a gun that wasn’t there. He had just enough time to register a slew of curses in his mind when the bedroom door opened and [Y/N] stood there with a tray, and a pleased smile on her lips. 

“Welcome back,” she smiled and moved over to the bed, carefully setting the tray down on the open side, then moving towards Dean to help prop him up. 

He waved her off and was able to get himself to sitting, but his eyes, not so dull anymore, watched her carefully. 

“Why are you doing all this? What do you get out of it?” he asked, unable to hide his curiosity over her generous nature. 

“I don’t get anything out of it other than helping you not die. But I am doing this because I believe you,” she said, and delicately lifted the material of the sweatpants to check on his wound. “When I was ten, I thought I saw a ghost in my dad’s church.” She paused, and seemed satisfied with how the bandages looked, and carefully pulled the pant leg back down. She retrieved the tray, kicked open the legs on it and placed it carefully over Dean’s lap as she continued her story. 

“Scared the shit out of me, and of course, he didn’t believe me. People started getting hurt. Workers who were repainting the outside of the rectory… an old lady pushed down the stairs by some unseen force. Stuff like that.”

Dean nodded in understanding and made the attempt to eat the soup and crackers she brought him. 

“Anyway, after the maintenance guy died, that’s when things got even weirder.”

“Weirder how?”

“Deacon had been a member of the parish for as long as I can remember. Never really thought much of him except for he was a Marine and that he worked at the jail. Nice guy, always smiled at me on Sundays. One night, I was hiding in the pews, reading some crap I shouldn’t have been, and I heard Deacon and some guy with him, arguing with my dad. Something about needing to burn something. Whatever Deacon wanted… some kind of old jewelry that was kept in the church safe… Dad refused. I was scared because I distinctly remember that guy with Deacon saying that unless they did, the spirit wouldn’t rest and could eventually kill the preacher, or even his family.”

Dean’s mind was racing a mile a minute. Despite the fever that had been stifling much logical thought in the last day, he was able to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

“That guy, what did he look like?”

“Why is that important?”

“It just is!” he snapped, and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry… can you just try and remember?”

[Y/N] closed her eyes and went back in her memories. “He was tall, dark hair, dark eyes. Not a beard exactly, but more than a few days beard, you know? He had these crazy dimples, too. I remember thinking they were as big as craters.”

“Holy shit,” Dean snorted in disbelief. “I think that was my dad. Was his name, John?” Her attention snapped back up and he could tell just by the look on her face that it was.

“Yeah, his name was John. He’s how I know what hunters are. That night, after my dad locked up, I stayed in the church. I was so scared of a ghost killing me that I went and stole the necklace from the safe. I rode my bike all the way to Deacon’s house and he was super pissed to see me there. Until I pulled it from my pocket…”

“Lemme guess... my dad snatched it from you and barked at you to go home?”

“Close, but not quite. I got to hear a snippet of their conversation, first. John said something about salting and burning the bones and that it didn’t work. The necklace had to be the link. Then he barked at me to go home.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I went home. Deacon and I never spoke of it again, but he always looked at me a little differently on Sundays. Almost like he was proud.”

“So, that’s why you believed me so easily. That talk doesn’t always go very smoothly for civilians.”

“Yeah well, guess you lucked out running into me then, huh?”

Dean exhaled steadily through slightly pursed lips and nodded. “You ain’t kiddin’.”

“I grabbed better meds for you in town this morning. Try and eat some and then you can take those. If that can bring your temperature down I think you’ll be alright. I checked your leg while you were sleeping, changed the bandages. You got lucky the bullet went clean through.”

“I can’t thank you enough for this, really.”

“It’s nothing. Just eat and rest.” 

She turned to leave and Dean realized he didn’t want her too. He wanted her to stay and talk to him; he liked when she was around. Maybe it was because they had some sort of distant connection through Deacon, or maybe it was simply because of her. Most likely, it was just his fever making him not want to be alone. But right then, he wanted nothing more than for her to stay and sit beside him.

“[Y/N], wait... “ he paused, leaning forward from the pillows until she turned around and slowly brought her (y/c) eyes to meet his. “Would you stay? Keep me company, maybe?”

She paused at the door, her left hand slowly sliding down the old wood trim of the frame. Dean saw her body relax a little, and when she finally turned back around to face him, her features were softer than they had been before. He was struck, not for the first time, by how beautiful she was in the dim light of the room’s light. When she turned and went back to the rocker in the corner, then dragged it closer to the bed, Dean happily leaned back against the pillows, relieved she was staying and worked on consuming the food she brought him.

The next morning, Dean woke with his head clearer than it had been since getting shot in the first place. Overnight he had sweat straight through the shirt he had borrowed and would just about kill for a clean one; maybe even a shower.

[Y/N] knocked lightly on the door before opening it just enough to talk through. 

“Decent?” she asked and waited for a response before entering.

“Yeah, good,” Dean replied. Once she was in, he approached the idea of a shower. “So, what are the chances I’m healed enough to take a hot shower?”

“I doubt you could stand on that long enough without support of some kind.”

Dean groaned and rolled his head back. “Dammit. I feel like I’ve been slimed. Just, head to toe gross. You know?”

“Yeah, I can imagine. I could pull a kitchen chair into the bathroom, you could give yourself a sponge bath at least.”

Dean bit his tongue from replying with some half sarcastic, half flirtatious comment. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“I’ll set it up for you, then I was going to get a fire going. Wanted to see if maybe you wanted to venture from the room today. Seems like maybe your fever broke overnight. Getting up and moving around would be good for you; a little of it, anyway.”

“I’m all for it,” he smiled, genuinely excited for both the change of scenery and the chance to spend more time with her. 

“Great. We really need to figure out a plan here, too,” she said softly followed by a side-eyed glance that didn’t go unnoticed by Dean. He even thought maybe, she looked a little disappointed. She wasn’t always the easiest person to read and he had only known her through fevered days so far. Despite all that, Dean could feel his sharp senses returning, and they were telling him this girl was one he could both count on and trust.

[Y/N] disappeared into the bathroom, and could be heard moving some things around, then reappeared. She seemed like she was about to speak when they both heard it. 

A running motor. The sound of a door being slammed closed. 

“Shit!”

Her eyes went wide with fear, and Dean felt his heart sink but his survival instinct kicked in. As quickly as he could move, he twisted his hips and let both legs fall to the floor. Standing quickly, a little too quickly, the wounded leg instantly buckled, but [Y/N] was right there to catch him. Dean slung an arm over her shoulders as she helped him limp across the floor.

“What? Do you know who it is?” he asked through the bolts of pain that coursed up his body from the sudden movement on his leg.

“Yeah, it could only be Derek,” she said, her stomach instantly going sour. 

“Derek?”

“My finance. Also, prison guard a Green River.”

“Well shit,” Dean huffed as she opened the bathroom door and nearly shoved him inside. “Talk about a coincidence.”

Ignoring his quip, she tried to think about what was her best course of action. “The linen closet is deep enough for you to stand in. Go in and shut the door. It can be locked from the inside. Lock it and not a sound,” she whispered desperately. 

Dean nodded and limped his way carefully to the linen closet. [Y/N] dashed about the room, cleaning up any remnants of the escapee’s presence and tossed it under the bed. Her heart was racing, her hands were trembling with fear; not just for Derek possibly discovering Dean, but for her own safety as well. 

Just as she finished hiding the evidence, and stepped into the kitchen, the front door to the cabin opened and the man she least wanted to see was making his entrance.

“You forget how to answer your phone all of a sudden?!” he barked, taking several hulking steps through the living room and into the kitchen.

“You know I don’t get service up here,” she replied calmly, an amazing feat given how badly she was shaking internally. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

Derek snorted in exasperation. “Are you dumb?! Didn’t you hear the CB at least?”

[Y/N] refrained from responding harshly, knowing it would only set him off more. “I may have been outside. Or on a supply run. What’s so important that I have to know?”

“Prisoners escaped. Two of ‘em,” he replied and rubbed a hand over his face down to his beard, something he only did when he was frustrated. Letting his hand fall back at his side with a slap against his outer thigh. “Pack your shit, I came up here to bring you home. No reason that you need to be up here with two escapees on the loose and weather rollin’ in.” 

“Haven’t seen a sign of any escapees this far out,” she shrugged absently, going about unloading the extra supplies she had grabbed when she went to town earlier. This didn’t go unnoticed by Derek. 

“Seems like quite the stockpile for one person for a weekend,” he grumbled, eyeing up the box of supplies on the table. “Might as well put them all back in, 'cause you’re leaving with me now.”

[Y/.N]’s head whipped around and up to meet Derek’s dark and brooding gaze. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, it’s why I’m here. You didn’t answer, so I came to get you. This is no place for a girl to be, especially alone, with two escaped felons on the loose.”

Derek grabbed her arm roughly, but her quick reflexes kicked in before he could solidify his grip. 

“First off, I am not a girl, I am a perfectly capable woman. Second, don’t you ever grab me like that again. I warned you, Derek. I am not going to be some pushover you can boss around.”

Their eyes locked and for a brief moment, she didn’t know if he would relent or go to grab her again, so she prepared herself just in case. Derek’s large frame relaxed as he backed off, pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, and plopped down into it.

“What the Hell are you doin’ up here [Y/N]. Ain’t nothing up here for you but a bunch of cobwebs and bad memories. There are two escaped felons, and we ain’t talkin’ bout no drug charges or simple B ‘n E. They were in for murder… grave desecration. These are two really sick sons of bitches. Weather’s rollin’ in on top of it. Just seems dumb to be up here when it ain’t necessary.”

[Y/N] went back to unpacking her supplies midway through his exasperated rant. Doing her best to ignore the word murder, she did her best to focus on the supplies and ignore Derek’s concentrated gazed watching her every move. 

“But yet, you’re still unpackin’. Do I gotta call your daddy? Get him up here to put you in your place?” Derek asked his questions and averted his eyes, keeping them transfixed on the side of the box before slowly bringing them back up to see the fear he had hoped to see on her face. When there wasn’t a trace of it, his brow furrowed and he tilted his head curiously. “What? Preacher Steve doesn’t put the fear of God in you anymore?”

[Y/N] snorted a laugh and took out the last can of tomato paste before she finally turned back to give him her full attention. She leaned in, dangerously close to her fiance and knew that what she was about to say could earn her a pop in the mouth. But something about spending the last forty-eight hours with Dean Winchester had somehow instilled the ability to not give a fuck.

“Fuck. You,” she whispered, a slight, rueful smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll be back to town when I fucking feel like it. If you’re bored, Derek, call Rita from work. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to assist you with whatever you need. Now, get out.”

Her knowing glare unnerved Derek, making him shift uncomfortably. He waited another beat and stood from the old wooden chair that groaned gratefully as he removed his hefty size from its worn frame. He wanted to say something--drew in a breath to do just that--but the crackle of the radio he wore on his hip made him stop, and simply expel the air in a huff and reach for the walkie as the voice on the other end was unintelligible when mixed with the static of the shitty reception.

“I’ll go. But I won’t be gone long. When I come back,  you’re coming home.” As he went to leave, he was about to press the button to reply, but paused and turned back around. “If you see or hear anything suspicious, you pick up the damn CB and call me!”

Ignoring his command, she turned her back to him and started putting away the cans of food into the pantry. 

“Did you hear me?!” he bellowed, making her shoulders stiffen and a shiver at the sharpness of his tone run down her spine. 

“Yes, Derek,” she replied without turning around. Gripping the counter with white knuckles, she waited until she heard the slam of the front door before exhaling the breath she didn’t realize she was holding it. 

“Goddammit,” she whispered and let her head fall between her shoulders. The entire interaction left her feeling cold and lost in a place she hadn’t gone to in years. But now, thanks to the man she was supposed to be marrying, she was knee-deep in memories that clawed at her insides to come spilling out. 

[Y/N] didn’t hear Dean emerge from the bathroom, nor did she hear him limp his way across the bedroom, then out into the kitchen. She was so lost in the recesses of her early years on the Earth, that she didn’t even feel his presence until he was standing right behind her. She didn’t jump or scare, she simply looked up into his furrowed, curious brow, and kind green eyes, and laid her head against his chest. 

“You heard all that?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,”’  he rasped, “I heard. What I don’t get is why the Hell you would marry a douchebag like that.” 

“Long story, not one I particularly feel like telling at the moment.” She regrettably moved her head off his chest and caught his briefly caught his gaze. 

His eyes were slightly narrowed on her, his brow still showing lines of concern, and his full lips were set in a contemplative pout. She thought maybe the instinct to rest her head on him had soured him towards her. 

“Sorry,” she said, feeling suddenly stupid and quickly busying herself with the task at hand. 

She saw Dean wobble from the corner of her eye and dropped the cans she was holding onto help steady him. He draped an arm around her shoulder and she when she helped him sit in one of the kitchen chairs, he passed her a grateful smile. 

“Sorry for what?” he asked, wincing at the pain radiating from his leg. 

She crouched down and saw the fresh blood coming through the leg of his pants. “For… I don’t know… a moment of weakness I guess. One of your stitches popped,” she said changing the subject. “Sit tight. Let me get the first aid kit and patch this up. Then maybe I can wrap it and you can get that shower.”

[Y/N] started walking into the bedroom to retrieve the supplies that had been kicked under the bed in a rush when Dean reached out and caught her wrist. 

“Hey, you have nothing to say sorry for. Everything you’ve done for me…” he trailed off and shrugged, his expressive lips pushing up into a small, cocky smirk. “...least I can do is give you a place to lay your weary head.”

She snorted a laugh and shook her head. Despite his pallid complexion and current pain levels, Dean was flirting with her. Whether it was just to elicit a smile after the recent encounter with Derek, or because he was genuinely flirting, she didn’t know. Truth is, she didn’t care. She liked having him around and realized then and there that she would do whatever she had to in order to help him get better and get back to his brother.

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik

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[silverquillsideas]

What is your view of AshEiji's love from one to the other, and how the end of BF, Ash choose to die and love, and Eiji choose to live and remember to help understand their feelings?

Hi! Thanks for the question, and I’m sorry for being so late in replying, uni cramped up all of my time for the last few weeks :’)

I’ve already talked about this here and here. And at this point, I really don’t have anything new to add.

The thing with Banana Fish and especially the whole relationship of Ash and Eiji, is that, there’s never really enough, never anything very tangible, to which you can refer to and say, ‘Yeah, this is where it all began’ or ‘This is why Asheiji are soulmates’ or ‘This is how they love each other’. The author never gave us too many concrete moments, and all we can do is simply feel their bond through so many gestures, so many half spoken words and glances. 

I’ve yet to read a greater, more deeper story of a bond between two people as Asheiji had between them, and yet, not a single word is used to give the enormity of what they felt for each other a concrete shape, anywhere in the whole 19 volumes of the manga. It was just…. always there, in between a hundred moments, underneath their words, and expressed by their every action. And by the time I as a reader started comprehending exactly how deep their feelings ran, to me, Ash and Eiji were already bound by soul to each other. There wasn’t any other way I could view them as.

I’ve no idea if all of this sounds too flouncy, but that’s exactly how I feel. :)

The ambiguity of Asheiji’s love for each other is hammered all the more deeply by the ending and then Garden of Light. Their relationship was never defined, neither could any other character label it for them, and probably, they themselves couldn’t either.

We as fans are still debating about this some thirty years later, How could Ash choose to die if they loved each other so much? Didn’t he know how much Eiji would be hurt? How could the author separate them in this way, after all that had happened, cuz it really doesn’t make sense?  And the thing is, I don’t have the answers. It’s an ending that’ll haunt me forever. 

Whether Ash chose to die and let his love triumph over all the hatred and madness surrounding him, whether it was his way of showing his love for Eiji in the way he could best rationalize ( eliminate all danger so that Eiji can live ), or maybe he was just tired of the constant push and pull of a life lived in violence…..they are all merely points of debate. We all have our own interpretations of it. 

Eiji clearly was never able to forget Ash and whatever they had together, and honestly, out of both of them, it’s Eiji’s grief, his wistful yearning for Ash after all those years, was what stayed with me long after I finished reading. 

And at the end, especially these three panels, probably summed up their relationship best : two people thrown by chance into the middle of a violent strife, simply found solace in each other. Eiji says Ash was a ‘miraculous life force’ and that he ‘lived all out, one hundred percent’, and I believe him with all my heart. Who else could possibly know Ash any better than the one person who healed him, kept him grounded in his humaneness, and taught him that it was okay to turn back from death, and not be lost in the way?

So yeah, no matter how grim and abrupt and painful the ending was, I still am content with the story, their whole journey. 

To me, Banana Fish was a story of healing, of letting go of your past selves, and simply just being there, living through all the odds and hardships and finding that incredible connection with another person that most of us can only think of. It was bittersweet and at times so lonely, and yet, I’ll probably, no definitely keep coming back to it over and over again. :’)

[rocketwerks]

Belgrade

AKA Belvidere, Bellgrade, Alandale, Allandale, Ruth’s Chris Steak House

11500 West Huguenot Road

Built, 1732, 1824

February 2020

The centerpiece of one of Chesterfield’s most notorious murders. PG-13!

(Chesterfield County Public Library)  — Jeffrey O’Dell Research Papers Collection — 1978

Belgrade, known in the late nineteenth century as "Belvidere" and renamed "Alandale" in the early part of this century, features an unusual plan and a unique medley of roof types. Situated off Robious Road southwest of Bon Air, the house occupies a large open tract surrounded by rapidly expanding residential and commercial development.

February 2020

Originally a one- or 1 1/2-story hall-parlor house, Belgrade was expanded to its present form in 1824. In that year, Edward Cox conveyed the property to Edward O. Friend, and assessed buildings rose in value from $482 to $1,939. This increase reflects a complete transformation of the original dwelling from a hall-parlor structure to a large dwelling composed of a two-story, side-passage-plan main block flanked by matching 1-story one-room-plan wings.

(Chesterfield County Public Library) — Jeffrey O’Dell Research Papers Collection — 1978

The hipped gambrel roof covering each of the two wings is unusual, and Belgrade provides the latest recorded example in Virginia of this rare roof type. Another unusual feature is the apparently original 1-story lean-to at the west end of the building. The primary purpose of this eight-foot wide unit appears to have been to house a stair (similar in form and coeval to that in the main block) permitting separate interior and exterior access to the upper chamber of the south wing.

February 2020

The present interior trim, varying only slightly among the various rooms on both floors, dates entirely to ca. 1824. The mantel in the main block consists of a simple architrave surround capped by a molded shelf with punch-and-dentil band. The mantels in each of the wings are nearly identical, featuring a raised-panel surround capped by a molded shelf. Upstairs mantels date from the same period, and feature plain architrave surrounds with simple molded shelves.

February 2020 — showing end of original construction at center-right, and the start of new construction at far-right

Two coeval staircases serve the house; both are of closed-string, straight-run form with rectangular balusters, square newel with molded cap, and molded rail. The stair in the main block is of unusual configuration: it divides at a narrow landing against the rear wall, where short flights lead respectively to chambers over the main block and north wing. The stair in the lean-to, which makes a turn about three-quarters of the way up, barely allows headroom at the upper landing.

(Chesterfield County Public Library) — Jeffrey O’Dell Research Papers Collection — 1978

Originally, matching dependencies flanked the house. A one-story, two-room-plan frame kitchen with center chimney stood seventy feet to the south of the house, while an office of similar form stood at an equal distance from the north end of the dwelling. Both were in a deteriorated state in the 1920s and were demolished. The only surviving early outbuilding is a frame gable-roofed smokehouse standing a few yards southwest of the house.

February 2020 — showing original construction at center, new construction at far left

The earliest traced owner of the property was Edward Cox, who in 1824 sold the house and 515 acres to Edward O. Friend for $5,000. Friend, the son of Joseph Friend and grandson of Edward Friend (d. 1806), lived there until his death in 1838, when the property passed to his widow, Matilda E. Burfoot Friend. She remarried and sold the farm two years later to Anthony T. Robiou, who lived there until his death in 1851.

(Old Stocks) — Richmond and Danville Railroad Company 100 share stock certificate

Robious Crossing, where the new Richmond and Danville Railroad line intersected Huguenot Road, was named for the then-current owner of the farm. Robiou is best remembered in Chesterfield County history, however, as the man whose murder precipitated one of the most publicized court trials in nineteenth century Virginia.

(Wikipedia) — Black Heath

The episode began when Robiou filed a divorce suit against his young wife (who was only fourteen at the time of her wedding) charging her with infidelity. [CCO]

Apparently, it wasn’t a “maybe-she-is” situation. Robiou caught them mid-schtupp, still cracking the plaster, and took offense.

John S. Wormley, the girl’s father, along with John Reid, her allegedly adulterous suitor, waylaid Robiou on the road to Black Heath Pits (today’s Robious Road) and gunned him down. [CCO]

(Fineart America) — Infidelity, 18th Century art print by Granger

Imagine Robiou’s last moments contemplating the unfairness of it all. At least he has a street named for him.

Both men were taken into custody shortly thereafter, and Wormley, a prosperous planter and lawyer, was found guilty at a trial held at Chesterfield Court House in October, 1851. A mistrial was later declared, however, on the grounds that the jurors had been treated to drinks beforehand by the deputy sheriff and county clerk. [CCO]

*hic... innnoshent, yer Honor...

(Executed Today) — scene of a 19th-century hanging

Over a year later, a jury summoned from Richmond and Petersburg because of the local notoriety of the case sentenced Wormley to death. A week later, a crowd of 4,000 persons watched the 42-year-old man hanged at Chesterfield Courthouse. Reid, meanwhile, had been tried and acquitted, and before the hanging married the young widow whose husband he had been accused of murdering. [CCO]

(Chesterfield County Public Library) — Jeffrey O’Dell Research Papers Collection — Belgrade Foyer, 1978

Of course, this all ends happily. Two weeks after her father’s hanging, Mrs. Emily Reid took a tumble down the front steps and perished. Poetic justice. 

There are two accounts of how she died. One account is that she fell on a sewing basket and scissors punctured her heart. The other account is that she broke her neck. Since this tragedy, there have been hundreds of stories of sightings of the ghosts of Robiou and his young bride roaming the boxwood gardens behind the home. (Ruth’s Chris)

(Library of Congress) — Map of Chesterfield County, Va. — J. E. LaPrade, 1888 — Belgrade identified as Belvidere, right at the intersection of Robious and the Richmond and Danville Railroad

In 1851, the year of the first trial, Randolph Ammonett purchased the property from the trustees of Robiou’s estate for $2,025. Ammonett lived at Belgrade until his death in 1889. In his will, he directed that "an iron railing about 10 feet square be erected around the graves of myself and my deceased wife, J. J. Ammonett." This fence still stands in the back yard, although there are no inscribed stones to identify the graves of either Amonett or his wife. [CCO]

(Chesterfield Observer) — 2009

Since then the place has been called Belvidere, Alandale, Allandale, and Bellgrade, the nom-de-plume that Ruth’s Chris prefers. Jeff O’Dell calls it Belgrade, and who are we to argue with an architectural historian? 

Mary Wingfield Scott would not have approved with Ruth’s Chris’s alterations, but the steak house did end up preserving the original structure, so even if it isn’t on the historic registry, the spirit of the plantation house was preserved.

(Belgrade is part of the Atlas RVA! Project)

Print Sources

[CCO] Chesterfield County, Early Architecture and Historic Sites Jeffrey M. O’Dell. 1983.