#distracted dainty demon crafts

[distracteddaintydemon]

Did you know?

There is almost no bad way to make your first petticoat. Fabric, weave, construction, proportion, type of ruffle, type of closing - everything will be a little confusing on your first try and everything will be much more easier once you put this first one on your ass.

It's true that different fibers has different thermal properties, and that weight of fabric and type of weave both affect thermal properties and shape. And different construction methods can give certain advantages. And that proportions will definitely alter your final silhouette.

It's tempting to try and get it all right at your first try. But remember:

the only true way to fuck up your first petticoat is to use a fabric that gives you a rash!

Yes, linen is cooler than cotton and cotton gets smelly faster - but people live in places with different weather, have different individual thermal comfort points, and sweat with different intensity.

Yes, some construction methods are more popular than others - but people have different tools at their disposition, different minds and different manual skills, so you never know which method will work well for you until you try at least one of them.

Yes, there is a lot of possible proportions - but you don't know what will feel best on you, with your body type and your clothes worn over it, until you give it a try.

Whatever you'll make, it'll serve as starting point, informing you in what directions you actually wish to move. And if it comes out really outside of your desired type - well.

When cold winter comes, there's no such thing as a bad petticoat, and the best possible petticoat is the next one stacked over three others. Find a skirt-wearing person with poor cold resistance, offer them additional layer and watch them exult.

[lycanthrotea]

...

“Not very smart walking all alone this snowy evening”

Lahortans froze in their steps. somebody was threatening them, right On their way to a reunion they didn’t even want to go to. They didn’t even notice they were being followed as the cold wind blew past their muffed ears and their mind was distracted by The promising future of being accepted into Leencian’s most prestigious university of magic up north. How they waited for the day to continue their research in a more enriching environment , access to so many more tomes so much better funding and some of the more well-known individuals in the field, everything seem to shatter under the icy breath sudden blowing on the back of their neck. they jumped startled, dropping their bag turned back to meet The aggressor, Because of course It couldn’t just be a voice inside their head. It was a demon Whom by their lack of thick winter clothing and frozen breath Had an affinity towards ice, Which is exactly the last ones you want to see when standing in deep snow, during dusk..

“Ah! What do you need of me?”

“You know what I want, Just give the bag here already. Try anything and i’ll slice your neck clean off. “

They stepped away from it as the Stranger Dumped all of their possessions into the snow, clothes, books, alcohol, identification. Grinned as they as found their wallet and looked content at the amount of money. A fair amount, Lahortans brought a bit extra in case they were certainly not wanted at their aunt’s farm and needed a place to stay, and drinks to Go with it. Lahortans glanced at the them, They noticed and glared right back intently at them, trying to see any hint of resistance. They did have a small fire pendant on Their person they carried for self-defense and keeping warm ,mainly keeping warm, but it was in their pocket and there was hardly a chance they could snatch it around someone who was likely rather experienced in messing people up. Of course they could also use their own blood but Because they were more interested in studying it than using it They wouldn’t be able to funnel off enough blood from their body fast enough to attack.

“There. Not as much as your nice outfit would suggest but its something. Speaking of which hand that over too.”

“Sigh..Very well ..”

They were much more annoyed to part with their lovely coat. although where they were going the winters would a little less long, they still spent a pretty good amount for such a Beautiful thing, Embroidered with intricate details, threaded with magical thread That would keep one more warm than its appearance might suggest , they weren’t sure if they would Be willing to buy a replacement. At least they still had something to keep them self warm with but they would have to move quickly unless they wanted to risk hypothermia. As they hesitantly took it off The demon suddenly made an icicle in their hand and held it to their neck like a blade.

“Now what are you doing hiding such a lovely thing under that scarf of yours. Come on now you only got to cooperate with me a little more kid.”

“Ah.. I.. Er.. please I rather you take anything and everything else. “

“Must be pretty valuable Huh?”

It was. A beautiful double layered pearl choker that had been in their family for very many years. The beads were not completely uniform In color varying from pure white to rosier tones, But all uniform in shape. the necklace itself was crafted w the property to help store excess magic Which didn’t mean much to them but was a nice bonus. Their mother had to given It to them A few years ago much sooner than their grandmother had to her. Likely because Lahortans had marveling at its beauty since they were young, despite her rarely wearing it. They also were going to be rather far away from home to pursue their interests. She at a time thought they were emotionally much closer than Lahortans was, and wanted to give something to remind them of home. Regardless of their personal feelings towards her They truely treasured it, and wore quite often. the idea of losing it to some random bandit who on closer inspection had the pungent smell of alcohol in their breath was Not something they wished to imagine, But they were cornered and had a severe field disadvantage. However at the moment they failed to consider this, in a lapse of Judgment for the briefest of moments Lahortans thought they thought they could run. As they started To back away the demon striked at their abdomen. the force of The slash threw Lahortans onto the snow, They screamed As the Sharp horrible pain It brought seized their entire body. They reflexively clutched their stomach realizing in horror they’d been eviserated.

“Not very smart this fancy one, Hey stay quiet unless you really want me to end it off for you.”

The demon jumped on them and forcibly unclasped their necklace, Lahortans tried to stop them but they could only muster dirtying the precious heirloom with their blood. They were punched in the face before Being warned once more about Trying to resist and were left to bleed in the snow. It really was the absolute worse, They were freezing and in agonizing pain and Were facing the possibility of dying where they laid. They took a minute to start gathering themself, it was most important to rid of the lightheadedness.

In the moment it was a strain to focus withblood pouring out but as they Started to get a grip over their own blood, They began to feel much better. Whether it was half frozen in the snow or flowing out of their body or still coursing through their veins. As Long as they were in control, they wouldn’t necessarily need it in their body to survive and they could turn their attention to trying to figure out what to do now.

Firstly if they wanted to get out of here, their best bet was to Inconspicuously bleed themself out, that way they would have a manner to defend themself more easily. But if they wanted to not lose precious posessions they’d have to go offensive And catch the demon Off guard. Although such Maneuvers weren’t a thing they were exactly familiar And experienced with—maybe was the adrenaline maybe it was the prospect of getting an upper hand by trying to use an amount of magic they previously haven’t been able to use— they were quite ready to go. All They had to do was distract them by using the blood left on their necklace and-

Lahortans took one last deep breath— or Tried because Doing so really hurt— And with a grip of their fist the small amount of blood covering the pearls Suddenly turned into spikes towards the hand that gripped it. The assailent Released their grip on the pearls grabbing their wrist in pain. Lahortans quickly Got on their feet, Making sure their guts didn’t spill out as the other demon reflexively began to turn the snow into rows of large Shards that erupted from the ground below. They were able to leap out of the way in time, reached into their pockets for the fire pendant and wrapping blood around their arm was able to funnel magic to create A blast of flame that the demon would stumble to avoid. Lahortans Was then able to drench the demon in their own blood In the moment of vulnerability before they could possibly turn the snow around them into shards of ice that would probably Mangle anyone’s body.

Once soaked they could constrict the body so the assailent wouldn’t be able to use it to channel magic. It was easier feat than expected, Which is fine and dandy when They really needed to get stitched up as soon as possible.

“Ugh. You’re absolutely disgusting you know that?”

They ignored them shivering as the cold really started to hit. They made sure not to lose their grip while the assailant struggled As they proceeded to pick up their coat which had gotten quite a bit sullied with blood. It was really that simple they thought as they put it on to warm their body. Some random punk who was currently cursing at them as they gathered their things Really had the gall to try and mug them. Combined with the ongoing pain, their fear suddenly turned into annoyance As they found themself to be in complete control of the situation

“Hmph.. You must be oh so fortunate that blood stains mean absolutely nothing to a person like me or else I might be even more furious. regardless I prefer you be the one staying quiet now. “

Of course threating someone who is both angry and drunk meant much more verbal abuses. They weren’t as angry as they said they were but their patience was running thin as they were figuring out what they could possibly do to not get attacked at the moment they released their grip. Maybe strangle them until they fainted from asphyxiation? They motioned to test how much pressure they could put, It definitely could work As they watched the demon struggle to breathe but- Oh. That’s it. A devious grin appeared on their face A look of horror came about the other’s face.

“Now Despite my Condition appearing to be Rather dire I Can safely afford to Dally just a little while. I feel as though letting you go unharmed would not be safe for me . I may be frilly and dainty looking But I am I demon of science, And it seems as though it would be an excellent time to Do a bit of experimentation. “

They gave a small chuckle watching as their subject Began to squirm and struggle even harder The confidence they gave off was probably frightening. The snow around them Both tried to form itself into something but without the Ability to move, To use one’s body to more effectively conduct magic, they were powerless. Of Course it Is not impossible to do so and not extremely difficult but as they were mentally Impaired they lacked The focus needed to do so and Lahortans knew it. Before they decided to resort to screaming Lahortans Took One of their gloves off, scrunched up and stuffed it in their mouth, securing it be wrapping some blood around their head.

“AIthough i am one With much magical stamina, This power you see before you is still quite new to me. I have studied it to an extent yes but I have not had the time to see it at its greatest potential, sustaining all of my blood outside my body and manipulating it. To do so without a scratch on one’s body requires time and concentration. I have been meaning to set the time and energy to do so but until now I have not been able to. However this grisly wound you have gifted me has provided an opportunity. Oh but it isn’t just playing with your body as a ragdoll, I have also never used Blood other than mine.

Those with my magic are able to blend and separate different blood at will, They able to infuse it with magic and use it as if it were their own . Historically speaking there were many more violent uses of it but you shall not worry about that. Once I am done I will put it back in your body and you may be on your way. Of course any form of retaliation and you will be bled out in a moments notice. Do we have ourselves clear? Now, Let us see, “

Lahortans approached And knelt down beside where they laid. Every movement hurt but they bit their lip To brace themselves. They attempted to focus over the others body to sense Any injury on their body they could begin their extraction. They notice that their surprise attack didn’t actually cut their body enough to be a useful point, But it wasn’t like it was something they knew how to do very well so they werent shocked.

“at the moment you are unscathed, I don’t have any sharp objects on me and I doubt you will provide me with one. Hmm. You may find it crude but It seems Is the only way of puncturing your skin would be to use my fangs. I would apologize for your excess pain however I do not think it could be nearly as severe as the gash you have left me with. Oh do not worry I will leave you with your life but you will want to wish your Intoxication is a good enough anesthetic.”

Lahortans Went over the body of their captive, Who Mustering their strength froze themselves up In attempt to protect themself. They asked the captive which hand it was That dominant but they responded by shaking their head angrily. Assuming that it was the one that was used to slash them, The right hand, They firmly grasp the left arm holding it tight before biting Down their forearm without hesitation. they were purposely a little in accurate when it came to trying to hit blood vessels, but still focused more on making large puncture wounds over scraping flesh. Lahortans pulled away only When they begin to feel their face became numb with the cold.

It took but a moment of focus to grab a feeling of the strangers blood and be able to control it as they would their own. Lahortans gleefully And began to extract the blood which floated in the air where they held, Such fascination made them forget the morally questionable nature of the action they were committing and their aching open wound. They did pay close attention to their experimemtee So they would lose just enough blood to fall unconscious and nothing more. As soon as they did Lahortans Released the bloody constraints from the body and took back their glove. From there they could finally see how much they were capable of. They stood and using their arms similar to a conductor and played around with the deep red liquid in the air as the set sun let the Moon do all the lighting. Mixed together pulled apart, and mixed Together again with ease. They could make it rain unnaturally thick droplets and Douse the snow with red Before lifting it up in the air again leaving Imprints as if heavy rain had Fallen. Percision wasn’t easy But it felt amazing (but exhausting) to see a large blob mutate Into whatever simple forms they desired. They Tried to see if they could lift themself up in the air; lightly But the amount of strain almost gave them a headache. They could drench themself in one moment and in the other not a hint of blood Was on their light colored attire.

They continued on testing things for another 10 minutes before conceding to the fact that they might be wasting a little too much magic. With a refreshed sigh, They returned to the body of the other demon And slowly returned the blood back into their body. And then proceeded To check their status to make sure everything was OK. Gave them a little kick but No reflex. Fine. They checked the pulse none they could perceive and then to see if the blood they returned was running, It was stagnant. Of course along with it no heartbeat. They were dead. Lahortans felt their heart drop. it wasn’t as much as having just killed someone , they honestly didn’t care about the others life at this point, But they did had no idea what was going to happen now. In a couple months were Supposed to be on the train to Creonys but now what would happen? It was so very likely that the invitation would be rescinded no matter what happened. But Would it close even more paths? Had their career ended before even truly started. It was not self-defense , not at this point. there was an inkling of malice not enough to have wanted to murder them, but enough to get to the point of having done so. What would the judges rule? How long Will it take to reach it, how long are they going to be behind bars. Oh and of course they were still had a wound that what is currently partly exposing their intestines and a family reunion to get to. At least there was an ever ready surgeon to stitch them up..

They felt that their magic was soon going to be exhausted if they kept holding everything out of their body. With a wave an arm, Lahortans Began to absorb the blood back into their body. They still would need to Not let their wound bleed them out but it was much less stressful on their magical reserves.

“It will certainly be fun to explain this later.. I need a drink.”

Lahortans Placed everything but the bottle of vodka in their bag and slung up on their shoulder. Quivering as they began to walk, One hand on their abdomen the other holding the bottle, they made a small mental calculation about how Long it would take to get to the farm at a limping pace and how much alcohol they could drink before getting too drunk too soon. They used their mouth to uncap the bottle, and spit it into the snow. With little hesitation they took several large swigs Before putting the bottle down. It absolutely burned but it was much better than walking about an hour after dusk Without anything to dull the pain And take their mind off things.

“Goodbye you icy bastard, though ... Now that I have given it a second thought I should thank you as well. I will probably never be seeing My family again after this.”

[hermajestyvengeance]

far from the shallows now part i: age 17

As a patchwork of voices rose an echoed beneath gilded cathedral ceilings, Thea tapped out a different melody against the empty seat beside her. Her blunt nails clacked against polished wood, tuneless and unheard under the rest of the noise in the room. It was a simple concerto, one of few she had learned to play since taking up the violin in her newfound spare time. What else was a princess to do now that she was gifted the freedom to walk around, no longer forced to spend her days locked in a cell or strapped to a table?

Already she had played the concerto through her mind twice and was nearing the end of the third cycle, slow, wintry notes transitioning into the quick-footed dance of spring. Her fingers shook, breaking her rhythm. Had this been a lesson with her tutor, Queen Consort Colette (or as she insisted, Madame Colette, because she was the new queen and could get away with her old tongue, and because maman never crossed either of their minds) would have cast her a momentary disappointed sneer while everyone else in the room simply pretended they had not just heard the crown princess make a mistake.

At lessons she did not falter like this, not often. At lessons she was not mouthing along to hymns she only half-knew and watching the back of her stepmother’s head to avoid lingering on the choir or the towering organ. She didn’t need to see the silver and gold winding up ornate marble columns. She already knew the look of each round brown bird crafted into all of the cathedral’s paintings.

A shrike, Archbishop Cressida would tell the room, sweeping her hand out to gesture at the altar, where the little bird in its wreath of thorns and lobelias was carved so elegantly. The symbol of the Holy Savior herself, for despite the odds she vanquished the Invader King by piercing his heart with the Holy Sword. They were everywhere, just like the paintings and carvings and dedications of Delpha, just like the emeralds and diamonds and all manner of other ostentatious wealth displayed by the Church. Thea didn’t need to see any of it to know it was there, not anymore. Closing her eyes, she could picture every inch of the room without its crowd – empty and lonely, candlelight flickering on the walls, cloaked figures worse than demons skittering about in the corners.

Tap tap-tap tap. The concerto crested in early summer, sun high in the sky. She tried to picture that instead, everything bathed in relentless golden light.

She could feel every time the Archbishop’s eyes found her, harsh as coals even as she smiled and carried on the ceremony with the utmost equanimity. The sermon this time – not that Thea could have repeated it back if she’d tried, tuned out like she was – was something about Delpha and courage, her will to stand up for the righteous, or some similarly hypocritical drivel. What was right didn’t get anyone far within the bounds of Tenea. Thea knew that without ever being given a chance to try picking right over wrong. She had never needed to be right, only good. Obedient. To sit quietly through mass every week without trembling so hard her body pitched forward, spilled into the center aisle, shaking and shrieking with too much despair for a small body like hers to hold.

Church events were tests of her ability to lock away her real self. Mass itself she could ignore if she distracted herself with something like music in her head. The hymns were even pretty, sometimes. She wondered if she might find the cathedral as gorgeous as everyone else if she could see beyond what lurked in its darkness.

Procession was the real challenge. It was the same through every mass, every celebration and day of mourning. That slithering voice that crawled under her skin and occupied her nightmares would call on the nobility to rise. When her father and stepmother stood, Thea was briefly shielded in their shadows, though the relief was always short-lived. Eventually she realized she had to join them and rise on unsteady legs – odd, always, how a steel knee could wobble just the same as flesh and bone. Her gowns hid her teetering as she stepped out of her pew and down the white carpet behind Colette’s dainty gait. Thea hated that pristine white. She stared down at it every time, head heavy with silver pins and flashy gems, hiding her clenched jaw under a veil of humility before the divine. How did they scrub the blood of hundreds out of it? If she fell to her knees and scraped her nails through its fibers, would she find some still clinging there?

Somehow, she was always surprised when her feet bumped against the shallow step up to the altar’s platform. Her eyes flew wide open at cold fingers grasping her chin, tilting her face up, forcing her to blink past the kaleidoscope of light ricocheting off the crystalline chandelier. Once her vision cleared, Cressida’s smile was all she could see. Ice filled her veins as if right from the woman’s chilling grip and left her immobile. Reptiles smiled with more warmth. She leaned in, opened her mouth as if to speak. Procession was supposed to bless the Empire by blessing its leaders; the Archbishop gave the Emperor and each member of his family a personal blessing as they approached the altar. At least, that was the idea. Cressida never said anything to Thea when she approached.

Perhaps it was to spite her for her weakness, or maybe she knew better – that simply being near her left Thea no better than a baby rabbit cowering as talons swooped down from the sky toward her. There was no need to say anything at all.

Seconds ticked by as if through molasses until the Archbishop released her. Thea lurched away, bile rising in her throat as feeling returned to her limbs. The final comments and dismissal of the crowd were always a blur. Thea tried to tap out notes against her palm while she waited, her pace faltering. When the ornate cathedral doors finally opened and the crowd could spill out into the streets, Thea took off at a pace that irked her guards enough that they fell back several feet, not bothering to try to keep up with her. She hardly noticed. What mattered was putting distance between herself and bright white bell towers. She would all but sprint down cobblestone streets to the palace, storm down its halls, lock herself in her quarters and slide into the hottest bath her body could tolerate until the cathedral’s smells and Cressida’s touch were seared from her skin. So long as she kept moving, no one from the Church could step out and stop her.

[megabadbunny]

No Place Like Hohm (1/8)

Maybe she wasn’t the most important woman in France, but she wasn’t bloody expendable, like so much cheap luggage or a forgotten pet.

(The Doctor wouldn’t desert them again. Rose wouldn’t give him the chance.)

**

(Aka the obligatory post-GitF fic, for anyone else who ever wondered what might have taken place between a trip to France and an adventure in a parallel universe. Ten/Rose, all ages, full of angst, fluff, a pinch of romantic bickering, a dash of mutual pining, and a dollop of swashbuckling adventure!)

***

Chapter 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8

Just hours after an encounter with homicidal robots on a 51st-century spaceship, Rose Tyler lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, fidgeting and sleepless as she battled demons of an entirely different sort.

One may tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel.

Ugh. Even steeped in misery, Rose managed to muster the energy for rolling her eyes at that syrupy-sweet sentiment. The Doctor was no angel, not by a long shot, not unless one’s definition of “angel” was “someone who thinks that re-using dead bodies is the same thing as recycling” or “someone who neglects to mention that occasionally the artificial gravity goes out on the TARDIS during repairs but don’t worry, Rose, the nausea will fade after a few minutes—a couple hours—a day or so, tops.” Reinette would have discovered that on her own soon enough, had she come with them.

Rose grimaced. She didn’t want to think about that, about Reinette left waiting and wanting. Something about it made her feel sick and a little guilty, and she didn’t want to know why.

But you and I both know, don’t we, Rose, that the Doctor is worth the monsters.

Of course, she was right. The Doctor was worth the monsters, and the demons, and the paradoxes and the danger and the homesickness and the fear, not to mention the sleeplessly late nights and far-too-early mornings, the days spent in odd prison cells and dank caves and dark, twisty space stations, and the outrageous amounts of running resulting in even more outrageous amounts of bruises and blisters. Of course the Doctor was worth all of that. Even Mickey—who would never, ever, absolutely-not-in-million-years ever say it—even he knew this was true. But surely it wasn’t acceptable for Reinette to say those things if she hadn’t experienced any of it for herself. Surely she hadn’t earned the right, the privilege.

(How could you fall in love with someone you’d only known for a day?)

With a frustrated sign, Rose sat up in bed, catching sight of herself in her bedroom mirror. She frowned at her reflection. Her eyes traveled over mirror-Rose’s too-bright blonde hair and its tellingly dark roots, her sun-kissed skin, her small breasts framed by broad shoulders. A square chin, big mouth, and prominent teeth drew her eyes upward; no matter how she painted her lashes, no matter how dark or bold, she would never be able to draw attention away from that overbite and sharp jawline. The lips that she used to take pride in, all pink and plump and sweetheart-shaped, now seemed almost comically oversized, practically garish compared to other smaller, more delicate mouths. She pulled her hair into a loose pile atop her head and quickly dropped it. No gentle golden curls or fair porcelain skin or dainty features graced this body. There was no comparison, not really; if she was a bloke, Rose knew which woman she would choose.

But that wasn’t exactly fair, was it? Reinette was so much more than a pretty face. Accomplished, the Doctor had dubbed her. Her own rooms at the palace, even her own title. The Uncrowned Queen, he’d said. Important, he’d practically shouted. Rose, on the other hand, was occasionally charming and sometimes clever and, if she was lucky, beautiful—for a human.

Rose plucked morosely at her cuticles, sighing at the rough and ragged edges that would surely catch and pull on anything finer than her cheap cotton tee shirt and jeans from the discount bin. Probably Reinette’s cuticles were flawless, just like the rest of her, all soft and delicately translucent. But why wouldn’t they be? She was so perfect, she almost could have been written that way, her every glance, touch, and velvet-voiced word artfully crafted to send hearts all a-flutter. Could Rose really blame anyone for chasing after her, could she really fault anyone who drew toward her like a moth to a flame?

(Only that wasn’t quite right either, was it? Because the Doctor was a fire all on his own, offering warmth and light and heat and hurt in equal measure. Perhaps he sought the company of someone more like himself; maybe he was tired of creatures that so easily burned. And in that way, wasn’t Reinette an ideal companion, didn’t that make her a perfect match?)

Groaning loudly, Rose buried her head in her hands, hating the deluge of self-pity and reveling in its delicious awfulness all at once. It was like a picking at a scab. She knew she should slap on some antiseptic and a bandage and let the wound heal, but it was ever so much more satisfying to just sit there and rip at the wound over and over and over again, savoring the pinch of pain as flesh separated from flesh, relishing the sting of air on raw skin, watching the pink shiny edges pucker and bleed. After all, scabs and blisters and feelings rubbed raw—she could deal with those. The Doctor was always a terrible flirt, and years with Jimmy Stone had taught Rose to harden her heart against the fickle nature of men.

But something was different this time around, and it had slowly crept through the background noise of Rose’s mind, needling its way into her thoughts the moment the Doctor jumped through that time window. It was a thought smaller and darker and more painful than all its other nasty fellows, a tiny sharp-toothed parasite burrowing deep into her chest.

He had abandoned her today. He did it once. He could do it again.

Eyes cinched shut, Rose shook her head sharply. No. Maybe she wasn’t the most important woman in France, but she wasn’t bloody expendable, like so much cheap luggage or a forgotten pet. She was so much more than the girl she was when she left behind Jimmy and the Estate, and Mickey was so much more than just the tin dog.

The Doctor wouldn’t desert them again. Rose wouldn’t give him the chance.

Rose stopped fidgeting. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stood up. She drank in a deep, deep breath.

Well, she thought. Here goes nothing.

 ***

 The Doctor’s ears perked up at the sound of Rose entering the console room, her bare feet pat-pat-pattering softly over the metal grating.

“You’re up early!” he said, tearing his attention away from the diagnostic screen to shoot Rose one of his trademark smiles. He tilted his head to the side, taking in her clothes, the same she had worn the day before. “Or perhaps you’re up late. Bit difficult to tell in a TARDIS, especially when her internal quantum barometer’s been off for a while. Well, maybe a few years. Well, maybe a couple of centuries. No more than a millennia, at least.

“So are you up for another trip already?” he asked.

Rose fiddled with the hem of her top. “Sort of.”

“Excellent!” the Doctor beamed. He stepped slowly in her direction, edging round the console. “What’s your pleasure?” he asked, flipping a switch. “The infinite beaches of Kabos Prime?”

He pushed a button. “The singing forests of Tharvis?”

He pulled a lever. “The pirate court of Madame Ching Shih?”

The Doctor leaned forward, bridging much of the distance between their bodies, to conspiratorially whisper, “Or maybe the bioluminescent oceans of Astrion? Ooh, now that’s a good one. Go back about, oh, eighty-thousand years, there’s not another living soul in sight, just millions upon millions of tiny glowing jellyfish floating about in the deep, black sea, like stars against a midnight sky.”

Rose stared up at him with round, dark eyes, but didn’t say anything. Unusual, that, but perhaps she was still a bit sleepy. The Doctor, however, was not sleepy, and longed for a distraction of some kind. Any kind. He wasn’t particularly picky. He just didn’t want to be left alone with only his thoughts for company. That sounded absolutely horrendous.

“What do you think?” he prompted with another mischievous grin—it was, he’d quickly learned, the fastest way to win Rose over in this new body of his.

“I think…”

Rose exhaled loudly. “I think I’d like to go home.”

The Doctor blinked. “You are home,” he said, frowning. “The TARDIS is your home.”

“Yeah, but for how much longer?”

Scratching the back of his neck, the Doctor averted his gaze. “I don’t see any reason to put a label on such things.”

“Why not? Seems like a useful thing for an expiration date.”

“That’s a rather macabre way to look at it,” the Doctor said slowly.

Rose laughed. “But all good things, eh?”

The Doctor frowned at her again. “Is it just me, or are we having two completely separate conversations? Not that I mind, only it isn’t typically human custom.” His face brightened. “Now, if you’d like to take a trip to Pyrethea, we could meet the two-headed Pyretheans and have ourselves some very interesting two, three, and four-way chats—”

“No. I want to go home,” said Rose.

Something about the look on her face, the pinch of her mouth and set of her jaw, filled the Doctor with unease. He felt certain he was missing something here, a nasty little pesky thing nagging just beneath the surface, but he couldn’t think of what it might be. Nor, really, did he care to examine it all that much.

The Doctor masked his sudden discomfit by turning away, fiddling with a dial on the console, pretending to adjust this and that. “Got it,” he replied. “Home. Where the heart is. Where you hang your hat. No place like it.”

Drawing in a deep breath, he shot Rose a tight smile. “Threw me a bit off guard, I suppose, but it’s not entirely unexpected. Though I’ll admit, I figured you would want to wait a little longer between visits. Seems like the last one wasn’t all that long ago. But the TARDIS could probably stand to be refueled anyway.

“All right,” he continued, clapping his hands together. “A brief shore visit, it is!”

“No,” Rose said, and, faltering, she shifted her gaze to the floor, where her toes were turning pink with cold. “I don’t mean it like that,” she said, to her feet more than anyone else. “I mean…”

She visibly braced herself, her eyes shuttering closed. “I mean I need to go home.”

Oh, the Doctor didn’t like the sound of that. It made his throat clench uncomfortably, set tiny alarm bells ringing in his head and squeezed something in his chest, maybe twisting a bit for good measure.

(Did she really have to do this now? Especially after…)

“For good?” he asked lightly.

“I don’t know. Maybe? I hope not. I just need to go and think for a while, get my head on straight.”

“Well, I don’t know if you need to home for little old that. Lots of places to go thinking on the TARDIS, aren’t there? Library, drawing room, garden, pool—or if you’re feeling overly literal, we could even go watch Rodin work on his most famous sculpture—”

“No,” Rose said again, sharper this time. “I don’t want to see any sculptures, I don’t want to see any pirates, and I don’t want to hole up and hide on the TARDIS. I need to go home, Doctor.”

Dumbfounded, the Doctor fell quiet. Tense silence hung in the air between them, thick and impossibly opaque. The Doctor wondered how this conversation had got so far away from him, what on earth Rose could be on about. She had seemed perfectly fine earlier in the day. And surely nothing significant had happened just in the last few hours. But she didn’t seem eager to explain, so he shouldn’t ask. Right? If she wanted to talk about it, she would say something. She usually did. Didn’t she?

“Okay, then,” the Doctor said, nonplussed. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Okay,” Rose agreed.

The Doctor cast about for anything else he could say, but the nets came back empty. And Rose didn’t offer anything either. She was, once again, unusually quiet.

He did not care for this turn of events. Did not care for them one whit. The Doctor had no desire to be alone again. He especially did not wish to be alone after everything that had happened in—after everything that had just happened. And no, Mickey the Idiot did not, in any way, count as adequate company. He would certainly be no replacement for Rose Tyler.

The Doctor briefly entertained the notion of refusing, of chit-chattering until he wore her out, or taking a page out of his previous incarnation’s book and just putting his foot down. He could do it. It was his ship, for goodness’ sake. He could bloody well take it wherever he wanted. But something in his gut told him that was the wrong approach here, that the determination hiding behind the tiredness in Rose’s eyes wouldn’t be so easily swayed. He knew that stubbornness all too well. And worse, he knew he wouldn’t win against it. Didn’t even have a fighting chance.

(Daleks, Autons, even mad Time Lords hardly presented a challenge, but one look at that face—right, that one, with the furrowed brow and slight pout—and he crumpled. It was ridiculous, honestly. Inexcusable.

Unless…)

“Very well,” the Doctor said. “If that’s what you want, I’ll make it happen. I’ll take you to home first thing in the morning.”

Rose hesitated, as if she might say something else, but she closed her mouth and simply issued a tight nod.

The moment she turned to leave, the Doctor indulged in a sly little smile.

 ***

Next

[distracteddaintydemon]

You attempted The Activity while not possessing The Activity Skill. Your character profile was searched for related hidden skills. Total of 4 hidden skills was automatically merged into a new skill. You now possess The Activity Skill.

me, attempting to embroider a calligraphic text while sucking both in calligraphy and embroidery: [surprised happy noises]

[distracteddaintydemon]

A new petticoat

Ok, so how much pieces of historically inspired clothing do I need until I'll finally fill the ravenous bitter emptiness inside me?

The last one seemed to work substantially longer than the previous ones, so maybe I need to follow a clue and increase the level of historical accuracy and/or produce more underwear

Or maybe I do need to tear down the socioeconomical structure of this world so people who care about me would have time and fucking resources to actually pay attention to me and spend time with me and not be stuck beyond reach

Oh, just a few thoughts to wear as a history-bound accessory perfectly fitting the 1890s silhouette of this new pretty linen split-sided petticoat trimmed with lace

[distracteddaintydemon]

I had an itching to do some buttercream art from quite some time.