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Post by starrea on Jun 12, 2021 15:39:53 GMT
No one enjoyed being talked down to, but Bellamy particularly resented it. When Bellamy had asked why they were scouting out a pair of psychotic, recently-escaped-prison criminals, he had only been given a handful of vague statements: it's complicated, you wouldn't understand, trust that there is a reason why. After learning their basic history, he was incredulous that anyone thought this was a good idea and even more surprised to find out that apparently the only one who saw the massive, gaping holes in their plan. Not only was it completely against their mission to casually induce such a powerful mutation in others, but they were choosing two of the most deplorable individuals Bellamy had ever seen. Both of them were awaiting execution for heinous, senseless crimes that neither seemed to show an ounce of remorse for. When he had pointed out that giving two people like that - lacking empathy and notoriously famous for being manipulative - powerful mutations, he had been brushed off as if his worries were completely unwarranted and paranoid. Just do your job, they said, for the cause. So that's what Bellamy did, and when everything inevitably fell to shit, he would just sit back and relax as he watched his brother scramble to clean up the mess he made.
Bellamy hadn't spent much time with Julian, but it had taken him all of three minutes to be certain that Kinsley was a complete waste of time. At first, Bellamy had tried to force her independence but it became apparent very quickly that she wasn't faking her dependence. She every bit of a useless, dependent cripple as she appeared and unless she struck the mutation-lottery, then Bellamy couldn't see how she was going to be anything other than an obnoxious burden - one that he was going to undoubtedly have to bear. Beyond that, there was simply no way to ensure her cooperation. When he had tried to voice his doubts, all his concerns were pacified and dismissed with meaningless statements of it'll be fine and she'll break. Spoiler alert: she didn't break. He had to give her credit where it was due; if anyone was going to survive the near-death conditions required for a mutation, it would have been her. But that wasn't the problem. There was simply no way to control her. She didn't have anything that he could leverage her with - nothing, not even the threat of death, would motivate her cooperation. Even if by some miracle or divine intervention she cooperated with their mission, she was simply so untrustworthy to the point that she was useless. As soon as she had control over her own physical autonomy, she was a liability to their entire organization. But of all that was irrelevant now, anyway. It didn't matter what Kinsley's part was in whatever grand plan they had: she was dead, and there wasn't much anyone could do about it now.
Kinsley's death, like her life, had been senseless and violent. There were no last words, no pleas of mercy, no screams. At first, when Bellamy had dropped her unceremoniously into the shallow tank of ice-cold water, she had barely reacted and for a second, Bellamy thought that what he was about to do next would be easy - but as soon as he put his hands on her, she came back to life. What happened next was nothing short of the cruelty of nature: Kinsley thrashed, her hands clawing at his as he pushed her down. After he pushed her under, she twisted violently, trying to find the right angle that would give her leverage to push back against him. When she gave up on trying to overpower his strength, she raked her fingernails down his arms, trying to claw her way from him. But as time passed, her struggles became weaker and her movements became slower until finally, her arms relaxed and her hands fell away. For just a second, she stared up at him from beneath the water with her big green eyes and her blonde hair splayed out around her head like a halo. The entire situation was oddly erotic and he found himself strangely appreciative of how beautiful she looked beneath the surface of the water, how peaceful she seemed in her last moments. And then her eyes finally closed, and when Bellamy finally released her, she stayed sunken beneath the water.
Just thinking about it was enough to make Bellamy's hands itch to feel it all over again. Of the several people he had killed - only because they were too weak to survive the metamorphosis of the mutation - he had never been so turned on by death. If it hadn't been for the intense shame that came with sexual gratification for something so morbid, he would have stopped and taken care of himself right then and there. It had taken years for Bellamy to accept that his sexual desires were tangled up in his affinity for violence but he had never once felt aroused through his work for the organization. But, on that note, he had never felt such intense, raw anger and hatred for another being. The several other people who had died had been strictly professional albeit slightly cathartic for him. But now, sitting on the beach with his toes in the sand and the memory of feeling her life slip away beneath his hands still so fresh, he was uncomfortably aroused and angry that somehow, even in death, Kinsley was managing to fuck things up for him.
There wasn't much they could do about her untimely passing. Bellamy was definitely going to get a lecture, probably from Boone, but it would be nothing more than a superficial slap on the wrist. It was pretty much the only perk to being Boone's younger brother - he had generous leeway when it came to breaking some rules, all due to his brother's importance within the upper ranks of the organization. As much as Bellamy enjoyed the freedom of consequences that came with most of his actions, it was also demeaning that it was all allowed under the protective wing of his brother. It wasn't that Boone consciously or actively protected him, either. As long as he literally didn't die, Boone didn't give a shit one way or another what happened to him. In fact, Boone was the worst offender of all, seeing Bellamy as nothing more than mindless muscle to obediently enforce whatever Boone wanted.
Bellamy's fists clenched and he ached for something to ground him in the moment, to distract him from the torrent of angry thoughts that consumed him. He craved a cigarette but his brother, abhorrently against any bad habits that Bellamy picked up, had almost immediately made him quit. He had been sitting on the beach for over an hour now, hoping to relax to the sound of the waves and seagulls, but all he had done was stew and simmer in his anger. He stared out at the ocean, his eyes following the line of the horizon. No one was out today and the beach was uncharacteristically empty for such a beautiful morning, people seemingly warded off by his mere presence. It was what it was; Bellamy was content with the fact that some people were meant for greater things than maintaining meaningful relationships in life. But sometimes, in moments like this, he wondered what it would be like to have someone in his life who wanted him there because of more than obligation and muscle.
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Post by Val on Jul 5, 2021 0:01:19 GMT
Pain had always been a constant in Nova’s life. Physical, mental, emotional- it didn’t matter what kind because it all blended together in the end and grounded her in a way that nothing else could. But when all three came together and collided in one single traumatic moment, the fallout was proving to be unbearable. Nova thought she liked pain. She liked the idea of suffering through difficult times in order to come out stronger on the other side, like a diamond in the rough, her first captain had said. She’d clawed her way out of poverty to become an adventurer aboard her first pirate ship. She’d endured defeat and harsh imprisonment aboard the Marauder, under the addictively unyielding fist of Saoul. She’d overcome her revulsion over bowing down to Attila and joined the ranks of the most powerful ship to ever sail the seas. And just when she’d proven her worth and guided the crew to one of the most sought-after treasures known to mankind, everything had fallen to shit.
It turns out that venturing into the depths of Hell was bound to end in tragedy.
Nova, with her hands clasped around a brass compass, squeezed harder until she could feel the sharp edges of the metal begin to pierce her skin. She ground her teeth and pictured Saoul, the owner of the compass, in her mind’s eye. She imagined his dark, brooding features and the sound of his deep voice until he was so clear that she felt like she could reach out and touch him. But as good as she had become at painting vivid pictures in her mind, it wasn’t the same as it used to be. Her mind, once as vast and endless as the ocean, was now refined to a black box of nothingness. Where she was once able to traverse continents in the span of seconds to locate an individual on the other side of the world, she could now see only in memories. The vision of Saoul’s face as it was when she had fallen for him was crystal clear, but she knew that he no longer looked like that. By now, he would be a rotting corpse.
Survivor’s remorse; that’s what their healer had called her decline into debilitating depression. Something about how she had made it out alive whilst everyone else had perished in those dreaded caves on that cursed island. Nova had objected to that notion, because she knew herself, and she knew how selfish she really was. In reality, she wanted to die because she had lost the only thing that had kept her alive all these years. Losing Saoul had been one thing, but losing her unique ability had taken a seemingly irreversible toll on Nova. Her strength, power, and dignity had been stripped away in one fell swoop. Without her gift, she was just…a person. Not special or useful in any way. Just another mouth to feed aboard a God-forsaken pirate ship that sailed endlessly in search of a purpose that quite frankly didn’t exist.
Nova’s eyes flashed open as the ship thudded against a dock, jostling her back to reality. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d left her tiny living quarters, and she was surprised to find that they had made landfall. She considered curling back in on herself and falling asleep, but the temptation to leave the ship and everything it reminded her of behind won out. Nova stood, feeling her head spin as she tried to regain her bearings. She had always had strong sea legs, but she hadn’t been eating properly and the self-induced starvation was beginning to take its toll. She caught a glimpse of herself in the small, rusty mirror in the corner of the room and scoffed- she was a mess. Her hair, usually dyed some vibrant color to reflect her mood, had faded. Her dark roots had taken over, making it clear how much time had passed. Deciding she didn’t possess enough energy to care, she headed for the door, only to pause and grab a jacket on the way out. She shrugged it on, watching as the fabric slid over her arm and covered up her recently disfigured skin. The fire…she had been sure that it consumed her in those caves, but when she next awoke, she found that the flames had only burned her left arm, causing her sleeve of tattoos to melt and merge into a disturbing new form of art.
The ship was bustling as the crew rushed to dock and head into town, but Nova seemed oblivious to it all. She didn’t bother to help, or even ask where they were. Rather, she wandered to the edge of the ship and hopped onto the crowded dock without looking back. In that moment, she had no intentions of returning to the Marauder.
Nova spent the afternoon walking aimlessly through town, always keeping the ocean in sight. Somewhere in her subconscious, she realized that they had arrived at the Jade Coast Port- a familiar place, though she had no desire to visit her old digs. Eventually, the sounds of the city faded, and Nova continued to roam along the coastline until a sandy beach came into view. As far as she cared to tell, it was isolated. For the first time in weeks, she could be alone.
Nova never stopped walking, never paused to take in the sight of the crashing waves, or to inhale the familiar scent of the ocean. She simply strode down the beach with purpose, stripping clothes as she went. Boots first, then socks, followed by her jacket, shirt, pants, and even her underwear. She moved with a strange sort of grace, unfaltered by the usual awkwardness of undressing, until she was completely free of the confines of her clothes. By then, she had reached the edge of the water, and the waves lapped at her feet as she continued her journey.
The ocean was her home. She’d always been drawn to it, comforted by it. In a world where she could see and find anything she wanted; the depths of the sea held a certain mystery. Now, though, when the rest of the world went dark, the endless span of water that had once been an enigma felt more familiar than ever. The waves quickly swallowed her up- knees, waist, shoulders. When she could no longer reach the sandy bottom, she began to swim, venturing effortlessly into the dark waters. When her already weak body began to protest the physical strain, she stopped and waded, tipping her head back to stare up at the sky. She inhaled a final casual breath before disappearing beneath the surface.
Nova floated weightlessly, slowly exhaling her last breath of air in a stream of bubbles. She swam toward the ocean floor and forced herself to sink to the bottom, gripping at a rock to keep herself from floating back up. She attempted to empty her mind, feeling no need to reminisce in what would become her last moments of life. But as she pushed the memories out, new ones floated in, filling the blank slate that had become her mind.
Eyes. Large, glowing eyes that had haunted her ever since that day on the island. The last eyes she had seen before she and her companions were consumed by fire. Eyes that she was certain had stripped her gift away as they pierced through her soul. Those eyes stared relentlessly back at her in her mind’s eyes, as if they held an everlasting grudge to make sure she never felt peace again, even in death.
Against her will, fight or flight kicked in. In a panic, Nova gasped and inhaled a burning mouthful of salt water. She began to choke, and her body reacted, launching herself from the ocean floor back to the surface. Her head burst above water, but she barely had enough time to gag before a sizable wave struck her and forced her back under. The water continued to flood her senses, blocking all airways, and bringing her closer and closer to unconsciousness as she struggled to save herself from a disaster of her own making.
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Post by starrea on Jul 7, 2021 15:17:19 GMT
And then, just like some sort of divine offering, a girl showed up. Not just any girl - a naked girl, just the kind of girl he needed to make the images of the life draining out of Kinsley's eyes go away. He couldn't help but stare, hypnotized by every line and curve of her body as it was revealed. If there was ever a time that he needed to prove his manliness, his worthiness, it was now. Now that he had caught a glimpse of what was hidden away beneath clothes, his entire body ached with the need to prove that he was something. He didn't just want that physical intimacy - he needed it. This went far deeper than superficial pleasures. He needed the affirmation that he was worth something, that he wasn't irredeemable. And in his moment of need, a naked girl had appeared right before his eyes.
It wasn't until several seconds after she had been swallowed up by the ocean that Bellamy processed what had just happened. Her disappearance was as bewildering and swift as her appearance, leaving him wondering if he had hallucinated the entire thing. But her clothes were still there, discarded evidence that she was real. From the time she had stripped naked to the time she had disappeared beneath the surface, only a minute or so had passed. She hadn't glanced his way once, she hadn't even stopped to take her clothes off, too motivated by whatever drove her to pause for even a second. His eyes scanned the horizon, waiting for her to surface - but she never did. Seconds dragged on and an uncharacteristic pressure mounted into urgency that drove Bellamy unsteadily to his feet. He acted beyond reason he could decipher as his body broke into motion, first a walk, then a jog and finally a spring, as he leapt into the ocean surf and dove beneath the waves. There was no time to ponder the reasoning behind his action; he needed to find this girl.
As he swam farther away from shore and closer to where he approximated she went under, he started to realize how half-baked this plan was. There was no way to be sure of where she went under. The constant movement of ocean waves and having the disadvantage of no landmarks and no vantage point made his guess questionable at best. He took one last big breath of air and then descended beneath the surface. Once he was underwater, he truly grasped how incredibly slim his chances were of finding her. The ocean water was dark and murky and he only had visibility of a few feet, and the salt stung his eyes and blurred his vision. Anyways, if she wasn't dead yet, she would be soon. But in spite of all of that, Bellamy found himself diving deeper, searching for the mysterious girl.
And then he saw her. Her face was peaceful, untroubled as she was slowly dying. It was contagious and Bellamy felt all of the urgency that had compelled him to race into the water to begin with slowly drain out of him. There was no longer any rush; his gaze leisurely raked down her body, completely exposed and vulnerable to his hungry, predatory gaze. She wasn't moving, weightlessly suspended amongst the blue, like a long forgotten marionette puppet with no one to tug on her strings. Her once-tanned skin was now nearly white like a blank canvas, and Bellamy wondered how it would look after it bore the evidence of his brutality. His gaze descended lower, lingering on the curves of her breasts and the forbidden area between her thighs as he imagined how she would feel in his hands. Her lips were bright blue, reminding him of blue-raspberry flavored candy, and he wondered if she tasted as sweet as she looked. There was nothing stopping him from finding out; the urge to reach out and touch her, explore her body and feel her soft, smooth skin for himself was so strong that it physically hurt, but he couldn't move. He was suspended, trapped in the same limbo as she, taunted by the knowledge that this was closest he would ever get to physical intimacy.
The frigid ocean waters did nothing to dampen Bellamy's arousal. If anything, his arousal was now almost unbearable. Her lack of awareness awakened darker desires within him and he couldn't stop the violent fantasies that played out in his mind. She reminded him of a porcelain doll, nothing more than a toy he found that existed solely for his entertainment and pleasure, completely under his control. He sought out her eyes, driven by the memory of the way the light had drained out of Kinsley's eyes, but was disappointed to realize that they were closed. The moment was so close to being perfect that Bellamy got unreasonably frustrated that this one detail was wrong; he wanted to see what color her eyes were and if they looked different beneath the surface of the water as opposed to on land and if they were as unafraid and peaceful as the rest of her. He wanted to see if there any light left in them and he wanted to be the one to decide whether or not to snuff it out completely.
The passage of time was real and Bellamy's lungs started to burn as evidence. If his remaining oxygen was starting to expire, that only meant that her time was nearly spent. In that moment, he had a decision to make; he could stay down there with her, feel her life slip away beneath his fingers, and then return to a world that without her or he could save her, bring her back up with him and probably never find out how her skin looked covered in bruises. There was nothing stopping him from taking advantage of her, of feeling her cold skin and her last weak heartbeats. This was vastly different from Kinsley's death, but somehow was so much more potent. It lacked all of the elements that had left him embarrassingly aroused before; no violence, no anger or hatred. This was something different, something infinitely more beautiful and erotic. If there was a God, he wasn't the benevolent, accepting deity that so many believed in. He was powerful; arbitrarily assigning life or death and watching his decisions play out beneath him. And right now, Bellamy was her God.
While logic contemplated both options, instinct kicked in and made the decision for him. Bellamy broke free of the trance and wrapped his arms around her waist before planting both feet on the ocean floor and propelling them up. They broke the surface and Bellamy gasped for air, unable to do anything but tread water as the pain in his lungs slowly receded. The presence of air didn't awaken the girl; she was worringly still, so still that Bellamy wondered if he had waited too long. He tried to look for any signs of life but between treading water with her dead-weight and the constant jostling of ocean waves, he couldn't tell if she was breathing or not. He propped her head up, careful to keep her nose and mouth above the surface as he began the swim back towards shore.
Bellamy was strong, so it wasn't the physical act of swimming that bothered him. It wasn't even the added weight of an unconscious girl. It was the dynamics of dragging something as big as a person that had an affinity for sinking and the choppy ocean waves. The waves were tall enough to constantly disorient him, and no amount of strength saved them from the waves effortlessly tossed and turned them around. It had felt like they were frozen in time beneath the surface, but evidently the currents had pulled both of them deeper out to sea because they were considerably farther away from shore. By the time they reached the shore, Bellamy's lungs were burning with all of the seawater he had inhaled. With his arm still hooked around the girl's waist, he dragged her out of the reach of the waves before he collapsed to his knees, half-coughing and half-vomiting up water.
As soon as Bellamy caught his breath, he checked on the girl. She still wasn't moving; "Son of a bitch," Bellamy muttered, pressing two fingers to the side of her neck. After a long second he felt the faint pulse and let out an breath of relief he hadn't been aware that he had been holding. He sat her up, nestling her between his legs and thumped on her back, trying to stimulate her to cough out the water she undoubtedly breathed in. Her cold, pale skin was infinitely less erotic above the surface and even though this was hardly the first dying person he had held in his hands, he was getting uncharacteristically panicked as each second passed with no signs of returning life. He tried to remember how to give CPR but the reality of accidentally pushing too hard on her rib-cage and making the situation unrecoverable made him hesitate. He hit her back again, harder this time, "Damn it, wake up! Wake up!" He shook her, growing increasingly desperate with the mounting pressure that each second she remained unconscious was another second closer to death.
It was then that Bellamy realized this wasn't a divine blessing; this was a cosmic joke, and he was punchline.
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Post by Val on Sept 24, 2021 2:22:31 GMT
Traveling the world by sea had given Nova a unique perspective on the mystery surrounding death. Every island and continent, tribe and kingdom, child and elder had their own opinion on the taboo subject. Some people thought they had it all figured out, while others- like Nova- didn’t care to know. Whether she was greeted by an all-powerful God, woke up in a new body, or simply rotted in the dirt- it didn’t matter. Without a reason to live, she welcomed death with open arms.
Nova had been near death more than once in her short life. Most recently, in that cursed cave. That is, until they saved her. Nova. The captain’s voice was the first thing to stir her awake. Attila stood over her as she came to. The woman’s gaze had radiated disappointment when she realized that they had not retrieved the sacred treasure from that God-forsaken island. But no matter how distressed the crew was over the failed mission, they couldn’t possible have understood what Nova felt. The moment she awoke, she knew she had lost everything. Her love, her power, her reason for being. The devastation was all consuming.
A crewmate had lugged her back to the ship as she wept over her loss. Each step had radiated fierce pain through her burned and broken body. She could recall the rhythmic steps so clearly. Thump. Thump. Thump. The pain was so vivid and the memory was loud- too loud.
Nova gasped, her eyes flashing open in a panic. Immediately, she gagged and spewed up the salt water that had invaded her body, grasping at the solid body that was wrapped around her. As air finally reached her lungs, she began to regain her senses. The sun was bright, but it was blocked by the figure that she found herself face to face with. Had Saoul come for her? As her eyes adjusted, she was met with the sight of a beautiful man, but where she anticipated a dark gaze, she was met with crystalline eyes. A halo of light-colored hair encompassed his head, glowing with the help of the persistent sunshine. It was an angel, of course. No…an angel would never come for her sorry ass. It had to be Death himself, welcoming her to oblivion. All she had to do was accept his offering.
Nova’s eyes dropped to the man’s lips. They were full and seemingly untouched, formed into a perfect pout. An old gypsy had once told her about the kiss of Death- one of the many theories that one could only confirm if they experienced it themselves firsthand. That was the funny thing about death- only dead people knew the truth. Nova closed the distance and pressed her lips to his. Finally, she would be free.
Seconds passed. Instead of oblivion, her senses continued to return one by one. She could taste the salt water, smell the bitter sweat, and…the pain. All at once, the pain seemed to wash over her in a tidal wave of unfortunate reality. Her lungs were on fire, and her back was throbbing as though she had just been rammed by a raging bull from behind. Nova reared back, her eyes shooting to stare the Death imposter in the eye with a fury that burned hotter than the sun itself. She readied her arm and swung upwards where the heel of her palm connected with the man’s chin, creating a satisfying crack as his teeth collided. She hoped he bit his tongue.
In the next second, Nova rolled nimbly out of his grasp and crouched in front of him, glowering like a feral kitten that had just been wronged. “How. Fucking. Dare. You.” she seethed, naked and unafraid. The reality of her situation had become abundantly clear in a matter of seconds. She was not dead. This man…this monster…this idiot had saved her life.
Nova spun around to stare out at the ocean that had nearly consumed her life. Maybe it wasn’t too late. She stumbled forward, desperate to sink back beneath the waves and finish what she had started, but her weakened body had other plans. After only a few steps, she careened sideways and landed in the sand as the foamy surf lapped at her knees, taunting her. She sunk her hands into the wet sand, watching them disappear as she released a wail of frustration. Her moment of courage had been stolen from her. She was doomed to live another day in her battered, shivering, useless body.
“Why?” she whispered, “Why would you do that?” Louder this time, her voice raspy and wrought with deep seated pain. Finally, her head whipped around so that she could stare the stranger in the eyes, unashamed by her incredibly vulnerable state, “Don’t you realize I was trying to kill myself?”
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Post by starrea on Oct 8, 2021 0:11:37 GMT
Out of all of the possible things that could have happened after she woke up, Bellamy did not once consider the possibility of her kissing him. Sure, it had been a fleeting fantasy as he had watched her disappear into the ocean, but those thoughts had disappeared under the gravity of the situation. Her frozen lips brushed against his and he froze, too shocked to do anything but allow her to do what she pleased. She felt so fragile beneath his hands and the kiss was so unsure, so delicate that he was scared to even breathe. Her blue lips melted against his warm ones, seeking someone he surely wasn't, but someone he was willing to be if she kissed him like that again.
Smack! Still dazed by the kiss, Bellamy hadn't seen the hit coming and his head snapped back from the force as pain exploded across the lower half of his face. The attack was so abrupt, so sudden, that he almost couldn't believe it had even happened and he raised a hand to his face, wincing as he grazed his fingers over the sensitive skin. Throughout life, Bellamy had incurred many, many reasons to be hit - but none from this girl, and not for saving her life. The injustice of receiving a punishment for something supposedly noble added further insult to injury and his feelings of inadequacy took root in the rejection and flourished. The stinging sensation of the slap had been quick to fade, but the sheer audacity of her brazen actions lingered on his skin like salt in a fresh wound. He couldn't remember the last time an attack had blindsided him and the overwhelming urge to retaliate, to even the score between them, was almost stronger than the instinct to breathe. Anger simmered beneath his skin, a slow burn until it was barely contained beneath the tension of his muscles. Violent fantasies flashed across his mind, ones that featured her bloody and bruised, until some of the tension seeped out of him. His fingers twitched, anxious to feel her break beneath his fingers.
It was a long minute and more than a couple deep breaths before Bellamy felt ready to turn his attention back to the crazy bitch, and unsurprisingly, she didn't seem to even notice his long silence or obvious internal conflict. She was too busy fighting her own demons to even notice how she had accidentally incurred his wrath. "Yeah, I got that. You're welcome, by the way," Bellamy sneered, his tone ever bit of resentful as he felt. Unlike the ungrateful brat before him, he hadn't stripped down before he had dove into the frigid ocean waters - so now he was stuck wearing soaking wet clothes. The wind picked up, cutting through him like a knife, and he grit his teeth together in irritation. This was not how this was supposed to play out.
Now that the girl was saved, Bellamy realized he didn't have a single fucking clue as to what to do next. According to all the stories, the girl was supposed to be love-struck and endlessly appreciative of her hero - and that obviously wasn't happening. He swallowed down more frustration, trying not to think about how unfair it was that his heroism was wasted on this crazy bitch. He didn't have time to pity his shitty luck in life; Jude had his brother's attention for now, but not forever and even though he hadn't done anything wrong, the last thing Bellamy wanted was for Boone to find out about what he had done. He ran a hand through his wet hair, pulling through the knots as he struggled to put a plan in place. He wanted to sit out here with her about as much as he wanted to take a sharp stick to the eye, but she obviously couldn't be trusted with her own safety and he had already gone through all the trouble of saving her life. If she killed herself now, then he would be wet and cold for no reason and that simply wouldn't do. He was suffering because of her, so she was just going to have to endure her pain just a little bit longer.
"Unfortunately for both of us, I can't go back in time and change my decision and I already went through all the trouble of saving you, so you're not dying today," Bellamy snapped unsympathetically, unapologetically uninterested in whatever reasons she had to do what she did. He had already invested far too much time and energy into someone he didn't care about. The kiss lingered on the peripheral of his thoughts and he burned with embarrassment and his tone dripped with hostility, "So do you have someone I can drop you off with? Someone to watch you? Because I'm cold as fuck and would like to go home and change, if you don't mind."
Bellamy could only handle looking at her in short intervals. His stare was shamelessly invasive, crawling over every inch of skin that was usually hidden by clothes, but just looking at her bare skin was enough to fire up his arousal and rage all over again. He wanted to touch her, put his hands on her, cover her mouth so that she couldn't reject him again, beat her until she was bloody, but this wasn't the place or the time. Her rejection still burned hot and every look only hurt more, but he couldn't get enough of her. But it wasn't until he was staring at the beach sand, trying to avoid looking at her nipples when he realized that bitch had just stolen his first kiss.
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Post by Val on Dec 3, 2021 21:41:54 GMT
As the waves receded out of her reach and returned to the endless ocean that she longed to sink beneath, Nova allowed the fight to drain out of her. Death would come for her soon, but today was not that day. Pain soon replaced the adrenaline, making her all too aware of her burning lungs, shivering body, and throbbing back. She winced as she sat upright, feeling immense pain emanating from the center of her back in the distinct shape of the man’s handprint. It felt as though she’d been rammed from behind by a raging bull.
Gritting her teeth, Nova forced herself to her feet and turned to face Bellamy, an accusatory look in her eyes. She wanted him to know that his actions were not appreciated nor forgiven- the only problem was that his gaze was downcast like that of a flustered child. Nova sniffed and straightened, feeding off his awkwardness like the succubus she always aspired to be. He may hit hard, but he visibly lacked confidence, even as he snapped at her in his state of discomfort. Beyond his testy demeanor, Nova could sense a certain propensity for violence that she was undeniably drawn to. Even though her psychic abilities had been stripped from her, it seemed that she still retained a lingering sense of clairvoyance. Or maybe she was just desperate.
And just like that, Nova had something to preoccupy herself with. She had taken the leap to end it all, only to land in the lap of a beautiful man intent on…saving her? No. She saw right through the laughable façade of the begrudging hero. This man had kept her alive for selfish reasons- she could tell by the way his jaw ticked and his fists clenched as though he were resisting the urge to snap her neck. He had expected gratitude and submission, but was met with…well, Nova. And while he clung to the narrative of being gentlemanly enough to see her to safety, Nova knew that she was staring into the face of an insecure and unsatisfied victimizer.
Nova knew his type well. Every man she’d ever been with had been abusive in some capacity- physically, emotionally, or otherwise. In fact, her most recent love interest had been her violent captor aboard the Marauder. What she had with Saoul had been fiery and manipulative, but ultimately had ended in true, deep feelings for each other. His death had left her a shell of her former self- someone capable of committing suicide. Now that he was gone, she craved it all over again. All of it.
“Someone to watch me?” she echoed incredulously, “What do I look like? A lost puppy?” she scoffed. Nova began to shuffle toward the pile of clothes she’d left on the beach, each step radiating pain up her back, “You can drop the act,” she muttered, bending to pick up her clothes. She began to dress, shimmying on her underwear, followed by a pair of dark leather pants and a loose white shirt that left little to the imagination. After shoving her feet back into a pair of worn boots, she returned her attention back to the disgruntled young man. “Don’t look so disappointed,” she mused once she was no longer nude, somehow able to crack a joke moments after a failed suicide attempt.
Nova approached him, carelessly tugging her fingers through her damp, blue dyed hair until she was looming over him, “You’ll warm up faster if you take your clothes off,” she pointed out, reaching down to tug at the collar of his wet shirt. The sparkle in her eyes made it obvious that she was imagining what lay beneath. She released the fabric, only to move her fingers up the side of his neck, tracing his strong jawbone into his blonde hair, “You could always take me home with you,” she suggested, pushing the damp hair back from his forehead, “Unless mother wouldn’t approve,” she added at his expense, guessing that he wasn’t the sort of guy to bring girls like her home. Testing his boundaries made her feel invigorated and alive for the first time since the incident. Her soul, recently numbed by tragedy and loss, began to stir at the mere prospect of something new.
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Post by starrea on Dec 8, 2021 21:30:08 GMT
Growing up, Boone had always interfered with Bellamy's life. He had interfered when he scared Constantina, Bellamy's only childhood friend, so many times that she had stopped talking to him, he had interfered when he told Bellamy's first crush, Effie, that he had wet the bed up until he was ten years old, and he had interfered when Bellamy had been about to kiss Elsie and disembodied laughter had filled the room, taunting him. Even after Boone had left, Bellamy had been too embarrassed to try and kiss her again. Over the years, Boone didn't even have to interfere to ruin Bellamy's chances with women; thanks to years of trauma, he was doing a great job at ruining any chances he had all on his own. But now, he had someone all to himself - someone who didn't know Boone, and more importantly, someone Boone didn't know about.
His first instinct was to take her home with him, and it was hard to think of anything other than that. That was a practical solution, Bellamy reasoned. He couldn't go anywhere like this; so cold and wet that he was leaving an ocean of his own in his wake, courtesy of all the water his clothes were holding. It was the smart thing to do, to take a step back from the situation by going home and really thinking this through. There, he could shower and change into something warm and dry and then he could make an informed, objective decision on what to do next. There were no ulterior motives at work here, no subconscious desire to hide this girl away and explore her in the privacy of his room. There was definitely no deeply-rooted desire to feel a shred of superiority over someone he wasn't torturing and it had absolutely nothing to do with the way images of her nudity lingered in his thoughts or the memory of her cold, blue lips on his. It was strictly pragmatic and to call it anything else would be a bald-faced lie. "No," Bellamy deadpanned, "A puppy would be cuter. And better company." Tension coiled in his muscles as Nova shuffled towards the clothes, ready to pounce on her again if she made another break for the waves, but she didn't. He wordlessly watched her get dressed, not the least bit embarrassed that he was brazenly invading her privacy because obviously, it was to ensure her safety. He would have been irresponsible to turn his back on her now, just minutes after a failed attempt to harm herself. Anyways, it would have been inappropriate and tasteless to enjoy those final few moments of unobstructed nudity and Bellamy was above that. As she dressed, There wasn't really anything to do other than stand there and be cold. The wind that had previously been a pleasant ocean breeze now mercilessly cut through Bellamy like a knife and he hissed, wrapping his arms around himself. He started to shiver, his teeth chattering as he wallowed in his resentment. His clothes trapped cold ocean water against his skin and the cold leaked inside of him, spreading a numbness that was already starting within the tips of his fingers and toes. Somehow, he still had a partial erection - which was a testament to how aroused he was right now, because he was pretty sure that his dick was going numb from the cold. He idly wrung out water from his sopping wet clothes even though it didn't do much, and mostly tried to figure out a way to verbalize his plan without it scaring her off. She really had no reason to be scared, especially since all he was doing was trying to help her, but for some reason, women were unjustly skeptical of him.
His thoughts were cut short when a cold, ghostly touch jerked him out of his thoughts. He suddenly realized that he was still kneeling on the ground and he hastily got to his feet, finding security in the couple inches of height he had on her. "I'd also end up in a jail cell for indecent exposure a lot faster, too." Bellamy sneered, his hand snapping up to catch her wrist and wrench it away from him but didn't immediately let her go. He studied the way his fingers wrapped around her pale wrist, momentarily hypnotized by the soft pulse beneath his touch. She was pale and delicate and he felt the sudden desire to bend and pose her to his will, like she was a doll. His gaze traveled down her arm and up to her face, realizing that she was blissfully unaware of how vulnerable she truly was. There was something deeply satisfying about the realization that all it would take was one squeeze to cripple her, to pulverize her bones to dust. It was in that moment that he realized the true extent of his influence over her; she was too sick to take care of herself, to unreliable to make healthy decisions, and she needed more than his heroism. She needed him to be her God, the sole authority to govern whether she lived or died.
"Here is what is going to happen," Bellamy started, giving her wrist a warning squeeze before dropping it. "First, you're going to tell me your name. Then, we're going to go back to my place so I can change into something dry and then we'll figure out what to do with you because you obviously can't be left alone. And if you piss me off at any point during this, I'll just take you straight to the hospital and have you involuntarily committed and who knows what will happen to you after that. Okay?" He spoke slowly, staring straight at her as he tried to gauge her reaction. Honestly, he probably should just bring her to the nearest hospital. It was probably the best thing to do, the right thing to do because she obviously needed help and he was not qualified to give it - although he did consider himself more helpful than a lobotomy, but just barely.
He couldn't bring himself to suggest that, not when he was so close to so many things he had never experienced. So instead, he cautiously studied her face, searching for clues as what was going through her head. There was no real risk in entertaining this harmless fantasy. If she turned out to be a psychotic bitch, then he could just drop her off at the nearest hospital and then never do anything heroic again.
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Post by Val on Feb 3, 2022 23:18:20 GMT
For a moment, both of their eyes were locked onto the sight of his fingers gripping her wrist. The visual was inexplicably captivating to Nova as she anticipated what Bellamy might do next. It certainly wasn’t the first time a man had grabbed her in an attempt for control. Perhaps it was her current state of vulnerability that was making her desperate to find meaning in the mundane. Her eyes followed the path of the tattoo that covered her arm; an elaborate snake that started at her shoulder and coiled down her arm, eventually ending in a set of fangs at her knuckles. With his fist around her wrist, it appeared as though he had conquered the slithering beast by strangulation. It was a work of art, and Nova couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have those same fingers grip her throat…
Before the fantasy could take root, he released her and her armed dropped limply to her side. The intensity of the situation melted away as Bellamy began listing off demands, and Nova rubbed at her temples in annoyance. She felt lightheaded and sick from the day’s events, and his nagging was doing her no favors. She needed a fucking drink. Her eyes shot to his when he finally finished speaking, and it was clear that she was wholly unimpressed by the display. Her blue eyes mimicked the stormy sea behind her as she prepared her response, unfazed by his threats.
“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” she scoffed. What was all this talk of jails and hospitals? He was clearly highborn and reliant on structure and society. It was apparent to Nova that they were not cut from the same cloth. She was an orphaned street rat from a distant island nation, while Bellamy had probably never left the familiarity of this strange kingdom. A jail could never contain her, and a hospital would not care enough to put up with her kind. She was nothing but a gritty pirate, and whatever misconceptions he had about her would soon be dashed.
“People call me Nova if you must know. There is no surname, so don’t bother prying.” Her past life was long forgotten and, with it, the former identity of a girl who barely even existed at all. “Why bother bringing me to your place if you’re just going to give up the second you realize that I’m too much for you? If you can’t handle me right this moment, then you’re better of dumping me at this hospital of yours sooner rather than later.”
Nova lifted her chin and tossed her damp hair back, sizing him up. “Let me guess…I’ve already pissed you off?” she laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. She was small in stature, but her frame was wired with muscle from living a life of adventure. She had seen the scars on his fists- telling of the beatings he’d likely handed out in his lifetime. But Nova had scars to match, and she was quite accustomed to taking punches from men twice her size. In her experience, if she could get her legs around a man’s neck, he was done for.
Nova knew she was playing with fire, but she was used to getting burned. Her unapologetic nature was at full force now that she had lost all sense of self preservation. Until she regained the will to live, and he earned her submission fair and square, he would have to endure the worst of her. Her life had become consumed by an overwhelming sense of loss, and even though he had saved her from the raging sea, she still felt like she was drowning.
“Just take me home.” The request was sudden and unexpected. Her tone had shifted from one of fierce indignation to uncertain desperation. She reached for him, touching the hand that had been gripping her moments ago. Her emotions had become as tumultuous as the waves crashing against the shore and she no longer had any semblance of control. All she knew for certain was that if this stranger abandoned her now, she would not live to see tomorrow.
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Post by starrea on Mar 3, 2022 3:57:23 GMT
This was not how this was supposed to go at all. This situation was veering so far off script that there was no way to anticipate what would come next from Nova, but he hadn’t been prepared for her contemptuous taunts. Her ridicule and scorn burned away any fragile confidence Bellamy had in himself, leaving behind impotent frustration to bubble and fester beneath his skin. The longer he glared at her, the more obvious it all became - this was all her fault. This entire fiasco had probably been a set-up, a shameful endeavor to use her body and sexuality to manipulate men like him. Now he could finally see this clearly for what it was, a mistake. Even though Boone wasn’t there, Bellamy could feel his disappointment burn through his skin whilst painfully aware that Boone would have never saved this girl. It was embarrassingly naïve of him to expect something so cliché out of a complete, mentally unhinged stranger. Boone would have never fallen her tricks and maybe if he acted a little more like Boone, he wouldn’t wearing half of the ocean’s water and freezing his ass off right now.
Bellamy wished that he had something clever to snap back at her. Maybe something witty, something just as confident and cutting as her words had been but as his frustration grew, his ability to speak dwindled. Words that had come so easily just minutes before were now locked inside of him and he couldn’t seem to remember how to make himself speak, no matter how many times he had struggled with this over the years. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out, and he shut his mouth again, clenching his jaw. Even though he had at least a foot and probably one hundred pounds of pure muscle on her, her laugh cut away at him until he felt small and insignificant.
He was about two seconds from just giving the girl his blessing to try and kill herself again when her attitude completely changed. Bellamy stared at her, the vulnerability in her words soothing him just enough to keep him interested in her. The piteous look on her face was enough to lift the crushing pressure that was holding him hostage and he let out a long breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Somewhere deep inside of him, Bellamy had known that he was never going to get the kind of heroine depicted in the stories. He didn’t deserve her. But maybe he deserved Nova – and maybe she deserved him.
"You really are fucking crazy, aren't you?" He mused softly, a light smile playing on his lips. The question was apparently rhetorical because he didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed her by the wrist, wrapping his cold fingers around her wrist like a manacle.
Bellamy didn't bother with small talk on their walk home and any attempts to chat on her part were ignored. He offered her no information, not where they were going nor how long it would take. Now that his fingers were wrapped around her petite wrist, there was no escaping for Nova. His grip was deceptively ironclad, soft but immovable if she tried to resist, and he paid no mind to her compliance as he pulled her effortlessly behind him. Now that this was really happening, that he had a girl who was coming home with him, his mind was elsewhere.
“Don’t draw attention to yourself,” Bellamy murmured, not even pausing to look back at her as they stepped out onto a quiet street. There were only a handful of people in the immediate area, none of them interested in Bellamy or Nova, but he tugged her into his wet side regardless, using his size to shield her from potentially curious looks. He shuttled her quickly down the streets, keeping her hidden between him and the shadows. As they drew nearer to their location, his behaviors got decidedly more rushed and paranoid. No one seemed to spare the wayward couple a second glance, but Bellamy was watching each individual stranger like there was the possibility that they were secretly against his mission of bringing Nova home. Whenever possible, they crossed the street to avoid getting too close to anyone but when people couldn’t be avoided, his grip on her wrist tightened, as if he was scared that she would try and slip away.
It was only about ten minutes later and just beyond the urban sprawl that Bellamy pulled Nova up the walkway of what looked a condemned house. Despite the obvious decay and deterioration, the front door, which was obviously newer than the rest of the house, was adorned with three locks. Bellamy didn’t let go of Nova’s wrist as he fished through his pockets, pulling out a key ring, pushing a key into the first lock, then second, and finally the third. By now, Bellamy was moving with a feverish urgency and after he pulled Nova through the front door, he didn’t bother to waste time by locking it behind them. He herded her down the hallway, stopping in front of another closed door in what was once meant to the kitchen, twisting another key into another lock, and ushering her down the stairs that were revealed behind the door.
For the first time since the beach, Bellamy dropped Nova’s wrist to pull back a rug that was hiding a trap door. By now, Bellamy’s hands were nearly shaking with nerves as he fished out yet another key and turned another lock before yanking the door open with too much force and flinching away from the bang the door made as it slammed against the floor. He froze, waiting for someone to catch him in the act, but all was still. Years of growing up with Boone had given him a sixth sense, so to speak, and he had gotten very good at sensing Boone’s ghostly presence – but right now, they were alone. The realization spurred Bellamy into motion; they needed to move now. If Nova had any reservations or tried to change her mind, Bellamy truly didn’t register it. They were beyond the point of no return, and the idea of being caught by Boone was simply not a possibility. So, if that meant that Bellamy had to wrestle and force Nova down the short length of hallway to his room, then so be it.
Bellamy didn’t let go of Nova as he hastily spun the combination lock on his door that Boone had insisted upon before throwing it open and shoving her into his room and slamming the door shut behind them. For a long second, he didn’t move – he just stared at the closed door and the girl inside of his room like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. He glanced down at her wrist that he was still holding and abruptly dropped it, nervously wiping his hand off on his wet jeans and backing up to put some space between them. Now that she was here, he didn’t have a fucking clue what to do with her.
He was suddenly very aware that he had never had a girl in his room before as he looked around, cursing himself for letting his room get so disorganized. “I need to get out of these clothes,” Bellamy announced but he didn’t move from where he was rooted. He was so cold that he wasn’t even shivering anymore, but that didn’t matter. He couldn’t do anything other than stare at Nova.
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