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scribbleseas · 10 months

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Straight Laced, Chapter IV: To Be A Helpful Dance Partner

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: Oh, my. This is just over 9,000 words; I highly suggest getting a snack and finding somewhere comfortable if you intend to read this in one sitting. I really don’t know what happened, but I adore this chapter so much. I had so much fun writing it! Thank you so much for all of your support - I can’t believe I’m so close to 100 followers! I appreciate it more than anything.

One more thing: let us all collectively scream at the fact that us anime enjoyers are getting a season 4 of the anime!! Isn’t that something? I’m so stoked to watch it and come up with even more Ciel stories for us!! (I say, as if I don’t already have 3 baby ciel fics in the drafts.)

Happy Reading,

- Dan

MASTERLIST

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

Late October

The Royal Opera House, The Practice Room

No one dared settle in the middle of the frontmost barre. It was arguably the best spot in the practice room because all of the directional mirrors on the walls reflected the dancer in the spot— therefore, they could watch themself plié from any angle.

Being the lead prima ballerina, it was your spot after Janet died. The mirror her steely blue eyes would burn into was now yours and in the time before you joined the investigation, you relished having your own detached space. A vicinity where you could only see yourself while the rest of the cast shared what was left— just as you had before your promotion.

Now, you were purposely choosing to your old spot: the far left side of the main barre. You waited until Violet arrived and settled to your right. It was her usual spot and she was so accustomed to the routine, that she hardly spared you a glance.

“Hello, Violet,” you greeted, startling her as she adjusted her leotard. Warm-up class, Natasha’s pre-performance requirement, started in about two hours but dancers were sure to start arriving soon. You didn’t have a lot of time to accomplish what you wished. The ballerinas with something to prove were always there about an hour ahead of time. You would know— you used to be among them, pleading with Natasha for private lessons, picking every step apart like an austere war general. If it is not perfect, it is not correct.

Startled, Violet’s breath hitched as she flinched, acting as if you intimidated her. “Good afternoon, Y/n,” she replied timidly, her onyx eyes searching for a reason as to why you were speaking to her. You didn’t know her last name— you had never spoken to her. “You’re here early,” she ventured, attempting to draw an explanation from you.

“I want to talk with you,” you admitted, dropping your voice to a conspiratorial low. The two of you were alone for the time being, and you needed to have this conversation in private. Ciel wanted to raise as minimal concern as possible, and Violet was one of the quietest in the company. If you spoke with her, even about such a controversial topic, she would never tell anyone. The only other dancer she would have spoken to was the late Eliza O’Malley, whose patron was co-hosting the ball that you were to attend with Ciel later that night. Alexander Huntington.

“Did you?” Violet asked, pausing in front of the mirror to decide how she wanted to begin warming herself up. She inhaled sharply and dropped into a demi plié, her right hand holding the bar as her left drew outwards elegantly. “Why?”

You mirrored her, dropping into a demi plié and following her into her next fluid movement, a grand plié. “About the disappearances,” you stepped into second position and repeated the demi and grand pliés with her. Violet studied your movements, taking in your lengthened back, and the way you positioned your fingers. Of course. You were Odette. She was one of the shortest dancers in the company, and therefore, one of the four swans in the pas de chat.

Along with Violet, Eliza O’Malley was one of the swans before she died. Going missing before Janet and Amélie, she was the eighth dancer to vanish or die, rather. Your heart was heavy when Ciel told you that her body was found, but the details must have been so gruesome, that Ciel decided to spare you. “You were close with Eliza, were you not?”

Your words caused Violet to pause before turning her feet into third position and continuing to plié. Her pale skin seemed to only grow ashier as she regarded you. Watching her closely, you noticed that she was alarmingly thin— more emaciated than any ballerina would ideally be. With her raven black hair and matching brown eyes, you imagined that if Sebastian had a daughter, Violet would resemble her.

“We were best friends, I loved her,” Violet’s lip quivered, her voice no higher than a broken whisper. It was a pained whimper, the defeated sound of a mortally wounded animal.

“Will you come to my dressing room?” You asked, not anticipating her earnest confession. You wanted to give her the dignity of crying in private. “I need your help.”

Even more to your surprise, Violet agreed. Her trembling hands picked up her bag and shouldered it as she followed you to your private space. She startled at the harsh sound of your closing door.

“How…could I possibly help you? And what could you even need help with?” Violet asked, her curiosity defeating her concerns. She stared into her lap, sitting stiffly on your vanity chair while you occupied the loveseat at its side.

“I think dancers from this company are dying. Not going missing like everyone has been saying,” you said evenly, trying to speak with warm understanding in your voice to avoid upsetting her further. “I think someone killed Eliza and the others.”

Violet nodded resolutely, her inability to stay still reminding you of a wary bird. “I think you’re right,” she sniffled. “It was William Wood. I know it, and I come here during off hours to try to find the spare key to his office. I know he has one around here somewhere for when he forgets his copy at home. There’s got to be evidence in there—” The more she spoke, the faster her words came. They were confident, broken, and so certain that it was disquieting.

“Mr. Wood?” You asked in disbelief, causing her to give you a wide-eyed, silencing look. You must have said his name too loudly, but you doubted there was anyone incriminating outside of your dressing room at the moment. “Why do you say—”

“He forces himself on dancers!” Violet exclaimed, a stark contrast from her frantic rambling. “Eliza and the rest of the girls who disappeared were only a handful of those he abused.”

Your mouth was dry with shock, your eyes stinging with the need to cry. Mr. Wood? Natasha’s husband? No. The man was only ever smiling. He was generous, and kind. He loved his wife, did he not?

Your stomach lurched. The deaths all took place before William departed for Paris. Even Sebastian estimated that the killer poisoned Amélie and put her in contact with the chemical weeks before her death. He said she must have absorbed it through her skin. William would have been in London, at the time. He would have still been in London when Janet went missing, as well, though her body had yet to be found. Was Mr. Wood truly capable of being so cruel?

“I think he kills them when he’s ready to move on. It keeps them quiet, s-so they don’t tell the Yard, or Natasha, or ruin his company, or…” she rambled, wringing her hands in her lap. “It’s only a matter of time before he moves on to the next one. You should be careful, Y/n.”

That was not the first time you heard the sentiment.

You put a tender hand on her fidgeting ones. Her nail beds were bitten raw. “Violet. I want to help you find who has been doing this. I… need to know where you have looked for his office key, and everyone you know he has assaulted. Can you help me with that?” You asked gently, using the same soothing voice you would calm a terrified animal.

When she didn’t respond, you continued. “I may not be able to tell you much, but I am working with someone who will stop at nothing to solve these murders. He truly is very smart,” the words tasted as bitter as cigar smoke, but you meant them. You had never met anyone quite as focused and certain as Ciel Phantomhive. He was the Queen’s loyal Guard Dog, and you were his accomplice. And his faux lover.

“Lord Phantomhive?” She asked, wiping away a fresh tear. Her lips turned upwards in a weak smile. “I knew that the timing was rather convenient— his courting you.”

You let yourself snort, amused that she stitched your collective lies and admissions together to find the truth. “Please do not tell anyone. If people find out…” you started, knowing she was smart enough to understand that if any other dancers know, then Natasha would find out, and inevitably, her husband would from her. Natasha deserved to find out that her husband was unfaithful, but not in such a painful way.

“No one will hear it from me,” Violet said resolutely, her cold hand giving yours a brief, yet reassuring, squeeze.

That Evening, Post-Performance

The Royal Opera House, Your Dressing Room

Ciel waited for you outside your dressing room after the performance, as he did every other evening. When he was unable to escort you, he would send two of his house staff members or Sebastian to escort you, highly concerned with your safety because of his ‘long list of enemies.’

Apparently, policing London’s Underworld did not make Ciel popular amongst big crime syndicates and even small-time criminals, making you a potential target. A weakness. Especially after The Oxford Gazette released a brief about your courtship, complete with quotes from Ciel and yourself. Speaking with Adam Blackwell during one of your performances’ intermissions earlier that week had been equal parts invigorating and intimidating.

Even if it was a startling process, the article had been illuminating for your public character. He painted you as an industrious self-starter who moved from France to pursue your passion for ballet. But you weren’t naïve enough to believe that a glowing review from the Adam Blackwell would completely erase the inevitable social repercussions you and Ciel would face for this faux pas. An Earl — especially one of Ciel’s magnitude — and a commoner such as yourself was unheard of.

Natasha easily unclipped your Odette costume, a white tutu with feather detail. The bodice was a strict and unforgiving corset, the clasps going up your back. You would never be able to get in and out of the costume on your own, even though Natasha had every right to force you to make do. She was the company director, not the lead costume designer. The costume designer, a kindly and mature woman named Poppy, was hard at work with measurements for The Nutcracker, and all of the costuming assistants worked on the wardrobes with her, rather than Natasha.

As the director, Natasha dedicated nearly every minute of her life into the Royal Opera House Company and for so little in return. For all of her earnest work, she received next to nothing in return. You couldn’t help but pity her.

“Lord Phantomhive’s butler asked me for your birthstone the other evening,” Natasha grinned as she fastened your costume back onto its hanger. “You do know what that means, yes?” She asked, her stormy blue eyes alight piqued interest.

“No,” you replied nonchalantly, your lips starting to curve upwards in a smile. You needed to play the role you were cast in: the unorthodox woman who caught the Earl’s attention. You needed to be lovestruck; you needed to be playful. “Do you?” You said with enough irony for Natasha to playfully roll her eyes and snicker.

“It means the Earl is looking to buy you an expensive gift, Y/n. A custom-made piece.”

“So soon?” You chuckled in a way you hoped was bashful. Natasha had never seen you in love before, but you presumed you’d be more tight-lipped than telling her every detail regarding your experiences with particular suitors — good and bad.

You unclipped your costume’s headpiece and offered it to the director once she finished hanging your Odette outfit next to the Odile ensemble on your wall.

For convenience, you slipped into a clean leotard and the long wool coat Ciel bought for you. It was the same charcoal black as his, and the hem fell to your knees. It was, by far, the warmest item of clothing you owned— it was just in time for the autumn season to shift into the bitter winter. Your tights matched your skin, giving your clothing an entirely nude palette.

“I know. How exciting,” Natasha said, all cheer and amazement for your success, given that a woman’s future heavily depended on the sort of man she married. She was always in your corner, ever since you joined the company. You imagined it was because she saw herself in you. The same hunger for brilliance and perfection. You imagined Natasha was a stunning prima ballerina before her accident, having met William because she amazed him with her portrayal of Aurora in the Opera House’s production of Sleeping Beauty about five years ago.

You felt another sting of pity for having to withhold such important information about her marriage from her.

For the sake of the investigation, you could hear Ciel chime in the back of your mind.

“Have a magical night, Cinderella,” Natasha joked, steadying her cane as she readied herself to leave. “I hope your ball is enchanting tonight. They tend to be.”

You quirked an eyebrow, struggling from the irony. You were the furthest from a fairytale princess— only heading to the ball because your fake Prince Charming needed to court you to divert suspicion for a serial killer investigation. “Does that make you my Fairy Godmother?”

“Something of the sort,” she winked before leaving, saying a brief hello to Ciel as she passed him.

That Evening, Pre-Ball

Your Bedroom

“You had a new dress made for me?” You couldn’t keep the surprise and slight frustration from your voice as you gaped at the various pieces of a clearly expensive ball gown. It was darker than blood, an intense and ironic color that you wouldn’t have expected from Ciel, given his trademark blues and blacks. A pearl necklace, a matching set of pearl drop earrings, three silver rings, and a pair of white gloves sat on your dresser. Matching red heels waited on your chair cushion— they were relatively short.

“Yes. It is of the utmost importance that your clothing assures the rest of the nobility that you belong on my Lord’s arm,” Sebastian replied. “I took the liberty of bringing your measurements to our modiste.”

Where could Sebastian have possibly learned your dress measurements? You wondered, your eyes widening and lips pursing with stress. If Sebastian could find such minuscule details about you, his master’s ally, you were scared for those who fell on the other side of his opulent shield.

“Shall I help you prepare, Miss Y/n?” Sebastian asked, fastening his necktie around his eyes for your modesty— not that it was of importance to you anymore. He moved before you could answer, completely aware that your answer would be yes.

As Sebastian pieced your dress together— several smaller, complex accessories went under the top petticoat— he held an impromptu etiquette lesson.

“You must address nobles with their rightful titles, Miss. Given that you are a commonoer, all titles are above yours— you must refer to nobles as my Lord and my Lady. You must not engage in any impolite conversation,” Sebastian continued, tightening your corset. It felt as if he was suffocating you with the excessive information and by over-constricting the undergarment. “By impolite conversation I mean: do not engage in argument, do not interrupt anyone when they are speaking, do not lose temper or speak excitedly, do not speak of personal matters. By personal matters, I am referring to…”

Even if he was overzealous when it came to cramming two decades worth of knowledge into your brain, you knew Sebastian meant well. He was helping you master etiquette because ultimately, your success was his master’s as well. If you could play the role of a reformed ballerina, it would ensure that the investigation would remain as inconspicuous as possible. A strong show of social prowess from you meant you and Ciel could bring the killer (potentially your employer, if Violet was right) to justice.

By the time Sebastian was finished preparing you, your head pounded, a physical manifestation of every rule the butler engrained into you. Furthermore, the woman who returned your gaze in the mirror was certainly not you. She was the picture of opulence— she wore the pearl necklace elegantly as if it were her birthright. Her hair was out of its typical ballerina bun, styled partially up and partially down impeccably. It bounced in ringlets that Sebastian accomplished through a long process including fire-heated tongs and curl paper.

Perhaps, you truly were Cinderella for once.

“How will you address Gabriel Giffard and Alexander Huntington tonight?” Sebastian asked as he rolled the long white gloves up your hands. He slid your rings on for you— they were thin silver bands, matching the silver in your pearl drop earrings.

You punctuated your silence with a hum, drawing yourself from staring into your reflection. “Gabriel is the Viscount of Tiverton so it would be…Lord Tiverton and Alexander is…” You closed your eyes briefly to try to recall if Alexander had a noble title. No, he is only a wealthy businessman. “Mr. Huntington.”

“Very good, Miss,” Sebastian said. He studied your face before turning back to your vanity. He picked a light lip rouge, a soft red that was natural enough for your lips to appear bitten, rather than painted. Your makeup was significantly less dramatic than you’d ever worn, and instead, it accentuated the features you already had. It was less of a weapon and more of a tool. Sebastian ran the near-neutral lip salve over your lips and gave you a tissue to blot any excess away.

“There. You resemble a proper lady, now,” Sebastian said. If he hadn’t been looking at you like an artist after his final brushstroke on his masterpiece, you would have been offended. Instead, you looked at yourself once more and found yourself agreeing with him— albeit hesitantly.

“Thank you, Sebastian,” you replied earnestly. “I could never have accomplished something like this on my own,” you felt strangely emotional. You spent most of your life in ratty leotards, and months-old tights. Even now that you were the principal dancer, you spent even more time in such makeshift wardrobe, only able to wear pieces that made statments during performances. Of course, those statements were made to represent your character, rather than yourself. Privately, you supposed this was no different.

Sebastian chuckled, expecting the sentiment. “If I couldn’t do this much, what kind of butler would I be?” He asked rhetorically, offering you his arm to allow him to escort you to the carriage, where Ciel awaited you. There was a foreign anxiety in your stomach that worsened with every step toward the vehicle as if you worried about how Sebastian’s master might react to your appearance. Or perhaps, anxiety was of the long-term effects of being unable to breathe properly.

You preferred that explanation much more than the former.

“I finally understand why you nobles are always so unpleasant,” you declared, stepping into the carriage with help from Sebastian. You settled on the seat opposite from Ciel, per the norm, but the dark carriage kept you from seeing more than some of his face highlighted by lamp posts outside the carriage window.

“Excuse me?” Ciel blanched, taken aback by your greeting. “Did you not just have a lesson in etiquette with my butler?”

“This corset hinders my breathing, and I can barely remember all of the rules from within my lesson,” you adjusted your skirts to keep them from catching in the carriage door. The gown took up nearly all of the space on your bench and in the rest of the space. “Not to mention, I have plenty of ball gowns. It was unnecessary for you to—”

“We couldn’t have you re-wearing some dress from some old patron,” Ciel explained. “That would have been most unseemly.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course, the Earl dressed you in the most expensive and elegant ensembles you’ve ever worn to preserve his image, of all things. Though you supposed, he was sacrificing more than you were, at least on the social stage. You had to look and act flawlessly, or it would only drive him to further (self-inflicted, of course) ruin. The fact that you had to pretend to be in love was Ciel’s fault, to begin with! You were entirely innocent!

Your face sobered as you recalled the crucial information Violet uncovered for you. “Oh— Ciel, I learned something today,” you admitted, your sudden urgency capturing his attention. “I heard that William Wood takes sexual advantage of company members— many of whom have been killed over the past several weeks….” You started, exhaling as if the information was constricting your lungs as painfully as the corset was in the midst of doing.

Ciel’s grave expression didn’t insinuate surprise. Instead, it only grew stormier. “I’ve heard the rumors of the like about the bastard. I was looking to confirm them,” his fist clenched in his lap. “For this evening, we will speak with Alexander Huntington. We will need to investigate William Wood, next. Understood?”

That Evening, The Ball

Alexander Huntington’s Estate, The Grand Ballroom

This is another stage, Y/n. It is not unlike the Opera House, you repeated to yourself in an effort to quell your drumming pulse. It was anxiety; it was excitement. It was the same readiness you felt moments before the beginning of a new performance; the feeling of knowing that there were several dozens of eyes on you.

“Remember everything Sebastian told you,” Ciel mumbled, moments before stepping through the grand entrance and into the ballroom. He’d led you up the grand stairway in the front of the main building and through the open doors, which were flanked by two guards. Your arms were laced together, and you watched his face fade from Ciel Phantomhive and ignite once more to portray the Earl of Phantomhive, a small, certain smile tugging the corner of his lips, his chin raised.

You didn’t need to force yourself to smile in amazement. Lord Tiverton’s ballroom was bursting with life— over 100 nobles occupied the space as they danced, talked, ate, and drank. Astonishing paintings lined the walls, accompanied by intricate wood paneling and long leafy plants by the ballroom’s balcony. One great stairway led to the elevated space, which was also crowded with people.

After taking every facet of the space in, you allowed your grin to fall back into something closer to the detached amusement on Ciel’s face. Sebastian had told you to appear pleased, but not too pleased as it would be an affront to your courtship with Ciel.

“Ah, Phantomhive! You’ve finally managed to show your face!” A man greeted Ciel. You were walking in his group’s general direction, and Ciel’s answering half-smile (it was much more genuine than his previously idle look) suggested that the group was his intended destination, to begin with. The man who called out appeared to be around your age. He was lightly tanned with tousled light brown hair, and matching hazel eyes. His smile displayed his white teeth and drew your attention to his tasteful goatee and beard.

“Hello, Tiverton,” Ciel answered, stopping across from the Viscount as the rest of the group made room for the both of you. This was Gabriel Giffard — Lord Tiverton — a co-host of the ball. The only face you recognized in the group was Adam Blackwell, the editor-in-chief of The Oxford Gazette; the rest of the group consisted of a young woman with curly red hair, and a man with dark hair and even stormier gray eyes. “Where is Huntington?”

“Dancing with Margaret. Why? Tired of us already?” Tiverton asked. Good-natured jabbing— lack of formality. Sebastian hadn’t told you that Ciel was on close terms with the Viscount.

Before Ciel could reply, Tiverton changed the subject. “You cannot walk away without introducing your partner. That would be rude.”

Now the rest of the group seemed comfortable with overtly staring at you, rather than continuing to attempt to mask their curious looks. You remained silent, per Sebastian’s warning, and allowed Ciel to speak — no matter how it enraged you. Given that you had the lowest status, you were unable to introduce yourself to anyone of higher rank. Ciel needed to do so for you.

“Fine, yes. This is Y/n Y/l/n, the lead prima ballerina of the London Royal Opera House Company,” Ciel said, but his delivery was completely wrong. He was too stiff and detached— as if he was getting paid to attend the ball with you.

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Tiverton,” you said politely, dipping in a shallow curtsy to observe his Viscount title. You could feel Ciel stiffen next to you, clearly wanting to comment on the fact that you respected Gabriel’s title while refusing to give him the same treatment at every opportunity. The thought of his silent frustration helped nurture your natural grin; the pinching in your cheeks was beginning to make the expression stiffen into something artificial and unsettling.

“We’ve heard much about you, Y/n. Do enjoy the ball— even if your partner here is a bit of a wallflower,” Tiverton gestured to Ciel with his chin, turning the group’s attention away from you once more. You assumed he made the cheap joke with that goal in mind, sensing your light discomfort beneath your shield of satin, pearls, and unearned confidence.

“Not everyone loves to dance, Tiverton,” Ciel said with a comedic bitterness that matched his sardonic half-grin. Brilliant light from the chandelier reflected in his exposed eye. He truly was unfairly attractive.

“You shouldn’t admit such a thing. You’re courting a literal prima ballerina,” Blackwell scoffed, giving you a firm head nod to denote his acceptance of you. The other two in the group, the freckled woman with the red hair, and the grumpy man with the perpetual scowl, had yet to give you any indication of acceptance. She studied you like a foreign agent in a laboratory, while he seemed uninterested in your presence.

Your eyes widened. Of course, Ciel disliked dancing— the man despised everything that wasn’t monochrome, monotonous, and dreary. Even still…he also disliked partaking in activities that he didn’t particularly excel at. Could he be a bad dancer?

You had to work to hold your laughter in. Instead, you turned to Ciel, your gaze sinister. “I have never danced with you, Lord Phantomhive. I believe a waltz would be most exhilarating,” you suggested, silently daring him to reject you in front of his usual company.

For once, Ciel stuttered, at a near loss for words. “I… perhaps after we greet Alexander and his wife. We may join the waltz after that,” he wanted to use this opportunity to take his leave of the conversation and find the target. So much for enjoying the ball.

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” you agreed placidly, playing the role of a polite young woman, despite her promiscuous occupation. Sebastian emphasized that in this setting, being unagreeable simply was not an option. Neither was failing to be polite and kind— which apparently, you were not on an average day. But who could blame you?

Ciel was rarely a ray of sunshine, even when he was poorly acting in front of a group.

“Shall we go?” You prompted, keeping your tone light and patient to avoid appearing desperate to exit the conversation.

“Yes. Enjoy the night, everyone,” Ciel said before leading you back down the stairway to the main floor once again. Once you were out of earshot, he lowered his voice. “We will use this waltz as a diversion. Sebastian will ensure Alexander stays away from his office, should he leave the ballroom,” he explained, his gaze locking on Alexander and his wife as they danced, laughing amongst themselves. They seemed like a loving couple— hardly one that would be half unfaithful.

“So we are not waltzing?” You asked, pouting exaggeratingly as he led you past the side of the dancing area — the center of the vast ballroom — and towards a side corridor. The both of you had to make occasional stops every few steps to greet someone new. You stopped keeping track of names and affiliations after the third mother-daughter combination approached you to size up your relationship with one of London’s most eligible bachelors. Having to respond to jealous and longing looks with your blazing grin became something akin to a game.

“No, we need to search for clues in the suspect’s office,” Ciel responded boredly, his tone telling you not to continue pressing the matter. You wanted to ask him why you didn’t have Sebastian search the office while you both continued to work the ball, but you assumed his haughty response might be along the lines of: this is my investigation. He merely acts as I instruct him, rather than making moves on his own.

Even if Sebastian could search the room much faster than the two of you could, Ciel would underutilize him to secure his position as the master.

“It seems unlocked,” you said, surprised when the door knob turned obediently in your hand. “That means he has nothing to hide, no?”

“Or it could mean he believes he has everything hidden well— or in a different location…” the Earl stepped inside before you and locked the door after you entered behind him. He took a moment to survey the room before starting towards Alexander’s long oak desk. The desk was covered with an assortment of papers, pens, a typewriter, and a candlestick telephone. Ciel started sifting through the sloppy records on the desktop not without complaining about the mess, of course. (Is the man too frugal to bother hiring a live-in maid?”)

“He certainly has an appreciation for fine art…” you mumbled, inspecting the painted canvas that hung on the wall. Aside from the art, his desk, and an office chair, there was nothing else in Alexander’s office. It was painfully empty, compared to Ciel’s ample bookshelves, bay window, and wall decor.

Still, the office was too simple for a hyperconfident man. Alexander was supposed to be a smart entrepreneur with ideas bright enough to persuade a Viscount to co-found a company with him. He wasn’t supposed to leave his office door and desk drawers unlocked unless he was trying to appear innocent to anyone looking. Business-savvy men kept their records well-maintained, rather than carelessly splayed out. At least they ensured their crucial documents were secure.

You decided to think back to what you knew about the powerful men who sponsored you over the past few years. None of them would leave such a private room so accessible unless they were hiding more crucial information, and using this display to deter any wandering eyes. This setup had to be a distraction. There was no other explanation, given the number of servants that were maintaining the ballroom— serving drinks, amuse bouches, managing garbage — there was no reason for them to avoid their master’s office unless they were specifically ordered to do so.

If Alexander was looking to sidetrack intruders in the office by giving them a messy scene to work with, then there had to be something in the room he was looking to distract them from…

You hummed, taking a step to the side to look at the painting’s canvas from the side. It wasn’t directly adhered to the wall as most paintings were— there was a gap between the back of the frame to the wall itself since the work hung from a nail hammered into the wall. Without any further thought, you moved the painting off the wall and set it on the floor, the movement easy given that the painting was quite small.

Of course, if it was easy for you to move, it had to be lighter than a feather for Alexander to lift it as many times as he pleased.

“How did you think of that?” Ciel demanded, staring at the newly exposed cutout in the wall as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You— moved the— and—”

You surged forward. “Look. These are checks made out to Eliza O’Malley,” you pulled the papers out of the cutout. “The last one was made the week before she died. It has not been cashed,” you said, turning the document to Ciel for him to look at it over your shoulder.

“They stopped immediately before she died,” Ciel mused.

“Could he have heard of her death? That she went missing?”

“The Yard is on strict orders from Her Majesty to keep these deaths private,” he said. “It is unlikely he was aware that anything was wrong before it was time to write the next check.”

“Meaning… Alexander had to know that something happened to her,” you were unsure if your words were supposed to be a statement or a question. “So as to know not to write her another check.”

“Unless he was about to choose another company member to subscribe to, or stop the practice altogether,” Ciel suggested, but you immediately knew better.

“That seems unlikely. He was her only patron for months,” you frowned, glancing back at the hole in the wall. There seemed to be other documents— mostly business related, given that his and Tiverton’s company monogram was stamped at the top of them. You also noticed assorted valuables, gold, jewelry, watches, and notes of currency (foreign and domestic). You felt a sting of homesickness when you noticed the stack of French francs.

“Come on, Ciel. I think there is nothing to accomplish without speaking to Alexander himself—

“There is no separating him from his wife smoothly at the moment,” Ciel cut in, making you roll your eyes. How was it that women in polite society weren’t to interrupt, but Ciel could interject whenever he felt like it?

You made a show of clearing your throat. “We should wait, then. And in the meantime, teach you how to be a convincing actor,” you advised the derision in your voice more than palpable. “I nearly forgot we were supposed to be courting, given how coldly you were treating me,” you continued, raising a challenging eyebrow. “If we continue this way, no one will believe us.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Ciel asked impatiently, “I seem to have forgotten that you were the mistress of everything regarding deception.” He put Alexander’s checks back into the wall and moved the floral painting back into its original position. In his frustration, his movements were hurried, jagged with an irritation that seemed reserved for you.

“Well, between the two of us, you certainly are not the master!” You fired back. “Come this way, we are wasting time,” you took his arm, unlocked the door, and practically pulled him back out to the ballroom. As luck would have it, Alexander’s orchestra was just beginning a new piece.

“No, you cannot be serious, Y/n…” The sound of the conversating guests and the beginning notes of a waltz nearly drowned out all of Ciel’s quiet protests. “Y/n— no,” he seemed desperate enough to consider bribing you out of the matter, but you had your mindset. Furthermore, there were too many pairs of eyes on you for him to outwardly refuse you without seeming suspicious.

You only released Ciel’s arm once you were settled in the middle of the dance floor. The spot allowed all of the ball’s attendees to freely stare at you and him, something that he seemed to be acutely aware of, given his vague blush. The pink flush tinted his cheeks, spreading up to the tips of his ears. As the music drew louder, you dropped into another curtsey, keeping yourself in line with Ciel’s bow, dropping and raising in tandem.

Mechanically, Ciel’s arm wrapped around your back while its counterpart took your hand. He was close enough for you to feel his rigid body, stiff with uncertainty — whether it was from his clear disdain of recreational dancing, having the limitless ballroom’s attention, or the realization that he was, indeed, awful at pretending to be in love.

“You need to relax and allow yourself to have fun, sometimes,” you said, wrapping your arm around his tense shoulder. Your gloved hand sat slightly above Ciel’s shoulder blade, the other trapped in his tight grasp. Your eyes locked on the sight of your intertwined fingers, slotting together perfectly. You nearly wished you weren’t wearing gloves so you could feel the warmth from his body, and the texture of his skin. His hands were always hidden by the same black gloves; you couldn’t help but wonder what his hands might have looked like. Did aristocrats have calluses, too?

“Dancing is fun,” you insisted, putting the entirety of your body into the next spin for emphasis. “Pretend I am someone you truly like. Someone you would enjoy spending time with— no matter what you are doing,” you suggested in an attempt to dispel the nauseous look on Ciel’s face. Instead, your words only caused him to look at you incredulously, suggesting that there was no one in his life he would feel such a way for. You didn’t blame him.

“Twirling about like children is not so much my idea of fun.”

“If you bothered to watch my performances, you would realize that dancing is an art form,” you said snidely, well aware of Ciel’s habit of waiting until each production ended before waiting outside your dressing room. He hadn’t deigned to watch you in your starring role, despite being your partner. “You might also realize that dance follows emotion.” You took the words from one of Natasha’s private lessons, but it was a phrase you repeated to yourself in a mirror more times than you could count.

“Dance follows emotion,” Ciel repeated dubiously, frowning at you. His reluctance seeped into his dance steps like spilled ink to surrounding fabric. You could still feel his tension, his slight panic, and his uncertainty.

“Listen to the music. Let it guide you— not how you feel. You know these moves, Ciel. It is a nonissue,” you urged. You didn’t have a lot of time to make this dance into something believable, it would only be a few moments before onlookers would expect Ciel’s initial awkwardness to evolve into a beautiful and soft display created by an unmatched affection for you.

You needed to show that the Earl of Phantomhive loved you enough to forgo his usual wallflower role and waltz with you, his ballerina.

“Just look into my eyes,” you suggested, thinking back to the notes Natasha gave to Timothy, the dancer playing Prince Siegfried while you rehearsed Act II’s Love Duet one last time before your first performance as a prima ballerina, rather than Swan Number 43. This performance featured you as the Swan Queen, Odette as she falls in love with The Prince. It is the complete antithesis of your pas de deux as Odile, your movements formed with humility and grace rather than overt audaciousness and flashiness. While Odette was an innocent victim, Odile was a cunning trickster.

Though, you struggled to recall her advice to Timothy… perhaps, what you needed in this situation was her advice to you.

You remembered Natasha telling you to move as if you were weightless to convince the audience that you were a woman who lived in the body of a swan during her days, the condition causing her to retain most of that legato movement in her human form at night. The routine was crucial to master in terms of chemistry because it displayed Odette’s transition from being afraid of The Prince, attempting to fly away and hide within herself, to timidly deciding to place her faith in his love for her. Unlike Odile, Odette moves with The Prince in matching, co-dependent steps. She doesn’t lead him into each new move because she is not manipulating The Prince into loving her as Odile is.

“Be ethereal, fluid, and delicate,” Natasha said, “make certain your port de bras resembles a swan’s wings.”

You tried to focus on more relevant insight. Anything Natasha had to say about the acting, the artistry that accompanied the athleticism in ballet. Particularly, how to capture the Swan Queen’s gentle movements. You needed to be a helpful dance partner or your farce wouldn’t survive the night. Come on, Y/n.

“Use Odette’s wounded backstory to transform it into something beautiful. Pour her pain into her selfless love. Your Odette may have a somberness to her, and that is fine because she is a victim of a curse. She puts every bit of that pain into maintaining her iron will. You can channel any strong feeling — anger, sorrow, joy — into passion.”

You stared into Ciel’s eye, tilting your head and smiling as his gaze finally managed to soften. “Better. See, you can channel any strong emotion into a passion. Think about your favorite tea or something that can only evoke kind feelings,” you explained with a newfound gentleness as the two of you settled into a natural rhythm with the music.

Something was paralyzing about his sapphire stare. It forced you to nearly miss a step in your waltz, causing you to fumble. He held the depths of the ocean in his eye— you wished he didn’t need his eyepatch. Selfishly, you wanted to look into both of his eyes.

A new grin played on Ciel's lips. It managed to reach the rest of his face, for once. “Be careful. We can’t have the principal dancer tripping over herself in a dance of all things,” he remarked, the arm around your lower back tightening to keep you steady. The hand clasping yours gradually relaxed from its business-like squeeze to a softer grasp meant for gentle dancing.

The piece drifted to an end. Couples around you stepped into their concluding stance, about a step away from one another. They bowed and curtsied to one another, or settled into another beginning stance to continue dancing. You looked at Ciel questioningly, confident that he would be more than ready to steer you back to the sidelines to continue making your rounds about the room.

That was until he extended his hand to you once more, after righting himself from his shallow bow. “It would be optimal to wait until most of the guests leave. Until then, we have time to kill,” he explained, gauging your reaction. You willingly accepted his hand and returned to your former position— gently ensnared in his arm, while rounding yours around his shoulder.

You were close enough to smell the sweet scent of expensive tea and clean soap wafting from his neck since the height difference between you and the Earl left you aligned with his sternum. Or more interestingly, the blood-red tie he wore to match your gown.

After Midnight, The Ball

Alexander Huntington’s Estate, Alexander’s Office

The ball was showing typical signs of a natural closing. Noble parties tended to extend into one in the morning, and typically the idle widows and daughters and mothers who were unimpressed with the ball’s bachelors started to take their leaves. The ballroom was still crowded, but there was a slight current of guests making their rounds of goodbyes and showing themselves to their waiting carriages.

You and Ciel waited outside of Alexander’s office— Sebastian finally alerted you that the businessman went to check on his clandestine belongings.

“Are you certain you want to come inside?” Ciel questioned. He didn’t think you could handle another violent scene after finding Amelie’s body, but you couldn’t imagine there was a worse sight than her lifeless eyes and mottled skin. Besides, this was your investigation as well, whether Ciel liked it or not.

“Yes.” You said. The air of finality around the single word was enough to make him stop looking at you cautiously.

“Mr. Huntington. I would like a word. It is Lord Phantomhive,” he said, knocking on the door twice as Sebastian settled down the hallway, a guard in the event Alexander became violent.

“Of course, my Lord. Enter by all means,” Alexander’s muffled voice responded. You listened for the light tap of the painting getting put back into place, the slight rustling of hastily thrown documents shifting behind the canvas once he hung it in its original spot.

“I need to speak to you about Eliza O’Malley,” Ciel said, never one to bother with pleasantries and formalities when he was investigating a person of interest. You knew that better than anyone, given the way he sternly told you to put on more clothes when you first met. He watched Alexander’s face, scanning every little nuance for hints of guilt or any noticeable emotion.

At the mention of the ballerina’s name, Alexander’s green eyes hardened, his arms crossing in front of his chest.

“Eliza O’Malley. I know her, unfortunately,” he replied gruffly, knowing better than to outwardly lie to Ciel. “She is a sly wagtail, isn’t she? I’ve never been more relieved to cut ties with someone.”

Alexander was using the present tense for her, and you couldn’t detect any manipulation in his words or body language.

“Cut ties? Care to explain why?” Ciel asked, but everyone in the room was well aware that it wasn’t a request. You could see the gears turning in his mind, attempting to piece together every minuscule detail you’ve managed to compile in the last several days up to this point. Alexander had been her only subscriber for the past six months— he wrote her checks until the week before her death. Presumably, he ended their relationship. Presumably, Eliza and most of the other murdered ballerinas were having sexual relationships with William Wood.

“I gave that—that…bitch everything,” Alexander spat, lowering his voice as it wavered with inundating emotion. “I paid for her townhouse, her pointe shoes, her meals…she was mine. She wasn’t supposed to—…” he took a long breath in with stammering difficulty. “She wasn’t supposed to go and be with some other man. It was a betrayal,” he spat, unshed tears shining in his eyes.

Ciel’s face darkened. You imagined yours did the same, eyebrows drawing inward, head tilted with uncertainty. Alexander must have found her with William. They were cavorting in her townhouse to avoid Natasha growing suspicious of William.

“She was just…supposed to be mine, do you understand?” Alexander shook his head, his shaggy brown tresses moving with the gesture. “It is an utter embarrassment for her to defile herself with someone else in the house I pay the rent for.”

“So you ended your patronage with her, when?” You cut in, growing weary of the man’s pathetic tears. His quivering voice. Everything about him was growing exhaustive, but it was his entitlement to Eliza’s body that most fueled your outrage the most.

“I-I…early September, I think. I have the last check I gave to her…” Alexander said, his estimation was consistent with the records you and Ciel found prior.

“Who did you find her with?” Ciel asked the edge in his voice causing you to suspect that he also presumed it was going to be Natasha’s husband.

“William Wood,” Alexander answered bluntly, verifying Violet’s claim. Of course— there was no need for her to lie. Eliza was her best friend, and they lived in that townhouse together. She was now a witness. “He was defiling my precious, innocent— Eliza…” he continued, adding to the bile that threatened to rise in your throat.

Alexander’s teary gaze cut back to yours. “Do you all do this to your sponsors? We don’t pay all of your bills and the foyer fees to have to share you with other men,” he asked. “You should keep a close eye on her, my Lord.”

“That is quite enough,” Ciel replied, as cold as a glacier. “You will not speak of her in such a manner. She may very well be the next Countess of Phantomhive.”

“Just because you’ve dressed her pretty, doesn’t mean she’s worth anything more than a common prostit— hey!” Alexander cried out, nursing his reddened cheek. Ciel wrung out his bare hand and slid his glove back over it, satisfied with the imprint he left on the man’s face.

“That will be your second and final warning, Alexander,” he stated. “When you speak of her in such a way, you are speaking of me all the same. You do know how I take to slander, do you not?”

You were desensitized to perhaps any hateful term one could level at you, but you couldn’t help but the satisfied grin that surfaced to your lips. Until now, you never had anyone fight for you. Leading up to this point, you were the only one in your corner. (Save for Natasha, perhaps, but she would always lead with the company’s best interest in mind.) You were accustomed to preserving your own dignity. No one had ever defended you with Ciel’s ferocity. It brought goosebumps to the exposed flesh of your arms.

“Apologize,” Ciel demanded, his statuesque features assembling the very picture of an immortal’s wrath. “This instant.”

When Alexander hesitated, Ciel flashed a small gun from the depths of his autumn jacket, causing you to gasp inadvertently. Your face grew warm, causing you to look away.

“I didn’t mean it, Miss Y/l/n!” Alexander’s words came hurriedly, his tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, so sorry,” he whimpered desperately.

Ciel wore a Machiavellian grin. It was heartless. It was venomous, like a snake’s. “Do you forgive him, Y/n? Or shall we make him grovel some more?” He unlocked his pistol, causing both you and Alexander to tense.

Strangely, you weren’t afraid. Instead, you returned his relaxed expression and nodded. “Yes, I forgive him. I think we should finish our business here,” you answered snidely, watching Alexander tremble. There was a dark, yet potent, power that came with being on the Earl’s arm. It wasn’t a power you disliked. Perhaps, you were as twisted as the noble holding the gun.

“I agree,” Ciel said, hesitating to re-lock his gun as if he was sorry he couldn’t shoot the man. “I have one final question for you, Alexander,” he pocketed the pistol much slower than necessary, reminding the businessman how trivial his life was once again. “What did you do after you found Eliza and William together?”

Alexander wiped away any remaining tears and squared his posture, attempting to regain the confidence you and Ciel ripped away from him. “Um— I told some of my other friends who are subscribers. They should know what they’re paying for,” he said cautiously, wary that Ciel would hit him again for disparaging your name.

“You had no further contact with Eliza?” Ciel asked.

“Not at all. I haven’t seen her since that night,” Alexander shook his head rapidly. Somehow, you doubted the man could kill her. He was crying because of her betrayal— at least before Ciel terrified him— he still harbored some degree of love for her. “I heard she left the country because I’d told my inner circle and the rumor only spread from there.”

“She was found dead blocks away from her home a week after that incident,” Ciel informed him, all too stoic for the topic at hand. “Where were you on the night of September 15th?”

Alexander hesitated once more, before his face brightened with remembrance, though more tears welled in his eyes after hearing that Eliza was dead. An alibi. “The Theatre Royale in Manchester. A stage production of…Trilby. I think I still have my tickets, and the performers and stagehands can confirm that I was there. My wife loved the novel, so I arranged for a backstage tour for her!”

Ciel’s face was unchanged. “I expect confirmation of these claims within the next several days, and I want a list of the patrons you informed.”

“Look, whatever they might have done is not my fault…” Alexander started to say, but Ciel interrupted. At least he interrupted everyone — not just you. Even if it was na enourmously frustrating habit of his, amongst a number of others. You could name several of them: Ciel’s inability to be wrong, his commitment to never touching a surface that could have been grazed by a commonor’s hand, his insistence to remain as close to every rule as possible. He was as laced as straight and as tight as your bloody pointe shoes!

“You’ve done quite enough. Now if you wish to stay in business with a personal friend of mine, you will ensure that everything we have discussed this evening stays within this office. Am I understood?”

Another frustrating quality: Ciel’s habit of asking if he is understood. Yes, Ciel. You are next to always, understood. You rolled your eyes.

“Quite, my Lord,” Alexander nodded vigorously. He reminded you of a puppy— all too eager to please. “Have a lovely night, Miss Y/l/n,” he added as Ciel gestured for you to open the door and take your leave for the evening.

“Thank you for the ball,” you chirped over your shoulder.

Past Midnight

Ciel Phantomhive’s Estate, The Drawing Room

Your exhaustion began to seep into your bones. It was a culmination of your typical rehearsal time to prepare for The Nutcracker, your pre-performance warm-up class, that night’s Swan Lake performance, and the noble ball you attended, to say the least. That estimation didn’t account for your everyday stretching, the physical toil of becoming a butler’s live dress-up doll, or the emotional burden of such a long-winded day.

You couldn’t believe it wasn’t over. You should have known there would be a catch when Ciel invited you to spend the night at his estate— there was more work to be done.

Now, you sat across from one another, a chessboard sitting in the middle of you. A class of foreign pieces sat on your side of the board, the white set instead of the black, since Ciel claimed it. You looked at them blankly, having never played chess— much less seen such an ornate set of the board game. Selling it would likely give you enough money to pay your rent for the next several months.

“Ciel, I want to retire,” you moaned, taking a long drink from your green tea. Sebastian made it fresh and it still steamed from the kettle, but you didn’t mind the warm sensation as it soothed your tired throat. “I am exhausted.”

Everything was warm and comfortable at the Phantomhive estate. Your face was still flushed from the warm bath their clumsy maid, Mey-Rin, drew for you. You had never bathed without having to heat the water yourself and dump it into the bathtub until that night. (That morning?)

Even the nightgown they offered you was so silky, that you barely felt it around you. It was a soft baby pink with a large bow in the middle— proper sleepwear for a noblewoman— you presumed. Even so, you couldn’t help but feel partial to an oversized nightshirt and your drawers— even if it seemed to scandalize Ciel more than your leotards and tights.

“Let Maisie go on for you tomorrow, then,” Ciel suggested haphazardly, shrugging his shoulders. His hair was still wet from his bath— it dripped onto his white nightshirt. “We need to strategize. Make your turn,” he ordered, drinking his Earl Gray tea.

You stared at your pieces, forlorn. “I don’t know how…oh, fine,” you conceded, picking up the horse-shaped figure and moving it two spaces in front of the short piece that was in front of it.

“That is against the rules. The knight moves in an L shape, do you recall?”

“No,” you wrinkled your nose. The second Ciel began lecturing you about the complexities of each piece, you stopped listening. “I do not recall.”

Ciel rolled his eyes. “We just went over them, Y/n. I don’t think they can be any clearer.”

“Oh, you and your rules,” you mumbled. Despite the frustration on Ciel’s face, you made no effort to move your piece. “If your butler would serve me a good Quarts de Chaume as I originally requested, I might have more energy to play your childish game.” That particular dessert wine was a favorite of yours, made from Chenin Blanc grapes.

It would have paired perfectly with your poached peaches with crème anglaise, a light snack Sebastian had ready moments after you took your seat in the drawing room. He seemed to have caught on to your rather light way of eating and made a particular effort to make your small bowl contain more peaches than cream. There couldn’t have been more than a few teaspoons of the anglaise, but that hardly mattered. It was rich enough for a little to go more than a long way.

“Serving wine this late is inappropriate,” Ciel said boredly, “and it will only make you more tired.”

Technically, the correct terminology was: serving wine this early. But who was keeping track? Certainly not you.

“Being awake this late is inappropriate!” You complained instead, cutting a slice of peach in half with the side of your fork. “What is there to strategize? William is still in Paris.”

“Actually, Miss Y/l/n, I’ve just received word that his steamship has just docked,” Sebastian’s pleasant voice emerged from the open doorway. He pushed a small cart with more tea for you and his master, as well as an array of fruit-based desserts for Ciel to choose from.

“Would you care for more tea, Miss?”

57 notes · View notes

komitomi · 1 year

Text

Fateful Encounter. // Chapter v.

Neteyam x F!reader

prologue || chapter i || chapter ii || chapter iii || chapter iv

nsfw! mdni! ; p in v, mutual masturbating (unfinished),unprotected sex, breeding kink, talks about war, little bit of angst? and also fluff, neteyam recovers, ALL CHARACTERS HAVE BEEN AGED UP TO ADULTS IN THIS SERIES. + not proofread

english is not spoken

wc: 3.8k

A/N: I had to rush this cause it was already in the drafts for a while now, chapter 6 or 7 might be the final chapters of the series I think, depends on how long chapter 6 will be, but anyways please enjoy! also I lost the taglist that I saved so please comment if you wanna be added again <3 // gif credit: ??? I got this off of google idk who made it.

It has been a week, since the war broke out, the information of this had reached earth which finally put the nail in the coffin for RDA, the law firm decided that RDA was found guilty for misconduct, manipulation of truth, false information, and innocent deaths, which led to the termination of their project.

The court didn't just do this because they empathize with the na'vi, but also cause of the false information, lies and deceit the RDA had told humans, leading to billions of money loss, which was a big deal in the declining of the economy back on earth, which also caused a lot of uproar once the truth was revealed.

RDA troops back on Pandora were stuck in an awkward place, they would need orders from the RDA to continue the project but they also had all supplies they needed to not listen to the order and simply have their own way.

Few of them decided to side with SERO, seeing that there is no hope, however most of the others decided that this is their reality now and continued the project because it benefitted them, and since no high command to control them, they could go as far as they want.

Other than another war that was brewing there was nothing significantly different, neteyam woke up from his coma two days ago, you had to explain everything to him, it seemed like he didn't remember anything that happened after your mating with him, he doesn't remember the war, the fight with his brother, him getting shot.

Norm, one of the former RDA people, who rushed over here as soon as he heard about everything had told you that it might be due to the way the entire consciousness thing works in Pandora, Neteyam visited the spirit tree once after mating with you and then after that, the war broke out.

Basically jake had to explain it to you in a simplistic way, telling you that it's like the internet back on earth, you basically upload your memories or download them, when the na'vi pass the memories remain in the eywa, living in her.

Which is why you are able to relive your memories shared together in the spirit tree, basically 'virtual reality on spiritual crack' is what norm ended jake's explanation with which made you chuckle but earned him a light hit from jake on the stomach as it was quite disrespectful.

When neteyam passed away but was revived, he was momentarily with eywa, you wondered if this broke the law of nature which the na'vi people are very particular about but neytiri and ronal's words reassured you that if it wasn't eywa's will then neteyam wouldn't have revived no matter how hard you tried, she basically gave him back to you.

He had all his memories intact besides the ones that happened during war, he didn't really question much when you explained what happened to him, just taking in the information, besides he doesn't really care about it that much either since they were probably bad memories, but he was more thankful that you were still alive.

You were currently tending to neteyam, who still seemed to be recovering, opening up the bandage around his chest to apply medicine and apply bandage over again, the thread was slowly beginning to dissipate into his skin, indicating that he's healing.

“How are you feeling neteyam?” you ask him, caressing his cheek and he takes your hand off and kisses your fingers, “Decent, it still hurts.” he says and you hand him over pain killing medicine, he takes them reluctantly.

“Oh eywa, you sky people have weird medicine.” he says before popping the pill into his mouth and drinking water to aid the pill down his throat. you chuckle at his remark, agreeing with him.

Neteyam puts the pot of water down before he pulls you on to his lap, hugging you, you try your best to not put all your body weight on him as he was still in recovery, what shocks is when he grinds his hips against you, making you slap his thigh.

“Neteyam.” you say sternly but he just looks at you sheepishly before he stops moving and buries his nose into the crook of your neck, taking in your scent, “I missed you.” he says before kissing the spot.

“I literally didn't even leave your side for the past few days.” you say which made him giggle, “yeah, but I still miss you, I want to be inside you.” he mumbles the last part, making your cheeks heat up, “Recover fast then.” you say and pull him away to make eye contact with you.

“Oh, I will.” he says before rubbing your noses together.

“Oh eywa, what the heck did I just walk in on.” you hear a familiar voice and you both snap your head towards that direction, it was none other than kiri, you quickly get off his lap and sit down as kiri walks in, holding food, “I bought food for you guys, but it seems your hunger is for something else.” she says the second part looking directly at her brother, making him avoid her gaze.

“Y/n, come with me for a bit.” she tells you before getting up, and you immediately join her outside as you both make your way towards the sully family pod, you spot a human there and immediately feel bad.

His name was spider, he was apparently quaritch's son, and you didn't know that and ended up killing him. Although his death was appreciated by the suli family, you felt an immense amount of guilt in your heart the moment you found out about everything, you never truly got a chance to apologize to him, maybe you'll do it today.

“Ah, come in.” Jake says immediately as he spots you, you enter inside and see why you were called here, you spotted a few of the SERO troops and former RDA troops there too, they were discussing something.

A lot had happened after the war ended, most people from your organization had left to deal with the actual nest while few of them stayed behind, establishing a science camp at the back of the island, in the forest, which tonowari didn't allow at first because they were still kind of hostile towards the sky people but later came to an agreement when jake negotiated things between them.

They built a average-sized camp with minimal damage to the environment around it as possible, just enough to have their supplies and link units stored, you were planning to bring your human body here after everything was dealt with.

“What's the matter?” you look at him with a questioning expression, kiara, who is now your friend, sighs “we probably need to prepare for another war.” she says to you and you look at her shocked, “I thought RDA was dealt with?” you ask and she nods her head, “Yes, back on earth it has, but the ones here refuse to back down and they've become even more aggressive, some of them decided to join SERO but the rest are still being idiots.” she tells you.

“So what now?” you ask, and kiara starts explaining the plan to you.

They will attack the base in 3 months, which will require you to leave your avatar body here and fight in your human one since it was still at the original camp, or travel back to the forest with your avatar body and then fight, the later seems like a much more safer option, so you decided you were going to do that, jake and neytiri will also accompany you, since they're also very much needed there to fight.

Na'vi don't usually go far away from their clans to prevent clashes against one another, however for this reason its excusable, jake sully suggested taking the help of the omaticaya people who were their former clan, and had excellent warriors.

You make your way towards your pod thinking about the plan when you see neteyam sitting outside, it looks like he was waiting for you and you quickly rush over to him, “What is it?” he asks and you avert his gaze, you didnt know how you were going to break it to him. He will probably refuse but you need to manage to convince him somehow.

This is exactly what you had feared, as soon as you told your plan neteyam got up and rushed over to his parents pod in an angry stance and argued with his dad about how its literally unsafe for you, his dad shouted at him telling him theres no other way than this.

“Father, I usually respect your decision but, no way I'm going to allow this! This will put everyone in danger!” he argued.

“There is no other way son, in order for eternal peace, we must fight this battle, a final war.” jake says shaking his head, “Why isn't there any other way? Why can't the organisation just deal with it on their own?” he contrasts.

“Because SERO is still relatively small, compared to RDA. They lack manpower, in certain areas, attacking the base isn't as easy as attacking barely few troops of RDA's army which was sent here.” he sighs.

After what seemed like a never ending argument between son and father lo'ak stepped in and managed to convince his brother.

Lo'ak had matured lately, after the near death of his brother his mindset changed drastically, its almost like he became a new person, he stopped being so impulsive, standing in between both jake and neteyam.

Neteyam seemed to give up, his eyes shot towards you making your breath hitch as you gave him a look of concern, he averted his eyes from you and put his head down in defeat, before sighing and going back to your shared marui, you followed him there, shooting once apologetic look at jake before leaving.

“This is ridiculous.” he muttered, he was currently laying down on your lap, head on your thighs while you slowly caress his face, “It's the only option.” you tell him, gentle fingers tracing the strips on his face, he looks at before sitting up straight and pulling you into a hug, taking in your scent.

“What if I lose you?” he finally speaks his mind, stroking your hair and you just giggle against him, “You won't, I'm quite the fighter, you should've seen me in battle.” you say pulling away from the hug and jokingly flexing your body.

Neteyam's gaze softens at your lightheartedness, “I'm scared, losing a mate is terrifying, apparently you go insane for a bit.” he says and you nod, “Yeah I should know very well.” you say and he lightly hits your shoulder, “I am not dead.” he says, “Well, you were kind of dead, for like a few seconds, before my troops revived you, never felt anything like that in my life” you look at his and caress his face.

“The gaze you had on your face as the life was leaving your body made my heart drop to my stomach, I just stayed there, not being able to move as my mind slowly registered what had happened, i— i was frozen in fear.” your voice cracks and your breathing gets faster, recalling the events, tears form in your eyes until once again you were pulled into a hug by neteyam.

“I am here now, I have no recollection of what had happened but, I'm sorry.” he says, kissing you on your shoulder, you caress his head gently, “Don't apologize, it wasn't your fault, not like you made the conscious decision to die, it's just— it was traumatic, but I'm glad the great mother had blessed me.” you say and kiss his head.

You both stay like that for a while.

2 months later.

Neteyam had fully healed up, and preparations for the war were going well, and the only thing left to do was finally fight, everything was basically going accordingly and perfectly.

That's what you thought until you went to the tsahìk this morning, what started off as a light sickness turned into constant tiredness, you were constantly feeling nauseous, you decided to ignore it thinking it might be anxiety since the time to strike was coming.

When you arrived, the tsahìk immediately smelled the change in your scent, you sat next to her as she examined your physical state before drawing the needle from her necklace and poking you and licking the blood.

“As I suspected, you are with child.”

As soon as those words left her mouth, you froze up, not having any idea on what you're going to do now, she noticed your state and put a hand on your shoulder, “Don't be stressed, it's bad for the child, it will be okay.” her words snapped you out of whatever trance you were in.

“Thank you tsahìk.” you say, getting up to leave and she nods, you bid her goodbye and make your way towards your home, hands shaking, not knowing how to break this news to neteyam.

Although he accepted the plan, he was still reluctant about it, and you breaking this news to him will completely bring everything back to square one, he will refuse to let you go, and to be fair, you also are having second thoughts about this war, as soon as you found you were pregnant it's almost like the motherly instincts kicked instantly, it's not like you didn't want to have this child, it was just the wrong time.

You almost dropped down onto the floor when you reached your home as your legs were trembling, you noticed neteyam was fanning the fish which was cooking to get rid of the smoke while also simultaneously keeping the fire alive, the air was filled with the smell of the fish cooking, normally this would've been appetizing but you just felt nauseous.

He noticed your presence and gently pulled you down to sit alongside him as he continued what he was doing, you rested your head on his shoulder, watching in silence as many thoughts went through your head.

“What is it love?” he asks before he completely blows out the fire and turns to look at you, and you just shake your head, hiding your face in his shoulder, he turns his body to you and pulls you into a hug, rubbing your back gently and rests his face in your neck.

He suddenly pulls back, startling you before his face turns into the look of a scowl, “Who touched you? You smell different.” he grits his teeth, the smell was faint but it was there, mated couples mark each other with their scents as they release their pheromones, also known as "scenting/marking" simply.

You having a different smell on you, which wasn't neteyams pheromones, implies that someone had marked you as their own, which made neteyam angry, his aura became darker as he makes that revelation.

“No one, my love.” you say sighing, which makes neteyam raise a brow, “Why do you smell different then?” he asks and you let out another sigh, gosh you've been sighing a lot lately, you take a deep breathe before looking directly into his eyes.

His brows were now furrowed in a confused expression as he looked at you.

“I'm pregnant.” you say which makes neteyam's eyes widen as his brows raise in surprise, his mouth slightly open, he doesn't know what he expected but it definitely wasn't this, the shocked expression only last few seconds before his agape mouth turns into a happy smile which reaches his eyes and he quickly pulls you in for a hug.

“You're carrying my seed.” he says which makes your eyes widen at the wording before you chuckle and nod in his shoulder, “That's a good thing! We have been blessed, eywa has blessed us.” he says enthusiastically.

Neteyam was excited about it, hell, he pulled away from the hug and rubbed your belly with his fingers, and immediately started to talk about how they should expand this marui pod and have a crib woven to place the babe in, all he could think about how there is a life growing inside of you now, the thought of your belly swelling up and bearing his kid was lowkey making him horny but he was overwhelmed with happiness.

He noticed the lack of your enthusiasm regarding this, and how you swallowed a lump in your throat and fiddled with your fingers, that was when the realisation hit him, and you noticed his face drop.

“Neteyam— what a-about the war.” you finally managed to spill the words you were holding back, you prepared yourself for the worst, thinking about ways to convince him, “on one condition.” he says and you look up at him, surprised. “Let me come with you.” he finishes.

“I cant– what if something happens to you? Again?” you say panicking, “what if something happens to you? the baby?” he throws the same question at you making you go silent.

“I'll talk about this with my dad, do not worry.” he sighs and pulls you onto his lap, you straddle him, legs wrapped around his waist as he showers kisses on your shoulder, his hands lingered near your belly, fingers gently grazing it, there was no bump yet since you were still probably in the early stages.

His hands trail up your body, as he showers kisses down your kiss to your chest, fiddling with your top as he tries to undo it, your arms are wrapped around his neck, your top finally comes undone and falls to the ground with a noise as the seashells hit the floor.

He kisses your breasts, biting them gently but enough to leave his bite marks on there, he changes the position by making you lay down on the group as he gets on top of you, hands going down to your loincloth, he removes it quickly before he leans back and spreads your legs, taking in the sight.

Your pussy was glistening with your juices, wet from his inappropriate touches, you quickly try to close your legs but neteyam keeps them open before he undoes his loincloth and his cock springs out in its full glory.

He slowly pumps himself, his hands going up and down as precum leaks out, the sight of his cock making you even more turned on, your hands quickly move to your cunt, rubbing your clit in circles, neteyam groans at the sight, stroking his dick faster.

“Finger yourself.” he says, although you were a bit embarrassed, you still do what he says, shoving one finger into your hole, your hips immediately jerk against your hands at the contact, you slowly start pumping your finger in and out, moving your hips along with it in rhythmic way.

Neteyam stares at you intently while stroking his cock, the sight in front of him was so beautiful, the way you were biting your lip to suppress moans as you rutted your hips against your own finger, you decide to add one more stretching yourself more making yourself gasp, he almost came at the sight but he controlled himself, not wanting to cum anywhere besides your cunt, he tried matching his strokes with your rhythm.

You were almost near your orgasm when you felt neteyam move and pull your fingers out of your hole, he bought them up to his face and licked them, you looked at him with lust filling your eyes and he licked your finger clean, letting out a satisfied noises as he tasted your juices.

He lined himself against your entrance and tried to insert it into your hole but it slipped past and hit your clit instead making you gasp, he lined himself again properly and slowly entered inside you.

He threw his head back in pleasure and you wrapped your legs around him and pushed him slightly further into you, “F-fuck I wanted this for a while now.” he moaned, it has been a long time since you guys even were intimate like this, last time was when you guys first mated after that war was the only thing on your mind.

“ teyam— the b-bond please.” you moan out, bringing up the queue from behind you and he does the same, you both connect your queues to one another which makes you get hit by an immense amount of pleasure you've never felt before.

You let out a moan due to this feeling and neteyam closes his eyes, groaning as he tries to keep his calm, he's trying his best to not rut into you like a madman, knowing that it can possibly hurt the baby in your womb.

He doesn't know what is making him this feral, or feel these new surge of emotions whenever he thinks about the babe growing in your stomach, the thought of his seed he spilled inside you when you first mated was taken so quickly makes him so proud of himself, and he can't wait until you finally start showing, your tits swelling up with milk, and he can't wait to become a father.

You didn't know if this was a biological and a natural response of the na'vi, you could hear his thoughts and how he's going absolutely insane knowing that you were carrying his child, call it possessiveness maybe, but you can feel how happy and excited he is and to be honest, it was turning you on as well, and he feels it too.

He wastes no time thrusting into you, you lewdly moan when his dick hits your gspot this early, maybe it was all the affect of your guys' precious activity but neteyam only moved a few more times before you came all over his cock and he came inside you.

You thought he would pull out but he didn't, his cock was still rock hard inside you, he started moving again, your legs were thrown over his shoulder as he lifted your hips off the ground, his thrusts had rhythm to it as he pounded into your cunt making your breasts bounce, he grabbed him and fondled with them as he kept his pace stable.

You could feel your orgasm nearing again, arching your back as you try to match his rhythm and move your hips, he was also near his second orgasm, his pace became quick but more sloppy as he was chasing his high, you came again on his cock, clenching around it as your juices spilled down to the floor.

He let out a loud moan as he felt you clench around his cock and came inside of you again, riding his orgasm out slowly as you both were panting for air, he pulled out and laid next to you, pulling you into his arms.

You can feel his cum running down from your cunt and you turned into a more comfortable position and rested your head on his chest, giving him kisses while he strokes your hair gently.

You felt safe in his arms.

#neteyam sully #neteyam #avatar #x reader #avatar 2 #avatar: twow #fanfic #x reader smut #avatar fanfiction #neteyam smut #avatar smut #avatar x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam fanfiction

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ashtraythief · 26 days

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Hey! So ive been a long time reader of ur underneath verse (since like.. 2018? Maybe even 2017?) and i just wanted to drop by and tell u how much im enjoying rereading ur writing! Like in general i think this is one of my fav fics series just bc its so extensive and well done and thought out and fleshed out so well it works so well? Like seeing all the different angles and the way u choose to frame things is really fun for me and kinda inspires my own writing in some aspects.

Ive never read the whole thing all in one go before so ive decided to do that right now and im just about done with the pied pipers song - more specifically willys chapter. And i kinda needed to let u know that ur series really stands out to me just bc of how many glimpses into other characters and all these different povs of the same thing like on it stands out on a technical level but then ur actual writing of these things is so good and compelling and like as an outsider pov bitch it hits the spot for me so well? Like ur writing is never stale and its always interesting.

I specifically wanted to take this time to mention that i really love willy and winstons characters and how u went about it. Like im ngl the way u wrote them kinda makes me want to cry tears of happiness for them bc they have found ppl who appreciate them and they have connections with other ppl but then the bittersweet tang of jensen and willy is kinda fucking me up rn /pos djjdjdjd like in general u really do the bittersweet jensen is stuck undercover angle really well and it HURTS so good

But yes i dont really have a good concise message or comment to leave beyond the fact that i keep stopping every few sentences to get up and jump bc im so excited about what im reading i need to get rid of that excess energy lol so sorry if this is all over the place and a really messy message! I just really wanted to let u know how much im enjoying reading it all rn. Thank you so much for sharing ur writing with us and for continuing to write for this series its so fun!

omg nonnie, I'm kinda speechless here (this is the second wonderful message in two days so I'm kinda overwhelmed. is it send wonderful messages week somewhere??)

I just am so grateful and this message made me so happy. never apologize for maybe not having a five point outline lol, this is amazing.

The underneath verse has always been my fandom baby, so praise for it is already amazing, but the pied piper fic and Winston and Willy epsecially, it just makes my heart so full. Ten years ago, they definitely started out as stock characters of mob drivers, because I didn't think this fic would get so big, but then it did, and Willy especially became a real character. a) because I knew he'd fall in love with Jensen too, as anyone does really and b) because I looooove the bittersweet undercover Jensen shtick where I write from other character's POV and the reader knows how wrong they're getting it but they don't *mu har har* (yeah I'm a little mean sometime. sorry?)

but in all seriousness, the Willy chapter, I'ev been working on that for months. And I kept adding things and rewriting things and trying to get it perfect even though I know that most people who read the story mostly care about Jared and Jensen (which is totally fair and understandable), but I care about him and there are a few people out there who do too (and I love you for it, so much), but with Willy, I just wante to do this /right/. I've come to love him so much, and he's come to be so important to Jensen, it felt like he and Winston really deserve their own story told even though that's kind of ridiculous because they're not real, but they're a little real to me now. All this to say, nonnie, this comment and your appreciation of Willy means so fucking much to me. And my poor alpha reader who read like four drafts of this (seriously, M. is a saint) and my beta readers who then had to beta four iterations of this. To know that this effort is appreciated this much honestly make me cry a little (I am not having the greatest time right now, so I cry easily but the point still stands. Thank you.)

This message was actually such an energy boost I'm currently trying to fix the next timestamp, lol so I'll have something to post next month. You're a true treasure, nonnie <3

#anon ask #underneath verse

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hella1975 · 3 months

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Hi hella!!!

I feel like i always start these off or end them by saying that these things are going to be incomprehensible in some way, mainly bc i have trouble translating whats going on in my mind into written words so i really dont know how much of my list thingies make sense to you but this one is especially probably going to not make much sense. (also bc i send them a lot when im either very tired or not sober, but i am sober and wide awake rn so this might be a different kind of incomprehensible)

I found one of my old drafts for an ask from around a year ago and it was a follow up response to the last chapter you posted at the time, so im not sure how its going to sound without the context of that specific chapter, but i also mentioned in one of my other asks that i add stuff in last minute and that ask i added a shit ton of stuff so i dont have any of that pretyped out so im going by memory. But im sending it again bc i havent seen you answer it

(please do not interpret this as ‘why didnt you answer my ask >:/’ or me rushing you to answer asks or anything like that, but like I said its been a year so im assuming tumblr ate it. If not and you just havent cleaned out your ask box and you find the original, congratulations you’ll know what i originally said. Bc idk how accurate this will be)

Theres two different ways that you seem to write metaphors (idk if thats what theyre called im not caught up on my literary terminology)

(im scrolling through your blog rn looking for my other asks and tumblr really did you dirty in your asks system like i started scrolling and the third one down was from 2021 and im fighting for my life trying to find my tag (thank you for my tag btw its very useful to me))

Anywho, most of your metaphors ( to me) can be split into two categories. Theres the simple ones and the complex ones. Now this might seem obvious but im going to explain to you how these have different effects on my brain.

An example of the ‘simple’ ones is

““If Nanook’s tone had a note of seriousness, then Zuko’s was the entire orchestra.”” (idk what chapter this is from its been a while)

You have a lot of these kinds of whatever the haick kind of literary technique this is (is this a metaphor i’ve been trying to google it for like ½ an hour and i cant figure it out) BUT these type of things that are simple and easy to process is one of my favorite things about the way you write. I think this is a very common technique but the way you do it to me is just a lot more unique than the ways ive seen it done before. Its extremely fluent with the voice of the characters and brings a perfect kind of vibe to the ‘conversation’ (or story, text, whatever) and it paints the picture of what your trying to say perfectly. I also really like how these types of things arent ever in Zukos pov a lot (sometimes it is, but not nearly as much, I’ve noticed) and its not in the more serious like revelations that you drop these in. Like I said, it adds to the voice of the characters, bc of the contrast of Zuko constantly having revelations and dramatic archs and stuff, and the other characters just in general being a lot more calm. Its like when youre listening to a song and you have the lyrics and the like ‘main’ music behind the lyrics, but then when you listen to the song a lot you notice the smaller, like backup music that adds a lot to the song and makes it a lot more enjoyable than if it was just the lyrics and the louder more up front music.

Then in contrast you have the bigger ‘metaphors’

An example of this is ‘You curse in words already invented’

THIS IS MY FAVORITE LINE IN THE ENTIRE FIC.

OF ANY FIC OR BOOK EVER READ

AND THIS IS WHY

When I tell you I could not figure out what this meant for months I am AWFUL with stuff like this and interpreting it my english teachers hate me bc of it. Id have the question ‘why were the curtains blue’ and my answer would be ‘bc the people who decorated the room like blue maybe theyre interior designers and it goes with the room 😊 and thats so hot of them bc i love blue too’

But even thought i couldnt figure it out it stayed in my head and i probably thought about it once a day (i mean this literally, i think about that part all the time) and i cant remember the context for that or anything but i do remember that i knew it was a wonderful phrase.

I’ve mentioned in my other asks how whenever im reading anything at all that you’ve written (whether its tams, or toab, or in the tags of something even if its like 10 words), everything you type comes out so fluidly like a formula or a color wheel or however i put it last time i talked about this. And this is on the prodigious end of the spectrum of this.

But phrases like that are another part of the fic, theyre like the lyrics of the song. Like the phrases that gets all the attention and gets put in fanart and that gets quoted in comment sections because they deserve that recognition and you deserve that recognition and are just a reminder of how incredibly talented you are.

I mean that in the most sincere way that i know how to express.

I am constantly in awe of you and your writing style, and i really do think of you as one of the most talented writers of everything ive ever read.

And something else worth mentioning is that it isnt just your ao3 that portrays that. Like if I were to just read your ao3 I’d be like ‘oh wow this person is an amazing writer’ But your tumblr persona plays into it a lot more (In my opinion). Because then you see like more ‘backround’ stuff on ao3. And more of your system (im not articulating this in the way i mean it very well) and you get privy to the fact that you’re not a 30 year old with a masters in english and that you’ve never had any formal education on writing. I vaguely remember you talking about a story about a sailor (??? i might be misremembering that) that you wrote when you were a child and thinking ‘oh wow so she’s always been like that’. And its stuff like that that you dont get on ao3 that kind of reaffirms how incredible of a writer you are.

And this (to me) makes you a really easy person to admire. (ik i touched on this in a different ask but i dont remember if it was one of my list asks or not) but as someone who probably isnt going to ever be able to get an education around writing, it kind of reassures me that i dont need that to be great at it.

(i kind of feel like a lot of the stuff in this ask is too like ‘simple’ or obvious to be given a lot of weight, but this whole thing is about the kinds of things you do that brings me personally joy and the metaphors are one of them so)

Also on an off note when i was looking through your asks to try to find my tag, I noticed that i send you a heavy percentage of your anonymous asks (mainly without my alias) and I thought that was funny. But also i hope it doesnt come across as obsessive or weird, I swear i do that to a lot of people on here, I’m just a very social person. .😂

Also Im in your tbos server (lurking in the shadows) and someone pointed out that whenever you do the reaction emojis you always do the white ones, and thats going on the official ‘my favorite things about hella’ list because that was genuinely one of the funniest things ive seen.

Also the ‘anytime you type its very fluid (im too lazy to scroll up and see how i put it rn) also carrys on to discord. I think that i could probably block out the user names and be able to figure out that its you talking every time, you have a very distinct way of talking.

Also i wanted to mention that every time you answer these i read them again and i want to say like 1/3 of what i sasy, i have no recollection of. And i never have any idea what im talking about. so i think thats funny.

LIST ANONNNNNNNNNNNNN BAWLING MY EYES OUT HELLO BABY WELCOME BACK FROM WAR IVE MISSED YOU IM JUST HERE LIKE THIS RN

#this is so something i needed to hear rn bc always during exam season i 'lose' my ability to write like even the writing i do get done #just feels so fucking stale and awful imo and i just have to force myself to push through or else ill have a crisis about it #so i started studying in DECEMBER and it's now almost february exams are done but i CANT get out of that mindset for some reason #like ive been in a really bad writing flunk where im ABLE to write but the stuff i do write just feels genuinely terrible #like im losing it about dog teeth atm bc this story i was so in love with just feels so basic and underwhelming on a reread #and idk how much of that is me being insane and perfectionist and how much is valid criticism #so being told that actually there are people who not only enjoy my writing but are so thoroughly convinced it's a fundamental part of me #and something i am inherently GOOD at to the point even the way i talk CASUALLY is telling of it is just. oughhh im pacing my room #and the fact it doesn't HAVE to be my pretentious prose shit sometimes the more 'basic' stuff is STILL good. you're in my walls #i cant believe you're in the discord i hope you say hi!!! i dont bite!!! <- lying #also those assholes can take my silly white emojis from my COLD DEAD HANDS. white thumbs down will never die #ask #list anon

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i-sveikata · 3 months

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I have a few questions, but please do not feel pressure to answer them. You can ignore as you please! 💙

What is your favourite scene? That you read again and again after you have written?

Which chapter was the most fun to write? And which chapter that made you pull your hair while writing?

Is there any chapter that you want to change a few parts in it? Or that you say “Oh I wish I’d go different ways in this chapter, I wish I haven’t written like this.” etc.

Have you ever felt demotivated while writing graveyards that you wanted to discontinue?

What is the thing you feel excited to write in the future?

and for the wip game: head, heart, mouth please 🥰💙

No no i love questions!!!! Hmmm i think probably the first scene that i ever wrote? which was vegas and pete's clash of wills in the red room of the compound or the escape scene when pete fled the safe house. those two feel very vivid to me when i think of all that's happened so far. (there's also another scene that's still to come but i won't spoil that one ;) not yet )

i honestly can't remember lol. all of the chapters have been fun to write! it's one continual story in my head the chapters are more just break off points for the readers tbh

oh that is a good question. weirdly i never get that??? i do occasionally go back and edit spelling mistakes or wonky sentences when i reread but ive actually never experienced that. usually the decisions i make writing often lead to more progression of the narrative or like foreshadowing for the future (often without me even consciously intending it) so the different things i put in there end up tying together with other stuff. kinda like chasing down a rabbit hole that connects to a entire underground warren but somehow manages to lead back to the main tunnel in the end.

no not exactly i wouldnt put it like that. i've been tired or creatively exhausted and ive taken breaks knowing that i need them in order to keep writing (which is mostly what the delay between this and the last chapter was- also all the family christmas stuff and the stress that comes with that, plus i got covid two weeks before xmas, then i got the flu and walking pneumonia again a week after that and then i went on holiday first week of jan hahaha there's just been a lot going on that's left me physically and mentally exhausted lol) But no that hasn't crossed my mind- i don't usually have trouble finishing stories (even ones as insanely long as this) but i do go through inspiration/idea droughts which is when taking a break for a bit can come in handy.

im actually pretty keen to start working on my original work after i finish graveyards. hoping to dedicate some real time to it so i can finally finish off the entire draft and start looking into trying to get it published so fingers crossed!

Of course you can sentences below!!!

Because when the words seem to sink into Vegas’ head, when the question filters through he turns automatically, expectantly towards Pete. As if out of everyone, he knows exactly where to lay his unspoken query.

Pete knows that this is a fight he can’t win. So even with his heart pounding in his ears, Pete bows to Mr Korn before straightening up again.

Kinn’s mouth turns down and Pete already knows his answer. Even if Mr Korn tries to sidestep again and pretty it up.

#fic asks #on writing #one word wip game #ill fill the graveyards until i have you

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 1 year

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I almost hate how much i switched teams from 2718 to abacus, but its just bc he's new and shiny and pretty and pushy. He stifles autonomy so i know 2817 is better in the long run bc u can reason w him and he puts mcs best interests first. Abacus gives me the kind of vibe that he'd let mc get hurt so long as shes his, and tbh i feel like he might enjoy it? Like he'd like to fix her up and *accidentally* press a lil too hard into her wounds wheras 2718 would just use his abilities so that she wont feel the pain to begin w. That's just my assumption tho given what we've seen. Abacus seem the type to only use his powers thingy to subdue reader.

We know that 2718 has met readers past forms/reincarnation w.e u call it and i originally thought abacus did too. Maybe he was her affair or lover in a previous reincarnation methinks? I just felt like he knows her before. This changed a bit towards the end when they were walkin thru the streets while he was giving her the endoscopy (😮‍💨💦) and we learned just how badly mc is seen. Now im starting to wonder if aba is just greedy n wanted her as his lil disabled spouse genuinely, no past relation. Idk. I still feel like they know each other previously. Or maybe he sensed something abt her back when 2817 brought her in to that place all the way back then. Mc is key to the universe type thing. Doubt that tho.

Neyways i think aba is gnna take her home where he reveals that he not only has four arms, but also two dicks n he's gnna try to fawk her but some event will inconveniently stop him. I also think he lives in an oasis like place, their version of natural wood everywhere, running waterfalls from the cieling, tons of glass that he can mentally control and shatter at will to threaten reader while having a saccharine smile on his face, the works really.

I wnna believe translator(TA) is gnna get 2718 and theyll find mc but now im thinking maybe they might not meet up like that. 2718 might find TA n ditch her to find mc and TA has to scramble to keep up, might even meet her on the way back after 2718 saves the day. Also wondering whts gnna happen to TA bc i dont think anything criminally bad happened to her even tho we heard her screaming. Be real interesting if she were screaming bc 2817 found her and juuuust missed mc and aba. I think when 2718 finds mc and aba they're gnna be familiar w eachother but not fight bc aba is one slippery bastard. Or maybe itll be convenient where aba leaves mc unattended for a bit and someone tries to harm her and then 2718 makes him big appearance, like when mc was first dropped into the world and 2718 saved her. I have more thoughts on that but ive already wrote an essay here and in my other ask 😭

Anywhooo ty fr the chapter, hope your healing well 💕💕💕 -🐰

Damn this sure is a well written essay 😳 its either ur a really good analyst or im just a predictable writer cause it almost seems like u have access to my drafts

Cuase that... Kinda exactly whats gonna happen ngl, its still pretty rough around the edges part 15 is just still in its embryo stage with a 50 word list of whars going to hapoen, but yea it pretty similar to what you just described , havent been writing cause i regained my leg freedom finally and i spent literally every waking hour outside, driving and shit

There is going to be a fawking scene in p15 ill tell u and whoevers reading that. Similar to what you descibe with their anatomy but a little different in sequence of events

Thanks for sending in this ask bunny anon this is so cool and i had a great read ❤️❤️ lovely motivation youve given me and i really appreciatte the essay asks -- like, i appreciate if A LOT actually, thanks for reading language barrier too

#bunny emoji anon

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sleepytime-fics · 8 months

Text

omg a real sleepytime fics post?!

okay but anywayz, sorry ive been gone all summer (ू˃̣̣̣̣̣̣︿˂̣̣̣̣̣̣ ू)

BUT i DO have a draft for the next chapter for WYDDGA

im having lots of trouble finding ideas on how to continue it (it's for the episode Donnie's Gifts)

SO sorry to have to ask for help but if anyone has any ideas on how to continue this, ill be very grateful (and i WILL credit y'all for your help if i go with any of yalls ideas)

Draft is under the cut :))

Often times you found yourself wondering what life would be like if you hadn’t ended up in this strange cartoon world. Would you be hanging out with your friends right now? Sneaking out and racing across the town? Or would you be in your home, safe and sound as you cozied up in your bed? This time was no exception, as you battled mutated silverfish over your, supposedly delicious, laundry.

“Let go, you gross, dog-sized excuse of a clothes moth!” You huffed as you engaged in the world’s worst game of tug-of-war against the silverfish for the ultimate prize; your freshly cleaned laundry. The silverfish hissed in response, allowing you to kick it in the face. Unfortunately for you, you had forgotten that they multiply with each and every hit, so now you had two mutant silverfish. How great. You sighed, quickly packing the rest of your laundry in your basket before they had a chance to get a taste of the rest of your things. Rushing out of the laundromat with the silverfish nipping at your feet, you quickly made your way to Parker’s apartment.

When you finally did make it to the apartment, you were already tired. A long day of doing laundry, fighting off the mutant silverfish, and literally nothing else was just too much to bear.

…okay so you were being lazy but honestly, who could blame you? Every single day here was like a free lazy day, and it's not like you weren't going to take advantage of that. The stress of life back home was completely gone, and you had many years of relaxation to catch up on. You were in lazy debt!

But now that you were thinking about it… you did feel kinda bad that you were just lazing around the apartment doing nothing. It almost felt like you were mooching off of Parker and- nevermind guilt gone. You collapsed onto the couch, smiling to yourself as you relaxed into the fabric.

“Back home already?” Dale’s voice pulled you out of your relaxation. You turned your head, seeing Dale’s bald head peering out of his bedroom. You sighed, but nodded as you sat up on the couch. It's not like you didn’t like him, he was nice! He’s just- very awkward. Very, very awkward. So much that it hurt whenever the two of you talked to someone together.

“Yeah… not much to do, ya’know?” You said half heartedly as you shrugged your shoulders. You weren’t in the mood for talking. Dale perked up at this. Great, guess you’re socializing after all.

“Well… do you wanna, maybe, hang out..?” Dale asked, creeping out of his bedroom some more. “There’s this new ga-”

“Nope, sorry! Just remembered I… left something! In the Laundromat! Sorrygottagobye-!” You exclaimed, quickly rushing out the front door again to avoid doing something with Dale. Wow, that sounds a lot more mean now that you think about it. But it’s too late now, so you shrug as you make your way down the stairs, in case Dale was still somehow watching you leave.

Well… guess you’re doing this now. You stretched your arms as you made your way down the steps. Maybe you could take a walk through central park? The weather was nice enough, but to be fair it was always nice. But what if Dale was watching out the window…? But then again, he didn't seem like the kind of guy to do that.

Opening the door leading to the alleyway, you couldn't help but feel just a little bad for the guy. It's not like he could help how awkward he is! But... That didn't mean you wanted to deal with it.

#rottmnt x reader #draft #wip #sleepys rambles #sleepytime fics

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definitelynotshouting · 1 year

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I just binged your entire hunger au tag, haven’t yet read the rough draft (that’s for tomorrow bc it is currently almost 1am) and I gotta say I’m loving it. Loving the worldbuilding behind Players vs Watchers vs Listeners etc, and how the code ties everything together.

Some small questions: do you know which of our Hermits were born vs spawned?? I feel like all those who have been around since Alpha days, like Iskall, definitely should be spawned, but I’m wondering if you’d consider any of them born instead??

Do we have anyone we know who are in a symbiotic relationship with the Listeners? My first thought was Martyn and Jimmy… anyone else? Any Hermits?

Anything more you can explain about Zedaph in this AU? You mentioned some interesting interactions with Grian 👀👀👀. Zedaph my beloved haha.

Thanks for sharing this wonderful au, I had a great time scrolling the tag!!

It's been a few days since you sent this so i hope you enjoyed the rough draft's first chapter if you ended up reading it!! :D thank you so much for the kind words, im really glad people are liking this!! The worldbuilding is honestly so funny to me, half of this shit isnt even going to make it into the fic beyond maybe one or two throwaway lines 😭😭😭😭 but honestly its been SO FUN to sit here and think about what this world looks like in my own interpretation, i dont think i could stop at this point even if i tried

Ooooh lets see.... its honestly more rare for a Player to be born than it is for a Player to be spawned, so the list of Hermits who were born is pretty small. I think Joe is one of them. That just seems to be the vibes i think. Im honestly not sure about the rest of them though, i'll have to think about it!!

Martyn is absolutely host to a Listener. Jimmy im not so sure 🤔 but its a distinct possibility. No hermits are Listener hosts, though-- not yet, at least. I have a few nebulous ideas im churning around tho >:]

Zedaph is taking point in this au with Doc to figure out ALL there is to figure out about Watchers!! He's super curious and intrigued about them just for the sake of the knowledge itself, and the science of it, and im kinda in love with the idea of Zedaph being the one who starts really learning exactly how Grian navigates the world and why he does the things he does. Zedaph the beloved indeed<3

Im glad you enjoyed scrolling through the tag!! Ive answered a few more asks now, so there should be more material to look through if you havent glanced at it already!! :D

#shouting speaks #asks #hermitcraft #watchers #listeners #evo listeners #evo watchers #worldbuilding #hunger au #im trying to chew thru these asks as fast as possible so i can open up the askbox again SJDNDNDND 😅😅😅😅#so if you end up with more questions just bear with me LOL i'll reopen it back soon!!#txt

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 1 year

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a question for you (and Vin, if theyd like to answer this as well. i wasnt sure which blog to send this to, since you both co write a lot of stories.) ive been in a certain fandom for many years. ive made fanarts, done oneshots, but recently, ive been wanting to do multi chapter stories. half because i like to torture myself, and half because i fell in love with the stories you two write (my fav being Leech in the Rain/Bleach on the Brain, just because of how every chapter guts me like a fish). my question being: how do you accurately portray media characters, and how do you even make story plots? one fear that i have while writing is making characters flat, only giving them basic characteristics that would just boil them down. i dont want them to be obnoxious in personality, but i also want to convey the personality shown in their og media. another, more of a blank than a fear, is not knowing how to make a plot in the first place. do you use an outline for your stories/chapters? how do you even create conflict? very sorry if this isnt the usual type of ask you receive on your blog. as ive stated before, i take a lot of inspiration in yours and Vins stories (and i have no one better to ask). i greatly appreciate whatever advice you two can give.

Well, I'm very flattered, thank you.

General Advice

Most of my writing advice is stashed in this post.

This one, specifically, written by @therealvinelle addresses most of the questions you have here.

My main advice though, and I think what your blocker is based on what you're saying, is to stop thinking about what can go wrong.

You always have to start somewhere and with something, if you follow the linked post and plot out what your story should look like/what you want to do the only thing that remains in your way is sitting down to do it.

The first draft may not be what you're looking for but it will be something on a page that you can then work with to make into what you need it to be.

The hardest part, I think, is knowing where you're going and knowing your characters well enough that you know how they'll react to whatever happening to them. That last bit is the key to a character, in my opinion, not having a sheet or template but being able to confidently say "X happens, they'll do Y" or at least being able to sit down and figure it out based on what you know about them. Let the characters drive the plot and the story and they'll never be unrealistic.

Otherwise, personally, I write for myself. I write things I want to read that I know others won't give me or things I want to try my hand at. It's nice if other people like it, but I can't be here for them and at the end of the day it has to be what I'm happy with.

Ultimately what matters for your multi-chapter fic is if you're happy with it and if you feel it's portraying what you wish to portray. If other people like it, wunderbar, well done, but they shouldn't be the ones you're doing it for.

The Fuck is Conflict?!

The only thing I think not previously addressed is how to create conflict. That's thinking about it a little backwards, the conflict in a way, should arise naturally.

But let's break it down.

Conflict ultimately arises from the desires and motivations of the various characters.

You have an evil emperor who wants to be an evil emperor and you have the peasants who don't want an evil emperor: conflict. Edward despises vampirism and Bella wants to be a vampire: conflict. The Cullens all want to be a happy family but ultimately they have very different values from one another that are incompatible: conflict.

The conflict should already exist among your cast of characters. They have different ways of viewing the world, different things they want, or there's some obstacle in their way preventing them from getting what they want.

What you need then is a catalyst. Something happens that shakes up the status quo. It's revealed that an item thought unattainable is suddenly attainable, the evil emperor makes his first big move, a stranger arrives who highlights the existing issues within the family.

Something happens that causes the character desires, motivations, etc. to either clash or be set into motion.

For me, the conflict is the story. It's both what happens to set off anything, the problem(s) to be resolved or otherwise wrapped up, and what will drive the characters forward in the story.

Without the conflict, you have a tumblr post, not a story.

In that sense, then, conflict is almost as easy as "what do I want to even happen in this multi-chapter fic". If you have something, anything, happening that's going to cause issues for the characters, you probably have your conflict right there.

@therealvinelle, you got anything to add?

#writing #writing advice #vinelle #therealvinelle #praise

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petertingle-yipyip · 3 months

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okay bestie I have an actual question for you about writing, because I always just have so many ideas but don't know where to start/never complete them. so like how do you start do you plot everything out and then start writing or are you writing and figure it out during? and like how do you keep motivated writing every chapter? omg and what do you do when something you had in mind doesn't work out with the plot? help pls

hi bestie!! i talk a lot so imma put a break for others to scroll past lol

so, ideas. inspiration. motivation. plot. it comes and goes. movies, music, random quotes, plot ideas/requests come from like anywhere for me. what i tend to do is name the project, write a basic summary and what character it’s for, and see what happens. i don’t force myself to finish any one project (hence the abandoned SOUR miniseries and recently revisited sin miedo). that’s in part why WCS and MAG have been such long running sagas here, bc i don’t force myself to write anymore.

when i did, i produced content that i didn’t love. i was posting stories that i wasn’t confident in and that i read and am embarrassed to have put that out.

typically, it starts with a bit of dialogue that comes to me in the shower or when i’m daydreaming at work. from there, i kinda work backwards. how’d they get to that conversation? what are the implications? what’s the setting? what do they know? all that world building fills itself in and sometimes i pick stuff for the fun of it.

when something doesn’t work, i change something. for example, mag s1 has some stuff that doesn’t match the canon timeline bc one, i didn’t plan on extending the series so far so i was nitpicking what i wanted and two i didn’t have the episodes in front of me bc i wasn’t planning a whole canon journey. i took out some relationships (matt x claire for example) bc it didn’t serve my plot.

i’ve also rewritten plots bc i just didn’t like them. i have a project where the reader is matt’s gf and is meeting foggy/karen but matt has the idea for a game where they just flirt with each other till his friends figure it out. initially i had it to where foggy starts flirting with her and introduces her and she plays along till matt gets too jealous but i didn’t like the way it was turning out. so i scrapped it and started over.

a big part of writing, in my opinion, is drafts and edits. ultimately, whatever your writing, it’s your universe. it’s your project. if something isn’t working, you are well within your rights to change it. it’s not canon until you post it so rewrite it as many times as you have to. no one said you have to immediately post what you write. it’s a little different with mag since i’ve established her entire dd canon and hinted her punisher canon so i have to fill the gaps of what ive already made so i have to keep referencing what ive posted to make sure she’s consistent but that’s it own thing.

lastly, let’s talk motivation. girly pop, it’s gonna come and go. i take so many breaks in posting or writing just bc im at a part that i don’t wanna write but i have to for plot purposes. sometimes i hate the exposition of a piece but i just wanna do the actual important scenes. so i lag and avoid it until im like ‘yknow what, let’s just do it’ and this is where the edits and drafts come in. usually, it’s just a ‘let’s throw some words on the page and come back to it’ situation. sometimes i rewrite all of it, sometimes i don’t, other times it’s just a few edits here or there.

the base of writing as i understand it is trusting yourself and your ideas. some stuff is gonna take off, like woman, others will fall flat like dirty thoughts (i think that’s what i called it, a marc spector piece). it’s also your blog so as long as it feels genuine to you and your abilities, go for it :)

#fallingfavourites #en talks: writing process

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intubatedangel · 2 years

Text

Intermission 4 - A Day Together : Chapter 3 + Epilogue

The last part of this story, I enjoyed writing this one, and I hope you enjoy reading it. I also hope the ending gets you excited, maybe even nervous for what’s coming up. Feel free to let me know in the comments.

Story Index

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

* * *

Carl jumped up again, leaving Anna to lie there once more. As Carl walked away and pushed open the bedroom door, a draft of cool air passed over her chest, tingling her bared skin. There was a deeper tingle too. This one borne of anticipation.

In the bedroom Carl gathered the monitor, cramming the IV tubing under the handle before arranging his fingers to scoop up the ambu bag, airway kit and spray bottle in his other hand. He hurried back into the living room, speaking to no-one.

"She choked on a piece of steak. Dislodged it eventually, but she'd already fallen into full respiratory and cardiac arrest. She's been down for 5 minutes, two AED shocks given, but she deteriorated into asystole just before you arrived." Carl reported as he returned to Anna's side. "Someone continue compressions, get her on the monitor..." He began to order, as if he'd taken charge over the imaginary paramedic team. "...I'll get ready to intubate."

It was what Anna had been waiting for. Not just tonight, but for years. Since she'd first realised her interest. Maybe even before.

Even as a child, deep inside she'd felt a desperate need to be cared for. As she grew, so did the hidden need. Seeing medical shows on TV elevated it to a whole other level. Even as she tried to push it out of her mind, she began to yearn for the scenes she had seen. To be cared for, by a whole crowd of people, to the point where even her most basic bodily functions were being supported. Her closely monitored heart being pumped by someone else’s hands. Her lungs being filled by a ventilator or a bag.

After finally allowing herself to open up to the fantasies deep inside she had experienced almost everything she imagined. Her heart had been displayed on a screen. She'd had Carl's hands between her breasts, pressing her chest. Defib pads firmly secured to her chest, sticky with conductive gel, a pulse of pleasure replacing a true shock. She had air forced into her, directly from Carl's mouth and from a rubbery bag. Yet on that count she wanted more. To be given air through a tube that parted her lips, which disappeared between her teeth. Down her throat towards her lungs. To be genuinely intubated. The thought threatened to make her burst.

She got lost in those thoughts, only barely sensing the cool touch of the small electrodes dotting her chest. The soft whine that spilled from the monitor was a mere background note. Her reverie was only broken when Carl's fingers grasped her jaw gently, tilting her head and pushing her chin forward. She cracked her eyes open just enough to see the mask attached to the blue ambu bag descend towards her face. She quickly emptied her lungs, a moment later accepting the breath in a manner that was becoming natural. She watched as Carl gave her a series of steady breaths, then set the ambu bag aside, picking up something else.

"Ok, hold compressions." He said aloud, snapping open the laryngoscope with a flick of his wrist.

* * *

Carl could see the anticipation written throughout Anna's entire body, as limp as she attempted to play. He slid the laryngoscope into her mouth, advancing it just enough to press her tongue and keep her mouth open. With his other hand he grabbed the bottle of lidocaine. Similar to the products you could buy from a pharmacy for a sore throat, or a decidedly 18+ store for certain activities, this bottle contained a higher concentration of the numbing drug. He lined it up and pressed the plunger, sending a jet of the spray to the back of Anna's throat.

For just a moment she felt the urge to gag and fought against it. Then as soon as it had appeared, the lidocaine took hold. All sensation vanished in an instant. Carl slid the laryngoscope further into Anna's mouth, touching the tip of the blade to the back of her throat. She could feel something. A pressure in the tissue beyond. But her throat itself was numb.

Carl manipulated the scope, cranking back on the handle, prising Anna's mouth open further, until he could actually see her vocal cords. He gave another quick spray, the numb sensation spreading deeper.

"Tube." Carl said, a warning that sent a thrill down Anna's spine. She opened her eyes wider. She wanted to see it. The cuffed end of the tube moved into view, lining up with the laryngoscope, then it vanished between her lips. She watched the markings on the tube as it slid along the scope. "Here we go." Carl whispered.

Anna tingled with the thrill, seeing the tip of the tube come closer and closer. She desperately wanted that tube to be the only way of giving her breath. It was not to be.

Carl could see her vocal cords clearly, pushing the end of the tube closer, closer. Just a little bit further and the tube was through, into her trachea. For a few moments. As much as her mind, her soul, cried out to accept the tube, her body was unwilling.

She bucked, gagging despite her numbed throat. Carl pulled the tube back, drawing it and the laryngoscope from her mouth. She lurched up, coughing and gasping, Carl gathering her into his arms.

It took a long few seconds for her to catch her breath properly. Carl's hand stroked her bare back, soothing her.

"I'm sorry. I knew it might not work." He told her.

"I wanted it." She whispered, her voice a little hoarse. "Needed it."

"I don't think we should try again." Carl told her, concern in his voice.

"I... I know." She sagged, consumed with disappointment and embarrassment.

Carl held for a while, stroking her hair. He didn't want this to ruin her night. "If you want to continue," He said tentatively, "I might be able to give you something close."

She looked up at him, composed herself, then nodded. He gave her a kiss on her brow, then lowered her gently to the floor. As he did so, she let her body fall totally limp once more. Carl used the scissors from the AED to cut the ET tube down, then inserted the laryngoscope once more. He gave her another spray of lidocaine, to ease the lingering discomfort of the failed attempt. He slid the half-tube along the blade again, until just a few inches stuck out of her mouth. He held it there with one hand, the other taking the roll of inch wide tape. With help from his teeth, he tore off a strip and wrapped it around the tube, smoothing it down to her cheeks.

Then he tore of another strip, placing it more diagonally over her mouth and the tube. A third strip in the opposite direction. Then a fourth and a fifth, covering every little gap between her lips. He took the IV tubing resting the tip inside the corner of her nose, simulating a naso-gastric tube. Not quite realistic for the scenario, but a perfect excuse to have more tape securing it. And blocking her nostrils.

The ET tube was now the only way to give her breath.

* * *

With Anna 'intubated' Carl slipped smoothly back into the roleplay. He connected the bag, giving a gentle squeeze, pushing air through the tube into Anna's mouth, which she accepted into her lungs. "Right, I'm in, let's do a pulse check." She felt his fingers press into her neck, but she didn't change to simulated output of the monitor. "Still nothing. Dammit Anna." He sighed. "Right, push a round of epi and let’s continue compressions."

He gave her another breath, popping off the bag before her shuffled around to her side. Anna was glad for that. It kept the bag from pulling her head to the side, allowing her to watch as Carl raised himself up on his knees. She felt his hands settle once more upon the block over her sternum, and the steady half compressions resumed. They made her body flex and tremor, forcing her head to rock gently each time her shoulders popped. Yet her gaze was fixed on the tip of the tube, waving with her head. It was the exact fantasy she desired, and she lost herself in it completely.

Carl noticed that Anna's eyes had glazed over, giving her another pulse check when he finished a round of compressions, just to ensure that she wasn't in any trouble. He smiled, knowing that she was totally enthralled, and that he had been the bringer of all of her dreams.

Anna still had presence enough to keep up with the play. After another round of compressions, while Carl gave her air with the bag, she twitched her fingers enough to change the monitor. "V-fib. We've got V-fib! That's it Anna. Charge it up, 200 joules!" He ordered, unhooking the bag before grabbing the Z-pad and peeling it away from her chest. Anna couldn't see what he was doing, but heard the tearing of a packet, then felt the cool stickiness as a gel pad landed on her flesh.

Carl placed the second pad in position, pausing for just a moment to admire the body before him, the orange gel pads glistening. Then he grabbed the paddles, giving in to artistic license and rubbing them together over Anna's chest, before bringing them down onto the pads.

"Clear!"

Anna was ready, pushing her pleasure through her back, jerking her chest in a sharp spasm. She didn't change the monitor.

"No response. Charge again!" Carl demanded, planting one hand on Anna's chest, giving her compressions with the paddles in his other hand. For ten seconds he pressed down with a single straight arm, before shouting out. "Charged, everybody clear! Shocking!"

He slammed the paddles onto the pads. Anna twitched her body again. The monitor began to scream once more.

"Don't do this Anna. Come on!" Carl dropped the paddles beside her, then looped his leg over her waist, straddling her. "1...2...3...4...5...6...7..." He counted out as his hands, fingers weaved together, pumped on her chest. He could feel the slight movements of her body against his knees. Watched her head bobble from side to side.

Anna stared up at him with half open eyes, the end of the tube waving too and fro as she let her head shake gently. He counted out to thirty then leaned down along her body, the cloth of his T-shirt caressing her bare chest. He ignored the ambu bag, planting one hand above her shoulder as the other cradled her head, lifting it enough for him to wrap his mouth over the open tube. He exhaled directly into the tube. Anna pulled the air into her lungs, her chest rising to touch his. After another breath Carl lay her head down, using his thumb to push her eye open. "She's still in there. Come back to me Anna. I need you." He whispered with a husky inflection.

Anna was feeling the same. Her whole body was alive with tingles, and she'd had to fight down a moan with that last breath he'd given her. She moved her fingers, the monitor changing from the piercing whine to the two tone again.

"Charge it up, straight to 360!" He called as he gave a quick series of compressions. "Here we go Anna." He grabbed the paddles and, still straddling her, planted them on the shiny orange gels. "Clear!" She gave in to the same artistic license that Carl had, arching her back and pressing her waist up against his in an extreme Hollywood defib. Her hips thumped hard against the floor. "Again!" Carl shouted, dropping the paddles on her belly to give her more compressions. With the slight bumps of her belly as the compressions forced it to distend, one of the paddles slid to the floor with a rattle. "Charged again. This time Anna, beat that heart for me! Clear!"

Anna arched again, her whole body tense with pleasure. She couldn't help herself this time, moaning as she hung in air, tremoring with pleasure. She forgot to press the button to signal a restarted heart. Carl was already giving her compressions again.

Every feeling became amplified. His hands on her chest. The tube between her teeth. The tape all over her face. The slight movement of air across her flesh. Two hard spots on her chest as Carl placed the paddles once again. He gave them a little extra push against her, and she pressed up against him. She was vaguely aware, as her hips ground against him, that he was just as excited. She let out another moan that was cut off as Carl force his breath into the tube again. Anna's breath came harder and faster, the tube whistling.

Neither would be able to pinpoint the exact time the roleplay disintegrated, overcame by intense pleasure. The clatter of Carl's belt, the tearing of the rest of the dress, swept away as they both gave into their desires. The remote was forgotten, the monitor continuing its two tone alarm, providing a rhythm for the next activity.

* * *

They lay next to each other, Anna's head nestled on his shoulder, still on the floor with a blanket from the sofa over them both and a few cushions behind their heads. They were both breathing deeply, Carl silently, Anna with a slight whistle, the tube still held in her mouth by the mound of tape. She lifted her head and poked Carl's chin with the tip.

He looked at her, his eyes still dreamy, his mouth in a contented smile. "Hmm?" He asked, not bothering with words. Anna's eyes tracked from his, to the tube, and back a couple of times, until he finally got the message. "Ah." He held her head as he shifted, angling the tube to give her one last breath through it. He grinned at her, then started stripping off the tape. It took a minute, there was that much of it. He slid the tube out and cast it aside, leaning over to give her a proper kiss on the lips. Anna melted into it.

"Did the procedure work?" Carl asked her, nodding at the monitor. It still hadn't been changed from the simulated v-fib.

Anna didn't say anything, but her hand scrabbled around the floor until it found the remote. Steady bleeps began to sound out. Carl smiled, then his eyes widened as he remembered something.

"You are a very distracting woman Anna Swift." He said, giving her another kiss before wriggling out of the blanket. and walking towards the bedroom.

Anna admired the view before she pulled herself up, wrapping the blanket around her naked body and leaning against the sofa as she watched him go, her head tilted to one side in curiosity. He came back a few moments later, wrapped in one of the luxurious bath robes, another over his arm. He stopped by the counter, grabbing the glasses and bottle of wine. He placed them on the table, handing the robe to Anna, then headed towards the door.

Anna moved the monitor to the coffee table then put on the robe and poured the wine as Carl dug through the pockets of his jacket. She was settled comfortably when he returned to her side, holding one hand behind his back.

"I might have lied a bit, earlier today. I wasn't just getting a new watch battery. I may have also been picking up an order I sent in." He said as he brought his arm around. For a brief moment Anna thought it might be an engagement ring, but the box was much too big. Besides, they'd literally spent the whole day together since he caught her looking at those rings, it was physically impossible. Which raised the question of what was in the box.

Carl held the box out her and slipped the lid off. Inside was a silver chain necklace, with a large heart shaped pendant.

"Oh...wow..." Anna breathed, tentatively lifting it out.

Carl grinned at her as she admired it, then her reached for the heart pendant. Anna realised it was actually a locket when he popped it open, showing the insides to her.

"Yours and mine. Together." Was all he whispered.

On each side of the locket was a pair of ecg waveforms. They differed slightly from each other. Anna glanced to the monitor, seeing one half of the locket perfectly reflected. Not just any old heartbeats. Her heartbeats. Right next to his.

* * *

7 Days Later

Carl woke slowly. He'd been dreaming of that night. He smiled to himself, enjoying the memory. He rolled over to look at Anna.

Reality struck him like a hammer.

The other half of the bed was cold and empty.

Other memories slammed into him.

Anna, her face pale and eyes wide with panic.

Desperate shouting.

The screaming of a monitor.

He lurched upright. The earlier dream completely faded away, leaving him with nothing but the nightmare of the real world. He panted, reaching for the nightstand and the glass of water upon it. The back of his hand brushed against cold metal.

The locket. It glinted slightly in the light reflected from the digital clock. 4:21AM, it said. But Carl was looking at the locket. It looked normal in silhouette, but he knew what he'd see when he turned on the light. Silver, tarnished with the copper colour of dried blood.

#Anna Swift #CPR #Defib #Intubation #Medical Drama #Resus Writing

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