I read two volumes of Spy x Family and suddenly I’m out of fanfic writing retirement
Rated M
~~~
Loid was distracted.
He tried to focus on the warehouse door he was meant to watch, or at least listen to the radio station his car was tuned into to catch any clandestine messages from the agency, but his mind just kept running elsewhere.
This is not good. He thought. He was Twilight, for God’s sake - master spy, the best in his line of work.
And here he was on an important stakeout unable to stop imagining making out - and maybe a little more - with his wife at home.
He may hold the fate of Westalis’ and Ostania’s peace in his hands but good God,Yor held his entire being in hers.
When had it become like this? Their ‘relationship’ had started as a sham - for them each to keep up appearances. Him for the sake of Operation Strix and her for her brother’s and coworker’s meddling.
She was incredibly attractive, of course he’d noticed that immediately, but he was Twilight!He was a professional, he had a control on his emotions, they’d been under wrap for years.
Sure, they were married and parented a kid together, but there wasn’t anything more to it than that. He had to keep her happy and healthy to keep up his ruse of a doting family man! Their dates and his care for her were all for the mission.
Until it wasn’t.
Loid groaned as he recalled that fateful kiss. They’d just put Anya to bed together, each giving her a tight hug and a loving kiss on the cheek. They’d sat down in the living room, next to each other on the couch, him reading a book and listening to the clicking of Yor’s knitting needles as she worked on a scarf for Anya - the cold weather was fast approaching. It took a while before he realized that he wasn’t absorbing a single word from his book; he was just focusing on the comfortable environment around him. He looked up to the person responsible for stealing his focus - Yor Briar Forger - a soft smile on his face.
She sensed his stare immediately and gave him a content smile in return, and before the Twilight the Spy part of his brain could do anything, Loid Forger was leaning in to kiss her.
It was chaste, their lips parting with a soft sound, and then they were kissing again, his hands dropping his book and coming up to cup her cheeks.
Each time they parted, they came back together with even more passion. It was when Yor’s hand came up to his chest that his brain suddenly kicked in and he pulled himself back, eyes wide and mouth ajar.
Yor seemed taken aback for a second or two before suddenly flushing bright red and moving to dart to her bedroom. Loid reached out and grabbed her arm. “Wait-” he breathed out, and she did.
Twilight tried to insist again that he was only making sure she was okay for the missionbut Loid knew he could no longer deny it.
He had completely fallen for his fake wife without even noticing it was happening.
He knew, he knewfrom the very beginning that his relationship with his 'family members’ was strictly professional - he’d even prepared a script to kindly let Yor down just in case she started to catch feelings. And then, if he was honest with himself, he’d gone ahead and fallen first.
How long had he been craving the affection that this family had given him? He hadn’t been part of a 'family’ since he was a child, so it should only make sense he was desperate for it. But spies weren’t granted that sort of thing. Letting feelings and attachments get in the way of their work was harmful. Disastrous, even.
Of course it didn’t feel disastrous when she was writhing under him in his bed, his name a song on her lips.
Loid sighed as the memory sent a hot pulse through him. A hard-on really wasn’t what he needed on a stakeout, but his brain kept feeding him memories from that night.
After grabbing her hand and asking her to wait, there’d been a long pause before they managed to shamble words together in their heads.
“Are you okay?” Loid asked first.
“I’m sorry, I just- haven’t ever done anything like this before but I know obviously you have I mean you’ve been married before and have a child and I also don’t want to overstep anything like your memory of her-” Yor blurted out in one long breath.
“I love you,” the man admitted, the spy in him swearing profusely.
Yor’s eyes widened and her blush increased, if possible. She struggled to speak for a few seconds before spilling out, “I love you too.”
And that was all Loid needed to hear before he was pulling her back towards him, kissing her passionately again, Yor enthusiastically responding. It hadn’t taken much longer for them to end up in his bedroom, locked in an intimate embrace. The night was filled (quietly, because Anya was still sleeping in the other room) with their continued confessions, kisses, and the intimacy of a couple in love.
That had been two weeks ago and he hadn’t stopped thinking about it sense.
Well, that wasn’t quite true, he managed to keep his mind out of the gutter when his sweet, adorable little girl Anya was around, but the moment he was alone? It was over for him.
His reaction was insane, he thought. Completely unpredictable. Sex had never been like this for Loid. He was often used as a honey pot by the agency. It was always just part of the job. But with Yor… It felt different. It had been emotional, raw, passionate.He could only describe it as making love versus the lifeless sex he’d experienced previously.
It had been astounding though. And he made certainit was amazing for both of them. The memory of her thighs tightening around his face as his pseudonym passed her lips in a breathless whisper, would haunt him for the rest of his days.
Fuck, he needed to calm down before the target showed up - he didn’t think running would be too comfortable in his current state. More and more though, he just wanted to say “screw it!” and go home to see Yor. He groaned and slouched in his seat, gripping the steering wheel as he tried to force out some of his pent up energy. He glanced at his watch. Nearly midnight, god dammit. He’d been watching this warehouse for nearly three hours and nothing.Loid was so tempted to leave, but he knew he couldn’t. Not until he either finished the job or received signal from the agency that he was cleared.
And so the spy was forced to wait another twenty minutes trying desperately not to recall how Yor had returned the favor just the other night, before finally hearing something important through the radio.
Previously playing some classical piece Loid hadn’t ever heard, the station sounded a voice to say, “and that’ll be all from us tonight, we hope you enjoy the rest of your night.” Completely innocent to most, that was Twilight’s signal to go home. He sighed at the uselessness of this stakeout as he started his car. He could’ve done anything else tonight, like watch Anya’s spy cartoon with her, help Yor with the cleaning up, or- well, anything he’d already been thinking about doing with Yor.
A light pink dusting graced his cheeks. This craving couldn’t be natural, he thought, itching to get home and spend the night tangled with Yor now that he was off the hook. He had to get himself under control.
Although, he realized with a smirk. It’s not as if Yor was complaining.
- This mini-fiction is a work of fan literature. There is no connection to the Canon story line. There is also no MC in this fiction earlier. So please don’t comment about MC not being there.
- This fiction will bring up the concepts of Lack of Self-Care, Terminal/Critical Illnesses (Made up ones, but still) , Family Drama and Angst, and other smaller things that commonly may make people feel at least a little uncomfortable.
- I am not always the best at depicting a character’s personality. I get told that a lot. If you do not like how I have depitcted one of the brothers, feel free to let me know- but don’t be salty about it.
- Share your thoughts. I like seeing them. This is only a request, though.
“Tell yourself that you are okay, and yet the words are only carrying you on by a thread. You dance a line between life and death everyday- the silence is too loud and yet you endure it.”
“…”
“No one will see you- no one will hear you- and upon the last step- you will be consumed by my cold, welcoming hands. I promise you will be safe.. I will take care of you. Return to death- sweet child. I will always be waiting.”
-
Waking up in a cold sweat had not been something new to Mammon. He had often found himself shaking to awareness with droplets of melted ice on his brow- the discomfort of his twisting stomach, and clammy skin. It was a norm- and one he wish he had not come to be familiar to.
The white haired demon rought a shaking hand, glossing it over his saturated forehead. This only rallied a grunt of disapproval from the man upon the feeling of dampness.
Breathing, and sitting up was a struggle. He turned over to his side, attempting to balance his wavering stomach’s fight in defiance.
Tired eyes blinked away what little light peered in through his curtains. The darkness of the space he occupied was unfamiliar, for most of his time here in the Devildom, until the last couple of months. The shade was overwhelming at first- but it since then had become a blessing in disguise.
It was easy to contemplate the meaning of his own presence down in this hellscape. He had found himself running back and forth trying to establish a way of life. Trying to find a use, a purpose.
Tired eyes found themselves drooping as he remembered the many times he had tried and failed. Maybe even the times he had tried and failed- desperate and stubborn. His stubbornness was both a blessing, and a curse. Perhaps it was just mockery; he knew well that it was probably the only reason he had survived for so long.
A buzzing was starting to overtake his head- throbbing in both of his temples as odd colors rippled across the darkness that consumed his vision. It was nearly mesmerizing. Enchanting, even.
Many a day and night was spent hiding in his room, without the concern of his brothers, or the care of others he could have considered friends and family.
The only serenity he could find was his dreams. The feeling of floating in a comfortable abyss- and just forgetting about everything else. He enjoyed it sincerely, it helped him feel not as alone. It helped him feel free.
Conscious thought and constant gripes with himself. Pools and pools of self doubt and anger. Loathing and regret- it all blurred together and made a murky mess.
Mammon tried to remember why he was here all alone, in his pain, and confusion. Reminding himself that he was the one that shut his own siblings out in the first place. It wasn’t all that hard- really- all he needed to do was anger them enough and they did the other half of the work.
The Demon of Greed was sure that they were all at RAD, at the time being. He had been scraping himself by for so long, doing his work for RAD from his own computer. He may have been getting bad scores- but that was nothing that Lucifer would be concerned about.
Avoiding meetings, and getting away with not being present for important events was surprisingly easy. More than likely this was because they were simply glad that he was not stealing anything from them.
Resigned, and in pain, the demon of greed leans back, before feeling his head getting heavier. He thought back to the events that had transpired, the day everything went downhill.
As per usual, Mammon had been committing himself to his actions of scamming, and getting himself into problems he could not get out of. Though, at the time, he had gotten his brothers into the same mess- and that lead to an obvious explanation of annoyance or anger.
During these thoughts, another flood of pain started to pummel the Avatar of Greed, forcing him to curl his legs closer to his body as he clasped at his eyes in an futule attempt to get the upcoming headache to subside.
Due to all the physical stress, he didn’t have the energy to move more, to try and get medication, or go to the bathroom. He started to recall the long stent of time he had spent crawling himself from the foot of his bed to the trash-can or the bathroom. Too determined to keep it from his siblings that he would not dare ask for help.
It wasn’t worth it. He might as well let them have their peace, right? What was one more, or one lesss in a world such as this one? Mammon was a mere grain of sand. he didn’t have value on his own. He would always need help from others.
He felt his breath, and heart slowing down, calm. The ringing in his ears was getting lower and lower- and the humming of one of his favorite tunes started to play somewhere deep within his mind.
Closing hie eyes, the avatar of greed let himself try to feel at peace- he allowed himself to rest, and drop the weight of struggles and self doubt, even in a time such as this. Because- in the end- he would be his own judge, jury, and executioner.
He was the cause behind this illness, tearing him apart from the inside out. He allowed himself to remain this way, because of that fact.
This was going to be the way that he had died, wasn’t it?
Alone? Still in severe pain. Questioning his actions and settling with what he was given- because he couldn’t do anything else at this point.
Closing his eyes, the white haired demon felt his body temperature rising again, it burned, but he was too tired to respond to it. He simply took in a couple deep breathes, and exhaled-
A harsh heartbeat lurched forward in his chest. Slow, and purposeful. Powerful, if he really considered it.
He didn’t take in another breath. He tried, and felt like he had- but no air entered his burning lungs.
A second attempt, third and fourth- nothing changed. He couldn’t bring anymore air into his body, no matter how much he pitifully beckoned for the remembrance to draw air into hhis aching system. In sight of this, he was still calm. He wasn’t afraid- somehow.
His consciousness eventually faded, and his body fell limp, the need or want to struggle finishing abandoning his form. The silence grew even more eerie, and the light recessed back from the window- giving the comfort of obscurity to one of life’s many victims.
Nobody was there to see him. No one would have heard him, or been there to try and talk to him. It was all silence.
Perhaps it was better this way.
For everone.
He can finally rest, and and hopefully be at peace with himself- if he ignored his own neglegence. He can be free.
-
A burst of colors flooded his vision, and Mammon sat up with a start- surprised by his sudden strength. He looks around where he had woken up- barely processing what was in front of himself for a good minute.
After calming his nerves he reobserved the area, and took note of the flower-beds of soft, golden dahlia flowers under his form- as well as everywhere else within the general location. a firm tug at his abdomen from cloth made him look down-
It appeared that he was dressed in formal black and yellow attire- elegant and fit for someone of his personal taste.
The area around him was truly stunning. If sight was something that could generate treasure, this would be a trove. Serene- and isolated. Glimmering flowers crawl up marbled pillars as twinkling stars glimmer in an endless sea that was far beyong the reach of any sailor.
An ambiance of trickling water, and the sound of chiming bells was in the wake, birds let out soft calls from the trees and the glow of golden candles made everything feel so warm and welcoming. Almost like a hug.
It seemed his astonishment could only last so long. Glancing to his left, mammon spotted a figure in a suit, devoid of skin, and muscles- the form resembled a skeleton.
“May I have this dance?” the figure asked, extending out a white-gloved hand with confidence. The movement was slow, and questioning, though it seemed that it was not afraid of the answer.
The white haired avatar of greed nearly couldn’t help himself. He looked down at the hand- a feeling of comfort, and even happiness rung throughout his system- convinvincing his hand to move forward.
The Avatar of Greed didn’t need to say anything. He didn’t need to be afraid. He just existed. He simply felt at peace. he grabbed the hand of the fine-dressed skeleton, and was pulled to his feet gently. Spun into a gentle waltz, he danced with the charmingly macabre figure- without a care in the world.
“Come and dance with me. Accompany me in a Waltz among the Golden Dahlia Flowers.”
Three days passed slowly. Then again, with minmal leg room, sparse entertainment, and limited communication, the only thing the brave child COULD really do- was sleep. He was tired, a lot of the time. Energy that his body put into healing the damages was tiring.
Leaning on the bars of the cell he was being held within, Gingerbrave gently slipped his hands through, and pet the cake hound that lie next to the cell.
Chiffons’s tail wagged at the attention, before the hound moved a little closer to the bars, despite the fact that he was right up against them already. Licking the boys hand a couple times, the hound went back to relaxing, it’s eyes closing after a moment or two of more attention from the child.
It was only a matter of time before the other Darkside cookies became aware of the boy’s presence.
Red Velvet was needed in other areas all of the time. However, all things considered, the least the man could do was leave his trusty cake hound with the boy. It would ensure the others would be less tempted to do anything.
Poison Mushroom wouldn’t really be too much of a problem. Neither would Dark Choco, unless he had a relapse of some sort.
However, Pomegranate, and Licorice, on the other hand- they were a completely different ball of wax…
Pomegranate was manipulative, and she had her way around the mind. She knew how to mess with others, and with Gingerbrave being the prisoner, he wouldn’t be able to say anything and have anyone care. That meant, that if she were in a bad enough mood, Pomegranate would likely be able to do anything she really wanted.
Licorice, well- that man really was something. The black haired cookie was obsessive with certain topics, and he would often become agitated, or over-active when certain things became a topic. He was also highly judgemental, and a bit self centered, though, of all the cookies, Licorice was one of the ones that were the most … ‘approachable’.
-
Within the boring, slightly dampened cell, Gingerbrave leans against the wall, his eyes staring to the floor.
He had been hard at work, trying to assimilate a plan, or something.
Anything…
On top of that… all of his hope of possibly being able to get out of this cell… get home… and be free of that voice had been shattered hours ago. As if it were mocking him, and his hopeful nature.
The voice was null, at first. Not there. There was no need for panic, or worry.
Gingerbrave had been in these situations before, right?
Trapped.. no way out… worried about others elsewhere.
He just hoped that the kingdom was not tearing itself apart.. he could just wish, and hope.
'Come on, are you going to sulk in here forever?’ the voice let out a whining voice, seeming to once again be mocking the child. It was amused… he could tell that much. That, in turn, only made Gingerbrave grunt, and lean his head down onto his knees, a low pounding starting to overtake his temples.
Considering it now… it was a good thing he wasn’t talking to the darksides. Hopefully, with less close exposure.. will keep them from being affected. He didn’t need them to become nonsensibly aggressive like the other Kingdom Cookies had become.
Though, he didn’t even know how the voices powers worked.
Hell, Gingerbrave was nearly positive that the voice had not even shown all of it’s abilities yet. He couldn’t talk to it… that thing was a liar. Who knew what was true, and what was false…
'Ugh, stop thinking kid, you’re making my head hurt. Damn you’re do annoying.’ the voice complained again, sending another pulse of pressure through the boy’s temple. In turn, just to spite the voice, Gingerbrave started to think about more and more things.
First, he would think about picking flowers, then jumping, then wondering about why the sky was blue, how flies without wings would probably be called 'Walks’ instead-
All of the quickly changing trains of thought made the voice give out a shout of annoyance, before it started to yell.
'ARE YOU TESTING MY PATIENCE, YOU USELESS LITTLE SHIT? BECAUSE IF YOU WANT TO PLAY AT THAT GAME, I CAN PLAY AT IT.'
For a brief moment, Gingerbrave felt as if all of the air within his lungs had vacated his body. He slumped against the wall, bringing his hands up to his neck as he tried to get oxygen back.
Chiffon was as the bars of the cell, whining as he starts to paw at the floor in front of the enclosed area. The cake hound could sense something was wrong, though it was clear that he didn’t know what was actually going on. Gingerbrave just maintained his determined, tired face, before standing up in his cell.
'Oh, are you finally going to start moving? Took you long enough you lazy bastard…’ the voice complainend to the boy in his mind once more, before the sound of intense static started to ring through The Brave Cookie’s head.
Gingerbrave fell to his knees, before curling up, and covering his head. The static was intense, making his entire body shake from the sheer pressure it was causing. He was tearing up, despite trying to hold it back. It wasn’t doing any good, it was nearly at the point where he was outright crying.
He felt like his head was going to explode.
Everything was spinning, and it nearly felt as though the world was becoming distorted.
He saw splotches of color all over the walls, his eyes wouldn’t focus. He wanted to hurl, but swallowed it back twice, because he didn’t need to get in trouble for making a mess of his cell when he was already in the very territory of the darksides.
'Oops, my bad. What’s the matter baby-boo? Did that hurt? What if I just-’ the voice was pensive again.
Gingerbrave knew that was a bad sign…
All of a sudden, the vibrating in his temple from the ringing static, and the sound of shouting made him fall to his side, curling into a fetal position as he tried to do anything to make the pain stop.
He wouldn’t beg… he would never ask that voice for mercy.
He was supposed to be brave, and he couldn’t tell if he was, but at best… he would continue to be stubborn… at least he was still trying…?
'You can’t ignore me forever, child, and when you finally slip up, I will have you begging me for mercy. When that time comes… I will be able to look down on you… and enjoy the look on your face when I break you. Honestly… I didn’t think attaching myself to any random host would be so much fun. Yet, here we are.’ the voice mused tot he child as the static continued to torment his mind.
The voice was the onyl thing that the brave cookie could hear… other than the buzzing, and the subtle sound of screams, and shrill scraping.
The boy had started to sweat, still tearing up as he nearly clawed at his own head.
'You are the most infuriating, determined, yet somehow still useless little shit I have managed to attach to. You’ve lasted so much longer than anticipated. I… my annoying little host, am not going anywhere. I can, and will, always find my way back here. Just you wait.’
A most subtle feeling of futility was starting to stir within the child.
However, he bit his lip, and pushed back those thoughts.
His world was still consumed in the static, and the sound of scraping, and screams. The world around him, in the minimal vision his eyes had, was distorted. Everything was waving, unsteady. Pulses of colors made him wish he was seeing nothing, over what he had been stuck bearing sight to.
He struggled to breath, silently gasping as silent sobs tried to make their way from his aching throat.
He couldn’t see Chiffon anymore… did the dog leave…?
Maybe the hound got scared and ran…
Good… maybe the dog running away would be better, that way whatever happened wouldn’t get any chance to effect the hound. He would hate it if the damned voice started to target tohers, even if they were enemies of his.
All he did know, for now… was… this static, and the feeling of suffocating weren’t going to leave him. Not for a long time.
Obey Me Mammon Angst Skits: Angstober 2021 Edition
Day 2 (Late): Delusions
Warnings!
Delusions are usually linked or associated with Mental Disorders, or other sensitive topics that can often/usually get intentionally/unintentionally misrepresented in media.
I am warning everyone reading that I am not too familiar with the concept of experiencing, or prolonged research behind the causes of, behind, or surrounding stuff that surrounds ‘delusions’.
I did a little research before I actually started writing.I am not saying that it makes my information correct. However, I am saying that I did try to look into it, because I know stuf flike this can be a sensitive topic sometimes.
The specific kind of ‘delusion’ or ‘category’ of the delusion spectrum I am going to be writing with is the ‘Somatic Delusions’.
From what I gathered on the internet, ‘Somatic Delusions’ are usually ones that have to do with perception on appearance, or a means of personal perceptions of things to do with one-self in one way or another.
‘’A somatic delusion is a false belief that a person’s internal or external bodily functions are abnormal. This belief may also extend to viewing one’s physical appearance as very irregular.’’ - This bolded statement is one I copied and pasted from the internet as a reference. and the following bullet below will be a copied reference of ‘examples’ of said delusion type.
‘’Common somatic delusions are that the person is infested by insects or parasites, that he or she is emitting a foul odor, that parts of the body are not functioning, or that certain parts of the body are misshapen and ugly even in the absence of objective evidence.’’
-
Lastly, of course, there will be mentions of depression, and what can be considered emotional abuse from Mammon’s siblings. If you do not want to read this, and understand, feel free to continue. If not- please don’t.
I don’t want to upset anyone, and if I accidentally represent this ‘delusion’ in a way that is extremely harmful to the community that may suffer from some of these things- don’t hesitate to let me know.
I will apologize in advance.
-
Thank you for understanding and have a safe read.
Mammon stood in the bathroom, looking at his reflection.
It was him…
Himself.
He had been getting more and more anxious as years went on. He knew he was. However, he wouldn’t ask for help, as he would likely be denied what he needed anyhow.
The white haired man brought his hands up to his hair, and his eyes. He hated them.
He brought his trembling fingers through his slightly knotted hair, unable to find peace, even in sleep. His own looks haunted him sometimes. He just looked so… wrong. Why couldn’t he look more… like his broters? Why did he have to look so different?
He then started to feel his own skin- shivering… one of the biggest things that made him look different. His tan. He didn’t look like he resembled them at all..
He once read on the internet, that sometimes, those that people are close to- will often gravitate toward those that they are more familiar with. They look for comfort in familiarity. They look for kindness in common-ground. Mammon was quite different in comparison to his siblings for many reasons.
They all had their differences, but… somehow… he was still the ugly duckling.
That was because his stupid body was just… wrong.
It had been wrong from the start… and yet… he had only started to realize it in recent years. His white hair… all of his brothers had either dark hair.. or some kind of color within it… the only one who had a bit of white was Belphegor…
His eyes… he always got comments about how these stupid eyes of his looked angelic… how they looked unnatrual, for a demon to possess. They didn’t look the way they should. They were insufficient.
Mocking him every single time he looked at himself.
He hated it.
He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, and look away, most days…
Then, his skin.
The biggest organ in connection to the body. One of the other many things he just cannot hide.
Mammon grit his teeth in frustration. The anger had been building up for a long, long time. He couldn’t take it. The frustrated demon of Greed balled up his fists, and he shook his head. He felt so gross. He felt so unnatural, looking at his reflection.
That wasn’t really HIM. It didn’t deserve to be. It didn’t need to be.
The demon of greed soon punched the mirror in the bathroom, yelling out in frustration as his negative emotions lead to his outburst. The man continued to shout obscenities at himself, punching the ground, far past the point where his knuckles bled.
His brothers wouldn’t hear him… it would be a while before they got home.
Mammon had been sent home because of a freakout at RAD, and his items were confiscated by Lucifer on his way out the door Though, it wasn’t the black haired man he was frustrated with right now. It was himself.
He did everything wrong, and it wasn’t hard to realize that.
Maybe if he could just change himself. Make himself feel better about everything that his genes denied him, he could finally start to improve himself as an indevidual. Maybe changing himself, would finally be a solution to his internal aching, and constant contemplations.
Finally finding an idea, Mammon scrambled to his feet, before going to run around the house.
He was going to steal. He was good for nothing for it… maybe… just maybe… this would be the last time…?
He found deep red hair dye, a set of gray contacts, and some special foundation, that would make his tan at least lighter… hopefully..
An hour of preperations, and changing later- and Mammon looked in the mirror in the hallway- since he had broken the mirror in his own bathroom.
He stared at himself.
Him.
The new him…
Deep brown hair, and dark gray eyes. Lighter skin, and a beauty mark or two…
Mammon smiled at himself, before feeling a tightness in his chest.
Did he finally do it?! Did he finally fix his problems? All of the mistakes that his genetics had made him? Was he finally going to be better? Or maybe feel better about himself?
“I… I…” he started to say to himself, before bringing his hands to his face.The smile was genuine… only for a couple seconds.
No.
This new look.
This new style…
It was him..
No matter what he did… it was still him.
It wasn’t natural.
It didn’t fit.
Because.. no matter what he did…. he couldn’t shed his own skin. His own abdnormailies and flaws. He couldn’t cover up what his genetics had given him forever.. his own natural appearance was going to always haunt him… it was showing through the disguise he put in.
The stupid white hair… and those ugly gold and blue eyes…
His dumbass tan, and stupid fucking messy mop…
No matter what he did, he would be flawed.
He was always going to be an eyesore.
In frustration, Mammon pulled at his hair again, before also punching the hallway mirror, and in the end… it all had been worth nothing.
The avatar of greed covered his face, and started to cry, his emotions building up in his chest. He would never be able to make himself tolerable… if not perfect.
He was always going to be himself…
and….
that was the problem.
He was Mammon.
He WAS the abdnormailty…
All of his flaws her HIS.
HE stared back at HIMSELF.
because that… is the one thing… that he can’t change with some die, makeup, and a pair of contacts….
He would forever be a flaw.
He would forever be burdened.
He would burden others.
Eventually- he gave up. He just leans against the rail of the stairs, covering his eyes, and refusing to look to the shards of glass on the floor nearby, because the only thing he would see staring back at him, was the very thing he didn’t want to see.
He rested, and let his tormented thoughts trample him.
Title: Cheap Labor Author:SakuraKage Rating: General Audiences Warnings: none
Summary: “If someone had told him five years ago that, as a grown adult, he would be back in Gusu, copying scrolls in the Library Pavilion voluntarily,. Wei Wuxian would have laughed his head off. You couldn’t pay me to come back to the Cloud Recesses, Land of Three Thousand Rules, he would have said. Wei Wuxian is very fortunate that this never occurred, as he has always hated eating his words. Because here he is. Copying scrolls. And being paid for it.”
Title:System Restore Point Author:qikiqtarjuaq Rating: T Tags: Time Travel, Fix-It, Humor, System!Wei Wuxian, Host!Lan Wangji Words: 24,181 Summary: It was supposed to be a simple, straightforward beginner’s mission for a novice System and Host pair: travel back in time and stop the Yiling Patriarch before the Massacre of the Nightless City. Too bad the new System was the unpredictable Wei Wuxian.
In which Wei Wuxian is the world’s worst System, Lan Wangji is stuck as his long-suffering Host & absolutely nothing can go wrong as they travel back in time to try for a second chance at happiness.
Another high fantasy AU: Second prince LWJ of the heavenly Crane Tribe x WWX, last heir of the banished, disgraced Crows
“Wei Wuxian, your Hanguang-xianjun is here to see you.”
Wei Wuxian glances up from his tinkering just as Wen Qing enters.
“Lan Zhan? Again?”
“You’re asking me? I would also like to know why he keeps visiting. And why you let him. You’re really not afraid of his motives?”
Wei Wuxian scoffs. “Him? Lan Zhan? Up to something? It’d be fun to see him try something on my territory. Anyway, he hasn’t poisoned me yet.”
“And you’re the only one reckless enough to eat whatever he brings.”
“It’s Emperor’s Smile! How could I let it go to waste? We’re not lacking for anything here in these Yiling mountains except good alcohol.”
Arms crossed, Wen Qing stares him down with clear disapproval. “How many times do I need to tell you? Your wounds are not healed and alcohol will slow it down!”
“It’s nothing to worry about!” Wei Wuxian leaps up and dashes for the door before his Qing-jie can turn him into a pincushion. “I better go see Lan Zhan! Can’t keep the Er-dianxia waiting too long!”
In this AU, LWJ is younger! I wanted to try writing that for once. (Though WWX might still call him er-gege just to tease him.) And given how long the notes are already, I might actually write this.
Title: a home through fire and storm Author: lareine Rating: T Warnings: None Summary:
“A captain’s goal was simple: Find a crew. Find a job. Keep flying.”
Six years after the failure of the Sunshot Campaign, Wei Ying is captain of Suibian, a Firefly-class spaceship. Due to a job falling through, he’s forced to take on three passengers, all of whom have brought secrets on board.
Title: find me here amidst the chaos Author: serpentinerose Rating: T Warnings: Major Character Death (canon) Summary: It is difficult to remain rational in the face of love lost, Lan Wangji of all people know this. One half of the Stygian Tiger Seal may have been lost in the Siege of the Burial Mounds, but there are darker, older magic in the world, and if he has to, Lan Wangji will claw his way to Hell to bring the one he lost back to the Cloud Recesses.
Inspired by the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, retold in novel-compliant timeline, viewed through the lens of Chinese folk mythology. Written for Day 5: Mythology of Wangxian Week 2020.
I initially told myself I would not do wangxian week because I actually have a lot of work to do and I’m falling behind. So naturally, I just reworked my schedule so that I could do wangxian week AND all my work. I hope you enjoy!
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
day 1: running on the roof of the world
Wei Wuxian has figured out time travel. And he went back in time. One problem… he’s unsure of how to go forward. With a younger version of himself chasing him for answers, and a younger Lan Wangji very close to figuring out who he is, Wei Wuxian needs to figure out how to get back before things escalate.
Wangxian week day 1: -Family -Chances -Time travel AU
The golden eyes of the man were focused on the instrument, his perfect skin practically glowing in the moonlight, his long hair swaying in the midnight breeze. Wei Wuxian drew in a breath. Lan Wangji, the second prince Lan, was up on the rooftop at midnight, playing his Guqin. Wei Wuxian was immediately mystified by the beauty of the man on the roof.
And in his chest, though he tried to deny the warm and sudden feeling, Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped a beat.
Wangxian week day 2: -Emperor’s smile -Music -Royalty AU
Wei Ying, his brain said as the man with the blue scrunchie started walking out the store. Wei Ying. His Wei Ying. Lan Zhan quickly jumped the very low door separating his workspace and the café area, much to the protest of the lady who was waiting at the counter. But Lan Zhan didn’t care. Because this man was Wei Ying. His Wei Ying.
day 4: wreckage breaks the peace, but sews us together
“Huanguang-Jun, he got hurt in the arena, they won’t give us medical coverage because Master Wei has a criminal record, Jie-Jie is busy working her shift at the public medic bay, I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go-”
“Shut up,” Lan Wangji spat, moving the curtain aside and stepping into his small living quarters. Blood was dripping off of Wei Wuxian now, onto Lan Wangji’s hands, onto the floor, onto Lan Wangji’s clothes. Shit. “Shut up, shut up shut up.”
“And… we’ve come to ask you, seeing as your husband is dead, permission to court you?”
Lan Wangji’s mind went blank for a second, his false pleasantness and miniscule respect towards this man snapping in two, then shattering into small shards, never to be recovered again. Lan Wangji’s eyes widened at the man’s still smiling face, clenching his hands tight, feeling the hilt of his sword shift under the pressure of his fingers. Lan Wangji didn’t even try to hold back.
Lan Wangji died at Qiongqi pass, pierced by a thousand arrows, each one meant for Wei Wuxian. And Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what to do. Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what to do.
Wangxian week day 6: -Sacrifices -Devotion -Role reversion
“With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring… I ask you to be mine.”
Title: a study in intimacy Author:chadsuke Rating: Gen. Warnings: None. Summary: Eight looks in the life of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. For@wangxianweek2020. Ao3 Link: Here.
“Are you sure it won’t give you a headache, love? I really love that you’re making it, but you know it fucks your system over.” Loki gave you a worried glance, nibbling at a beguni as he watched you ladle out the khichuri.
“It’ll be fine,"you waved it off excitedly, choosing to ignore the memories of the times you had gotten sick after eating khichuri. Which was almost every time you had ever eaten it. "It’s been years since I’ve had this, I can’t give a shit right now.” You hadn’t so much as had a whiff of the typical scent of a rainy day Bengali lunch in years, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the aftermath just yet.
“So you can find an excuse to keep me in bed all weekend even after I’ve cured your headache with seiðr?"Loki grinned, setting the bowls ofilish fries beside your plates. "This smells absolutely delicious, by the way.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” You stood up on your tiptoes and pulled him down to kiss his cheek. “We’re gonna stay in bed all weekend anyway, you know it.”
You had barely pulled the chair towards yourself when he wrapped his arms around your waist to attack your neck with very wet kisses. You shrieked, laughing and struggling to get away as he tickled you.
“Don’t tempt me, love.”
“I’ll tempt you later, I wanna eat now!”
“Okay, okay!”
Obviously, you got a headache later that evening. And obviously, he cured it with seiðr, just as he had predicted. It was worth it, you smiled to yourself as you pressed your nose into Loki’s neck and joined him in a deep slumber, serenaded by the whisper of rain on the window panes.
I’ve been thinking of a one shot fanfic idea for Power Rangers Ninja Storm, and instead of doing it I used it for a screenplay I had to write for an assignment. So basically I have an AU in which everything’s the same except for the whole “ninja/power rangers” thing.
I will probably be editing it out of the script format, changing it to english, and uploading it to Ao3 some time soon.
“Fuck, man, lift me up a little higher, would you?”
The lower half of your spine was rubbing up against the edge of counter and it was not a comfortable position to say the least.
“Sorry, if your counter wasn’t so fucking high I’d hoist you up on it,” Lip muttered, cigarette between his teeth.
Instead, you pushed off the counter and the two of you nearly crashed into the refrigerator, and you ended up holding onto his shoulders while he continued to fuck you against the wall. As you glanced up to the picture frames rattling against the wall, you could practically see your nana’s face of disappointment boring down on you.
She’d understand, you told yourself. If she were ever in your goddamn situation.
It was no-kiss sex. You had clarified that as soon as the two of you had made it into the door of your grandmother’s house, which, since she was dead, was now yours. It was an old, classic granny house, with what looked like 18th century wallpaper lining the walls and old rugs lying around that practically screamed knitting and fifty stray cats. Even if your nana wasn’t like that.
His arms gripped your legs, one in each and kept you solidly in that spot on the wall.
“Christ, Lip,” you moaned when he hit the spot just right. Even if he didn’t particularly look it, the boy knew how to give it to you.
You reached for the cigarette, plucking it from his lips and taking a long drag. Just because you couldn’t drink didn’t mean you couldn’t try to drain your lungs out. Exhaling, you let your head hit the back of the wall and stuck the cigarette back in your mouth.
God, you could really use a drink right now.
“Shit, hold on,” he grunted and slowed for a second to switch positions. Your feet finally touched the ground and you felt like they could nearly buckle under you. He grabbed you by the hips and turned you around so you were facing the wall.
Great. Now you were looking at your grandmother. Big turn-off.
But you closed your eyes and could quickly get your head back in it. Focusing on feeling good. You heard his groans as he picked up the pace, and you were getting close. His hips, hitting yours, sending you into near orgasm each time.
“Ah, fuck—wait, stand up a little bit.”
You didn’t even realize your knees were giving from underneath you. Straightening up, you shifted so your hips stuck out way back, and—damn was he good.
“That’s good, right there,” he murmured, and moved his hands up from your ass to your shoulders, stabilizing his position. He was hitting the exact right spot. Dear god.
As he pushed in and out, the walls shook, partly due to how crap the drywall was and you were sure the neighbors were getting ready to file a complaint any minute. They were an old, crabby couple, who couldn’t even stand you saying hello to them without throwing something across the yard. You figured they could stand to be a little more generous.
Your thoughts snapped back into place as he thrust his hips into you once more, then twice, bringing you to full orgasm and left you speechless with sheer and utter pleasure. So much so that he practically had to hold you up by the waist as your legs shook, and you used your hand to mask your moans that otherwise would’ve been way more audible than you felt comfortable with.
“Shit, fuck…” He grunted as his hips bucked a few last times, collapsing over you and groaning in your ear, and you almost had to remind yourself about your no-kissing policy. Even if in the moment you thought it was a stupid fucking policy.
His chest heaved, and he panted just as hard as you when he slid off the condom and went into the bathroom to toss it. Meanwhile, you clung to the wall, trying to catch your breath and your footing. Definitely had to wait for both.
After a few moments when you considered yourself relieved enough, you turned and fished out your underwear from behind the kitchen table before slipping them on. You found your shirt near the sink, your dad’s old AC/DC print, and pulled that over your head.
Lip emerged in a pair of boxers as you sank onto the couch in the living room, making quick work of tying your hair up in a bun over your head. He joined you, plopping down on the cushions with a sigh.
“So, you know, you never answered my question,” he responded to the silence that overtook the room.
You paused for a moment. “I just don’t get why you need to know.”
“I mean,” he frowned, “I don’t, but it just feels like the kind of thing I should know about you. Like, you know, knowing when your brother’s birthday is, is your gas tank at least a quarter full, why’d you decide to go to an AA meeting?”
You pursed your lips together in response, since you didn’t exactly want to give away sensitive information to someone you pretty much just met, but then again, he was on your living room couch. Your eyes just stared into the corner near the fireplace, an empty corner with little but dust and what looked to be some feathering from an old pillow.
“Not sure what to say,” you replied with a shrug. “Maybe ‘cause I’m a fucking alcoholic?” You could sense yourself closing up, your chest dragging itself deeper into a black hole. But from the way he was looking at you, out of the corner of your eye, you could clearly tell that wasn’t a satisfactory answer.
You knew you were fucked. Without a doubt, and that was the simplest way you could put it. You just knew, not when you barely had enough gas to pull up to the brown building in your shitty Toyota. Not even when you found out how many fucking people were there.
You could admit, out of all the kids you grew up with in the cruddy neighborhood you did, you were the one to be tough as nails in any situation. Be it fist fights in the schoolyard, killing the remaining wounded soldiers at a drinking party, or knowing how to make a buck or two without lifting a finger, you were known about as equally for your street smarts as you were for hardly blinking at some of the worst crap anyone could possibly imagine.
But it seemed your past caught up with you. Maybe it was ‘cause you were poor. You figured drinking all the wounded soldiers at a party probably wasn’t the best for your health. You couldn’t really figure out why, but alcohol just made you feel strong. It made you feel good about yourself, even when you knew you were doing something stupid or silly. Made you have an actual personality, other than just the sad girl who had an issue with the law.
Regardless of why, you stopped drinking primarily at parties and started grabbing a beer in the evenings to mellow out. Time seemed to switch, and soon you were day drinking. Afternoons turned to mornings, and believe or not pretty soon you were downing shots at the bar just to avoid the shame of getting idiotic drunk the day before.
“I woke up on a curb on the Lord’s day, and I was half-naked. No clue how I got there. Was fucking scary,” you let out a bitter laugh, leaning back onto the couch, eyes remaining locked to the spot it was on.
It was at that point when you realized just how fucked you were. The fact that it made you actually go to church that day was a miracle in itself. Even prayed and shit. After confessing, the pastor handed you a flier.
And now here you were. Talking your heart out with some guy who was just as low as you. Fucking incredible.
Surprisingly, when you finally tore your eyes off the spot, you saw that Lip looked… Concerned. There was some level of sympathy in his eyes. Like he actually cared to hear what you had to say. It made you just as confused as you felt uncomfortable with the situation.
So you switched it over to him.
You rolled your eyes. “Okay, soft guy, what’s your reason for coming to bible study, huh?” It was meant to sound joking, even if it didn’t play off as well. Your voice fell flat, but at this point who cared.
He seemed just as enthusiastic to answer his own question, “Runs in the family. Guess you could compare it to a bunch of King Henry’s, minus the inbreeding.” His nonchalance seemed to mask an awful truth that the two of you shared.
Well, at least the one that you knew: both your families were fucked. And God, you could use a drink right about now.
Sometimes it would hit him all at once, on dark, forlorn nights where there wasn’t even the slightest sound of wind outside—nothing to keep him distracted from the aching gloominess that hung over his house.
His house.
No longer his father’s, or his family’s. His mother that he never knew, and the one parent he felt akin to him was now gone to sickness. Terminal illness. The house was empty and the only soul inside of it was his. Just the thought itself made him feel cold to the touch. Enough to sometimes make him believe this house would consume him whole in a single night in which he felt too hollow to sleep.
So he walked. Often, he’d get up from bed and stretch his legs if he failed to find sleep. This, like most other nights like it, could be just as unforgiving.
He’d go to the kitchen first, the chilly and drafty room, because that was what felt most familiar during the earlier part of the day. When the sun was up and there was a piping hot pot of tea on the stove, and he could find solace in the space he and his father once shared. Where meals would be made and stomachs filled till they were just about ready to bust.
The kettle on the stove was now cold, the familiarly dark iron casting an even darker hue in the shadows of the night. The fireplace was out, and while he couldn’t possibly expect it to be lit, there was a part of him that wished it were. If he sat down at the table, like he contemplated doing now, he could even pretend like he had company over. Even if it was a bit childish.
And yet, even sometimes that would prove itself to be sufficiently dreary, the lack of life in that room ever present, and he would take the right turn to his father’s study. Something always led him to that room, when his father was well and he’d spend hours reading or writing in that room while Gilbert watched quietly, listening to the stories his father had to tell of the vast, exciting world he had traveled.
Of that wondrous world… He wondered if he would ever get to see much of it outside of Avonlea. He’d thought about it.
Maybe someday he would. Someday…
But for now, he was fervently stuck in grief. And all the thoughts he could avoid during waking hours came rushing back like a beating waterfall to his mind, gallons after gallons, pounding any other thought down to numbness. He could hardly escape it, the thoughts. An ocean of indescribable grief, and he was on a tiny boat in the middle of it. He couldn’t help but feel utterly all alone. After all, nearly no one he knew had been going through anything quite like his situation.
Well, except for one person perhaps.
Sometimes, he liked to think about other things to wash away the pain. The kind of thoughts that could bring a potential smile to his face. A rather confusing smile. And it often brought someone to mind.
Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.
Her vibrant red hair the color of autumn leaves and splash of freckles always gave him a sense of puzzled intrigue when paired with that fiery spirit of hers. She was certainly confusing. He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around her. But learning in class was usually distracting enough, in a good way.
Like how certain words in books he didn’t know could be learned and applied to brand new situations, at least until he did know how to use them—and became stuck with his thoughts again.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t use learning as a distraction. And what a pragmatic one it was. Long hours of reading his father’s classics had trained him better for the classroom. And he did have a poignant interest in words; just not quite in the same way or level of intensity as Anne did. She was wordy, what could sometimes only be called a delicately jumbled mess of descriptors arranged in some kind of symphony of structure, or perhaps lack of it.
He was articulate. But not wordy. Smart, but hardly imaginative. After all, he’d called her ‘Carrots’ on the first day they’d met. Carrots. How unoriginal.
He still thought about that day sometimes, when it crossed his mind. It was curious, really. Who would’ve thought that a broken slate and sore scalp would amount to anything close to an endearing memory? He would think more about that someday. He’d like to.
But for now, he couldn’t.
He needed time to mend before thinking about anything as complicated as romance. He needed the space to heal, from an aching sense of loss that he truly feared would never wane. Or at least he couldn’t imagine it leaving him anytime soon. Grief was one of those funny things that felt as viscous as syrup, yet was so unsweet that you couldn’t think it being anything close to it.
By this point, he had scattered himself all across the house. The sun was beginning to hint at its light just over the horizon. The sky began to lighten, and the wild birds outside began to sing their cold song of early morning winter.
No time for sleeping now.
And then he had a thought. While passing the study on the way back upstairs. A map on the opposite end of the wall showing the oceans and various undocumented lands. His father’s travels… Maybe an ocean was just what he needed.
He continued upstairs, to grab a few belongings. Unfortunately for him, it was most of what he possessed. Some clothes, extra socks. A small sum of money. Pencils and paper. He’d never know if he needed to write someone, now would he?
And he headed down the creaky stairs filling him up with nostalgic memories of childhood, went to the pegs on the wall where his father’s coat used to hang. He put on his hat and winter jacket with a specific destination in mind.
Nie pamiętała, ile czasu siedziała zamknięta pod pokładem. Pamiętała jedynie, że jak co dzień, odkąd ją porwali, synowie Feanora wraz z księciem Curfinwe na czele dawali jej zajęcia, jak to określili, typowe dla kobiet. Ostatnim razem, to jest dzisiejszego poranka, kiedy wyszła na zewnątrz, polecili jej zmywanie pokładu statku. Chociaż wyszła to w tym przypadku wielce górnolotne określenie.Celegorm, niesłynący ze swojej delikatności wepchnął jej dosłownie w ręce ścierkę, oświadczając brutalnie, by zabierała się do pracy, bo ma dziś jeszcze dużo do zrobienia. Potem wyciągnął ją gwałtownie z ciemnego szerokiego korytarza, który dzieliła z resztą załogi. W przeciwieństwie do innych elfów spała jedynie na samym kocu, bowiem hamaka dla swojej służki Feanorianie nie przewidywali. Tuż po przekroczeniu schodków prowadzących do dolnych pomieszczeń dostrzegła przechadzającego się po pokładzie rudowłosego elfa, zdecydowanie przewyższającego wzrostem pozostałych spośród buntowników tego konkretnego okrętu. Siedział na dziobie i był całkiem bosy, jadł najpewniej jedno, jeśli nie ostatnie ze świeżych jabłek. Biała koszula z pięknie ustrojonym, jednak wciąż prostym żabotem, ozdobiona została teraz drobnymi mokrymi plamkami, świadczącymi najpewniej o solidnie wykonywanej pracy przy żaglach. Pamiętała, że ów chłopak spojrzał na brata krytycznie. Pamiętała też jego znaczący gest. Początkowo młodzieniec jedynie zmarszczył brwi, wstając z miejsca, co od razu dodało mu kolejnych 20 centymetrów wzrostu, później przeczesał dłonią miedziane pasma włosów, by ostatecznie związać je brązowym kawałkiem materiału. Na koniec westchnął, spoglądając na ciągnące się aż po horyzont spokojne fale oceanu. Tego dnia tafli wody nie mąciło nic a ocean zawał się wręcz stać, na tyle ile delikatne kołysanie można nazwać staniem. Ponownie odwrócił wzrok w stronę brata i dziewczyny, krzywiąc wargi. - Musisz być dla niej taki podły?! Nie szarp jej. Czy nie widzisz, że twój chwyt sprawia jej ból !? - oznajmił rzeczowo Maitimo posyłając jej samej przepraszające spojrzenie - Puść ją Tyelko. - Jest naszym jeńcem, czyż nie mam racji bracie ?- odpowiedział blondyn, pamiętała, że chwycił ją wówczas jeszcze mocniej, przez co aż zacisnęła zęby z bólu. Z jej ust dało się słyszeć cichy jęk. - Ona…. -chciał kontynuować, to jednak nie zostało mu dane. - Jest kobietą! - uciął krótko starszy z mężczyzn- Miałeś ją tylko obudzić i wyprowadzić na pokład, nawet ojciec nie dał ci przyzwolenia, byś się nad nią znęcał! Nadużywasz swojej władzy Tylekromo i dobrze ci radzę, byś powstrzymał swoje sadystyczne zapędy. O ile nie chcesz mieć problemów ze mną, ojcem albo Curvo. Bo pamiętaj, że to on przeważnie za nią odpowiada. Tylko tym razem jest wraz z naszym ojcem w jego pomieszczeniu. Spróbuj coś złamać tej nis albo ją uszkodzić. Jeśli zobaczę siniaki, obiecuję, że przy najbliższej okazji powiem naszemu bratu, aby złamał ci nos. Tak w moim i Kano imieniu wyłącznie. A dobrze wiesz, że dla Atarinkë to żadna sztuka. Wtedy blondyn ustąpił. Chociaż i na jego ustach pojawił się grymas niezadowolenia. Celegorm zostawił ją, odchodząc i popychając w głąb pokładu stopą, tak, że przesunęła się dobre kilka metrów dalej. - Teleri to śmiecie. -oznajmił na odchodnym kierując się do stojącego przy żaglach drugiego rudzielca - Huan! - gwizdnął krótko Dużych rozmiarów ogar zbiegł z mostka kapitańskiego, siadając wiernie u jego boku. Vaivamir popatrzyła odruchowo na swoją rękę. Już teraz mocno zaczerwieniona zaczynała powoli sinieć. - Hennon gen - mruknęła gdy pokryte drobnymi piegami, mocne dłonie postawiły ją na nogi Elf nie odpowiedział jednak nic na jej przeprosiny. - Bierz się do pracy. - rzucił tylko krótko, podsuwając jej pod nos wiadro wypełnione po brzegi, a potem także wrócił do siedzenia i jedzenia owocu. I początkowo zabrała się do pracy, bo i cóż lepszego miała do roboty zdana od wielu dni na łaskę noldoroskich marynarzy i siedmiu samozwańców, lecz w krótkim czasie zaprzestała wykonywanej czynności, kuląc się przy każdym, nawet drobnym poruszeniu łajby.
W tamtej sekundzie natychmiast przypomniała sobie, czemu od tak wielu dni unikała wszelakich rejsów z własnym rodzicielem, chociaż jako Teleryjka miała ku temu wszelakie możliwości. Przypomniała sobie uczucie niepewności, zwroty głowy, zielono- bladą skórę wokół ust i policzków, sperlone czoło i w końcu gwałtowny ruch w kierunku burty, by w ostatniej chwili wychylić się za nią z nader dobrze wszystkim znanym, charakterystycznym dźwiękiem… Usiadła na łóżku, rozglądając się na boki, ze zdumieniem odkrywając, iż nie została zniesiona tam, gdzie zwykle a jej podłoże to nie deski podłogowe, lecz najprawdziwszy miękki materac. Kajuta, w jakiej przebudziła się kilkanaście minut temu, nie powalała swoją obszerną przestrzenią, zdecydowanie stanowiła jednak lepsze wyjście niż dzielenie przestrzeni z ponad dwudziestką elfów płci przeciwnej. Dziewczynę zaskoczyła też panująca w niej prostota. Całość była mała urządzona skromnie w stylu, jak oczywiście należało się spodziewać jej rodu, została jednak przekształcona, tak by odpowiadać gustom księcia Noldorów oraz jego potomkom. Wewnątrz znajdowały się solidne łoże, wyłożone prostą pościelą, drobna szafka i niewielki stoliczek zapełniony niemal po brzegi stosem papierów oraz skórzanych kajetów o różnej pojemności i rozmiarach. Drobne luźne kartki leżały również na podłodze poruszając się za każdym razem gdy statek chociaż trochę przechylił się na bok. W kącie przy łóżku leżał niedbale porzucony czarny dublet oraz czerwona koszula przyozdobiona niebyt zachęcająco wyglądającymi plamami potu. Via przyzwyczajona już jednak do towarzystwa marynarzy wzruszyła jednak ramionami. Po wyglądzie ubrań domyśliła się już jednak w czyjej kajucie i dlaczego się znajduje. Ponownie zalała ją fala wdzięczności za gest litości w jej kierunku ze strony tych istot, chociaż to na ich rozkaz wymordowano większość jej pobratymców, owych siedmiu braci zaczynało w jej oczach nabierać nieco pozytywniejszego obrazu. Szczególnie trzech spośród nich wykazywało się wobec niej chęcią pomocy. Najstarszy Maitmo, drugi zaraz po nim Kanafinwe i przedostatni z książąt Curvo zwany również Curufinem lub Atarinkë. To właśnie w pokoju ostatniego z nich znajdowała się obecnie. Była tego pewna, bo chociaż wystrój podobny do tegoż mógł również obejmować inne kajuty, odzienia nie sposób było pomylić z żadnym innym. Podniosła się chwiejnie na nogi, schylając po jedną z kartek tuż pod jej stopami, po czym pokiwała głową z uznaniem. Szkic przedstawiał widok z góry. Jak się domyślała z żagli. Oddany ze wszystkimi możliwymi elementami, począwszy od spienionych kłębów fal, na dobrze zarysowanych sylwetkach rodziny autora kończąc. Chociaż byli oni zarysowani pobieżnie, z łatwością dało się jednak rozpoznać zarówno ojca, jak i pozostałych sześciu braci. Sięgnęła po kolejną stronę z ziemi. Tym razem jednak serce teleryjki zabiło mocniej. Niewielki chłopiec obejmował , korpulentną , rudowłosą kobietę. Elfkę o charakterystyczne Zarysowanym garbatym nosie, szaro błękitnych oczach i wąskich ustach i szerokich jak na kobietę barkach. Via zamrugała gwałtownie. Ponieważ córka Kowala Mathana była powszechnie znaną i poważną artystką również w samym Aqualongë widziała ją parę razy w swoim krótkim jak na elfkę życiu. Nie miała możliwości przyjrzeć się dokładnie lady Nerdaneli, ale zarysy na szkicu nie budziły wątpliwości , iż jest to ona we własnej osobie. Matka chłopców, żona księcia Feanäro. A ten mały elf ….. Uświadamiając sobie podobieństwo chłopca do samego Curufina serce ścisnęło jej się jeszcze mocniej. Coś ukuło ją dotkliwe w samym jej wnętrzu. Czy Atarnikë tęsknił za matką? Zapewne nie mieli czasu się nawet z nią pożegnać, skoro ich w gorącej wodzie kompany ojciec pozrywał ich z posłań w samym środku nocy. Chociaż musiał planować z nimi ucieczkę do Śródziemia, żaden z jego synów raczej nie przewidział tak gwałtownego obrotu spraw. - Z początku sądziłam, że jest złośliwym i wrednym manipulantem, -pomyślała elfica podchodząc kilka kroków, by odłożyć kartki na blat stolika - Że jest jedynie zimnym i podłym potworem i szaleńcem jak oni wszyscy w oczach innych eldarów z Valinoru. Ale patrząc na to co mam róże sobą… Może oni nie są tylko i jedynie wyrachowanymi mordercami, jak przypuszczałam. - Podobają ci się? Podskoczyła na dźwięk męskiego głosu, odwracając się. Właściciel pokoju stał, opierając się ręką o framugę w drzwiczkach. - Wybacz, że cię nachodzę. Myślałem, że jeszcze śpisz. Zszedłem do ciebie, chciałem, zobaczyć jak się czujesz. Przed podaniem środków nasennych spędzałaś czas przyklejona do wiadra albo burty. Zaczynałem się niepokoić dziewczyno. - książę podszedł bliżej, przekładając gliniany kubek z ręki do ręki - Zwłaszcza że zanim wyszedłem, już rzucało tobą jak szmacianą kukłą. To doprawdy niespotykany widok by członków twego plemienia dręczyły takie dolegliwości. Vaivamir zarumieniła się nieznacznie. - Wybacz książę. Jestem tu dzięki waszej łaskawości wobec mnie. Nie chciałam sprawić ci problemów. Curufin zaśmiał się cicho. - Nie sądziłem, że przedstawiciela telerich może dręczyć choroba morska. Jednak widząc to, szczerze ci współczuję. Możesz rozmówić się na ten temat z Kano. Wygląda na to, że ma podobny problem. Ale ja i moi bracia nie jesteśmy tym zdziwieni. Zawsze był aż zbyt wrażliwy. Od kilku dni wygląda, jak chodząca śmierć. Czy zwrócił robione przez ciebie śniadanie? Nie pytałem, ale odmówił spożywania innych posiłków. No cóż… Czego oczy nie widzą, tego sercu nie żal, będzie więcej dla mnie i Tyelko. Swoją drogą, będzie musiał pogodzić się z podbitym okiem na kilka dobrych tygodni. Maitimo powiedział mi, jak zachowywał się wobec ciebie. Przepraszam za niego. To skończony idiota. Myśli, że każdy ma mu się podporządkować. Z roku na rok, jest coraz gorszy. Odkąd został stałym bywalcem w lasach Oromego wydaje mu się, że teraz każdym będzie w stanie rządzić. Niedoczekanie jego. Sam sobie niech usługuje. Teraz w nowym miejscu będzie musiał pogodzić się z faktem, że nie jesteśmy już książętami, takiej rangi jak kiedyś. A ty nie, nie jesteś jego własnością. Jeśli dalej będzie się tak odnosił, również do innych członków załogi, z przyjemnością podbiję mu i drugie oko. A nawiasem mówiąc. Jedzenie było pyszne. Gotujesz lepiej, niż nie jeden z mężczyzn a w końcu wedle tradycji tym winien się zajmować ktoś naszej płci. - Najwidoczniej miałeś dobre przeczucia panie, zostawiając mnie przy życiu. Szkice zaś jeśli są twojego autorstwa, są wspaniałe. Widzę, że i w drodze nie tracisz czasu. Cóż to…? -popatrzyła na kubek wypełniony czymś o niebyt zachęcającym wyglądzie i zapachu - Smakuje lepiej, niż wygląda. Zresztą czy to ważne?! Pomaga na mdłości. Powinnaś poczuć się nieco lepiej. - Curufin przesunął kubek bliżej - Śmiało. Skoro Kano przeżył ten smak, to ty też. Via uniosła naczynie do ust, upijając łyk. Skrzywiła się pod wpływem gorzkiego smaku. Ponaglona przez Atarnikë wypiła jednak duszkiem resztę. Chociaż napój nie należał do najsmaczniejszych, po kilku minutach odczuła faktyczną poprawę. Przynajmniej fizyczną, bo jeśli chodzi o wygląd Vaivamir wciąż czuła, że jej stan pozostawia wiele do życzenia. Srebrne strąki jej pozlepianych włosów zaczynały dotkliwie przeszkadzać a sama skóra głowy nieznośnie swędzieć. Tak samo jak reszta ciała oblepionego potem. W ustach dalej pomimo wypitego leku czuła posmak wymiocin. Jej oddech też zapewne nie należał teraz do najprzyjemniejszych. - Powinnaś się wykąpać. - powiedział Curufin siadając na materacu naprzeciwko po chwili wstał szukając czegoś w niewielkiej szafce - Masz piętnaście minut. - oświadczył chłodniej, podając jej ręcznik -Rozgonię braci i załogę do ich komnat. Pływasz, jak sądzę dobrze. Przypilnujemy cię z ojcem. Postaram się nie patrzeć. Pośpiesz się Teleryjko. - ruszył do drzwi stukając oficerkami o podłogę - Aha. Jeszcze jedno. Od dzisiaj nocujesz tutaj. Postaram się pozbierać rzeczy wraz z zachodem słońca przeniosę się do Tyelko. Ma wystarczająco miejsca w pokoju na hamaku, a ktoś musi mieć na oku tego zbója, zanim zatopi nas przed dopłynięciem do lądu. Ruszył na górę, zostawiając ją samą.
Fragment opowiadania, kim mogła być początkowo żona Curufina. Przy okazji w jej roli moja oc - teleryjka Vaivamir ( w quenyi imię znaczy mniej więcej morski wiatr.) Czy pisać dalej? Jakie są wasze założenia. Co tu się stało?
