#dad's birthday lunch done; i now relax by imagining cottagecore-ass domesticity yaaaay

[invinciblerodent]

getting a little bit obsessed with my "cottagecore throuple" here, because the more I think about it, the more disgustingly perfect and idyllic the whole thing is to me.

like... post-game, I like to imagine Shadowheart absolutely thriving. She's a city girl with a deep love for animals, and spotty- to nil memories, most of which are of the worst things to have ever happened in a dank torture-basement: of course a sweet, picturesque forest cottage (so far I like to think that Petyr would call it "The Hovel", even though it's by all means a cozy, nice hunter's lodge) would have her downright giddy, and she deserves every ounce of that happiness ever.

As I imagine it, when not enthusiastically learning all there is to learn about the quasi-self-sustaining life (that she had dropped herself into by shacking up with a literal forest ranger), she spends as much time outside as possible: walks barefoot in the tall grass, stops to smell every flower (and even plants quite a few, just by the vegetables), and lays in the soft underbrush for hours at a time- enjoying the sunlight caressing her face, enjoying a nice novel (and/or a cuddle with Scratch, the cub, or her boyfriend once he sits down for a moment), or just gazing up at the moon and stars in silent worship. She makes friends with every animal that crosses her path, too: SO many potions of animal speaking are consumed, it's absurd. (She's best friends with the chickens. Petyr has to start farming acorn truffles in the basement for her, and that even proves actually very lucrative- in town, that shit sells for like 10-20 gold a pop.)

She'd of course bring home everything that'll let her. Little wildflower bouquets and stuff at first, but also every critter: from juvenile racoons just weaned from their mothers (they look almost like kittens! how cute!), to elderly foxes that just want to curl up in front of the fire and warm their bones somewhere safe for a moment. She's having the time of her goddamn life, she's learning a shitton of life skills she was never taught (finally learning things not meant to make her better at hurting people!), and generally enjoying a life that, while still plagued by remnants of the past (night terrors, perpetrator trauma, loss, grief, pains both suffered and inflicted, all that great stuff), has her feeling actually content with her lot in it.

And with all this, Petyr is... very business as usual, or at least he's trying to pretend that he is. Having someone in what was his space for like 20 years is strange initially, but if there's one thing he's used to, it's adapting. Making things work. (Plus, he's like, happy, or whatever. In love. You know, that sort of rot.)

Then again, he's also used to only having to feed himself with the very little he has, not another (especially another who is inexperienced at this type of thing, and a second another who just... drops by sometimes, always unannounced and unexpected, but never unwelcome), which deep down does have him a bit (a lot) more antsy about not just being the self-appointed guardian of her happiness, but also just... their general survival.

He's keenly aware that winters in the wild are never especially easy, not when you're so far removed from the safety of a community- especially not the way he's used to being alone, without even magic to keep you warm and safe. Usually, he spends most of the year primarily occupied by preparing for winter, and even like that, there have been lean years: years when he got snowed in for tendays, when he did something stupid and all the careful prep went down the shitter, years he had to go hungry and learn to make do with next to nothing.

So he compensates for- (and distracts himself from-) that anxiety by making extra sure that the pantry is stocked to bursting with all the goods there can be, and they often head out into the woods to hunt and forage together- although he's not a great (or even a good) teacher, Shadowheart (usually Shadow, often Heart, lately Jen or Jenny in affection) does make what he used to do out of sheer need, into something also done for fun.

Hunting and foraging are fun now, and soon, the cabinets are overflowing with jars and jars of dry mushrooms, so much homemade deer jerky, jams and jellies and pickles galore... there's mead fermenting, and homemade soap curing before it can be used, firewood stacked to the height of a person... herb bundles, garlic braids, grain corn, and drying peppers are strung up on the rafters like fragrant fairy lights.

Meanwhile, I imagine that Halsin comes and goes as he pleases- not entirely unlike a beloved stray cat. He just shows up one evening as if he had left not tendays, but only a few hours ago, kicks the duff or mud or snow off his boots, and leans his staff into its habitual nook by the door. He sets whatever it is that he brought this time in its appropriate place (be it otherwise unobtainable goods from town, or just a little gift, a treat to enjoy together), and he sinks into the worn-out armchair by the fireplace that was declared his the first time he stayed.

One of the others almost always then strolls by to settle wordlessly on his lap (if not both of them- that poor chair can barely take the combined weight), and just relax as his big, warm fingers slowly work through the knots and ties keeping their hair out of their faces, and, voice rumbling deep in his chest, he tells them all that has happened in Reithwin the past while.

The many smells of dinner and the comforting scent of pipe tobacco mingle with the fragrant herbs and the crackling fire then, and creates something that can only be described as the scent of home.

.............. and then all three just fuck absolute NASTY every day, in every configuration, and on every surface available for the next, oh, month or so.