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albino-whumpee · 3 years ago

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On those quiet moments

As part of the editing, I decided to put 3 chapters into this one, collecting Sann´s experience at Zarai´s and how his relationship with Albus gets more intimate. Hope you enjoy it! (the first one requested by @liliability the second is inspired by this post by @whump-galaxy and the third one was requested by anon)

Taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread@starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @twistedcaretaker

Ok, god, this has been so so long in my drafts I´m so sorry.

I wanted to make something cute for this, I really tried, but Sann is opening up to me with a lot of dark stuff, so I will kind of share some of it? Hope you like it~

CW// Dehumanization, pet whump, creepy whumper, trauma recovery, collars, mental games, past noncon and dubcon touching, conditioning muzzles, conditioning, emotional whump, slight spice, mentioned past torture, scars, identity issues and trauma survivor navigating consent and relationships. Ask to tag!

“Sann” the boy whispered to himself inside the crate he had arrived to the Glass mansion “Sann. My name´s Sann” he said to himself over and over as he tried to keep his mind away from the cold, from the pain of the bruises and beatings and the smell of other people. “Sann…”

His name was the first thing his Master gave him. Then the collar around his neck. A soft black leather band with golden buckles.

It meant Sann was his, and he had the right to do whatever he wanted to him.

Sann had expected to have his name called sweetly, gently pulled to his chest and be rewarded for his services. But his wishes were nobody´s concerns. Neither his comfort nor his happiness.

He was Robert Glass´s Romantic and he would obey his every whim.

He would stay put when he ordered him to. Watch how he took out his knife, or the belts, or the cane and the handcuffs and he would extend his wrists out and let him mark his body as he wished.

He would scream and shiver when he put the shock collar and slipped on the hood before leaving him tied in the basement for hours or even days, when he got sick of seeing his face.

He would go when he was called and smile when he ordered him to. He would take the beatings, the whipping and the tight ropes holding him in place for hours until his Master came to untie him and laugh when he plummeted to the ground made a shivering, crying mess behind the hood.

Despite all of it, he still held his hand, despite every second of screaming and begging, and rubbed raw wrists and ankles, he still called him Sirius sometimes.

Sometimes, when he wasn´t Sann, he would be kind. Sometimes, when they were alone on their way to another place, in the dark above the clouds, he would free him from his tight bindings. He would gently unbuckle the muzzle on his face and pull him up his lap to sooth his wedges and cuts and all the burns in his body.

“Quiet” the man would say as his stroke his cheek and slipped his hand down his thin shirt. Down his pants.

Sann would never admit now, sitting comfortably next to Al, head resting on his chest or chin on his shoulders, getting drunk in the fragrance of safety the albino induced, how Robert´s lips against his skin gave him goosebumps. How the man´s gentle shushing and hands felt like, when he played the game his father bought Sann for.

In the morning, he would be tied and muzzled all over again. However, when he got one second of solitude, Sann would pass his fingers over his lips. Wondering, if they could reach a point where the brusqueness of Sann´s kisses could be put aside for the gentleness of Sirius´s.

How much he had desired Robert to call him by the name of the person he longed for again, kissed the corner of his mouth and the tattooed lunars on his neck with affection Sann was forbidden from, and how earnestly, he had tried to keep him playing, to taste a little bit of the real love the man had to give, was his deepest secret.

It had been such a fierce desire, yet the dream cracked and crumbled when he took his voice.

By the time his Master took him to Zarai´s Christmas party and he met Albus, he had completely given up on getting kissed with love again.

It was slow, it took a while to stare at Albus with his shyness and odd ways of putting a smile on his face or tend invisible wounds he soothed with his presence alone, so the desire could ignite on his chest. Not the artificial warmth of letting his mind slip into the safety of his programming, but allow Sann, himself, to touch that flame and not burn on it.

Until one day, after Albus and Ma´am came from work, vibrating from accomplishment and pride, his happiness bled into him and Sann kissed him. He had seen how his face turned completely red but ended melting in his lips.

He wasn´t always sure if he was allowed to feel it as Sann, but with Albus, he didn´t have to whisper someone else´s name to hope there would be no pain later.

Being Sann was enough to be loved.

“I told you I´m not an artist” Sann said as Albus giggled at his fake, badly drawn mustache on the mirror.

They were once again alone at home, their owners going out for the weekend meant they had the house all to themselves and keys to go outside if they wished to. Sann had spent the whole weekend trying to teach Albus how to swim and laughing at his childish splashing. After so much time under the sun, a massive amount of freckles and small rashes had sprouted on their burnt skin, hence why they had rested the last day before their owners came back and applied sunscreen and cream on each other´s back before laying down in the couch.

In Albus´ teasing about the new freckles in the other´s back, Sann had picked up the pen they had been using for an hour now to paint on each other´s skin.

“What do you say? Should I let one grow?” The other said looking at himself side by side. Sann stared at him for a long moment. In all the time since he had become Zarai´s property, he had never seen him use a razor.

“Can you?” he asked finally after a moment.

“Possibly not” he giggled taking the pen they had been using to doodle over their faces “But you would look handsome with a beard, should we try see?”

Sann shook his head as he swooshed away the other boy´s hands, unable to stop the smile on his face. Would he? His Master never let it grow, after all.

“Ok, ok. Give me your hand” Albus said extending his arm with a pen on the other. The taller boy looked at his hand and then at him, arching an eyebrow. “C´mon, it´s nothing bad, I swear” he flashed a little smile at him.

Sann put his hand on his, puzzled at the way the other watched and traced the burns and cuts extending all the way from the back of his hand to his forearm, more underneath the flamingo shirt he was wearing then. Webs of them hid from the view below his clothes when it was a “don´t wanna show” day.

His fingers ghosted the diagonal lines on his wrists and moved to the circular, old scars of cigarette burns, before doing that flip with his pen to settle it over his skin.

“Would you like something in particular?” Albus asked looking up at him through his lashes. White like the rest of him, hiding that beautiful gleam of red. Sann made a vague gesture as if saying go ahead and surprise him.

Albus was careful to not put too much pressure and the pen´s ink was cold, but after a while, he could find it almost soothing. Even better for Sann as he couldn´t get bored of seeing the other stick his tongue out just like every time he got completely focused.

“There, look” The other told him suddenly, just as his eyes went down to find the burns with blue lines that made them look like meteors, a few of the cuts made to look like an alien ship flying by, his own freckles made to look like stars, connected to other freckles with a pointed line. Right on the back of his hand, there was a telescope.

Sann passed his fingers over them with widened eyes and then his expression softened. Never thinking he would like to see the scars over his skin. He was not afraid of showing them, he didn´t care anymore, but he never thought they could be pretty to look at.

“Can you do the other?” Sann asked him with a warm feeling extending over his chest.

“If you let me paint a beard”

“Forget it”

“Oh, c´mon!” Albus laughed.

Being Zarai´s came with perks he would have called luxuries with his Master. A soft bed to sleep in where he wouldn´t be woken up to be dragged up the mattress and then tightly tied face down with his ass up in the middle of the night. That wouldn´t happen. He could sleep tangled up with Albus and he could be sure he wouldn’t wake up with an unusual pain in the back of his throat, but instead he would be woke up when the albino tried to leave the bed as silently as possible, but when he failed and Sann clung to his shirt, the albino would greet him with a kiss in his forehead and a whispered “good morning”.

Sann spent most of his time alone at the house. Carrying the three legged cat all around the house as he searched for things to do. He could swim at the pool and step out of the house whenever he wanted. He even had access to the TV, laptop and all the books at the studio. He had so much freedom suddenly, at the beginning he had knelt in the middle of the house and waited. Expecting it to be a game where Zarai would appear out of nowhere to punish him for his incredulity. He had rather play it safe. But a few months later, the scared boy was curled up in the sofa watching videos about how to build a hinge for a prosthetic leg for the cat purring in his lap. He still had the habit to look around every few minutes just to make sure nobody would come to hit him.

It had been a reflex to scrunch his eyes when Zarai pulled her hand up behind him one night. The woman and the albino were working in another project together and had stayed working until deep into the night. Sann had taken that time to make them company in the living room working on the latex prosthetic and was so focused on it, he hadn´t noticed it was already past three when Zarai tried to touch him.

He knew she wasn´t the type to hit her pets, he knew it and yet his breathing still got cut short when she called for him and the only thing he saw was her hand growing closer. He hadn´t even noticed he had put his arms around his head defensively until she called for him again.

“Sann?” she asked, gently pulling his arms away to see his terrified face. “I´m sorry, I didn´t mean to scare you” she said as the boy pulled his arms down slowly to sign sorry while shaking his head. “It´s kind of late already and my assistant is taking a break” she said nodding at the boy peacefully sleeping with his arms over the dining table with a blanket draped over his shoulders. “I´ll be working a bit longer, but I´ll need some help. Could you give me a hand, Sann?”

The pet´s eyes widened at her before giving a hesitating nod. After a while, Sann was sitting in the ground working on the spreadsheets scattered in the coffee table while Zarai revised her part of the work when Sann felt something fuzzy covering his shoulders. When he turned to see her, clinging to the blanket, the woman looked at him for a moment before slowly pulling her hand up to his hair. The boy flinched away slightly, but as her fingers ran through his hair smoothly, the boy let his defenses down one stroke at a time. Each stroke a little closer, making him a little less stiff, until finally, he leaned into her hand with closed eyes when she cupped his face in her hand.

For a second he doubted if he needed to go further, if it was necessary for him to show eagerness but after a second she simply went back to her work, her hand going back to her lap not looking for anything else to happen. In fact, the next time she touched him, it was only to put the slipping blanket back over his shoulders.

It was a warmth he had never had so freely given at Robert Glass´ mansion.

At his Master’s house, he would sit idly by the bed and wait for the guest to come inside the room, just as ordered. His knees were callous with how much he knelt, but his body still resisted to get used to the cold when wearing just the black leather harness and collar while waiting.

The first time he had serviced another person that wasn’t his Master by his orders, his heart thrummed on his ears like a war band. It had been with many people watching, many of who he had pleased right after the other. He had pleaded in vain, made them laugh when he begged to be forgiven and reserved to only his Master. His heart had raced and lost strength over and over, so many times now, that in the silence of the guest room on those nights he waited for the guest to come inside, it was calm.

A firm rhythm that stuttered whenever he heard steps outside. That smothered when they went away and beat with renewed strength, when the door opened to a face he hadn’t seen before, yet looked amused and pleased when they stared down at him.

His mind wondered sometimes, if the albino would ever look at him that way, but the thought quickly vanished.

There was one night he fled to the studio when nightmares came for him -Of past games his Master played with him and he had no chance of winning, nor of escaping the punishment for losing- when he knelt next to the couch and woke him up with ragged sobs and face filled with tears. The albino had rushed to straighten up and sat on the ground with him, allowing him to bury his face on his chest and cry.

After he had dried himself of tears to shed, when his cheeks were red and his eyes hurt from the strain on his head, he realized the thundering thrum of his heartbeat would be quiet.

Being held was a privilege back then, but with him, it was not earned by winning a game. Nor was expected to make his heart race all over again when sleeping together.

It was strange…a placebo, maybe, to have a pillow that prevented him from slipping his hand below the other boy´s waistband when training took over his judgement. It was a rule to have it between them if Albus was going to start sleeping with him and he was definitely trying his best to keep it that way, getting used to it was quick.

But after so many nights of being woken up to collect Sann on his arms, Albus was exhausted. He had forgotten to put the pillow between them and Sann had to shake him awake a few times so he could change and slip inside the bed. Still, he had an arm over his waist.

Sann´s heart picked up when Albus pressed himself against him. Feeling his face nuzzling against his back just making it drum harder. He could feel him so well, yet, he didn´t dare to move at all. He couldn´t even hear him over the loud ba-thump, ba-thump reverberating on his head.

The shock on those red eyes, cowering on the edge of the bed was something he never wanted to see again.

So when he jolted at the other´s half asleep groan, afraid he had moved, only to notice he was trying to retrieve the arm he was crushing underneath him, he giggled wryly.

He could hear his heart get quieter as the albino retrieved his arm, most probably numbed out, with half opened eyes, he brushed his cheek with his other hand and mumbled a thanks under his breath before going back to sleep.

Sann then tried to follow, taking his hand on his own and curling around it like a cat. Effectively stopping the wild drumming on his ears that become, ever so slowly, a soft murmur that melted with the sound of soft breathing.

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wkemeup · 5 years ago

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By Any Other Name (3)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.9k warnings: flirty heart eyes, excessive emphasis on fluff, love is in the AIR, the knowledge that these happy times won’t last forever....... 👀 🌹series masterlist 🌹

“You did what now?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, explicitly ignoring Sam’s full-bellied laugh as he struggled not to spill the open lidded coffee cup on the impossibly small table between them. There were near tears in his eyes and patrons of the Brooklyn based café were all staring in their direction. Bucky tugged the bridge of his baseball cap lower over his eyes.

“Leave him alone, Sam. It was a good idea,” Steve warned, voice low, as he turned to Bucky to clap a hand on his shoulder. He gripped at the muscle, massaging the tender scar tissue, before dropping his grip. “It gave him an in with Y/n. He needs to work on building that foundation of trust before he can start figuring out what she knows about Hydra. Ain’t that right, Buck?”

Bucky nodded, his lips pressing to a thin line, though it felt forced, jarring against his features.

“Yeah.”

He could still picture the shock in your eyes; the surprise and the realization as he placed the book in your hands. He had thought for a minute that you were going to laugh at him and discard the old, worn down copy he’d stolen from his high school library as a sophomore because it in no way compared to the first edition novels worth thousands of dollars sitting upon your shelves, but the smile that lifted your lips had made his heart feel like it was going to burst out of his chest.

Sure, maybe there was a part of him that knew that your library and your clear love of fiction would be an easy target to begin building a connection, a layer of trust, before he could start getting the information from you he needed, but it wasn’t why he’d spent two hours tearing apart his childhood bedroom in search of the book.

He wanted to see you smile again.

He wanted to see your eyes light up and the way you bite on the corner of your lip. There was just something about it that made his stomach twist in knots, that made his own mouth start to curve at the edges, and his heart beat just a little quicker. It was so rare to see it from you, especially in the days your husband lingered around, but suddenly, it was all he could think about.

He could have asked for the funds from the Bureau to buy you the first edition, writing it off as a necessary expense for his cover, but somehow, he knew you’d appreciate the hand-me-down copy more. It had character and a history. It was messy, and a little broken; a glimpse into his life, his real life, something he was never supposed to cross the boundaries of, but it served its purpose.

He’d seen you around the house carrying it under your arm for nearly four days after he’d given it to you. Sometimes he’d spot you sitting in the living room, nose deep in the pages as he walked in the front door behind Rumlow before you’d get up and quickly escape to your library without a word to your husband, though you stopped and caught his eye before you left, holding up the book so he knew you were reading it and giving him that short, stolen smile before you disappeared.

You had run into him on the fifth day and swatted him with the book in a rare moment when he was standing by himself in the kitchen, Rumlow having gone up to the office to gather some paperwork before they were meant to head to the Lernaean.

“What did this poor book ever do to you?” you had teased him, flipping open the pages of his copy of A Farewell to Arms to find stains of Dorito dust in the folds on page 76, mindless doodles done in blue ink pen on the top corner of page 117, and a sticky note taped to the inside back cover of a crude drawing of a lanky, high school version of Steve with big angry eyebrows and a boxing gloves held up by his face.

“Sorry, I guess I should have looked it over before I lent it to you.” Bucky laughed, swiping the book back from your hands and earning a pout in return. “I mean if you don’t want to finish it, I’ll just take it b--”

“I never said I was done with it, you vandal!”

Your laugh was like music to his ears, melodic and captivating, and he hated the moments you cut it off short and closed it away to the darkest parts of yourself; moments like when your husband walked back into the room.

Rumlow had eyed you with a kind of look you must have been familiar with because your smile fell away instantly and Bucky released the book to your grasp. You held it down by your hips, eyes glued to the floor. He had watched as you left the room without another word, book gripped so tightly in your hands, the pages started to crinkle.

He knew what he was feeling was dangerous. It went against every code he swore an oath to. He’d be pulled from the case the second Director Fury got wind of his personal attachment to you – if that’s what he was going to call it. There wasn’t really a way to describe what he was feeling.

Infatuation. Admiration. Longing. Ease. Attraction.

He didn’t know.

All he knew was that he wanted to see you smile more, wanted to knock Rumlow’s teeth in for more reasons than why he was stationed undercover within Hydra in the first place. He wanted to know why you were involved in this world to begin with and how you ended up trapped in a marriage you clearly wanted nothing to do with.

He wanted to protect you from all this; from Hydra, from his investigation.

A few conversations, a couple smiles from across the rooms, and it changed everything.

“Buck? You awake in there?” Sam chuckled, tapping a finger on Bucky’s forehead until he swatted his hand away with a grunt.

“Knock it off, Wilson,” Bucky grumbled, bending down to take a sip of the burning hot coffee resting in his grasp. It stung on his lips but he swallowed it back anyway, the heat of it warming down through his chest.

“It’s been almost two months,” Steve said casually, “how have you been holding up?”

Bucky glanced around at the busy café. It wasn’t unusual for them to meet in public places and talk about the case, as long as they kept details vague and didn’t draw any attention. Hell, Bucky just needed an outlet sometimes outside of the conference rooms and safe houses he usually met the team in. He was thankful Nat typically elected out of their Sunday coffee runs because she was always able to read him like a hawk, and he was certain she’d be able to pick up on his affection towards you in an instant.

“It’s fine,” Bucky shrugged. “Boss is still a piece of shit.”

“Yeah, well, we already knew that,” Sam agreed, pursing his lips with a shake of his head.

“You said there were some guys there who seemed to be blackmailed into their work?” Steve asked, voice a little quieter now.

Bucky nodded. “Seems that way. Not everyone is there by choice. Still working out the details of who but I’ve got a list going for Nat when we meet up next week. I’m supposed to be stationed out on the docks this week so I’ll talk to the guys then.”

“Good, good,” Steve said. He paused for a moment, staring down into his coffee, studying the swirl of the soft chestnut coloring. “You being careful?”

Bucky smiled at that. For a kid who spent his youth getting himself into trouble and leaving Bucky to watch over his back, he sure as hell got protective himself once his body grew into his rebellious and reckless attitude.

“Yeah, pal, you know I always am.”

“Something just feels different about this one,” Steve said, leaning back into his chair. A woman behind the counter was staring at him, and he cleared his throat awkwardly upon noticing her eyes, shrugging the collar of his jacket up to cover the pink blush in his cheeks.

“Well this is the biggest profile case we’ve tackled,” Sam offered casually as he took a sip of his coffee, grinning at the way the girl at the counter shamelessly ogled at Steve.

“I don’t like that he’s in there so deep with no one to watch his six,” Steve shook his head, teeth gritted.

“I’m not alone and you know it,” Bucky responded, reaching across the table to grab a firm hold of Steve’s forearm, squeezing just enough to get him to meet his eye. There was hesitancy there and Steve wasn’t usually one to worry. “I’ve got you guys, remember?”

“You just need to watch yourself, alright?” Steve exhaled, patting at Bucky’s hand until he released his arm. “This is the first time you’ve been put in so close to the target. You spent most of your time in his house, Buck, and with Fury tellin’ you to get close to the wife, I just... I worry there’s too much on your shoulders and somethings going to fall through the cracks.”

Bucky sighed, exchanging a quick look with Sam who’s teasing smile had faded away upon noticing the genuine concern and anxiety in their friend.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to him, Steve,” Sam said, sending a wink at Bucky before he added, “you know he’d never let us hear the end of it.”

Bucky laughed, nodding. “Damn straight.”

Sam punched at Steve’s shoulder, grinning again, and didn’t let up until Steve finally relaxed and sat up further in his chair, the tension clearly washing from his muscles.

“Now that that’s all settled,” Sam teased, clapping Steve on the shoulder, “how about we focus on getting you the pretty barista’s number?”

***

Sundays used to be your only good days.

You used to find solace in warm teas and coffees from Café Ramos and freshly baked bagels from the Marselli’s; freedom in the wind gusting through the open back streets of Queens. Far away from tourists and amongst the bodegas and apartment buildings, you walked dozens of blocks from where your driver dropped you off; an added precaution to keep Brock from tracking down where you spent your time, and who you met up with.

Peter was sitting on the stoop of the brownstone, cheek resting on his hand and slouching up his face as he stared down at his phone. There was a lovesick look in his eye and you wondered if he ever got around to asking that girl out from school he’d been crushing on.

He was a sweet kid. Kind. Compassionate. Intelligent beyond belief. But his optimism and habit of overlooking flaws to see the best in someone, while admirable, was dangerous. It was why you worked so hard to keep him away from Brock. Your husband had a talent of convincing kids like that with an eagerness to please and a family tight on cash to join his ranks.

Peter was like a brother to you, having grown up with him running around your father’s house at all hours of the day when Aunt May was working, but lately, you kept him at an arm's length. You never let him over at the house, kept details vague about Brock’s employment, and insisted on walking the fourteen blocks to his apartment to pick him up, even when he offered to meet you at the subway stop near where your driver dropped you off.

He was a sweet kid, but he was naïve. Young. He had some learning to do. It was what you liked so much about him. You could use a little unending joy and positivity in your life.

“Hey Aunt May!” you called, waving at her as she walked by the front window folding a shirt from the dryer. She paused, turning towards you with a big smile and made her way to the door.

Peter had nearly fallen over on himself, clutching at his chest, his phone on the ground where it flung from his hands upon your sudden arrival.

“You okay there, kid?” you laughed, bending down to pick up his phone. No cracks. You handed it back to him with a wink.

He chuckled nervously, brushing off the screen with the edge of his shirt. “You scared me.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so nose deep in your phone, Z.”

“Yeah, okay, Mil.”

“Z? Mil? You two develop another coded language or am I losing it?” Aunt May folded her arms over her chest as she leaned against the frame of the door.

“Gen Z,” Peter explained, pointing to himself, and then to you, “Millennial.”

You and Peter had some years between one another and, sure, you didn’t always understand the other’s lingo or quirks in their behavior, but it didn’t make much difference to either of you. It was another reason to poke fun at each other. Siblings were like that.

“I still think it’s funny you spend as much time together as you do,” Aunt May smiled.

“Hey, I keep him out of trouble!”

“-- and I keep her young.”

“Okay, watch yourself, kid,” you warned, laughing as you poked him hard in the side, causing him to jump away a few feet to escape another attack.

Aunt May always did like you being around so much after Uncle Ben died. Peter didn’t take it so well, not after losing his parents too, so he spent hours every day at your house when Aunt May was on shift at the hospital. You’d occupy his time and keep his mind from wondering back to finding his uncle in the streets, alone and bleeding. He was so young when it happened, you were surprised that when your father died just a few years later, he had insisted on doing the same for you.

The years between you didn’t matter. Not when it came to a bond like that.

“Will you come say hi already?” Aunt May teased, stomping her foot playfully as she opened her arms to you and you rushed up the stoop to fall into her embrace. She smelled of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and you peaked around the corner to find trays lined up on the kitchen table. Your stomach growled.

“Do I smell--”

“You want some before we go?” Peter asked before shoving his way inside, not quite bothering to wait for an answer as he started grabbing a few cookies from the table, bouncing a particularly hot one between his hands before he shoved it in his mouth.

He grabbed two for you, slipping them into your outstretched hand as you stepped out of Aunt May’s hold. She smiled at you, brushing your hair from your eyes in that motherly way you’d missed since you were a kid. You supposed it was another thing that drew you and Peter together.

“Don’t think I forgot about that science project you have due this week!” Aunt May called as you and Peter started to walk to the sidewalk. He visibly winced. “I want you home before dinner, Peter.”

“Okay, okay!” he groaned, shooing her off with a wave of his hand and sent you a glare as you struggled to contain your laughter.

“Oh, man. I do not miss high school,” you grinned, taking a bite of the cookie and nearly choking on a moan that slipped out. Buttery soft and warm gooiness melting on your tongue. Heaven.

Peter rolled his eyes, nudging you with his elbow playfully. “Don’t rub it in.”

***

Your Sundays were never exceeding exciting. Most of your time spent with Peter was just running errands, taking deposits to the bank for Aunt May, picking up lunch at one of the sandwich shops, getting him a new pair of sneakers he so desperately needed even though he fought you on paying for them for about an hour before he gave in.

They were often mundane and filled with idle chatter, sitting on park benches and watching the people walk by and the tourists taking photos in front of brick walls. He’d sit there and talk for hours because that’s amongst the things Peter did best. He'd tell you everything from his latest science fair project, the progress on his Lego set with Ned, the kid named ‘Flash’ who pranked him again and filled his locker with whipped cream.

It was simple. It was easy and comforting.

It was an escape.

Peter had nearly forgotten he was supposed to pick up a few things from the corner store for Aunt May, so you were on your way to the shop with the black cat who liked to sit perched in the window just to get a good look at her again while he tracked down the milk and bread.

The wind was picking up and you tugged your jacket tighter around your chest. You glanced over at Peter who had his hands shoved into the thin layer of his jacket, cheeks a little pink from the wind and he shivered.

Your heart ached a little and you decided you’d talk him into a new coat on your next Sunday together. He’d never make it through New York winter with holes in his pockets and no protection from the blistering wind.

While Brock didn’t give you access to enough of your father’s money to make it on your own, you had enough to buy things for Peter, to collect your first editions, and to remain moderately comfortable.

It was a ploy to keep you content, a carrot to dangle for the arguments when you’d threaten to storm out of the house you shared and he’d remind you, you had nothing without him, that he could implicate you in each and every one of his crimes, and you’d stay. Every time. You’d stay.

You had no choice.

And for years, you’d grown accustomed to the prison your home had turned into. Until you met James Karpov.

You’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel the twist of nerves in your stomach, to seek someone out amongst a crowd and to feel the relief deep in your bones upon finding them, upon finding blue eyes and dark brown hair, warm smile and that slight nod. So impossibly subtle and somehow it became the best part of your day.

Maybe you were naïve, and maybe it had simply been too long since anyone within that home had treated you with even an ounce of kindness or respect that you clung onto the first man who so much as smiled in your direction and asked about one of your overpriced books, but it gave you back a sense of yourself you’d been missing.

You started smiling again, starting looking forward to the days Brock held his meetings within the house in hopes that James would be there and you could ask him how far along he’d gotten in Fahrenheit 451. You were careful about your interactions with him, knowing that Brock was an exceptionally jealous man, even if your conversations with James were innocent.

And they were.

They had no greater meaning or underlying feelings.

So you told yourself, anyway.

The wind was picking up again and Peter was finishing up a very long and overly detailed recount of he and Ned’s favorite comic book series, when you realized you’d walked nearly five blocks without realizing it.

“Did you give Michele the necklace yet?” you asked him as you crossed the border into Brooklyn. He nearly choked on air, coughing to alleviate his surprise and you laughed into your scarf, trying to hold it back for the sake of his ego.

“Oh, um, not yet! But I’m working on it,” he chuckled nervously. “I’ve got a plan.”

Peter was starting to tell you all of the intricate and perfectly timed details of this ‘plan’ when you spotted someone across the street that caught your eye.

Tall, with long brown hair swept behind his ears and hiding under a baseball cap, hands tucked into the pockets of a familiar bomber, he swatted the arm of a friend on his left while the other scolded him.

You narrowed your eyes, not even realizing you’d pulled to a stop until Peter came rushing back a few paces, complaining he’d kept on walking without you. You apologized quickly, a little out of focus, and asked him for a minute. He nodded with a shrug and pulled out his phone, sinking down to the sidewalk and waited patiently.

“James?” you called over the rush of traffic. He didn’t seem to hear you.

You’d never seen him outside of your husband’s home and it was strange running into him in such a personal environment. He was with friends, off the job, his guard was down. A bright smile, brighter than you’d ever seen it on his face as he laughed loud enough for the sound to carry across the street. It made something in your chest clench.

You called his name again, a little louder this time, but the blare of a horn drowned you out.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you held up a hand to warn oncoming cars that you were crossing the street and quickly wove your way in and out of lanes until you made it to the other side of the road. You glanced in his direction, brushing out the dirt on the thighs of your jeans before you approached him again.

“James!”

You were only standing a few feet from him and he still didn’t respond. You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth and feeling a rush of embarrassment.

This was his day off; he didn’t need to be dealing with his boss’s wife.

All this time, while you were caught up in your own head with fantasies of ‘what if’s’ and finding solace in his short, kind smiles, he was probably just appeasing the wife of his boss. He must have known how lonely you were, could sense it a mile away, and he was simply being polite. You just misinterpreted it for interest or kindness or something, but it was clear your stolen moments over classic fiction and subtle glances across the room were exclusive to the walls of your home.

You turned to leave, clenching your hands into fists and puncturing the skin, when you heard your name called from behind you.

“Y/n?”

You spun around to find James staring at you with wide blue eyes. He was clearly surprised, caught off guard in a way few men of his rank within Hydra ever were, and he glanced back at his friends hesitantly before they quickly departed, retreating to a table on the edge of the café they had left from. He walked closer to you, enough so neither of you would have to shout over the rush of traffic.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to see you,” James said, that smile tugging on the corner of his lips as he everted his eyes. He was nervous, swaying in his stance and running a hand through his hair.

“No, it’s okay!” you replied quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything with your friends.”

He clenched his jaw at that, the smile fading from his face. “Friends? What friends?”

You peered around his towering shoulders to find the two men he was just standing with sitting over at a table at the café, talking to one another and stealing glances in your direction over the tops of newspapers they had just nabbed from the adjacent table. It was endearing, if anything.

“So, the guys siting over at that table pretending not to watch our every move aren’t your friends?” you asked, a slight laugh in your voice as James shook his head.

“No,” he responded shortly, though when you narrowed your eyes on him, grinning, he sighed, “yeah, ok. I know ‘em.”

You pursed your lips, glancing between James and two men sitting over at the table; the dark-skinned man with the toothy grin seemed to be thrilled to watch James fumble his way through half of a conversation, while the tall blonde one punched at his friend’s shoulder, seemingly warning him quietly to knock it off.

You sighed, noticing the way he kept glancing back at his friends, shuffling his feet like he wanted to be just about anywhere else than this conversation. You tried to ignore the free-falling feeling in your stomach.

“Look,” you started, feeling a little uneasy in your stance now, “it’s totally okay you don’t want me to know about them. I get it. You want to keep your personal life separate from work. It makes a lot of sense, especially with, um, with what you do and, um, I’m part of work, right? Different worlds. Don’t need to be bothering yourself with the boss’s wife in your free time...”

His whole body seemed to freeze and his eyes went wide.

“What? No, that’s not it at all!” he quickly explained, but he seemed to relax for a moment, glancing back towards his friends. “They don’t know what I do outside of the cover at the club. I just don’t want them catching wind.”

You nodded, knowing full well how that felt. A wave of relief swept through you; like a rush of water pushing away the aches and twists and breaks in your chest, leaving behind only that pleasant little tug you felt every time he walked in the room.

“You must be the new guy!” a voice chimed from behind you and you nearly flinched from the shock of it.

Speak of the damn devil.

Peter was suddenly at your side, a little out of breath as he looked James over, wide eyed and grinning. “Holy cow. He really is all muscle, huh?”

You shoved Peter hard in the side, cheeks flushing with heat as James laughed a little under his breath.

“I thought you were gonna stay on the other side of the street until I was done?”

“Got bored,” he shrugged, pushing you aside and turning to James. “So! What’s the likelihood you’ll let me sneak into the Lernaean? I’ve got an in with the owner and Y/n never lets me get anywhere near that place. Tell me you’re cooler than my cousin, man, I’m beggin’ you.”

You must have stopped breathing because your lungs felt like they were on fire. Peter had never been so brazen as to bypass your carefully constructed boundaries like that, but then again, he’d never met anyone from Hydra before. It was your mistake to confide in him about the strange new ‘bouncer’ with the blue eyes and the unexpected appreciation of fiction. Peter was curious by nature and he just liked seeing you happy.

James must have sensed your distress because he raised a brow at you, but your jaw was wired shut. Peter couldn’t know about this world. You had to keep him out of it. You tried to convey that to James with a simple glance, but he didn’t owe you anything. What would he care if this lanky kid knew about Hydra and the world you lived in? He was still Hydra himself and you had to constantly remind yourself of that.

“Please, man,” Peter begged. “It’ll make Flash so jealous and I need a win over that jerk.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, kid,” James replied. Peter let out a very dramatic groan and it got James laughing. “It’s not a good place for a minor to be hanging out, anyway. Listen to your cousin.”

The fear didn’t escape you, even as Peter seemed to let the topic go. You liked James, that much you were able to admit to yourself, but did you trust him enough to protect Peter from Brock’s world... you weren’t sure.

Trust wasn’t so much a step as it was a cascading waterfall into an abyss. It didn’t come easy to you.

“Fine. But I’m not giving up that easily,” Peter huffed, folding his arms over his chest. He caught sight of the watch on his wrist and pouted. He turned to you. “I should head home anyway.”

You nodded. “Okay, I’ll walk yo--”

“No, you won’t,” Peter argued with a massive smile. “I know you still have stuff to do before you head home. I’m fine on my own, you know that.”

You did. Didn’t mean you liked it.

“Besides,” Peter continued, that cheeky grin tugging on his face, “I’m sure Mr. Karpov here wouldn’t mind escorting you the rest of the way.”

Your throat ran dry. “T-That’s entirely unnecessary... Peter.”

You sent him a glare but it only made him laugh harder as he started to back away down the sidewalk. He winked and quickly turned his shoulder and jogged down the remainder of the block just to deprive you of the chance to argue back. The little shit.

Spinning back around to James with an anxious grimace on your face, you quickly held your hands up to apologize but he was laughing to himself, causing you to lose your train of thought.

“I really don’t mind, you know,” he said, and of course he didn’t, because he simply couldn’t make it easy to disregard that nervous feeling in your stomach when he looked at you.

“It’s super boring,” you warned and he shook his head with a smile, some stray pieces of hair falling into his face. Damn that smile of his.

“What are we doing?” he asked, like it wasn’t even a second thought.

“There’s a café a few blocks from here,” you started, carefully watching his face for signs that he was surely making fun of you or appeasing you to be polite, but came up empty. “They sell paintings by local artists and I’ve been wanting to replace this godawful modern abstract Brock’s interior designer hung in one of the spare rooms. He wouldn’t notice anyway, don’t you think?”

James shrugged, a nodding slightly as he chuckled. “I don’t suppose he would.”

You chewed on the edge of your lip, gesturing for him to follow you down the street and he did so without hesitation.

There were only a few minutes of silence, of walking side by side with hands tucked carefully into jacket pockets and side stepping pedestrians with their noses stuck in their phones, before you worked up the courage to say something.

“Peter doesn’t know about our world,” you said suddenly, keeping your eyes trained ahead of you, scared that if you even looked at him, you’d lose your nerve. “I work really hard to keep it that way, so if you could-- if you could avoid mentioning to Brock that I was with him today, I would – I would really appreciate that. You know how Brock can be; always trying to recruit kids on the street to push his product and I don’t-- I don’t want Peter anywhere near--”

“You have my word,” James said simply, genuinely, and you let out a heavy exhale that released like flood gates. “No reason to tell the boss what I do on my days off and who I run into, right?”

You nodded, a little lost for words. “Right.”

You paused at a stop light, stealing glances at him as he mumbled a soft apology to the elderly woman who was attempting to push past him to get to the front of the sidewalk. She was uneasy on her feet and using her walking cane as weapon as she clicked it against his ankles and he quickly stepped out of her way. He winced, rubbing at his right ankle with the back of his left shoe.

As the light turned green and the old lady pushed past, shoving a few other pedestrians out of her way, you turned back to James, grinning so wide it hurt in your cheeks. He was chewing on his lip.

“This could really damage my rep, huh?”

“Just a little,” you laughed and you were certain if your hands weren’t shoved deep into the pockets of your jacket to hide from the cold, you may have offered your hand to him. Just instinctively. His hands were so big, they seemed warm, safe.

“I finished 451, by the way,” he said as the two of you rushed to cross the street before the light turned again.

“What’d you think?”

“Never as good as the first time,” he shrugged but there was still a semblance of that smile on his lips. “Still pretty great though. Didn’t even spill coffee on it or anything.”

“I suppose I should be impressed, considering the way you treated Hemingway,” you laughed, shoving at his arm with your elbow, and though a hit like that would have had Peter stumbling a few paces, James barely even flinched, but he did start to laugh.

“Come on now, you know I was in high school when I last touched that thing and you can’t trust a teenage boy with shit,” he teased and you found yourself grabbing onto his arm for support from that laughs making your unsteady on your feet. He didn’t seem to mind at all, not even as you suddenly realized what you were doing and quickly released him with a quick nervous brush of your hair from your eyes.

You cleared your throat, continuing to walk down the sidewalk. “I finished it last week, actually. I can return it to you tomorrow if you--”

“It was a gift,” James said simply. “Keep it. If you want, I mean. I know it doesn’t exactly fit in amongst all the first editions and fancy copies so you can get rid of it if you--”

“No! It’s, uh, it’s perfect. Thank you,” you said and he pressed his lips together to keep himself from rambling.

He was right. It certainly did stand out amongst the novels on your shelves with the cracked and broken binding, the doodles in the pages, and the stains on the cover, but it was so entirely human. It was a relief to have something of imperfection amongst masterpieces.

***

Bucky wasn’t quite sure what to make of you.

It was the most relaxed he’d ever felt on an assignment as he walked alongside you down the busy streets of Brooklyn. You tried to lead him down less crowded alleys and avoid the cross-section of tourists taking photos in the street because you noticed the way he tugged at the bridge of his cap to pull over his eyes but it was near impossible. You must have mistaken his attempts at concealing his identity in a part of the city that knew him well for anxiety around the bustle of people.

It was sweet, he thought, that you were observant enough for things like that and tried to make it easier on him without saying a word. You’d give him silly excuses to travel down abandoned streets and act like it was you that wanted the space away from the crowd, but he knew you were doing it for him.

You told him about the café you liked to visit with the family you’d grown to know well over the years and the bagel joint a few blocks away that Bucky spent many years grabbing breakfast at as a teenager. You talked like you knew the owners, spent time with them and caught up on their weeks when you waited for your orders, and somehow that didn’t surprise Bucky at all.

He felt an ease by your side he’d never felt in all his years in undercover work. He was used to be on edge, to watching his every move and purposefully concealing parts of himself to create firm boundaries between his cover and himself.

But not with you.

The rare moments he spent alone with you were the only times he felt like Bucky Barnes, even under the guise of James Karpov.

But he still had a job to do.

You were smiling, telling him about a pain-in-your-ass student from your time teaching at Columbia and he could tell how much you missed it. There was a brightness in your eye, a flicker of nostalgia, of loss, and he hunched his shoulders against the cold with a steady breath.

“Why’d you quit?” he asked when you’d finished your story. Your smile fell away quickly and he nearly regretted asking. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I mean, it sounds like you really loved what you did. With all the books you collect and all, figured you’d quite enjoy an outlet with people who are as obsessed with fiction as you are.”

That got a slight laugh out of you, but it was tense. Your eyes were on the sidewalk, jaw clenched.

“Oh, I… um…” you were struggling to come up with an answer, one to bullshit to him. You weren’t ready to trust him and he should have known better than to ask so soon. “I stepped down when I got married. Brock has more than enough money. I don’t need to work anymore.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t want to,” Bucky offered because part of him simply just wanted you to know that not every man would isolate you from the things you loved and demand you give your entire life to him. The other part, the one screaming in the back of his head, knew that validating you like this, giving you the support you so clearly craved, would only build on that trust; trust he would need to use you as an accessory to bring Hydra to ash.

He hated that part of him. He never used to.

You nodded, chewing on your lip. “Doesn’t mean I can.”

He changed the subject quickly after that.

He knew well enough that it wasn’t a good sign that he was putting your feelings over his commitment to the job. On any other assignment with any other target, he would have pressed harder, would have asked how you met Rumlow and why you married him at all if this was the life you’d end up in, but he bit his tongue.

You were talking about a local kid’s high school musical you wanted to attend and suddenly you were smiling again. The tension left Bucky’s chest and he felt at ease, pushing aside the nagging voicing in the back of his head, reminding him why he was stationed next to you in the first place.

It seemed to quiet down the longer he walked with you, the more he stole glances at your smile, the more his stomach seemed to twist to pleasant knots whenever you look at him.

***

“What do you think of this one?” you asked, pulling his attention back to the painting hanging above two teenage girls huddled around a single laptop, sharing a pair of headphones as they struggled to contain their laughter.

The painting you were looking at was filled with reds and oranges, yellows and dark blue, soft brush strokes in gentle waves across the frame; it looked like a sunset, warm and comforting. It was in stark contrast to the cold and isolating nature of the house and he supposed it was why you liked it.

“It’s nice,” he said. He wasn’t as attuned to the arts as you were, but he knew it was nicer than the one you were trying to replace. It was one that made you smile. That was enough, he thought.

“Think Brock will be mad if he finds out I’m replacing a $50,000 painting with one done by...” you squinted your eyes, leaning in closer to read the tag, “a lovely young art major named Wanda at NYU?”

“Not if he never notices it.” He winked, nudging your arm.

You smiled, the lines of it wrinkling up by your eyes and Bucky had a hard time tearing his gaze away from you as you politely waved over the owner and pointed to the painting on the wall.

Bucky leaned against the counter, watching from a distance as you conversed with the owner for a few minutes, and after a while, he gasped, staring at you with wide eyes. You must have told him how much you were willing to pay for the piece.

Steve and Sam were going to rip him a new one at the next meet up, he was sure of it. There was no way they didn’t catch on to how easily he retreated back to Bucky Barnes, highly capable FBI special agent and nervous wreck amongst pretty women, from James Karpov, enforcer to the world’s deadliest mafia.

You turned back to him, raising a thumbs up with the biggest smile on your face he’d ever seen as the owner moved to take down the painting. You were practically giddy with joy and he found himself smiling until his cheeks hurt, even long after you turned away to start writing the check.

He was such a goner.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes one shot

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novannna · 4 years ago

Text

Same Sea, Same Soul, Same Heart

Danna is the daughter of a noble in Gatlon city. Gatlon is ruled by King Hugh and King Simon, members of the Renegades, the gruop that saved it from the anarchists and Ace Anarchy. Nova is the niece of Ace Anarchy and is the worlds most feared and dangerous pirate. She kidnaps Danna as ransom, and while they travel back to Danna’s father the two girls begin to realize they weren’t so different after all…

Nova must finally exchange danna for her ransom, and both girls struggle to leave eachother forever

link to masterlist

link to chapter 5

wc:2876

Moxie clambered aboard, breathless from rowing across the choppy sea.

“Well?” Nova demanded. “Any word?” they had been waiting right out of view of a coastal town for almost a week now, waiting for Danna’s father to write back.

“Yes!” Moxie handed Nova a letter. “And even better, I heard the servants talking in the manor. Apparently his Grace is here already.”

Nova grinned. “Excellent.” Slipping a dagger out of her pocket, she slit the envelope open.

The letter had been written in a hurry, several ink blots, and smudged words on the parchment.

“What’s it say?” Genevieve asked, joining them on the deck.

Nova smiled grimly. “He agreed. He’ll meet us on the dock, alone, tomorrow with 10,000 gold pieces.”

“You really think he’s going to obey those instructions Nova?” Viv asked nervously.

Nova scoffed. “Of course not. The entire fucking army is going to be there.”

“So… what’s the plan?” Moxie glanced at Nova nervously.

“Stays the same. We go in with Danna, we leave with the gold.”

“Nova, once they have Danna, they are going to kill us.”

“I’m well aware of that Moxie,” Nova said. She slipped her dagger back into its sheath and slipped the letter into her waistband.

“Then how are we going to get away?”

“They won’t catch us.”

“Umm, Nova? We can’t stand up to them, and expect to survive,” Viv said nervously. “How are we going to survive then?”

“Simple.” Nova grinned. “We change the meeting time.”

Realization dawned on their faces. “We don’t let him come to us…” Moxie breathed.

“We’re going to him,” Viv finished.

“Exactly.” Nova tilted her head back and smiled in the sun's light.

“So… when are we leaving?”

“An hour. Wake up Miss Bell. She has an important meeting I would hate for her to miss.”

Viv nodded, and hurried off.

“Hey Nova?” Moxie asked cautiously.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Nova looked at Moxie, surprised. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well… it’s just that you and Danna seem close. Connected almost.”

Nova burst into laughter. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said to me,” she snorted. “Me… and Danna?” Nova gasped for breath, tears in her eyes. “That’s actually hysterical.”

“Nova, I’m serious.” Moxie actually looked concerned.

Nova straightened. “Look, you don’t need to worry about me and Danna. She’s the epitome of everything I hate. A rich noble. A Renegade. She could be dead, and I wouldn’t care. Understand?” Nova stared at Moxie, her eyes burning holes into the other woman.

“Yes captain,” Moxie sighed. “I understand.”

“Good. Viv’s are coming with me, you stay and watch over the ship.”

“You're only bringing two people? Is that smart?”

Nova raised an eyebrow. “You forget who you're talking to. We’ll be fine.”

Moxie nodded, then pulled Nova into a tight, bone crushing hug. “Please keep my wife safe,” she whispered.

Nova nodded. “I will. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“I know you won't. But Nova, take care of yourself too. I know you want us to believe you're invincible. But you're human too. You have your limits. Don’t push them too far. We need you back. We need our captain.”

“I’m Nightmare,” Nova said. “My limits won’t be a problem. I built myself up from nothing. If anyone is unstoppable, it would be me.” Nova bit her lip, and looked at the endless sea. “I need to get ready. I want Miss Bells wrists secured, and a bag over her head. She’s a risk I don’t want. Clear?”

Moxie sighed heavily. “Crystal, Captain.”

---

Danna sat in the swaying boat. She tried not to panic, but it was hard when all she could see was darkness, and her wrists were bound against each other, a hard rope chafing her raw skin.

“Comfortable, Miss Bell?” Nova’s clear voice asked.

Danna tried to control her breathing. “Perfectly, thank you.” She had no idea where they were going, only that Danna wasn’t able to see anything.

“Good.” Danna could almost see Nova’s lips curling up into a smirk. Her blue eyes twinkling, like the sun on the sea. Danna could see Nova in front of her, clear as day. It hurt when Danna opened her eyes, and the dark greeted her instead.

“Where are we going?” She had asked at last. Danna didn’t expect an answer, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“Unfortunately, your time on the Nightmare has come to an end,” Nova responded. “You’re on your way to be reunited with your father, and we’re on our way to get a lot richer.”

No…. Danna was going home. She was going back, away from the pirates. Back to normal life. So why did she want to stay? A part of her yearned to stay on the sea. In the few weeks she had stayed on the ship as a prisoner, Danna had experienced more freedom than she had ever known. She didn’t want to go home. But that wasn’t all. Part of her wanted to stay with Nova. A foolish, idiotic, stupid part of her body wanted to stay with Nova, and be free. Her heart wanted Nova.

But Danna refused to acknowledge it. She hadn’t fallen for the notorious pirate captain, the king of the seas. Had she? In her mind, they seemed like two separate people. They were two separate people.

Noah Artino, the dreaded Nightmare, terror of the seas was not the same person as Nova Artino. They couldn’t be. But as Danna felt the rough rope chafing her hands, she knew that she had overlooked all of Nova’s faults. She had forgotten why the stories about Nightmare had scared her when she was younger. She had seen the real person, and forgot the legend. Forgot that Nova had two sides. Forgot that Nova and Nightmare were the same person.

“Finally,” Danna said lightly. This was good. She was getting home, safe and out of danger. “It’s about time.”

She could see Nova’s smirk in her head.

“You’ll miss us, won’t you my lady,” the captain sneered.

“Of course not. I’m happy to finally be leaving your clutches,” Danna replied, trying to keep the tears from spilling out of her eyes. She was glad they couldn’t see her face. Her eyes were screwed shut tight, and her mouth was curled into a grimace. She was in pain.

Nova was completely right. Of course she was. Danna was going to miss it all. She would miss the sun on her face, and the wind in her hair. She was going to miss the smiling faces who genuinely wanted to be with her. They didn't care for power. She was going to miss the feeling of genuine friendship. But… most of all she was going to miss Nova. The dry humor, and witty comments. The grace the captain moved with, and her lethal skill. SHe was going to miss the captain’s dark hair, and sparkling sea eyes. She was going to miss her warm hands, roughened from years of hardship. She was going to miss the girl who hated her more than anything else. It was ironic really. The same person who hated everything that Danna stood for, was the same girl Danna loved with her entire heart. Danna realized with a start that she really did love her. She had known for some time, but she realized it now.

She loved Nova. Danna Bell was in love with this pirate. And Nova didn’t love her back. She never would. That was just the way life would work.

They were about to part, never to see each other again. Shouldn’t Danna be grateful? She was never going to be in danger again. She was going home. Back to the life she knew.

But she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay on the sea with Viv and Moxie and the rest of the crew. Danna wanted to stay with Nova. She never wanted to see her family or the court again. She wanted the one thing she could never have. She wanted Nova Artino.

And Nova Artino didn’t want her.

The boat bumped against something and Danna jolted backwards.

“We’re here.”

Danna felt Nova’s arms snake under her, and yank her up.

“I can walk on my own,” Danna said frostily, trying to ignore Nova’s warm skin on her body.

“Can you? Then, by all means, walk.” Nova laughed softly.

Danna didn’t move. She couldn’t see anything.

“That's what I thought.” Nova yanked her forwards, settling her onto a soft surface. Sand trickled between her toes. “Lets go,” Nova growled, and pulled Danna forwards by the hands.

The sand quickly changed to a hard packed dirt road. Danna hissed as her toe kicked a rock.

“Careful My Lady,” Nova said dryly. “Don’t want you to get hurt, now do we?”

“What do you care?” Danna asked. “I know you don’t give a shit about me.”

Nova inhaled sharply. “I don’t want to have your value decrease,” was all she said.

Danna bit back a sigh. Why did she keep hoping Nova was going to change her mind?

All Danna was to her was a pile of gold. Nova only saw her as a source of profit. Nothing more. Why did Danna keep hoping Nova would not give her away? She was only hiring herself more.

“Where are we?” Danna asked.

“Quiet,” Nova hissed. “We’re at the edges of Gatlon.”

“But my father doesn’t live anywhere near here!”

“He’s staying in your vacation home.” Danna could hear the scorn in Nova’s voice. “That's where we’re going.”

“Oh.”

They halted.

“Viv, go ahead and take out as many guards as you can. Then stay as watch. You know the signal if something goes wrong?”

“Yeah,” Genevieve responded. “I’ll meet you back here then?”

“Yes. Good luck,” Nova said curtly.

“You too. It was a pleasure, Miss Bell,” Viv said. Danna pictured her sinking into a small bow, a playful smile on her face.

“Likewise,” Danna responded, a smile on her own lips.

Nova ripped the bag off her head, and Danna blinked in surprise. Nova wore an outfit almost identical to the one she had been wearing when they first met. A long black coat with shiny gold buttons. A black hat that covered her face and hair. Her waist was lined with swords, guns and knives. She looked like Noah Artino, dreaded pirate lord. She looked anything but Nova Artino, the girl of Danna’s dreams. But still Danna ached to be close to the girl.

“I’m going to need you to behave,” Nova instructed. “I can’t lead you. So follow me, and we all get home safe and sound. Got it?”

Danna nodded. “Got it.”

“Great. Follow me.” Nova hurried off through the shadows. They were a block away from her house. She recognized the houses, decked in gold and mosaics. The beauty that once awed her now disgusted her. How many lives could that have saved if the money had gone to people who had actually needed it? How many people would have never starved or been killed? Danna’s lip curled.

“Hurry up!” Nova hissed.

Danna jogged to catch up. Her long legs carried her over to Nova.

She couldn’t help but gasp when she saw the gleaming manor.

It was so familiar. How many times had she stood in this very spot?

“Ready to go home?” Nova asked, smirking.

Danna breathed in, and out. “Yes. I can’t wait to get back to civilization,” she said haughtily.

“Of course you do.” Nova shoved her forwards.

“What are you doing?” Danna asked. “Are you just walking in?”

Nova scoffed. “Of course not. That would be rude. We’re knocking first.”

Danna couldn’t help but laugh. “You kidnapped me. You broke into my house in the middle of the night. You can’t possibly be worried about manners.”

Nova smiled slightly. “Ah ah. That wasn’t me, that was my crew. I would never be that callous.”

“Nova?” Danna said gently.

Nova’s grip tightened on her, but she didn’t say anything.

Danna breathed in deeply. Chances were she would never see Nova again. Better to say it, wasn’t it?”

“Look, Nova, I know you hate everything I represent. And I understand, I really do. I hate me too. I just… I want you to know that I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.” Danna bit her lip and looked down.

“I could never hate you either,” Nova said tightly.

“Then don’t make me go back!” Danna said quickly. “I can’t stand my life. The time I’ve spent with you was better than anything I had ever known. I can’t go back! It will kill me.”

“I have a job to do. I’m sorry, Danna. But this is goodbye.”

Danna nodded. “I understand. I just wanted you to know, Captain.”

“You can call me Nova,” she whispered. “It’s nice to know that someone outside my crew and my family remember me.”

“I could never forget you… Nova Artino.” Danna attempted a smile. “Let's just get this over with, yeah?”

Nova nodded, and breathed in shakily. “It was nice knowing the real Danna Bell.” She stepped forwards, and knocked twice on the door.

“I’m sorry,” Nova whispered to Danna, and jabbed a needle into her arm. “This is the only way.”

Danna collapsed, her head lolling backwards. The last thing she saw was Nova’s sea blue eyes full with tears.

---

Nova held a knife to Danna’s throat. The girl lay collapsed against her.

Nova felt terrible. She was a terrible person. How could she be doing this? Danna didn’t deserve this. She was forcing her to go back to a life she didn’t want when it was so easy for them to run away together. But she was too scared to disobey Ace. She couldn’t bear to see his disappointment when he saw that his niece was in love with a noble.

The door opened, and Danna’s father stood in the doorway, fear on his face.

Nova pasted a smirk on her face. This was her way of life. She could do this.

“Hello, Mr Bell,” Nova said.

“Danna!” He said. “Oh thank god, you're alright.”

“Not quite.” Nova tilted the blade up. “Where is my money?”

“What did you do to her? Our agreement was that you would meet me at the dock, tomorrow. And she would be safe and unharmed.”

Nova grinned despite the tears threatening to spill over her eyes. “Never trust a pirate to keep his word. Especially me.”

“What do you mean?” The duke trailed off. “You’re Nightmare.”

Nova winked. “I am. And your daughter is fine. She’s just drugged. In a few hours, she’ll be fine. Ish.”

“Nightmare doesn’t take prisoners…”

Nova groaned. “I don’t have time for this! Give me the money. Or else I kill your daughter here and now.” She pressed the knife against Danna’s throat, cutting a small line of red. Nova tried not to wince.

Danna’s father nodded shakily, and whistled. A servant appeared, and the man whispered something into their ear.

“You’ll get your money, Noah Artino,” he hissed.

“I’m counting it,” Nova replied coldly. “It’s not like you need it, anyways.”

They stood there, glaring daggers into each other.

The subtle rise and fall of Danna’s chest comforted Nova, and she fought the urge to brush a strand of hair out of her face.

Finally, the servant reappeared, carrying a huge chest. Their face was bright red from the effort, but Danna’s dad didn’t care.

“Trade me Danna, and you get your treasure,” he said.

“How do I know you won't attack me from behind while I’m busy carrying the chest.”

“You have my word. And unlike you, I actually mean it.”

Nova shrugged. “Fine. If you attack me, you will regret it.” She laid Danna down on the ground. Her hair spread out, a halo around her face.

“Set the chest down, and back away.”

“No.”

Nova pulled out her gun, and placed a finger on the trigger. “Would you like to rethink that?”

The man shakily backed away.

Nova whistled sharply, and Viv melted out of the shadows behind her.

Danna’s father gasped.

“Carry the chest,” Nova hissed under her breath. “I’ll cover.”

Viv nodded, and hefted the chest up as if it was nothing.

“Nice meeting you!” Nova called out as they hurried away. She kept her gun trained on the man.

“It went alright?” Viv asked.

Nova nodded. “Yeah. it was fine.” The look of pure betrayal was still fresh in Nova’s mind though. The way Danna had looked at her while her body fell onto Nova.

Nova never should’ve let herself get so attached to Danna. It had come back to bite her in the ass, and Nova’s chest felt like there was a gaping whole in it.

“Fine?”

“Yes, fine. Hurry up, it won’t be long before the Renegades come after us.” Nova looked back over her shoulder anxiously. “We have what we came for.”

“Do we?” Viv looked at her, concerned. “You seem…”

“I am fine!” Nova screamed. “Hurry up, or I’m leaving you behind. We did what we needed to do.”

“Yes, Captain,” Genevieve said heavily, and hurried after Nova. “You know best.”

Tag list: @novissa @thepurpledragon4444 @phobidawg @janisarkisian @rvbell @redassassin @styeenza @ifyouhadntbutyoudid (let me know if you want to be added/taken off!!!)

#Same Sea Same Soul Same Heart #danna bell #nova artino #nobell #novanna #nova x danna #fic #my writing #Renegades #renegades au #renegades fic #archenemies #Supernova #yeah no more fluff </3 #sorry #but they gotta be sad for a while now #my fic recs

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tackyink · 4 years ago

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Here’s what would amount to chapter 1 of the fic I started the other day if I ever decide to work on it seriously. It’s the same two scenes as last plus a new one, so it’s very short, but I’ve laughed a lot writing it.

I also realized this thing has a lot of potential to merge with Inked on Skin by Wano and I can’t believe I’m here, free at last after five years busting my ass, and suddenly thinking it would be cool to make a whole fic verse with my One Piece OCs.

=======================

It was the sunniest it had been in weeks. Clear skies, twenty-seven degrees, calm clouds and weak northwestern winds blowing from Skypiea.

Veleta had left a note on the dining table telling potential travelers to feel free to use her home to rest while she was away, and to please not touch the meteorological station next to the vegetable garden. The connection to her dad’s team had been lost for six months already, so there wasn’t much for her to do and she was dying of boredom, but he might come back for it one of these days. Who knew? Not her!

She adjusted one last time the straps of her swimming vest and backpack. Her grin gleamed under the sun almost as much as the pair of riding goggles she was wearing.

“Ready, set…” She gripped the handles of her waver firmly. “Go!”

She hit the gas and rode in a straight line towards the horizon. The White-White Sea cloud formations had some variation from day to day, but she had already determined that that was the shorter point between her home and absolute nothingness.

Other people might have called her suicidal and wondered what drove her to do this, but if Veleta had to be compared to one of the characters of the tabletop game her dad liked to play when they had visitors, she would have rolled 20 Intelligence and 2 Wisdom.

It took her a good half an hour to reach the place she was shooting for, and when she got there, with the absolute confidence of a fool with too much pride in her ideas, she drove off the white clouds into the endless blue, and a few seconds after she started dropping at breakneck speed, she hit the special button she had built into the waver and a parachute shot out of it, slowing her descent until it was safe to kick back and enjoy the view.

There was only sky, distant clouds and water as far as the eye could see, with a few dots sailing through it that must have been ships, and the promise of an island, a real island made of Vearth, far, far way. Veleta made it a mental goal to sail there.

She was elated. Her heart pounded inside her chest with excitement, and her face hurt from smiling so much. Her world was about to get so big!

And then one of the ropes securing the parachute to the waver snapped, and she was freefalling again.

With a screech that was probably heard in at least two seas above and another couple below, Veleta finished her leisurely descent by crashing into the ocean with an upturned waver and getting her backpack’s mesh caught on the breath dial exhaust. On one hand, it was a good thing that she was floating thanks to the swimming vest. On the other, she had fallen face down, and the extra buoyancy wasn’t doing her much good, considering she couldn’t turn around.

Devil Fruits weren’t all they were cracked up to be.

—

Eustass Kid was watching time pass on the prow of the Victoria Punk when he saw a projectile falling from the sky and into the sea with a spectacular splash.

He squinted at the shape of a small boat ahead and asked Killer, “The fuck is that?”

—

As it turned out, ‘that’ happened to be a pink haired girl and her failing vehicle, though a girl who didn’t know she was being appraised when she was caught in a fishing net and dragged onto a dry surface. In fact, she was having a pretty hard time staying conscious at all, and the only energy she could divert from that task was being wasted on feeling grateful that she’d been found.

When she was pulled out of the water, still tangled in the net but able to move, Veleta spent the next three minutes or so coughing out water and doing her best to hurl out the contents of her stomach into the ocean and not on these kind strangers’ ship. Said strangers gathered near her and their conversation turned increasingly confused, but they all stared at her from a distance. Perhaps the vomit had something to do with it.

She gasped for air when water stopped coming out and turned around to face her saviors and thank them, but what came out of her mouth was another screech when she saw that she was inside of a fish’s maw.

“OHGODWE’REGETTINGEATEN!” She reached for her backpack to pull out something to defend herself, but she managed to get even more tangled in the net, and she stopped struggling when she noticed no one else shared her urgency. “Huh?”

“We’re in a figurehead,” a man hiding behind a striped mask explained.

“This is a ship?!” She gaped, looking around her again. She could’ve never told that she wasn’t in a real fish. “Oh, excuse my rudeness!” She bowed, still on her knees, or tried to. Not a lot of freedom of movement inside a fishing net. “I’m Lockheed Veleta.” She flashed them a smile. “Thank you so much for saving me!”

Nobody replied right away, as if she had said something awkward. Did she make a faux-pas already? She had known people from the Blue Sea, but maybe they had a different culture. She sure as heck had never met anybody who dressed like them. Or… had a stitched mouth… but she didn’t stare, because that would surely have been rude. Maybe he had been in an accident. Maybe it was a fashion? She wanted to learn about those too. There wasn’t a lot of variety in her little island.

“How did you do that?” The redhead asked. He had a pair of goggles, too, and Veleta recognized in him a fellow stickler for safety measures. The rest of the men had been eyeing him when they weren’t staring at Veleta, so she assumed he was their leader.

“Do what?”

“Drop in the middle of the ocean!”

“Oh, of course! My parachute failed,” she said, lifting a little the tarp. It was a bit cramped inside the net, between it, the waver, her bag and herself, but she was chipper nonetheless. “I thought I was done for!”

“What are you on about?” He replied, sounding increasingly irritated. “We’re at open sea, you have to have fallen from somewhere!”

“Oooh, right! Sorry, I didn’t explain myself very well, did I?” She laughed at her own silliness. “I come from an island in the White-White Sea!”

There was another awkward silence as their confusion grew. Veleta’s smile didn’t waver.

“The White-White Sea?” The man in the mask repeated.

“Yeah! You know, where the sky islands are?” There were no signs of recognition in their faces. “People in the Blue Sea know there are islands above… right?”

A gloomy looking man wearing a hood with cute ears, conceding her point, telling the others, “She has wings.”

“I thought they were an accessory,” said the one with the stitched mouth.

“What? No! I can move them, see?” She did so as she pointed at her back.

The redhead didn’t look convinced. “Then why didn’t you fly down instead of freefalling?”

“I didn’t mean to! The parachute was supposed to work!” She was very surprised that these people were being so skeptical. “And I can’t fly! Nobody can, that’s scientifically impossible.”

The captain looked at her with a mix of disdain and disbelief and told the men, “I can’t be assed with this. Kick her off, skin her alive, do whatever you want.”

He began to walk towards the throat of the gaping fish mouth, and Veleta eyed warily the two men that approached her, but she relaxed when they only let her out of the net.

“Oh, thank you so, so much!” She said again, this time bowing properly. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay your kindness!”

Veleta didn’t know why that was, but they looked mighty uncomfortable every time she thanked them. It had to be a cultural thing. Something to investigate. Maybe she needed to be more subtle? Some people were easily embarrassed by open gratitude.

Well, no matter, they seemed friendly people, even if their captain was a little grouchy. And he had a right to be, Veleta was intruding in their ship, after all. She pulled her waver upright and tested the wood to make sure it wasn’t broken. The sooner she could stop bothering them, the better.

She was gathering the tarp and ropes and shoving them at the back of the waver when the masked man said, “I’ve never seen that type of vehicle.”

Veleta was very glad to break the silence and even more to explain how her vehicle worked. “It’s a waver! We use them to sail in the sea clouds.” She twisted the handle a little so they could see the wind blowing out of the exhaust. The waver escaped her grasp for a second, but she caught it before it could launch itself towards one of her saviors. “They’re very practical, but it takes a lot of time to learn to ride one.”

Apparently, the captain hadn’t gone very far yet, because that caught his attention and he walked a few steps towards the group just to say, “Doesn’t look like you’re any good at it.”

Veleta laughed. “That’s a good one!” She had made an impressive entrance from their point of view, she realized. And she could see the gleam of curiosity in his eyes, even if he wasn’t saying anything. “But they aren’t made to fly!”

He didn’t look very happy with her response. “How’s it work? I don’t see an engine.”

“Aha!” Her eyes lit up. This was her favorite part each time she met explorers from the Blue Sea. “Here’s the trick!” She crouched behind the waver and fiddled with something inside the exhaust pipe until a piece came loose. She took out the dial that powered it and showed it to the crew. “It’s a breath dial!” She pushed the top, and it expelled a gust of wind strong enough in the captain’s face to make him take a step back. She offered it up for examination. “It’s really easy to use.”

He took the dial as his men watched him test it a few times with interest. “Not bad,” he said.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” mumbled the man with the stitched mouth.

“Cool, isn’t it?” Veleta said with a grin, and she extended her hands towards the redhead to take the dial back.

The man looked at the dial, then at Veleta with a grin that could have mirrored her own if she looked like she was about to snap someone’s neck every time she smiled, which she did not. “I’ll take this as repayment.”

“Eh?” She uttered in confusion, which gave way to panic when she realized he wasn’t giving it back and he was walking away again. “EEEH?!”

“Toss her out!” He barked without looking back, motioning at the sea with a hand.

The rest of the crew didn’t waste a moment to drop the waver back in the water, grab Veleta from under her arms and launch her onto her little vessel.

“Wait!” She yelled. “I need that dial to sail! You can’t leave me here!”

But the men had stopped paying attention to her the moment they flung her away. The strange ship that had rescued her unceremoniously sailed past her, dangerously rocking her waver and abandoning her to her luck in the middle of an unknown sea.

#lockheed veleta

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wangxiangiftexchange · 4 years ago

Text

Winter Solstice Gift for unwanted-animal

For @unwanted-animal, hope you like it!

Read on AO3

*****

Hidden beneath the waves

Wei Wuxian loved the sea, always had, always would. The sea made him free, gave him a sense of self determination that he often lacked in his day to day life.

Growing up by the seaside of Yunmeng, Wei Wuxian had started to take trips to the beaches at a fairly young age. Back in the day Uncle Jiang had still tried to forbid him from wandering around, for he’d seen the danger the ocean could pose, but Wei Wuxian had never been afraid. To him the water felt more like a blanket or loving embrace, holding him, shielding him against the world outside. As if he was fated to have a connection to the water.

His adoptive brother on the other hand was the exact opposite. Jiang Cheng hated the ocean with a passion. Too vast. Too unpredictable. Too unknown. They were different, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng had grown up with the heavy responsibility of one day becoming a clan leader resting upon his shoulders, while Wei Wuxian had only been a servant’s child adopted into the Jiang family. He had no obligations. No future already laid out for him. He could afford to love the sea and seek freedom among the waves. A luxury that wasn’t allowed to his brother.

Madam Yu, Uncle Jiang’s wife, reigned over the household with a strong tone and a wicked whip. She had done everything in her power to make her two true born kids into the heirs she wanted them to be and luckily she had no warmth in her heart for Wei Wuxian and cared little about what he did as long as he didn’t get anyone (aside from himself) into trouble.

This luxury had also allowed a young Wei Wuxian to start his trips to the sea and he’d soon found himself an excellent swimmer and diver, who enjoyed doing longer and further distances as he grew older. The best thing about his connection to the water however was yet still to come.

He’d been around fifteen or sixteen when he’d found it. The Cave. His home away from home. A beautiful place inaccessible from the shore. The only way inside was either by diving or by jumping down what looked two hundred cun from the rocks the cave lay hidden below. On sunny days the light would fall through the many cracks between the rocks and bath the cave in beautiful warm sunshine. On rainy days the rocks offered enough protection for Wei Wuxian to wait out the bad weather before he returned and even during high tide the cave wasn’t flooded. Over the time this place had become his sanctuary. The only place in the world that was solely his.

It wasn’t like the Jiangs treated him badly, on the contrary, they were very nice, and Wei Wuxian loved his family. He did bicker a lot with Jiang Cheng, but both of them knew that if push came to shove, they’d stick up for one another. Jiang Yanli, his sister, was the apple of his eye. For as long as Wei Wuxian could remember, she’d looked out for him and Jiang Cheng, comforting them after days of hard training and long studying.

However, none of what he had in the Jiang household was truly his. Everything had been given to him out of the goodness of Uncle Jiang’s heart, not because Wei Wuxian had earned it. And so, this cave had become his refuge, his happy place.

Over the years he’d even started to bring stuff into the cave and by now it was cluttered with all things Wei Wuxian treasured – brushes, ink and inkstone, scrolls and talismans, as well as all kinds of things he found during his diving trips. Pearls, shells and pottery. At some point he’d even been brave enough to sneak a bedroll out of the Lotus Pier and bring it here as well. He’d put protective charms on all of his possessions, so they’d survive the time in the water and the dive to the entrance of the cave. This way the place had become the safe space he’d return to whenever he needed to get away from home. With the bedding in place, Wei Wuxian had even spent an entire night after a particularly nasty remark from Madam Yu in the cave.

Lately however something had changed. Wei Wuxian couldn’t be sure yet, but it seemed that things in the cave seemed to change places in between his visits. He tended to leave this place in a mess, as he often set there for hours, working on talismans and charms, moving all his paper and brushes and ink bottles around and never tidying up just because he could. But lately Wei Wuxian had a feeling that his belongings had been moved to different places before his return. Like, they were still scattered and so he couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that they had been arranged in a way that even a storm wouldn’t harm them if the waters rose because the items had been moved to places inside the cave which were well enough protected.

But how was that even possible? Wei Wuxian had never told anyone of this place! And he was fairly sure that no one in Lotus Pier followed him here. Uncle Jiang had long since given up on telling Wei Wuxian to stay away from the sea and so it had become an open secret that Wei Wuxian would spend many days at the coast and on diving trips. There was no need for anyone to follow him and especially none to enter this cave in his absence and rearrange his stuff.

Therefore, Wei Wuxian had concluded that he needed to find the culprit and to do that he had to catch them in the act. All he knew was that his unbidden guest always waited until he was gone before they showed up and that left Wei Wuxian with the problem of needing to pretend that he was gone when he actually wasn’t. The only way to do it? Make use of the biggest gap between two rocks which would allow a person to fit through.

Before he entered the cave that day, he placed several ropes among the rocks on the shore, which had only taken him like two hours of climbing and a good lecture in why he liked swimming better. All sweaty and sticky, he’d fastened the ropes among the rocks, before returning to the shore and taking his usual diving trip that ended inside his little seaside home. Who ever followed him would probably wait until they’d seen him leave before they entered and so Wei Wuxian had to make sure he’d do exactly that.

The day went by like every other one he spend like this, the only difference being that after he left the cave, he once again climbed over the rocks which led to the place where he’d fastened the ropes earlier that day. This time he was a lot quicker, as he already knew where to go. The fall however would still be a deep one and the rope could only help him so much. It was risky. If anything went wrong, he could end up with broken legs in a cave no one in his family knew about. But what was life without a little bit of risk?

Getting down into the cave really turned out to be one of the physically most demanding things Wei Wuxian had ever done in his life and by the time he reached the bottom of the cave he had sworn to himself to give this intruder a piece of his mind once he caught them.

Panting heavily, he hid between some rocks as far away as possible from the water, but close enough to keep an eye on the entrance. He had no idea if anyone would show up and how long it would take, but he was sure that he hadn’t missed his visitor yet because all his stuff still lay around in places the water could reach during really bad weather.

Wei Wuxian had no idea for how long he’d waited and part of him was pretty close to giving up on this dumb idea, when he finally detected movement beneath the calm surface of the water that led into the cave. He craned he neck as he tried to get a better look and felt his heart speed up at the same moment.

What if the person wouldn’t mean well? What if they were… dangerous? Shit! Wei Wuxian hadn’t thought this far and now he was trapped in a cave, the only entrance blocked by whoever or whatever had invaded his safe space.

Desperately, he tried to stop the panic from rising in his guts and closing his airpipe. He was being ridiculous, was he not?

His thoughts came to sudden hold when his unbidden visitor finally emerged from the water.

He was… hot… no! Human, he was human! Or… not?

Wei Wuxian didn’t really know what his brain was doing at that moment, but the guy who was now swimming towards the land was the hottest man Wei Wuxian had ever seen in his life. He was tall, that much was easily detectable, had beautiful long black hair, broad (very naked!) shoulders and a toned, powerful chest. Suddenly Wei Wuxian felt hot for a thousand other reasons than danger. However, as soon as the guy made it to shore and emerged further from the water, the light gave way to something Wei Wuxian had not expected, not even in his most daring dreams.

From the hips down the guy was… a kraken? What the hell?

He had what looked like at least eight strong tentacles… was it rude to call them that?... glowing in a soft light blue colour. It was beautiful really, yet alien.

From where he was hiding, Wei Wuxian now watched the half-man-half-kraken (what do you call such a creature?) start to sort through all the stuff cluttering the ground of the cave. He seemed to try and judge which of these objects were the most… valuable? What did a sea creature sort by anyway?

Suddenly reminded of why Wei Wuxian was here in the first place, he jumped out from where he was hiding behind the rocks. “What do you think you’re doing?”, he blurted, before his brain managed to catch up to him and tell him that a half-man-half-kraken could possibly pose a considerable amount of danger to him.

His unbidden guest however turned in surprise, the tentacles wiggling in a rather cute way, as he heard Wei Wuxian’s voice. Those clear eyes the colour of washed out amber looked at him in disbelief for a moment and his lips, pink and soft, parted slightly. “Helping”, he said, sounding more lost than Wei Wuxian had expected him to.

The word was enough to make Wei Wuxian’s anger dissolve. Had he been too rude? Judged too quickly? At the moment, the half-man-half-kraken looked like a scolded child, as far as toned, hot, sexy water creatures could look like kids. “What do you mean, you are helping?”, Wei Wuxian asked, softer this time and tilted his head a little.

The half-man-half-kraken turned his head towards Wei Wuxian’s mess on the ground of the cave und then back to the man himself. “Your things are pretty. They will get wet if you leave them there”, the guy explained. His face was neutral, void of emotion, as was his voice, but still, something inside Wei Wuxian squeezed painfully.

“You think… my stuff is pretty…?”, he asked, blinking in astonishment. He really couldn’t remember what he’d imagined this encounter would be like, but this was certainly not it. How were half-man-half-kraken even a thing? And why was this one so… cute?

The unbidden guest nodded and said nothing. He wasn’t one for a thousand words that was for sure.

“So, you came here after I left to make sure my stuff wouldn’t get damaged?”, Wei Wuxian inquired further unable to keep his mouth from talking. Another nod followed. No words.

Wei Wuxian finally took some steps towards the half-man-half-kraken, trying not to stare at the tentacles holding the guy up. Was staring at those things considered rude among his kind? Wei Wuxian knew nothing about half-man-half-kraken, hell he hadn’t even known they were a thing until like… five minutes ago? “Thank you, I guess… uhm… I’m Wei Ying, curtesy name Wuxian, by the way. Who are you?”.

Clear eyes snapped up and looked more intensely at Wei Wuxian now. “Lan Zhan, curtesy name Wangji”.

Wei Wuxian laughed breathlessly. “Wow, I didn’t know… your kind… had curtesy names! What are you? Not a merman, right? Kraken?”, he was blabbering, he knew it, but his brain was still low on oxygen and not able to function properly, that was as least what he told himself. It wasn’t the fact that this fish guy in his cave was smoking hot and staring at him.

“Octopus”.

Ah… yes… octopus… what else, right?

“So… uhm… you like my stuff right, Lan Zhan? Want me to… show you some of it?”, being bold had always been one of Wei Wuxian’s most treasured character traits and he thought that not showing fear but being open with this octopus-man would be the best cause of action.

The sound of his given name made Lan Wangji’s ears turn a little red. Cute. He nodded again, but retreated to the water, at least so far that his lower half was hidden beneath the waves.

“You don’t need to hide, you know? It’s not like you’re ugly or anything. Quite the contrary”, Wei Wuxian said, again hating how there didn’t seem to be any filter between his mouth and his tongue.

“Need water. Gets uncomfortable”, Lan Wangji explained, raising one tentacle from the water and wiggling it through the air a little bit.

Oh… yeah… these things probably needed to stay moist or something. That made sense. “Sorry, regretfully I’m rather badly educated on the anatomy of octopus men”.

“Mn”.

Wow that was an all time low. Was ‘mn’ even considered a word?

Wei Wuxian spent the better part of the afternoon explaining serval of the things in his cave to Lan Wangji, who listened carefully and clung to Wei Wuxian’s lips as if he were talking about the most interesting things on the planet and not just brushes and inkstones. Actually, Wei Wuxian discovered that talking to Lan Wangji was easy and fun. The other would listen and ask intelligent questions, demanding some further information and even made Wei Wuxian tell one or two anecdotes from his childhood. It was fun. It was easy. He enjoyed it a lot.

And soon the sun started to sink and Wei Wuxian had to get back to Lotus Pier before night fell and swimming, especially diving in the black ocean got too dangerous, but not without promising one another that they would meet again in a few days and that Wei Wuxian would bring more little trinkets from the human world.

Lan Wangji, it turned out, hadn’t seen a lot of things the landwalkers used, only what little sank to the bottom of the sea after a shipwreck. And so, Wei Wuxian brought lots of items to the cave over the cause of the following weeks, explaining each of them to a very attentive Lan Wangji, who had grown accustomed to half laying on the sandy ground and half in the water to keep his tentacles moist enough. Occasionally, he would come ashore completely, but only for a few minutes and only to indulge Wei Wuxian.

This led to the more than questionable idea Wei Wuxian woke up with one morning several weeks after their first meeting and led to him and Lan Wangji making a series of trips to and from the cave to get all the stuff Wei Wuxian needed in there. Admittedly, Lan Wangji was the faster swimmer and did more trips than Wei Wuxian. But it was Wei Wuxian who in the end, and over the cause of the next three days, build something that at least faintly looked like the tubs they used in Lotus Pier for bathing. The ideal way for Lan Wangji to stay wet and yet make it out of the water.

Filling the thing also turned out to be a lot of work, but Wei Wuxian had more fun than he’d ever admit, carrying bucket after bucket of water to the tub. And yeah, the stupid thing leaked. But not so much that filling it with a few buckets every now and then wouldn’t be enough.

Needless to say, Wei Wuxian was proud of his work and Lan Wangji was happy to spend more time with him this way.

They had grown quite acquainted with one another and even Lan Wangji had gone over to telling a few stories of his home beneath the waves. Of his reef called Gusu and his very kind brother Lan XiChen and his stern uncle Lan Qiren, who had raised the two brothers after the untimely death of their parents. It was quite fascinating to listen to these narratives from a world no one but Wei Wuxian knew about.

He’d promised Lan Wangji not to tell anyone but keep him and his people a secret from the landwalkers. Even if that meant telling his family that he was out chasing after girls in the city.

The truth was, as strange as it sounded, Wei Wuxian hadn’t found himself looking at any of the girls he usually liked to flirt with since he’d met Lan Wangji. Not that liking both men and women was any news to him, but his little (tall!) octopus seemed to have chased everyone else from his mind altogether and if he was honest with himself he had more than a small crush on his maritime friend.

Was that strange? Was it wrong to love someone of a different species?

Lan Wangji was so kind and cute and warm in ways humans lacked. Wei Wuxian really couldn’t imagine a life without him anymore. At the same time, he’d sworn to himself that he’d take the truth about his feelings to the grave. His new friend surely didn’t appreciate being lusted after by a human.

And so, Wei Wuxian kept quiet but enjoyed the time he was allowed with Lan Wangji in their cave that had now become not only his safe space but the other man’s as well.

One day in the middle of summer, when the temperatures where high and the air was moist, the two of them were sitting together idly, laughing and playing a game of chess in which they had replaced the usual black and white stones with brightly coloured shells Lan Wangji had brought from his home.

The atmosphere was relaxed, and Wei Wuxian was blabbering about this or that telling Lan Wangji about his brother and sister and uncle, while the other man listened, quietly placing a stone (shell) on the chess board every now and then. It was one of those lazy days when the world didn’t exactly stand still but moved it little more slowly.

Wei Wuxian had put his wet robes on one of the ropes he’d used once upon a time to climb into the cave and find his intruder. Ropes which had long been put to better use as clothes lines for Wei Wuxian to dry his stuff on.

Therefore, he was currently sitting there in nothing but is under robes, with Lan Wangji being naked however that didn’t seem to matter much. Octopus people didn’t have a concept of clothes and also didn’t need it, so why would Wei Wuxian feel bothered if he wore a little less than socially proper?

He was laughing and enjoying his time and didn’t notice how the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, at least not until darkness fell over the cave and it was hard for him to see and the water had turned into a black, moving mass he couldn’t hope to navigate through anymore.

“Damn!”, he said, getting up from where he’d sat on the ground opposite of Lan Wangji in his water filled tub. “It’s dark already! I can’t go back like this”.

“Then don’t”, Lan Wangji said, his eyes bright even in the fading light of the late evening.

“But… I’d have to stay here. I mean… I do have a bedding and I did it once before, but honestly, it’s lonely and a little scary”, Wei Wuxian admitted, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. He really didn’t want to spend an entire night alone in this cave, but he also knew that swimming and especially diving at this hour could turn out to be life threatening. Without light he could easily lose his orientation and if he couldn’t make it back to the surface in time, he’d drown. It was a risk he couldn’t take.

“I will stay with Wei Ying”, Lan Wangji said, sounding so sincere that it made Wei Wuxian’s heart jump in his chest.

“You… what?”

“I will spend the night here too, so Wei Ying isn’t alone. I can sleep in the tub and Wei Ying can use the bedding”, Lan Wangji explained again, as if Wei Wuxian hadn’t just asked out of astonishment. The last person who’d been willing to offer something like this had been his sister shortly after Wei Wuxian had arrived at the Lotus Pier and as a result of a fight with Jiang Cheng had run away.

“Lan Zhan...”, he whispered. “Thank you…”.

Lan Wangji nodded and even left the tub to get closer to Wei Ying and comfort him. His upper body, all human skin, had dried in the summer air.

And suddenly it was all too much. Lan Wangji’s kindness and Wei Wuxian’s feelings for him and the gratitude that washed over him, all that combined made his vow of taking the truth about what he felt for Lan Wangji crumble to dust.

“Lan Zhan, you're really the kindest, and cutest person! I like you so much! Really, really like you! I never wanted to tell you, but I can't keep it in any longer. I'm so sorry!”, Wei Wuxian blurted, overwhelmed by his feelings of love and gratitude and longing. It was like he'd been in love with Lan Wangji for months, his feelings gradually growing with every day spent in the cave. And now they were finally making their way to the surface.

Wei Wuxian half expected Lan Wangji to change his mind and leave him alone in the cave. However, instead of turning his back on him, Lan Wangji raised his hand and placed it tenderly on Wei Wuxian's cheek. His skin was warm and soft, and Wei Wuxian wanted nothing more than to lean into the embrace.

“Wei Ying must not apologize for his feelings. I too have liked Wei Ying for a long time”.

The words washed over Wei Wuxian like warm water. A summer rain. Soothing, soft, calming, giving him a sense of joy, he'd thought beyond his reach.

“Lan Zhan...” he whispered.

The hand on his face suddenly felt hot against his skin and he could sense his blood rush towards his cheeks.

“Wei Ying... Can I kiss you...?”.

“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes! I like you! I love you! I fancy you!”, Wei Wuxian threw his arms around Lan Wangji's neck and next thing he knew, soft lips were pressed against his own. Lan Wangji tasted like salt and stone and for a reason unknown, sunlight. His lips were soft and plush and the kiss almost chaste, as if they both weren't sure yet what to do. The pace was slow as their mouths moved against each other but got more daring with every passing second.

Wei Wuxian had closed his eyes the moment their lips had made contact, lashes fanning against his cheekbones and his hands were now buried in the other man's hair, threading through the soft strands, still damp from the water.

Contrary to Wei Wuxian's expectations, Lan Wangji was the more daring of the two and before Wei Wuxian felt brave enough to deepen the kiss, there was a teasing tongue running along his lips, demanding entry.

And who was Wei Wuxian to deny Lan Wangji anything?

His nerves were on fire by the time Lan Wangji licked into his mouth, dirty, sloppy noises arising from there their lips were still connected and the last bit of Wei Wuxian's sanity flew out the nonexistent window the moment he felt Lan Wangji's strong hand open the strings of the flimsy outer robes.

More than once had Wei Wuxian dreamed of exactly this. Of Lan Wangji's hands on Wei Wuxian's body. Of their tongues moving together. Of being turned over and... What exactly? How did this even work? Did Lan Wangji have a cock like humans did? Wei Wuxian didn't know, but honestly, he didn't care. There would be, there had to be, a way for Lan Wangji to fuck him. And heavens, how much he wanted to be fucked by him.

Finally, the hand had opened Wei Wuxian's robes and was now making its way under the thin fabric, running along hot skin and teasing every bit of it. It was almost too much and yet not enough, and Wei Wuxian caught himself craving even more with every soft touch and pinch.

He was drowning. Or at least he thought that this must be what drowning felt like because he was entirely engulfed, his breath taken from him and completely unable to fight back. Not that he wanted to, but Wei Wuxian knew that there was no escaping this longing, burning sensation wreaking havoc in his chest. The floodgates had been opened and now there was no way back.

Wei Wuxian had no idea for long they had kissed, before both of Lan Wangji's hands attacked his nipples, pinching and squeezing and drawing the most embarrassing moans from Wei Wuxian's throat. He wiggled in Lan Wangji’s embrace but to no avail and as if teasing his chest and sending bolts of electricity right down to his groin wasn’t bad enough, Lan Wangji decided to break the kiss in favour of teasing the sensitive skin of Wei Wuxian’s neck.

Sharp teeth nipped on the spot right below his ear, making Wei Wuxian moan again as he threw his head back to allow Lan Wangji better access.

The robes finally slipped off his shoulders leaving him bare to the other man's sight and as if on clue, Lan Wangji retreated for a second and let his burning gaze run along Wei Wuxian's body.

The usually amber coloured eyes had darkened with lust and there was something feral in Lan Wangji's sight, something that really did set him apart from humans (aside from the gills under each ear) that also had a direct connection to Wei Wuxian's cock. Hell, he'd developed a fish kink or something.

“Wei Ying is truly beautiful”, Lan Wangji said, running a hand down Wei Wuxian's torso, only stopping inches away from his waistline and everything below.

“So are you”, Wei Wuxian replied, voice soft with the smile on his kiss swollen lips.

There was something questioning in Lan Wangji's gaze. As if he needed permission before he continued, while his gaze alternated between Wei Wuxian's face and well... his cock that was already flushed and wet from nothing more than a bit of kissing and teasing.

“Wei Ying”, the words hang heavy in the air. “I want to touch you but... There is something I haven't told you about my people”.

“What is it?”, the words were tentative, fueling the uncertainty of being wanted inside Wei Wuxian's heart. Was it forbidden for them to mate with humans? Was Wei Wuxian not good enough?

“We only do this with one person ever. We... mate for life”, Lan Wangji said.

It took Wei Wuxian a while for the words to fully sink in, for him to entirely grasp at their meaning.

Mate for life? With only one person?

“Does that mean...”, he began, voice breaking at the possibility that hung above them, waiting for either of them to speak it out.

“Do you want to be my mate, Wei Ying?”.

Wei Wuxian’s legs were ready to give out and probably would have if it hadn’t been for Lan Wangji being there to catch him. “Yes”, he breathed, overwhelmed by the sheer endless emotions running free in his heart.

Never in his most daring dreams had he imagined becoming the husband of a sexy, kind, hot and funny octopus man.

Less than a heartbeat later, he found himself on his back, the bedding cushioning his fall against the sandy and rocky ground of the cave. “Lan Zhan!”, he gasped.

Said Lan Zhan was now hovering above him, eyes impossibly dark and filled with a hunger that had nothing to do with nourishing one’s body. “Mine”, he growled in the back of his throat as the tentacles now slowly wandered up Wei Wuxian's body.

He's never dared touch them, too afraid of offending his newfound friend. But Wei Wuxian had always admired them. The light blue colour was truly pretty and the texture look softer up close than he'd ever imagined. Being touched by them now, he also realized that contrary to his imagination, they were not cold, but slightly warm and slippery, leaving wet trails in their wake.

The trails burned a little against Wei Wuxian's skin and he wondered if this was due to his ever-mounting arousal or if there was a different reason entirely.

“Lan Zhan”, he began, gasping as one of the tentacles flicked against his left nipple at the same time as Lan Wangji's teeth nipped at his neck again. “The tentacles... It feels so hot where they touch. What is this?”.

Lan Wangji raised his head and tilted it as if Wei Wuxian had just asked the most ridiculous question ever. “For the mating process of course? How else will I be able to give you pleasure for hours?”.

“P... Pleasure for hours?” Wei Wuxian repeated, eyes wide.

“Yes. We mate. All night”, Lan Wangji confirmed. To him this wasn't any news apparently and also seemed to be the standard way of mating among octopus people.

“Lan Zhan! Go easy on me! Poor Wei Ying how is he going to survive an entire night of love making?”, Wei Wuxian half teased, and half actually asked.

“No worries. I will take good care of you", answered Lan Wangji, attaching his mouth back to Wei Wuxian's neck as if there was no further need to discuss the topic.

A sentiment that Wei Wuxian found himself agreeing to barely a moment later when one of the tentacles touched his cock.

It was again soft and a little slippery and the wetness, probably something like an aphrodisiac, burned in the most delicious way, leaving Wei Wuxian a moaning, panting mess as the tentacle wrapped around his cock and stated to move in a slow but steady rhythm. If this continued, Wei Wuxian wouldn't survive the night, but that seemed totally worth it at this moment. “Ahhhh... Lan Zhan...”, he panted, throwing his head back.

Lan Wangji's teeth teased his skin and the tentacle played with his cock at the same time as another one started to move against one of his nipples once more, overwhelming his body with the sheer amount of sensations.

Being assaulted like this it didn't take long for Wei Wuxian to come, his release spilling over Lan Wangji's tentacle.

“Good boy”, growled Lan Wangji, the tentacle coming up to Wei Wuxian's lips and softly forcing itself a way into his mouth. It tasked like a mixture of Wei Wuxian himself and the vast, deep sea. As if after so long he'd truly become one with the ocean he'd loved all his life.

Wet and glistening with spit, the tentacle finally retreated and made its way down Wei Wuxian's body again, this time down his back, teasing at where his torso was connected to his hips.

Anticipation rose in Wei Wuxian like a snake coiling in his guts. He knew what was to come. He'd imagined it so often at night and yet had never gotten remotely close to what was actually happening to him right now.

Tentatively, the wet appendix prodded at his entrance, oozing out more of its arousing wetness that would now also help getting entrance to Wei Wuxian's body.

Was this how it would be? Wei Wuxian fucked by tentacles while Lan Zhan's teeth kept teasing and biting and sucking at his throat and neck while Wei Wuxian moaned and screamed and writhed again and again? He wanted to be fucked badly.

The sensation came as a surprise. The first touch inside so fade that it almost wasn't there at all. But that changed with the increasing girth of the tentacle entering him, stretching him slowing, the burn only faintly recognizable, which the last of Wei Wuxian's functioning braincells blamed on the aphrodisiac as well. Other than that, all he could discern was pleasure. It simmered in his belly and crawled through his veins. It set the ends of his nerves on fire and had him scream in bliss, his hands leaving sharp marks on Lan Wangji's back, as the tentacle fucked into him, drawing the most lewd and filthy sounds from his body.

Strong hands brought him into a sitting position, his legs spread over Lan Wangji's lap, as the tentacle kept thrusting inside of him in fast pace. Wei Wuxian's cock was painfully hard again, despite having come... what? minutes? seconds? hours? ago. He had no sense of time left.

And he probably wouldn't have noticed it, if it hadn't rubbed against his cock that so badly sought friction while his ass was being pounded - Lan Wangji's cock.

It took all of Wei Wuxian's remaining will to look down. There it was, peeking out from where it had laid hidden in a slit below Lan Wangji's hips. The cock looked nothing like Wei Wuxian's but was beautiful, nonetheless. Blue in colour just like the tentacles and curved back but covered with what looked like shimmering fish scales.

“I want to suck it”, Wei Wuxian blurted between two embarrassing moans, as the tentacle inside him hit his prostate straight on. His back arched and Lan Wangji's steadying hands where the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“Another time. Tonight, I want to be inside you”, Lan Wangji said, more tentacles coming up and wrapping around Wei Wuxian's body to bring him into position.

Wei Wuxian waited for the tentacle inside him to pull out, but it didn't. It kept on thrusting and thrusting as Lan Zhan started to flick his tongue against Wei Wuxian's nipple again and his hand took up pumping his leaking, angry red cock.

“Ahhhh... Lan Zhan... I can't... I'm gonna come again...”, Wei Wuxian babbled, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as the pleasure rose to an unknown high before it exploded once again, flooding Wei Wuxian with more sensations than his abused body could take. And yet, the tentacle didn't cease thrusting inside of him, fucking him through his orgasm and leaving him a complete mess by the time it finally retreated.

“Wei Ying is so good for me. So perfect”, Lan Wangji praised, holding Wei Wuxian close and giving him comfort as he came down from his orgasm, little sobs falling from his lips like tear drops.

“Lan Zhan... So cruel”.

“Wei Ying can take even more. I'm sure of it”.

Wei Wuxian sobbed again. The aphrodisiac was still causing through his body, leaving him in a state of unbearable arousal even after being fucked through his second orgasm. He was already on the verge of overstimulation and there was Lan Wangji's beautiful cock still waiting for him. It was leaking a pearly white substance now and the colour had darkened as well.

“Ah Lan Zhan! Do it! Fuck me! Make me yours! I want it, I want it all”, Wei Wuxian demanded, his hands tugging at the strands of Lan Wangji's soft black hair.

He'd barely finished the words, when the tentacles moved him down so that Lan Wangji's cock was only inches away from Wei Wuxian's already slick and open hole. It took Lan Wangji no more than one precise thrust to fully sheath himself inside Wei Wuxian and make him scream in pleasure. “So good! Lan Zhan, you feel so good!”.

The sensation was a completely different one altogether, and yet even better than the tentacle from earlier. Not lacking in girth, the scales on Lan Wangji's cock rubbed against Wei Wuxian's inner walls with every thrust and the pointy tip hit his prostate with precision.

Boneless and overwhelmed there wasn't much Wei Wuxian could do anymore, but the tentacles holding him did the rest of the work. Moving him so that Lan Wangji could reach as deep as possible, leaving both of them moaning and seeking each other’s lips in frantic kisses.

Tears were now streaming down Wei Wuxian's cheeks and little whimpers escaped his lips even as they there being kissed. It was all too much and the pleasure coming from where Lan Wangji fucked him with a brutal pace burned his body like a wildfire.

He knew the scream that tore from his throat as he came for a third time was embarrassing, but he couldn't care less and feeling Lan Wangji's hot release inside him, as he clutched down on him hard the moment he fell apart, almost made him come again.

It took him a small eternity to come back to his senses and by the time he reopened his eyes, Wei Wuxian was lying on the bedding again, his body pliant and spent and sore in so many ways, but clean and warm. Lan Wangji was lying next to him, fingers softly running through Wei Wuxian's hair.

“Hey, my mate...” said Wei Wuxian, his voice rough from their previous activities.

Lan Wangji's eyes lit up and his ears turned the cutest shade of pink, even after all the lewd things they'd just done.

“Mate”, he repeated and leaned down for a soft and sweet kiss.

Wei Wuxian raised one hand and placed it on Lan Wangji's cheek. He had no idea what the future would hold for a human and an octopus, but as long as they had one another, he was sure they'd be able to face it all.

“I love you, Lan Zhan”.

“And I love you, Wei Ying”.

Needless to say, what followed was a night Wei Wuxian would not forget and that taught him more than he’d ever wanted to know about the various ways a tentacle could be used. Apparently, Lan Wangji had more stamina than any man should.

#unwanted-animal #wangxiansolstice20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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orionwhispers · 5 years ago

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Beware Of The Dogs; Alfie Solomons Imagine

( A/N so my Alfie imagine started as a oneshot, then it became a 2 parter, then 3, and now possibly 4. Im sorry theres no Alfie in this part but the family dynamic was really important for me to write, and ill be releasing part 2 at the same time so ill link it below. thx for endless patience and love. you guys genuinely mean the world 2 me.)

PART II

PART III

The night you left was the last day of summer.

The sky was fading lavender, mirroring the wildflowers crushed under your high heels. You could see the faint outline of the moon, big and round and full, illuminating the trees beside you and reflecting off the empty wine glass in your hand.You enjoyed the temporary buzz you had from draining your drink, that short term numbness that made your whole body feel electric. You needed it. You needed a distraction from what you planned on doing.

It felt bittersweet, watching the evening darken as you reminisced alone. You could hear the hum of music from inside and see the comforting glow of a lamp lighting up the shadows around you. You wanted to wallow in self pity for longer, but the moon overhead was just as ominous as a ticking clock, reminding you that you’re running on limited time.

The house was quiet.

It seemed smaller somehow, emptier. You thought back to the night you were told you would be moving in with your Aunt, the start of summer, when the air was warm and you went to bed every night with tears in your eyes. It seemed so long ago, the day you realised just how overprotective your family were, just how much control they held over your life.

They wanted you out of Small Heath. They thought you would be out of harms way with your Aunt, they told you you’d be safer away from the family. It pierced through your heart like a dagger, knowing your younger brother could still roam the streets till midnight, your older sister could travel around the country whenever she pleased, but you were to be locked away like a dirty little secret.

It had all started when Billy Kimber had made a remark about you a few years prior, something vulgar and degrading about you being the youngest Shelby girl and maybe he should make you his wife. You remembered coming home from school to see Arthur’s knuckles black and blue, seething through his teeth, the family arguing around the table, falling silent when you stepped into the room.

You were the weak spot in the family.

You weren’t like the others, you were quieter, soft spoken and kind. It would be all to easy to manipulate you, to overpower you as you walked the streets, to press a blade into your throat and cut through the bindings of the whole family.You knew your family loved you, your siblings had practically raised you from the moment you were born, but there was such a thin line between protection and control. It felt as if the Shelby name was branded onto your forehead, a dirty tattoo scorched onto your skin that you could never remove. They had always taken care of you, but now it felt like the supporting hand on your shoulder was clasped across your mouth, stifling your screams.

Moving into Polly’s house had been a compromise. You had wanted to leave since you were a little girl. You dreamt of following in your sisters footsteps and leaving the smog and smoke of Small Heath, but you were practically forbidden. You screamed and spat at Tommy until your throat felt raw, you threw your shoe like a child at Arthur and you begged Polly for support but she turned her head away, unable to look at you. They were worried for you, you knew that, but it never healed the dull ache in your stomach, the unbearable pain that you would forever be treated as if you were a child incapable of making her own decisions.

You wanted to be a writer. You had since you first picked up an ink pen in infant school and would make up stories for a toddler sized Finn, laying in the bedroom you shared, listening to the pace of his breathing as you spoke of lives bigger than the both of you.You dreamt in colour, lines of prose leaking onto paper in your bleak bedroom, stories you would create that absorbed you inside. Whilst your siblings imagined mounds of wealth and fortune and power, you fantasied about a fairytale, true love and eternal happiness. You wrote to your brothers when they were fighting in the war, thick long letters that distracted them from the horrors around them, the kind of familiar interruption that sliced through the barbarity around and kept them going.You were too innocent, too pure, they couldn’t let you get hurt.

But that wasn’t their decision to make.

Tommy wanted you nearby, close enough he could keep an eye on you but far away enough that you wouldn’t grind him down with your persistent demands or attempts to rebel his authority. You were to move in with Polly and Michael, your cousin, who was a few months younger than you but treated as if he was decades older.

In the early days when he arrived in the fog of Small Heath, Michael became your closest confidant. You were delighted that your beloved Aunt had finally found her son and he was as warm hearted and soft spoken as she remembered, and you were enthralled with the newcomer, devouring his stories of the country whenever you got the chance. But it wasn’t long before you watched him becoming captivated by your brothers, that dizzying kind of hypnotism you had become all too familiar with, small smiles and glistening eyes, the kind of secrecy and camaraderie only shared between men.

You sat at home, your hands black with ink in an empty house. Tapping your foot across the worn out flooring, a Blinder standing guard outside the front door whilst Michael was allowed to visit the races and spend nights drinking until the sun rose. You thought your similar age would mean that you and Michael would form solidarity over his protective mother and your precautious brothers but just like you had watched with Finn, Michael was an exception, welcomed into the ruthless gang with open arms whilst you gawped from the sidelines.

You would curl up on the floor, the telephone pressed to your skull as your ranted and raved to Ada. You could hear her sigh, soft and kind but crackly from the connection, making you miss the warmth of her body and her comforting smell. She had gotten out. She was firmer than you, she knew how to talk to Tommy, her relationship with Freddie had cemented her independence and maturity and she escaped to London as soon as she could. You didn’t blame her, she was protecting Karl, but you still felt an unwelcome heat in your gut if you thought about it for too long, the realisation that you were completely alone in your fight for freedom.

The brothers had always been protective of her, indents on their knuckles from brash boys that lurked in the alleyways as she walked home from school, watchful eyes following whenever she left alone, but she never experienced the same kind of shielding as you. You had been so young when the business first started that by the time you reached your teens, the chains had already been bound around your wrists. You became a woman around the same time that enemies were sniffing around the streets and simple business turned to bloodshed, you knew your name had been slung around as a bargaining chip from men who revolted you, you knew you were the cause of many family arguments that started with slamming doors and ended with tears.

Truthfully you were scared. Your family was changing, your brothers who playfully swung you over their shoulders and cleaned your scraped knees when you fell off your bike had been altered by the war. Your Aunt was brash and distant, and your sister had severed herself from the rest of you, her mind occupied with her child and her political views. Once, you had asked John to let you assist him with the books, you were good at arithmetic, top of your class, but that didn’t matter, all that anyone saw when they looked at you was a potential victim.

When John got married, something inside of you shifted.

You noticed Tommy watching you that night, as Ada got drunk and bellowed at him, as Polly smoked and danced barefoot and as the fire crackled and roared, his eyes flickered to yours. You wondered how long it would be until your beloved brother would trade you for a business deal like he did John. You weren’t a fool, as much as he loved and protected you, Tommy was ruthless when it came to business. You wondered who would be so much of a threat to the family that your hand in marriage would be used to settle a dispute. At that moment you weren’t old enough, you knew that Arthur would put his foot down and pull you out of the mud if Tommy suggested anything, but you couldn’t help wondering what might happen in a few years, when Tommy inevitably ruled the world and you were displayed so innocently by his side, something to sweeten the deal.

You felt so defeated that night, as Ada gave birth and the boys went to the Garrison you downed half a bottle of whisky, you loved the burn at the back of your throat, the heat inside of you, and the way the room spun and your eyes blurred. You drank until your stomach flipped and you couldn’t stop the tears and Finn found you collapsed on his bed, sneaking in beside you and pulling you close, letting you weep onto his shoulder.

After that monumental night you felt yourself fold like origami. You lurked in the shadows, only moving around the house when it was empty and spending all of your free time with friends, loving the temporary normality they gave you. But things got worse. Stolen guns and fixed races and a police officer who rode around the streets on a white mare brought turmoil into the routine you had grown fond of, and it wasn’t long until you were pulled into a family meeting and your future was once again ripped out of your hands.

So you made the decision to leave.

It had started at the peak of summer, when the sun was high and your morale was low and you spent every morning alone, the fire inside of you rivalling the heat of the air. You’d wake up to an empty house, the rest of the family on their own escapades whilst you were left to your own devices. Boredom overtook your senses. You’d brew yourself a mug of tea, stirring in sugar until it clumped at the bottom like wet sand and then you’d tip out the contents, watching as it travelled down the drain. You would write in your journal until the pages grew heavy and your hand hurt and the spine tore from the weight, the pages overflowing with your scrawled handwriting. It wasn’t until you flicked through the weekly newspaper with your feet hanging over the edge of Polly’s velvet sofa did a plan start to form in your mind.

There was a small row of sentences that caught your eye as you flipped over the pages of political conflict and global finances. You could have missed it, but something inside of you drew your pupils to the text that day, you were certain of it. It made you jolt upright, your palms prickling as you folded the paper in half and held it up to your nose for closer inspection, cautiously glancing around the empty living room as if one of your siblings would be lying in wait. There wasn’t much information, just a simple statement about a new publishing company in London, a city that seemed so enchanting to you, and their need for a new receptionist. You tore the page out, gently flattening the seam you had ripped, before darting up the stairs two at a time and hiding your treasure deep under your mattress. That night after Polly and Michael came home, with flushed faces and confidential conversations, you devoured it over and over again, dreaming of the possibilities.

You operated in secret, ringing on a Thursday morning when you knew everyone was occupied at the betting shop. You played with a loose thread on your stocking as the phone connected, the low hum soothing you as you chewed on your lower lip. His name was Edmund. The publishing company had been his fathers and after his passing it was now his, he spoke rapidly and kindly, delighted that someone had called for the job. You hadn’t expected it to go so smoothly, listening and answering eagerly to any questions he might have had, discussing your favourite books and authors, hearing his tales of the city. He asked if you could start the first Monday of September and the phone slipped from your fingers and clattered onto the floor, you cursed and apologised quickly, your entire body flushed the colour of beetroot from both elation and embarrassment.

It wasn’t until the very end of the conversation when Edmund realised he didn’t have your name, you stilled and felt your eyebrows reach your hairline, almost biting your tongue to stop yourself from accidentally telling the truth.

“Rose...Rosie!Rosie Smith.” You lied, thinking back to the red haired girl you had sat next to in primary school, completely baffled but ultimately happy with your brain for conjuring her up at the last second.

“Well, Rosie. I look forward to working with you.”

The call ended and you squealed into your sleeve, the noise muffled from the fabric. You were terrified but filled with joy, your heart practically leaping from your chest. You pressed your head against the wallpaper, exhaling loudly and curling your toes. This was your chance.

In the days that followed you tried your best to remain nonchalant, determined not to arouse suspicion. You sat on your bedroom floor, counting pennies you had saved to send off to Edmund for a deposit on a flat, daydreaming of what it might look like. You rummaged through your wardrobe, planning outfits and accessories that would match your new life and newfound freedom. Underneath the false bravado however, you were terrified. Guilt would rise up inside you when you least expected it, when John, Esme and the kids would come over for a Sunday roast, the little ones clinging to your legs whilst your older brother playfully ruffled your hair and pinched the skin on your elbow. You’d feel a wave of unpleasant sadness when you would wipe Arthur’s knuckles clean after a bad day, talking to him in low tones as he nursed a bottle of something strong, taking care of him like he did when you were just a child.

You even found yourself tolerating Tommy’s firm hand, rolling your eyes when he ordered you about instead of lashing at him like you once had. You often wondered if he knew something was off, the way that you would join the family at the dinner table or laugh in the garden with Johnny Dogs when mere weeks ago you would have barricaded yourself in your room rather than surround yourself with your blood. He never said anything, just watched you curiously as if you were another business conundrum to solve, those brilliant cogs in his mind trying to figure you out.

Finn would come over whenever he could, exhilarated from his new life, slouching on the sofa as he scoffed vanilla biscuits and spun tales about everything he had done that day. In those moments, watching your younger brothers’ eyes glint and shine as he reminisced about everything so brutal that he was a part of, did you somewhat understand your family’s overprotectiveness. You longed to keep Finn wrapped up in cotton wool, part of you wanted to sling him by ears and drag him to Tommy, demanding that he quit the gang and scold Tom for ever letting your youngest sibling be a part of something that could kill him. But the night would end, Finn would kiss your cheeks and tell you he’d see you again, and he’d head to the Garrison or a new club with Isaiah. He’d wander the streets high as a kite, whilst you were stuck alone in a house that didn’t belong to you, a Blinder standing guard outside, punished for sins you hadn’t committed.

You had everything sorted. Your bag was packed and you’d asked your best friend Isabella to purchase a train ticket under your name, opting for one that left just before midnight so you could make your departure as painless as possible. You’d hidden all the evidence under your bed, in an empty shoebox left over from your birthday, a pair of expensive heels bought by Tommy as a bribe to keep you placid. You hated how he tried to keep you quiet with material items, but dammit, the man had good taste.

The night you left, you burned everything. You watched every trace of your secret catch alight and then shrivel into ash, every tiny thread that could lead to your whereabouts gather into a heap at the bottom of the fireplace, smoke filling the room. You bit back tears as you noticed the family photo on the mantle, a present from Polly one Christmas, all of you squashed together, the boys stoic under the lights, the girls glowing with beauty. You were wrapped under Arthur’s arm, Tommy’s palm flat against your back, holding you in place. At the time you had squirmed, finding it dominating and aggressive, but looking at the black and white photograph now, you thought it looked comforting.

You didn’t have time to dwell in your feelings, the large grandfather clock in the hall chimed, signalling that it was getting later and you would have to make a move. You had already almost been caught, and your whole body was on edge, a chill making its way down your spine. The rest of the family were out, it had taken weeks of planning to make sure they were all out of range on the night you needed to leave. You’d planted a seed in Johnny Dogs head that he should throw a party, inconspicuously dropping hints whenever the excitable man was around. It didn’t take long before he had persuaded Arthur to close the Garrison for the public one night and invite the whole street round to drink and dance.

You had feigned illness in the few days that led up, moping around more than usual and coughing and spluttering if anyone came too close. You seriously considered becoming an actress because even the all knowing Polly was fooled, tutting as she placed a hand on your forehead and made you cups of lemon and lavender tea to ail your “sore throat”. That morning as you boiled eggs for your youngest brother and cousin, you sniffled and limped like you were in the running as an extra in a Charlie Chaplin movie.

“I don’t want to catch whatever you have!” Finn said, squirming away from you as he dunked his toast into his dippy egg, yolk exploding over the rim of the cup and onto Polly’s fine china. “I have to be well for tonight.”

“You get invited to one party and you suddenly think you’re in with the big dogs.” Michael muttered, dragging his fork along the plate, scraping up every last crumb and making you wince at his lack of manners.

“Oi! I’ve been a Blinder longer than you have.”

“Oh, is that so? Well...”

“Put a sock in it will you? You’re both behaving like animals and I don’t need another bloody headache.” You scolded, placing your head in your hands and groaning for effect.

They both mumbled lacklustre apologies but you didn’t miss the sly kick Finn made to his cousin under the table, the corners of his mouth turning up in mischief.

“Are you coming tonight?” Finn asked, recoiling as you leant forward wiped the dirty corners of his mouth with the pad of your thumb. “Tommy says you can.”

You rolled your eyes, and wrinkled your nose in displeasure, “Well that’s awfully kind of him.” You grumbled sarcastically, “How honourable of the bloody king to say what I can and can’t do!”

“You know he just wants to protect you.” Michael said, looking at you over the top of his teacup. You raised an eyebrow at the sheer adoration in your cousins voice, knowing that Tommy probably seemed incredible to someone he wasn’t trying to control.

“That’s very nice of him, but I actually think I’m going to call it an early night, it will be nice to have some uninterrupted sleep for once.” You lied, peering at the boys with faux annoyance.

Finn licked his spoon clean, slurping loudly and you smacked him on the back of the head, pulling his hair gently when he protested. “You should come.” He murmured, chewing on his bottom lip as if it held a new loaf of bread for him to devour. “It won’t be the same without you.”

His words were so simple and kind that you felt your heart shatter. You knew leaving was the right thing to do, you had to leave Small Heath or risk your sanity, but Finn was the one nagging voice in your skull that made you want to stay. You pushed your chair over to him, listening as it squealed against the wood flooring, and grabbed his face in your palms. “I love you, Finnegan.” You said, looking him straight in his big eyes and using the nickname you created when you were a child. He struggled gently against your grip, squirming from embarrassment but you saw the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. You placed three sloppy kisses across his face, wondering when he got so big and you brushed your thumb over his cheek all whilst he wriggled against you.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?”

“It’s only the Garrison!”

“Finn.” You said sharply, “Promise me?”

His eyes searched yours, a thin layer of confusion across his features, pupils darting for some kind of explanation. You pinched his cheeks playfully and he nodded, your hands raising with the movement.

“Yes! I promise!” He relented, sticking his tongue out like he was five again.

“Good.” You smiled, placing another dramatically long kiss on the heat of his forehead, laughing when he pushed you away, Michael watching with patient yet curious eyes.

“You better not have got any bloody lipstick on me!” He exclaimed, dramatically wiping his face and checking his reflection in his spoon. You elbowed him, feeling a rush of love and protection that enveloped your body like a tidal wave. You knew that leaving was going to be like ripping a plaster off a wound, painful at first but necessary if you wanted to heal. You knew that you couldn’t be there for Finn, not completely or in the way that he deserved, if you spent any more time drowning in your own sadness, falling into a shell of yourself.

By nine o’clock the house was empty.

You heaved your suitcase out from under the bed, groaning at the strain in your arms and hauled it down the stairs, careful not to leave any scuff marks on the paint. You kept your mind busy, putting away dishes and mugs, wiping down the cabinets and emptying the bins, anything to keep you distracted. You had downed a glass of wine and were enjoying the fuzzy feeling of your tongue when the front door whined on its hinges, a shadow filling the hall.

You froze.Your spine straightening and your palms beginning to sweat, you glanced at the suitcase by your feet, swearing loudly and pushing it under the dining room table, covering the sides with a lace tablecloth. Michael entered, his head snapping up at the sight of you, raising a brow under the yellow light.

“What are you doing up? Thought you were sick.”

“I am.” You said, wringing your hands together and trying to cool the flush that had risen to your cheeks. “I just came down for a drink. What are you doing here?”

“I borrowed John’s lighter, forgot to bring it with me.” he smiled, gesturing to the glass in your hands, “Oh right, everybody knows alcohol is the cure for any illness.”

You grinned gently, the light not reaching your eyes. You considered lying, spinning more tales to make yourself seem innocent, but you didn’t see the point in digging yourself down any deeper.

“Mike? Will you do me a favour? Keep an eye on Finn...Please.”

He nodded, looking you up and down. He was clever, one of the brightest young men you had ever met and you didn’t doubt that he had an inkling as to what was going on.

“I will. Promise.”

He smiled, digging around the drawer to his left and pulling out Johns signature brass lighter, flicking the lid and letting the flame dance in the dark. His eyes softened slightly as he made his way to the door, gentle words falling from his lips.

“Take care of yourself, (Y/N).”

You watched him as he strode away from the house, all broad shouldered and tall, a millennium away from the soft spoken boy you had met just over a year ago. His silhouette cut through the dark and through your hazy eyes you swore he looked just like Tommy, with his similar gait and self assured confidence. It made you feel jealous, how easy it was for Michael to slip into the family, find his footing amongst those scrambling up the ladder whilst you still feel like you’re drowning. You loathed yourself for admitting it, but you felt as if Michael was more of a Shelby than you were despite stronger blood running through your veins.

You were snapped out of your trance however, by the bright white light of the moon casting down through the windows. You sighed, grabbing your purse and pulling out two letters, sealed and stamped with the expensive wax Arthur had bought you for Christmas. You placed them on the top of the table, letting your fingertips graze over the names written in ink. There were two, a longer, more personal one for Finn and another for rest of the family, letting them know you were safe and asking for them to not look for you. You told them that you would be back one day, but as you grabbed the handles of your trunk and took one final glance at the house you had spent far too long trapped in, you weren’t sure if that was the truth.

#alfie solomons imagine #Alfie Solomons #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons oneshot #peaky blinders oneshot

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acelikesturtles · 5 years ago

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“What’re You In For?”

Prompt: #22 (Two Miserable People at the same Wedding) - Raphael x Olivia

Warnings: Light Alcohol Mention, Cursing (duh, its Raphael)

Word Count: 1,568

A/N: This is from an ask game that I reblogged a couple days ago. It took me a while to finish editing it because I really and truly prefer quality of my work over quantity, plus I needed to find the right soundtrack for this so I could focus 110%. I hope you like it @headhalfling!

As much as Raphael cherished April as a friend and Casey as his “fourth brother”, he had despised almost every last moment of the last 8 hours. The tie around his neck was too tight and the suit that April requested be tailored to his exact measurements still felt like it was smothering him. When he had finished the first suit fitting at the lair he had figured that all it would take to break free from this prim and proper prison was a well-timed stretch. That is, until Leo had very gently patted him on the shoulder and reminded him that they were putting all these fancy trimmings on for April and Casey, and that after the "incident" at their engagement party, Raph would likely do better blending in.

Oh yeah, that.

As if the clothing and the standard wedding formalities weren't enough to bother Raph, he had promised April he would only have one glass of champagne after the last time. Out of respect (and maybe a fair deal of embarrassment) following the unforeseen events of the engagement party, he decided that it might be best to stay alert, especially since being a ninja and all doesn't really pay in hard cash. Or at least...not enough cash that could cover the fees associated with a professional carpet cleaner.

One finger lazily circled around the brim of his empty champagne glass. Amongst all the chatter in the room his eyes remained fixed on Casey and April. He couldn't tell if he was trying to read their lips and decipher whatever lovey-dovey conversation they were having or perhaps just trying to understand the ins and outs of the event in general. He couldn't really say that he'd ever felt in love, and maybe he was just being incredibly cynical, but this felt like a strange way to celebrate it; stuffy outfits and distant cousins you've only seen twice in your life didn't seem like a celebration of love or a union of two families but like a strange ritual that he couldn't quite wrap his mind around.

Just as his brain was finally translating something admittedly pretty juicy happening between the happy couple, someone shuffled past him and took a seat beside him, drawing his attention reluctantly away. She didn't seem to be paying him much attention, instead tapping away at her phone rather furiously with one hand while brushing stray strands of blue hair away from her eyes. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she set her phone face down on the table and grabbed the entirely unclaimed glass of champagne sitting in front of her place mat, then tapped her fingers rhythmically on the sides.

"What're you in for?" She said playfully then took a small sip from the glass.

He laughed, then leaned back in his chair. "Does 'best man' count?"

"Hey, sure, I'm not the police. Besides, I knew that already." Once again pushing her hair from her eyes, she crinkled her nose when she smiled. "You guys were, er, I guess--you are--kind of distinct. Kinda cool if you ask me."

She set the champagne glass back down, before gazing up at her new conversation partner. Her striking hazel eyes connected with his own and caused him pause for a moment. Again, full of surprises, she didn't seem to react in fear or shock so much as intrigue at his physical appearance. He couldn't say that this wasn't a first, all night long at both the engagement party and this reception he and his brothers had been getting unwarranted looks that definitely indicated the unspoken feelings of the person staring. This, however, was different. As for how, he wasn't quite sure, but for now he simply felt unusually awkward and unable to figure out what he was supposed to say next. Mikey was always the better one at socializing. It was in his blood. Raph on the other hand, despite all the time he had to learn, was about as good at talking to humans as a fish was at flying.

He glanced down at the name tag that had been so carefully placed in front of where she sat before taking a shot in the dark that maybe she was the table-mate that hadn't showed up yet. Awfully late for her to arrive now...but not impossible.

"Umm...are you Lorraine Bri-...Brinch-...you know what, fuck, not even trying to pronounce that."

"What?" She followed where his eyes led to the cutesy black and gold calligraphy neatly engraved on a piece of folded card stock. She frowned and shook her head. "No, that's not me. My name's Olivia. Does make me wonder who that is though, and why they didn't show up. Kind of disrespectful, to not even RSVP honestly."

"Well what about you?" Raph countered. As if he even cared about this random other woman's dignity when he didn't even know who she was beyond her impossible to pronounce last name. "I didn't see you until just now."

"I’ve been here,” she responded. She broke eye contact with Raph and began picking at the skin surrounding her fingernails. She had noticeably callused fingers which matched the overall aesthetic of her chipped and unpainted fingernails. “I just don’t really want to be here. I don't typically like stuffy events like this, as much as I'm really glad to see Casey and April together. These things make me anxious, and I would drive home, but that wouldn’t be cool because I’m the photographer’s ride." She gestured vaguely towards the woman in a pantsuit with long black hair that had been tirelessly capturing every last angle possible of the bride, groom, and bridal party.

"Hey, uh...me too." He answered. He was starting to feel anxious too seeing the way that she picked at her fingernails. “These events, they aren’t really for me. This tie ain’t doing it for me either, its kinda been choking me,” He gave her a small smile, hoping that it might ease her mind to have someone sympathize with her, even if it wasn’t entirely on the same page. Again, Mikey would’ve been better at this kind of thing than he was, but it helped that the connection between them was already sort of going well. Well, aside from him accusing her of being late to the wedding, that is.

Olivia’s eyes narrowed on his black and white striped tie. She pressed her lips together, holding back a smile while a short breathy laugh escaped her nostrils. “Well, there’s your problem. You tied it too tight, dummy. Here-”

Her callused hands reached up and began loosening the fabric fastened around his neck. Earlier when he had tied it himself he hadn’t bothered to ask for help, assuming that this was just how ties were supposed to feel, but the gradual feeling of relief that came with the freedom to move his neck like normal was ethereal. While she couldn’t fix the constricting fit of his suit, having the tie a little looser was already helping him feel more relaxed and adjusted. Their eyes locked again as she gently pulled her hands away from the satin, although this time something felt different. Like he was sweating. Everywhere.

With the relief of one discomfort came the creation of another. He cleared his throat.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, anytime, I learned how to tie those for a friend of mine a couple years ago. You should’ve asked for help from somebody sooner.”

Now he was beginning to feel really embarrassed. Did she think he was stupid? Or incapable of learning how to do normal human stuff like tying a goddamn tie? “Nah, they’re busy, didn’t wanna bother ‘em.” Now that made him at least seem noble.

“Well you weren’t bothering me.” She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “I doubt you would’ve bothered your brothers by asking for help, their ties don’t seem to be bothering them.

Fuck.

Still feeling sweaty, Raph shrugged and chuckled. “Awright, fine, then I’ll call you next time I gotta wear this damn thing, yeah?”

Once the words had escaped his mouth he realized how silly they must’ve sounded, but he didn’t take them back. He wasn’t an entirely socially inept fool, that was Donnie’s job. She paused for a moment at his words and began searching his eyes for an answer that he didn’t know he had in him. This was uncomfortable and sweaty and hot...but he kind of liked it. Raph swallowed and broke eye contact with her unceremoniously then twisted the watch on his left wrist back into center position.

“Maybe I will.”

Olivia reached into her silver crossbody that until now, had been closely kept by her side entirely untouched. She uncapped a black ballpoint ink pen and scribbled a string of numbers onto a blue sticky note that had already been lightly doodled on (likely during the ceremony) with rough sketches of motorcycles juxtaposed against delicate daisies and baby’s breath she had likely seen in April’s bouquet. She tore the sticky note off and nervously stuck it onto his placemat. With a quick swig of the rest of the champagne left in the glass she had claimed, she stood up from her chair and gave him one last smile before hurriedly heading off in the direction of her photographer friend, leaving Raph with more questions than he did answers.

Maybe this whole lovey-dovey shit wasn’t so dumb after all.

#prompt #although it was technically from an ask game but hey #tmnt #acelikesturtles #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #bayverse tmnt #authoring by ace

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mystic-kitten-writer · 6 years ago

Text

Limerence [M] ︳01

Pairing: Zuko x OC

Genre: Romance, mainly fluff with future smut, and if you squint hard enough - you’ll find some angst.

Rating: SFW

Words: 3700+ (Chapters will be longer as we go along - trust me).

Notes: This completes chapter one! I want to say thank you all for the wonderful comments I have received. It means a lot! I hope you all have a fantastic weekend! Happy reading~!

Masterlist ︳Prologue ︳02

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

Limerence: (English/n.) the state of being infatuated with another person.

The moment their eyes locked they knew - the flames within him twisted while the water within her turned. It was a connection, a connection that would lead to love, adventure, and drama.

Koi no yokan

(Japanese/n.) The extraordinary sense upon meeting someone that you will one day fall in love.

~Ying Yue Jiang ~

My eyes widen at the action that unfolded in front of me.

Helpers were scattered everywhere, some cleaning while others were decorating. Their faces all scrunched up as they concentrated hard on their tasks – just watching them tired me out.

It’s not like we lived in a grand castle – just a larger building, where meetings could be held, and a grand hall in the center where events took place. But with the amount of ruckus going on, one would think they were decorating a kingdom.

“Miss!”

A soft yelp caught my attention, causing me to turn on my heel, only to see a worn-out Kima. Her cheeks were red from her uneven huffs, her brown hairs poking out of her braids as she carried a roll of blue carpet in her arms. Her frequently neat appearance seemed lost, her blue shawl almost falling off her shoulders.

Without thinking twice, I reached forward to relieve her of the weight, but she shook her head, “I have to go deliver this quickly!”

“Why is everyone so rushed?” I questioned as she hassled by.

Not stopping, she shouted over her shoulder, “Turns out Fire Lord Zuko is arriving a day earlier than expected, easy sails. Now there’s so much to do for tomorrow, but I’ll wake you in the morning, sharp!”

With that, she was gone - my eyes widened in amazement.

Her figure turned to nothing more but a tiny spec, blending in with the others. He’s…coming early…My head tilted to the side, taking in the newfound information. I had just finished my last activities for today; the news of Fire Lord Zuko’s early arrival a surprise.

A hand fell upon my shoulder, a delicate pat that could only belong to one person.

“Aang?” I gasped, turning to my right.

There he stood, with those soft eyes and warm smile, an expression that would have anyone at ease in seconds. The touch of a spirit.

Aang had changed so much from the three years I have lived here. He was tall, about the same height as Sokka. But while Sokka worked out constantly, aiming for the buff build - Aang maintained his lean figure. I could vaguely recall Katara gushing about some new facial hair Aang started sporting just last month. Something about a beard.

“Do you see this madness?” I asked him – dazed.

Aang laughed, a laugh that easily carried despite the chaos around us. “I kind of regret inviting him to vacation here ...” Aang mused while scratching the back of his head.

I raised a brow at him, “You told me he was coming here, but you never told me you invited him.” Aang gave me his infamous cheeky grin, a grin that, if paired with Sokka’s, only meant trouble.

“Details, details, details, those aren’t important.” He said with a light laugh as he waved away the ‘details’ in the air. I rolled my eyes, but my lips continued to pull upwards. Since Sokka decided to be a smart-ass and not tell me the details regarding Zuko’s visit, I had to ask Aang.

Unfortunately, unlike Katara’s particular orientated mindset, Aang always seemed to miss the specifics, fitting for an Airbender.

“Did Dad plan for all of this...ornateness?” I asked while swishing my hands around for added emphasis. Aang shrugged his shoulders, “Hakoda and I discussed something small. A nice dinner to welcome him and a tour around the city. It seems the people didn’t think it was enough.”

“Go big or go home, I guess...” I mumbled, imagining Hakoda’s face when he saw how much decoration the people had in mind.

“I’m super excited to see Zuko,” Aang buzzed enthusiastically. His gummy smile shined through, a smile that never failed to reach his eyes. I giggled softly, Aang was such a sweetheart, always wearing his emotions on his sleeves.

“I’m excited too; I’ve never met him before!”

Aang looked at me, wide-eyed, “Never!?”

I shook my head, “I know, three years, and I still never meet the guy!”

“Wow...I never realized how much I travelled... and how cooped up you were.”

I pouted at his statement, shooting him a playful glare. “Don’t have to rub it in...” I whined. Aang looked at me apologetically, “Maybe it’s time you go and visit the Earth Nation...it’s been a while since you’ve been back home,” Aang spoke, once again scratching behind his head, a habit of his.

“Or you could visit the Fire Nation, find some long lost relatives from your Dad’s side. Or the Northern Water Tribe, from your Mom’s side?” Aang proposed.

I let out a long sigh.

The truth was, I knew nothing about my extended family. A giant cloud of confusion always lingering above my head.

Family.

All I knew for sure was that Mom was a powerful Waterbender from the Northern Water Tribe. Her name was Kasa, and she left with some troops as a healer to help in the war in the Earth Nation. She earned the last name Jiang from her fellow Earthbender comrades, where she met my Dad, General Axe.

I couldn’t help but smile, remembering Mom and Dad – two peas in a pod.

Unlike Mom, Dad was a Firebender, a general for the Fire Nation. Covertly, he was against the war, using his high ranking position to warn and protect small Earth Nation villages from raids. Unfortunately, just moments before Aang defeated Fire Lord Ozai; word spread about my Dad’s treason.

The outcome: death.

Not only were my Mom and Dad taken away from me, but my whole village. I was the sole survivor, and at the age of fifteen, I was alone.

Truly alone.

It was not until two years after the incident I met ‘Team Avatar.’ After saving Aang from a possible assassination during one of his visits to the Earth Kingdom, I ended up joining the group, and they brought me here: the Southern Water Tribe.

For the first time in two years, I finally had a family again.

“You know, I would love to travel...” I thought softly, still lost in my thoughts. It’s been how long since I’ve been here – not once stepping out of the Southern Water Tribe. And while I enjoyed my time, would a bit of adventure hurt?

Aang clapped his hands together.

“Then it’s set! Next time a chance to travel pops up, you take it. Explore. Experience the freedom.” Aang sang happily. He placed his hand against my back, pushing me towards the exit, “Now, if you please. I got a surprise.”

I arched a brow at him and let him guide me through the grand doors, “A surprise?”

Aang grinned once again, “Trust me; you’ll like it.”

The cold air from outside hit my skin. The sky was dark, the twinking stars above the only source of light. My hands crept up my arms as an attempt to warm myself, having already taken off my white fur cloak. But the cold chill was soon lost, pushed to the back of my mind.

Aang was right; I did like, no, loved my surprise.

It was not hard to spot my surprise as they stuck out like two sore thumbs, the only ones wearing green in a land covered in snow and ice.

“Is that Twinkle Toes over there?”

Aang cringed in exasperation, hearing his nickname, but nether less, he bore a massive smile on his face.

Without a second thought, I dashed to Toph Beifong, the notorious Earthbender, with an ego taller than herself. My arms wrapped tightly around her muscular frame, and her toned arms snaked around me.

“One, two, three, okay, hug over, get off, Princess!” Toph grumbled.

I snickered, ignoring the fact that she referred to me by my awful nickname, and let go. Her thick black hair was up in a tight bun while her bangs almost covered eyes. “I missed you so much, Toph!” I chirped enthusiastically.

Toph grunted in annoyance and crossed her arms, but I could still see the smirk creeping up her face. Always acting tough but secretly a teddy bear.

I turned to see the young lady standing beside Toph, realizing Sokka beat me to her.

“Suki!” I giggled, and she reacted at lightning speed.

She swiftly shoved Sokka away from her, eyes wide and face flushed as I caught her smacking with her dear lover. Sokka gave me a mischievous grin, but I pushed past him to provide Suki with a tight embrace. In seconds I felt her arms wrap about my body, snuggling her head into my hair.

“How I missed you!” she laughed into my ear, her breath tickling my neck. We pulled away, both of us basking in happiness at seeing each other once again, only for Suki to perk up.

“Oh- I got you a gift!”

Before I could even react, she had already turned around, sprinting away. Her short brown hair bobbed back and forth, boots creating lasting imprints into the untouched snow. And it was then I noticed a few bags behind them and a medium-sized wooden box. Suki picked it up before sprinting back, an excited twinkle in her eyes.

The red ink.

Is it-is it what I think it is?

“I bought some Fire Nation dresses during my visit to Zuko and these are for you!” Without hesitation, I took the box from her hold, “Oh my- Thank you-thank you-thank you! You’re the best!” I gushed.

Gently touching the top of the box, I traced the delicately painted swirls painted on with red ink. A silly smile emerged on my face, an excited blush coating my cheeks as I stared at the box with heart-shaped eyes.

Suki seemed to notice because she laughed, “Anything for you, Yue.” I held the box tightly to my chest; how I adored Fire Nation dresses.

It reminded me of the times I spent with my family.

I always wore Fire Nation clothes before coming here, as Mom would say, ‘red brings out the gold in your eyes, even the Sun would be envious.’ Regrettably, given the climate and location, I never got to wear such dresses, my only real supply was from Suki whenever she came to visit Sokka.

Sokka playfully bumped his hip with mine, before snaking his arm around Suki’s waist, “Now if you don’t mind, I would like to spend some time with my beautiful girlfriend, thank you!” Suki’s mouth widen, about to protest, but before she could utter a word, Sokka pulled her away and entered inside our home.

Love Birds.

“Where’s Sugar Queen?” Toph blurted out.

I abruptly turned to look at Toph, and before I could stop myself - let out a giggle. Thank goodness Katara is nowhere nearby to overhear her favourite nickname. Aang, clearly more mature than I, managed to suppress his laugh.

“She had to stay back at the academy; some students needed help. But she should be home to eat dinner with us.” Toph nodded before stretching out her arms, “Well, I can tell you that Sokka and Suki won’t be making it on time for dinner.”

Aang and I looked at each other puzzled, “Why not?”

Toph smirked, “Well, judging from their heartbeats I think they’re going to-” My eyes widen, and before Toph could even finish her sentence, I covered my ears and flushed.

“TOPH, we may not be blood-related, but I DO NOT need to know what he and Suki are doing!” Aang’s face was just as pink as mine and a stuttering mess, unable to force out a word.

Toph laughed hysterically, already hunched over and slapping her thigh.

“Oh man, I missed you, Princess and Twinkle Toes. Teasing you guys never gets old.” She let out another tiny snort, shaking her hand before patting her belly. “Now, I’m hungry. Tell Sugar Queen to hurry up!”

The way she strolled towards the entrance, without a single care in the world had Aang and I basking with smiles. Oh, how I missed the chaos. It was the first time all of us were in one place, and it felt like the earlier times before we were swamped with responsibilities.

Chasing after Toph, I swung my arm over her broad shoulders, and to my surprise, she wrapped her arm around my waist: all bark, no bite.

“Team Avatar is almost reunited,” I hummed. Toph scoffed, “Not yet, we still need our royal pain in the ass. Hey, talking about his highness, he still owes me a trip!” She shouted out.

I looked over my shoulder and gave a brow at Aang, only to see him roll his eyes.

“You’re still on that?” Aang groaned as he trailed behind us.

I was confused, but it was indeed only a matter of time before I was caught up on these field trips – sitting together at the grand hall.

Toph was right, Sokka and Suki did arrive late, but they came to dinner a few minutes after Katara arrived.

The room was bustling with laughter as we drank and ate. It was the few times I saw everyone together, smiling and laughing. Hakoda had tears in his eyes as Aang shared some embarrassing stories of the gang while Toph and Sokka argued about who was the laziest during said adventures.

It wasn’t long until I was told numerous stories about them all.

As their experiences became more recent, the more Zuko was mentioned.

“A word of advice, Princess, don’t say the word honour; it’s like a trigger for Zuko,” Toph said, laughing out loud with a beer in hand.

Katara harshly glared at Toph and elbowed her, causing Toph to wince and me to start laughing. With another sip of my wine, I rested my face on my palm and observed, expecting everyone to stay this hyper late into the night.

I was genuinely eager for tomorrow.

Finally, I would meet Fire Lord Zuko, the man whom I’ve heard countless stories of from everyone. Was he as brave as everyone spoke about – that great of a Firebender and leader? Was he as handsome as Katara and Suki giggled about during our girls’ nights?

I smiled.

I can’t wait till I finally meet you, Fire Lord Zuko.

Everyone was here, and when I say everyone, I mean every single Water Tribe citizen. Not once in my three years living here, and attending events, did I see so many people in one area.

My hands felt clammy, and I could feel my heart beating a bit faster than usual. If it were not for Toph, I think I would’ve been too anxious to walk up to the space set up where we were expected to greet Zuko.

“All of this ruckus for ONE man!” Toph grumbled.

She continued rambling, but I was too consumed with my surroundings to listen.

It was clear where the ships were set to dock. The pathway that Fire Lord Zuko was intended to walk from his ship was decorated and lined with blue carpet, stunning ice sculptures in shapes of our native animals adorning the path.

Based on the setup, as soon as the ramp drops, he will be directed towards us – and a small smile emerged on my face. I’m finally going to meet him; my curiosity will finally be fulfilled.

“Are you even listening to me, Princess?!” Toph snickered as she jabbed my ribs, something I did deserve.

I groaned in pain, gripping my side, but the moment I looked up, I could see the gang. Aang waved eagerly towards us, his yellow mustard robes, catching my eyes easily.

“Sorry, I’m just excited.” I said back to Toph, which earned a grunt.

“Did you not listen to a single thing I said? Why is everyone so excited, it’s just Zuko!” Toph groused, throwing her hands in defeat.

“Toph, are you still complaining?” Sokka said, amused. Toph crossed her arms and huffed, “I hate these events. I don’t know how you do it, Princess.”

I smiled, shrugging my shoulders as I looked at my family and friends. They were all dressed to impress. Hakoda and Sokka wore their military uniform while Suki wore her Kyoshi warrior dress and makeup. Even Toph wore a metal military-style outfit, probably to show off the fact that she can bend metal.

“Yue, you look beautiful,” Katara said amiably.

I shined as I gazed over myself. I wore one of the dresses Suki brought from me from the Fire Nation – an idea Kima proposed. A friendly, welcoming gesture for Fire Lord Zuko.

“Thank you; you look stunning too.”

Aang grinned and gently wrapped his arm around Katara, his eyes filled with love. “Sweetie, you do look beautiful today.”

I could see a faint blush appear on her cheeks as she returned the loving look to Aang. They really were cute- Before another comment could be said, the ruckus from the crowds rose.

That’s when I spotted the Fire Nation ships.

Although I noticed them in the far distance the moment I arrived, I never realized how fast they would reach the dock, and how great they were. There was the main ship, with two smaller vessels sailing behind, and it wasn’t exactly hard to figure out which ship Zuko would be getting off of.

“Okay, everyone get into position! Aang, stand with me. Katara, Sokka, and Yue stand behind us. Suki and Toph stand behind Sokka and Yue.” Hakoda barked, voice a tad bit higher in pitch than usual.

I raised a brow, entertained.

Hakoda was not one to get all riled up and ‘orderly,’ feeding into my growing curiosity. At this point, my curiosity felt like a giant balloon that was ready to pop at any moment. ‘Curiosity killed the cat’ Sokka would always tease, but at least the cat died knowing...

I could feel the vibration of the ships finally docking resonating throughout the ground, and the cries of the crowds got louder. The sound of air escaping the ships could be heard, signalling that they were starting to lower the ramp.

A reddish light glowing from within the vessel shined the further the ramp lowered, and I took a deep breath. My back straightened, hands laced together in front of me as I forced a smile on my face – ready to impress the cause of my endless curiosity.

Yet nothing could have prepared me for the sight in front of me.

My smile dropped, and one could even say that my jaw hit the ground as I finally saw him; Fire Lord Zuko.

One did not need to be the Avatar to know that it was the one and only Zuko, the Fire Lord, Ruler of the Fire Nation - it was practically radiating off him.

His long raven-coloured hair was brushed back to a perfect half-up, half-down, style, walking forward with a robust and commanding stride. The military armour that Zuko wore hug his body, showcasing those deliciously broad shoulders of his - leaving one only to imagine the muscles that were impolitely hidden.

His milky white skin made the snow around us look dirty, heavily contrasting against the stark red scar on the left side of his face. But it was Zuko’s smile that left me flabbergasted.

That damn smile.

I felt my heart flutter as he walked closer and took notice of us. It was a smile so innocent and genuine; I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I pinched my thigh as I tried to compose myself; this is not the place nor time to embarrass yourself!

A pinch on my butt caught me off guard.

I looked over my shoulder to see Toph smirking, a mischievous and devilish grin that reached her eyes. Something that no one, ever, wants to see. “Princess, your heart is beating so fast. What’s got you all worked up?” Toph asked ever so sweetly, but I knew exactly what she was trying to do.

And it worked.

The soft pink tinge that had painted my face was now a full-blown red. I could hear Sokka snort beside me, trying his hardest not to laugh, “Someone fell in love? He didn’t even say hi yet!” Sokka teased.

I clutched my fists tightly, palms getting sweaty as I found myself losing my composure because of a single man that I just saw not even thirty seconds ago. Not once, in my three years of public appearances, have I become this much of a wreck.

“Awe man Sokka, if only you knew how fast her heart is beating right now,” Toph teased as she tried to stifle in a laugh.

“Shut up!” I hissed lowly, hoping that no one else could overhear the torture. From the corner of my eyes, I could spot Hakoda and Aang giving a small bow, “It is a pleasure to have you here, Fire Lord Zuko.”

My eyes widen as I realized how close he was to me now.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” Zuko spoke elegantly. His voice low and coarse – his voice, oh my gosh. I pinched myself again to stop my mind from venturing off to dangerous places.

Aang and Hakoda shifted aside, letting Katara and Sokka greet him.

I spotted the way Zuko’s golden eyes lit up as he happily greeted them. A beautiful twinkle that seemed to dance with every brilliant smile of his. They bowed to him and referred to him by his full title, but I had a feeling all formalities would drop the moment we got home.

Wait a minute...I’m next.

Shit.

My face flushed, seeing Sokka and Zuko chat briefly before turning on their heels to face me. Sokka stepped forward with ease, standing beside Zuko like some sort of guide. And it was only a matter of time before both of them stood directly in front of me as I was internally trying to kill myself.

“Fire Lord Zuko, I would love to introduce to you my adopted sister, Ying Yue Jiang.”

Mustering up what was left of my courage, I gave a shy smile towards Zuko.

I could feel my heart beating a million times per second, pounding loudly in my ears, as Zuko smiled back. His smile is going to be the death of me, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fire Lord Zuko.” I said softly, my voice just barely working.

His golden eyes meet mine, and I swore a playful smirk erupted, but I didn’t get a chance to process it as everything after that became one big blur.

Zuko went down on one knee in front of me and skillfully grabbed my hand. My hand rose to his face, just shy from his lips. Those soft pink, plump lips. The whole time Zuko’s golden eyes never wandered away from my golden eyes, his hot breath against my cold skin causing a shiver to run down my spine out of delight. As if he was afraid I was going to break, I could feel him plant a delicate kiss upon my hand.

I knew my heart was beating so fast that Toph didn’t have to try to listen for my heartbeat to tease.

Not bothering to pull my hand away, he hummed pleasantly, a teasing smirk on his lips as he knew exactly what he was doing to me. With that throaty voice of his, he whispered into my hand, “The pleasure is all mine, Ying Yue Jiang.”

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters portrayed in this story besides Ying Yue Jiang and any future creations.

Cross-posted on Ao3/Tumblr/Quotev/Wattpad to discourage plagiarism.

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

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civilorange · 5 years ago

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once i was here,

yasha remember those months. // ao3

________________________________________________________________

Whole forevers pass as you sit in the quiet place inside yourself.

Deep within the recesses of your mind you linger with a palpable fear of what exactly you’re capable of. You watch hands that have always been yours raise the rusted edge of Skingorger and plunge it into the soft stomach of a weathered monk in blue—his eyes bulge, and his mouth parts in a harrowing howl.

Bodies do the strangest things as they die—they shake and tremble, thrumming around the edge of your blade as their muscles contract and press harder on the untended metal. And then something inside goes far away, and they slacken.

You’ve always known this, but watching it now as you are—a guest (a ghost) in your own body—you really see how the color crawls away in his eyes. You see the exact moment he dies.

“Oh, wonderful, Orphanmaker,” Obann drawls, his oily presence sliding through your mind, inking through the edges and pushing you further and further away from the view of what your body is doing. “You’ve made me such a lovely playground to play in.”

Tearing your blade free, the blood spurts and he slumps—his blood so red against the pale floor, the sound of his body collapsing echoing through the halls.

Before that night in the cavern—before Obann, before the Laughing Hand, just before—there had always been the faintest roll of thunder in your ears, just for you. Reminding you that no matter what might seem to be, you’ve never really been alone.

But now there’s only silence.

Cold and heavy.

You strain, trying to rush forward through the dark to throw yourself back into your body—to control those red soaked hands of yours. They’ve been red for weeks now, Obann doesn’t care how it makes your heart ache to see the red grow brown and stiff on the joints of your fingers.

How you watch it flake off in the night, the tips of your fingers rubbing together to turn it into the finest of dust. Absent, considering.

You keep a tally in your mind—one, two, three—of how many bodies you leave in your wake—ten, eleven, twelve—but after a while you stop. You stop trying to remember what your body does in your absence, what your horrible hands do with no hesitation as Obann whispers bitter little words into the shell of your ear.

“Soon, Orphanmaker,” he says often, late into the night, the rattling wheeze of the Laughing Hand growing slow and sluggish as the hours pass in almost silence—the softest chuckle drifting from what must be the litany of mouths carved into his enormous bulk.

Some nights, long after the sun has fallen, you’re given a gift.

It isn’t every night, it isn’t even one night in a handful, but often enough—there’s a voice. A twinkling voice that makes you feel lighter, makes you feel less like the monster you know you are—and probably have always been.

“Heey Yasha, it’s me—Jester.”

Always soft, always like she’s trying not to wake someone. You wonder where she is in the world—the Empire? The Dynasty? Somewhere totally new?

You can’t close your eyes where you are so deep down inside, but you can imagine her—bright eyes, infectious smile, a warmth to her that had nothing to do with heat. A warmth that bleeds across miles—realms for all you know—and touches the cold edges of you. “Just—wanted to let you know what we’ve been doing. We made a friend—she’s an aasimar! Do you know—…”

You want to respond, you know logically you can—but you’re unable to. Your fists clench, and your mouth parts—you can feel it, but nothing comes out. You sit in silence.

Always silence.

Except when there isn’t.

“Heey, Yasha. Did you know Fjord’s accent isn’t even real? He actually sounds pre-tty sophis-i-ti-cated. He told Uk’otoa—(Uk’otoa)—to go fuck off and threw—…”

“We—lost Nott today, she died and this might not even reach you. And you’re lost too, and I don’t even know what we’re doing—…”

That had made something inside you crumble, something otherwise untouched—a piece of you that Obann couldn’t scratch away with dirty nails and oily words.

Nott died? Jester had sounded sad, had sounded despondent, but—she didn’t sound devastated. You think of how she had screamed your name as those doors closed, how no one had ever sounded so…broken…about you.

You’re the one left behind—or, you were, before you started leaving first.

No, she didn’t sound devastated.

So you hope.

“Soooo, thought about that message and was like Oh My God, Yasha probably thinks Nott’s dead, and no, no, no, we got her back. She—…”

You’ll never know what she was going to do, say, or be, but you’re relieved. As relieved as you can be as your body burns with anger and your sword gouges through another hapless body. Fodder, Obann had laughingly called them. People who had no hope of standing against you, no hope of holding up the weight of your downward swing—you’re so very good at killing, even before Obann you’d known this, but there’s a disconcerting freedom now.

As if the shackles that cage you now are so very different from the self-imposed ones you’ve always chosen to bind yourself with.

You’ve always been a tamed monster, but now—now you’re on the loose.

Tethered only with the ill-intention of a creature burning red with hellish eyes.

“Heey, it’s me—again. Just—checking in. I—saw today. You…probably feel pretty bad, and I want you to know I know it isn’t—…”

There’s a crackle in your ears for the first time in so long, the electricity skittering over your chin and down the back of your neck eases the burn of Obann’s command. The voice—Jester’s voice—eases you even more. The Stormlord might be your salvation, but Jester—Jester’s something more tangible. On your best nights you think of her as family, the entire Nein, but on your worst nights you consider them your punishment.

Those who you’ll always disappoint.

But tonight, with Obann’s burn in your blood, and the Stormlord’s lightening crawling across your skin, you need her. You need this simple connection of someone who cares—this reminder that you are you, even if your body isn’t.

“—oh, sorry I got cut off. It isn’t you, and we’re going to get you back, I promise. Promise, promise. Keep fighting, Yasha. You’re so—…”

Because Jester thinks Yasha, and that is you.

It will always be you.

As the clouds whisper away and the sky is clear, you find the most beautiful flower. It’s gold, and purple, and red—swirling together, you’ve never seen one like it before. Your chin against the new breastplate Obann has fostered onto you—wrist thick tusks curling over shoulders, cracked leather and metal sticking to the blood and sweat on your skin.

You want to hold it, this beautiful untouched piece of nature—you want to touch something without ruining it for the first time in months.

You watch absently as your hand reaches out and graces just a fingertip against a petal that reminds you so very much of Mollymauk.

Somehow, you know that you can force your fingers to pluck it free, you know that Obann doesn’t see any worth in this silly little weed. You know. So you swim closer to that slanted reality that is just beyond you at every moment, for you don’t sleep when your body does, for you aren’t your body—you just exist in darkness.

You coax, and encourage, and plead, and after much hesitation, your body plucks it free from the ground—so simple, but it’s something you want.

It’s brilliant as you spin it between your fingers, the colors blurring into a kaleidoscope. You smile, your body does too, and with a smooth effort that gives you more hope than you should have—especially months into this—you tuck it away into your breastplate before Obann can see.

Before you’re forced to be just that much less you.

Obann talks. A lot.

The words drift and spin in the hollow emptiness around you, and you think he simply must like the sound of his own voice.

“Soon, Orphanmaker,” he says it so often, plodding along with a whip of the tail and a twitch of his wings. Soon to what, you don’t know. To the Angel of Irons, to a menagerie of death dealers, to some inevitable bloody end.

“She’ll love you,” his voice is soft, and you don’t think it should be. It should be razor blades and warning klaxons, it should be bright red and viciously wrong. “You’re perfectly broken. Your chains self-imposed and your hunger ageless.”

He’s whispering the word lovely while reaching out to cup your cheek, but there’s a splash of electricity over the curve of your jaw and into the growing black of your hair.

The darkness from where you’ve existed these months grows cold and darker somehow—and you feel it, you feel the bristling touch of that otherness inside that links you to something otherworldly.

Your wings snap open, swallowing the light and Obann’s eyes shrink, pupils going to pinpricks, his hand halting.

“You’re mine, Orphanmaker,” you want to scream that you’re not that person anymore, whoever they were, whoever you are right now. You’re Yasha. You’re a member of the Mighty Nein, you’re good.

But your wings are black and broken things, skeletal and cold.

His fingers shiver, and his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t touch you. He doesn’t come any closer, and your body might not see him as an enemy, but your soul does. You do.

He’s backing away, glaring, “soon.”

“Heeey Yasha, it’s me—Jester. Sorry it’s been a while, we were inside the Happy Fun Ball, and you wouldn’t believe what we found in—…”

Sometimes you don’t even notice the days without messages, without blood.

The only two things that catch your attention anymore.

“We’re coming, Yasha. I promise. There’s so much super important stuff I want to tell you. Soon.”

You can only smile, and it feels so odd when you can tell that your numb cheeks pull upward into one as well. You and your body, smiling, together.

She didn’t use all the words.

Soon turns out to be a chantry in Rexxentrum.

You scream at every step your body takes, you howl as your hands—still flaking rust colored blood—pulls Skingorger free from your back sheath. You’re chanting no, no, no, no but your lips won’t move. Your knuckles go white under the rust and there’s a burning anger welling up beneath your skin—you burn with it, you expel harrowing growls as your carve through the air, hacking and swiping, and intent on ruining these people you call family.

It gets worse, though, so much worse.

Nott’s face goes blank, and those bright eyes grow far away and you’re horrified for her—you’re worried, no, you’re terrified. You don’t want this for Nott, you don’t want her to ruin anything she might regret, and you don’t want her beautifully green hands to grow dark with blood.

Some part of you that’s still broken—and always will be—want to knock her unconscious before she can hurt herself in ways that have nothing to do with open wounds and spilled blood.

But your body turns, and the Skin-Gorger drags a sinister scratch across the floor, sparks dancing and trilling in the cacophony of chaos around you. Everything blurs and you wish that you could close your eyes and pretend that you aren’t going to carve your way through your friends.

Beauregard is beautiful in her movements, brilliant as she pushes Obann out of her mind, wonderful as she puts herself in front of her friends—her family—and the enemy. You. There’s blood on her tan skin, and bruises around her eyes, and you wish you could simply fall on your blade. Tumble forward and just end this.

But you’re not in control, and you do so much worse.

There’s a part of you that doesn’t wonder at how easily you slice through her, at how her body arches and spins and falls to the ground. How her blood isn’t even remarkable against all the rust still staining you—it with grow brown and turn to dust with age like every other ounce of life-force spilled on you.

Her blistering blue eyes close and her body goes slack and you scream—move, move, go—but your body rights itself and rotates the edge of the glaive so that you might be able to drive it down and into the center of her chest and ruin.

Red spurts and spills, and you can’t stop the shudder of your frame under the control.

You’re shaking as you turn, ripping the tip free, tears sliding through the rust staining your cheeks—a plea in your graveyard eyes. Asking, pleading, for someone to put you down.

You need to die before you kill anyone else.

After the doors close, and after the Nein gasps for what little breath they can be afforded, you lean against the wall. Skingorger in hand, but you wished you could still feel Magician’s Judge—you haven’t felt it in ages, the subtle touch of magic thrumming against your palms. The promise of a better tomorrow, of the truth being unveiled.

You watch them, each and every one of them—except Nott, who you will move heaven and earth to retrieve—and you sink down to your knees. You bow into yourself physically because you cannot do it mentally alone anymore—you are Yasha, body and soul, and you’ve missed being you.

“Jester,” you say, softer than soft, because you can’t help the flinch at the guarded look Fjord gives you, his fingers curling like he might wish to pull his new blade from the ether. But Jester—

—sweet, stronger than them all Jester—who could still smile after everything. Who still looks at you like someone she loves, despite every reason you’ve given her to the contrary. She hops up and over to you, clasping your hands in hers and pressing her horns against your collarbones like Mollymauk used to. The blunt scrape is comforting, the weight of her more-so.

“I missed you,” she says into your chest, and you can feel the wet drip of her tears soaking into your rust flaking clothing. “I missed you so much.”

You don’t move at first, don’t dare move, but her relief in infectious—like her laughter, and her smile—and you can only last so long before you’re clutching her to you. She’s talking, but you can’t hear her, and you don’t think the actual words really matter. No, they’re pretty unimportant—it’s the scratch of her nails into the fabric of your cloak, and the shake of her shoulders as she cries.

“Thank you,” you say, squeezing your graveyard eyes closed for a moment, trying ot push away all the bad so that you can focus on Jester’s good.

“I didn’t do anything, it was Caduceus.” Extending her to arm’s length, you smile—an awkwardly unsure expression, you know—and shake your head, because she doesn’t know.

“Not for,” she stumble, grimacing. “Not for—for that. For—for thinking of me. For sending all those messages. I—…” You want to be elegant and charming, you want to say exactly what you feel, and want her to understand that she’s most of the reason there was still someone for Caduceus to save. That she reached you when the Stormlord couldn’t—that for a few months she was stronger than any deity.

You reach into the hard edge of your breastplate, pulling free the flattened flower that had reminded you so much of Mollymauk. It’s discolored after so many days hidden away, but it’s still beautiful. Reaching out you tuck it behind her ear, and smile.

“—…I heard you.”

#critical role #cr spoilers #yasha nydoorin #the mighty nein #jester lavorre

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blindkarakul · 5 years ago

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Long Survey - M’yhe Tia

BASICS.

FULL NAME : M’yhe Tia NICKNAME : Youta, Little Sheep AGE : 25 Summers BIRTHDAY : The beginning of spring (Apr 13) ETHNIC GROUP : Seeker of the Sun / Keeper of the Moon NATIONALITY : Gyr Abanian LANGUAGE / S : Huntspeak, Eorzean (Common and Ala Mhigan Dialects) SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Homosexual Homoromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS : In a Relationship; Ninka’ir Tayuun HOME TOWN / AREA : The Lochs, Gyr Abania CURRENT HOME : None; Lives with mate in the Lavender Beds PROFESSION : Diviner, Fortune Teller, Oracle, Ritualist, Bounty Hunter, Absolute Dumbass

PHYSICAL.

HAIR : Sandy Rose-Blond EYES : Pale Blue FACE : Thin, Scrappy COMPLEXION : Deep Tan BLEMISHES : None SCARS : Lashing scars across his back, a band around his ankle, a few deep cuts in his abdomen TATTOOS : Seer’s tattoos around his entire body, white ink HEIGHT : 5 fulms, 3 ilms. WEIGHT : Trying to steadily pack on some weight-- 118 ponzes BUILD : Lithe and agile, recovering from malnourishment. FEATURES : Chalky face paints, bright white eyes, Claws, Snaggletooth Grin ALLERGIES : n/a. USUAL HAIR STYLE : Cut and groomed short, braids woven at the side of his face and stained red USUAL FACE LOOK : Smudged on face paint, a coy grin USUAL CLOTHING : Free and flowing, rough and tumble but dependable

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S : Whips, Dogs Barking, Maggots, Infection, Loneliness. ASPIRATION / S : Becoming a Fist of Rhalgr. Happiness. A home. Found Family. POSITIVE TRAITS : Wise, Caring, Light-Hearted, Fun-Loving, Mischevious, Adventure-seeking NEGATIVE TRAITS : Hotheaded, Stubborn, MISCHEVIOUS, Self-depreciating MAJOR ARCANA : The Hanged Man ZODIAC : Aries, the Ram TEMPERAMENT : Sanguine SOUL TYPE : The Spiritualist ANIMAL : The Sheep VICE HABIT / S : Bullheaded Adventure; they rarely think of the consequences, and would rather have fun first and say sorry later. Very defensive about this. FAITH : Worship of the Twelve + Tribe Specific Religion; M’yhe’s branch of the M believed in the intrinsic spirit of all things. Everything as it is known was formed by the hands of the twelve, and is derivative of what were once larger spirits. Communication and appeasal of these spirits grants good fortune. Angry spirits that die unhappy turn into spectres, and while the nature of an angry spectre is harmful and dangerous, it is a terrible thing to kill a spirit rather than give it the chance to find peace. GHOSTS ? : Yes. AFTERLIFE ? : Yes. REINCARNATION ? : Yes. ALIENS ? : Maybe? He doesn’t often think about it. EDUCATION LEVEL : Has never been in a school, but has had various tutors over the course of his life.

FAMILY.

FATHER : Unknown Keeper of the Moon; whereabouts unknown MOTHER : M’iraa Vuehe, deceased (haunts as a spectre) SIBLINGS : M’iaho Nunh, adoptive brother, alive. M’koyo Tia, adoptive brother, alive. EXTENDED FAMILY : M’ahsasha Vuehe, adoptive mother, deceased. M’ahli Jedte, adoptive mother, unknown. M’rhaxis Tia, tribe brother, alive. M’zhrii Zurrie, tribe sister, alive. M’zhbi Zurrie, tribe sister, alive. J’kebun Tia, half-tribe cousin, alive. NAME MEANING / S : ‘Yhe’ is an utterance in M Tribe Huntspeak, often used to indicate positive affirmation, or sometimes joy.

FAVORITES.

BOOK : Anything Ninka’ir reads to him DEITY : RHALGR, the Destroyer HOLIDAY : Winter’s Knell MONTH : ‘Budding Season’ in Gyr Abania SEASON : Spring PLACE : Ninka’ir’s Apartment + The Velodyna River WEATHER : Warm Sun and Cooling Breezes SOUND / S: Ninka’ir’s Voice and Music SCENT / S : Rose, Chamomile, and Frankincense TASTE / S : Savory and/or spicy FEEL / S : Silk and/or Leather NUMBER : What The Fuck Come After Seven? (n/a) COLORS : Red, Purple, Blue, Black, White.

EXTRA.

TALENTS : Fighting, Charisma, and Healing. BAD AT : Being decent. And most tasks that require eyesight. TURN ONS : Ninka’ir Tayuun TURN OFFS : Whips!! Shit, dude. HOBBIES : Training, Painting, Fortune Telling QUOTE : “A hurrrting hearrrt is not so weak as you have been lead to believe.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about? A1 : Blood Moon; an action packed drama about M’yhe’s life growing up and the pitfalls that make him eager to seek happiness and redemption in his current life.

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like? A2 : IT... VARIES... But honestly I’ve always been a fan of folk music, and so has M’yhe. Music by Blanco White is pretty close.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character? A3 : I made M’yhe around 6 months into having started FFXIV. My ex and I were trying a new server, and making alts there. I had a previous M tribe character, M’iaho, who I made because the more I learned about the plight of Gyr Abania, the more the concept of a tribe from Gyr Abania became interesting for me. But M’iaho was a very irresponsible Nunh who claimed his title by accident, and as fun as that was to play, I wanted someone who was a bit more grounded and grumpy. M’yhe was actually supposed to be a bunny from the Gold Saucer who just happened to be able to read fortunes AND was from Ala Mhigo, but I became really invested in him and his character. He was interesting to me because of his background in the occult, and so he just grew from there (and I ended up leaving the Bunny concept behind). He would always be my favorite go-to character that I would play when I needed to get into a place of destress. Because he was so seemingly carefree on the surface, his natural mischief made his interactions with others fun, and helped me branch out and find new friends when I needed it most. Toward the end of my relationship, I would use him as a crutch to give me a happy place to turn to. I placed so much love and work into him that when I finally made the decision to be free for myself, I took him with me. And while he grows, I continue to grow too. So... he’s a very personal character that was kind of born out of my subconscious desire to break away and be free. And now that we’re both in happier places, I’m relishing getting to play him growing as a person. World knows I am too.

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character? A4 : Honest to god I just wanted another catboy? But one that I could connect with more. The first two I made were fun, but not what I was looking for in terms of a character. Also yeah, all the above stuff too. I wanted to explore the concept of finding personal freedom after being in a place where I didn’t feel like I had much.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 : M’YHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A LOT RUDER but I’m too soft to be terribly mean. Each time M’yhe makes a stupid life decision a little part of me dies.

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse? A6 : We’re both adept tarot readers! But that was obvious. So less obvious is that we would both kill for oranges. (I can’t eat oranges though, sadly, because I’m allergic to them, so I get to live my citrus impulses through M’yhe).

Q7 : How does your muse feel about you? A7 : Real talk I don’t think M’yhe would find me especially interesting and I don’t blame him.

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with? A8 : Because he’s such a charismatic character... really he can bounce off of just about anyone? But I really like the characters that are able to peel away his charismatic exterior and get to actually make him act as the kinder and softer person he can be deep down. I like the people who get him to say his cryptic wise quotes without a shred of sarcasm. M’yhe is a very manic character and can sometimes feel so on top of the world that when he’s grounded and serious are sometimes my favorite times to write him.

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse? A9 : Music, honest to god just me imagining scenarios... and also my lovely as FUCK Free Company, Nightraid. As well as Coeurl’s RP community as a whole. I mean, I know it’s cliche to say. But I have a lot of people there who plot and poke fun at scenarios with me, they always keep me on my toes and keep me thinking of the next story beat. They’re all amazing and lovely people, and while there are things I miss about being on a more populated RP server like Balmung or Mateus, Coeurl is my home and damn if it isn’t M’yhe’s too.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete? A10 : Do I mention the fact that I finished like half of this and then took a 3 month hiatus or what

Tagged by: No one I stole this but I caN’T REMEMBER WHO I STOLE FROM.... I think @huntspeak

Tagging: ANYONE WHO WANTS TO DO THIS! Also;

@akaiwakizaka @unatobajhiri @impure-ivory @sangria-fangs @donpom-house-of-alts @of-shadow-and-storm @renofmanyalts@fakuboy@weaveroftruth @amurr-reha @rkhdaj-tia @khabataaq-buduga @ballade-du-mage @ofmasters@divineseer-marcella @lavender-hemlock @yululu-and-co @sedatayuun @ritsuka-aoki @an-honest-waltz @alusbeauregard

(For a character of y’alls choice, for you multimuse buddies)

It’s been a while since I was really active, so I thought I’d do a big comprehensive on M’yhe’s character again!

#karakuls tongue #tag meme

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star-anise · 6 years ago

Text

So. I’m currently reading Arrows of the Queen, by Mercedes Lackey, since it was finally released on audiobook this year. Re-reading, in fact; reading these books as a 31-year-old therapist instead of a starry-eyed 13-year-old.

I ranted the other night about the book's depiction of Elspeth as "spoiled" instead of "abused", and @feathersescapism (as part of the post's excellent and thoughtful contributions) said this about Mercedes Lackey:

It’s so effing messy for me because like on the one hand she saved my life. She was the VERY first place I saw loving, validated, celebrated queer relationships and ironically Vanyel was the first time I saw an example of someone who was angry and hurt and messy and bad at people and bullied but not a passive victim be portrayed as fundamentally loveable. As in fact valuable enough, worthy enough to be PURSUED, even, to have someone make the effort to get past his hostile defense behaviors. That was priceless to me. Unfortunately it’s like….it was water when I was dying of thirst but it turns out it was water laced with heavy metals that then did a lot of long term damage.

Which is partly just a concentration thing; if you are drinking from many wells, having one be poisoned won't damage you as much overall. But if it's your only source of water, even trace amounts get dangerous. And, well, we were Eighties babies, mentally ill queer kids with access to small-town libraries who ducked guidance counsellors who pushed conformity as the path to happiness.

So I just found a scene that I think really shows that Lackey was writing from a specifically 80s understanding of psychology, before we knew almost anything about trauma; as considered today, it's bad practice on multiple levels, and can point to some of the underlying problems with the Valdemar worldview.

TW child abuse, child neglect

So in this part of the book, 13-year-old Talia, who was rescued from her awful abusive life among the Holderkin by a giant magical horse, is settling into her new life as a Herald-trainee. She attends classes during the day, and then sleeps in her own room in a dormitory wing of her fellow trainees. Her teachers know that she displays all the symptoms of an abused child, and that she's from an extremely insular and rigid culture.

Her teacher, Teren, asks her to stay after class, and she does, wary and panicked because she doesn't know what's going on. He explains that the Heralds sent a letter back to her family to explain that her disappearance was because of the magical horse choosing her as a future Herald, and they get half-taxes that year and she's going to be very important. Her family, however, replies to say only, "Sensholding has no daughter Talia." Because she ran away instead of staying and getting married, she is disobedient and bad, and therefore totally shunned by her entire community.

She didn't realize she was weeping until a single hot tear splashed on the paper, blurring the ink. She regained control of herself immediately, swallowing down the tears. [...] It was odd, but when she'd chosen to run away, their certain excommunication hadn't seemed so great a price to pay for freedom; but somehow now, after all her hopes for forgiveness had been raised only to be destroyed by this one note-- Never mind; once again she was on her own--and Herald Teren would hardly approve of her sniveling over the situation. "It's all right," she said, handing back the note to the Herald. "I should have expected it." She was proud that her voice only trembled a little, and that she was able to meet his eyes squarely. Teren was startled and slightly alarmed; not at her reaction to the note, but by her immediate iron-willed suppression of it. This was not a healthy response. She should have allowed herself the weakness of tears; any child her age should have. Instead, she was holding back, turning further into herself. He tried, tentatively, to call those tears back to the surface where they belonged. Such suppression of natural feelings could only mean deep emotional turmoil later--and would only serve as one more brick in the wall the child had placed between herself and the others around her. "I wish there was something I could do to help." Teren was exceedingly distressed and tried to show that he was as much distressed at the child's denial of her own grief as with the situation itself. "I can't understand why they should have replied like this." If he could just get her to at least admit that the situation made her unhappy, he would have an opening wedge in getting her to trust him. [...] "I'm going to be late--" Talia winced away from the outheld hand and ran, wishing Teren had been less sympathetic. He'd brought her tears perilously close to the surface again. She'd wanted, above all other things, to break down and cry on his shoulder. But--no. She didn't dare. When kith and kin could deny her so completely, what might not strangers do, especially if she exposed her weaknesses? And Heralds were supposed to be self-sufficient, self-reliant. She would not show that she was unworthy and weak.

What I took away from this book, at 13 and during most successive readings, was that the fault in this situation is Talia's unwillingness to trust Teren and break down. It is her inability to open up emotionally to her deep, vulnerable feelings that causes problems. I suspect that my reading is not terribly far off the narrative's own perception of the central problem. In the 1980s, psychology was very based around the individual, the dance of the id, ego, and superego. Talia's problem is that she has an overactive superego, which prevents her from expressing her natural feelings in a healthy way. She uses unhealthy coping mechanisms, which must be overcome to achieve health and full congruence with her feelings. This runs very much on the catharsis model, where emotions build up like a boil, and must be lanced; once someone "vents", they feel better.

Now, at 31, and trained to help vulnerable 13-year-olds, I can see a lot of differences in how I'd assess the problem now. The trauma field especially has come to understand that humans are essentially relational beings; our brains are born in relationships. We function best in relationships. We need, more than anything else, to feel connected and understood. And then, above that: we are beings in brains and bodies. Our consciousness is limited by the hardware it runs on. If our body is dedicating all its resources to fight-or-flight, we cannot be rational, logical thinkers. We need to understand how to regulate our own emotions, both by personal actions and through relationships with others, to achieve health. It takes repeated, patterned practice to master the skills of understanding and moderating those emotions. Coping mechanisms may be unhealthy, but as I was taught in grad school, "All psychopathology was adaptive once." If you're going to take away someone's unhealthy coping mechanism, you need to have first replaced it with something healthier.

So looking at this scene now, I can point out that Talia represses her emotions instantly because in her family of origin, she got beaten up for crying. Her teachers have already observed that she has the defensive and startle-reactions of an abused child. It should not be very hard for Teren to put two and two together and think: She has been systematically trained to view emotion as unsafe.

He could, at this point, make the rules of their current situation clear: "It's all right to cry. You don't have to put on a brave face for me." This would let Talia know that she won't lose support or status if she cries. But that assumes, frankly, that she can cry; that the experience of being vulnerable in front of another human being wouldn't be too overwhelming, perhaps terrifying, for her to bear. He could also validate that, and let Talia know he sees her and understands. "It'd be all right if you let that guard down, but it looks like you've got a lot of experience with dealing with hard knocks. If you ever do want to talk about it, I'm here."

It's important for him not to try to force her to show feeling the way he thinks she should. He doesn't actually know that it's safe, or that he's safe. Traumatized people need, more than almost anything else, to achieve a measure of control over their own emotions and bodies. They need to be able to make themselves calm when they need to be calm, and not to be ambushed with sadness or fear out of the blue. It should be, more than anything, Talia's decision of when and where to express her emotions. Is bottling it all up unhealthy for her? Oh, probably. She might get depression later this month, or heart disease in 40 years. But being forced to cry when she's not ready to can leave her feeling violated and retraumatized, right here, right now.

The thing that makes crying comforting for most people is that they have a very deep pattern etched on their brains: They cry, someone comforts them, their pain recedes, they feel calmer. It's the pattern of a thousand hungry wakeups as a baby where someone was gentle and kind and fed them. It's skinned knees kissed and broken toys mended. But Talia probably doesn't have that; her experience of crying has been that she's punished and abused for it, and as an infant whose mother died in childbirth, she probably wasn't adequately nurtured either to build those good associations in the first place. Crying just takes her into a deeper place of loneliness and self-hatred. So for her to soothe herself, she might need to be taught very basic ways of doing that--to take a break, to do something she loves, to get a hug from a friend. Her traditional reaction has been to mask her emotions, and to self-isolate and let those feelings of pain and alienation swamp her.

What he could even do, as I sometimes do as a therapist, is respect that repression as a way of coping and roll with it. If someone can only bear the most glancing reference to their trauma? Then glance. Use black humour or obvious irony to acknowledge the situation without engaging with its emotional depth. “So, you know, no big deal. I bet that’s what you’ve always wanted.” So long as it’s paired with other kinds of real caring--especially useful, immediate help and close emotional attunement--that’s not out of place.

One thing he seems to have assumed is that of course, if your family is awful and devastating, you get to take the morning off to cry. I can only assume that's why he's pushing her to cry at the end of class, when she has another one to go to right after. But she might not know that. Certainly her familyexpected that if they did something awful and devastating, Talia needed to get back to work as soon as possible. Teren doesn't discuss this, and I think it's important; Talia goes to something like four other classes, has lunch, and reads for an hour before she finally gets to do anything relevant to taking care of her emotions. Implicitly, the idea that schedule and routine supercede emotions, and that emotional work takes second place, gets reinforced by the system that thinks it's "saving" her.

The other thing traumatized people struggle with, next to control, is connection. Trauma is hugely isolating; it reroutes resources away from the parts of the brain that foster social connection, so people literally lose track of anyone who might be loving and supportive, and it's hard to make ordinary people understand what you're going through. This is part of why Teren showing Talia all his distress isn't really good for her; he's overloading her still further with natural empathy for his emotions, increasing the weight she has to carry mentally, but not reinforcing her connections. He doesn't remind her that other Heralds are her family now, nor does he give her help in how to reach out to anyone.

Who might Teren remind her of? As much as he's taking on the role of The Person She Can Be Emotional To, he's hardly ever in her life; this is the last day of their week-long class where he met her for one hour a morning. He could encourage her to talk to one of her regular teachers, including his twin Keren, who teaches her equitation, or the cook, in whose kitchen Talia is most confident and in her element. If her dormitory had older Heralds who lived there in a kind of supervisory or mentoring role, spending hours of unstructured free time with the trainees, he could direct her to one of them. He could even direct her to her age-peers, with whom she lives, who might not be the most emotionally attuned but certainly seem to be the group with whom the Heralds expect her to do most of her emotional bonding.

Or he could--now here's a thought--suggest she spend the rest of the morning with the magical psychic horse who can beam rays of love and devotion directly into her brain.

But he doesn't. It is only after Talia has attended classes on history, geography, mathematics, etiquette, and archery, eaten lunch, read for an hour, and cried in the back of the sewing room, that she finally sees her magic horse. And she does feel a bit better! But by then, her major adrenaline has worn off, and with it the ability to etch memories deeply into her brain; the first hours after her shock were spent ignoring her feelings and being disconnected from people who didn't notice she was in pain, thus reinforcing all her old traumatic impressions.

So the book sets up a recurring number of incidents where Talia's loneliness and isolation is reinforced by the world around her; where no one provides her the necessary scaffolding to help her build bridges with other people and develop the skills to be healthier; and then, as happens throughout the series, when something bad happens to her, she is blamed for being so isolated and repressed.

When I was 13, I had no framework to understand any of this. On the schoolyard, I'd been taught many of Talia's lessons about the dangers of showing weakness, and in the classroom, about the importance of repressing emotions; I used her as an emotional model. (Later in the books, Talia lbecomes an Empath and Mind-Healer, which hugely impacted my decision to become a therapist.) But then, when her loneliness turned into defencelessness and her lack of emotional control turned into instability, the narrative said it was her fault for not being healthier. And so I thought: Yes. It is completely reasonable to provide a young person with no emotional support at all, and then get mad at them for being fucked up.

And so there's lead in the water.

#staranise original #therapisting #valdemar revisited #child abuse tw #child neglect tw #trauma tw

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number1120 · 6 years ago

Text

Recovery

*Here we go*

Crescent froze with the book in his arms. He did know what to do but sit there with his Dad's journal. Lying is bad, Dust taught him that.

"Please don't be mad, Daddy," Crescent whimpered lowly, placing the book down. "I was just-" Crescent stopped and looked to the floor. "I'm sorry. I wanted to see what you see."

Nightmare cocked an eye and tilt his head, confused. "What?" His rage calming down as he started towards his desk, towering over his son, Killer following.

He pushed the book towards his dad. "I want to see what you see every time you sit down. I want to be as strong as you and fast like Papa! I want to lead like you and be as-as confident as you! I wanted to see what you see when you sit down."

Killer sighed tiredly, feeling a bit hurt hearing his son say things like this. "Crescent-"

"I want to be able to throw lives fast like Papa and Uncle Dust! I want to fight like Cross and Horror! I want to be as smart like you and Error! I want... want..." he felt himself running out of steam, breathless. "I want to be like you."

Nightmare felt the negative energy from his son and shivered. Out of all of his sorrow, fear, pain, grief he's feed off, his son's negative energy tasted bitter on his tongue. He did not want to feel it again. "Crescent," he sighed as black arms lift him up from his chair and placed him in his arms. Crescent is so small and clung to him as if his life depended on it. "Crescent, you don't want to be like me. I want you to be more like your papa than me." He could feel disappointment flowing in his son. He hated it. "Your papa is better than me."

It's ture. The first day they met- from Killer trying to hang himself and Nightmare following the sweet taste of pain and suffering- Killer kept his anger and demons at bay. From his bright eye of white and red eye to his tender kisses at night, Nightmare loves him. If he was honest, he saw more of Killer in Crescent. Staying calm when scared, humming to himself, coloring pictures... He was a smaller but happier version of Killer. "Don't worry, sweetie," Killer hummed as he took a step closer to them, pecking Crescent's skull. "When you're old, we'll teach you, okay? Now," he took him from Nightmare's arms and placed him on the floor. "Go and find your uncles. I bet they miss you."

An even bigger window of freedom! Crescent thought to himself as he started for the door, but he turned back on his heels. "Almost forgot!" He cried as he hugged his parents, saying, "I love you." Then started on his journey again, leaving them alone in the office.

Crescent knows exactly where his uncles are. Not the kitchen. Not in the living room and Judgement Hall. No. They were outside in the echo flowers. He hasn't hang out with them ever since he woke up and he wasn't going to miss out on this! He skipt down the hall, into the garden, and saw Error reading a book. Crescent sprung at him, hugging him tightly, and both of them went to the ground. He heard Dust saying something like, "What the hell?" and Horror pulling out his axe. The finished rolling, and giggles exited form the young prince's mouth. Turning on his side, he met with Error's gaze, smiling, saying in between giggles, "Did I scare you?"

Error wrapped his arms around his small friend and held him close as Horror and Dust stood around him, Cross coming over the hill. Error wasn't there when he woke up. He was ordered to spy on the person who dared to hurt the boss's child: Ink. He hadn't felt his hugs or heard his laughter in forever. He didn't want to let him go. To Error, he was so small, so... pure for this world his father trapped him in. "YeS, you-YoU dID sc-ScArE me."

Dust rolled his eyes playfully and picked up the kid. "Heya, Crescent! How'd ya get away from papa dearest?" He heard him giggle again, but Crescent stopped when he felt a shadow over Dust.

Dust looked over and Cross was staring at the kid. Crescent looked as his old self, and Cross felt better. His parents weren't the only ones who failed him. He is his guard, sworn to protect him, and he failed to do that. And on top of that, his-

"Are you alright, Cross? I-I saw you get hit with the hammer and you were bleeding." Crescent's eyes soften as he shown his concern for him.

Cross slowly nodded at his friend and placed his hand on a shoulder. "I'm okay, kid. We're all okay. You gave us a jump, but we're okay. Just..." Crescent blinked once or twice, keeping his bright eyes at him, smiling. "Just don't pull that again, 'kay?" Suddenly, his phone began to ring. "Brb, kids." He went a few feet and answered.

Horror chuckled playfully as he pointed his axe at Cross, leaning his head at Crescent. Horror never talks to him. Never is around, but he only comes when a big fight is happening. Crescent remembers this one time when there was a big fight, and Horror chopped so many heads enough to make a million head-dogs! Crescent loves eating head-dogs. Horror is the greatest cook he's ever met... if only he stays around and is there for more than a day. "That's Cross's lover," he sung lightly, laughing in his high voice.

"Lover?" Crescent asked confused as he looked up at Dust for answers. "What's that?"

Dust looked around the garden then back at the child in his arms, staring into his eyes. Dust could look forever in his sea green eyes, lovely and bright. Sometimes, he hears his brother's voice praising the small child's eyes. Sometimes, Dust sees his younger brother in Crescent, full of wonder and joy. In a dark place light, how did the sun manage to shine his eyes? "He leaves every morning around 7:25ish; I'm on guard. If you want to known what a 'lover' is," Dust leaned into his ear and whispered, "follow him."

~~~~~~{º ₩º}~~~~~~

Papa read him a book about a fluffy bunny, and Horror was sitting in the room with him. Both are suckers for the fluffy bunny story. Once the lights were off and the green moon shaped nightlight on, Crescent laid in bed and started to sleep.

He was in a room he never saw before, bright and gold. Bright, green, living leaves and trees and flowers and life living happily. Everywhere and and everything felt happy and good, and he like that feeling. A snow white butterfly landed on his head, and Crescent giggled in his dream and sleep. He felt his little soul glowing brightly, showing bright strains of light blue and purple flowing. Crescent followed the butterfly to an alter-like place. In the center, a light brown bowl sat on a stand under the golden sun.

The butterfly sat on the ledge of the bowl. Crescent stood on his toes and looked at his reflection. He saw himself smiling back. He saw his small moon on his forehead and the streaks from his eyes. He saw the darker freckles on his cheek bones. He saw himself, and it was good. He was and is his own self, and nothing will change it.

His eyes opened to the sunlight and he slipped out of bed, out on his shoes, and stealthy went out the window. He climbed down from the tree and horried towards Dust's post. Dust stood with a green apple in his hand and a small bag at his feet. He looked down at the kid and pressed his finger to his teeth, telling him to be silent. His arm hurried him over and pointsd at a hidden path Crescent never seen before.

"Go until you see a waterfall, my young prince," Dust whispered as Crescent watched Cross enter the forest. "Go and be safe. I made you a travel bag. If you get lost or something, shoot up a bone and I'll be there in a blink." Dust patted his shoulder and pushed him towards the path.

Crescent thanked him for the bag and the directions and he started off on his journey. The trees were bright and green like his dream, and butterflies were everywhere. He never sees the day or the sun, but, when he does, he normally sits and looks until Papa or Daddy tells him to sleep. Crescent found a good sized stick and walked. In pictures, he saw explorers walking with sticks. He's an explorer, therefore, he needs a stick. He followed the path and kept away from Cross as much as possible. He wanted this to be his first spy mission and he wants to see if he was quiet like Daddy. The birds sung and flew over him and, on the side, his saw golden flowers. Buttercups. Those are the name.

The noise around him soften and he began to hear water fall. Crescent knew he was close. Cross slipped out to the fall and stood, waiting. Crescent hid himself by a thick oak tree and waited for something to happen. Who waas he waiting for was his million gold question, and he didn't know what to do. Crescent glanced up and began to climb the tree. When his was high enough to see the waterfall and Cross, he took out the sandwich Dust made for him. He knew steak outs were long, but not this long! The woods around suddenly soften to a bear hush, and Crescent watch Cross's face light up.

Knees bending to the floor, a light kid with bright purple, fiery hair ran into his arms. Crescent smiled at Cross's joy to see the small kid. She must be about his age and height. She wore a bright purple dress with black as the trim. Her shoes were slides and purple flowers sat at the end. In his hair, a silver circle was placed on her hair with the sun in the middle. If he didn't know any better, Crescent thought she was a princess.

The girl stood back and talked to him, looking excited to see him, and then ran back to the path she came from. Crescent watched confused in his tree stand, waiting for her to come back. Inside him, he felt a strong power coming their way, and it was strong enough to make him happy. He sat at the edge of the this tree branch and watch her come back, dragging a stranger with her.

He wore bright green pants and matching vest, a golden shirt underneath. His boots were strapped up to his knee caps in white strong and gold. From his shoulders, a golden cape went to his waste and moved every time he walked, which was connected to a pink circle with a white star in the middle. Around his head, a golden circle with a star in the middle sat quietly. Crescent gasped as he felt his hand gripping his walking stick.

Error taught him stranger danger.

****************************

Crescent belongs to: @lunnar-chan

Next to bat: @bluerose161

#crescent #my writing #her writing #nightmare #killer #cross #dust #horror #error #lux #dream #ink #blue #recovery #part 1 and 2

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