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rainbowfic2025-12-03 03:21 pm
paradoxcase) wrote in rainbowfic2025-12-03 03:21 pm
Dogwood Rose #8 [The Fulcrum]
Name: Unconscious Desires
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Dogwood Rose #8: coral: desire
Styles and Supplies: Silhouette, Life Drawing, Glue ("Dreams and meditation could bring up deep-seated emotions from the past that have been blocking your growth without your realizing it. Both seeking and giving forgiveness may take on new importance. Romantic passion should be at an all-time high. These emotions are also likely to provide artistic inspiration that you want to turn toward decorating your home."), Calendar Page (Let's Hug Day), Tempera (The Hanged Man from dailytarotdraw: "Hanged Man represents being temporarily suspended. Life is on hold, but it serves a purpose. It suggests that you need to take a step back and reassess your current situation. You may be feeling stuck or like you're at a crossroads. This is a time to be introspective and to consider all your options very carefully. It's also a time to be patient. The Hanged Man suggests that the answer you're seeking will come in due time.")
Word Count: 971
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Characters: Setsiana, Qhoroali
In-Universe Date: Night of 1912.4.3.2, Morning of 1912.4.3.3
Summary: Setsiana has a dream. (And I finish the Dogwood Rose list after almost exactly a year!)
Some days later, Setsiana found herself in what felt like an ordinary dream, watering the chonea that now sat on the table in her room. But when she turned around, she found that she was now in a different, larger room, that she had never been in before, with a larger bed. Looking back, she saw that the rays of morning sunlight, which earlier had streamed past the open window, were no longer in evidence when she turned back to look outside, except as bright spots upon the walls of the buildings opposite. This room must face to the west, where hers faced south.
She turned back to the bed. Someone was asleep there, although they were now rolling over and waking up, somewhat reluctantly. They threw off the covers and rubbed their eyes, and Setsiana saw that it was Qhoroali.
She had seen what Qhoroali wore to sleep already, when she had given her the timeline substance earlier, and even before that, on the train to Duqhora, although she hadn’t been paying any attention at the time. But somehow, seeing her there in bed in what must be her room added an extra layer of intimacy. Setsiana turned back to the window; the chonea still sat on the table, its large bell-shaped bloom even seeming to look up at her, slightly.
Qhoroali looked past her, out the window, and said, “It’s too early.” Then she flopped backwards onto the bed.
Setsiana found herself going over to the bed, as if pulled by some invisible force, and sitting on it. She began tapping a light rhythm on Qhoroali’s outstretched forearm, and watched a slight smile make its way across Qhoroali’s face. Eventually it gave way to a bigger one, and then Qhoroali sat up again and pulled her arm back. “Alright, enough!” she said. “I’m up.”
Qhoroali got up on her knees on the bed, came up behind Setsiana, and draped her arms over Setsiana’s shoulders. Before Setsiana could properly react to this, Qhoroali pressed her face into Setsiana’s hair; Setsiana felt her breath warming the tip of her ear. “I didn’t sign up for early mornings, you know,” said Qhoroali.
“If you would like, I can move back into the other room,” said Setsiana. The words were not of her choosing, but neither did she feel like she was being compelled to say them by the dream, the way that some of her recent strange dreams had felt. There was something more natural to them, as if they were an old routine; as if she were an actor in a play, saying her lines as they were written in the script.
She felt Qhoroali smile into her hair. “It’s okay, I don’t actually want you to. I just need to whine sometimes.” Qhoroali came around and sat beside her on the side of the bed, leaning into her shoulder a bit, and then, almost cautiously, turned her head to plant a kiss on Setsiana’s cheek.
The same odd familiarity that had prompted Setsiana’s words earlier prompted her to also turn her head at the last second, catching the kiss on her lips. The dream seemed to spiral; images and sounds lost in a sea of tactile sensation and emotion.
The sea of feelings resolved into the more familiar feeling of lying in her own bed, in the smaller room that had once belonged to Liselye, and the sight of the familiar angle of the morning sunlight through the south-facing window shutter. She touched her hair, her ear, her cheek, her lips; she could still feel Qhoroali’s phantom touch.
She closed her eyes. What was she doing, dreaming dreams like that? It would never happen. She didn’t even entertain the thought that it might have been another shared dream, that it might have really been Qhoroali there, that Qhoroali really would have chosen to do that. She had a feeling that even if Qhoroali was interested, which she definitely wasn’t, it wouldn’t be that simple with her.
She was almost tempted to stay in bed this morning, to close her eyes again and lose herself in romantic fantasy. If it would never happen outside of her head, why not, after all? But she forced herself to sit up and rub the sleep from her eyes. She couldn’t continue to indulge in this idea. Sooner or later, she would slip up and Qhoroali would find out about it, and… she didn’t have anywhere else to go now, if Qhoroali kicked her out.
Maybe she should try to find a new profession somewhere. Something to get her out of the apartment more often, something that she could use to generate money to make her own way. There wasn’t really a future for her here, was there? Not the one she wanted, anyway. She’d had some idea, once, that she would find a way to convince Qhoroali that she was wrong and should change her plans to kill Sapfita. As time wore on, though, it seemed less and less likely that she’d have any effect and more that Qhoroali was changing how she felt. And Qhoroali wasn’t even trying.
She tried to remember what they had planned to do today. Right — Qhoroali was going to exhaustively test the timeline substance. Setsiana had to hope that she didn’t succeed in finding something that could destroy it. If she did, it was probably only the fact that they hadn’t actually been able to see Sapfita when they went through the anomaly in 1459 that would prevent her from carrying out her goal. And who knew what damage she might do to the timeline Tree as it was?
She shouldn’t be feeling the way she was for someone who was still committed to doing something like that. She shouldn’t, but she couldn’t figure out how to stop.
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Dogwood Rose #8: coral: desire
Styles and Supplies: Silhouette, Life Drawing, Glue ("Dreams and meditation could bring up deep-seated emotions from the past that have been blocking your growth without your realizing it. Both seeking and giving forgiveness may take on new importance. Romantic passion should be at an all-time high. These emotions are also likely to provide artistic inspiration that you want to turn toward decorating your home."), Calendar Page (Let's Hug Day), Tempera (The Hanged Man from dailytarotdraw: "Hanged Man represents being temporarily suspended. Life is on hold, but it serves a purpose. It suggests that you need to take a step back and reassess your current situation. You may be feeling stuck or like you're at a crossroads. This is a time to be introspective and to consider all your options very carefully. It's also a time to be patient. The Hanged Man suggests that the answer you're seeking will come in due time.")
Word Count: 971
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Characters: Setsiana, Qhoroali
In-Universe Date: Night of 1912.4.3.2, Morning of 1912.4.3.3
Summary: Setsiana has a dream. (And I finish the Dogwood Rose list after almost exactly a year!)
Some days later, Setsiana found herself in what felt like an ordinary dream, watering the chonea that now sat on the table in her room. But when she turned around, she found that she was now in a different, larger room, that she had never been in before, with a larger bed. Looking back, she saw that the rays of morning sunlight, which earlier had streamed past the open window, were no longer in evidence when she turned back to look outside, except as bright spots upon the walls of the buildings opposite. This room must face to the west, where hers faced south.
She turned back to the bed. Someone was asleep there, although they were now rolling over and waking up, somewhat reluctantly. They threw off the covers and rubbed their eyes, and Setsiana saw that it was Qhoroali.
She had seen what Qhoroali wore to sleep already, when she had given her the timeline substance earlier, and even before that, on the train to Duqhora, although she hadn’t been paying any attention at the time. But somehow, seeing her there in bed in what must be her room added an extra layer of intimacy. Setsiana turned back to the window; the chonea still sat on the table, its large bell-shaped bloom even seeming to look up at her, slightly.
Qhoroali looked past her, out the window, and said, “It’s too early.” Then she flopped backwards onto the bed.
Setsiana found herself going over to the bed, as if pulled by some invisible force, and sitting on it. She began tapping a light rhythm on Qhoroali’s outstretched forearm, and watched a slight smile make its way across Qhoroali’s face. Eventually it gave way to a bigger one, and then Qhoroali sat up again and pulled her arm back. “Alright, enough!” she said. “I’m up.”
Qhoroali got up on her knees on the bed, came up behind Setsiana, and draped her arms over Setsiana’s shoulders. Before Setsiana could properly react to this, Qhoroali pressed her face into Setsiana’s hair; Setsiana felt her breath warming the tip of her ear. “I didn’t sign up for early mornings, you know,” said Qhoroali.
“If you would like, I can move back into the other room,” said Setsiana. The words were not of her choosing, but neither did she feel like she was being compelled to say them by the dream, the way that some of her recent strange dreams had felt. There was something more natural to them, as if they were an old routine; as if she were an actor in a play, saying her lines as they were written in the script.
She felt Qhoroali smile into her hair. “It’s okay, I don’t actually want you to. I just need to whine sometimes.” Qhoroali came around and sat beside her on the side of the bed, leaning into her shoulder a bit, and then, almost cautiously, turned her head to plant a kiss on Setsiana’s cheek.
The same odd familiarity that had prompted Setsiana’s words earlier prompted her to also turn her head at the last second, catching the kiss on her lips. The dream seemed to spiral; images and sounds lost in a sea of tactile sensation and emotion.
The sea of feelings resolved into the more familiar feeling of lying in her own bed, in the smaller room that had once belonged to Liselye, and the sight of the familiar angle of the morning sunlight through the south-facing window shutter. She touched her hair, her ear, her cheek, her lips; she could still feel Qhoroali’s phantom touch.
She closed her eyes. What was she doing, dreaming dreams like that? It would never happen. She didn’t even entertain the thought that it might have been another shared dream, that it might have really been Qhoroali there, that Qhoroali really would have chosen to do that. She had a feeling that even if Qhoroali was interested, which she definitely wasn’t, it wouldn’t be that simple with her.
She was almost tempted to stay in bed this morning, to close her eyes again and lose herself in romantic fantasy. If it would never happen outside of her head, why not, after all? But she forced herself to sit up and rub the sleep from her eyes. She couldn’t continue to indulge in this idea. Sooner or later, she would slip up and Qhoroali would find out about it, and… she didn’t have anywhere else to go now, if Qhoroali kicked her out.
Maybe she should try to find a new profession somewhere. Something to get her out of the apartment more often, something that she could use to generate money to make her own way. There wasn’t really a future for her here, was there? Not the one she wanted, anyway. She’d had some idea, once, that she would find a way to convince Qhoroali that she was wrong and should change her plans to kill Sapfita. As time wore on, though, it seemed less and less likely that she’d have any effect and more that Qhoroali was changing how she felt. And Qhoroali wasn’t even trying.
She tried to remember what they had planned to do today. Right — Qhoroali was going to exhaustively test the timeline substance. Setsiana had to hope that she didn’t succeed in finding something that could destroy it. If she did, it was probably only the fact that they hadn’t actually been able to see Sapfita when they went through the anomaly in 1459 that would prevent her from carrying out her goal. And who knew what damage she might do to the timeline Tree as it was?
She shouldn’t be feeling the way she was for someone who was still committed to doing something like that. She shouldn’t, but she couldn’t figure out how to stop.
no subject
She had a feeling that even if Qhoroali was interested, which she definitely wasn’t, it wouldn’t be that simple with her.
Ha, well, yes, this seems fair. As does the complication of someone who wants to kill Sapfita all the time...
no subject
Thank you! Dreams are always much less complicated than reality, haha.
no subject
no subject
Thank you! There are a lot of dreams in this story, and I am trying to make it so that the ones that aren't specifically lucid supernatural dreams do feel like real dreams, which I think doesn't happen enough in fantasy that makes use of dreams.
no subject
If you're picturing me as the sickos meme, you are picturing correctly.
no subject
Haha, yeah, one entry on the laundry list for this was to have at least one really self-indulgent dream like this.