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(time is running out) (time is running out) (time is running out)
this is just the (very happy..) lil announcement, and then we can have them full arguing about her going to get them back when moon comes to ask for help (which’ll be CHEFS KISS considering this) and also them arguing when theyre actually on the way to retrieve the kits <3
also this got unexpectedly heavy and i might have cried writing it so just TW for a panic attack <33
“BER.” In her blind sprint up to the Nemesis’ quarters, Eshek’s paws flew out from under her on the marble floor and she slammed into the front doorway. She hardly felt it, and yet it was the final straw — she burst out sobbing. The checkerboard marble was still slick with blood from the NightClan raid; her paws slid as she raced up the staircase, mingling with the blood dripping down from her own wounds, but she managed to keep her balance. She tore into their room, but it was empty. It was empty. Her kits— She burst into frantic tears again, the sort of tears that were triggered anew by every new realisation, by every new, horrible consequence, that were so raw and so recent and numb that your bewildered brain is still struggling to catch up to the reality. Staggering back out of the room, hyperventilating and with blubbering tears streaming from her wide, staring eyes without her feeling them, she bumped into the door and turned, stumbling down the hall. Blind to faces, the proxy grabbed the first cat she saw, coming towards her down the landing. “Where’s Bermondsey?” she demanded.
“Out,” the cat replied, like it were obvious, like she were joking, eyes darting about — but there was that hint of fear, because Eshek was clearly out of her mind.
“Out where?” The question came out in a sob — she didn’t care how she sounded, how she looked; she just had to find him. She didn’t even know what it would solve — her kits were gone. Gone. But Bermondsey would fix it. Maybe she’d misunderstood; maybe it was all wrong; maybe her head couldn’t be trusted — her awful, no good head. It was always—it was always doing things wrong. It was always playing tricks. Maybe he—maybe Bermondsey— “Where?” She sobbed again, staring frantically into the cat’s eyes, shaking them. Her claws had drawn blood. She didn’t feel a thing. And then she heard pawsteps on the marble below. With a heartbreaking sort of hope, her brows flying up and her tears immediately stilling in her eyes, Eshek looked over her shoulder.
“Ber— they’re gone. They’re gone.” She couldn’t make sense of her words; they just spilled out; she couldn’t stop them. She wasn’t even looking him in the eye, she was just looking down at her paws as they danced around. They were red— they were bloody— she turned them this way and that, still babbling. Her white fur was so red. “He came— He came and I told him— I told him that he was—Because she told me, she asked have you seen a mottled tom with my brother and I— I said no, but it was him, I know it was, and I told him— I said he was your— and then he took them. He had these wild eyes, Ber, like he was so hurt he’d kill them, and he took them to NightClan, I know he did.” Finally, she looked up at him — and it was the most terrible, raw pleading. “Ber, please. Get them back. Please.” Somehow, to her, he could solve everything. When Aspenstar had almost killed her, she’d run to him — and even though he hadn’t done a thing to save her kits, she believed he had; he had saved them. Maybe he really had — maybe soothing her, calming her, had averted a catastrophe. “I need them. Laertes— he isn’t coming home. He’s not ever coming home. But my daughters— my girls, Ber.” She broke down sobbing again, still staring him in the eye. “I’m pregnant, Bermondsey.”
It sounded like a grieving confession, like she was somehow at fault, like she somehow carried some unfathomable guilt for the crime of having these lives within her. It had never been happy news to her, not truly, and that was why she’d hidden it as soon as she’d found out. Because how could she celebrate new kits when her son was lost to her? How could she be happy when she didn’t deserve to be? How could she be happy to have new kits to fail when she’d already failed her son — and failed her daughters because a grieving mother couldn’t give them all the love they needed? And that was why they’d been taken. Because they’d been alone. They’d been alone because she was a bad mother — because instead of looking after them, she’d been sitting in their room, staring at the opposite wall, grappling with this great, crushing haze of emptiness and nothing and grief. The guilt— the guilt. And then all this new guilt because how could she not celebrate these kits in her stomach? How could she not love them? How could she ask Bermondsey to get their kits back when she had these new ones growing in her belly? And so she was frozen — frozen between the kits who meant more than life to her and these kits she didn’t know, but who she owed everything to. But how could she have them? When she didn’t deserve them? When she was just going to— When she—
Eshek staggered backwards, shaking her head, her tears close to hysteria. She couldn’t think. “I can’t— Ber, I can’t— I can’t— Get them out, get them out, get them out!” She sobbed openly, collapsing to the cobblestones and burying her face in her forepaws, her shaking claws pricking at her temples. Her paws trembled over her face. She was close to screaming. Without her fully realising it, since losing Laertes, the favourite of her kits, Eshek had succumbed fully to depression; even after coming back to life and finding everything gone, she hadn’t been like this. She hadn’t told Bermondsey, but she’d felt so indescribably empty, and since Tilly’s poisoning just nights before, she’d been on the verge of a panic attack. Now it bubbled over. “They’re going to die— my kits, they’re going to die.” She repeated the phrase over and over and over, till it was an incoherent, wailing mantra, her paws continuing their trembling movements over the sides of her face, her ears, the back of her head. “It’s all gone. It’s all gone. I can’t—“ She couldn’t breathe. She sobbed once, and what followed it was a frantic gasping sound. Eshek scrambled her upper body into a sitting position, pushing up with her forepaws to gasp again. Her throat was straining but she couldn’t get in any air. She let out another frantic burst of sobbing, but they were now more panicked, almost laughter, her eyes terrified as she stared down at the cobblestones, brows drawn together. “I can’t— I’m gonna die— My kits— Which kits? WHICH KITS?” It was a raw screech. She couldn’t even see Ber in front of her anymore; she was trapped in her own head, in all the white, screaming guilt.
dm me if you want to listen to me ramble about the interstellar soundtrack
2,314 posts
Post by achromatic on Jun 24, 2022 20:52:52 GMT -5
There was something going on, but Bermondsey couldn't put his paw on it. He knew NightClan wasn't done with whatever they were doing, but there were so many things to be concerned over. Leveretpaw's information had been useful, but there had been other things to worry about. Notably, the fact that his daughter had nearly been poisoned still sat on his bones, a darkness that never went away, especially when his eyes were closed.
It felt lonely. Isolating. He had always been the kind of cat who shrouded himself in it, the darkness, the solitude, but this was different. There was no shield to this loneliness, no cloak; he was wearing the emperor's new clothes. It was showing a side of him he hated, a side he refused to address. With Laertes gone, Tilly sick, and the rogues going wild up in the city, he was completely overwhelmed, even more so with the fact that Elizabeth was still gone, still on her mission far away. He was halfway back from scaring off whatever creatures were bold enough to challenge him in his mood, when he crashed into Eshek, her fur still stained, her eyes wild with a madness he had never seen before.
She was always a little mad; in fact, that was something he enjoyed about her, as much as he was the opposite of her controlled chaos, but this...this was different. She babbled on and on about their kits, about someone, a mottled tom? Woah, woah, woah. He was missing a huge chunk of the picture, he thought, as he blinked at her, not comprehending a single word she was saying.
"Wait, Eshek slow down, are you okay? Take a deep breath," he began to speak, "just take it slow, start from the begin–wait, you're pregnant?"
He stopped in his tracks, completely in shock. What in the world did she mean she was pregnant? When did they even–wait, no...no it couldn't be...he could remember the night of the attack, and despite the tragedy of it all, he had to admit it was kind of an impulsive thing...no way...
"I–" he spoke, panic filling his gaze. What was he supposed to do? He had never dealt with anything like this, her fear and panic made his own skin crawl as he immediately pulled her into an embrace, his tongue rasping between her eyes in an attempt to calm down. "Shh...breathe, slow down," he murmured quietly into her ear, "breathe with me, please."
“Pregnant— yes— I don’t know.” When he tucked himself over her, tongue rasping between her eyes like she was a kit, Eshek’s sobs began to quieten. When he breathed in, she breathed in — shakier, more uneven, with a rattle to them and the occasional keening hum as she fought against the jerking sobs still wracking her chest, but breaths all the same. His voice low and warm in her ear, his heart against hers; she nodded, jaws clamped shut like she didn’t trust herself to speak. Finally, she opened her mouth and drew in a deep, shaky breath, the kind of breath that only reached the back of your throat before your lungs couldn’t expand anymore, the kind of breath that wasn’t satisfying. The cool, damp air of the League flooded her throat. Finally, she whispered, still pressed against him, cheek to his chest so she couldn’t see his face, “he took them, Ber.” There was almost a resigned note to her voice, so bleak, so empty, so emotionless, like she’d accepted that all her kits would be taken from her. The fight had left her body; her legs were numb, she was slumped against Ber at an uncomfortable angle, she was close to giving up. He was supporting almost all her weight; he hadn’t asked to, but he was. “NightClan. They have our daughters. They have our daughters because I couldn’t stop them. He came in and he took them right out from under me.” There was still nothing in her voice; she just stared at the blurred shape of the pines beside the Mansion, blinking so slowly.
Finally, she sniffed and pushed herself away, sitting in front of him like there was nothing left to do. Nothing left to fight for. Like she would never eat again, just go to sleep and not wake up. Sniffing again, she raised her bloodied paw and wiped her nose with the back of it, still gazing listlessly at the trees.
And then, with an almost shy half-glance, and then a full glance, at Ber, she realised he needed an explanation. Drawing in another breath, like a grieving reverse sigh, she turned back to him, shuffling closer until their chests were touching. Such an intimate thing for such a bleak, grey morning. Even amid anything, she fought back an involuntary shiver, like all her nerves were tickled, electrified. Everything was heightened.
“It’s—“ She shook her head, like she was fighting with herself — and then she suddenly seemed to reach a decision, focusing on her paw brushing up and down Ber’s chest like she was too afraid to look him in the eye and see his reaction. “When your sister was here, she asked me if I’d ever seen you with young— with two young cats, a boy and a girl. And I said no, because I hadn’t. But I remembered it, because I thought it was such an odd question. And I thought—“ now her voice changed, a hint of self-conscious jealousy creeping in around a half shrug, “y’know, I thought maybe you’d had other kits before we met but I never asked you ‘cuz I figured that was your business and I was like, y’know, he wasn’t a mormon, some other girl probably found him pretty—and it’s whatever,” she suddenly rushed over her words, waving her paws like she was getting off track, “right, it’s whatever, it doesn’t matter. But then I started thinkin’ about that boy what came along with Aspenstar when we went to see her, y’know, with Regulus, and how you was so spooked — that reaction you had. And I thought— gee, he’s about the right age, ain’t he? And then your sister mentioned being a mother, but there was no kits with her, and you showed up so suddenly, and when I asked around — and please don’t be mad that I asked around,” she added pleadingly, looking up at him, “but when I asked around, when my friend was here, y’know, from SummerClan, the one what was exiled, he said a girl had showed up suddenly, when she was just a kit. Except she had no mother. He heard it all secondhand, y’know, ‘cuz he wasn’t there at the time, same as me, y’know, but it’s true. And it’s… she was the same age, and this boy… Anyway, I mean obviously you know, you did it, but I,” now she looked up at him a little more guiltily, the kind of hesitant guilt that would have had a dog tucking its tail between its legs, “I told him, when he had… And I know it wasn’t my secret to tell,” she was babbling now, moving one paw to Bermondsey’s chest like she was begging him not to get distracted by her nosiness when they had to focus on getting their daughters back, “but I was desperate, I would’ve tried anything, and it didn’t— it didn’t change anything.” Her voice broke, turned to a whisper; she was still staring into his eyes, plaintive, like she was pleading with him to fix it but couldn’t ask for it outright. “They’re still gone, Ber.”
Post by achromatic on Jun 30, 2022 20:18:12 GMT -5
Bermondsey wouldn't call himself slow or dumb, but it took him some time to process what was going on. First, Eshek was pregnant. Pregnant? How? They had all but avoided one another since...since...he could remember the grey head with kitten fluff behind the ears, eyes so wide, full of curiosity and fear...the fear that had eventually stemmed from his own lack of control...no, he shook his head. Pregnant...when had they...had they...
The night of the attack. He could remember how they had entwined themselves into one another for any sort of normalcy, any sort of comfort, and he couldn't describe what he was feeling. Where there once was only fear and trepidation, there was something he couldn't describe anymore. Was it hope, that things could go back to the way they were? Was it trepidation, that he would mess up again and again and again?
Then the bomb dropped.
The kits. His nephew. Everything he had fought to protect, fought to give a second chance, a chance for them to grow outside of the limits of a curse they should've never known...and all he could do was curse the gods who had given him this life with a promise for tragedy. Oh, what a terrible honor it was, to be given a life gilded with a fool's gold, looking up towards the stars only to find that the sky was witnessing the pieces fall into place, to understand that when he thought he could be the hero, it had been some sort of inside joke, that he was nothing but an emperor in his new clothes. He felt like a fool as the realization hit him in the chest; everything he had done had only ensured his fate now. Everything had been written in stone and he had been too blind to see it. The god with a head full of growing ferns, the one who had taken root within Eshek, only lived to taunt him.
He was never so certain that the curse was true.
"Are you sure?" his voice was a whisper, his expression blank of any anger, any rage, any emotion that should've expressed something, anything to her. "The tortoiseshell tom...cream and grey fur...that one took the kits?" He couldn't seem to grasp the truth, he couldn't seem to find his way forward. Then everything hit him at once. His kits were gone. NightClan must've had them. His nephew, Safiya's kit, was responsible, and he knew.
Bermondsey couldn't hate the cat, as much as he tried. He had raised the kit, traveled the world with him until it became all too much. He had spent a past existence trying to save him from this exact fate...and he had failed him. He had failed all of them. His claws dug into the ground, and his jaw tightened.
"We need to get them back now," he spoke, an urgency in his voice, his eyes glazed over for a moment, as if already plotting the chessboard of their upcoming war. If Kier or any of the NightClan scum hurt his kits, he'd rain hell on all of them. There would be no more forgiveness, no more mercy. He had prepared spies for this exactly, and whoever this brat thought he was, he'd regret crawling into the mouth of a lion.
The rage was silent, a whisper rather than a roar, but the storm seemed to quell only momentarily, when his gaze turned to Eshek again. "We'll get them back, I promise," he murmured, "are...how are you feeling? About...the new kits?" He wasn't so sure how to feel about another litter anymore; he had detested the idea once, and he had been open to it just a couple moons before...but not now, not like this, not when the shadows of the world stretched so long, like a setting of the sun.
They deserved to be born somewhere safe, somewhere far from any danger, and by the gods, Bermondsey was going to make sure of that, even if it meant burning down the rest of this forest to ensure their safety, even if it meant destroying every clan and slaughtering every leader for them to grow without fear.
Are you sure? Eshek nodded. At Bermondsey’s whispered description of the tom, like he was desperate to hear it was all some mistake, some misunderstanding, she kept on nodding, brows drawing together sympathetically as she gazed at him. She wished more than anything she didn’t have to break his heart like that — and she more than anyone knew Bermondsey did have one. But at the same time, selfish mother that she was, a mother who would have thrown Bermondsey to the wolves if it meant saving her kits, she was grateful for it; it had been someone he knew. Someone close to him. And destroying someone whose habits, whose quirks, whose mind you knew was easier than destroying a stranger. She just wished it didn’t have to be someone who had been so close to him. “Yeah,” she breathed. Wordlessly, she moved closer, pressing herself up against his chest with a wary sort of tentativeness, like she was inching forward to see how much he’d allow before he snapped at her. She tucked her head under his chin, barely breathing. Despite everything, they still weren’t often so carelessly physically affectionate; they sparred verbally, they shared a bed, she leaned against him and he let her — but they didn’t do this.
We need to get them back now. The certainty, the power, in Bermondsey’s voice soothed her. She felt her chest loosen and her heart slow. Her eyes closed. Once he set his mind on something, it would be done — and he had the protection of extra lives. They’d get them back. She’d passed half the burden to him, and it would be okay. We’ll get them back, I promise. She nodded, eyes still closed, and fought to hold back the shiver that threatened to run through her at his murmur against her ear. At his question, Eshek smiled faintly to herself, a tired smile, and let out a hum, still tucked under his chin. She began to relax into the touch. “Ask me tomorrow,” she laughed softly. Letting out a faint groan with her mouth closed, she pulled back and looked down at her paws. She felt cold without him. “I’ll… I don’t know, Ber. I can’t think about it now. Not till we have our kits back. They’re the ones I have to care about — I can’t…” Her voice broke; she went quiet for a moment until she could speak again. When she did, it was softer, little more than a whisper. She didn’t trust herself to speak any louder. “It’s not fair to them to love these ones yet. They’re just an idea — our kits are real.” After a few seconds, she looked up at Ber, and her eyes were almost shy. She never spoke so openly to him about things that mattered, had never told him… “But I’m glad they’re yours.” One side of her mouth pulled up in an embarrassed little grin and she looked down. “Again.”
Almost since the beginning, their feelings had been playing around each other, coy and toying and uncertain and so strangely shy. Or maybe it was just that every single part of them knew what they were but their conscious minds; maybe it was that there was only one word for it and neither was willing to be the first to say it. One moved forward, the other moved back. She’d moved to the League part-time for him, and then full-time. She’d had his kits, she’d moved in with him, she’d been possessed by a god for him. He’d lain on a freezing beach with her on the worst night of her life, he’d looked death in the eye with her on their escapades, he’d thrown everything he believed in — reason and moderation and forethought — out the window for her. And still there was no name put to what they were. For all intents and purposes, they were still just… What? A Nemesis and his proxy? Acquaintances? Best friends? Their relationship was so strangely silent, so simultaneously shallow and impossibly deep — because neither would give the final seal on it.
But in the past weeks — and wasn’t that madness incarnate, that it had taken her a year and a half to face the reality of what she’d known a the day they’d met — Eshek had finally run out of ways to deny it. She was in love with him. She’d gone through a string of almost-relationships in that time, and all the while it was like he’d waited. And there it was. There it finally was. She was in love with him. The reason it had taken so long to admit it, she knew now, was because of how different it felt. It wasn’t some raging passion — though sometimes it was. It had been quiet. It was a calm, watery grey when it wasn’t a burning red. It had crept up on her, like a shroud instead of a shout. They argued, and they screamed at each other, and they did ridiculous things, and they denied, and denied, and denied — but it had been there since that first day they’d met on DayClan’s border. And she loved him. It seemed to be a habit of hers; she fought with a tom, and she fell in love with him. It was like courting. And this time was calmer than anything had ever been before. For so immature, crazed a she-cat, it felt terrifyingly mature. Terrifyingly grown-up. Funk had been the great love of her youth; this was the great love of her adulthood.
And still she was silent.
She looked at him.
The words almost came.
They didn’t.
She closed her mouth again and offered a small smile.
“Doesn’t matter,” she murmured softly. “You’ll get them back.” She didn’t say ‘we.’ She knew he’d argue with her, lock her in their room as the patrol set out, leave her pounding on the door. It was better to just show up as they were leaving and leave no time for argument. Eshek held his gaze and smiled. Everything she wanted to say stayed trapped on her tongue. She didn’t ask how he felt about the kits. Always so deeply insecure, she didn’t want to know — didn’t want to know if he wished he were having a family with someone else, someone who was actually his mate, someone he was actually attracted to instead of someone who just shared his bed out of habit. She preferred to live in ignorance. She knew he’d never have wanted her if she hadn’t inadvertently trapped him with their first litter. He was just doing his duty. She was in love, and to him she was just a responsibility to take care of. If she didn’t think about how the knowledge made her heart ache, she was okay with it. She felt a little guilty, that he didn’t feel he could take someone he actually liked as a mate so long as duty bound him to her, but she was selfishly glad, too; she would have torn the throat out of any other she-cat he looked at. Lonely sadness welled in her throat; she smiled again and looked back down.
dm me if you want to listen to me ramble about the interstellar soundtrack
2,314 posts
Post by achromatic on Jul 24, 2022 10:52:38 GMT -5
He was taking a moment to come to terms with all of this. Aleksy, the sweet little kitten he had rescued, who had followed at his paws, at his every beck and call. The tom had kept tabs on him, watched him grow up, even when he was under Aspenstar's grip, but this...this was unpredictable, even for him. He was a sheepish kinda creature, one who didn't talk back, who didn't put himself at risk, and this? Even when he followed Aspenstar's beck and call, it was unlike him to do anything with such conviction, and he knew this cat didn't get along with Kier. Whatever this was, it was unlike him.
Still, whatever sympathies he had ended when it came to his kits. He couldn't think of anything else either, all he had was a fixation on his daughters and the anguish he still had over his son. NightClan had taken enough from him; this was the last straw. There was a strange feeling in his chest, about his new kits, about her, but he couldn't indulge in it right now. He had never once indulged in feelings of anything other than apathy and contempt, not until he had almost lost her that one time, and the rage had swelled in him so strongly it had dragged him out into a sea like a riptide. He rasped his tongue across her forehead again, a motion that only spoke volumes to those who knew him.
He was glad too, that there were more, despite everything he believed about his family's curse, despite the resurgence of anxiety that had taken over him since Laertes' disappearance.
Bermondsey was an overprotective, neurotic little bastard, sure, and that applied to Eshek and the kits even more than anything else, but when she spoke in a singular term, his gaze turned to her in concern. Sure, he hadn't allowed her to join in last time, and sure, she was pregnant, but it was so different from her usual argumentative self, so different from the way she'd twirl him around her paws, doing whatever she wanted regardless of how he felt about it.
"You're not coming?" his voice was soft, a flicker of concern flashed across her eyes, "I thought you'd be the first one to sign up." It was his own way of saying that he wanted her with him. He didn't think he could do this all on his own.
