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dearlittlecanary · 2 years

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Found Family

Two years ago I wrote this commission for @akashakushrenada! Originally posted under my now lost side account @.bearswritingaccount. This is a Legends of Korra fictive that ends at about 2,700 words.

Fatherhood is an interesting path in life. It’s not always something that people are cut out for. By definition, fatherhood is simply the state of being a father. It’s such an impersonal thing to say. An impersonal title to have, a role to have. But that was the role that Yakone fulfilled if that wasn’t too much of a stretch as it is. Yakone was a mob boss that had been exiled by Avatar Aang, and it was clear that the last thing that he wanted was a daughter. Instead, he had treated Akasha like she was just a tool, a soldier to be used and abused. If she didn’t do everything he wanted exactly how he wanted, she would be punished. And for so long, that was what Akasha thought fatherhood was.

It’s funny, what one remembers when stressed. When in distress. And of course, the first thing that she was thinking of, that she was remembering, was how Yakone treated her. Not of how she had been so easily overpowered by these random organized bozos. What had she been distracted by anyways? She couldn’t remember. Of course. What a fickle thing, the human brain. She was blindfolded and bound. The dark that the blindfold provided was ironically familiar, and she ended up getting lost in yet another memory, voices buzzing in her ears, but it was hard to tell who the voices belonged to. Her kidnappers? Her memory? New people entirely? Who could say?

The cold was the first thing that Akasha registered. But then again it was always cold in the north here though. She couldn’t quite remember why Yakone had sent her out here, but she was pretty sure that it was about. . . about training? Endurance training maybe? Why was it hard to remember? And why did her body hurt so much? She couldn’t. . . she couldn’t really see anything wrong with her. But even so, something about this didn’t feel right. Her surroundings were rather blurry. Trudging through the snow, Akasha wrapped her arms around herself tightly, trying to stave off the cold. Something wasn’t right. No, more than something wasn’t right. Akasha shook her head a little and the scene changed. Yakone was in front of her, they were in front of his wolves, huge practically rabid beasts that he kept caged outside. He wanted her to practice her blood-bending, on them of course. Akasha wasn’t keen on using her blood-bending period, but she knew what would happen if she refused.

The memory seemed to fast forward then, or well, things seemed to move in super-speed. The next thing she knew, the wolves had broken free of their pen and there wasn’t even a second for Akasha to take a breath before the wolves started to run towards her, and she moved on instinct. She ran. She ran and it was hard, it was hard and her lungs couldn’t seem to get enough air, they were burning from the cold. She was sure her nose and cheeks were pink, flushed. Akasha stumbled over a heavier snowbank, and slid down it, rolling until she reached the end, her back slamming against a rock that was hidden by the snow.

Scrambling to get her feet, she very nearly fell again. The wolves didn’t seem to care, they were already upon her, far more used to the frozen tundra than Akasha could ever hope to be. Scared noises escaped her, half whimpers and gasps really, as that was all she had the air for. Her eyes were wide and her heart felt as though it was beating in her throat, as loud as thunder in her ears and choking her airway. Every logical part of her was screaming at her to move, to use her bending to do something. But she couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t make her body move. And then the wolf was upon her, pinning her, it’s jaw latching onto her shoulder without any hesitation. Not that she could blame them.

Tenzin wasn’t sure where Akasha had gone off too. Of course, he wasn’t her keeper, she was more than welcome (encouraged even) to live her own life. To find things that made her happy. But this was different. Usually, she checked in but he hadn’t heard anything from her in hours. And he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t worried about her. At the moment he was pacing, running through the possible options as to where she could be. A few heartbeats later, just three really, Tenzin was out the door, that foreboding feeling that was hanging over him just too much to ignore. He had to find her. He had to. As he rushed out, it was like he had tunnel vision. There was only one person on his mind. There were so many scenarios running through his head. Tenzin wasn’t sure when everything first started when he first felt a rush of protectiveness towards Akasha. No, that’s not true.

He knew exactly when.

The day had started out fine. Tenzin had gone to the Northern Water Tribe to visit his mother. It was supposed to be a relatively peaceful, calm day. A calm visit. But then he heard screaming. And it wasn’t simple, joyful screaming of children playing, or the exhilaration scream of a crazy idea. No, this was a terrified, fighting for your life scream. And Tenzin’s body moved on its own. He ran, bolted really, towards the sound. He wasn’t exactly used to running through snow, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He couldn’t just ignore those screams. No one in their right mind could. So he ran. And the sight that greeted him wasn’t one he had ever hoped to see. A young girl, who really couldn’t be more than ten years old, was trying to fend off a pack of wolves. There weren’t really any words at all that could explain the feelings of fear and shock that ran through him. The little girl was unconscious at this point, and he couldn’t blame her at all. This was a dangerous situation, a terrifying situation. Using his bending skills, Tenzin knocked the wolves away, falling to his knees at the side of the little girl. She was beaten and bloody, and there was a nasty bite on her shoulder.

Scooping her up in his arms, Tenzin looked around for her parents, who could leave a little girl out here like this, could let this happen?

"Tenzin, where are you going??" Korra questioned, reeling back from the accidental knock-back she had received from him. He had been so caught up in his memories of the past. He hadn't even realized he was moving, he didn't realize that he had bumped into her, not until she said something that is. "I'm going to save my daughter," Tenzin said, shaking his head, his voice sounding as though that was the most natural thing he could've said. He had finally connected the dots, subconsciously, but he had finally connected them. How it had taken him so long, he didn’t know. But he was going now. And that was what mattered right? That he was going after her.

His daughter.

While Tenzin was trying to find out where Akasha had gone and had been taking accidental trips down memory lane, she was going through literal hell. The people that had taken her were the members of the Triad that she accidentally used her blood-bending on. Now they had originally intended to just use her for ransom, and rough her up a little for their own enjoyment, but her mouth had gotten her in some serious trouble. So, they (the Triad) decided to give her a taste of their own version of blood-bending. At first, they had a small argument about whether or not to gag her.

“Are you an idiot, we can’t risk being found prematurely!” the earth-bender said, scoldingly. “But I want to hear her scream.” the fire-bender practically whined. The remaining one, the water-bender, rolled their eyes and moved to gag Akasha, who had been sending out curses like the world was on fire. Of course, hers would be in just a few minutes, moments really. “There, she’s gagged, now will you both shut up and get on with it?” the water-bender questioned. The other two exchanged a look and the fire-bender came closer, a dark grin pulling at his face. Akasha struggled against the bindings, muffled screams (mostly of anger at the moment), escaping her. “Why are you screaming? I haven’t even started yet.” the fire-bender spoke, dark amusement lacing their tone. Akasha glared at him, promising all kinds of pain in her gaze. The fire-bender smirked, knowing that that wasn’t possible, especially not right now.

They placed their hands on her wrists, gripping them tightly. “Since your little blood-bending trick on us, I’ve been working on one of my own.” With just a little effort and a smirk, the fire-bender adjusted Akasha’s core body temperature. They did it slowly at first, not wanting to outright kill Akasha. The woman in question squirmed, the feeling an odd one. After about six heartbeats, the fire-bender upped the temperature, and by now the blood was just starting to reach its boiling point. Akasha was sweating, and her face was pale, her breathing ragged as if she couldn’t get enough air. And honestly, she really couldn’t, her lungs felt tight. The fire-bender smirked, a dark dark look in their gaze. Akasha felt herself going light-headed, and it was so so hard to breathe. At this point, her blood was boiling, and her temperature was rising. She felt as though she was going to vomit or pass out or both. Probably both. She could taste the bile in the back of her throat and all. Darkness was beginning to encroach on the corner of her gaze. Was the last face she was going to see be that of this asshat? She really really hoped not. Just as her eyes were about to fall shut, her body had finally had enough, it was giving up, when the door was literally flown open, nearly knocking the Triad off their feet had their earth-bender not been so quick on their feet.

Tenzin was. . . angry. And an angry monk isn’t something you want to mess with. His gaze was clouded with such rage, it was obvious in that moment as to why it was a sin. There didn’t seem to be time for words, or well, anything but fighting. Tenzin had trained against his mother often, all his childhood really, so fighting against that water-bender was simple. In all honesty, fighting against all them was a bit of a walk in the park, merely because of how he was raised; who his father had known. Akasha watched the fight go down, her vision admittedly blurry. Once the Triad was apprehended, Tenzin wasted no time in freeing her of her bonds, of the gag.

“Tenzin--” she breathed, her voice thready, collapsing into his arms due to general weakness. Her face was still pale, and she was still sweating, her skin feverish to the touch. “Why did you come after me? I could’ve made it out of here on my own.” she murmured, her voice no stronger than a whisper. Tears pricked her gaze, tears of pain, relief, it was hard to tell which droplet was which, but she certainly felt both. “Of course I came,” Tenzin said, trying not to hurt her, as all he wanted was to hold her close, so close, as if he was afraid she would vanish from his sight again.

It was a thunderous night, a night that seemed to be owned by the thunderstorm that was dancing in the sky. Akasha was thrashing in bed, the sheets tangling in her legs, her arms, clinging to her like glue, no, like hands; hands with vice-like grips. She felt as though she couldn’t breathe. As the next thunderclap rolled through the house, Akasha bolted upright, clutching at her throat, her chest, her shoulders as she screamed, tears streaming down her face. Tenzin ran into the room mere moments later, her name falling from his lips. He held her, helped pull the sheets off so she could breathe. “Akasha, it’s okay, you’re safe,” Tenzin promised as he held her tightly, just tight enough for her to feel secure, for her adrenaline to slowly die down. Her breathing did indeed become smoother, though admittedly it took a good moment or six for it to do so. Tears still streamed down her face and she was hiccuping a little, but otherwise, she had managed to calm down. (Admittedly with the help of Tenzin). “Do you want to talk about it?” he questioned his voice as soft as a spring wind. Fitting really, considering that he’s an air-bender. The thunderstorm still toiled on while Akasha spoke haltingly of her night terror, of the scattered memories she had of the wolf attack, of how she could feel phantom pain, the pain of their teeth against her skin once again, how she felt their hot breath upon her ankles, neck, whatever bit of bare skin they could reach. She spoke of how she had tried to get away, of how the whole situation came to be in the first place.

Akasha talked about how she had fallen and then passed out from fear and her injuries and who knows what else. And then she spoke about how the last thing she remembered after that, was how angry Yakone had seemed that she had gotten help, but she had no idea who would’ve helped her, who could’ve. After all, everyone there knew not to get on Yakone’s bad side.

There was such a long moment of silence between them after that, and the air felt heavy from the weight of Akasha’s words. Finally, Tenzin broke the silence. “It was me,” he finally admitted. “I wanted to tell you when I first noticed the bite mark on your shoulder, but I felt as though I would’ve been overstepping;” he explained as he went on. And then he went on further, to explain how he had found her, how he had taken her to his mother to be healed, and how Yakone had stormed in like a bat fresh out of hell, demanding answers; chiefly why they were helping her and how they had found her in the first place. “If I could’ve helped you further, taken you out of that situation sooner, I would have.”

That night, their relationship with each other changed.

“Okay, but why did you come?” Akasha questioned, her voice still quiet, Tenzin holding her in his arms. Tenzin gave her a quiet little smile, a fatherly smile. “Because Akasha, you’re my daughter. I’m not about to just leave you to the hands of kidnappers.”

“I’m your--” Akasha questioned, her whole world seeming to come to a screeching halt.

What was this feeling? This horrible heavy feeling on her chest? Akasha had no idea, but she disliked it immensely. She was watching Tenzin train Korra, as was his duty. So why was she so . . . angry? Why did she feel the need to punch something? She loved Tenzin, she knew that, and it was clear that he felt some kind of affection back to her. . . Watching him scold Korra, adjust her stance, it became more clear that she didn’t want to punch something, but rather, punch someone. She wanted to punch Korra. Korra of all people! Akasha nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all. After all, one couldn’t really go about punching the Avatar.

“I’m your daughter?” she questioned, the word sounding heavy yet right on her tongue. “You’re my daughter,” he replied, affirming the statement. “You are my daughter, and I will always come for you,” Tenzin promised, shifting his hold on Akasha so that he could gently wipe her tears away. She hadn't even realized she was still crying. Funny how tears work that way. "Can we go home?" she questioned softly. "Yes, we can go home," Tenzin replied, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Walking past the unconscious Triad members without any further recognition or acknowledgment (other than a swish of his robes), the two welcomed the setting sun.

Sometimes, the best families are the ones that are found, rather than made.

#legend of korra #legend of korra commission #tenzin x adopteddaughter!oc #open commissions #commissions open #writing commissions #commission post

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isometimestellstories · 6 years

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Wolfborn by R. H. Wildewood

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" James screamed clear across the room. She felt the glass in Daniel's study tremor.

"You're out of line," The warning was clear in Daniel's tone to everyone but James.

"Where is that line?" James pushed, seventeen years of all aggression. "Huh? Is it at the beginning of Oakhurst? The border of town? Or the driveway of the house?" His words couldn't be more vicious if he tried. He stepped towards his father, nearly fully grown, now, he was almost his exact likeness, down to the exact shade of dark blonde hair, down to the stubborn streak.

"Watch yourself," Daniel warned like he could almost hear James's thoughts.

"Your fears are not mine," James hisses, only a step away from his father. "I won't be trapped here."

"James," Zane says, standing just behind him, calm to James's aggression, both seventeen, both terrified of what they were supposed to become.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, tired of this same song they'd been singing for nearly a month now. Like the peace that normally breezed through Hawthorne House had reached the end of its tether, that seventeen years had to be repaid in a single winter.

"Stay out of this, Zane," Their father warned, not unkindly, not dangerously, but warned all the same.

And it incensed James. "Yeah, two voices of reason are harder to block out than just one," He spits, "Or is it that you would actually listen to him?"

And that breaks the glass. Rebecca pushes off the couch she was sitting on, forces herself in the small space between them both Daniel and James had begun to close, over a head shorter than both of them, and she turns to James.

"He taught you to reason," She whispers, low and soft, because James was her brother still. "Don't be cruel to someone that has only showed you kindness," Because Daniel had taught her to reason, too.

But James's face twists, cruel and snarling, "Sure, little sister, maybe you should speak to him, he'll listen to you," He rasps, because Zane almost heard his thoughts before he'd spoken, and wrapped his arms around James from behind, pulling him back against him.

"Enough," Zane murmurs, close to James' ear, but they're pressed so close together, they all hear. "For today, James, that's enough."

And like Zane had pulled on puppet strings and loosed them, James sinks into himself, and pushes Zane off him with the last bit of his strength. They listen to James half run out of Hawthorne House. And they all flinch when the door bangs.

The driveway to the House was paved as little as possible, the stone laid so delicately it was like they crafted themselves from the ground. The rain soaked trees, autumn colours on the leaves, trying to hold the scents in place for as long as they could. Until the frost came.

Hawthorne House was old trees and aged stone, it was set right against the edge of Oakhurst Woods, the forest wrapping around the back of the imposing House, and when the mist passed through it clung to everything. And this she loved.

The Town was hundreds of years old.

There was a Bistro in the centre of the town, a library that was about the same size as the one at Hawthorne House, a flower shop with a flighty owner that was always about to close down, an apothecary that never had, a bed and breakfast in a House almost as old as Hawthorne, and an artesian store, Ink, Book & Candle, that sold all three things the name suggested in astounding quantities, and was her absolutely favourite place in the entire town, just after Hawthorne House.

And Hawthorne House was one of the oldest in the town. The kind of old ones, built with stone on the outside to withstand centuries, where the kitchen had ornate fixings, old ovens, where the glass was stained in patterns, where the sides of the houses curved around the edges, creating alcoves, where the walls were hung with mirrors and paintings and carved through with niches. And the mailbox outside resembled an ornate birdcage and locked with a skeleton key.

"I'm going to lock up," Daniel says eventually. Its an hour later than he normally would walk, checking all the gates and doors, making sure everything was locked up for the night.

Elizabeth shoots him the ghost of a smile, folding her piano closed. Its part of the tradition. Daniel walks around and locks up, Elizabeth plays at the piano. It marks her night, and she knows it like she knows the sun sets.

"Walk with me, changeling?" Daniel asked, calling her by Elizabeth's nickname, and it makes her fold.

Its colder, with James still not back. But they walk around the House, anyway, through the path that winds from the driveway, to the backyard, past the stables, the cobblestoned pathway lighted on either side by lampposts, her fingers trailing along the ornate metal as they pass it, and they end at Jargon's enclosure, larger than the stables that housed five horses, the Jaguar was beyond competition Daniel's favourite.

And James's.

"What happened to him?" Rebecca whispered, lightly touching the animal's fur as it came up to them.

She'd asked this same question often, and Daniel always told her the same story, again and again, even now, almost a full decade later after she'd heard it, he told it to her again. She asked when she needed solace, when he did.

"He was hunted," Daniel answered, the animal encircling both of them, not as heart-stopping to her anymore as it had been the first time. "He survived, but just barely." He murmured into her mess of curls, pulling her against him.

"So he can't ever go back?" Rebecca asked.

Daniel shook his head, "He wouldn't be safe there."

They had become friends, over the years, her and the jaguar, Jargon.

"Born in captivity he hadn't grown to fear humans properly," Daniel loosens his hold of her, and turns to the jaguar as he spoke. "He'd been raised to be hunted, but he'd been strong, and resilient, and survived the attempt."

She knew the story so well she could recite it half asleep. But sometimes Daniel would bend to the animal, slowly, and it would come to him, and she would think the animal answered Daniel the way Elizabeth did, with all of him.

They had become friends, Jargon and her, but she was nothing to this wild creature, compared to her brother.

James that was all wildfire, took to the Jaguar like he took to everything else. With reckless ease, with tempestuous abandon. And Jargon had taken to him just the same.

Daniel came, every night, as he walked around Hawthorne House, making sure everything was locked and closed properly, to the Jaguar he couldn't let go. He came tonight, because James still hadn't come back.

"He'll come back to you," Rebecca murmurs, and she isn't sure who she's telling, but Daniel moves closer to the animal, and it to him, and they're both looking for someone else.

But James comes back.

He always would. If days later, if weeks, he always comes back, and he folds right into Daniel. The older man leaves the fire he'd been stoking, and wraps his arms around his youngest child.

"'m sorry," James murmurs into his father, the rest of them can barely hear him, they don't hear what else he says, but Daniel's face bleeds calmer.

"We're gonna work this through, you and me," Daniel promises him. James's aggression, Daniel's tight hold, unwilling to back down either of them. It would be a lot to work through, though.

Rebecca turns to Zane, and she knew if she could hear his thoughts, she would hear a mirror of hers. Because it would be so much more, than just James's aggression, than just Daniel's unwillingness to let go. But neither of them press into a war that isn't theirs.

So Rebecca turns away from Daniel clinging to his son, and turns to her mother, instead. She sees Zane hold out watching them for a bit longer, willing to fight James's war for him, if he asked, then he turns with her.

"Tell me a story." Rebecca asks her mother. Elizabeth had thousands of stories, thousands more than her writer husband.

"How did you fall in love with Daniel?"

"Oh, that's a boring story," Her mother waves her hand. "Let me tell you how I fell in love with you, little changeling."

Her mother had taken to call her that, after she told Rebecca about the daughter, Anastasia, she'd lost years ago, and Rebecca told her she had seen the white flowers glowing in the moonlight that she followed right into Hawthorne House. Rebecca once asked her if she ever thought she would rather have her own daughter, than one the fey dropped at her doorstep.

Elizabeth shook her head. She told her if she could, she would take them both, but if she had to choose, she'll keep what she was given.

Rebecca settles into her side with Zane on the floor, his back pressed against the sofa Elizabeth and her are sitting on. The rain is falling in steady sheets, the thunderstorm that cancelled classes for the past three days showing no signs of stopping. James and Daniel are stoking the fire. But Zane is pushing against James with his foot, the younger boy turning to pull faces at him every other minute through Daniel's instruction that may just be falling on deaf ears.

"There used to be an empty space on the mantelpiece." The mantelpiece that used to hold only James' photograph that changed with the years as he had, and an old still of Anastasia that never did.

"But you came, graceful and wild, and everything became whole. My heart, my soul," She pressed into Zane's shoulder, his head leaning on her thigh. "Stuttered when I saw you."

James had given up pretending to listen to Daniel's instructions or his mother's story, and taken to lying across Zane's outstretched legs. Rebecca caught Zane looking at her, and grinned at him. Elizabeth spoke without saying anything of their origins.

Rebecca met them when she'd climbed in through James' bedroom window, about a decade ago, on one of the more severe nights in a winter as bad as theirs now. She'd seen the white flowers pale in the moonlight, crawling across wooden trellises that led from the ground right up to his bedroom window. James, startling out of his sleep, had been very accommodating. Pulling out his secret stash of biscuits, two flashlights, and some pillows and blankets under his bed, where they built a fort. They had both been all of seven years old. Elizabeth woke up to find what looked like either omelettes gone wrong, or two very colourful pancakes, and half her muffin tray finished between her son and a little girl wearing his clothes.

And her heart stuttered.

Zane was in London. James argued that it had been Rebecca's fault. Rebecca would swear that James was to blame. And Zane, never having been one to give credit where it wasn't due, said that while they both each made valiant attempts to make them deserving of all blame, it really had to be shared. They'd been thirteen then. Since James and Rebecca wasn't explicitly told not to leave the hotel room, and being very new at hotel rooms, hadn't thought they needed permission to leave.

So they left, and ended up at a bakery about five blocks down where they witnessed a fight breaking out, and promptly got involved. Someone threw a stone. The next thing either of them knew, they were running through boroughs, drenched through by the rain, till they collapsed on top of each other, against their hotel room door.

Elizabeth found her son and daughter a few hours later, laying on a double bed filled with food, and a boy wearing James' clothes laying between them, as though they'd known each other their whole lives.

And her heart stuttered again.

"You really should stop sharing your clothes with strangers, James," Elizabeth admonished as she always did, when she told the story. "But, whose fault was it?" Elizabeth asked, mischief in her eyes.

"James," Rebecca answered on the tail end of her mother's sentence.

"Rebecca," James frowned at her.

Both turned to Zane. Rebecca looks down at him from her sofa, hanging over the edge, and James looks up at him from the floor, laying across his legs.

"Switzerland," He raised his hands in surrender.

And this is them. Elizabeth's Irish Triplets.

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