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the-wlw-cafe · 4 years

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Limerence - A Westenray Fanfic

Rated: T

Summary: Five times Mina remained blind to the true extent of Lucy’s feelings, and one time Lucy was the one unaware.

Read it on AO3!

Lucy is nine years old when she’s first told that how she feels for Mina is considered out of the ordinary.

“When I marry, I want to marry a man who’s intelligent – and kind!”, Mina happily prattles along, her voice airy with excitement, still taken by the wonder of the stories they’d read just minutes before. The legend of King Arthur, old myths of chivalry and bravery, none of those modern novels their parents fret about. It’s still more than Lucy’s governess will allow her, afraid that her young mind might get lost among the pages.

“Be sure to stay on top of your reading then, an intelligent man won’t settle for a dull girl at his side”, Mina’s governess, Mrs Sheffield, replies, not unkindly – never unkindly, Lucy thinks with a slight pang of envy. Then again, someone as bright and kind and good as Mina would not give her governess many reasons to be unkind. It makes Lucy wonder why Mina’s parents would even have a need for a governess, since their daughter is already perfect. Lucky Mrs Sheffield must be envied by all her peers, getting to spend her entire day with Mina.

“What about you, Lucy? Who do you want to marry?”, Mina asks, and Lucy can feel two pairs of eyes burrow into her. Marriage. She can barely think about it without scoffing. She can’t stand any of the boys she knows, boys like Henry, the Fairfax’ son, who likes to pull Mina’s hair and kick against her shins under the table when his parents aren’t looking. If he is what a ‘fine young gentleman’ is supposed to be, she doesn’t want any part of it. He’s rude, snotty and rough. Unlike Mina.

“I don’t think I shall marry”, Lucy says. “I just want to stay with Mina.”

Mrs Sheffield can’t quite hide the way Lucy’s reply catches her off guard. Her features twist into a frown for just a moment or two, before smoothing over again.

“Well, I remember not caring for any of the boys when I was your age, too”, the governess offers. “You’ll change your mind when you’re older. It’s simply a matter of meeting the right man.”

Lucy can barely resist the urge to stomp her feet in an entirely unladylike display of frustration. She knows she won’t change her mind, and she doesn’t care one bit for the way Mrs Sheffield talks over her!

“Don’t pay her any mind”, Mina whispers to her once the governess has turned her back to them. She takes her hand and gives it an affectionate squeeze. “We’ll always stay together, even after we marry.”

Lucy doesn’t answer, because kind as Mina is, she just doesn’t seem to understand what she means, and Lucy doesn’t know how to make her friend see reason. So instead, she uses her sleeve to wipe at the tears that have sprung from her eyes unbidden. She knows herself better than any governess will ever know her, and she knows one thing above all: Never in her life will a boy be more important to her than Mina.

ii.

Lucy is 14 years old and it is getting increasingly difficult to look at Mina. It’s something she can’t quite explain, or perhaps she doesn’t dare to entertain the notion in her mind for long enough to form a conclusion. Either way, there is a strange atmosphere between them now, at least on Lucy’s part, and she prays that Mina doesn’t perceive it as well. Things that were as natural as breathing before, things that should be as natural as breathing have suddenly taken on a new grandness. Whenever they share a bed now she can barely catch a wink of sleep, her focus consumed entirely by Mina’s warmth and every point of contact between their bodies, making her heart race and her breath stutter. Whenever Mina, sweet, unwitting Mina changes in front of her she can feel an entirely unfamiliar heat rise until it becomes too much to bear and she has to avert her eyes. Sometimes she will look at her best friend and out of the blue the brunette’s beauty will steal the breath right from her lungs. Sometimes, her eyes will catch on Mina’s lips, and she wonders what it might feel like if she were to just lean in -

Perhaps Lucy is getting ill.

She fears she might be past any chance of recovery already.

Still, she needs to nip this, whatever it is, in the bud. She has no idea how to do it, but she’s locked herself in her room. She’s been refusing meals and company, because until she’s found a way to contain this, to push it into a corner of her mind so deep it can never come up again, she can’t be trusted around Mina. What if she does something thoughtless? What if, in one lapse of control, she’d find herself acting on her most secret impulses, destroying their friendship forever, branding herself a twisted pariah?

There’s a knock on the door, without the hesitation the servants often display when they attempt to coax her into accepting a tray of rapidly cooling dinner, and gentler yet than her mother’s knock. She knows it’s her before she even has the chance to announce her presence.

“Lucy? May I come in, please?”

She’s completely aware it’s a mistake, she’s aware in her state this might very likely end in disaster, but she is also aware that she will never be able to deny her friend a single wish. She strides across the room, steadily avoiding Mina’s gaze as she lets her in, as if the simple act of meeting her eyes would set her ablaze. Lucy can’t rule out the possibility that it might.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”, Mina asks.

“I’m sorry,” is all Lucy can come up with.

“The least you could do is not avoid my question”, her friend huffs, and even now, cornered as she is, Lucy can’t help how her heart swells with affection for hard-headed, iron-willed Mina. She opens her mouth, but despite usually being so quick to come up with quips it can’t find the words to express what needs to be said.

“Are we fighting? Was it something I said?”, Mina inquires further, her voice softer now.

That Lucy can’t abide by. She can’t let Mina believe this entire wretched situation is her fault, not for a second.

“Oh, sweet Mina, no! It’s me, it’s my fault, I just – it’s just…”, she trails off, cowardly, because even though it’s the right thing to do she can’t bring herself to ruin what she still has left. Lucy can see Mina open her mouth, to question her further, probably, but she seems to think better of it. Instead, she closes the gap between them, taking Lucy in her arms, and Lucy, curse her weakness, readily lets herself melt into the embrace.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words, Lucy. Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? I worry about you.”

There was no way Lucy could hold the tears at bay now.

“I’m so, so sorry for making you worry”, she sniffles, letting herself be comforted by the familiar smell of Mina’s floral perfume. “And I can only apologize for shutting you out like this.”

“Don’t worry about all of that now. All I care about is your happiness”

“But you make me happy”, Lucy states, quietly. It is the profound truth: She’d never been so miserable in her entire life than the days she’s isolated herself, and these few minutes in her friend’s company seem to have healed her like molten gold seeping into the open cracks on her heart, filling up the empty spaces. Mina pulled back, brow furrowed, both of her hands coming up to gently cup her face, wiping away her tears with her thumbs. Lucy exhales a shuddering sigh.

“If that is true than I’m afraid you’re being very ridiculous right now”, Mina admonishes gently. “Because what you need right now is to not wallow in your own self-pity. You need a day on the town with your best friend to distract you from your murky thoughts, and maybe after you can tell me what weighs so heavily on your heart.”

It’s a wonder how Mina can’t see the adoration plainly written across her face as Lucy takes the hand that’s offered to her, already concocting a completely fabricated story about some young man breaking her heart to placate Mina’s curiosity about her disappearance.

“Nobody makes me as happy as you”, Lucy murmurs, and although the words are only meant for herself Mina picks up on them nonetheless.

“Then you can count yourself lucky that I won’t let you waste away in a sunless room, dearest Lucy. I’ll say, you really are dramatic sometimes.”

You’d understand if you knew, Lucy thinks, forgive me, but I pray you’ll never know.

iii.

She’s been confined to her bed in isolation for days now. At least she believes so, but her sense of time has been utterly shattered by drifting in and out of fevered dreams, with no way to tell the time of the day but from the light – or lack thereof – coming in through the window.

She wishes they’d just talk to her. In the beginning she was at least able to get some information from her mother when the doctor informed her of Lucy’s state in a hushed voice, like the uncertainty of what was happening to her would bring her any peace of mind. Most of the information she got was conveyed by her mother through worried glances, through the tight smiles and reassurances of “it’s nothing serious, you’re going to be up and about in no time at all” meant to bring her comfort, but only accomplished the opposite as she knew all of her mother’s tells. It was obvious Lucy was being lied to.

But it doesn’t matter now, not anymore, since the doctor has forbidden her mother from entering her room for longer than an hour a day, since he is convinced the visits cause Lucy nothing but distress. In reality, of course, nothing is more distressing than slowly watching the angry red rash of scarlet fever creep over her chest and arms in isolation.

In the initial state of Lucy’s illness, Mina did not leave her side at all, and now, after the doctor had to forcibly remove her from Lucy’s bedside more than once, she’s taken to sneaking into Lucy’s room at night. No matter how hard Lucy protests – or tries to, her throat feels too raw and tight to speak more often than not– stubborn Mina cares not for Lucy’s worries of the disease spreading to her, because apparently, the fever has made her quite contradictory: While she sends her friend away during her few hours of wakefulness, in her sleep she’s known to call out for Mina, no-one but Mina. What other secrets her feverish mind may lay bare Lucy does not dare think about, but since Mina keeps coming back to her the thing she fears most can’t have come to pass yet. How strange, she muses, that even as she is getting her throat painted with horribly painful tinctures twice a day it is this she frets over every minute of every waking hour.

She awakes to a darkened room only illuminated by the few candles that have not yet burned down, sunken into a chair by her bedside none other than Mina, sleeping. Lucy’s eyes drift downward to their hands, intertwined even in their sleep, and she can’t help but stroke the palm of Mina’s hand with her fingertips, tracing patterns over her delicate fingers, imagining herself lifting it up to her lips and kissing each one -

With a soft sigh, Mina rouses, and Lucy’s hand jerks back as if Mina’s skin had burned her. Her friend’s eyes dart around the room, disoriented, before settling on Lucy’s face. Lucy shudders inwardly as she imagines what a ghastly sight she must be, skin sickly pale with red splotches creeping up her neck, her eyes glassy from the fever. But in Mina’s gaze there’s no pity, only affection, and it alone makes Lucy want to cry.

“Lucy”, Mina breathes, her voice still thick with sleep. Despite her aching limbs Lucy lifts a hand and pushes against her friend’s thigh, weak but insistent. Keep your distance, she tries to convey. I couldn’t bear it if you were to get ill as well.

It’s a testament to their bond that Mina understands her without issue, even though all she has to say on the matter is “I won’t leave you alone, Lucy, so don’t even try to convince me otherwise.”

A hand comes to touch her forehead, and despite the fever Lucy can feel additional heat rise to her cheeks. Worry is clearly etched into Mina’s face.

“First and foremost, we need to keep your temperature down.”

Mina’s voice, calm and firm, brings her more comfort than her mother’s hushed reassurances ever have. There is a bucket of rags soaking in freezing water next to her bed, she hears it sloshing and closes her eyes, bracing herself for the icy touch.

“This is going to feel very cold”, Mina whispers, and the warning is more than the doctor has ever afforded her. In fact, it’s very likely that they’ve exchanged more words in the last minutes than the doctor ever has deigned to waste on her over the entire course of her illness. In fact, she’s not sure the doctor even knows her name – to him she might be called scarletina since he seems to regard her as nothing but her disease. Lucy gasps at the first touch of the icy rags to her heated skin as Mina carefully places them on her forehead with steady hands. Mina is knowledgeable about these things, she’s knowledgeable about a lot of things a young lady like her has no business being aware of. Her childhood passion for reading has only grown stronger the older they got, they’d soon turned to reading penny dreadfuls in secret, huddled together in bed way after nightfall, both of them trying to keep a brave face and yet almost jumping out of their skin at every benign noise of the mansion at night. Now she’s taken to sneaking into her father’s study, reading every medical journal she can get her hands on. She’d make a fine doctor, Lucy muses. Certainly better than the odious man in whose care she is now, although that might not be saying much.

Despite the burning sensation the cold rags inflict on her she feels her eyelids grow heavy and her mind grow sluggish with exhaustion.

“Mina”, she manages to croak.

“Shhh”, Mina admonishes, one wet hand cupping her cheek. “Don’t exert yourself too much.”

“Stay.”

It’s utterly selfish, but Lucy has proven to be nothing but a selfish creature. She craves the comfort Mina’s presence provides like she craves her next breath.

Lucy eyes have already closed, but she can still hear the smile curl around her best friend’s voice when she mutters: “I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.”

Always. I want you always, Lucy thinks, or maybe speaks. Everything hurts and the difference doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

“Then I’m afraid you’re stuck with me”, are the last words she hears before sleep pulls her under again.

iv.

Lucy would never have thought it possible to be so infatuated with a person that even their handwriting would seem endearing, but nonetheless she finds herself mindlessly skimming through Mina’s scientific notes, tracing the energetic curve of her gs, the elegant bow of her fs, and smiles at all the places the aspiring doctor has smudged the ink in her haste to capture every single ounce of knowledge on the page. It almost feels like she’s reading something private, like she’s intruded on her friend’s journal, but she can’t bring herself to stop. At least it distracts her from her worry.

Mina should have arrived from her studies half an hour ago. Lucy’s let herself into Mina’s room to escape the dreadful weather outside as if it were her own home. Considering the amount of time she spends there, it might as well be. Lucy glances at the clock. It hasn’t been a long time, even though it feels like hours, but Lucy can’t help the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that something might be wrong, that something is holding her up, that something has happened. With a huff, she closes the notebook. Maybe she’s just gotten used to being Mina’s first priority. Is this what she’s come to? Resenting Mina for chasing her dreams, dreams that she might have thought unattainable if it weren’t Mina who was pursuing them? She remembers the pride she felt when Mina told her through tears of joy that she’d been accepted into the medical society, as if her friend’s accomplishments were her own. No, she could never begrudge sweet Mina her ambition, as her drive is one of the most captivating things about her.

She hears footsteps rapidly approaching, a quick, decisive snap of heels that she’s come to associate with no-one but Mina. The door bursts open, and the smile that has snuck it’s way upon Lucy’s lips as it always does in Mina’s blessed presence drips from her face like the rain pelting against the windows as she sees the expression on her dear friend’s face. Jaw locked and eyes facing forward, fists clenched so tight her knuckles are whitening, she wears the expression of someone desperately trying to hold back tears of anger.

“Oh, Mina”, Lucy gasps, rushing to meet her friend, “what happened?”

“What happened?”, Mina hisses, smashing her books down on her bedside table. “I’m tired of being held to an entirely different standard than my peers and being made a fool of should I slip up even once!”

Of course. Men, Lucy thinks, they never miss an opportunity to prove my distaste for them right.

“One mistake!”, Mina rages. “One mistake, and it is grounds for having my suitability for this field of studies called into question! Explain it to me, Lucy, how a man can skip lectures to go gallivanting around town, reeking of liquor when he does deign to show himself only to fall asleep in his seat minutes later, and yet it is I to whom the professor recommends to re-evaluate their goals?” There’s fire in her eyes, and fervour in her voice, and Lucy feels equal parts pity for the men that dare challenge her not knowing the storm that they’ll reap, and equal parts a shameful longing to bear the brunt of her ardour, to be swept up completely by her force. The notion makes the blood rise to her cheeks and she knows she will guiltily revisit it later, alone in her bedchambers. For now, she pushes it aside, focusing on the Mina that is in front of her right now, in need of her support, not the fictitious version that inhabits her inverted fantasies.

“It’s because they are afraid of you. They are afraid of your intellect, your skill, your potential, and they’d rather wear you down and force you to give up on your dreams because they know you’re smarter than the lot of them combined. You threaten them, Mina, you threaten their entire view of the world with them at the top, undisputed. They see your excellence, and it terrifies them.”

Lucy is a bit breathless when she finishes, and she averts her eyes, suddenly embarrassed by her outburst and the palpability of her awe. Still, she won’t take it back, not a single word, because it is nothing but the truth and she needs Mina to know it.

Mina swallows, eyes burning with fierce determination. “I scare them? Good. I shall prove them right.”

And suddenly, Lucy feels quite dizzy. The silence between them stretches on, and, in an effort to fill it, Lucy blurts out the first thing that comes to mind:

“Before you do that, I do believe you’ve earned a little petty revenge. Remember that time I slipped ink into Henry Fairfax’ tea?”

Mina stares at her for a few moments, incredulous, before the tension breaks and she lets out the most endearing snort of laughter. To Lucy, no music could ever reach perfection such as this, and she’ll gladly make herself a jester if her reward shall be to hear this beautiful sound one more time.

“I mean it, I believe it improved his manners greatly.”

“Because he was too ashamed of his black teeth to speak!”

“From what I’ve learned, most men would be twice as amiable if they’d just keep their mouths shut.”

“Tempting”, Mina giggles, “but we’re not children anymore.”

Lucy pretends to sigh in disappointment. “You’re right, of course. It’s time we moved on from child’s play such as this. After all, as a soon-to-be doctor you of all people should know where to procure laxatives.”

“Lucy!”, Mina exclaims, playfully pushing her with just a little too much vigour, causing Lucy to stumble backwards, reaching out towards Mina as not to fall but only succeeding in knocking her off balance as well. For a few frantic moments they stay clutching at each other, swaying wildly like a pine at the mercy of a savage storm, before they find their footing again. Lucy closes her eyes, savouring each fleeting second before Mina will inevitably disentangle herself with a nervous giggle, shattering the strange intimacy of the moment. Yet her friend makes no move to do so. On the contrary, Lucy is startled to feel the weight of Mina gently resting her forehead on her shoulder. She can’t think straight. Her senses are awash with Mina’s warmth, the enticing scent of her perfume, the soothing rhythm of her breathing...she’s close enough for Lucy to feel each exhale warm against the skin of her neck. Is Mina aware how fast her heart is beating? She must be. It’s racing in Lucy’s ears like a pounding war drum. Lucy clenches her hands into fists until she can feel her fingernails painfully digging into her palms to distract herself, to keep herself from doing something as foolish as pressing her lips to Mina’s hair.

“Oh, darling Lucy, I do love you.” She’s so caught up in Mina’s bittersweet closeness that even after she feels her sweet friend’s lips form the words against her neck it takes a few moments for their meaning to sink in, and they bring with them a particularly painful ache. Not as I love you. The words are clear in Lucy’s mind, making her throat tighten and hot tears rise to her eyes.

“Sometimes it really does feel like you’re the only one in my corner as I’m opposing the rest of the world.”

Lucy doesn’t answer, can’t answer, for she fears her voice won’t obey her if she tries. So she settles on holding Mina a bit tighter, extending their embrace just a few moments longer, as to hide the tears are now flowing freely.

“I barely get to see you anymore.”

Mina’s right, of course. And it isn’t entirely owed to Mina’s medical studies, as much as Lucy would like to pretend it is the case. The truth is this: Lucy has been avoiding her. For her own sake, for her own sanity’s sake, because whenever they’re together now, he finds a way to insert himself into the situation, and the heartache is eating Lucy alive. So she’s been distancing herself, as a way of self-preservation. Best to get used to it now, she reckons, before the wedding, and the children that will follow, and the rift between them that will only grow further and further until Mina will realize that there is no more space for somebody like Lucy in her life.

“I’m sure Jonathan isn’t complaining.”

It’s a low blow and she regrets it as soon as it’s passed her lips. Not for fear of hurting Jonathan’s feelings, of course, but because now his presence is looming over them like a spectre even when he isn’t present. It’s the first sleepover Mina and her have had in weeks, a regular activity among them turned to a once-in-a-blue-moon occasion, and still she’s given him the power to worm his way into it. They’re lying right next to each other, close enough to touch, but there’s still a distance between them that was never there when they were younger. Now, they might as well be continents apart.

“Honestly, Lucy”, Mina hisses, propping herself up on her elbow and turning over to face her. “Must you paint Jonathan’s name black whenever you talk about him? What on earth could he have done to deserve such treatment from you?”

“What has he done? I find myself asking the same thing every hour of every day. What has he ever done for you, besides offering you support in name only, secretly hoping to make a docile housewife out of you yet?”

“You don’t know him like I do!”, Mina shouts, and it’s another thing that’s new between them, the shouting. They’d had fights before, of course, Lucy is convinced that two headstrong and intelligent individuals such as them can’t spend this much time in close proximity without quarrelling every so often, but their fights have become more frequent and more vicious.

“For all this time you’ve been seeing each other, I cannot think of one moment he took a stand for you!”

Not like I do, she catches herself thinking, and shudders immediately. How bitter she’s become. She can see Mina scrambling to come up with a response, but Lucy is too enraged to give her a quarter.

“Pray tell, Mina, what is one thing you admire about him? Hell, tell me one thing you like about Jonathan!”

Lucy slowly watches the anger in her friend’s eyes fade as the fight seems to leave her body and she turns away from her again, her gaze now fixed to an invisible point on the ceiling.

“He’s amiable”, Mina offers weakly.

“Oh, is that what they call a wet blanket nowadays?”, Lucy can’t help but scoff.

“He loves me”, Mina says, even quieter.

So do I, Lucy wants to say, Lucy yearns to say, but of course she can’t. She mustn’t. There are so many words inside her, emotions she’s repressed for so long, and she can feel them bubbling up, only a hair’s breadth away from spilling to the surface and ruining everything.

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

Nobody does, she wants to add, but her heart, her treacherous, foolish heart instead possesses her to say: “No man does.”

In a blink of an eye, the room is doused in an eerie quiet, as the weight of what she has just said settles in. Mina’s head whips around so fast Lucy might have feared for the muscles in her neck if she wasn’t frozen to the spot, panic gripping her insides with an icy grasp as Mina silently regards her with an expression usually reserved for the most difficult of riddles, like she’s a particularly challenging problem to solve. Lucy desperately tries to find a way to backtrack, to claim it was nothing but a silly joke, but the words die in her throat as with one fluid movement Mina leans in and -

Lucy closes her eyes, a soft gasp escaping her. This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening, there’s no way Mina is about to kiss her, and yet Lucy prepares herself for the gentle touch of soft lips on hers.

She’s proven right when Mina instead presses a kiss to her forehead.

Right. Of course.

Lucy would have laughed at herself and her inability to learn if she didn’t feel like crying. Of course Mina wouldn’t want to kiss her, why can’t she just accept it? Why must she torture herself with foolish hope?

The contact lasts for one second, maybe two, before Mina pulls back, completely wordless. Lucy, too, is stunned silent, even more so when her friend blows out the candle on the bedside table before burrowing into her side as if they were children again, sighing softly as she rested her head on Lucy’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Me neither”, Lucy croaks, leaning her cheek against soft brown hair.

She doesn’t sleep a wink that night.

vi.

She’s still holding onto the note as she enters the garden. She’s clutching onto it, balling it up and rendering it illegible. Not that it matters, she’s read and re-read it so many times by now she knows the words by heart. It’s not a great feat by any means, since the entire page is taken up by only two sentences, penned with a shaking hand in great haste:

Meet me in the gardens, urgently. Come alone.

- Mina

Lucy doesn’t want to come. She doesn’t think she can face Mina. But she also can’t stand waiting on her lonesome.

Lucy isn’t stupid, she knows the reason for Mina summoning her to meet her by herself. She’s noticed how they haven’t exchanged more than a few words ever since that night. She knows she’s pulled back the veil too far, she’s shown too much of herself and now this is the end of them. She can’t blame Mina, but it doesn’t stop her from wishing she could delay the inevitable for just one more day.

No man does, she’d said. The only way she could have been any more transparent would be to have physically thrown herself at Mina. She’s nothing but a lovesick, foolish girl, and she’s ruined everything she’s ever had because of one moment of weakness. And now, the moment to reap what she’s sown has come.

She’s so lost in thought she almost runs into Mina quite literally, who’s been rushing to meet her. Lucy takes one look at her friend and regrets it instantly: Her (former?) friend’s eyes are red-rimmed, like she’s been crying, and Lucy can feel the guilt that has been coiling in her stomach since she’s first read Mina’s note screws itself even tighter.

“Lucy”, Mina breathes, eyes wide, her fists clenching and unclenching with nervous energy she can’t seem to hold back. She doesn’t even wait for Lucy to respond to her greeting before words spring forth from her like a rushing waterfall: “I’ve been thinking about everything you told me.”

Whatever tentative flicker of hope Lucy might have had is mercilessly and wholly extinguished.

“Mina, I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am -”

Mina holds up a hand and she instantly falls silent.

“Please, Lucy, let me finish. I need to get this of my chest, and I fear that if I stop now I’ll lose the courage to go on.”

Lucy nods, numbly.

“Thank you”, Mina says with a fleeting smile, before visibly steeling herself.

“I broke off my engagement to Jonathan.” The words come out in one desperate rush, and she sighs, deeply, as if a physical weight has been lifted off of her.

Lucy is sure she must have misheard. “You did what?”

Mina doesn’t acknowledge Lucy’s outcry.

“I’ve thought about everything you’ve told me, and you’re right. And I knew I couldn’t carry on like this, I knew it wouldn’t be fair, neither to me nor to Jonathan.”

This is happing. It’s indeed happening and Lucy can’t help the overwhelming elation she feels. She ought to feel sorry for Jonathan instead, or worried for Mina, but in this moment she’s wholly taken by glee. Mina is free of him, they’re both free of him. Somewhere in the back of her head an ugly voice tells her that this doesn’t mean anything, that at the end of the day Mina will always remain unattainable and she will suffer through heartbreak after heartbreak, but this one time the voice is easy to drown out.

“I knew I couldn’t carry on”, Mina repeats, her voice softer now and filled with a kind of tenderness Lucy can’t begin to fathom. Mina takes Lucy’s hands in hers – she carelessly drops the balled up note on the ground – and holds them close to her chest. Her eyes are swimming in tears once more, but her smile is all the brighter.

“Not when my heart is completely consumed by love for another.”

In one sentence Mina has broken her. It’s as if the rug has been pulled from under her feet, leaving her to stumble backwards into darkness. Why does it even surprise her? Why does the notion of Mina, sweet, intelligent, wonderful, beautiful, incredible Mina being loved and desired catch her off guard?

“Do I know the lucky gentleman?”, Lucy asks with a smile that she’s sure doesn’t reach her eyes. She can feel hot tears building up behind her eyes and knows that she won’t be able to uphold this facade for long.

“Do you know- Lucy, you say the silliest things sometimes!”, Mina giggles, too wrapped up in her own love drunk joy to notice Lucy’s pain. It’s too much altogether, and Lucy wrenches her hands from Mina’s grip.

“I hope he makes you happy”, she manages to say before turning away sharply, fleeing this conversation to preserve whatever she has left of her dignity.

“Lucy, wait!”, Mina calls after her, but she pretends not to hear it. She doesn’t slow down, not even when she can hear energetic footsteps following closely behind her on the gravel path. Then, a hand grabs her wrist in a tight grip.

“Mina, let me go-”, she hisses, but she doesn’t get any further than that as she is interrupted by the insistent press of Mina’s lips on hers.

She doesn’t react, can’t react as her entire world shifts on its axis, and she’s still in a daze when Mina pulls back, an indeterminate amount of time later.

“Y-you’re mocking me.”, Lucy croaks. It’s the only possibility that makes sense. Mina knows, she’s found out and she’s chosen to tease her for her inverted, ill-fated, desperate love for her best friend.

“Oh, sweet Lucy”, Mina breathes, looking altogether stricken by the accusation. “Do you really think me so cruel?”

“I don’t know what to think!”, Lucy cries. She’s lost, everything she thought to be true proven false and vice versa, and she doesn’t know if she can trust her senses. She’s half convinced she’ll wake up in her bed any second now, alone, chasing the last remnants of another pleasurable dream.

“Then don’t think at all”, Mina murmurs, her hands tracing a feather-light path over Lucy’s arms, shoulders, and neck, before settling in Lucy’s hair, pulling her closer, slowly, giving Lucy ample time to turn away if she needed to.

She doesn’t, she just closes her eyes and lets herself be pulled in. Their lips meet again, softer this time, and the sensation still comes as a shock to Lucy. She gasps against Mina’s lips, and the breathy sound seems to spur her on even further, she starts moving against her with more urgency. It’s too much for Lucy’s fragile self-control, she can’t hold back anymore, and with a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper she kisses back with equal ardour, arms looping around Mina’s back and clenching in the fabric of her dress, hands pulling closer, closer, impossibly closer.

Lucy can’t say how much time has elapsed when they finally break apart, breathless, resting their foreheads against each other. Lucy doesn’t dare let go, thinks she might never be able to out of fear the second she does Mina might drift away.

“Lucy”, Mina sighs. “Darling Lucy, I’m so sorry for how blind I was for all this time. You must think me so self-absorbed, to not notice your affections for me, and to string you along the way I did, Lucy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think…”

Lucy gently brushes a strand of dark hair that must have come loose while they were kissing behind Mina’s ear. Her cheeks already hurt from smiling, she can’t remember a time she’s ever been as content as this.

“Then don’t think at all”, she parrots Mina’s earlier quip with a low chuckle, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“I believe we’ve both been blind", Lucy whispers, before pulling Mina into a kiss once more.

#westenray #nbc dracula #lucy westenra #mina murray #wlw fanfiction #please reblog if u liked it you have no idea how long i worked on this #also the research rabbit hole i went down while writing this is UNREAL

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missnmikaelson-main · 5 years

Text

Tabula Rasa: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals or any related media.

Summary: 20.65 centuries… 206.5 decades… 2065 years… 24,780 months… 107,380 weeks… 18,089,400 hours… 1,085,364,000 minutes. It was a long time, so why had it passed in the blink of an eye? One minute she watched her husband die, the next she was lying on something very soft surrounded by strangers.

Warnings: Some chapters will be rated M. These chapters will have warnings at the beginning.

February 2012

Kol strode down the street with his head tipped back admiring the stars. They seemed dimmer than they had the century before. He blamed it on the absurd amount of electric lights. People these days had no idea what they were missing out on.

He glanced down when his music was interrupted by the ringing phone. He smirked when he saw the caller ID.

“Jeremy Gilbert,” he chuckled, “nice to see I’m still on your speed dial, mate. Hey, you want to meet up at the batting cages in Denver?”

“Actually, it’s Elena Gilbert.”

“What a treat,” his smirk turned to a genuine grin. He knew the Salvatores were looking for the cure for her. Perhaps he could use the opportunity to convince her she didn’t need it. Clearly her sire was not doing a good job of teaching her. Or he could remind her how easy it was for him to remove her path to the cure. “I was just thinking of all the clever ways I could have your brother killed, but I would settle for ripping off his illustrated arm instead. No need for him to die.”

“I need to talk to you… in person. I want to call a truce in the name of Silas.”

“You want to talk about Silas?” He blinked in surprise. Perhaps she wasn’t a lost cause after all. He took off at vampire speed and stopped when she responded.

“I’ll meet you wherever you want. I’ll come to you.”

“I’ll tell you what,” he reached out and pressed the doorbell, “how about I come to you?” He heard someone leave through the back door. “Open up and invite me in. I’m waiting,” his voice turned bright with false cheer. “Let me in and let’s talk truce.”

Elena stood in her kitchen and watched the door.

“Wouldn’t it be kind of stupid of me to invite you in?” Now that he was there she found herself very reluctant to go through with her plan; this was not what she wanted to do. So why was she approaching the front of the house?

“On the contrary. I can’t kill your brother with my own two hands, or I’ll suffer the hunter’s curse and spend the next 20 years trying to off myself in increasingly gruesome ways. And I’ve heard that vervain is back in town, so I can’t compel you to kill him either. I think it’s fair to say you’re semi-safe, for now.”

She rolled her eyes at the smirk she could hear so evident in his voice. She could feel Jeremy over her shoulder with a crossbow.

“I’m the only one who can invite him in.”

“He’s right, obviously.”

Elena shook her head in exasperation. Kol was cocky, there was no denying it. He was clever, handsome, dangerous and arrogant. Pulling the door open she tipped her head back to look into his familiar laughing eyes. Somewhere in the dark depths she spotted the ghost of kindness that he fought hard to mask.

“You’d think being alive for over a thousand years would teach me some manners,” he removed his headphones and stored them in his pocket with the phone, “but I couldn’t resist stopping by.”

Elena ignored the way his eyes lingered on her and swallowed. “If I let you in, my brother goes. You’re not getting near him.”

“That sounds fair,” he nodded.

Jeremy backed away slowly until he was standing at the back door. He kept the crossbow aimed at Kol’s heart the entire time.

Elena wanted to tell him to put it down. She wanted to call everything off right then and there but she couldn’t do it. This had to be done. Didn’t it?

“You can come in,” Jeremy stepped outside and closed the back door.

Kol smirked at the closed door before turning his gaze to the petite brunette still standing in his path.

“No gold medal for bravery, I see.” He chuckled and tapped the pocket that held his phone. “Do you know what I love about this century? Music anytime you like.”

Elena frowned. She thought it would be something else; something more sinister or blood related. She hadn’t pegged him as a lover of music.

“So,” Kol tilted his head, “is this the part where you offer me a drink so we can have a proper chat?”

Elena’s eyes flickered to his chest when his jacket swayed open. Silver glinted from an inner pocket.

Kol turned from one of Jeremy’s video games and pressed pause when Elena returned with a bottle.

“Sorry,” she waved the clear liquid, “I had to dig up the old people alcohol.”

“That’s the problem with people today,” Kol tossed the controller on the couch and circled around into the kitchen behind her. “They have no drinking imagination.” He held up a finger and smiled thoughtfully. “Turn of the century New Orleans… now, they knew how to make a drink.”

“You lived in New Orleans?” Elena twisted the cap off the bottle.

“We all did,” Kol murmured, “until Nik shoved a dagger in my heart.”

“Why?” Elena tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow. “What did you do?” She turned to pull some glasses from the cupboard.

Kol leaned on the island and narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I did anything?”

Elena gave him a sceptical look over her shoulder.

“Has your alliance with my brother softened you to his horrors?” Kol bobbed his head slightly.

A line knit between Elena’s brows when she faced him again. She shifted from foot to foot and met his eyes.

“I don’t have an alliance with Klaus.” The thought that she would was disconcerting. “We have a mutual interest in finding the cure…” Elena tilted her head and gave him a pointed look; although what point she was trying to get across she didn’t know. “That’s all.”

“Had?” Kol inclined his head.

“Yes,” Elena raised her brows, “and I’m willing to give up looking for it if you promise to leave my brother alone.”

He frowned when he heard her heart skip a beat. Was it fear or dishonesty?

“Now,” Elena turned towards the fridge; suddenly unable to meet his eyes, “can you teach me how to make this? I’ll get some ice.”

“Are we going to talk about Silas,” he passed her a finished drink, “or just jibber jabber?”

“No one else seems to think this guy exists,” Elena took a sip of her drink, “why do you?”

She found in that moment that she really wanted to hear the answer. What could possibly be so bad that he wanted to keep a person who probably didn’t exist from waking up?

“I used to run with some witches in Africa in the 14th century, Haiti in the 17th, New Orleans in the 1900s. They all knew about Silas and he needed to stay buried.” Kol lifted his glass in salute. “I actually hold witches in high esteem.”

“Why Silas?” Elena leaned against the kitchen counter. “Why are you afraid of him?”

Try as she might she couldn’t find it in herself to be afraid of the man. Qetsiyah’s name had sent a chill down her spine, but Silas sounded more like the bogeyman.

Kol considered the seriousness of her expression before answering. “They said that if Silas rises, he’ll unleash hell on earth. I happen to like the earth the way it is.”

“How Biblical,” she quipped.

“That’s the other problem with people today,” Kol nodded. “They’ve lost faith, and in that loss, they no longer know who they should fear.”

Kol turned his gaze from the image of Elena and Jeremy. Even in the photograph he had been able to see the light in her eyes. He wondered where it had gone when he met her stare.

“We’re out of gin,” she forced a smile, “but I think this was a good year.” She waved the bottle of wine.

Elena couldn’t deny that she was starting to feel a bit of a buzz. She definitely would have been drunk if she’d still been human. It was probably a bad thing that she was comfortable in his presence, wasn’t it?

“What if I said I don’t believe you?” Kol smirked and gave her a smoldering stare. He fought down his smile when he saw the distant light in her eyes.

“Alright,” she held up her hands and laughed, “you got me. I don’t know anything about wine.”

Kol shook his head and took the bottle. He read the label and exhaled slowly. “It just seems odd that you’d be willing to give up something you want so much.”

“I’d do anything for my brother, Kol.” Elena shrugged. “And if what you’re saying about Silas is true, what does it matter what I want if it puts everyone else in danger?”

If she were being truly honest with herself she would have said she wasn’t sure she really wanted the cure. She knew she didn’t want to be a vampire, but there was something unnerving about trying to undo what had been done. The fates had designed it this way right? She wanted to be human, but that choice had been stolen away from her when the car went off the bridge.

“Well,” Kol set the bottle on the counter and turned towards the door, “this has been enlightening. Thanks for the drinks.” He smirked and tilted his head when she flashed into his path. “I’ll take your request for a truce under advisement,” he laid a hand on her shoulder as if to move around her.

“Is there any chance that you can be wrong about Silas?” Elena felt her arm warm under his hand.

“Trust me, Elena,” Kol shook his head, “some things are better left buried.” Reluctantly he released her arm and left with a sinking feeling in his chest.

They had been so close when Kol came back and overheard part of their conversation. Fear, anger, shame… her body was a mass of emotions as she shot him repeatedly. It took everything she had to lower the gun. She wanted to stop; she recognized the mistake when she did.

An agonized scream tore from her throat when Kol picked up a stake Jeremy had used and threw it. The wood embedded in her thigh.

She pulled it out and flashed into the kitchen where she saw him approaching her brother. Jumping onto his back she wrapped her arms around his neck. She winced when he backed her into a wall and drove the stake into her gut.

She blinked at the brief light she caught in his eyes. It almost looked like remorse. She didn’t get enough time to examine it though before Jeremy drove the stake through his heart.

A sob tore through her throat that had nothing to do with the pain.

“No,” she managed to pull out the stake. Falling to her knees beside the burning body of Kol Mikaelson she felt her stomach turn. What have I done?

She didn’t see Klaus in the doorway of her home. Her wide eyes were glued to the small fire.

She was morally opposed to murder, but why was his tearing her apart?

Elena couldn’t stop the tears that fell down. She had been in hysterics since leaving her house. Stefan and Damon fighting over her and Rebekah, and Rebekah’s supposed allegiance to their cause, was certainly not helping.

“Stop it,” she cried, “both of you just stop it.”

“Now why don’t you calm her down, Damon?” Stefan glared at his brother. “You’ve managed to use that sire bond pretty well so far, haven’t you?”

“What the hell is a sire bond?” Jeremy stepped between the two brothers. “Is that what Tyler had?”

“It’s a link between two vampires,” Stefan explained. Elena needed to know what was really happening to her. He was also still a little upset about Damon revealing his dalliance with Rebekah. “When a human has feelings for a vampire and they are turned by that vampire’s blood they might develop a sire bond. Basically means you follow their direct and indirect orders… oh,” he laughed without humour, “and there’s no known way to break it… unlike the bond between hybrids.”

“I’m sired to you?” Elena’s mouth popped open. Suddenly the things that had happened to her made sense: her problem with the blood bags, killing the hunter, and maybe even killing Kol; all of it had been indirectly brought up by Damon. Even the cure had been brought up by Damon.

Drink and adjust. We’ll figure out the rest later.

Did she even want the cure? Did she only want it because Damon said it was what she wanted?

She didn’t get a chance to think about it before Jeremy yelled and ripped off his shirt to reveal a sprawling tattoo.

Tags: @rissyrapp20 @elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall

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notapaladin · 3 years

Text

harmonic orchestra, the gen edition (pt 1)

yeah you know the drill by now, here’s the gen fills

AO3

1 (acatl – autistic)

His tutors all said the same things about him—what a smart boy, what a studious boy, he'll go far in the priesthood. Acatl supposed they were probably correct about that; he was smart, he was studious, and he threw himself into the rituals with a fervor that annoyed the nobles' sons who were only there for power. They didn't understand how he could ponder the codices for hours, how he could sit silent as the statue of Lord Death and watch the funeral pyres burn.

He didn't understand it himself, really; all he knew, in those moments when he contemplated the inside of his own mind, was that having it consumed by devotion to the gods felt right.

2 (teomitl & chalchiuhnenetl – a deal with the devil)

"I can give you the crown you deserve," his elder sister says.

Teomitl thinks of their brother on the throne, twisted and craven; he is no fit warrior, no fit Emperor, no fit conduit of Huitzilopochtli's power in the Fifth World, but to slay him and take the crown by force of arms would be treason, would no doubt sever the ties between Teomitl and the people who, somehow, love him.

But if he doesn't, Tizoc will twist and twist until he tears the Empire apart, and Teomitl's loved ones will not be alive to hate him...so he meets his sister's eyes, and nods his assent.

3 (acatl – awkward formal dinners)

There are many reasons for Acatl, High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli, to hate formal banquets—the heavy formal regalia, the noblemen not-so-subtly sneering at the jumped-up peasant in their midst, the certain knowledge that there is political scheming going on somewhere and it's sure to bite him in the ass just when he least expects it—but top of the list has to be the seating arrangements, because he is sharing a mat with the high priests of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc and he hates both of them to a depth unplumbed by any line.

When Quenami smiles his oily smile and asks how he's been lately, as though Acatl's forgiven him for the time he almost had him executed for treason, Acatl has to resist the urge to drown him in his own soup bowl. No matter how satisfying it would be, it won't help for long.

Acamapichtli sighs heavily as he meets his eye—Quenami is still talking, Southern Hummingbird blind him—and for a split second there is understanding between them. Though I loathe you and everything you stand for, that look says, I’ll at least credit you with not being Quenami.

4 (teomitl & acatl – well seasoned)

It's simple food—tamales stuffed with duck and chilies—but Acatl made it, so when he offers some to Teomitl...well, of course he'll eat it and be happy even if it turns out to be terrible, because he knows for a fact that it's been made with love instead of poison which therefore puts it miles ahead of anything the palace kitchen gives him.

"This is delici—"

And that's how he finds out that Acatl, unlike everyone else in Tenochtitlan and probably the world, has absolutely no upper limit on how hot he likes his chili peppers.

5 (acatl – relaxing)

His nieces and nephews are splashing in the pool, water spraying the air, as Teomitl and Mihmatini chase after them; Acatl doesn't worry, because he knows they'll be safe with those two looking after them. He knows the world will be safe, too; for the moment, he has nothing to do but relax and occasionally nibble a piece of fruit from the tray by his knee. It’s almost a foreign sensation, but not an unwelcome one.

Feeling warm in every limb—feeling, for once, content—Acatl closes his eyes and tilts his face to the sun.

6 (teomitl & acatl – if I didn’t have you)

Sometimes, Teomitl thinks about the man he might have become if he'd never met Acatl—proud to the point of arrogance, bravery turned to recklessness, no fit inheritor to even be considered for the throne—and he has to shudder in horror. One look at Tizoc (at his brother, gods, the thought sickens him now that they came from the same parents), at his excesses and paranoia, reminds him how close he could have come to falling. (It would have been easy. It terrifies him to think how easy it would have been.)

"You were the greatest teacher I could have ever had," he tells Acatl, and means it with all his heart.

7 (mihmatini & acatl – saying I love you without words)

"I ate," her older brother tells her, and Mihmatini sighs and rolls her eyes. She knows Acatl too well by now not to also know that his last meal was probably a full day ago, half stale, and not nearly filling enough for a man whose day job involves running across half of Tenochtitlan slaying monsters and dealing with the magical strain of keeping the world in one piece.

She sets a hand on his shoulder, keeping him firmly in place, and fills his bowl with a serving of the spicy grilled newts she knows he likes. "Eat something anyway."

8 (quenami – is that the hill you’re going to die on?)

The really funny thing, Quenami reflects idly, isn't that Acatl is still protesting his innocence—he's always been stubborn to a fault, and far too principled for his own good.

No, the funny thing is that Acatl, for some reason (probably because he, as a principled man, thinks others can be swayed by things like reason and logic) thinks they actually care, as though the results of the upcoming trial will be anything other than a foregone conclusion. Of course he'll die claiming his unwavering loyalty to the Empire, but it doesn't matter—he'll be dead anyway, and Quenami will never have to deal with him again.

The trial is in the morning. He can barely wait.

9 (teomitl – shadow of the crown)

He turns the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown over and over in his hands, tracing the intricate mosaic of blue stones with remarkably steady fingers. He thinks, distantly, that there should be blood on it—that his brother's passing should have stained it irreparably, even though Teomitl had, in the end, nothing at all to do with his demise. (He’s not sure who did. It might have been the She-Snake. It might have been any one of Tizoc’s enemies. It might even be Acatl, for all he knows—not that he’d mind if it was.)

The sun gleams on the metal, but when he finally sets it on his head he still feels cold.

10 (acatl – too tired to sleep)

He was tired down to his bones—no, past his bones, tired all the way down to every part of his soul—but sleep stubbornly refused to come. No matter how much he tossed and turned on his mat, no matter how much he desperately wished for unconsciousness, the room was too warm or his neck hurt or, for all he knew, the stars weren't in position for him to succumb.

Fighting the urge to beat his head against the ground—it wouldn't help, and would just make him sore in addition to his rising ill-temper—he rolled over again and buried his head in the crook of his arm until sunrise.

11 (teomitl & mihmatini – almost beyond repair)

He's standing in front of his wife, sword in the dirt between them, and he knows this can't ever be fixed—that he was too greedy, reached too far, foolishly thought it would all come together when the people he loved knew, knew, that it was falling apart.

Mihmatini meets his eyes, her own gaze absolutely furious, and asks, "Why? Why did—what in the gods' names possessed you to think this was all a good idea? Tizoc-tzin is unfit to be Emperor, that's true, we all know it—but for you to think to kill him—"

"He was going to kill Acatl." It comes out in a rush, without any prior planning or thought on his part, but it's the truth. Tizoc might be his Emperor, his brother, but he tried to execute Acatl for treason and that's not something Teomitl will ever forgive.

And Mihmatini, who loves her older brother as much as Teomitl does, stares at him for a long, long moment...and then she nods. "Understandable."

Maybe, Teomitl thinks, this can be salvaged after all.

12 (acatl – a moment’s peace)

The funeral was officially over, but the pyre still burned hot; it would keep burning until Coyolli of the Atempan calpulli was reduced to ashes, and then he and his fellow priests would see her remains interred. Acatl sat by the pyre, upwind from the smoke, and finally took a long, deep breath.

His work was not done, but the drums had stopped and the wailing of the dead woman's relatives no longer rang in his ears, and so—for the moment—he could rest.

“Acatl-tzin?”

Ah. One of his priests with a question. He closed his eyes, permitted himself a small sigh, and got to his feet again.

13 (teomitl & acatl – doing math in your head)

"Hmmm...let me see...our suspect was born on the third day of Izcalli in the year Five Rabbit, which makes him an…"

"Eight Monkey."

Teomitl lifted his head from the sheet of bark paper on which he was carefully and laboriously calculating the interactions between the civil and liturgical calendars, staring incredulously at his teacher—his teacher who, quite plainly, had just done some very complicated math in his head. "Acatl-tzin. How in the fuck."

"Language," he said, but he was smiling. "And practice. I can teach you that as well, if you'd like."

"Most people can't do math in their heads!"

14 (teomitl – unexpected forgiveness)

The cup of chocolate is bitter and spicy in his hands, and Teomitl doesn't drink. He can't—they're not safe, not really, not with Tizoc undying on his throne and him awaiting his chance to topple him. Even if it risks breaking their Empire, it will save them in the long run, he knows this...but he promised Acatl, he promised to give Tizoc time for his reign to stabilize, and he won't go back on his word. (He won't disappoint him, not again; he never, ever wants to see that look of heartbroken fury in Acatl's eyes.)

But when he smiles at Acatl...oh, Acatl smiles back, even now, even after he's fucked up so comprehensively that he's amazed the man has forgiven him, and suddenly the world seems just that little bit brighter.

15 (tizoc – from the pov of the villain)

He is the Revered Speaker of Tenochtitlan, like his brother and grandfather were before him—cities as far away as the Maya lands pay him tribute, and at his command armies rise and kingdoms fall. All should fall before him, for is he not Tizoc-tzin? Is he not the man who channels Huitzilopochtli's power in the Fifth World? The sun rises at the edge of his blade!

But he lifts the sacrificial knife and there is barely even a glimmer, while his brother—reckless, foolhardy Teomitl, who's too soft, who's gone and married that peasant's daughter and raised her brother above his rightful place as the lowest of the three High Priests—shines like Tonatiuh Himself by his side.

16 (acatl – good night, midnight)

The conch shells blare once at the turn of the night, the hour that separates one day from the next, and Acatl rises from his mat alone and in silence.

Alone and in silence he eats a meal of thin flatbread and (cold) roasted peppers, savoring the bite and the burn of them as they fill his belly. Alone and in silence, he bathes himself in cold water (cold as the peppers had been) and forces a comb through the tangles in his long, wet hair.

He doesn't let himself remember hot meals with his family, doesn't let himself imagine gentle hands rubbing his shoulders or tilting his head back to comb his hair for him. He is High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli, and here under the shroud of midnight that is all he'll ever be.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #mihmatini #tizoc #quenami #chalchiuhnenetl #paladin writes stuff

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jessicakehoe · 4 years

Text

Activist, Advocate, Ambassador: Supermodel Cindy Bruna is More Than Meets The Eye

With pandemic restrictions in effect as part of the COVID-19-era new normal, FASHION had to adapt on the fly for our cover shoot with L’Oréal Paris, which was shot in Paris back in July. Our creative and fashion director tuned in virtually from Toronto to oversee the production, and makeup icon Val Garland sketched looks from her London studio, which were later applied to the images of model Cindy Bruna digitally using L’Oréal Paris’s Virtual Try-On tool. Click here to try the looks on yourself and discover the products used to create each of the looks behind the cover image below.

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“Have you seen the shots? I’m so excited to see them! I had such a great day,” says an upbeat and endearing Cindy Bruna on the phone from Paris. The French modelling star, who was tapped by L’Oréal Paris as an international spokesperson earlier this year, is talking to me about our unusual cover shoot in partnership with the beauty juggernaut.

Dress, $7,185, and belt, $1,740, Alexander McQueen. Makeup by L’Oréal Paris.

In the face of COVID-19, Bruna posed up inside Paris’s Nolinski hotel for a solid nine-plus hours—all while social distancing from the rest of the tiny team who were allowed on-set. Strict pandemic measures also meant that her makeup was completely digital. But Bruna is no stranger to outside-the-box situations: She has stood on the edge of a cliff, plunged into frigid water and lain in the snow (with not much clothing on).

Ranked a “Money Girl” on Models.com alongside Bella Hadid, Hailey Bieber and Kendall Jenner, Bruna hit many major milestones early in her career. On her very first job casting, the late legendary couturier Azzedine Alaïa took Bruna under his wing. “He gave me the opportunity to work for him at his showroom; meeting him really made me want to do this job,” says the 25-year-old, who was scouted at the age of 16 in the South of France and made regular trips to Paris with her mother during school holidays.

Jacket, $3,850, pants, $1,250, and shoes, $1,825, Balenciaga. Makeup by L’Oréal Paris.

At 18, Bruna made the big move to the City of Light to pursue modelling full-time and wound up in New York shortly after for her New York Fashion Week debut. The gig: to walk exclusively for Calvin Klein.

In the modelling world, landing an exclusive has been known to put runway newbies on the map. But Bruna’s 2012 booking morphed into something much greater: It marked a watershed moment for diversity in the fashion industry with Bruna becoming the house’s first model of colour to walk exclusively, which meant she couldn’t be booked for any other New York designers that season. “At the time, I didn’t even know that I was the first to get it,” says Bruna. “I just couldn’t believe the opportunity; it was my first time working in New York. Looking back, I didn’t truly realize the weight of it.”

Jacket and scarf, $5,850, Louis Vuitton. Hoop earrings, $12,990, and necklace, $28,210, Messika. Top, Bruna’s own. Makeup by L’Oréal Paris.

The experience launched Bruna into the supermodel stratosphere. “It changed my life and career,” she says. In the span of a few months, Bruna was shot by photographer Steven Meisel for the cover of Italian Vogue and earned her wings as a Victoria’s Secret Angel, which she held on to for a steady six seasons. She also became part of the core group of models that make up Olivier Rousteing’s fierce female posse, known as the Balmain Army.

When asked if any one achievement tops her list of proudest moments, Bruna is quick to say no. “I’m very proud of the whole process,” she says. “When I first started, I was full of doubt. I was scared. I didn’t know that I would have to leave my family to go to Paris and then New York. I didn’t speak English. All of that could have stopped me, but I was like, ‘You know what? Just go for it.’”

Bodysuit, $740, Copurs. Hoop earrings, $640, Balenciaga. Cuff, price upon request, Alexander McQueen. Makeup by L’Oréal Paris.

Overcoming fear can be incredibly tough when navigating an industry that is rife with rejection. “You are constantly judged, compared and not chosen, which can be difficult,” shares Bruna. “I have cried many times about this.” The biggest piece of advice she’d tell her younger self? Don’t take it personally: “Sometimes it just doesn’t work out. You’re not what they’re looking for, and that’s OK. Don’t change. Be yourself. The right job will come.”

That self-appreciation mindset is what makes Bruna such an inspired choice for a megabrand with a “Because I’m worth it” ethos. “It’s really a slogan that talks to everybody,” she says. “In my job, it’s all about embracing you and being proud of yourself. Everybody is special. We all have value.” How does this model tap into her unique self? By fully loving her biracial identity.

Dress, $1,425, Area. Makeup by L’Oréal Paris.

The daughter of an Italian father and Congolese mother, Bruna says that being mixed race is her superpower. “I feel like it’s really a strength to have both cultures that I can learn from and grow from,” she says. “My mom raised me with African values around family and sharing how the world can be difficult for people of colour. I grew up eating African dishes and listening to African music. I share so much of my dad’s respect for others and for nature. I feel like I gained so much from both of them.”

As for joining the L’Oréal Paris family, it’s a gig Bruna does not take lightly. “I realize that it is a responsibility,” she notes. “I want to give not only my face but also my voice to everything we’re doing together.” It’s a voice she’s used time and again as a bridge for others who need one.

Jacket and scarf, $5,850, Louis Vuitton. Hoop Earrings, $12,990, Messika. Stud Earrings, Bruna’s own. Makeup by L’Oréal Paris.

Bruna has used her visibility and social media clout to advocate for the inclusion of more faces of colour on the runways as well as to speak up about the all-too-common hair discrimination that occurs behind the scenes at shows and shoots with afro-textured hair. “To have been the first woman of colour to work on a Calvin Klein exclusive back in 2012 just made me realize how much we have to push to bring change to the industry,” she says. “Yes, things have evolved since then, but we can still do more.” And the needle shouldn’t stop at a colourful array of models on catwalks and in campaigns. “It’s also about walking on-set and seeing people behind the scenes, like stylists and photographers, of different backgrounds.”

Another topic that gets Bruna fired up is domestic violence against women. “One woman is killed every three days in France,” she states. “It’s a crisis that’s happening all over the world, and I really think that we can be part of the solution.”

Three years ago, Bruna joined Solidarité Femmes, a French network of associations specializing in the reception, support and accommodation of women facing abuse, and is quick to concede that she had a lot to learn when she first began. “It took me at least a year to really understand just how diverse domestic abuse is: The violence happens in so many forms,” she says. “I didn’t even talk about Solidarité Femmes on social media or anything at first. I was just visiting shelters in Paris, talking to women and learning about what the associations were doing.”

JACKET, $4,800, TOP, $3,050, AND SHOES, $1,060, SAINT LAURENT BY ANTHONY VACCARELLO. PANTS, PRICE UPON REQUEST, LOUIS VUITTON. DANGLE EARRINGS, $260, HELENE ZUBELDIA. STUD EARRINGS, BRUNA’S OWN. Makeup by L’Oréal Paris.

Now, Bruna’s passion to help end violence against women has seamlessly extended to her new post at L’Oréal Paris, with her joining the advocating team for Stand Up Against Street Harassment, the brand’s training program with the goal of eradicating gender-based street harassment. “L’Oréal Paris has always encouraged women to live according to their own rules, but street harassment goes against that,” says Bruna. “I feel like Stand Up can help people know how to react if they see or experience harassment. It really invites women and men to learn. It’s about educating people—myself included.”

As our phone conversation winds down, I catch myself feeling empowered and inspired by Bruna’s words and conclude that her strong sense of self totally matches the expressions and moods she elegantly delivered in our cover shoot. “She’s a real one,” I say in my head, before thanking her for being so open with me. “No, thank you!” she immediately responds. “I really can’t wait to see the pictures!”

Try on these beauty looks

Learn about all the L’Oréal Paris products that Val Garland used for Bruna’s FASHION cover shoot and virtually try on each makeup look by scanning this QR code.

Art direction by JACQUES BURGA. Styling by MICKAEL CARPIN. Creative direction by GEORGE ANTONOPOULOS. Makeup by VAL GARLAND, L’Oréal Paris global makeup director. Hair by ALEXANDRINE PIEL. Photography assistant: CLAUDIA REVIDAT. Post-production: LUCY LU. Shot on location at the NOLINSKI HOTEL in Paris.

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