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@guiltrid
She wasn’t sure if he was still out, but the small bits of patience she could generally string together so as to avoid being a complete nuisance had slipped away. “Fynn,” she whispered, somewhere in between trying not to wake him up and definitely trying to wake him up.
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@battlescarred
They were back in the TARDIS, now, but she’d hidden the extent of her injuries from him while they worked to get back into the safety of the ship. She’d healed from her injuries before--even injuries that seemed more serious than this--but she could tell this was beyond her abilities to heal. Not even a day in the zero room could fix this. She could already feel her cells dying.
She threw a lever on the console and leaned heavily against it, panting a bit before she looked up at him, pale and pained. “I’m not sure who or what that entity was, but it was definitely not good.” She ran a hand over her forehead, feeling the cold sweat that had beaded there. Her stomach turned and she shook her head, trying to fend off the feelings of anger and sadness that were bubbling up.
❥
send me ❥ for your muse to cuddle up next to mine while asleep on the couch
It wasn’t unusual for Andromeda to work in the library for long stretches of time, especially when she was trying to track down small threads of information that could make or break a potential job. She’d been at it for hours now, flipping through pages of dusty books and jotting down notes in a notebook. At one point, Fynn had brought her tea, and she’d slurped down a cup gratefully before wandering back into the books. She assumed he would get bored eventually and go find something else to do, but when she came back to the couch to pour herself another cup from the thermos, she found he had dozed off there. His arm was draped across the back of the couch, his head tipped over on his shoulder.
She probably should have sent him off to bed ( was it bedtime already? ), but there was something comforting about having him here, even asleep. It was properly domestic, and while she rarely thought of herself in that context, she had to admit it was kind of nice. She poured her tea and sat down on the couch carefully, not wanting to disturb him while she sipped from her cup and read from the small leatherbound book she had brought with her. His quiet breathing and the rustling of pages were the only sounds for a time. As she neared the bottom of her cup, she felt him stirring beside her. She didn’t look up from the book at first, but then he was shifting, pulling his arm down and slowly tipping over until his shoulder and cheek came to rest against her arm.
A small smile crept onto her lips, and she moved him gently so that he would slide down further, until his head came to rest on her thigh. That was better. She would be less likely to wake him in that position. She looked down and watched him clench and unclench his jaw, and then sigh quietly. Although she was highly tempted to run a finger or two over the stubble on his cheek, or smooth down his hair, or rest an arm on his shoulder, she was hesitant to touch him again, afraid that it might interrupt his sleep. He looked far too peaceful to chance it, so she stretched her arm across the back of the couch and went back to reading, feeling quite satisfied with the situation.
@battlescarred replied to your post “Yes or no, would you ever sacrifice yourself to save your TARDIS, if...”
nooooo my fe e li ng s. and fynn's feelings. we're both upset
// I KNOW RIGHT and considering this nice nugget of information from the TARDIS wiki:
TARDISes often "mourned" the death of their Time Lord pilots, even committing suicide by flying into a sun or hurling themselves into the Time Vortex. (x)
This is something she is aware of, and worries about. Welcome to my pain. xoxo
How do we forgive ourselves for all of the things we did not become And for all the things we did?
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I wanted to reach out, touch you – protect you. / i know we have 504986 things but ilu
Westworld starters
“I know.” She reached for his hand and took it gently. “Everything’s alright now, though.”
|| @guiltrid / hiii.
“You think superheroes name themselves? Or does the media typically slap something on ‘em and hope it sticks? If it’s not a legacy thing, I mean; that’s a whole other kettle of Robins.”
Alice’s journal lies open in front of her to a crossed-out list of suggestions. It’s a work in progress. She chews on the end of her pen for a few seconds, then takes it out again, twirls it, and points with it.
“’Cause uh, I don’t have an alias. Not that it matters yet, since I’m not even a hero, but yesterday someone called me ‘girl beetle.’” She snorts, a can-you-believe-that disgusted look on her face. “If I have to torch the goddamn internet to keep that from catching on --- ”
One hand drags down her face. As if winding down from a long story, instead of a scattered rant, Alice lets out a slow half-sigh, half-groan. “So that’s why I can’t go on twitter anymore.” She throws her pen against the inner spine of her journal. “Girl beetle, I swear to God.”
Height difference: Fynn & Andromeda
