A/N:Thanks for all the recent likes. This is the twelfth and final part in the Lights, Camera, Action series. Here are the links to the other parts if you want to catch up.
The silence when Tom leaves is palpable, you looking at the door for a few moments as though you’re surveying your surroundings are solid and real and not some figment of a bad dream. Taron stands up straight and you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck.
“Y/N?” You turn now and look at him, your eyes meeting his for the first time in days. All the emotions from the past few days, rushing to your chest and stomach and solidifying there like a weight. Silently you walk past Taron and into the kitchen, the man clears his throat behind you.
“Are you and Tom?…” He trails off and you spin on your heel, chin jutted out defiantly your hands curling into fists. Taron recoils at the anger that flashes in your eyes, your voice a low, sharp hiss when you talk.
“How dare you! You asked me to be your girlfriend and I thought that for once…Just once, that you weren’t going to be like other guys.” His eyes lower to the floor, brimmed with tears but you can’t stop talking. It’s all coming out and you need it to.
“But you’re worse, because you let me believe and feel as though you really cared and for what? So you could cheat on me at the first opportunity. And with Nadia of all people?” He looks up at you here, his eyes catching yours and you can see the guilt etched into his face. His usual smooth features lined with regret and tiredness.
“I couldn’t find you anywhere Taron, and then you showed up and I was confused and relieved but you were acting so weird. And then I told you that I was…” A breath for strength here, an internal pep talk to keep your voice steady. “Falling in love with you…And you just left here and jumped into bed with Nadia.” You bring your hand to your mouth and take a deep breath, your stomach twisting and a feeling of nausea washing over you.
“I’m so sorry…I got so drunk and then I danced with her and she was saying all these things. About you and Tom. I’m not stupid y/n, I can tell there’s something between you two.” Your face betrays you at his words, falling and flushing with colour. Taron eyes you, his eyes suddenly sober and heavy with emotion.
“So there is something between you two?” You sigh and lean back against a stool and rub a hand over your face.
“There kind of was at one point. We had chemistry and used to spend a lot of time together between takes. And before you started, we did almost kiss…But when Nadia showed up, I put a stop to it. Then you and I got close and well…you know.” Taron wipes his hand across his mouth.
“You didn’t date or sleep together?” Your head snaps up and Taron knows from the shock on your face what the answer is, he closes his eyes, his face turning to one of anguish. “Nadia said…” You feel suddenly exhausted and want nothing more than for the ground to swallow.
“Yeah well, Nadia was lying.” Taron seems to sway on the spot before closing the distance between you, in two long strides. He reaches out to hold your hands but you pull them away, his eyes looking at you scared.
“Please y/n…She got inside my head, she convinced me you and Tom were seeing each other behind our backs. I was weak and stupid and…Please y/n…Please give me one more chance. If I could go back in time and change things, I would. I didn’t want to hurt you, didn’t mean to.” Your voice is low and soft.
“But you did. You could have asked me? Spoken to me? But you didn’t. You chose to believe someone you barely knew and who hated me. Instead of trusting me, your girlfriend…The person you claimed to care for.”
“I do care about you.” Your laugh is sudden and bitter sounding.
“Funny way of showing it.” The room is silent, Taron looking at you pleadingly, you lick your lips and sigh. “I’m sorry Taron…But I can’t. All I see when I look at you is her. I thought I could trust you and I do care for you but I can’t, I’m sorry…I hope she was worth it.” You watch as he wipes his hands over his face roughly and straighten’s up.
“Okay…Sorry Y/N…I’m sorry.” He turns to leave but pauses looking back at you, he looks weighed down with sadness. You stand up and cross to meet him, pulling him into a hug, he holds you close and breathes in the smell of your shampoo. After a few moments, you pull apart and hold each others gaze.
“I’m sorry too Taron, I’m sorry I can’t carry on.” His eyes soften and his hand brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“This is on me…I’ll miss you y/n.” He turns then and walks to the door, you follow him awkwardly. He pulls it open turning to look at you one more time.
“Tell Tom he better take care of you.” He’s gone then, you close the door, slide down to the floor and let the tears come.
-
After Taron leaves, your body purges itself of all the hurt, confusion and anger of the past month. By the time you get up from the hallway floor your body is stiff and sore. You make your way to bed and fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The day after you get to work early, as you pull up in your car you see Tom’s car already parked up and feel a flush of warmth go through you. Glancing in your compact you take in your appearance, only slight shadows, like faint bruises under your eyes, give any indication of the past 24 hours. You tug at the hem of your smock dress self-consciously as you make your way to Tom’s trailer.
Nerves are swimming through you as you walk up the steps and pull open his door, knocking be damned. As you shut the door behind you, you see Tom stand, his eyes wide and soft. You take three steps across the room, Tom pulls you to him, his lips brushing against yours, with an urgency that makes you dizzy. He catches a breath in his throat as he pulls away, his hands cupping your face, he rests his forehead against yours.
“I thought you’d changed your mind.” You shake your head and bring your eyes up to meet his a small smile on your face.
“No…After I spoke to Taron last night, I just felt so drained. It’s been a long few days, I just needed to sleep.” He brushes a thumb across your cheek, his eyes studying your face, as though you’re about to disappear.
“So you’ve not changed your mind?…You want me?…Us?” Closing your eyes, you brush your lips against his before replying.
“More than anything.” He smiles and it lights up his whole face, as he moves his hands down your body, palming your butt and pulling you flush to him. The breath catches in your throat and with one more longing gaze, your lips are crashing against each other with a wanton desire. Tom pulls you to him, before falling back on the plush sofa, easing your legs on either side so you’re straddling him. Your lips don’t part, as he manouevres you out of the jacket you’re wearing, his hands moving up your back as you trace the tips of your fingers down his chest, your hips rolling against him. But you need more, you want to feel your skin on his, you pull at the hem of his tshirt and you pull apart, as he tugs it over his head. Discarding it to the side.
Your eyes trace down his body and you bite your lower lip, as you take in his toned body. His eyes meet yours then, a flirty smile on his face.
“This doesn’t seem fair…Come here.” He pulls you closer, as you kick off your boots, his hands squeezing your thighs. You reach down and pull your dress over your head, your breasts hanging loose. Tom shifts beneath you, his mouth opening slightly. Your cheeks ripple with warmth, and you know you’re blushing, you cross your arms across your chest in a self conscious gesture.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He gently lowers your arms down and cups his hand on right breast, his cheeks turning pink, eyes darkening with desire.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He rolls his tongue against your nipple, before grazing it with the edge of this teeth, the sensation causing your head to fall back as you moan out his name. His hands move quickly then as he unbuttons his jeans, lifting you with one arm, as he shimmys out of them, kicking them off his legs. You pull him into a kiss then, the feel of him straining against his boxers. The friction of him rubbing against your bud of nerves, sending shivers through your body.
“Hold on.” He tightens his grip around you and stands, picking you up and laying on the sofa gently, before crashing his lips back on to yours. His fingertips stroking down your stomach, and teasing the edge of your underwear, you arch your back and he curls his fingers round the edges and pulls them down and off your legs, eyeing you hungrily and causing you to whimper. He kicks off his boxers and your eyes widen at the size of him, he bites his lower lip and leans into kiss you. Your fingers run through the curls at the nape of his neck and he breathes your name into the kiss, your whole body alert to his touch.
He kisses down your neck and between your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your erect nipples, causing you to squeeze your legs together, to ease the aching you feel for him. He brushes over your thighs with the palm of his hand, pulling your legs apart. His voice is low and husky.
“Let me look at you.” He positions himself between your legs, grabbing himself and rubbing the tip of his erection over your clit. You gasp and arch your back, you want him…You need him. Tom’s eyes shine mischievously and he moves up your body, his hands on either side of your head, caging you in as he looks into your eyes.
“Tell me what you want darling.” His tone is gentle but commanding and it sends a flush of warmth through you, as you watch him through hooded eyes, and lick your lips.
“I want you…Please…Tom?” His eyes soften as he leans into kiss you before pulling back and adjusting his body. His fingers tracing circles on your thighs, he plants kisses on your stomach, your inner thighs and you reach down, tangling your fingers in his hair as you beg him once more. He smirks at you before lowering down and rolling his tongue between your folds, the pleasure sending shockwaves through your body. He moans and grabs himself in his hand, stroking up and down the length.
You feel yourself unravel as Tom uses his mouth to bring you to climax, arching your back, fingers squeezing his hair as you moan out his name. He kisses up your body and you look him in the eyes as you press your hand to his cheek, shifting yourself and lowering your hand between your bodies, grabbing him with your hand. He closes his eyes and moans and you brush your thumb across the tip of him and he growls your name, sending heat right to your core.
“I need you y/n.” His voice is heavy with need, he kisses you deeply as he rolls his fingers against your bud of sensitive nerves. He lines himself up with you, rubbing the tip of himself against you, until you beg him to be inside you. He eases himself in slowly at first and then thrusts. The two of you mirroring each other, heads back and mouths open, eyes closed in ecstasy. You reach up and grip his hair, pulling his mouth to yours once more. The two of you moaning and whimpering as Tom thrusts into you, his hand reaching down, gripping your thigh and pulling it up slightly. You gasp, feeling the full length of him inside you, a thin layer of sweat forming on your chests and brows.
And then you’re coming undone, your whole body aware of every part of Tom that’s touching you. He reaches for your hand and threads his fingers with yours as he smiles softly, his eyes closed with intense pleasure.
“I’m gonna cum y/n.” You breathe out his name and allow the orgasm to wash over you, arching your back and squeezing your thighs as Tom moans out your name and lets his head fall to your shoulder. The trailer is silent other than the heavy breathing of you both trying to get your breath back. Tom kisses you on the cheek, before easing himself from you and reaching over to get a blanket that’s laying on the chair opposite.
He places his arm under your head and throws the blanket over the two of you, his brown eyes gentle as he lays on his side holding you close.
“Are you covered? Do you feel okay?” You smile and stroke your finger down his jaw, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“I feel great…What about you?” He blushes, his eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, I feel great too…I just wish I didn’t have to work now though, I’d rather spend the day…Actually…The whole week with you.” You let out a laugh, your heart skipping a beat as he leans forward and gives you a gentle kiss.
“Hmm yeah, it would be pretty good.” His smile takes over his entire face and you smile back, as he brushes his hand through his hair, his tone playful.
“Well you know…I’m kind of the star of this thing, so I can be as late as I want to set.” You look mock offended and gasp.
“Are you suggesting you’re going to act like a diva Mr Holland?” His eyebrows quirk up, a smile pulling up his mouth.
“Did you just call me Mr Holland?” You smirk and nod your head.
“You know, I think I did.” He lifts the blanket up and positions himself on top of you.
“Say it again.” And as he starts kissing your neck and laughing, all you can do is oblige.
Do you ever stop to appreciate how extremely accessible fanfic is? No, I don’t mean that it’s for free or that it’s based on characters you’re familiar with, although those are also valid factors.
I mean, it’s extremely easy to find something catering to any fiction need you have.
There’s the way it’s always an extension of canon. Fanfic is where we get the holes filled in that were left in the source material. Fanfic is where we get our hurt/comfort aftermath fic, where we can see the characters heal and grow. Fanfic is where we’re shown the happily ever after, too. The fluff and the happy times the characters get to have. The homes they built and the lives they live. All the things canon doesn’t show us.
But the best thing is the way it’s organised. Like, it’s super easy to find exactly what you need at any given moment. There is material for any mood, and it’s meant to be easily found.
Need a hurt/comfort fic after a bad day? You can search by genre and tags, you can even specify which characters you want involved in it, and there will be lots of entries with content that’s exactly that, and nothing else you’re maybe unprepared to deal with. Need to just read some wholesome heartwarming fluff? Well, here’s a tag, here’s hundreds of fics! Need angst with a happy ending? We have that, too! And so forth.
That’s unique to fanfic. Any other sort of media doesn’t deal in so specific content forms, or isn’t so easily browsable. A novel may contain all those things, but it contains them alongside other things. A TV show might have an episode that has what you’re looking for, but you’ll need to know exactly which episode it is.
With fanfic, I can be reasonably sure I’ll find what I’m looking for. Content is usually closely tagged so I can filter according to my needs.
It’s also extremely common to have content warnings for all sorts of things that might make a reader uncomfortable. Ever been traumatized by a book, a movie or a show because it contained material you didn’t handle well seeing, and of course it didn’t come with a warning? The overwhelming majority of fanfic authors will warn you. It’s your own fault if you ignore the tags, of course, and not everything is properly tagged, but most things are, and it allows you to filter not only by what you want to read, but also by what you don’t.
Nothing else but fanfic allows me to curate my media experience that way.
The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I’m very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.
Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd’s destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.
Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.
Rating/Warnings:T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.
—
The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction
Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.
-
1.1. Introductory remarks
Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten’s herbalist shop.
“Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration,” van Richten’s lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. “A demonstration of pride in an apprentice’s first job well done, for all to see and revel in.”
Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first… features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash.
It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.
“I was ready,” she insists. “I amready.”
“I know,” van Richten replies, softly, sadly.
The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.
—
Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.
But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can’t keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.
She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.
She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd’s convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her.
Then, she lets herself go.
An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.
“Fine, fine, old man, relax, I’m up,” she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. “I’m awake. Stop it.”
But it’s not him.
It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda… to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.
“No.”
She didn’t even see him fall.
“Why didn’t you help him?” Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. “What are you waiting for, what–”
“I tried. It was… it’s too late,” Ireena whispers, “I’m sorry."
Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry. I just– wait.” Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. “Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?”
Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. “I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when… when he reformed in the coffin, I did it.”
The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. “I missed it, then,” she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.
She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten’s still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.
She finds no such thing. He’s dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end…
A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can’t make it go away. She reaches up, and–
Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.
It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father’s body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw… a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.
She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.
Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.
Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.
‘Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.’
She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can’t breathe, or sob her lungs raw.
Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.
Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.
“A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared.”
Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.
“Should I… we could… there’s ways. To get you back. I mean…"
She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.'
Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she’d gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand."
'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well…'
That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan."
There is a soft chuckle in her mind.
"What’s so funny? You loveplans."
She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile.
'Thank you for humoring me, is all I’ll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.'
-
1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience
Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.
"What in all the realms are you doing here?” The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes… the eyes are unmistakable.
They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.
“I’m here to help you. You don’t stand a chance on your own.”
“How did you find me?”
Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn’t look behind him. “I have my ways.”
He shakes his head. “That isn’t good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff–”
She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio’s shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.
“I recognised your horse,” she says, at long last.
“Dear Drusilla? Oh…” Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn’t slow.
Erasmus’ visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view.
“Damned stubborn, foolish girl…” Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.
“I had a plan, you know,” he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. “One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely.”
“There’s no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There’s a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there’s a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I’ve been to the castle, scouted out–"
"You’ve done what?"
Ezmerelda doesn’t look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part.” She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd’s eyes boring directly into hers, as if he’d known she was there all along. “But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt.”
Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.
“Ezmerelda, you can’t be here.” His voice sounds pained, almost. “You know you are not safe near me. My curse–"
"Sincerely, fuck your curse,” Ezmerelda spits. “After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can’t be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can’t manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but…"
She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.
"Ezmerelda,” van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. “Why?”
“There are still people who care about your well-being,” she replies simply and softly, “no matter what you may believe."
Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together.”
For once, he doesn’t argue.
—
Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.
How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.
“…so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks,” Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. “But who knows what else he has buried under there.”
Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she’s had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.
Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda’s latest expedition to the castle.
“You know,” Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, “if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road…” she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. “I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword."
Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can’t, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark…” a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. “Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to."
Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least.”
Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm.
The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin–
Ezmerelda realises she’s staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.
Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.
“Hey,” Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that."
This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you.”
Knowing there’s no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave.
“The offer stands,” she says as she climbs into the driver’s seat. “Keep it in mind.”
“Maybe next time,” Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda’s cheek.
“Don’t stay away too long,” she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.
Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight.
And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda’s view.
'Well.’
“Shut up.” Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. “Absolutely no need to read into things."
'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.'
"I am perfectly fine,” Ezmerelda grumbles. “Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now."
'You don’t know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.'
"Oh, what do youknow…”
There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More… than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is…'
“… the enemy of progress. I know.” Ezmerelda sighs, the old man’s oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. “Maybe next time.”
-
1.3. Materials and methods, an overview
Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.
It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten’s drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.
She goes through attack patterns he’s drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn’t doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.
Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.
Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier’s handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn’t quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.
“Ah, almost there,” she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. “We’ll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon.”
Ezmerelda doesn’t wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.
—
Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.
“I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first,” Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring’s general direction.
The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.
Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.
Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.
So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in.
“I want to show you something I’ve been practicing,” Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, “but you’ll need to lend me a dagger.”
Ezmerelda’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment’s contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.
The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle’s hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.
“Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?”
Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. “Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades.”
“There’s no such thing,” Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. “Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him.”
“Luvash is busy,” another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. “But you can speak with me.”
Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.
“Run along now, Arabelle,” Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.
Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn’t seem concerned or reluctant or… anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.
Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.
Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. “Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin.”
The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. “You can’t say it wasn’t a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But,” and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. “I’m glad he didn’t send me after you.”
Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn’t in the mood for a debate. “You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways… much better this way, isn’t it?”
He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. “You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?”
“Borca,” she says, and pointedly doesn’t elaborate further.
Arrigal laughs. “Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way.”
So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.
“Regale us, cousin,” Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, “with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd."
Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.
Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake… brought her back to us,” Luvash grumbles. “I suppose there’s no harm… I’ll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!”). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.
The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten’s exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours.
“I knew you would win,” Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. “Uncle didn’t want to listen to me, but I knew.”
Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. “I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon.”
-
1.4. Common pitfalls
Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.
A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus’ fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.
Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and–
Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing.
He doesn’t seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.
“I thought we had reached an agreement,” he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.
Ezmerelda doesn’t reply.
“I thought,” he continues with that same calm tone, “that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation.”
Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, “I couldn’t just stand by and let that beast–”
“Youcouldhave voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night,” van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. “You almost died.”
“Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it’s a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair… why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?”
“To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us.”
“But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!”
Van Richten’s gaze on her is sharp. “And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?”
“Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me,” Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.
Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.
“We can’t go rushing in on half-checked information,” van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. “We can’t, because… because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result.”
“I have been wrong,” he continues, still not looking up. “I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always.”
“I’m not advocating for blindly rushing in,” Ezmerelda protests, “I’m merely–”
“I won’t have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already.”
“And I won’t have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right.”
“And what about when you aren’t, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren’t?”
Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. “Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes.”
“Oh,” van Richten smiles sadly, “If only that were possible.”
—
The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.
Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.
After she reaches the end of the letter’s brief text, she stays very still for a long while.
'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,’ van Richten’s voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.
Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. “How do we even know this isn’t a forgery, or some sort of trap?”
'We don’t. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.’
“She’s tried before, but I never… I don’t have time for this right now, I–,” she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to.
'We have time. You and I both know it’s not time that is the problem.’
They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick’s latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before… well. They’ll come to that when they do.
Ezmerelda can’t deny the detour would only be a brief one.
“A 'loose end’,” she huffs. “Really.”
'I am just trying to help you. Don’t waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.’
“The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be,” Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. “Old Vistani saying.”
A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.’
-
Ezmerelda’s memory of her mother feels… not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don’t match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago.
Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor’s safety or protection.
The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.
“My, how you’ve grown! My, and yet– oh, darling,” concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. “There’s both more and less of you than last time I saw you."
"Really?” Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. “All those tales I’ve heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that’s the best you can come up with?” She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. “Not an angle you can use against me, I’m afraid. Try again."
"You wound me!” A dramatic hand placed over her chest. “Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you’ve never even come to visit.”
Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.
“I’m only here because I got your letter.”
“Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was–”
“I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone,” Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn’t heard a word. “For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten…"
The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I’d heard you’d finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool."
"You hear much, I see,” Ezmerelda replies, cooly.
“I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me.”
Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. “Well, here’s something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You’ll be happy to hear he’s dead."
"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start–"
"You have no right to call me that,” Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.
“Come now, dear. That’s no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It’s about time we set all this nonsense aside, don’t you think? Your family–"
"You’re no family of mine."
"Please,” she scoffs loudly. “You sound like an angry child. And… oh, really, what kind of name is ’d'Avenir’ even?”
“My name,” Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.
“I wonder how you’ll do,” Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, “all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You’ll come crawling back to me yet."
Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon’s workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.
"I’m not alone,” Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.
“I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man’s life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?”
“Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away,” Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. “Oh, yes, my dear, it’s so very tragic… I’ve heard it all. Look at you - you’re wasted on him.”
“Oh?” Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream youare the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. “And what would you prefer to be using me for?”
“How dare you! After all I’ve done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!”
Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. “You know he did no such thing. And I’ve done very well for myself, despite you."
"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your… profession? What has it cost you already?"
"Nothing I wouldn’t be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don’t understand,” Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. “I’m neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This– this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it.”
“Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your… talents… would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who’d know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great.”
Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat.
“Ezmerelda–”
She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. “I killed the devil Strahd,” Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. “I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don’t you?"
She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.
"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know,” she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. “Though I have to say I haven’t really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays."
Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn’t look back.
She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.
'How do you feel?'
"I don’t know,” Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. “Ask me tomorrow.”
-
1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation
As she finishes rattling off the information she’s gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks– well, 'impressed’ is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.
In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. “You, girl, are a veritable sponge.”
Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. “I’ve also been looking into some… other things. Another way I can contribute, I think."
The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she’s quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.
Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.
His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?”
She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.
“I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it… it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight.”
Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. “As long as you aren’t making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I’ll remind you–”
“– are all of them. I know. Don’t worry. I’m only interested in things I can glean by myself.”
“Well, I’m not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I’m afraid I won’t be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction–”
“That’s fine,” Ezmerelda rushes to say. “I can continue like this. The research, the books - it’s…"
She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her.
It also feels… hers.
"It’s very engaging material,” she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.
“Indeed,” van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. “Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today."
Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda.”
The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.
“Thank you,” she murmurs long after he is gone.
—
It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon’s wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail.
She can’t say she’s missed the weather.
By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.
The shop is in fine shape - if she didn’t know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.
In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.
A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten’s usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.
“Keys,” he’d looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, “are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me.”
The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.
Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn’t seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.
She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she’s never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn’t in a while.
She sits down to write.
First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten’s remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.
It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.
While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter’s arsenal, honing one’s body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.
However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts
She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can’t quite read him.
Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one’s pity.
The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.
Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.
She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.
What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can’t all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can’t, and won’t, allow this to happen.
Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.
A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk.
What better life is there to lead? None, for her.
I, for one, don’t intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.
She lights another candle, and continues.
-
1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work
She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father’s shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this…
It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten’s apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.
“I think… I think it’s time for me to go.”
“Go? Where?” He blinks, looking up from his papers.
Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. “I don’t know,” she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. “But I know we can’t go on like this. I don’t want to go on like this.”
They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can’t remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.
She refuses to allow this to happen.
Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.
“I don’t want to come to resent you, that is all. I don’t think I could bear it if I did.”
“If you think it for the best, by all means,” van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can’t quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.
It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse’s hooves as she leads him forward.
Van Richten doesn’t come out to see her off.
“I’ll miss you,” she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse’s steady trot on the trail for company.
It is quiet.
—
Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair.
'No, leave it be,’ van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.
Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.
Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family’s machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.
She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case.
Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.
The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.
Ingrid van Richten
Erasmus van Richten
'Well, here we are.’ For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.
'A few words, if I may,’ van Richten’s request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.
'I am so proud of you,’ he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn’t tell you this sooner.
You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn’t there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you… I couldn’t be happier, or more in awe.'
There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.
'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.'
Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely.
'Look at you. You don’t need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.'
“So am I,” she manages a whisper. “Love you too, old man."
'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.'
Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.
She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn’t need to do anything - that she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace.
Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon.” Tell Erasmus I’ll miss him, she wishes she could say.
She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives.
A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.
It is quiet.
—
With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.
As Era 3 rolls on, two pairs of Pearls find themselves finding their way on Earth. They also find themselves with a bit of unusual homework assigned during the first lecture of Little Homeworld’s Pearl School, Which Is For Pearls. Includes such themes as picking names, breaking rules, dealing with inevitable Homeworld baggage, fun beach times, and generally, as I’ve seen in a beautiful, beautiful AO3 tag by @pearldefiance, “Pearls embracing their own interests & identities (and each other)”. ~3000 words.
The fic features Pearl OCs Wine and Blush created by @huecy and Sandy and Lavender by @outerspace-iiinnerspace. Huecy was my art partner for the zine and drew a lovely illustration for the fic which can be found here. Enjoy!
There is no scrambling for purchase, or a trace of fumbling as the stack of holopads is thrust at her. No, she’s a well-made pearl, and well-practiced in this. The pads are surprisingly cool to the touch, smooth, perfect, and new, and they stay perfectly balanced, screen-up, in her hold.
“Deliver to Iolite Facet 2 Cut 4B2.”
Ah, no new corner of Homeworld to be discovered this time - just the well-trod path up to the laboratories. She knows these hallways and these walls. Waves a small, quick greeting to one, in passing - a frequent conversation partner with a fascinatingly textured relief decorating her front.
It is her twenty third errand that cycle. The Iolite will probably have her wait until she drafts a reply and send her right back, but maybe, just maybe, she’ll be sent off to collect sample lists from one of the new research stations. She’s yet to see them.
She’d like that, she thinks.
-
Sandy it says on her name tag, in blue ink over grooves where she first pressed in with a sharp pencil. Smudged some, from where she ran her fingers over it just a bit too soon in her eagerness, as always, to touch.
When she leaves her little bowl alone and lets the liquid settle, an odd sediment gathers, and when she swirls it around, this way, then that–
Fascinating. Soothing, maybe. And the miniature spheres it’s made from - grapes. The humans showed her, laughed when she took one of the little things between her fingers and popped it, making a mess.
One thing turning into another. Strange processes that her Lavender had known the explanation and the chemical formulae for somehow, and had offered it all gladly, because Sandy knew better than to ask.
Her other hand she runs through the little wisps of pale hair on Lavender’s neck, soothing and soft. One of her favourite sensations - the other, not having to hide. Not having to steal moments and wait and wonder, endlessly: will I ever see you again?
She lets go of the little wine bowl, setting it down next to the water cup and the mug of coffee and the odd conical container she’s forgotten the name of, bearing marks of melted ‘ice cream’ (not a very good container, honestly). Instead, she idly plays with the bits of gravel on the path she’s sitting on, and observes the gathering crowd.
So many Pearls here - most of them eager, all of them excited, aflutter in ways ranging from what only a fellow Pearl could recognise (tiny flickers of movement, fingers tangling in a dance) to loud, open displays. Most of them nervous, too.
And all of them very, very early.
Her grasp of Earth time is still somewhat tenuous, but she knows enough to tell that there’s quite a while to go until the scheduled start of class. The sun needs to be far lower in the sky, for one.
But the warp pad nearby activates all of a sudden, and, ah– their instructor for the day, the infamous Renegade Pearl, is early as well. Of course she’d know to be– she’s just as much a Pearl as all of them. Sandy smiles at the odd thought, and moves to get up and gather her things.
She has time enough to get her little containers into her satchel and is picking up the wine bowl, left for last, when her vision is promptly filled with dark purple. Not even a “Look out–!” makes it out fully before one of the other Pearls crashes into her, and they both tumble to the ground.
-
A large hand comes down around her, adjusts her limbs into position, smooths her hair, arranges the billowy ends of her appearance modifiers.
“I have made you in my image with the greatest care. After all, it wouldn’t do for a master to be accompanied by anything less than a perfect representation of her craft, and I will not be overshadowed.”
Pearl says nothing. Stands, perfectly poised, unmoving. There is another pearl there, but she doesn’t turn to look at her. The colours on her don’t match the Gem before them both. So she is not relevant, at the moment.
“I have given you my voice. My perfect spokesgem. An extension of me. How… useful, indeed.”
She remains quiet, and does not put this statement to the test.
“Good. You will know when I want you to speak.”
-
Spilled traces of a strange-smelling liquid, blending with her own dark red colouring, are the first things she makes sense of after her rather ungracious tumble. The second is another Pearl trying to drag them both back to their feet, all aflutter with apology.
“Oh no! I am so sorry, how clumsy of me! Here, let me just–”
She wants to shout that it’s fine, get away – as the other Pearl dabs at her front with a handkerchief produced not from her gem but from the little bag at her side. Instead she blurts out a very undignified “What is this?” in a voice that has never been meant for anything but perfect dignity.
This makes the other Pearl - Sandy, her tag proclaims her - stop, almost frozen, until she launches into a ramble. “The humans call it wine! They make it themselves. It’s a fascinating process, really, and the stages and byproducts are wildlydiverse–”
She tunes out the rest fairly quickly when her gaze drops down to the blank nametag on her own front.
Unlike her, dear Blush got a nickname fairly quickly upon coming to Earth - a sweet disposition coupled with appealing colouration seems to have made it easy, somehow. But she herself has no idea how to approach this, not after centuries of self-effacement and obliteration of any sign of anything outside of what She wanted, what She needed. Her voice coming out of Pearl’s throat because that is how She made her…
Pearl shudders, and very deliberately pushes the thoughts aside.
Her nametag is glaringly empty, deep purple-red stains aside, a strange bother even with all the assurances that there’s no rush whatsoever, that it’s fine to wait and put something meaningful there, that there is no pressure and, oh, should she want to change whatever she picked, that is of course perfectly normal and fine–
She glances down at her arm, the now barely discernible stain the colour of the gem at the small of her back, then at all the Pearls milling about - not a blank nametag to be seen.
Colour-based names are a very popular choice–
Earth phenomena you will become familiar with during your stay–
It doesn’t have to mean anything, whatever strikes your fancy–
She grabs the pen she was given together with the tag and scrawls– well, being a fine Pearl, even her scrawl is elegant cursive:
Wine
A small bubble of some giddy feeling rises in her, and the thought: I need to show Blush. She pushes forward with all the others, the entire group suddenly moving towards the classroom, noticing their teacher has arrived. And as if on cue, Blush is at her side. Quiet but warm. A familiar, comforting presence as they navigate yet another new Earth experience together, and move to find a seat in the auditorium.
The crowd is nothing if not spontaneously organised, Pearls lining up in a very orderly fashion. Wine, with Blush in tow, ends up next to the two from outside - Sandy, still bearing some traces of spilled wine on her skirt, and - Wine squints - Lavender. But before she can say a word and bring up the oddly significant incident from moments before, Blush takes her hand, and turns her attention to the improvised podium, where a very recognisable Pearl stands ready to speak.
“Welcome, everyone, to this year’s Pearl Orientation class!” The Renegade is not terrifying at all, except perhaps in subtle, mere suggestions of things. The look of her entire, unique and somehow untouchable, bearing a strange sort of promise. It’s not the first time they’ve all seen her - she was there, handing out the nametags and offering helpful and not-so-helpful advice, and a chaotic selection of earthly writing implements.
She waves her hands around happily as she talks, then clasps them in front of herself. “Now, I do not intend for this to be an ex-cathedra type of class. Past experience has led to some, in my opinion, excellent methodology… very collaborative and horizontal! So while I am more than happy to provide advice and pointers and guidance, I in no way wish to present any kind of strict authority. How ever…”
The pause is brief but the excitement oddly real, and Wine feels herself want to lean forward in anticipation.
“I do have homework for you to start us off! That is, a small task for you to try to complete - not for anyone’s benefit but your own. Your task is to go forth…” the Renegade’s voice lowers dramatically, “…and deliberately break a rule! Tomorrow evening I would like to hear each of you give a report on your experiences doing this: consider your motivations and reasoning, and why you picked whatever you end up picking.”
A lavender hand shoots up next to Wine’s head with almost frightening speed. “Excuse me!”
“Yes, uh,” the Renegade’s eyes flick down to the nametag quickly, “Lavender?”
“I am completing the task. By refusing to do the home work.” Lavender states very matter-of-factly, unblinking gaze fixed on their instructor.
“I… that is– well, quite creative, to be sure! Of course something like this crops up every so often - Pearls and the creative misinterpretation of orders, name a more iconic duo, ahaha!” She pauses at the blank stares. “It’s, oh, just something Steven showed me. Never you mind. I think Lavender here has quite a grasp of things already, and I am excited to hear her contributions to the discussion tomorrow. Now, off you all go! Feel free to consult with myself or my assistant Volleyball here,” a pale pink Pearl turns to wave at them all from the front row, “if you have any concerns or questions at all.”
They file out - and Wine is certain it isn’t just her imagination - a little less orderly than before.
-
Layer by layer, carefully applied. Perfectly aligned for perfect refraction, the exact hue and saturation at the exact angle. Not one light mote out of place.
One final touch, that in some other, kinder universe might even be termed loving. An indelible mark of her creator, a signature. Proof of artistry. Guarantee of quality. A proclamation of superb craftsmanship for all to see and admire.
And envy.
-
It’s when they’ve, still hand in hand, split away from the other Pearls, some way away from the classroom down the path towards the nearby cliffside, that Blush makes her move.
“I need your help. With the homework.”
“Oh?” Wine slows down, looking mildly curious.
“I need you to dissipate my form,” Blush states matter-of-factly.
“I…What?” The shock is perhaps a bit more severe than she’s anticipated.
“I want… I want the mark… gone.” Blush’s voice is as soft as always, but with an underlining of something new and rather… steely. Determined. Like…
Come away with me–
Like the last time she took a… calculated risk with Wine ( what a darling name, her mind supplies, I was starting to worry she’d never– for herself– ).
“I won’t be long,” Blush insists, “you know I won’t. Nobody will even realise–”
“I will.”
It stops her cold, the passionate feeling in Wine’s voice, still straining to stay somewhat quiet, and the immense fear and concern in her eyes.
Wine reaches over to take her hand back in hers - the hand Blush hasn’t even realised she’s pressed to her neck. Hiding that precise, elegant little engraving, the burning reminder of her origin as a pretty little thing to be exhibited and gazed upon.
Despite the beautiful relief of the fact she doesn’t have to anymore, Wine looks around them quickly, before pressing a gentle kiss where the hand had been.
“If… if it bothers you so much…” She’s never heard Wine so hesitant before, so small. “A– a scarf, maybe? No one will be able to see it! No one will know it’s there–”
“I will,” Blush echoes quietly. Deliberately. Her words hit some mark, but she doesn’t get to know what it is.
“Oh! Excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” It’s Sandy, walking up to them, quite unrepentant. “I just wanted to let you know I had an idea for our assignment - a place Lavender and I found… running around the area. You’re welcome to come with me if you want! I’m sure she’ll be coming as well, even though she’s done with the homework.”
It sounds like pride, and it gives Blush a bit of pause.
“I’d love to go,” Blush acquiesces, very politely and sweetly. “Wouldn’t you, Wine?”
-
It’s been three cycles since she’s last moved. A long lull in the endless sequence of Gems passing by the little desk pearl is stationed behind, still, unblinking, ready with whatever factoid they require for continued functioning and/or fulfilment of their duties.
If someone was to ask her, if someone needed the information for some strange, unfathomable reason - she would say she far prefers the uneventful to the busy days. Just her, the flow of information at her fingertips, the incredible things she knows and that no one ever thinks to ask, and the quiet.
-
Lavender found the place, and many others, after taking off near-immediately upon exiting the ship and taking her first steps on Earth - she has no desire to be particularly still anymore. No more sitting around, waiting for another one of the endless, inane questions, and waiting her entire existence away.
It’s a beach, not unlike the one near the Crystal Gems’ Temple, and not far from it either. This one, however, is surrounded by a tall wire fence, plastered with a variety of fairly threatening-looking signs.
She knows the sign above says “No Trespassing - Private Property” and the one right below “No Loitering” in the human script she absorbed with the lightning speed she absorbs any other tidbit of information with. She shared as much with Sandy immediately upon taking her to see it, just like she shares it with the two somewhat more lost-seeming Pearls now - and why not, especially after Sandy’s quite literal run-in with one of them earlier? All in all it seems ideal for this ‘home work’ business, in addition to being quite a lovely place.
Lavender doesn’t know how many grains of sand there are on this beach, but she knows Sandy would gladly bury her hands and run her fingers through all of them, and she knows it’d be a delight to watch.
She doesn’t know a lot of things, now. She’s the one asking, sometimes. But it’s never really been about knowing. And Sandy, oh, Sandy always listens and never asks anything except, perhaps, a gentle is this alright?
It makes her feel like boasting, just a bit. And they’ve all been so awkwardly quiet on the way here, with barely a word as the four of them climbed to sit atop the highly forbidden fence.
“Sandy here–” she places a pale lavender hand on her shoulder, as Wine and Blush look over, “holds a record of both number of steps travelled and distance as the Lapis Lazuli flies covered during her deliveries.”
“That sounds like an exaggeration, but if you say it, then I’m sure it’s a fact! That’s right, I’ve been all over Homeworld!” Sandy exclaims, rolling the Ls around her mouth. “Doing all my, hm, little errands. But I’ve never seen either of you around, you know– before.”
Ah, the before. Lavender can see, in all her little tells like the quirk of her lips and the tilt of her chin, that Sandy regrets bringing it up almost immediately.
Wine clears her throat somewhat uncomfortably. “The Gem we… who made us… she wasn’t much of an entertainer.”
“That’s a shame.” There’s a soft, almost pitying look on Sandy’s face. But there’s a knowing note to it, too. “But at least… at least you had each other. And that’s rather the key, isn’t it?”
“It was for me,” Lavender agrees softly, and holds Sandy just a bit closer. There is a moment of quiet calm, as they listen to the waves lap at the shore.
“If you all don’t mind,” Sandy pipes up, giving Lavender’s hand a quick squeeze before hopping down, “I’m going to gift whichever human is in charge of monitoring this very off-limits area a sand castle. To highlight the rule-breaking and all, you understand.”
Lavender nods sagely. “Of course. You go on ahead, I’ll be right there.”
She lingers a little ways down the beach, however, as she catches the snippets of a heartfelt conversation on the breeze.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier… I like your name.” Blush whispers.
“I like you,” Wine insists back. “And I just think…” She hesitates, putting the words together carefully and deliberately, like Sandy aligning meticulously chosen pebbles on the path around her little sand moat, just up ahead.
“You were made with great care, and your creation was a point of pride– maybe it doesn’t have to matter who it was by, or why. Not anymore. And I just think maybe you should be the one who gets to enjoy it, now. Am I making any sense?”
“Maybe,” Blush echoes quietly.
“We may have all the time in the world, but I don’t want to miss a moment with you. But more importantly, I… I don’t think you should have to miss a moment of it, either.”
Lavender can’t help a smile as she turns to leave the two to their discussion. There is a deep current of feeling and meaning and figuring so much out running there, and it’s not her place - or anybody’s - to interfere. And besides, what for? They’re all of them doing an excellent job of breaking every rule imposed on Pearls from the moment of that first nacreous layer taking form.
The Earth sun is orange-red on the ocean, hanging low and dipping ever lower, as they perch on the fence, right above the signs.
Hello, hello! I am indeed still around, and sometimes even do non-work-related stuff. About, oh, 2 years ago, this got sent in as a prompt, so have a little 4 times + 1 thing, for the occasion of me processing my recent DS9 comfort-rewatch (by which I of course mean “mostly spending a lot of time gazing adoringly at Kira Nerys and crying”). As far as I recall, I’ve never actually posted anything from my giant decade plus WIP pile of Trek stuff, so this is a first - I hope it doesn’t disappoint.
The prompt was “five different sunlights”. So here are five snapshots of Kira Nerys from joining the resistance to DS9 and beyond, ~4400 words. Veers into Kira/Jadzia because I’m hilariously predictable. Also includes brief appearances by (in order): Lupaza, Furel, Shakaar, Damar, Garak, Kaksidy, and Jake. Mentions of several others.
Contains discussion of the occupation of Bajor and canon character deaths, but nothing explicit I can think of to warn about.
—
After The Dawn
1. 2356
The raid was long over but her fingers still shook – cold, always because of the cold, never from fear. Every so often they would twitch more decisively, as if recalling the sensation of the phaser rifle she was just barely big enough to hold jerking to life in her grip. But then they’d travel to her right ear of their own accord, tracing the lines of her new earring. A proper d’ja pagh all of her own, with the symbol of the Kira family emblazoned in the metal – echoing the beautiful engraving she’d always admired on her father’s.
Lupaza had worked through the night to make it for her, by the feeble light of one of their few still-working heaters, with skill that seemed otherworldly to Kira (who, though by far the youngest among them, knew better than to ask about anyone’s life before joining a resistance cell). Lupaza, who had looked at the scrawny thirteen-year-old hanging around their camp, and who’d chosen to believe in her, and speak up for her. Who’d presented her handiwork to ‘their newest member’ at sunrise, during the change of guard at the mouth of their current cavern hideout, letting the winter light glimmer on its silvery surface for all to see. And Kira had beamed at her, not caring about who’d been around to witness it or how young it may have made her look.
I’m in the Resistance, she wanted to shout over and over again until the reality truly set in, flooded and near-overwhelmed by the newfound sense of belonging and pride and brightly burning defiance mixing in her chest.
Again and again her fingers went – over the cuff hugging the shell of her ear snugly, down the single deceptively delicate chain, to the simple but beautiful main piece. She could almost believe it was still warm to the touch, heated by the orange-glow burn of Bajor’s atmosphere on Cardassian hull metal – made from stolen Bajoran ore, mined with stolen Bajoran labour. It was only right and just that it be returned this way. The rest of the beritium hull salvage they’d stripped from the ship would be used for lining the walls of their hideout, shielding them from sensor sweeps and the bite of the winter cold alike. But this small bit of it was a shield all Kira’s own.
It was a comforting presence, a slight but grounding weight with a depth of meaning that its size belied. Lupaza smiled at her fascination and distraction every time she happened to pass by, promising she’d get used to it. Furel agreed, for once without a trace of a joke in his voice, and slapped a hand on her bony shoulder with a gruff: “You’ve more than earned it, kid.”
Shakaar himself, in between whatever it was his leaderly duties entailed, took a moment to consider her. “It suits you,” was all he said on the matter, though if he meant the earring or the phaser Kira had for the first time stuck in her own belt instead of giving it back after cleaning was anyone’s guess. Then, turning to leave, he added, “Good job out there.”
There was something like sadness behind all of their eyes. Kira chose not to see it, or dwell on it.
She was in the Resistance.
She didn’t even know if any of her (many) shots during the ambush had found their mark, but it didn’t seem to matter. She could, she would help protect her father and his little garden, scrounged up, cobbled together, but growing. Protect her remaining brother, for the one she had failed to. She would honour her mother, the bravest woman I’ve ever known, Nerys. She saved us all, at great cost to herself.
Whenever her fingers floated back down and twitched for want of a rifle trigger again, she told herself to be patient. There would be more work for her, more chances to be useful, more chances to prove herself. No more sitting idly by, and no more fear.
-
2. 2369
Even after weeks on the station Kira had yet to manage to sleep through an entire night, but she sincerely doubted it was the bed’s fault. Sure, the Cardassian-designed beds in the Cardassian-designed quarters on the Cardassian-designed station left much to be desired, but they certainly beat the ground of a half-frozen cave. And yet here she was, with endless damn bunking arrangements as one of the most frequently brought-up complaints among the crew body. Why and how those PADDs always seemed to end up on her desk was anyone’s guess. She’d been prepared for a more administrative role, yes, but…
“The time is oh-six-hundred hours,” the computer helpfully informed her.
Kira huffed, and tossed aside another PADD with a blinking Request denied, then shrugged on her uniform jacket and made to leave her quarters for a quick breakfast.
It was still an odd thought that took getting used to: her quarters – hers alone; a viewport in the bulkhead, allowing her to see the stars and, when the rotation was right, Bajor’s own familiar sun from a very new perspective. Regular meals thanks to Federation engineers patching up Cardassian replicators and whipping them into shape. Shops and eateries opening on the Promenade. The ruinous mess the Cardassians left behind them slowly coming together again into something functional. Kira permitted herself a wry twist of the mouth at the thought – hopefully the planet the station had formerly orbited could manage to do the same.
The discovery of the wormhole brought fascinating, colourful crowds to the station so quickly and in such volumes, she didn’t envy Odo at all. Even the small segment of the Promenade she saw on her way from her quarters to the replimat was enough to reinforce, every morning, that this was no longer Terok Nor: grey in every way imaginable, filled with throngs of terrified, beaten-down Bajoran workers and their Cardassian overseers, delighting in the former’s disposability.
The small but lively, chattering crowd in the replimat seemed to underscore all of her thoughts – no more waiting in line for gruel with the exhausted shift that had just left ore processing.
“Good morning!”
Instead, a friendly Federation face. The pattern of spots that ran down the sides of Lieutenant Dax’s face and down her neck was fascinating to Kira still – not Bajoran, and certainly not the grey, flared bony Cardassian necks that had made up most of Kira’s world up until not so very long ago. She had to stop herself from staring often, even though, judging by that smirk, the Lieutenant did not seem to mind. She appeared to relish attention in general, of all kinds. Kira ducked her head, and tried to focus on the replicator instead.
“Something wrong? Quark interfering with the menus again?” Dax was right behind her, peeking over her shoulder, eyebrow raised, and smiling. Somehow she always seemed to be doing that.
“Oh, no, nothing like that, thankfully. Still not quite used to this, is all.” She shuffled her feet and made no real move to complete an order.
“Hm. Well, if I may, Major, I’d recommend the raktajino for early morning starts like this.”
“Raktajino?” Kira repeated oafishly, biting back the Early!?her mind had immediately supplied.
“Klingon coffee. Try it – I think you’ll like it.”
Kira was sceptical, but Dax seemed to be very sincere – so after a few button presses she found herself holding a large mug of something hot, dark, and quite thick. She wrinkled her nose and took a sip.
“It’s, uh… strong.”
“Hits the spot, right?”
The crooked, almost sly smile on the Lieutenant’s face was contagious. Kira didn’t even feel like bringing up growing up under an occupation-enforced famine as an excuse for her own lack of a developed or sophisticated palate or culinary taste in general.
The drink did have a real kick to it, and Kira took another sip. “Yeah, it does.”
“Just don’t go overboard with them – let me tell you, I made some grave mistakes there right after I became a host. Curzon,” Dax smirked, shaking her head, then waved at the table they’d found themselves next to. “Mind if I join you?”
Kira thought about it, but only for a moment.
“Not at all, Lieutenant.”
And ah, there it was then, as soon as they sat down: the small, incessant, bitter sting of you knew what they were doing to us and you sat by and did nothing that insisted on making itself known at very inopportune times. It was, however, becoming more bearable by the day and with every individual met, every new reassurance that they were here now, despite everything, to make a good start. Together.
When the Cardassians came they were helpful and charming too, nagged the little voice at the back of her mind. But this couldn’t be like that, and just looking at Dax was enough to… well, perhaps Kira was being a naive fool, but there seemed to be ground to build here, and she found herself willing to try. And after all, she knew she herself was ready to do anything, to lay her life down for Bajor. She just needed to be pointed the right way – or, rather, she needed to be able to point herself the right way. Now that knowing who the enemy was and who the enemy could turn out to be had gotten more complicated. Still, if nothing else: she wouldn’t let it be a repeat of anything, and she was prepared to be a thorn in anyone’s side, Federation or provisional government or otherwise, for as long as was necessary.
“You seem to be mulling over something grim already. Everything alright?”
The concern was genuine enough, but Kira had no idea how to even begin to explain all of it, even if she’d wanted to.
“Just thinking about some complaints about quarters I need to handle,” she lied smoothly – or what she hoped was smooth, anyway.
Dax caught on, and backed off. Lifetimes of experience to thank – or perhaps Kira was just that easy to read. A transcript of Trakor’s annotated ninth prophecy just waiting on a lectern, as Lupaza would say.
“Sure. Let me know if I can help.”
“With station admin? Aren’t you a science officer?”
“Absolutely. But it’s in all our best interests to get this place running as smoothly as possible as fast as possible, right?”
Kira narrowed her eyes at her, entirely unconvinced. “Right.”
“Fine,” Dax threw her hands up in the air in a very silly, exaggerated gesture, “I admit it, I’m after juicy gossip. There’s bound to be quarter reassignment requests in there! What could be juicier?”
Kira couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, then. “You are ridiculous.”
Dax grinned right back. “Glad to be of help. Let’s get to Ops, you can tell me all about it on the way.”
When Kira got to her feet, both she herself and the entire day – if it could truly be called that on a space station – felt somehow lighter already.
-
3. 2372
It was swelteringly hot under the sun of some new, as of yet unnamed planet, in the midst of a survey mission that had already gone on longer than scheduled. Hardly Kira’s idea of a good – or productive – time.
The place was an unpleasant dustbowl broken up by stray glass-encrusted rock here and there, and Kira was surrounded by a bunch of bustling, tricorder-armed Starfleet explorer types she would have sneered at, not so long ago – but many of whom she’d now consider fast friends. She’d hardly consider herself an ideal choice for helming this particular mission, but Sisko had been insistent, and so here she was. It would appear that, if nothing else, it gave her time to indulge in reverie – a truly rare occurrence.
The unfamiliar stars of the Gamma Quadrant, unimaginably far from everything she’d ever known, could now be reached within seconds, thanks to the wormhole – more proof of how the Prophets kept looking out for Bajor in sometimes quite unexpected ways. And Kira, as Bajor’s official representative on the mission, was determined to do her best to facilitate and build upon their efforts.
“Take a look at this, Major!” It was Dax calling her over, her tricorder beeping over some bizarre green-magenta form of plant life she found beneath a rocky outcrop a little off the not-so-alien dirt path Kira was stomping down.
“What’ve you got for me, Lieutenant?”
“Some kind of elaborate root system stretches on for more than a kilometer underground, running beneath the very acidic soil, with an impressive – and perfectly symmetrical – array of large tubers.”
Kira shot the sensor readings a look. “Huh, could’ve fed a whole resistance cell for an entire winter on nothing but a few of those.”
She frowned as soon as the words left her mouth – Jadzia Dax, decorated Starfleet science officer and dedicated, studious initiate who’d earned the approval of the strict Trill Symbiosis Commission, certainly hadn’t had such prosaic, practical implications of her findings in mind. For a very, very brief moment, Kira felt a sting of embarrassment – but then her mind snapped decisively back into its standard guarded, resolute position: she had nothing to be embarrassed about.
Dax, as had somehow become a somewhat frustrating habit of hers, seemed to be able to encompass Kira’s entire internal dialogue with a glance. But somehow she did it… gently, without making Kira feel small or inadequate in any way. No smug Starfleet superiority here, even with all the accumulated bragging rights of all the lifetimes under her belt. And – perhaps most importantly – no trace of pity to be found. Instead, a wellspring of enthusiasm.
“Their composition is interesting, I agree. Starchy, and rich in several key proteins – this has potential for significant contributions to agriculture. I bet Keiko will love to get her hands on this – see what she can set up in one of the hydroponics bays.”
Her smile was as bright as the orange-tinted light of the unfamiliar sun, but Kira took up the challenge of matching it.
Jadzia leaned in, almost conspiratorially, “Help me catalogue it?”
“I, uh, don’t really know what the procedure–”
“No worries, I’ll walk you right through it. It’s fun!” Kira’s scepticism must have been written all over her face. “I swear it is! I’m not just saying that, you’ll see.”
“Not to mention,” Jadzia winked, “it’ll get us under some nice shade and right next to a cooling unit.”
“You are incorrigible.”
“And you love it.”
Kira couldn’t disagree.
-
4. 2375
The weak, grey light of Cardassia Prime’s sun filtered through the slits in the cellar windows – if they could even be called that.
Another very literally bleak dawn. No contact with the Federation. No hope of reinforcements, or extraction, or help of any kind. Negligible chances of news from Deep Space 9, of the fleet, of Odo’s health, of anything at all. And here, far behind enemy lines, Kira and her unlikely comrades presumed dead, their network of allies and carefully-hidden carefully-built-up resources destroyed, all three (three) survivors hidden away in the capital of a people she’d once have termed her worst enemies, relying on the goodwill of an old woman.
Kira, a veteran of hopeless causes, had been in worse spots – but not many.
Whatever Damar’s less… pleasant compatriots had thought, she found no joy in any of it. Not even a flutter of satisfaction at all the irony the situation was positively dripping with. It was enough that it meant that twice now she’d been witness to oppression and destruction on an immense scale – civilisation-ending, one might term it. It was wearing, and wearying, no matter who it happened to.
Would she have cheered for the destruction of Cardassia as little as a handful of years ago? Perhaps, if it would have meant Bajor being left alone. The moral quandary aspect certainly wasn’t something she wanted to be thinking about at the moment.
While the others seemed to still be asleep, Kira lay on her back on one of the thin blankets Mila had provided them, and thumbed almost idly through a list of signals intercepted nearby, identifying potential sabotage targets. There were still things three people with extremely limited resources could do to make themselves useful - or disruptive, depending on your perspective.
Two Jem’Hadar barracks complexes (a hatchery would be better, and far less dangerous). A comms central (they might not have the proper tools available to make it truly worth the risk). Long-term storage warehouses (they needed to maximise short-term effects on the Dominion occupiers, not minimise the chances of Cardassia’s eventual recovery). Weapons manufacturing plants (tempting security gaps during shift changes, but still far too well-guarded for the three of them to take on alone). A power distribution junction (…remote, potentially high-impact, and definitely worth looking into). Kira made a note to ask Garak for any further details he could muster about it.
She should have, perhaps, been saving her strength, getting what rest she could while she could. Restless, that was what she was, even with all her experience and her awareness that so, so much of a resistance fight was simply spent waiting, biding time. With another brief glance around the murky room, she gave up even the pretense of repose, and got up to stretch her legs and pace out her nerves.
Garak was asleep in his corner, or at least pretending to be. Whatever suited his purposes best.
“Commander,” came a low murmur from the other side of the room: Damar, sitting up on his own improvised bed, very much awake. The Starfleet rank still sounded strange to her, but Kira could appreciate the way Damar made sure to respect it from the start, and never allowed himself a slip. “There’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you about. If you have a moment.”
“Somehow I have both far too much and far too little time these days. What is it?” She asked quietly, stepping closer, though the chances of Garak actually sleeping through whatever their conversation was going to be were negligibly low – as were the chances of him ‘waking up’ before they were done.
“I know it might not make much difference. And I do not ask for your forgiveness, or understanding. But I wanted – no, needed to tell you this. I’m sorry – for what I did to Ziyal.”
Her mood miraculously sank even lower. “For murdering her, you mean,” Kira didn’t even try to hold back the bite, nor had she ever been one for softening any blows.
Damar’s lips twisted. “You are right to call it what it was. Hiding from the truth won’t accomplish anything anymore. I killed her, and I deeply regret it.”
Kira said nothing, and Damar continued. “I’m not asking you for anything, believe me. But I hope… she can become a herald, of sorts. Her presence can live on in our alliance, a spirit of cooperation, and a new dawn for both our peoples.”
It was hardly the first time Damar made her think there could be a future for Cardassia after everything, one of reinvention and coexistence. Even Kira, with her underdeveloped imagination (Jadzia’s efforts notwithstanding – ah, there was the stab of that hastily half-handled grief), could let herself imagine it.
Kira nodded, and pursed her mouth. Forgiveness wasn’t something she felt was hers to give, even if she wanted to. Maybe it wasn’t anyone’s.
“Nice speech, Damar,” she said, flatly. Ground out, almost. “It’ll be good for you, to’ve had the practice.” Then, after a moment of consideration of what she was prepared to give: “I hope I’ll get to hear you make more of those someday soon. And I hope Cardassia will get to hear them, too.”
It only took another tragically small circle paced before the weight in the room became unbearable. Kira decided to make for their somewhat improvised refresher and what little privacy could be scrounged up – and caught Garak watching her, lying motionless but as alert as ever.
She silently met his eyes, then turned away.
-
5. 2376
The first day of her long-awaited leave dawned beautiful and clear. It seemed a small thing, to be sure – but perhaps the Prophets, prompted by their Emissary, had had a hand in making it so. No matter the reason, the sun shone on a Bajor that was growing prosperous and whole in ways Kira had feared it wouldn’t ever be again.
The document that had just brought peace to two quadrants of the galaxy was called the Treaty of Bajor. There was talk, increasingly common and growing louder, of reactivating Bajor’s suspended Federation membership application, and Kira had been made aware of the validity of her Starfleet field commission and the implications on her future career. The Vedek Assembly would be announcing their choice of the new Kai within the week. The soil beneath her feet was healthy, fertile, fully reclamated and ready for planting. There were now schoolchildren on Bajor who had never lived under the occupation.
And there was Kira, who had helped liberate it, and hadn’t lived on it since.
This was the first time she’d returned to her home planet after the formal end of hostilities with the Dominion, and all that that had entailed. The light of B’hava’el was strong but not harsh – the same sun Kira had spent most of her life under, but that had never hit her more differently than it felt now. B’hava’el, that she had now seen from so much closer and so much further away – had, in a horrifying, memorable incident, helped prevent the destruction of, even. Her! Not just scrappy little Nerys from the Shakaar resistance cell anymore, small enough to slip through narrow passages in the labyrinthine caves of the Dahkur province and gaps in the Cardassian sensor nets alike.
She was Colonel Kira Nerys, commander of Deep Space 9, and, as a dear lost friend had made sure she was aware a while ago, a public figure in her own right. Ah– her own importance was something she would need to confront some other time, perhaps, right after she somehow went head to head with her grief. Ezri had been dropping some suggestions, in her capacity as a counselor, for all of the senior staff and beyond. It would be foolish not to consider her recommendations, both as the commanding officer and as a friend.
Kira was well aware she had lost so much and so many. And she could sit down and catalogue the losses on a PADD, like freighter cargo inventory, but what for? She had gained, too, and lost again, and gained yet more. Like waves and eddies, pulling along a lightship on its way through the stars.
“Prophets help me if I try being a poet, too,” Kira mumbled to herself. Maybe she would take up writing tortured metaphors about the Prophets watching over and guiding ancient Bajoran star sailors on their journey all the way to Cardassia, for better or worse.
A stray breeze toyed with the chain of her earring, carrying the scent of ripening moba fruit, and as she crested the hill, the outline of a house well under construction came into view.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Kasidy asked from just behind her, Jake right at her side, holding her arm.
“Just thinking aloud. Nothing important. Anyway… where did you want to start?”
Her two companions caught up to her quickly enough. The gasps of surprised joy at the sight of all the progress that had been made on the house were by themselves more than worth the trip planetside.
“Well,” Kasidy began, “we have all the plumbing specifications and details all worked out thanks to the local architect you recommended – thanks again, by the way. I think… the kitchen should be first.”
It was an obvious tribute. A longing and anticipation there, too. Kira’s heart ached just a bit stronger then, for a beat or two. She nodded, scrolling down a PADD loaded with floor plans and interior concepts. “I know some people who can help with that, too. Ceramics and pottery artisans, and a few others. I’ve got some favours to call in.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Kasidy started, but didn’t get too far.
“Yes I do, Kas. We’re going to see this through, and we’re going to see it done properly.”
“Only the best for the Emissary?” Jake asked, pointedly. There wasn’t bitterness there, though Kira would have understood it, and perhaps expected it, from a young man longing for the return of his father.
“For a dear friend and his family,” Kira corrected. “But – yes, I’m sure they’ll be happy and honoured to contribute. Now, Julian and Ezri will be down with the next transport, just in time to meet us for dinner in the village. We have a few hours to handle things here, check on the progress so far, make notes – any complaints or requests you might have. Remember, I’m here to make sure they listen to you.”
They started down the path into the almost startlingly green valley, Kira catching herself marvelling along the way at the visibility of all the growth and healing made possible by the hard, dedicated work of so many. Who knew what could be in store for an old civilisation of artists, architects, and philosophers, forced to reinvent itself, and the sometimes tenuous connections to vast stretches of heritage that Kira herself had grasped at in various ways for most of her life, born into struggle and desperate, determined rebellion, like so many others.
Well. Nothing to stop her from trying her hand at poetry, after all.
She felt her lips twist wryly at the private joke – she knew her place and her strengths. And she thought she could say she knew herself, too – precious knowledge, by any accounting. She knew there’d be no rest for her, not really, as long as there was something to be done for Bajor, and for her station, and for her unlikely family, wherever they might end up, scattered among and beyond the stars.
But Kira allowed herself a moment, gazing up in what she imagined might be the direction of the wormhole’s entrance.
Since the lovely project that is the @hundredsofpearls-zine is reaching completion and has opened preorders (get it before the end of July!), it’s time to preview the work I did for it.
My fic features two pairs of Pearl OCs finding their way on Earth: Wine and Blush created by @huecy and Sandy and Lavender by @outerspace-iiinnerspace. Here’s a little excerpt, featuring a Pearl picking a name, and Little Homeworld’s Pearl School, Which Is For Pearls.
-
“Oh no! I am so sorry, how clumsy of me! Here, let me just–”
She wants to shout that it’s fine, get away– as the other Pearl dabs at her front with a handkerchief produced not from her gem but from the little bag at her side. Instead she blurts out a very undignified “What is this?” in a voice that has never been meant for anything but perfect dignity.
This makes the other Pearl - Sandy, her tag proclaims her - stop, almost frozen, until she launches into a ramble. “The humans call it wine! They make it themselves. It’s a fascinating process, really, and the stages and byproducts are wildlydiverse–”
She tunes out the rest fairly quickly when her gaze drops down to the blank nametag on her own front.
Unlike her, dear Blush got a nickname fairly quickly upon coming to Earth - a sweet disposition coupled with appealing colouration seems to have made it easy, somehow. But she herself has no idea how to approach this, not after centuries of self-effacement and obliteration of any sign of anything outside of what She wanted, what She needed. Her voice coming out of Pearl’s throat because that is how She made her…
Pearl shudders, and very deliberately pushes the thoughts aside.
Her nametag is glaringly empty, deep purple-red stains aside, a strange bother even with all the assurances that there’s no rush whatsoever, that it’s fine to wait and put something meaningful there, that there is no pressure and, oh, should she want to change whatever she picked, that is of course perfectly normal and fine–
She glances down at her arm, the now barely discernible stain the colour of the gem at the small of her back, then at all the Pearls milling about - not a blank nametag to be seen.
Colour-based names are a very popular choice–
Earth phenomena you will become familiar with during your stay–
It doesn’t have to mean anything, whatever strikes your fancy–
She grabs the pen she was given together with the tag and scrawls– well, being a fine Pearl, even her scrawl is elegant cursive:
Wine
A small bubble of some giddy feeling rises in her, and the thought: I need to show Blush. She pushes forward with all the others, the entire group suddenly moving towards the classroom, noticing their teacher has arrived. And as if on cue, Blush is at her side. Quiet but warm. A familiar, comforting presence as they navigate yet another new Earth experience together, and move to find a seat in the auditorium.
The crowd is nothing if not spontaneously organised, Pearls lining up in a very orderly fashion. Wine, with Blush in tow, ends up next to the two from outside - Sandy, still bearing some traces of spilled wine on her skirt, and - Wine squints - Lavender. But before she can say a word and bring up the oddly significant incident from moments before, Blush takes her hand, and turns her attention to the improvised podium, where a very recognisable Pearl stands ready to speak.
“Welcome, everyone, to this year’s Pearl Orientation class!” The Renegade is not terrifying at all, except perhaps in subtle, mere suggestions of things. The look of her entire, unique and somehow untouchable, bearing a strange sort of promise. It’s not the first time they’ve all seen her - she was there, handing out the nametags and offering helpful and not-so-helpful advice, and a chaotic selection of earthly writing implements.
She waves her hands around happily as she talks, then clasps them in front of herself. “Now, I do not intend for this to be an ex-cathedra type of class. Past experience has led to some, in my opinion, excellent methodology… very collaborative and horizontal! So while I am more than happy to provide advice and pointers and guidance, I in no way wish to present any kind of strict authority. However…”
The pause is brief but the excitement oddly real, and Wine feels herself want to lean forward in anticipation.
“I do have homework for you to start us off! That is, a small task for you to try to complete - not for anyone’s benefit but your own. Your task is to go forth…” the Renegade’s voice lowers dramatically, “…and deliberately break a rule! Tomorrow evening I would like to hear each of you give a report on your experiences doing this: consider your motivations and reasoning, and why you picked whatever you end up picking.”
A lavender hand shoots up next to Wine’s head with almost frightening speed. “Excuse me!”
“Yes, uh,” the Renegade’s eyes flick down to the nametag quickly, “Lavender?”
“I am completing the task. By refusing to do the home work.” Lavender states very matter-of-factly, unblinking gaze fixed on their instructor.
“I… that is– well, quite creative, to be sure! Of course something like this crops up every so often - Pearls and the creative misinterpretation of orders, name a more iconic duo, ahaha!” She pauses at the blank stares. “It’s, oh, just something Steven showed me. Never you mind. I think Lavender here has quite a grasp of things already, and I am excited to hear her contributions to the discussion tomorrow. Now, off you all go! Feel free to consult with myself or my assistant Volleyball here,” a pale pink Pearl turns to wave at them all from the front row, “if you have any concerns or questions at all.”
They file out - and Wine is certain it isn’t just her imagination - a little less orderly than before.
In the aftermath of Eve’s death, Adam is left rudderless. He had only led one kind of life for the past 600 years. What was he supposed to do now? When he tries haunting one of his usual spots for an anchor, he finds Lilith.
(A sort of epilogue after “Only Lovers Left Alive,” but can also be read as, “Adam Finally Gets Therapy.”)
chapter 1: last words of a shooting star
They’ll never know how I stared in the dark in that room, with no thoughts, like a blood-sniffing shark. And while my dreams make music in the night, carefully—I was going to live.
—
Adam sat alone at a table nearest the door of the last place he’d been with Eve before it all went south. Before, being the operative word, as he maintained it had gone south the minute Eve’s little sister Ava had arrived in Detroit. Though, he had no one to argue with about that at the moment. Ian was long dead and Ava was most likely sucking some other poor starry-eyed bastard dry, on someone else’s vintage sofa. He almost chuckled to himself imagining some 20-something zombies losing their precious little minds over what to do with the body, probably having no secret acid pits to dump it and no foresight to have worn gloves. He bittersweetly took a swig from the flask he kept hidden in his jacket pocket. Regrettably, the good stuff was locked in a safe at home and the only other type he had was A-positive. A little challenging to his palette, admittedly, but not too terrible. It reminded him of a delicately aged pinot noir, with less fruity undertones and more of a floral, earthy flavor. Definitely not his favorite, but again, not terrible. He was slowly slumping over the table and further into his depression as another dismal amateur took the stage in the club’s open-mic night. Though, this bird was interesting. She shrugged a violin case off her shoulder and timidly took the stage behind the microphone. For some reason, more patrons accumulated and tried to fight each other to crowd the stage. A bouncer had to push the crowd back, giving the young woman on stage a bit of relief.
Louis wants a soulmate, Harry loves his free will. They don’t exactly go hand in hand.
Prompt: AU where you have a countdown on your wrist for when you’re going to meet your soulmate and if you miss it the time will reset. Louis/Harry keep having awful luck and always are missing their time until one day they don’t. Maybe the other one is scared/has anxiety about meeting their soulmate? Maybe one time they’re in a relationship so they intentionally miss their time? Who knows! But they finally meet :D
Summary:Daphne insists on Colin to tell her where the duel is held. It just leaves Colin in a dilemma. What do to about you (around Hyacinth’s age)? He can’t leave you unattended.
“Where are they!” – vented Daphne out, bursting into the parlor. You gasped when she entered so furious. Her cheeks puffed up, her face turning a shade of red. – “Who? Daphne, you have to be more precise.” – answered Colin who was playing the piano. His fingers brushing the keys as a soft melody filled the room. Daphne came standing by the piano, her face sour as if she was about to burst. – “I think you know very well of who I speak!” – replied she, looking over her shoulder to you. She granted you a smile before removing all traces of it towards her brother.
Colin swallowed nervously, continuing to play the piano as if nothing was out of the ordinary. – “You mean Mama?” – asked you, thinking it was her Daphne was looking for. – “Anthony!” – shouted Daphne out. So loud it made Colin touch the wrong notes, ending the sweet melody with a hard clash. The sound was so sudden and loud, it made you cover your ears. The book suddenly shut before you reached the ending. Colin got up, taking Daphne by her elbow. He pulled her closer to the window, away from you. Daphne moved her arm up so his grip on her would lose. – “Don’t tell me you have not a clue, because I know you do.”
Colin inhaled deep, looking nervously away. – “Tell me where they are, brother. You need to tell me.” – whispered Daphne to him. She tried her sweet approach, hoping to gain favor this way. Colin pressed his lips together, slightly shaking his head. – “It is a matter of life and death!” – Daphne raised her voice a bit, yet still out of reach to you. – “Daphne…” – started Colin. Daphne moved her hand up, annoyed by his presence. – “You know where they are! Tell me!” – begged Daphne. Colin sighed looking past his shoulder over to you. You were staring with wide curious eyes at your siblings, trying to understand what was happening. – “Colin!” – called she out, losing her patience.
She grabbed him by the arm, pulling him along. – “Daphne wait!” – Colin twisted his arm so that Daphne released her grip on him. – “I can’t…” – said he, looking ashamed at the ground. – “You will take me to them!” – Daphne was determined to reach the duel before any true harm was done. She took his arm again as Colin moved it out of her way. – “I can’t!” – repeated he himself, leaning in closer to her. His eyes wandered off to you. Daphne lifted her shoulders a bit up, following his gaze.
“Then I shall go on my own!” – decided she, taking the back of her cloak as she spun around. Colin gritted his teeth, going after her. You straightened your back at bit, seeing them run out of the parlor, leaving you alone. – “I cannot leave her alone!” – bit Colin at her, agitated that Daphne would even suggest such a thing. She stopped at the door, turning towards him. – “Then stay here, but simply tell me where they are.” – insisted Daphne, not wanting to waste another minute. Colin inhaled sharply. – “I cannot leave you unescorted!” – called he out. – “And I cannot leave Y/n unattended!”
Such a conflict he found himself in. The duty of a brother slowly weighing on his shoulders. A weight he had not yet felt so heavy of a burden. It was his duty to escort Daphne. Yet it was also his duty to attend to you since they were the only one’s present at the house. – “Make your choice!” – Daphne pulled the hood from her cloak over her head, heading out of the door. Colin groaned in frustration, balding his hands. What must he do. If mother ever knew of this, he would hang.
“Y/n!” – called he out loud from the hallway. You got up, walking out of the parlor. – “Yes, brother.” – said you, still holding the door as Colin motioned for you to come over quickly. You ran up to him while he snapped his finger at the doorman. – “My sisters cloak!” – insisted he. The doorman bowed, parting from his position to go and fetch your cloak. – “Where are we going?” – asked you curiously. Colin knelt down on one knee before you, sighing deep. – “You cannot tell anyone of this.” – breathed he out. Your cloak arrived as Colin moved it around your shoulders.
He tied the cloak for you, moving the hood over your head. – “Is this like a little secret?” – questioned. Colin stopped what he was doing, smiling at you for a moment. – “Yes.” – whispered he out, stroking your cheek with his thumb. – “Now we must make haste!” – He got up to his feet, taking your hand. You tried to catch up with his firm footsteps as it felt like you were running and he simply walking. Outside sat Daphne already on her horse, huffing in surprise. Colin his horse was brought to him. – “Don’t even speak about it!” – said he to Daphne, helping you up in the saddle.
You moved a bit closer to the horses head. Colin hoisted himself up, coming to sit behind you. He took the reins in his hand. You panicked a bit when the horses head went up. – “Colin…” – said you in sheer panic. Colin signaled the horse to move, giving it a kick with a loud command. The horse got in motion, practically moving from standing still to running in a minor of seconds. You closed your eyes as this was the first time you rode a big horse. You were used to practicing on pony’s that went slow, not a tall horse that went fully rogue.
Daphne’s horse was running just behind you, trying to catch up. She caught up, riding beside the two of you. – “We better be there in time!” – shouted she out. – “In time for what?” – shrieked you out, panic written all over your face. – “You should’ve talked him out of it!” – It was clear Daphne was not released of all her anger yet. – “Talking him out of it?” – yelled Colin back. His horse thumping on the stones as they made way for the fields. – “You do know we are talking about Anthony!” – reminded he her. With little to hold, inhaled you sharply and tense. Colin had his hands on the reins, no where near you. Of course were his arms in a way around you, but not fully.
“You could’ve tried!” – answered Daphne brutally. You yelped soft when you felt like your entire body was bouncing around. – “The hairs Y/n!” – called Colin out to you. You froze for a moment, not knowing what to do. – “Take the hairs Y/n!” – shouted he louder, sending a rush of panic over you. You hastily grabbed a hold of the horses hairs for grip, not knowing if it would hurt the poor animal. – “Don’t shout at her!” – shouted Daphne, redirecting her anger to Colin’s manners. Colin sighed loud, granting his sister with a glare. Every time the horses hoofs touched the ground, got you more anxious.
You wanted off. This was getting to much of a thrill for you. They ran up to a woodsier part of the fields to reach their destination. Daphne bowed her head, avoiding some twigs from slapping into her face. – “Where is it!” – breathed Daphne out. – “Just up ahead!” – pointed Colin out. – “That will take us forever!” – screamed she out. Daphne thought for a moment, remembering something. – “I know a short-cut!” – exclaimed she, signaling her horse to go left. – “Wait!” – Colin clenched his jaw, going in pursuit. Daphne galloped to a large hedge, splitting land into two. Colin made his way over to it as well.
You saw the hedge, seeing Daphne jump over it with her horse. – “No…” – mumbled you out. – “No, no, no.” – your voice getting a bit louder each time. Going in full panic mode, didn’t want you to jump. You had never jumped with a horse. Certainly not a tall one as this one. – “No!” – called you out loud, protesting. Colin got startled, unable to see your facial expression. – “It will be alright Y/n.” – reassured he you. You shook your head, leaning back against his chest. – “I want off. I want off!” – shouted you, trying all to make him stop. – “Y/n, I…” – responded Colin, approaching the hedge.
You screamed loud, not wanting to go but you had no choice. Colin squeezed his arms closer to your body so that he could give you some sort of protection when the horse flew over the hedge. It landed on the other edge as you were full on crying. Colin signaled the horse to go faster, wanting to catch up with Daphne. – “Y/n I’m sorry.” – said he, hearing you cry. – “I truly am.” – In the distance saw he already Anthony and Simon, back-to-back. Benedict stood by a tree, keeping a close eye on Anthony. Daphne was guiding her horse towards them. Colin took a detour, coming closer by a different direction. He needed to get you out of sight before Anthony and Benedict would see you. Or he for sure was a dead man walking.
By a large tree, not far from them came Colin to a sudden stop. He jumped off, taking a hold of you, helping you off. Once your feet were on the ground, pushed you Colin off you. You wanted nothing to do with him for a while. Crying loud, walked you up to the tree. Colin going after you. – “Y/n I…” – started he, seeing your face was all wet from crying. You leaned against the tree, Colin coming to kneel before you quickly. – “Y/n I need you to do something for me.” – breathed he out, looking past the tree to where Daphne was. She was almost up to them if he didn’t make haste.
He moved his hand to your shoulder as you pushed it off. It pained him to see you so frightened like this. He never meant to scare his little sister like this. – “Stay here and out of sight! Please!” – begged Colin. He nodded, telling himself all will be well. Getting up, started he running. Anthony and Simon were ready to draw their pistols, pointing them at each other. Daphne interfered with her horse, startling the poor men. A gun shot was fired. You gasped, feeling as if you had skipped a few beats of your heart. Followed by loud neighing and shouts. A part of you wanted to look, but another part of you didn’t. Letting yourself slide down the bark, plugged you, your fingers in your ears to block the loud voices out.
Colin’s heart dropped, seeing Daphne lay in the grass. Anthony, Simon, and Benedict at her side quickly. – “Sister!” – called Anthony out at the same time Simon called out her name. Simon wanted to touch her, feel that she was alright when Anthony held him at a distance. – “Are you hurt sister?” – asked Anthony, fearing she might’ve been shot. Daphne got up, removing the hood from over her head. – “I am perfectly well, not thanks to you!” – spitted she out furious, getting up to her feet. – “What were you thinking? Running into a crossfire like that!” – shouted Anthony back. Colin slowly approached, nodding at Benedict as a reassurance that their sister was save.
“What were you thinking!” – fired Daphne right back at him. – “You men and your duels!” – scoffed she out. Daphne brushed some dirt off her cloak, turning around as she came face to face with Colin. She widened her eyes at the absence of you. Colin noticed the burning question on her lips, slowly shaking his head. He didn’t want her to ask about your well-being right here in the open. Daphne kept staring at him, tilting her head a bit to the side with a clear hint of her eyes. It made Colin widen his eyes as he had not thought of it.
How was he ever going to return home with you unnoticed. Everyone would head home together, so it was impossible for him to go unnoticed with you. Closing his eyes, cursed he at himself for not thinking this through. – “Well I suppose we all need a drink to forget about these events.” – pitched Benedict in. – “Agreed!” – bit Anthony, glaring at Simon. – “But you will marry my sister!” – insisted he. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Not after witnessing the kiss between them in the gardens. Simon had to marry her, no matter how many times he insisted on not to. Everyone started to make their way over to their horses.
Daphne let Colin know to make haste decisions. – “Are you not coming brother?” – questioned Benedict, standing close to his horse. – “I…I…continue without me…” – said he, raising some questions to his brothers. – “I wish to see more of the view.” – Anthony laughed loud, ridiculing him. – “Don’t be absurd! Fetch your horse, Colin!” - Colin swallowed nervously, looking over his shoulder to where he left his horse and you. – “No…I…I really must insist.” – said he, hoping to persuade his brothers. Benedict quirked his eyebrow up, feeling as if something was off. – “Fetch your horse or I will!” – called Anthony out, pointing firmly at his horse in the distance. Colin exhaled deep, turning around.
Daphne slowly shook her head when he walked past. There was nothing for him to do but to go and fetch his horse. He could get on his horse, telling you he would come later for you? No that is out of the question thought Colin. He would never forgive himself for leaving you behind. Perhaps if he rode as last, no one would notice? Let you sit behind him so that his body would block out your posture. But how would that work at home when you descend? Perhaps there was nothing else to do but to face the consequence of his actions. In his mind acted Colin in the best way, pleasing both his sisters with what they needed.
You to be attended and Daphne to be escorted. If this was his walk towards death, he would take no other path. Colin arrived at the tree, disappearing behind it. Benedict frowned, giving his horse to Anthony as he followed. – “Y/n?” – whispered Colin. You wiped your cheeks dry, looking up to him. – “Can we go home?” – asked you, seeing him nod. He extended his hand to you as you took it. He left you by the tree, fetching his horse. As the tall creature approached you, gasped you loud, staggering back. Still frightened by it. – “It’s alright Y/n, I promise to take it slow this time.” – reassured he you.
“Y/n?!” – called Benedict out in surprise. His look of shock turned to anger when looking at Colin. – “You brought her here!” – yelled he out, lashing out to Colin. Colin stumbled back when his brother waved with his fist around. – “You wish to tell me you brought our sister to a duel!” – The others had heard the commotion, coming over as well. – “What is the meaning of this!” – Anthony widened his eyes as well at the sight of you. Gritting his teeth, felt he himself boil with anger. – “Explain!” – hissed Anthony at Colin. – “I…I…I had no choice! I had to escort Daphne but… I couldn’t leave Y/n on her own at the house.” – explained Colin.
“So you decided to bring her to a gun fight?” – yelled Benedict out, ready to wave his fist around again. – “I wouldn’t have brought her here if you didn’t start a duel in the first place!” – lashed Colin out, getting a bit tired that everyone was pointing fingers at them. Anthony was trembling with rage, ready to fight him. – “Stop!” – screamed you out loud, getting everyone attention. – “I want to go home!” – insisted you, stomping with your feet on the ground. Benedict noticed the glossy reflection in your eyes, hinting that you had been crying. He came kneeling before you, wiping your cheeks dry from the wet stains still visible. – “I want to go home…” – sobbed you out. Benedict nodded, wrapping his arms around you.
Anthony sighed deep, calming himself. – “Come along Y/n.” – said Colin holding his hand out to you. You gasped, leaning closer to Benedict at the sight of his horse. You didn’t wish to sit upon that animal any time soon. You shook your head, clamping onto Benedict for comfort. – “I am sorry.” – confessed Colin again, falling onto his knees. – “I never meant to scare you Y/n, I truly did not.” – you let go of Benedict, walking over to Colin. You hugged him, feeling him move his arms tightly around you. As if he was afraid, you would slip out of his grip if he loosened up for an inch. – “Forgive me sister…” – he moved some hair aside, kissing your cheek. You moved back, wiping your eye with your sleeve.
Anthony was glaring at Colin, demanding to have an explanation of your tears. – “I frightened her… with the horse.” – said he out loud. – “I brought upon her a fear of riding horses.” – Colin looked ashamed at the ground. Daphne came to his side, moving her hands to his shoulder. – “It will take time, but she might grow out of it.” – whispered Daphne to him. – “You are not to blame.” – Colin smiled faintly at her, giving her hand on his shoulder a soft squeeze. Anthony walked up to you, kissing the top of your head to sooth you.
“Will you ride with me?” – asked Benedict. – “I promise to go gently.” – reassured he you, offering you, his hand. You slowly nodded, walking up to him. He helped you on his horse, hoisting himself up behind you. You breathed out in shivers, sitting on top a grand animal again. Benedict moved one hand around your stomach, holding the reins in his other hand. – “We’ll go slowly.” – He gave the horse a gentle kick, setting it in motion. Your muscles pulled together from fright when the animal moved.
The horse walked slowly, almost parading. The others got on their horses as well. – “You do not need to wait for us.” – called he out to Anthony. Benedict looked down at you, smiling. You looked up to him, giving him a faint smile. – “We have all the time.” – whispered he out. Anthony nodded, signaling his horse to go faster. Daphne and Colin followed. Simon went his own way. Benedict and you rode on your own pace. He didn’t want your fear of horses to grow. You would make it back home, eventually. It just took a little longer.
“You lost puppy?” – commented Riven with a sly smile. You rolled with your eyes at him approaching you. He tilted his head to the side, smirking as he loved to see a reaction from you. You didn’t gave him one, just slowly crossing your arms. – “Leave my girlfriend alone, Riven!” – you heard being called out. From behind Riven appeared Beatrix with a cunningly smile. She moved past Riven as you pretended to bite at him. He scrunched his nose, wiggling his head in a mocking way. You licked your lips soft when Beatrix let her fingers slide down your cheek. She purred, taking a hold of you.
Beatrix swooped you up, kissing you forcefully. Riven looked a bit awkward away, tugging his hands in his pocket. Beatrix turned around; her lipstick smudged all over your lips. – “You were saying.” – asked she with a stone-cold look. Riven opened his jacket with his hands still tugged inside. He turned around, knowing not to mess with her. Beatrix turned her attention to you again, moving her fingers through your hair. – “How is my little mix.” – purred she out with a melodic voice. You locked your arm around hers, heading for class. – “Perfect, my storm.” – complimented you back.
Beatrix got wild, railing herself against you. She was clinging onto you, her one foot popping up as she took in your lovely smell. – “You drive me wild, Y/n.” – breathed she out, high on you. You chuckled as she stroke your shoulder whilst walking. Many heads turned in your direction as you entered the cafeteria, you just needed to get across, heading for class. Beatrix snarled at anyone who would dare to give you a look that looks a bit suspicious. Beatrix was very protective of you. You were like her most contained treasure. She the dragon guarding her treasure of gold with anything she possessed.
You exhaled soft at her cute but slightly dominate flair. In another hallway opened you, your hand to her. Beatrix quirked her eyebrow curiously up. From the palm of your hand sprung a root that slowly un-popped into a black rose. Beatrix gasped at your gesture, taking the rose from you. She smelled it, unable to stop smiling. She then slapped you against your shoulder. – “Au! What was that for!” – called you out, confused. – “You know damn well!” – hissed Beatrix at you, pulling a bit at the petals. You sighed deep, taking her arm again. – “A flower won’t kill me.” – said you in a weary tone.
“A flower perhaps not, mix, but a thousand might if you keep storing energy in these things.” – responded Beatrix with a wicked undertone. You sighed again. – “Alright, I promise not to use my powers for any minor things…” – answered you loud. – “Even when it means I can’t please my girlfriend anymore.” – whispered you out, lowering your voice. Beatrix had heard it, pulling you to a stop by grabbing your elbow. – “I’m just looking out for you!” – called she out. – “I’m not losing you, certainly not over a flower.” – she threw the flower over her shoulder as you tried to grasp for it. Your beautiful masterpiece, thrown away.
Taking a deep breath, took you a hold of both her arms. – “You won’t lose me… Trix… I’m… I’m alright…” – reassured you her. – “You better be!” – With her finger poked she you in the chest. Taking her hand, continued you to head over to class. You had to admire her vulnerability around you. The only reason Beatrix was so worried about your well-being is because you are what people may call a rare fairy. Not born with one, but at least five abilities. Making you kind the hybrid amongst fairies. You were an earth fairy, but also a fire, light, water, and a mind fairy. All in one.
“Morning Miss Dowling!” – greeted you, entering her classroom with Beatrix. – “Morning girls.” – replied she with a soft smile. Beatrix performed a dramatic curtsy at her to annoy her even more. – “Take your seat Beatrix.” – said Dowling with a soft sigh. You held hands with her till up to your seat. You sat down, Beatrix leaning down on it. She leaned in close, her face up to yours. She whispered some loving words to you that made you flutter. – “Today, please Miss Beatrix.” – called Farah out. Beatrix rolled her eyes with a groan. Beatrix wasn’t going to let Dowling stop her from kissing you. You shared a slow and passionate kiss where your lips felt like being glued to her.
cleared her throat as Aisha came sitting beside you. Beatrix sighed annoyed, pulling herself up. – “Already going!” – said she, seeing Farah stare unamused at her. Beatrix took her time to walk away from your desk, blowing you a kiss. You blew one back. Beatrix took her seat, sitting next to some light fairy. She glared at her just to make a statement. The last few girls took their seats, hurrying inside. Farah was standing before her desk, clasping her hands together. – “Lovely to see you all girls.” – said she, seeing Beatrix pretend to yawn. Farah didn’t let it poke her, moving on. – “Today we shall start on the practice of some more advanced magic.” – Farah leaned against her desk, overlooking everyone.
“Balance and control is very vital.” – continued she to lecture. – “If one has not the control over it’s own emotions and powers… they are certain to fail.” – Dowling started to walk through the middle. Bloom swallowed nervously. Aisha beside you, looked quickly down at her own desk to avoid eye contact. – “Perhaps a demonstration? Who would like to give it a try?” – Farah started going around desks, everyone avoiding her eye contact. She stood near a desk as the girl nearly fainted that Dowling would choose her. Dowling rested her hand on the desk, giving the girl more anxiety.
“Y/n!” – said she, looking up to you. The girl where Farah stood by her desk, exhaled deep. You made eye contact with Beatrix. Beatrix shook her head. Farah awaited your display. You swallowed nervously, getting up from your desk. All eyes on you, motioned Farah for you to walk up to the desk. So everyone could see you. – “Don’t!” – hissed Beatrix at you in a low voice. – “Mix!” – whispered she out. Her little nickname for you. Since you were her mixture of sweetness and abilities. With trembling hands went you up to the front.
Standing in front of everyone, felt you exposed. – “Use any kind of ability you prefer.”- said Farah, leaning back against some cupboards to observe. You nodded, slowly bringing your hands up. You waited for further instructions of what Farah expected from you. Beatrix was still shaking her head, trying to whisper to you to not go through with it. Farah explained what she wished of you. Closing your eyes, focused you on one particular ability. Opening your eyes shined they bright blue. Between your hands emerged water as you let it move up in a circle. The water was flowing around in a circle. You inhaled deep, seeing Farah nod.
You brought your hands slowly together allowing the circle of water to form into a ball. A small ball that was hovering from the palms of your hands. – “Wonderful!” – said Farah, clapping loud. You were in focus as suddenly you gasped loud, taking by a force. Beatrix widened her eyes at you as your eyes turned bright red. Around the ball of water that still hovering in your hand, formed a ring of fire. The fire was keeping the ball of water in place. Spinning fast around it. Girls started to gasp when from inside the ball of water emerged a bright light. The water was shining as Stella moved her hand to her mouth in shock. Your eyes were shining bright in a light color as you were breathing in a slight panic.
You had no idea what was happening. You had no true control over it as your body simply performed the actions. – “Make it stop!” – bit Beatrix out. Your head shot back, grasping for air as your eyes changed color again. From up your wrists to your fingertips came roots twirling up. – “Stop it!” – Beatrix jumped up from her seat, slamming her hands on her desk. She turned to Farah, demanding her to interfere. Farah was baffled, caught with not knowing what to do or how to stop it. Your body started to shake at the immense power you were using all at once. – “Y/n!” – screamed Beatrix out, seeing you suddenly collapse to the ground.
Everyone got up in shock as Beatrix pushed them aside. She rushed to your side, kneeling beside you. – “Y/n? Y/n?” – breathed she out, her hand trembling with fear of touching you. She touched your cheek carefully, trying to get a reaction from it. You weren’t responding as her emotions took over. Beatrix pulled you up to her lap, cherishing you into her arms. – “I’m sorry…so sorry.” – sobbed she out, rocking you gently. Farah and some other students came closer. – “Stay away!” – screamed Beatrix out with all her pain, setting lightning off.
Lightning bolted through the classroom, making them stagger back. – “Why did you chose her!” – bit Beatrix at Farah. – “Why?” – screamed she out, her words barely hearable through her cries of pain. – “B…Bea…” – mumbled you out, slowly opening your eyes. Beatrix looked down at you, wiping some hair out of your face. – “I’m here Y/n… I’m here…” – sobbed she out. You smiled soft, feeling her lips against your forehead. – “Miss Y/n… I am…I am sorry.” – confessed Farah, presenting herself humble. – “No, your not!” – replied Beatrix. She clenched her jaw, glaring deadly at her headmistress.
“To you she is nothing more but a pawn! But she is not. Y/n is not a pawn in your game. I shall not stand for it anymore. From now on, you stay away from her!” – yelled Beatrix out. You had found a bit of your strength back, pulling yourself a bit up. – “Bea… Bea…” – said you a bit out of breath. Beatrix kissed your forehead to reassure you that she was always on your side. – “We’re leaving!” – insisted Beatrix, helping you up to your feet. You clamped onto Beatrix, feeling drained from almost all your energy. Beatrix pushed everyone aside that stood in her way, leaving the classroom with not another word.
This was what she feared. She knew using your abilities to a certain level would wear you out. No one was built to contain so many abilities in one body. So you had to be extra careful when you used yours.
Clinging onto the metal bars high up, observed you, your targets. You watched at least ten men walk around the warehouse. Wooden crates were scattered around. One of the men in suits, pointed at one the crates. A slimmer man revealed a crowbar, breaking the wooden panel. Intrigued, leaned you a bit forwards to get a better look. The man was grinning, taking out a weapon. So that was what they were shipping. Of course these were Kingpin’s men. Sudden grunts caught your attention as they came from somewhere in the back. You gasped seeing an injured man being crashed against one of the crates. Kingpin’s men started shouting, drawing their guns.
It didn’t take any seconds for the warehouse to be noisy with gunshots. A dark figure came in sight, moving stealthy. From the way he was moving, knew you he was interfering. – “Oh, no you don’t!” – said you to yourself, getting up to your feet. You clamped onto the first metal bars, setting your foot on the third one. You helped yourself up, setting your two feet on top. Beneath you was the other vigilante having his way. Blocking gunshots and kicking kingpin’s men. You set yourself off, doing a backflip. Landing on your one knee, struck you a pose, cause why not. Some of Kingpin’s men shouted, pointing firmly at you.
You got up with not a scratch. Shots were fired at you, making you avoid them by staying low to the ground. Getting back up, stood you before the guy. You had taken a hold of his weapon, pointing it firmly up. He tried to work his way through your force with no help. You winked at him before throwing a blow against his stomach. Your hands releasing a bit of energy. The guy flew across the room, crashing into the wall that left a large crack from where his body hit. – “Oops.” – said you innocently, holding his gun sloppy in your hand. You threw it away with a mischievous smile. Another henchman came running over to you as you firmly grabbed him by the throat.
You easily lifted him up from the ground, his feet dangling. The devil was caught off guard, suddenly a new sense overwhelming him. He moved his head a bit to the sounds, trying to listen in. He had clearly heard the blow against the wall. He inhaled sharply, hearing another heartbeat. Steady and calm. Clenching his jaw, knew the devil that he wasn’t alone anymore. Someone had shown up, trying to steal his work. Grunting agitated, grabbed he a guy by his throat, smacking him to the ground. It pissed him off that someone else was trying to play hero.
You ignored Hell’s kitchen’s devil, working your way through Kingpin’s men. Shots were fired as you did a few backflips, avoiding them. With no way of seeing where you were going, straightened you your back again, bumping into someone. – “Sorry!” – you called out, peeking over your shoulder at the red leather fabric of a suit. You only heard a clearly annoyed sigh, followed by him grabbing a hold of your shoulders. You shrieked it out, getting thrown over his shoulder, falling onto the ground. – “Stay down!” – breathed he at you, his chest moving heavily with his deep breathing. You shuddered in pain, rolling over to your side. Damn the devil had some moves.
The devil turned himself around as you swung your leg over the floor at him. It hit his ankle, sending him falling flat forwards. He pushed himself up with a deep groan. Touché thought you. He was clearly agitated now as he was ready to teach you a lesson or two, was it not for the few remaining men of Kingpin that required his attention. They were making an escape for it with some crates. You saw him turn his head to the direction of the sounds, without actually looking it. It was more like his ear needed to see then his eyes. He spurted away, going after them as you slowly pulled yourself up. Brushing some dust of your sleeves, allowed you him to take down the last men.
You saw it coming but let him have his go on it. He pushed you with his elbow against the wall. You chuckled in pain from the impact. – “Who are you?” – called he out, pushing his arm deeper onto your throat. You weren’t letting him intimidate you. – “Who’s asking.” – replied you, moving your lips closer to his. He could feel your breath on his lips, making him shudder away. – “What are you doing here?” – asked he then. – “Same as you.” – answered you calmly. He didn’t answer back, just looked at you. observed you. He moved his head a bit to the side, so that his ear was closer to you. You swallowed a bit, finding the silence a bit tense.
He suddenly smiled, turning his head towards you again. He let go of you, turning his back on you. – “Hell’s kitchen has no place for you!” – stated he, making very clear to you that he worked alone. You removed yourself from the wall, creeping up on him. – “I wouldn’t mind dancing…” – started you, coming to stand behind him. Very close that your chest was almost touching his. Moving your hand up, wanted you to let it slide down his shoulder. – “with the devil.” – finished you in his ear, your hand hovering over his shoulder to go towards his chest. With a quick grip had he his hand around your wrist. It startled you a bit, catching you off guard. He spun himself around, a dark grin on his lips. He took a step closer to you, his face inches away from your head.
You breathed out slowly, feeling his breath on your jawline. – “Believe me…” – whispered he to you. – “You couldn’t handle a night with the devil.” – your entire body shuddered from the tension he was releasing on you. It made him smirk, your heart pounding like a maniac. Before you knew it had he reached one of the broken windows. He sat on the frame, looking over his shoulder to you. – “Stay out of it!” – called he out to you, disappearing into the night. You puffed loud, crossing your arms. – “Who does he think he is?” – called you out loud, speaking to yourself and some unconscious men. – “As if he is the only one with a vendetta against Kingpin.” – scoffed you out. Hearing sirens in the distance, took you, your leave as well. Disappearing into the night. For it would not be your last night. No one was going to stop you, not even a devil who had such dare.
***
With heavy rain in your face, were you running stealthily over the rooftops. A guy who moved like a freaking ninja in pursuit. You jumped over a metallic pipe, slowing your tempo a bit down. The guy in pursuit, almost flew over it, making you gasp loud. You ran up to the end of the rooftop, being surprised by a fall to death. You gripped onto the edge, looking down at the deep alleyway below. Of course there was the fire-escape hanging on the side of the building, but it was too low for you to reach. You quickly turned around, standing face to face with one of Kingpin’s trusty men. He pointed his knife at you, luring you out. You took a few steps closer to him, readying yourself to fight him. You motioned for him to approach you as you were ready to take him on.
Just as he was about to run over, was he suddenly gone. The devil standing in his place, grunting loud. You saw Kingpin’s man rolling over the rooftop, being hit by the devil himself. – “I told you to stay out of it!” – called he out, pointing at you as his face was still facing Kingpin’s man on the ground. – “And I decided to ignore that stupid ass decision.” – replied you, hearing him chuckle. – “I’m not going to ask you again! Back off!” – yelled he out, this time turning his head towards you. – “We’ll see about that.” – said you, running up to him. You kicked him in the stomach, releasing a blow of energy on him. The devil got throw almost across the rooftop, smacking against the other edge.
You tilted your head a bit to the side, focusing your attention on kingpin’s men. – “We weren’t finished yet.” – said you, cracking your knuckles. You readied your fist, feeling the energy flow through your veins, building up in one spot. Your hand started to glow in a shade of white. You screamed it out when you received a blow against your cheek. You stumbled down, seeing the devil hover over you. – “What are you?” – asked he of you, clearly still trying to figure you out. You got up to your feet, calling it out as you lashed out to him. He easily blocked your punch, standing face to face with you.
Pulling yourself away, went you for another round. He easily blocked it as well. You threw in a kick, making him catch your leg before it could hit his body. You hadn’t been storing any energy in those limbs, so your punches weren’t as strong as before. He suddenly pushed you away from him just as kingpin’s man waved with his knife in the direction of both of you. His knife landed in the space between you, leaving the devil to grab his arm. With a punch of his elbow, released he his grip on the knife. You gritted your teeth, not finished with the devil, throwing a punch at him. He easily predicted what you were going to do, pulling the guy before him like a human shield.
You hit him in the stomach, sucking the air out of his lungs. The devil then tossed him aside, kicking you back. You stumbled backwards against the edge of the rooftop. – “You really want a go at this?” – asked he, motioning with his hand for you to come closer. Wiping your nose with the back of your hand, got you back up. – “I do!” – spitted you back, not wanting to give him the pleasure. He curled up a smile, readying himself. You did the same, walking in a circle with him. Almost like a dance. You clenched your hand, collecting your energy in your fist.
You noticed a slight change in the devil’s body language as if he sensed what you were doing. You called it out, going for him. The devil did the same, ready with his fist. The two of you were about to clash when Kingpin’s man made his debut again. You quickly staggered back, missing his knife by an inch. The devil kicked him in the face. The guy stumbled your way as you punched his other cheek, sending him wobbling back over to the devil. – “We make quite the team.” – breathed you out. You swore you could see a tiny smile on his lips. – “Don’t push it!” – replied he, kicking the guy in his sheen. He sunk to the ground, calling it out in pain.
The devil went after you again. He wanted to make it clear to you that he worked alone. Taking much pride in it. He grabbed you by the shirt, your back leaning over the edge. – “I’m not saying this again!” – called he out, pushing your back firmer on the edge. You took a hold of his wrist, wanting to be sure that he wouldn’t suddenly let go. If he did, you would simply tip over the edge into the darkness. – “I don’t need you!” – the tone in his voice firmly as he spoke every word out slow and with a deeper meaning. Your heart rate went up at the sudden sense of danger. You were hanging on the edge, your life in the hands of another. – “Do you understand!” – continued he.
In a split second fell you weightless. Your body being held by feathers, your scream caught in your throat. Your mouth was wide open as your hands clawed desperately in the air, no sounds coming out of it. The devil had widened his eyes, feeling that his hands were empty. He came leaning over the edge, listening to your heartbeat. It was racing up in high speed, making him clench his jaw. Kingpin’s man had punched him with the back of his knife between his shoulders, releasing his grip onto you. You managed to hold onto a bar of the fire escape, breaking your fall a bit. The sudden snap made you release your grip, landing on the lower platform of the fire escape, squealing in pain. The devil jumped over the edge, landing on the highest platform.
He then made his way stealthily down, constantly focused on your heartbeat. He made it to where you were, kneeling beside you. – “Are you hurt?” – asked he worriedly. You gave him a push against his chest, not knowing what kind of charade he was putting on. – “You dropped me!” – yelled you at him. – “I…I…I didn’t meant to.” – answered he. You seated yourself down, putting pressure on your back. – “Right! How am I supposed to believe you didn’t just wanted to paralyze me, so I was out of your way.” – groaned you out, inhaling sharply from the pain.
“I’m not that cruel.” – responded he. – “Playing with the big boys is harder than it looks, right.” – added he with a slight bit of mockery towards you. You punched him in the shoulder to act out on him. You tried to stand as he quickly came to your aid. – “I don’t need your help!” – bit you at him, throwing his hand off your arm. You took a hold of the stairs, groaning in pain as you tried to make your way down. Your movement got pulled to a stop by a hand around your arm. – “Look you can’t be walking the streets like that!” – pointed he out, making you exhale deep. You spun around to him, sighing loud for him to hear. – “Well what would you have me do then?”
A large panel got slide aside as it functioned as a door. He gave you a small nudge in your shoulder, telling you to enter. You stumbled forwards as he pulled the ‘door’ to a shut. – “Make yourself at home.” – said he, walking casually around you. – “Who are you?” – questioned you, looking upon the most normal apartment. – “What, you think I lived in a cave or something with knifes hanging on the walls.” – chuckled he out, making you roll your eyes. – “No.” – answered you, stepping deeper into his apartment. – “just… different.” – you swallowed, moving slowly, biting through the pain. – “Sit!” – demanded he off you, pointing at his sofa. You limped your way over to it, letting yourself fall into the comfy seat.
You exhaled relieved, feeling some pressure released from your spine. He returned to you with a pack of ice, handing it over to you. – “You really gonna keep the mask?” – asked you curious. He pressed his lips together, turning his back to you. You shrugged your shoulders, placing the pack of ice against your back. You immediately shuddered in both pleasure and pain. He made his way over to his table, hesitating to take his mask off. He exhaled deep, bringing his hand to the back of his head. With one pull, tore he his mask off his face. Exposed and feeling a bit weird, breathed he out deep. Placing his mask down, was he still doubtful if it was a right thing to do.
Without thinking much further, walked he back over to you. He seated himself down. You noticed him, gulping silently at his handsome face. You had expected a messed-up face, scratches, and scars all over the place. Instead were you staring at a handsome young man with a clean face. - “A face! Does the face has a name as well?” – called you out loud, seeing him crack a tiny smile. – “Mine is Y/n if you were wondering.” – said you as first, letting him off the hook a bit. – “Matt.” – answered he. – “How’s the pain.” – asked he, pointing at you without looking away from the wall he was facing. – “It’s… it’s alright…” – replied you with a slight narrow of your eyes.
There was definitely something off about him. – “Why are you doing this?” – continued he to ask. – “I mean playing vigilante.” – you moved a bit uncomfortable, clenching your jaw at a sting of pain. – “I…I…” – you exhaled deep, looking down at your own lap. – “Kingpin hurt someone close to me…family… I’m not letting him get away with it that easily.” – Clenching your hand, channeled you subconsciously energy at your hand. Matt sensed it again, inhaling sharply. – “What is up with that?” – you blinked surprised, looking at your own hand as if seeing it for the first time. – “Oh…” – breathed you out. – “I’m… I’m what you call a mutant. I can channel any kind of energy through my body, releasing it with a good blow or so.”
“What’s up with you.” – shot you right back, wanting to know his deal as well. Matt swallowed slowly. – “I’m blind.” – confessed he. You hummed baffled. You leaned a bit closer holding your hand out. You wanted to poke him in the cheek with your finger to see if he truly was what he said he was. Before your hand even reached his cheek, had he his grip around your wrist. Not even moving an inch with his head. He pushed your hand down, getting up. – “You can spend the night here, but then you leave, Y/n.” – you watched him go into another part of his apartment.
Exhaling deep, sunk you deeper down into his sofa. Before the morning light were you gone already. Matt slowly awoke from his alarm. He stretched out, remembering he had let you in yesterday. He got out of his bed, walking into the grand living space. He couldn’t hear another heartbeat, making it certain that you had left. He exhaled deep, feeling a bit disappointed that you had left already. Frowning at his own thoughts, laughed he loud. He should be glad you were gone, for the devil works alone.
***
You jumped into an alleyway, thinking you were there first, but Matt landed in the same alleyway as you at the same time. – “You’ve got to be…” – mumbled you out, seeing Matt turn his head in annoyance at your presence. – “I told you to stay the hell away!” – called he out. You walked over to him, pausing close to his ear. – “I don’t listen very well.” – whispered you at him, continuing to strut away. Matt inhaled sharply, coming after you. You were making your way over to the building when a grip around your ankle, made you fall flat forwards. Matt walked past you, shrugging his shoulders.
Clenching your jaw, pushed you, your fist against the ground. Getting up quickly, ran you around the corner. Matt stood in the doorway, waving at you as he closed the door before him. It made you groan out loud annoyed that he kept getting in your way. The door wouldn’t budge as he must have blocked it. Letting all the energy flow towards your hand, clenched you, your grip. Wanting to make an entrance, punched you the brick wall. Clapping your hands together, walked you in, stepping over the crumbled bricks. – “Honey I’m home!” – called you out loud, wanting Matt to hear you.
You stood a bit lost in the dark room, wondering if there was even a fight going on. It wasn’t until you heard clear punches being sold, that you smirked. You made your way quickly up the stairs, seeing Matt already busy in the fight. He punched a guy in the face, making him stumble on his feet. You grabbed the guy by his shoulder pulling him towards you. Handing him one of your own punches, fell he to the ground. Matt turned to you stunned, like a lion that had just been stolen his piece of meat by a hyena. He turned his head swiftly to the side, listening in as someone approached him. He diverted him, allowing him to crash into you. You fell to the ground with the man laying on top of you.
“Huh, I guess not fast enough.” – joked he out with a deep chuckle. You pushed the man off you, wanting to punch him as Matt pressed his foot on the man’s stomach. He swayed his finger from side to side at you, telling you no. You called it out in annoyance that he kept proving to be better then you. You got up, walking away, letting Matt have his way with him. Matt felt a bit disappointed that he couldn’t taunt you anymore. You dodged knives and punches with such swiftness it almost seemed graceful. Matt and you were both stubborn in your fights, constantly trying to proof to be better than the other one.
Almost out of breath, delivered you a final blow. You turned your head, widening your eyes at a sudden heavy weapon. – “F*ck.” – breathed you out, seeing the weapon point at you. It was like a rocket launcher, ready to fire. Matt sprinted up to you, tackling you just when the rocket was launched. You smacked to the ground, rolling over with Matt’s arms around you. The rocket hit the wall, blowing a huge piece of the building up. Matt was laying on top of you, holding his head down, his lips close to your jawline. Crumbled pieces of building fell on top of him, shielding you from it. A wave of dust made its debut as well, coating the both of you.
Matt coughed loud, lifting his head a bit up, his lips inches away from yours. He froze, hearing your heart beat loud and clear. It was speeding up as he couldn’t ignore his own heart racing up as well. – “You okay Y/n?” – asked he, his breath against your lips which felt so intimate. You slowly nodded, answering afterwards as Matt couldn’t see what you did. He pulled himself up, leaving you breathless. He held his hand out to you as you took it, letting him pull you up. The guy with the rocket launcher threw the weapon away as it only had one hit. Matt puffed his chest up, clenching his jaw. He made his way over in a very intimidating way.
You followed close by, wiping some dust off your face. Matt grabbed the guy by his shirt. He smacked him against the wall, dragging him along it. He then released his grip onto him, sending him rolling on the floor. He made his way over, kicking him in the stomach. It turned you a bit on at how brutal he was handling him. When blood was gushing out of his nose, called you him to a stop. He stopped, his blooded fist, hovering the guy’s face. He let go of him as you moved by his side. You stared at Matt, feeling a sudden urge wanting to kiss him. He must’ve felt the same as he grabbed you.
He moved his hand to your shoulder, moving your hair up as he tried to reach your cheek, kissing you firmly. Your body shuddered at his kiss that felt so violent on your lips. Pulling him closer to your body, kissed you him deeper. Matt moved his thumb up towards your nose, trying to feel more of your features. Both of you pulled away out of breath. You nudged him with your hip. – “Does this mean we’re a team Matt?” – questioned you with a smile. Matt shook his head with a silly smile on his lips. – “I’ll think about it.” – whispered he out, cupping your cheeks to kiss you again.
Read part 1 here,part 2here!,part 3here!,part 4here! (This is the last chapter)
Summary: When a proposal has been offered, will you accept or forever keep your doubts? Can love truly conquer all?
“Marry me.”
You stumbled a bit backwards, letting your hand slide out of his. His request floating around your mind in little fragments. Fragments that had not yet been pieced together. Shivering out a breath, moved you, your hand towards your chest. How could he so easily decide the future when you were still yet uncertain about the present. The damage that has been done was not something to take lightly. Being personally cast out by the queen herself had consequents. If this meant you were out of the season for the rest of your live, you could never accept his hand in marriage. You wouldn’t wish a life of cruelty upon him.
Not on the man you love. Not even for a snippet of happiness. – “I…I…” – stuttered you out, afraid to look him in the eye. Benedict kept looking hopeful at you, keeping his warm smile up. He was starstruck for even seeing the possible dangers ahead. – “I…I…” – your gaze went up towards your father. He was smiling, perhaps a pure smile you had barely seen. Not a hint of miscommunication in it, simple but pure honesty. For the first times in forever had he been happy, content with you. You didn’t want to take that from him.
Then you adverted your gaze to Benedict’s brothers. Against all odds were they standing right here. By your side. Taking your side. No one had done that ever. It was unfair to them for what you had in mind. Your mind was chaos, every horrifying end tormenting you. How could you accept despite it all. This wasn’t a simple answer of yes or no, this was more than that. Reputations were at stake, reputations you didn’t want to shatter. You never did. If accepting meant dragging Benedict and his family alongside with you, you preferred to suffer alone. As you always have, for alone is all one person can have. Alone protects you.
It protects those you love, leaving the suffering to you. Taking away their pain as you had endured so much pain it became bearable. You started to slightly shake your head, pressing your lips together, feeling the tears emerge. – “I…I can’t.” – whispered you out, taking another step back. Benedict exhaled shocked, his knees going wobbly as he felt himself being dragged under. Colin ran up to his brother, holding him up by the shoulder. – “I’ve got you brother.” – said he, making sure Benedict stand up straight. – “I am sorry…” – sobbed you out, allowing some tears to roll down your cheek.
Your father ran up to you, shocked by your revelation. – “Y/n, my darling.” – called he out, staring baffled at you. Benedict found a bit of his strength back, patting Colin on his chest that he was alright. Colin carefully let go of his brother, keeping a close eye on him. – “Why?” – asked Benedict, taking a step closer to you. You sniffed loud, turning slightly towards him again. – “Why? You know why?” - told you him, your lip trembling from the sudden strong emotions. Benedict shook his head with a bite of his lip. – “Not good enough.” – answered he, shrugging his shoulders a bit. You exhaled sharp, taken by his determination.
Why was he so stubborn. – “Why, Y/n?” – he asked again, pounding his fist down in the air. You shook your head, not wanting to have this conversation by the palace. You turned around, walking away from him with your father by your side. Benedict wasn’t ready to let you off so easily. He knew his love was not one-sided. He had seen the emotions inside of you. He had seen the longing, the desire. He had seen it because he saw it within himself. He hated that despite it all you were still trying to protect him. Even when he told you numerous times not to. All he ever wanted was to love you, be by your side and support you no matter what.
“In sickness and in health, is that not a requirement?” – shouted he at you, ready to defend himself. – “I know you are afraid Y/n, I am too, but that doesn’t give away the fact that I…I…” – Benedict felt his hands tremble as he came to a stop. He felt like his emotions were steering him. He felt all control over himself slip away. The fight lust inside of him so grand, it made him go towards every length to keep you close. – “Benedict please…” – said you, wiping some tears away.
“How many more times must I proclaim myself? You are all that matters to me, nothing more. I want you, I … I love you.” – confessed he, making you abruptly stop. – “I love you with all my heart and it pains me… it pains me to see that you are not willing to give it a chance, us a chance.” – Benedict started to slowly approach you as you had stopped moving. His words casting a spell on you that kept you in place. – “I beg of you…” – you breathed in shivers, feeling his hands slide up the back of your arms. His sudden touch captivating you. – “I have lost myself in you.” – whispered he out, breathing against your neck.
You turned around sharply with tears in your eyes. – “I’m scared…” – exclaimed you. – “I am afraid that I might be the cause of all your pain. I do not wish that upon you. I love you… and the fact that I love you is why I must protect you.” – cried you out. Benedict moved his trembling hand towards your cheek, letting it rest there. – “I’m scared that all has been for nothing. That I can’t be the loving wife you require, that I cannot give you what you desire, that I cast my shadow upon you. I have seen it.” – you gave Benedict a slight push against his chest.
“I have seen what my condition does to people.” – you moved your head slightly to the side, seeing your father stare shameful at the ground. He knew you were speaking of him. Of all the deeds he had done towards you. – “I have seen it change them. Change them so much they are afraid to look at me. Benedict, I don’t want you to stop looking at me.” – tears were streaming ruthlessly down your cheek, clouding your vision. Benedict curled up a tiny smile. – “I shall never.” – whispered he to you. – “You don’t know that…” – answered you back. Benedict inhaled deeply, looking up to the blank night sky for a moment.
“I am telling you… right here that I love you Y/n. All of you.” – spoke he out, gazing back at you. With his palm against your cheek, wiped he some tears away. – “Don’t be afraid my love… It is time to let go of your fears…” – you shuddered, closing your eyes for a moment. – “Do not let society decide for you, do not let it lead your life. For I shall stand by your side no matter what. If the queen forbids you from the season, let her be… for I have already found who I wish to marry.” – slowly opening your eyes again, stared you in his hopeful eyes.
You loved his sense of hope when you could not. – “Y/n, I ask you again… will you accept my hand in marriage for I will love you entirely.” – He rose your hand up, holding it gently in his hand. Everyone was waiting in anticipation for you to speak. Benedict inhaling deeply as his chest rose with the tension building up inside of him. You could not deny your doubts and fears, but perhaps you simply had to take that leap. For how else were you going to discover what laid at the bottom of the cliff. For love is scary, allowing oneself to fully let go to experience it’s deepness. Love was a burning flame, bursting with light with one single touch.
You curled up a smile, slowly nodding. – “With all my heart.” – whispered you out, finally letting go of your fears. A smile spread across his lips, unable to contain himself. Benedict moved his hands around your back, lifting your body a bit up. Inhaling sharply, pressed he his lips against yours. That simple touch that made you reborn. Become a whole new person. Moving your hands to his jawline, tilted you your head to kiss him from a different angle. Love was indeed a burning flame that you felt inside of you. Why did you ever doubt him. It finally was clear to you that he loved you, all of you. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore for you had each other. You didn’t have to be alone anymore, for love has found its way to you. Granting you with the upmost caring gentleman one could ever give. Benedict Bridgerton, your artist, your protector, your friend, your husband.
Anthony cleared his throat, breaking Benedict, and you apart. – “How this is all very warmly, I do have to remind you that we are in public.” – informed Anthony with a shy smile on his face. Benedict and you took a step apart from each other. Gazing with deep affection to one another. – “Y/n darling, we must get home… I do not wish to be handled like that again.” – your father was right. It was wrong to stand here as she had casted you out so easily. – “We must head back inside for our dearest sister and mother.” – pointed Colin out, looking a bit over his shoulder. Benedict took your hand, leaving a caring kiss on top of it. Smiling at him, watched you him step back, letting your hand slowly slip out of his till it hung beside your body again.
Father took you by the arm, leading you towards the carriage. The two of you got inside as you sat by your fathers side. He threw his arm around you as you came laying against his chest. – “I hope you can forgive me… I cannot give any excuses for my behavior, and I will not for I have committed a crime. I do hope you can forgive your dear old papa for his blind eye.” – he threw his other arm around you as well, pulling you closer to him. – “From now on, I shall always be there for you. In sickness and in health, for I do not wish to lose you.” – He turned his head, kissing the top of your head.
A sudden crack of wood made you fly up in the carriage. Landing firmly back onto the seats as one part of the carriage had been send down. – “Father what is going on?” – called you out anxiously as the carriage came to a sudden stop. He held his finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet. Outside heard you loud voices. Father looked frightened at you, his face turning pale. – “Whatever you hear… stay here!” – demanded he, gripping tight onto your hand. – “Father!” – whispered you out in panic, seeing him take his leave. You moved over to the door, keeping your head out of sight.
You tried to listen in to the sudden voices as it sounded that they were with many. – “Good sirs…” – heard you, your father say with his hands up. You gasped in shock, covering up your mouth when you witness your father being punched in the stomach. He stumbled to the ground in pain. You wanted to jump out of the carriage and assist your father in any way. You heard loud laughter, seeing him get kicked in the stomach while he was crawling in pain on the ground. Your hands were trembling with fear. If your father was unable to defend you, what might they do to you once they find you.
A reflection of light marched into the dark as it made you widen your eyes. Torches. They were carrying torches and they were marching… marching up to the carriage. Your father knew what they were going to do as well, grabbing a hold of one’s ankle. – “Stop! My daughter is in there… please…” – begged he out, receiving another kick. He groaned in out in pain, rolling over to the side. A man held his hand out, demanding to be given a torch. – “No… please… stop…” – called your father out in pain, feeling every bone in his body hurt. – “You shouldn’t have brought her to the palace.” – said the man holding the torch, leaning down to your fathers face.
“No… I beg of you… my daughter is innocent.” – pleaded your father with them, trying to get back up to his feet. – “We’ve all heard the rumors!” – shouted he loud, roaring up his crowd. – “Your daughter is a stain to our society, and we don’t want her kind here!” – his men cheered loud as he threw his hand up. – “No!” – father screamed in pain, locking eyes with you in the carriage. You were terrified, unable to move as you heard them approach. They started banging on the carriage to scare you. You were being shaken around, crying in terror. – “Get… away… from my daughter!” – called your father out between clenched teeth, pushing himself to get up.
With his hand against his stomach, limped he over. Desperate to protect you till his very last breath. – “Father!” – cried you out, wanting to get out but someone was holding the door firmly. Father groaned loud, waving his fist around. He received a blow against his nose, sending him down. – “No!” – screamed you out, trying to get out of the carriage. They just walked over him like he was nothing. – “Let me out!” – yelled you out, wiping your tears aggressively away. You saw the burning torch come closer, hearing the crackling sounds from crisping wood. Screaming in agony, were you jamming hard against the door that would not budge.
“We have endured you long enough!” – shouted one of the men at you. Feeling the last bit of strength slip away, felt you lost. How could this be the end when it hasn’t even begun yet. You were going to marry the man you love. Grow old with him and share so many adventures. The torch was so close to the carriage now that it only took a good connection for the carriage to catch fire. You gasped, hearing horses neigh loud. At least three you could distinguish. You heard someone jump off the horse as their feet landed with a thud on the gravely road. Punches were being handed out. Hearing grunts of pain and anger.
You dared to pop your head out of the window, widening your eyes at your rescuers. – “Benedict!” – screamed you out loud. It caught him off guard for a moment, getting punched in the face. Feeling a bit wonky, collapsed Benedict almost to the ground. All men had moved away from the carriage, fighting against one of the Bridgerton brothers. It suddenly started to feel warm in the carriage as you spotted that the torch had been dropped. Laying against the broken wooden wheel, catching fire. You called it out, kicking your feet against the doorframe as it wouldn’t budge. – “Dear God!” – breathed Anthony out, seeing the carriage catch fire.
“Colin!” – shouted he out, punching a guy in the face. His boxing skills coming in handy after all. Colin nodded, pushing a man’s grip off him. He than ran over to the carriage, trying to pull the door open. He was kicking against it, pulling at it, anything for it to move. The carriage started to fill up with smoke as the ceiling started to catch fire as well. – “Colin!” – called you out, keeping yourself as low as possible. – “Come on!” – grunted Colin out, wanting the door to work with him. Benedict saw his brother struggling as well as the burning carriage. He fought off the handy man that he couldn’t shake off. With a bloody forehead, jumped he over some unconscious fallen men, aiding his brother.
“Y/n! it’s going to be alright love.” – reassured he you, pulling at the handle. – “It won’t work!” – answered Colin hastily. Benedict clenched his jaw, not ready to lose you. You were crying, laying with your head on the seat to stay as low as possible. Benedict moved his hand to the window frame, trying to see if you could fit through. – “I’m going to pull you out, my love, I promise you.” – called he out desperately, trying to break the framework of the window. It cracked since it had been weakened by the warmness of the flames. Benedict reached his arms into the carriage as you got up. You felt the intense heat above you, sticking your hands out. Benedict moved his arms tightly around you, lifting you up as he tried to pull you out through the open window.
Colin helped pulling, pushing your body a bit up so that it could tip you over. You popped free, falling onto Benedict as he fell to the ground. From intense happiness, cried you in his arms. Telling him how much you loved him and how scared you were. Colin helped the two of you up to your feet, moving away from the burning carriage. Anthony had fought off the last man as many others had taken a run for it. He was now helping your father up to his feet. – “Your… your bleeding.” – called you out, touching his forehead briefly. It stinged but he tried to not let you see it. – “It’s nothing.” – reassured he you, taking your hand in his.
“How… how is it that you are here?” – questioned you, laying in Benedicts arms on the grass. Your head resting against his chest while he cherished you in his embrace. – “We heard them talk about their plans.” – replied Anthony out of breath. You snuggled closer to Benedict, seeking comfort. You didn’t want to say it, but it frightened you how you were still not out of the clear. It was never simple with the two of you. Always an obstacle in the way that would prevent you from loving. A cruel society, one more turning their back on you. Benedict noticed the doubts reflecting in your eyes as he tilted your chin up to him. – “Don’t go refusing me again, Y/n. My heart can’t take it.” – chuckled he out. – “I won’t… not this time.” – responded you, looking deep into his eyes. – “I am not afraid anymore.”
Eloise clamped onto her brother with a smile on her face. Trees of blossom were spreading their petals through the wind. It was a happy day for everyone as two would be reunited into one. Benedict and you were ready to say your vows. To no longer be two, but one. For one cannot stand without the other. With pride in his eyes, gazed Benedict upon your arrival. You were dressed in all white, holding onto your father’s arm. He was being supported by a cane as his body had not healed up properly yet from the incident.
He guided you towards your intended. Eloise let go of her brother as Benedict extended his hand out to you. You let yours slip into his, walking up to him. – “Are you ready my love?“ - whispered he to you. – “You can always turn back now before you are bound to me.” – chuckled you out. – “Not a chance.” – responded he, leaving a gentle kiss against your forehead. Taking his arm, allowed you him to guide you inside. It was a small ceremony, just those close to you present. You sealed you vows with a kiss as loud cheering filled the church.
Outside hugged you everyone before your departure with your newly wedded husband. Never in a million years did you think you would call one husband. You thought no one would love you with what you carried, but one did. And one phenomenal one indeed. You couldn’t have wished for a better person to love. You finally found yourself worthy of being loved. Gregory bowed before you with a saddened face. – “Aw Gregory.” – said you, kneeling down to him.
He threw your arms around your neck, moving your arms around him. – “I’ll miss you.” – whispered he into your ear. You moved his head back, wiping a tear of his cheek. – “I’ll miss you too dear Gregory, but I promise to invite you soon as you…” – you touched his nose with your finger brief. – “don’t forget to invite me to tea as many times as you like.” – That made him laugh between his tears. You pulled yourself back up, taking Benedicts hand. You waved everyone goodbye one last time before heading off.
The wood in the fireplace was crackling delightful. You stood before it, warming your hands up to it. Benedict approached you from behind, letting his fingers go up your arm. His face buried in the crook of your neck. There he planted a kiss. A soft kiss that made you smile. His hands slowly lowered towards your waist, leaving another kiss in your neck. He pushed some fabric aside over your shoulder to kiss it as well. You melted at his touch that send shivers up your spine. – “My dear wife.” – breathed he out, kissing your bare shoulder again.
You turned around, laying your arms around his neck. – “My dear husband.” – replied you, staring dreamingly at him. He brought his lips down towards yours, whilst holding onto you firmly. He started guiding you away from the fireplace, his lips forever on yours. Kissing him with such longing, it made your heart beat out of your chest. You could feel the pounding of his heart against yours, beating for one another. Standing close by the bed, guided he his hands up. He unbuttoned you, dropping your dress to the floor. His hands then started to fumble the ribbon of your corset. You guided your hands down to his chest, unbuttoning his shirt.
With one smooth pull, untied he the knot at the top of your corset. You giggled against his lips at how eager he was. Benedict kept kissing you whilst trying to tear the corset off you. It slipped off as he let it drop to the ground. You carefully stepped out of it, standing only in your undergarments. Benedict’s hand laid against your back, feeling your warm skin underneath his palm. For the first time, felt he truly close to you. Feeling every bit of your core. You stopped kissing him for a moment, holding him as he guided his lips to your neck. He kept kissing you uncontrollably as your body warmed up by his touch.
You gasped quietly at the sudden sense. It felt unsettling as you questioned it at first if it was real. Benedict stopped kissing you, placing his hand against your cheek. – “Are you alright Y/n?” – questioned he, sensing something was off. You fluttered with your eyelashes, winching at the sting of pain coming from inside of you. You bend down, gripping onto his shirt as you held your stomach. It was happening again. One of your episodes at the worst timing. A sting of pain went through your entire body, making you collapse through your knees. Benedict gasped, preventing you from falling.
You pushed him away, falling onto the ground. He stared at you in shock, hoping you wouldn’t turn him away again. You crawled back against a closet, coughing loud. Your entire body shivering from the intense pain as Benedict witnessed your condition firsthand. You kept coughing loud, unable to stop as you let your fingers slide down your throat. Wheezing were you grasping for breath. It was like your lungs were on hold, not working for a moment as you felt like suffocating. Benedict rushed to your side, kneeling beside you. – “Breath Y/n, breath!” – called he out in a state of panic.
Your head laid back, grasping for air. You witnessed the concern in his eyes, slowly cracking him. Then gasped you loud, screaming in tears. You let your head fall forwards against Benedict’s arm, crying loud. – “Please….” – begged you him. A part of you still wanted to seclude this from him. Shield him from the pain inside of you. Your body twitched, coughing loud in your hand. Benedict was in slight shock, not knowing what to do. It was clear that he was no match for your illness. – “Please…” – begged you again, wanting him to turn a blind eye. Benedict shook his head firmly, inhaling deeply.
“I promised to love you in sickness and in health.” – replied he, letting his palm go upwards your cheek. – “What must I do?” – whispered he to you. You pointed lifelessly at the bed, unable to control your tears. Benedict carefully picked you up from the ground, leading you over to the bed. He laid you down, staring bewildered at you. You took his hand, pulling it down. You wanted him to lay beside you. So he did, laying himself carefully beside you. You rolled over to your side, pulling his hand over your body. Benedict understood what you meant, crawling closer against your body. He slid his arm underneath your body so that he could fully hold you close.
You cried in terror, wishing for the pain to go away. The pain that made every muscle in your body sting. Benedict kept his body firmly against yours, burying his face in your hair, closing his eyes. He felt the shocks your body made against his, making him grip onto you firmer. Fearing that if he faltered, you might slip away from him. – “I love you Y/n.” – said he, kissing the back of your shoulder. He wanted you to know you are so loved, even in a state like this. He thought he would be scared and at first, he was. Laying here with you, gave him the strength to carry on. He understood that you needed him, that he needed to be the better man. If this was what a life spending with you meant. Then he would gladly spend it like this. In time he would learn to pick up any of your signals better to ease your way through it.
“I am sorry…” – said you between coughs. – “What for?” – asked he, lifting his head a bit up. – “For ruining our wedding night…” – Benedict kissed your neck gently. – “Our night is not ruined my love. I say it brought me closer to you in any way possible.” – you cracked up a tiny smile, finding some joy between your pain. – “Besides I shall have from now on every night with you. You might find me annoying one day when you wish not to sleep so tightly in my embrace.” – chuckled he out. You rolled a bit over to your back, looking up to him. – “I could never…” – whispered you to him. Benedict lowered his head, kissing your forehead as you felt so weak. – “I’ll watch over you…” – said he, making you exhale deep. You rolled back to the side, clamping onto his arms around you. Like a cocoon were you held safe in his embrace. Where nothing bad could ever touch you.
My favorite thing about reading fanfiction is when the author uses a turn of phrase/word that Is Most Definitely Not Of My Knowing, and I have a sudden interest in where they’re from/who they adopted the phrase from. I just think it’s so fun to read something by the author and just go “Ooooh!!!! Ooooh!!!! Do tell me about the flies being caught with honey!!!!!”
Matthew is sitting on the edge of the windowsill, clutching a battered green walkie talkie to his chest, when he realizes that he might have a problem.
A five foot seven problem with a crooked smile and braces.
“Breaker 1-9. Birdie, come in Birdie,” the walkie talkie rumbled to life and Matthew almost dropped it. “Do you have your ears on, over.”
“I thought we agreed my handle was Eagle One, over.”
“Birdie is cuter, over.”
“You’re full of crap,” Matthew said, even as he flushed. “Over.”
He could almost see Gilbert shrug on the other end. He knew it would look casual, easy, and just a little bit cheeky.
“I’m still right. Over.”
Matthew huffed and leaned further out the window but the street was empty.
“You’re still full of crap. And you’re late. What’s your 20? Over.”
“I’m still on Springfield, over.”
“That’s three blocks away!” Matthew readjusted himself. “I’m going to get caught, over.”
“Then lower your voice, over.”
“I’m going to get in trouble,” he hissed. “Over.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He could hear the crackles and pops of interference as Gilbert hurried. “Start climbing down and I’ll be there to catch you. I promise. Over.”
“I don’t need you to catch me,” Matthew grumbled, tucking the walkie talkie in the front pocket of his oversized jacket and reaching for the tree branch outside his window.
The truth was, he probably did need Gilbert to catch him. His bedroom was on the second floor of his modest suburban home and the tree did not have any branches lower than eleven feet. Even if he hung off the lowest branch before letting go, he would still fall five feet and twist his ankle. Again.
He pulled himself into the tree and started climbing down anyway.
Matthew had more than one problem, really. He had several and all of them had something to do with his best friend. Gilbert made him reckless. Gilbert made him do things he would never dream of doing on his own. Like sneak out at midnight on a Thursday.
Gilbert chipped away at his reservations and made his knees weak when he smiled. He made him stutter and trip over his own feet. He made him blush.
Matthew was a mess when Gilbert was around.
But Gilbert also made him laugh. He made Matthew feel smarter and stronger than he actually was. He made Matthew feel like he could do anything if he put his mind to it.
Gilbert believed him when no one else would.
He always believed in him too.
Matthew did not understand where his unwavering faith came from but it made his heart ache. It made him want to be there for Gilbert. No matter what.
Even if that meant climbing out of his window on a school night.
Matthew focused on shuffling along the branch before lowering himself to the next one, and the next one. It was hard work and the rough bark of the tree scraped the palms of his hands. He was sure there were at least a dozen leaves tangled in his hair.
He turned to look down when he heard Gilbert approaching.
“It’s about ti-”
The branch underneath him suddenly snapped with his shifting weight and he was falling, falling, and oh, shit, this was going to hurt so much and he was going to be grounded for a month if he did not end up in the hospitaland…
Gilbert caught him around the legs with a quiet ‘Oof!’ and then he was falling again, forward this time, into his arms.
He landed on top of Gilbert.
“I, uh, are you okay?” He whispered a little too loudly, leaning back and looking for injuries.
Gilbert blinked up at him for a moment before a slow smile spread across his face. The moonlight glinted off his braces and, oh, Matthew knew he was still in trouble. He had always thought braces were ugly and embarrassing until Gilbert came to class with a mouth full of metal last year.
Matthew glanced at the walkie talkie in the grass to his left. Gilbert must have thrown it when he ran to catch him.
“You’re so full of crap,” Matthew snorted before he could not stand it anymore and he ducked down to press his lips against Gilbert’s teeth. His braces were warmer than he had imagined but, then, Gilbert was kissing him back and it was awkward and uncoordinated and a little bit perfect.
He never wanted it to end but he eventually pulled back to study his best friend. His ears were bright red and he looked a little dazed but he did not seem upset.
“I think I like you. Like, ‘like like’ you,” he said. Gilbert slipped his hand into his back pocket and squeezed.
“10-2. I’m reading you loud and clear. Over.”
Matthew knocked their foreheads together, a little too hard, before kissing him again.
For my favourite person on her birthday. Happy birthday, Maplevogel! You said you wanted a domestic piece so I hope this counts. A little bit of sharing and caring and patience.
Inspired by the song ‘Depth Over Distance’ by Ben Howard.
Depth Over Distance
The hinges on the door squeaked in warning as Canada pushed it open. The house was stale and dim but he could hear the ‘click, click, click’ of an oscillating fan in the distance.
“Gilbert…?”
He slipped out of his shoes and dropped his suitcase on the worn hardwood.
“Gilbert? I’m home. Where are you?”
He squinted into the kitchen as he passed and sighed at the pile of cardboard boxes and garbage. The stove was blackened, the coffee pot was filled with noodles, and the sink was stacked with unwashed dishes.
He knew what that meant.
Canada squared his shoulders and marched up the staircase with his heart in his throat. Kumajirou was sitting outside their bedroom door with his nose scrunched up in displeasure. Canada tapped him on the head twice before pushing the door open.
The hinges seemed to screech even louder than before in the silence.
“Gilbert? Are you in here?”
“No,” the bundle of blankets on their bed replied.
“Are you sure?” Canada asked, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. Prussia had drawn the curtains but he could see piles of clothes and more unwashed dishes scattered around the room.
“No,” the blankets repeated.
Canada bit his lip and tried not to laugh.
“No, you’re not here? Or no, you’re not sure?”
Prussia peeked out from under the covers and blinked at him.
“… Both?”
Canada chuckled, he could not help himself, and reached out to smooth his tousled hair.
“Bad day, then?”
“Bad week,” Prussia pouted, but he leaned into his hand. “I missed you.”
Canada hummed in understanding. He had missed Prussia too. But he knew that it was more than that.
“Are you going to get up?”
“… I don’t want to get up today.”
Canada clucked his tongue and nudged Prussia until he scooched over.
“Then move,” Canada said. “I want in.”
Prussia raised the corner of the blankets and Canada slithered underneath. He wrapped his arms around Prussia and pressed wet kisses to his shoulder and collarbone.
Prussia clutched the back of his suit jacket.
His hands were shaking.
“I’m sorry you had a bad week,” Canada mumbled against his skin. “You should have told me. I would have come home sooner.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, but I’m youridiot.”
Canada smiled even though he felt like crying.
He left Prussia alone the next day, and the day after, but he opened the curtains on the third day and laughed when Prussia hissed at him.
He set a mound of pancakes on his lap and pushed the maple syrup into his hands.
“It’s time to get up.”
“I don’t want to get up.”
“I know. But you’re going to do it anyway.”
“Why? What is the point? Nothing is going to change.”
“Well, I’m going to change the sheets.”
“You’re an ass. That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Mm,” Canada agreed, and kissed him on the forehead. “Yeah. But you love me and I asked you nicely so you’re going to do it anyway.”
“You’re trying to guilt me.”
“Absolutely.”
Prussia watched the maple syrup soak into his pancakes.
“I’ll still be depressed, y’know. I can’t just turn it off. It doesn’t work that way.”
“I know. But you’ll be depressed in the kitchen. Or the den.” Canada cut into the pancakes with the fork in his hand and raised a piece to his lips. Prussia snatched it from him with a snort. He laughed. “A change of scenery might be good for you.”
“You’re mean,” Prussia muttered as he chewed.
“If I was mean, I wouldn’t have brought you pancakes.”
“Where do you think nations go when we die?”
Canada looked up from his novel. Prussia was sitting cross legged in front of the fireplace. He was hovering over the flames, a little too close to be comfortable, and the fire cast interesting shadows across his face.
“What do you mean?” Canada asked even though he knew what he meant.
“When we die. What do you think happens?”
He hummed.
“I always thought we just sort’a… Stopped.”
Prussia smiled when he turned to look at him but it was strained.
“That’s not reassuring at all.”
“I’m sorry,” Canada said, and he was.
“No, it’s okay,” Prussia pressed his hands closer to the fire as if he wanted to feel something, anything, even if it hurt him. Especially if it hurt him. “You’re honest. I like that about you.”
Canada marked his page before slipping out of his armchair. He crawled across the hardwood and settled next to Prussia in front of the fireplace. He did not touch him, but he could have, and that was enough.
He stared into the flames too.
“… Are you scared?”
“That I might disappear like Germania?” Prussia forced his hands even closer. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I don’t know why I haven’t yet. I just keep… Waking up. Everyday. And I don’t know why I’m here.”
Canada chewed on his bottom lip.
“… I’m glad you are. Here. With me.”
Prussia glanced at him.
“… Me too.”
He almost sounded surprised when he said it.
Canada looked up when Prussia knocked on the doorframe and Gilbird ‘cheep, cheep, cheeped’ from his perch on the faucet.
“Yes?”
He was submerged under a mountain of bubbles in the bathtub but he was still self conscious, somehow, when Prussia opened the door. His face was mottled and red and he wondered if Prussia had heard him blubbering. He wiped at his eyes.
“I don’t want to disappear. You know that, right? I don’t want to leave you.”
Canada huffed but it came out as a hiccup instead.
“I know. I do, I do, I know.”
“I love you. You’re my home. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
“What if… What if you don’t get a choice? What if…” Canada hiccupped, again, and scrubbed furiously at his eyes. This was not about him. What he wanted. Or needed. He was not the one who… Who… “What if you…”
“Then I’ll hold on tighter,” Prussia crouched down and grabbed his hand before he hurt himself. “And I’ll never let go.”
Canada snorted.
“That’s not how it works.”
“Of course it is.”
“It is not.”
“It is.”
He could feel a smile tugging on his lips and he hated Prussia for it. He loved him for it. He hated him.
He loved him.
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’myour idiot,” Prussia agreed. “Now move. I want in.”
“You’re still dressed!”
“Psh,” Prussia waved him off. He pulled himself up and stepped into the bathtub. His socked feet landed on either side of his legs as he sunk to his knees. His wet clothes scratched against his bare chest as he wrapped himself around Canada under a blanket of bubbles. “When has that ever stopped me?’
Canada started laughing, then crying, and then he could not stop.
Prussia threw the curtains open and jumped up and down on the mattress. Canada moaned and tried to smack him. Prussia pushed a bottle of maple syrup into his hand instead.
He opened his eyes and blinked at the pile of pancakes in front of him.
Something that bears mentioning: I get why we need to shame straight girls who fetishize mlm ships but. To any straight girls who consistently relate to or resonate with mlm dynamics on a deep level or see themselves in queer male characters. if by any chance this post from a tiny tiny blog crosses your dash. Please take this moment to very privately consider the possibility that you might not be straight. Or a girl.
Neil woke up in a blind and brief panic, reaching under his pillow for a gun that wasn’t there as a separate pillow hit him in the face.
“Oh good, you’re alive.” Seth said, turning and immediately leaving the room, “it’s like six in the afternoon.” He called over his shoulder, shutting the door behind him.
Neil slumped back into his pillow and then reached for his contacts to go and join the world. He ignored Seth’s explanation about where the others had gone but paid close attention to his mention of bagels in the kitchen. Neil swiped one before leaving the dorms in search of fresh air.
He laid back in the grass behind the dorm and ate his bagel in peace. For all of three minutes.
“Well at least you’re not wasting that.” Andrew mused.
“I think setting my bagel on fire would cause a bit of a scene,” Neil mumbled through his food. Andrew sat next to him and lit a cigarette.
“It’s my turn.” Andrew said, waiting for Neil to nod in agreement. “How wrong, exactly, was Riko’s assumptions about your abandonment issues?”
Well, wasn’t that a question. Neil had been expecting this- something along these lines at least. The second he’d gotten on the bus and had a second to think about all he’d said at the banquet. He’d realized he’d said a bit too much all around. At least it didn’t really matter.
“Very.” He answered, his body would probably be far less scared if his parents had ignored him. “My mother cared about me until the day she died.” In her own way of course. He couldn’t imagine most of what she did coming off as caring, but she’d kept him alive.
“Did you kill her?” Andrew asked.
Neil almost dropped his bagel. Now, he’d brought up her death on purpose- to hopefully distract from the complete lack of mention of his father. But not only had Neil not been expecting to be accused of his mother’s murder, it also wasn’t Andrew’s turn in the game.
“Did you kill yours?” He asked instead of answering.
“Yes.” Andrew said. “I told her what would happen if she hit Aaron again. She didn’t listen.”
Fair enough, if Neil could kill his father he would and he wasn’t exactly in a judging kind of position; just overall considering his entire life. Neil held up his bagel in a mock salute.
Andrew raised an eyebrow- as if he’d been expecting anything else as a response. Neil rolled his eyes.
“Oh I’m sorry, is this another ‘concerning for my mental health’ thing? Would you, the most well adjusted man I’ve ever met, like to tell me how I should respond to you confessing to murder?”
“Meep meep.” Andrew mocked, digging a finger into Neil’s cheek to turn his face away. Neil had no fucking idea what he was talking about.
“Yeah, I definitely know what that means.” Neil swatted at Andrew’s hand. “Thank you- meep meep.”
“Is everything that comes out of your mouth a half-assed lie?” It wasn’t a question. “Meep meep is the only dialogue in Road Runner.”
“Huh, I never had the volume on when I watched it.” He could now, Neil realized, he could go and find a DVD of the show and watch it with the volume as high as it could go. It didn’t matter who snuck up on him now.
Andrew took a drag from his cigarette. “The three of you seemed cozy yesterday. How often is my doppelganger guest starring at the cheerleader’s math lessons?”
Oh fuck that. “Nope- nope. I’m not spending the rest of my life dealing with whatever the fuck is going on between you two. Actually,” Neil turned to face Andrew, waving his bagel around for emphasis. “If you really want to drag me into the middle of this you can give me all the context. At least that way I’d know what to be irritated about.”
He wasn’t Andrew’s spy and he refused to be Aaron’s scapegoat. The next person to try and get Neil to be a part of the Minyard Madness would find out just how badly things went when Neil got involved. He was a fixer- he’d always been. Being on the run meant having to use your own hands to get yourself out of every possible problem. Not necessarily the right way, or the kindest way. Which meant no one would like how Neil fixed this if they kept bothering him about it.
“Fine. Why did you stay with Renee during the banquet?” The ‘when you avoid her most of the time’ went without saying.
“The same reason you let Katelyn come. Safety in numbers.” Neil got up and shoved the last of his bagel into his mouth- having decided that he was tired of talking. He gave Andrew a two fingered salute and headed back into Fox Tower.
He found his dorm in a state. Dan and Matt unpacking various alcohol bottles as Allison and Seth argued over music. Neil sat down on the couch without asking, someone would explain unprompted. The upperclassmen loved talking almost as much as they loved weird bets.
“The Monsters are getting us fucked up tonight. You drink right?” Allison asked, pulling a CD out of Seth’s hand and frowning at it in distaste. Renee came in, leaving the door open and setting a box of cookies on the counter.
Neil shook his head and then realized she wasn’t looking. “No, I don’t”
Seth tried to snatch the CD back but Allison held it over his head- her heels made her a good four inches taller than him.
“That’s okay Neil,” Renee said, dropping onto the couch next to him. “I don’t drink either. We can be mocktail buddies.”
“How’d they get Andrew to agree to this?” Neil asked in a low voice.
“Free alcohol,” she said.
Neil thought that if it were as simple as that Andrew would be drunk 24/7 and the team wouldn’t be divided.
Seth gave up on getting the CD and just slung Allison over his shoulder, she laughed, dropping the CD and weakly smacking at his back while demanding he put her down.
“Hey!” Matt yelled as his CD cluncked against the floor.
“Yet, put me down before I break you.” Allison said, still laughing, kicking her legs in the air- again with far less power then she would if she really wanted to get down.
Seth grumbled but put Allison down once she agreed to some CD Neil didn’t recognize the name of.
Kevin was the first to arrive, exactly ten seconds before the cousins. He made a beeline for the countertop full of drinks only to be intercepted by Dan with both her arms out.
“Absolutely not Day, this isn’t just a get shitfaced Sunday. We have a purpose tonight, as a team.” She told him, looking around him as Nicky and Aaron came into the room. “Fancy. Cocktails.” She gestured to the table and swiped a bottle of whiskey in one flourish.
Nicky cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Mission accepted Captain.” He said, stepping up to the counter.
Aaron shook his head but stepped up next to him.
Dan went to where Andrew was still standing in the doorway and handed him the bottle she’d grabbed. He accepted it and crossed the room, joining Neil and Renee on the couch.
“DRINKS. DRINKS. DRINKS.” Matt started chanting, the others joining in as Nicky and Aaron began making drinks. Nicky performed some tricks and winked every three seconds. Aaron, pretty much just poured liquids into cups as everyone yelled around him.
Neil watched it all with a ghost of fascination. This was the third party he’d ever been to. If he counted Eden’s Twilight and the Banquet as parties. So maybe it was actually his first.
The Foxes started playing a drinking game after the first round, Neil couldn’t follow the rules. He didn’t really need to- as he wasn’t drinking or playing. Renee and Andrew weren’t playing either. Although Andrew was drinking. Kevin said he was playing, but was mostly just drinking. And Aaron had said he wouldn’t play but then Nicky had begged and so he did.
It involved two decks of cards and a lot of yelling. It was an odd thing, watching the Foxes. Neil usually put himself on the outside of them. Observing and listening without participating if he wasn’t outright avoiding. But it was as he watched them play this game, that wasn’t Exy, that he really saw just how much space there was between them.
Maybe if Neil was going to live, maybe if he would ever be free- truly free from his father, maybe then he could laugh and drink or at the very least learn how to. Learn how to be a college student and not just a dying thing.
He glanced at Andrew and Renee. They both put themselves on the outside too but it was different with them. Allison called Renee over yelling that she could just drink water. She smiled serenely and got up off the couch. Andrew took another long sip from the bottle Dan had given him.
Neither of them were as separate from the team as they tried to make it seem. Renee might not drink or take sides but she was always there. And Andrew might- well Andrew might be Andrew with his knives and homicidal smile. But at the very least as long as Kevin, Aaron, and Nicky were a part of the team he was to.
And far from the least Neil had noticed plenty. Had noticed how the upperclassmen had waited until the last possible moment to tell Neil that Andrew played games sober. That during that first game Andrew had stepped between Matt and the massive opponent he punched. That Matt had known to run to Andrew in the first place. Neil figured that probably hadn’t been the first time something like that had happened.
Neil watched Andrew watch the team play their drinking game and Neil thought that as much as everyone said the team was fractured into pieces- despite the fact that Neil had counted out four separate groups when he first got there. The team was only broken in two. The Foxes. And Neil.
The game dissolved as Nicky and Aaron made another round of drinks. A very drunk Kevin slumped into the couch inbetween Andrew and Neil.
“Will you tell me something?” Kevin asked in low slurring French.
Andrew glanced at the two of them but said nothing.
“Why’d you call him second best?” Kevin asked. It was one of the dumbest questions Neil had ever heard.
“Because he is. You’re better than him.” Neil answered. It would only inflate Kevin’s ego if he remembered it although with all the Foxes there and a majority drinking it didn’t seem as if Kevin had managed to get as drunk as he had at Eden’s. Maybe that had something to do with why Andrew had agreed to this.
Kevin blinked rapidly and then got back up to rejoin the others.
Andrew looked pointedly at Neil.
“I don’t report to you and it’s still my turn.” Neil told him.
