#Though my big sister's nameday is the month before mine...

[witchofthescions]

Right? It's one of the few things I like about Coerthas. So much snow everywhere, it looks so pretty!

Aw. Your brother sounds like my younger twin siblings, honestly. They absolutely love to pull stunts like the snow down the back. Nah, I haven't had a chance to visit recently. Kind of a long journey and it's remote enough that not a lot of routes pass that way. Which is a shame because I'd love to swing by more often!

But I do plan on dropping by in a few months for my and my nephew's namedays, as long as nothing else crops up before then.

@creepy-crowleys , @hulizi , @witchofthescions , @strikingskeletonsiege, @thetopben , @capucapo, @redeyesandchilifries

*★,°*:.☆\(￣▽￣)/$:*.°★*

Eyyyy. Welcome to my small corner of the Tunglr blogosphere. I'm your gracious, amazing, beautiful host Sato. Hold your applause! 👏

That joke really doesn't work when they're no room for someone to chuckle, so you can't reply "but that's not the punchline?"

(°ー°〃)

Anywaaay, I'm Sato. Nice to meet you all and hopefully in good health. And I guess my icebreaker question based on my recent activity would be "what is your favorite meme as of right now? And show one!"

Mine currently are creative "solutions" to the Trolley Problem:

[chrysalispen]

#1 - Foster

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33640546/chapters/83598181

"She's getting so big," Vittora cen Remianus says. 

"She is." 

L'haiya agrees more to make conversation than aught else. The Miqo'te's two-toned eyes flicker in the direction of that little head with its riotous crown of rolanberry-gold curls - now bent studiously over a modest tower of wooden bricks - before turning her attention back to the drawn, exhausted face of the child's mother. Vittora has never really been what one would call robust, but at least the composer's pallor had been offset by a bit of spring in her step once upon a time. There is color in her cheeks, of course, a bright rosy flush, but L'haiya suspects the credit for it belongs to artifice and a half-bell spent before a dressing mirror, not to improved health.

"And so very, very bright." There is a note of quiet pride in the Garlean woman's voice, one which L'haiya has previously only heard from her when she speaks of one of her completed commissions premiering in the state playhouses. "I aim to have her brought to my studio on her fourth nameday. She is old enough now to begin pianoforte lessons."

"I wish you good fortune. You will need it," L'haiya laughs. "Small children are rarely wont to sit still for long, especially if something of greater interest catches their eye."

Vittora's shoulders lift and drop, the movement loose and listless, as though her arms are lifted by marionette strings. "Then I shall simply have to be the most fascinating thing in the room," she says, and L'haiya's brow creases before she can stop herself. 

"You did not call me here to talk about Aurelia's piano lessons, surely."

The statement, faintly accusatory, falls like lead from her lips. Were it anyone else, she would not have dared to speak thus. The layers of social hierarchy in the Garlean Empire are many and complex, like the fine layers of sponge in a princess cake: upset even one, and it can upend the entire concoction. Vittora is of common stock, but common or not she is still a true Garlean, and one married into one of the realm's most powerful military families at that.

But if the lady of the house is in any way offended by the boldness of her social inferior she does not show it: a rueful smile curves her thin lips. The light in her eyes seems muted, as though refracted through green bottle-glass. "I did not, but this matter very much concerns my daughter."

There is no hiding her worry. Vittora has had occasional spells of illness as long as they have known each other: brief and always fleeting, never longer than a day or two. But the physical strain of carrying a child and the long and difficult labor she endured to bring Aurelia into the world--these have left her a shadow of the sprightly, ambitious woman she once was.

Mingled with the pride in her eyes is sorrow: sorrow, and bone-deep fatigue.

L'haiya swallows past the sudden constriction she feels tightening her throat. "Well," she manages at length, "out with it, then."

"Julian has requested an audience with his brother and with his superiors." L'haiya waits patiently while Vittora coughs into one thinned palm, the sound of it shallow and dry. "The head of the family thinks it best if we take our leave now that Aurelia is old enough to travel."

"...You mean to go to the provinces with him?"

"I do. We were to leave the capital at the first opportunity that presented itself and now that day has come. 'Twas ever a condition of the family's agreement not to disinherit Aurelia for our indiscretion. I fear they have only delayed due to my ill health, and I would not see my child subjected to the ignominy of being declared a bastard." 

For the trouble which I have brought upon them. Vittora's self-recrimination hangs between them unspoken and L'haiya does not press further. She is well familiar with the heavy price that her friend has paid, in both her career and her reputation, to marry for love. It does not bear repeating.

"I will do what needs must for her sake, L'haiya. And in this case, those needs coincide with mine own."

"I don't understand."

"The chirurgeons believe that the harshness of the winter months has greatly contributed to my... present deterioration. Master Severus has advised Julian that if at all possible, he should seek a second villa in the southern provinces." After a moment's hesitation, she adds, "He suggested Rabanastre."

L'haiya's homeland. "And you want me to come with you."

"Yes. Now, I know how you feel about Dalmasca-"

"You don't. Not truly. But that is neither here nor there, I suppose."

Vittora's brow knits with her consternation. "...You would not have to see her if you did not wish it. The villas where officers and their families reside are well removed from the rest of the city."

That is not the problem L'haiya faces, but it is not one Vittora would understand. Many have chosen to resist imperial occupation just as there are many who chose to accept their altered circumstances, and L'haiya has seen and heard what the various splinters and pockets of Dalmascan resistance scattered throughout the Estersands do to perceived traitors. "I fail to see why my presence is required in Rabanastre."

"Someone must care for Aurelia."

"Aurelia has her mother. She needs her mother," L'haiya says flatly. "She does not need me." 

The Garlean woman folds her hands in her lap, eyes half-shut with her lowered gaze. 

"I think I shall not be in her life for very much longer, L'haiya."

"Vittora-"

"You can see the way of things- how it is with me." Leaf-green eyes, seeming enormous in that drawn face, gaze at her with a silent plea in their depths. The distant sorrow has returned and with it a gleam of fear. "The chirurgeons are very careful not to voice their thoughts, but every night when I close my eyes to sleep I can feel another piece of my strength slip away. One more piece I know I shan't have back. They don't need to tell me what I already know."

Understanding strikes her like a bolt of wild levin- or perhaps a brutal punch to the gut. Looking at Vittora with this newfound discovery she can see a knowing look in her friend's eyes. It is as though Vittora can sense the spectral hand of her own mortality reaching forth from some as yet unwritten future to claim her for its own. 

"L'haiya. Please." Vittora's voice is soft, conciliatory. "Julian goes to these lengths because he is not yet willing to face the truth. I need you to be there for her when-"

Vittora doubles over, wheezing, clutching at her chest with one hand. The commotion startles the child out of her play, and L'haiya sees a flash of gold and wide, anxious eyes of a curiously dark blue. Immediately the little girl shoves her toys aside with a loud clatter and clambers to her feet with the clumsiness of the very young. In moments she has reached the grand high-backed chair where her mother sits wreathed in a nest of blankets and soft sheepskin. 

"Mama," she tugs on Vittora's sleeve, tiny features crumpled with anxiety. The motion bounces her hair; her still-developing third eye is visible for just a moment beneath that cap of curls, a sliver of pearlescent white no larger than the tip of a fingernail. Her mother's coughing fit recedes, surf pulled away from the shore by a rising tide. 

"All is well, sunshine." Vittora's hand falls back to her lap and she raises her chin. Her lips are suspiciously reddened, but she smiles at her daughter and runs her fingers through her hair. Tears stand in her eyes but do not spill. "See?"

"Up, Mama." Heedless of aught save her own desire to give and receive comfort, Aurelia attempts to drag herself onto Vittora's lap. L'haiya gently plucks her fingers from one of the coverlets piled atop her mother's legs, then hoists the child into her arms only for her to make her displeasure known with a thwarted whine. "No!"

"Your mama needs her rest."

"Mama," Aurelia insists, her lower lip wobbling. It's a trick she's used on countless servants and even her own parents in the past but L'haiya is unmoved by it, and merely adjusts the girl's weight from her arm to her hip. As the toddler squirms in her arms, the Miqo'te turns her attention back to the child's mother.

"Since it's clear you'll badger me until the decision is made in your favor, pray consider it done," she says at last, somewhat testily. 

"I am eternally grateful." Vittora's smile is in turns sad and knowing, and she cannot bear it for more than a few moments. "Thank you, L'haiya."

Her eyes turn to the wall of white swirling in the storm beyond the window. Somewhere beyond it are the slow blinking lights along the walls that separate the imperial palace complex from the rest of the city, and L'haiya forces herself to shove down the sudden surge of bitterness. 

What else is there to say? To do? She knows she could not have refused. She loves Vittora Remianus with the surety of a beloved sister, and she knows what she would do for her own half-sister should such an unlikely circumstance ever occur, and so she will raise this child for her friend's sake. Of course she will. And just as every other citizen of the Empire must do when called to bend to the whims of its rulers, her own dreams are not so much relinquished as they are flung into the darkness, to be discarded along with all the other parts of herself she has sacrificed to fill an imperfect mold.

She feels as though she has just given her life away. She knows she has.

Outside, the northern wind howls around the villa's steel eaves like a despairing scream.

[xaela-siblings]

Meet the Character: Goya&Amaeris

► Name ➔ "Goya`s my name. And my sister here is Amaeris.” She stood back a bit, clearly disinterested

► Are you single? ➔ “No, I`ve got quite the fluffy cat at home.” There was a hint of pink in his cheeks. “But Ama`s still single.” ► Are you happy? ➔ A somber look. “Despite everything that`s happened, especially recently, yes. I`m happy. Ama wouldn`t say it, but I know she`s happy, too.” ► Are you angry? ➔ “I do lose my temper more than I care to admit. But my sister...” He glanced back at her with a soft smile. “She is so cool-headed and calm at all times. She keeps me rooted.” ► Are your parents still married? ➔ “Our parents were married up until the days they died. Ama`s foster parents are still married. But my foster father never married.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “I was born in Yanxia, over near the Yuzuka Manor. Ama was... er...” “Sirensong.” “That`s right, on a ship headed toward Eorzea.” ► Hair Color ➔  “We both have a lovely soft pink. I remember mother had a much darker shade, while dad had white hair. So I guess we got something in between.” ► Eye Color ➔  “White. Though people usually notice the bright pink limbal rings first.” ► Birthday ➔ “I was early spring. Exact date, not telling. I don`t like making a big deal about my nameday. Ama...” He turned back to where she stood, earning a shrug. “Don`t know. Too much going on at the time,” she said, truthfully. With the murder of their father, the fleeing of their mother, and her own birth in the middle of the ocean, dates kind of blurred together. “Spring, I think.” ► Mood ➔  A bright smile was on his lips, clearly cheerful. Though the blank look on Amaeris`s face was answer enough. ► Gender ➔ “I`m a man. And Amaeris is a lovely young lady~” ► Summer or winter ➔  “I`m quite fond of winter. Back in my days as a soldier, wearing those stuffy uniforms in the Thanalan heat was torture. Winter was so much nicer. As for my sister, well, I know she`s fond of Coerthas, so I guess that answers that.” ► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Morning, for both of us. We both rise pretty early, mostly out of habit for me. We like getting things done before it gets too hot or too many people are out and about. Though lately I`ve been more fond of just laying in bed for a while after I wake, spending time with Kit.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “Yes, absolutely. I wasn`t certain at first, because I`d never... felt like this before, but I definitely am.” “... No.” “Oh, come on, that`s a lie.” He nudged his sister with his elbow, a shit-eating grin on his face. “You`ve got your eye on you-know-who.” “Quiet.” She turned away, cheeks clearly pink. ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “Not really. For a while I thought maybe, but those relationships ended poorly because I confused lust with love. Ama, did you like him at fir--” A hand in his face ended up silencing him, Amaeris shoving his head backward. “I couldn`t stand that pretentious--” She silenced herself quickly. ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “I did. Maybe it was the soldier life, or maybe it was because I realized I only wanted him for the sex. Don`t really remember.” “Never been in one.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “Probably. Never meant to. There was this one girl once who was romantically interested in me. But, not really my type.” Ama shrugged. She never paid much attention to that sort of thing. ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ Goya rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe a bit. That`s probably why it took me so long to realize how I feel about Kit. Though I`m getting better about it. I think.” “I`m not afraid of commitments.” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Kit, of course. And Gogo. The poor boy went through so much while I was away... It hurt to see him so scared.” He lowered his eyes for a brief moment. “Oh, but Ama... she doesn`t hug people.” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔  A laugh. “I dunno. Probably. I admittedly slept around a lot while I was a soldier. Probably had someone here and there who was interested in me.” Amaeris shrugged. ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “Mmm, a few times. Back when I was a teenager still, thinking I was in love. Then I realized what scum those people were.” His sister glanced away, crossing her arms over her chest, an uncertain look on her face.

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Love. It`s a much better feeling than lust.” “Love.” ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Lemonade, definitely. The tart and coolness is so nice on a hot day.” “Tea.” ► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Cats, obviously,” he said with a wink. “Okay, besides Kit. I did find a stray kitten that was so cute, and brought her home. Now she and Kit snuggle. I think she likes him more than me. Ama has a dog, though.” “It`s not mine. It just follows me.” “And you feed and pet it. That makes it yours.” ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “Many regular friends! Maybe I`m just too friendly a person, though, and perceive people as friends when they think otherwise...” “A few best friends.” ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “Oh man, that`s a tough choice. A wild night out is great every once in a while, but I also like spending some quiet, alone time with Kit at home. Candles, a nice dinner, maybe some music and dancing.” “Romantic night in,” came his sister`s answer after giving Goya a look. ► Day or night ➔ “Night. The stars in a clear sky. A campfire crackling. A gentle breeze through the trees.” “Night.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “Many, many times. Being a dog of the Empire was stressful. Sometimes I wanted to get out and relax. But my commanding officers tended to figure out my patterns and caught me a few times.” “... Once.” “Wait, really?” “... When I was little I tried to sneak out to play with my parents` cattle one night.” ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “I... don`t think so?” “No.” ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Oh, definitely. But that`s a normal thing, isn`t it?” A shrug from Ama. ► Wanted to disappear ➔ Goya lowered his gaze, glancing away slightly. “A few times, yeah. Back when I was a kid, after watching dad die and being taken away to Garlemald. Then not too long ago, when I got caught in Ala Mhigo...” A hand on his shoulder brought a soft smile to his lips. “I have, once, when you vanished in Ala Mhigo...”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ “Smile. I love seeing a face light up. So long as it`s a genuine smile, anyway.” “Eyes. They`re... more expressive.” ► Shorter or Taller ➔ “Shorter. Though a lot of people I`ve been interested in have been shorter than me, anyway. Being an au ra and all.” “Taller.” ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “Attraction.” “Intelligence.” ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “If you`d asked me a couple of years ago, I would`ve said hook-up. Quick, no commitment, come and go. But now... definitely relationship.” “Relationship.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ “I like to think we do. Ama?” She gave him a shrug, but refused to look at him. She definitely thinks they get along. ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “Absolutely. But I don`t let that define me.” Another shrug from Amaeris. (She`s really not interested in answering these.) ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ “I tried to, many times, back when I first went to Garlemald. And... once, more recently. But I eventually came back, even if it was a couple months later.” Ama shook her head. ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “Does getting transferred to a different legion because my former commanders didn`t want me count?” “No.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “No. If I hate them, I wouldn`t consider them a friend, or even try to be friendly.” “No.” ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “I do.” Amaeris shrugged. “I suppose so.” ► Who is your best friend ➔ “Best friend, huh? I guess that would be Nobu.” “Unsure.” ► Who knows everything about you ➔ “Ama and Kit. And Seles, which... is kinda worrying.” “Goya.” “Wait, just me?”

tagged by: @sunlitpeony

tagging: @seascrapes, @tinkercat, @nai-matsugen, and anyone else who wants to!

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Leaving Home pt 12

Dwalin’s Vow

Dís thought of the way she had fought him that day, when she went to find Dwalin on the last day before they were set to leave for Erebor. She had come home, full of joy that she was to be a mother again so soon, only to find Dwalin and her amad in her kitchen, tears staining their grim faces. Frís had been holding little Fíli, only four years old, and it had been Dwalin’s chest she rained blows on when they told her Víli had died in a tunnel collapse in the mines. It had been Dwalin’s attempt at comfort she had fought so hard, until she broke down, whimpering over and over that Víli could not be dead because she had to tell him she was pregnant.

Weeks later, when Thorin returned with the sacks of coin that would feed them through winter, she had railed against him too, irrationally blaming his absence for Víli’s accident. Not that her brother had ever been near the mines except when the Foreman was reporting on the dismal state of their contents once a year, but Dís had not cared. She had needed her brother, and Thorin had not been there. Instead, she had had Dwalin, who had been meant to go as a caravan guard for Glóin, but who had stayed home for her sake, instead taking up a post in the city guard. It paid less than merchant guarding, but it meant he was there, and Dís did appreciate his presence.

“You will keep them safe, nadad…” Dís felt far older than her years as she handed him the small stone. Dwalin’s large hand came to rest on her shoulder, pulling her against his wide chest. For once, Dís accepted the hug willingly.

Dwalin was the rock, the one who kept their small family of dramatic romantics from falling apart, she knew. He was the reason her mother was even a little happy, because he made Thorin happy. He made Thorin a better King, and he was always there when she needed a shoulder to lean on. Dís knew she could not have asked for a better brother by marriage, which was how she had seen Dwalin since she was still a child. Dís had been the first to see that Thorin’s fondness for his oft-silent guard was more than friendship, and she had been the one to tell Dwalin it was okay to return the love he was offered. She had accepted his place in her family without comment, without judgement, and she would defend their right to each other until she was blue in the face if they asked. When her oldest son was born, she had introduced him to Dwalin as Uncle, not Cousin, and that was the first time she had seen Dwalin cry. Though he had been gone often, like Thorin, Dwalin had been there for the darkest day of her life, and she knew his absence would haunt her while she waited for news. Thorin had been gone for over a month already, meeting with the other Dwarf-Lords, and Dwalin had been the one to soothe her fears like so often before.

“I will protect them, nunanu[1],” Dwalin rumbled quietly into Dís’ hair. He would miss his little sister, but he would bring her sons back to her if it was at all possible. Silently he vowed that he would bring back Thorin too, though he knew she would never ask him to. They both knew Thorin, after all, and Dís was certainly aware that both her brothers would rather die than let her boys come to harm. He pulled her close, letting her wet his beard with the tears she could not help but spill. He wished that Frís had still been alive. Neither he nor Thorin had wanted to leave Dís behind, if only because she was both a shrewd negotiator and a keen warrior, but someone had to take up the ruling of the Blue Mountain settlement. Dwalin avoided thinking of it as Thorinuldûm if he could, preferring to just call it Ered Luin. The fact that he could not marry his One was an old wound by now, but Dwalin still tried to avoid its keen sting. Living in a place called Thorin’s Halls, even if it wasn’t, was an everyday reminder of his love’s stubborn refusal to give up. Here on the last night in Dís’ house before they left on the first step of the Journey to Erebor, he felt an uneasy sense of hope. So much was riding on the success of this venture, though Dwalin could not help being reminded of the last expedition to Erebor he had been part of. With luck, they would avoid the Forest, where they had lost Thraín and most of his companions. Dwalin had never forgiven himself for living through those dark days of wandering the woods, he still did not know how he had made it out alive, but he swore that this time would be different. He would not – again – be the one to tell Dís that someone she loved was not coming home ever again. When her tears abated, he knelt before her. He knew Thorin had made his own oaths to her before he had left for the meeting with the Lords, but Dwalin did not know the words his Kurdel had sworn. “Abnathi aya targê, Dís. Zâshfatumuni rum izdnu duzi.[2]” He pressed his lips against the back of her hand, sealing the oath as a subject to his sovereign. Dís smiled through tears when she cupped his face gently.

“Ishfitumun rum zefsu dê ya, nadadê[3].” She said, and that was a clear command from a sovereign ruler to her subject, even if she called him brother. With a nod, Dwalin got to his feet, just as the door slammed and Kíli’s enthusiastic greeting rang out. He smiled. His nephews were good lads, and he felt great pride that they were coming along on the quest, even if the thought also filled him with dread.

When Kíli bounced into the room, Dwalin saw the shadows the lad tried to hide from his Amad’s sharp gaze, something he only managed because she was too busy hiding the ones that haunted her own eyes. He squeezed her hand once, and then took himself off to join Balin who was packing the last things they’d need.

When his own pack was to his liking, Dwalin started on the saddlebags, tracing Kíli’s maker’s mark proudly. The lad had worked hard, making presents for his family. Thorin had received new vambraces for his Nameday and Dwalin’s knuckledusters had been given new leather straps that were already softer than the old ones had been after years of use. Kíli had also made all their packs, stitching in clever pockets and adorning each object with the owner’s name sewn in luck-knots he had learned from Nori. Dís’ contribution to their gear – aside from a vast supply of jerky and cram – was a rainproof cloak for each of them, which Dwalin appreciated greatly, even if the lads had disdained the present. Dís knew that the weather might not be the most dangerous thing they could face on their journey, but it could certainly be a disheartening factor when one was wet and cold and tired, so Dwalin had made sure they thanked her properly for her forethought. With a sigh, he noticed a corner of Fíli’s cloak sticking out from underneath the lad’s bed, and sure enough, rooting around under the frame he unearthed Kíli’s cloak too. He almost decided to leave them out of spite, but his heart would not let him leave his rascally nephews to catch a chill, so instead Dwalin stuffed the two cloaks into his own saddlebags. Balin smirked at him, but he did not say a word. Balin rarely needed to speak for Dwalin to know what he was thinking anyway, but that expression only meant one thing: you big sap. With a huff, Dwalin turned back to the task of trying to find space for Kíli’s cloak, which would not fit.

Eventually Balin sighed, that exasperated sigh of older siblings that Dwalin hated and took the cloak, packing it in his own saddlebag. Dwalin returned his earlier smirk and when Balin shrugged, he knocked his forehead gently against his brother’s. They were both saps, after all, and they knew it.

 [1] Tiny-sister

[2] I swear on my beard, Dís. I will bring them back to you.

[3] Bring back yourself to me also, brother-mine.

@life-is-righteous

Dwelf-’verse on Ao3