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artificialqueens · 5 years

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bound to you (pearlet) - pipedream

a/n: this is about a million firsts for me (including the first time i’ve written in about two years) and for context this is a chapter from a much bigger trixya fic i’m writing based on the film burlesque that i planned ages ago. i knew i wouldn’t be able to include every scene and pov i wanted for this in the actual fic so hence this mess. massive shoutout to @grey-darling for beta reading and being an all round angel (thanks for preventing my utter neurosis) and i just made a sideblog for writing that i’m hopefully actually going to use so check out @piipedreams if you want!

Violet’s wedding dress is, to say the least, unconventional. Barely hitting mid-thigh, it manifests itself as a white corset pulling her waist to an almost impossible size with her small breasts perfectly cupped and stone lines running down the bodice, thick white feathers along with strips of glittered tulle hanging off in every direction as a skirt. Her hair is perfectly coiffed to avoid tangling in the white feathers rising up from the top of the corset behind her like a regal collar or strange halo, and despite looking like one of her dance costumes, the glittering tiara and jewels twisted into her updo and her signature red lips constantly upturned make her seem like the most regal person Trixie has ever seen. It is glamorous, extra and, she thinks, quintessentially Violet. Trixie loves her. Trixie loves weddings.

In spite of her expectations, the wedding is a rather small affair. Around forty guests are invited, most the charismatic yet sleazy twenty-somethings Max keeps as friends, laughing obnoxiously loudly and milling about with undone top buttons and bottles of lager clutched in one hand as they try to charm the girls from the club. Trixie feels fiercely protective of them as she watches an already intoxicated man wrap a possessive arm over a tense Farrah, and is about to stride over to the scene when she feels a hand clasp around her upper arm, acrylic nails slightly biting into her skin with the force of the grip.

Katya had left the apartment early that morning, while Trixie was showering, without a hello or goodbye, to get ready with Violet and her bridesmaids Raja, Courtney and Alaska. Trixie hadn’t seen her dress, her makeup or her planned hairstyle and as she swivels around to face the hand clutching her, she remembers why she abandoned religion long ago, because no god could be so merciless as to force her to endure such torture. Because Katya is stunning in every way, from the violet lace flowers adorning her sheer, knee length dress to the silver Dr Marten boots contrasting the elegance of her tiara, curls and makeup that must have been done by Raja. Trixie could fucking cry, she wants to say something but she’s lost, eyes firmly planted on the offensive boots she wears. But Katya doesn’t seem to have the patience to be stared at, yanking Trixie closer to her and pressing two fingers from her spare hand under Trixie’s chin to tilt it up to face her.

They’re inches apart, Katya as always chewing incessantly on gum, so close that Trixie can hear every time it’s squelched between her teeth, can smell and taste the mint radiating from her grape painted lips, can feel hot air against her face and Katya’s eyes bore into her, solemn and serious, slightly wide and pupils dilated. Her lips part in what seems like slow motion to Trixie, gentle and graceful, and when she speaks her voice is a soft whisper.

“Pearl is here.” And now it all makes sense. The words come out rushed, panicked and her eyes widen further, her chewing on the gum picking up pace and power until Trixie is slightly terrified she’s going to grind her teeth down or unhinge her own jaw. Her fingers are twitching. Trixie doesn’t break their gaze.

“Who the fuck invited her?” she demands. All she can think about is the last few weeks, Pearl’s sullen face and blatant antagonism, every biting comment aimed her way, every bitchy side-eye at one of the girls and muttered insults. Pearl drinking, Pearl turning up late, high, Michelle refusing to let her go on stage and replacing her. It’s not the day for drama or negativity, for the pendulous grey cloud hanging over Pearl’s head like her own personal crown. In short, Trixie can’t be fucking bothered with her.

“Violet, I think,” Katya responds, face contorted so Trixie knows she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek enough to make it bleed. “I love her but you know she can be pretty–” She stops, sighs and tugs Trixie’s arm harder so they’re slowly making their way across the room from the bar to the double doors, “–oblivious.”

Trixie nods once, goes to instinctively bite her thumb nail before remembering they’re now acrylic and detouring to the skin around it instead. She lets herself be pulled to the door like a child, only stopping when Katya slaps her hand out of her mouth, catching it in her own before it falls to her side to wipe the pink lipstick from her silver nails with a sweeping caress. She doesn’t let go after that, releasing her arm with a quick rub to it and avoiding all eye contact as she says, almost guiltily, “I’m taking you to talk to her. She asked to speak to you and I didn’t know what to do… or say. Sorry.” Another sigh. The tension wrapped in her lithe body aggravates Trixie but there’s now a swooping feeling in the pit of her stomach so she stays silent, lets Katya push open the wooden door with a bang and strides over to the smoke signal indicating Pearl’s presence. Katya leaves without a word.

Due to the rushed plans and low budget, Violet’s wedding is in a local town hall, a simplistic location with nothing special. Pearl’s stoic expression, precisely painted face and cigarette seems more than a little out of place somewhere so rustic, and finally Trixie sees what all the other girls must have, once upon a time, because she doesn’t want to get any closer but she can’t tear her eyes away. Pearl is like a Renaissance painting, intimidating and ethereal to look at yet much too powerful to be near. Sitting on the curb, looking out upon a carpark of battered Hondas seems wrong to Trixie, as though she is breaking some kind of divine rule. The smoke of the cigarette held between them chokes her as she carefully positions herself on the left of Pearl, neither one of them looking at the other now. Trixie’s love for weddings is slowly fading. She’s tongue-tied.

“I swear I wasn’t always such an uptight bitch,” Pearl begins, taking a drag of her cigarette as Trixie decides whether to gasp or laugh. It seems too out of the blue to be real. As she exhales, Trixie watches her features pinch and her eyes screw up for a second before she exclaims, almost desperate, “I don’t know what the fuck has happened to me!”

Trixie doesn’t speak. She has no words to say, no sympathy for the girl who thus far has only tormented her and thrown the dynamic of the club off completely. It’s not fair of her to call Trixie out like this, force her to listen to her breakdown and her frustration and her probably meaningless sob-story excuse. But she was raised too polite to say any of this, or to get up and leave to have fun with her friends as planned, so she just taps her foot in time to the new number Michelle told her to learn and listens.

“It’s a whole long fucking story I don’t want to go into and I’m sure you don’t too and I– I swear this isn’t an excuse or anything I know there’s no excuse but– fuck – I used to be so, like, flazeda, you know?” Pearl turns to her, the cigarette in her fingers long forgotten.

“Flazeda?” Trixie huffs out a breath of laughter, baffled.

“Is that– Is that not the phrase? I don’t know, I was always a dumb bitch according to Violet– fuck, Violet– but like, I swear I’m usually so fucking chill.”

Trixie finds that hard to believe. “Are you drunk?”

“No, I had like one cocktail when I got here but there were too many people at the bar and I know they don’t want to see me right now so I just kinda avoided everyone after that– God what am I saying? - anyway-”

“Get to the point, girl. I don’t wanna be out here.”

“Right, sorry, I just-” She sighs, takes one last drag from her cigarette before putting it out against her knee, burning a small hole through her dress. Trixie knows Violet made that dress. She wonders if she did that on purpose. “-I’m not a bad person. I know I’ve been a fucking asshole to you and I know you hate me, which I get, but I swear this isn’t me. And I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what you’re even saying, Pearl. And why now? Your timing is… kinda fucked.”

“I know, I know, I just-” She looks skittish and panicked, nothing like what she’s used to, or what she claims to be. “-Violet’s getting married!” She pulls out her carton of cigarettes again with twitching hands only to find it empty. Without a second thought, she hauls it into the car park and watched it bounce off one of the battered Hondas. Trixie stifles a snort. She tries again.

“Violet’s getting married and I know that now. She’s got a whole future ahead of her, a life planned and she knows who she is and what she wants and that’s so good! It is! But I’m a year older than her and I know nothing and I’m just letting things happen and fucking things up over and over again and for what? To watch a twenty three year old I care about more than anyone slowly leave me and show me everything I’m doing wrong. Everything is a fucking mess and I need to start fixing things. And there’s nothing I’ve fucked up more than my relationship with you.”

The words feel too weighted for Trixie to process. She speaks in riddle and metaphor, convoluted and fragmented all at once and Trixie didn’t sign up to solve puzzles today. She gives her a look, pointed and demanding, all hooded eyes and pursed lips.

“I never thought Violet would get married. At least, not now. Not like this.” She shakes her head. “But I’m, like, coming to terms with it and accepting it and moving on. So I had a lot of shit going on and I took it out on you and I’m sorry. I was bitter and jealous and fucking disheartened and I blamed you but I shouldn’t have. So I can put all that resentment and drama behind me if you can. I want a fresh start. So,” she turns to face Trixie with her whole body, arms wrapped around herself as she meets Trixie’s gaze, looking smaller and more human than ever before. “Truce?”

Trixie is exhausted. While Pearl’s voice can often be soothing, as pleasant as her very appearance, the neurosis under every word made it heavy and painful, and neither of them, she realises, are heartless. They’re all just girls desperate for a place to come home. So she nods, rests a hand on Pearl’s knee to repeat “Truce,” as authentically as she can and rises, ready to immerse herself in the celebration and hope awaiting inside instead of festering in Pearl’s hopelessness any longer.

As Trixie retreats, Pearl tries to gather her thoughts. She’d expected her apology to sound sincere and genuine, to allow Trixie a first glimpse into her old self, the real her she’s trying to become again, but the moment she arrived her whole situation had become too much for her brain to handle and she’d spouted out nothing, she felt, of value. She wonders if she’ll have time to pop to the shop across the street for more cigarettes before Katya sends over the next person she requested, and considers laughing briefly when she tries to conjure the image of Katya like a scout trying to lead lost girls through to her like some kind of interviewer, but all amusement falls from her when she sees the stern face of Michelle out the corner of her eye. Another demon to face.

Michelle doesn’t lower herself to the same level as Pearl. Reaching her, she doesn’t lie with her body contorted in ways that should not be possible and nick a fag like Katya, doesn’t curl up on the curb in a ball and look up earnestly like Adore, nor does she stretch out with long legs extended into the road like Trixie. Instead she just stands, looking down on the pathetic form in front of her, and Pearl has never felt more ashamed or guilty, not in all her outbursts, all her moments with Violet, all her fights with Trixie. She wants to get it over with as quick as possible.

“I didn’t sleep with Sean,” she starts with a sigh, trying to block out the fleeting memories of the night she yelled that at Michelle, drunk and high and stupid with unbridled emotion. “I just wanted to find a way to make you hurt the way I was. I crossed a line.”

“Yes.” She responds, features slightly relaxing. Pearl loves her. “But you did sleep with Violet.”

And there it is, the elephant in the room for weeks, months, over a year. The world’s worst kept secret she convinced herself was the best. In theory, she knew that most of the girls, hell, most of the workers at the club in general, must’ve known, with the exception of Trixie and Adore, perhaps, but nobody ever said anything or even hinted, so she told herself over and over again that they didn’t know, that this was just for her and Violet, something for them to enjoy in private. Just the two of them. But the club is her family, and family know everything, whether they acknowledge it or not. She can’t deny it.

“Yes.”

“Multiple times.”

“Yes.” She thought calling people out to speak to her like this would be good, that she’d have full control over the situation. Trust Michelle to hold all power over her effortlessly. Instantly. She watches her mouth open again, ready to speak more unbearable truths, to tell her things she hasn’t even spoken aloud yet, so she cuts her off with a lulling, classically Pearl voice, proud. “Michelle, I want to come home.”

“You came here, despite everything. You’re already home.” The words are gratifying, like some kind of spell that saves her, redeems her, makes everything feel not-so-hopeless and finished. For a moment, the tightness of her lungs relieves itself as she thinks about how easy her next conversations with Kim and Shea should be after that, until Michelle lays a hand on her shoulder and regains her attention.

“I know you’ve been sending Katya in search of all of the girls for you to talk to but I stopped her. I told her to just send in the one that matters, because I knew you wouldn’t call her. So talk it out, get out your own head and don’t you ever pull any of that shit again or you will be out so quick it’ll make your head spin.”

“Yes ma’am,” she responds to Michelle’s retreating form in a moment of pure catharsis.

“And don’t you ever fucking call me that again, bitch!” Pearl finally allows herself to laugh, open and real and it feels so good, so freeing and real until the tightness in her chest returns and she stops, mouth still open, caught dead. Michelle doesn’t fuck around, and she could recognise the silhouette approaching her anywhere.

“Violet,” she breathes out, stunned. It wasn’t that she didn’t ask for Violet because she had nothing to say, she just had far too much and couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to decide what was appropriate to tell her. She can barely think at all in Violet’s presence, it’s what’s lead her to the position she’s in now, sat helpless on a curb with no fags and too many feelings outside the wedding of her best friend, who approaches her like she’s a wounded animal, all gentle eyes and slow movements. It’s a Violet most of the world hasn’t seen, and she wonders how much of this side Max has seen. Wonders if it’s more than she has. Wonders whether she really wants to know the answer to that.

Unlike Michelle, Violet sits, but not next to her like any other regular human. Muttering a petulant “I didn’t want the fucking thing anyway,” she removes the long veil from her head, places it on the ground and tries to lower herself to sit on it, fighting the control of her corset, right in the road, directly opposite Pearl. Face to face. She lets out a groan as she finally sits and stretches her legs out so her feet sit in Pearl’s lap. It feels too familiar, and to disguise her expressions Pearl looks down and fiddles with the white faux fur attached by hand, she’s sure, to the stilettos. “You wanted to talk?”

“No,” Pearl admits, because this is Violet. “Michelle wanted us to talk.”

“About…?” And she’s stumped. Of course she knows what Michelle was insinuating but she doesn’t have the words for that yet, isn’t ready to open and fully delve into that can of worms, she’s dumbstruck and overwhelmed and terrified. She reaches desperately for something, anything that matters and can get across her point in a subtle and ambiguous way that she doesn’t have to fully come to terms with. “Why are you marrying him? Wait, no, why are you getting married in the first place?”

Violet doesn’t look half as offended as she’d expected, but throws out pretty quickly a defensive “Because I’m in love!” as she kicks Pearl’s hands away from her feet. She’s unsure if it’s an act of petulance or protection over her brand new shoes.

“Are you? Or at least, is that the real reason for all this, not the pregnancy drama?”

“Are you?”

She ignores that, tries to persist. “I just want to make sure you’re doing this for the right reasons. I mean, Jesus Violet, you’re only twenty three.”

“Answer my question. Are you?” Violet’s tone is pointed, eyes look black as they pierce her, imploring.

“Answer mine first.” She gulps. She didn’t want to have this conversation, curses Michelle and Katya and Violet and herself and any greater being if they exist.

“That seems like all the answer I need. But not what I want. And you know me, Pearl. I always get what I want.” Pearl can’t grasp her tone and work out whether it’s seductive or intimidating as she tilts her head to the side, capturing her eyes in a fierce gaze. She finds it both, equally. “I’m getting married to secure my future with somebody I love, who can love, take care of, and provide for me for the rest of my life. I’m in love. Are you?” She tilts her head to the other side this time, eyes slightly wide, all curious and innocent.

“I– who would I even be in love with?” Pearl stammers out, barely able to form words. She feels caught off-guard entirely. Like Michelle, Violet knows how to command anything and immediately take charge of the situation. It used to be one of her favourite things about her.

“Me.” She stares harder, refusing to allow Pearl to look away.

This is Violet. The girl she calls her best friend, the girls she’s spent endless nights with, countless intimate moments, the girl she’s admitted most of her secrets and all her darkest thoughts to. This is Violet, who she promised never to lie to and never to hurt. She doesn’t break promises, but now she finds the two in complete opposition. She knows which one she has to break, but she can’t bear it.

“Do you love me?” Violet tries again, but it’s not a firm and demanding as before. It’s by no means soft or gentle, not at all sympathetic, it’s just a plain and sincere question. She could’ve been asking what she had for breakfast.

“No.” She tries. “I mean, yes. You’re one of the girls, you know. You’re family, and I love you all. You’re my best friend and I care about you more than anything. Of course I love you.” The lump in her throat swells as she speaks and she tries not to let it affect her words or block her airway. “But are you in love with me?” Never satisfied, she thinks, mentally rolling her eyes.

“No.” Pearl lies. Violet bites on the tip of her own tongue.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I care about you a lot but I don’t think it’s love.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I promised you I’d come. And I don’t break my promises.” She lies again, but it’s enough to placate Violet, who nods once, assured. Pearl watches with hungry eyes as she takes in a deep, sharp breath and smiles.

“Good. Well, you found out why I’m getting married and I found out why you’re here so everything is even, right?” Pearl nods quickly. Violet pulls her feet out of Pearl’s lap and places her hands on the ground, bracing herself to stand. Before she does, though, she reconnects their gaze with friendly, slightly guarded eyes.

“Are you staying to watch the ceremony? Or did you just come to fix things with everyone?”

“I don’t know.”

“OK.” It feels too anticlimactic an ending. Violet must sense it too as she stands, because she looks back as she picks up her ruined veil. “It starts in five. I’ll see you in there, or– maybe not. But hey, you can keep this.” She tosses the veil into Pearl’s lap nonchalantly. “And Pearl?” She halts her movements and softens. “I’m glad you’re back. And happy.”

“Me too. With you. I’m glad you’re happy with him, and in love. You deserve it.” Blatant lies mixed with truth. Pearl thought she had turned over a new leaf. What a dumb bitch she is.

Violet walks away, outfit still as white as ever, right down to the shoes. She pushes through the booming double doors like an ice queen and out of Pearl’s sight entirely, leaving her on the curb facing the car park with nothing but a battered veil and her thoughts for company.

By time she’s finally collected herself, ran back through every conversation of the afternoon in her mind, the sun is setting slightly and blinding her and she decides to go inside. The concept of time had left her grasp a while ago and she’s not sure if the ceremony has started or finished by this point, but she decides to take her chances. She promised Violet since they were barely adults, long before they should legally have been in the club, that she’d always be by her side. Her wedding included. So she stands without another thought and strides towards the wooden double doors, a veil in one hand and an old clutch bag in the other, and pushes open the doors with her fist and a little too much force, stumbling through them like an idiot as she loses her balance and slips on one leg. When she regains control of her limbs to stop herself from falling to the ground and embarrassing herself entirely, she is met with around forty faces turned in her direction. The heaving wooden doors had slammed together behind her with a thud and, naturally, drawn all attention in the room to her pathetic, bumbling figure. She tries to conjure up something to say and, devoid of any sense of dignity, holds the soiled veil clutched in her fist up.

“You forgot your veil.”

Being such a mess, so mortifyingly out of control, she expected the guests to laugh at her. What she hadn’t expected was the stoic silence she was met with, eyes flitting between people and back at her, mixtures of shock, confusion and utter disdain upon their faces. She slowly lowers her hand and watches Katya grab Trixie’s hand, chewing on the skin of her bottom lip. Michelle will be furious if it bleeds, she thinks momentarily, but it’s neither the time nor place, and she hadn’t meant to cause a stir but she can’t see an empty seat and an all-too-familiar voice breathes out “Pearl” with such ambivalent emotion that she seems to have forgotten every reason she decide to come in the first place.

“Pearl.” This time the voice is Michelle’s, speaking to her like she’s a stubborn child. “You–”

“What is she doing here?” Max demands to an unresponsive Violet, whose full body had turned to Pearl upon her arrival, crimson lips parted and eyes wider than she’d ever seen them. The quickening, deep rise and fall of her chest as she breathes is visible even from the other side of the aisle. Realising he’s not going to get anything from his soon-to-be wife, Max rounds on her instead. “You weren’t invited. Get out of my wedding.”

For once in her life, she decides, she’s going to stand her ground. She’s going to follow her gut and do what feels right and she isn’t going to give in and let people down. Violet is twenty three and about to be married because she knows who she is and what she wants and goes for it. Pearl is twenty four and it’s time she starts acting upon that too. “Violet invited me.”

Max scoffs. “No she didn’t. We wrote the guestlist together, you weren’t send an invitation.”

“No.” She screws her eyes shut for a second before they meet Violet’s wide ones, knowing the words are going to hurt. “She invited me at the club. Face to face.”

Max rounds on Violet again, who is still motionless. “Is this true?” He does not demand, as she’d expected, but asks softly with a furrowed brow. Hurt, perhaps.

Violet nods slowly. Pearl watches her throat bob as she swallows. In barely more than a whisper she tries to speak again, a gentle “Pearl, I-” before she is cut off this time by their minister. Everything and everybody is in disarray.

“I believe we were at the vows, yes?” She aims to Max, nodding frantically to try and regain some sense of order. Violet is elsewhere, frozen, as he nods back at her and places his hands gently on her waist, turning her to face him as he expresses his love for her in words Pearl is certain only half the room is really hearing. She resigns herself to watch the ceremony standing, watch her best friend sign her life away to a man twenty years older than her who hates Pearl and has to physically move her in order to get her to marry him. It all feels so wrong. She hates that Violet wants this. A bitter, selfish, dark part of her prays that Violet doesn’t really want this but she silences it.

As Max says “Till death do us part,” with a small smile on his lips and his hands clutching Violet’s, Violet shuts her eyes. It’s the first time she’s moved of her own accord since Pearl’s entrance. Her eyes are squeezed so tightly shut her eyeshadow is barely visible and Pearl wants to call out to her and stop her, to press her index fingers against the wrinkled eyelids and flatten them out, to tell her her makeup is going to be ruined, but she can’t. There’s an aisle and a man and a ring between them, and all the man is doing is saying “Violet!” once in a sharp whisper, like a parent berating their child while trying not to embarrass themself. Like anyone could ever be embarrassed of Violet.

Taking in what looks like a huge breath, Violet opens her eyes and slowly extracts her hands from Max’s grip. She looks at him with sorrowful eyes and turns away to face the aisle. Like some sort of Medusa, she turns Pearl to stone as her gaze fixes on her, and this time she speaks properly, with volume and power and certainty.

“Pearl,” despite the newfound conviction, she is soft when she speaks, her voice all breathy and airy, perfectly regal. It’s not the first time she’s been so compelling Pearl has wanted nothing more than to get on her knees before her, but this time it is nothing but respect and a feeling of pure unworthiness that makes her feel as though she should kneel, or bow or curtsy. The aisle is short but Violet finds a way to walk only halfway down it, an equal distance from Max and her. It’s all too much and there are forty pairs of eyes trained on them that Violet seems barely even aware of as she speaks again.

This time, there is no teasing, no fleeting insinuations and speaking in metaphor and half-sentences. She is plain and direct when she finally asks “Are you in love with me?”

And while part of Pearl had been fully expecting the question, she is still somehow taken aback by the words. This is it, her very last chance, the precipice of their whole relationship and Violet’s future. It’s the final opportunity she has to act upon what she really feels, regardless of the consequences. It’s now or never. Before she opens her mouth, however, Violet speaks again. “Pearl. I need to know. I can’t get married without knowing everything there is to know about myself and my life. I’m about to give my whole future to him, until death. I have to know. Are you in love with me?”

The question has been asked so many times it’s beginning to become unbearable. But so is the old Pearl, so she straightens up, looks Violet dead in the eyes and tries to prevent her voice from cracking as she says without a hint of regret or hestiance “Yes.”

Violet takes one step closer. One fucking step. “Say it.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, just for the two of them. She does not command, implore or desperately plead. She just speaks, encouraging Pearl to speak again like she’s sharing another secret with her beneath silk sheets. And Pearl is melted by her gaze. “I love you.” She swallows the lump in her throat and it leaves for good. Her body feels light. It’s a feeling she hadn’t remembered. “I’m in love with you.”

Behind Violet, Pearl can hear Max stuttering out single syllables with an expression like a fish, all typical masculine outrage and bewilderment, completely struck wordless by the idea of his wedding day being anything less than perfect. But as Violet approaches her with an unreadable expression and grabs onto her upper arms with both hands, she finds she couldn’t care less about him, or anyone else for that matter. They have forty people as an attentive audience unable to tear their eyes away from the soap opera drama they have a front row seat to, but she doesn’t care about them either. Because Violet is gritting her teeth and pulling her closer as she turns and says, with only a slither of apology laced in her tone “Max, I can’t marry you. I love you, and you could give me the future I always planned for myself, but I’m twenty three now. And that’s not the future I want. So I’m sorry, but I guess I’m cancelling the wedding?”

The last phrase comes out more as a question, her voice breaking slightly and Pearl fears, for a moment, that Violet has made the wrong decision - is still barely able to process that Violet has made a decision, that she had a decision to make - but then she turns back to Pearl, who sees that her voice had wobbled as a huge grin had graced her face, mouth half open as though more than pleasantly surprised with her own decision and eyes sparkling.

Pearl loves her. Pearl is so in love with her and her toothy grins and twinkling eyes and when Violet ecstatically says “I– I love you too!” with a furrowed brow and breathy voice, completely dazed by her own life, Pearl feels giddy and silly and she laughs. Her hands go to Violet’s hips, slightly tickled by feathers as she pulls her closer and they laugh right into each other’s faces, ugly, loud, completely unromantic and more than perfect.

And when Violet finally kisses her, long and lingering and interrupted by dizzy grins, soft yet firm lips making more promises than even Pearl has and washing away every moment of tension she’d had out on that fucking curb, more fulfilling than the cigarettes she’d been craving for what feels like forever now and more addictive than nicotine could ever be, she feels like the old Pearl all over again. She can vaguely hear a man wolf whistle and the newfound defiant side of her itches to put her middle finger up until Violet, beautiful, perfect, unromantic yet still in love with Pearl, does it first and Pearl pulls her closer, breaking the kiss to rest their foreheads and noses together, not yet ready to face her smeared lipstick. Katya is whooping, she’s sure, and she can feel the grins from the girls from the club radiating off them.

“What now?” Violet asks as she pulls her face away, eyes flickering down to their conjoined hands almost self-consciously. It’s a very un-Violet like gesture, the kind to put her on edge for a moment, until she continues. “I’m not letting you be the Elaine to my Ben so you better have a plan.” Always so demanding.

“When have I ever had a plan for anything?” Pearl responds, shaking her head with her lips upturned and eyes more fond than she’d like. Violet laughs again, loud and obnoxious, turning away to face the girls from the club. As they’d got caught up in each other, the guests had for the most part made their way to the bar, trying to make the most of its availability before they inevitably get kicked out. Their club family, however stand in a cluster closeby, waiting for them to break away so they can round on them, and for a minute Pearl has flashbacks to playing football as a child and the team gathering her up after scoring a goal. Violet, she thinks, is the greatest goal she’s ever scored.

Alaska is softly sobbing into the crook of Sharon’s neck, who has one arm wrapped around her and is laughing hysterically as Katya bounces up and down behind her with her hands on her shoulders, talking endlessly about everything too quickly for Pearl to process. Violet is wrapped under her arm now as people speak to them, congratulations and jokes and bets and claims they knew all along tossed on them unrelentlessly until Michelle appears.

“How do you feel?” She asks, and Pearl doesn’t know who she’s directed it at. She lets Violet speak first.

“This was the right decision.” Pearl’s heart feels full. “I would’ve been signing my life away to him, bound to him for eternity. I don’t think I’m meant to belong to anyone like that.” She nudges Pearl with her hip. “This one wouldn’t dare try me. She knows me too well.”

Michelle laughs, hearty and glad. “Good luck with that one,” she says, addressing Pearl this time. “She’ll keep you on your toes. I hope you know what you signed up for,” she jokes with a wink.

“So do I.” She returns with false dread, teeth gritted and brow raised as Violet screams beside her and pushes her away momentarily, pulling her back by her hand into a chaste kiss as Michelle retreats before turning to her, eyes doe-like and youthful with sudden sincerity.

“You know you could’ve avoided all this drama if you’d just said yes outside. I knew you loved me all along, but I couldn’t be with someone who couldn’t admit that to me. I’m too old to be ashamed of anything anymore, especially not love.”

It’s too much for Pearl to take. She is brimful with love. “Shut the fuck up,” she simply says with a grin, shoving her head slightly. “You’re a fucking baby.”

“Your fucking baby.”

“Oh, do you have a plan for us now, since I’m apparently so useless?” she shoots back, all playful and flirty, and god how she’d missed this.

“Maybe,” Violet replies conspiratorially, tapping the side of her nose before she plants a big, red kiss on Pearl’s cheek. Pearl fucking hates her. “I love you!” Violet adds with a grin.

#rpdr fanfiction #violet chachki #pearl liaison #katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel #pearlet #cisgirl au #angst #fluff #pipedream #concrit welcome #submission #lesbian au

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