#wcrlds

for years, she’s refused to acknowledge any feelings she’s had for her.  it was always her. always dax. a slave to her own emotions, kira nerys allowed herself to be played by a hologram — vic goddamn fontaine played her & ever since that night she hadn’t been able to even get a full sentence in ezri’s presence before she found an excuse to leave.

now? after worf & ezri returned from breen captivity ... it’s all so clear now. this war & the occupation had taken so much from her to the point where kira nerys wouldn’t even dare to want anything ... to hope for anything. but after losing dax once, she almost lost her again —— and that is not a risk nerys is willing to take. 

❝ i like you,  and i hope you like me too. ❞ 

 it's so very unlike them:    until the new normal that has taken hold of lives decides to show them any mercy,    when have they truly set aside the smoke between them and actually spoken?    without the pressures of potential death    -    and maybe,    even temporarily,    without the way she hasn't been able to properly look at him in fear of what she’ll not be able to un-notice.    (  @wcrlds​ made his sentiments clear,    and whilst anger has at least somewhat faded, there is no forgetting exactly what passing contact truly told her.  )

 what would she give to truly be a puppet master   -    if only for a minute,    for long enough to put universe on hold and find a corner where she may simply fade from sight   &&   mind   &&   memory.

 ❝   kind of feels like first part of that should have been in the past tense.   ❞    there is no self pity in the way soft words come out,    rearranging PADs on her desk as though busy hands alone may stand a chance to keep fickle heart and observant eyes under control.     maybe at some point he liked the idea of who she was meant to be,    but that person seems no more than yet another ghost she should bury and forget.

 choosing to save him had turned into some kind of tragedy,    own affections tucked into corner of mind where they cannot cause too much harm when surely she will say wrong thing and kill temporary peace.

@wcrlds​: [ SHARE ] sender is unexpectedly staying with receiver overnight,  receiver insisted sender sleep on the bed while they take the floor but sender winds up insisting they join them in bed. ( from flynn )

staying the night. | accepting

                         ‘ i’m fine, professor, really! ‘

                         ( they had decided he should stay the night for OBSERVATION. it made complete sense - mr. carsen DESIRED to see one of her sleepwalking episodes for himself, &. she no longer felt SAFE without another presence in her bedroom to sleep. despite general WEAKNESS of form a dark, BURNING flush had colored cheekbones once they realized - almost at the same moment - both would have to share her BEDROOM. immediately she guides him to large bed canopied in white CHIFFON, placing his bags on bedspread without second thought. his VEHEMENT protests fall upon deaf ears; a maid has already gathered soft bedsheets &. pillows, laying them in a pile as comfortable as possible on WOODEN flooring only a few feet away from his position on the bed. )

                         ( singsong comes from behind EXQUISITELY painted room divider - grass-stained sundress draped over wooden panels, shifting of gossamer heard from behind DECORATIVE obstruction. light from nightstand lamp illuminates panels, the GAPS between them; brief, FLEETING views of lithe silhouette as she dresses, expanses of near TRANSLUCENT skin &. shifting of tumbling blonde curls. sleepwear is pulled over sensuous frame &. moments later she emerges, DIAPHANOUS nightgown settling about her like petal-pink MIST. fresh bandage has been applied to her throat, yet BLOOD has begun to stain crisp white of gauze. )

                         ‘ you need to rest tonight - it’s not like i sleep much. besides, it‘ll be fun … like a sleepover! ‘

                         ( nymphal beauty crosses the room, surveying HAPHAZARD pile of pillows &. sheets. awkwardly angel settles amongst them, shifting to try &. ACCOMODATE hard surface beneath while pulling sheets around herself. bubbly giggles rise from seated form, running painted fingertips through FLAXEN curls. there is no doubt her arrangement is UNCOMFORTABLE, yet she bears it with one of her easy, CHARMING smiles. she muses this is better than the alternatives - either he sleeps on the floor out of the question as her guest, or they sleep in the same bed. the very thought burns fresh COLOR in her cheeks; chemistry between them was already PALPABLE, &. she wasn’t sure how she would sleep with charming professor by her side, mere INCHES away. more silvery laughter, glancing aware with DEMURE sheepishness. )

SENTENCES:  STAR TREK VOYAGER,  SEASON 4,  PART II.

PROMPT,   accepting.

the words are slow to come to her,   something that’s too common a theme these days,  and the truth is?  everyone’s a little too nice about it.  everyone’s too nice,  too patient,  too understanding    they shouldn’t be.  they really shouldn’t be.  least of all ezri...  or,  maybe,  most of all ezri.  ezri has most of what jadzia had been once in her   ❪  quite literally  ❫.   that really makes it all so much more difficult.

“we could  —  could,  uhm,  w-we could adjust the flow...  channel more power to the shields from...”   fuck,  what’s the word?  why doesn’t it come to her?  and...  and why does the fact that it doesn’t come to her make her wanna cry?   “from the cloak,  right?  we can’t have both up at once anyway,”   posed as a question it makes jadzia feel so much like the timid initiate she’d been once,  like she’s terrified of being rejected by the symbiosis commission,  prepared to cry herself to sleep after curzon’s through yelling at her.

there’s something wrong about the way   (  @wcrlds​  )   speaks,  offering such a gracious response in opposition to what jadzia expects,  that tears spring to her eyes,  wrists dabbing in the hopes she can stop the stinging before it gets out of control.   “i’ve heard worse ideas,”   ezri says,  and somehow there’s something about the words that’s a mix of both ezri herself and...  and jadzia...  that it breaks her a little.  a little more,  that is. 

nerys still remembers her first kiss with a boy from her resistance cell — recalling how she didn’t feel that sense of clarity, that levity & joy that bounced through her as every other girl her age would describe them kissing the person of their dreams. it wasn’t unpleasant by any means — she was eighteen, he was eighteen and he liked her enough to kiss her. but all kira nerys felt that day was pure anxiety. if she had the luxury of reflection and examination during those years of her life, she would’ve surely sought out the problems much earlier. there’s an occupation, who has time for romantic dalliances? she kept telling herself. 

then, there was antos — her first “real” relationship ... and as forgiving as he was, she couldn’t forgive herself for hurting him. falling asleep as he painted earnest poems down the expanses of her body, whispering a reverent love between her legs ... and all kira did was fall asleep — in her defence, she hadn’t slept in 48 hours that time. she might’ve loved him but not quite like that. 

not in the way how she expected her to. 

then, came this pivotal moment of clarity : she loved jadzia dax. 

sure, nerys’ type would never be a symbiont who’s equivalent to a ‘cowboy’ from the ‘wild wild west’ but she was drawn to jadzia dax more than she had ever been drawn to anyone before. yet, as she was about to profess her feelings in a truly embarrassing fashion out loud on the promenade ... she was with worf. so kira swallowed her words & did what she knew best about love : to want the other person to be happy — even if it wasn’t with her. 

but kissing ezri? it was as if nerys was waiting for this moment for all of her life. there’s an exhilaration that she’s never felt before — knots building in the pits of her stomach with each laboured breath exhaling from her lips as each inch of her body quivers, shakes, trembles like this is her first time. the nerves? the anxiety? the knots? they fuel her like an adrenaline rush — ezri’s all she sees & all she wants right now. with fingers gripping almost desperately onto her hips, all her dilated eyes do is to marvel & stare with a pure, unadulterated smile laden with elation. 

❝  do you need me to slow down?  ❞   asked @wcrlds​ with a consideration that simply causes the smile on nerys’ face to widen.

one hand absentmindedly trail upward, dragging along each inch of her skin before finally cupping her face. 

“   no...   ”   voice croaking from inutility, fingers tracing the other’s jawline, down her sternum, then along her clavicle.   “  i’ve — we’ve been too slow for too long.   ”   

her heartbeat between her ears like a war drum, her body flushed beyond measure. slowly, she reaches for ezri’s hand & brings those knuckles against her own lips. 

“   i want you. i want you, ezri.   ” 

                         ‘ i - ... you - ... is this some kind of ... of joke, flynn?! ‘

                         ( fury is palpable, THICK &. hot as strigoi closes distance between them. accented lilt is further WEIGHED with ancient cadence, anger making it difficult to speak a DIALECT bookkeeper would understand. onyx hues flash, OUTRAGE burning hellfire in otherwise infinite black GLARE. energy is remarkable given current CONDITION - mere weeks had passed since violent passing of the master count &. she had sustained GRIEVOUS injuries. wounds, she had explained to then FRANTIC librarian, that would take longer to heal than most even with UNNATURAL restorative capability. remnants of dracula’s DEMISE; stained bandage about her throat partially hidden beneath inky curls, distinct sound of cotton shifting against gauze beneath her shirt. ) 

                         ( item in question is SLAMMED on table before him, already crumpled as if read a hundred times over. vampyr received UNASSUMING envelope in the mail earlier in the evening, watching with leaden DREAD as golden words ornamented themselves across cardstock. most living dead knew of librarians &. their unwavering GUARDIANS ... but she? the moral compass, eternal companion for her friend the bookkeeper? julia reacts, INSULTED at the very implication she was any sort of protector, rejecting the very NOTION she was any worthwhile mentor, PARTNER ... &. deep down, AFRAID she was both unworthy &. unable to protect the one person she had come to respect. ) 

 ❝   i  know  you  said  you’re  busy  at  the  moment ,  but  i  think  you’re  lying .   ❞

 what is there to say?   her silence is not a petty one    -     not one born in anger or some true hatred towards those she had naively allowed past defences.   (   she'd built them for a reason,    maeve has been reminded,     and doubting that is not something her intelligence will allow her to do.   )     a near perfect memory has always been both gift and curse,    something that can serve to aid others no matter how much damage it inflicts upon own hands or heart:  she will not be forgetting lesson,      just as she will not be forgetting even a heartbeat of recent events with someone she once considered a true friend.  

                 she is sad.     it is,     in the end,    as simple as that.    she is sad    &&   there is no escaping all recently spoken words seem to mean.