#catherine fears her fate

[nat-20s]

God GOD okay okay okay okay okay I'm having thoughts I'm having FEELINGS im having a Moment SO

I waanna talk about Ten and Donna (shocker I know) but SPECIFCALLY I wanna talk about like. Them and being besties and soulmatism and red string of fates and what not. Also this post is long as rambly as hell so I'm putting it under a readmore for my non-tendonna girlies <3

So like. The Runaway Bride really does establish them as future besties so so well and some of it is the writing but I do think that some of it is that Catherine Tate and David Tennant, by all available accounts, ALSO immediately got on like a house on fire. Like genuinely i know Acting TM is a thing but I think them getting on is part of why their on screen chemistry is SO electric and dazzling to the point where Donna went from a one off one episode character to *checks notes* a character that came back TWICE and also fundamentally changed the structure and DNA of Doctor Who as a whole so. You know. Pretty impressive. Plus Donna gets to have her first adventure with The Doctor as their absolute worst: Ten is grieving from a FRESH wound of losing Rose, he's incredibly cruel and incredibly cold and straight up murders the Racknoss without a flinch or hint of remorse, and even before that he accidentally kidnaps her and then insults her as someone to dismiss. That's not to say that she doesn't also see The Doctor at their brightest: he ends up treating her with incredible kindness, and he's dazzling and brilliant and cares so much and shows her the creation of the earth itself to provide comfort. However it IS to say that because of the nature of his first interaction with Donna he CAN'T put up a facade she already knows the truth!! She is walking into their dynamic with completely open eyes and at first it fucking scares her! She doesn't dislike him in fact they already are friends after less than a day but

Then partners in crime happens. And she's realized okay no actually I CAN take the bad with the good and I WANT to participate in all of it and I DO want this friendship. The Red Strings of Fate (or maybe the TARDIS being like lmaoo you need this girlie <3) bring them back together and they are Officially Tethered from that point on which is so so so delicious. It's also so so so delicious that Ten's still at an incredibly low point and she's still going into this friendship without any ruses in place. Like oh shit yeah they are Bound together even if they did separate now they would almost certainly find each other again.

AND THEN AND THEN!!! We've already established The Doctor and Donna as fast best friends but holllllyyyy shit I think Fires of Pompeii is what establishes them as forever Soulmates. I meant canonically the ending of Fires of Pompeii where she has him save the family fundamentally changed The Doctor for the rest of their lives and gave them a guiding moral compass long after she wasn't there so yeah that's pretty fuckin soulmates of them. But I actually think them as a concept of two people sharing one soul (for the better!!) happens earlier in the episode. The exact moment in fact is THIS ONE:

The Doctor has to make a choice. There are no good options: both are mass destruction and death. And it's SUCH a Doctor choice to have to make: actively destroy Pompeii and everyone in it, or allow the entire world to be destroyed. Not only that but it will likely kill both him and Donna as well. It's a mix of self sacrifice and other sacrifice to save the world and it's a horrific situation to be in.

It is a narrative that parallels the choice he made in the Time War. It is an archetypical Burden of the Doctor.

And then she looks into his eyes, sees his fear and hesitation and remorse and guilt, and wordlessly puts her hands on his. They push the lever to destroy Pompeii together. And it becomes the burden of the DoctorDonna.

#tennant doctor #tenth doctor #donna noble #doctor who #THEY'RE SOULMATES THEY'RE SOULMATES THEY'RE SOULMATES #im OBSESSED with how intricate of an understanding she has of him LONG before she gets his mind. #the way that they experience and process and react to things is sooo similar in some ways and SOOO perfectly counterbalanced in others im #*chews glass*

[moonmeg]

!!TW for panel 3-5// Blood

Seeing him unharmed and alive in his crib was the greatest relief. He was crying but he was alive. With a soft shush she picked the babe from the crib and cradled him in her arms.

"It's alright, little sprout, it's all perfectly fine. Mama's here.", she tried to calm him with a small rocking motion. Her eyes were fully fixated on his little chubby face and the big round tears running down his pink cheeks. It was still a bit surreal to think this was her baby. Her baby that she had carried beneath her heart for almost nine months. Cat started walking around the room while continuing her attempt to calm him. By now she had figured out how to tell his cries apart. His current cry wasn't of hunger, nor did he have an unpleasant smell about him.

"Did you have a bad dream, my love?", she asked and gently wiped the tears off his face, "Me too...". Robyn wasn't a talker just yet, but he was a great listener. While Cat had many great advisors and comforters around her, whenever she started to speak with Robyn, she realized that sometimes all it needs is someone who simply listens. Of course, she knew he doesn't understand her and that he won't remember any of what she's telling him but the idea that he did was nice enough for her to continue talking to him. So she began fighting against Robyn's cries by retelling him her own dream.

"I dreamed about your Papa. He was here and he looked so proud and full of love as he looked at you. We were all together, just as intended. We were happy.", she smiled at the image in her head. How he was standing next to her before the self-made crib he had spent months on. His hand's firm grip on her upper arm as he pulled her closer to him. His warm brown eyes carrying the love he feels for her in just one look. His proud smile towards his son, his soft touch on her cheek and chin. It all felt so real. Cat couldn't help the tear she shed upon the repeating realization that this image will never be a reality. He was gone. No matter how much in denial she wanted to be or was about it.

Caleb was gone.

"Then he appeared.", she put emphasis on "he". Cathy didn't want to speak his name, nor did she want Robyn to ever hear that name. She would rather have that name and the person it was given to be forgotten. That was his biggest concern, wasn't it? He wanted to be remembered as great witch hunter and as savior to humanity. He wanted his name in history books and an everlasting legacy. She figured, she would not give him that.

She knows she can't shut away the story attached to that person. Sooner or later Robyn would ask what had happened to his father and she wasn't planning on lying to him. But if Robyn never hears the name, even if he retells the story of Caleb's fate to friends or perhaps even his own children some day, the name would never be mentioned and slowly be forgotten. It would be "the person" and not "Philip".

Cat paused, thinking of how to continue the telling. The images flashing her mind threw her right back to that terrible day. Right back to the horrifying sight of her beloved Caleb lying in a growing puddle of blood on the floor, clenching his side, coughing...

She had tried her best to push those memories back and instead replace them with happy memories of him. It was too painful a sight to revisit again and again but she wasn't able to push it away fully.

His blood-dyed shirt, the blood strains on his chin and his arm, the pain and sadness in his eyes, the last of his strength he put into a final kiss before he exhaled one last time and lost the life in his body... she was there. She held him through it all.

She feared those moments would now be her steady company in life. They would always return and reopen the wound and she couldn't escape it.

Catherine looked back to her little son, still very much crying, as she decided to not go into detail about what exactly her subconsciousness tortured her with. Both, because it wasn't fit to tell your month old baby and because she could hardly bear saying the required words.

"I'll spare us both of telling what he did. But he did something horrible. And then...he said something so cruel about you.", she brushed her index finger over Robyn's cheek as if he knew what cruelty was said and she wanted to comfort him.

Robyn's cries lost volume but they weren't gone. He noticed he was no longer alone in the crib but that he was held by someone and he noticed quickly it was his mother so close to him. He knew her scent and he recognized her voice. Sometimes that's all he needed to calm down again: mama.

Said mama stared at him in adoration. She loved her little sprout ever since the healers told her she was pregnant. He has grown so much in just eight months and he still was. She was in awe every time anew. That's her son. Her little boy, who surely would grow into a fine young man... much like his late father. Catherine saw the world in this little life and she was proud to call herself his mother.

"He's just so wrong about you. He said you were never supposed to exist...", her brows furrowed in confusion. If Robyn was never supposed to exist, clearly he wouldn't be here now and clearly, Caleb and her would've never been able to conceive him in the first place. If, by Philip's logic, this child was the aftermath of a so-called "sin", if not a "sin" himself, surely that almighty person Caleb and his brother believed in would've not allowed Robyn to exist. She barely understood any of that topic and yet still even regarding that human belief, everything speaks *for* her baby's existence, not against it.

Robyn made a noise, striking his fist in the air as if in protest of the statement. His cries having ceased under Cathy's rocking-while-walking.

"Yeah.", Cat chuckled and validated Robyn's reply, "He's absolutely wrong.".

She paused for a moment to take the blanket from the crib and wrap him up in it. He was calm now again and it wouldn't take long before he dozed off again. So she hoped at least. Once wrapped up, she adjusted him and placed him over her chest, his head in the crook of her neck, where she was shielding it with her hand.

"You're a gift. The most amazing, wonderful, beautiful gift. And we love you more than anything else. Your father and me.", Cat smiled and turned her head to kiss his crown. She kept her lips pressed to his forehead as the clear night sky caught her attention for a while.

"I wonder what traits of yours he picked up, sweetheart.", she pulled her head back to examine her baby's face once again. There wasn't much of Caleb in Robyn's face but that's to blame on Robyn being a baby still. Of course his facial features are to grow over the years and he wouldn't have a sharp angular jaw as infant but so far Robyn has picked up more from his mother than his father.

"Maybe his hair will stay this light? Maybe his eyes are a warm brown? Or maybe it's something completely different?"

She would welcome any resemblance to her lost love and she would lie if she denied the fact she wished he looked more like Caleb sometimes rather than her when Robyn's older. She'd have her beloved's face back. She'd have his blond locks back. She'd have his beautiful brown eyes back. She'd have him back at least somehow.

Then she noticed Robyn's pointy ears - a trait definitely from her - and further spun the thoughts.

Robyn could grow into her long face and pointy chin. His dirty blond could grow into the brown of her's over the years. He could have her piercing teal eyes. He could be the spitting image of her just as much as he could be of that of Caleb.

"Maybe he barely looks like you when he's older...", she frowned upon the conclusion.

Turning away from the window, she drew a circle in the air and the curtains closed. She got back into bed, holding her infant son tightly as she still lightly rocked him back and forth. She kissed his head again. Whichever traits he picked up from Caleb and whichever from her, in the end her baby was beautiful and perfect just the way he is. He was a gift. Caleb's most precious gift. One she will protect from harm with her life. Her little sprout. Her little Robyn.

#tw: blood #tdaac #tdaac moonmeg #toh #the owl house #catherine clawthorne #catherine megpeggs #evelyn clawthorne #caleb wittebane #caleb clawthorne #robyn clawthorne #philip wittebane #toh fanart #the owl house fanart #toh oc #toh fancomic #the owl house fancomic

[ellenembee]

I agree with all the posts out there talking about the Persuasion "adaptation's" character assassination. From what we can see (though I fully admit trailers aren't always true to the movie), Anne is not the calm, reserved, rational, reliable, sensible, and above all self possessed woman of the books, but rather some kind of modern construct built from Austen's more popular women like Lizzie and Emma. (In reality, Anne, Elinor, and Fanny Price would be on a blanket sipping tea while Lizzie, Emma, Catherine, and Marianne were off vexing men and making trouble.)

One thing I haven't seen mentioned, though, is that from the context of the times, Anne was not just being swayed because she valued her family's continued support and Lady Russell's opinion, but because Lady Russell's concerns were real and frightening. Marrying Wentworth *before* he made his fortune was an *incredible* risk to her safety and wellbeing. Throughout the book, we see countless manifestations of "what if" scenarios:

Mr. Elliott as an example of how she likely would've been disowned by her family if she'd married Frederick anyway

Anne's old school friend Mrs. Smith as an example of her life if she'd married anyway, been disowned, and Frederick had died or become injured enough to not be able to properly support her

Benwick and Fanny Harville as an example of what might have happened if she'd kept the engagement but agreed not to marry him until he'd made enough to support them

Her sister Mary's comfortable life as an example of what she might have had if she'd said yes to Charles Musgrove.

Louisa Musgrove as an example of how Anne might have acted if she'd been less risk averse and less prudent in her youth.

You can argue the validity of Anne's situation compared to these manifestations (likely Lady Russell would have risked angering Sir Elliott and taken Anne in with the idea of an eventual reconciliation), but there are countless other examples throughout the book. They are meant to reinforce the point that Anne is reconciled to her own actions, much as she might regret them.

This is not a book where Anne blames herself or her family. She did the "right" thing by breaking it off with Frederick. She just now wishes with her whole being that she hadn't done the "right" thing.

"... but Anne, at seven-and-twenty, thought very differently from what she had been made to think at nineteen. She did not blame Lady Russell, she did not blame herself for having been guided by her ... She was persuaded that under every disadvantage of disapprobation at home, and every anxiety attending his profession, all their probable fears, delays, and disappointments, she should yet have been a happier woman in maintaining the engagement than she had been in the sacrifice of it."

And later, to Frederick:

"If I was wrong in yielding to persuasion once, remember that it was to persuasion exerted on the side of safety, not of risk."

In hindsight, she sees all the risks and all the examples of her possible life choices, and thinks now it would have been worth the pain and risk. To be disappointed by fate would have been far better than the constant estrangement from the man she has loved for eight years.

Anne sees all the possibilities of how her life might have played out in the people around her, and she accepts it.

And the best part is that Frederick acknowledges that Anne was right to be cautious.

"He had imagined himself indifferent, when he had only been angry, and he had been unjust to her merits, because he had been a sufferer from them ... He had learnt to distinguish between the steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of self-will, between the darings of heedlessness and the resolution of a collected mind ...

Fredrick knew he'd been resentful and proud. And he owns up to his mistake of thinking ill of her for so long. He admits he was his own worst enemy when it came to his happiness with Anne. And Anne reinforces this with her words to him near the end:

I have been thinking over the past ... and I must believe that I was right, much as I suffered from it, that I was perfectly right in being guided by [Lady Russell] ... Do not mistake me, however. I am not saying that she did not err in her advice. It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which advice is good or bad only as the event decides ...

Anne is calm. She follows her conscience. She is sensible and, yes, resolute when she needs to be. She's amazing as she is and doesn't need to be made into something she's not.

She is appealing because of who she is, and it's also why she's my favorite Austen woman. To divorce Anne of these things is to create a new character and inherently alter the story.

So call it something else. Say it's "inspired by" Persuasion if you want. But don't pretend that you can alter the main character's very personality and still call it Persuasion.

#persuasion #jane austen #i haven't gone this deep into literary critique since my Brit lit days #but Anne deserves better #and she also deserves to be understood in the context of her times #she did what she thought was right #she regretted it #but she never blamed herself or her family #it simply was what it was #time for another read through of the book i guess #not my anne #okay i might be done now #but probably not lbr #still salty #mine

[tavyliasin]

All We Cannot Have - Halsin x f!Tav One Shot

Some things magic cannot heal, and Tav has held her secrets close to her chest for a long time. It was just her luck to fall for the one man who clearly longed for something out of reach... When the world felt like it was ending, his love was a comfort, his embrace a rock in the storm. But now the seas are calm once more, she knows she has to let go, to swim away and leave him the chance to find what he wants most even if it has to be without her.

And yet... Letting go is harder than holding on ever was.

--- Click Here to read on AO3

2,386 words Pairing: Tav/Halsin SPICE Rating: 0.5/5 Content Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fertility/Infertility,

Spoilers References to all acts and epilogue Canon Compliance Almost everything is canon except the character circumstances Other Notes This is a heavy and emotional chapter, so if the content is at all troubling you please feel free to skip it, or ensure you have support for your wellbeing.

Mood/Song Fear Not This Night by Freya Catherine and Jack Victor "Distant sounds of melodies calling through the night to your heart. Auroras, mists and echoes dance in the solitude of our life. Pleading silent arias gently grieving in captive misery. Darkness sings a forlorn song and yet our hope can still rise up. Nightmares come when shadows grow. Lift your voice, lift your heart.

Fear not this night, you will not go astray. Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way. And though the night sky's filled with blackness... Fear not rise up... come on and take my hand. Fear not this night, you will not go astray. Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way."

----- FULL ONE SHOT FIC BELOW THE CUT -----

Tav first noticed it at the Tiefling party. Of everyone there, he was the one speaking with the refugees, a light at the heart of the celebration. Halsin’s laughter was warm and soft, echoing around the clearing as the children hung from his arms, climbing on tables to leap onto his back. Her heart warmed even as the tears sprang unbidden to her eyes, a lingering pain still stinging in old wounds she refused to reveal.  The next time was with Arabella, the druid quietly comforting her after the fate of her parents had been uncovered. He was patient with the girl, despite how abrasive she was in the heat of her grief at first. He let her calm as he made small honey treats, the smell of the cooking eventually luring her over to try one. Tav stayed back. She had done enough damage for one day - there was never going to be a right way to tell the girl her parents were gone, after all. Arabella would only be more upset if she got involved… Not long after came Thaniel, both halves of him. Watching him carry the boy - a child by appearance alone, he was likely older than both her and Halsin put together - broke her heart in two. The worry on his face, the determination to do what was right for both of them, the deep and unwavering care was evident in every word and action. When the curse was finally lifting, she was sure he might weep as they watched the land returning to what it always should have been, the smiles of Thaniel and Oliver both reflecting in his eyes.  Even at the Last Light Inn, several times Tav saw Halsin sneaking extra rations to the refugee children, slipping a couple of coins to them, leaving things they might like unattended where they could be “stolen”. 

It had been half a century since she last thought of anything like this. She thought it might easily be another full one too, but there he was, and all the emotions were stirring without permission. Still, against better judgement, Tav’s blue-tinted skin took on a violet hue when he looked her way, the blush rising to the tips of her pointed ears. They were close in age, the moon elf finding herself drawn to her cousin-kin easily, and by all accounts they were a perfect match in every way…except that one. She would give him the world, had she any choice in the matter, but the world could not give them what his heart clearly longed for. The city was little different, first with Yenna coming to camp, then with seeing the refugees again… It was getting harder and harder to ignore it. Halsin loved them, every single one, and his face would light up brighter than the sun when they smiled. It was like he was born for the role, even though he pushed it all aside, choosing to risk his life for Tav and her friends, for a city he had no stake in… Selfless to a fault. How could she not fall in love with him? His warmth and kindness further warmed by the way she felt in his arms, the way his lips caressed her skin, how fully he would give himself over to her. Halsin was everything she had ever dreamed of in a lifetime of wanderlust. And how it broke Tav’s heart to know it couldn’t last… After the final battle, the party had lasted long into the night, and their personal celebration went past the break of dawn. One last time, she told herself, one time to remember, to sear him into her memory. 

—

The soft light of the morning sun was filtering through patchwork curtains as they began to rise - much as she might wish, staying in his arms forever was not an option. The comfort of warm blankets and a warmer embrace could not last. Halsin’s soft eyes caught the look in her own. “My heart? You look troubled, what is it? Was I too…excited, last night? Lay down, let me take care of you-” 

“No, it’s not that. You were perfect, as always.” Tav cut him off, pulling back a little, gathering her clothes to pull them back on. Maybe for the last time… It had to be. For his sake, no matter what she wanted. “What are your plans from here? For the future?”

“My love, I thought we had spoken of this. I know for certain now. The lands you helped me to heal, it will make the perfect home for everyone who is lacking one. We can rebuild. There are many who will never feel this city as a home, many more who are not welcomed by the current residents…” He reached out to touch her cheek, but she withdrew the moment he made contact like she had been scalded. She regretted it the moment she heard the hurt in his voice.  “Did I do something wrong? Was it something I said? I was hoping you would join me, to build our new home together.” 

“I’m not right for you, Halsin.” Tav could no longer meet his eyes. Her heart sank to her knot-filled stomach, the agony of the truth burning in every tear as she tried so desperately to hold back the flood. “I can’t give you what you want.” 

“There is nothing I could want more than simply to have you in my life, to have a place of our own in the Oakfather’s arms- My heart, I would be satisfied simply to grow old and grey with you.” Every moment made it harder, she couldn’t even bring herself to pull her shoulder away from the gentle hand he laid upon it. “Why would you think yourself unworthy? Nature has made no finer blessing than you.” “Nature…did not bless me, Halsin. I can never give you what you want.” As Tav talked, Halsin remained silent, listening, honey-brown eyes fixed on her even though she couldn’t bear to meet his gaze. She brought her knees to her chest, still sat on the bed and only half dressed, but she had never felt more naked than when she spoke next. “I’ve seen you. I’ve watched you, it’s impossible not to notice how badly you want a family. And…that’s what I can never give. I’ve sought every cure, been to every healer, I once even considered the aid of a Hag but thankfully had at least more sense than desperation that time. Even a Wish would be foolish - the gods have such a way of twisting the words of our dreams into the shadows of nightmares.” She sighed, the breath leaving her with the last hint of hope that had long sat abandoned in her heart. “So…I can’t go with you, it wouldn’t be fair. You deserve someone who can let you become the father you are so clearly destined to be. I love you more than any words could ever do justice, and that’s exactly why I’m doing this now…it would be unkind to us both to deny you that.” —

Halsin watched her, as he had many times. He had seen the hint of pain Tav pushed back, noticed the thin silver scars on her body when they had spent many a night together, and he saw her now. How her body shook with the emotion she had been holding back since long before they met. Desperation, loneliness, heartbreak… A part of him knew, had always known, those silver-grey eyes were a mirror. The glass was shattering, beautiful shards falling as saline rivers coursing down her cheeks and landing on the dark silk of her shirt. He wrapped his arms around his lover, pulling her close, no longer letting her make the choice to draw back and leave. Her dark hair was soft under his caress, her whole being feeling so small and fragile he never wanted to let go in case she fell apart completely. The druid had prayed to the Oakfather many times, had walked the same road of seeking answers that could never be found. Even nature’s blessings had their limits, after all. Not every dream was destined to come true. As Halsin felt Tav’s tears ebb away to the quiet of eyes that burned dry with nothing left to give, his own heart threatened to break all over again. He kissed the top of her head, wishing he could fill her with hope, give her a solution, but at the end of the day reality would always break through. 

—

Tav felt his voice as much as heard it, the soft vibration rumbling through his chest, his words quiet and warm. “My love…” He was hesitant, gentle fingers caressing her back and hair with the same affection he always had, strong arms refusing to let go. “Do you think that biology is all there is to it? That the substance of the body is what makes a family?” Tav listened, sniffling slightly, feeling a little unsure on how to answer.

“I have known for a long time that I can never father a child, but I can still be a father.” Halsin’s words came as a surprise. She had always assumed that the weight on her shoulders was one she would carry alone… It wasn’t something that lovers discussed in the early days of romance, and friends would rarely raise the topic other than to announce good tidings. It was a silent shame. Penance for sins unknown, the chains that bound the broken to the cracks in their souls that even magic could never heal- And in one moment, it all fell away.

Halsin lifted her chin with his hand, looking deep into her eyes, the spark of hope in the warm honey tones beginning to heal the old scars that had been on the edge of tearing asunder. “My heart… What we pass on is far beyond our looks, our bloodlines. We give of ourselves those deeper parts. Our love, our heart, our memories… Everything that we feel and all that we have learned is more of who we are than the red in our veins or the colour of our eyes.” “I…you never told me.” Tav blinked, realising the irony in how she had held back the truth from him just the same. “What was I to say, my love? I could see how it hurt you, I hoped that asking you to join me today would bring only joy, to promise you a future. Our future.” He kissed her forehead, hand cupping her cheek, thumb gently wiping away the stains of tears. “I thought I had wept enough for the both of us, on those nights when you rested peacefully below the stars, and all my mind could recall was how lonely you looked when the children were playing.” Tav finally released her knees from her own grip, bringing her hand to the back of the druid’s head, fingers lightly lacing through soft hair as she pressed her forehead against his own. “We should have spoken far sooner.”

His laugh was as soft and warm as the scent of moss and leather that was always present when they were this close. “Whatever shall we do with each other…” “Maybe I should apologise first. I didn’t mean to keep anything from you, or to pull away, and, gods, the last thing I really wanted to do was leave. But I thought…I thought it was the only way you could have the future you deserve.” Tav felt the embarrassment colour her cheeks a deeper violet beneath the pale blue tones that her own parents had gifted her. “You have every right to be angry with me for how foolish I’ve been.” “Anger is the furthest thing from my mind,” Halsin soothed her fears, channelling a little magic to his hand to cool her cheek. “Let us make our plans. Thaniel’s lands should be recovering well but will still need time. Yet there are plenty of people here in the city who have found themselves unwelcome, more still who feel unsafe after all they have seen in these streets. There is a town to rebuild, an Inn we can stay at, even Moonrise could be restored to become a beacon of hope again.” Tav smiled, her heart warming more than it had in many a long year. “And plenty of children who need a family.” 

“Sadly a great number of them,” Halsin replied, almost as if he felt the ripples of their loss. “They may not all wish to come with us, but we can give them an option. An open door, open arms, and open hearts.” 

“Is there ever a limit to your kindness, Halsin?” Tav rubbed her nose against his affectionately. “Possibly.” He returned the gesture, the hint of his own smile in his response this time too. “Would you like to find out?” 

“We’re going to end up rivalling Jaheira’s brood, aren’t we?” She couldn’t help but think of the older druid’s adopted family, how they all took care of each other when she was away. “But let’s not go on too many adventures, not unless we have to. I think I’ve had quite enough excitement and danger for a while.” “I couldn’t have said it better myself, my love.” Halsin finally broke the contact, leaning his head back a little to look at her again. “I cannot wait to see if any of them pick up your laugh, the way you smile in the sun, develop your terrible skills in the kitchen-”  Tav playfully bit his nose. “That was one time! But… Fine, you can teach them how to cook, which berries are safe to eat, and I’ll show them how to properly hold a sword or run from the scary old bear chasing after them to wash behind their ears.”

The pain was falling away, the pieces of broken dreams being gathered from the floor, stitched together into a new pattern. Patchwork, perhaps, and not the tapestry either of them might have imagined in centuries past, but every new thread wove something stronger. Shards of what couldn’t be beginning to form the stained glass mosaic of a brighter future now the storm had passed.

--- --- ENDING NOTES --- ---

I won't lie, I took my heart from my chest and threw it at the page, hurting every feeling I have ever had in the process. But that in itself is cathartic, the piece needed out, the story needed to be told.

Life may not always work in our favour, fate takes away choices we might have had, and some things even magic cannot solve. But healing can come in different forms, like finding a different future, and finding the last flickering light in the dark to chase the shadows away.

#halsin x tav #halsin #tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #fanfic #bg3 tav #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic #angst #hurt/comfort #heavy topics #one shot fic

[theroyalhouseofwindenburg]

In the ensuing weeks, Westsimster became a landscape of chaos, consumed by flames, smoke, and devastation as King Wilhelm's knights mercilessly raided the city, burning everyone infected with the plague. The numbers of the afflicted had surged to a point where King Wilhelm, in a desperate attempt to rid the disease, ordered The Tower to be locked down. His knights were instructed to burn not only the infected people but also everything they possessed. The streets were now lined with piles of burning bodies, casting a ghastly glow on the once-vibrant city.

Plague doctors, clad in eerie masks, roamed the area, attempting to study the illness. However, the knights, driven by fear and brutality, continued to kill innocent people, tossing them into the fires. The black death was relentless, and if the knights didn't get to you, the plague itself claimed lives within a matter of days. Thousands of Windenburg's citizens perished, marking a dark and tragic chapter in the city's history.

Within the confines of Windenburg Castle, the situation was far from contained. Lady Catherine Carling, one of Cordelia's ladies-in-waiting, succumbed to the black death in her chambers. Plague doctors and knights, astounded by the rapid spread of the disease, witnessed her attendant confirming the grim news. King Wilhelm declared the castle under quarantine, isolating various royals and nobles in different chambers, providing meager supplies of dry foods and root vegetables, with doors boarded up until further notice.

Queen Cordelia, Prince Wilhelm, Augusta, and Lady Rotchford found themselves confined within the east wing of the castle. As they sat around a round table by the fireplace, peering at a small loaf of bread and a bowl of pottage, Prince Wilhelm voiced the frustration prevalent among them. "Why have things turned out this way? And when can we have meat again?" Cordelia responded somberly, "My dear, we have scarce provisions, and meat is a luxury. Make do with what's before you."

While Cordelia faced scarcity, King Wilhelm lived in stark contrast. Quarantining in his opulent bedchambers with his favored mistress, 23-year-old Anne Matthews, he enjoyed access to servants and the finest foods. Adorned in jewels, they seemed oblivious to the plight outside. Garlic vines hung throughout the king's quarters in a feeble attempt to ward off the plague. While Windenburg suffered, King Wilhelm and Anne reveled in indulgence, Anne even assisting Wilhelm in the bath.

As the cold months descended, Windenburg remained gripped by the relentless plague. Matthias, too, had fallen victim to the insidious grasp of the black death. The guard, bearing a solemn expression, approached King Wilhelm with dire news. Matthias's condition had been deteriorating with each passing day. He hesitated before continuing, "Your Grace, I understand your command to burn the infected, but I felt compelled to bring this to your attention as Matthias is your trusted advisor."

Wilhelm, with an icy gaze, turned to the guard and uttered in a grim tone, "Burn him." Without a moment's pause, he began to walk away, leaving the guard to carry out the heartless command. As Wilhelm approached the door, the sounds of a struggle echoed from Matthias's chambers. In a feeble attempt to plead for mercy, Matthias, weakened by the disease, called out, "Your Grace! Please have mercy. After everything I have helped you with over the years, please, sir!" Despite the desperate plea, Wilhelm exited the room without a flicker of emotion, as if the poignant scene had left no impact on his conscience.

On that same fateful morning, Augusta stirred from her slumber in the east wing. Determined to lend a helping hand, she decided to descend the cold stone steps and join Lady Rotchford in preparing breakfast. However, as she walked through the door to Lady Rotchford's room, the scene that unfolded before her was one of immediate shock and dread.

Lady Rotchford lay lifeless on the floor, having seemingly fallen from her bed during the night. Her complexion, once vibrant, now bore the pallor of death, marked by the telltale signs of the plague. Augusta's scream echoed through the castle as she crumpled to the floor in sheer horror. Lady Rotchford, who had been a constant presence in Augusta's life since infancy, now succumbed to the merciless grasp of the black death.

The commotion drew Cordelia and Prince Wilhelm rushing to the scene. Their faces contorted with disbelief, they joined Augusta in the chamber, their collective anguish palpable. Cordelia's shock turned into desperate action as she pounded on the chamber doors, futilely pleading for a response. The thick stone walls remained unyielding.

Defeated, Cordelia sank to the floor alongside Augusta and Prince Wilhelm. The weight of the tragedy pressed upon them, the reality of the plague's presence within the castle becoming ominously clear. In the midst of their grief, Cordelia couldn't shake the haunting thought if Lady Rotchford, confined to her room, had fallen victim to the infection, the black death had infiltrated the very heart of their sanctuary, its invisible menace threatening to engulf them all.

#simsmedieval #royalsims #sims4 #windenburg #royal #sims #gameofthrones #thesimsmedieval #royalty #simsstory #simmer #historical sims #royalty sims #sim legacy #sims 4 #simblr #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 cc #sims 4 screenshots #my sims #the sims 4 #the sims #showusyoursims #historicalsims #history #historical #historic #ts4 decades challenge #ultimate decades challenge #decades legacy

[calisources]

THE   CW'S   REIGN   SEASON   THREE QUOTES.all   these   sentences   were   taken   from   season   three of   the   historical   fictional   show,   reign.   change   pronouns,   locations   and   names   as   you   see   fit.   

Elizabeth's real war is with me.

I am just as strong and as stubborn as Elizabeth. I will not live in fear of her! 

Are you trying to blame a woman for a man's choices? 

I hope your wings are strong, you vulture. You will be circling for quite some time.

You must wed again. You must love again.

I will take back what is mine, and if you want to stop me, you'll have to kill me.

An outsider? That's because I am.

No matter what you might think, I can't just force men to fall in love with me.

 I am a queen, about to marry a broken prince for power.

It's time to accept my fate.

I will not be chased out of my country before I've even retuned.

I will fight fire with fire. 

The day may come where we may find ourselves on the battle field. What would you do then?

Impressive. Where did you learn to shoot like that?

Well, King Francis was right. Now that I've seen your abilities with a bow, I certainly won't be crossing you.

I will rip out his heart as he did mine.

Help me bring all of my people together, or may God and your queen have mercy on your soul.

I will dismantle her power bit by bit. Every choice I make, who I fight, who I support, who I marry, will be in service of taking her throne.

Who cares about right or wrong if you're dead?

Why would my presence startle you? Oh, because you married my lover. 

You startled me.

You are offering me a kindness and consideration I have rarely shown you through the years.

I feel love toward my dead brother and anger that people think you could harm him. Those feelings lead me to stand here with you.

Like a queen men would die for.

Honestly, Mother! How many people have you killed?!

I am their Queen. Their whispers are treason.

It is a fact of our time. A man rules his wife. Even if his wife is a queen.

 What's the cost of a king's life?

Show people you are worthy of the post you hold, and no one will remember how you rose to it.

To marry you is to defy my king, to risk Catherine's wrath and the judgment of my friends, and yet... you make me feel stronger than I've ever felt before.

Do you treat all your political hostages so kindly?

It's incredible, really. I march to my execution very soon, and yet you are the one to be pitied.

There can only be one queen. And I had to choose mine. 

You may not be king, but your actions reflect on Francis, and he has the weight of thousands of lives, just like this one, on his shoulders. Be wiser next time.

God, I wish mother were here. She manages tragedy with ruthless clarity.

I'm a princess! 

Stop saying you have no choice, Charles. You're the King!

I never said I was a good man, but one can receive good advice from a bad person.

Without him the nights are long and lonely. I can't imagine what they must be like without the man you truly love.

This idea of yours. A bloodless defensive, it's a delusion you talked yourself into.

And because you value power more than anyone else, you will always be alone.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. ) #rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt

[copiousloverofcopia]

OH MY SWEET LUCIFER!💗

I know it has been a LONG time since I updated, and I really appreciate all of you who have been sticking around to read my work. I promise I will do everything in my power to always finish a fic I start, and I am happy to finally have an update for Terzo and Mary!

Thank you so much for allowing me to write for you! Hope you all enjoy!

Commissions are OPEN, please see pinned post for Carrd info!

Beautiful divider credit to @gothdaddyissues

Holy Mary

Sister Mary Catherine was only weeks away from taking her vows when she has a chance encounter with a man. A man she finds out is the Pope of the Satanic church.

Chapter 9: The End Days

Also available HERE on AO3! Haven’t started yet? Read from the beginning HERE!

Definitely NSFW below!

Secondo and Primo waited impatiently outside in the hall. The sounds of their footfalls, echoing down the corridor as they paced the marble floor. The door to the infirmary was closed to them. The Ministry physician and Terzo on the other side, doing everything they could to save Mary and the child. 

Secondo’s heart was heavy. Filled with the guilt of coveting her. No longer envying his brother for the perceived honor he had been bestowed, but instead wounded by the knowledge of his brother’s pain. Feeling even more culpable having developed feelings for her. Still drawn to Mary, much as he supposed Terzo had been in the beginning. 

Called by her fair face and sweet disposition. The likes of which, Secondo would normally regard as begging for his personal style of corruption and obscenity. Lustful thoughts he now wished he could bury, strangle—kill off. Primo noticed it, his brother’s descent into his thoughts, becoming madder as the seconds passed. Ticking away on the monstrance clock down the hall.

“What are you thinking?” Primo asked him. 

“Nothing.” Secondo scoffed, folding his arms and continuing to pace. Primo hated being lied to, especially when they already knew he knew. Bringing his arm up to halt him with a jolt to the chest. Stopping Secondo in his tracks.

“Cazzate. So quando nascondi qualcosa. Pensi che sia la prima volta che mi menti. Che sono completamente nuovo alla tua stupidità?” he spewed, groaning in Italiano. Always faltering to his native tongue when he became flustered or angry. 

“It’s this whole thing.”

“Jealousy was always your downfall Secondo… you need to learn not everything belongs to you.” Primo snapped. Pissed that Secondo was still hung up on misplaced desires for their brother’s lover. Convinced that Secondo cared more about satisfying his cock than he did anything else. 

“I know, and for that I am sorry.” he sighed, a moment of true contrition from him. One Primo had not expected, when Terzo came from behind the door. Still covered in blood, but his face awash in relief. 

“She’s stable. For how long we don’t know.” Terzo explained, running his hand over his head. Allowing himself a moment to come down from the surge of adrenaline that had come from what transpired. 

“Did she receive the wound fratello? The wound of the spear?” Primo asked, hoping that if she had, and survived it, by Satan’s grace then maybe she would be spared the fate he had feared was destined for her.

“No…no she did not.”

Hours later, Terzo refused to leave Mary’s side once more. His head hung low towards his lap. Pounding and spinning. Never before in his life had he felt such pain and anguish. Scared with every fiber of his being that Mary would pay the price for his own selfishness—his cowardice. He held her hand gently as she laid beside him on the bed—unconscious and lost.

“What’s done, is done fratello. You can’t change that.” Primo told him. His brotherly hand, placed atop Terzo’s shoulder. Trying to comfort the brother who he could not bear to see suffering. The greatness of it was unimaginable as the woman Terzo loved—who carried his child, remained somewhere in purgatory. Paying for their shared crime against Heaven—alone.  

“So I just sit here? Siediti come un fottuto idiota?” he lashed out. An action that would have normally elicited a slap from Primo, now leaving him despondent. Terzo clutching tighter to Mary’s hand. Hoping for some sign that she was going to be alright. That he could look to the future and see them thriving. 

Even now he imagined it—a small child and his Mary. Surrounded by the beauty of the gardens. Her smiling face, turning back to look at him as he followed closely behind them. All he had ever wanted, wrapped up in that one small fragment of hope still holding on inside him. 

“Of course, not Terzo. Come with me, let us go find Secondo and formulate a plan.” Primo suggested. Terzo looked up at him through his brows. Angry that all the answers had always led to more questions. Knowing just how dire the current situation had become and that their time had all but run out. Watching as Mary was slipping away.

“What, pray tell would he do to help? The man has practically been avoiding me since this all started. Something is going on with him. I have half a mind to think he has something to do with this.” Terzo groaned.

“While I admit there is more to his sulking than meets the eye, I hardly can believe that he is responsible for this. You know better than that fratello.” Primo reasoned with him. Terzo lamented, nodding his head in agreement. Primo was right, while he was certainly not innocent, Secondo did not create this problem.

Something felt off once more to Terzo. The words Primo had said stuck with him. Lingering a moment before he inquired about them. Asking his brother for clarification.

“What do you mean there is more than meets the eye.” Terzo asked, his curiosity piqued as Primo began rubbing at his temples. Exhaling through pursed lips as he realized what he had just done. 

“Terzo this really isn’t the time.” Primo explained, hoping that thing would just move on, but knowing full well that once Terzo had his mind set to ask there would be no getting around it. 

“Tell me now.”

“Secondo… he… well the stronzo has developed some feelings for…”, Primo began as he gestured towards Mary, “They are misplaced as usual and he will absolutely not act on them, but of course you know him. He always wants the toy he doesn’t have.” Primo explained, desperately trying to downplay the situation, when Terzo rose up from his spot on the bed. The vein on his forehead, bulging as he went to leave the room.

Secondo came drifting out of the confessional booth. Following a very disheveled sister of sin, who seemed to be in a hurry to leave, as Primo and Terzo approached him. Primo rolled his eyes as he watched Secondo adjusting his slacks. 

“I hope we aren’t interrupting. Terzo hissed. His eyes filled with fury. Ready to tear Secondo apart. His resolve barely held together as Secondo replied. 

“I needed to get some things off my mind.”

“Yeah… I know exactly what it is you need to relieve yourself of you stronzo!” Terzo growled. Secondo, looking over to Primo for answers before dodging a punch. 

“Che cazzo stai facendo?” Secondo yelled, ready for Terzo’s next move. 

“He knows fratello.” Primo explained.

“Knows what?” Secondo groaned as Primo did his best to stop Terzo from lunging at him once again. Terzo’s chest heaving and teeth clenched—ready for a fight. 

“Cazzo! You think I don't know what you are thinking? That I can’t see the things you think are hidden. The truths I know you have uttered in darkness, behind closed doors. Vile things spit from your mouth under the veil of anonymity. I had my suspicions, but the confirmation… you disgust me.” Terzo growled, grabbing hold of Secondo’s chasuble. Ready to kill him with his bare hands. 

“Now is not the time, Terzo. You need to think about Mary. You needn't be worried about this fool. He knows he is out of line. I assure you.” Primo proclaimed, pulling Terzo off and pushing Secondo back from attempting to swing on him. 

“Va’ a farti fottere.” Terzo said, spitting in Secondo's direction as he took off towards the gardens.

Terzo reached the greenhouse. Desperate for the fresh air, to remove himself from his conflict with Secondo. Primo would keep watch over Mary as he tried to clear his head, but he was a man on fire. Rage, building up inside him. Digested with his brother and even more so, his own feelings of helplessness. 

He sat at the wrought iron table just outside the greenhouse. Storm clouds hanging high overhead, threatening a downpour—a cosmic reflection of how he was feeling inside. An imminent crash and burn steadily ahead. Terzo was falling apart. 

It was in this, his darkest of times that it appeared to him. Like in the Nazarene’s moment of weakness, he first heard the sound of leaves crumbling under pressure. The howl in the wind, chilling him before finally the appearance of a black, slick scaled serpent. Slithering along the soft bed of grass. 

Its eyes, a wicked golden glow. It was silent as it crawled along its belly. Disappearing slowly behind one of Primo’s prized red rose bushes. Only to reappear—transformed as a dark, mysterious woman. 

Soft form, draped in black fabric. Fabric that seemed to move as if it were floating in water as they approached him. Eyes filled with Hell fire, lined in charcoal black lashes and the rubiest of red lips. Their beauty, unlike anything Terzo had ever seen. Who? What was this?

“Dilecte fili mi dulcissime. Plenus vae, ut te salutat benignus deus tuus.” the woman said as they reached him. Terzo freezing up in their presence. Pupils blown wide and the beating of his heart, echoing in his ears.  

“Who are—” he tried to ask, feeling the sensation of his bones being chilled by an icy fire inside him. Both freezing and burning up in the being’s presence. The sounds of thunder, beginning to rumble in the sky. 

“I am called many things.” They smiled. It was then clear to Terzo in that moment exactly who they were. This temptress—this ethereal being was Lucifer him…herself.

“You're him, her…” he said, the words halting as they left him. 

“I can be whatever you desire...” they began, perking up an eyebrow at him, “...and what we all know you desire, Emeritus, is and always will be—a beautiful woman.” Lucifer smirked. Terzo shook off the initial shock, trying to pretend he didn’t feel the immense discomfort from merely being this close to them.   

“You’re not wrong…but that woman is Mary.” Terzo hissed. Lucifer’s face turned to that of annoyance. Taking a seat beside him at the table as if they were two old friends. Enjoying the afternoon in each other's company. 

“Terzo… please. Why can’t you be more like your brothers? Settle down that defiant streak. It doesn’t suit you.” they told him.

“Heh…”

“I mean… look what listening to me has done for you. A beautiful lover, and a child. Some men couldn’t imagine being worthy of obtaining such fine things.” Lucifer boasted. Watching as the look of anger and betrayal washed over Terzo’s face.

“You tricked me into obeying you, knowing that you would tear it all from me.” he roared. 

“I have done NO such thing.” Lucifer growled. The darkness inside them, beginning to show through the well placed veil of beauty. “It is her God that makes you suffer… not me.” 

“But you chose me… us for this. Had you picked Secondo and one of his lovers, God’s attention would be placed elsewhere. YOU said it had to be her. YOU sent me to take her knowing it would usurp his wraith.” Terzo cried before his Dark God. Dropping to his knees before them. Head bowed and fists grasping tight the fabric of their dress.

“Get up Emeritus… groveling will do nothing for you.” Lucifer explained to him. Terzo, raising up as he was told. Meeting with Lucifer’s stare.  

“Please choose someone else.” Terzo begged once more. The Dark one letting out a sigh. Feeling themselves a pushover—always having had an affinity for the youngest Emeritus son.

“I will consider it—”

“Oh…oh thank you Lucifer. Thank you.” Terzo interrupted, too soon it seemed when Lucifer held out their hand to stop his praises. 

“But you must do something for me.”

“What?! Tell me! I’ll do anything to spare her and our child from this chaos and pain.” he cried, ready to give up his own life if Lucifer should only ask of it. Lay down on Hell’s vorpal blade and allow himself to be extinguished at the Dark one’s hands. The love he felt for his child and Mary, giving him the strength to end it all. Knowing that in return they’d be safe in his stead. 

“I require a sacrifice. If I agree to withhold the evil that is set to inhabit your child. If I release your woman from the peril that plagues her…then I want you to…”

“Please, anything!” Terzo cried again, Lucifer smiling as they took his face in the palms of their hands. Holding him deceivingly gentle, as if they didn’t hold his life—his family’s lives in their grasp.

“You will kill Secondo.”

Notes:

Cazzate. So quando nascondi qualcosa. Pensi che sia la prima volta che mi menti. Che sono completamente nuovo alla tua stupidità?- Bullshit. I know when you are hiding something. You think this is the first time you've lied to me. That I am brand new to your foolishness?

Che cazzo stai facendo?- What the fuck are you doing?

Siediti come un fottuto idiota?- Sit here like a fucking fool?

Va’ a farti fottere- Get fucked.

Dilecte fili mi dulcissime. Plenus vae, ut te salutat benignus deus tuus.- My dear sweet child. Full of woe as your benevolent god greets you.

#Holy Mary #Terzo x Catholic nun #Terzo x OC Mary #Terzo #papa iii #papa emeritus iii #ren writes #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction

[moontrinemars]

a Few Notes on Writers and Storytelling in Vedic Astrology - and how to use that in your own chart!

Researched for my use, published for your reference. Disclaimer in bio. I use Sidereal placements but suggest checking both.

✒️ Ardra has massive connections to Gothic fiction. Mary Shelley (Frankenstein) and Lord Byron (romantic poetry) both had Ardra Ascendants, with Shelley also having Ardra Saturn and Indu Lagna. Charlotte Bronte (Jane Eyre) had an Ardra Mars and Emily Bronte (Wuthering Heights) had an Ardra moon.

📖 This makes sense! Ardra is the Star of Sorrow. It is also called the Star of Oppression. The Vimshottari Dasha says Ardra can be connected to condemnation and sacrifice. It is ruled by the Howling God, Rudra, born crying for he had no name. He was the god of Destructive Storms and Thunder, and also the Lord of Wild Animals and Medicines. This aligns with many common Gothic motifs!

📖 As a result, Gothic fiction can be an amazing introspective dive for Ardra natives... if they aren't too afraid to see their own wounds reflected back at them. Like Frankenstein's monster, Ardra natives often end up rejecting or being rejected by their "creators" - whether that's their families or their gods. Catherine and Heathcliff and their tragedy will speak to the wild Ardra native's inclination to lash out or run away out of fear of being trapped or abandoned. Etc!

✒️ You can look at an author's D5 for common threads in their popular works. For example, D5 Mars in its own sign or house is common for suspense and noir authors, as is prominent Scorpio. Both of these things are true for Agatha Christie (Hercule Poirot books and other mystery novels), Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes series), and Truman Capote (In Cold Blood)!

📖 If you are a creator, you can look to it for inspiration, or use it to analyze your works for patterns you never even noticed! For example, I also write original fiction in my own time. My D5 Ascendant is Sagittarius, ruled by Jupiter, and faith, fate, and the divine are common themes. My D5 sun is 6th house Taurus and my works usually explore one on one relationships with lots of dialogue. Venus, my D5 sun's sign ruler, is in the 12th and Scorpio and the plots typically involve secrets, mysteries, and the link between life and death. Etc. etc. etc.

📖 Even if you don't consider yourself a creator, you can use your D5 to look at the creators that helped shape you! For example, my D5 has a Mula Ascendant and a triple conjunction in Bharani under 1º, and my favorite author as a child, Cornelia Funke, has Bharani Mars and a Venus/Saturn conjunction in Mula under 2º in her D1. I also loved Peter and Wendy, and on top of us sharing D1 Ardra Risings, J. M. Barrie has his D1 sun in Krittika, same as my D5 Jupiter.

✒️ Fairy tales are usually associated with Punarvasu, Hasta, and Revati. Hans Christian Anderson (The Little Mermaid, The Emperor's New Clothes, etc.) had Punarvasu Rahu, Hasta Saturn, and Revati Sun and Mercury. J. M. Barrie (Peter and Wendy, later iterations known as Peter Pan) had Punarvasu Jupiter, its ruling planet, in the 1st and D10 Hasta Ascendant and Pluto. Hans Grimm (Grimm's Fairy Tales) had Hasta Moon, which is its ruling planet, and Revati Rahu.

📖 Punarvasu is the Star of Renewal. It prospers the greatest only after experiencing failure - a common theme in fairy tales. There is a Rags to Riches element to this nakshatra, or the reverse. It's not a romantic nakshatra but it is well suited to travel. I personally associate it with The Emperor's New Clothes, The Lost Princess, and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

📖 Hasta is the Hand, which has more than one meaning. This nakshatra puts what you want in your hands, but there is also a connection to palmistry, fate, and magic. These natives have the quick wit and mystical audacity that gives characters in fairy tales the happiest endings. They're also willing to 'take with both hands'. I associate this nakshatra with Jack and the Beanstalk, Rumpelstilskin, and The Seven Ravens.

📖 Revati is the Star of Wealth, because they find what has been lost or overlooked and appreciate it appropriately. They are at their best when they act as guides, or as guardians, to those who need them. I associate them with The Blue Bird, The Frog Prince, and Thumbelina.

Hope this was useful, thanks for reading. If you have any questions, feel free to message, ask, or reply ♡

#nakshatras #astrology #vedic astrology #lunar mansions #ardra #hasta #revati #punarvasu #divisional charts #d5 #mary shelley #charlotte bronte #emily bronte #lord byron #hans christian andersen #hans grimm #j. m. barrie #cornelia funke #fairy tales #gothic fiction #writing #mine #authored #astrology notes

[zipperzoo]

RESTLESS SOUL

Sandman (2022) Morpheus x f!reader

Word count: - 10.3k

AO3 / SONG Fanfic Masterpost

Themes: Historical, Dreaming, One-shot, Tudor England, Slow Dancing, Yearning, Strangers to friends to lovers, Bitter Sweet,

Summary: The year is 1547. Henry the VIII has just died and one of his mistresses of the night remains alone, and in her loneliness she find an unlikely person to keep her company in her dreams.

A/N: HAD A BLAST WRITING THIS YOU HAVE NO IDEA HAVE FUN! A/N - 28/08/22: Edits and clean ups have been made as there were a bunch of mistakes.

England, 28th January 1547 

The death of two powerful European kings brought the kingdoms to a halt. King Henry the VIII laid on his deathbed surrounded by his closest men and women, including his sick son who was next to rule. They all sobbed and wailed. It was an unspoken contest at who could display the most sorrow and loss.

Henry watched outside of his own body. Standing beside himself studying carefully those who grieve him. Most of the grief was not for him, but for the country, for the fear of the unknown of what is to become of his empire after his death.

He held the hand of a black woman who was dressed in fine fabrics. Wearing red wine cotton and golden details as well as a headdress decorated like a halo for she was the angel to guide him to the paradise that awaited him. She smiled warmly at him, encouraging him to not linger. The soft grace of her words he envied as all his wives had never been as caring or as ethereal as she was to him.

“Will you promise me that my son will be in good health?” Henry asked. “That his sickness will not take him so young?”

Death just smiled at him. “You both will meet again soon.” she said just vaguely enough to be comforting. “Catherine is waiting for you.” she stated, starting to sound like a lifelong friend. She knew his favourite wife had been his first and she also knew that Henry wouldn't be going where Cathrine was.

Death had found Henry to be an immoral man, filled with greed and shame. Despite that and his wrongs in murder, Death had found his wife, Anne Boline to be a polite soul. Helping the late queen in her last moments, she found her to be witty and kind. Watching her graphic and unjust death take place knowing she was innocent was hard, it was even too hard to stomach for the personification of demise.

The king would be joining Francis, the first of France in hell. To burn for eternity under Lucifer's rule as they both will dream, hope and yearn for the paradise they were promised while they actually lived it in life. For their desire caused despair, destruction and even death. Henry had paved out his destiny while relishing in delight but now they can only dream as that is all they have left in hell.

After all, all one can do in hell in hope and dream.

For now, Death will show him kindness, to be his last friend as she walks him through to the beyond.

All while, in the far corner was a woman. She watched cradling herself as her king, her companion in the night remained lifeless in his four post grandstanding bed. The translucent fabric curtain filtered over his remains, making him ghost-like. Death noticed her and she noticed death.

“His skin is like cotton!” cried out a chambermaid collapsing to her knees. 

“Our king… He has passed.” announced the priest dropping the bible to his lap.

The woman in the corner choked back a sob. Tonight this woman will try and dream of a better place outside of the castle. A better place outside of the court. 

She was no longer within the protective grasp of the king. 

Later that night

Laying in her bed, wide awake as the moonlight beamed through the Windsor Castle windows. The woman was restless, shifting and rolling in her bed fearing the unknown. She was nothing but a mistress to the king and with him now dead, her fate was unknown. She could live a lavish life in the castle or be passed around to the next man. Or worse, something unimaginable or so harsh her mind couldn't even comprehend it.

Henry wasn’t a great lover, he was charismatic yes but like any old man, he was caught up in his need to remain in control, to have power and let it be known he was a man. The face of masculinity. It was hard to believe that this man wrote poems, had a heart full of love but was ravished by a desire of lust. 

Sitting up the creek of the bed thundered through the large room. The small trinkets and jewels that were eliminated by the bright white of the moonlight caught her eye. Rubbing her eyes raw as sleep refused to visit, she glanced at the gifts.

She hated them.

Henry had gifted her with these in hope to win his way to bed with her and they did. She was just a girl in his wife’s court that dreamed of love, passion and adventure.

She was stupidly naive but also she was just a girl.

The trinkets were scattered all over her dresser, diamonds, gems and even rubies. It was a treasure trove to make a pirate jealous. All of them were real and most likely imported from abroad.

After accepting these she learnt rather fast he did this to any woman that caught his eye. She wasn't the only one in the castle that he laid at night with- who knew him in marriage. 

She wasn't special.

The hours swept by and she still remained restless. She wished for sleep to sweep her away to dreamland. To escape and maybe to never to awake and see what is in store for her for the future. For what would happen to her. 

“How is it that you're here?” asked a deep voice, a whisper that was harsh and carried weight. A soothing whisper that could be a lullaby for those in a mellow state. 

She hadn’t noticed but she was no longer in her room. Shifting where she stood to have her nightgown ripple around her. This wasn't her room, or anywhere in the castle? One minute she was in her large room, empty with personality but filled with meaningless objects and furniture. Nothing that was really to call her own, to now stand in a large and long throne room. Surrounded by books and moving grass windows.

It was cold, intimidating and isolating. With so much space of course one would do nothing but cower into themselves.

“Where am I?” She whispered mainly to herself but also to the peculiar disembodied voice.

“The dreaming.” there it was again. That voice, It sounded like he was inside her head, a loud thought.

“Am I asleep?” she asked, turning around to get a better idea of the space she was occupying to then find herself face to face with the source of the voice. A man draped in black with unkempt hair, standing there like a looming threat. He remained still, alone, contrasting with the architecture. One word came to mind when  looking at him. Lonely. 

In response to her question he just gave a slight nod. Betraying nothing from his expression she gave a sigh of relief and smiled. Letting out a very sincere smile.

“Oh thank god!” she yelled, bending over and clasping her hands together. Eyes full of wonder like a young child as her eyes explored along the endless walls of novels and books. The man frowned. “I was so worried that I would never sleep again. Punished to remain awake for the rest of my life for the sins I've committed!”

“You think you would be deprived of dreaming because of your sins?”

“God doesn't approve of lust and desire. It's not for a woman to want but to be wanted and I have done nothing but yearn my entire life.” she confessed. 

“You, Y/N, have done nothing but dream.”

“How do you know my name?” she asked, slightly startled. “Are you… Are you god- Did I die in my sleep and be doomed forever to dream?” Shuffling back a little. The cold rock of the floor sent a shiver up her spine. Goosebumps dancing their way up her arms to her neck. The idea of dreaming for eternity seemed like a blissful gift but a horrifying one when faced with reality.

“No. If you would have died, you would have met my elder sibling but instead you are in my presence tonight. Rest easy.” Although sounding calm, he was flabbergasted and offended by a mortal that had dreamt herself to his council.

“Why am I here?” she asked, hinting not at the dreaming but for the fact of being in his presence. 

“That… I would like to find out for myself.”

29th January 1547 

The sun rose, flooding the emotionally distant room with warmth. Y/N rose, tired. The sleep was not filling enough. She could roll over and begin her year of rest and relaxation right now, disguise her anxiety and depression as grief. 

A Little disappointed that she wasn’t actually dead and ‘doomed’ to sleep forever. The longer she thought about it the more it sounded like an actual relief. That strange man had peaked her interest.

Surrounded by pillows and blankets, she looked like an angel that had just awoken on a cloud, ready to start her duty of crying soft mournful tears. A face of sadness for the loss of the king but her eyes were dry and heavy.

“Ma’am, did you have a plentiful slumber?” questioned a maid waddling in, holding a pot of water and a rag hanging off the side. Another follows behind with a mourning dress. Black with white and dark brown details, as expected for a period of bereavement of the king. The entire country would be dressed so as the news is rapidly rolled out. 

“I managed but- I had the strangest dream?”

“What was the dream milady?” placing the pot to the side, to then signal the woman to stand up out of the bed, ready to be washed down and dressed.

“I dreamed of a man, dressed all in black? He was surprised I was there but reassured me I hadn’t died.” Y/N scooted out of bed then made her way over to her dressing table to allow the maids to undress her. “He was so life-like, so real. He wasn't dressed like any man of our country.”

“We’ve had enough death’s. I was worried you’d fade into the night with a broken heart for our fallen king. Maybe you were visited by an angel.” one of the maids spoke out, shaking the dress out, letting any dust that fell onto it fly into the air, catching the sunlight appearing like snow. Y/N was captivated. 

“I was worried I’d die for different reasons. But this man I dreamt- he was kind although he seemed distant and cold. Something told me that he had a large heart.”

“You dreamt of a man?” the other maid asked, only now just realizing what Y/N was discussing.

“Yes-” she tried to back track. “Just as Elizbeth had said- possibly an angel to reassure my grieving state that the king has passed safely!”

“Hmm.” Let out the maid, “Sounds like something to mention in confession ma’am.”

“I’m just… missing our late king.” lowering her head and wetting her lips. It is a sin to want, to desire as a woman. Women would judge each other and no one was safe from judgment. 

Later that night

All day, she had been looking forward to this. To see her dreaming man again. 

At church during the preacher's rants and being around the queen as she mourned had been tormenting. The women of the court sat around gossiping, discussing the king’s life, Y/N had sat there pondering. Letting her mind wander to her interaction with the mysterious man. Although he was nothing but a dream she would conjure him up again tonight she couldn't help but feel nervous. She ached to make a friend out of him. Her dream would be her escape from the waking world that was slowly falling around her. As mad as it sounded she found refuge in the idea.

In bed, once again she laid restless and wide awake. Tossing and turning. Anger bloomed in her chest as she grew more and more impatient with the lack of sleep brewing. 

Throwing up her arms to the drop onto the bed in defeat. Sighing loudly. Sighing again but louder. 

“Can I not even sleep or dream on my own accord now?” she moaned rolling over to her side. 

Watching the moonlight bath her room. Captivated by the contrast, the colour of he white crashing with the dark. Her mind wondered how in dark times even the smallest light would break through. A philosophical thought that brought her subtle amusement.

A silhouette fluttered into the moonlight. Shifting and sitting up in surprise to snap around to look at the window.

There, cutting the light from her room, stood a raven. The Raven turned its head, appearing to get a decent view of her- watching her. 

Pulling back her covers, slipping out of bed and tip-toeing up at the window to try and capture a better look- remaining cautious to not scare the creature away. 

Ravens were common in England, they often meant death was coming or a bad omen. She had once read that they warded off evil spirits and she hoped the latter was the case now. The bird’s brilliant black fur reminded her of the man she dreamt of. His hair shined just like the beak of this animal. The eyes glassy and void- like a black hole absorbs all light and did so of her image. 

Placing her hand steadily onto the glass to where the raven sat. Gifting the creature a soft smile- a welcoming smile.

She was actually glad she wasn't asleep right now because if so she wouldn't have had this small interaction but this was a distraction for something she yearned for; Another encounter with last night's dream.

“Her name is Jessamy.” 

The sudden voice pierced through the silence she wasn't aware she was in. It was him- the man from her dream.

It was like a wish was granted.

She spun around, so fast in excitement and shock that she almost tripped over her own feet. Stumbling, placing her hands out in front of herself in an attempt to stable herself. She had a big stupid grin on her face, excited and thrilled to hear that voice again.

Standing still like a statue, but as beautiful as the statue of David. He didn't move, not even to help her.

“You're here! Am I dreaming?”

“This time, you're not dreaming.”

“How is it possible that you're here then? I must be dreaming! I must have dozed off and dreamed of that Raven!” Looking over her shoulder to inspect the raven once more to then find it no longer at the window. Instead the only view was the swaying and rattle of the trees to the caress of the wind's touch. The raven must have flown off, scared from the sudden and rapid movement in the room. Excitement had washed from Y/N’s face.

“I am here because this time I wished to pay you a visit. You remained restless so waiting in the dreaming realm would have been a waste of my time.” He sounded like one of the priests- blunt and straight to the point. 

Maybe she was just projecting her lonely feelings onto this strange manifestation- maybe he wasn't as lonely as she thought with his wise words that sounded distant. She wanted a friend so desperately in the castle walls she conjured up a friend. Or worse, summoned a demon disguised as an angel who wanted something from her as a trade for his time.

Realization and reality was sinking in. “Why pay me a visit?” 

“I wish to walk with you.”

Twisting around and shooting an inquisitive glance his way. “A walk? Right now?!”

“You're no stranger to sneaking around in the night. Especially with the king.” That silenced her questioning. He was mean. That was cold and uncalled for but more importantly he had said what everyone in the castle had known, he had said it aloud. She had never heard it out loud and it sounded gross and vile. 

She felt dirty. 

With just a nod of consent. The man had offered his arm to hold, offering to be her escort. She gracefully accepted with spite, only touching the fabric of his coat with her arm looped around his.

They wandered out of her room. Only in her nightgown holding a candle to light their path as he took the lead. The light illuminated her face while he remained in the dark, she stole glances of his features. White as ice skin contrasting with his black hair but he looked as restless as she did. The bags under his eyes are heavy and sharp.

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere specifically. I just wished to have you as company.” he had spent the majority of her waking hours looking into her life. Her entire waking and sleeping existence. She had little to no records of dreams and from the walking records she lived a solitude life. She was an enigma. Dream had hoped paying her a visit or spending time with her would help lift his fog of mystery.

“Company isn't really pleasant if it's forced.”

“You seemed thrilled by the idea of meeting me again, on top of that you consented to this.” The way he spoke and carried every word felt like law. The confidence he held but also the words that carried like wind delivering a cooling breeze to ease the hot skin on a hot evening.

She scanned around. Not a single soul was awake, not a singular sound can be heard besides the pitter patter of her bare feet on the cold floor. The man she was with didn't even make a sound in his movements as if he was a shadow, a lingering thought.

“Who are you?” she inquired looking up at him.

“I go by many names. Prince of Stories, Morpheus-”

“Are you a messenger of god?”

“No. I am not here to punish you for your nights you laid with the king instead of dreaming. I am here for my own amusement.” It was like he read her mind. Easing her of the anxiety that she assumed he was here to reap her of sin.

“Why me?” He would be lying to himself if he did not admit the constant questions didn’t irritate him a little. Humans had the habit of constant inquiries. Why must they feel the need to know everything?

They approached the main staircase of the castle. The open part of the entire building. Cold and empty it was home to awaiting nightmares and demons. She inched the candle closer to her, as if it was a force field protecting her. Anything that would come into her light would perish and burst into flames.

“You caught my attention the last time you fell into a slumber. You dreamed yourself into my throne room.” He stopped at the door, letting go of her to drift towards the main door.

Blinking, knitting her brows together and lowering the light from her face a little as the man pushed the door ajar. Waiting for her.

Upon opening the door, it swept the night’s crisp breeze in with dead leaves walking inside.

“I’m sorry for all the questions but I am in the presence of a strange man. I must ask who you are and what you intend to do with me?”

Hanging back, he answered her. “I have already said. I am the personification of dreams, I am the manifestation of life’s wandering mind. I have no intentions with you besides a walk at night.”

“I must apologize once again for asking idiotic questions but there is always a motive to one’s actions. Especially with men.”

“You’ve been around rich and powerful men with cruel intentions for far too long to know actual kindness when you're faced with it.” 

She was too stunned to speak but she forced her voice to muster up another “How can I trust you?”

He held out his hand and on his face, grew a heart melting smile. One that is not human but angelic, ethereal and god like. The Greek goddess Aphrodite would even envy such a charming smile. “I don't expect you to, but I’ve given you a safe space in your dreams your entire life without you even knowing. Let me give you one night of company where sex will not be expected, as it has become a custom to you with the king. Instead you can have a friend to keep you company in your grieving hours. You’ll dream and rest easy.”

Lifting her hand, she hesitated, searching this strange man’s gaze for any sign that his words are lies but instead she saw that smile. She caught her heart beat in her throat.

“Are we friends?”

“We can be.” he reassured. 

She reached out and took his hand. 

The moment she took his hand, his skin, her eyes blinked awake. She found herself in her bed showered in the morning light. She was dreaming. Of course she was dreaming. Her new friend was only in her dreams as her waking life was void of anything that kind and comforting.

The way the dream ended felt like she couldn't have the enjoyment of touching him. Or was it a test to see if she was loyal to the king and their secret nights?

Oddly enough, she could still remember the man’s face, and his smile as clear as sunshine. It made her chest ache. The last time she felt this sensation was when she received poems and gifts from the king in her naïve years.

The king… Oh god, she had forgotten about him and his passing. Caught up in the thrill of her dreams she had forgotten him and his funeral that was vastly approaching. With that and the coronation of the new king. His son.

Throwing the covers over her head to hide, desperately trying to get back to sleep, to continue her dream that was rudely interrupted by the grace of the morning. “Our meeting was cut short you cruel man” mumbled.

Squeezing her eyes shut, putting all hope and focus into drifting into sleep. Opening one eye she was disappointed to realize she was still in her bed. 

The waking world.

Even pinching herself, the pain was solid proof that she was awake. She knew she was dreaming earlier. Their stroll around the castle was only a dream.

He wasn’t real.

3rd February 1547 

Walking through the halls at night with nothing but a candle in her hand and a small book in the other, Y/N set out to adventure through the library. The king's funeral was to take place in a few days and she wished to say a prayer for him to pass safely to the afterlife but most importantly for the new king. Prince Edward was sick and very weak and he needed God's help to take over such a powerful country. The least she could do was pray for him.

“Where are you going so late in the night ma’am?” asked a servant that was passing by. The sudden disturbance caused Y/N to jump. Dropping her small book to steady the candle in her grasp. 

“You scared me!”

“Apologies! It's just unexpected to see you out and about. You're normally with the queen and her court grieving in her room. It's unexpected to see you about… and alone so late?” The servant bent over and gracefully picked up the book. Catching a glimpse of the cover “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.” The maid wiped the cover and then returned it gingerly to Y/N.

“I just wished to say a prayer for the new king.” As well as research into her mysterious dream man. Since that night he had lied to her about being in a dream. She hadn’t seen him since. Every night she went to slumber she was met with nothing but darkness. She desperately ached to see him again.

“Be careful ma’am. There's gossip traveling around the castle.” The servants face plastered with concern and worry.

“Hm? What kind of gossip?” Y/N frowned, face scrunched up with anxiety. 

Shaking her head the servant said. “Don’t worry about it ma’am. It's only gossip.”

Y/N reached out and grabbed the book from the servant. And spoke up before she could leave. “Can- Mind if I ask a rather ridiculous question?”

The servant blinked, opened her mouth but nothing came out as she hanged on her words for a moment. Finally she responded. “Sure ma’am.”

“Do you have dreams? At night when you sleep?”

“Doesn't everyone?”

“What do you dream about?”

“Well… I don't remember most of my dreams but when I do it's about what it's like to live within the court. I must admit I am envious of you ma’am. That or I dream about my teeth falling out.” Coughing to clear her throat, feeling awkward from her confession. “What do you dream about ma'am?”

“I must confess, I rarely dream. As of late I have only really dreamt of a strange man.” unaware of what subtle meaning that had, the servant blushed and diverted her gaze away from Y/N. “He is like a friend. I want him to be a friend but when we seem to just break the ice I’m pulled back to the waking world. I find myself alone in my room.”

Wetting her lips, the Servant wasn’t exactly too sure how to respond. “Do you miss the king ma’am?”

“Huh? I um.. I do, yes.” She lied.

“Now you're no longer a mistress, marriage is maybe what your heart desires? That could explain why you're suddenly dreaming of men.” Taken aback by the servants' words Y/N took those words of offense. 

Maybe her loneliness and hunger for affection and companionship did conjure up this man as she had previously thought. Was he not the personification of dreams as he said but just a fragment of her imagination.

She felt like she was slowly losing grips of reality the longer she pondered it.

The servant, not wanting to continue the strange conversation, gave her a very polite smile, nodding her head in respect and then proceeded to walk off, leaving Y/N there alone in candle light.

Until Y/N cut her off. “What kind of gossip is traveling around the castle?”

“Ma’am-”

“Tell me.”

The servant thought about it, looked around to make sure no prying ears lingered then spoke. “”You really don't want to know, milady.”

“I wish to know.”

“…The queen believes you’re planning treason against the prince.”

“What?- How on ear-”

“You're restless nights and recent wandering has a lot of people suspicious. On top of that you were the mistress of the late king. It has a lot of people talking ma’am.” Blurting it out, as if the words itself were poison. Evicting it from her body, letting the words just fall out informally.

Y/N, stunt, said “Do you believe this gossip?” 

“Of course not ma’am but…”

“But?” she hung on every word.

“It doesn't matter if I believe it or not. It's for the queen and the church to decide. Let's hope it doesn't reach the church.” she whispered. Acting like the word church was a bad word. 

Y/N drew back. Letting the servant pass. The waking world was conspiring against her. “There is nothing they can do. There is no proof of such lies.”

“They’ve executed people for just conspiracies of-”

“Thank you.” She cut her off. “Thank you for being honest with me, and keeping me company in this brief moment but I wish to be alone now.”

Later that night

“It’s you.” she mumbled, relieved. Y/N had fallen asleep somehow because there he was, the man she dreamt of. After days of darkness in the night she was finally rewarded with a visit from him in her slumber.

She was in a dark space with nothing for miles but her and him. He stood there, towering over her as she mirrored him in her evening dress. Emerald with golden details. Fine fabrics from Spain. 

She had purposefully chosen to wear her best, she had for the past few nights hoping to look her most presentable for him. For her tall, dark and handsome mystery.

“It’s me,” he responded.

“Why did you lie to me? Why did you cut our meeting short?” she snapped, putting all her focus onto him and only him. Despite being surrounded by an endless void- something she grew accustomed to from when she did manage to sleep at night.

“I didn't lie to you. You weren't dreaming.” he was being honest.

“But how did I wake up? From an already woken state?” Drawing a step back and folding her hands over her chest. 

Raising both of his hands, he looked at his palms, slowly turning and inspecting himself. He knitted his brows together, showing confusion to his own being, own flesh. She watched baffled, uncertain that he heard her, she took a step closer and repeated herself.

He held out his hand to stop her drawing any closer. “The moment you touched me, I found myself in the dreaming, by the gates alone.”

“So?”

“May I test something?” he asked, lowering his hand to then take a step closer towards her. Her eyes widened from surprise. All she could do was nod in response.

Taking confident steps closer towards her leaving little to no room between them, all she could do was stare up at him. He looked down at her, betraying no emotion. 

No man had been those close to her ever- besides the late king. Her eyes glued to his unwavering. He stared back at her, unphased and coldly. Her stomach developed an entire generation of butterflies. They fluttered and smacked themselves around in her gut. 

Raising a single hand he steadily drew his hand closer to her cheek. Laying a singular finger on her tender flesh gracefully. She felt a softness, a gentle ghost-like sensation from his subtle touch.

Then suddenly she awoke in her bed. Alone. Ripped away from her small dream. 

Gasping from the thrill, the single touch was ecstatic.

Sinking into her cloud like bed, she couldn't help but hear an orchestra perform in her head. Replaying that small glimpse of a touch he had given her. It was exciting. He had barely touched her but in a way it was more stimulating than the king’s rough and hard touches had ever been.

For the first time in years she felt electric.

8th February 1547

Sat besides the queen, Y/N held her prayer book in a tight grip. She was reading verses of a poem aloud for the entire court of women. Usually during this time they would all huddle with the king's court and entertain themselves with gambling and musical entertainment. But with the passing of the king and time of mourning such activities were not to take place until after the funeral.

In a room decorated with tapestries of passages of the bible and of passed royalties. Y/N felt like she was being watched by not just the women in the room but those painted on the stained glass and woven into the fabrics.

“Y/N, I’ve heard you’ve been dreaming of a man.” said the queen, with a hint of taunt.

Pausing at the sentence she was reading, Y/N was caught by surprise. “P-pardon?”

“I’ve heard you’ve been dreaming of a man. Have you already set eyes on someone for marriage?” Candle light only made half of her face visible in the evening’s darkness. Her eyes shined with curiosity for gossip of her fellow women.

“Marriage is impossible for him and I, your highness, as he isn't real.” The court of women snickered.

“Not real? Is he a fictional man in a novel you’ve been wandering around at night reading?” She laughed. “Is no mortal man enough to feed your hunger?” She was digging into her already gaping wound. Was the king not enough for you? Is what she wanted to really say.

“I have to admit, the way he is written, he has captured my attention but because he is not real there is no way for me to love him.” Defensive, Y/N found offense at the teasing taking place. She of course meant her mysterious dreaming man.

“What if he was real?” The room fell quiet at the Queen’s question.

With little to no room to think on it, Y/N had everyone gawking at her. “Maybe… I never thought about it? I only ever considered him a stranger. Only recently a friend.”

“A fictional character?” Spoke up the queen, in a judgemental tone.

“What book is it?” asked one of the ladies, trying to be polite in the sea of judgment the queen had crafted.

Y/N hesitated, scrambling for a book title to come to mind then suddenly “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.” Clearing her throat as her eyes wandered from woman to woman for a reaction. One lady clasped her hands together.

“A classic! I am rather fond of the Green Knight myself!”

“I think she was referring to Sir Gawain, the protagonist who is naturally very charismatic.”

“But isn't the thrill supposed to be aimed at the immortal one rather than the boring man?”

“Is there something you wish to confess to us?” all eyes were aimed at the woman who sat beside the queen. She stumbled and stuttered at her words. 

The chatter about the novel managed to distract everyone from the original intention of the conversation. Y/N hid within herself and continued to read unaware that the queen had her eye on her. Watching her movements with caution.  

“Y/N which one of the men caught your attention?” one of the ladies rested her chin on her hand, eager for Y/N’s response.

“I… I see a friend in the Green Knight. He is dark and mysterious and we hardly know anything about him. That captures my attention.”

“I would have assumed you’d like Sir Gawain for he is married.” The queen wasn’t being subtle anymore. Y/N glared at the queen who returned a glare also. The room was tense. They both knew the king in similar fashion but the only difference was the queen was married to him while Y/N was not. Y/N hadn’t loved him either while the queen had.

“Maybe Y/N can read aloud a verse from the Sir Gawain and the Green Knight poem? Or cite a verse she remembers?” asked one of the ladies, hoping to cut a fine knife through the tension. 

Without breaking the sharp glare between Y/N and the queen, Y/N closed her book and cleared her throat. Scratching her memory, a verse she remembered well she spoke aloud “All green bedight that knight, and green his garments fair, A narrow coat that clung straight to his side he ware-” 

Without warning, guards stormed into the queen's quarters room, interrupting Y/N. All the ladies jumped up onto their feet dropping the books they held. The queen herself rose up from where she sat, darting a stern stare at the guards who had intruded her private space. Y/N twisted her head around to the door in horror.

“What's the meaning of this?” Confidently the queen spoke with anger.

“Pardon your highness. We have been given strict orders to arrest Y/N. She is to be transferred to the tower of London.” 

“Whatever for?” the queen challenged.

“She is to be put on trial for the conspiracy of treason towards the prince and future king of England Edward VI.”

Following the sudden news, all the women gasped and turned to face Y/N who stood there in horror- speechless. The gossip had reached the church- it had reached the men.

Y/N couldn't help but catch the queen’s minuscule grin. It was like a play that had been perfectly rehearsed. 

“I have done no such crime!” Shaking her head, utterly shocked, this cannot be real. 

Without another word, guards flooded in one by one. Two stood besides her and grabbed her arms. In an attempt to shake them off they only tighten their grip. She wasn’t going to be able to get free.

As they escorted her out of the room, looking behind her at all the women and the queen. None of them came to fight for her defence of innocence. They all just watched. 

They were never her friends.

If they were her friends, her fellow sisters. They would fight or defend her. They all instead just gawked at her arrest. Gossiping and whispering.

Later that night

In a desperate attempt to sleep, she laid there wide awake in her new bed. It seemed tonight was going to be another restless night without meeting her dream friend. 

Staring up at the ceiling, the cracking bricks that trickled dust onto her bed was the least of her concerns with the constant chatter of those outside her room. 

It was useless to just lay in a prisoner's bed and wait. Slowly she rolled out of bed to then sit on the floor, void of carpet or any softness but the hard and coarse worn slabs. No luxuries or comforts were for those in the tower.

Looking up at the window, with only the moon as a guest she tried to remember the plot of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. How the story could fit so similarly in narrative and themes to her night time friend. 

“Luna, have you seen my friend? He is tall, dark and very handsome. The last time I saw him he gifted me with a single touch on the-” she imitated him from that dream, letting her finger stray and stroke a line on her cheek. Her eyes wavered, she must have been swayed by the devil to speak to herself like this. “Maybe It's my solitude that has made me find a friend in a stranger that shows the bare minimum and the slight kindness. After all, I barely know him.”

Looking down at her lap, helpless, her mind raced on what could have been. 

A small scratching noise could be heard from the window. Squinting and peaking up, there she saw the raven. Not just any old raven but the one she remembered from before- she could tell by the way it watched her- its movements. The raven gave a little shake, a silly way to display that she meant no harm to Y/N. 

Although she wouldn't be able to sleep or go to the dreaming, she wouldn’t be alone.

8th February 1547

She stood there, in a large white and black room. Standing at the defendant’s stand, faced with the king’s court, those who made the law. Those who followed the whispers of god. She swallowed and sniffled. Y/N had to stay strong, for herself and her pride.

“Y/N L/N, you stand here faced with the accusations of conspiring treason against the Prince of England. Witnesses and even the queen have stood trial against you.” The queen, the woman she would spend some of her days and restless nights beside as she mourned her husband. She didn't like Y/N of course for her relationship with the king. Such pettiness and jealousy was normal and with the king out of the picture, this was likely to happen.

Y/N was more surprised about how fast the queen took to take action.

“You’ve come to the stand with no evidence to go along with your claim of innocence yet you swear by the lord that you are not guilty.” 

If the queen had requested for her to disappear, to go to another country she would have in a heartbeat. This elaborate ruse to frame her for a crime during such a delicate time was far from just getting her out of the picture.

It felt like revenge.

“Master Cromwell- read out the indictment.” In a room surrounded by men, too many men as she was the only woman standing in the center. Her stomach churned and squeezed. The stress, she could easily just faint right now from the stress.

“The charges, in the 36th year in the reign of our late sovereign, Henry king of England. Y/N, The duchess of (county in England) and beloved friend of Queen Katherine Parr. Seduced by the devil and knowingly ployed a plot of treason- an offense against god.”

“How do you plead?”

She didn't reply at first as it felt like she had lost her voice. Somewhere deep within her, her voice hid. Cowering and crying at the power these men held over her. No matter what she said, this led to one thing. “Not guilty” she squeaked out. “You have all judged me wrongly, for the greatest judge- death herself knows my innocence as does god.”

“The time has come to pass judgment.” 

One by one, all the men rose and repeated after one another “Guilty.” and each time it felt like a hammer and sickle slowly chipping away at her world, at her heart. 

Later that night

“My girl.” he called out with a ghost of a friendly smile. 

She was dreaming once again. She yearned for him as it felt like forever since she saw him in her dreams. Her waking world was nothing but loneliness and waiting. Waiting for her last moments as the clock ticked.

“My mysterious man.” She approached him. She wondered. Did he know of her upcoming doom- that she was to be executed for something she wasn't even guilty of. In the eyes of the law and the church she wasn’t innocent, she was a tyrant, a criminal. The accusation had flaws, She never even formally met him; the child was always hidden away sick. The one occasion she met the child was on the king’s deathbed. 

Not wanting to ruin the rare occasion she had with her friend, she remained silent on the matter.

They both were not in the darkness she was accustomed to or in the dreaming realm she first met him in. Instead they were in the ballroom of Windsor castle. Wall to wall were oil paintings, portraits of past kings that were decorated in their best golden jewels and crowns. Showing off their owned possessions in a very expensive display of talent. 

Curtains draped over the windows that only let a lick of moonlight flood in reflecting off the golden frames of the paintings. 

“May I make a request of you?” she inquired, rather shyly. He didn't respond verbally, he tipped his head only slightly to the side and relaxed his hard stare. He wanted to hear this request of hers. “Can we dance tonight?”

“We cannot touch Y/N. A single touch and you’ll awake and I’ll be sent back to my realm.”

That explains why the first time she took his hand she was snatched away from him, and the time he touched her cheek. It was to test his theory. Placing her hand on her cheek she was smacked with the vivid image of the dance she had seen in the exact place they stand. A few years back.

Beaming, she responded “We don't have to touch to dance!” Raising her right hand up into the air. “We can hover!”

“Hover?” raising a single brow finding amusement at that. She smiled at that.

“You’ll place a hand over mine, inches away- not touching! We look at each other and then we-” to demonstrate she followed a pattern of a dance from memory on the floor. One hand wrapped around her back as she went left right left and then right. Stopping, bowing before him and looking back up at him with a grin. “Like so!”

“You wish for me to do that, to dance with you? Why do humans love such lively activities so much?” Little did he know, she requested it because she wanted something small to keep her going until she stood on that stand and stood face to face with the executioner. 

“Please?” she begged, avoiding his strange question.

Giving in to her plea, he placed his left hand behind his back then raised his right hand up. She gleefully skipped over to him and mirrored him. He didn't hold up too much of a fight, Y/N couldn't help but think that was too easy.

In complete silence they began to dance. Hands hovering over each other, just almost a hair between them. Y/N could feel the heat radiating from his palm and it made hers sweat. 

Walking in a circle, their wrists crossed with only Dream’s jacket playing the role of a protective barrier. She smiled at him, a wide and whimsical smile.

Swallowing, she carefully lowered her smile and found herself lost in his dark eyes. Locked into his stare. They didn't feel empty- hey look clouded in deep thought and she wished to know what he was thinking. 

With her throat dry from nerves she uttered. “What are you thinking about?”

“Out of anything you could possibly dream for. You dream of emptiness, loneliness and an endless void. You wish to not be awake yet you purposefully avoid dreams.”

“What?”

“Why else would a singular touch from me force you awake.”

“I don’t know.” she honestly didn't know. Everything to her was jaded and isolating and she didn't dare dream when she did, it felt like everything was out to get her. These very limited and small pockets of time with this man were paradise to her.

A beat of silence. “You raise a lot of questions.”

“As do you. I am beyond questioning our meetings and I just… Enjoy them as they come. Why question something that seems rare and fantastical at the same time?” 

Dream laughed up a chalky response. She was right. It had no impact on the dreaming or his realm. It seems to just be an anomaly, one that he had the pleasure of entertaining himself with. “I’ve lived a long life, I’ve come to learn of some strange and wonderful things that the universe and humanity has been willing to share with me. I’ve come to realize it's better to learn them than to let them drift.”

Y/N inhaled and then exhaled, letting her face soften. “Then may I request that we just enjoy this while it lasts.”

“For now. I’ll do as you've asked, since you asked so politely.”

They continued to dance in silence, waving in and out just avoiding each other's tender flesh. Despite burning from the close impact they remained in control and composed. 

It felt like hours but time was ticking and she couldn't stay like this forever, as much as she wished it could just be the two of them like this for eternity where she’ll be free. To never face the executioner. She had to face reality.

It pained her to do so but she stopped. Dream stopped also, confused at her sudden halt. Her hand trembled in the air as she contemplated on her next move. She knew what she had to do, but it ached in her left breast to even think about it. 

Her lips part, and her jaw locked. She didn't want to go. She never wanted to leave him. She made a friend, someone she could spend an empty moment with and enjoy herself, to forget about her troubles and to feel whole.

Clasping his hand, squeezing it within her own. Dream looked over at their hands that were intertwined and before he could look back at her she had woken up.

Once again she was in the waking world. Not in her bed this time, in a cell in the tower of London. Alone and cold. 

Letting her eyes flutter shut to hold back the tears. She had just begun to find a peace of life worth living and now it was going to be taken from her. It felt like she was too late to want this man, it was her punishment to be so close to something she wanted and yet be so far.

9th February 1547

In the tower, in a confined space there wasn't much she could do. She was told through a letter that tomorrow was the day. They hadn’t even been kind enough to get her a master swordsman trained with a sword. Instead she would get a local swordsman who on record had to hack away at someone's neck several times to get their head detached. 

The thought was horrifying on its own.

Worry lines formed on her brow as she reread the letter over and over. The words “It was your own doing.” Had imprinted itself onto her frontal lobe. Her own doing?

She was just a woman wanting more from life. The tragedy of being taken advantage of by the king and his passing allowed his jealous queen to have her revenge. In hindsight it seemed like she never had a chance. In her dreams at least near the end she was blessed with meeting a man she grew fond of. His small meeting was the light at the end of the tunnel she sprinted towards. 

Knowing nothing about him didn't matter. She of course had no plans of marrying him or to lay with him but his company was all she desired. Touch was something she yearned for, yes, but with such a short life span what use would that do?

Crumpling up the letter in her grasp she looked out of the window. Sunset, the sky was like a watercolor of blue, pinks and oranges. A beautiful artwork splattered with an artist’s intentional strokes. Tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day. That was one good thing to look forward to besides seeing her friend one last time- She hoped.

Hours later

Slipping into the dreaming world, She found herself not in the void or in the ballroom. Y/N found herself tip toeing by the window, just like the night she found herself in the company of the raven.

She was replaying a memory.

The raven was there, rattling her brain and she remembered the name. Jessamy. It was a beautiful name. 

“Hello Jessamy.” She sang. Tapping her nail onto the glass. The raven tapped in response, giving her a hello in return.

Storming into the room, Dream swung the door open. “Why did you touch me? Why do you disobey my warning of a single touch but also stubbornly avoid both worlds.” She had never seen such emotion from him before. It was as if it was so strong he himself didn't know what to do with it.

Puffing up her chest to defend herself. “I touched you because I wanted to.” She hadn't understood his questions regarding avoiding worlds? She did feel like she was jaded and just drifting. Wavering between the waking and the dreaming, but she herself didn't understand it.

“Doing so, you should already be aware of what it does by now.” He towered over her- staying a short distance away.

“I did so because- again. I wished to touch you.”

“What aren't you telling me? What aren't you showing me in your dreams.” His dark eyes shrouded with stars like the night sky. There has to be universes in them to be so big and absorbing. He felt rejected, felt like her strange existence was pushing him away and it was getting to him.

“I’m not hiding anything.” she lied

“You are. If you will not tell me, or show me on your own volition, I will pry it out of you.”

“I am to be sent to death.” she snapped. Letting out a hard breath she wasn't aware she was holding in. “I have been found guilty of crimes I haven't committed. My sentence is death. If I am to die so suddenly and so soon why should I hold back? Why should I not touch you?”

His lips part. He wasn't expecting that. Dragging a step back he murmured “Your days are numbered?” Forgetting his feelings of rejection and isolation, more concerned of losing something that had just captured his attention after centuries.

“Tonight is my last night.” she shuddered.

“I can help you.” he whispered, lowering himself from his towering state to reach her level, to appear less threatening.

“How? You're merely a dream.” she sneered.

“You can be here forever- be in the dreaming with me.” sounding vulnerable.

“I must face what I am promised. Have it been eternity in damnation or a blissful infinity in paradise. I will not be a coward.”

“You will die, death is-”

Raising her hand up to stop him. “I don't want to hear it. Knowing will only make things worse.” Dropping her hand to her side she sighed. A shiver ran through her. “I once read somewhere that death is only the beginning. Maybe this will just be mine.” He stood there, feeling powerless as she spoke. “I’ve been a daughter, a mistress but more importantly a friend. A friend to the Prince of stories.”

Speechless, a man of great wisdom was speechless. Mustering up comforting words that he knew she would have wanted to hear, he said “You’ve been a dear friend.”

“I must confess. I have hoped we would be more, I lay awake at night wondering what it would be like to be lovers with you. To be able to touch you freely.”

His lip trembled. It was only subtle but she noticed it. Biting her lip and knitting her brows, she continued. “To have longer dances with you, more midnight wanderings. I wonder what stories you’ve got to share with me and you wonder what stories I will share with you.”

“Stay here, with me. Be a part of the dreaming forever. Maybe friendship could become something more.”

“I desperately wish that, but I am a proud woman. Just- just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Never forget me?” she couldn't keep the flood gates at bay any longer, tears were escaping and running down her cheeks. “Please… just never forget me, or the small moments we’ve shared.” Hiccupping as she struggled to continue her words. “These very small moments have been my heaven, although you still remain a stranger I have found comfort in our time, considering you a close friend- my only friend. If I were to have more time I would have fully discovered my feelings for you.”

“Y/N.” It was fascinating, human’s feared death but when faced with it their biggest concern was to be forgotten. It was likely to be forgotten after three generations but with someone who has a place within history it was unlikely in her case. Yet she wished he would not forget her.

“You're always on my mind and I fear in my last moments you’ll also be there too. My last thought.”

Dream reached over and caressed her cheek, wiping away her tears on impulse. “I’ll never forget you.” He couldn't bear seeing her face anymore, her sad expression. 

From that small touch, she knew there wasn’t much time left. She leaped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Digging her fingers into his hair as she buried her head into the crook of his neck. Sobbing into him as she felt his hands slowly wrap around her.

He was caught off guard, surprised even. So starved that the slightest touch felt like a buffet. The smallest was enough to keep him full for the longest time but this. This was pleasant.

And just like that, she found herself blinking her eyes awake in her cell with tears streaming down her face. Sunlight crashed through as the realization saddled in her gut. The lingering scent of freshly baked bread and smoke was all she could smell. It was his scent. Of course he smelt like that, what an odd mixture.

That was the last time she’ll see him and today, today is her last day alive.

10th February 1547 

There was no holding hands or gentle tears shed for her. She stood in the tower of London awaiting her execution. Holding herself as a lady would, shoulders back, chin up and head held high.

Alone in a bricked room with nothing more than a singular light breaking through, hugging her face. Today the sun was nice. 

Stabbing sensation pinched at her eyes but she remained strong. She wouldn't let tears grow today. Not to tarnish her image and her so-called innocence but to be determined that in her last moments she was strong. 

The doors flew open but her back remained turned to it. 

“Ready?” The guards followed with a priest there to escort her to the courtyard. 

Looking out the window she saw the audience over a stage along with the executioner. The crowd was motionless and quiet, like standing statues. She swallowed and shifted in her precision. “I’m ready.”

Walking down the halls of the tower of London following behind her guides feeling claustrophobic. The damp and cold architecture homed a lot of lost souls and she predicted she would join them. Gently grazing her hand across the brick walls as she descended down the spiral staircase. Her mind wondered what his touch had felt like when she clasped his hand after their dance. With little time to really register his tender flesh, it was hard to describe it beyond that- tender.

Once at the door to the courtyard the sight of the crowd was silent and respectful, causing her breath to hitch. It suddenly became all very real- it felt very real. Frozen in place, too terrified to step outside. If she left the tower it only just solidified her fate.

Her mind wandered to when she had danced with Dream, their hands barely touching as she held his gaze. She only now just realized that she wished she would have kissed him, maybe planted a kiss on his cheek as a thank you. 

“Get a move on.” one of the Guards shoved her, she stumbled forward, out of the shadow into the light. 

Flying over the sun, cutting the light from her face was a raven. It took her a moment to register it but she managed to see her, Jessamy. 

Slowly and steadily she walked through the crowd, it felt like the journey took hours as all she could hear was her heart beat in her throat. Her chest heavy as her delayed panicked breathing was the only audible sound that was in the court yard besides the cruel wind.

Upon reaching the stage she came face to face with the platform where she would lay her head. The block of wood that faced a hundred people. Locking eyes with it she saw the black stains of blood from those before her. Slowly and steadily she raised her gaze to look at the crowd. 

There he was. Standing within the crowd and watching. He was there with a woman she recognized the night the king had died. The black woman with the headdress that was like a halo.

Shaking and trembling Y/N express tenderness towards Dream. Pouring out all the gratitude she could for the small nights he comforted her with company and slumber in her restless hours. For letting her experience what she yearned for, a friend, a companion and maybe even a lover. Despite the inability of physical touch he touched her heart in a way she’ll forever hold dear in her afterlife. 

Dream studied the scene, putting his hand on his sister's shoulder, grip tight as he couldn't look away. Death rubbed his hand that was tense at her shoulder and reassured him. 

“She’ll be okay, Dream.” He knew she was comforting him but he knew better. He had seen this a million times in nightmares and in the waking world but right now he knew he had to follow Y/N’s wishes and let destiny take her hand. 

His strong sense of rejection was crushing him inside. He could barely handle it. She would rather die than spend her entire existence in the dreaming with him. 

It took a lot for him to show up here in the courtyard. Death had encouraged it as it would be “a small act of kindness for her.”

Fear across Y/N’s face, she reached up and removed her jewelled headdress with shaky hands, revealing her under cap. Leaving nothing between her neck and the blade. 

Remaining her eye contact with Dream while she was guided down to the block. He was her grounding support, her anchor. The connection they had right now was what she needed. It was better than a huge or a hand in hand. It was his way of helping her through this; to keep her eyes focused on him.

She took in a deep and sharp breath then mouthed. “Your heart is yours.” towards my dream. Death turned to face him, to catch his reaction. He was withdrawn, struggling to remain emotionless as his walls were slowly being destroyed.

Falling carefully to her knees, her breath hitched again as sobs escaped her against her will. Placing her head over the platform nothing but silence. The loud silence of the entire court yard and her desperate sobs for life. The executioner brought up his sword in the air with all his might.

Her entire life she was waiting to live, and she only just began her life in her last days.

“Forgive me.” She whispered with a quiver. “Forgive me god. For all I ever wanted was to love and be loved.”

#The sandman fanfic #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #the sandman fanfiction #morpheus fanfiction #one shot fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #dream x reader #dream fanfiction

[basmathgirl]

Hiii basmathgirl,

You are in my eyes Ten x Donna and Tatennant royalty and I just want to thank you for your fics and your presence on tumblr (I remember your blog from when I discovered Tendonna in 2016 and I'm soo glad that you're still championing them after all these years (I kind of lost interest in Doctor Who for some years, but now my TenDonna obsession is full on back thanks to the 60th special)). Thank you for investing so much time and love into this fandom and being soo nice and kind when answering asks.

Anyway I've written my first tendonna fic and published it a few days ago and I wondered about reaching out to you but then thought the selfpromo is too shameful.

But when I've read your last anon ask, I thought wow that's a coincidence!!!! Because the fic deals with the Ten/Donna/River mess and is an add on for the library two parter. So I take it as an omen (like our superstitious queen CT) and have decided to slide into your asks😉

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53066341

I'm afraid my fic won't exactly satisfy the needs of anon sadly. Because it's not a fix-it, more a "let's add even more angst/hurt to Tendonna after what they lived through". Ten desperately wants and craves Donna, and meeting River makes him realize even more that it's actually Donna who he whishes to be able to know his name. There's a lot of angst involved with him not knowing about Donna's futute fate. And there's a kiss that he initiates and she first reciprocates and then stops. So yeah... exactly the kind of hurt/no comfort I'm into but probably not a lot of other people.

And I fear my fic could be misconstrued as River bashing which was never my intention. I don't like how Moffat has written River but I like what she COULD be. If only.

Hope your doing well and your migraines get better.

Lots of love from Germany xx

Hello @thelittlecoughsomewhere!

How lovely to talk to you. Although I'm not sure about the "royalty" bit

*blush*

Not compared to Catherine Tate (in Queen of Oz). I'm more like the "old retainer" who fondly looks after her... Anyway.

Thank you for the wonderful compliment! 😘

Hugs to you! [gorgeous Ten/Donna drawing by @mayomkun]

Oooh, you wrote a fic set in The Library (because, as we know, it gets a great big "The" in Moffat's world). I know what you mean about the self promos :- very embarassing at the nest of times, yet how else can you get someone to read it?

So I read Grieving for the living and found it gorgeously angsty and bittersweet, and rather Ten/Donna shippy (because I like that sort of thing). You did a fine job of not bashing River too, btw.

Generally, the migraines are better thanks, but I've spent the day with a migraine, wrapped up in my oversized snuggle hoodie, being fussed over by hubby; so it's not all bad.

Sending you lots of love from England xx

#thelittlecoughsomewhere #Ten/Donna fic #fic rec #this is your London correspondent #signing off #(blimey! haven't written that in years)

[jetiisyandereclones]

Hello, I'm starting a new tag game in order to spread some love for OCs!

If you get this message take it as a chance to rant about your OCs, tell us why you love them, why you created them, their tragic past, anything and everything you'd like to share! Go nuts! Then, to continue the love, send this to other people who need a chance to talk about their characters.

Ok, vera sai.

My main girl.

Trigger warning, this has alot of dark themes

Vera sai was born in France in the early 1400s. Her mother, esthianna durand, was a child prostitute forced into servitude after her lord father was beheaded by his people. Esthianna, being a bastard child, was able to slip by without attracting their notice.

Vera's father was a handsome but despicable man with a taste for the very young.

Esthianna was 14 and pretty and a prime target.

Vera's father kept her mother untill she got pregnant at 19, deeming her to look too old to please him.

He cast her out and she was forced to live like a hermit in the woods outside of town, eventually giving birth to her daughter, catherine durand, or as she would later come to be known as, vera sai.

Vera was born with strange birthmarks all over her body. Swirling patterns that gracefully covered her from head to toe. Beautiful, but concerning.

Whispers of the word witch and devils whore had already been caught around the town. She feared what may happen to her baby.

Wsthianas fate was sealed when a strange craft descended from the sky, come to see her from another world.

Come for her catherine.

Qui Gon had sensed the immense, but patchy force cry of young vera sai, and followed it. Followed it through a wormhole.

There was a language barrier. Esthianna had never heard basic before and Qui Gon had never heard of french.

He could only impress, through the force, that he meant no harm to the young mother or her baby.

But things turned sour.

Esthianna had agreed to Qui Gon to take both her and her baby away to wherever he had come from. To somewhere he assured her was safe.

She only asked he give her one night to prepare.

It was one night too many.

The Vera's father had caught wind that his old whore had been visited by someone from the sky and claimed witch craft.

He demanded that esthianna and her demon spawn be brought to the town square, to burn at the stake for their sins.

Well. Esthianna, seeing the mob, ran.

She ran for her horse, getting shot in the leg with an arrow. And when her horse got shot only a couple of meters from the concealed ship, she limped to it.

But she did not know how to get in and no one was coming out.

So seeing no other choice, she bundled her baby up and left her at the foot of the ship, limping away to draw off the mob.

They caught her and dragged her to the town square. Ripping her dress from her body and shaving her head.

The town leader demanded to know what she did woth the child.

Esthianna refused to say anything.

He burnt her alive.

Back at the ship, qui gon had returned with obi wan and anakin from a scouting trip, the lights and screams from the town having attracted him back down from the mountains.

They found the young child crying at the hatch to the ship, and qui gon, sensing something awful had happened told obi wan to take her and anakin inside while he went to look for esthianna.

He was horrified with what he saw then.

The young mother, tied naked to a pyre, screeching and howling as flames consumed her alive.

He ran back to the ship before anyone saw him, and immediatly charted a course for home.

He needed to meditate on this tragedy.

He needed to clear his mind, and his guilt.

But obi wan approached him, holding the young child.

"Master Qui Gon....what happened?"

Obi wan asked.

"The child's mother has been killed, obi wan. She sacrificed herself to save her daughter."

Qui gon chose not to divulge the exact circumstances of the poor girls death.

"I...see." obi wan swallowed, not exactly sure how to respond to the news.

The baby cooed from where she was bundled in obi wand arms, teaching playfully for his padawan braid.

"Master. The force....it is strong with her, but odd...I've never sensed a signiture so...."

"Unstable. I agree. It is...unusual. but perhaps for the best. I can sense her powers are immense. If they did not dip as drastically as they do I dare say they would rip her apart.

Now....she needs a name."

Qui gon said gently, laying a hand on the infant's head.

"Master...I heard the woman talk about something...she said...Versailles? She spoke of it so often...and with so much fondness.

Perhaps her name should be Vera Sai?"

Obi wan suggested, his finger held in a grip but the young girls small, chubby hand.

Qui gon hummed.

"True one who is divine....a... powerfull name to pick. But I think it suits her, my young padawan.

Welcome, vera sai....you will be a great jedi one day"

-------------------------------------------------

That was vera sais origin, where she came from.

I originally made her because I wanted a jedi oc shenwas powerfull. But sort of strayed from the image of a powerfull jedi created by anakin and ashoka.

Shes powerfull, but unstable. Because of this she had great difficulty in learning how to controll her force powers. Instead, she leant heavily into theory, history. And most of all, the physical aspects of the force. She was a prodigy of martial arts. Going through the jedis training programs quickly.

Later on, when it was time to make lightsabers, it was revealed that she could not weild one.

Khyber Crystal's are extremely unstable. The stable energy of the jedinweilder flowing through them is what makes the lightsaber usable.

Vera said force energy was extremely unstable.

A small pulse from her just activating the blade, cause it to explode.

Because of this, she could not complete her padawan trials. She was forced to stay back and watch 5 year as do what she couldnt.

It made her bitter. Angry.

Shed go out at night, into the deeper levels. Drawn to the crime ridden underbelly of coruscant. If she couldnt protect like a jedi, shed protect like a mercenary.

This phase lasted about a year, when the council gathered to discuss her future.

Should she be allowed, at the age of 16, to become a padawan?

Or should she be moved to the corps?

In the end. Two jedi master fought to take her on as an apprentice.

First was master krell, who saw her potential for violence and power and wished to harness her as an asset.

The second master, was shaak tii.

She wished to help vera and beleive the structured, disciplined environment of kamino would be beneficial to the girls journey.

Master yoda debated and meditated over his options and decided that vera should go with master shaak tii.

That is how she came to be on kamino, and training under alpha 17 and fordo. She later met the batch.

After another soul draining lesson in the force woth shaak tii she was going for a walk and happened upon a group of cadets playing on a landing dock in the middle of a storm.

The bad batchers had snuck out to explore kamino.

Vera was about to tell them to get back inside when a particularily strong gust of wind threw an empty crate at one.

The tall, lanky, grey haired boy was hit in the head and knocked into the sea.

Vera immediatly started to run, dropping her robes and demanding the others get away from the edge, before diving in after the boy.

She didnt thinknabout her own saftey, or the massive power of the water crashing over her.

She saw only the drowning, young clone, in startling clarity.

For the first time, it clicked for her. The force lined up and she was able to weild it to get this boy, and carry him to saftey.

Before she knew it, the was in her arms and she was gluing up back onto the platform.

She ran him to the closest med wing. Feeling him shiver and curl against her.

She jumped levels useing the force, leaving the other boys to follow.

It was the first time she was able to weild the force properly, and the first time meeting the bad batch.

The second time she met them was during the invasion of kamino, where vera came across them fighting off the droids.

She led them to where fives, echo, rex and cody were barricaded with the cadets, and started to instruct them.

She was the one who first handed the grey haired boy a long range weapon, and told him to stay by echo and fives up in position.

He took shot after shot after shot.

Perfectly lined up.

Vera couldnt help but remark that he wasnt letting any droid escape his crosshairs.

He called himself crosshair from that day forward.

Vera would later on become a spy for the republic, taking on missions in the deepest of enemy territory.

Her biggest mission?

Spy on count dooku himself from within his own home. She did that for 3 years.

Her lightsaber Crystal's came from inside his vault. She stole them before abandoning her mission.

Her Crystal's were special. They absorbed light and energy, of which she had plenty.

During this time she also took on a padawan.

Bode akuna had list his master to the war and needed someone to complete his training. Vera volunteered. Completing his force training, as well as showing her some of her own tricks. Espionage, intelligence, infiltration, and force abilities that she had mastered over the years.

Bode was a quick learner and within an year and a half, had graduated to knighthood.

Because of this, vera was given the rank of master.

It also tore a divide between her and anakin. Anakin wanted to be a master but couldnt due to his padawan never having graduated to knighthood. Yet vera could come in last minute and take the title?

It was a fact he was bitter about.

And then to rub salt in the wound she was given a spot on the council, which she refused.

Around this time she had been growing close to another jedi, Nazra Ra'shii.

They had known eachother a long time, and decided once the war was over, they would leave the temple together.

That's why vera turned down a spot on the council. She didnt intend to stay.

And that's when the war ended early. When the clone family AU starts.

#yandere clones #yandere clone family au #clone wars #clone family au #yandere alpha 17 x jedi oc #yandere clone #yandere bad batch #jedi!F!OC

[welldonebeca]

the night before

Summary: The night before her death, Catherine reflects on her life. WC: 1.1k words Warnings: Angst, hurt without comfort A/N: This story is written from the perspective that Catherine Howard was born in 1524.

Catherine always feared she wouldn’t have a happy ending. Of course, the last three months were sure to have carved her future like nothing ever before, but she always had a feeling her life would never end on an easy note.

She couldn’t remember a lot of life at this point. Her Lady Mother’s face wasn’t something she ever felt like she knew, and her father’s voice wasn’t memorable. She had died when long go when Catherine was just four, and he just sent her to live with her grandmother because he couldn’t - or didn’t want to - deal with her and care for her.

Grandmother wasn’t really her grandmother and she always knew that - she always had to call her ‘my lady step-grandmother’ when she was around - but in her mind, she would still call her that. With no sibling she could count on, a mother dead and a father too busy to write, thinking of her as a grandmother made her feel less lonely.

Syon Abbey was deadly empty at all hours of the day since Catherine had arrived. It was different from the court in everything: there were no people to roam the walls, no invisible servants doing work through the hours of the day, and no music.  Instead, there was silence, and space for it to echo as deafening as it could ever be, Maybe it was meant to make her face her own thought, but after a whole Winter, there wasn’t much left to be said or tears left to be cried.

Now that death was on her shoulder, she wondered if maybe she should have written something down. Her story, her age… something to be remembered.

Catherine was used to death. She knew she would face it in the morning and was ready to embrace it like a friend when it came, in the way she had embraced its victims in the weeks that lead her to today.

There was a comfort in the way she knew this wasn’t her fate alone, that she wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last to lose her head for something she regretted. God, her cousin had been killed for much less, blamed for crimes she had never committed. How long would it be for another Queen to doubt Henry and make him so angry he would have her killed?

It made her wonder if this was why her cousin was always in her head since she married the King. Maybe she was always meant to perish like her, the way sweet Anne was always meant to be set aside like Queen Katherine.

She wondered if the woman who would come after her would die, like Queen Jane, on the bed where she had laboured to give the King a song.

Annulled, beheaded and dead, the women who came first dictated.

And they repeated it later. Annulled, beheaded and…

“My lady,” someone called.

She turned to the door.

My Lady, not my Queen. Not anymore.

Catherine wondered if history would think of her as a fool. She wondered if history would think of her at all.

Would they wonder if she knew what she was doing when her heart was louder than her head?

The King… he wasn’t the husband she wanted. He didn’t spend time with her or talked to her, and just showed her around, parading her like a prize he had won.

Thomas was nice and sweet. He asked her about her day and about her thoughts and opinions on things, and treated her like no one had ever done before. And after Mannox and Dereham had taken and taken from her, and the ladies in court refused to treat her more than coldly, why couldn’t she just have something? One good thing in her life, one nice person who cared?!

But it didn’t matter now, did it?

The man carried the bloody block into the room and set it in front of her.

“Is this is, what you request, my lady?” he asked, unsure.

She didn’t look at him, just staring. Yes, good sir,” she confirmed. “Thank you.”

It was tomorrow, her death.

When her cousin lost her head, they told her when it would happen, and then gave her one more day. She wondered if Anne had spent the nights before that praying for her soul, or if she had just given up. Maybe she had prayed for Lady Elizabeth, who was now just as alone as Catherine had always been: motherless and the daughter of a father who didn’t care. She hoped Lady Mary was a better sister than she was a stepdaughter, then maybe little Elizabeth would have a chance.

The man lingered on his spot, and the way his body was unmoved made her raise her gaze to look at him.

“Why?” he asked.

Catherine looked at him, and then back to the block again.

“To practice,” she whispered.

Wasn’t it obvious?

He walked away, leaving her alone, and she breathed in as the sound of the heavy door closing echoed through her empty room.

People always praised her beauty, so much. Father, grandmother, Mannox and Dereham… her uncle, the one who had brought her to the King, and her husband too.

Thomas said she was funny and such good company, but yes, he always called her beautiful too.

It was all she had, her beauty. So she was going to use it, to at least be in control of… of what she couldn’t be in control.

The first time she knelt, she was trembling, so she tried again. And again. And again, until her thighs were aching, and her knees felt marked by every dent on the floor.

So then, she placed her head on the block. One, two, three, ten times, until she could do it perfectly.

It was uncomfortable, yet, but it wasn’t like her head was going to rest there for too long.

When they came to take it away, she supposed hours had always passed, but none of the new guards said anything or asked her questions.

A lady came to help her dress, and when the sun was up, Catherine’s fingers were shaking when she clasped her hands together in one last prayer.

“Please,” she begged in whispered, hoping God would hear her in some instance. “Make it quick. Make me not hurt and just take me.”

She had already asked for forgiveness and a place in heaven, maybe where she would see her mother again. Mother would love her like no one on this Earth would.

The door opened slowly, squeaking loudly, and the guards were all outside, waiting to take her, at last.

Catherine just braced herself, breathing in and standing up.

“My lady,” the head guard called. “It is time.”

#katherine howard #catherine howard #tudor era #tudor fanfiction #tudor fanfic #tudor fic #tudor history #tudor period

[smvllb0dy]

1505 FAMILY TREE DECADES CHALLENGE

Some Updates!!

Here is the new update to the ultimate decades challenge family tree. as you can see Catherine and Gilbert had two more kids since the last update. twins!! which was a huge stress on Catherine, hardly getting any sleep and no time to clean around the house or even take care of herself. Revna and Joan (the twins) aged up today and sadly Revna the oldest passed from measles. The whole family is devastated by this death, especially Joan. Catherine can't help but wonder if there was anything she could've done to keep her healthy and fears the same fate for her other children and her child on the way. That's All The Updates For 1505 I'll Be Back For More Updates Soon!!!

#the sims 4 #ultimate decades challenge #sims 4 decades #my decades challenge #ts4 maxis cc #sims 4 #sims 4 legacy #the sims legacy #ts4 legacy #sims generations #the sims challenge #the sims community #morbid gamer #gen 1 #smvllb0dylegacychallenge

[bethanydelleman]

Lady Susan Readthrough Letters 25 & 26

Summary: Lady Susan related her triumph over Reginald to Alicia. She told Reginald that she would leave the house after their argument, which resulted in a reconciliation. However, she is planning revenge because she was forced to give up the Sir James plan for the present. She tells her friend her next plan is to go to London.

Alicia says town is the best option, as Mainwaring is threatening to visit Churchill (that would be bad!). She advises Lady Susan to think of herself (lol) and leave Frederica behind. She also says her husband will be out of town so they can party like it's 1799.

-+-

Honestly, the best worst line:

Silly woman to expect constancy from so charming a man!

But also, what a tip off for both Willoughby and Henry Crawford! If Jane Austen teaches us to fear anything, it's charming men. I think Wentworth is the only hero who is described as charming...

This is also such a sad commentary on gender dynamics. Mrs. Mainwaring's money was almost entirely under her husband's control. He is now rich and feels able to cheat on his wife without consequences.

Its effect on Reginald justifies some portion of vanity, for it was no less favourable than instantaneous. Oh, how delightful it was to watch the variations of his countenance while I spoke! to see the struggle between returning tenderness and the remains of displeasure.

Lady Susan has this strange duality of being very proud of herself for having the ability to do this, but then also hating Reginald for needing it to be done. It makes me wonder about the mysterious Mainwaring. Because Lady Susan does not like the very placeable Sir James, so maybe Reginald is just too moral and Mainwaring is the happy medium of intelligent and devoted?

Humbled as he now is, I cannot forgive him such an instance of pride, and am doubtful whether I ought not to punish him by dismissing him at once after this reconciliation, or by marrying and teazing him for ever.

The very difficult choice of whether to dump or marry him!

I must punish Frederica, and pretty severely too, for her application to Reginald; I must punish him for receiving it so favourably, and for the rest of his conduct. I must torment my sister-in-law for the insolent triumph of her look and manner since Sir James has been dismissed; for, in reconciling Reginald to me, I was not able to save that ill-fated young man; and I must make myself amends for the humiliation to which I have stooped within these few days.

Poor Frederica! Reginald is being punished for... *checks notes* trying to save a distressed teenager and Catherine must be punished for being smug. I feel so sorry for all of Lady Susan's "humiliations"

Flexibility of mind, a disposition easily biassed by others, is an attribute which you know I am not very desirous of obtaining; nor has Frederica any claim to the indulgence of her notions at the expense of her mother’s inclinations.

Lol, "Being open minded is for suckers"

You should think more of yourself and less of your daughter.

Well... okay.

I would ask you to Edward Street, but that once he forced from me a kind of promise never to invite you to my house; nothing but my being in the utmost distress for money should have extorted it from me.

How intelligent, Mr. Johnson.

Her folly in forming the connection was so great that, though Mr. Johnson was her guardian, and I do not in general share his feelings, I never can forgive her.

We know that Mr. Johnson basically disowned Mrs. Mainwaring over her foolish choice of a husband. And now it is proven to be a foolish choice. One wishes poor Mrs. Mainwaring would have listened.

INSANE Alicia Conspiracy Theory: I feel like this theory gets less crazy the more I write about it. Alicia is actually suggesting that Lady Susan send back Mrs. Mainwaring's husband:

Besides, if you take my advice, and resolve to marry De Courcy, it will be indispensably necessary to you to get Mainwaring out of the way; and you only can have influence enough to send him back to his wife.

Which sounds like what Mr. Johnson would want. After all, it is disgraceful for Mrs. Mainwaring to be abandoned, even if her husband coming back feels icky to us today.

Alicia also advises Lady Susan to leave Frederica with the Vernons, where Frederica will be happy and safe. I'm telling you, she's on Frederica's side. Mrs. Johnson is a double agent!

#insane alicia conspiracy theory #lady susan readthrough #lady susan vernon #lady susan #catherine vernon #frederica vernon #reginald de courcy #mr. mainwaring #alicia johnson

[denimbex1986]

We didn’t want David Tennant to go, and it was time for Ncuti Gatwa to finally take the Tardis keys, but in a twist we got both of them at once. It was no surprise, though, that Neil Patrick Harris was a scene-stealing romp, revelling in silly accents, closeup card magic and imaginative cruelty.

The Toymaker’s violence-dealing dance scene at Unit HQ to the Spice Girls rivalled the Master’s Rasputin routine in the Power of the Doctor, and seemed like the new Russell T Davies era writ large: bright, bold and knowingly silly, but with an underlying political message.

Shirley Anne Bingham (Ruth Madeley) was back too, and the barb a possessed Kate Stewart (Jemma Redgrave) aimed at her, that she had seen her getting up out of her wheelchair, was oddly prescient. It was filmed months and months ago, but echoed the ludicrous discourse after Madeley’s first appearance about whether a character in a wheelchair could be capable of crossing their legs. Online discourse like that was one of Davies’ real-life targets with this script, with its not-too-subtle messaging that having every human online and 100% certain they were right about everything was a recipe for global chaos.

A return for former companion Mel (Bonnie Langford) meant she finally got to show that her character really had been, as described, a computer programmer, and not just an eternally-in-distress 1980s damsel. And Langford got to use her singing and dancing skills for plot-driven reasons too.

At its heart, for the first 40 minutes, this was about Tennant and Catherine Tate (Donna). At times tender, at times dry or sarcastic with each other – “I’m already running!” – but always friends. When Donna so effortlessly negotiated a future job at Unit, you feared the worst for her – that it would be another fantastic dream she would never get to have, but she ended up with her family life, and an unexpected plus one in the shape of a grounded 14th Doctor.

Gatwa’s entrance, due to the show’s first ever “bi-generation”, appears to be acting as a character cleanse for the Doctor and a potential soft timeline reset for the show as a whole. It meant a huge tonal shift for the final third, leaving the demise of the Toymaker almost an aside as the Doctors stood together, using the 60th anniversary to wave goodbye to the past and usher in the future.

Sum it up in one sentence? The Toymaker returns to drive the human race to distraction with a doll, only to find they’ve gifted the Doctor a home.

Life aboard the Tardis We got the awkward conversation that happens every time a current companion meets an earlier one – “but you’d never mentioned them”. And the Toymaker’s puppet replay of the grisly fates of Amy, Clara and Bill rammed home how life on the Tardis has become a hazardous occupation in the modern era.

Fear factor The scenes inside the Toymaker’s shop had a creepy dreamlike feel to them, with the dolls at times evoking horror movie vibes – albeit a horror movie you can show to eight-year-old kids on a Saturday teatime.

Mysteries and questions The Meeps’s reference to its boss in the first special, and the Toymaker saying there was a thing hiding in the universe that even he was afraid to challenge, but would be somebody else’s game, seem to be setting up a big bad for Gatwa’s first full season. And the Master couldn’t really be trapped for all eternity in a gold tooth? Of course not. That was surely the hand of the Rani picking up the tooth after it dropped.

Deeper into the vortex * There were too many callbacks to count, but the biggest was the Toymaker, who, as briefly glimpsed in colourised clips, first appeared played by Michael Gough in a 1966 story with William Hartnell. Gough was due to reprise the role in The Nightmare Fair, a 1986 Colin Baker story, but BBC bigwigs had other ideas, put the show on hiatus, and we ended up with Trial of a Time Lord instead. The 1966 story has three episodes missing from the archive, but an animated version using the original audio soundtrack will be released next year. Though from the trailer it looks like it was animated in Roblox, so YMMV. * As Kate Stewart, Jemma Redgrave has now appeared in stories featuring the 10th, 11th, 12th, 13th, 14th, 15th and War Doctors. That equals or eclipses the number of Doctors that her character’s father, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, appeared with, depending on how pedantically you count them. * Russell T Davies has said that one of the reasons he thought of casting Harris as the Toymaker after working with him on It’s a Sin was because the actor is a magic enthusiast and has done his own standup magic routines before...'

#The Giggle #Doctor Who #60th Anniversary #Russell T. Davies #Neil Patrick Harris #The Toymaker #David Tennant #Ncuti Gatwa #Catherine Tate #Donna Noble #Kate Stewart #Jemma Redgrave #Shirley Anne Bingham #Ruth Madeley #Spice Girls #Melanie Bush #Bonnie Langford #Bi-generation #UNIT #The Meep #Amy Pond #Clara Oswald #Bill Potts

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

Henry VIII (La Monnaie De Munt, 2023): Reactions, Part II

let us continue!

nice cello ensemble also more shirtless extras because it’s a py production of course also also that is the least realistic looking horse i’ve seen in an opera since the infamous example in the toulouse 2017 le prophète

who doesn’t love pretty french opera orchestral music

big things of fabric!!!

“i’m gonna beat up that little fucker” -don gomez and all of us watching this opera

“he can’t even be a king right”

indeed it’s a fate worse than death for a TENOR to lose his GIRLFRIEND to a BARITONE

let’s see

and there you go

she’s so cute honestly

uh oh

well according to your own words, no one can control who they love

big mirrors! chandeliers! we love it!

YEAH

“sir i didn’t ask for this”

“the kiiiiiiiiiiiiiing of england is theeeeeeeeeeere inside your miiiiiiiiiiiiiiind”

“sir pls stop using weird sexual metaphors about my dream gf’s features”

well he certainly got to the point there!

GO OFF

changing the game ENTIRELY

don gomez just sitting in the corner like that’s where naughty henry viii-hating tenors go lmaoooooooo

OOF

it would be funny if it weren’t so painfully wrong

why is his laugh so cute tho

girls just wanna have fun (and power)

“uh…the crown on my head definitely DOESN’T mean i wanna replace you!”

“yeah no i don’t buy that”

OH DAMN

HENRY DO NOT FUCKING SHOOT CATHERINE

technically that is correct

✨tension✨

QUEEN FIGHT

BALLER

highly unlikely but it would be funny if anne shot henry

congrats henry you just confirmed ALL of her fears

“the pope’s too caught up in some dispute between two sculptors in rome to figure this out so i’m here instead. guess that’s gonna get made into an opera too”

low key callout post

yes sadly we know this

once again: GREAT ensemble writing

totally-not-symbolic cross falling (also HOW did they get it to fall at the EXACT right moment that thing has been hard attached to that wall for two acts)

anyway, to be continued later tonight!

#opera #opera tag #opera liveblog #henry viii #saint-saëns #camille saint-saëns #saint saëns #camille saint saëns #this continues to be excellent