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neptuneunworthy · 6 months ago

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Devour

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Durge

Synopsis: It is so early in your adventures, you've yet to even infiltrate the goblin camp and save The Grove; there are so many things you don't know about your companions...and so many things they don't know about you. At least you don't go around and bite people awake however, like certain bloodthirsty rogues.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Injury

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Stars always shine brightest when away from the hustle and bustle of the large cities like Baldur’s Gate or Neverwinter. The sky is not scarily illuminated by a gross cacophony of embers aching for more. It is when they shine so bright, when they twinkle just perfectly, that hope is born.

You were born without Hope.

You were created without Hope.

This is not an odd thought, though as quickly as you register it not to be odd you also register you are unaware of how you know this fact about yourself. How can you be so sure? Because, if you were honest, you cannot for the life of you recall anything.

His smile is small and gentle as the boy crouches beside you with a ladybug on his finger, a leather-bound journal loosely folded in his lap. He’s small, like you, and just a kid, also like you. Though he could not be more different than you.

“What’s your name?” Your voice is squeaky, yet cracks from dehydration clawing its way up your throat.

The boy looks at you with a grin and worried eyes. Very few have looked at you before like that. Then again, you’re only eight years old.

“I’m-“

“Tav!”

Your hands tightened around the thin linen, wringing it out a last time as your name was shouted by a certain wizard. Of course this likely meant supper was ready, hells even all the way out here by the lake you could smell the sweet aroma of spiced and juiced meat; the burning wood mixing with the scent in a way that made you truly realize you had been starving

You tossed the tunic over a rock with the other clothing and armour to dry and dust the mixture of sand and dirt from your legs, before turning on your heel and going to join the others. Their voices had already begun to mix with each other in chatter around the fire, Gale the loudest of them as he explained in detail what part of Faerun he would be feeding everyone tonight.

Of course, only Wyll and Karlach seemed interested. Maybe that wasn’t wholly true. Lae’zel was interested, after all she was a woman of respect and even admitted Gale’s cooking to be “suitable.” However, she still will voice her very loud complaints against Faerun and it’s cooking even so.

Gale didn’t seem to mind, though in your humble opinion you think that’s just because he’s a mixture of too kind, but also Lae’zel even finding his cooking “suitable” should be considered a victory.

You took your seat next to Shadowheart, admittedly she was the person you had found yourself the most comfortable around thus far. That was putting it lightly of course. But she was open and honest about her loss of memories, though she seemed to understand exactly why. Whereas you were not aware of anything. Save for certain…feelings when it comes to violence.

Still, there was a nice and quiet camaraderie formed over this; though you opted to not mention to her or anyone much about certain urges. Save for when you first inquired most everyone about them and they all gave you unsatisfactory answers.

You still had yet to confess it was you who killed Alfira. Though there was plenty of time to say as such, right? After all, the whole past day was spent fighting goblins at a windmill and spiders before you resume your trek toward the goblin camp once more. You were just busy and focused on other things that didn’t include confessing maiming an annoying bard only after just meeting her.

Ah.

Has it truly only been five days so far?

Everyone was such chums already.

Well, save for…

“It seems our white-haired friend has disappeared off to gods knows where again,” you mumbled. You weren’t an idiot, you had seen him stalk off the past few nights. “Where do you think he’s gone to?”

Shadowheart hummed in thought, biting down on a tender piece of pork before sipping from her goblet. “I pray somewhere won’t require me to heal him again. ”

She followed this by also side-eyeing yourself, which resulted in a quiet chuckle from you. It would be correct that both the pale elf and yourself had already made a pattern of needing frequent healing from her after battles.

“I mean it,” Shadowheart continued, though there was an ounce of teasing in her tone, “you would think for someone as sneaky as him he would be able to dodge out of harm's way. I suppose I should be glad he doesn’t beg me to heal him like you do--”

“-I do not beg-”

“-and instead he feigns ignorance to his wounds. Acting all annoyed and like a cornered cat when I manage to finally cast a spell on him. You can be thankful but him? You would think he would at least try to be cooperative since he is on a team…”

Her words now had taken a turn to actual complaining, which you listened to, and even admittedly agreed with.

You looked down at the food, picking at it with your fingers. “I think he shows thanks in uncanny ways. He’s disarmed more traps and swiped more gold for us than any of us ever could--not without being caught or killed at least.”

As you ate, finally, she seemed to ponder these words. Even if you agreed with her rant over the man, you had to be tactful and give him the benefit of the doubt as much as you have given her. Hells, as much as you have given everyone else. There is a part of you that calls you stupid for it, a tremor in your hand wishing to claw its way around your companions throats.

However, if you are to survive, if you are to hopefully eventually understand that supposed butler , then you need to ensure everyone gets along.

“You may be correct Tav,” she said after taking another sip of wine (which had been stolen from The Grove), “but it would be nice to feel recognized.”

You understood, though for several reasons that felt lost to you. So you simply agreed with a nod. Recognition could mean a lot of things to both of you, but that was the unspoken truth in the statement, wasn’t it?

People eventually returned to their tents, save for yourself and Gale, whom you had offered your help to when it came to cleanup. He appreciated the offer. Despite your reservations about Gale, mostly as he insulted your knowledge as a fellow wizard…and perhaps guilt (why do you feel guilt?) from almost ripping and eating his arm unbeknownst to him, you find his companionship affable.

It’s a type of acquaintanceship you can appreciate because you both can prattle on about the arcane to someone who actually understands it.

“A shame Astarion did not make it to dinner tonight,” Gale bemoaned as he changed the topic away from cantrips. “I set a portion aside from him and everything.”

You eye’d at the plate of sauteed pork, likely a bit cold by now.

“I can wait for him. Make sure he gets it.”

Gale looked at you with a soft smile. “Truly that would be wonderful. I must admit I have grown a bit worried about our friend. At first I thought it was maybe my food smelled as foul as the Owlbears nest, but I have not seen the roguish man eat anything thus far.”

“I promise you he will eat your very delish and not putrid smelling meal.”

That gained a chuckle from both him and yourself, but you additionally also said, “I will finish up here. You already have done more than enough in cooking the whole camp a delicious meal, go get some rest.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder and gave a squeeze, “thank you, Tav.”

This is what Shadowheart means by wishing people (Astarion) said thank you, or that people (also Astarion) gave proper recognition where proper recognition is due.

You understand that the elf is probably just a very secretive person, which made sense considering his role in your camp after all. Honestly, you were pretty certain that he simply reads his books as he dines lavishly in the woods by himself with whatever tasty foods he swiped during the day. He is here for the reason everyone else is, and that’s to find out more about the pesky parasites burrowed in your brains.

Which perhaps is why Shadowheart is right; he needs to be more cooperative with the group. Though you can also understand the reasoning for keeping distance.

You cleaned off the plates from everyone else, leaving the one for Astarion untouched. Scratch, the dog that you had met crying over his dead owner, seemed more than happy to eat and lick any crumbs or residue left on the plates before you washed them by the lake. At least before he made his rounds to everyone’s tents; a ritual the dog performed each night to decide whose tent he shall sleep in.

When you settled back down by the now dwindling fire, you leaned back on the palm of your hands and looked up to the sky, taking it all in as you waited for the man of the hour to return. The stars did shine bright. They winked and kissed at you from afar. Whispering soft nothings in their twinkles and glimmers. A feeling swells in your chest as you look up at them. A profound loneliness overtaking your being. It didn’t feel right to be sitting here under the sky with the dim fire all alone.

Obviously you weren’t actually alone. You had the aforementioned tadpoles to make sure of that. But it was different. You could feel yourself actually begin to relax as you looked at the gleaming night sky, but at the same time your chest swelled for something your mind believes was once real. Yet you had no name to place it to. No person to place it toward.

You slumped down onto the bedroll, one spare you brought out so you hadn’t been waiting patiently on the hard dirt ground, and laid on your back. Your hands rested over your stomach, your chest rising and falling gently, as your eyes stayed trained up above.

It was horrible to miss something you didn’t know.

Against your better judgement, and your word to Gale, you felt the mistress of sleep had called as your eyelids had grown heavy, and they had begun to shut.

You had caught yourself, your eyes opening wide and body slightly jumping awake. Of course, you were thankful. Because for some odd reason your luck had kicked in, and you now lay face to face with Astarion loomed over you, his mouth slightly ajar.

It took a lot for you to not cast thunderwave and send him flying, but his own surprise drew him back instantly, an unusual look of horror painting his face like he was a child being caught.

“Shit.”

Even despite the fact he pulled back, your instincts send you standing up and engulfing your hand in flames as you glare at him.

His breath hitches and he steps back, shoulders and neck arching while he throws his hands up. His eyes are wide and feral. Shadowheart was right. He does act like a cat always trapped in a corner. This time though, he actually was.

“No—no it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” His voice is fill of an uncanny desperation for what you once thought to be a dashing rogue. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed…well, blood.”

You felt a pit in your stomach as you damned yourself for not recognizing this sooner. How stupid and oblivious had you been? Really? It should have been clear as day with his overly sharp canines and the scarring on his neck. You should have been able to smell it; the blood. Yet Astarion had’t smelled of anything rotten and iron. He smelled of—no that didn’t quite matter.

You gritted your teeth and spat, “I can’t believe I didn’t see it—we even found the boar * you * snacked on!”

“It’s not what you think!” His hands fall down slightly with an almost sad and hesitant tone in his voice, “I’m not some monster . I feed on animals…boars, dear, kobolds—whatever I can get. I’m…just too slow right now—too weak.”

His gaze fell on you, almost pleading. “If I could just have a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At best I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No…I needed you to trust me.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “And you can trust me.”

You frowned, quiet as you studied him. Your hands shook at your sides, your head thumping; urging you to—

“You tried to bite me. How can I trust you?”

“Because we don’t have a choice! Not if we’re going to save ourselves from these worms. I need you alive. You need me strong.”

He took a breath, sighing and stepping toward you slightly. “Please. Only a taste, I swear. I’ll be well, you’ll be fine, and everything can go back to normal.”

Normal. What a load of crap. Even if you understood what he meant by it…though he was right. Astarion had been one of the best in terms of fighting and safely manoeuvring the party through traps. He was a natural born killer, with instincts not unlike your own. You needed him, the whole party did; and now he needed you and the beautiful scarlet that pumped through your veins.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, then let your shoulders relax finally, willing The Urges deep down.

“Fine.” Your eyes meet his own, “but not a drop more than you need.”

He seemed stunned by this response, not that you blame him, you are sure if you had been in his shoes you would have fully expected—and embraced—a stake to the gushing heart.

“Really? I—of course.” A charming but warm smile fell on his lips, “not one drop more.” His eyes then fell down to the makeshift cot on the ground before falling back on you, “let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

You hesitate, just for a moment, before nodding and slowly sitting back down. You look back up at Astarion now, who lowered himself over you as you then slid your back against the cot—head comfortable on the pillow.

Astarion is quick to bite into your neck, your body immediately tenses; knees folding up and hands gripping onto the sides of his loose poet shirt. It’s searing, it hurts, just for a moment. Then it’s just surprise at the feeling of your own blood being sucked out of you that keeps you held tightly onto him.

There is something familiar about someone so dangerous being so close, hands on either side of your head. Was pain and blood involved as well?

Your brain fogs at the thought, and you only realize it’s from the pure dizziness you are being to feel. You are reeling now. Shaky breaths leaving your mouth as your hands press against his abdomen. He doesn’t move. So a moment later you try again. “Stop! It’s—it’s too much-“ your voice is small but pleading; something hates how pathetic you sound.

Thankfully, Astarion is quick to stop, and he pulls away, licking his blood stained lips and wiping gently at his chin with his thumb. “That—that was amazing. My mind is finally clear. I feel strong—I feel…happy!”

He peers at you, before quickly then helps you sit up, and you almost immediately lean your head into his shoulder. He tenses, but you pay no mind to this. Your breathing is shallow; mind still reeling from moments prior.

“I—“ you chuckle weakly, “—I look forward to seeing you fight.”

Astarion is quiet as he brings the plate of now-cold food close, careful to not move you except to force it close. A clear sign that you should eat. That he is suggesting as such.

“Shouldn’t take so long. So many people need killing.” He hums as you finally pull your head back, and slowly begin to devour the plate.

Your hands rip apart the meat, it’s cold by now, but you don’t mind it that much; though it’s tougher, the spices from Gale still make it a worthy meal. Astarion watches you, you can feel his gaze still on your neck, though truly all you can think about is the pork as your jaw clamps down on it. A part of you knows you have chomped down onto much more sturdy meat before; flesh, maybe?

Would that make you a hypocrite for your judgement of Astarion just moments ago?

You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, grease and grime painting your skin while you finally catch your breath. Sated. Dizzy still, even a bit cold, but sated . Your eyes fall back on him, his gaze doesn’t reach your eyes; he’s hungry still. There is something tempting about offering more blood to him. Just offering more to him.

“Now,” he says in his usual sing-song voice, now rising to his feet, “if you’ll excuse me. You’re invigorating, but I need something more…filling.” He doesn’t offer you any help as he turns on the heel of his foot to leave. Though, he does hesitate, just for a moment before slightly turning his head toward you.

“This is a gift, you know, I won’t forget it.”

You bring your hand up to your neck, wobbling slightly when you stand; from both the wet feeling on your neck and his face just before he left, you understand he is a messy eater. Similar to yourself. As he disappears into the woods, you can’t help but wonder if he will devour the next creature with such greed. You dislike how you can relate.

Perhaps Shadowheart’s comment about Astarion acting like a cornered cat makes more sense now. If you were a vampire, or perhaps a monster in a similar fashion, you think that you would view the world as your enemy; trust no one, even clerics. Who are you kidding? Especially clerics.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x durge #astarion x tav #durgestarion #tavstarion #durge #the dark urge #baldurs gate iii #baldurs gate durge

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omg-hellgirl · 6 months ago

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I’m glad there is some level of awareness of Angie’s contributions (creative and otherwise) to David Bowie’s success & legacy. For a man who was a god to the “freaks” of the 1970s, especially during the glam rock / glitter rock era of the 70s, I perceive his dynamic with Angie as a mirror of the corporate world / sexism in the corporate world (and in society in general) where women are exploited for their brilliant ideas and/or have credit taken from them by men. Like, absolutely love David Bowie’s music… so, so much. Just an infuriating analogy I’ve noticed. Sick of women being exploited in general but especially for their intelligence and creativity.

hey anon, thank you for saying that. Angie Bowie was part of David Bowie's story and actively contributed to it, mainly by encouraging him towards the glam rock path that EVERYONE appreciates him for. Not taking away his merit as a good singer and performer, but there is more than one account of Angie pushing him in that direction and supporting him; she was a force in his early career. It's absolutely frustrating that David (according to Angie HERSELF) and his fans have always tried to erase her.

For those who don't know (most of them): Angie studied in Switzerland and had and theatrical experience — years of it! And unlike David and his friends/associates, including the people in charge of managing and promoting him, she had nine-tenths of a degree in marketing.

Angie was very popular with Bowie fans in the 70s and was very kind to them. She spent hours answering fan letters and even wrote to them from JAPAN. She fought in Japan with the local police to defend them. After the divorce, David's attitude changed and over the years his fans became what they are today.

It's a shame that many fail to recognize the extremely sexist and absurd attitudes he had towards Angie just because they don't like her. Ask any of them why they don't like her and you will get an unsatisfactory answer either because David himself didn't like her or because she said something about David in public that they didn't like.

I won't put it all here — there is all the content on my blog under the Angie Bowie tag — but in her book it is implied that he even used photos of her in sexual moments with other people to put her at a disadvantage in court. Would this be acceptable by today's standards, or any standards? Do we have a name for men who do this nowadays? Also:

Angie attempted suicide in Switzerland at Christmas time in 1977, when she arrived and found out that Zowie, contrary to her expectations, was in Berlin with David.

He put a gag clause in the divorce to force her to keep quiet. Not very feminist or cool, right? Not very liberal. Wearing skirts and makeup and all the gender revolution didn't help him be a better human being with Angie.

Is there anything to be called besides Parental Alienation for a mother who in 2016, even after David's death, needs to send messages to her own son via Twitter?

How many years of being away from his mother and knowing about her only through David's distorted words did it take so that even after David's death they didn't have a mother-son relationship again.

No one has the right to disrupt a mother-son or father-son relationship, and that's what he did. His fans still won't admit it.

Anita Pallenberg, Yoko Ono, and Angie Bowie are demonized while fans can forgive paternal neglect, domestic assault, hard drugs, underage girls, and the parental alienation of several rock stars. I'm definitely aware of and recognize the sexism and, dare I say, misogyny of some fandoms.

Thanks again for this, anon. These aren't even all the sordid details of the pain David Bowie inflicted on his first wife. It's also not possible to describe all my sadness about this situation — I could spend hours talking and crying about it. I'll keep posting about Angie in the hopes that one day the blindfold will fall off people's faces.

‼️and shout out to Keith Richards who never belittled the role and influence that Anita Pallenberg had on him and in the whole rock history even though she hurt him badly; he was always FAIR and respectful to the mother of his three children‼️

#angie bowie #anon ask #yoko ono #anita pallenberg #david bowie #sexism #misogyny #classic rock #rockstar gf #rockstar girlfriend #rock #glam rock #glam #keith richards

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celestie0 · 9 months ago

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i've always wondered have you ever given the y/n in your fics a personality description? like everything about her just ties the whole story together yet the reader can actually, embody her in some way?? that's one of the things that makes your writing so enjoyable to read and i've always wondered if you see yourself in her when u write ;

IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT BUT i hope u know what i mean 💔💔

love u loads btw you're like my comfort writer as we speak

GASP i have neverrr actually, i dont think i’ve formally sat down n really given any of my characters personality descriptions i just kinda have a vibe of them in my head haha but this has intrigued me 🤔 I KINDA WANNA MAKE EM NOW!!! (i hope this is what u mean by character descriptions btw hahah)

kickoff reader.

i think she is a little self conscious at times, easily affected by things going on in her life, definitely tries to bite off more than she can chew, and she’s an anxious avoidant until she can’t take it anymore and becomes overtly confrontational instead alskdjdh i think this can be seen in the way she confesses to gojo, in her interactions w kai, and then also her turning down the newsletter job before she realized it was actually a good opportunity, etc etc. when i write for her, i kinda wanna give the vibe of tired college student that has a lot going on in her head n in her heart, but she’s slowly starting to learn to live again and is looking forward to life after college (aka me all of my senior year loool) i think she has a pretty neutral personality overall :0

in holy matriphony reader.

omg i haven’t written much for ihm reader yet but i already ADORE her so so so much based on what i’ve got planned for the series, and i think i understand her the most of the oc’s i’ve made. she is someone that gets crazy tunnel vision, can only really focus on one thing at a time, often neglects her other responsibilities if it means getting The Main One done, she is hella jaded because of all the financial stress, work stress and caretaking stress which means she doesn’t have much of a filter anymore, she’s very cynical and pessimistic and easily irritated and prideful BUT…..deep down she’s a huge softie and is actually very self aware of her flaws n just really wants to get better but she just can’t find a moment to breathe…im gonna enjoy writing for her bc i think she’ll come off irrational and a bit over the top at times, but in those soft moments, she’ll be very down to earth :)

in another life reader.

aww i haven’t had too much written for ial reader yet, but in my head i picture her as a veeeery soft spoken, sweet natured woman in her older age (she’s engaged to nanami, who i imagine has mellowed her out in comparison to when she dated bad boy choso lol), idk i think she’s kind of basic 😭 not that that’s a bad thing at all, i kinda wanted that dynamic of crazy rock star lifestyle choso mixed w simple lifestyle reader (for when they meet again later in life). when she was younger, she was highly impressionable, often thought she was more mature than she actually was, n loves veeeerryy deeply, so much so to where old scars hurt even after years and years. i think she always tries to do the right thing, but bc of her conflicting emotions, she has the capacity to cause a lot of hurt

AHH idk this is just the vibe i get from them or try to encapsulate while i write them, and i also totally think readers can have diff interpretations of them than me and still be accurate about it (idk as the author i don’t feel like i even know everything ab my own stories sldkdjdh at times i feel some of my readers know more than me haha)

i think kickoff reader is the most confusing in my head, but i like it that way because i suppose she’s the youngest and she’s in college and it makes sense for her since she’s figuring herself out

i definitely do see myself in all of them!! i have certain attributes i share n some that i don’t. for example i don’t think i’m as brave as kickoff reader (to pursue passions or confess to a boy so brazenly or slap tf outta someone at a bar LOL) and i don’t think i’m as crass or no-filter as ihm reader for example, but i definitely relate to certain aspects like the tunnel vision, anxious avoidance, and stuff like that!! but i still try to make them their own characters i suppose, but it really depends on how i want their personalities to mesh w the love interest as well

GOSH THIS IS A LONG FUCKIN ANSWER MY BAD i was just so intrigued by this ask xD i’m soooo sososoossooo happy to be your comfort writer and that you enjoy my works 🥺💕you guys keep my passion alive n i’m always so grateful for you all <33 have a wonderful day/night!! 🧚‍♀️✨ilyy

#god i love x reader #it’s like therapy but also escapism at the same time #LOL #kickoff #in holy matriphony #in another life #asks #anon

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somber-sapphic · 2 years ago

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I'm Always Coming Back

Haha, I'm here! I'm reposting everything that I can! If you had an ask that wasn't answered, I lost it and I'm so sorry for that. (wanda x reader)

Wanda is back after a rough mission and you need to hide just how sick you are.

---

You grumbled softly and ran a hand over your face, trying to force the stars from your vision. Logically, you knew that you had made a bad decision keeping yourself awake for so long. But the date with Wanda had been fantastic.

She had been gone for so long, her mission had taken two extra days and Fury had been up her ass interrogating her for hours about why it had run so long. Several different governments had also been trying to talk/murder her and then she’d had to go into hiding. She’d spent another week in hiding. It was hell.

“Y/n? You okay?” Wanda asked, settling back into her fighting stance. You forced a smile and nodded, trying to plan how exactly you were going to fight her without passing out. It wasn’t that you were unskilled in hand to hand combat, in fact it was one of your greatest strengths. The issue was the overwhelming dizziness caused by the congestion fucking with your inner ear.

“I’m fine. Let’s do this.” She came at you. You dodged the first punch, but the second hit you square in the gut. You grunted and tried to sweep her leg, but she had already leapt away, clearly using her powers as an assist. Part of you wished that you had powers of your own. Then you could shove all of this down more easily and kick her ass.

“Hun, you’re looking a little unsteady. Do you want to stop?” Yes, yes you wanted to stop. Your limbs were getting heavy and the effort of drawing air into your already beat up lungs was exhausting. Black spots had begun to dance in your vision and you could vaguely see the woman running towards you.

“Y/n!” You tried to hit her, figuring that the two of you were still sparing. You suddenly felt like you were floating, the world sort of fuzzing out around you. The sky was bluer, making everything else seem dark in contrast. You felt yourself taking a few steps backward, but you had no control. The last thing you saw before collapsing was a terrified looking Wanda trying desperately to get to you.

–

“You are so fucking stupid. You are an idiot. I hate you, I hate you so much. A forcefield? You put up a fucking forcefield? What did you think that I was going to crack your skull? Oh wait, you already did that!” You groaned and turned your head to the side, trying to escape the nagging voice in your head.

“Y/n? You had better be awake. I can’t kill you if you die.” The voice said, sounding a little more clear and less in your head. A cool hand landed on your cheek and someone was pushing hair from your eyes.

As your awareness increased, so did the pain. It felt like someone was smashing your skull with a hammer. Why were they doing that? Seemed unfair. Plus, you were too cold. Or too hot. Or maybe both? And your nose was running. You tried to lift a hand to rub your drippy appendage, but the other person beat you there.

“Wa’na?” You mumbled, fighting to lift heavy eyelids. It felt as if someone had taped rocks to your eyes. The blurry figure smiled down at you and you swore you saw the woman pushing a tear off of her cheek.

“D’nt cry.” You frowned, picking up one heavy arm in an attempt to touch her face. Instead, you sort of smacked her. Wanda let out a teary laugh and held your hand to the side of her face, helping you out a little.

“Don’t scare me like that and I won’t cry.” She replied, bending down to kiss your overly warm forehead. Your lips turned up in a small smile and you nuzzled into the touch, missing the comfort that she brought.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized just how much you had missed her. She was your everything and for so long you had thought she was dead. They couldn’t update you as to her condition, they just told you to sit tight. Wait. Go about your day and hope the love of your life returns to you.

“I don’t feel good.” You whimpered, your body heaving with quiet sobs. The tears made your head hurt worse, you just wanted to be held. Wanda being the wonderful woman that she was, shifted onto your bed and pulled you into her arms. She cradled your injured head against your chest, and stroked your hair, kissing your hair as you cried.

“I know detka, I know. It's okay sweetheart. It's all okay. We’re going to watch movies and cuddle and I’ll get you whatever you want. We can do whatever you want until you feel better. I’ve got you, I love you, I shouldn’t have been gone so long. It's all going to be alright.” You weren’t sure if she was reading your thoughts, but you wouldn't be surprised if she was. You knew that you were projecting loudly and she could only do so much to block you out.

“I missed you…I-I was scared you weren’t, weren’t coming back.” You said into her shirt, breathing in the comfort that she brought. Wanda ran her nails along your scalp, adding another layer of relaxation. A little moan escaped your lips and she chuckled, glad that she was calming you down.

“I’m always coming back to you. I’ll always come home. I love you, you are my everything. Close your eyes, beautiful. I’ll wake you in a few hours to make sure you didn’t scramble your brains.” Now it was your turn to laugh. You smiled into her stomach and listened as she began to hum an old Sokovian song. Your head hurt and you felt miserable, but everything was better when you were in the arms of your witch.

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jerzwriter · 1 year ago

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The Great Outdoors

Thank you to @petiteboheme for this ask. And yep, once again, it exceeds 100, but it's all good! This actually ties nicely into an old edit of mine, New Adventures, so I imagine this little scene taking place during that trip. Thanks so much for the ask! :)

Book: Open Heart (Book 3 timeline) Pairing: Tobias Carrick x Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 656 Summary: Casey proves she'd do just about anything for love when Tobias takes her camping. A/N: Participating in @choicesseptemberchallenge2023 Day 2, Stars

Casey stepped out of the camper, applying a dab of chamomile lotion onto a mosquito bite. One of her collection of mosquito bites. She had just finished showering if you could call it that. She had gone twenty-eight years without knowing solar showers were a thing, and she was quite confident she could go another twenty-eight without using one ever again.

She made her way over to Tobias, sitting by the lake, eager to claim the space at his side. After a quick side hug, she fell back to the soft earth beneath her and gazed up at the stars. She never saw this many in Boston, nor back home in Philadelphia. They looked so close she felt she could reach out and touch them, and it was magical, though she wasn’t about to admit that.

“I can’t believe you took me camping,” she groaned, catching the smirk on his lips out of the corner of her eye.

“What?” He fell to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. He was well aware that this wasn’t her thing... and that was putting it lightly. But she knew how much it meant to him, so she was willing to try, and that meant more to him than she could possibly know. “Is it really that bad?”

His voice was sincere, a marked departure from his usual bravado, and when she looked into his aqua-blue eyes, glistening in the moonlight, there was no way she could let him down.

“It would be,” she grinned, reaching up to caress his cheek. “It would be if you weren’t here.”

She only saw the smile her words elicited for a split second because, before she knew it, his warm lips were on top of hers. His arms enveloping her as she pulled him close, surrendering in a deep, passionate kiss. Surrounded by such beauty and lost in the moment’s rapture, it was hard to remember that they weren’t the only two people in the world, and suddenly, she understood the appeal. Pulling back breathlessly, they lay there, lost in each other’s eyes.

“I know this isn’t your thing, baby, but you’re still willing to try for me, and you have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Hmmm, you know I’d be willing to do just about anything for you,” she smiled as he eyes went afire.

“Oh, honey, now that’s an open invitation,” he growled as she began to giggle. “I hope you know how much I love you.”

“I think I have an inkling,” she assured. “And I’m camping, so I don’t have to explain how much I love you.”

“Do you think you’d do it again?” he asked earnestly.

“Mmm, I might be persuaded. But only if there is indoor plumbing next time. I nearly had to wrestle a peeping tom raccoon as I quasi-showered!”

“Hey,” Tobias laughed, “I can’t blame the raccoon. I’d be wanting to sneak a peak at this, too!”

His lips captured her again, and he rolled atop her, tugging at the hem of her shirt. He was about to cross an item off his bucket list when a howl in the distance stopped Casey cold.

“What is that?” she asked in horror.

“I’m assuming it’s a coyote.”

Casey stood up and rushed back to the camper before finishing the sentence. “Then we need to take this inside!” she insisted as she ran inside. “It won’t be able to break into it, right?”

“Not unless it grows opposable thumbs, hon.”

“And the likelihood of that?”

“None.”

After quickly locking the camper door behind him, he resumed his place atop his beautiful girlfriend.

“Now, where were we?”

“You were trying to show me how camping can be fun.”

“Oh, yes,” he grinned, pulling her shirt over her head. “It the camper’s rocking, don’t come knocking.”

“Mmm,” she giggled beneath him. “Tell that to the coyote.”

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Other tags on reblog.

#choices fanfic #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x f!mc #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #playchoices #playchoices fanfic

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skoulsons · 2 years ago

Text

Stargazing and Gift Giving

hey. uh. got in my thoughts pretty hard. this is way longer than I was expecting (alex i sound like you). Applebees would yell at me if I called this a drabble, so take this mini fic. enjoy, i suppose.

(ONCE AGAIN) Joel was at his woodworking table, intricately carving a spaceship. It was past sundown, Joel relying on only a desk light to be able to see and carve the rocket boosters to the length they needed to be.

“Joel!”

It was a muffled shout, but he was always hyper-aware of his name being called, especially from Ellie. Shouting his name either meant immediate danger or… he wouldn’t say worthless, but things not worth that kind of shout for.

Not that he’d complain. Being a father means your kid shouts for you no matter what they want.

He turned around in his chair, facing the door with an almost finished ship in hand. “What? What is it?”

There was a loud thump before Ellie appeared in the doorway, her ponytail a mess as she placed her hands to her knees, catching her breath.

“Girl, what is goin’ on?”

“The- the roof… clear sky… stargazing,” she managed, finally standing up straight to stare at him.

He raised an eyebrow at her, a bit intrigued as to why this earned such a shout from her.

Deep down he knew. She loved the stars. She loved space.

It was why he was whittling a spaceship, after all.

She raised her eyebrows back, acting as confused as him. “Come… up with me? It’s so clear, Joel, the stars are incredible.”

He can’t help but smile at her. After nearly a year on the road together, fighting for their lives and her suffering way more than she ever should, she’s able to lay on their roof and just watch the glimmer of hundreds of stars and trace constellations with her finger, completely enveloped by the expanding space surrounding her and it’s incredible wonder.

She sighed, walking forward to grab his forearm to bring him up from the chair. “Come… on…” she pulled, yanking him up from the chair. She still hadn’t noticed the spaceship yet. Good.

“Alright, alright, I’m comin’, kiddo,” he said, following her as she led him by the forearm to the window at the end of the hall. She started to climb through, looking back at him from halfway out of the window.

“What? How else do you want us to get up there?”

“A ladder? Shit, kiddo, there are safer ways-”

She brushed him off, continuing to climb. “Pssh, it’s fine! Now get your ass through and get up here!”

He sighed at her recklessness and the stubbornness in her decision. She was always stubborn.

He tries to tell himself she doesn’t get it from him.

He fits the spaceship securely in the front pocket of his flannel before opening the window more and attempting to fit himself through without falling and breaking his neck. “Jeez, kiddo, how the hell do you do this,” he questions to the air around him.

Another perk of being her size, he thinks.

After a few minutes of grunts, curses, and a few scrapes on his palms, he makes it up to the roof. He settles beside Ellie who’s sitting up, her knees bent with her ankles crossed, arms wrapped around her knees as she watches the sky.

He sits a similar way, knees held to his chest and arms crossed around his knees.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Joel watching her more than the stars. She looked especially young up here watching the stars. The complete fascination she had in the world above her and how much she wanted to explore it. To go the moon and bring a fucking moon rock home. How she wanted to travel light years away to visit the most obscure plants and see them up close and study them. To see a black hole or to watch a supernova in real time.

Sure, she’d never get the chance, but her fascination with it all and her dedication to knowing everything she could was more than enough to make him happy.

She was happy. That was enough.

She scooted over closer to him, linking her left arm under and over his right forearm to join it with her other hand. She kept her knees bent and let them fall against Joel’s. She leaned her head against his arm, her eyes still trained on the sky.

He leaned his head down, kissing the crown of her head.

“It was worth climbing out of a window for, right?”

The rumble of an “mhmm” reverberates through her head, his mouth still against her hair to get an actual word out.

“So…” she starts, using her left hand to grab his right hand interlock their fingers. She pulls her pointer finger out from the grasp. “Give me your finger,” she asks, Joel lifting his own pointer finger and placing it against hers. The size difference is comical.

“So…” she begins again, lifting their arms to point towards the sky. She finds a very bright one and points their fingers to it. “That’s Venus, there. And then over there…” she says, stretching their arms, “is the Big Dipper.”

“Little dipper?”

“It’s across from the Big Dipper. The end of the Big Dippers handle is across from one of the corners of the bowl of the Little Dipper.” She says, trying to see it with her naked eye. She lifts their arms in the general direction. “It’s… somewhere in here,” she says, drawing lazy circles in the air with their conjoined hands.

Joel looks at her, a gentle smile on his face. “What else do you know, kiddo?”

She smiles back at him, grinning ear-to-ear at the question. “Alright, old man, time for the lesson of your life.”

They sit up there for an hour (maybe three) as Ellie talks on and on about the different constellations they can and see and their corresponding names, how insane space is and how much she wants to visit it, and manages even more facts about Sally Ride and the moon that she’s definitely told Joel already, not that he’d ever tell her that.

Eventually, she adjusts comfortably into his side and falls silent, mumbling nonsense into his arm.

“I re’lly wanna go to space, Joel…” she slurs, wiping tears that fall from her yawns into the sleeve of his shirt.

“I know, baby.” He contorts his left arm (as he refuses to let go of Ellie’s hand that he’s been holding for three hours straight) to reach his shirt pocket, pulling the whittled spaceship out. “Almost forgot. It’s not really done, but I thought it’d be fitting for right now.”

He holds it out by their conjoined hands, Ellie letting go of him to hold the spaceship in her palms. She treated it like a work of art; like it would fall apart if she held it with even an ounce of pressure.

Her tears aren’t just from her yawning anymore as she leans back into his arm, sniffling against the fabric. He pulls his arm around her back, holding her close to his side. She curls into him more, her face in the crook of his neck now as her hands hold carefully to the spaceship.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, Joel rubbing circles across her shoulder blades.

“You’re welcome, kiddo,” he whispers as he kisses her head twice (always twice). “But… like I said, it’s not done. It needs some touching up-“

She laughs wetly into his neck. “Fuck no, you’re not getting this back.”

He chuckles, rubbing more patterns along her back as she turns her spaceship side-to-side, inspecting every part of it.

She stays against his chest, her legs outstretched and intermixed with his bent knees. His arm was still around back, tracing gentle patterns on her back. He traced the solar system, drawing a big sun in the middle of her back (she giggled at the ticklish feeling) and drawing the surrounding plants in their orbits around it. He dotted her back with stars as well, trying to give her the full picture to fall asleep to.

It wasn’t in Joel’s plans to spend the night on the roof, but he doesn’t complain with the change.

#Applebees #this is for you #I jumped between tenses im so sorry #very tired very sleepy #will post to ao3 eventually :)#L fics

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we-will-be-reun1ted · 1 year ago

Note

Aether is the one that makes their food the majority of the time and is less impulsive than Lumine, usually there to point out flaws in her plans/ideas because if she executed them they'd have horrible consequences that she was aware of but didn't actually process.

Lumine has to drag Aether off of every tall tree/building because the rat won't stop climbing everything he sees and she's sick of it. She's thrown rocks at him to make him come down. She's also the one that made their clothes and the one who properly learnt how to fight and taught Aether how to do so (which is why she's a faster fighter than Aether, while Aether is a strong defender)

I like to think their wings, even if not physically attached to their bodies, are still very much part of their bodies due to it being tied to their powers. So they can feel and move the wings just like any winged creature. They also feel the subtilties in atmospheric changes with them and can easily recognize wind currents and where they're going (results in wings being very sensitive to touch)

Bodies are Much warmer temperatures because they're star creatures and also need the heat for when they're flying through space. They're both also pretty light for the whole flying thing.

I like to think that if they get Extremely upset/desperate, they'll full on unleash the raw power of a star on someone (unknown god) as a last resort, though it takes up a Ton of energy and tires them out greatly.

The glowing spots on their clothes (chest, wrists, knees for aether. Those things) are glow spots they have on their bodies because of the whole star people thing. Those areas are probably much warmer than the other body parts too.

Based on voicelines from characters and just how the game works; i also believe that Aether prefers to use sign language around people but will verbally speak if comfortable enough or when fully alone with someone he fully trusts (like Lumine or Paimon)

Sorry for the big text i just have a lot of thoughts about these two twins and saw that you do too and am now throwing them at you. I have more but brain is starting to lag

woah Woah WOAH HELLO THERE??? This is the first time anyone has sent their headcanons to me oh my god??? I’m absolutely buzzing this is fantastic! Hi!!

Okay okay I’m gonna answer this in sections cause this is a lot of writing. Im actually so excited to reply to this wtf

Food/Impulse

Okay this one fits in absolutely perfectly to my headcanons. Aether makes most of their food due to Lumine not having the patience for it. She can cook she’s a good cook but with her cooking it would turn into an episode of Gordon Ramsay Hells Kitchen hella fast.

Honestly it’s better to not have Lumine around when making food at all. She will try to take over and get really pissed off if everything isn’t done exactly how she would do it.

This is Lumine after Aether takes a fish off the fire exactly five seconds before she tells him to take it off:

Aether is patient. Aether can make a salad without almost breaking the bowl.

And I also agree with the impulse one! I feel like Lumine usually comes up with a lot of the plans for anything they do. Exploring a world, fighting something, escaping something yada yada.

Aethers the one who gives her a lot of advice for it and ‘polishes the plan up’ so to say. As you said Lumine is very impulsive and in the heat of the moment will go with the first thing she thinks about rather than giving it serious thought. That’s why Aether is there. He tries to help calm her down and tell her the flaws of the plan and what would/could happen if she went through with it.

And THATS why traveler Lumine gets into so much shit CONSTANTLY. Her brother isn’t around to be her fucking BABYSITTER. She stuck helping fucking aranaras constantly I hate those stupid aranaras.

Climbing/Clothes/Fighting

THE RAT HELP oh my god you’ve made me giggle with that. I absolutely love this headcanon it’s fantastic I can picture her throwing rocks at him while Aether hangs onto the branch of a tree like a stray cat.

Personally in my eyes they are both a HUGE chaotic duo when they are together so they would both be constantly trying to climb shit and probably getting stuck.

They see tall building and immediately look at each other like 😏

The amount of places they have been banned from for climbing shit is astonishing. It could fill up a small planet in itself.

Oh my god you know I haven’t properly thought about their clothes and I like your idea. I feel like she would of purposely given them inverted themes so they could be matching in a subtle sense while still going with both of their personal styles.

She tried to teach Aether to sew but he kept pricking himself with the needle 💔

Ooooh okokok right this is genuinely just stuff I’ve made up in my silly mind but okay so

I’m my little headcanon lore thingy they were both taught to fight by little guardians/teachers in a world (worlds???) they went to. Originally both being taught the opposite - Aether fighting and Lumine defending until they both started teaching each other their moves and excelled in the opposite things. I can 100% see Lumine teaching Aether to fight though.

Wings

Okay I don’t have much to say here other than i completely agree with absolutely everything you just said. Adding in that I feel like their wings were gifted to them by one of the first planets they came across and helped! This was eons ago so the two have gotten extremely accustomed to flying and feeling through their wings, though I feel like the two can make their wings disappear and reappear. Kinda like when the traveler throws the sword behind their back and it just appears in their hand then they are fighting.

Also! Aethers wings being made from sunlight and Lumines wings being made from moonlight 🫶

Oh my god imagine they made a little language through their wings if one or both isn’t able to speak? Like one flutter means stop, two means attack etc etc stuff like that!

Temperature

I deffo see this, though I feel like their bodies are way more adapted to the cold rather than the warm. It’s INCREDIBLY cold in space which is where the two spend the most of their time and where they technically live. Their bodies have adapted to the cold and can absorb heat from planets the go to and kind of store it?? Kind of like a little thermal radiator.

Power

Oh oh I like this this is interesting. What do you headcanon that to be like? Like what kind of power do you think they have when they get so desperate?

Language/Speaking

THIS IS SUCH A CUTE HEADCANON I have no idea why but I absolutely love this wtf?? I can totally see him doing that.

Okok my version of this IS the twins have their own language. They can both learn to speak other languages pretty fast, but it takes a bit of time. So in the meantime they (the traveler) allow Paimon to talk for them and translate it and only talk when necessary and when they know what to say.

I ALSO feel like around each other the twins have this kind of telapathic connection (you know what they say about twin telepathy and such) and so sometimes don’t need to speak to each other to talk. They can communicate through knowing what the other is thinking and feeling and through touch and stuff like that.

The two have deffo gone through days of not speaking and just talking through thoughts and such, when out of nowhere one of them will break it by just saying the most out of context shit and making the other jump out of their skin.

⟢

No please do NOT apologise this made me so happy to answer! I love hearing any and all headcanons about the twins they are my BIGGEST hyperfixation at the moment. Feel free to send even more! That goes for absolutely anyone. Thank you so much for sending this to me :D

#genshin #genshin impact #aether genshin impact #lumine genshin impact #lumine #lumine headcanons #aether #aether headcanons #lumine and aether #aether and lumine #genshin traveler #genshin twins #genshin headcanons #starcrossed headcanons #starcrossed asks

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raspberryfingers · 2 years ago

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A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 28)

WARNING: Mentions of death and miscarriage

—————

“Grip it like this, there you go. You’re going to bring your shoulder back and then…”

Tywin was standing directly behind me, hands and arms on top of mine as I held the fishing rod. He motioned with me, bringing my dominant hand backward and then promptly bringing it forward, casting the line into the water. I smiled, turning back to him rather proudly.

“I’m slowly getting the hang of it.”

“Yes, you are. You can go ahead and prop it up until there’s a bite,” he instructed, motioning to the wooden stand beside me. I did so, making sure it was firmly in place before looking at him again.

Tywin was sitting on a large rock, and I giggled to myself as I moved over and sat on his lap, facing away from him so I could watch the rod. It caught him rather off guard, but he gave me a low hum and brought his hands down along my arm.

“Is everything alright, my lord?” I teased, fully aware that he was rather enjoying our position. He chuckled, pressing a kiss to my neck.

“You ought to be more careful, wife. If you continue to provoke me, I’m afraid my restraint will grow thin and I’ll have no choice but to ravish you here in the open,” he teased, arms wrapping around my waist now. I turned my head a bit and kissed him, rather amused by this sentiment.

“In front of all your guards?”

“What will they do? Spread rumors that a man is fucking his wife?” Tywin pointed out, making me shake my head. He was far too much sometimes, though deep down I loved it.

He began to reach forward, hands grabbing at my skirts. I held my breath as he started to lift them, one hand creeping underneath and coming to my thigh.

“Tywin…” I whispered, trying to caution him but perhaps spurring him on by accident. HIs hand continued to raise, but I noticed the line tug just before he reached his destination. I instantly got up, moving forward and beginning to pull the line in.

“Be careful with it. Go slowly,” Tywin instructed from his seat, watching me carefully and rolling up his sleeves. He had forgone his coat today, opting for something more casual. Similarly, I was wearing something fairly loose and plain.

With as much precision and care as I could, I reeled in the line, beginning to laugh when I pulled the fish ashore. I flexed my gloved hand, reaching down and grabbing it from among the rocks. Tywin stood then, preparing to show me how I ought to hit it against the rock since it was still squirming. He placed one hand on my back and the other on top of mine.

“The movement doesn’t need to be violent, or that strong. You’re just tapping it like this,” he explained, moving my wrist more than anything as we hit the fish against the stone. It was a curious thing, and I’d never realized this was part of fishing. I had honestly just assumed it involved standing near the shore for hours and waiting.

I threw it into the basket, absolutely full from some fishing that Tywin had done without me. I had decided on breakfast with Margaery and Tommen this morning, for they had desired to hear all about the trip to Casterly Rock.

It had truthfully been quite nice, and I enjoyed a great deal of Tywin’s family. None more than Genna, of course, for she had been a constant companion the entire week. She managed to convince Tywin to take us out to Lannisport, where we had enjoyed quite a lot of local goods and received most of them for free. Though I certainly suspected that Tywin had paid them afterwards anyways, for he was continually walking behind us.

Beyond that, Tywin and I spent a good day out hunting, spending the night out under the stars and enjoying a delicious meal just as we had years ago. On top of that, the most curious thing had happened. We had seen a White Hart.

Tywin and I had merely been walking through the woods, set on finding a stag or two when I heard a branch snap nearby. I had turned then, and immediately gripped his arm. Tywin had been just as shocked as I to see the large, beautiful animal. Neither of us lifted our weapons an inch, utterly shocked. As far as we were concerned, White Harts were only found in the Kingswood. Evidently not.

I had not told Margaery and Tommen about that, though. I had the odd notion that perhaps only Tywin and I were meant to see it, even if that was irrational logic.

“You’re going to get quite good at fishing,” Tywin said, snapping me from my thoughts. I turned to him, raising a curious eyebrow. He was sitting on the rock again, and he invited me to sit on his knee. I smiled and did so, running my hand over his hair and kissing his cheek.

“What gives you that impression?”

“You’ve always been a rather quick learner. Plus, this is a good way for us to get out of the keep without having to go so far as the Kingswood,” Tywin reasoned, adjusting the line before handing me the rod. I stood up, taking a few steps forward and casting it out just as he had shown me. He looked rather proud when I turned around to check for approval.

“We ought to stay out here all day, Tywin. It’s far too nice out to spend it inside that wretched keep,” I said, taking a deep breath in. This little shore beside the Red Keep was one of the few outdoor places in Kings Landing that did not entirely smell awful. Instead, it merely smelled of the sea, and I found that comforting somehow.

“It is rather nice, isn’t it? There have been birds chirping all morning,” Tywin noted, looking around. A few were flying around, but I suspected the mass choir must’ve been hiding in a bush somewhere.

“It sounds like there are quite a lot of mockingbirds and sparrows somewhere. It’s lovely,” I observed, listening closer and identifying a few different calls I was familiar with. My husband nodded, looking around. It seemed neither of us could quite identify where they were coming from.

“I think you’ve got another bite there,” Tywin said, making me instantly turn and reach for the line. I began pulling it in, smiling as I grabbed it from the hook and moved to hit it against the rock. Tywin had been correct, I certainly was a quick learner.

“It must be tiring, Tywin, to have a wife who is good at nearly everything she does,” I teased, propping my knee up on his leg and placing my hands on his shoulder. He glanced up at me with an amused look.

“It is tiring to have a wife who is so modest,” he japed, making me laugh rather loudly and smack his arm. I leaned down and kissed him anyway. He gave me a low chuckle as I did, hand cupping my face.

“We ought to go back in. Tommen may have taken the day to go pray at the sept, but I fear I still have work. Plus, this is more than enough for us to have for dinner tonight,” Tywin said with a sigh, looking down at our full basket. I frowned just for a moment, but I didn’t let him see it.

“Of course. The king shits and the hand wipes,” I said, smiling at the condescending look my husband gave me for using that saying. He utterly detested it, and that of course only inspired me to use it more.

Tywin picked up the basket with one hand and then offered me the other arm. I took it, of course, and accompanied him up the steps to the walkway. He handed it to one of his guards.

“Take this to the kitchen,” he commanded, continuing to walk once it was entirely in the other man's hands. I raised an eyebrow.

“Would it hurt you to say please or thank you? Do you need to relearn those words like a toddler?” I joked, wondering why he was constantly so kurt with the people around him. At least he was always decent to Cerella, even if it only was because I had insisted upon it. Cerella had been my one confidant in King's Landing, one of the few people who did not work for Littlefinger, Varys, Cersei, or Tywin. In a way, she had begun reporting to me. That was more for our personal enjoyment, however. Any scheming would come from either my grandmother or Margaery.

“I thank them by paying them more than I ought to,” Tywin grumbled, helping me with my skirts as we went up more stairs.

“I’m merely suggesting that it costs you absolutely nothing to show more personal gratitude. Especially after they stood there watching us kiss and flirt for about an hour,” I noted, laughing to myself and shaking my head. They were lucky I hadn’t allowed Tywin to go any further.

“Ahuh. I’ll consider it.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing he was absolutely ridiculous. A ridiculous man with ridiculous chambers I thought to myself, absolutely sick of going up stairs. There was a reason nobles in the Red Keep never developed gout.

“You said Tommen is visiting the sept today?” I questioned, recalling what he’d said earlier. Tywin nodded with a sigh.

“Yes. According to Tyrion, he’s been going quite a bit, usually with your sister but sometimes without. I believe she told him about the miscarriage, for he asked me what would happen if he didn’t have children yesterday,” he explained, making me feel rather melancholy. I was half surprised and half not that Margaery had decided to tell him.

“I see. And what did you tell him?” I questioned, knowing that Tommen’s claim to the throne was already rather weak, and meaning that if no heir was produced the succession would be quite a mess.

“I told him not to worry about such things yet. He and Margaery are still young, I’m not concerned.”

“And- And what if Margaery is infertile, Tywin? I won’t stand by and watch her be killed trying to birth a son as so many women are,” I questioned, voicing my fears on the subject. It was one of the most compromising things for any highborn woman.

“I don’t genuinely believe that to be the case, but should they continue to try with no success, then the line of succession will come into question a bit more prominently. It is not a concern for me currently,” he reasoned, giving me a reassuring look. I sighed, nodding and trying to swallow whatever uneasy feeling I had. I was always prone to worrying for my siblings, even if Tywin was probably right.

We had reached his chambers, and I was relieved to finally be done. I wondered if perhaps the tower of the hand had been designed as a joke, merely to add another burden onto the person already doing so much work.

“Can I pick your coat for the day?” I asked excitedly, smiling as we entered the bedroom. Tywin nodded casually, knowing I rather enjoyed dressing him. I opened up his closet, looking through and pondering my options. I reached for his smooth, black leathered one. It was a favorite of mine, because whenever it was under the light, a gorgeous golden pattern was revealed. It was very Tywin, seen as merely dark and straightforward but actually quite detailed and complex.

“Here, this one,” I said, motioning for him to turn around so I could help him into it. He gave a subtle smile, doing so and shrugging the garment on.

“Am I allowed to choose what gown you wear? Since I’ve granted you permission to choose my coat,” Tywin questioned rather smugly, clearly wanting to. Even if I said no, I knew he would end up picking.

“Go on, Tywin. Have it your way.”

He lifted my chin with his index finger, pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead before beginning to look through his options. I was almost entirely certain he was going to pick out something red, which was rather unfortunate because I’d been wearing the damned color the entire time we were at Casterly Rock. To my surprise, he pulled out a dress that was distinctly Tyrell.

“This one?” I questioned as he handed it to me. Tywin instantly nodded.

“I’ve missed seeing you in your flowery dresses. As you said, you will always be (Y/N) Tyrell. Not Lannister. I’ve enjoyed picturing you as one for the last week or so, but red is not the only color that flatters you,” he explained, scanning my face. I couldn’t resist a smile, especially as he began to help me change into it. There was something so dear to me about being a Tyrell. We weren’t as honorable as Starks, as conniving as Lannisters, or as wild as Martells, but we were somewhere in between. And even if our words were dull, they perhaps made us the most unsuspecting, and that had always done us well. Plus, as commander of the largest army in Westeros, how could I let that identity go?

“Do you want to know something interesting, wife?”

I turned around, facing Tywin now that he’d finished with the back of my gown. I raised an eyebrow, suspecting that he was going to make a rather stupid comment.

“What is it, husband?”

“As much as I enjoy seeing you dressed in Lannister colors, I have missed this aspect of southern fashion,” he said, holding my gaze before motioning to my cleavage with his eyes. I only scoffed, having already known he was going to make that joke.

“Well I’m glad you enjoy it, Tywin. Although I must say, for a man who sees me entirely naked nearly every night, I would think you ought to be used to it by now,” I pointed out, holding his chin between my fingers and forcing him to actually look at my eyes. He instantly shook his head.

“No. I will never be used to it, I promise you that. What I especially enjoy is watching all the men stare when you walk by. They stare so desperately, as if begging you to notice them. They want you more than anything, and you never even notice them because you’re too busy holding my arm and smiling at me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel, (Y/N)?”

Tywin was holding my face, and I could feel the intensity of every word he spoke. I had no clue what to say, as my words felt stuck in my throat, but my heart was pounding; I loved this man so unbelievably much.

I was about to open my mouth and reply, but we heard the faint knock from the main doors to Tywin’s chambers. Of course, if we could hear it in his bedroom, it was rather loud.

We broke apart from each other, both wondering who could be out there. Tywin had assured me he had no meetings when we decided to go fishing this morning.

Suddenly, the distinct sound of the bells ringing echoed through Kings Landing, and we instantly looked at each other with the distinct understanding that something was very wrong. Rushing out of his bedroom, we were met with a frantic looking Jaime, who had burst in despite being unannounced. I felt my stomach drop.

“Father! Father…”

Jaime rushed toward us looking quite shaken, and both Tywin and I were absolutely frantic as we awaited his news.

“What’s happened?” Tywin asked quickly, watching his son swallow to catch his breath.

“It’s Tommen… he- he was on his way back from the sept and enormous amounts of wildfire were thrown in lit tubs from the house windows. His carriage exploded instantly… he didn’t stand a chance,” Jaime explained, choking back tears.

For a moment, I glanced at Tywin, who seemed both deeply upset and furious. He'd always had a gentle affection for Tommen, and I was certain that this hurt much more than it had to lose Joffrey. The fury, of course, would rain hell down upon the assassins.

None of that was currently crossing my mind, however. There was only one thing I wanted to know.

“My sister! Margaery! Is Margaery ok?” I asked in a panic, stepping forward and grabbing Jaime’s arms. He nodded instantly, trying to calm me by holding my shoulders too.

“She didn’t go with him. She stayed behind this morning, feeling somewhat ill,” he assured me, instantly relieving some of my fear.

“Which members of the kingsguard were with him?” Tywin questioned with a scowl. Jaime thought about it and sighed.

“Meryn Trant was with him, I know that much. Whoever else, they’re all dead now,” he said, hands clasping onto his belt. He couldn’t meet his fathers eyes.

“Does Cersei know?” Tywin asked after a brief silence, to which Jaime shook his head ‘no’. My husband nodded, sighing out. I moved away from Jaime and placed my hand on his back, rubbing it gently.

“I’m going to tell her right now.”

“Go on then. Keep her in her chambers, I will go speak with her shortly,” he instructed, to which Jaime nodded. He left us then, and we were alone.

There was silence for a minute as we both processed the news we had just received, although the bells had continued to ring. I wondered if they would slowly drive me insane.

“Please tell me… it was not you.”

I turned to Tywin, furrowing my eyebrows with a slight hurt. I knew I couldn’t blame him for wondering such a thing after what I had done to Joffrey, but I hated feeling as though he didn’t trust me.

“No, of course not. I would never have harmed Tommen. He was good to my sister, and he would’ve been a good king. He- He was such a sweet boy… I don’t understand why…” I trailed off, trying to consider who would’ve possibly wanted him dead. Tywin relaxed, knowing I was right. I had no need to want Tommen gone, and I had never been unreasonable about that sort of thing. He took me in his arms then, and I squeezed tightly. Though he wouldn’t dare show it, I knew this had saddened him quite a bit.

“You ought to go to Margaery. I suspect she will need you just as Cersei will need me,” he whispered after a moment, and I knew he was correct. I had intended to go even before he’d said it.

“I know. I expect people will convene in the great hall afterwards… there is much to discuss,” he sighed, pulling back and kissing my forehead. I nodded, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Will you be alright, Tywin?”

“Yes, my dear. All will be well. Go to Margaery now, hm? I will- I will see you later.”

There was a sort of sadness in his voice as he said it, almost as if he knew something I didn’t. I was unfamiliar with the look on his face, and it made me nervous. After a moment, I realized I did know it.

Defeat.

Something about seeing that expression on my husband made my blood run cold, but I forced myself to push aside my concern. Margaery needed me. Yes, Margaery needed me.

I held Tywin’s hand as I moved away, only letting go once I was physically too far away to continue. I turned my back then, leaving the room and picking up pace once I was outside. That was the last conversation I would have with the Hand of the King.

—————

Cersei could not look at Jaime. It was too painful. She had known this would happen, one way or another. The prophecy dictated that Myrcella would die too, and that fear had also gripped Cersei. She knew she couldn’t take losing her last child, for the news she had just received was already painful enough.

“Cersei?”

The sound of the door to her chambers opening and the voice of her father instantly made her head snap around. She found him standing in the doorway, a sort of frantic look on his face. To see her father at this moment was the last straw, and she could not hold back sobs as she rose from her sofa, rushing into his arms. Tywin’s rare comforts made them all the more important when she received them.

“Father… Father…” she whispered, crying against the cool black leather of his coat. One of his arms had wrapped around her, and the other hand was holding the back of her head. Slowly, he had begun to pet her blonde hair.

“I know, Cersei. I know.”

The sound of his voice in her ear managed to make her cry even more, but she needed it. Oh Tommen, her sweet boy. The rhythmic falling of Tywin’s chest was a small comfort, and somehow from this perspective she felt that all would be well. She felt safe behind the unbreakable defenses that her father had spent his entire life putting up, even if in truth they were an illusion. Well, it would not matter if other men continued to see it too.

“Father- on the way here I was informed that they caught the assassins. It was a small group of sparrows… it is believed to be an act of retaliation for the way they were suppressed,” Jaime said suddenly, swallowing awkwardly and hoping this would not upset his father. But of course, this would infuriate Tywin. How could it not?

He had been merciful by only beheading the High Sparrow and for what? The ‘public opinion’ had cost the life of his grandson, and a sort of guilt filled him. It was his fault for doing something he hated: taking half measures.

“Let the crime fit the punishment then. They’ll meet their end with wildfire,” Tywin scowled, fury in his eyes as he looked at his son. Cersei lifted her head, her red and wet eyes finding her fathers. She said nothing, but Tywin understood that this look was one of gratitude. His daughter had certainly always been one for revenge and theatrics, after all.

“What of their trials?”

“I will preside, of course. As will Mace Tyrell. Perhaps Tyrstane Martell as our third. Dorne needs to be brought into the fold more directly,” Tywin suggested, still holding Cersei in his arms. As much as he wished to save this conversation for later, he knew it would not be avoided.

“What if they demand a trial by combat?” Jaime questioned, knowing that the Mountain was no longer an option. Tywin’s jaw went rigid for a moment, and he squinted his eyes in contemplation.

“Then so be it, let them face my wife. They could all face her at once and they still wouldn’t stand a damn chance.”

Jaime was surprised to hear it, and he reflected that perhaps Tywin had a newfound trust in you. He supposed you had killed the Mountain, but putting you in any sort of risky situation always made his father nervous. Although, now that the Mountain was dead, he doubted there really was anyone in Westeros that could manage to beat you. And it’s not as if the sparrows exactly had a wide array of choices, either.

Jaime wordlessly nodded at his father, looking down and walking towards the door. As he did, Tywin reached out, letting his hand come to Jaime’s shoulder. All would be well.

After a moment, Cersei was alone with her father, and she began to fear she might pass out. Her head was swimming, and she could hardly focus. She gripped Tywin’s arms, taking a deep breath to try and stabilize herself.

“You ought to sit down, Cersei,” he suggested softly, helping her back toward the sofa. She sat down compliantly, staring at the floor through her teary eyes. Her hands would not stop trembling, and she felt as if she was stuck. There always is a feeling of utter helplessness when tragedy strikes.

“Here, drink. It’ll help,” Tywin said, pouring water into a glass and then striding across the room. He held it out to Cersei, but she shook her head and looked down.

“I don’t want water. I want wine.”

“I’m not going to give you wine. Drink, Cersei.”

It was more of a command that time, and she knew that her father would have his way. She relented and took the cup, taking a slow sip of water. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d tasted anything but wine, and it felt awfully sobering. Tywin sat down beside her as she drank, pulling her into his side and resting his head on top of hers.

“I cannot offer you your son back, Cersei, but I will give you justice. I promise you that,” he whispered, sighing deeply. Cersei shook her head, beginning to cry again.

“I thought that Oberyn Martell’s death would bring me peace. I thought it would soothe the loss of Joffrey and it never did. I just want Tommen back,” she sobbed, leaning into his shoulder. Her father knew the feeling all too well. Killing the maester who had delivered Tyrion had never made Tywin feel Joanna’s death less sharply. He wished it had been the maesters fault.

“I know, Cersei, and I’m sorry. I am so sorry,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around her entirely. He had developed a headache in the last half hour, and he knew it would not go away for quite some time. He wished he had decided to enjoy another ten minutes fishing with you.

“What of Myrcella? Now that Tommen is gone… she is the last child of Robert Baratheon,” Cersei wondered, voice cracking as she cried. For a moment, she genuinely believed herself. Tywin sighed, shaking his head.

“The succession will inevitably become a problem. Most of the lords of Westeros will not want a queen on the throne, even if it has been 200 years since the dance of dragons. Some will support her claim, but not nearly enough. No matter what happens, the stability of our family will be prioritized. I will not tolerate any conflicts over a useless chair. The only thing that matters is our family. So long as we hold power, it doesn’t matter who bears the title of king or queen,” he assured Cersei, sighing out. The last thing he would ever allow was the destruction of their family, especially because it would make them no better than the Targaryens.

“Does Jaime’s position in the Kingsguard disqualify him?” Cersei questioned softly, feeling her fathers thumbs wiping her wet cheeks. She was still leaning against him.

“I don’t believe it’s ever happened before. I would assume so, but it is another reason why court will be especially messy. I expect people have already begun to yell and argue over the subject,” Tywin reasoned, shaking his head with absolute disappointment. Why had the gods subjected him to such a position? It truly was a curse to be so good at this job.

“If not Myrcella and not Jaime, will it go to Tyrion?”

While Tywin’s contempt for his youngest son had considerably lessened over the last few years, mostly due to your fresh perspective, Cersei’s certainly had not. As far as she was concerned, Tyrion was 100% responsible for her mothers death.

“He has the most ‘legal’ claim, yes…”

There was a sort of hesitation in her fathers voice that made Cersei curious. She lifted her head, her eyes finding Tywin’s and holding his gaze. It only took her a few seconds to realize. Neither of them said a thing, wordlessly realizing both understood the scenario.

“How will they decide?”

“I imagine they will call up a council and vote just as they did during King Jaehaerys’ reign. It will also depend on whether or not there is a chance that his wife is pregnant.”

Cersei nodded, sighing and holding her father again. She couldn’t help but wonder if someday the history books would mention this. She felt entirely certain that the last decade had dealt with more problems and claims to the iron throne than all of Westerosi history. She found herself wondering how much more complicated the court would make it today.

—————

“Margaery?”

When I entered her room, I could not find my sister. I scanned the room, thinking perhaps she was in bed or in the privy. When I realized she wasn’t, panic settled inside me. I called out for her again, louder this time.

“I’m out here.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, rushing toward the balcony and looking around. I found her sitting on the floor, arms wrapping around her legs. She had been sitting directly in front of a column, and therefore I had not seen her at first. Margaery’s eyes were red and slightly puffy, and I could tell she had been crying. I slid down the side of the pillar, sitting beside her.

“I’m so sorry, Margaery,” I whispered, kissing her forehead as she leaned onto my shoulder. She sniffled again before speaking.

“He was such a sweet boy, (Y/N). He didn’t deserve to die, especially not like that,” she muttered, a few more tears falling from her eyes. I nodded, reaching across her and gently rubbing her arm.

“No, he didn’t.”

We were silent for a moment, and then I felt my sister swallow. She looked up at me, a deep pain in her face.

“Did you hear? It was the sparrows. They were upset over the beheading and they… they wanted revenge. Ser Elias told me they found them and put them in the black cells. They’ll stay there until their trials,” Margaery revealed, making my eyebrows raise with surprise. I would’ve asked how she had found that out before I had, but I knew better with the way that news traveled in King's Landing.

“Tywin will make certain that Tommen receives justice. He’ll probably ask father to be a judge again, and of course father will vote however Tywin would like him to,” I said, feeling rather confident about that fact if nothing else. When Margaery said nothing, I instantly looked over. More tears were falling from her face now.

“It’s my fault. I told him about the miscarriage right after you left. I felt bad that I had kept it for him so long so I… I told him. That’s why he’s been visiting the sept so much. He’s been praying for a child…” Margaery admitted, beginning to full on sob. I instantly wrapped her in my arms, shaking my head vehemently.

“No, Margaery. Never say that again. Never. It is not your fault. If the sparrows wanted revenge, they would’ve gotten it one way or another. And I know I shouldn’t say such a thing but… I’m glad that it was only him. If you had been in that carriage too, I- I don’t know…”

Suddenly, I was on the verge of tears too, and I couldn’t even finish my sentence. All I could do was clutch Margaery even tighter, petting her soft brown hair. The thought that I might’ve lost her today if she had decided to go with Tommen was terrifying. I hated that I was so powerless against death, especially when it came to my family.

“What hurts even more is that… well, the reason I stayed behind this morning was because I got my monthly and was feeling rather nauseous. There’s not even a chance that I’m carrying his child,” she sighed, leaning into my palm as I wiped her tears.

“Oh Margaery… I’m sorry.”

She had always wanted a child, and the prospect of a future king had only enhanced that desire. And no matter who succeeded Tommen, marriage to them wasn’t exactly an option for Margaery. Myrcella was both married and a woman, and of course Tyrion was married to Roslin Frey with a child on the way. I supposed if Jaime was to be relieved of his vows, then perhaps there was that, but I had a general feeling that that would not happen.

“Every single man I marry seems to die. I’m cursed,” Margaery sighed, laughing at herself with a sense of self-deprecation.

“No, sweet girl. You’re not cursed… certainly unlucky, but not cursed. You will find happiness one day, Margaery. You’re still young, you have plenty of time.”

“But what man will want a woman who has been married three times already?” she sighed defeatedly, leaning her head back against the stone pillar.

“A man who loves you very much. Or, perhaps you’ll even end up with a woman,” I suggested, and we both began to smile.

“Father would rejoice. Two homosexual children, and a third obsessed with sword fighting and opposed to children,” she remarked, making me laugh and shake my head.

“Well, he’ll have at least one child. I pray it’s a girl, it would be lovely to see highgarden passed on to a woman.”

“Yes, it certainly would.”

We sat in silence for a while, and I reflected that the birds were still singing just as they had been all morning. The only difference was that in the last hour, it seemed that one species of bird had begun to sing much louder. The Sparrows.

TAGLIST:

@cheyxfu @lemonscoffee @groovy-lady

@ladysindar @vesta-ro @exo-nova @paola-carter

@prettykinkysoul

@fullmoonshadowwrites @kishie8

@the-desilittle-bird @dianilaws @girlonfireice

@muscari-fae @lostgirllulu

@abigfanofgameofthrones @smalltownbigheart

@frombloodandflesh @supernaturalismyreligion666

@thanyatargaryen @rey26 @hexandale @pkawaiidesu5394 @aimsro

#tywin lannister #tywin lannister x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #house lannister #tywin x reader #charles dance #asoiaf #a lion in the garden

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nyaagolor · 2 years ago

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I am definitely thinking about this too hard but the more I look at the Team Star plot the more logistical questions I have. All of these can easily be answered with “because it needs to be this way for the plot to work” but I’m still gonna overthink it anyway

- If Penny’s parents are as clingy and overprotective as she implies and she really was bullied bad enough to become a recluse for multiple years, why would they send her back to the Academy? Did they even know she was bullied? It’s super possible the previous director / staff didn’t give a reason behind her suspension so her parents wouldn’t freak out on them / sue them (can you sue in the pokemon world???) but did her parents not ask her about it? I feel like if my kid got sent home for a mandatory year and a half I would have a LOT of questions

- I can understand why Arven and Nemona wouldn’t know about the bullying seeing as Arven is chronically absent from school and Nemona has the social awareness of a rock, but it’s absolutely wild to me that there was a scandal so big it caused a turnover of the entire staff and yet no one on the new staff knows why. The academy teachers would DEFINITELY tell Clavell / help Team Star if they knew the truth, so somehow they all managed to go a year and a half without questioning why they were hired at the same time or why there’s a random middle schooler street gang. Did the previous director do some sorta NDA where they made sure the teachers couldn’t ask about the circumstances behind their hiring? Do the teachers just not care about the strange circumstances??? Did none of the students care enough to mention this to anyone?

- Where was Geeta during all this? She implies she’s been in her position for longer than a year and a half (that library clearly took longer than a year of construction) so she had to have been around during the staff turnover, but says absolutely nothing about it. I know she’s involved in a different plot line and the nonlinearity of it means she can’t say much about other plot lines like Starfall Street, but it’s wild to me that the head of the academy board watched her entire staff resign and was like hm. that’s normal. This isn’t something I need to investigate. It’s especially weird if she’s involved in the hiring process? Letting things like that go unquestioned seems so out of character for Little Miss Micromanagement, but being part of the coverup is also out of character for someone who believes so strongly in ~Paldea’s shining light~ and future and whatnot

- Why would the previous director not tell people about Team Star? He says they “resigned because they felt they had failed the students” and whatnot, but then make zero effort to fix their mistakes and don’t tell the new staff about the truth of it all? Were they just trying to save face? Was the whole staff fired? Did they resign before they could GET fired?? If they really felt bad why did they allow the truth to be buried and ignore the damage they caused?? Mister Harrington sir I believe ur lying about ur intentions / actual level of regret here

Overall the Starfall Street plotline relies so heavily on people not paying attention to or questioning things they Really Should Care About that it’s almost comical and it really makes me wonder what the hell anyone was doing during this whole thing. if there’s canon answers to these question or I’m screwing up the timeline here lmk also bc I am thoroughly stumped

#mod vex #pokemon sv

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whoficky · 9 months ago

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Until Morning

Rating: T

Pairing: 10th Doctor X Rose Tyler

Work Summary: As a weary Doctor, Martha Jones and Jack Harkness prepare to take on the Master, they find their hideout isn't as secure as they thought.

In a burst of blue light, a dimension hopping Rose Tyler finally finds the Doctor, but time is still not on their side.

What if you only had one night to spend with the love of your life?

Chapter summary: No matter how tired she is, Rose isn't interested in sleeping. Not tonight.

Chapter 5

Rose finished her meal and handed the empty plate off to Jack to put in one of the take-out bags they were using to consolidate their rubbish. She felt full and sleepy, but she couldn’t imagine letting herself sleep at all tonight. She’d stay up and help the Doctor with whatever he needed to do to prepare for tomorrow. And at some point, she’d find time to tell him about the small matter of the stars going out.

She fiddled with the memory card in her pocket that was full of all the information her Torchwood had gathered on the matter. Even though she fully intended on making her way back to the Doctor again, it didn’t mean she’d wait to pass the information on. Even as determined as she was to get back to him, she wouldn’t gamble the fate of the multiverse on it.

To her surprise, no one really seemed interested in a planning session once they had finished their meal. She’d gotten so used to the more regimented processes of Torchwood’s strategy briefings that she forgot the Doctor liked to make things up on the fly.

Jack stood and stretched, cracking several joints down his spine, “Well I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to catch some shuteye.”

“I could do with a rest,” Martha agreed through a yawn, “Anything resembling a bed around here?”

“If by bed, you mean some old work jackets spread out on the floor in the office, I got ya covered,” Jack grinned.

Martha wrinkled her nose, “Lovely,” but after yawning again she admitted, “I think I’m tired enough that almost sounds fine. How about you two?”

Rose looked to the Doctor who was rocking on this heels with his hands in his pockets. “I’m not that tired,” she lied, “Are you?”

“Not particularly,” the Doctor said. “Care to take a walk instead?” He offered his hand, wiggling his fingers, and she didn’t hesitate to take it.

“Thought you were in hiding though.”

“Welllll,” he drawled, “Up on the roof should be safe enough. No CCTV up there. I disabled all the ones in the area earlier.”

“Alright then. A walk,” she grinned up at him and swung their arms back and forth a little.

Jack wolf whistled.

“Jack!” she admonished, afraid he was going to spook the Doctor. But the Time Lord seemed unruffled.

“Will the two of you be ok down here?” the Doctor asked Jack and Martha.

“Yes, of course,” Martha smiled kindly before making a shooing motion, “Go. Have some time together.”

“Get outta here you crazy kids,” Jack agreed with a wink.

So they went.

The Doctor led Rose out into the chilly spring evening. It had stopped raining, but the air still had the charged feel of an impending lightning storm. At the first brush of wind, she felt goosebumps erupt on her arms and legs, but embraced the shock for the alertness it brought. And, well, there may be other factors contributing to the pleasant prickle racing over her skin that didn’t have anything to do with the weather.

Like the feel of the Doctor’s hand on her lower back as they made their way up the rickety staircase. Or this thing, this magnetic humming between their bodies that was both familiar and new.

She had always been aware of the Doctor, his movements, his subtle shifts in mood, when they had traveled before. It had driven her mad as much as it had come in handy when they worked together seamlessly through a challenge. But now, after she’d felt his lips on hers and seen his willingness to be more open, that vague awareness of him had ratcheted up several notches. She felt like every atom of her body was tuned in to every atom of his. Rose threw a smile over her shoulder at him, and he grinned back, as if their trip to the roof were the grandest of adventures. And maybe it would be.

The Doctor was beside her, reclaiming her hand as soon as they made it up onto the roof. He surprised her by tugging her arm up over her head and leading her through a series of twirls that ended with her giggling and wrapped in his arms.

“Very suave,” she complimented as they swayed back and forth as if there was music playing.

“I can be extremely suave, Rose Tyler. Who do you think taught Sean Connery the moves?”

Rose laughed, “You are so full of it!”

“Am not!” he insisted before attempting to demonstrate by whisking her through some kind of waltz that ended up with their legs twisting together and the both of them almost ending up sprawled on the wet roof. Rose laughed and kissed away his pout as soon as she got her legs back underneath her. Then she kissed him again, just because she could.

When they came back up for air, she found her gaze drawn up to the night sky as the twinkle of stars caught her eye.

“S’ beautiful,” she said, sure the awe was obvious in her voice.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Doctor follow her gaze up to the stars that dotted the night sky, “What, this?” he scoffed, “This is just the bits that show through all the light pollution and haze from the city. You’ve seen far better, Rose Tyler.”

“Not recently,” she murmured, thinking of all the stars missing from the other universe, of the darkness in so many different universes she’d walked through.

Of course, he missed her meaning. “No space travel over in good ol’ Pete’s World then?” he asked, nudging her side.

“Not unless you’re an astronaut,” she nudged him back.

“Well that’s a shame,” he said, “You look lovely in starlight.”

Rose couldn’t help but snort a laugh.

“What!?” he sputtered defensively.

“I’m sorry, but are you trying to hit on me?”

“Oi, I’m a bit rusty,” the Doctor pouted.

“Good,” she said turning back into his chest to ward off the chill of the night air. “And you don’t need to anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked into her hair.

She craned her neck to look up at him, “I’ve been yours since ‘run’, you plum.”

His slow, satisfied smile was the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen.

“In that case,” he said, bringing his hand up to cradle her face as he lowered is lips to brush against hers. After several light passes, she grabbed him by the lapels and rocked up on her toes to kiss him properly. He wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her close and helping her balance.

She sucked his bottom lip in between hers and ran her tongue over it, smiling when his breath stuttered against her lips. For a man usually so self-contained, all these little hints of him losing his tight control were intoxicating. She wanted more of it, more of him.

By the time she had to break away to catch her breath, she was definitely not feeling the cold anymore. The Doctor rested his forehead on hers as their breath mingled.

It was so, so tempting to go in for another kiss, but she knew if she didn’t bring up the whole stars-going-out-thing now, she may never get around to it.

Regretfully, she gave him a quick peck and then eased back. “Before I get too…distracted,” she shot him a wicked grin, “I have to give you this.”

She plucked the flash drive out of her pocket and held it out to him.

“What’s is it?” he asked, as he took it from her open palm.

“Everything I have on the impending multiverse collapse,” she said with a shrug.

“Oh is that all,” he raised an eyebrow, “And how is it happening this time then?”

“Dunno,” Rose sighed, “But Pete’s World is ahead of this one and it’s starting to sorta fall apart.”

“What!? How?” the Doctor asked in alarm. Maybe he was realizing that the place she was going back to wasn’t the safe haven he’d thought it was.

“Well, the stars are going out, for starters. Just disappearin’. Temperatures increasing too, not just on Earth but in all observable areas of space. Then there’s the rift in Cardiff. Been so active lately we’ve evacuated the whole city. The laws of physics are getting kind of…eh, loose I guess you could say? Only with really big and really small stuff so far. But it’s getting worse. I’ve been through, blimey, must be dozens of universes now and it’s happening in all of ‘em. There’s more too. Everything’s on there,” she gestured to the flash drive. “Thought that maybe you could give us a hand. Or,” she grinned at him, “at least that’s how I got the government to sign off on funding the dimension cannon project.”

“Unstoppable, you are,” he said looking sideways at her.

She gave him a brief tongue-touched smile before continuing, “Do you think it has to do with the Master?”

“Maybe,” he said, but he sounded doubtful, “How long has this been going on?”

“Started…dunno bout a year before we first crashed there. No one noticed for a while though. Well, a few scientists did, but of course no one listened to them. The changes were too small to really concern anyone in power at first. Then everyone was busy fighting the Cybermen for a few years. Wasn’t until I’d been trapped there a few months that people started putting it all together.”

The Doctor stared down at the memory card as if he could extract the information from it just by concentrating. Hell, for all she knew, maybe he could.

“I think that’s why the cannon finally worked. Things are breaking down,” she added.

“Blimey Rose, can’t I have one apocalypse at a time?” the Doctor groaned, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

“Sorry,” she sad softly, running a hand through his hair, “I guess you’ll just have to make a queue.”

He let out a huge sigh, longer and deeper than a human’s, then straightened back up. “Do you think it will hold? While I deal with the Master?”

“I think we still have some time. Torchwood and a lot of the world’s governments are concerned, but for most people it’s still life as usual. Beans on toast. Trips to the shops. I thought everyone would be panicking. But well…”

“Humans,” the Doctor said affectionately. “Stars going out and it barely phases ‘em.”

“Maybe they’re hoping that they’ll get a few pints and wait for the whole thing to blow over,” Rose alluded to their favorite zombie movie.

“Bang on,” the Doctor laughed.

He pulled out his sonic and scanned the memory card before pocketing both. “There, now it’s saved in the sonic too. I’ll find some place to hide the original and keep it safe.”

“Alright,” Rose said.

That was it, then. Her mission complete. The mission that was supposed to have been impossible. The one she’d dedicated her life and hope to for years now. At the realization, she felt her muscles slacken and she leaned into the Doctor. His arms came up to wrap around her again and she was thankful for the additional support as much as the closeness.

“You’re tired,” he said, concern in his voice, “How long since you’ve slept?”

“No idea,” she yawned, “But probably no more than twenty hours or so. Not too bad.”

“Not too bad? Not too bad? I’m starting to think you are an imposter, after all. The Rose Tyler I knew would be far more grumpy if it had been twenty hours since she’d slept!”

“Oi! I do not get grumpy!” She poked him.

“Oh yes you do! Grumpy, and you have a tendency to throw things,” he said, “At me!”

“Doctor you cannot base your idea of me on the Lord of the Rings marathon you forced on me after the Queen’s inauguration. And anyway, it was a pillow. I threw a pillow at you.”

“And it hit me right in the face!”

“Oh poor Doctor, did the fluffy pillow hurt you? Honestly it was three in the morning and I was near delirious at that point. You’re lucky a pillow’s all you got, mister. Whatever possessed you to -”

The Doctor pulled her closer and murmured something into her hair.

“What’s that?”

“Didn’t want you to go to bed, that night,” he admitted after a brief hesitation.

“Oh yeah?” She asked, “Why’s that?”

He jerked up to look at her like she was being thick on purpose, “Your face…Rose, you’d lost your face.”

“Oh,” she smiled up at him, feeling a wave of warmth expand out from her chest, “That’s sweet.”

“I can be very sweet,” he agreed nuzzling into her neck. She couldn’t suppress a shiver and she felt him grin against her skin when he felt it.

“Well I lost more than your face at Canary Wharf, Doctor. I’m not sleepin’. Not tonight.”

“Fair enough,” he mumbled as his arms tightened around her.

#tenrose #doctorrose #doctor x rose #fanfic #Rose Tyler #10th doctor #jack harkness #Martha Jones #tenth doctor #Doctor who #Until Morning #ficandchips #idk are there other tags I should use?

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triple-moon-rp · 3 months ago

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Harsh Wake Up Call

Starring Lua

TW: Implied Suicide/Suicidal Idealization, Meltdown

—

On the outskirts of Pentagram City, lies a blissfully unconscious new sinner, unaware of the world around her. Until her eyes made of obsidian with ruby pupils faced the red sky open once more. Lua blinks once, twice, as awareness comes back to her. Lightning begins to crackle around her as her marred pale face turns completely black, obscuring the scowl on her face. Dark clouds and the sound of thunder surround her body. Her fingernails immediately find her scalp, digging in, and she wails.

“WHY?! Why am I AWAKE?!?! I should be DEAD! Why am I not DEAD?!?”

The sound of her screaming and repeating the same question is drowned out by the massive thunderstorm she created unconsciously. It lasts for about five minutes, dying down as she tries to calm herself after feeling dizzy. Her hands move to her face, pressing down, her knees press into her chest as she rocks back and forward while sitting on the dusty ground.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. Everything is fine, everything is fine,” she chants until her breathing becomes more regulated.

When her hands pull away from her face, it slowly turns back to white like watching a timelapse of the moon going into its full moon phase. Exhaustion permeates her small body as she tries to finish grounding herself to reality.

“I can feel… dirt, my skin, and hair… I smell… rain and… sulfur? I see… red sky? Mountains?” she laughs hollowly as she takes in her surroundings for the first time and stands, “Have I… Has it really been so long that I’ve forgotten what outside of my house looks like? No… There’s no destroyed debris, and I know I felt the roof collapse on me during that storm… Where…? Where am I?”

Her head turns towards the bustling city. Looks like a 10 minute walk from where she’s standing. Fuck, if this is a wizard of Oz bullshit situation, she’s going to punch someone. Not that she can throw a punch to save her life. Might as well start walking. No point in sitting around and waiting to possibly wake up.

The walk was probably the most exercise she’s gotten in a while, but she manages to keep pushing on. The moment she observes the forms of the Pentagram City’s denizens, her confusion compounds. If this was just a lucid dream, normally the moment she realizes, she’s able to wake up rather easily or control it in some way. However, the pain building in her calves tells her otherwise. That’s the only thing that feels real to her. There’s nothing human about the people walking around her. Some of them even look like the nightmare fuel she’d sketch back in highschool.

As much as she hated it, she needed to ask someone. Unfortunately, most ignored her and kept walking before she could utter a second syllable. Fifth try’s the charm, apparently. A sort of anthropomorphic lizard dressed in tattered clothes laying in the gutter answers her question.

“What’d ya think, toots?” he scoffs at her, earning a quiet rumble from Lua.

“If I had an idea, I wouldn’t be askin’... I dunno, could be the Goblin King’s Domain for all I know!”

He hiccups mid snicker, “I reckon you can call it that. Didja really miss the big ol’ neon sign sayin’ “Welcome to Hell”?”

There was a neon sign? If there was, she doesn’t recall seeing it. “Wait, you mean like, Hell from the New Testament or is it Hel from Norse mythology? So I am dead?” She supposes it makes sense if this isn’t some near-death dream she’s having.

He frog blinks and simply shrugs before resuming his drinking and self-pity.

“... Welp, thanks anyway,” she walks away once it became clear she wasn’t going to get any more useful information out of the drunkard.

There’s still so many questions she wants answers to, and her brain asking all of them at once isn’t helping. But the most significant one she needs to focus on is what is she going to do now? She wasn’t planning on there being an afterlife and she knows nothing about this place. Being forced to start completely over but with absolutely nothing and in an equally hostile, if not more, place? Just thinking about it feels overwhelming. Where does she even start? Where does she go? Should she make another attempt?

Lost in thought, mumbling to herself, she doesn’t even notice electrocuting some sinner trying to pickpocket her, let alone her new reflection in a passing window. It isn’t until she bumps into a pole that she’s knocked out of her little world. How embarrassing… but a flier pinned to that post catches her eye thanks to it.

Hazbin Hotel… blah blah… Redemption… blah blah… Free room and board? Now that got her attention. Free is always affordable! Still, it could be a trick. How does she know this isn’t some weird cult about “salvation” or a lure to harvest organs from poor unfortunate souls? Better question: what does she really have to lose now? It seems as good of a starting place as any to find somewhere to sleep that isn’t the streets. She’ll just have to make sure to ask any and all questions about their goals and purpose, be firm on where she stands, and get the fuck out of there before it’s too late if it turns out sketchy. Now she just has to find the place… which may or may not require her to ask for assistance from the locals again… Uggghhhhhhhhhhhhh… Today’s going to be a long day.

#lua : ic #glitch drabbles #ok to interact

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allefendra · 2 years ago

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Chapter 1

Although the bonfire roaring in the town square obfuscated the sky, the sparkling array of the galaxy was still clearly visible to the sharp eyes of Dema Simondred. Her distinctive eyes reflected the warm glow of the flame with an inhuman, almost predatory shine, which only served to make the mustard-colored rings around her irises more apparent, but her skin, deep as coal, seemed to swallow the light. As a subservient canine might, she bared her vulpine grin to any passerby who glanced in her direction, earning her at best a muted scowl and at worst an unconcealed glare. The crumbling cobblestones beneath her bare feet felt cool despite their proximity to the flame. She wiggled her toes in a feeble attempt to draw warmth to them.

Something hard and sharp struck her between the shoulder blades and she pitched forward, windmilling her arms instinctively to keep her face from plowing into the ground. Her numb toes bent and flexed against the edges of the stones, and she thanked the stars her feet had already gone numb. With an involuntary grunt, she straightened, pretending not to be bothered by the now throbbing wound on her back. Slowly, she turned to face her assailants, aware already that she could do nothing to prevent their assault.

A group of children, none of which was old enough to be off their mother’s apron strings, giggled mischievously as she raised a rounded brow at them. One clutched a rough chunk of stone in one hand, a slingshot in the other, but dropped the rock nervously as soon as she directed the full force of her glare upon him. On the opposite side of the square, adults mingled with mugs of ale or spice wine in their gloved hands. None took notice of the scene unfolding.

Dema estimated the oldest of the bunch to be of maybe nine or ten winters, a wiry child wearing a pair of shoes riddled with holes and a dress stained with myriad colors. The girl held her nose much too high for one of her station, though Dema’s own station couldn’t be said to be more than slightly superior.

“You have had your fun,” Dema growled, “now be off.”

The oldest advanced, proving herself to be the leader of her ragtag gang. “We take no orders from you, Dema the Demon!” she sneered, somehow holding her nose even higher than before. “We will leave when we feel like it!”

“Oh? You don’t fear the demon, then?” Dema replied calmly, running a hand over her bare scalp. “I could haunt your nightmares, you know. Now that I’ve had a good look at your face, your dreams would be easy to locate.”

The child blanched. “You’re bluffing! None can enter another’s dream!”

Dema began to methodically stretch each muscle in her willowy frame, starting with her neck and going down. The children watched her anxiously, confusion plain on their faces. “Perhaps I am bluffing,” she said, a wicked smile spreading across her face, “and perhaps not. Regardless, I don’t need magic or trickery to deal with the lot of you. All I need are my two legs. I’m an honorable sort, so I will make this fair. I will give you to the count of twenty before I move. Use those twenty seconds as you will.”

The children scattered like leaves taken by the wind, a few squeaking cacophonous yelps, some down alleys, others toward the decrepit Forktongue Bridge, but all with the panic of the hunted. Dema smirked to herself, satisfied with her own ingenuity. Despite her lithe figure, she was actually a terrible runner, and she certainly wouldn’t have been able to catch even one of those children barefoot. Not only that, but she lacked the innate spark for Resonance, which was said to be endowed to no more than one in every thousand born. Demons, of course, were all born with Resonance, which is precisely why so many feared them, but “Dema the Demon” knew herself to be no demon at all. A child of foxfire, perhaps, but not a demon. Her lack of Resonance was proof enough for that.

She was still smirking when a rolling pin connected with her rump, startling more than injuring her. Knowing better than to respond, she stifled her grin and stood arrow-straight. She swallowed hard, producing an audible gulp.

“Mother,” she said quietly, clasping her hands behind her back and staring intently at her bruised toes, “I thought you would be fast asleep by this late hour.”

“I thought the same of you,” Mistress Simondred snapped, tapping Dema again with her rolling pin. “You might be able to fool your father with a wad of hay stuffed under your blankets, girl, but I know better. I heard not a sound from your chambers this evening. Usually, by this time of night, you would be dreaming and squawking like a crow. I knew something was amiss when I heard not a peep.” She paused, inspecting Dema up and down. “And just where are your shoes? Did we not just purchase a pair of sturdy shoes from Mistress Yohan a week past?”

“Father would surely have noticed I left had I taken my shoes, Mother,” Dema said levelly, still fighting her wry smile. “This was the only way.”

“The only way to broken toes, I’d wager,” her mother grumbled, staring concernedly at Dema’s toes. “You’d best hope you can manage to work tomorrow on those feet.”

“I’ve faced worse.”

“I’m certain you have.”

The two stared at each other intently, evaluating each other in the way of two wolves. After a few seconds, Mistress Simondred sighed and wrapped Dema in her fleshy arms.

“Oh, Dema,” she murmured, placing her free hand at the back of Dema’s head as she embraced her tightly, “you can’t imagine how I feel when I find your bed empty. I never worried so when I found your brother’s bed empty. Not until the morning I went to rouse him and the bed still lay empty. I still check your brother’s bed on occasion, when the longing strikes me too deeply and I lose my sense.” She pulled back so she could gaze into Dema’s eyes. “I cannot lose another child. I cannot. From now on, your bedroom will be warded in the evenings. I have no other choice. This foolishness has gone on long enough.”

“Mother!” Dema exclaimed, fury making her face appear even darker. “I will not accept this! I am not my brother.” “I’m sorry, Dema,” her mother said, a melancholy look in her gray eyes. “It can be no other way. These people have no sense. Today, they give you dirty looks. Tomorrow, they could give you a knife through your ribs. You trust too much.”

Dema felt a drop of something cold and wet strike her scalp. Automatically, her hand covered the top of her head, and another drop glanced off the knuckle of her middle finger.

Mistress Simondred looked warily to the sky and shook her head with irritation. Her eyes looked wet in the firelight as she turned them to the sky. A melted snowflake, or tears?

“Another of these snowstorms,” she groaned, and began rifling through the leather sack hanging from her belt pouch. “I tell you, this is Ribbin’s work. Who’ve heard of snowstorms in the ides of Verdance? Lucky for you, I’ve a hat for you somewhere in here. I’ll find it. But we truly must return home now before you lose those purple toes of yours to frostbite.”

Warily, Dema tilted her head back, knowing she would see no stars and lamenting their loss. Only moments before, the stars had been strikingly bright against the black velvet carpet of the sky. Now, she could see nothing but the charcoal gray of thick, raging clouds.

“Just a moment ago…” she began, but let herself trail off as she realized her mother wasn’t listening. Mistress Simondred was muttering to herself angrily, still searching for a hat in her absurdly large pouch. Large pouches had come into fashion, but no pouch around any waist in town rivaled the behemoth flopping at Mistress Simondred’s side.

“Ah! Here it is!” she said triumphantly, drawing a black beret from the bottom of the sack. It was mildly crumpled and would need to be reshaped, but it didn’t really matter. By that time, the only villagers who might see her in adequate lighting would likely be drunk anyway. “Oh, Goddess above! This isn’t your hat! It’s your father’s!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dema replied, ignoring her mother’s hypocrisy. If she ever uttered an oath like that to the Goddess, her mother would wallop her hard with her rolling pin, or any other implement at her disposal. “It will keep my head warm either way. We’ve a long walk home and I’m getting colder by the second. Can we go, Mother?”

“Yes,” she answered, “but stay close to me. There are brigands afoot this time of evening.”

As soon as her mother turned away, Dema rolled her eyes dramatically. In all of Forktongue, she had encountered not a single brigand, unless one counted the cutpurse who had once sliced her belt pouch. Unfortunately for the cutpurse, the pouch was merely a fashion accessory and held no coin. In the world her mother imagined, a thief schemed in every side street, a conman plotted on every corner, and a murderer waited with bated breath in every shadow. It was a wonder her mother had mustered the courage to comb the streets in search of Dema that evening. With that thought, a surge of guilt washed over her, and she almost conceded to herself that her mother had been right to set a penance.

“I’ll fetch you a hot brick for under your covers once we get home,” her mother said softly as they stepped into a particularly dark street. “You must be frozen to the bone.”

“I’m a touch chilled,” Dema lied.

“Why are you walking in that strange way? You look like a rod has been inserted in your spine.”

Dema looked at her from the sides of her eyes. “I hurt my back when I was working today. It feels better if I stand straight.”

“A pulled muscle, is it? Well, no matter. Tomorrow we’ll have our baths. I’ll massage your malady then. There’s no pulled muscle that can withstand a massage in hot water. Not when these hands are doing the massaging,” she said cheerily, gripping her rolling pin in both hands enthusiastically. She could have slipped the rolling pin into a fold in her apron, but she preferred to hold onto it whenever possible.

“No!” Dema blurted sharply. Realizing her blunder, she adjusted her tone. “I mean, no. That’s not necessary. I am sure it will relieve itself in the night. Sleep cures many afflictions.”

“That is certainly true,” Mistress Simondred replied, though it was clear only half her mind was on the conversation. The other half was scouting the way ahead, ensuring no threats would impede them. “Just another mile,” she said to herself quietly, as though to soothe her own frayed nerves.

“Not a mile, Mother. Perhaps half a mile.”

Changing the subject abruptly, Mistress Simondred said with renewed anger, “What were you doing this evening, anyway? What would possess you to make such a rash choice?”

“I wanted to see the bonfire, Mother. Sorzen is always speaking of it. I just wanted to see it for myself. He claimed the flames climbed as high as the Mayor’s house is tall, but I know now it was just another of his tales.”

“I ought to box his ears, filling your head with such foolishness. I should have known Sorzen inspired you to this. I’ll be having words with his mother, mark me.”

“That isn’t necessary, Mother.”

“Isn’t it? He knows you can’t travel around as freely as others, yet he natters to you day and night of all the sights and sounds and smells you cannot have. He is no friend to you, girl. You’ll learn that one day.”

In silence, they continued on together. Dema was astounded when her foot touched the silky dirt of Wayward Path. Had they not, just an instant before, been surrounded by the squalor of the city? The dirt path, just as cold as the cobblestones before it, somehow cheered her, its familiar texture acting as a balm for her injured toes. The light layer of frost over the dirt only served to magnify its soothing effect. Her mother claimed the dirt of Wayward Path was the ashes of Resonants burned long ago in the city square, but Dema had met none who could corroborate the tale. In some ways, her mother was as histrionic and imaginative as Sorzen, though Dema would never say so to her face.

In the distance, Dema could make out the faint flickering of candlelight seeping out from beneath the canvas curtain that served as the front door of her family’s tiny domicile. A silhouette crossed back and forth across the entryway repeatedly, which made the light appear to flash. She could tell by the bulk of the figure that it was her father, a man often mistaken for a blacksmith with his wide shoulders and bulging biceps. Few outside of the business knew just how much muscle a baker could develop through the rigors of his or her routine. Even her mother, a woman round and soft all over, had a thick layer of muscle beneath her plump exterior from long days kneading dough or lifting trays of hot confections.

“He’ll be as mean as a badger tomorrow,” Mistress Simondred said, smacking her rolling pin against her palm with irritation. “I told that man to take himself to bed. Why does he never listen?”

“I don’t know, Mother.”

“Not all men are of this nature, you must know. Some are quite excellent listeners, I hear.”

“Sorzen is a good listener.”

Mistress Simondred shot her a grimace that would curdle fresh goat’s milk. “Sorzen is a rascal of questionable character. If he cared a whit for you, he’d listen less and talk more. He’d talk you out of your harebrained schemes, at the very least.”

Dema shrugged. “I was only citing an example.”

Her mother put the rolling pin into her apron for the first time that night and whirled to face Dema. “Now,” she said, “not another word of your foolishness. Your father is not pleased. I would suggest against your usual way. Say neither a word of Sorzen nor any others among your companions unless you’d like your father to visit each personally with a loaf of bread.”

Dema shivered, and not just from the cold. Her father, armed with only a loaf of his fresh bread, could convince almost anyone of anything. She trusted Sorzen, but not so much that she’d allow him to be tempted with a good rye or a sourdough. “Mother, I am sorry. Truly. I never meant to worry you.”

“I know it, girl. It’s your father who’ll need convincing,” she said in a hushed tone, now just outside the canvas flap. With a strong hand, she yanked the canvas aside, revealing the interior of their home.

Her father stared at her wildly and wiped sweaty palms on his apron. Wisps of hair stuck out in every possible direction, giving him the appearance of a man recently struck by lightning. He was standing in the center of the room, in front of the hearth, which was as cold and dead as the soil of the Wayward Path. The only light or heat came from a solitary tallow candle burning on the dining table. An ornately carved rocking chair in the corner of the room was the most exquisite of their furnishings, while the other furniture was obviously scavenged from some garbage heap. Her parents’ bed rested against the only wall with a window, which meant it was always quite chilly under those covers. Her bed was located in the only enclosed room in the hut, a blessing for which she rarely remembered to offer thanks.

“Thank Allefendra, you’re alive!” her father boomed in a voice that reverberated off the adobe walls. He looked to be on the point of tears. “I thought...I thought…”

“I’m perfectly well, Father,” she said deferentially, lowering her head. The look in her father’s eyes was almost too much for her to bear. “I am sorry, but I had a good reason.”

“What reason was that?”

“I wanted – no, I needed to see the bonfire.”

Master Simondred threw up his hands in exasperation and plunked down onto the bed. It creaked under his mass. “I could scarcely breathe, Dema,” he growled, “I could scarcely move because you ‘needed’ to see a bonfire? If you wanted to waste your hours staring into a flame, we’ve candles aplenty. What you’ve done is deplorable. Despicable! How could you do this?”

Dema’s throat constricted. “I can’t continue living this way. I just can’t.”

“You’ll continue living this way, or you’ll not continue living at all!” he shouted, pounding a meaty fist into the quilt. “You shame your brother!”

Her face stung as though her father had just backhanded her. Tears sprang to her eyes, magnifying their eerie glow. She maintained her steady gaze on her father, refusing to disengage. Before she could speak a word, her mother placed a gentle palm on her forearm, forestalling her.

“You’re both exhausted,” her mother said placidly, as if placating a pair of scuffling toddlers. “This is a talk better had by the light of day.” Master Simondred started to speak, but she cut him off with a stern glare. “I’ve said what I’ve said and I expect you will obey. Both of you.”

Master Simondred shook his head in disgust. “It’s past time I started work. Dawn comes quickly.” He brushed off non-existent dust from his apron and adjusted the apron strings at the back of his neck. “Dema, you’ll be no good with the customers if you don’t sleep. Stella, you’ll need your rest as well. You can meet me in the morning.”

“Do you not think it would be best to open late?”

“Open late?” he scoffed, “I haven’t opened late in eight winters. I certainly won’t do so now.”

“Paitin,” Mistress Simondred pleaded, “you mustn’t do this. Truly, you ought not open at all tomorrow. I can’t imagine many customers will be in. Not with them all suffering the grog horrors. Besides, I could hardly see past my own fingers out there. It is cold as Ribbin’s breath. You’ve no need to be risking yourself out there. Which reminds me, light the hearth, you fool man! Have you not seen your daughter’s feet?”

He stared down at Dema’s feet, squinting. The light from the tallow candle was dimming each second. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “Indeed I had not! Dema, child, tell me you haven’t yet lost your new shoes. I expected those to last at least a year.”

“She didn’t take her shoes because you would have noticed they were missing,” Mistress Simondred replied in a mocking voice. “Clever like her father, down to the core.”

Master Simondred beamed for a moment before coming back to his senses. “I see.” He grabbed his wool cloak off a peg in the wall and draped it around his shoulders. It made him look like a lumbering boulder with a head. “I’ll light the hearth, but the two of you must get to bed. You ought to get in the same bed to share some heat,” he suggested. “Clean yourself up, girl. I’ll not have soot in my sheets.” He passed her a bucket of frigid water, sloshing a few drops in the process, that had been used to collect the rain which seeped through the thatch roof. He stalked out of the shelter, almost stomping.

She compliantly splashed the water over her shins and feet, trying not to wince at the temperature. She took note of a sharp pain at the edges of a toenail. She’d likely lose that nail. As she rubbed the water over her skin, her mother fetched a minuscule nub of soap and a dingy towel. She took it gratefully.

Mistress Simondred dabbed a second towel on Dema’s face. It wasn’t dirty, really, but she continued to wipe at her cheeks nonetheless. “There,” she said softly, pushing Dema’s face up with a finger under her chin, “now I can see that beautiful skin of yours.”

Dema fought off a snort. “I am glad at least you take pleasure in my demon skin.”

“You are not a demon!” her mother replied furiously, cupping both of Dema’s cheeks in her hands. “Look into my eyes! You are no such thing! Say it!”

“I am no such thing,” Dema answered, though her mouth, pinched as it was, struggled to enunciate the words. “I’m tired, Mother.”

“As am I. Slip off your dress and get in bed. Your shift will do for night clothes tonight.”

Ice cold and mentally numb with exhaustion, Dema fell into slumber immediately. Even as her father lit the hearth, she remained asleep. Her mother snuggled up beside her, grateful to share the warmth. From his rocking chair, Master Simondred regarded his sleeping wife and child with affection, noting the similarities in their features. Notwithstanding the stark contrast in their skin tones, Dema’s face was almost an exact copy of her mother’s. He rose, kissed each on the forehead, and trudged into the blizzard, all the while making a list in his mind of each chore and task that need be completed at the bakery.

#writing #original world #oc #fantasy #wip #novel #fantasy fiction #fiction #female lead #adult fantasy #dark fantasy

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