#nightray week

[kouzumi93]

[lilyginnyblack]

Here's a little VinceAda one-shot for Ada's birthday and Nightray Week.

It’s fluffy and cute and takes place long after the end of the series. Anyway, I’ll probably try writing some more small stuff for Nightray Week when and where I can. For now, please enjoy this! :D

She hears him at night, sometimes he mumbles and sometimes he yells, waking up briefly in a cold sweat before she kisses his cheek, wraps her arms around him, and watches him until his breathing calms and evens out. His mumbles and shouts are always names. Sometimes she even hears her own, but “Jack” and “Elliot” are by far more common.

During the day he never says either of their names.

He never likes being reminded of them, but she knows that he needs to start acknowledging them eventually. She know he needs to start moving past them and needs to let them both rest in the past, so he can continue moving forward. She thought it was good progress when Vincent stopped looking at her brother, who was growing older every day and who was, without any want or desire, starting to resemble Jack more and more, without hate or contempt or even just plain annoyance. Luckily, Oz’s own horrible experiences with Jack made him stay away from growing out his hair and getting piercings, but she knew that the resemblance was still there. She knew that, sometimes, when her husband looked at her brother, he was flashing back to the past and was seeing Jack in Oz’s place. But that was happening less and less. Vincent was actually starting to get to know Oz as their families became more intertwined through marriages and…now children.

She was pregnant with their first child.

It was a discovery she had made only recently, but the moment she learned of her condition, she knew the child she was carrying was going to be a little boy. A little boy with golden hair and golden eyes named Elliot. Elliot Nightray. The image was instantaneous, and it would not leave her alone. If she had a boy, then he needed to be named Elliot.

Elliot, the name that left her husband’s lips at night. His name was never said with hatred or contempt like Jack’s often times was, but rather, it was said with guilt and regret and pain. The kind of pain that comes with the consequences of living, something she knew, Vincent had never really prepared himself for. She knew what her husband was thinking. If he just forgot about Elliot, then any other negative or painful emotions that attacked him at night would eventually just go away. But that was not how it worked. Vincent had to come to terms with Elliot and what happened. He had to come to terms with his own feelings concerning the only blood Nightray that he had considered to be an actual sibling.

She knew that Vincent had loved Elliot, in his own way, and with his own justifications. And she, herself, had cared about Elliot. She had wanted to know more about Elliot and in the end had ultimately failed. It had hurt her to know that Elliot had died before their families could be brought together like they were now and, more importantly, before she had been able to get to know him properly. But now, here was her chance. Here was her chance to make up for all of that and for Vincent to finally feel some relief.

All day she had been wondering how she should break the news of her pregnancy to her husband, but she could not settle on anything. That was why, in the end, she decided to just say it point-blank. She could deal with whatever reaction he had to the news, she had, after all, contemplated all of them. She was ready.

And so, Ada Nightray got into bed, resting comfortably upon the mattress and under the sheets, but not in any position that would suggest that she wanted to fall asleep. Her back was resting against the small pile of pillows she used to sleep. She turned toward her husband. She waited for him to get into bed, under the sheets like her. He moved to blow out the dying candlelight, but she called out to him, stopping him.

“Vincent…I have something to tell you.” He turned away from the candle and devoted his attention to her. Something in her voice must have worried him, because his movement had been quick and swift and he looked a little fearful. She smiled at him in order to reassure him. “It’s good news. I promise.”

He relaxed within seconds. She never broke her promises, she knew he knew that. Her smile remained on her face, unbroken, as she broke the news to him, “Vincent, I’m pregnant.”

She watched as he froze, as his eyes widened, and how that fear that only moments before had disappeared was now back on his face. She reached out her hands and grabbed his own, gaining his attention.

“It’s good news. I promise.” She repeated her words to him.

“I said I would always be there for you. I said I would protect you. I meant that. And I’ll protect this child, too. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid of our child…or yourself…as a father. It’ll be okay, Vincent. I’ll help you.” As she spoke her hands had moved from his hands, up his arms, and they eventually wrapped themselves around his shoulders in a hug. He didn’t speak. He did not hug her back. But, she felt cool fingers rest over her stomach and abdomen through her sheer nightgown.

There was no real evidence yet indicating that she was with child, Vincent was gentle with his touch. Tipping his head downward, he rested his forehead against hers. She took that as a good sign and started talking. She told him how she was quite certain that their first born was going to be a son.

“He’ll have golden hair and eyes. He’ll be beautiful, just like you.” Vincent kissed her cheek. She closed her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about a name as well…”

“Already?” It was the first words he had spoken since they had gotten into bed.

She chuckled, “Yes, already. It came to me right away…”

“What is it?”

“Elliot.”

He froze again.

She thought, for a moment, that he might fight it. But then…

“I like it.”

She hugged him tighter. He moved his lips until they were over hers and gave her a soft kiss. Then he moved, shifting downward, which caused Ada to lose her grip on him. His hands never moved however, and a few seconds later she felt featherlight kisses on her stomach. “I like it.” He whispered once more, into her stomach, as if talking to their unborn child rather than to her.

Ada giggled and kissed the top of his head. “Our baby can’t hear you.”

Vincent did not reply. He kissed her on the lips once more, and then wrapped her in his arms. They both situated themselves under the covers, and said their good nights. They both slept peacefully, their hands intertwined and resting gently, protectively over their unborn child – their little Elliot.

[crayoza]

- Gilbert ♧ Vincent - Nightray Week

[tiniestdormouse]

Sneaking in a late request for Nightray week! Vanessa's desire to contract with Raven. Your take on it, either AU or canon.

For Nightray Week, drop a character from the Nightray Dukedom in my Ask and I will write a three-line fic about them. Last one!***Vanessa suspected that all underground basements required the sound of dripping water as some standard-issue of manor construction, or perhaps that sound was coming from beyond the Gate she was staring at, but either way, that slow drip....drip...drip... echoed in the cavernous space in an unnatural way that lifted the hairs from the back of her neck.And the drip...drip...drip... followed her as she stepped through and it followed her as the chains lashed out and tightened around her limbs, cutting off all circulation and even stopping the breath in her lungs and the drip...drip...drip... could even be her sweat or her blood or her urine down the pant of one stockinged leg and she thought in a flash, "Why didn't I leave a note-? I would be gone and they'd never find me again..." and drip...drip...drip..."Why?" came the word she whispered and that eye, large and yellow and all-encompassing, reached down into the depths of her and suddenly she knew why Fred never spoke of this and why Ernest cried and why Claude escaped half-dead and she clenched her eyes shut and wept as the Raven answered, "Wake up," and she did, all sweat and damp and the bedsheets ruined and she blamed herself for being too pathetic never to follow her dreams (but fearful too, that the nightmare would have come true if she did...)

[tiniestdormouse]

Make a fanfic about Elliot! X)

For Nightray Week, drop a character from the Nightray Dukedom in my Ask and I will write a three-line fic about them.***"En garde!" Elliot took first position, waiting for his opponent to make the first move, but before he knew it, he was swept under his feet with a side kick and he tumbled head over heels, narrowly avoiding stabbing himself with his own blade."You are not following protocol!" he snapped, getting up and dusting off his knees, while the other man chuckled, his long sleeve covering his mouth."And you think protocol matters in this round?" laughed Break, "No wonder you never bested me while you were alive!" (and that was the moment Elliot swiped, which Break deflected, with the chuckle, "You'll have more than enough time to take to master me here, Sir Elliot!")

[frederic-nightray]

Did any of your younger siblings seek comfort in your presence when they were faced with night terrors, Lord Frederic?

frederic-nightray:

[OOC: For Nightray Week, drop a character from the Nightray Dukedom in my Ask and Fred will answer them. Last one!]

***

My time in my childhood home has a significant disconnect with my siblings: Claude was not born until I was ten years old, and all of my subsequent brothers and sister came soon after. My years at Dodgson’s Point came soon after Claude’s birth, and then, came the finalization of my… particular training skills… and subsequent education in diplomatic politics and international affairs. I was twenty-five years old by the time Elly was brought into the world—old enough for my youngest brother to be my own son (and more than once together we had been mistaken as such).

As a result, for much of my life I have felt like an only child, and my younger siblings more like my peers at school, perhaps, or children of a close colleague to foster and observe, rather than knowing that they are of my blood as well. I maintained my own household and kept to my own affairs once I came of age, traveling as part of my duties both familial and national.

Perhaps because a majority of my life has been spent in this manner, my perspective of my siblings is unintimate or distant in ways that I think they do not share amongst themselves. I know, all in all, I am meandering around a simple question: whether I was there for Claude, Ernest, Vanessa, or Elliot when they needed some sort of… familial comfort. My father, I understand all too well, can be a cold and disciplined man, and Mother, while kinder and gentler, was a busy nobleman and wife of an esteemed and powerful man, which left her duties as a caretaker more in the hands of nannies and governesses—such is the ways of nobility, understand. I preface this all so you do not judge them, nor judge me.

I was not there for my brothers and sister in ways that smaller folk may be. I hold no memories of everyday playfighting or carousing. I did not take them to festivals or national celebrations. I was not there during childish arguments or squabbles.

I was present for all of their birthdays and name days and Coming of Age ceremonies (except Elly’s, which won’t be for another few years) — and with four siblings that is quite a lot. I was (or plan to be) there for every graduation ceremony from Lutwidge. I taught Vanessa how to ride and gave Elly his first wooden sword. I was by Claude’s side when he told Father he would not undergo the Raven’s Trial and I pulled Ernest out of that underground gambling ring before he had sunken too far.

But night terrors? As far as I can recollect, none of my siblings suffered them except Claude, after he was forced (he may have volunteered to go, but I will always think of it as coerced) to undergo his Trial. He suffered a great deal after he entered the Gate, and remained bedridden with his injuries for months. The psychological scars were worse and lasted much longer.

I was at home for the hunting season (grouse is always better in the north than the south where I resided), and hadn’t noticed trouble with Claude until my second week in, when I heard screaming from the west wing. Instinctually, I investigated to see the doctor emerge from his rooms.

"The demon bird haunts him," our old family physician explained with a shake of his head. "I’ve given him some laudanum to ease his mind."

I never approved those sort of drugs. The next day, I asked Nessa during our morning ride how long this has been happening.

"A long time, Fred," she replied, somewhat guilty, as if she had been to blame for his troubles. Nessa gazed off toward the hills with a contemplative air. "Father pretends he doesn’t have them," she said in a quiet tone. "And Ernest teases him. He thinks that it proves Claude’s coward nature. I don’t," she added with a sigh. "Claude believes him, though."

The next evening, I did what an older brother would do: show up at his suite with a bottle of cognac and a box of cigars. “I’m in need of good company,” I told him, “there has been a lack in decent society in my time away.”

Claude scoffed (he always had a reluctance to socialize with me, since I am the polar opposite of him in many respects), but I elbowed my way past his door and settled before the parlor fireplace. “Your studies in history going well?” I ventured, knowing that would pique his interest the most (oh, Claude, the squirrelly, diligent scholar!). Sure enough, he delved into the lore of the country and his investigation into the relationship between Sablier and the Abyss (“Father’s also asking about this lately,” he boasted), until late into the night. He excused himself to bed, but, oddly enough, allowed me to continue to read through his collection while he retired.

I stayed, sipping my drink and flipping through the latest chapters about a supposed bloody lapin from the mountains when the shouts were heard. I peered around the doorway to see him muttering in bed. Night terrors for a man of age would be shameful to admit, true, but very real nonetheless (I have known soldiers with these same experiences—they referred to this as “battle fatigue”).

In cases such as these, I have learnt it was best not to wake the subject suffering, but to wait until they wake themselves, and sat by the bed until, sure enough, Claude stood up and even then, his eyes darted about and his frame shuddered in ways that I knew he was still in the dream, though his eye remained open.

Some minutes passed with no sound but his gasped breathing and then, he leaned forward, the sweat profuse all over his body, and he made a sound much like retching. He pressed the heels of both hands to his eyes and then, turned and moaned, before I placed my hand upon his shoulder, whispering, “Claude, Claude…”

Wide dark eyes flickered and registered my presence. “Wha…”

"I’m Fred. Your brother," I assured him, feared that the demons were still in his view. "I am your brother. I’m here."

A moment passed, and he paled entirely before collapsing. I wondered if I did the right thing, having stayed and thought to ring the bell for the doctor or fetch the bottle of laudanum from the bedside table, until Claude’s thin hand clutched my sleeve.

A strange stirring in my heart overcame me, and let him grab hold of me, and grip the front of my jacket with both hands and in a burst of emotion, bury his dark head into my front. Shaking sobs came from him, and I remained for a long time in this way, holding my arms around my poor brother and feeling the rasping of his breath and his voice run through me.

Much of the night passed and the sky outside was slowly turning shades of gold and red before he spoke anything more. “I am…. a fool,” he croaked. “A fool and a coward and utterly weak and helpless.”

"Brother-"

"I shouldn’t have come back." A dead tone. "I should have let the Raven kill me. Then Father wouldn’t have been shamed to see me again."

My hold tightened. “None of us should have come back,” I replied. “But we did. I did. So what are you going to do about that?”

Claude didn’t reply. I smiled grimly, knowing how heavy the lie weighed in my chest (I didn’t care about the damned Raven anymore—I moved on. But would it be possible to tell Claude that and have him believe me? Or at that moment, had I unlocked a part of my schoolboy self who would always believe himself to be inadequate, no matter how much I have achieved since then?)

"A Nightray is never useless," I told him. Dawn had fully flushed out her rosy cheeks by that point and sleep was befalling my younger brother once more. I slowly disentangled myself from him and eased him back onto the bed. Tucking the sheets around him like a nursemaid, I told him, "We will always need you."

Later that day, well beyond noon, I saw Claude again in the library. He had his nose buried in a history book, as usual, but he did lower the volume to share a look, unspoken, as I entered.

I only pray he had taken my message to heart.

[tiniestdormouse]

Vanessa, please? :D

For Nightray Week, drop a character from the Nightray Dukedom in my Ask and I will write a three-line fic about them.***Cool autumn air whipped through Vanessa's curls as she saddled up the thoroughbred stallion for her morning ride; the stable boys usually readied horses, but Vanessa always like to tend to Dominion herself--his presence soothed her in ways that she rarely felt inside the Nightray home nowadays.Tightening the girth strap, she bit her lower lip and willed out the memory of breakfast: Mother, sleeping away, Father, absent as always, Elliot, sullen that neither were there to send him off for Lutwidge, and Vanessa, annoyed that that peasant Leo ate instead of served; "What kind of manservant places himself at the same table as his master?" she sneered and tossed her napkin down, "Mother and Father may not be here, but that means I am in charge of this meal and I won't allow it!" (which only lead to an argument with her little brother and him departing immediately for school without further goodbyes with the peasant).Vanessa mounted her ride and flicked the reins, starting him at a trot, then a canter, and as the field gates were opened into the Nightray forests, she urged Dominion onwards into a gallop, hoping the speed and the wind would be enough to wipe the tears of frustration from her cheeks.

[tiniestdormouse]

[ Could you do something for Ernest, fic wise? ; v ; ]

For Nightray Week, drop a character from the Nightray Dukedom in my Ask and I will write a three-line fic about them.This ficlet is connected to Fred's recollection here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7785975/19/Life-and-Times-of-Lord-Frederic-Wolfgang-Nightray***The fifteen year-old youth was concealing a slim knife into his boot when he heard the footsteps behind him; Ernest knew that no weapons were allowed during the Raven's Trial, but after hearing stories of his eldest sibling's failure for years, he always thought it was because Frederic lacked his own line of defense; he quickly rolled down his trouser leg before the blade could be spotted. "Ernest." A firm hand on his shoulder that the blond shook off, but Fred continued, "Claude refused to enter, and you still have a choice--""Claude's a coward, Fred, and I won't let anyone else call me that," Ernest replied, snapping his head up to face his oldest brother and watched the storm-clouds roll over his brother's brow ("Fred knows that he's a failure too," thought Ernest bitterly, echoes of his school friends' laughter in his ears), and he left before Fred could convince him otherwise, assuring himself that the cold steel against his leg and the revolver at the small of his back would safeguard him (he would be wrong).