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systlinsideblog · 3 years

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Part 7

The fall of the great walled city of Turia came on a day shimmering with heat, but with storm clouds building on the horizion, looming heavy as they built into great mounds over the prairies. The air smelled of the promise of rain; that was good, Systlin thought. A good heavy rain later would wash the blood off the streets.

Turia’s towers glittered white in the sun. The walls were high and proud and in excellent repair; the warriors manning the top of it were said to be skilled. Everyone she’d spoken to had told her the same; Turia was home to a million and a half people. Turia was the jewel of the prairies, the Ar of the South. Turia was home to marvelous markets and one could find any luxury one wished there. The people of Turia were grand and wealthy and proud, and though they loved luxury their fighting men were excellent.

Its walls were high and thick. Its wells were deep and never ran dry. There were food stores to outlast the greatest of sieges. The nine gates were thick and strong and guarded zealously; while attackers died at the walls, the people of Turia would relax in their bath houses and dine on delicacies and laugh.

Turia was splendid. Turia was rich. Turia had been sieged many times, but never once had Turia fallen.

Systlin rolled her neck and shoulders, cracking any tension out.

She remembered Myr. Turia reminded her strongly of it. Myr too had been rich, and strong, and undefeated. Myr as well had thought itself safe behind tall, thick walls and strong gates, guarded by skilled fighters. Myr as well had laughed at the army camped on the plains before it. The walls of Myr had famously been bound in Power, power laid so deeply and thickly by generation after generation of Myrish earth witches that there had been more power than stone to the walls. Breakers before her, born to the desert, had tested those walls. Breakers before her had exhausted themselves against them and failed and died.

She had tried herself against them anyway. She had not failed. There was a hundred foot gap in the walls of Myr now, named for her. “The Mitraka’s Gate,” they called it. The legend of how she’d brought down the famously unbreakable walls of Myr had spread north to the Skyfire reaches and south to Sielauk before she’d even left the deserts.

Turia’s walls were not as high or thick as Myr’s, and they were not spelled for protection. Against a Breaker of the least power they’d be useless, and Systlin was the strongest Breaker ever to live. She eyed the warriors on top of them, still out of bowshot, and for a moment felt a flash of pity for them.

It was gone quickly. She wondered how many of those proud men had women chained to their beds. A million and a half people, but that number did not, she knew, count slaves. Counting slaves, it was said that the number was at least twice that, and likely higher.

Foicatch was watching her. He had not been at Myr when it fell, but he had been there since. He’d ridden through the Mitraka’s Gate. He knew, of course, that she was remembering.

“Been a bit,” He said at last, as they waited for Myr to send out its famous tharlarion cavalry, and honestly though she found herself growing fond of the kaiila the Wagon Peoples rode and could admit that the vicious reptilian tharlarion were impressive, she wished she had a good, normal horse. “Since we had a real battle before us.”

“Hmmm.” She agreed. The last time, indeed, they’d been fighting a mad god and his creatures. She’d killed a god, in that battle. Killed one god and threatened another. “Do try not to die. I’d hate to have to find a new royal consort.”

A snort. “I’ve no intention of dying today. I want to see you on the throne of that city.” A pause. “I’ve always had rather a fantasy, actually, of you on the throne of freshly conquered city, and me on my knees…”

Oh. Well. That did sound interesting. She gave him an appraising look. “Have you? You could have said something.”

“Well. It’s always been so busy when we’re breaching a stronghold, and things were all happening so fast at the time. You were so intent; I wasn’t sure you’d take it well.” A shrug. “Early days of us and all. By the time I knew better, you had the North in line again, and when we fought the Fallen One there weren’t many strongholds to breach or thrones to make use of.”

That was fair. “I’m going to hold you to that.” She said thoughtfully, even as the great gates ground slowly open and ranks of fighting men on those two-legged sharp-toothed reptilian beasts began to file out. She eyed the gleaming lances they carried disapprovingly; those were, of course, going to be the first thing she did away with once things got going.

Using her power in pitched battles was risky; she did not like doing it to kill. Not more than needed. But shattering some lances was no issue at all.

He grinned, that familiar and beloved flash of white teeth against that dark beard. “Oh, excellent.” He shot the enemy cavalry a look, and then looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. She nodded once. He leaned over, and she leaned to meet him; they exchanged a kiss, brief but sweet, and he peeled his kaiila away and headed to take command of the left flank.

She looked back over the prairie. There were several thousand riders now, forming ranks. A few men wearing particularly gleaming armor with extra gold leaf seemed to be conferring in a huddle; she waited.

“Ubara?” Dina said softly, from her side. “Ubara, should we…” There was nervousness in her voice.

“Not yet.” Systlin was the veteran of many battles of this scale; Myr was much larger than Turia, and that had been only the first city she’d taken. Dina was not. Even in a seasoned warrior, nerves before battle were normal, but Dina had taken up a spear only a year and a half past. She’d fought and killed, but the other tribes and towns and cities they’d taken were nothing on the scale of Turia. “They’ll send someone to talk, like all the others have. I’ll either kill him or send him back, like all the other times. I’ll break their lances; that will be the signal to charge.”

She looked to her side. Dina’s face was drawn tight. Systlin remembered that Dina, before slave chains, had once been a free woman, and had been born in Turia.

“You have a father, don’t you?” Systlin said, more softly.

“I do.” She whispered. “He never took a slave. He loved my mother, a Free Companion, and never took a slave; he has mourned her since her death. He is of the baker’s caste, as was my mother. He makes sweet rolls and gives them to children, and the best bread and pastries. I do not brag; he was famous in the city, and rich women and men came to buy from us. He and my brothers and I worked hard and were proud of our work.” She paused a moment. “I do not know if my brothers have taken slaves. And if they have…” Another, longer pause, and she looked away. “If they have, I will not beg mercy for them, but I will mourn what they might have been had their minds not been poisoned.”

Systlin thought of her own brother, dead so young. Of laughing and competing and playing with him, of the friendly fighting between close siblings. Of his smile and his laugh, and his sharp wit. She wondered, if her place and Dina’s had been switched, if she could have watched him killed for slaving and rape.

She probably could have. She knew it in the deepest place in her heart, where she worried sometimes at her own coldness. She probably would have done it with her own hands, at that. She’d executed her uncle and aunt with her own hands, in that battle to bring the warring lords tearing the North to bloody scraps to heel. But she was a famously hard and coldhearted bitch when it came to matters of justice, as any noble in the North of Ellinon would tell. “The Iron Bitch”, she knew they called her behind her back. “The Iron Bitch with the frozen heart.”

She’d have done it, yes. But she’d have mourned intensely after, for what might have been.

Dina was loyal and dear to her, a good friend. But if her brothers were rapists and slavers, Systlin knew that even if Dina begged, she would not grant mercy unless the offended girls asked it. It ran counter to everything in her to do so.

Goddess of Justice. The Lady’s voice whispered in her head.

Fuck off, she thought in return. I’ve shit to do.

“We can hope,” she said. “That they take after your father. And we’re not here to loot; if your father is in his shop and not with the fighting men, he’s quite safe.”

That seemed to ease Dina slightly. The woman was still used to the Gorean idea of war, where taking a city meant sacking it utterly, looting and burning and slaving. No army under Systlin’s command would ever fight so, though. She’d kill the soldiers responsible with her bare hands.

“Baker’s caste,” Dina said. “Do not fight, not unless they must. They will not be on the walls. Those on the walls and on the field here are warrior caste.”

Systlin would have to investigate this caste system more thoroughly. She did not like the idea on principle, but it seemed a force of social stability that most Goreans were very attached to. From what she’d gathered there were provisions for moving through castes if one wished. However, she’d heard that some, such as weavers and spinners, were considered ‘low caste’.

Systlin had attempted such tasks before; her mother was fond of spinning and weaving, though she was Queen Mother and needed never touch a spindle if she didn’t wish. After fifteen minutes spent at it, Systlin had come to the conclusion that the work that went into cloth was absurdly complicated and skilled, and had never touched a spindle since. She did, however, have a reputation for never haggling when it came to buying cloth or paying her seamstresses.

Low caste her arse. The idea of any of the most essential tasks…potters, farmers, fishermen, herders…being lower than any others raised her hackles. Perhaps the idea of low or high caste could go…

Across the grassland, a small party of men, led by one of the men in gleaming gold-chased armor began to ride towards them. Systlin put aside other concerns and nodded once to Dina, who nodded back and went to lead the right flank.

Her kaiila could sense that battle was coming, and shifted under her, tossing her head in eagerness. Systlin held her steady, and waited.

They headed, of course, for Foicatch. Systlin sighed and rolled her eyes, and nudged her kaiila forward. The creature sprang forward in that long, loping predator stride, and she headed them off in moments. They glared at her, all hostile intent. She regarded them in what was probably a dismissive manner, but so far as she was concerned these men were already dead. They were nothing that she had not seen on this world already, in the smaller towns that lay outside Turia. She’d killed a thousand like them since coming here.

“You know full well that I lead this army.” She said bluntly. “You’ve heard the stories.” She sighed. “It makes me curious…”

“Stories of trickery and nonsense about sorcery.” The man with the glittering armor said loftily. “A few villages might fall to some unnatural woman, but this is Turia. We will not be afraid of a tribe of women who think themselves the equals of men.”

“…As I was saying,” Systlin raised her voice slightly. “It makes me curious as to the full degree which you, meaning men on this world, are capable of deluding yourselves. I’ve been halfway through conquering towns and tribes and the men would still be telling me that I couldn’t hope to carry through, because I was but a woman.” She shook her head. “Almost sad, really. I’ve an army of twenty five thousand camped before your gates. I know you have heard the stories of how I’ve conquered cities across the prairies and brought all the tribes of the Wagon People under my rule. I am Ubara-Sana of the plains, by my own hand, and I’ve crushed every force sent against me. And yet here you are, still claiming the same old tired thing.”

She looked him in the eyes. “This is the part where, if you are smart, you will confer with your people and you will open the gates, lay down your arms, and have a chance to survive this.”

He scoffed. Entirely predictably. “This is Turia, woman. The plainsfolk may not have been able to humble you, but Turia will. We’ve ten thousand cavalry, and that is not counting the fighting men on foot. You and your slave girls with swords can batter yourselves to ribbons against us, and we’ll put collars on those of you not killed.” A slow, lewd smile, because apparently he felt he hadn’t dug his own grave deep enough. “Maybe I’ll put mine on you, woman, and teach you to obey a master’s word.”

“Well.” Systlin shrugged. “I did give you a chance.”

She’d learned knife throwing from Stellead, but the Arms Master of the Bloodguard had been dubious of its effectiveness and the instruction had only been basic. It was at the Iron Mountain, under the tutelage of the master assassins of the Master of Knives, that she’d learned how to properly throw a knife.

She’d killed the Master of Knives, of course. He’d taken the contract on her father, and sent out one of his Shadow Hands to kill a king. She’d killed the Brother of Shadow who’d wielded the knife, as well, and many others besides. The Iron Mountain stood empty now, the bones of those she’d killed gathering dust in the halls.

Her knife took the golden-armored warrior through the eye. He looked quite shocked as he slid from the saddle and fell. His men started in rage, and went for their lances.

Systlin smiled at them. Her power rose, a cold sweep through her bones, tingling under her skin. She raised her hand, and flicked her fingers negligently at them, mostly for show.

Their lances shattered into splinters. So did at least five thousand other lances of the leading ranks of the famed thalarion cavalry of Turia.

A great confused sound went up, and thalarion shied at the strange scent of Power in the air, sharp as ozone. And as fighting men scrambled for their secondary weapons, Systlin’s forces charged.

Ice took the first man before her just under the chin. She didn’t quite behead him as her coal-black kaiila shot past, but slashed the big artery on his neck open. Blood pumped, and the sound he made as he fell was a terrible gurgle.

She wheeled her mount and ducked the frantic sweep of a sword. The riders were startled, off balance, and that was death when facing a warrior of her caliber. Her kaiila darted in and took the throat of one of the slower High Thalarions, tearing it open. The beast went down, and its rider with it. Systlin kneed the sides of her kaiila and it leapt; the final warrior managed to parry her first blow, a slicing cut at his neck.

She twisted her wrist, reversed the grip on Ice’s hilt with a little twist and clever movement of her fingers that Stellead had made her practice ten thousand times, and drove it into his chest under his ribs. Drew it back with a sharp jerk as she wheeled her kaiila again, and flipped it back around in her hand. She did not have to think about the motion; she had not missed the catch on the twist since she had been a child training under Arms Master Stellead.

Then her kaiila was running, and she pushed it hard for a few paces until she regained her place leading the center. Lances glittered to either side of her, and she felt a fierce pride in the women she’d trained.

She eyed the gates of Turia, behind the regrouping lines of thalarion cavalry. Arrows arched from behind, as her mounted archers began picking off the front ranks of the Turian forces as they came into range.

Arrows returned, from on top of the walls, and one bounced off of her wraithen-scale armor. She lashed out with her power, still simmering under her skin, and five hundred bows shattered. Cries of dismay went up a second time.

She eyed the great gates of Turia, even as her kaiila gathered itself to leap and the first of her lance-fighters neared the front lines of the Turian cavalry. She eyed them for a half a second before she hit the front lines of the Turians, and she Broke them.

The great gates of Turia, and fifty feet of the wall to either side, crumbled into splinters and sand. There was a great cry of horror and dismay from the city, and cries of “UBARA! UBARA!” from her own warriors, delighted.

And then her front line was smashing into the Turian cavalry, and there was no more time for thought.

The Turians were skilled, but they were off balance, had lost the advantage of their long lances, and had not truly been expecting a proper fight. Systlin and her best lancers hit them like a hammer, and pierced deep into the ranks before the Turians quite knew it was happening. The Turians were down to swords now, and only a few of the rear ranks still had lances. Systlin’s riders had long lances with reach, and their kaiila were faster and more nimble than the high thalarion the Turians rode.

And, of course, they had her.

Systlin was no stranger to mounted combat. She’d ridden with the tribes of the desert at Sura’s side for years, and was as deft a hand at mounted combat as any Rider. She’d never have been accepted, otherwise.

It felt, she had to admit, as she turned a sword aside with Ice and flicked the sword around, down, and up, taking off the man’s sword hand at the wrist, very good to be at it again. The man screamed, but she was past him. A lance glanced off of her armor, and she wheeled her kaiila. The beast snapped, catching a leg, and tore the man off of his mount. His thalarion turned and went for her mount, but her kaiila shook its head and was leaping away before it could do any damage.

Systlin fought with all the skill and speed and cunning she had. She fought viciously, the whole time willing that her army would not fail now, would not quail because this battle was larger and closer-fought than any before. She willed it, imagining that she could throw wide her arms and take under her shadow all of her proud free mounted warriors, and through sheer will alone keep them fighting.

And she did what she had always done, in battle. She led on the front line, and fought like nothing the Turians had ever seen before. Men rose before her and men fell; she was past Power now, and killed with pure hard-won skill and naked steel. She cut faces, necks, torsos, limbs. Ice’s blue-tinged blade was purple with blood, and blood spattered her all over. She killed, and killed, with all the skill of those long hours of training and decades more of fighting for her life. She fought, and killed, her blood sang with it.

You were never made for peace. The Lady’s words. It was true; she knew it was true. She loved battle, though she knew it spoke of her basically coldhearted and vicious nature that she did. She was a warrior born and trained and blooded, and she was at home on the killing field.

She’d fought three wars, leading from the front. She’d won each, and the sight of her at the forefront of her warriors, in her element, bloody and screaming and bringing death with her, was absolute horror to the men of Gor.

The sight that horrified the men of Turia stiffened the spines of her warriors, and to the endless horror of the men of Turia, the former slave girls, now screaming warriors with lances and swords, cut into them with a fury they’d never seen.

With her at their front, her mounted warriors smashed the Turian lines apart, just as the left flank led by Foicatch drove hard at the gap left at the rear, pushing the cavalry of Turia away from the broken gates and cutting them off from retreat into the city. Foicatch himself set himself in the middle of the smashed gate, and Systlin caught glimpses of him engaged in fierce close fighting now and then as foot soldiers pressed forward from the city to try and relieve the cavalry she was driving like a herd of sheep across the prairies before Turia.

But the fighting men of Turia were skilled, and proud, and they began to regroup. Men were shouting orders, and the remaining lances managed to form up defensive lines. The fighting grew vicious, even after Systlin Broke more lances, and their advance ground to a crawl. Their armies were nearly matched; Systlin’s warrior women had better armor and better reach, but the Turian fighting men had more experience, and it began to show as they got their feet under them. Systlin’s troops fought like mad wildcats, and she was so proud; they were still winning forward, inch by inch, but she was not about to spend more lives than she had to.

The Turians began to press back, and her advance ground to a halt. Systlin smiled, because she heard the galloping of the kaiila, and knew.

Dina’s mounted archers swept past, and the women turned on their kaiilas with those short but powerful recurve bows of wood and bosk horn. Strings slid from thumb rings, and three thousand arrows hammered home through that light leather armor that the men of this world favored. The kaiilas wheeled, and the women turned again, as they’d practiced a thousand times, sitting backwards on their mounts. Strings sang again, and arrows flew as thick as rain.

Turians died. Systlin yelled and plunged forward again, and to shouts of “UBARA! UBARA! WHIP-BURNER! CHAIN-STRIKER!” her warriors followed.

The Turians had nowhere to retreat from Dina’s archers, except back onto the lances of Systlin’s mounted spear-women. No rescue came from Turia; Foicatch was stacking the bodies of fighting men four deep in the ruin of the shattered gates.

The fighting outside the city drug out a big longer; it took time to slaughter ten thousand cavalry and their mounts. But caught between Dina’s wheeling mounted archers and their storm of arrows and the lances of Systlin’s cavalry and Systlin’s own sword, they were cut to bits.

It was then that Systlin regrouped her lancers and led them to the shattered gates, where the foot soldiers of Turia were approaching more cautiously than before. The shattered gates themselves were a charnel house; fighting men and women both lay dead alongside wounded and dead and shrieking kaiila, and blood was red over the stones of the road and the rubble of the gates and walls. Foicatch and his warriors held, and the fighting men of Turia seemed reluctant to approach within reach of Foicatch’s sword.

They parted to let Systlin through, and her lancers flowed around to guard the sides of the ranks of warriors.

Systlin joined Foicatch at the front lines. She must look a terrible sight; she was head to toe blood and mud, the colors of her wraithen armor dulled under the coating. Foicatch’s own set of wraithen scale armor was similarly filthy. There was a cut high on his temple, a glancing blow that was not serious but bleeding freely. Even as she joined him she felt a trickle of Power as he flicked droplets of blood away from his eyes.

A lull in the fighting; the soldiers of Turia drew back, appalled at the sight. Foicatch eyed her, gaze flicking head to toe to check her for injuries. She gave him a slight reassuring shake of her head, doing the same to him. The cut on his temple seemed to be the worst of it. She turned to eye the soldiers before them.

“Your cavalry,” Systlin informed the fighting men before them. “Are dead. My throat slitters are making short work of any survivors this very moment. You did not hear the offer I made before, I think, so I will make it one more time. Lay your weapons down now, and you may find mercy. I will not give you another chance.”

Not one fighting man moved, save for the one who yelled in defiance, pulled a knife from his boot, and hurled it at her head.

It was a good throw, she thought, as she twisted her head to the side even as his hand swept up with the blade. It was a good throw. Had she not been taught by Stellead and the Shadow Hands of the Iron Mountain, it might have struck home. As it was, it simply scraped her cheekbone in passing; a shallow cut that would heal quickly and cleanly.

Answer enough, she supposed. Foicatch was already moving, and fell on the knife-thrower with a single-minded viciousness that was poetry to see. Systlin was moving almost as quickly, and that was where the battle in the city began.

It was nasty work. Street by street, driving the fighting men before them. Many of the freed slaves in Systlin’s forces had been from Turia, and as planned they now took the lead. As Systlin had suspected, their knowledge of the city was invaluable; meeting places and baths where warriors gathered were found out. Attacks from small alleys were anticipated. Cobbles went slick with blood. A nasty dagger opened a long cut into Systlin’s left forearm, and some of the slick blood under their boots and the kaiila’s paws was her own. She bound it with a strip torn from her own shirt, cinching the knot tight with her teeth, and pressed on.

Turia was a city of millions; it took hours to work their way through, even with the size of her army. It was late afternoon when at last she realized that any warriors found out were fleeing rather than fighting, and being quickly ridden down by archers. Systlin stopped, at last, sitting high on her kaiila, and knew that she was Ubara of Turia, and by extension all of the plains in truth, by right of conquest.

Dina was staying close now, guiding them through the streets. She saw the same realization dawn on Dina’s face; Foicatch was already smiling that grim satisfied smile she remembered well.

“Take me to the throne of Turia.” Systlin said, and Dina did.

The first drops of the storm hit the bloody dust and thunder growled low when the reached the great palace of Turia. It was in a vast central building, half law chambers and half a throne hall. It was all in the same white stone that the city seemed to favor, with a great dome over the hall where the Thrones of Turia sat. They were very fine; there was, Systlin was sure, wood somewhere under the silver and inlaid semiprecious stones, but it was difficult to make out. She left footprints of blood and mud across the spotless tiled floors.

She’d made instructions clear before the first spear was lifted; her warriors knew what to do. One part of being a leader, her father had said long ago. Is finding competent people that you trust, and then trusting them to do their jobs without your having to hang over their shoulder.

He’d been right. Her people were competent, and she did trust them. So while she waited for her warriors to ferret out the various guild and caste leaders and other important persons, Systlin ascended the nine steps to the dais…it was gorgeously carpeted, and inlaid with ivory and gold…and sat herself down in the larger throne, the throne of the Ubar of Turia.

Foicatch eyed her. There was an answering warm pulse that went down her spine and pooled insistently between her legs; there was nothing like battle to get the blood up. But…She raised her eyebrows back at him. “Not yet.” She said, somewhat reluctantly, and motioned with her chin at the smaller throne, the throne where traditionally the Ubara sat. “Not quite yet. It’s not properly conquered until I explain things to the important people, is it?”

“I suppose not.” But his eyes were lingering on her lips, and slid down over the length of her legs and the curve of her hip even so. She could feel the heat of it, and dearly wished to answer it.

But it was about at that point that people…some of them bedraggled, some begging and pleading, some silent and apparently numbly shocked into silence, all led by her fierce and triumphant warrior women, began to file into the great throne chamber. All were drenched; Systlin could hear rain rattling against the roof now, and thunder rumbling quite often.

They stared. Systlin knew what she must look like. She sat, and waited. Her shoulder ached; she’d been slammed into a wall at one point, and probably had a spectacular bruise. Her arm where she’d been cut stung. Her muscles burned from exertion; she’d been fighting on and off for hours. The cut on her cheek had scabbed, and pulled when she moved or spoke.

None of it mattered. Victory was pounding in her veins along the adrenaline. Even now, she knew, her warriors were removing chains from slaves; she could taste it on the air, and it was as sweet as honeyed wine.

Goddess of justice and war.

She ignored the voice of the Lady whispering.

Dina was conferring with the other women native to Turia. They looked fearsome; all were armored and armed and bloody. Most of the blood, to Systlin’s immense pride, was not their own. They had wounds, true, but most were not serious, and every warrior will earn scars. They were standing and moving and speaking with a new edge of confidence that had not been there even this morning, and Systlin knew why.

Stories would be told of this, she knew. Stories would be told, and the warriors who’d fought with her to take Turia would be legend in their own right. And they knew it as well; had proved something to themselves that could never be taken away.

Yes, these warrior women would say, years from now. Yes, of course I know of the Fall of Turia. I was there. I fought at the Ubara’s side. There would be looks then, as awed as any Systlin herself had ever received, and she knew in her bones how the legends would be told in decades to come.

Dina of Turia, who led the Ubara’s archers and broke the Turian cavalry with the Ubara.

Sabra of Turia, the first of all who had her chains struck off, who rode with her lance at the Ubara’s side, in her honor guard, and who fought so fiercely that none could stand before her. Never in the battle for the city did she leave the Ubara’s side, and she walked through blood ankle-deep that day.

Hula of Turia, Doreen of Turia, Hireena of the Tuchuks. Tamra of Ar…

The list went on and on, and pride was a bright warmth in her chest.

Dina said something to Sabra, who nodded and turned to cross the hall and climb the steps. Systlin remembered that first day; Sabra clutching, terrified, at her sleeve. There was little trace of the frightened and beaten slave girl now; Sabra was one of her best with a spear, and she wore thick bosk-hide armor sewn with metal plates. Her arms and shoulders were strong, and her blonde hair braided tightly back. There was blood and mud crusted in it, and a vicious bruise showing around one eye. Her nose had been broken at some point, and hastily reset,. The dried blood from it was still on her chin. She was smiling a smile of victory.

“Ubara sana.” She said. “The guild leaders, councilors, and other important leaders of the city are assembled.”

“Thank you, Sabra.” Systlin smiled back, just as fierce. “And well fought. Fierce as a she-panther.”

The grin widened. “Thank you, Ubara-sana!”

“I told you,” Systlin said, still smiling. “You doubted me, but here you stand. When I secure the treasury, you are to take as much as you can carry, as a mark of my esteem. I name you now to my personal guard, for as long as you desire the post, but you must promise to tell me if you ever wish to leave. You were the first to have her chains thrown off, and I’ve no wish to ever bind you with others.”

Sabra blinked rapidly, and Systlin realized that she was blinking back tears. “I will, Ubara sana.” She said. “But I do not think that day will come.”

“Well. If it does, let me know. And I’ve another duty for you; you were the first to take up weapons, even before Dina. If you will, once things settle more in a few days, go among the women of Turia and tell them your story. And if any of them wish it, bring them to me, and help me train them as warriors, as you trained yourself.”

A light like fever lit in Sabra’s eyes. “Ubara sana,” she whispered. “You honor me, and I will do this.”

“You won your honor yourself, with your own hands and by your own actions.” Systlin said. “I merely handed you the tools to do so. Bring them all forward, then.”

Foicatch, she realized, was staring at her with an intensity that was scorching.

“You will never have any idea,” he breathed, very quietly, as her warriors herded the frightened rich and powerful of the city to the base of the raised dais the thrones sat upon, “the effect you have on people. What it’s like to see, from the outside.”

“Hush.” She murmured back, just as softly. “You’re biased.”

“I am. But I’m also right. Every woman in your forces would have followed you to the death this morning, but after this they’d follow you past it as well.”

“Hmm.” She allowed, but it was a pleased sound. “I try only to be what they deserve.”

“Yes.” He said. “Yes, and that’s why.”

She eyed the small crowd at the foot of the dais. They were frightened and soaked from the storm, bedraggled and sullen.

“Foicatch, darling.” She said. “Our guests appear to be soaked. Could you give them a hand?”

He made an agreeable sound and lifted a hand. She tasted Power on the back of her tounge, ozone and burnt cinnamon.

There were gasps and screams as the water streamed and spiraled off of the huddled leaders of Turia. Foicatch pulled it into a hovering globe above his hand, and then rather negligently flicked it aside. It splashed to the tiles, leaving the people in the crowd quite dry.

Dina clicked her tounge against her teeth. “Are you all sorcerers, on your world?” A year and a half of following Systlin, one of the strongest fire witches and the strongest Breaker ever to live, had rubbed the novelty off of seeing Power worked.

“Not all of us.” Systlin lifted a shoulder. “But a good many.”

“My mother’s a stronger water witch than me,” Foicatch said absently. “I’ve only half her gift.”

“Wait until you see him really angry,” Systlin said. “And see him tear the water from a man’s blood.”

“I have.” That was Hireena, herding the Turians forward. Her voice was low, and she looked at Foicatch with deep respect. “At the gates, as we fought.”

“Did you?” She said, with interest. Systlin had seen it done before. It had been….compelling. Hmmmm.

Later. Later. More important things first.

“Turia.” She said, her voice clear. “I greet you.”

Furious, frightened faces looked up at her. Mutters went around. Systlin remembered well what she’d been told.

“I greet you,” she said. “As Ubara Sana of the plains, won by my own hand. But of course, you are Turian, and the power in Turia lies with the merchants.”

“It is so.” One veiled woman said. She was looking up curiously; her robes were of exquisitely fine silks, and embroidered with gold. Pearls hung from the edges of her sleeves, and crystal beads glittered across her gown.

“That,” said Systlin. “May change. I understand, of course, that you’ve already well established trade routes, and I’ve no wish to interfere with them. But I am Ubara Sana now, and the old laws will change. You may have heard that, on the plains, slave chains have been outlawed, and all slaves freed. It is true, and as of this moment by my decree every slave in Turia is freed.”

There was a roar of arguments and shouting and disapproving noises.

“…cannot simply…”

“…My business is slaves! How am I to…”

“…an outrage!...”

Systlin waited them out, patient. As she did, another of the Turian women jogged in through the great door; the rain had washed away most of the mud and blood, but she was limping, a strip of cloth bound around one thigh. She murmured something to Dina, who nodded once and took the nine steps up to the dais two at a time.

“There is a problem.” Dina said. “Saphrar, a wealthy merchant, one of the leaders of the Merchant’s Caste in the city. He’s a fortified compound, and has walled himself up with his mercenary forces.”

“Tell everyone to pull back.” Systlin said at once. “Keep an eye on the compound; let no one escape. After I finish here, I’ll come and tend to his gates myself.”

Dina smiled thinly, and went back down, murmured this to the other woman. The other woman grinned like a wolf, and hurried out, swift despite her wounded leg.

“Have you all finished?” Systlin raised her voice above the crowd.

“I will contract with the Guild of Assassins for this!” A man with thick dark hair and wearing gold and white robes said furiously. He had a hand raised and was shaking a finger at the sky. “I’ll have your head in my vault. I swear it on the Priest-Kings! “

“I take it that you deal in slaves,” Systlin said dryly.

“I do! It is an honorable trade, and I have been dealing in slave meat for…”

Systlin nodded at Dina, who moved quickly. Her knife gleamed, and the man’s throat opened ear to ear. A gurgle, and a red rush of blood, and utter shocked silence.

“Slavery,” Systlin said mildly. “Is one of the greatest crimes, and slavers are condemned to death. Those who procure and deal in slaves for their own wealth are doubly damned. Throw his body to the kaiila; they must be hungry after the fight. What was his name?”

Silence.

“I asked,” Systlin said, voice going cold. “For his name. I expect an answer.”

Another moment of silence dragged out, and then…“Kazrak.” The veiled woman who’d spoken before said. “Kazrak of the Merchant Caste. His mansion is next to mine, and his warehouse is in the low streets, near the slave market.”

“Did he have a Free Companion, any children?”

“Both.”

“Then half of his estate shall go to them, and they shall maintain their home. The other half of his assets are forfeit, and will be redistributed between his slaves, who are now free.” Systlin raised an eyebrow. “Might I have your name?”

“Aphris.” Said the woman. “Of the Merchant Caste. I deal in silks and wine, not people.” She shot a somewhat vicious look at the dead Kazrak, as he was dragged off, leaving a smear of red on the tiles. “And he was cruel, and it does my heart good to see justice done him. I take it then that we, the free women of Turia, are not to be put in slave chains?”

“Bloody pits, no.” Systlin said, repulsed.

“I did not think so.” Aphris said, cool and collected, a point of calm in the angry and terrified crowd. “But many freewomen feared the worst. It is, after all, how war has been done on Gor for a very long time. You can understand the worry.”

It was a reasonable worry, Systlin supposed. “Of course. But have no fear, no hand will be raised against you. You are free, and will remain free. Aside from that, by my laws it will be punishable by death if anyone, from anywhere, ever attempted to enslave you, and I would hunt that man down and kill him for daring to put chains on one of my subjects.”

There were many free women in the crowd, and at the words there was sort of a sigh that ran through them, and a sense of some great tension lifted. The men looked startled. Systlin gestured, taking in the concealing robes all of the free women wore.

“It is no longer required,” she continued. “That you wear full Robes of Concealment in public. A free woman may dress as she likes and go where she likes. If you feel more comfortable in your robes, of course, then you are welcome to wear them, but it is not required. If you choose to set them aside and experience difficulty from anyone, you may make a formal complaint and the matter will be dealt with. I will make people and resources available to deal with such matters.”

A murmur. More looks of outrage from the men.

“Many,” Aphris said. “Will welcome this. But for myself, Ubara, I think I will choose to wear the robes, at least for some time longer.”

“Of course.” Systlin inclined her head. “And I am afraid, of course, that Turia will be judged.”

“Judged?” One man snapped. “Like you judged Kazrak?”

“Yes. Precisely how I judged Kazrak.” Systlin smiled unpleasantly. “There are three great crimes; the murder of an innocent who has done no harm, the rape of another, and enslaving another. The penalty for all three is death.”

Silence. Dead, horrified silence. And then,

“You cannot mean,” another man said, carefully. “That every man who held a slave will be killed.”

“No.” Systlin shook her head. Sighs of relief, but she continued. “Because some slaves, for whatever reason, beg mercy for those who held them. It will be up to any slaves you hold what your fate is. But,” and she grinned again, more horribly. “If a single slave you’ve held and raped chooses death for you, I will put a knife in her hand and hold you down myself for the sentence.”

“What.”

“You cannot mean…”

“Not all…”

“All.” Systlin said, merciless. “Every man in Turia. If a freewoman held male slaves…I’m told it happens…then her life is forfeit as well. I will not abide it. Have no fear; I will establish many courts to see to it. It will take us months to work through the city, but it will be done. And those of you who are guilty, I will hang your bones from the white walls as a warning.”

“You,” Said one man, who had until then been silent, staring angry daggers at her from the front of the crowd. His robes, she noted, were the finest in the room, and edged in purple. “Are mad.”

“Not the first time I’ve been called that.” Systlin said easily. She looked him over, matching up features with descriptions. “Phanius Turmus, I presume?”

“Ubar of Turia.” He confirmed, chin high. “You are defiling my throne, woman.”

“You were.” She shook her head. “But you lost. You’re simply Phanius now, and you’ll be judged with the rest.”

“I think that perhaps I shall contract with the Assassin’s Caste for your head.” He didn’t flinch or break eye contact. “Your head would look well in my vaults, I agree with Kazrak.”

“Oh, please do. I ought to make their acquaintance. It’s been some time since I trained with the assassins of my own world, and tore their master’s throat out with my knife. So yes please, do. It would be an exciting challenge.”

Foicatch sighed resignedly. “Really, love?”

Phanius was giving her a stare of pure and utter horror. “What are you?” He almost whispered. “What terrible hell did you crawl from, to plague us? Have you no respect for those of high caste?”

“My mother would be terribly offended by calling her a ‘terrible hell’.” She made steady eye contact with each person in her horrified and enraptured audience. “The terrible hell is her sister, who taught me to fight. And no. Every caste. From low to high. All will be judged the same. If any have offended in these ways, I will see justice done upon them. No one is exempt.”

“You’ll kill thousands!” One man cried. “Tens of thousands!”

“Oh,” Systlin said, cold as steel in winter. “Hundreds of thousands, I expect.”

“You cannot…”

“Poor choice of words.” Foicatch sighed again. “I could have warned you; there’s no better way to get her to do something than to tell her, earnestly, that she can’t.”

Systlin stood, and let Power rise. Not the terrible cold of Breaking, but her other gift, hot and furious and wild. Fire bloomed around her for a moment, and was gone too quickly to set fire to her clothes. But it had the desired effect. Silence fell. Horrified silence.

“I am not bargaining with you.” She said softly. “I am not suggesting. I am not your old Ubar. I stand here by right of conquest. I breached your walls and killed my way to this throne, and I am going to kill a great deal many more before I am through. The merchants and caste-masters are not ruling Turia any longer; I am.”

She moved a step down, drawing closer to them. “To put this in terms you understand, which I gathered from women you had kidnapped from a world not yours and forced into slavery; you had best get used to this new way, or you will die. I am telling you how things now are. You can flee the city, if you wish, but I will not stop here and I will find you. Be it when I take Ar, or Ko-Ro-Ba, or any other city, I will come. I am going to end slavery on this world, and I fully expect to do it at the point of a sword. I am Ubara Sana of the plains. I rule this city now. These are the great crimes that will be punished, and how they will be punished. This matter is not open for negotiation. If you dislike these words, you are free to take them up with any of the twenty thousand of my soldiers in your city. They’ll be thrilled to discuss them, I am sure.” She descended another step. “Until the courts are established and judging begins, no one is to leave the city. I control the entirety of the plains and other bands of my warriors have seized trade routes. I have the wealth of Turia at my disposal; you will not go hungry. And now, you are free to return to your homes; I have things yet to do tonight. One of you has decided to fight tooth and nail; I’m off to crack him out of his nutshell. Dismissed.”

She swept past, not looking back, and felt their eyes on her back as she went.

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erensonly · 3 years

Text

Cuddling With Katsuki

(i got the idea from @kingkatsuki so all credits go to them)

Cuddling with Katsuki is one of the most endearing times that you have with him. After a long day after work and doing stupid paperwork, all you both could ever want is to cuddle up to each other and complain while watching a shitty drama.

And that's what happened today. A horrible day at work followed by extreme hunger, and a need to go home to your now husband.

Walking in the door you smell something that smells so close to heaven that you can't help but groan in delight whilst walking in the condo you both share.

Kicking your shoes off, you make your way to Bakugou and hug him from behind, taking in his semi-sweet smell.

“Missed you today.” He turned around from the stove and hugged you tight, so you were nice and snug between his tits.

“I missed you too, baby. Go get cleaned up and come eat so you can tell me about your day.”

『••✎••』

Finally finished showering and putting on one of Katsuki's shirts, you go downstairs and wait at the table for Katsuki to get done setting the table for the two of you.

“Do you need any help?”

“No, you just relax.”

The food smelled so good. It's like he knew you were having a shit day and craved comfort food.

“I thought you were on duty today.”

“I took off early. Those damn people were getting on my nerves more than usual. Why was your day so shit?”

“Because people are so stupid and I had to fill out twice as much paperwork because this new employee is stupid.”

“Felt.” was all he said and went back to grab utensils to eat.

“I wanna quit but I’m not sure where to go next,” you groan.

“I told you to come work for me, but you're so damn stubborn and you never listen.”

“People will think you're showing favoritism and that's not good for your image, love.” You shove some food in your mouth, groaning in delight at the well seasoned food he made.

“Who gives a damn about what they have to say. I'll do whatever the hell I want in my agency. You don't even need to work, you know I’ll take care of you.”

“But I wanna take care of myself sometimes.”

“You don't have to. I'll quit for you on Monday and you’ll stay home or work for me. Plain and simple.”

You just look him up and down and continue to eat, not even gonna try to argue with him.

『••✎••』

Something about being with him is just so comforting and calming. Even just cuddling and watching cartoons is so enjoyable with him. Everything is. Especially when you lie down on his chest and sink into his huge pecs.

They're kinda soft and squishy and you can just sink into them. He even lets you grab one while your face is between them sometimes.

Sometimes when you want to hint at him that you're feeling needy, you'll reach and grab at one and start to suck on them. Just feeling his nipples getting hard under your touch makes you so horny.

And when he's feeling a little generous and not his mean self, he'll let you rub yourself on his thigh while suckling on his tits. But that's only when you've been extra good.

You'll slide up and cuddle him and pretend to innocently just cuddle him, but he knows your intent before you know your intent. Already not having pants on you slide up to his thigh and squish yourself between his chest and start to suck while gently rubbing your clit on his thigh while sucking on his chest.

You always do the same to him that he does to you. Marking what's yours, making sure people know that the pre-hero they fantasize about is all yours and will always be all yours.

You two were already cuddling on the couch and you couldn't help but start to feel a little needy. It has been a horrible day and you needed some intense release.

Scoothing up his thigh a bit, you put your hand up his shirt and start to feel around a little bit. Starting with his rock hard abs and making your way up to his firm but squishy pecs.

“What do you need, pretty girl?” He was feeling kind today, especially since you had already had a rough day.

“Wan’ you. Need you so bad, Katsu.”

“What do you need? Use your words or you're not gonna get it.” He always did this. No matter how needy he saw you were, you always had to tell him what you wanted.

“Wanna cum on your thigh. Please?”

“What else do you need, love?” He adjusted you on his lap, giving you a better position to rock your hips against him.

“Wanna suck on your tits. Please?”

“Good girl.” He put his hands on your waist to get you started. He rocked you back and forth a few times so you could get accustomed to the rhythm.

You let out a choked up moan. You were so needy and sensitive already and this is enough to get you off for the night. Enough to hold you over before he ruined you sometime tonight or tomorrow morning. All day long.

“K-katsuki- a-ah-” It already felt so good. Your clothed clit rubbing against his thigh and against the fabric of his panties.

“You like it, pretty girl? Like rubbing that slutty pussy on my thigh? Huh?” Another choked moan left your mouth.

“Love it- haah.” You started rocking a little faster. You slid off his shirt, with his assistance, and started to suckle on his nipples. He moaned quietly.

He always enjoyed it as much as you did, even if he didn't admit it.

As your high came closer, you started sucking harder, getting more needy as you rocked more vigorously.

“Katsu- I'm gonna cum. Please,” you pleaded.

“Go ahead, baby. Cum on my thigh as much as you want. Anything for you.”

Your orgasm came at you full force and you couldn't help but moan loudly and bury your face in his neck. His name muffled in his neck and you shaking harshly on his lap, you cum so hard.

You were still recovering from your high, shaking and all when you heard him speak up.

“How was that baby?” He started to pet your hair.

“Felt so good, Katsu,” you murmured. You were so tired already and just wanted to get to bed. “Tired though.”

“I know, but we gotta get you cleaned up first.”

He brought you upstairs to make sure you went to the bathroom and cleaned up before settling in bed next to you.

“I love you, sweet thing.”

“Love you too,” was the last you muttered before slipping into a very deep sleep.

#kenmasblackwife #mha bakugou #bnha #mha #bakugou #bakugou smut

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poohkeepsee · 3 years

Text

I was going through my AO3 bookmarks, and I wanted to organize them a little bit. These are my Dean/Cas canon-ish fic recs.

season 5

canticles by 2street2car Words: 10,311 Chapters: 1

“But you know something? If I couldn’t get you laid, at least I gave you a good first date.”feat: footsies at a Ruby Tuesday, stargazing, the recreation of an iconic "Dirty Dancing" scene (no, not that one—the other one), and practicing for When You're With A Girl.

FTBYAM MY BELOVED

post season 6

Someone Who's Feeling For Me by ellispark Words: 45,876 Chapters: 1

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

post bunker

Sun Can't Set Until Nine by LeverDrift Words: 67,939 Chapters: 16

Cas moves into the bunker as his powers start to fail. Dean doesn’t know if the arrangement is as permanent as he wants it to be. He's also not sure why he keeps dreaming about his friend. All he knows is that he wants Cas to stay. Overall warnings: canon-typical miscommunication & Dean having self-hatred issues.

Life Skills by ilovehowyouletmefall Words: 26,052 Chapters: 3

After Metatron steals Castiel's grace, and Cas comes to live in the bunker, Dean spends a lot of time with him, sharing all of his favourite things. Dean can't help it if sharing things with Cas just makes everything better. Besides, it's Dean's job as Cas' friend to introduce him to the joys of human life. To teach him how to be human. And if one of the experiences they end up sharing is sex with women, well... that's just part of Dean's job as Cas' friend too, right? The desire is triangulated, the rituals are intricate.

Sam Stole My Boyfriend by sobsicles Words: 8,445 Chapters: 1

“Dude, you’ve been staring at me a lot lately, like even enough that Sam noticed. More than usual. So, like, what’s up?” Dean pauses, purses his lips and reconsiders. “What did I do?”

Cas knows that would be a perfect time to confess to Dean what exactly happened and what he was thinking. Maybe, Dean had some insight into the situation or even some kind of comfort to offer. But, the longer that he sat there, he realized that he could not tell Dean absolutely anything. So instead, for the first time, Cas fumbled.

“Um,” Cas mutters and abruptly stands. “Freckles?”

Dean blinked up at him as Cas pivoted and left the room. There was only one remaining option he had and unfortunately, it involved Sam.

Aching in the Absence of You by sobsicles Words: 95,090 Chapters: 10

Brittle and battle-worn, Cas looks at him over coffee one morning and says, "I need to go," and Dean instantly knows that he's not coming back.

He's not really sure how he knows it, but he does. It settles into the pit of his stomach, curling hot and tight like something he instinctively wants to tear out with his bare hands. He takes a breath, and it gets stuck in his throat, hitching there. It hurts, hurts, hurts when he finally exhales.

"Yeah," Dean says, "of course you do," and he nods jerkily as he looks down at his phone. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't look up from the screen when Cas gets up and leaves the room. He doesn't finish his coffee, or move for a long time.

By nightfall, Cas is gone.

'Communication' by JustAnotherSamlicker Words: 11,656

The same story told from two perspectives.

Dean bought a house and he and Cas fix it up.

Is Dean moving out? Is Cas moving in?

Should they just talk to each other already? (Yes they should)

Build a Home by domesticadventures Words: 20,102

After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them.

He doesn't

season 10

The Most Important Thing by NorthernSparrow Words: 94,462 Chapters: 14

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

season 12

Heroes for Ghosts by pantheon_of_discord Words: 42,922 Chapters: 7

Canon-divergent from 12.08

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

season 13

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees) by sobsicles Words: 74,173 Chapters: 8

Dean keeps going back.

When he arrives, it's always to blooming flowers and a windmill in the background, not too far from a brook, the sun painting the plains.

He likes it there. He likes to stand in front of the makeshift urn and check that it's still where he put it, switching out the flowers when they wilt. He likes to listen to the sound of birds chirping, insects singing, the faint sound of water trickling in the distance. He likes to turn his face up and feel the sun on his skin, wondering if Cas would do the same if he were here, somehow knowing that he would.

He likes to talk.

There's never a response, but Dean feels the breeze rustle through his hair and watches the flowers bob when bees come to them and stares as the windmill keeps turning, turning, turning. And he imagines that Cas is replying—the windmill is the tilted head, the bobbing flowers are a gentle smile, the breeze is whatever words Dean wants to hear at the time.

Sometimes, it's almost like he's there.

Trial and Tribulations of Raising a Nephilim by Sickandtiredofyou Words: 14,910 Chapters: 6

Dean has far too much on his plate, losing his mom, his best friend and now being a single parent to a newborn nephilim.

In which Jack is an actual newborn instead of a teenager.

post season 13

dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination) by sobsicles Words: 108,427 Chapters: 4

Freedom is just one adjustment after the next.

Cas hums again. "I think you already have. It's been months since everything settled. All that's left to do is...get used to it, and perhaps—" His voice stalls out, uncharacteristically, and his gaze roams Dean's face with intensity. When he speaks next, his tone is a little raw. "Perhaps what one does with peace is...whatever they want."

"What if I don't even know what that is?" Dean grumbles, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "'Cause I know damn well you don't just mean good food and a good bed and time in Baby, not simple wants like that. You mean—ya know, the big things, the wants we didn't get to have before."

"Yes," Cas agrees. "If you're not sure, figure it out."

"Easier said than done."

Reasons to read this:

Dean reads a story that ends like despair and his reaction is FUCK THAT

Cas wears Dean's hoodie

Jack is a toddler

The Jack and Claire sibling energy we deserve

Eileen being awesome and pulling pranks with Dean while Sam thinks she's an angel

Sam knows

YOUR HONOR THEY'RE IN LOVE

First Date by aeli_kindara Words: 8,968 Chapters: 1

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

Also known as the Dean Winchester makes the first move fic.

season 14

Broken Road by thegeminisage Words: 109,629 Chapters: 7

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

post season 15

fools and pilgrims by lagaudiere Words: 31,904 Chapters: 2

Claire shows up at the bunker a day before Dean was planning to leave, with her hair cut short and a fresh tattoo on her left arm under a bandage. Chuck is dead, Jack has given up his godlike powers, and Cas is back from the Empty, which doesn't make it any easier for Dean to talk to him. Suddenly finding himself in a world without monsters, supernatural forces, or any need for hunters, Dean's solution is to go on a road trip. Claire tags along.

Dean-Claire mirror fic post Despair

what's missing is found (our souls can exhale now) by sobsicles Words: 27,403

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

canon(?) au (Hunters and Men of Letters)

Dean Winchester's Secret (Angel) Boyfriend by reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent Words: 11,191 Chapters: 1

Dean Winchester isn't exactly a team player. So when he starts mentioning a new Hunting partner, Ellen and Jo Harvelle aren't sure whether they should be worried or relieved.

But they're starting to get the feeling there's something important Dean's not telling them about Cas...

Shot Through The Heart by peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) Words: 11,191 Chapters: 1

Dean is a hunter.

Castiel is a Man of Letters.

And even though they have to work together on a regular basis, there is not much sympathy between them. Castiel thinks Dean too brash and reckless while Dean in return sees nothing more in the other man than a rude asshole with an obsessive love for books and a truly terrible fashion sense.

But fate clearly has a funny way of throwing those two together over and over again.

And somewhere along the way feelings change into something neither of them would have expected.

#destiel #deancas #fic recs

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jaesqueso · 3 years

Text

The Bachelorette: NCT Edition - Meet the candidates

The season of love is finally here! An interactive series where you’ll get to choose who goes home each week and ultimately who Y/N chooses in the end!

VOTE!!!

Use the above link to vote for your favorite candidate for that final rose and who should be the first five going home! You can vote for the first episode until next friday (11/06) and the episode will come out on sunday (13/06).

taglist: @skrtbabe @yutahoes @mel-yjh

If you’d like to be included in the taglist for the series do let me know ❤︎

☽ ・・・・・ ☾

The bachelorette

Hi, my name is Y/N and I’m looking for my prince charming!

I never had much luck with love so I decided to focus on work instead but my friends are all getting married and keep telling me to find someone too, so here I am!

I’m looking for someone nice who makes me laugh. Someone who cares about me and shows me a good time. Physically I’m not picky but I do appreciate a warm smile and kind eyes.

Hopefully this experience will help me find the person who I’ll get to spend the rest of my life with!

Moon Taeil

My name is Taeil and I’m a gemini.

I’m a relaxed guy who wants to live life peacefully and hopefully meet a girl to share my life with!

*winks*

I like to listen to music and watch movies, not very into physical activities because I don’t like when my muscles are in pain.

*laughs*

I usually notice someone’s eyes first, that’s enough to captivate me. Also I like cute girls.

Fighting!

John Suh

My name is John but everybody calls me Johnny. I’m an Aquarius.

I’m a nice guy who gets along with everyone and my motto is just to have fun! My friends may say I’m clumsy but I think things just get in my way!

*flips hair laughing*

I love reading, watching videos and taking photos. Who knows I may find my new photographic muse.

*winks*

I love cute things, and that includes girls too. I also love girls who smile a lot because I’m always smiling too.

Hopefully I’ll find someone to make my days even brighter!

Lee Taeyong

My name is Taeyong and I’m a Cancer.

People sometimes think I’m cold from the way I look but I promise I’m a kind and caring guy! I have amazing eyes and as you can tell I’m very confident.

*winks*

I don’t like dust and germs so I’ll make sure everybody keeps things clean around here. I’m a perfectionist so I might nag a lot, sorry!

*laughs*

I’m looking for someone who I can learn from and that makes up for my flaws.

Finger crossed I’ll meet someone good for me!

Nakamoto Yuta

My name is Yuta and I’m a Scorpio.

I’m a happy guy who cares a lot about everyone. One thing I can promise is that everybody has a good time around me!

*laughs*

I love to play football and working out, I don’t like sitting around doing nothing! If we can do things in the moment why wait?

*shrugs shoulders*

I like someone who has empathy towards others and doesn’t feel the need to “act pretty”, someone who’s real and humble.

Let’s go!

Qian Kun

My name is Kun and I’m a Capricorn.

I’m a very friendly guy and I’m always there for my friends. I love to cook and make my way into people’s hearts through food.

*winks*

I’m an intelligent guy and I love to do magic tricks so I think if I play my cards right I have a chance to get that final rose.

*wiggles eyebrows*

I’m usually attracted to more feminine women who are innocent.

Abracadabra pick me!

Kim Doyoung

My name is Doyoung and I’m an Aquarius.

I’m a very reliable guy, you can check with my friends! I don’t really like to go out, I’d rather stay in sleeping or eating so I’m looking for someone who’s ok with chilling and cuddling.

*winks*

I’m afraid of animals so hopefully we won’t have to do any interaction with any or I might go back home and take a nap.

*laughs*

I want someone polite that knows how to present themselves and that I can take home to meet the parents!

I’ll make sure she falls in love with me!

Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul

My name is Chittaphon but you can call me Ten because I’m 10/10! I’m a Pisces.

I’m the sweetest guy you’ll ever meet and I know how to make someone feel comfortable. Honestly I can’t see what’s not to like about me!

*shrugs shoulders*

I love sports, drawing and playing with animals. Throw me a cat and I’ll be happy!

*laughs*

I don’t really have an ideal type, but I like to get to know someone before love starts to develop.

I’m excited!

Jung Yoonoh

My name is Yoonoh but most people still call me Jaehyun which was my birth name. I’m an Aquarius.

I’m a happy and cute guy, but I also have a sensitive side. What can I say, I’m the perfect guy to take home to the parents!

*winks*

I’m very into sports and I’m a black belt in taekwondo so you know I’ll take down all the competition!

*laughs*

I like someone who is kind, calm and cute. Someone I can easily communicate with and who I can depend on. Extra points if they’re into sports too!

I’m not saying I’m competitive but I’m here to win this!

Dong Sicheng

My name is Sicheng but you can call me Winwin because if I receive that final rose it will be a win-win situation! I’m a Scorpio.

I’m usually a shy guy specially in front of the camera so I apologise for probably not talking much.

“scratches the back of his head”

I like swimming, watching movies and going on vacation, even though I have a fear of heights but I’m good as long as we stay on the ground! I don’t really like being touched but I can make an exception for a nice girl.

*winks*

I like someone who’s more quiet, like me, and also innocent. I want someone who I can laugh with.

Let’s Winwin!

Kim Jungwoo

My name is Jungwoo and I’m a Pisces.

I’m a sweet guy but I’m also funny, just let me entertain you with my on point impressions, you won’t be able to tell who’s me or the original person!

*laughs*

I like to watch and play soccer and I eat a lot of course to restore my energy!

*winks*

I like a bold girl who’ll take the first step. Someone who is determined, knows hat she wants and does everything to get it.

So come and get me!

Huang Xuxi

My name is Xuxi but I like to go by Lucas. I’m an Aquarius.

I’m a very outgoing guy and I always provide a good time in every sense of the word.

*wiggles eyebrows*

I love spicy food! I have a strong digestive system so I’ll eat a lot but maintain my figure because I also exercise much as you can tell.

*shows off his biceps*

I’m usually attracted to someone sweet, shy and innocent.

My lady c’mon!

Mark Lee

My name is Mark and you can mark me in your heart! I’m a Leo.

I’m a simple guy who likes to hang out with friends and play my guitar, that I obviously brought with me. Who knows, I might serenade someone special.

*winks*

I like to think I’m funny but it seems like others don’t get my jokes… Anyway! I am not great in the kitchen so like maybe it’s safer for everyone if other people take care of the cooking.

*laughs*

I want someone who’s honest and loyal, plain and simple.

Time to shine!

Xiao Dejun

My name is Dejun but you can call me Xiaojun. I’m a Leo.

I’m a more reserved guy, I like to be alone but I have a space saved in my life for a special lady.

*winks*

I like to read, watch movies and write songs. I can play several instruments too so I can write something special in several styles, there’s no way I can get that wrong.

*wiggles eyebrows*

Honesty can get you far with me because I believe that being humble brings more benefits. I also like a girl who can communicate well.

Let’s do this!

Wong Kunhang

My name is Kunhang but my friends call me Hendery so you can too. I’m a Libra.

I’m a very friendly and funny guy, everybody loves me, so I know this girl will too!

*shrugs shoulders*

I love to just take a walk and listen to music. Also I might start dancing when I talk so please don’t be surprised!

*laughs*

I like kind people who’ll help others in need. Also someone independent and family oriented.

Let’s enjoy this experience!

Huang Renjun

My name is Renjun and I’m an Aries.

I may seem like a soft guy but I know when to be cold and firm. I believe that you have to love yourself first to be able to love someone else and we need to love someone for who they are and not try to change them.

*smiles*

I appreciate arts. I like to dance and also to draw. I think I might draw us two together so she can see how good we’ll look and choose me!

*winks*

I like a witty girl who won’t be too sensitive to what I say because I like to be honest.

Let’s love ourselves and each other!

Lee Jeno

My name is Jeno and I’m a Taurus.

I’m an easy going guy that gets along with about everyone. Sometimes I may seem quiet and distant but in some situations I’d rather observe than participate.

*shrugs shoulders*

I like to think I’m funny, even if others say I’m not, I just hope at least I can make this girl laugh!

*laughs*

I’m interested in someone like me, easy going and with a good sense of humour! Also someone who can cook.

For love!

Lee DongHyuck

My name is Donghyuck but that’s the sane me, you can call me Haechan instead! I’m a Gemini.

I have a very bright personality and I can definitely cheer everybody up! I am also very affectionate so don’t mind me giving out free hugs and kisses!

*wiggles eyebrows*

I like tasty food, football and anything related to music. I love to dance and make up my own unique moves so please join me, I’ll teach you.

*winks*

I’m not very picky but I like a girl with good vocals and an easy to listen voice.

Ok cut!

Na Jaemin

My name is Jaemin and I’m a Leo.

I am a very bubbly guy and I might get a bit loud but it’s all in good fashion!

*laughs*

I like to dance and to play the piano. My favorite movie genre is horror but it’s ok if she doesn’t like that, she can always hold on to me if she’s scared.

*wiggles eyebrows*

I want someone who’s humble and that puts peoples needs first. It needs to be someone who I can share my heart with.

Wow, so sexy!

Liu Yangyang

My name is Yangyang, yes it’s not a nickname! I’m a Libra.

I’m an energetic and sweet guy. You can trust me with anything and I can give you a good laugh.

*smiles*

When I was a kid I wanted to be a racer, but now I just want to race my way into this girl’s heart.

*laughs*

I like an adventurous girl who’s affectionate and honest and will have fun with me.

I’m very happy to be here!

Osaki Shotaro

My name is Shotaro and I’m a Sagittarius.

I’m a cheerful and sincere guy, happiness is my middle name! I’m curious, impulsive and adventurous so hopefully I’ll find someone who can keep up!

*winks*

I like to watch mukbangs and to play football, but my favorite thing to do is dance so let’s dance together!

*smiles*

I don’t have an ideal type, I like everybody!

Let’s start the adventure!

Jung Sungchan

My name is Sungchan and I’m a Virgo.

I’m a serene and reliable guy, but I’m also a perfectionist and it’s difficult to convince me of things.

*shrugs shoulders*

I like to exercise and play games. I enjoy sunny days the best and maybe I can find some company to enjoy them with me.

*winks*

I’m just looking for someone that matches well with me.

I’m ready!

Zhong Chenle

My name is Chenle and I’m a Scorpio.

I’m a friendly, cheerful and confident guy, even if people get startled by my laugh.

*laughs in dolphin*

I like to play football, play the piano and cook. I am afraid of spiders so unfortunately it would have to be the girl saving me from them!

*scratches the back of his head*

I don’t have an ideal type.

Ok, let’s do it!

Park Jisung

My name is Jisung and I’m an Aquarius.

I may come up as an awkward guy but I promise I’m nice and funny once you get to know me!

*winks*

I have a good hunch so I’m very good at making decisions. I like to play soccer and video games, but not scary ones because I get startled easily!

*laughs*

The perfect girl for me is someone who I can be friends with first.

Let’s live this moment!

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dreamypeaches · 4 years

Text

don’t wake up pt. 1 | rafe cameron x reader

summary: you and rafe cross paths at a boneyard kegger and find a space to escape in each other

warnings: making out, cursing, alcohol use

word count: 2.2k

a/n: so i posted this last night, then realized my account is so new that it wouldn’t show up in the search or tags. but i just got a bunch of followers, so hopefully y’all enjoy this! also, all characters in my fics are 18+, unless i specifically say otherwise. also also, fuck canon rafe, we don’t know him.

series masterlist

The Boneyard was packed with Pogues, Kooks, and Tourons. It was the middle of the summer, the height of the party season in the Outer Banks, and there was no party like a kegger at the Boneyard. You and the Pogues were at the center of it all, music pounding in your chest louder than your heartbeat as you danced with Kie and Sarah. The liquid in your red solo cup spilled as you spun around, accidentally bumping into JJ, who was approaching the dance floor with a drunk grin on his face.

“Having fun?” He questioned as he gripped your waist to keep you from falling.

“Always am!” You slurred, gripping his hand and pulling him onto the dance floor with you and the girls.

At the beginning of the night, your dancing would have been sexy, grinding with Kie and Sarah, shaking your hips as you moved seductively. Now, you were a point of drunkenness where your legs no longer coordinated with your mind. You jumped and yelled along with the music, a goofy grin on your face. You wrapped your arms around JJ’s shoulders as you both screamed the chorus of the song, rocking back and forth like the waves not far from the dance floor. As the song faded out, JJ led you off the dance floor. You downed the last of your drink and giggled as you and JJ tripped over nothing in the sand. JJ collapsed on a log next to Pope and John B., both boys much more sober than the rest of their friends.

“You too better not puke in my living room,” John B commented.

“How dare you, I’m not even that drunk. In fact, I could go for another right now,” JJ said, standing from the log, swaying, and immediately falling back down on his ass. He stood up again, successfully, and grinned at you.

“Y/N, care to join me?”

“Nah, I’m gonna go for a walk. I want to feel the waves on my feet!” You giggled as you turned away from your friends and marched towards the ocean. The music slowly faded the farther you got, stumbling to an empty area several yards away from the party. As you stepped towards the water, letting the tide roll over your feet, you noticed a figure a few feet away sitting on the beach. He was nothing but a silhouette in the night, but you approached him anyway, your drunken state leading you to want to be a little too friendly than you normally would be. You stumbled over to the stranger, but realized as you got closer that it wasn’t a stranger at all. Rafe Cameron sat on the sand with his need pulled to his chest, hands resting on his knees. His button up shirt was halfway open, blowing slightly in the breeze as he stared at the ocean.

Being a Pogue, your normally would have avoided Kooks like the plague, especially this Kook. But for some reason, possibly your drunkenness or some invisible string of fate connecting you to him, you continued walking toward him until you were standing right above him. You unceremoniously collapsed into the sand beside him, causing him to glance at you strangely.

“What are you doing here, Pogue?” He said, though he lacked the usual venom behind the words. You turned your head towards him slightly, giving him a small smile before turning back to the ocean.

“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it? Especially at night, you can see the moon reflecting off the water. It looks like a portal to another world that just goes on forever. Sometimes I wish I could just jump in and disappear. End up in some other universe where everything is as beautiful as the ocean.”

Rafe stared at you as you spoke. Despite you being a Pogue, he’d always found you beautiful, though if his friends asked he would use a different word like hot or fuckable. But right now, as the moon shone down on your hair and the light from the kegger illuminated your outline, he couldn’t think of any other word but beautiful. As you spoke, your words floated from your mouth and into his chest, wrapping around his heart in a comforting embrace. He had gotten into an argument with his dad before the party and he felt like shit. He’d tired to bail, but Kelce and Topper dragged him from his home on Figure 8 and down to The Cut, promising liquor and drugs would cure his bad mood. They had no idea the real reason behind his anger and sadness.

As soon as he could, he escaped from the loud and chaotic kegger to this quiet spot on the beach, needing a moment on his own to just be. Then you come along and, had you ben anyone else, he would have yelled at you to go the fuck away. But no, it was you, the Pogue who always smiled at him when they made eye contact, the one who apologized for her friends when they started shit, but wasn’t afraid to chew him out when he was the shit-starter. He’d always tried to ignore his little crush on you, knowing it would never happen. But now you were here and speaking to him like no one else had.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” He replied, not taking his eyes off you. You turned and made eye contact with him, raising an eye brow at him.

“So, what’s the Kook King doing sitting over here all alone?” You asked. Rafe gave you a sad smile, breaking eye contact to look at his hands, tapping his fingers on his knees.

“I could ask the same thing of the Pogue Princess,” He said. You laughed and Rafe’s heart skipped a beat. He’d never heard your laugh before but now it was the only thing he ever wanted to hear for the rest of his life.

“I’m not the Pogue Princess,” You chuckled, shaking your head, “I just wanted some air, and to feel the waves under my feet. Helps me stay grounded.”

Rafe nodded and looked back at the ocean. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you for a short moment. You were the one to break it.

“So? I answered your question, now you need to answer mine. And I asked first so if you don’t answer that’s just plain rude.”

Rafe chuckled and glanced at you. He ran his hand through his hair, messing up the slicked back style. You watched as his hair fell in his eyes and licked your lips. Rafe was a dick, yes, but you couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was. All those times he and JJ were at each other’s throats, your eyes would wander to the tall boy, taking in every detail of him. You would never admit it the other Pogues, but he intrigued you. He was never as rude to you as he was to the other Pogues. Once he’d even smiled at you and said “thank you” when you’d handed him a cup of beer at a kegger. Kiara, who had been right next to you, was convinced he had been possessed.

You had never been a fan of the whole Kook versus Pogue rivalry, you thought it was cliche and dumb. But you continued to abide by the rules of the island, despite the constant urge to go up to Rafe and befriend him. After all, you had made friends with Sarah, why not the other Cameron sibling?

“Didn’t really want to come to this kegger in the first place. Since I’m here, might as well enjoy some shitty beer and a great view while trying to ignore all my problems.”

“I get that. I ignore my problems all the time. Whenever I get ice out of the freezer and a couple cubes fall to the ground, I always just kick them under the fridge.”

Rafe laughed, a genuine, joyful laugh that made your heart flutter.

“I’ve done the exact same thing many, many times,” He said.

“I’m assuming your problems are a little bigger than ice cubes.”

The smile slowly faded from his face and he nodded. “Yeah, just a little bit,”

You looked at him as a pained expression crossed his face. You already missed his laugh, and you were determined to hear it again.

“Well, can I help you ignore your problems? Even if it’s just for a little while?” You said.

Rafe looked up at you, eyes sad but a smile on his lips. “I would love that.”

You and Rafe talked about nothing as the party continued to rage on behind you. You told him all the shitty jokes you knew while he told you about embarrassing stories about his sister and his friends. You got into a short argument about what fast food place had the best fries, never coming to an agreement. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, hours maybe, but you didn’t want it to end. You had moved closer to Rafe and he to you until your thighs and shoulders were touching. The conversation had died down for a moment as you made eye contact with each other. His tongue flicked out and licked his lips, drawing your eyes to them.

“Do you know what else will help you ignore your problems?” You asked. Both of you slowly moved closer and closer towards each other, eyes flicking from eyes to lips and back again.

“What?” Rafe asked. You answered him by leaning forward and connecting your lips to his. Your hands gripped the sand for balance has he reach up to place a hand on the back of your head, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss. His other hand rested on your hip, gripping it as if his life depended on it. You raised your hands to run your fingers through his hair, almost falling on top of him. The Hand on your hip swiftly wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap. You straddled him, fingers threading through his light hair. He tasted like beer and mint and heaven. His tongue ran along her bottom lip and you opened your mouth, allowing him to explore to his heart content. His hands moved underneath your shirt, running up and down your sides. One of his thumbs brushed up against the bottom of your breast, feeling you through the thin fabric of your bra. You let out a moan into his mouth that motivated him to move further. His grip on you tightened, pulling you flush against him. Your lips were soft and sweet, every negative thought disappearing from his mind, being replaced by you, you, you. Rafe didn’t want to forget a single part of this moment. He memorized the curve of your hip, the softness of your lips. The way you smelled and the way you moaned and breathed and tasted. He was euphoric, questioning whether or not this was a dream.

His hand had just ventured underneath your bra, lips creating dark spots are your neck when someone yelled from the direction of the kegger.

“Y/N!”

Your eyes snapped open as you looked towards the edge of the kegger. In the distance, you could see the silhouette of the Pogues against the fire light. They were waving their arms and shouting your name. Rafe, however, paid no mind, sucking on the sensitive spot below your ear that made you moan.

“Rafe,” you moaned his name. You pulled his hair, forcing him away from your neck to look in your eyes. “I have to go.”

You kissed him again as you slowly removed yourself from his lap. His hand gripped your arm as you stood, your lips still attached. You giggled as your rested your forehead on his, pecking the tip of his nose. You finally disconnected from him, but your eyes never left his as you walked backwards toward the other Pogues.

“I’ll see you around, Cameron,” You said before turning on your heel, jogging towards your friends. Rafe stood their frozen, hair a mess and lips swollen as he stared at your retreating figure. A he couldn’t help but smile as he stood up, brushing the sand from his body. As he walked toward where Topper and Kelce were standing, he prayed for another moment where he got to taste your lips.

You reached the Pogues, a smile still on your face as you adjusted your messy hair.

“Ready to go?” John B asked. You nodded walked next to Kiara and Sarah towards the Twinkie. Both girls examined your giggly state and the hickies that littered your collarbone and neck.

“Who was that?” Sarah asked, smirking at you. Your words caught in your throat for a moment, unsure if you should tell the truth or not. You quickly glanced over the fire and met Rafe’s gaze. He winked at you and blush crawled up your cheeks. You quickly looked back at Sarah and smiled.

“Just some Touron,” You answered. Sarah and Kie laughed at your blushing face, asking you more questions about the Touron you had just made out with on the beach. You told them you knew nothing about them, dodging their questions and suggestive looks. Tonight had been a dream, you weren’t ready to wake up yet. As you approached the parked van, you took one last glance at Rafe and smiled. You hoped you would never wake up.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #obx fic #my writing

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chilling-seavey · 3 years

Note

A blurb where the girls are fighting and one of them ends up hitting the other sending Flora & Daniel in shook✨

I really liked this idea and I thought it would work with something I ran past @randomlimelightxxx a bit ago…I can’t really see the girls arguing and hitting each other per se (but I’m sure it happened at least once!) but this idea I wrote below basically would be quite similar in the way Flora and Daniel would react in terms of your idea! Besides, the girls are more vicious with words than fists most often than not hehe ;)

Saturday, August 7, 2027

From the day Penelope got her diagnosis, Florence and Daniel made a point not to treat her different from her sisters. Of course, she sometimes needed a few accommodations and extra support but she would never be singled out and never be treated differently for any other reason. It was hard at first, trying to understand their middle daughter’s every needs – especially when she went non-vocal when her overloads were strongest – but they tried their best for her.

They always had a menu on the fridge with a schedule so they would know what meals to expect day to day. Penelope liked to be prepared. It just came with the diagnosis. Florence would always try to keep recipes simple for Penelope’s sake since she was kind of a picky eater. That also came with the diagnosis. Penelope never really had a problem eating food at home but she did have her plain favourites that tended to be the go to: chicken nuggets, pasta with tomato sauce, or baked potatoes with butter.

One day in particular was not a good day for Penelope. They had all gone out for the afternoon and everything was setting her off. Being seven-years-old now, she better understood what was happening to her when meltdowns hit but still couldn’t really control herself at all. It was everything piling up from the noise of the harbour front to the sudden toots of boat horns to overlapping chatter and all sorts of smells and Penelope just went into overwhelm.

Florence and Daniel had their responses at the ready and were able to calm her down – Florence taking her sisters a bit of a ways off while Daniel sat with the sobbing girl on the boardwalk edge and held his hands over her ears until she relaxed. She still cried the whole walk home for dinner and was a sniffling mess in Daniel’s arms as they took the elevator upstairs. She was getting a little big to be carried but Daniel would carry her as long as she needed him to.

Three-year-old Lucy kept tapping at his leg and insisting, “My turn!”

But he would whisper a gentle, “Not now.” and focus back to his shaken daughter in his arms.

Clementine stared from Florence’s other side, holding her mother’s hand. She knew well about her sister’s diagnosis – well, the best an eight-and-a-half-year-old could – but she still felt slightly embarrassed every time she melted down in public places.

Dinner that night was leftover roasted chicken and Florence got right to work to reheat it when they got home. Clementine and Lucy busied themselves in the living room and Penelope still clung onto Daniel as he followed his wife into the kitchen.

“Let’s give her something she wants to eat tonight.” Daniel offered quietly.

“Was thinking so too.” Florence agreed. She shifted over so she could look at her daughter, “What do you want to eat tonight, sweet girl? Some nuggets? Pasta?”

Penelope sniffled and cuddled into Daniel’s shoulder, mumbling out a quiet, “Pasta.”

“Please, Mommy?” Daniel whispered into her hair as a little reminder.

“Please, Mama.” Penelope added sleepily.

Daniel kissed her head.

It didn’t take long for dinner to be made since it was just leftovers and then boiling some pasta in a pot and soon the family of five was sitting around the dinner table. Penelope’s tears were drying on her cheeks but she had a tiny hint of a smile on her face as she ate her pasta quietly. Everyone else – even young Lucy – had seasoned chicken on their plates. Clementine eyed her middle sister and then looked down at her own plate.

“Why does she get something fun?” she frowned.

“Just focus on your own dinner.” Florence answered gently.

Clementine didn’t even need an answer to know why her sister always seemed to get what she wanted and the near jealousy that was filling her stomach was apparent in her little glare. She leaned in a little to whisper in a tone filled with distaste, “It’s because you’re autistic.”

The sound of cutlery clattering onto the table and the chair scraping back against the floor startled the family as Daniel got up and grabbed Clementine by the arm before Penelope could even so much as look up from her plate. He pulled the eldest daughter to her feet, right out of her chair, and she gasped lightly.

“Room. Now.” he ordered and led her purposefully down the hallway.

Clementine’s eyes were wide in shock at her father’s sudden aggression – although he of course didn’t grab her enough to hurt her – and he pulled her down the hallway and into her bedroom. Daniel closed the door behind her and let go of her arm and Clementine took a few steps back in surprise and hesitation.

Daniel crossed his arms over his chest as he stared sternly at his eldest, “You don’t ever use that against your sister.”

Clementine nodded quickly.

“Just because she needs different things sometimes does not give you the right to be vicious towards her.”

Clementine nodded again.

“You are her big sister so you need to protect her, not belittle her. Do you understand me?”

Clementine nodded a third time.

“With your words, Clementine Ophelia.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Clementine hurried out, her voice wavering at the obvious seriousness of her father’s orders.

Daniel was rarely angry so she was extra frightened, staring up at him with nervous and shamed tears brimming in her eyes.

He wasn’t done, speaking strongly to her from a few short paces away, “You don’t need to understand what she goes through or what she needs and why but you don’t ever use that tone with her again. Yes, your sister is autistic, but she has done nothing to deserve to have that used against her.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Clementine sniffled, her vision blurring with tears as he scolded her.

“You treat her the same way you treat Lucy; with compassion. The three of you are very different people but that is not something to be ridiculed. Ever. For any reason.”

“Okay!” Clementine shouted, tears starting to drip down her cheeks as she let out a sob. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re going to sit on your bed for a ten minute timeout and when I come to get you again you will apologize to Penelope and continue eating your nice supper that your mother worked hard to make yesterday and I don’t want to hear one complaint.”

Clementine nodded through her tears and climbed up onto her bed, sitting cross-legged in the middle as she sobbed. Daniel sighed and stood at the end of her bed and curled a finger at her to get her to come here. She sniffled loudly as she crawled over to him and knelt in front of him, staining her cheeks in tears.

Daniel took her face in his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs before pressing a kiss to her forehead and whispering against the same spot, “I love you.”

He always tried to tell his daughters he loved them. Even when he was his most angry.

Clementine sobbed louder in shame.

“Hey,” Daniel called gently to get her eyes focused back on his, “I said I love you.”

“I-I love you.” Clementine hiccupped in reply.

With one more kiss, he left her there for her ten minute timeout, returning to a quiet dinner table in the meantime. Penelope had her cheek resting on her hand as she fed herself spoons of pasta tiredly and Lucy was picking up her little pieces of chicken with her fingers like it was the most interesting thing. Florence glanced up as Daniel approached and he apologized to her quietly as he sat back down and picked up his cutlery again and checked his watch to note the time.

“Everything okay?” Florence asked softly.

“Mhm.” Daniel fed himself a forkful of lukewarm supper before whispering to his wife, “I don’t want either of them…anyone for that matter…treating her differently. Using that shit against her for any reason.”

“Me neither.” Florence set her hand on his on the tabletop.

When the ten minutes was up and Daniel brought Clementine back to the table, the eldest took her seat again quietly, sniffling back her drying tears. She looked at her expectant father and he nodded her on towards her sister. She looked beside her to Penelope.

“Nelly?”

The younger sister looked up shyly behind bangs of frazzled brown hair and her own tear filled blue eyes.

Clementine shifted nervously in her chair, “I’m sorry I got upset.”

Penelope only gave her a half nod and looked back down to her plate. Clementine frowned and looked to her parents for help.

“Just let her eat, angel.” Daniel whispered gently. “She heard you…she’ll talk when she’s comfortable to.”

Clementine nodded and focused on her own dinner. From that day on – with sense nearly scared into her – Clementine declared herself Penelope’s own defence squad, especially while at school.

#unedited as HECK #anything but mine #daniel seavey #why dont we #daniel seavey fanfic

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fragileizywriting · 3 years

Text

princess and the knight

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The storm is starting to die down.

Not a lot, it’s not enough. Instead of the onslaught on the tiles of their roof, and the wind hitting up against their door and windows, there is simply just rain. The wind has disappeared, for now, leaving the pittering and pattering on their rooftop— it’s relaxing, and calming, to know that there aren’t any holes in their roof and there is no water getting in. The rain makes her all the more thankful for the green fire that burns and swelters at the fireplace, licking at the sides of the logs with small cracks and snaps. The house is quiet, sans for the fireplace, and their quiet chatter.

They are tired. It’s quite easy to forget that they’re exhausted whenever they have a conversation, but the moment Chat’s mouth clicks shut, she’s all the more aware of it.

She is lonely. It’s easier to forget that she can’t reach out to him and hold him the way she wants to when they’re bantering or conversing. The moment she opens up her eyes and sees the slight distance on the couch between them, it tells her all she needs to know.

No matter how much she wants, Chat Noir doesn’t like her that way. Maybe it’s for the best.

“Adrien loved honeycomb.” She finds herself blinking long sweeps with her lashes.

“Did he?” Chat is in the process of licking his claws clean. His tail flicks slightly, unreadable, and his furry ears twitch at her words— but nothing else gives any indication of emotion.

“He loved all sorts of sweets,” It’s only fair that she breeches the topic. She knows he didn’t have to tell her anything about his past— even though they’re friends, there’s no need for him to tell her about his migraines. She’s thankful he has— she’s so, so thankful to have learned more about the demon who sits across from her with stars in his diamond-shaped eyes. She wants to know everything about him. But that is a selfish wish. “I used to bring him food all the time. Sneak him all sorts of sweets whenever I would go see him.”

“I don’t want to pry,” He tilts his head. This sweet, soft, gentile giant of a demon who speaks softly, just in case he’s worried of hurting her. “Can you tell me more about him?”

“You want to know more?” This surprises her.

“Of course I do,” He licks his last claw clean, showing her the most friendliest of grins he can make. It doesn’t always work out in his favor, given that his teeth are sharp and deadly— far too large to be considered normal teeth, with his canines poking out sometimes when he lets them out at their full length— but it’s endearing all the same to her. “Of course I want to know more about the guy you’re selling your soul for. Must be some guy.”

Where does she start? What does she even say?

How does she condense an entire friendship into only one conversation?

She struggles to find a proper starting point, one that will explain exactly why or how her friendship with Adrien came to be.

She starts with: “Adrien loved someone.”

Chat pauses with his arm trying to place the cleaned plate on the low table behind him. He doesn’t have to stretch far, given that his arms are long, but he’s completely unfocused on the action in favor of looking at her in the eye. “Did he?”

“I don’t know who it was,” She amends her words, for some inexplicable reason. It seems to calm down the demon anyway, and she doesn’t know how to react to it as she watches his ears unflatten from his head. “I never found out who it was. Honestly, I shouldn’t have even found out. I was ten years old when I learned my first spell, and I had been so excited to show Adrien that I grabbed the first basket of cookies I could find in the bakery and headed over to his house.”

Chat listens quietly, like he usually does when she talks about him. There are so many words trying to spill out of her.

“He’d been confined to his bed for a couple of days already— oh, it was horrible. I had no idea just how long he’d actually spend there— I had begun with the assumption that it would be a week or a bit more before he was back to health.” She sighs. “Imagine seeing the incarnate of the Sun, a golden child with laughter so sweet it could nurse a crying baby to rest, confined and wrapped in countless sheets and put under custody just because he’d fainted half a week before.”

They were young, yes, but something about the sight of her best friend laying in that giant bed with no one there with him always made her uncomfortable. For a boy so small, even at a young age, and a bed so huge, she was disturbed by it. The bed was almost as big as her room. Her friend was the smallest speck of gold in a purely grey room.

At first, she’d pulled up a chair to the bed, had helped him move closer to one of the edges, and kept him company that way. Then came the days where she was too tired to try sneaking in a chair from another room, she’d sit on the massive bed with him. She’d slip off her slippers, tuck her feet under her petticoats, and have quiet conversations with him so that it wouldn’t alert any passing maids.

She suspects, however, that the maids already knew. After all, there were cookie crumbs everywhere. They did a bad job hiding it.

By the end of it all, she’d be laying with him on occasions. Multiple times she’d found herself fallen asleep next to him— how he shivered from the cold and how she’d tried warming him up while they were both asleep.

“He’d missed my birthday and he was so upset about it, so I decided to go visit him instead. The cookies I’d brought with me were magical,” She can feel her lips twitching into a smile. “It was my mother’s recipe. You take a bite of the cookie and you’d be filled with warmth and affection if you were in love with someone, and it was even sweeter if they were in love with you back. It was a winter delicacy we crafted in the bakery to keep customers from feeling too lonely during the cold season— everyone loved the batches. Very few people thought we were selling plain biscuits.”

Chat listens to every word, resting a hand against his cheek up against the sofa. “You gave him one.”

“I did,” She laughs, thinking about how her friend’s face had transformed the moment he bit into one. “I had no idea that the cookies were magical. I think you’ll get a kick out of this one, Chat— the cookies are made with clover honey, magically transformed to just be lover honey.”

“Oh, how wonderful! Wordplay is such a good way to make a joke— I’m sad I wasn’t the one to think of it.” But he grins anyway. Two perfectly sharp and perfectly deadly rows of teeth completely visible to her via the fireplace and the green Chat Noir flames. “Would you be able to make some? Do they really taste like honey?”

“They’re very sweet— of course, I can make some,” She agrees easily, giving him a smile of her own. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had this recipe, too, but they taste just as good as honeycomb. It would be nice to eat it with you.”

She wonders if he’ll feel anything when he bites into it. How will he react when he finds out that the cookie is sweet from a mysterious someone being in love with him?

She wonders if she’ll be able to hide the affection when she bites into it. After all, she— she loves him. It’s hard to hide something like that.

“Would you seriously come in through the window?”

“Yes. It was big enough for me to climb through— he lived on the second story, but the apple tree just outside his window was old enough and I was young enough that the branches wouldn’t sway too hard when I climbed them.” She can’t stop her quiet laughter, thinking of how her boots would sometimes snag against an apple or two and knock to the grass below. She always made sure to collect whatever fruit had fallen when she left, making sure that there was no indication that she’d been there to begin with. “His father prohibited visitors. Adrien was there alone for days if no one showed up to greet him. There were maids that took care of him and fed him— bathed him— but no one to stay with him. His father had turned our friends away when we’d tried to see him, and none of our friends were brave enough to try sneaking in except me. Besides, I was the smallest one who could climb the tree without breaking the limbs, so I don’t blame our friends.”

“A ladder? A flying spell?” Chat tilts his head, bewildered. “Surely you tried?”

“Of course we had,” She tries not to shutter at the memory of them being caught by the groundkeeper, a giant ladder in their hands as they tried marching towards Adrien’s window with something so heavy, and how the old man had attempted to console them with an apologetic no. “But we were too young for any of the more elaborate plans.”

Chat’s ears flatten in sympathy. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard on you all.”

“It was a little bit. I would sneak in anything I could through that window, too, bringing him food and gifts from our friends.” She shoulders into the couch pillow, trying to get comfortable. “Nino would write him so many letters that my bag was swollen with them, they all would burst out of my bag the moment I tried to pull one out. Adrien cherished every single one with such care. I would read the letters to him when his hands were too weak to break the seal, and I’d add little bits of stories here and there to give it more of a flare.”

“What would you add?”

“Nino didn’t always write down the whole story, simply because he thinks we live in his head. You’ve noticed it when he’ll try to mention there’s something happening at his house, but completely forget to actually invite us?” She smiles when Chat Noir nods with exasperation to her words. “My point exactly. Even as a young boy he’d do it too. So I’d try to fill in the gaps when he didn’t explain something correctly, assuming that I’d been there for the story he was telling.”

Chat Noir’s laughter is a friendly one as he thinks about his best friend.

“You know, Nino told us a bit about Adrien, when he’d tried to get drunk with me and Luka that one night,” Chat rolls his eyes when Marinette groans at the memory.

“Tikki, don’t remind me. What a mistake that was.”

“Nino just wanted to try something new.”

Boy did he.

A drunk naga she could handle— even as she’d been squeezed by the man’s thick tail as he’d drunkenly sang to her, claiming that she was the stars and the moon that guides his ocean currents, all of it was fine. Habitable, even. Luka had rather kept her listening to his songs the whole night— and if had been just drunk Nino and drunk Luka she’d been with, she’s certain she would’ve been listening to the two of them howling into the night, drunk off their minds, singing their hearts out.

But she hadn’t been prepared to deal with a drunk Chat Noir.

There was fire everywhere.

Even with Luka’s— albeit drunk— flooding spells to quench the charred earth, and her containment spells to keep the fire from spreading, Nino had somehow gotten caught in the crossfire between the two other beings by mentioning a wrestling competition— she would’ve laughed at the memory if it hadn’t been so dangerous.

Chat Noir’s teeth aren’t the only dangerous ones— Luka had drunkenly admitted to having venomous fangs, claiming that a human would drop on a dime if he bit them. She’s still not sure if he had been bluffing or telling the truth, but hadn’t been able to consider the validity of his claims when Chat had already agreed to wrestle him to the ground.

The two of them were monsters. Literally and figuratively. Even with a tail that spans an entire side of a house, with a weight that is likely to crush standard carriages, Chat Noir had been able to wrestle a whole coil and a half off of his own body like he’d been fighting his equal.

There was so much drunken snarling. So much biting. So much demonic howling— so much naga hissing— so much of Nino laughing at the sight of two creatures fighting. She had to tend to so, so many bites at the end of that night.

She counts her blessings every day that Alix hadn’t been put into the mix, because she’d been out of town.

If a drunk naga and a drunk demon had been difficult, she can’t begin to imagine the damage that would’ve been created if a drunk witch with a tendency to literally fan flames with her wind magic had joined the party.

Every blessing. Marinette is thankful for every blessing.

“It wasn’t all that bad.” Chat’s laughter fills the living room.

“You’re not the one who had to tend to a wounded— and drunk— demon.” She laughs with him, despite rolling her eyes. “And then had to keep that drunk demon from throwing another fight when also trying to heal a wounded— and also drunk— naga. Was it necessary to bite him on the tail?”

“Yes. If he had been truly concerned of not being bitten, maybe he’d have legs like the rest of us.” Chat’s diamond eyes glitter wide and wonderful as she giggles. “Only the weak have a huge tail instead of legs.”

“Please don’t say that to him in front of his face,” She can’t stop laughing, holding onto her sides from humor. “At least when you two are drunk, you two don’t have enough coordination to actually kill each other.”

“I can’t die,” He shrugs, a wicked look on his face. His look isn’t sinister, but it’s certainly an excited one. “At least, as far as I’m aware. Luka’s the only one who’s in danger. If he picks a fight with me, he knows that I won’t be able to lose.”

“You’re horrible,” She swats at him, trying not to feel so upset at the thought of Chat Noir being an unkillable demon. Idiot, idiot, of course he wouldn’t age like her. And of course he wouldn’t live such a short life just like her. Even if she’d wanted him to be with her like a normal relationship, something that they can’t have— Chat Noir is practically ageless compared to the creatures that live on Earth. “He’s a good guy. Don’t you dare hurt him irreparably.”

“Oh, no, you’re absolutely right— Luka’s great. I love the guy. If I didn’t consider Nino to be my best friend, I’d absolutely consider Luka being my best mate.” He crosses his arms over his chest. She tries not to snort and laugh at him refusing to call Luka a friend. “I’ve never met someone who can take a hit from me as well as him. And then proceed to get back up and hit just as hard. I can still feel that punch he’d landed on my jaw.”

“Is it not because you didn’t let me heal you that time, claiming you wanted to keep it as a souvenir of the day you got your butt kicked by a non-demon?” Her face goes a bit flat with sarcasm. When he doesn’t reply, just giving her a little quirk of his mouth, she falls into giggles. “You two are going to end up hurting each other really badly one day. More than just face punches. Why can’t you just hang out together without throwing fists?”

“Please. I’m a demon of honor— I am not going to lose to a noodle in anything.”

“A noodle?” She hides her mouth behind her hands, trying her hardest not to burst out laughing again.

“Fine, a buff noodle.”

“A noodle,” She parrots, wheezing behind her hands.

“I won’t lose to him in any of our competitions. And that includes fishing, thank you.” He grins.

“Trust in my familiar to try to win in a fishing competition against a sea serpent.” She rolls her eyes. She rolls them extra hard when his tail twitches at the word familiar. He always finds the word a bit insulting to his demon status, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s a little black cat on her shoulder while she walks through town. “You know he has a literal advantage against you? The same way you have the advantage of hunting in forests? He doesn’t blend in very well against trees, given that he’s from the sea, but at least he can still hunt on land. You’re just useless hunting in water.”

He shakes his head. “Hey! I can hunt in water! Just because I don’t like doing it doesn’t mean I can’t. Besides, don’t buy into his lies, Princess. He’s just a snake, not a dragon. Sea serpents are dragons, and no matter what Luka says, I don’t see any dragon scales on him. Just snake scales. Dragons don’t produce snake oil for spells.”

“I’m well aware. I studied lots of spells, you know,” She snickers. “Even after Adrien passed away, all I did was read and read. All I could think about was reading more spells and mastering them. I’m not considered Ladybug for no reason, Chat. Handpicked by your own supposed ‘mother’. Surely you would’ve known the process, assuming she really is your mother?”

She didn’t mean to switch the conversation back to her, but Chat at least looks relaxed on his side of the couch, so she can’t feel too bad. “Oh, don’t worry. I remember it. My mom spent days reading over your ‘resume’. Went through your entire record. Every spell you’d performed, every spell you would perform in the future— she read all of it. Guess you were a good fit after all. I’m glad she picked you.”

Something in her slows down. Maybe she can entertain the idea that Chat Noir is telling the truth about his parents for a little while. “She really read all of it?”

“Extensively.” There’s a little twitch at the sides of his mouth, but he’s still playing for humor. “She leaves hell for months at a time and comes back with a scroll the size of the dining table. Reading it, pouring over it, practically ignoring me— her favorite son— for a piece of paper. Obviously she has work to do, I’m not actually blaming her. It was just a little funny to try to get my mom’s attention and she was distracted for the first time ever.”

“So she knows,” She frowns a little bit. “She knows about the miraculous cure that I’m— we— are going to attempt.”

“I’m sure she does.” Chat’s ears twitch as if he’s picking up on what she’s saying in between the lines. “I mean, she knows every spell you’ll ever cast, since you’re her prodigy. Just as my dad knows every spell I’ll ever cast, since I’m his. Although something tells me he’s never read any of it and just lets me go like a loose canon.”

The thought of literally taking a leash off of Chat Noir and him hopping through a portal funny enough that the frown on her face flickers. “Is Plagg really like that?”

“Sometimes. Hard to believe he’s my father figure, from the way he acts.” He snickers, but keeps his face as even as possible, trying to match her. “But he’s the one I spent most of my time with, and I know that he loves me. I couldn’t imagine being without a dad like that.”

The great Chat Noir. Friend, familiar, demon who owns her heart and soul, bonding with a god as old as time and calling him dad. It’s strange— most of it is, whenever he talks about his life away from the contract on his chest that binds him to the Earth for a little while longer. Does he miss home? His family? He’ll live for a long, long time— and gods don’t die— so it won’t be like he’s potentially missing out on seeing them again— but it’s the principle, isn’t it? Does he miss his home?

“What about Adrien? Was Adrien’s dad like that?”

She falters. “No. Gabriel was never kind to Adrien, even before the illness.”

“Oh.” There’s pain in Chat Noir’s diamond eyes. “I’m sorry for him.”

Adrien deserved to have a loving family, too.

“Adrien always chalked it up to grief. They’d lost his mother a year prior from me meeting him for the first time— it always sounded like that his mother passing away was the reason for the abuse. I don’t think his father visited Adrien once in the time that he’d been bedridden.”

“His father really did that to him?”

“It was horrible, but— yes. Like I said, Adrien would’ve been alone for most of that time if it weren’t for me. He told me that he never had the strength to eat anything anymore, he was so weak, but always made the exception to eat the lover-honey cookies I brought him. It helped that they were soft— there wasn’t a crunch to them. It was good on his decaying strength— I couldn’t show up without at least one. He deserved to feel love, if he couldn’t feel it from his own father.”

“He must’ve loved someone a lot.” Chat adds privately.

“I think he did,” She looks down to her hands. She smooths out her shift, just for something to do. “I think he really did.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The face he would make when eating it, my goodness— I wish I could’ve seen that face on him forever. We would play Princess and the Knight a lot— I was the knight, of course, who had to climb up Rapunzel’s tower via a tree outside his window in order to get to him— or to awaken the Sleeping Beauty from his sleep after slaying the dragon.”

“Of course,” He smiles.

“I’d use magic to create illusions of a beastly animal that I would slay— my illusions spells have never been as good as yours, but I think they did the job. In the end, I’d give him a piece of the lover-honey cookie in order to wake Sleeping Beauty up, and his face would just brighten so much.”

“Isn’t the legend that Sleeping Beauty is awoken by a kiss?” Chat’s face scrunches in quiet humor. “Or were you afraid of making it awkward?”

“We were children,” She muses, but a blush stains her cheeks. “I— I didn’t— we were friends. I loved him, I did— but I wasn’t going to push him to make a decision he couldn’t make while sick. He never said anything about it, either. Besides, the cookie was more than enough to get him to smile and be happy, even if it was for a little while— that was enough for me.”

“Was it?” There’s something painful in his eyes when she looks back up to him.

She fists her shift between her fingers.

“I prayed to Tikki every night. Begging her, pleading that she’d give me more time with him— I also begged her to let him have enough time to be able to tell the truth to the person he loved. Goodness, I even started to pray to Plagg, hoping for a miracle of some kind that he’d hear me. Imagine that, a little Ladybug praying to a different god, just in hopes for a miracle.”

“I don’t think he minded it.” Chat’s voice is soft. “He loves Tikki, after all. I don’t think he minded hearing a prayer from a Ladybug.”

“I— I knew that his sickness was incurable, I knew that— but— maybe he could find just a bit of happiness— if a god had just heard— maybe—”

“You did okay.” She glances back up to Chat with wide, watering eyes. She can’t see him from the amount of tears she’s producing— his fist and claws are so gentle around her wrists as he gently tries to pull her hands off her shift. “You did all you could, Marinette.”

“But it wasn’t enough—”

“Marinette—”

“Adrien— he— he never got the chance to tell them. Whoever it was— they never got to hear it. That’s why I want him back, Chat— I want him to get the chance to tell the person he loves the truth.” Her breath turns ragged, hard, aching in her chest. “This has never been about me wanting to tell him— that isn’t why I want him back. I want him to have the choice— I want Adrien to be able to live and breathe and be happy and never be in pain ever again. My friend didn’t deserve what happened to him. I never even got to say goodbye to him, Chat.”

“You did everything you could— and everything you did helped him.” At what point in the night had he gotten closer to her? Or had she moved on the couch closer to him without realizing? “Adrien knew that. He knew that you were doing your best. Spending time with you must’ve been the only thing he cared about, you know.”

Her cries break her voice. “I— I showed up one day. My bag was so full of Nino’s letters. So full of cookies.”

Why does he look at her with such sad eyes? “Princess. It’s okay.”

“He wasn’t there.” She squeezes her eyes shut to the point it hurts. “He’d— he’d passed away the night before, I think. Sunshine in a boy. Gone. His room was completely— completely empty.”

“Marinette,”

“He was— he— he was totally gone. His father never mentioned anything to any of us. There was nothing. No— no funeral— not even a word.”

The demonic seals on her earlobes burn bright and painful as she continues to cry, and she can’t help herself as she presses her face where she can see the same seal glowing on Chat Noir’s chest, bright enough to light up under his night shirt.

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” His claws go through her unbound hair. “He’s going to be able to tell the person he loves. We’re going to get him to, I promise you. And you, my dearest little witch, are going to be able to tell him, too. I promise.”

His heartbeat is loud— gentle— soothing as she presses her ear onto his chest and listens, curling into his arms, tucking herself close as she cries.

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#fire lily au #marichatmay2021 #marichat may 2021 #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #marichat fic #witch marinette au #demon chat noir au #fragileizyadrienette

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squadrablog · 4 years

Note

Would you consider a reader (whatever gender interests you)/Ghiaccio fic? Scenario: he's trying to impress the person he's dating with White Album tricks to varying success. Most Ghiaccio content, regardless of if its reader!fic or not, writes him as abusive, demeaning, or boils him down to angry screaming and nothing else, so it'd be refreshing to see something that's not that!

I have to admit that the use of the word “tricks” really threw me off, but I pieced together some sort of coherent scenario based on the premise. Most of my work went into the other part of your request, because I 100% agree with your thoughts on Ghiaccio’s typical characterization. I hope you like it! (Also this goes for this fic as well as what I’ve written before but I haven’t mentioned it, my use of italics is preserved on Ao3 but not on tumblr. Just a heads up.)

Ghiaccio x They/them Reader (some feminine language used)

Ao3 Mirror Here.

Word Count: 5393

Warnings: Uhhh. None this time as far as I can tell!

Under cut for length!

“So are you going to help or not?” Ghiaccio grumbled under his breath. Formaggio was currently leaned back leisurely in the base’s common room recliner with a smug grin on his face, basking in the rare moment of Ghiaccio’s humility.

“Sorry, sorry,” Formaggio said, finally leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees and chin on top of his knuckles. “I just don’t want to forget the time that Ghiaccio came to me for relationship advice.”

Ghiaccio was practically biting down on his tongue to keep from snapping at him, but the truth was Formaggio was the most experienced in the art of romance relative to all his other squadmates and he really was desperate for any help he could get.

What else was he going to do, ask Melone? Yeah, right.

“I just need your help deciphering some shit they said, don’t get a big head about it,” Ghiaccio said, leaning back in his spot on the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re better than me at... people.” It was a tough thing to admit out loud, but Ghiaccio’s social awkwardness was of course no secret to anyone who knew him. For all the talent he had reading people’s intentions in the midst of a battle, when it came to his interpersonal relationships he felt less capable. Of course, that was on other people and their arbitrary social conventions, not him.

But you were different. You said what you meant and spoke in plain language without ulterior meanings or motivations, and you accommodated him and his idiosyncrasies in all the ways that mattered. In fact, you were such a nice change of pace from other people that he tended to overthink everything you said out of habit, projecting hidden meanings where they normally would have existed with others.

“Lay it on me, dude. I’ve gotcha,” Formaggio assured him, his smirk turning into something a bit more cordial and supportive. Ghiaccio let out a deep exhale before talking again.

“We were on a date and I don’t remember what we were even talking about, but they give me this… weird smile,” Ghiaccio began. “And they said ‘Ghiaccio, it’s okay to be more vulnerable around me.’ Said that I could ‘trust them,’ and that if things are going to get any more serious between us they want to see more of the ‘real me.’” He leaned forward as he steepled his fingers. “They know, don’t they?”

“Know what?” Formaggio asked, his eyebrow raised.

“What I do for a living, what else!? They figured it out and now they expect me to say it out loud,” Ghiaccio said, throwing his hands up in the air. “That’s what that means, right? The ‘real me’ they’re talking about?” Formaggio gave a small chuckle and Ghiaccio turned to shoot him a glare. What was so funny about your safety, as well as La Squadra’s, being compromised?

“Dude…” Formaggio said, trying his best to keep a straight face. “You’re fine, chill ou- I mean… calm down.” Ghiaccio mercifully let the original choice of words slide. “If they did know, that’s not how they’d bring it up. No, what they’re trying to tell you is,” Formaggio began, leaning over in the recliner towards the edge of the couch to clap his hand on Ghiaccio’s shoulder, looking him dead in the eyes, “you’re not romantic enough.”

Ghiaccio crinkled his nose at that, but tried to stop himself from getting immediately defensive. “What do you mean exactly?”

“I know you already know this, so don’t freak out if I actually say it, but you’re not exactly… the suavest guy. Or the best at flirting.”

“We’re already together, what do I have to flirt for?” Ghiaccio said, his eyes narrowing.

“See? That’s exactly what I mean! You said they like cute stuff and sweet foods and cuddling right? Someone like that definitely wants you getting a little mushy and lovey-dovey. Everything you say about them makes them out to be this real sweetheart, but the way you say it is always so… technical. So analytical!”

“They say my attention to detail is one of my best qualities,” Ghiaccio protested.

“I don’t doubt it. Look, you’ve got plenty of passion, and based on how much inane shit you know about them that I think they don’t even know about themself, you’re very attentive.” Formaggio might have chosen to say ‘neurotic’ instead, but it was obvious Ghiaccio genuinely loved you and he was trying to compliment him to soften his initial criticisms. “It just sounds like they’re looking for a different side from you as well. The charming heartthrob buried deep within that hard bitter exterior.”

“How is any of that the real me?” Ghiaccio asked, his eyebrows furrowed. Was this really what you had meant? Were you not satisfied by the way he was currently showing his affection? Did the ‘vulnerability’ you talked about really mean you wanted more sappy saccharine schlock?

“It isn’t… yet,” Formaggio said with a wink and a finger gun in his direction. “I’ve got a few ideas though that’ll spark that flame.”

“...I control ice,” Ghiaccio said flatly.

“That you do,” Formaggio said, his eyes twinkling. “That you do.”

---

“Hey, babe,” Ghiaccio said after you opened your front door for him, his posture a bit stiff, one hand behind his back, and his eyes staring at you intensely.

“Babe?” you asked with a laugh, raising your eyebrow. The usage of a nickname was strange enough on its own, but the way he said it was so wooden.

“Does that bother you?” he asked bluntly, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “Is there a name you prefer?”

“Whatever comes easiest,” you said with an amused smile.“Which for you is usually just my name, right?”

“I just thought I’d try it out,” he said with a shrug, trying to look unaffected by how you had brought attention to the unnatural way he said it. “Anyway, I got you this.”

Ghiaccio usually never came to your apartment empty handed. Before picking you up for a date he always met you at the door with the intention of handing off whatever he had before the two of you headed out. While they weren’t exactly ‘gifts,’ he always brought exactly what you needed, usually before you had even realized you needed it.

One time he came over and saw that you were low on milk, and the next day before you two headed out he had a gallon in his hand when you opened the door for him. Another time he brought a new lightbulb for the lamp in your living area, and once he replaced the old one you couldn’t believe you had been living in such awful lighting conditions for so long without realizing it. It had been the right wattage, right size, and it even had the LED filaments you liked that gave the light a warm natural texture.

Today he had a box of chocolates. You took the box and gave them a look-over. It clearly wasn’t from a grocery store; they looked expensive. Needlessly so. Sometimes Ghiaccio would spend a little extra on things he knew you really needed or things that you had personally expressed you wanted. You liked chocolates well enough, but they weren’t exactly your favorite, and you were pretty sure he already knew that.

“Fancy,” you murmured. “What’s the occasion?” You smiled up at him, tilting your head to the side. While you of course appreciated the gesture and were not ungrateful to receive free chocolate, it was very out of character for him and you were beginning to get suspicious.

“Do I need an excuse to treat you?” he asked, scratching the back of his head a bit sheepishly.

“I guess not. Thank you very much, Ghiaccio. I really appreciate it.” You said it genuinely, and you gave him one of your sweet smiles that always made him smile back involuntarily. You turned around to head to the kitchen and set them on the counter. “Let me just get my jacket and we’ll head out!” you called back at him.

“The weather is going to be warm today,” Ghiaccio blurted out, a bit too quickly. “I don’t think you’ll need it.” You turned around and your eyes raked over him before you met his gaze again.

“But you need one?”

He was indeed wearing a red athletic jacket, to match his glasses, over his black turtleneck shirt. He turned away from your eyes. “I dressed before I checked,” he mumbled as an excuse.

You supposed it seemed warm enough out, even if you thought you should bring your jacket just in case it got chilly later since the seasons were changing. But that still didn’t give a reasonable explanation for Ghiaccio’s behavior right now. You acquiesced, which seemed to appease him, and headed out with him to his car. You’d ask him what was on his mind once you were on the road.

“Hey, what’s that?” Ghiaccio asked suddenly, pointing to the side as the two of you approached his car in your complex’s parking lot. You followed the direction of his finger before you suddenly lost your footing on a smooth slippery surface, yelping and falling forward towards the asphalt in a mess of flailing limbs.

You were saved, however, by Ghiaccio’s arms catching you as you collided with his chest, awkwardly clutching at him, a bit frazzled by the near-fall.

“Watch your step,” he said, with something playful about his tone. You glanced up and he was giving you what looked like a friendly smile, although it didn’t reach his eyes. Usually if this kind of thing happened he’d be cursing under his breath as he fussed over you, making sure you were alright. While you were glad he wasn’t getting worked up right now, it still stood out as yet another strange change in behavior.

“Thanks…” you breathed out, righting yourself. His arms were wrapped around you just a moment longer than they needed to be, and when he let go you turned around to look at the ground, only to see nothing of interest. “What did I even slip on?”

“I don’t know, but I’m right here if you slip on anything else,” Ghiaccio said, his hand slapping down on your shoulder. You gave him an incredulous look, and a small huff. Now that you actually had time to process it you had to ask yourself what the hell happened. Was that fall somehow on purpose? If you didn’t know Ghiaccio any better you’d think he was just trying to play the dashing hero there. But you did know him better, which is why it didn’t add up.

“I probably wouldn’t have slipped if you hadn’t distracted me,” you asked, your eyes narrowing before you turned back towards the direction he had pointed earlier. “What were you even trying to show me?” It seemed like he didn’t have an explanation ready, fumbling over his words.

“Sorry,” was what he settled on, facing away from your gaze, his cheeks saturated with a bit more red as he looked properly embarrassed. Sorry for what exactly you weren’t entirely sure since it wasn’t an explanation, but you would drop it for the moment, if only to give him the proper time to come up with the right words. Obviously there was something deeper on his mind that was making him act strange, and when that was the case he needed time to reflect before he spoke so it didn’t come out as a frenzied incoherent mess.

It was quiet in the car at first, as he scrunched his eyebrows up while he got lost in thought. Once you had been driving for a bit he finally spoke. “You know I’m committed to this relationship, right?” he asked, his tone wavering just a bit.

You smiled. “Of course I know that. You show me that every time we’re together.”

“But I’ve never said it,” he said, sparing half a second to glance at you before his eyes were back on the road.

“You don’t need to.” You set your elbow down on the center console and turned towards him. “You’ve been really weird since you picked me up. Is everything okay, Ghiaccio?”

He quickly glanced over again and let out a small sigh. “I just want today’s date to be special.”

You gave him a quizzical look, which he couldn’t see, before leaning back in your chair. You hadn’t made any grand plans for today other than going for a walk at the park and getting some dinner together later in the evening, but perhaps Ghiaccio had planned some sort of surprise that he was nervous about? You’d let his weird behavior slide and not prompt him for details for now, as curious as you were, if it meant you were going to get a proper explanation eventually.

---

Ghiaccio knew he was already off to a bad start. Formaggio made it all sound so easy, but it seemed like the more he tried to turn up the charm the more awkward it made things. He hadn’t wanted to orchestrate a situation that would cause you to slip on some ice he summoned with White Album, but Formaggio said that saving you would get you all flustered. You mostly seemed annoyed. Ghiaccio just felt like an asshole.

Why did he spend so much money on chocolates when he could think of a dozen other sweets you’d enjoy way more? Formaggio said chocolates were ‘classic’ and the price tag would show just how thoughtful he was. He had spent so much time trying to find the highest quality chocolate possible that he forgot to pick you up shampoo like he had planned. Last time he was over at your place he noticed your hair smelled different, like the old backup shampoo you used when you ran out of the stuff you liked.

While the two of you took your stroll at the park Ghiaccio was a lot less talkative than usual, trying to split his attention between listening to you and convincing himself to go through with another one of Formaggio’s suggestions.

He slowly began lowering the temperature around the both of you in small increments over the course of your walk so that you wouldn’t notice the change right away, and although he had been uncharacteristically quiet so far he finally spoke up once he saw you shiver.

“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly, cutting you off just before you could finish your current sentence, which you were noticeably unhappy about.

“Yeah, a bit actually,” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself, looking up at the sky. “Even though it’s really sunny out.”

“Do you want to borrow my jacket?” Ghiaccio asked, already slipping it off himself.

“I wouldn’t need it if you’d let me bring my own,” you said, giving him a peeved look and a half-smile. He awkwardly started to drape the jacket over your shoulders. “But thanks.”

There was an uncomfortable pause in talking as you two walked for a bit before Ghiaccio said: “You look cute,” and after a beat, “In my jacket.”

You just shrugged, turning to give him a halfhearted smirk. “Bright red and sporty isn’t exactly my style.”

Ghiaccio let out an involuntary shiver of his own, not realizing he had unconsciously been letting the temperature continue to drop. You frowned at him before shrugging the jacket off and handing it back to him.

“I don’t need-” he grumbled defensively, but you moved to stand in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. You draped the jacket over his shoulders like he had done to you and then zipped him all the way up before he had even moved to put his arms through the sleeves properly.

“You look cuter in your own jacket,” you said, before walking on ahead while he fumbled with his arms, his cheeks heating up at the predicament you left him in. Once you were a little ways away and out of the range of where he had focused White Album you called back, “I think it’s warming up again, anyway!”

“Get back here, you clown!” he shouted back at you, finally getting his arms where they needed to be. Since that had panned out so poorly, Ghiaccio just called off his stand and jogged ahead until he was back in line with you. All this had managed to do was make him feel like a real jerk for telling you to leave your jacket at home just so he could offer you his. It was so utterly transparent, shamefully so.

“Hm… ‘clown’ sounds much more natural coming out of your mouth than ‘babe,’ does,” you said. You had a bit of a skip in your step that you didn’t have before, and he was glad that getting back at him had improved your mood. His expression softened when you smiled earnestly at him. You bit your lip for a second, looking a bit more hesitant, before you asked: “Are you done trying to be a romcom cliche yet?”

“Is that what I’m doing?” Ghiaccio said with a small scoff. Of course it was. Everything he’d been doing felt so fake in his own mind and body, so there was no way you weren’t seeing right through him.

“Is it not?” you asked with a quiet laugh, your smile falling just a bit. “Is there something wrong, Ghia?”

God, whenever you called him Ghia he always had a hard time keeping his cool. He grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, his gaze fixed forward and his jaw set tight, his face starting to match his jacket in color. “No,” he said firmly. “Nothing is wrong. I’m just being stupid.”

You squeezed his hand. He wasn’t big on PDA, and considering the context of everything else you were still unconvinced he was okay. “You don’t have to do things you don’t like just because-” you started, but he squeezed your hand a bit harder than you had to his.

“I’m holding your hand because I want to,” he said, plainly, if not a bit embarrassed. “Getting you chocolates was stupid, you never get chocolates on your own if you have a choice on sweets. Making you leave your jacket at home was stupid, you’re too pragmatic to rely on me to give you one, and too considerate to keep it on while I’m cold. But I’m doing this,” he said while giving your hand a softer squeeze, “because I want to.”

The matter-of-factness of it cleared all your doubts, and you blushed a bit yourself. Ghiaccio knew you very well, and it wasn’t empty flattery or false acts of chivalry that got your heart going. It was things like the systematic way in which he described the things he noticed you liked or that he found attractive about you. Or the way he surprised you with genuine moments of vulnerability like this that you longed to see more of.

The two of you finished out your walk in silence, a comfortable one this time, hand-in-hand.

---

“I do trust you,” Ghiaccio said, a bit of a non-sequitur since it was unprompted by your current topic of conversation. You were both at the restaurant that you had made reservations for, seated at an outdoor table on a rooftop with a nice overlook of Naples. You had your jacket on; Ghiaccio had insisted that the both of you go back to your apartment to pick it up, and now that you were out in the crisp early evening air you were glad. “I need you to know that I do.”

He scratched the back of his neck, thinking of the best way to say what he wanted to say. “But when you said you wanted me to be more vulnerable, what did you mean? Because it obviously wasn’t whatever the fuck I tried doing today.”

“That was your take on ‘vulnerability’?” you asked with a barely restrained laugh.

“No. It was Formaggio’s take,” he clarified, looking off into the distance with a grumpy expression. You had never met Formaggio, but you had heard many stories about the man and his various antics. “He said you wanted me to be more romantic.”

“Maybe? But not if it’s forced and you set up convoluted situations yourself like some sort of jackass chessmaster. I also said I wanted to see the ‘real you’. Where did that factor in?” You raised an eyebrow at him as you took another bite of your meal.

“I don’t know,” Ghiaccio admitted with a groan, poking at his food and scowling.

“When I said I want you to be vulnerable I meant that I want you to do things like… how you held my hand because that’s what you wanted to do, not because you thought you should. Or things like… I’ve seen you happy, and just about everyone has seen you angry, but I’ve never seen you sad, or afraid, or… well, I hadn’t seen you particularly shy before, but I guess you showed me that today, even if you weren’t trying to,” you said with a smirk.

“You don’t need to deal with my bullshit,” Ghiaccio said, looking at you with an unreadable expression. You frowned.

“Ghiaccio, I want to deal with your bullshit, I want you to rely on me! I also want to know more about the person you are on your own, outside this relationship. You’re always so closed off about things like your personal life.”

Ghiaccio looked back at his food with furrowed brows, stabbing at it a little harder and more frequently. “What if you don’t like the ‘real me’?”

“Ghiaccio.” You reached across the table to grab his free hand, but he just scrunched his neck further down into himself, withdrawing like a turtle. “I love you.”

He stared at you blankly, before his fork was clattering to the ground in his frantic attempt to take your hand in both of his. “Are you fucking serious!?” he spat out, causing several other diners to look over at your table. He had been thinking the same thing for a long while now, but he had been too anxious to say it out loud.

“Dead fucking serious,” you confirmed with a big smile.

In that moment he really felt like he could tell you everything. About Passione, about being an assassin, about stands, even about the lofty goals his squad had for taking the whole criminal empire for themselves. And maybe he would, but right now he realized that he was staring at you slack-jawed like an oaf.

“I love you too!” he said, letting go with one of his hands to slap the table to punctuate his next declarations. “So goddamn much, I’m thinking about you all the fucking time, about how much I don’t fucking deserve you, about how beautiful you are, about how you always eat what you like the least first so that you end your meals on the best note possible,” he said, gesturing to your plate of food, the central part of the dish still untouched as you worked on everything else around it. You brought your hand up to hide your growing blush and stifle a giddy chuckle. He would often compliment you, and he would often get worked up, but rarely did he ever get worked up over complimenting you.

“Ghia, you’re going to make a scene,” you said, more for the sake of appearances than anything as the other patrons watched your table. Honestly, you could listen to him shout praises at you all night.

Eventually after he got everything out of his system he was panting a little from the exertion of it all. “How’s that… for vulnerable…?” he asked between exhales.

“It’s an improvement,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“I had one last thing planned for our date, but I wasn’t sure if I should go through with it after everything.” He smiled at you, one of those rare gentle smiles where all the creases in his brow smoothed out. “But I think you’ll like it.”

“Oh?” you asked. So he did have a big surprise planned after all?

You waved a waiter over and after you paid the bill you and Ghiaccio were soon back in his car, driving down unfamiliar streets towards what was for you an unknown destination.

---

“What do you mean ‘closed for repairs’!?” Ghiaccio demanded of the person on the other side of his phone call, trying once again to open the locked doors in front of him. “The lights are on in there and I can see the rink from here! Looks frozen to me!”

After a few more frustrated exchanges on the call he hung up. “Apparently the system is malfunctioning and it’s not safe to skate on it,” Ghiaccio grumbled, pressing his face up against the door of the ice skating rink one more time, watching the various maintenance workers move about, pointedly ignoring the irate blue haired man banging on the front entrance.

“It’s okay, we can do it another time,” you consoled him. “I can’t ice skate anyway.” You had never expressed interest in it before, and while it seemed like a fun thing for a couple to do you weren’t exactly too excited about trying it or too disappointed that you couldn’t.

“We weren’t going to be-” he huffed out before trailing off, rubbing a hand down his face in annoyance. “Okay, originally Formaggio had pitched this as another one of his schemes, but I didn’t bring you here to pretend to teach you how to skate while you stumbled around. Instead I was thinking… I wanted to show you something.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Show me what?”

“Look… I’ve got one more idea to make this work out, and if it doesn’t then I’ll tell you. But I really want to show you first if I can. If we head out now it’ll still be light enough,” he insisted, heading back towards the car. You followed after him, your curiosity now piqued.

You two were in the car for a while as you noticed you were getting farther and farther away from the city and out onto the countryside. When you pulled up to a makeshift dirt parking lot at the top of a small hill you realized where you were.

“I used to come to this lake a lot when I was a kid,” you mused quietly. “I hope you aren’t thinking it’s going to be frozen over? It’s way too warm for that.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to see,” he said with a smug grin. You just raised an eyebrow at that response. “Can I ask you to stay in the car for a few minutes?”

“Sure…?” you said slowly, watching as he exited the car and disappeared down the side of the hill. Not too much time had passed and he was walking back up the hill and towards the back of the car, popping the trunk then closing it, before eventually coming around to your door. You opened it and let yourself out, noticing that Ghiaccio was holding laces in his hand with a pair of shoes slung it over his shoulder, and based on context those were probably ice skates. Did Ghiaccio really like skating enough to own his own pair? He’d never mentioned it as a hobby before today.

Soon the two of you were trudging through some dense foliage and over to the side of a lake that was inexplicably frozen. You stared at it, wide-eyed.

“What the…?” you muttered, turning towards Ghiaccio with an expression that demanded answers. He offered none, giving you another smug smile before sitting down on a rock. “How did you know it was going to be… it hasn’t even snowed yet this year!”

“I’ll tell you later tonight, if you really want to know,” he said. And he meant it. But right now there was something else he wanted to show you. “But I didn’t bring you here for the lake.”

You were able to suspend your incredulity for his sake, though it wasn’t easy. After the shock of the lake had fizzled out a little you watched him take the very nice, if not a little bit worn down, pair of ice skates in his hands. He slipped off the shoes he was currently wearing and slid his feet into the skates, lacing them up, while you watched him in silence.

“So you’re going to skate… by yourself?” you asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “And I’m just going to do what, watch?”

“That’s the idea,” he said, finishing up and standing himself upright, maneuvering to the lake’s edge, and before you could complain he shot you one last look, a genuine smile, before he pushed himself onto the ice.

Your boyfriend didn’t share a lot of things with you, but you were surprised that he never saw fit to mention the fact that he was apparently a professional Olympic-level figure skater. Your initial shock at the state of the lake was completely forgotten as you watched him dance across the ice with a level of precision and grace that you had never expected from the man.

And he was pulling out all the stops to show off for you. Spinning in the air, skating low and practically parallel to the ground, skating backwards, skating on one leg with the other poised far behind him in the air. Every jump he made looked too risky, too intense to possibly land smoothly, but as you stood mesmerized you could almost swear that the ice raised up to meet him each time.

After his initial bout of tricks, he skated back over to you and his face looked more relaxed and content than you had ever seen it. “Impressed?” he asked with a confident lilt to his voice.

“Ghia… you’re incredible,” you said, still in a daze. “Why didn’t you tell me you skated?”

“Because I don’t,” he said, his posture tensing a bit, his expression almost embarrassed. “Not anymore. I’m banned from every major figure skating organization in Italy.”

“Oh my God, what happened?” you muttered, finally snapping back to reality and looking up at him with concerned eyes.

“Scandals. Sabotage. None of it helped by my temper,” he grumbled. “It’s this whole big fucking complicated nightmare that I don’t want to talk about right now.” He gestured for you to come meet him at the edge of the lake, and you stepped forward, taking your hands in his as he held them out. “But I loved figure skating. It was the best time of my life, before I met you, and I’m tired of pretending that time never existed. Even if all I can do now is share it with you, then that’s still something.”

“Oh, Ghiaccio, it’s okay” you cried out, your tone consoling, wrapping your arms around him in a firm hug, causing him to stumble a bit on his skates. “I love you so much. Thank you for sharing this part of you with me. I love you, I love you!”

“I get it, I get it, I love you too, you’re going to push me over!” he yelled, trying to pry you off of him. Eventually you released him and stepped back to flash him a tender smile, tears threatening to spill over the corners of your eyes. “What are you crying for?” he muttered, looking away from your intense expression.

“You were crying first!” you shot back, your tears finally flowing. Ghiaccio brought his hand up to his face and realized that he had indeed been gently weeping for a while and it had gone completely unnoticed by him. He huffed before turning around and skating away. “Don’t you skate away from your feelings, Mister!” you called after him.

You watched him skate for some time, seeing him getting lost in his own world out on the lake, chasing after something he thought he’d left behind. He was beautiful. Utterly beautiful. The whole night had been magic, the impossible frozen lake something from another realm. Eventually it got too dark to see properly before the both of you headed up the hill to the car, hand-in-hand.

#ghiaccio x reader #la squadra #jojo imagines #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba x reader #my writing #anon #ghiaccio

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

To Tell You The Truth Part Six

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome, welcome! This whole chapter is like. Fluff, with a sprinkle of healing. Prime indulgence hours. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale @absurdthirst @cryptkeepersoul @fleetwoodmactshirt @88dragon06 @roxypeanut

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Ezra displayed your battered helmet alongside his own on the mantelpiece above the faux fireplace, the two domes leaned into one another as if engaged in private conversation.

Most evenings found both of you in the main room of his modest apartment, him pacing back and forth as he recounted various portions of his 'semi-fictitious' memoir that were giving him trouble, while you drew and offered input where you hoped it might be beneficial.

"My editor, Kevva bless him, dares to insinuate that I am too ponderously wordy for the average book market." Ezra bemoaned one evening, dramatically collapsing into a sprawl of limbs on the couch alongside you. "'Get to the point, Ezra!' As if it is that simple, to just trim the fat off the prize cut of loin without regard for the flavor it provides!" He spat indignantly.

"You are very…" you searched through all the fanciful words you had picked up from him, finally settling on, "verbose. Almost to a fault. Sometimes I wonder if you're deliberately taking three times as long to say something."

"If I am to be prolific with my speech, I would rather be saying somethin' that people are interested in listenin' to." Ezra retorted, sounding somewhat betrayed over you taking his editor's side. "I've endured countless lectures from individuals with some form of power over me and none of them possessed a modicum of eloquence. Their words were weapons of the bluntest sort: hackneyed and ramshackle and detestable." His voice dipped lower, gravelly and reverent. "I would rather a singular articulate quote to a thousand plain, lifeless, uninventive platitudes. Words are all I've ever had for most of my existence, gentle soul. They are a precious commodity gleaned not from the treacherous climes of some deadly moon, but from the stolen tomes and salvaged papers of civilization long past."

He rubbed his temples, obviously exasperated. You, on the other hand, were a bit flushed. His rants were always a joy to witness, whether you wanted to admit it or not. There was something about Ezra getting riled up that you found mesmerizing.

"I apologize, gentle soul. You are not here to be my sounding board, and I shall not treat you as such." He said finally, dragging his hands down his face. "I will not subject you to my bouts of tempestuous querulousness."

"Hey, you can talk to me all you want! I just wish I could contribute usefully to your musing, that's all. I'm not nearly as well-spoken, I'd hate to use a word wrong." You replied, grimacing. "Like querulous...querulousness."

"It means I am peeved. Cantankerous."

"You?" You gasped in mock-surprise.

He groaned, "I did not realize how astute you were." You spotted the corner of his mouth twitching upwards and you knew you had him, nudging your elbow into his side until he surrendered and gave you a lazy grin.

"Ezra, what does 'mercado' mean?"

He jerked upright out of his slump at that, looking confused. "Where did you hear that word?"

"From...you?" You replied uncertainly. "It was while we were still...um, in the tent, I had just finished with your arm and you were looking through my sketchbook." His blank stare prompted you to continue, "you saw a picture I drew of the west dock and you-"

"Oh!" Ezra gasped, his eyes brightening with comprehension. He bounded off the couch, vanishing into his room. You sat there, wholly bewildered, until he reemerged struggling into his coat. He seized your hands, tugging you upright and then kissing your forehead. "You precious, beautiful woman!" He praised. "I am so glad you reminded me of our blood pact, sworn over the battered salvage of my arm on that accursed moon."

"Uh." Precious. Beautiful. "Blood...pact?"

"Hurry up, hurry up, put on your coat!" Ezra demanded. You imagined you could see his blond streak fairly bristling with excitement. "We must go."

"Go?"

"To the mercado!" Again with that gratuitous, flamboyant roll of the 'r'. You were beginning to suspect that he was enjoying himself.

"What, now?" You asked, allowing yourself to be essentially spun into your long coat. "But it's dark out-"

"All the more reason to rush! If we aren't expedient, they may be closed when we get there!" He grabbed your hand once again. "Kevva waits for no man, gentle soul!"

...

You had never run the length of the Pug's west dock without some incredibly valid, logical reason. So the fact that you were currently running because you were being giddily dragged along by a large man who was far too invested in deep fried food spoke volumes toward the sheer amount of the things that had changed in your life.

"Wait, wait-" You finally had to stop him, your side aching from your haphazard sprint. Ezra halted, appearing confused as you wheezed for air. You clung to his hand a bit tighter than you meant to.

"What's wrong?" He asked worriedly.

"C-Can't-" you gasped. "Hurts. Gimme' a second."

"I--oh. Oh! Gentle soul, why didn't you voice your discomfort earlier?!" He erupted in a panic. "Sit down, sit, I'll-"

"No no, I'm okay. It's just a stitch." You tried to calm him, but he was having none of it.

"I must insist that you sit down, immediately." He implored, sounding distraught. "If I have caused you harm, if your wound-"

"Hey, I'm okay." You interrupted him firmly. "I'm just a little less...in-shape, you know? Tender still."

"I feel like a tyrant, I offer my most sincere reparations."

"Ezra, oh my gods. You're so dramatic." You half-laughed, your breath catching when he kissed your knuckles in contrition. "We can keep going, I just can't run across the entire dock."

"If you are certain, gentle soul?" Ezra asked, gesturing back the way you came and arching his brows. "We can always jettison this fanciful excursion, should you require a reprieve."

You shook your head, tugging on his hand. "Nope, we're already down here. Keep one foot moving. If we get there and they're closed, then I'll need a reprieve. To mourn my loss."

"Too true!" He agreed, mindfully shortening his strides. "It's not far now. Once we arrive, promise me you'll rest?"

"If you feed me, absolutely." You joked.

"I would love nothin' more than the opportunity to dote upon you, gentle soul."

You laughed for real this time, assuming he was playing along with your jibe. When he didn't join in, you tucked your chin down into the collar of your jacket in embarrassment. "Ezra, you...you take care of me all the time." You pointed out, feeling shy of all things.

"You are my partner." He answered simply.

Partner. "I...Damon, h-he-" You began to speak, but then choked off at the last second.

Ezra stopped dead and you closed your eyes, scolding yourself for starting something you knew you wouldn't finish. "Martyr's malfeasance." The brown-haired man cursed softly.

"I'm...I'm sorry," you hurried to apologize. "I don't know why I...just forget I said anything, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the fun."

"Every time I hear about him, he strikes me more and more as a man that I should have taken my sweet time disposin' of." Ezra snarled in that furiously cheery tone, his words stoking the tiny fire that you sheltered in your stomach.

Your grip on his hand tightened after a moment. "He didn't deserve the effort."

"Do not apologize for the shortcomings of others, gentle soul. I reiterate that I am here to listen if you need me. Though I warn you, I may not be able to keep from interruptin'." Ezra's eyes had gone dark with thought, his expression distressingly grim. "I am, at the end of the day, a loquacious fool." He perked up after a moment, pausing in front of a brightly-lit open air market. "Ah, and here we are! It appears that luck is with us, gentle soul, they do not close for another hour. Shall we fulfill our pact?"

The rest of your evening out was spent (intentionally or not, though you had your suspicions) effectively chasing off the shadow that recalling Damon had cast over you. Despite your protests, Ezra did end up feeding you half an order's worth of the delectable little sopaipillas, one by one.

...

When the rainy season hit, storms whipped through Puggart Bench and its wards with all the delicacy of a green prospector getting their hands on their first pull. It wasn't so much of an issue during the day; the sound of Ezra diligently expounding to himself usually muffled the howling winds or pouring rain. Late at night however, you couldn't help but imagine that the rumble of thunder was the pod striking the atmosphere, or that the rattling of the rain on the windowpanes was thrower fire. Your dreams turned frantic and riddled with nightmares. You even tried keeping your bedroom light on at one point to combat it, but it just amplified the shadows and gave your mind more fuel for its inventive fire.

You struggled in solitude for a good few nights, until one evening when you finally couldn't endure any longer. Surely he wouldn't mind, you would be quiet.

You slipped from your bed, bringing your pillow along as you padded down the hall to his room. Just as you reached for the keypad, the door slid open.

Ezra stood in front of you, a thin blanket and one of his pillows underneath his arm. He stared down at you. You stared up at him, your own pillow clutched tightly to your chest. "I..." he coughed awkwardly. "Er, the howling gale outside has...my nerves a bit...frayed. I merely-"

"Oh thank gods, I'm so glad it wasn't just me." You felt like you would burst with relief. "I was coming to ask if I could sleep in your room."

"What a novel coincidence! I was about to throw myself upon your mercies as well." Ezra winced at the thunder that boomed overhead after he spoke. "An expedient compromise is in order, gentle soul. We will adjourn to my quarters for this particular endeavor."

He stepped aside with a little bow and you entered the room, going to curl up on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Gentle soul, I think you've done enough proverbial listenin' at the teacher's feet to last a lifetime. Make yourself comfortable." He urged, spreading his blanket back out on the bed. "If we must weather this storm in conjunction, I would prefer you were nearer rather than farther."

You opened your mouth to protest and the wind whipped the rain against the windows with a hollow rattle, sounding for all the world like a thrower shot at range. Your fists clenched on your thighs.

Damon isn't here. It's just Ezra. It's only Ezra.

Ezra turned to face you after meticulously smoothing out the wrinkles in his blanket, his forced smile and hollow eyes reminding you that you weren't the only one haunted by ghosts of your past. He extended a hand and you grabbed hold, letting him pull you up off the floor.

You fell into him, burying your face in his chest for a selfish moment. "Thank you." You whispered, uncertain if he even heard you over the rumble of thunder.

Ezra pressed his lips to your hairline and then ushered you underneath the blankets. He was achingly chaste, as though he thought you might bolt if he showed any sort of blatant affection. Truly, you might have if it had been any other person. His tentative touch rested on your wrist for a moment before he laced his fingers together with yours.

"Your proximity is a balm to my troubled thoughts, gentle soul." He murmured. "You turn my mind to poetic wanderings; dalliances in sun-dappled clearings, rain that does not make me fear for my life." Ezra sighed, the noise barely audible. "All too often I am back there in my dreams; suffering mutiny, I am left to decompose until a gentle soul comes and pulls me up out of the weeds."

"I have nightmares about Damon." You confessed softly.

The grip he had on your fingers tightened ever so slightly. "I said I would not ask, and I will not tarnish that promise. I am here, gentle soul." His eyes searched your own, forehead furrowed with concern. "I have never trusted someone as I trust you. I have never...you fought alongside me, you placed your life in my hands, despite-" He paused, swallowing thickly. "You have earned all the time you might ever need. If it is mine to give, it is already yours."

His words, unwavering and slow, were what pushed you over the edge. In a voice that trembled and eventually broke, you finally told him everything. You held nothing in reserve, the terrible stories of all those nights in the pod tumbling out of you one after the other. You were so tired of carrying everything in silence, and talking about it...it was as though it made it all real. Tangible. Something that you could finally release.

Ezra was surprisingly still through the whole endeavor, the normally-animated man obviously reining himself in. The only indication of his own mental state was the way he occasionally rubbed his thumb over your knuckles as you spoke about particularly trying instances.

"So this is the explanation." He said hoarsely once you lapsed into silence once more. "This is the trauma that you bear upon your precious, gentle soul. I...You've held it so tightly for so long, even though it wounds you. What has changed?"

"I found you." You replied bluntly. It was nonsensically simple to say, but it was true. He inhaled sharply. "You could have killed me, but instead-"

"I couldn't have." Ezra denied, shaking his head. "I saw you and while I knew I could play the part of the villain, I couldn't have...I wouldn't do anythin' to you. If not simply because you didn't slaughter me where I stood, then when you told me you had that kit and you almost broke my jaw after I startled you." He worked his jaw for a moment, like he still felt the echo of your head slamming into it. "And that man, the Sader, tryin' to tempt me into tradin' you in like livestock…"

"Because of everything that happened to me before, I...I panicked. I shouldn't have. I should have trusted you."

Ezra shook his head. "You had every right. I apologize for makin' you feel as though I would have accepted that pittance. I should have discussed everythin' with you beforehand." Lightning flashed nearby and thunder boomed, making you flinch sharply. Ezra urged you closer, his ragged shirt pressing to your cheek as you hid your face in his chest. "Martyr's malfeasance, your tenderness carves the heart out of me." He whispered. "You make me wish I was a reputable individual."

You started to apologize and he waved it off, stroking the back of your head and lulling you to sleep.

Despite the comfort his proximity brought you, the nightmares still came. You woke up panicking, as you often did, struggling away from the grip of the man beside you. He grunted and reached out to switch on the bedside table lamp. Ezra. It was just Ezra. You scolded yourself for your reaction, beginning to apologize again. But he simply rolled over and pressed his forehead to yours, humming in his throat sleepily.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt as you slowly relaxed against him and he mumbled, "In my dreams you come to me, as timid and inexorable as the dawn," brown eyes already half-lidded again. He sounded like he was reciting something, the words slurred with exhaustion, "In my sleepless hours you find me, tremulous and waning like the starlight."

You closed your eyes, just listening to his voice and letting it soothe you back into a doze.

"For I am a lost man who wanders bright and dark, all for the fleeting glimpse of you…"

…

His right hand had some minor nerve damage, which was to be expected. The infection had crept deep. You noticed a distinct lack of buttons on a majority of his new clothing, zipper pulls apparently easier to operate left-handed.

As the storms grew worse though, so too did his hand. It would occasionally seize up in bad weather, which unfortunately was all the time during the rainy season. Ezra was thoroughly miserable, though he attempted to hide it. The rapid progress on editing his memoir slowed to a grinding crawl as he pecked away one-handed, keeping his right secured in a brace for most of the time.

"Kevva damn it." He swore one grey morning, struggling fiercely with the tie around his neck. He was supposed to meet with his publisher and he always tried to dress the part.

"Hey," You yawned from the kitchen doorway, "you okay?"

"Gentle soul I must beg your assistance, I will be late!" Ezra pleaded from the bathroom, his tone distressed.

You left your mug on the counter, stifling another yawn as you slipped into the bathroom and batted his hands away from his neck. "Hold still." You mumbled, barely awake. His fingers dug into the sink on either side of you as you worked. When you glanced up you saw that his eyes were bright with unshed tears, his gaze fixed determinedly on his own reflection in the mirror. "It's okay to be upset, you know."

His jaw worked and he swallowed hard, obviously disagreeing but unable to vocalize it.

"I got it. All done." You soothed, patting the knot flat. "You won't be late. Be sure to check your fly." His eyes widened in panic and his hands flew to his zipper, making you burst out laughing. "Not now, Ezra! When you get there!" You grinned, playfully bumping your knuckles into his stomach just above his belt.

Ezra's chuckle was a little watery, but you chose to ignore it to let him think he was saving face. "What would I do without you, gentle soul? Wander the streets half-dressed with my placket splayed, I imagine." He mused, pressing a fond kiss to your forehead. "Now, Kevva waits. I will return presently. I believe it would be prudent for you to begin amassin' your sketches. We seem to be in the final stages of pre-production."

"Isn't it exciting?" You asked brightly.

"I am nervous enough to void my stomach." Ezra admitted. He squeezed your hand tightly. "I wish you could come with me, gentle soul. You make me feel at ease."

"You should have woken me up earlier, then!"

"You would have come with me?" He sounded surprised, running his hands through his unruly hair in an effort to smooth it down. "These meetings are so toilsome. At least if you were there, my publisher might spare me his tedious lectures." His blond streak sprang back up once his hands had passed, continuing its perennial goal of sticking out at a rakish angle.

You reached up to gently tug on the unruly little tuft of hair, smiling at him. "Suffering is no fun if you're doing it alone."

"Misery does indeed love its company." He sighed, his hand shifting up to cup your own on his temple. "These hands of yours, I..." he paused, grimacing in pain and flexing his own fingers. "Dammit, I…"

"I'll be here when you get back." You said simply. "Just like any other day."

Ezra's eyes were dark with thought as he stared down at you, the silence stretching almost uncomfortably long. "I...of course. Yes." He replied, his voice quiet.

You weren't expecting the call from him several hours later. You were just tucking into your lunch when your headset began to chime and you scrambled across the kitchen to grab it. "Yes, oh esteemed roommate?" You greeted him in the usual manner, smiling even though he couldn't see you.

"Gentle soul, are you busy?"

You stared longingly at your lunch. "I was about to eat. What's up?"

"He wants to see your sketches."

Your heart dropped. You weren't sure why, it wasn't as if you hadn't anticipated needing to have your own work checked over. Deep down you had hoped they would have more important things to consider, but it couldn't be helped. "What, now?"

Ezra's words were strangely clipped, so different from his usual flowery speech. "I'll be returnin' shortly, if you're amenable?"

"Absolutely, absolutely. I'll get...I'll gather everything up." You hurriedly put your plate back into the cooler. "Are you okay?"

"He has been more abrasive than usual, but I anticipated as much." He sighed raggedly and you heard the sound of the starter. "I've been out of sorts since this mornin'." He confessed. "I am uncertain as to why. Perhaps it's simply the weight of my own mortality catchin' up to me."

Your hands stilled in the process of shoving all your hard copies together. "Ezra, did something happen?"

"Nothin' aside from my immaculate personage being stained with impotence in the most mundane task imaginable." Ezra griped.

"Don't scare me like that." You scolded him. "I understand you're upset, but please don't use words like mortality. Gets me nervous."

"Fear not, gentle soul. I'll plague you for a good few years yet." He teased. "I am simply mourning the loss of a certain autonomy. The rain will not last forever, but while it lingers I imagine my moods shall be as grim as a graveyard."

"You'll have to try harder than that, you...poetically dour thing, you." You retorted dryly, shoving your hard copies into your unused portfolio. His laughter was loud in your ear. You loved when he laughed like that, all bright and startled like you had surprised it out of him.

You loved a lot of things about him, if you were being honest.

…

His publisher was a man named Thomas Anglio. He was in his late fifties, purportedly had no sense of humor and wore suits that were immaculately tailored.

The man's lack of humor was probably due to the stress of his job, you reasoned charitably. Managing so many aspiring authors couldn't be an easy feat, especially when he also had to juggle a certain querulous someone. At least you knew Ezra was paying him generously.

The secretary waved Ezra on tiredly, already reaching for the next Serv tablet before he was even done signing the both of you in.

You trailed along behind him as he strode into Mr. Anglio's office, the dark-haired man the picture of easy confidence. "I present my illustrious, illustrative companion." Ezra introduced you grandly as Mr. Anglio rose from behind his desk. "Gentle soul, this is Mister Thomas Anglio, a stalwart friend and a fiercely fashionable silver fox."

"You flatter me, Ezra." Thomas sighed, shaking your hand. "Please, take a seat and show me what you have prepared."

You obliged nervously, your hands trembling slightly as you undid your first bundle of sketches. "I believe what Ezra wanted was to have them sort of...scattered through the book at key points. Headers for each chapter, as well." You spread the pages out on the desk and Thomas leaned forward to examine them.

"Ezra, you are not writing a children's book." He pointed out practically. "The subject matter of this...strangely-realistic fiction of yours is decidedly adult."

"I am wholly convinced that my tale will not be half as impactful without their sketches, Mr. Anglio." Ezra insisted firmly.

Thomas groaned, rubbing his temples. "At least I know you're not doing this just to pad the final page count." He settled back in his chair, leafing through the piles of sketches. You had tried to separate them out by chapter, though due to Ezra's constant revisions you were certain some of them were out of place. "You understand we will not be using all of these, correct?" Anglio seemed relieved when you nodded hurriedly.

"I thought it would be better to have too many than too few." You explained quietly.

"You have quite the knack for drawing." He mused, lingering on one stack in particular. "Your portraits of Ezra are remarkable."

You heard Ezra swallow loudly beside you. "Portraits…?" The former prospector echoed tentatively.

Your brain ran back to you scrambling to collect all your sketches, shutting your eyes in silent panic as you realized you must have shuffled in the extra ones you hadn't meant to bring along.

"Yes, these appear to be for the portion of the story where our brave hero barters with a mercenary gang for safe passage off the moon. If I'm recalling correctly, of course." Mr. Anglio slid the pile of sketches to Ezra, who snatched them up immediately.

You saw his brown eyes go wide and you quickly ducked your head, busying yourself with pretending to sort through the groups of sketches. This was what you got for being disorganized! There were only supposed to be one or two from that scene!

The rest of the meeting was spent whittling down the groups of sketches to two per chapter, or three if they were small enough. Thomas also politely requested that you retool a few things, "this woman's helmet looks dangerously close to that inquisitor's from the Second Illumination. The last thing any of us want is to be sued by a failed monarchy."

You would say that the meeting went well, but you were so busy dreading being alone with Ezra again that it was all a blur. You just knew that your copious amounts of sketches focused on him would be subject to thorough questioning. And well they should be, it was borderline obsessive.

The jut of his jaw, the strong profile of his aquiline nose, the streak of blond above his right temple...all lovingly captured time and again. With and without the helmet.

You were certain you would be lucky to escape unscathed, waiting in fear for the proverbial pot to boil over.

...

"All you needed to do was ask, gentle soul." Ezra finally drawled after watching you anxiously wring your hands for the majority of the ride back to Ward Twenty-Seven. "Had I known that you wished so fervently to render me artistically, I would have happily sat for hours that you might properly capture my magnanimous visage."

"Please, please don't be upset." You begged, your fists tight in your lap. "I'll move out, okay? I'll leave and...and you'll never have to see me again. I'll send you the revised story sketches over the Serv, I'll-" His hand reached for your leg over the center console and you almost jumped out of your skin. "Wait, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't-"

"Gentle soul, I am not aggrieved in the slightest." Ezra assured you quietly. "Breathe. You seem ready to go to pieces." He rubbed your thigh soothingly, back and forth. "Breathe."

"You...you're not angry with me?" You asked tentatively. And really, you ought to have established that from your time in the Green!

Angered Ezra was a looming thundercloud, he was magma barely contained by fragile crust. His fury, though an absolute force of nature, dissipated as soon as it arrived, like the outbursts wearied him too much to perpetuate and maintain. Damon had seethed and resurrected his anger whenever the mood struck him, so it was odd to engage with someone who seemed to deem the emotion more trouble than it was worth. You knew that the man currently in the driver's seat was a hundred times more likely to launch into a woebegone soliloquy about how tenuous material possessions were if he spilled tea on his shirt. But old habits died hard; you couldn't seem to keep yourself from getting wound up.

"Far from it! You capture my countenance in a way that is decidedly more flatterin' than any mirror." Ezra tilted his head. "I am...envious of the man you have drawn." He admitted softly. "I wish that he and I were one and the same."

You weren't quite sure what to say. At least he wasn't angry. Or he said he wasn't. If anything, he sounded...sad. "What do you mean?" You asked, your brow furrowed as you recalled what he had said the night you shared his bed.

You make me wish I was a reputable individual.

Ezra shrugged, sighing, "Nothin' at all, gentle soul. The rain is just makin' me morose, I'm afraid. I'll be glad to be home again."

Home.

"Want me to make some tea when we get home?"

The soft smile he directed your way had no business settling in your stomach the way that it did. "Of course! You are somehow better at makin' it than I, a true conundrum considering how long I toiled away to achieve my technique."

You almost didn't notice when his hand cautiously returned to your thigh.

Almost.

Part Seven

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disastrousxdebby · 3 years

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P-=

1 - What was the last thing you watched on TV? I was trying to watch the new season of American Horror Story but, this season seems like it's a bit iffy and rough with itself. It surely didn't keep my attention like other seasons have.

2 - Do you have the heating or air conditioning on at the moment? I have a fan on at the moment.

3 - When was the last time you did something to help someone else? I tried to talk to my coworker and help her out some... however, I feel like I may have not been able to help as much as I would have liked. x.x

4 - If you have a job, have you been busier or quieter since the whole COVID thing hit? In the beginning of it... it was really crazy and busy but, then it died down when there was a limit and curfew?! Then after things started opening again... it got crazy busy again but, usually in the winter it's quiet.

5 - Do you spend more time on your own or with others? Are you happy with that? I spend more time on my own with family. I would like to go out and hang out with others eventually. More or less... find a decent significant other. I have been single for five years and it's nice but, I still would like to think as well that there is someone out there for me. x'D I am a weirdo.

6 - Do you know anyone who has been diagnosed with autism? Yeah.

7 - Have you had your wisdom teeth removed? What about your tonsils or your appendix? I have my tonsils and appendix. I am trying to get my wisdom teeth removed because they cause issues for me. So... I have an appointment in September to get a cleaning done but, I really hope they can pull the teeth out as well asap.

8 - Are you scared of needles? Yeah huh.

9 - Do you dress more for comfort, fashion or practicality? I dress more for comfort now a days.

10 - When was the last time you smoked a cigarette? I don't smoke.

11 - Would you rather drink tea, coffee, hot chocolate or water? I should be drinking more water but, I can't go without coffee sadly.

12 - Do you have a lot of ornaments around your house? If I owned my own place... x'D I would definitely have a lot of decor around it. I have as much ornaments and decor I can around my mother's place. I even stick random stuff around her home and car. This morning I made another Parasyte sticker and stuck it on the back of my mother's van. My fave characters... Migi and Shinichi ...my other fave characters from the show are Murano and Ryoko Tamiya (more so because she was a mother... even though she was a parasyte and gave birth to a human child, she protected that human child with her all. You could tell how she changed with time... is what I feel.) Also, Kana I liked her as well.

13 - Do you own more books or DVD’s? I own more books.

14 - How often would you say you took surveys? I really like taking surverys and sharing with others if they are ever curious about me.

15 - Have you ever worn a uniform to school or work? They spoke about having students wear uniforms to school but, it never happened when I was going to school. I do have to wear a uniform at work ... it kind of sucks because I am an ASM and I feel like we should be able to have a bit more freedom in our clothing choice but, good news is that ... they allow us to wear blue jeans now! [[-=

16 - Who was the first person you had a sleepover with? Are you still in touch with that person today? I think the first person that I ever had a sleep over with was my best friend Lariah and we are grown now... so we have a lot that we do in our lives. We very rarely ever get to see one another or speak anymore sadly.

17 - When you were growing up, did you have any friends who were almost like family to you? Most definitely.

18 - Could you cook an entire Christmas or Thanksgiving Dinner entirely on your own with no help from other people or recipe books? For the most part, I think I would be able to do something of the sorts but, I still would need a tad bit of help.

19 - Do you cook from scratch or do you rely more on ready meals or frozen food? I really enjoy cooking from scratch but, because my schedule is so crazy and busy most times... I have to deal with the ready made stuff or frozen. x.x On my days off though... I tend to cook dinner sometimes and make that from scratch.

20 - What’s your favourite type of fast food? Is it something you eat often? I try to stay away from fast food however if I am out and about it's mostly burger king that I am grabbing and eating. x.x

21 - If you’ve been under a lockdown or stay-at-home order, what did you find the most difficult about it? I wish I could be under something of sorts sometimes.. I would have more time to craft. Aha... as long as I am getting paid for it and eventually I could go back to work. I never had a "pause" from work. I even got a letter stating that I was allowed to be out past the state's curfew because of work and being "essential".

22 - Do you still buy or read any magazines? Sometimes. The last two magazines that I brought were a health one and another one about sleep studies. I'm a geek or nerd. x.x

23 - As a teenager, what did you spend most of your pocket money or allowance on? Definitely food.

24 - Do you have much of a sweet tooth? Sometimes. I don't eat a lot of sugar often... but, I do have moments where I eat a lot of gummies and recently I tried chocolate covered roasted coffee beans and they are really yummy too.

25 - Are there any common “popular” foods that you don’t particularly like yourself? Have people ever told you you’re odd/strange for disliking that particular food? Mayo on sand. Peanut Butter and Jelly (ever two blue moons I may eat one of those sand.) I really don't favor any kind of mayo on my sand. unless it's a gas station made sand. it has to have extra oil and vinegar on it with the mayo and not just plain mayo but, for a sand it's just usually meat, cheese and the bread for me. I have been told I am pretty odd for such a thing.

26 - Likewise, are there are any commonly hated foods that you love? I guess frozen tater tots if that counts...haha...

27 - Would you rather eat pizza or pasta? Pizza.

28 - Do you own a lot of store loyalty cards? Nope.

29 - When was the last time you read a newspaper? A while ago.

30 - What kind of noises can you hear around you right now? My family. <3

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 4 years

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Riverdale should have been a Disney show

Riverdale should have been a Disney show. There I said it. I'll admit the first season was fine Great even. Self-contained with an intriguing mystery and you waited at the edge of your seat for what will happen next. But then... Part of the problem for me is because I've read the original comics since I was a girl. I still do get some from my mom, and the way they have changed the characters just bug me.Betty used to be the girl next door, always hopeful, smart, trying to figure out the mystery. And it was perfect that she was a reporter because Betty was always someone who valued honesty so her being the roving reporter was perfect. And her taking pills for anxiety or some sort of disorder was also a nice take because she does take on so much, and tries so hard to help and be good and nice and perfect. All the stress. Archie was also great in the first season. A bit horny, but he means well, and he truly is an average American boy so his big trouble of choosing between music and football. He's a klutz and sometimes his plans go sideways but he means well, he's all for family and Riverdale and school spirit. None of this whole Red Hood/semi mafia/wrestling nonsense. I actually really liked their take on Veronica, she still a bit materialistic and thinks she can depend on her wealth to get her out of trouble but I do like their take on trying to be enterneauripal and working to act less high class society girl as she was used to.

Jughead, I'm conflicted with. Because he's good I guess as a brooding, investigative journalist he's good. It fits the setting of the show. But I do have a soft spot for him as the sane man to Archie. Going about his business, surprisingly philosophical. And you can't forget the most important attribute to him. His love of food! I miss that. Like the one scene in season 1, I forget what exactly but basically he ordered burgers and when Cole Sprouse just protectively held the burger to him...such a nice touch. That sort of guy I can see as a DCOM. The genius ditz I guess it's called. But he's not dumb. He just prefers napping to being awake.

Now the others...omg.I have a bone to pick when it comes to the other characters in Riverdale. Josie and the Pussycats-- they are such lively musicians who solve crimes, sometimes in space. ABsolutely wasted here. Melody barely had any lines. And they didn't have Alex or Alexandra Cabot which was such a shame. I know, I know they're in the new Katy Keene show but having them be step-siblings who used to date is wrong and weird and bad and no! Stop having the twins in these shows with vaguly incesteous feelings. It's weird!

Kevin Keller, all his storylines revolve around his bfs or lack of bfs or how much he wants a bf. The Kevin of Archie comics was so much more well-rounded. He was head of ROTC, he was class president, he ran marathons, he was Veronica's bff, he was a reporter. He had an appetite to match Jughead's. He even had a brief crush on Jughead! He was so much better than this sham. He was confident in who he was and did his best to help others feel good about themselves too because he knows not everyone is lucky to come out as LGTBQ in a supportive environment.

Reggie. I think not giving him enough of an arc in season 1 really backfired because if he appears, it's only as Veronica's arm candy. Which is a shame because he is a good contrast to Archie. A bit richer yet a cheapskate. Thinks he's a casanova, loves being the class prankster. A modern day politician with his sweet words when all he cares about himself. Basically like

Yet he has his hidden depths with his neglectful workaholic parents and jealousy of Archie's popularity. Cheryl. Omg Cheryl. They have ruined you here. I'm sorry, I do NOT find any of her lines iconic. It's like she swallowed urban dictionary and a gothic novel and came out all jumbled in a google translate. She may be abused but the way she still treats others like shit and gaslights her gf and makes everything about her is just...ugh!!! OMg, comics Cheryl is actually fun and iconic. She's as rich and pretty as Veronica and unafraid to use it. She wants to be a star like a modern day influencer. She's a red-haired Sharpay Evans basically.

Also Jason, her twin whom they sadly killed off. He was also fun like a meaner, snobbier version of Reggie. But with a huge crush on Betty which I think could have been used to milk such drama.

Polly also got hit badly. She was a good older sister. She was a reporter, and inspired Betty's enviormental-feminist activities. A sane person. Not a cult worshipping cuckoo. Toni Topaz, ah she was so good in season 2 and then they made her Cheryl's arm candy. Alas. I liked her as a friend to Jughead. In the comics, she was his equal in food contests. That's no small feat. She was cool, and joined Betty's band and... she was her own person. Remember when Toni used to be a photographer for the South Side paper. Yeah. Basically Toni as a 3d character with personality. Please return.

Dilton. Oh Dilton. Once the smartest person in the Archie universe and they turned you into a survival freak to get killed by the gargoyle king. Or whomever. I just remember he got killed somehow. Honestly, they should have stuck to smart Dilton. They need a smart scientist there, cuz no one is using their brains in Riverdale.

Chuck. They have done you SUCH A DISSERVICE! So so bad. Chuck was a good person! He was a cartoonist, and a basketball player and Archie's friend. (Yeah, that's right Archie has friends in the comics. Even though Riverdale makes some effort to show Archie and Jug's bond, they're mainly consorting with their gfs. In the comics, they had guy nights. Reggie, Chuck, Kevin, Dilton, Moose. Come on show. Friendships are just as important.) And what did they do, make him a lying scumbag, turn him good and then have him arrested because of what Cheryl did! No, no no. Bad writers. Just no. Ethel Muggs. You have also been wronged in season 3. Making her a crazy freak. Ethel in season 1 was nice. Ethel in the comics is nice. Plain but with a good heart even though she had a slightly obsessive crush on Jughead. Here, making her cult worshipper.... smdh. Okay at this point I know I sound like a bitter, bitter person complaining how it'S nOt liKE tHe cOmICs. But hey, I admit season 1 was good even if they changed the characters a bit. It’s just that I watched Riverdale because of the property it derived from. Because of the comics. At the least I expected some faithfulness to the characters. Not make them all so inconsistent and crazy.

It's just the writing is so inconsistent! The plots hop around and so do their moods. Bughead and Choni broke up for one episode and then they got right back together. Even though they had VALID reasons to break up. Nope. That made fans mad. So they had to get back together. Ugh. And Archie got attacked by a bear and was so traumatized that he broke up with Veronica because "he's changed" for like two episodes before forgetting about it and going back to Veronica. Oh which brings me to the ridiculous "love triangle" of Archie/Reggie/Veronica where she couldn't choose. Please, Archie and Veronica were reuniting and planning to go run away for a weekend together. Reggie was completely forgotten until he walked in on them. And Veronica couldn't decide because she loves them both? No, she didn't. She may have felt bad to tell Reggie but it's not because she loved him. Forgetting a guy so quickly...yeah great proof of love. Horniness maybe. But her indecisiveness makes her look bad. Don’t tease a will they, won’t they when the answer is so obvious. If you're going to do something like that, you should have there be something called CONSEQUENCES! They can get back together but at least wait. Wait 8 episodes at least so they can have character development. But who am I kidding. Character development is not the goal of this show. The character's just move because the writer's want them too not because it fits their personalities. Such as Archie's grieved reaction for baby Teeth in season 3.

Not only do I have no idea when (the ridiculously named) Baby Teeth appeared, much less why Archie or I should care about his death. But sometimes the show juggles too much. Too many characters. Too many plots. It's all so ugh!!! So my final thought on this is... Riverdale should have been a disney channel sitcom. Archie comics are about family friendly entertainment and sometimes imparted lessons... well so does Disney. I get the appeal of having Riverdale reach a new teen generation, but from what I can see the only big thing Riverdale on CW is that it allows alcohol and gartituous sex scenes.

Which is another small gripe of mine. I can handle sex scenes (hello Magic Mike XXL) but so many at such inappropriate moments too It's like that scene in an action movie where they suddenly kiss when they should be running for their lives. No teen is that horny all the time. Plus there's always less is more. If one kisses so much it loses the meaning. If you think your shirtless Archie is going to distract me from lack of plot haha. No. Plot and consistency still sucks and shirtless Archie does not make it better.

But Riverdale as a Disney show can work. After all the comic stories are a bit formulaic. It's all high school hijinks. And all the characters fit an archetype. Archie, the protagonist. Veronica, the fashionista. Betty, the reporter. Jughead, the slacker. Reggie, the class clown/bad friend. Cheryl, the Sharpay, Kevin, the sane one. And if people want a season long story arc with dramatics, Disney can actually handle it too. After all they had the mysterious "threat' lurking in the background of My babysitter's a vampire season 2. Or the Juliet and Mason saga of Wizards of Waverly Place. And if people want adult situations, look on to Jessie. Rewatching an episode now, there were so many adult jokes and references that flew over my head so they could sneak those in. Heck, Disney channel is infamous for all the innuendos they manage. And they handle consistency. Cody and Bailey broke up in Suite life on deck, they actually stayed broken up for a good half season. Gabe matured from a prankster tween to teen in love in Good Luck Charlie. Actions have consequences, characters grow. Storytelling 101

And the best part is they don't even have to think too hard for the plots of the week. They literally can build on stories from the comics. All 80 years of it. And I have put some examples right here from my own Archie comics. Like Veronica literally being the fashion police.