Post by Alliecat on Dec 15, 2011 3:37:02 GMT 10
To: Cass
Message: At first I passed this prompt by, thinking it said something far more common like “Cythera/John” or “Cythera/Raoul” (I don’t know why I processed it like that) but when I realized what it really said, I was quite taken with the idea. It’s not necessarily honed in on the events in POtS era, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
Title: Diffusing Destruction
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 362
Wishlist Item: 3. Cythera/Wyldon, around the PotS-era
Summary: Damage is what has been done to his body, and damage is what he will do. Rating for implied sex.
Wyldon stares at the ceiling through the dim morning light, attempting to make out the cracks in the plaster. Cythera rolls over in bed and runs a finger down his arm, causing goosebumps. “Are spiders more interesting than me?” she asks.
“What?” Wyldon asks, glancing at her. She really is pretty, he muses. And young. Far too young.
Cythera points at the spider webs dangling from the crown molding in response. “You were paying those creatures more attention than you pay me.”
Wyldon nods, just once, to acknowledge his wrongdoing. “I’m sorry,” he offers, “I was thinking.”
“About what?” She extends her leg so that her toes touch his calf and begins to brush his skin.
He pauses, wanting desperately to hold his thoughts inside him, but knowing that silence is not an option and Cythera will catch any lie. “About this.”
Her foot retracts and she fluffs out the blankets, causing feathers to rise between their faces. She crushes the mound with her elbow and rises up, her chin resting on her hand. “And?” she asks, now looking down at him.
“I was thinking,” he coughs here, “that this would be easier if I disliked your husband.” He doesn’t say ‘hate’, because it is such a strong word, even though that is the sentiment he associates with people like Alanna of Trebond.
“Don’t,” Cythera warns, but Wyldon is intent on continuing, on ruining so that he cannot be tempted to return. “Gareth is a good fellow. Smart. Dutiful.” Cythera rises from the bed, gathers her clothes, and disappears into the bathroom to change. When she comes out she doesn’t say goodbye or look at him, but walks on a beeline to the door. He does not blame her, for he has done her a great disservice in mentioning the one person a woman never wants to be reminded of.
When the door shuts behind her he exhales, relaxing into the pillows, but only momentarily. Slowly he rises, his bones creaking with memories of injuries and stress. Having barely slept, he wants to collapse back into bed, but there is no time. The pages will be waiting, and they are his priority.
Message: At first I passed this prompt by, thinking it said something far more common like “Cythera/John” or “Cythera/Raoul” (I don’t know why I processed it like that) but when I realized what it really said, I was quite taken with the idea. It’s not necessarily honed in on the events in POtS era, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
Title: Diffusing Destruction
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 362
Wishlist Item: 3. Cythera/Wyldon, around the PotS-era
Summary: Damage is what has been done to his body, and damage is what he will do. Rating for implied sex.
Wyldon stares at the ceiling through the dim morning light, attempting to make out the cracks in the plaster. Cythera rolls over in bed and runs a finger down his arm, causing goosebumps. “Are spiders more interesting than me?” she asks.
“What?” Wyldon asks, glancing at her. She really is pretty, he muses. And young. Far too young.
Cythera points at the spider webs dangling from the crown molding in response. “You were paying those creatures more attention than you pay me.”
Wyldon nods, just once, to acknowledge his wrongdoing. “I’m sorry,” he offers, “I was thinking.”
“About what?” She extends her leg so that her toes touch his calf and begins to brush his skin.
He pauses, wanting desperately to hold his thoughts inside him, but knowing that silence is not an option and Cythera will catch any lie. “About this.”
Her foot retracts and she fluffs out the blankets, causing feathers to rise between their faces. She crushes the mound with her elbow and rises up, her chin resting on her hand. “And?” she asks, now looking down at him.
“I was thinking,” he coughs here, “that this would be easier if I disliked your husband.” He doesn’t say ‘hate’, because it is such a strong word, even though that is the sentiment he associates with people like Alanna of Trebond.
“Don’t,” Cythera warns, but Wyldon is intent on continuing, on ruining so that he cannot be tempted to return. “Gareth is a good fellow. Smart. Dutiful.” Cythera rises from the bed, gathers her clothes, and disappears into the bathroom to change. When she comes out she doesn’t say goodbye or look at him, but walks on a beeline to the door. He does not blame her, for he has done her a great disservice in mentioning the one person a woman never wants to be reminded of.
When the door shuts behind her he exhales, relaxing into the pillows, but only momentarily. Slowly he rises, his bones creaking with memories of injuries and stress. Having barely slept, he wants to collapse back into bed, but there is no time. The pages will be waiting, and they are his priority.