#threads: assire

[takivvatanga]

@martyrsaiint cont. from here

She wants to protest, with clenched fists and furrowed brow, with that utterly infuriating stubborn contrariness of hers. Assire remembers the first time she spoke up, interrupted, disagreed. She remembers the uncomfortable silence around the table. Keira Metz suppressing a surprised little laugh, Triss Merigold lowering her eyes, visibly uncomfortable, Fringilla Vigo’s sharp intake of breath, the flash of indignation in Sheala de Tancarville’s cold dark eyes. They’d expected her to fold, to close in on herself once more, to lower her head, to know her place. But Assire had stood her ground, quietly insistent. She’d been silent for too long. Being contrary, disagreeable - it is becoming a habit. Always accompanied by a little rush of excitement, a quickening of her heartbeat, an electric current running through her brain and down her spine, making her sit up a little straighter. Back in Nilfgaard, to disagree like this would have meant death or worse. Every time she speaks, every time she shakes her head no, she feels as if she is laughing in the face of death, offering all her spite, all her resentment against a world that sought to silence her, to keep her small and powerless. Being contrary really isn’t a choice anymore. It is her duty. To herself, but also to her Northern sisters, who for all their privilege have such a narrow frame of mind, unable to consider a position that isn’t their own. “With all due respect, Lady Eilhart.” Assire’s voice is soft, yet firm. “I will never be like you. Like your kind. I do not fit in here, no matter how much I try. All this…” she gestures at her dress, olive green silk tied with a narrow golden belt, the buckles shaped like delicate leaves. Tasteful, impeccably elegant, and yet - it doesn’t fit. “It’s just for show. It’s not who I am. I used to think it’s what I wanted to be but it isn’t.” I just want to be me. But how can I, when I don’t even know myself? “Let’s not delude ourselves: I don’t belong here. I didn’t belong -” she wants to say at home, stops herself just before the words can pass her lips. “I didn’t belong in Nilfgaard, either. Maybe that’s my purpose. Someone who can make themselves fit in, but who never truly belongs in one place or another. A traveller between worlds in a way that even magic cannot provide.” A silence. Assire suppresses the urge to pick at her nails. “But you already know this. It’s why you chose me in the first place, isn’t it?”

#martyrsaiint #threads: assire #i hope it's ok i continued this #feel free to decide what you want to do i am chill #but i had muse for this and i could actually focus on writing so yay

[snarkomancy]

PSA

i slept until like 10am which is pretty much a miracle, i have 5 whole days off, i’m gonna make a coffee and settle in to catch up on my drafts finally. the intention still is to work chronologically but i may bend that rule depending on where my muses take me. i know i owe a lot of stuff so here’s a little list (for all of my blogs bc it’s easier to have it all in one place), sorted by muse. 

i also owe a literal million asks but i wanna get my threads under control first. 

Also i am taking a bit of a break from Shani bc the whole plague premise and the sense of helplessness and being overwhelmed that she feels is cutting too close to reality atm i need the escapism it’s just too hard for me to write about fighting death and the plague on my days off from actually fighting death and the plague. i’m keeping the threads i owe and i will likely return to her blog at some point purely for cathartic reasons.

ok here’s the list

if i owe you a reply that’s not mentioned here please lmk and i will find it. likewise if there’s anything here that you wish to wrap up or drop let me know also, i don’t mind at all and we can always plot sth else! 

Philippa

@lastwished the fuck love thread

@zagubionywilk corvo bianco cabin fever / modern verse neuro exam / geralt going after the crones 

@suresaint tretogor / phil trying to deal with drunk! zelda 

@platkisloneczne smol!sunnie at corvo bianco

@kobloid the if you love something set it free thread

@ascendedchaos modern verse 

@starlyht lara and phil

@rectoress modern verse dinner / smol!phil at aretuza 

@wcrstarter sonja and phil being absolute fashion snobs 

@onlyliberty ask continuation on the Sea of Ghosts

@hdgewitch modern verse text 

@throatkissed jonathan modern verse text  / orion modern verse 2 text threads / orion modern verse The Good Soft Shit (tm)  / jonathan being Done With Phil’s Bullshit (tm) canon

@flamalba starter based on your ask 

@managei sheala saying it how it is ask continuation bc i need them in my life 

Assire

@throatkissed jonathan modern car ride / jonathan canon secret meeting (also still holding the correspondence thread for after the meeting thread concludes) 

@rectoress modern verse therapy thread

@cealach the don’t go to nilfgaard thread 

Granny Weatherwax

@beastend ask continuation dettlaff visiting granny 

Alice

@managei ask continuation Lachlan on the ship 

#fred pls || ooc #sorry about spamming everyone's notifs with the tags #i feel so much more organised now lmao #imma try get through all of these over the next 5 days if i do like 6ish things a day i'll be caught up #i'm motivated and i need the escapism to recharge my soul so LET'S GO

[mercysought]

@takivvatanga​ said : “they have this social justification for every nasty thing they do!” (Assire @ The Gentleman) // from THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV ( accepting )

Her annoyance and anger is loud, so loud that it clouds the whole air around them. The gentleman’s eyes lift briefly from the book that he had been browsing absently, his attention never lingering in a sentence for long before skipping to the next. The feeling of novelty pulls him to the pages, only to release as soon as the words enter a familiar rhythm, a story told and known already to his ears and mind. And so began the cycle of being pulled and pulled further, another page, another chapter until the book came to a close. His fingers lingered on the last few pages, the fingertips softly kept against the edge of old and yellowed pages.

   “It can be a jarring experience to realise that those that you despise are of the same nature as you.” he finally says, closing the book for but a moment to allow his attention to return to the woman that had been pacing back and forth. Her steps coming to a stop, head snapping to where he sat. A guest in her home and yet her expression told him that she had taken offence to her words. The gentleman still smiled, his eyes narrowing and the crows feet by their edge settling deeply into his skin. 

The girl that the Emperor had brought to his court was not the girl that he was still tearing half of the world in search of. He could pull and seek the reasoning behind it; to wonder why awful men did awful things and perhaps he should. Perhaps it would help him understand how their society worked and how they could all bend their perceptions so far as to allow them to continue to serve and yet feel complete disgust. Or perhaps her words were related to the plans that the group of sorcerers had for that same girl. The girl that pulls and tears at the threads and patterns in the tapestry.

There is a world that is burning. A world that has corpses piled up against their church walls, a world where dogs, cats and mice are being burned. A world that will see the death of fifty percent of a whole continent’s population. Or had seen already. The power to touch upon the tapestry and pull at the pattern, to infect and bolster other threads; it didn’t come without its consequences. Not to those around them, not to those that wielded it. 

Would Assire tell him what was the justification that the Lodge had for keeping the girl? The gentleman puts the book aside, leaving it over a small end table next to the large seat. The warmth of the fireplace could still be felt against his frame, even as the cold chill of the darkness around them returns home “Do you think that your anger is borne out of that realisation or the fear that you might be swept under the same description by another, miss Assire?”

#takivvatanga #the gentleman ( muses ) #raven received ( meme replies ) #( this just in the gentleman is actually just the psychologist for the whole group of sorceresses and sorcerers lmao ) #( hello ciri was the original cause of the black plague in this world. this is your daily reminder )

[takivvatanga]

@worncrown cont. from here

Assire looks up at her friend, her best friend, her only friend in the whole entire miserable world. As different as they are, they understand each other. Assire doesn’t know how or why, only that they do, and that is enough. That is all that matters.

Merlin squirms on her lap, gives a little chirp to remind her of his presence. Assire lifts an eyebrow, mutters an endearment under her breath, continues to run her hand through his midnight black, glossy fur. The cat stretches, arching his back to meet her touch, purring loudly, turning his head to face Fringilla. His eyes are bright and watchful.

“If I…”, Assire begins, her voice trailing off into the night. She’s desperate to tell her, desperate to share the news of a most curious invitation, extended to her in utmost secrecy. To her, of all people. Assire doesn’t understand how or why, after all she has taken such great care to remain obscure, unseen, unnoticed.

Time will tell, I suppose.

Oh, how she wishes she could tell. But it’s impossible. Her instructions were clear in this regard, and even if they hadn’t been – it would only serve to put both of them at risk. How does the saying go? Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.

Assire bites her lip, looks away.

“If I ever should… you know, disappear. Promise me you’ll take care of Merlin. He has no one else.”

And neither do I.

#worncrown #threads: assire #i hope it's ok i continued this because i was feelin it #because i love their dynamic and i have so many questions about them #like #HOW ARE THEY FRIENDS #they are so different but i always felt like they are just #ride or die for each other

[takivvatanga]

@martyrsaiint cont. from here

“But why does it have to be that way?”

Assire’s cheeks are flushed, her eyelids heavy. She hardly ever drinks, she doesn’t see the point in it. All it does is make her tired. Tired, and jaded. So incredibly jaded. But tonight is what it is, and she ought to at least pretend that she is enjoying herself, despite the fact that she is desperately uncomfortable. 

Uncomfortable, in her brand new dress (a last minute, panicked purchase made this afternoon, she’s still reeling from the experience). 

Uncomfortable, in this fancy place (she can’t shake the feeling that people are staring at her, do they know she doesn’t belong here?).  

Uncomfortable, around Philippa and her friends (she’s nothing like them, with their fancy clothes and their perfect makeup and their handbags worth a small fortune). 

Assire wishes Fringilla was here, but her friend (her best friend, her only friend) is out of town, engaged in something that Assire would rather not know the details of. She worries about her. Lately, Fringilla has changed, and Assire cannot for the life of her understand why. All she knows is that she doesn’t like it.

She sips from her glass. It tastes awful, but she swallows it down regardless. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Triss whispering to Keira. They keep looking at her, and Assire wishes they would stop. She casts a furtive glance at Philippa, sitting straight across from her. Philippa, who was the one who invited her in the first place, for reason that Assire for the life of her cannot understand.

“I’m not asking for life to be easy, I mean… if it was easy we would never learn anything, and nothing would ever change. We wouldn’t change. And change… it’s what people are supposed to do. I just wish that it didn’t have to be so damn difficult all the time.”

She turns her head, looking straight at Triss and Keira, feeling incredibly, overwhelmingly, astonishingly brave. Maybe it’s the wine, or the influence of Philippa’s words that still echo inside her mind, or maybe she’s being courageous for the hell of it, just because she can. When she speaks, her voice rings louder than it ever has before. Let them hear it.

“And I wish people didn’t feel the need to go around being so mean.”

#martyrsaiint #threads: assire #verse: modern #modern drunk lodge gives me LIFE

[takivvatanga]

@cealach i see your wishlist and i raise you a starter because i too think about this a lot ok

“Don’t go.”

She would not usually intrude upon his mind like this. It is distasteful to her, this whole business of rummaging through the thoughts of others. Her own mind, for this very reason, is kept under lock and key, her defenses unyielding.

But Cahir’s thoughts are so loud, so constant, his mind wide open – she can’t not take notice. It scares her. Assire var Anahid is once again terrified, although this time it’s not for her own life that she fears.

She shakes her head, her expression reflecting her disapproval, her eyes full of terror. She cannot lose him. She will not lose him. She won’t let him down a second time.

“If you go to Nilfgaard… you won’t return. I know you want vengeance. I want vengeance, too. For everything that’s happened. For everything that’s been done to us, to our family. For all those years we’ve lived in fear. But the reality is-”

Her hands tug nervously at the fabric of her dress, move up to toy with the small silver charm she wears around her neck.

“Cahir, if you go, it will be the last thing you ever do. Is getting vengeance worth throwing away your life? Everything you’ve survived, everything we have survived, and you would just… discard it?” 

Assire rises to her feet, begins to pace, visibly unsettled, feeling herself unravel as her mind assaults her with images of death, of loss, of suffering. There are worse fates than death, fates that she is now imagining in every single gruesome, harrowing detail, she can’t, she won’t, she mustn’t allow this.

“Don’t go.”

#cealach #threads: assire #i need this in my life ok #imma hit you up to plot after work tomorrow bc i need to go to sleep but #i had to write this

[takivvatanga]

@throatkissed  gets a late night text cont. from here

Left on read. Of course. 

What else did she expect? 

“Left on Read. Story of my life.” Assire flips up the collar of her coat,brushes a wet strand of hair off her face, shoves her phone back in her pocket. She keeps walking, bracing herself against the driving rain, the icy wind that chills her to the bone. Her coat’s soaked through, and one of her shoes must have a split seam somewhere because the water is almost up to her ankle. Screw this. I’ll try Fringilla one more time and-

That was her phone. 

[sms: jonathan]

[txt] omg hi!

[txt] thank you!!!

[txt] seriously thank you

[txt] i’m in morningside

[txt] sainsbury road

[txt] i’ll just wait at the bus stop opposite the shops i’ll be fine :)

[txt] i’m so sorry about this

#throatkissed #threads: assire #verse: modern #oh man she #needs an UMBRELLA

[takivvatanga]

@rectoress​ cont. from here

Assire var Anahid lowers her gaze, bows deeply. Not because this is what she wants to do, no – she wants to look the Northern sorceress in the eye, to search her face for any hint of intention – but simply out of habit. Defer to your superiors, remind them that you are bound to servitude. That you are not worthy, because you – you’re not a person at all. 

She hates it. 

She hates that this is her intrinsic reaction, and what she hates even more is that there is not a trace of the same in the woman who has stepped out of the shadows. Assire has heard much of the legendary Archmage Tissaia de Vries, but all she can see as they stand face to face is her privilege. A privilege that Assire will never call her own, unless-

Unless…

Assire raises her hand, places her index finger across her lips. Caution first. Caution above everything else. Her hands begin to move as she chants under her breath, almost inaudible, her gestures graceful and economical, placing the wards with utmost care and precision. The air begins to hum and shiver, surrounding them in a sphere of halflight.

“I believe that it is safe to speak now. I don’t think that anyone is trying to scry us, but one can never be too careful, correct? An act of good faith on my part, as well.”

A thin-lipped smile, hesitant, her gaze turned firmly to her hands which she holds in front of her, nervously picking at the dry skin that’s peeling away from the edges of her fingernails. 

“You are welcome to examine my wards, if you wish. If you require reassurance that the Empire”, the word is spoken with contempt, almost spat out, and for the briefest moment Assire feels endlessly brave, empowered by her own defiance. “That the Empire and its relations with the Northern Kingdoms have no bearing on my presence here. I am risking my life, Archmistress De Vries, to stand before you, and I trust that you will respect this fact, no matter whether or not you choose to grant my request. I will await your permission to speak further.”

#rectoress #threads: assire #listen she is DESPERATE

[takivvatanga]

@throatkissed gets a novel sorry not sorry

snip snip snip

The sound of the scissors is the only thing she hears, the chill touch of the scissors against her skin the only thing she feels.

snip snip snip

Somewhere along the line, during the last three days, the waiting got too much. She could feel her anxiety rising like a king tide, washing over her, tugging at her, chilling her to the bone. Every attempt to distract herself futile. A million thoughts going through her mind at lightning speed, the fear turning over like a wheel, threatening to crush her beneath it.

What if we’re caught.

What if it all goes wrong.

What if this is the last thing we ever do.

snip snip snip

Cut the train of thought. Trim away the fear.

We can do this.

She is going to be brave.

Strands of hair fall to the ground around her. Assire does not own a mirror, she does not need to. She knows what she is doing.

snip snip snip

Bells strike the hour in the distance, the moon is a thin sliver in the inky black of the Imperial skies. The doors to her balcony are wide open, she can hear the song of the cicadas, almost deafening this time of years. A moth flutters around the single candle that burns on the table, mesmerised by the flame.

Cicadas sing before they die. Moths fly too close to the fire.

Stop.

She needs to stop.

The scissors snap shut one last time.

snip!

___ 

She can feel the energy tugging at her, the charm on its silver chain around her neck seeming to come alive with the magic imbued in it, beating against her skin like a tiny living heart. Blackbird, fluttering its wings.

Bright green eyes open across the room. Merlin chirps softly, staring right at her. Precious stirs in her resting place.

It’s time. 

Not a sound as she descends the stairs, a shadow within a shadow, black robes, black hood, black gloves, black shoes. It’s past curfew, and Assire does not know where the charm will lead her, but she will follow it’s call anywhere.

To the edge of the world, if need be.

___ 

The Academy. Brilliant.

She knows this path through the city streets, she has walked it every day for over half a century. What better place to practice sanctioned magic than in a place that teems with arcane energy? If you need to hide, hide in plain sight. She’s done this all her life. 

The heavy footfalls of the patrol stop her dead in her tracks. The fear is back again, more visceral than before. A mage, breaking curfew?

I wonder what it feels like to be hanged to death.

Assire slinks away into the shadow of an alleyway, her heart pounding, her whole body trembling, an icy hand closing around her heart.

Walk past walk past walk past by the Great Sun please walk past

Her prayers, even though they are offered out of habit rather than out of faith, are answered. The soldiers are black and gold and terrifying, encased in their armour. Walking weapons. They are just like her, they are not people.

But they are. They are just people.

We’re all just people, and none of us ever asked for any of this.

She pushes on, looking behind her a little too often, her face tense within the shadows of her hood.

They say that there are a thousand ways in and out of the Academy. It is the truth, and Assire knows every single one of them like the back of her hand.

The charm tugs her onward, she is dwarved by the domed ceilings, by the bookshelves whose upper levels are so far from the ground that the light does not reach them.

The Emperor’s portrait watches from the wall as she turns into a corridor just as a door opens across the hallway. A fellow scholar, working through the night on some matter related to the war. It’s always about the war. Is that all they’re good for? Being weaponised? Being forced to develop ever more terrible ways of wreaking destruction, of predicting and creating the perfect circumstance for complete and utter devastation?

No time to waste.

Down the stairs, down, down, down, deep into the Academy’s cellars. No natural light has ever touched this place, only the faintest magical glow illuminates the endless corridors. Around a corner. Left, right, left again. She speeds up her steps, it’s not so much fear now but anticipation that she feels.

Another corridor. A door, at last.

Behind the door, the faint glow of a portal, otherworldly light seeping through the cracks in reality. She can feel the warmth of the magical winds against her skin.

The light flickers, dies for a moment. Her heart skips a beat.

This portal is wrong.

Assire knows how to make it right.

She opens.

She is a tool, a mortal instrument of a force that transcends reality. She is a door, light floods through her, sparks from her fingertips, leaks out of her eyes, cold, white, liminal light.

The portal blinks back into existence, solidifying as she adds her strength to his.

Him. Only him. Until the end of the world, until the bitter end. Only him.  

It is done.

“I am here!”

She shouldn’t raise her voice like this, for fear of being caught. Her life is on the line. Their lives.

But in this moment, Assire has transcended all fear, has dissolved it in the arcane currents that still course through her, surging with every beat of her heart.

“I am here!”  

#throatkissed #threads: assire #yeah this was a ride like i said sorry not sorry #but sometimes you get in the zone and the words just flow #these two are so good

[takivvatanga]

@rectoress liked for a modern verse starter from Assire and gets something a lot more painful than I had originally planned 

There’s a loose thread hanging off the seam of the cuff of her left sleeve. Assire tugs at it. The cuff, tightens around her wrist. She releases the thread, pulls at the cuff, watching the thread disappear again before repeating the process. She’s stuck in some kind of loop with it, it’s commanding too much of her attention, she needs to leave it alone, but comfort is comfort and it is exactly what she needs right now. “I saw one of my sisters yesterday.” The words come out haltingly, hesitantly. “My little sister. Eviva. I went to the store and she –“

Her attention is diverted, drawn by a single white cat hair that clings to the black fabric of her jersey. Assire bites her lip, catching the hair between her thumb and index finger, marvelling at the texture of it, rolling it back and forth between her fingertips. The ghost of a smile flits across her face, but in an instant she is serious again, her brow furrowed, her eyes, downcast as they are, darkening with grief. “She doesn’t even go to that store! And never on a Wednesday. I thought, maybe she’s looking for me, you know?” Assire, endlessly brave in this moment, looks up, meets Tissaia’s gaze for the fraction of a second before looking away again, now intensely focussed on the little blackbird that has settled on the windowsill outside. She likes blackbirds. She has always liked them, despite or maybe because of the fact that they are, first and foremost, ordinary.

“I thought maybe she wants to leave too. I got excited I thought…we’ll be together again. I’ll get my little sister back, after all this time. So I called out to her, right? And everybody looked at me. Every single person in that whole damn store. She did, too. She looked at me and just…” The words are catching in her throat, her voice is choked up with emotions that she can’t name, only feel. 

Assire shakes her head.

“Like this. And just…you know, the usual. Paid for her things, walked out of the store. As if nothing had happened. As if I didn’t exist. Because I don’t. Not to her. Not to them. Not anymore.”

Assire seems to fold in on herself at the conclusion of her speech, sliding down further into her chair, visibly exhausted from the effort of recounting the event.

For a moment, the ticking of the clock on the wall is the only sound. The blackbird flutters its wings, calling out briefly as it takes flight. Assire forces herself to sit upright. She needs to keep it together. That’s what she’s always done, after all. She’s had no choice not to.

“All I want to know is how long it will take. When will I stop feeling like this? When will I stop missing them?”

#rectoress #threads: assire #verse: modern #oh man this #fucking OUCH #time to lie down i made myself sad #me: assire in modern is so much happier than in canon #me: does this shit #rifp

[takivvatanga]

@crowntipped feat. Rita

“You have to promise me. Promise you won’t say a word. Not to anyone. Promise me, Margarita!”

There’s an undertone of panic in Assire’s voice, and she knows it. She knows it, and she doesn’t care, momentarily lost against the onslaught of the emotion. Her hands are clutching Rita’s wrists, her eyes bright, full of fear, but there’s something else there, too. Defiance. 

“As far as anyone knows, I’m dead. And I need it to stay that way. If word of my survival spreads to Nilfgaardian ears... “

She collects herself, releases Rita’s hands, crosses her arms over her chest. Assire’s gaze wanders, affixes to something far away, her face once more inscrutable.

“When I die, when I really die... I want to go peacefully. I want my death to be my own, not just another thing that’s taken away from me. And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. I’ve never asked a single thing of you, Margarita. I will likely never ask you for anything again. Just grant me this. Keep my secret safe.”  

#crowntipped #threads: assire #i hope you can work with this #lmao no setting the scene just straight into the angst #and she hasn't even started talking about the lodge yet #elmofire #also she 100% calls everyone their full name #nilfgaardians don't vibe with nicknames or shortened names

[takivvatanga]

@bloodwoes cont. from here

Assire watches him work in complete silence, despite the fact that she doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to see. Every move he makes is a reminder of what he is, what he has become. Assire wishes she could light the lanterns, fill the apartment with light, warm and bright and purifying, to burn away this infernal darkness that holds him in its grip. As it stands, she can barely justify lighting a single candle. The light hurts him. He doesn’t show it, but Assire knows. She knows it by the look in his eyes (his eyes, she cannot bear to look at his eyes). She knows it by the subtle change in his demeanour. She knows it by the way he withdraws, deep into himself, away from the light and into darkness, beyond her reach. 

Beyond her reach.

Assire flinches where Jonathan doesn’t, her stomach lurching with anxiety as she watches his flesh blister and char to the bone. Does he no longer feel pain, or is pain the only thing that remains, the only thing he can still feel?

Do you feel anything at all? Do I make you feel? Do I matter to you as you matter to me? 

She makes no effort to guard her mind, despite the fact that she can no longer hear his thoughts inside her own head. Their eyes meet, ever so briefly (she cannot bear it), and the silence speaks louder than words. He hands her the vial, the cold touch of his fingers against her palm a poor substitute for that of his mind against her own. 

Her hand closes around the object, the glass still warm, the crimson liquid inside pulsating with its own infernal life, tugging at her, tempting her. It could be so easy. She could do this right now, it would be over in a mere moment. Uncork the vial. Consume. Change. Become. She knows how this works. 

I wouldn’t be afraid anymore. I am so tired of being afraid. 

It’s not the first time she’s thought of this, and it won’t be the last. Does he know?

A burden shared, they say, is a burden halved. But is it, really?  

Her thoughts begin to wander, her mind playing through a thousand worst case scenarios. He is lost to her in every single one of them. No. She could never go through with this, could never betray him like this. If she must lose him, it won’t be like this. 

But I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to leave.

“I understand.” Her voice is small and solemn. Assire turns the vial in her hands, still preoccupied with the blood contained therein. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish you didn’t have to leave, or that there was a way for me to go with you. To the North.” She lowers her voice until it is barely more than a whisper. After all, you never know who might be listening. If anyone at all was to become aware of their plans...no, she will not think of it. 

“Do you ever wonder what it is we did to deserve this? All of this just...it’s so cold, so cruel. As if we hadn’t suffered enough already. Jonathan, I-“ She doesn’t want to say it, in case speaking the words will make it real, inevitable, and yet she feels compelled to. “What if there is no cure? What if it’s all for nothing?”

#bloodwoes #threads: assire #i am desperately trying to break through my block and i realised #i was gonna reply to this months ago RIP #this is so choppy and disjointed but imma post it anyway #she's got so much going through her head at this point she just #she is so tempted #but she knows that turning herself without his consent would just be the worst thing #she could possibly do #she just wants a SOLUTION i cry

[takivvatanga]

@lastwished cont. from here because i am also high key invested in them and have no self control

She pulls her sheet around herself protectively, eyes firmly fixed on the screen in front of her. Assire is watching every single one of Yennefer’s movements, in awe of the steadiness of her hands, the certainty in her voice. Everything about her is perfect, her hair, her nails, her makeup, and it sends Assire into a state of existential dread that has her retreat deeper into the security of the covers. All that remains visible is her eyes, large and full of apprehension, a handful of stray, rather greasy curls.  

An odd assortment of items is visible on the nightstand beside her, empty cups and open books, a stray plastic fork, a tangle of cords – chargers, cables, headphones, carelessly discarded breakfast bar wrappers.

“What if they’re horrible to me? I’m not like them.” She lets herself collapse backwards onto the bed, her phone’s camera catching a flash of pyjama pants, a washed out no longer quite black with a crescent moon and stars pattern. “Yenna, they scare me. What if I say something wrong, like, something super weird? What if they laugh at me?”

Her voice is small and worried, half muffled by the sheet that she has now pulled entirely over her head. 

“I haven’t even showered or anything.” 

She stretches, utters a sound that’s half hum half sigh, abruptly pulls away the sheet and sits bolt upright, her t-shirt is creased and frayed at the shoulder. Assire tugs at the hem, casts a furtive glance at her phone.

“I like the other set of earrings better. The ones you tried on before.”  

#lastwished #threads: assire #verse: modern #oh god SHE #has been hibernating for probably like 3 days #and agonising over this #she's gonna be fine she can do this #she's just Overwhelmed (tm)

[takivvatanga]

@ascendedchaos cont. from here

ASSIRE grows tense at Ophelia’s approach, her eyes darting nervously between the window and her Northern colleague. Can she be trusted? Can anyone be trusted? Assire knows the answer, and it does not please her.

“Be careful! By the Great Sun, don’t let anyone see you!”

These Northeners don’t know the meaning of caution, of self-preservation, of the immense effort and thoughtfulness that is required to keep oneself safe under these wretched circumstances.

Oh, the irony of it. The sheer irony, that she would finally make her escape only to find the world bursting into flames all around her.

But it is what it is, and Assire will make do. As she always has done.

“My apologies, dear. I did not mean to condescend you. It’s just that you never know who is watching, right? In the South, there’s always someone watching. So we adjust. We learn to stay quiet, out of sight. If they can’t see us, they can’t hurt us.”

Her smile, although genuine, is not enough to eclipse the sadness in her eyes.

“I was promised my freedom, once. It was the greatest lie of all. There is no such thing. Not anymore. Not while this”, she gestures towards the window, towards an unfamiliar street under an ambiguous sky, “is going on. I am eighty-three years old. And I have never known a single moment of peace.”  

#ascendedchaos #threads: assire #omg i apologise for this jaded and morbid mage #she is so done lmao

[takivvatanga]

@hdgewitch

“Thank you driver!” She forces a smile which goes unacknowledged, or maybe unnoticed, barely there as it is. Assire presses her card to the sensor, waits for the beep that acknowledges her tagging off, adjusting the scarf around her neck as she steps off the bus.

She pushes away the rapidly rising unease, that uncomfortable tightness in her stomach, that crawling feeling in her skin. She is not fond of shopping malls, there’s too many people, too much noise, too many stimuli pulling her this way and that, making it difficult to focus. But she has promised Keira that she would come, and Assire keeps her promises, no matter how much she feels like this is going to get a whole lot more uncomfortable before the day is out. She has never quite understood shopping. To her, it is a chore, something to be avoided as much as possible – how people can actually enjoy the process will forever be a mystery to her.

Assire makes her way through the crowd, hands in her pockets, gaze firmly downcast, looking up every now and again to look for any sign of her friend. They are friends, aren’t they?

She can hear her before she can see her, that unmistakeable laugh, that ringing voice. Assire is relieved she doesn’t have to wait.

“Keira!”, she calls out, awkwardly waving as she speeds her steps, smiling in spite of herself. “You thought I wasn’t going to come, didn’t you?”  

#hdgewitch #threads: assire #verse: modern #idk do people thank bus drivers in other countries? #bc we do here but whenever i have done this overseas people have been bamboozled #idek what city/country modern verse is set in lmao

[takivvatanga]

@crowntipped help i can’t stop texting

sms: glinda

[txt] AGAIN?!

[txt] I just got some yesterday

[txt] ok I had cereal maybe three times but

[txt] I’m gonna get longlife milk this time and just buy like five maybe then it’ll last a while

[txt] and don’t even think about complaining about the taste

[txt] tell me again why I thought it was a good idea to give you a phone

[txt] talking cat was bad enough texting cat is next level

[txt] and I can’t even complain to anyone about it because no one in their right mind would believe me

[txt] sometimes I don’t believe me then I look at this conversation and remember that this is my life now

[txt] I’m cat lady 2.0 I have evolved

#crowntipped #threads: assire #verse: modern #my remaining braincell just #confetti emoji