Thought I’d refresh the post again, just because it’s been more than a hot minute.
Rules:
Prompts are to be sent in asks only (no comments, please and thank you, as it hinders my ability to reply properly).
I have the right to not write a prompt if it makes me feel uncomfortable or I am not well-enough-versed in the character/pairing/fandom.*** Also see Rule #9.
AUs are cool, but bonus points if they’re uncommon.
Prompts based off any of my other stories are acceptable and in some cases encouraged. Stuck on an idea? Try here or here.
Multiple prompts from the same person are allowed, just not in the same message. Similar prompts/prompts that go well together may be combined.
“But I sent in a prompt long ago and it hasn’t been written” yes I have quite a few in my backlog just sitting there but I’ve been staring at them for so long it’s painfully obvious I’m not getting anywhere anytime soon with them and sometimes working on others jogs my ability to pick some of the old ones back up and stuff.
Common prompt fandoms are listed in the tags. Prompts from fandoms not tagged are also acceptable, but please only if you know I am versed in said fandom. Same goes for ships.
Though I don’t always write it, or avoid writing anything explicit, I do accept nsfw prompts, occasionally codenamed “the prawns”. These fics are subject to certain levels of scrutiny, however, due to reasons.
I WILL NOT ACCEPT PROMPTS AT THE MOMENT CONCERNING THE DWS10 FINALE, UNLESS WE ARE TALKING CLASSIC WHO, NOR THE THIRTEENTH DOCTOR, because, again, I reserve that right.
I always accept asks that are questions, comments, concerns, or opinions!
***It may take me a while to get to your prompt. This does not necessarily mean I dislike it, but I just simply cannot come up with something at the current moment and/or backlog kicking my butt.
I wanted an excuse to write something different, so this happened.
Chapter Index - ff.net - AO3
A Night Sky Brighter Than Violet; Sometimes a doctor is as stubborn as the Doctor, as one summer night proves. [Danny/Martha in a nobility/arranged marriage Whouffaldi AU]
Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 57; Daniel at 40; Clara at 38; Martha at 35; Lena at 6; Astra/Tara at 4; and Sterling at 1 1/2-ish
Summer had just recently begun, along with a new series of barrages from the Dalek Empire. The Kasterborsian encampment was teeming with activity during the nightly ceasefire: tents were being rebuilt, food being prepared and served, medics tending to the wounded, and the strategists planning for more.
“It appears as though the plan of attack is merely to decimate our numbers, or at least attempt to,” one of the officers said. He tapped the map on the table in front of him, right where their camp was supposed to be positioned. “We’ve sustained too much as far as direct attacks are concerned. They don’t often aim for the tents, yet this time, they did.”
“Daleki tactics often change on the daily,” the Marquis grumbled. It was not that he was frustrated with the officer, but the Empire, as it was keeping him away from Gallifrey, a place he wished he would rather stay more often than not. He thought of his daughters and their schooling, his young son just beginning to toddle about the nursery, and his wife who was keeping not only all the children in line, but the entire rest of the march as well. Instead of being with them, he was slumped in a chair, a map rolled out in front of him, and little more than a few letters to keep him company later on.
“This is true, but with all due respect, Your Lordship, it seemed as though there was little interest in advancing their ground further than the demarcation line. There were attacks, yes, but no attempt to entrench a presence, which is odd when a force gains ground.”
“Then keep an eye on it,” the Marquis grumbled. “It could be that you are right, it could be that you are wrong, it could be that you are both… these are Daleks we are talking about… what I want to know is what you plan on doing for tomorrow.”
“We must secure the demarcation line and return to fortifying it overnight,” another officer said. She took the riding crop from her belt and used it to point to the space between two lines that ran parallel across the map in an unstable manner. “There must be maintenance done that has been neglected since the snowmelt—your yearly orders aside, little has been accomplished.”
“…and why might that be?”
“We are often distracted and the laborers required are shunted back to their previous positions as foot-soldiers,” the second officer admitted. “You know how limited our resources tend to be out here.”
“That is always a risk,” he nodded. “Why was I not informed of how heightened this risk became earlier?”
“We tried, but, there is a reason why you are here now and not in Castle Gallifrey.” The officer looked warily at her lord as he stood grouchily. “What is the matter, milord?”
“Go ahead and let me know of your plans once you’ve finished them,” he groused. “I’m going to the mess tent.”
“…why is that?”
“…to find some sanity.”
At that, he left the tent, cape billowing as he briskly walked through the torch-and-star-lit encampment. Many times since he began touring the fronts had the camp moved—a mile here and there as was necessary—yet it always was set up the same. Over four decades and he could make his way through the maze of tents blindfolded, though when the mess tent was involved, it was easier thanks to the warm, inviting smells that drifted from its tarpaulin. He drew back the cloth covering the entrance and, after a moment, the entire tent went silent, with hundreds of soldiers standing at attention.
“At-ease,” the Marquis announced, allowing the soldiers to return to their meals. He did not often take his meals in the mess tent, though it was not a foreign concept either. After collecting his rations from the cook, he found a spot to sit across from a certain medical officer, who seemed to be at her wit’s end.
“You arranged this, didn’t you?” she accused sourly. He sat down and adjusted his cape so that it covered his lap, appearing to have not heard her words. “I’m warning you, Johan—don’t go orchestrating Daleki invasions just because I’m off my honeymoon.”
“Whatever do you mean, Martha?” he replied. “You know that accusing the head of the Border Forces of such collusion without proof is punishable by a court-marshal, yes?”
“What I know is that you’re an idiot and probably think it is more fun this way.”
“The only fun one can have with a Dalek is teaching it to serve tea with a Kasterborsian service.” He noted that although the books and notes she had in front of her were fairly well-gone-through, her food remained barely touched. “Won’t you have an easier time of that in your tent?”
“I can’t be with my thoughts right now, you know that.” Without moving, she watched him as he ate his food, so nonchalant it was almost laughable. Going back to her notes, she decided to change the subject. “Hear from Clara lately?”
“Yes, but it was short. It was mostly the girls practicing their letters. How about you? Hear from Daniel?”
“Nothing you want to hear about.”
“I still write letters like that and it’s been many years; don’t think you’re the only one.” He saw as she raised an eyebrow at him. “It is only healthy for a husband to want his wife and a wife to want her husband, and any combination thereof.”
“Why the unwarranted words of wisdom?”
“You haven’t touched your chips—it is also criminal to take that big a helping of chips and then not touch even one.”
“I also just spent the past six and a half hours in surgery while under siege, trying to amputate an arm before the victim bled out, to no success. If anyone should be allowed to take chips and not touch them, it should be me.”
“That is fair.” The Marquis glanced around quickly, seeing how others were staring at them. They had long been the subject of interesting rumors, now even more so now that Medical Officer Jones had become Baroness Jones-Pink. He was at least glad that rumors about them being paramours had died down since he had given her husband to the wedding platform—it was bad enough the Baron and the Marchioness were formerly in love and yet left alone in Gallifrey with the utmost trust and discretion. “I know you share a tent—would you like to not eat those chips in mine? It will be hours before your brain calms enough for sleep and I am quiet enough.”
“Since when are you so worried about me?”
“One of my best physicians and surgeons looks ready to fall over—I’d be a poor Doctor if I simply let that happen in the mess tent, of all places.”
Exhaling heavily, she placed her papers inside her book as a marker and slammed the cover shut. “You obnoxious little Cybermat.”
“If you want Cybermats, I can more than send you to that front… you and Sargent Major Odoshi can share a tent even…”
“Don’t get cheeky now—I’ll tell Clara on you.”
“My wife is already fully aware of my cheek; you won’t be telling her anything new.” They brought their trays up to the cook and got paper to wrap their chips in. “We can reheat these easily enough.”
“Only because you have coals in your tent, like a proper bloody lord,” she teased. They left the mess tent and began to walk towards his tent, seeing that the sky was still the deep red-violet of Summer—even with the short night, true sunrise was not for hours yet. “Don’t you need sleep?”
“I’ll get some while you work, then you rest during the day, if you can, and I’ll make sure as few as possible find their way into your department tomorrow night.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
The rest of the way was silent, with him opening the tent flap for her when they arrived at their destination. He held back, however, to look at the guards.
“I’m going to attempt a nap while Medical Officer Jones is going through some notes where she won’t disturb others or be disturbed herself,” he explained. “Check in periodically to see if she needs anything, otherwise try to keep interruptions minimal.” The guards both nodded and he turned back into the tent, only for to feel as though both his hearts skipped beats.
There, on the ground, with a mess of discarded chips around her, was the Baroness. Unconscious.
Skaro’s sewers… this was far from good.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
It was the first truly warm day in Castle Gallifrey, with a cloudless sky and three children bouncing off the walls of the stuffy schoolroom. After a morning of pleas, the Baron Coal-on-the-Hill, tutor to the Earlessa Gallifrey and her younger sisters, relented; cheers erupted and the young girls gathered their things, for they were moving their studies outdoors.
Making sure a note was sent along to his charges’ mother, the Baron collected coursework and children alike and guided his class out onto the castle grounds. They were expansive and used well—aside from all the varying outbuildings, there were many gardens and clumps of trees in which they could spend their day. He chose a shaded area not being grazed by the castle’s livestock and all four of them settled down on the cool grass.
“This is lovely, Sir Daniel!” Lena beamed. Her tutor smirked—she was favoring that word as of late and it was amusing. “It’s much nicer here!”
“Can we have lots of classes outside?” Tara asked.
“Only if you three are good and work hard at your studies,” he said. “As long as you do that, I can talk to your mama and see if we can come out here more often—twice a week, if we’re lucky.”
“I wonder if we can get three times!” Lena gasped.
“Three’s a lot,” Astra marveled. She held up three fingers high above her head. “That’s almost my whole hand!”
“It is,” the Baron chuckled. “Now, let’s get back to our silent reading.” He went and begun helping them find their pages again, pretending to not notice as their mother came walking across the lawn towards them. She put their brother down and allowed him to stomp his own way over, the toddler interrupting the study session with a high-pitched shriek of joy as he crashed into his sisters.
“Sterling, now that’s not very nice,” the Marchioness giggled once she caught up. The boy plopped down on the grass and snuggled against his eldest sister’s skirts. “How are our little scholars doing?”
“I was just telling them that we might be able to make this a more regular thing if they keep their studies up,” the Baron reported. “Does Mama have objections, or should we wait for Papa’s opinion?”
“Mama trusts that her daughters’ behavior shall make that an easy decision,” the Marchioness said. The girls all fidgeted—it was up to them now. She then turned to the Baron and slipped into the ceremonial tongue. “Missing someone yet?”
“With every bolt and bone,” he replied heavily.
“Our offer still stands—it won’t take much to add one more for dinner.”
“…and as much as I appreciate it, I can’t impose like that, especially with your husband and my wife off to battle…”
“You worry too much…”
“Maybe I worry the precise amount.”
“Mama? Sir Daniel? You’re talking too fast,” Lena frowned. “I can’t tell what you’re saying.”
“You weren’t supposed to,” the Marchioness scolded gently.
“I guess our days of having a secret language have nearly come to a close,” the Baron sighed.
“Not entirely—there’s still Sterling,” the Marchioness reminded him. Movement caught the corner of her eye and she turned, seeing that one of the castle footmen was running towards them. “That’s odd…”
“Milady!” the footman gasped as he approached. “His Lordship has returned from the front!”
“Does he require my presence?” she asked sourly. The footman rested his hands on his knees as he stood there for a moment to catch his breath.
“No… but he did bring the Baroness with him and refuses to leave her side until her husband relieves him.”
“Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” the Baron panicked. He struggled to get to his feet, requiring a helping hand from the Marchioness. “Girls? Finish your reading and you’re done for the day. I have to go see Lady Martha.” He then rushed off towards the castle, barely taking the time to grab his things.
“We want to go visit too!” Lena insisted.
“Yes! Papa is there!” Astra added.
“Now girls…” their mother scolded. She bent down to pick up Sterling and when she righted herself again, found that her daughters were running after their tutor, books and papers and all.
The little Daleks!
Struggling to catch up while still balancing the now-squirming toddler on her hip, the Marchioness did not catch up in time to stop her children from being right on the Baron’s tail as he was led by a servant up to the family’s private wing and into one of the empty bedrooms. There, as plain as they were, sat the Marquis and the Baroness, the latter sitting in up in bed whilst the former occupied the chair at her bedside.
“Ah, there you are Daniel,” the Marquis noted. He stood, allowing the other man to take the chair. The Baron took one of his wife’s hands in both of his, with his young pupils dropping their studies so as to climb atop the foot of the bed. “What are you three doing here?”
“Is Lady Martha alright?” Lena asked.
“Yes, yes, I’m perfectly fine, all of you,” the Baroness insisted. The Marchioness had then caught up, allowing Sterling to drop to the floor and join his sisters. “Clara, tell them I’m fine!”
“What happened?” the Marchioness asked.
“I just fainted from a little bit of fatigue, is all,” the Baroness explained, face growing dark in blush. “We had been on the tail end of five Daleki raids in a row.”
“Not just fatigue,” the Marquis mentioned. She shot him a glare—he needed to be quiet.
“Martha,” the Baron pleaded, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong… it’s just…” She took note of the audience and furrowed her brow. “Can we have some privacy?”
“Given the circumstances, I believe that is wise,” the Marquis agreed. He clapped his hands together and then reached out towards his children, plucking his son off the mattress to place upon his shoulders. “Gather up your papers, starlets; we’ll find out soon enough.”
“…but Papa…”
“No buts, Tara. Let’s go.” He and the Marchioness were able to lead their brood out, shutting the door behind them to give the couple some true privacy.
“Johan is being incredibly sincere—what’s wrong?” the Baron noted.
“I already told you: nothing.”
“Then why did you faint at the border? Why did Johan escort you back here?”
“…because he’s an idiot.” She pouted as she realized her husband was far from accepting that as her answer. “He wanted to make certain I was safe.”
“Why?”
“I’ve not been resting or eating properly, or getting enough nutrients altogether,” the Baroness replied. “In fact, he threatened to relieve me of my duties for an entire year if I didn’t come to see you.”
“…why…?”
She took one of his hands and placed it on her midsection. “Apparently I’m ten weeks gone.”
Relief and joy both washed over the Baron, making him laugh and cry at once. “A baby?! Really?!” When his wife nodded, he leaned in and kissed her. “Johan was right to bring you back here, if the arse was ever right about anything.”
“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” the Baroness groused, her grin ultimately betraying her. “I’m going to have a baby, not die.”
“Oi… you weren’t taking care of yourself properly for ten weeks!” the Baron retorted. He could not sound the least bit cross or upset—his wife was with child. “Even if you only found out at six, that’s still an entire month of not eating or sleeping right! That could have caused you both serious harm!”
“Since when are you an expert?”
“Since I listened to you complain about other women on the border not taking things seriously,” he reminded her, voice softening. “I do listen, you know.”
“Yeah… I know…”
“…and I want you to do what’s best, okay…?”
“You know I shall, especially now that I’m aware…”
“…which leads me into how were you not? I thought that was kind of obvious, or am I mistaking this for something else…?”
“What I thought was my cycle wasn’t—it was just some residual stuff,” she explained. “After the Violet Sky, gods willing, we’ll be parents.”
“I think it’s more the gods be damned,” he half-laughed. Tears began to genuinely flow from his eyes; ten years prior and he was being tortured within an inch of his life in the half-frozen hell that was Mondas, unsure if he would ever see humanity again, let alone if his would stay intact. Alone save for his memories of an increasingly-distant past, there were times where he was genuinely surprised he woke to the red-tinged noon. Now a survivor, a titled lord, a married man, and a soon-to-be father… he wept openly at his hard-begotten fortune.
“Come here,” the Baroness groaned. She watched as her husband kicked off his boots and went around to the other side of the bed, laying atop the bedding so that he was snugged against her side. “I promise that I’ll put in for leave soon—normal circumstances would mean I’d leave in the early Autumn, but I think that it’ll be safer for everyone involved if I leave in about a month, month and a half. That gives them time to find someone else to take my spot without having a drop in care quality.”
“Of course you’d be worrying about the others on the front—you are a doctor.”
“Not the Doctor, but I’ll take it.”
“I’m not of Kasterborous or Gallifrey—if a Doctor needs to sit in Hill House, then I know the perfect candidate."
“…and to think that as a girl I would dreamily stare at etchings of the Eleventh Marquis, wondering what it would have been like to travel with him, maybe even govern by his side,” she smirked. “Instead, his grandson brought me into his home so that I might be safe while my husband tutors the future Fourteenth Marchioness, showing me more kindness and mercy than some think him capable of.”
“The Eleventh Marquis…?” the Baron scowled. “The Tenth Doctor…? Really…? That’s a mood-killer if there was one.”
“My girlhood, not yours,” the Baroness teased. She pulled her husband closer to her and kissed him. “Now if only we can get Mum and Dad in the same room for long enough to tell them.”
“Oh, we’ll get them in the same room, it’s just a matter of it not devolving into a fight,” he half groaned, half laughed.
To think, he was considering something as mundane as squabbling in-laws and preparing for a baby and… oh…
“We need to write Hill House, and I need to get the girls ready to study without me for a while,” he realized. He hid his face in her side, muffling his own voice. “It doesn’t end at just telling your parents.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she said, “but at least we’re doing this together, supporting one another as we should.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
“Papa, Papa, is Lady Martha going to be alright?”
The Marquis glanced down at his eldest daughter, who was walking alongside him as the family was making their way to the nursery. He gently ushered his children into the room and had his daughters put away their schoolwork.
“I imagine she shall be,” he assured.
“Then why did you come back with her?” Astra wondered. “Is everything alright at the front?”
“No—I head back in the morning,” he explained, “but sometimes people are very stubborn, to the point that someone else needs to step in and make sure they do what they should.”
“…so like Mama when you’re grumpy,” Tara noted.
“…well… not exactly…”
“I think that is an excellent comparison,” the Marchioness said. She placed Sterling in his cot and went to her daughters and husband by the low table where their schoolwork was kept. “Lady Martha and your father are both titled ‘Doctor’ and, in a lot of ways, the role it brings one suits the other as well. They are very much alike, which is something both of them have realized over the years.”
“So then nothing’s wrong?” Lena asked.
“The only thing that’s wrong is that there are still Daleks attempting to invade our borders, and that shall not change any time soon,” the Marquis frowned. He bent down and kissed his heir’s forehead, which prompted his other daughters to insist on the same. “Now please give Mama and me some time to talk; if you’re good, we might go for a walk yet before dinner.”
“Okay!” all three girls said in unison. They went off to play, allowing their parents to step away for a moment, stepping into the corridor, yet still within sight as they left the door open.
“What is going on?” the Marchioness asked in the ceremonial tongue. “What happened?”
“Nothing much,” her husband replied. “It is just that Daniel and Martha shall know the joys we do, with their night sky clear and bright as day.” He glanced over towards their children, then back to her. “After the End Moon, I imagine.”
“Oh… so soon too!” She turned as she heard a door down the corridor open—the Baron stepped out, eyes and face wet with tears, and approached them, with his wife lingering by the door. They stepped out of view of the children, after which the Baron embraced the Marquis tightly.
“Thank you,” he said in the old way. He then switched back to common words, his voice already wavering. “Thank you for bringing her back.”
“Johan just told me,” the Marchioness said. “That’s wonderful news.” The Baron looked at his former love and smiled before drawing her into a separate hug, this one not just relieved, but melancholic as well. “It’s times like this that make me glad we were separated, as difficult as that was to go through.”
“I’d change a lot, yeah, but I wouldn’t change this,” he nodded.
Prompts are to be sent in asks only (no comments, please and thank you, as it hinders my ability to reply properly).
I have the right to not write a prompt if it makes me feel uncomfortable or I am not well-enough-versed in the character/pairing/fandom.*** Also see Rule #9.
AUs are cool, but bonus points if they’re uncommon.
Prompts based off any of my other stories are acceptable and in some cases encouraged. Stuck on an idea? Try here or here.
Multiple prompts from the same person are allowed, just not in the same message. Similar prompts/prompts that go well together may be combined.
“But I sent in a prompt long ago and it hasn’t been written” yes I have quite a few in my backlog just sitting there but I’ve been staring at them for so long it’s painfully obvious I’m not getting anywhere anytime soon with them and sometimes working on others jogs my ability to pick some of the old ones back up and stuff.
Common prompt fandoms are listed in the tags. Prompts from fandoms not tagged are also acceptable, but please only if you know I am versed in said fandom. Same goes for ships.
Though I don’t always write it, or avoid writing anything explicit, I do accept nsfw prompts, occasionally codenamed “the prawns”. These fics are subject to certain levels of scrutiny, however, due to reasons.
I WILL NOT ACCEPT PROMPTS AT THE MOMENT CONCERNING THE DWS10 FINALE, UNLESS WE ARE TALKING CLASSIC WHO, NOR THE THIRTEENTH DOCTOR, because, again, I reserve that right.
I always accept asks that are questions, comments, concerns, or opinions!
***It may take me a while to get to your prompt. This does not necessarily mean I dislike it, but I just simply cannot come up with something at the current moment and/or backlog kicking my butt.
Thought it was time to freshen this post up, so here we go again!
Rules:
Prompts are to be sent in asks only (no comments, please and thank you, as it hinders my ability to reply properly).
I have the right to not write a prompt if it makes me feel uncomfortable or I am not well-enough-versed in the character/pairing/fandom.***
AUs are cool, but bonus points if they’re uncommon.
Prompts based off any of my other stories are acceptable and in some cases encouraged. Stuck on an idea? Try here or here.
Multiple prompts from the same person are allowed, just not in the same message. Similar prompts/prompts that go well together may be combined.
“But I sent in a prompt long ago and it hasn’t been written” yes I have quite a few in my backlog just sitting there but I’ve been staring at them for so long it’s painfully obvious I’m not getting anywhere anytime soon with them and sometimes working on others jogs my ability to pick some of the old ones back up and stuff.
Prompts from fandoms not tagged are also acceptable, but please only if you know I am versed in said fandom. Same goes for ships.
Though I don’t always write it, or avoid writing anything explicit, I do accept nsfw prompts, occasionally codenamed “the prawns”. These fics are subject to certain levels of scrutiny, however, due to reasons.
I WILL NOT ACCEPT PROMPTS AT THE MOMENT CONCERNING THE DWS10 FINALE, UNLESS WE ARE TALKING CLASSIC WHO, NOR THE THIRTEENTH DOCTOR NO OFFENSE, because I have emotions I need to get through first and idk how long that might be.
I always accept asks that are questions, comments, concerns, or opinions!
***It may take me a while to get to your prompt. This does not necessarily mean I dislike it, but I just simply cannot come up with something at the current moment.
The following chapter is a mess, but it’s a mess that I love dearly and have been trying to finalize for a while, so here you go.
Chapter Index - ff.net - AO3
The Imaginary Friend; Jealously is an interesting creature, especially when it comes between two children for seemingly no reason at all. [nobility/arranged marriage Whouffaldi/Cybermedic AU, featuring OC kids]
Lady Oriana Adeola Pink—or just Ori, as she preferred—sprung awake ready to start the new day. She made her bed and put on her dress, since her Dad told her that she was a big girl and big girls were only allowed to need help with their hair or party clothes, and went downstairs to get some breakfast. It was still a mystery why her parents wanted to live in a cottage on the castle grounds instead of in the castle itself, but it was times like this where she enjoyed living where they did because it meant that she could do things herself and not worry about getting in other people’s way as they worked. She went to get some dried apples and raisins for breakfast when she noticed something very interesting that distracted her from everything else.
Sitting by the doorway was a pair of extra boots and a large rucksack—her mother was home.
Running up the stairs, Oriana went straight into her parents’ bedroom and climbed up into their bed. Her mother was there, sure enough, despite the fact she had not arrived home yet when she had gone to sleep, and this excited the young girl beyond measure.
“Mum! Mum! You’re back!” she cheered. She hugged both her parents at once, which was easy to do since they were cuddled together underneath the blankets. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!”
“We wanted it to be a surprise,” the Baroness chuckled sleepily. Keeping the blanket wrapped around her to combat the Autumn air, she sat up and kissed her daughter on the brow, for her husband was not yet conscious enough to do anything. “Is it a nice surprise?”
“Yeah! Put some clothes on and we can have breakfast! I have lots to tell you and you said last time that you can’t hear stories while you aren’t wearing clothes!”
“Okay, dear. Get the kettle ready for tea, but don’t light the stove.” The Baroness watched her daughter scurry out of the room before nudging her husband awake. “Good thing we got in what we wanted to last night.”
“I told you she’d be excited to see you,” the Baron murmured. He gently brushed his metal-capped knuckles across his wife’s back, feeling the pleasant shudder that went through her. “Not excited like her old Dad, but excited just the same.”
“Let’s get downstairs before we have to explain why we’re still very much in bed and still very, very naked,” she smirked. The couple pecked one another on the lips and proceeded to prepare themselves for the day. Once dressed, they found their daughter in the kitchen, standing on her tiptoes attempting to reach tea on a high shelf with help of a chair. The Baron picked her up by the sides and let her grab the tin herself, the little girl giggling as she did so.
“Do you want to watch me light the fire?” he asked.
“Yes!” she grinned.
Oriana put the tea on the table and watched her father as he loaded the hearth with small logs, straw, and bark shavings, and put a spark in the stove with help of a flint stone. She watched as the fire caught and was soon crackling, doing its job to warm the stove, albeit slowly. It was one of the interesting things about living in their cottage, the girl decided, and it was definitely something she did not often see in Castle Gallifrey.
“Can Maggie’s papa do that?” she wondered.
“Lord Johan can, yes, though he rarely does,” the Baroness explained. She measured leaves for their morning tea and placed them in the pot. “He has servants to do so, just as we do at Hill House.”
“Why don’t we have servants here except for help with parties and when we cleaned in Spring?”
“Dad and I find it easier,” she said. The Baroness sat down and allowed her daughter to climb into her lap, the girl snuggling close to her body. “Granddad and Gran often couldn’t afford hiring servants, and Dad grew up in the Gloucester Academy, where kids have to do everything themselves. We wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves if we didn’t have to worry about things like tending the fire and cooking breakfast.”
“That would get boring,” Oriana agreed. She watched as her father began to cook eggs and bacon for their breakfast, with fried, chopped potatoes mixed with onions and wilted greens. It was a long-standing tradition for the Baron to cook breakfast for his family the morning after the Baroness returned from her duty at the front, one that he was certain would eventually turn into him and his daughter cooking as time went on. For the time being, however…
“Oriana, set the table please,” he ordered gently.
“Okay, Dad!” She slid off her mother’s lap and went into the low cupboard where metal plates sat. The girl put three on the table, as well as forks and butter knives, and carefully brought three mugs over to their spots, moving slowly as to not drop them.
“Oh, you are getting to be such a responsible young lady,” the Baroness beamed. Oriana climbed back into her lap, holding up a ribbon she had taken from her pocket.
“...but can you still do my hair, Mum?” she pleaded. “I want a nice braid today and the metal on Dad’s hands catches my hair sometimes.”
“Alright,” her mother said. After combing through Oriana’s hair with her fingers, the Baroness began to braid her hair, attempting to be gentle as she tamed her daughter’s many curls into the desired shape. “You said you wanted to tell me about what happened while I was gone?”
“Oh yeah! I do! Maggie and I have been having lots of fun! We play with Sterling when he’s not in lessons and sometimes Lena and Astra, but some of the best times are when we get to stay with Lord Johan and Lady Clara… or even Dad!”
“That sounds nice,” the Baroness nodded. “No one else?”
“Well, there is Maggie’s new imaginary friend, but I don’t know about him.” Oriana frowned slightly and turned towards her mother. “Why don’t I feel good about Maggie having an imaginary friend?”
“It’s called jealousy, is all, and it is perfectly normal,” the Baroness said. “You don’t have to share her with very many people right now, so you have to be careful when you feel jealous like that. Sometimes jealousy can make people do very mean things by accident—things that they normally wouldn’t do—which makes it a tricky thing to deal with.”
“It’s true Maggie’s my friend, but I still don’t really know about her new friend,” Oriana said. “She says he’s her grandpapa—her grandpapa is in Blackpoole! Why does she need another grandpapa?”
“People normally have two sets of grandparents,” the Baron mentioned. He took careful note of the conversation, making sure that he kept it in mind for if either girl was acting odd within the coming days. “You only have Mum’s parents and Maglina has Lord and Lady Blackpoole, but Lord Johan and I had parents as well. Maglina’s not the first child to imagine what kind of people came before her in her family, and I’m sure she will not be the last.”
“What… um… were Gran and Granddad Pink like…?” the girl wondered quietly. She took one of the raisins she had brought out earlier and nibbled on it pensively.
“Gran was a very sweet and kind lady who died of sickness when I was younger than you,” the Baron explained. “Granddad never talked about her much, but he was a soldier in the Gloucester Guards and was usually very tired when he’d come home. He died suddenly when I was eight; there was a fire in the munitions shack and it exploded while he was attempting to put the flames out. That’s why I grew up in the Academy.”
“Oh… what were Maggie’s other grandpapa and grandmamma like? The ones not from Blackpoole? Do you remember them too?”
“No,” the Baroness said. “When they died, Dad was in Gloucester and I wasn’t even born. You would have to ask Lord Johan, or one of the older servants at Castle Gallifrey.” She stroked her daughter’s hair and held her close. “Next time you and Maglina go down to the kitchens, how about if you ask the cook? I know she was in her first job as a scullery maid when His Late Lordship took the coronet’s responsibility, so she should remember him well. What do you say?”
“Yes, Mum,” she mumbled. Oriana clutched her mother’s dress, embarrassed and confused. She still was not comfortable with her best friend having a completely different friend that she could not even see, let alone the fact she claimed it was someone long-dead. “Can I ask Lord Johan today? You know, about his mama and papa?”
“We’ll see,” the Baroness cooed. She then noticed that her husband was finished with cooking, now shoving food from the frying pans onto plates. “Look: Dad’s done. Let’s eat.”
Oriana poked her food and tried not to sigh; it still didn’t feel right.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
The day had already begun for the Marquis and Marchioness as they sat up in their office, going over the proposals, property surveys, and potential minutes for the afternoon’s session of court. With their eldest four in lessons, the only one of their children in the room with them was their youngest, seated in the corner as she played with her stuffed bunny.
“Hehehe, that was funny,” Maglina giggled quietly. She poured water out of her toy teapot into a cup sitting in front of the toy and nodded almost sagely. “Yes, it is intermesting. I think it’s neat, too.”
“Clara,” the Marquis muttered, still pretending to loom over the map spread across the table. “Something’s not right with our daughter.”
“She’s just getting more vocal,” the Marchioness replied. She grabbed a magnifying glass and used it to examine a corner of the map. “All our children have excellent vocal skills and large vocabularies for their ages—why should Maglina be any different?”
“…because there’s something about what she’s doing that does not sit well with me,” he replied.
“Playing tea party?”
“No… talking to that rabbit… because I doubt that she’s talking to only the rabbit...”
“You’re growing paranoid in your old age,” she teased. “She’s talking with Malcolm.”
“Clara…!”
“You were the one who gave her that thing, and you’re going to have to be the one who suffers because of it,” the Marchioness scolded. “Don’t make a fuss or her feelings will be hurt.”
The Marquis groused quietly as he pretended to go back to his work. Whilst his wife ignored their daughter in her play area, he watched carefully despite pretending otherwise. He saw her glance up and grin sunnily—if that was directed towards a toy bunny, then he was mad.
“Maglina, starlet, come over here,” he requested. The girl set down her teapot and bounced over.
“Yes, Papa?”
“What are you doing over there?”
“Oh, just playing!”
“Johan,” the Marchioness hissed. She jabbed him with her elbow. “What did I just say?!”
“Hold on, Clara.” He then turned to their daughter, who now was beginning to look less cheery and more confused than anything. “What are you playing?”
“Tea party… why? Did you want to play with me, Papa?”
“I was only curious. It is just you and Malcolm over there?” He tried to hide his concern when she shrank back. “Well…?”
“For stars’ sake, Johan, be reasonable!” the Marchioness snapped. “Maglina, darling, it seems that Papa has been old for so long that he has forgotten what it is like to have an imaginary friend. Is that who you’re talking to instead of your bunny?”
The girl paused for a moment, then nodded.
“He’s imaginary because only I can see him, right?”
“That’s right,” the Marchioness affirmed. “Now ignore Papa and continue with your tea party.”
“Okay…” Maglina stared at her parents before heading back to her corner. She looked at them once more before picking up the teapot and pretending to pour more water in Malcolm’s cup.
“You are incorrigible,” the Marchioness frowned, glaring at her husband.
“It still feels as though something is not right,” the Marquis fired back stiffly. He bristled as he attempted to concentrate on the map before them, the strategy not working. Before long he stormed from the room, cape billowing behind him, which only served to make Maglina sniffle with tears.
“Mama, why is Papa cross with me?” the girl whimpered, going to hide in her mother’s skirts. “Did I do something bad?”
“No, you were doing perfectly fine,” her mother said. She stroked her hair in an effort to ease her tears. “As I said: Papa has been old for so long that he doesn’t understand imaginary friends anymore. He’s the one acting like he has a brain of pudding.”
“Are you sure, Mama?”
“Yes, because I’ve known Papa for a long time, and I am very good at telling when he is being a silly pudding-brain and when he has a point. Let’s just not talk about your imaginary friend for a while, alright?” She waited for her daughter to answer, surprised by the fact that it was a weak giggle. The Marchioness herself smiled at that, as it was a sign that Maglina was already recovering from the fright, one step closer to forgetting the entire thing ever happened. “What? Are you laughing at Papa?”
“No…” She peeked over towards her play table and hid in the Marchioness’s skirts again, squeaking happily. Her mother glanced over towards corner, devoid of anyone other than the girl’s stuffed bunny, and shook her head. It was nothing.
“Then how about if we go find him before lunch and try to cheer him up?” the Marchioness offered. “We can remind him that we still love him, despite his insistence on being a pudding brain sometimes. He needs to be told that every once in a while, after all.”
“Why?”
“…because sometimes papas are like that, come on.” The Marchioness offered her hand to her youngest daughter, who took it and followed her dutifully out of the room. She did not see her daughter’s gaze linger on the play table as they left the room, nor did she notice the tiny cup as it lifted itself of its own accord.
Only Maglina saw, and it made the child’s heart sink a little bit.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
It was after lunch and with their husbands deciding to get straight back to work and the school-aged children occupied, the Marchioness and Baroness both decided to spend the afternoon together visiting. They did not often have the opportunity to do so in a quiet setting—just the two of them and their young daughters—and they were going to take advantage of it while they could.
“I’ve been debating on whether or not I want another one,” the Baroness said as they watched their daughters play on the other side of the room with some dolls. “Oriana is happy though, and is so close to your children that it’s almost as though she already has siblings.”
“They are, aren’t they?” the Marchioness agreed. “Then again, if you have another child now, then I don’t think you’ll be able to pull yourself back to the front and I doubt you want to retire just yet.”
“Stars—I have at least another ten years on me!” the Baroness laughed. “I just know that if I’m going to have another child, it might as well be now while Ori is so young…”
“I don’t know how you can leave behind such a darling to start—two might be the tipping point.”
“Mum! Mum! Mum!”
“…and it starts,” the Baroness sighed. She turned towards her daughter as she ran up to them, appearing rather distressed. “What is it, dear?”
“Maggie won’t stop talking about her imaginary friend!”
“Is this a bad thing?”
“Yes! It’s rude to talk about someone to people who don’t know them! You said so yourself!”
“Is she not allowed to talk about other friends?” the Baroness asked. She quickly glanced over at the Marchioness, who appeared to be preparing to repeat herself on the matter.
“No, but…!”
“But what?”
“It’s still mean!”
“Aren’t you allowed to talk about your cousin, despite Maggie not having any?”
“Yeah, but… she’s real! Maggie’s just making up a pretend grandpapa! Why does she have to do that?!”
“Maglina…?” the Marchioness said sternly. She watched as her daughter approached them, almost bashful in her demeanor. “Is Ori telling us the truth?”
“…about what?” She tried to hide her trepidation behind a smile, though her mother saw directly through the ruse.
“…about your imaginary friend.” Maglina’s face went pink and she glanced away. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t talk about him for a little bit, to be nice to everyone else.”
“You said we shouldn’t talk about my imaginary friend to Papa because his brain is like pudding—Ori’s still a kid like me, and she doesn’t have a pudding brain.”
“It’s still not nice,” the Marchioness warned. “You know Oriana can’t see your imaginary friend.”
“…but Mama…!”
“No buts, young lady; apologize.”
“Mama!”
“Maglina Diantha…”
Maglina turned towards her friend and grumbled, “I’m sorry.”
“Good, now go play, both of you,” the Marchioness ordered. Oriana left, though Maglina stayed behind, looking sheepish. “Yes…?”
“I’m going back to the nursery,” she muttered. “I don’t feel well.”
“Do you need me to come with you?”
“No—I can go myself,” she replied. At that, the little girl left, just barely able to dodge the maid who was bringing in some tea.
“I thought Tara was supposed to be your difficult one,” the Baroness frowned.
“This is the point where we go and blame Johan’s side of the family,” the Marchioness said, exhaling heavily. She winced as she heard the door slam and they both looked—Oriana had run off as well.
“…and that was Danny’s side,” the Baroness said, shaking her head. “What are we going to do when they hit puberty and become even more ridiculous?”
“Hide.”
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Meanwhile, in another part of the castle, Maglina ran into the nursery and crashed dramatically onto the pile of cushions in the corner. She stared out the window, gazing upwards at the brilliant blue sky above the castle.
“What’s wrong?” a voice asked. “This sort of behavior is not like you, Maggie.”
“Ori and I fought,” Maglina grumbled. She sat up and saw the image of her grandpapa sitting scrunched up in a play chair, pretending to sip some tea from a cup. “I don’t like fighting with Ori.”
“What did you fight about?”
“You.”
“Ah.” He placed the cup down and shook his head. “You are a special girl, Maglina Diantha. Not many can see the likes of me anymore and understand what is happening. You cannot fault people for what they cannot possess.”
“I know, but it’s just…” Maglina rolled towards the play table and looked up at both the ceiling and her grandfather. “Why can’t they see you? Is there a secret? A trick?”
“The only trick is being born with it, I’m afraid,” her grandfather tutted. “Even those who might possibly be born with the gift don’t know how to use it as you do—it is a lost art.”
“…but Grandpapa! It shouldn’t have to be! Why does it feel lonely?”
“It feels lonely because we have fun, and you are a good girl who wants to share her fun,” her grandfather said. “Don’t linger on me for too long, my dear. I’ve already had my adventures, while yours are just beginning.”
“I don’t want people to think you’re a story I made up!”
“We’re all stories in the end—don’t worry.” He opened his arms and let the child hug him; the only of his grandchildren with his eyes and, from what it looked like, his gift as well. “You and Oriana are too good of friends to let something as simple as a story get in the way of things. Just promise me something, yeah?”
“Yes!”
“Make your story a good one,” he requested.
“Maggie…?” Maglina looked towards the nursery door and saw Oriana standing there, holding both their dolls. “Are we still arguing?”
“No. I guess not.” She turned her head back towards her grandfather and saw that he was gone—another time, then. “Want to play tea party?”
Giving this post a fresh start, because why not. Maybe it’ll hit the tags this way or something...
Rules:
Prompts are to be sent in asks only (no comments, please and thank you, as it hinders my ability to reply properly).
I have the right to not write a prompt if it makes me feel uncomfortable or I am not well-enough-versed in the character/pairing/fandom.***
AUs are cool, but bonus points if they’re uncommon.
Prompts based off any of my other stories are acceptable and in some cases encouraged. Stuck on an idea? Try here or here.
Multiple prompts from the same person are allowed, just not in the same message. Similar prompts/prompts that go well together may be combined.
“But I sent in a prompt long ago and it hasn’t been written” yes I have quite a few in my backlog just sitting there but I’ve been staring at them for so long it’s painfully obvious I’m not getting anywhere anytime soon with them and sometimes working on others jogs my ability to pick some of the old ones back up and stuff.
Prompts from fandoms not tagged are also acceptable, but please only if you know I am versed in said fandom. Same goes for ships.
Though I don’t always write it, or avoid writing anything explicit, I do accept nsfw prompts, occasionally codenamed “the prawns”. These fics are subject to certain levels of scrutiny, however, due to reasons.
I WILL NOT ACCEPT PROMPTS AT THE MOMENT CONCERNING THE DWS10 FINALE, UNLESS WE ARE TALKING CLASSIC WHO, OR THE THIRTEENTH DOCTOR NO OFFENSE, because I have emotions I need to get through first and idk how long that might be.
I always accept asks that are questions, comments, concerns, or opinions!
***It may take me a while to get to your prompt. This does not necessarily mean I dislike it, but I just simply cannot come up with something at the current moment.
Please help me; my job is generally alright and fulfilling-ish but I also crave prompts and I miss a lot of different stories that I used to write (and if I miss them, chances are others miss them too) so my ears are open.
Rules:
Prompts are to be sent in asks only (no comments, please and thank you, as it hinders my ability to reply properly).
I have the right to not write a prompt if it makes me feel uncomfortable or I am not well-enough-versed in the character/pairing/fandom.***
AUs are cool, but bonus points if they’re uncommon.
Prompts based off any of my other stories are acceptable and in some cases encouraged. Stuck on an idea? Try here or here.
Multiple prompts from the same person are allowed, just not in the same message. Similar prompts/prompts that go well together may be combined.
“But I sent in a prompt long ago and it hasn’t been written” yes I have quite a few in my backlog just sitting there but I’ve been staring at them for so long it’s painfully obvious I’m not getting anywhere anytime soon with them and sometimes working on others jogs my ability to pick some of the old ones back up and stuff.
Prompts from fandoms not tagged are also acceptable, but please only if you know I am versed in said fandom. Same goes for ships.
Though I don’t always write it, or avoid writing anything explicit, I do accept nsfw prompts, occasionally codenamed “the prawns”. These fics are subject to certain levels of scrutiny, however, due to reasons.
I WILL NOT ACCEPT PROMPTS AT THE MOMENT CONCERNING THE DWS10 FINALE, UNLESS WE ARE TALKING CLASSIC WHO, OR THE THIRTEENTH DOCTOR NO OFFENSE, because I have emotions I need to get through first and idk how long that might be.
I always accept asks that are questions, comments, concerns, or opinions!
***It may take me a while to get to your prompt. This does not necessarily mean I dislike it, but I just simply cannot come up with something at the current moment.
