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myfairstarlight · 8 months ago

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For Every Question Why - Chapter 5

AO3 Link. Previous / Next.

Rated: T Chapter length: 4k Chapter summary:

A demon gets a proposal of some sort and takes a few decades before coming around to it.

*all additional notes on ao3.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Unknown.

Truth be told, God has lost the plot a long time ago now. The Cherubim was only meant to get demoted to Principality after refusing to participate in the War, mind — almost — wiped clean to become the proper soldier She needed them to be. They were never meant to Fall, however. The Seraphim, on the other hand, was the one supposed to Fall… but Aziraphale crossed paths with Lucifer first and everything went away from Her plans as soon as the former Prince of Heaven’s eyes settled upon the mischievous and tactful cherub. She could not understand why, or how and She could not bloody grab the two offending angels in the middle of the War to right things up the way She originally intended.

Besides, She got curious. Terrible thing She is, curious. Free Will hadn’t been invented just yet, only a seed had started to grow within Lucifer, and only him, and yet, two other angels defied Her, albeit unconsciously. She wonders if what She had planned would still happen, just… a bit tweaked because of these two.

To Her greatest entertainment, the Ineffable Plan has become truly ineffable, out of Her reach, out in the wild. The end goal shall remain the same, She surmises, but the journey there? Oh! She is quite eager to witness it all, see when Her gentlest demon and Her brightest angel will finally properly meet under shades of grey.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Kingdom Of Wessex. 537 AD

Astrophel treads through the damp land, grumbling under his breath. He usually does not resort to extremes, but he truly, deeply hates this place and the fact Hell specifically told him he needed to be a knight for this assignment. The armours are such a pain to walk and move in! Especially when you can't see much.

(Well, the demon does wonder how humans even see with those helmets anyhow, not that it changes a lot for him. He wonders if he should take credit for this in his next report…)

He’d rather indulge in the comfortable dresses the women are currently wearing, all loose tunics and intricate embroidery that feels heavenly under his fingertips but no! He has to foment dissent in damp lands! What a waste of—

“Behold, Dark Knight! For I am Sir Janiel of the Round Table seeking an audience with thee!”

Astrophel groans. “Janiel, dear, really?”

A muffled giggle answers him before he hears the distinct sound of a helmet’s visor getting lifted. When the angel speaks again, it is clearer, “Oh, cheer up starlight.”

“There is hardly anything to be cheery about.”

“I’m personally having fun! Did not know swordfighting was so entertaining!” the angel gushes, in childlike wonder, promptly followed by the sound of his blade slashing through the air.

Astrophel smiles wryly. He supposes it can be entertaining when the battle they fight in has nothing to do with them and the swords cannot permanently kill them. He doesn’t recall what Janiel did during the War, but he reckons, as a Seraphim with a status almost rivalling Archangels, he must have been away from the battlefield most of the time.

“I can hear that,” he says. “So you’re the positive influence I’m supposed to crush.”

“And you’re the evil I’m supposed to thwart, maybe I should have guessed.”

“Perhaps we should have.”

Since there does not seem to be anyone else in their vicinity, Astrophel snaps his fingers, getting rid of the heavy armour around him so he can freely stretch. He hears Janiel take a sharp intake of breath before the angel speaks up again:

“So we're just cancelling each other out, all our efforts for nothing.”

“At least you sounded like you're having fun, I am not,” Astrophel huffs. “Although it has been entertaining to defeat some of King Arthur’s arrogant knights who thought they’d easily get to me because of my blindness.”

“So Sir Leon and Percival’s injuries were your doing.”

Astrophel grins innocently. “I can neither confirm nor deny, they never introduced themselves, just were so convinced they could take down the Dark Knight, the poor dears. I suppose I’ve been doing terrific work around here, after all, not that this is my usual method.”

The demon feels the worry and guilt increase around Janiel’s aura at his words.

“Oh, dear, do not feel bad, I made sure I didn’t induce life-altering injuries.” He may even have healed them, just a bit, he then proceeded to purposely hurt himself so he could heal it back so Hell does not question the miracle. “Nothing your angelic presence cannot soothe.”

“This is the first time our Assignments overlap, don't they?” Janiel points out.

“Well—” Astrophel was ready to argue except he couldn't. Janiel is right, they might have circled each other since the beginning of time, but they never had missions that required them to directly face each other. A part of him wonders how this has not happened sooner, however.

“What if…” The angel’s voice is much closer now, a hand nudging Astrophel’s arm. “What if… we do nothing and report to our sides these assignments as a draw?”

“... Are you suggesting we lie?”

“You say that like it’d be the first time? It wouldn’t necessarily be lying anyway, it’s the truth, we just cancel each other out so what’s the point? See it like a mutual arrangement. It’s not like they’re checking anyway and it means less paperwork for us too.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable!” Janiel repeats with offence. “How is that different from you asking me to take credit for something you did?”

Astrophel falters. The angel has a point, somewhat. Not completely, though.

“It’s… risky.”

“Any riskier than what we’ve already done?”

“Yes! You’re suggesting we willingly collaborate!”

“Which, again, we’ve already done before.”

“No, before either Heaven and Hell were collaborating or our assignments just happened to be in the same area but did not oppose each other so we’d end up accidentally helping each other. We’ve never been put against each other, they’re obviously expecting something.”

“Accidentally!?” Janiel huffs, apparently deciding to focus on that part of the argument. “Oh, that’s brilliant! When it benefits you it’s all good but I suggest it and suddenly it’s too dangerous!”

“Because what you suggest puts you in danger!” Astrophel argues. “I asked you to take credit for me saving lives I shouldn’t have, that’s of no consequence to you but if they ever hear you’re willingly letting a demon get away with things—”

“That’s assuming they’d ever find out, they never did about the Bet, you know,” Janiel interrupts and the demon wants to scream at his carelessness. “They don’t check, they don’t care, they won’t know if I don’t want them to. You're overthinking this.”

Astrophel sighs. Still so confident, so arrogant, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little endeared by Janiel’s stubbornness and faith that everything would turn out alright. It makes him wonder once more, are there truly no consequences for a Seraphim disobeying orders or is Janiel just an expert at getting away? Astrophel got promoted and yet, in exchange with grander power, it feels like Beelzebub and Satan are a more prominent presence breathing down his neck now.

“If you can’t see how truly dangerous what you are proposing is, then I shall keep saying no until you see sense,” Astrophel answers eventually and almost chokes on Janiel’s disappointment and frustration.

“You’re really annoying sometimes.”

“Thank you.” The demon even bows. “Now if you don’t mind, dear, the Dark Knight is expected someplace else. This conversation never happened!”

“Right,” Janiel grunts.

“Right!”

Astrophel hurries away before he feels compelled to stay back because he’s well aware Janiel never easily takes no for an answer just as Astrophel always struggles to not say yes.

But this is too important. They grew too reckless, too comfortable. Heaven and Hell are finally pitting them against each other and Hell is somehow aware of his… closeness to Janiel in some way. Perhaps it’s because he was made a soldier, but Astrophel can’t understand why Janiel cannot see this blatant warning test for what it is.

So if keeping a safe distance, for now, is needed to be sure the angel doesn’t get into trouble and until Janiel gets over that stupid idea of an arrangement the way he did about changing his name, then so be it.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Constantinople. 547 AD.

While Astrophel is on friendly terms with Death Incarnate, he cannot say the same for Pestilence, which is perhaps peculiar considering how the two are so intricately linked. The demon just has never had to supervise plagues since they were led by Heaven before compared to Death following him almost wherever he goes. The Plagues of Egypt were another rare instance in which Heaven and Hell put their differences at rest to collaborate but Astrophel (or Janiel, for that matter) were not assigned to that particular event, no, Lord Beelzebub had the utmost honour of taking care of that particular request and they were pretty proud of it as well. Pestilence truly rose roughly around the same time, originally a Heaven creation, now a Hellspawn, and their power amplified for the assignment.

So here he now stands, in Constantinople when he should still be in Wessex — following King Arthur’s death, chaos spread across the land as Anglo-Saxons, helped by the demon’s influence, tried to take over now that the leader of the biggest line of defence is gone, and that is without mentioning the rise of witches hidden across the kingdoms, slowly but surely making their mark, to Hell’s delight, but for now Astrophel had to leave all this and trust his knights — and Janiel — to handle the situation for this new assignment was a direct request from Mara.

It should only be a few days, she said, then he can go back to causing trouble in Britannia. He’s not sure why she even needs some help, demons don’t ask for help, demons have too much pride for that, and yet. But oh well, it allows him a change of scenery, away from stuffy armours he traded for ample tunics to survive under the harsh sun of Constantinople. And he has more questions for the other demon anyway.

It turns out, she has some of her own.

“Playing babysitter to Pestilence is a bore,” she says as both demons hover over the city, letting Pestilence do their work. “I get they’re still sorta young so we need to keep a close eye on them but really, they know what they’re doing, they don’t need supervision.”

“Mm. So why request my presence? Pestilence sure does not need two demons over their shoulder. Hopefully, they did not see me or they’d probably take offence and throw a tantrum.”

Mara lets out a long breath. Annoyance pulses darkly around her. “Turns out Heaven finally caught up and is sending more than one angel on Earth like us. One keeps popping up where I’m assigned and she’s a bitch.”

Ever since the Jesus debacle, Hell decided to send other demons to Earth. They would not be permanent agents the way Astrophel is, Mara, for example, is still primarily in the Torture Department but is sent out to the surface for assignments specifically regarding human suffering and once the work is done, she must go back to Hell until the next available mission. Astrophel would serve as a supervisor if needed although very few demons have asked for his help or expertise. Again, demons are prideful things.

He did tell Janiel about that new development somewhere in between Caligula and Pompeii, most probably while very drunk as well.

“Only took them a few centuries to realise,” Astrophel muses, he wonders briefly how he’s never encountered any of them before, though. Judging by Mara's tone, this has been going on for at least a few decades. “If you’re asking for Hellfire—”

“Hah, I wish, can’t start a war too early though, would spoil the fun,” the other demon says, disappointed. “No, I was wondering how you did it— fool an angel into trusting you.”

“Huh?”

“That Seraphim, remember? Lord Beelzebub had requested I survey him. I was so impressed by how tightly you control him to the point he purposely messes up assignments so you have less work to do! And he genuinely thinks he can make you an angel again. I’d laugh at his naivety if I wasn’t baffled you managed that. So what’s the secret?”

Never before has Astrophel wished this hard that he could stop time to his whim like a certain angel so that he can gather his thoughts and be prepared because he has trouble grasping what Mara just dumped on him as if it was nothing. Is that how Hell sees his… acquaintance with Janiel? As if Astrophel is the one leading the march? Is that why he got a promotion? That can't be right, over the years he's specifically followed Janiel's lead, as an excuse to… as an excuse to still do good and, well, because he still worried over the angel whose free spirit should have landed him in hot waters — or rather, fires of a Hellish kind — and yet.

He cools his face into an annoyed expression as he huffs. “You do not want to know, dear, or you end up with a clingy angel who keeps babbling about righteous deeds in your ear.”

The disgust growing inside Mara is so blatant that it takes everything in Astrophel to not grimace at the stench of it.

“Yeah, maybe I’m better off just annoying her until she runs back to Heaven. Well, I called you here for nothing.”

Astrophel hums. Quite the contrary, this has been a productive discussion, just not the one he expected to have.

So. He is aware he probably should not take a fellow demon’s word as the gospel of truth but everything does line up with what he knows — Mara was tasked to spy on Janiel, reported to Beelzebub, Beelzebub told the findings to Satan, shortly after, the whole Jesus thing happened and despite playing right into Heaven’s plan, Astrophel still managed to tempt Judas despite Janiel always hovering near, confirming their suspicion and subsequently promoted Astrophel, believing it the best course of action in this battle against Heaven. After all, if the adversary already lets their guard down, why not take extra precautions on your side and take advantage? It is a basic tactic.

Of course, Hell has no way of knowing Astrophel embellished a lot of his reports, but the conclusions drawn from the facts as presented line up perfectly. But if Hell noticed… It is only a matter of time until Heaven does too. And he doesn’t think Janiel is aware of that if Mara’s observations are to be believed. Seriously, purposely messing up assignments to not inconvenience him? Did the angel think him incapable? Have their assignments overlapped before and Janiel consciously sabotaged himself, Astrophel just was not aware of it until today?

What is that angel thinking?

Astrophel holds in a sigh, he can already hear his angel’s voice in his head squealing with triumph as he makes a decision. It would make it easier to keep an eye on the angel and would reduce the paperwork on both sides. Janiel has always known how to get what he wants from him anyway.

“Janiel is my problem, by the way. Be sure to tell the others if they ever see him not to engage with him and report back to me immediately using my crow. Less paperwork for everyone.”

“Your crow,” Mara repeats. “I thought your animal was an owl?”

“Claimed another bird with the promotion,” he explains. “You got a billion moths.”

“Mm. Fair.” Jealousy and admiration lace her words. “Don’t you worry though, no other demon ever gets close to that loud angel. He smites any demon on sight, except you. You’re his special project.”

“Well, I must make him mine as well, then.”

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Kingdom of Mercia. 584 AD.

Astrophel is enjoying the banquet in honour of King Creoda when she feels the familiar essence of a certain angel slivering to her side, a slender hand finding its place on her waist.

“Lady Aster,” the soft feminine voice purrs in her ear as she feels curls tickling the side of her face. It seems Janiel is already a little tipsy. “Pretty name, starlight.”

“Astrophel can be a mouthful,” she answers, handing over a cup of wine, out of habit. “Fancy meeting you here, Lady Jane.”

She can hear the smile on the other’s face as the angel grabs the offered cup then links their arms together and says, “Mine is less creative I admit. King Creoda mispronounced Janiel and I went along with it.”

“It is better than Bildad, I’ll give you that. Where did that even come from? I never asked.”

Janiel giggles. She giggles. Oh, she truly is drunk. “I may have stolen the identity of one of Job’s friends. He had just left the land at the time. At least here it’s just me, myself and I.”

Astrophel hums and takes a moment to appreciate the proximity, perhaps not very subtly tilting her head so she can get a better whiff of the angel’s sulphur-free scent. It is amusing how much more carefree with affection they both are when they decide to embody a woman’s trait, she’s not sure what to take from it. It is less amusing to realise they also are ignoring their last argument.

Like they are wont to do.

“Mm. New assignment, then?” she asks.

The angel takes a long sip. “Yup,” she confirms, popping that last letter. “Same thing that I did with Arthur, just decided another approach. The battles have calmed down so I figured my blessings would be better used at the castle this time. What about you?”

It sounds almost casual, but there is an edge to her voice, apprehension, and worry.

“I’m off duty, actually, I wanted to talk to you,” Astrophel replies, and Janiel drinks her wine wrong because she splutters and starts coughing. “Are you alright dear?”

The coughing continues for a couple of moments, forcing Astrophel to untangle their arms so she can avoid her wine being spilt.

“Tiptop,” comes the strangled answer when Janiel manages to find a moment of respite. “You want to talk?”

Her tone has turned suspicious, cautious, she probably caught on fast about what the demon wants to talk about. Astrophel also suspects she miracled herself sober.

“Stop time for me once again darling, would you?”

Almost immediately, the chatter all around them ceases, allowing Astrophel to concentrate on Janiel’s shallow breathing.

“I meant to ask, don’t you have to report to Heaven whenever you do that?”

“You're asking now?” Janiel almost laughs. “But no, I don't have to. It isn't exactly a miracle, so it isn't included in those. Call it a Seraphim perk. Anyway, you were saying?”

“About that Arrangement—” She marks a pause at Janiel’s subtle intake of breath, a hopeful thing. “I changed my mind.”

“Really? … What changed?”

I learned you’re being a reckless idiot alone so I might as well join you so if they ever find out they can blame me for being a bad influence, not you. “I reconsidered… You’re right, the extra effort and paperwork feels pointless.” She leans against the table, putting down her cup. “But that means from now on, we tell each other everything.”

“Sure,” Janiel agrees easily, perhaps too easily, even.

Astrophel frowns. “... Just like that?”

“I mean, I was already doing that.”

“You really should worry a bit more about the implications here.”

“Eh, you worry enough for the both of us.” Astrophel could strangle her for that. It is probably meant as a joke but it rings a bit too close to the truth. “If this is about you being a spy during the War, I know, by the way.”

The demon had suspected. “You truly have that much faith that I won't take advantage of this Arrangement to benefit my side?”

“Of course, I trust you.”

That uncomfortable and warm feeling deep within her soul makes an appearance again and Astrophel squirms, crossing her arms below her breasts with a shuddering breath.

“Just like you trust me to not report to Heaven,” the angel continues, her slender hand landing on the demon’s shoulder. Astrophel shivers as the coldness of her rings grazes her skin. “This isn’t about either of our sides, it’s about you, and I, and enjoying our time here on Earth.”

“For as long as it stands,” Astrophel reminds her, despite herself. Their time is limited, before the next War, after all.

Janiel does not say anything in response. Instead, she snaps her fingers and life resumes its course around them. Astrophel straightens up, taking it as her cue that the conversation is over but Janiel’s hand remains on her shoulder, keeping her in place.

“So, what now, starlight?” Before Astrophel can reply with her usual words, Janiel continues, “You’re not going to leave after this agreement, are you?”

“Jani— Jane!”

Her protest falls on deaf ears as Janiel drags her away from the banquet table, away from the crowd. Astrophel finds herself in a garden instead, wherein the angel gently guides her near a pond.

As they sit on the grass, Janiel suddenly decides to lay on her lap, her face chasing the demon's hands until the latter takes the hint and starts carefully braiding her curls. The angel's hair feels, well, heavenly between her damned fingers, silky to the touch with the warmth of Her Grace.

Astrophel smiles despite herself. This is the closest to Heaven she could ever be again, and somehow, she's content with that. Keeping Janiel close and safe is all she needs.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #reverse omens au #aziracrow #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands #my fics

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peterfearonhndpart2 · 6 months ago

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final piece evaluation

The last and final assignment was definitely the most difficult one because you have to create branding for an exhibition and literally create an exhibition with your own piece so its like three jobs in one. If one person isn't doing their role then you have to take over mainly because we were limited on time and some things weren't working. We started off with ideas of what the exhibition could be about. A lot of my ideas were at the forefront because I had been doing quite a lot of research on branding and themes. Then jorja made an idea about a service station which we all agreed was a great idea. So I then went on to try to expand on that idea by finding more and more road signs. Also what's in a service station like the uniform and so on and also signage. That's why I think I became the merch designer although at the last minute some designs did get changed. I feel it was a step in the right direction. I like that we chose shirts as well as t-shirts because they are not commonly sold in certain places. I wanted us to have badges on hats because that's not really a common thing you see people have on their hats and again my idea generating was good. I brought up that idea because I know that embroidery on the back and side of the hats are expensive so why not something that you can customise and place where on your hat. I then also helped matt out with the flyers which was cool. But I still wasn't sure what my final piece was going to be about until I thought that I should make it about clothing. Feo life became a topic of discussion because we are limited on time and buying blanks can be expensive. Why not screen print designs over old clothing. The concepts for the designs that i came up with were based on displaying your talent because i know a lot of people who if they tried and was brave they would show off their talents out there but they don't because they are afraid of what people might think so most of my designs are based on that. Some shell designs because creatures that are afraid hide in shells. I then also used a balaclava design because I found that cool. Screen printing was an issue because at first i thought i could get them done at bcu was i wrong. Because i could only get the bad gateway merch done there which kind of slowed down my progress because time was running out and I had to shoot a video and do a photoshoot for my clothes. All the clothes for the bad gateway came out alright except a few. I then went to Sutton campus to get my things done. I could only print three designs even though I was promised 4 but that's just life. I can't really complain because I managed to get them all done to a great standard by the end of the day. I just wish I had more days. Its just that someone had promised to do the video for me then bailed on me so i had to get it done but by my friends. Friends, although they want to help, won't always try their best in comparison to people who you don't know. Because I don't feel they put as much effort into it. So the video didn't turn out 100% of what i wanted it to be. But it's still nice. These are things you learn as you go a long somethings i screen printed on were materials i have never tried and wouldnt recommend since it takes more pulls. Overall i think that this assignment has humbled me. Its made me grow a pair because i am usually a shy person so id never really reach out to people but the fact i had to message someone is character building in a way. I think everything i didnt was great definitely could of been done better but its still good. also setting up was great since I had a say in a lot of things it was good that I did take images of the leaks in the space before because most of the work dodged so nobody's work got damaged. I got a lot of good feed back I liked how my clothing were hanging I'm just annoyed that the sides which weren't screen printed properly were displayed at first until I turned them around. I also helped set up where the merch is overall everything was great hopefully do one again.

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lured-into-wonderland · 2 years ago

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“Thank you.” – she repeated with a tiny bit of shame in her voice; Nunnally did not usually think about getting her clothes dirty. She would be careful enough with them and would know how to look good when it was required from her. But otherwise she did not want her actions to be limited by unimportant details. Not to mention, she was used to acts of services all her life. Doors were opened for he, food was served for her, she would be assisted with dressing up, doing her hair and other daily routines. But she wanted things with Sullivan to be different. After all, if he cleaned the keg for her, it would be him whose clothes got dirty? But she was not sure if any of these made sense so she just remained quiet.

Nunnally did not understand what Sullivan was trying to say. Did he really think she was carrying a lot of burden? Did he really think she did any decent, any useful work? She sometimes did, that was true, but it was rare, when she was entrusted something worth doing in her own mind. Otherwise, she was mainly required to look pretty, like another decoration, smiling, standing next to her father or attending parties. But perhaps he was right. Perhaps that was her work. If she could choose, she would not do that. She had never thought about it like that…

Nunnally did not think her life was especially difficult. She knew what difficult life could be, she witnessed it from afar. And Nunnally would feel ashamed if she compared her situation with those who struggled to survive. The society granted her privileges that followed money and power; something she would not survive without. The unwanted, arranged marriage would be the price she’d have to pay. The life of the upper classes, or rather her life, was not easy for her, but probably only because she wanted something else. But still Sullivan’s was more difficult. She was sure about it. But nevertheless, it was nice he considered whatever she did was not completely useless.

“I like helping my dad…with the paperwork.” – she smiled thinking it was nice to share things with Sullivan and not being judged – “Though he does not require my help too often. I like studying… I was told I have a nice handwriting.”

She did not want him to find her silly. These were the things she took pride in.

“But I also learn a lot of things I do not like. Like embroidery…” – she sighed – “I am always criticized for whatever I do…my embroider is...always compared with others…for not being good enough...I do not have enough patience, I guess.” – there was no real sadness in her voice. More like stating the facts. Nunnally happily accepted an apple. Took a bite and enjoyed its sweetness. She already felt much better and forgot about the heat outside.

“W-what do you like doing in your free time?” – she finally decided to ask a question – “I…I like dancing…sometimes…but it is also a skill I must have…” – she started to think what she really liked. She liked coming here. Now more than before.

Nunnally was not sure what to tell more. Sullivan was nothing like a person she knew and although she was not shy talking, she suddenly felt shy in his company. It was odd. She loved being here with him, but she was also thinking she should let him speak more.

“I-I have not seen many animal babies…but I like foals…” – a happy smile on her face – “I’d like to see them! C-could you really take me there?” – she really wanted to go, although the walk outside the stables made her feel a bit dizzy. If she could only get rid of that corset. But it did not seem like an option; she’d need to put it back before walking back to the palace, and well, she’d need to ask Sullivan for help, what was not an option, either.

“Is it a long walk? I already feel much better, but if the walk is long…? But I’d like to see them so much…” – she sighed - "How many babies are there?"

“I’ll be fine…please let’s go…” – she was already standing up…

@tximidity

"T-there's no need to dirty your dress if I can dust it off." This gesture had nothing to do with her status. No one wanted to sit on something dusty if they wore nice clothing, yes? Even he would have dusted the seat off before he sat. It was just manners. "Please do not worry. Relax and rest."

Beyond that though, he was just thankful that she was letting herself sit. He did wish that she wouldn't worry so much about apologizing and filling the empty space with words. Surely that had to make her feel unwell, too. Though...he couldn't say that he was the best at feeding conversation. He did rely on her more than he should, he realized.

He hardly talked growing up. After his mother died and he started to grow differently than the other boys. It was easier to be silent. He remembered being struck on the back of his hands a few times for not speaking up. He spoke up when the priest spoke with him, but those were unsavory conversations. Other than that, there was only another boy that he frequently spoke with...and he was punished for that.

Sullivan reminded himself that this place was different. Nunnally was different. Never had she raised her voice or mocked him for how he looked. She had been nothing but receptive and open with him. He was grateful for it. And, slowly, it was starting to pull him from the shell he'd made to keep himself safe.

"All work is real work. Just because you use no muscle does not make it less tasking." Sullivan replied. He couldn't imagine her completely thoughtless when it came to her work. She was too passionate in her matters for Sullivan to make such an assumption. Though, if you didn't like the task, it would be hard to take pride in it too. He wasn't about to try and preach that she should think otherwise. He settled in his spot, offering her an apple as he got comfortable, biting into his own, moving the bite to the side of his cheek to talk without showing it. "I am glad that you feel more relaxed here. I feel that back home you carry a lot on your shoulders, based on how eager you are to come."

Neither of them had many to talk to. He wasn't sure he could promise brilliant conversation all the time, but he could at least talk. Perhaps that was enough for her.

"I..." He started, trying to think of something that he could say that might be interesting, feeling an odd bit of pressure when he remembered he was hardly a conversationalist. "The goats gave birth this week. Do you like baby animals? I-if you feel better soon, I can take you to their barn. They're already jumping around. I think it is amazing how quickly other creatures become animated compared to us."

#sullivan walsh #nunnally #verse: royal #tximidity #my poor baby #she is worried so much #that whatever she says #would make her looking like a rich spoiled girl #omg!#it has become so long!#[Q]

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fandom-puff · 4 years ago

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A Lion’s Feast

Pairing: tywin lannister x younger!wife!reader

Requested by: anon ‘Could you write a modern au for tywin lannister x younger wife reader. Maybe they have a Lannister family dinner and its all just chaotic.’

Notes: I didn’t end up doing this as a modern AU, because I found it easier to work with everything in like... Westerosi time frame, but I hope this is okay.

Warnings: older man/younger woman, political/arranged marriage, Joffrey, use of words like slut/whore etc (cheers, Cers), reference to Jaime and Cersei’s incest, awkward family dinner

Gif creds to owner

“We will be dining in the Queen’s chambers tonight,”

You tensed up, staring straight ahead as you walked through the gardens of the Red Keep with your lord husband. “Am I… in trouble?” You asked softly. You were new to King’s Landing, shipped over from the Vale to marry the Lord of Casterly Rock, and you weren’t quite used to the way King Joffrey’s court worked.

“No. I’ve arranged for us to dine together as a family. You have not properly met my children and grandchildren. You are a Lannister by marriage, you are their mother-in-law, whether they like it or not, and it’s high time we acted like it,” his voice had a bitter edge to it; it hadn’t taken long for Queen Cersei to make her distaste clear. While no one in court would dare insult Tywin Lannister, the girl from the Vale was an easy target for gossip. You had been called every name under the sun, but the Queen’s favourite jibe was ‘whore’.

“Alright,” you murmured, lowering your eyes. You knew there would be no point in arguing. You had quickly learnt that when your husband put his mind to something, there was no turning back. As a few men of the court crossed your path, you felt Tywin’s hand come to rest on the small of your back, and it did not move until you were in the tower of the Hand. You smiled softly as you caught sight of the steaming tub of hot water, scented with sweet oils as you entered your bedroom. “You’ve had this all planned out, haven’t you, my Lord?” You asked, a small smirk gracing your lips. “You should’ve just told my handmaidens to do it in my chambers, to save the walk up all of those stairs,”

Tywin smiled ever-so-slightly. “You’re hardly ever in your own chambers downstairs, wife,” he reminded you.

“Only because you’re the only person I really know in this godforsaken keep, and even then I don’t know you that well. Besides, if I stayed in my own chambers, I’d get lost and end up in the maze of dragon skulls below the keep,”

Tywin smirked, giving you a little push by the small of your back. “Bathe. Wear red, and preferably rubies and gold,” he said sternly. You sighed, knowing Tywin wanted you to dress the part, to look like the Lady of Casterly Rock. You bathed and dried, perfuming your skin and hair before pulling on your smallclothes, calling in your handmaiden to tighten your bodice, then help lace up your dress. It was a deep red, with golden embroidery on the bodice and cuffs that glimmered when you moved, just covering your shoulders and showing the swell of your breasts, and you fastened a pendant around your neck- a golden lion with tiny rubies for its eyes, tongue and claws. You braided back the front of your hair, but let the rest fall down over your shoulders.

You emerged from the room into Tywin’s main office, your hands folded in front of you. He surveyed you briefly before nodding, offering his arm.

You sat in silence as you ate, eyes fixed on your plate. Tywin was sat to your left, Jaime to your right. Cersei and Joffrey occupied the heads of the table, and Tyrion sat across from you, in between Myrcella and Tommen.

“More wine, my Lady?” Tyrion said out of the blue, holding up the jug. He gave you a slight smile, knowing how you must feel to be the outcast, like a stranger with the people you were meant to call family.

“I... yes, please. Thank you, my Lord,” you said.

Tyrion smiled as he poured, before filling his own glass. “Just Tyrion will suffice. Let us leave formality at the door,” you smiled slightly and nodded.

“I agree,” said Jaime, earning himself a sharp look from Cersei, who was used to her twin almost always siding with her. “Wasn’t the whole point of this evening to introduce you to us? As a family,” Cersei scoffed into her goblet. “We won’t get very far with ‘my lords’ and ‘my ladies’, will we?”

Tywin nodded his approval at his sons’ attitude and you smiled, beginning to relax a little, though the presence of Cersei and Joffrey kept you on edge. “Tell me, Lady YN, how is the Vale at this time? Have the northerners got their grubby claws on it yet?” Joffrey suddenly asked.

You froze slightly. You were here to talk, yes, but not talk politics. “The Vale... your grace, is not quite like the Reach, or the Riverlands, or even like Winterfell or Casterly Rock,” you said carefully, fully aware of all of the eyes on you. You looked at Tywin, and when he gave you an approving nod, you turned back to the king and continued. “The majority of the Vale is mountain, with the valley you desire buried between them. Even Robb Stark’s best men couldn’t seize it. No one could. To take the Vale, one must take the Eyrie. To take the Eyrie... well... you just couldn’t,” you were happy sharing this fact, as it was known across Westeros that the Eyrie was impenetrable.

“There are other ways to the Eyrie, though. Marriage,” Cersei said. It was the first time she had spoken, and she had a conniving gleam in her eye.

“There is only one heir to the Vale. Jon Arryn was murd-died before he could have any more children. Only little Robert Arryn is the Lord of the Vale, and he’s just past his sixth name day I believe. Besides, his mother is... very protective of her boy. As I’m sure you can understand, your grace, as a mother yourself,” you said cooly. You didn’t know what possessed you to speak that way to the Queen, but something about speaking of your home, your true home filled you with confidence.

“Indeed. There is nothing quite like a mother’s love,” she responded, fixing you with a cold stare.

“I’m unfamiliar, having lost my mother when I was seven,” you said.

“Does the Eyrie really have a trap door that leads nowhere?” Tommen Baratheon suddenly asked, breaking the silence between you and his mother.

You smiled softly at the little boy. How could someone so innocent come from the loins of a beast like Cersei. You supposed some of the good nature came from his father- his true father, that is, Jaime Lannister. “Yes,” you said. “They call it the Moon Door. It’s a big trap door that opens into the sky. If the Lord of the Vale commands, prisoners can be thrown from it,” you stopped, realising quickly how gruesome that must sound to a little boy.

Tommen simply shrugged. “I suppose that must be less messy,” he said, returning his focus to his food. Soon Tommen and Myrcella were bundled off to bed, and Myrcella told you rather sweetly that she liked the way you did your hair.

Once the children were gone, it left only you and Tywin, his three children and the King. Tywin suggested you move away from the dining table to sit and drink wine. Joffrey excused himself, utterly disinterested with continuing on with the evening. You felt a little lighter after he left, although you could feel Cersei staring daggers at you.

“It must feel strange,” Jaime said. “Coming down here from the Vale. I imagine it’s all rather confusing, and daunting,”

“You can say that again,” you said. “I thought I’d just get bundled off to Casterly Rock, never seen or spoken to,”

Tywin laughed slightly. “Come now, wife, we do have some level of decency in this family,” he said. You smiled shyly, looking at your lap. He was often a little more... relaxed after a few glasses of wine.

“Ha!” Cersei said, having also drunk a fair bit. She had been holding her tongue all night, and it seemed now it had loosened. “Once he puts an heir in your belly, you’ll be shipped off to Casterly Rock. And if it’s a girl, you’ll be spared a visit or two, until you give us a son. That’s all you’re here for, that’s all you’re good for,”

You sat up a little straighter, responding before Tywin could. “I am aware of the general concept of political marriages. Your father gets a wife and an heir, my family gets money, or protection or something of the sort. The Seven know, you Lannisters have gold pouring out of your ears,”

“I believe the phrase is that we ‘shit gold,’” Tyrion supplied with a smirk, making you chuckle.

“You think this is a game,” Cersei hissed. “I’ve seen you, prancing around court, dressed in red and gold, following father around like a lost dog! Fluttering about like a common slut,”

“Cersei-” Jaime said lowly.

“No! No! Can’t you see, she has her claws in father the same way Margaery has her claws in Joffrey! And you want me to accept that whore as my mother,”

It was silent. Cersei panted, now standing up. Jaime and Tyrion looked between her and Tywin. Tywin remained stoic, although his eyes revealed the way he seethed. But it was you who spoke first.

“I don’t expect you to accept me as your mother. I am not your mother. Nor will I ever try to be, or call myself that,” you said quietly, contrasting the Queen’s outburst. “I will, however, do my best to serve my husband, to provide him with the heir that is expected of me, the same way you provided King Robert with his heirs,”

Cersei snorted. “I’m sure you do a fine job of serving, you brazen little who-”

“Enough, Cersei!” Tywin finally said, standing up. “Whether you like it or not, I have married YN. She will give me an heir, or two, or more. And she will remain the lady of Casterly rock, no matter how much you protest,”

“She’s not fit to be lady of Casterly rock. She can barely curtsey,” she spat. “You have heirs, father,” she said, almost pleasing. “What need have you for a little whore,”

“I have a son who swore an oath, another who has more interest in wine and whoring, and a daughter who is not nearly as clever and tactical as she thinks she is. Casterly rock will not be left to either of you when I’m gone. It will be left to mine and YN’s son,”

“It could be! It could be left to one of my children,” Cersei hissed.

“One of your children? I wouldn’t put a bastard on the seat of Casterly Rock,” Tywin said cooly. Cersei opened her mouth to argue but Tywin held up his hand. “Give it up, Cersei. You told me yourself, my legacy is a lie. You have had your chance to build the Lannister name. Now it is time for YN and I to rebuild what you have trampled into the ground with your lies and your... acts,” he said with disgust. “And if I so much as hear the words whore or slut to describe my wife, I will resign as hand, withdraw my knights and my gold, as well as that of the Vale and leave you to pick up the pieces of this kingdom that I have been holding together. Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from the Tyrells. Come YN,” he said, turning away from his daughter and resting his hand on your waist, guiding you out of the Queens chambers and back to the tower of the hand, not giving you a chance to curtsey to the Queen.

As the door slammed shut, Tyrion drained the rest of his wine and clapped his hands as he stood. “Well. That went well,”

Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen

#tywin lannister imagine #tywin lannister x you #tywin lannister x reader #tywin x you #Tywin Lannister #request #got #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones #Joffrey has his own warning #Cersei being herself #2021

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penny-anna · 4 years ago

Text

a hundred buttons

“It’s this dress,” Yennefer admitted. “It fastens up the back with about a hundred miniature buttons. It’s, not strictly possible for one to remove it on one’s own.”

Jaskier snorted. “Oh? Well, how would usually get it off?”

“Usually I just,” she said, and motioned, trying to convey the general idea of I unfasten them all at once, with magic. “Whoosh.”

His eyes widened as he grasped the problem. “Ahh, I see,” he said. “That does sound very awkward.”

Temporarily bereft of her magic, Yennefer finds herself in a tricky position.

(On Ao3!)

The room was too small for Yennefer’s liking, and she paced it from end to end, keeping her ears pricked up. There could be someone standing right outside the door, waiting for her, and she’d never know. There could be someone lurking outside the window. She lifted a corner of the curtain, peering out at the empty blackness.

She dropped into a crouch, making certain that the knife she kept strapped to her angle was still secure. Standing up, she resumed her pacing. Her corset was beginning to chafe at her, pressing uncomfortably snug around her ribs.

She was itching for this to be over.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Geralt’s bard put his head into the room. “Evening,” he said, though it was well after midnight. “Still up?”

“Evidently,” she said. “Any sign of Geralt?”

He pulled a face. “Not a whisper. I take it you haven’t had any luck with the curse, then?”

“For the last time,” she said, “it is not a curse. A curse I could handle. The lingering effects of a magical void are the farthest thing from a curse.”

“If you say so.”

“In fact one might say it’s the precise opposite of a curse.”

Smacking his lips, he said, “it’s all the same to me.”

He, of course, had felt nothing at all, even when he was standing in the void itself. He hadn’t felt its deadening silence, its stomach-churning emptiness. He hadn’t felt anything vital inside himself go dark.

No, he’d just stood there with his hands on his hips and said, “what’s got into your pair, then?”

She was tired. She hadn’t realised how much she’d come to rely on her magic to give herself little boosts, after a long and difficult day. She said, “I can’t imagine where he’s got to.”

“Well, he’s away in a huff, so probably nowhere in particular,” said Jaskier.

“He isn’t in a huff,” said Yennefer.

“Hmm, I really think he is,” the bard said. “You know, because you so unfairly snapped at him that this entire situation was his fault?”

“It wasn’t unfair.”

“Even though this whole mess is quite patently no-one’s fault,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “and there was really no need for any shouting or throwing things or storming off in huffs.”

“Debatable,” she said. “Did you come down here just to irritate me?”

“Ah, no, I came down because I forgot my pack,” he said. “And, I suppose, to say that I’m going to bed.”

“Alright,” she said. “You do that.”

“Are you staying up?” he said. “Because if so I’d appreciate if you could stop rattling about. This house is very creaky.”

“I shall rattle as much as I like,” she said. “I’m waiting for Geralt.”

He tilted his head to the side, and stepped fully into the room. “Much as it doesn’t behove me to express concern for your wellbeing,” he said. “Given how much of a huff he was in there’s every chance he won’t be back before morning, so I wouldn’t bother.”

There were times – not infrequently – when he’d go out of his way to remind her that he’d known Geralt longer and therefore knew him better. Oh, he’d said airily, Geralt can’t stand sheep’s cheese. Oh, Geralt always gets like this after a hunt. Geralt doesn’t like it when people touch his weapons. Geralt won’t like this. Geralt doesn’t do that. It was difficult to gage if that was what he was trying to do now, without being able to look into his mind, but she didn’t think it was. He seemed to be making a sincere attempt to offer her some advice.

She had to admit, privately, that she felt a little better for having him in the house. Unlikely as it was that they’d be attacked by marauders or wild beasts or monsters in the twelve or so hours before the effects of the void wore off, she was painfully aware that she was limited in her ability to defend herself and that if the worst did happen, the bard’s help might be better than no help at all.

But his being aware of that most uncomfortable facet of the situation – the thought of his having the gall to feel protective of her – made her skin crawl.

“It’s fine,” she said curtly. “I’ll wait up for him.”

“Hm,” he said.

“What?”

“Are you alright? Aside from the obvious, I mean. You seem a little – frazzled.”

She was tired. She was sweaty, and itchy. She wanted badly to complain to someone and since Jaskier was the only person around for miles he’d have to do.

“It’s this dress,” she admitted. “It fastens up the back with about a hundred miniature buttons. It’s, not strictly possible for one to remove it on one’s own.”

He snorted. “Oh? Well, how would usually get it off?”

“Usually I just,” she said, and motioned, trying to convey the general idea of I unfasten them all at once, with magic. “Whoosh.”

His eyes widened as he grasped the problem. “Ahh, I see,” he said. “That does sound very awkward.”

He looked her up and down, pursing his lips. She avoided his gaze.

“Well,” he said at length. “Night, then.” Turning, he left her alone.

Yennefer stood in the middle of the room, listening to his footsteps recede up the stairs. After a moment, they faltered and then began to descend.

Leaning back into the room, he said, “would you like some help?”

“From you?”

“I do have,” he waggled his fingers, “some experience removing ladies’ clothing. And very dextrous hands.”

“I’ll wait,” she said.

“All night?”

“If necessary.”

“Are you sure?” he said. “I promise not to tell anyone. Not even Geralt. I, I really do understand how, hm. Uncomfortable this must be.”

Yennefer heaved a sigh. Her corset creaked faintly beneath her dress. Oh, but she ached to have it off. “Fine,” she said.

“Goodness,” he said, upstairs in the bedroom, peering at her back in the flickery lamplight. “They are small, aren’t they? You can barely see them.”

“Just unfasten it,” she said. She felt a gentle tug at her neckline as he began to ease the first button out of its hole. “It’s a very fashionable and elegant design,” she said stiffly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“It is very nice,” he agreed. “I suppose this is the sort of thing one usually has a ladies’ maid for.”

Or a husband, Yennefer thought.

“So this void business,” he said, working his way down her back, carefully teasing out each button. He was being more delicate about it than she’d expected, trying not to damage the embroidery. More delicate than Geralt would probably have managed to be. Well, she supposed, he’d always had a healthy respect for nice clothes. “Did it – hurt?”

“No,” she said. “It wasn’t pleasant. But no.”

“I see,” he said. “Good to know.”

“Worried about Geralt?” she said.

“Naturally.”

“It’s uncomfortable,” she said. “That’s all. It’ll pass.”

“Let’s hope it passes soon.” He was almost all the way down her back. “I imagine it’s worse for you. Isn’t it?”

Geralt was hampered, by the loss of his signs, but by no means was he rendered powerless. He wasn’t stripped bare, the way she was. She wasn’t entirely sure he understood – that he realised that, although they’d both had something taken from them, his loss wasn’t the same as hers.

She said, “I can handle it.”

“Good grief,” he said. “How far down do these go?”

“Most of the way.”

He reached the small of her back and dropped to his knees to keep going. “Ah,” he said, his face perfectly level with her behind. “Quite a view.”

“Bard,” she said, “if you say one word about my backside my first act when this wears off will be to flay your skin from your body.”

“Understood,” he said, reaching, cautiously, for the buttons. “I shall keep my comments to myself. Although, if I might say, they are all complimentary.”

“I am currently mentally cataloguing all the spells I know to flay a man alive.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

He finished unbuttoning her, in silence and – to his credit – clearly taking care to touch her bottom as little as humanly possible. With a sigh of relief, she pulled the dress down her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

She stood in her corset and petticoat, her arms and shoulders bare, gooseflesh rising on her skin in the chilly room. It wasn’t a position she’d usually like to be in when alone with a man she didn’t fully trust.

But then, she supposed she must trust Jaskier; there was no way she’d have agreed to this otherwise. Somehow she hadn’t noticed that she had come to trust him.

“Goodness,” he said, rising to his feet. “Laces too?”

“Corsets usually have them,” she said, putting her hands upon her hips. She was very glad she didn’t have to look him in the eye for this.

“Shall I –”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“It would be worse,” he said as he began, cheerfully, to unlace her. “I once had a tryst with a lady who was wearing – five layers of petticoats. We had to put them all back on in rather a hurry, and then I managed to tie myself to her stays and her husband was coming up the stairs so we were both panicking –"

There was the faintest creak on the landing outside. The bedroom door opened.

They froze, Jaskier’s fingers stilling on her laces. Geralt was standing in the doorway, staring at them. Yennefer stared back.

He walked like a cat, in spite of his considerable bulk. Bereft of her magic, Yennefer hadn’t sensed him approaching at all. The look on his face was utterly inscrutable. She hadn’t the slightest idea what to say and evidently Jaskier didn’t either.

At some length, Geralt said, “what are you… doing?”

“I’m undressing your lover,” said Jaskier. “Why, what does it look like I’m doing?”

Geralt said nothing at all. There was no change to his facial expression. Turning upon his heel, he walked back down the stairs.

Jaskier resumed unlacing her corset. “Do you suppose he understand that was a joke?”

Yennefer said, “I wouldn’t count on it.”

#the witcher #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #yennskier

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lisinfleur · 4 years ago

Text

Buble Gum, Time is fun!

The request:

Author’s Notes | Two of my favorite things reunited: Sigurd and time travel plots! I love it! I decided to post it like this, because you said you liked it how it is, love. But I’ll probably use this request later for a bigger work! It really has potential! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Sigurd x Reader Info | Time Travel plot, Viking Age AU, Modern AU, prepared for the Patron’s Holiday Event Words | 3706 ⁑ Warnings: Cursing a lot.

Damn foggy night.

Damn stupid idea of accepting your co-worker's invitation into his house for a Christmas celebration!

Of course, you should've noticed his intentions! Of course, he was luring you into a trap!

What were you thinking? Ivan had tried to lure you into going out with him through the whole year! How could you think he was serious about a party with his family?

In the end, it was just a lie to "finally get some time alone with you, pretty..." Oh, GOD! You hated so much his stupid way to make that word sound doughy in his voice!

And there you were, walking away from his house, all alone on Christmas' Eve - because OF COURSE, he refused to drive you home since you wouldn't give him a chance... Asshole.

The problem is: it was easy to reach his cottage exactly because he was driving the 4x4 through the woods to take you there. On foot, the trail would surely allow you to see Santa Claus' reindeer flying through the sky, going away and coming back home before you were able to finish that God damn way!

"Wonderful!" you cursed when your eyes found a bifurcation and the plaque that should indicate the way was broken, leaving you without a choice but betting which way would take you down, back to the town, which would take you deeper inside those woods into some wolf lair or something like this.

With your luck?

You would end up frozen in the middle of that stupid fog!

Walking into that fog, you caught yourself thinking. Sadness taking your heart... If you weren't all alone... If your family wasn't a bunch of assholes like Ivan... Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted his invitation. Maybe you would be celebrating with her instead of all alone, lost in those woods.

Where was the trail?

"Oh, crap!" you cursed, looking around, trying to find yourself again, anything but trees that could serve for you to locate yourself.

Your heart clenching inside your chest.

If you were to disappear that night... Who would miss you?

Damn Ivan! It would be perfect to know he would probably be arrested since you were last seen entering his car but you didn't want to disappear!

Even less into those woods!

"Shit... Shit shit shit!" You cursed.

Your feet, lost, stumbled on some roots and you fell straight to the ground, rolling down a small hill and hitting your head against a tree.

You weren't sure, but you saw a silhouette right before everything blanked out.

You remember you thought it was better to freeze in those woods than being found by Ivan in that place.

You couldn't precise how long did you blank out. But it was warm when you woke up. There was some strange cloak over your body, with a marine perfume that resembled the sea right after the dawn, or the dew evaporating on the first hours of the mourning.

"You woke up," a strange voice, kinda hoarse, with a heavy accent spoke to you.

And you turned yourself to see a blonde man sitting near a fire, noticing you were somehow into a cabin. A pretty rustic one! He was shoving the pieces of wood into the fire, making it warmer. But his clothes were so strange!

You could bet they were handmade!

He was dressed beautifully, like those medieval peasants from old Scandinavia. His hair had braids with leather straps decorating it and beautiful curls you couldn't stop yourself from admiring.

You sat, observing the beautiful handmade embroidery of the cloak over your body. That man wasn't a peasant. Such beautiful work wouldn't be made for someone that wasn't noble.

But why the fuck was he dressed like that?

"My head is aching..." you mumbled.

"You must've hit it against the tree I found you near. Your clothes are strange... Too thin for the cold. What is your name?" he asked with that strange accent, coming closer to sit beside the fur you were laid upon.

Too thin for the cold?? Those were your best warm trousers!

"I'm Y/N," you answered, confused. "Excuse me, but where am I?"

Everything around was so realistically rustic! You felt like waking up into a movie!

"This cabin is mine," he answered, "A small secret place I use as a refuge when I don't want my brothers to find me. I'm Sigurd, son of Ragnar Loðbrók. You must've known about my father." he sighed.

Sounding so genuíne for someone who was speaking, for sure, a scripted line for any stupid theatrical spectacle that was - for some reason - including your dizzy self. Right?

Cause there was no living way for you to be speaking to a son of THE Ragnar Loðbrók he was talking about. No-living-way!

You chuckled, looking at him.

"Fine... You're pretty good, for real. But I'm seriously lost here and... Can we leave the characters behind for a moment and give me some real information?" you said, looking at him "I'm lost for real, you know? I got lost in the woods while fleeing from a night into the house of the biggest asshole I've ever known in my whole life, so... Could you be gentle to me and tell me how I can reach the town so I can take a bus and go back home?"

The more you spoke, the stranger was the frown in that man's face.

"What is a bus?" he asked, looking at you as if that wasn't the most absurd nonsense someone could ask you at all!

"O-k... A persistent actor uh? So... Let us do it your way, ok? I need to go back to the town, uh? Where can I find a... a chariot?" you tried.

"You must've hit your head too hard... Come. I have a horse outside, I'll take you back to the village, but I suggest you visit a healer," he said.

Genuinely looking as confused as you were.

You got up, looking around. It was really a small cabin, seeming to be handmade as well, for a single person. Maybe you just invaded some kind of fantasy for him or anything, you thought. But the horse outside his door was pretty real.

"Fuck," you mumbled.

He really had a horse. And you would really go back home... In-a-freaking-horse. How the heck could that night become stranger?

Never doubt life.

It can ALWAYS overwhelm your expectations.

"What in the actual fuck?" your mouth mumbled when his horse reached the streets of what was an entire Scandinavian village. "Is this a joke? What kind of... Look, Sigurd uh?" you said, looking back at him from upon your shoulder as he guided the horse forward into that village.

A lot of other people like him were finishing putting things inside, the houses were decorated. It was Christmas night in that place as well... But how the heck?

"I need to go to the real town. Like, the real one! Not this scenographic thing for whatever you guys are filming ok? I need to go back to Kattegat!" you insisted.

Just to see his frown becoming even bigger.

"Woman, what is your problem? We ARE in Kattegat!" he said, convict.

"Then take me to the bay!" you demanded, almost as a touché.

They would never be able to reproduce the bay perfectly! It was a beautiful natural arch of mountains where the sea would make a pool, almost a beautiful natural circle of water you saw yourself stunned looking at a few moments after your ask.

"You see? We are in Kattegat, woman. I'm Sigurd, son of Ragnar, fourth among the princes of this place. And I demand you to visit a healer right now!" he said, full of himself.

But you'd barely heard his voice.

Your heart was pounding, your ears were throbbing along with your whole head. How the fuck was you standing in Kattegat's bay?

How in the actual fuck was that place a Scandinavian village again?

How hard did you hit your head?

"Be patient, son of Ragnar," a hoarse voice came out of nowhere and you turned yourself too quick, falling at the sand, afraid of that black-cloaked figure that looked at the two of you - and seemed not to scare Sigurd at all! "A strange thing happened and sometimes it happens, indeed..."

"Who are you? Where am I?" you asked, fully scared.

But that burned man looked at you calmly. You could feel he was looking at me although he had no eyes.

"The correct question would be when are you, Y/N, future’s child. You are where you think you are. You are in Kattegat such as he was. Time is not what you think it is."

Your heart started racing.

If what he was saying was real then you were far away from home now!

"But if you were to disappear tonight, who would miss you?"

That sentence in his hoarse voice seemed to shock both of you, you and Sigurd, cause you could see the same surprised expression in Sigurd's eyes as well.

"Time is a spiral... It swirls and swirls and sometimes its rounds touch each other. Two thought like one, two desired like one. One was heard by the night and its mysteries," that burnt man continued. "You shall be back to your time, back to your life, when the night is over and the magic with it. Unless your desire to come back is not strong enough to take you out of here," he said, starting to walk away.

Leaving you at that beach, sitting on the sand, almost panicking.

"So... You came because of my desire?" Sigurd mumbled, breaking the silence first.

And you looked at him.

"He said... Two thought like one. What were you thinking, Sigurd?" you asked, trying to rationalize.

To avoid freaking out.

"I didn't want to be home with Ivar being the usual spoiled brat he always is. But I didn't want to be alone... After all, it's Yule."

After all, it was Christmas...

"It makes sense..." you mumbled. "I didn't want to be with Ivan... But did not want to be alone either."

Sigurd crossed his arms, sighing. And you looked at him with your heart clenching. Maybe he was as lonely as you were. And if it was strong enough to throw you into that situation then... Then why not?

It would be over in the morning.

"We could keep each other company..." You suggested.

"Then none of us would be alone." Sigurd completed. "Come. It's cold here... I have some food in my cabin we could share and you can tell me about this future you come from." he said, extending his hand for you to get up.

Sigurd didn't seem to be a bad guy at all. And what choice did you have, anyway?

He walked you back to that cabin, pulling the horse by its reins but walking beside you at a slow pace. It wasn't such a short path, so you had some time to know each other properly. The craziest it was sounding; Sigurd was indeed a Viking prince who definitely sounded like everything but a Viking. Whether your time's acknowledgment of his kind was awfully wrong or he was something different from the barbarian raiders his mutuals were described to be.

Instead, Sigurd was gentle, helping a total stranger he found wounded in the forest, taking you inside his cabin, ensuring you would be warm and cared for. He lighted a campfire in front of the cabin where he placed a piece of meat to roast intending to divide what was supposed to be enough for himself with you, and you noticed he just didn't ask for his cloak back - somehow he was really apprehensive about how cold it was for your "thin clothes".

Sigurd's presence was completely different from Ivan's and despite being a total stranger for you, soon it became more comfortable than having your co-worker you worked with for a whole year beside you.

To be honest? It was better. Way better.

Sigurd's curiosity about your shoes was funny, his surprise seeing your elastic hair tie was the most innocent and sweet thing you've ever seen and you could laugh for hours at his funny face when the thing escaped his hand being shot against his nose.

When you started talking about your time's music, he entered the cabin and brought back some kind of guitar he called an oud and played for you some amazing songs you wish you didn't have lost your cell phone so you could record to hear again later.

When he wouldn't be there to play...

For a moment, that sensation made you think about your loneliness and how it had just vanished with Sigurd's presence there. His gentleness was able to make you forget completely you weren't in your time and even more, that you were alone.

The two of you shared the food he made and when the night became colder he made the fire higher to warm the two of you as you sat at the door of his cabin, looking up to the sky.

So much more stars!

"The sky is not this beautiful where I come from," you said.

"Did the stars fall from the sky?" he asked, looking at you.

Making you smile with that sweet innocence he seemed to have.

"No. There are too many artificial lights. The night is not dark enough for us to see them all..." you explained.

"Your time seems to be amazing, but at the same time, it seems colder," Sigurd said, looking up once again.

Silence landing between the two of you like a solid wall his voice broke once again.

"I'll miss you, Y/N. When you go home, I'll miss having you here."

You thought about your lonely life. It would be so good to have the chance to stay... But at the same time, you were so far away from your time! And you couldn't just be impulsive and stay in a place and time you barely knew just out of your need for company... You would come back at the end of that night, you knew that. But your heart would be broken.

"I'll miss you too..." you mumbled.

Feeling when something touched your hand, looking to see Sigurd was messing with a leather strip around your wrist.

"What is this?" you asked when he finished, showing you the wooden beads with runes he had tied to your arm.

Lifting your eyes, you could see one of his braids was undone: he had turned the leather strip from his hair along with his beads into a bracelet for you.

"A gift, so you can remind me," he said, "A Yule gift."

You smiled with tenderness looking at that loving gift. Nothing was ever so sweet in your life.

You would miss him so hard...

You weren't as good as he was with the crafting, but you took off your necklace - a golden chain with a small butterfly pendant - And you placed it on his neck, watching as he touched the delicate piece.

"A Yule gift," you repeated, smiling at him.

Feeling his fingers touching and caressing your face.

Silence was made as you laid your head on his shoulder. There was nothing to be said anymore. You wanted his embrace around you. He wanted you to stay forever.

Both of you woke up alone the next morning...

The magic of that strange night was gone when you woke up sitting against the tree you had fallen near the previous night. You lifted your hand to touch your head searching for any kind of wound, thinking that the whole night could've been a dream.

But something was weighing on your hand and your eyes filled with tears when you saw the leather strap with his beads there. You touched your neck, your necklace was gone.

It was real.

He was real!

And now it was gone...

You found out you had fallen out of the way and into the woods some few meters before reaching the road. You went back home with that knot on your throat.

You searched for anything about his story just to find out Sigurd had died one thousand years ago, murdered by his own brother's ax.

The following days made no sense for you. Everything was missing color. You wanted to cry every time your eyes would look at the beads on your wrist. You never took that bracelet off.

When the third night came, you decided: You had to change that! You had to go back, to find a way to make his fate different.

To be with him once again.

But how?

The following days you passed searching for any information, finding anything that could help you, getting yourself more and more despaired with the hopelessness of that journey. When New Year's Eve came, you made your last try...

You came back to those woods, you went away from the trail, you tried to find the ruins of his cabin or that location. But all you could find were some stones placed in a specific way that could resemble that house.

You sat in the middle of it and you felt the tears pouring down your face. Your fingers caressing the leather strip on your wrist.

"You were such a gentle man... Such a sweet company. You killed my loneliness and... And you found such a terrible fate," you cried, thinking about him, the sweet smiles you exchanged, his laughs from that night.

"I wish so bad I could change it... I wish so bad I could come back one more time..." you closed your eyes, lowering your head.

"It's a one-way trip this time. And you know you can't change the cycle of life. He will die. You will die. Each must die someday," the hoarse voice of that burnt man you knew now was the Seer from his time invaded your ears, startling you up.

If he could be there, then...

You could come back.

"But I can make it different!" you said, looking up to see the black-cloaked figure standing where it was supposed to be the door of that cabin.

"What if you can't?" he asked, looking at you.

"I can!" you yelled, getting up.

"What if you can't, woman?" he repeated.

Remembering you maybe Sigurd's fate wasn't changeable...

Maybe you would go back just to lose him that awful way.

"Then I can make his life different," you mumbled, looking at the Seer. "Then I can send his loneliness away. And kill mine. And make it better as long as he lives."

"Cross the line... And find your fate. Time won't touch itself once again. Don't look back, future's child. Everything forward is lost for you now."

With his scepter, he traced a perfect line on the ground from one stone to another at the entrance of the cabin's ruins, turning his back to you and vanishing in the middle of the trees.

You swallowed dry.

You could just jump the stones and go back to your life.

But time wouldn't touch itself again, he said.

You could cross that line and everything you knew would be lost.

But who would miss you anyway?

You touched the leather bracelet on your arm and took a deep breath, walking forward and crossing the line without thinking any longer. And then... His voice filled your ears...

"... and I don't know where or when you are now. But I wish you were here. It would be good if time could swirl that strange way one more time."

Your eyes caught Sigurd's figure sitting beside a campfire. Almost the same scene from the Yule night you spent together. Except, you weren't there, and his hands were messing with the necklace you gave to him, tenderly caressing the pendant. He missed you. He wanted you back.

And it filled your heart with love to think someone would care.

He cared.

"Maybe two thought like one once again," you mumbled from the door, startling him, watching as he jumped up, standing to look at you, first scared, then, with the most beautiful smile you've ever seen on someone's face.

"Y/N!"

Sigurd came closer, without a warning pulling you into his embrace. Such a tight embrace, so full of that feeling only he was able to make you feel!

You embraced him back, maybe as tight as he was embracing you. And Sigurd cupped your face, touching your foreheads.

"You came back... I wanted so hard to see you again!"

You went on your tiptoes, following the will of your heart, and touched his lips with yours, surprising Sigurd with a gentle and loving kiss, full of that need you had inside your heart to change his life. To make his fate different.

"Y/N?" he mumbled your name when the kiss was over.

Looking at you full of doubt in his eyes.

But you caressed his face gently, smiling at him.

"I came back for you, Sigurd. For you..."

His tone changed as you felt his hands gently pulling you closer. His forehead touched yours and you saw as he sighed, almost in relief, nuzzling his nose to yours.

"You took my heart with you when you left..."

He felt the same. That need, that sensation you were everything he needed and he had lost it. Sigurd fell in love with you as well. And it was good for him to notice he wasn’t alone.

"Tell me you'll stay this time." He asked.

"I'll stay," you answered, nestling your face against his neck, hiding into his embrace. "I'll stay, my prince."

"That's good..." he mumbled, kissing your hair, embracing you tighter. "That's good, my love."

You knew everything you ever knew was lost for you now and you would've to learn everything about life in his way. You knew you could lose him not far from that day. But you would fight to change his fate and if you had to lose him then, at least, you could say you loved him till the end.

And Sigurd loved you back. Like anyone else before.

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#history vikings #imagine vikings #sigurd #sigurd snake in the eye #sigurd x reader #sigurd ragnarsson #sigurd’s fairy muses #sister wives #shot #patron’s holiday event

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briarrosedahl · 2 years ago

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⊰ her eyes crinkled with amusement when her friend ( although it might have been an one-sided declaration on inés’ part ) called her by her title, her tone softening as it always did whenever she’d speak to martina. “ you can call me by my name and you do not need to bow, we are friends, aren’t we ? ” she asked, trying to reassure herself that this companionship wasn’t one-sided. inés knew that sometimes, and if not often, she’d grow attach too quickly, her open nature sometimes making people surrounding her uncomfortable. as nonchalant and unsuspecting, inés liked to act, she was no fool. at least that’s what she wanted to believe . “ thank you ,” she chuckled. the princess’ charming attempt to speak her language sparking a fondness in her heart. “ however your beauty remains unmatched, i think i can feel myself falling a little in love with you, my bellisima principessa . ” she jested, trying to speak a few words of italian and then cleared her throat as they were talking about their mission to get the princess’ ring back. “ i do not question whom you’re coming with, there is no need to explain yourself. although i am curious, wasn’t there anyone and let’s forget the dutch crown prince, who you wanted to come with ? ” she inquired, always curious about some new, dramatic and hopefully not tragic romance.

“ worry not, the swans are safe and are resting. i think even they are in need of a break. after all the queen spends most of her time with them, the swans must be exhauste d.” she wondered if perhaps that was the reason the swans always seemed to be in such a foul mood. they matched that of the italian queen. “ what letters ? maybe i can help you to deliver some.” she offered. the swans did not seem capable and if delivering some letters meant that she could win the italian’s princess heart she’d do it.

“ you do not need to repay me, this is what friends do, help each other out, no ? and i just want to see your beautiful smile again. ” she took martina’s hand, gently squeezing them as she gave her a soft smile. yet, inés couldn’t help but wonder what made martina think that way. that she needed to repay someone for their help. “ red queen ? why do you call her that ? ” she laughed, as she went through drawers, stuffed with cloth and journals ? the art of handling swans ? another journal filled with the names of the rinaldis and the g u a r d s ? letters , perhaps love letters but she wondered who’d even give the italian queen something as tender as a love letter. “ huh, what is this ? ” she asked, taking out what seemed to be an amaranth pink fabric, adorned with delicate lace and carefully threaded embroidery. “ i did not suspect the queen to wear such a dress but i think it’d suit you better, martina. we should take this and ask the queen to give us the ring in return .”

💙

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐀 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 type of person who needs reassurance, once the queen reassured her that it wasn't a 'one-sided' friendship, a smile crept on her rosy lips. ❛ Well, I would like to think so. ❜ She says in regards to being her friend. The Italian blonde is the kind of person that is always suspected of people… This is why sometimes she has issues connecting with people. The Italian pale blonde got automatically crimson at the compliment of such a beautiful brunette in front of her, and the fact she hated herself for not knowing what to do after hearing kind words. ❛ Grazie! That's a good Italian. ❜ She observed the way the queen spoke her mother language. Her jawline dropped a little since she misunderstood the question, and her lips opened and closed a few times like a fish trying to breathe. It took her a second or two, if it was another person she would lie… Ines was here, helping her out showing that she could trusts her no matter what, there is no way she would hide things from her. ❛ Laurie, I mean, the Dauphin of France. I'm permanently prohibited to see him. Narisa made that rule. But we trying to see each other, hidden from our families. I mean, his family does not know that I can't see him, this is something only between me, Narisa, I guess. That's why I have guards, I think, not only to keep me safe but also to prohibit Laurie to see or touch me. ❜ She admitted in shame, a lot of people would think she made up things when she is telling the truth.

She sighs deeply in relief, sitting on Narisa's bed, with a hand on her own racing heart when the other assured that fucking birds are safe and sound. ❛ Good, 'cuz I cannot afford to lose those motherfuckers is the end of the line to me. ❜ Martina and her dirty tongue, so much time spent with men, since she was little. ❛ I'm sure they are exhausted by seeing her face. ❜ She grumbles as she was digging on Narisa's things now to find her ring, she opened the drawer and found something like a piece of paper… Opening it, she saw her name written on it… It was written the name: Martina Alexandra Aurora Rinaldi and under her name was the banned people list. The first person was 'the marine animal of France, Dolphin AKA Laurent Florian Bourbon' , height: 1,75 m, reasons: shady, contagious, problematic, cursed, etc. The negative traits listed under Laurie's name were big and it made her automatically roll her eyes dramatically. ❛ She took my ring, I'm taking her paper. ❜ She tugged it under her corset. ❛ Oh yeah, I was writing letters to Laurie. I tried to teach swans to deliver it, but they clearly cannot do it. If you want to help me I'd love to. So I wouldn't have to bother my brothers.❜ The Italian blonde did not like to rely on her brothers… She thinks they have something better to do, instead of her pestering them to ask favors, so she tries anything in her power to do stuff without them. It tends to lead her into trouble.

Martina was taken aback when Inés took her hand, and her pupils dilated surprised by the simple action, and awkward she leans forward and hugged her, unsure if the gesture is showing something like she is thankful for all the effort, for someone like her that there is absolutely nothing to offer. Then she pulled her away from the hug, and rummage through the other furniture in the bedroom. ❛ Sometimes. Her name causes me migraines. Also, her favorite dress is red so… Red Queen. Also because her temper is always red, always nagging about something. ❜ She explains the logic.

When she was about to explore the other side of the room, Inés voice caught her attention, and she saw the dress, as her jawline dropped slightly, genuinely surprised to see this. ❛ Dios mio… I asked her if she could do me a dress… Once. In the color of pink. ❜ She wasn't expecting her queen actually going forward to make her dress… ❛ She said she wouldn't do that… Days later we fought but not because of the dress, of course… And the rest of the story you know. ❜ She felt like she was swallowing a lump, and a bittersweet feeling that woman always makes her feel. Narisa could be everything, but she was a good designer. ❛ I feel bad now for rummaging through her room. I am just an ugly monster like her! ❜ She turned her back to Inés unable to keep eye contact. | @porcelcin

#porcelcin #tw: self loathing #tw: negative thoughts #tw: abuse ish #not really #martina crying internally bc she thinks she's evil now bc of that dress rip #y narisa u bitch!#( — queue me but screw me first. )#tw: anxiety

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twilitty · 4 years ago

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Moonlit ch.1

This is the first chapter in my new fic Moonlit, it will be posted on Tumblr, ao3, and ffnet. New chapters uploaded every week and a half. Message/comment to be added to my tag list.

3k words

big thank you to my beta reader @effervescentlyirrevocable who has given me the absolute best criticism and helped make this chapter so beautiful :)

Bella moves to Forks Washington, her first week is uneventful. This fic has aged up characters, making them all at entry-college level ages.

Chapter One

My senses are sharper in Forks than they were in Phoenix, I’ve only been here a handful of days yet everything seemed brighter, louder, more alive than my past home. There was something here for me, something that made me feel more alert than I have in years.

The sound of heavy rain slowly pulls me out of my restless sleep, an elbow is thrown across my eyes in an attempt to keep the real world at bay. It’s always raining, the mist layering the ground never abandons its post, and the chilly air seemingly lasts indefinitely. The rainy town of Forks Washington sooner resembles my personal hell than it does a sleepy old town. The forest that borders the town at each cardinal point is layered in green moss, damp dirt, and an endless supply of fresh animal tracks. I’d moved to Forks only a week ago, the sum of which was spent unpacking dreadfully thin clothing and acquainting myself with the few stores and public access areas the town has to offer.

My father, Charlie, has had little to do with this process apart from moral support and the occasional bag of fast food that he’s picked up while on shift. Charlie is the town's police chief, a job that both seems ill-needed and also unbearably boring. How much crime can be committed in a town of fewer than ten thousand citizens? Other than the odd tag on a school building or bush party, what does his shift consist of? I have yet to bring my insulting opinions on his career to his attention, and likely will never do so. He’s a good man with a heart of gold and a passion for the judicial system, which is ever-present in his TV browsing as he cruises through endless episodes of Law & Order.

I’m not a big TV person, even back home in Phoenix, I preferred reading to the television. Perhaps this was related to my mother’s endless stack of yoga DVD’s that seemed to consume our viewing; her in a downward dog position gossiping about her latest advancements at her newest club membership, me sitting on the couch finishing a craft for her so she won’t be late submitting it. My favourite of her crafts was embroidery, one month I embroidered nearly two hundred dandelions on a pair of jeans for her. She gave them to the club administrator as an apology before she quit.

Regardless, at night when the TV is blaring the intro theme to a cop show, I am curled in bed with a book under my nose and headphones in my ears. Blocking out the rain is a full-time chore.

This morning is a particularly eventful morning, not because of any specific events, but rather the events that will be set into motion because of this morning. Today is the first day of my online college courses. I’m currently enrolled in an undeclared major. My hope is that the three courses I’m taking this spring term will help me decide on what I want to do in the future.

Charlie had given me a new laptop upon my arrival in Forks, a current model with modest upgrades to “enhance my academic experience”. Or at least that’s what the box boasted. I am not entirely convinced that a larger memory will miraculously cure me of my educational despise. High school was tortuous, I had few friends and fewer interests outside of my mother’s hobbies. I had no extra-curricular activities that were not synonymous with financial responsibilities. The monthly budget book was mine to care for, as was the constant, intrusive phone calls of the bank when my mother got too engaged in a store. She’s a gullible woman if nothing else. If a store clerk tells her a blouse suits her figure, she’ll purchase ten colours in the article along with two in a size lower just in case she finally loses the ten pounds she’s been trying to shed.

My eyes have barely opened, the down of my forearm just a fraction away from my pupil when Charlie pounds against my door. You’d imagine I was fostering a fugitive in here with the noise he’s making, but this is just the way my father is, loud noises and soft voices. I wonder, idly, if perhaps he has minor hearing loss from spending so much time around guns.

“I’m up!” I call out, my voice is thin and calloused with morning sleep. I clear my throat as the knocking cuts off, “Good morning, Dad.” Charlie doesn’t like me calling him Charlie.

“Morning, Bells,” he calls back through the door, quiet enough to not be taken as aggressive yet loud enough to sound authoritative. He is a father, my father, at heart. He pauses, and it’s as if I can hear the mental gears shifting in his mind. He hasn’t had to be a father since I was a baby, after that Renee was the parent. Charlie was the summer distraction. “Don’t be late for school.” I grunt a response, reaching for the alarm clock on my nightstand and groaning at the early hour of the morning. Barely eight, class doesn’t officially start until noon. I guess there’s nothing wrong with logging in early, although I’d much rather catch up on the sleep I’ve lost to the thunderous storms we’ve been experiencing recently.

As if he could sense my intentions, Charlie knocks against my door again. “Bella, I mean it. You didn’t come here to slack off, now.” No, I think nastily, I came here for peace and quiet.

Between unpacking my belongings and touring the town, I’ve developed a routine in my new living situation. Charlie is fond of my company, enjoying having a woman in the house outside of his ex-wife, my mother and ex-roommate. Although, his fondness of my presence does not directly translate to time spent together. He makes me breakfast, occasionally placing it in the oven to keep warm, and then immediately heads off to his family that is the Forks police station. We meet again for lunch, depending on our individual plans for the day, and then reunite again just in time for dinner. Food really is the great American pastime.

I dress in jeans and a light blue sweater that smells mysteriously of mildew although it’s a recent purchase and has yet to be worn outdoors. I suppose the rain permeates every available space, closed windows be damned. My socks are tall and I have to roll my jeans up at the bottoms to accommodate for the thick, high fabric of them. It’s a trick Charlie taught me for wearing rain boots, the higher the socks the less likely they are to run down to your toes as you walk. Immediately after that trick was taught I went to the nearest hiking store and purchased a pair of rain boots. My first pair of rain boots at nineteen years of age. Unfathomable yet ironic considering my lineage marks back to the wettest town in the continental US. My ancestors roll in their graves every time I step outdoors and forget a jacket or umbrella, I’m sure of it.

Charlie is waiting for me downstairs, both a surprise and unwelcome presence. I had a battered copy of Dorian Gray under my arm, I was expecting philosophy and moral ambiguity, not idle conversation. Before the chief notices my book, I slide it over the back of the couch and enter the kitchen with a polite smile. There’s bacon frying on the stovetop, the police chief is dressed in uniform already, but has a stained white apron tied around his neck. “Dad?”

“Oh,” he turns around and gives me a tight smile, “Excited for your big day?” You’d imagine it’s my first day of preschool with the amount of enthusiasm he’s trying to keep hidden from me, not my first day of online school. I don’t say anything to dampen his mood, I’m glad he’s excited about something. His life is repetitive, if my existence here proves to be no more useful than just disrupting his schedule, it will still be a success.

“Yeah, I guess.” He turns back to the bacon and shifts it around quickly, the grease snapping up at him. If it burns him he doesn’t show it, just maintains the stiff-backed posture of a respectable police officer cooking his daughter breakfast. “I’ve gotta ask, what’s up with the apron?” I stifle a giggle behind a bite of the toast that’s sitting in the middle of the small table. He shakes his head in faux annoyance.

Charlie takes the pan off the hot element, sliding the bacon onto two plates and pouring the grease into an open can. The second trick he taught me since arriving here: never pour grease down the drain.

“I’m in uniform, it would be disrespectful to the badge to stain it.” He slides a plate of bacon in front of me, sitting down in his designated seat across the table. “Besides,” he takes a sip of coffee from his to-go mug. “Can you imagine walking into a police station smelling of fried pig?”

Breakfast ends quickly. We each eat a piece of toast, Charlie stuffing a second piece into a plastic bag “for later” and heading out the door. I still have half a plate of bacon in front of me after he leaves, the maple glaze filling the small kitchen with its smell.

After my Mom and Charlie got married, Renee redecorated much of the house. Her lace curtains still hang in the master bedroom window, constantly drawn closed. The rest of the house has been minorly updated with age, the TV got bigger, the couch more comfortable, new bed linens and even newer rocking chairs on the porch. I had asked Charlie if they were Moms when I first came up to the house a week ago.

They were rocking gently in the wind, the wood seemed to be polished as it shined in what little light filtered through the depressive clouds. They were sitting side by side, matching pillows on them both, a coffee table in the middle with a stack of coasters. It was an old person's porch, where husband and wife would sit all grey and wrinkled, waving at the neighbourhood kids as the bus dropped them off from school. I could almost picture Charlie and Renee sitting there, her knitting a scarf and him content to just watch her and the scenery.

He informed me that they were relatively new, a purchase from a shop down on the Reservation. We haven’t spoken about them since, but I wonder if perhaps he wishes he had someone to sit out there with him.

I spend the morning before class doing odd chores around the house. It’s nice living at Charlie’s, nicer than I had expected it to be. I’m not a fan of the weather or the fact that I currently have no social life, but it’s nice to just sit. I throw my laundry in the wash and manage to get the kitchen cleaned up with just enough time left over to sit on the couch and read a chapter of my book before class.

School has never been my strong suit. That’s not to say I get poor marks or intentionally skip classes, I just never found it as fulfilling as my peers seemed to. I never woke up and looked forward to the social or academic aspect of high school. Perhaps this contributed to me postponing my college experience and only starting it now when I should already be a year into my program.

When I log into my schools online database and click on my first class, Social Psychology 1001, I’m immediately transported to a screen filled with windows and the faces of my classmates. “Hello, class!” The professor's voice calls out over my computer. Perhaps online school won’t be my strong suit either.

Class ends and the next one starts, and I get through all three classes and an hour's worth of homework by the time Charlie pops in for dinner.

“Hey, Bells,” He calls as he opens the front door. I can hear him from where I sit in the kitchen, hanging his gun belt up by the front door and kicking his boots off into a heap on the floor. I imagine Mom back in Phoenix, walking into the house with arms full of bags and tossing her flip flops onto her pile of shoes beside the coatrack she used for purses. Some things won’t ever change.

“How was work?” I ask. He pauses to poke his head into the kitchen, moustache moving as he chews on his lip. I can’t remember when Charlie initially grew out his moustache, just that one summer I arrived and thought could he look more like a cop?

“Good, good, just some meetings. New family moving into town, all foster kids around your age.” He takes pause, staring off into some middle ground in the hallway as if deep in thought. His eyebrows furrow, “Don’t want any trouble makers coming in, but the father seems nice. Respectable.”

“That’s nice,” I contribute conversationally. Charlie and I rarely have material conversations, always just idle talk of the weather or what's for dinner. I’m not entirely sure how to approach this topic, which clearly seems to be occupying his mind.

“Yeah, he’s a doctor.” He grins at this, toothy and a little crooked to the right side. A pang of embarrassment settles in my chest before he speaks, as if knowing where this will turn. “Perfect for you, considering how often your clumsiness-” I wave a hand over my face, grimacing at his words. “Don’t speak it into existence,” I mutter with a half-hearted plea underlying my words. He chuckles, disappearing up the stairs.

I hear the shower turn on after a few minutes of him fumbling around, presumably trying to get undressed. I’m sure once he’s showered and in sweatpants it’ll be twenty questions about my day of school. I’m not sure I have the heart to break the truth to him: it absolutely sucked.

The material was interesting enough, psychology has always been close to my heart. I loved the idea of people being more than their actions and thoughts, that there was something making them say that or something making them act that way. Perhaps this was yet another symptom of having Renee for a mother.

I sit at the kitchen table for a moment longer, my computer is closed in front of me and my pencil case- dreadfully unnecessary with school being online-sits closed and untouched. I haven’t made any friends in my classes, not that I had expected to. Twelve years of public school and no friend group to show for it, just a few texts every couple of weeks. Why would I have believed college, and an online college at that, would be any better?

Having enough with my thoughts, I get up from the table and pack my things into my bag. I’ve completed enough work for today, the rest of the evening I’ll spend either with Charlie or in my room. I’d rather not be nose deep in pdf textbooks and youtube videos constituting as follow-up lectures, I’ve had enough of that today. As if sensing the immediacy of my departure from the kitchen, the shower cuts off and I hear the bathroom door squeak open. For a man who, until recently, lived alone with too much free time, you’d imagine he’d have taken better care of the house. Nearly every door, except my own, creaks open and closed. I made sure to oil my hinges nearly immediately after moving in, I didn’t want Charlie to wake up every time I sneak downstairs for a comfort snack or warm glass of milk to help me sleep. He’s lived alone for nearly twenty years, he doesn’t need his sleep schedule disrupted now.

“The game is on in-” Charlie pauses as if double-checking the times mentally, “- an hour and a half. Are you interested?” He’s calling from up the stairs. I wonder if he truly wants me to watch the game with him, whatever sport it may be, or if he’s only being polite.

“Uh, I was just going to organize my room right now and then maybe make something for dinner,” I say in response. The floors don’t make a noise and I know he’s heard me, but he doesn’t respond. A lump forms in my throat, perhaps he really did want to watch with me.

“That’s fine, but if you want we can order in?” The lump passes and I convince myself that there is no reason to avoid the TV. It’s not like I’ll be a disruption, if I get bored I can read on the couch. I’ve only watched TV with Charlie on a few occasions since my move here, and each time I strategically saved my questions for the commercial breaks.

“Sure! That works.” The floorboards creak and I hear him retreat into his room, the door closing with a pitiful squeak.

We eat pizza on the couch, a large meat-lover for the carnivorous father and a small vegetarian with extra mushrooms for the daughter who cares about her cardiovascular health. We eat slowly, occasionally Charlie will make a face at the television or mumble something under his breath, but other than that we’re quiet. The sport turns out to be baseball and I recall a few of the basic rules from the tragic gym classes of my past. It’s not disastrous in any way, and surprisingly I don’t get bored. There is something relaxing about the repetitive nature of the game.

After the game ends we box up the remaining slices and put them in the fridge to be eaten tomorrow, say good night, and go our separate ways at the top of the stairs.

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skekheck · 4 years ago

Text

All About the Seven Clans: The Spriton

THIS POST CONTAINS EVERYTHING I COULD FIND ABOUT THE SPRITON. SOME INFORMATION WRITTEN HERE ARE FROM OLDER MATERIAL AND MAY EITHER CONTRADICT STATEMENTS OR IS NO LONGER RELEVANT. I WILL DO MY BEST TO STRING IT ALL TOGETHER AS COHERENTLY AS POSSIBLE. IF THERE IS INFORMATION THAT I AM MISSING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW AND I’LL ADD IT!

Clan Index: Dousan Drenchen Grottan Sifa Spriton Stonewood Vapra

OVERVIEW

The Spriton were a farming clan that occupied the southern plains of Thra. Although well known for their knowledge in agriculture and husbandry, they were also experts in textile creation and other fine arts. Due to their location and way of life, they were the most important providers of grains and produce for other clans. Interestingly in other media, usually older works, the Spriton were a warrior clan instead.

The Spriton totem animal was the Landstrider and their core elements were the earth, its foundation, and protection of the land and its creatures . Both their clan and sigil colors were green and their pennant colors were beige with green and gold detail.

Characteristics

Most Spritons had dark or tanned skin and were sometimes covered in freckles. Their hair was dark-colored or black and were only ever worn in single braids. Decoration was minimal with only adorning their hair with small beads. A Spriton's eyes were noted to be "jewel-toned", usually light in color. Grey and off-white yellow or green were fairly common with darker greens and browns being rarer exceptions. Thanks to their lifestyles, Spritons were athletic and graceful. Spriton wings were noted to be long and narrow which were good for speed and agility. In the books written by J.M. Lee, one Spriton named Gereni had bright green wings. Older gelfling commonly had sun-worn skin and calloused hands.

Spriton clothing were simple, described as russet colored with autumnal qualities or earthy tones that matched their environment. Reds and browns in particular were extremely common. Plenty of gelfling from this clan wore head coverings which protected their heads from the Three Suns. Despite its simplicity, Spriton fashion displayed beautiful textile work with a unique stitching style not seen in other clans.

Lifestyle

The Spriton were a traditional clan that valued hard work and generational knowledge. Performing daily tasks kept the community thriving as well as providing clothes and food for other clans. Their agricultural livelihoods revolved around season events like the trine cycle as well as ninents or greater seasons, which were one hundred trine in length. It was very important for memories to be passed on to ensure the success of crops for future generations. Living in harmony with Thra’s plants and creatures was also a tenet in Spriton culture. This stemmed from the Song of the Six Sisters where the Spriton’s first maudra was tasked with not only taking care of the land but also its foundation and animals.

The Spriton were a medium-sized community whose population was comparable to the Drenchen's. Most Spritons lived in the clan's hometown Sami Thicket, but branched out into smaller villages and singular houses and farms along the Spriton Plains. The Spriton were some of the first clans to had spread outside their main village. Even the Stonewood, who had a larger population, didn’t stray too far from their home village until well into the Age of Division. A Spriton family unit usually consisted of three to six gelfling. Despite the distance from their hometown, the Spriton never lost their sense of community. Whenever families returned to Sami Thicket to give crops, practice trading, or for special occasions, they were always welcomed warmly.

Daily Routine

A day in the life of a Spriton consisted of long work days that started when the suns rose and stretched on well after dark. In Sami Thicket, and perhaps in some neighboring villages, an hourly bell was rung so the Spriton never got too lost in their work. When younglings grew to the age of apprenticeship, they were selected by mentors to begin training. They were put into a work group that was monitored by two elders. Younglings also refined their riding and hunting skills by participating in sports like bola-throwing and knock-knee, a race-and-ball game played on the backs of Landstriders. In the book series, they were also trained in combat and to fight with a spear.

Because Spriton had a variety of jobs, they were divided into three main categories:

Hearth Workers: This group focused on tasks of integrated care of the hearth and home. Occupations included caregivers, woodworkers, songtellers, musicians, hearth workers (sometimes also called fire workers), bell ringers, food servers, and artisans like weavers, stitichers, and craftsmen. This group emphasized on building and maintaining the physical homes as well as replenished the hearts and spirits of the Spriton. Artisans were also seen as integral to the clan as their tapestries and other creations preserved their way of life.

Dirt Workers: Dirt workers protected the land and cultivated the clan’s many gardens in Sami Thicket and nearby fields. They were largely farmers, but also consisted of animal breeders and maintainers. They kept oral records of seasonal wisdom by marking the passing of time using sun-sticks posted in fields and horticultural and agricultural knowledge from previous generations. Dirt workers tended to creatures by tracking their numbers and observing their health. They believed that the health of the animals represented the health of the land.

Path Workers: Path workers were traders. Gelfling with these jobs were responsible for sorting, preparing, counting, and trading Spriton products. They were strong in numbers and noted for their adventurous and outgoing personalities who used their intelligence, sharp tongues, and charismatic smiles to sell their items. A popular saying “as smooth as a Spriton wagon driver” was inspired by them. Spriton traders often traveled outside of Sami Thicket, mostly staying within the plains but ventured to Stone-in-the-Wood and even Har’rar.

Spriton Crafts

The Spriton were renowned for their crafts as much as their expansive knowledge on agriculture. They covered just about everything from textiles and quilts to tools and weapons. Although, in regards to their metalwork, it was not as refined as the Stonewood’s and Vapran’s due to the dearth in materials. Spritons opted to work mainly with charmed wood, fiber, and substances from both vegetables and animals which were magically bounded. Needlework in particular was considered a highly valued talent within Spriton communities as it was believed they were the stitchers of the gelfling clans.

Spriton textiles were easy to spot with its exposed stitchwork, extensive variety of magically-enhanced colors, and embroidery. They were highly sought out by other clans, especially the fashion-oriented Vapra. Their sandals were particularly famous not just for their beauty but also because of how sturdy they were. Spriton wool, which were spun from the coats of various plains creatures, were popular especially when dyed from one hundred pigments made in Sami Thicket.

As previously mentioned, Spriton crafts sported a unique style. While craftsmen in other clans hid binding agents like threadwork in shoes and tangle-weed in pottery, the Spriton purposely exposed them. They believed that if it weren’t for them, the craft would fall apart. Highlighting these parts was the Spriton’s way of showing respect to them. Exposed threadwork was incorporated artistically with patterns on clothing and shoes. Tangle-weed, which made clay more durable, was dyed in beautiful vibrant colors.

Some other examples of Spriton craftsmanship were their lyres and bolas. While lyres from other clans had six strings, Spriton lyres had seven. The seventh string was spun from Vapran metal which clans were given through trading. It gave the lyres a sublime character and was said to have emulated the voice of Thra. Spriton bolas were better than ones produced by other clans as it had longer rope with smaller stones, which made it easier to throw and reached farther distances.

Dream-stitiching

Dream-stitching was a type of magic that originated from the Spriton. It was a skill that combined elements from dreamfasting and dream-etching, which had the ability to fasten memories onto a physical object that invoked all senses and stirred imagination. The object could be anything: books, paintings, tapestries, or even stones or plants. This skill was difficult to master and was only taught by the Spriton maudra.

Kylan, a dream-stitcher, displayed noteworthy forms of the art. In the TV series, Kylan dream-stitched Brea’s memory of her mother within a Glider Seed so that others could know the All Maudra like she did. His skills in the book series were even more remarkable as he bounded Tavra’s soul upon the body of a crystal-singer and spread the message of the gelfling resistance on the Sanctuary Tree’s petals with dream-stitching.

Animal Husbandry

Much like their knowledge of land, the Spriton knew plenty about Thra’s diverse creatures, dating as far back as the Age of Harmony. Dirt workers were the ones responsible for training and handling animals. They knew animal calls and methods that taught them certain commands. Many of these animals helped the Spriton in their daily tasks. For example, Mounders used their digging abilities to create irrigation channels in fields that helped Spriton crops.

Landstriders

Landstriders, the totem animal of the Spriton were the most notable animals among the clan. In fact, it was common belief by other clans that all Spritons were experienced Landstrider riders. Riding one was noted to be difficult for newcomers and it took time for the creatures to get used to a saddle. But trainers created a system that made the Landstriders comfortable giving gelfling rides if they were given treats in exchange (usually roasted fruits or nectar). While their eyesight was poor, they had impeccable hearing and could “see” by listening to the echoes of their hoofbeats. They could be ridden during both the day and night, but weren’t good for stealth as their hooves produced loud sounds. During times of war, Landstriders were given armor, even on their legs. While this slowed them down, lining them together made for an affective barricade.

Spriton cared for Landstriders within several large herds. They were given plenty of freedom to roam in large meadows with built structures for them to take shelter with eating-troughs and trenches from nearby rivers for fresh water. These living spaces formed positive relationships between Landstriders and gelfling. These bonds became especially important during the late Age of Division as they were the only animals capable of fighting off the Garthim thanks to their swift speed.

Swoothus and Windshifters

Swoothus and windshifters were other notable Spriton animals. They were used for delivering messages all throughout gelfling settlements. While windshifters were faster, they were more aloof and easily distracted. Swoothus, on the other hand, were slower but easier to train and performed better especially when motivated by food. They were capable of understanding speech and specific commands as well as recognizing multiple locations.

Like with Landstriderss, bonds of trust formed between Swoothu or Windshifters and their trainers. With Swoothus, it came to the point where they’d visit their trainer even when there were no messages to send. Younger Swoothu tended to not stray too far from Sami Thicket until they gained the courage or curiosity to fly farther out. Sometimes they hitched a ride with their trainers or traders until they’re ready to fly off. By then, they mainly traveled to major gelfling settlements like Stone-in-the-Wood, Har’rar, and the Castle of the Crystal.

Cohabitating With Podlings

While podlings had always co-existed with gelfling, the harmony between them and Spritons were the greatest. The relationship between the two were very communal and so close that they adapted cultures and characterstics from one another. Gelfling from Sami Thicket and neighboring villages commonly spoke podling tongue.

Podlings lived alongside their fellow Spritons in Sami Thicket, having houses nestled in between the gelflings’. They worked alongside the gelfling in various jobs, shared everything together, and even raised within the same nurseries. The two species took part in each other’s holidays or traditions, like podling funerals. Spritons and podlings alike gathered by the Pavilion and prepared the body for service and burial.

Diet

Thanks to the Spriton’s knowledge in agriculture and crops, they found ways of growing fruits and vegetables not normally found in their region, elongated growing seasons, and yielded bigger crops. Because of the large bounty of produce, a Spriton’s diet was heavily relied on fruits and vegetables. Meat was consumed rarely and when they did the gelfling carefully picked a creature, quickly slaughtered it, and gave it their respects.

Spriton cuisine involved mixing greens with vegetables and fruits. Produce was sometimes marinated in a tangy sauce or seasoned with fire-toasted seeds or nuts. Spriton cheese was treasured and came in great variety, from soft spreadable to harder cheeses suited for grating and melting. The cheeses were widely sought out by other clans and fetched good prices, especially in giant markets like the ones in Har’rar where such foods were hard to come by.

One notable Spriton delicacy was the sweet cherry squash. Cherry squashes were roasted which gave them a savory sweet taste. They were saved for special occasions like visits from the skeksis during tithe and census ceremonies. Other Spriton foods included dried squash and emroot.

Festival of the Sour Squash

This was an autumn holiday that celebrated the harvest of the sour squash. The ripeness of the squash signaled the beginning of the harvest seasons and the coming of winter. The fruit grew in partial shades of the thicket and changed color from green to amber and, when ripe, to red. Sour squash was delicious when roasted, although the ripeness produced an even more flavorable heady sweetness. Otherwise raw sour squash, as its name indicated, had an unbearable sourness. Roasted sour squash was similar to roasted sweet cherry squash for both flavor, crispiness, juiciness, and equally sweet-scented.

Along with the beginning of the harvest, the festival was also the Spriton’s way of thanking Thra’s generosity for the bounty of their crops. This was reflected in the festival’s tradition: after gelfling roasted their sour squash they must share all of it with others and only then were they allowed to eat the ones given to them by others. It was generally considered bad luck to decline to share. Sharing roasted squash wasn’t limited to gelfling as it involved podlings and the animals that resided in the village.

Day of the Great Sun

This was a traditional summer festival that all gelfling celebrated with summer activities like carrying water, taking a day of rest and more. But for the Spriton, who referred to it as the Longest Day, observed the event differently with a tradition called “sun-filling”. On the days leading up to the Longest Day, the Spriton cut back the trees around their homes and removed the latching from their roofs. When the day came, the sunlight from the Greatest Sun filled their houses with its light as it made its long journey across the sky. The Spriton held the belief that the light the sun brought kept out dust and last until the next trine.

Another tradition was burning old or discarded items within Sami Thicket’s hearth whose fire raged on through the entire day. When homes were cleaned and the fire put out, the head of each household took a small handful of ash and sprinkled on the newly thatched roofs. It was a reminder of letting go but also respecting and honoring the old.

Spritons sung a traditional song called “Sun-Filling Song” while they de-dusted heavy quilts and mats.

Mysteries of the Mystic Valley

Although the Spritons lived near the Valley of the Mystics none knew about the existence of the urru. Yet, they knew that something lived there beyond the dried-up ravine as rumors sprung from sights of silhouettes and hearing chanting at night. Many had gone into the valley to find the source of the rumors but found nothing. This may be due to the mystic magic that cloaked their village from outsiders. Many songs were created to explain these seemingly mysterious phenomena. Some were more logical, that the valley was the new home of the Arathim, but some were more superstitious that the ravine was haunted by a long forgotten race.

Interestingly, plenty of songs focused on skekMal the Hunter who was known by many gelfling to be a myth. In many of these stories he was known as the Hunter. They explained that the Mystic Valley was his birthplace and in one particular song, called “Hunter’s Knife”, was also the resting place of his heart. In the song, it explained the origins of his bloodthirst as, believing his spirit was holding him back, he carved out his heart with a knife made from stone. He left it in the valley where, as rumors believed, was the source of the moaning heard at night. It was his disembodied spirit’s desperate calls to be reunited with his body.

Sami Thicket, Hometown of the Spriton

Nestled within a small wood in the middle of the Spriton plains lied Sami Thicket. The word sami meant “to rest” in old gelfling, which signified the village being a welcoming place of rest after a long day of work. Hundreds of families of both gelfling and podling lived within their clay and wooden houses, some multiple stories high. Some houses, like the ones outside of the village, were built with sturdy logs. Animals also lived within the village with winded creatures like Windshifters and Swoothu having built-in dens and nests throughout the wood. The village circled around the Pavillion.

The Pavillion was known as one of the hearts of Sami Thicket. It was located right in front of the Spriton maudra’s large round house. It radiated out from a stone hearth as its core with paved multi-colored stones of red, gray, and blue which were arranged in a mosaic, twisting, tree branch-like pattern. The hearth itself was ringed with stone ledges wide enough for several gelfling to stand on or for a whole band to play in the evening.

The community gathered around the Pavillion daily for performing tasks and where supper was served by hearth workers. It was also the meeting place for special occasions. During these times, fire workers created giant fires that towered over the village and beautifully lighting up the Pavillion.

Nenadi-Staba

Otherwise known as the Low Tree, this was the patron tree of the Spriton. It was considered the other heart of the Sami Thicket and was located within a bowl-like valley near a winding brook. The tree itself was a squat tree with bulging roots that had a gnarled, maze like-pattern with dangling smaller roots and vines. The Low Tree’s thin, reedy branches were ruffled with fragile hand-shaped golden leaves. It only took a short walk to get there which allowed the Spriton to visit it whenever they wanted. Younglings played on its labyrinthine roots while elders meditated under its shade. To pay homage to their Great Tree, the Spriton sang a song called “Ode to the Low Tree”.

Relationship With the Skeksis and Other Clans

The Spriton were among the most loyal of the skeksis. In fact, it was the Spriton who first agreed to form an alliance with them, kickstarting the Alliance of the Crystal. SkekVar, when he was known as the Ambassador, convinced Elder Carn of the gelfling council to form a compromise of exchanging weapons for the skeksis protection from the Makraks. After meeting with skekSo the Emperor did Elder Carn solidified the alliance with them. Since then, the Spriton remained loyal to the skeksis, where they provided them with tithes and banquets whenever they visited. Like most clans, some Spritons were sent to the Castle of the Crystal to become guards. In the book series, along with the Stonewood, they made the majority of the skeksis’ armies and guards at the Castle of the Crystal. However, their loyalty was eventually driven by fear as evident by Maudra Mera. In both the TV and book series, she remained stubborn about joining the resistance fearing the safety of her own clan. Eventually she decides to join the Spriton in the fight against the skeksis.

Spritons generally were respectful and kind to any visitors who visited Sami Thicket and neighboring villages. They valued keeping face and held the belief they had good trading relationships with other clans. They did have their fair share of rivalries, though. The most well known of these were with their woodland neighbors the Stonewood. Depending on the media, the severity of their rivalry varied. In the timeline established in Age of Resistance, it didn’t extend outside of name-calling and rumormongering. The book series, however, had the two clans constantly feuding over territory within the Endless Forest. Despite all of this, the Spriton shared the same folklore with them including the heroic Jarra-Jen and the villainous Hunter.

They were the only neighbors of the Drenchen which they had semi-regular contact with. On the surface, the two had a friendly neighboring relationship but looking past this lied a steadily growing tension. This hit a crescendo in the book series as, after Stonewood’s defeat and supposed annihilation, the Drenchen took up arms to fight the skeksis themselves. To get to the castle, they would have to go through the Spriton which were still loyal to the skeksis. Fueled by fear that they too would end up like Stonewood, the Spriton expected to fight the Drenchen. Thankfully, Naia and her friends were able to defuse the situation from becoming a civil war and managed to get the two clans to join the resistance.

Like other clans, the Spriton had their own stereotypes from outsiders. While the Spriton thought of themselves as humble and more productive of the seven clans, others found them overly obedient and old fashioned. At least in the book series timeline, the Spriton were believed to be territorial as well as aggressive and combative. Some outsiders referred Spritons as “grasslings”.

Notable Spriton Members

Kylan: A songteller who lived during the late Age of Division. He accompanied the Drenchen Naia who wanted to find Rian and exchange him for the freedom of her brother. He would then help the gelfling resistance by helping the other clans light the fires of resistance. Interestingly, Kylan is half Spriton from his mother side: his dad was from Stonewood.

Maudra Mera the Dream Stitcher: Maudra Mera was the Spriton Maudra during the late Age of Division. She loved the skeksis and much as she feared them and would do anything to keep her clan safe, even if it meant siding with the lords who were draining gelfling. She was shrewd and traditional.

Tolyn: A Spriton who served as a guard at the Castle of the Crystal. When an uprising was being formed after the gelfling learned the truth, Tolyn decided to tell the lords about this supposed traitorous behavior. It backfired on him completely as he was drained of his essence along with most of the castle guards.

Carn: Also known as Elder Carn or Maudra Carn. She lived during the late Age of Harmony and the early Age of Division. During the Makrak raids, she agreed to form an alliance with the skeksis for their protection, an alliance that would nearly last a thousand years.

Thall: Daughter of Carn. A lover of the forest she lived near by, she was the first gelfling to encounter urSu the Master. She, urSu, and Raunip found a way to help the Makraks find their way back underground and stopped their destructive raids.

Veara: A healer from a Spriton village. She tried helping Barfinnious and Hup with a beast that had been attacking her village, but was snatched by it instead. Veara was able to leave a trail of herbs to the cave where the beast lied in hopes the two could put a stop to it.

Vortina: A Spriton farmer from a village outside of Sami Thicket. Vortina tried to defend her farm when a beast attacked it but was hurt in the process. Her wounds were mended by the village's healer Veara.

Mimi: The daughter of Maudra Mera.

Lun: In Shadows of the Dark Crystal, he was seen helping roast cherry-squashes in preparation for the arrival of the skeksis lords. In Flames of the Dark Crystal, he became a scout for Maudra Mera to keep track of any Drenchen soldiers.

Phaedra: A Spriton who lived in Sami Thicket. She was the village’s sandal-stitcher.

Remi: A childling who lived in Sami Thicket. He was in charge of ringing the hour bell.

Gereni: Gereni was a scout who accompanied Lun to look out for Drenchen soldiers.

[Sources: Song of the Seven Gelfling Clans, the official Dark Crystal website, Shadows of the Dark Crystal, Song of the Dark Crystal, Flames of the Dark Crystal, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, the Dark Crystal, The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance: An Epic Return To Thra, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance: The Ballad of Hup & Barfinnious, Author Quest: The Gelfling Gathering, Creation Myths, Heroes of the Resistance , the Dark Crystal Bestiary]

#the dark crystal #gelfling #spriton #all about the seven clans #dark crystal #my posts

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calamity-bean · 4 years ago

Photo

Wanted a better look at the embellishment on Yvon’s jacket, so I took some caps! Some general observations:

The jacket is basically in the cut of a tunic, falling to about midthigh and with the left breast wrapping over the right so that the sides of the lower skirt-like part overlaps.

Symmetrical decorative patterns are found around the collar (meeting in a shallow vee over his upper back and gently tapering in front to form lapel shapes that terminate around the waist, covered by his belt) and also around the sleeve cuffs.

The prevailing motifs seen in these designs differ between collar and cuffs. The ones around the collar seem abstract: curving linear and geometric patterns. The cuffs, however, share the curving line style but are more representative, depicting floral/botanical elements.

I had initially wondered whether some of the round/raised bits might be beads rather than thread. I found some real close-up shots in which you can see the stitching, though, and it looks like the bits I thought might be beads are just loops or whorls of thread, so I think I can confirm that it’s all thread embroidery.

I’m putting the rest of this under a cut because it’s quite long, but: basically, I was interested in the style of decoration on his jacket, particularly the floral aspects, and attempted to do some historical research. I honestly was not as successful as I would’ve liked, and this post has actually been sitting in my drafts for almost two weeks now because I kind of got stuck. But on reflection, I still do want to share the screenshots as references, my observations, and at least the gist of what I looked into and what I found.

So! Under the cut: rambles about what interested me and what info I was looking for, links to the work of modern Ojibwe and Métis artists, and also a brief note on Yvon’s rifle strap, which I think is quite interesting as well!

Basically, when I was initially collecting the above images, my interest was particularly piqued by the floral decorations on the cuffs. The show identifies Yvon as Anishinaabe, and Zahn / Nat Geo have identified him specifically as Ojibwe, and I had a vague memory of reading at some point that Ojibwe art is particularly associated with floral designs. Floral designs not being solely unique to Ojibwe art among indigenous arts, and Ojibwe designs not being solely limited to floral ones, but a strong association nonetheless. I think most famously this takes the form of colorful, intricate embroidery with tiny glass beads:

(image source: Native American Artist-in-Residence: Jessica Gokey)

This is often done on black velvet or, as in the case of some of Gokey’s work that I saw, on black broadcloath, which I would say is probably about the same type of fabric Yvon’s jacket is made of — a plain, dense, sturdy wool. Although my understanding is that Ojibwe didn’t begin using colored glass beads of this sort until they acquired them via trade with Europeans in about the 19th century, beads made of other materials would, of course, still have been available in Yvon’s time, and I was still curious about whether the designs themselves on his jacket accurately reflect authentic patterns and motifs used by Ojibwe people. What was clothing and decoration like among Ojibwe and Anishinaabe people in the 17th century? What styles and materials were used? Are the elements in Yvon’s embroidery more generic, or are they recognizably specific in style to his culture, etc.?

And so I began with the Wiki-ing and the Google Scholaring and the skimming of articles. Unfortunately, a lot of the most promising-looking sources were only available as printed books (some of them quite expensive, too), so I didn’t have access to them, but from the articles I was able to browse, I did learn some relevant things. I found sources saying that before glass beadwork, Ojibwe decoration did use other types of beads and also used embroidery, which tracks with what we see on Yvon. I found a number of sources saying that floral motifs specifically were introduced to people of the Northeastern Woodlands in the 17th century via contact with Europeans, particularly nuns, who brought with them their floral embroidered fabrics and their floral folk arts.

However...

Although there were plenty of mentions of Ojibwe beadwork and floral designs, and a good number of more modern examples, I had difficulty finding in-depth information that discussed it specifically in the context of Barkskins’s time period (or prior to European contact, either). Sources focusing on the art in later time periods might still be relevant to what Ojibwe decorative arts were like in the 17th century, but I just don’t know enough to know. The example images I found were of beadwork from the 19th century or later, and even then, they were buried in a slew of Pinterest results that I really don’t consider reputable sources, because sure, they might be legit, but they might also be completely mislabeled.

In general, I felt less than confident about what my searches turned up. This is a topic I know little about, have no personal or academic experience with (not being Ojibwe and not having formally studied anything relevant to this), and I’m wary of misinformation here because I know that indigenous people have spoken about seeing biased, simplified, and outright inaccurate info presented even by sources that should seem credible, like museums. Not to mention conflicting info. Remember I mentioned I read about floral designs being introduced (or at least popularized) by European art? And yet I also saw other sources rejecting this idea that Ojibwe floral motifs have their roots in colonizers’ art rather than simply in drawing their own inspiration from nature. In general, I just didn’t feel confident that I had the insight or education necessary to evaluate my sources or synthesize conflicting info, and my brief, superficial research didn’t seem reputable or interesting enough to shed any particular light on Yvon’s clothing. So I basically put this post aside.

(image source: Native American Artist-in-Residence: Sarah Agaton Howes)

But ultimately, I still want to highlight Yvon’s embroidery, even if only from an aesthetic, costume-detail perspective, and I also want to share some of the lovely videos showing the work of modern Ojibwe artists I came across while I was looking all of this up! Here’s another link to this video featuring the work of Jessica Gokey, which I inserted near the top, and here’s one in which Greg Bellanger discusses some of the history and process of his art. In this interview, Sarah Agaton Howes brings up the idea of Ojibwe floral designs as a historical means of teaching about medicines and preserving that cultural knowledge, especially in times when passing down such knowledge was suppressed. I thought that was very interesting and am kicking myself because I did actually look briefly at a thesis extract on Ojibwe botanical/medicinal knowledge, but now I can’t find it again. I also enjoyed this shorter video with Howes as well. And this video featuring the work of Delina White gives us some examples of these floral designs primarily as embroidered thread, like on Yvon’s clothing, rather than as beadwork:

(image source: Delina White)

The final video I’ll link is this one, which is about Métis floral beadwork rather than Ojibwe. I don’t know how similar/different the two styles are (nowadays or historically), but since Métis share roots with Ojibwe and Anishinaabe people, and since Métis culture developed out of the setting, cultural interactions, and approximate time period of Barkskins, I thought it still relevant enough to rec here. Not to mention that it’s just pretty and I wanna rec it. All of these videos offer a lot of interesting information and perspective on the craft itself as well as on the history and tradition.

Before I go… One little costume detail I do feel reasonably confident offering my own speculation on is that the decoration on Yvon’s rifle strap appears to be quillwork — porcupine quills dyed and shaped into designs. I could be wrong, but the texture, colors, and pattern look very similar to the examples I’ve seen, and it’s an art form that would certainly have been established, culturally relevant, and available to him in this time period. So that’s the tiny bit of original input I’ll contribute to this post!

In general, I think the whole Barkskins team — costume design very much included — has shown that they put a tremendous amount of research and thought into the design and construction of this show. I’m sure Yvon and his costume were no exception. And I love the overall look!

#barkskins #yvon #zahn mcclarnon #barkskins meta #i heard y'all wanted more yvon meta! so i finished this up #op #history #costume

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thatsonemorbidcorvid · 4 years ago

Text

Arina and Nina used to only meet once a week - at activities organised for the care home where Nina lived. Now, Arina is applying to become Nina's guardian, giving the 27-year-old hope she might finally be able to leave the institution where she has lived her entire adult life.

For the past few months Nina Torgashova has been able to enjoy an independence that had always been out of reach for her - shopping, cooking and washing her own clothes.

Things that would be every-day life experiences for most 27-year-olds.

But not for Nina, who has always lived in institutions, and moved when she was 18 to what, in Russia, is called a psycho-neurological care home. When the pandemic hit, she was able to savour life outside the home, with a volunteer, Arina Muratova.

Nina recalls the moment she found out she was leaving.

"I never thought anyone would take me. I had thought: "Oh no, I am going to be stuck in the care home."

It was April 2020 and the Covid-19 pandemic forced Moscow into lockdown. As visits to Nina's institution were stopped, charities lobbied for volunteers to be allowed to take responsibility for some of the residents until they could start up again.

Arina, a market research expert who loves nail art and embroidery, offered to look after Nina.

But when the 27-year-old got a taste for the freedom she'd never had, she decided she didn't want to go back.

Her 31-year-old friend was faced with a life-changing decision.

Arina has been involved in voluntary work for a decade - starting with helping children with learning difficulties and their families. She then became involved in adult care, which is when she met Nina through a Russian charity called Life Route. The charity organises trips and classes for the residents of some Russian psycho-neurological care homes (known as PNIs).

Arina started volunteering in PNI 22 - where Nina was living with hundreds of other residents - about four years ago. The care home looks after adults with a wide range of disorders, thought to relate to both cognitive disabilities and mental illness of varying severity.

Arina and Nina got to know each other through the charity Life Route which organises camps for the care home residents

Nina's diagnosis remains confidential to everyone except her care home director. This is usually the case for those residents the state judges are unable to live independently. So neither she nor Arina know why she is in the home, but Arina is surprised that she is.

Although Nina struggles with literacy and maths, Arina says she is very capable.

"She is such a quick learner and is well-adapted in everyday living," she says.

Nina was admitted to a home for disabled children when she was very young, before transferring to the PNI at 18. It is not clear whether she was taken to the children's home by her parents or was forcibly removed from their care.

She says they visited her there once, but she was frightened and hid under the bed.

"They were drunks. I was afraid. They stank of alcohol," she says.

Arina says Nina always stood out during her visits with Life Route, taking an active role in the activities and trips organised by the charity

"Nina was a very active person at her care home," says Arina. "She took part in various creative activities: amateur dramatics, arts and crafts workshops. She took part in sporting competitions, too: she played darts, she played football. Football was something she really missed after leaving the home."

When the lockdown last spring made these visits impossible, Arina suggested Zoom calls with the residents instead. But from the start is was clear this wasn't going to work - the home's internet simply wasn't strong enough. Other charities helping other care homes in Moscow and St Petersburg were facing similar problem

So these charities pressured the authorities to allow some care home residents to be released for the lockdown.

"It was all arranged in a day, and the next day the person was out. I cannot imagine anything like this before the pandemic," says Life Route's director Ivan Rozhansky.

Nevertheless Arina admits she was nervous when she made the initial decision to look after Nina. She was counting on Nina's relative independence, given she needed to work from home.

"There was a certain calculation in taking Nina. I had a lot of work to do, even during the lockdown. I realised I had to live with someone who'd be able to occupy themselves - at least some the time. With Nina it was clear that I'd be able to say: 'Now I have to work for three hours but afterwards we can make lunch together!'"

But Nina's move into the flat the charity had given the pair to live in during lockdown did get off to a slightly rocky start.

"She had very few possessions with her, just a small rucksack. She looked lost. While I was signing papers brought by the care worker, she walked around the flat. She didn't look especially overjoyed, and I had been counting on that.

"When I saw Nina looking so lost, I wondered if this had been a good idea. It's one thing to ask a person in a text if they want to move, but it's quite different to actually move them."

But not long afterwards, Arina shared a selfie with the other volunteers of herself with a grinning Nina, arms raised in joy.

Not only did Nina start shopping for food and cooking for herself, Arina arranged for her to have a maths tutor - important now she was buying things on her own.

"It's not that Nina doesn't understand things. She just never needed maths before," Arina says.

Arina herself began helping Nina with her literacy - she could read and write, but slowly and with difficulty.

"I need to be able to read and write," says Nina. "To be able to cook for myself, to go to work. I do want to have a job.

"I could make and sell friendship bracelets. I asked Arina: 'Do you know anyone who might want one?' She asked her mum, her mum was quite keen. I said: 'I will sort this!' Her mum picked the colours, Arina showed me a photo [of the colours], and I started making it."

Arina says she wanted to make sure she gave Nina responsibility for herself, rather than always taking charge, even if this did not always go to plan.

She cites the example of Nina wanting to learn to draw. Arina found another volunteer who could teach her over Zoom, and explained to Nina that she should make sure she joined the lessons. But after a while she discovered Nina had been missing some sessions.

"I don't want to chase another grown-up and pester them," says Arina. "I felt this was the kind of responsibility Nina could sustain, and we had conflicts around it."

But on another occasion Arina wanted to be more involved in Nina's life than regulations allowed.

Nina had complained of a terrible stomach ache and was admitted to hospital for several days of tests. Arina was not allowed to stay with her because she was not a relative or guardian.

"Pleas, send Nina some reassuring messages," she texted to the volunteer group chat. "Poor thing's terrified, she is having a third blood test and is scared."

Thankfully there was nothing seriously wrong.

As the Moscow lockdown eased in June, the Life Route charity was faced with a challenge.

"It became obvious that those people our foundation took to the assisted living flats for the duration of the quarantine did not want to go back to the PNI," says Ivan Rozhansky, the charity's director.

These institutions have been a focus of concern for some time.

In early 2019, Russia's deputy prime minister Tatiana Golikova ordered an inspection of living conditions in 192 psycho-neurological care homes. A consumer watchdog, Rospotrebnadzor, discovered violations of health and safety and other regulations in around 80% of them.

In January of this year Russia's Ministry of Labour introduced a number of structural changes to the provision of care for those in PNIs, including a move to help social workers provide assistance for some people in private homes rather than in state institutions.

"Obviously, all these changes will not be realised immediately on January 1, 2021, but step-by-step the situation will be changing," Golikova said.

Maria Sisneva from the charity Stop PNI says the quality of life in Russian care homes is poor.

"At a PNI you will have 500-1,000 people living in close quarters, but with very different levels of ability, and different backgrounds, different needs. They live in extremely cramped conditions, at best they'd be two to a small room, often in corridors, in spaces similar to military barracks, isolated from the outside world. They barely have any real social experience."

The director of PNI 22, where Nina was living, is clear about the benefits of care homes, however.

"The main advantage of psycho-neurological homes is security," says Anton Kliuchev. "The residents are looked after by professionals, who know exactly how to help and support them, how to talk to them, how to take care of them."

Care homes for people with specialist needs and mental illness exist all over the world. But from the mid-20th Century in the US and some European countries, a process of deinstitutionalisation started, aimed at replacing long-stay closed facilities with care within the community. Yet, in Russia care homes are still the predominant model.

According to Russian government statistics, as of February 2020 there were more than 150,000 people living in PNIs.

Unlike many countries, Russia's assisted living provision is only in its infancy. National charities believe that if this alternative system were more established, many care home residents could leave their institutions.

"Right now the system in Russia is such that if a person is believed to be insufficiently independent by the state, there is nowhere for them to go apart from a PNI, or [for those with physical disabilities] an invalids' home," says Sisneva.

Life Route began to discuss how the assisted living arrangement could be made permanent for the nine people they rehoused during lockdown. The charity rented four apartments, including one for Nina to share with fellow care home residents Sergey and Ivan. Arina moved back to her own apartment, and began instead to spend one night a week at Nina's new accommodation on rotation with other volunteers.

But there was another hurdle.

The PNI can only release their residents' care permanently to Life Route if those people have what is termed "legal capacity" - in other words, the state considers them able to function independently in theory, even if in practice they are in a care home.

Nina does not have legal capacity - all decisions about her life are made for her by the director of her PNI. As Nina is so functionally able, it is not clear why this is, though experts say it can be simply a foible of the system. If, like Nina, someone has arrived from previous care such as a children's home, and has never been properly assessed, their legal status might never be challenged.

So Arina has applied to become Nina's guardian.

"One day it just sort of clicked. And I realised I had to do it."

If her request is granted, Arina will become responsible for every element of Nina's life - financial, practical, emotional and medical. As her guardian the PNI will finally share Nina's diagnosis with her.

The process won't be straightforward, she says, involving extensive financial, physical and psychological check-ups on Arina.

"Emotionally [the decision] wasn't easy either," says Arina. "But once I took Nina out of the care home, she became my responsibility."

This all-consuming obligation might explain why there are so few people who volunteer to become legal guardians in Russia.

While Arina waits to be granted Nina's guardianship, the PNI could demand that Nina - whose state benefits they are currently losing out on - return to them at any time.

Meanwhile, Arina says she is still working out the exact role she plays in Nina's life.

"I can never be Nina's mum. I will never be able to give her the childhood she deserved."

But she accepts that Nina sees her as much more than a friend. Nina expects her presence on all important errands: to the dentist, to get her ears pierced, to get registered at the local GP.

And these new responsibilities have come at a time when life has been tough for Arina in other ways.

"It wasn't just Nina who went through a big emotional change. I went through a lot emotionally, too - during this time my salary was cut; I have had complicated developments in my personal life."

But Arina says all this has brought them closer together.

"Once you have gone through all these experiences [alongside another person], it is hard to backpedal.

"I won't say I'm not anxious about it. I'm incredibly anxious. And there are certain people around me who freak me out even more. They keep asking me. 'Have you thought it through? It's for life!'

"I calm myself down by saying that we have a plan."

That plan is to work towards eventually restoring Nina's full legal capacity.

Nina needs to be deemed independent by the state if she ever wants to live alone or get a job.

Other than Arina, she has one other close relationship - with a man called Sasha, who she met in PNI 22, and who is now in assisted living in a different apartment. Nina regularly meets up with Sasha in the city, and is clearly fond of him. Arina is aware that Nina may want to eventually marry and she would need legal capacity for that too.

So Arina hopes Nina's tutoring will give her the option to be assessed at some point.

"Examiners look closely at a person's reading, writing and counting abilities," Arina has heard.

The process is not publicly available but anecdotal accounts suggest it can include everything from being expected to dance or sing a song, or even know the price of a loaf of bread.

Arina says they won't apply for Nina to take this test until she is as prepared as she can be.

In the meantime, Arina is involved in all the important moments of Nina's life.

"Maybe I'm just the type of person that is not afraid of responsibility. It is an unexpected - but actually a good thing - that has happened to me.

"I love her. There's not much to it. I love her very much."

My Friend from a Care Home is available to watch now on YouTube.

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breakingsomething · 4 years ago

Text

Fall Crickets - Part One

Basic summary: What would you do if you had a year left to live? This is the question that Mark and Ethan's newest creations are asking themselves after they discover the catch in their creation - they were given an expiration date.

Content warnings: discussions of car accidents and death, murder, violence, and cannibalism mentions, manipulation

[365:00:00:00]

In the beginning, they know three things. The clock, the channel, and each other.

The two of them are born with closed eyes, hands gripping the others tightly, knees already weak and heads spinning. The first thing the older entity sees when they blink in the light is pale blue eyes and white skin and a silky black suit, spotless and expensive. Parted pink lips and brown, wavy hair falling into a thin face. Haunting, in a sense. From the way they stare at them, the entity could see the other thinks the same of them.

"Who are you?" croaks the being in black. Their voice is hoarse, their Adam's apple bobbing in their throat. "I… head, I -"

Their legs give out, and the other entity follows immediately, grateful to have something to hold onto. Neither being has let go of the others hands. In fact, their grips have tightened, and they seem to drink each other in desperately, shivering with cold and fear.

"I do not… remember much of anything," murmurs the first entity. They look down at their hands; darker than the black being's, and their sleeves are a crisp white instead. A glance at their chest, their legs, tells them they're wearing a fine snowy suit with a vest and tie to match. They can feel something in the pockets. "Who are we, and... why?"

It's then that they glance around themselves. They seem to be in a rather fancy looking room, with white walls and pale cream curtains covering a window that shines through with light. A set of glossy black armchairs sit in front of it, right next to the two entities, and a white rug is sprawled out across the dark wood floor. The two of them turn in unison, and catch sight of the cameras; tall and complex, with mics and lights set up like something is being filmed. On the floor sits a laptop that's open to a page already. The white suited entity glances at the black one, and notices two more things.

"Your suit," they say, and note how their voice is smooth and deep, more certain than the other's. "You have the word "Unus" imprinted on the front. And you… you have a timer above your head."

The other entity's hands immediately release theirs and fly to their chest, running over the stitched embroidery, and then above their head, where the timer floats perfectly above them. Their pale hands pass through the numbers, the black numbers that read "364:23:57:32." Days, hours, minutes, seconds. As they watch, the numbers tick, tick, tick downwards. 31. 30. 29. 28.

"Annus," whispers the black entity. They lower their hands slowly and tap the black entity's chest, drawing attention to the inscription on their suit. "And you have a timer too. White. It says -"

"364:23:57:10," they chorus together. Their voices, so different, seem to fit together. Like they were made to sing one song. Blue eyes sparkle in the white entity's vision. They can't look away from them.

It takes a moment for them to draw away from each other and crawl unprofessionally over to the open laptop on the ground. They're greeted by a tab entitled "YouTube - Unus Annus." The names from their suits, say their eyes when they glance at each other. The header of the page is decorated with a black and white spiral, and there is only one video. Annus immediately recognizes Unus, in their black suit and white skin and waves of dark hair. But who… Oh. This other entity must be themself. Tan and bold, less skinny and small than Unus, black hair swept back from dark eyes. They're beautiful. A hand has found theirs, and they squeeze it without even thinking.

"Us?" Annus says softly, puzzled. They take a sharp intake of breath. "That is us, I think, Unus. Looks like us."

Unus shifts almost uncomfortably. "Do we watch? Why do I remember nothing of who we are or how we got here?"

Annus shakes their head. "Neither do I."

It's then that someone appears in the open doorway. A slim person who is also in a suit, this one mostly black with a white shirt and red tie, with a mess of wavy hair half pulled into a small bun. Tan skin and red-blue eyes, black tattoos etched into their skin. Annus squints. They look almost… like themself.

"Good morning," says the person in the doorway, a soft smile gracing their lips. "I take it you will be our newest -" Their gaze falls on Unus, and their warmth dims. "You do not look like us."

Unus blinks in confusion, struggling to get to their feet while still holding Annus's hand. Annus follows, and they stand before the tattooed person almost awkwardly. Unus clears their throat. "Pardon our… intrusion, my friend. We are not quite sure how we arrived here, and we seem to have found -"

"Yes, let me guess," the tattooed one starts, holding up a jewelry coated hand to stop them. "A video on Mark's channel, featuring yourselves. I am… not sure what the smaller one of you is doing here, but we shall welcome you all the same. Now, let us see your video, so I may get a better idea of what you are and what you do."

The entities step back as the other one comes forward. Annus opens their mouth to speak. "May I ask what we should call you? I believe our names are Unus and Annus. They seem to fit right."

The tattooed one pauses. "Unus and Annus," they murmur, tapping their chin. "Well, I go by many names, in many languages from many cultures. I believe the two of you may wish to know me as Tenebris." They extend a hand to shake. Unus and Annus use the hands they aren't holding the others with to shake back, silent. "At your service. Now, let us see this video��"

Tenebris picks the laptop gently off the floor, carrying it to one of the black armchairs that the entities spawned next to. Already they're frowning. "This does not make sense," they murmur, thick eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "This is not the correct channel. Were you made as a joke, like so many of them?" They suddenly look up as if remembering Unus and Annus are there, then pats the seat beside them. "Come, sit. This is very important for the two of you."

They do so. Tenebris is flicking through the channel, mumbling to themself, then taking a deep sigh. "Oh, dear. It looks as though the two of you are involved in Mark's latest project, which he is seemingly doing with another man, his friend Ethan - hence you." They look Unus right in the eyes. Something sad dances in them. "Oh, dear."

"Who is Mark?" Annus pipes up. Their chest feels strangely tight. "What project? Explain, why are we here?"

Tenebris blinks, their eyes falling back down to the screen. They look exhausted, like they haven't slept in weeks. Instead of answering, or maybe as an answer, they read.

""What would you do if you only had a year left to live?"" they begin, voice softer now, lighter. ""Would you squander the time you had left? Or would you make every second count?""

Their eyes flutter closed. ""Welcome to Unus Annus.""

Unus squeezes Annus's hand. They don't turn to look at them.

""In exactly 365 days,"" Tenebris continues, though how they're reading with their eyes closed is beyond the two entities. ""This channel will be deleted along with all the daily uploads accumulated since then. Nothing will be saved. Nothing will be reuploaded. This is your one chance to join us at the onset of our adventure. To be there from the start. To make every second count. Subscribe now and relish what little time we have left or have the choice made for you as we disappear from existence forever. But remember… everything has an end."" They pause, and open their eyes. ""Even you.""

Annus can't breathe. They don't lower their gaze, however, staring straight ahead with a steely glint in their eyes. Unus's grip on their hand loosens, just slightly.

"Mark and his friend," Tenebris says sharply, something dark in their voice, something furious. "Have given the two of you a death sentence."

[364:15:22:18]

They feel far calmer about this than they should.

Tenebris, to their credit, tries. They offer to introduce the entities to "the others" - more poor souls created by this same Mark person. Annus asks if they also are ticking time bombs, given expiration dates for which to go off. Tenebris sadly murmurs a no. Annus then nods, and politely asks for them and Unus to be left alone until they can adjust themselves. Tenebris leaves them, although their gaze seems to linger on the two of them as they go.

Now they're sitting on a roof. Neither is quite sure how they got here - they don't remember walking upstairs, but the times above their heads are the same, so they must have arrived quickly - but it doesn't matter, because they're both together. From here, the world is beautiful. They seem to have spawned in some sort of mansion, with a pool and garden and golf course and even an enormous chessboard down below, somewhere in the middle of the mountains. Around them, all they see is fog and rock and trees and sky and stars. Somewhere far off, lights dance. A city. Annus dimly wonders if Mark and Ethan, their reckless creators, are out there. They hear fall crickets sing loudly, searching for something in the dark.

"A year," Unus says aloud. Their voice is high, yet stable. Their eyes are trained on the far off lights. Maybe thinking the same thing as Annus. "We have a year to live, Annus."

"Mhm," the white entity agrees, trailing their fingers across the rooftop material. They're not quite sure when they let go of Unus's hand.

Unus looks at them. Something sparkles in their gaze. "A year is a long time," they say loudly, confidently. "A whole year. That is - that is such a long time, my friend! A whole year! What do you think of that, Annus? A year to do whatever we want!"

Annus takes a moment. One year. They still have so much time, don't they? So much time. What is there to worry about? 365 days is a great many days to spend being alive.

"A year," they nod back, and a grin cracks their face. "We have plenty of time. No need to start mourning now."

Unus's face lights up at Annus's agreement, and the two of them bask in the warmth for a moment. Because of course a year is such a long time. Why spend the days worrying? They should live instead.

Annus takes Unus's hand and they watch the stars.

[360:20:59:45]

They start to learn things.

First of all. Mark and Ethan, true to their promise, upload daily on the channel. Unus and Annus watch every video. It helps for them to know what their creators are up to, to know if they'll do anything else stupid that will affect the two of them. But no, it seems they're simply having a lot of fun - in the first few days alone, they cook a meal with the most unsavory of appliances, pour warm water in their nostrils, attempt to eat a great deal of hot dogs all at once, and create a homemade sensory deprivation tank. In all honesty, this amuses Unus more than anything. "Let them have their fun," they tell Annus one day, a playful grin on their face. "They have their year, we have ours. We do not need to concern ourselves with their ridiculous antics all the time!"

It does bother them that Mark and Ethan own suits identical to theirs, and seem to enjoy pretending to be them in certain videos. They would appear in front of a black and white spiral, talking seriously about time running out and video subscriptions - something Unus and Annus find ridiculous. "They wish they were us," is all Annus says to Unus about it. "Foolish idiots."

The two of them are also, gradually, introduced to the rest of Mark's creations. After a couple days of continuing to be introduced to more and more, Unus starts realizing why Tenebris was so nonchalant about them showing up. Mark is reckless, it seems. Very, very much so.

One of Mark's older creations, a man named Caleb, who everyone apparently calls "Silver" or "Argentum" as a nickname, tells them a bit more. "Mark has always been a little uncaring about who or what he creates," he says to them as they walk through the gardens, admiring the flowers that were allegedly planted entirely by the man known as the Host, who is blind and mutters narrations under his breath as he hurries around, dropping papers behind him. Annus picked up one of his sheets one day and refused to tell Unus what was on it, eyes blown wide. The others are very strange. "However, he doesn't know he has the power of creation, so we give him the benefit of the doubt."

Annus looks up sharply, startling Unus, who had been lost in thought staring at the flowers. "He does not know? How?"

Argentum sighs, tapping his hands on his dark blue jean pockets. Unus, ever unable to concentrate, stares at a red stain on the man's green plaid shirt as he talks. "A long, long fuckin' time ago, shit happened with Mx Dark - who you know as Tenebris, I believe - and Wilford. I don't know if you've met him - pink themed, mustache, bow tie and suspenders?"

Unus and Annus nod. Wilford was odd - calling Annus "Damien," and asking if Unus was there to serve them ice cream. Argentum nods with them, seemingly relieved he has one less thing to explain. "Right, well. They're the only two here who technically weren't created by Mark. A long time ago, like a hundred years or so, they were friends with some guy who was fucked up and did fucked up shit or something like that. He died over and over again, but always came back. Dark and Wilford chased him for years as the guy bounced from host to host… but now we're here. He's clung to Mark as a host and seemingly gave him creation powers. Mark isn't aware." Argentum shrugs at the entity's awestruck looks. "That's all I know. But now, whenever Mark makes Youtube videos that feature characters - and trust me, there's a lot of them - another one of us appears."

Unus has a great deal of questions about that. But Annus speaks first. "Then how did Unus get here?" they ask, gently knocking against the black entity's shoulder. "Does this Ethan have the same powers?"

Argentum looks uncomfortable. They walk slowly over to the wall that looks down on the forest below, extending into the mountains, and leans against it. "I dunno," he mutters, adjusting his glasses on his face. "Dark doesn't know either, but they don't seem too concerned, so it should be fine."

Unus clicks their tongue. "Weird," they whisper, then looks to Annus and giggles. But Annus isn't looking back. They're staring right at Argentum, and their eyes are dark as they bore into the back of the man's head.

"This man," they say, and Unus notices them clenching their fists tightly, then loosening them, then tightening them again. "This man who is possessing Mark, who's giving him these strange powers - how old is he?"

Argentum turns and shrugs, glancing at the leather strapped watch around his wrist. "'Bout a hundred or so. He lived in this very house, once, this mansion where we all live now. Achieved immortality or something and is off bothering humans like the bastard he is. We try to stay out his way."

Annus breathes unsteadily for a moment. Unus, unsure of what's wrong, takes their friend's hand. Annus jumps, then looks down. Unus tries to smile and look reassuring. The older entity seems to sag.

"Alright," they say, like nothing had happened. "Thank you, Argentum. It was pleasant talking to you."

Argentum looks up, puzzled. "But aren't you going to see the rest...of the... garden."

He's alone by the time his eyes have left the clock.

[325:09:17:16]

The entities, they discover, are not bound to the House like they had thought they were.

"Of course you can go outside of here," says seventeen year old Ayano, a small Japanese-Korean girl who is also apparently one of Mark's. "None of us particularly have to stay here, except for the Attorney. They stay in the mirror on the bottom floor."

Unus doesn't question that. They don't question much of anything anymore. "I was not aware that we could leave," they admit sheepishly, shrugging in a motion that they learned from Erik, the socially anxious boy with the yellow handkerchief who had run from the entities on their first meeting. They had made only a little progress since then. "Do you often go visit the humans down the mountain?"

Ayano tilts her head, and Unus unconsciously follows the motion. This makes the girl smirk slightly, and she brushes a scruffy red fringe out her eyes and draws her knees to her chest on the kitchen sideboard where she's sitting. "I'm homeschooled, so I have no reason to. Or, if Edward asks you, I have no reason to." Her brown eyes glint mischievously, and she lowers her voice. "I like to go check out the American boys at the nearby school."

Annus snorts. Unus ignores them. "Right, right... good to know. Thank you, Ayano. We may go down soon."

Ayano twirls her hand and says nothing. Unus and Annus leave the room, barely dodging one of the four coloured robots with the G's on their chests that often walk the house. Annus speaks before Unus can. "So," they start, grinning in the same way Ayano had. The mischief in their head shines through their eyes. "Do you want to go visit some humans?"

[325:08:53:00]

Tenebris's manor, it turns out, isn't too far up the mountain from the city below. In fact, given Unus and Annus's strange ability to seemingly teleport occasionally without meaning to, they get down pretty quick. It's only once they start coming across more humans, however, that things begin to feel different.

They're on a large street now, surrounded by shops and other roads and a bike rack and bins and what looked like a courthouse not far off and people, lots and lots of them, surrounding them completely. Annus can't help but feel curious. Humans, without timers on their heads. They wonder how long these people have to live. They wonder if they themselves look like they are near death. If people would act any differently if so.

They jump, however, when they realize Unus is talking. "Annus," they hiss softly, knocking the back of their hand against theirs. Annus notices they also look slightly overwhelmed, paler than usual, gnawing at their bottom lip. "This is weird - do you agree this is weird?"

Annus nods, grateful that they're not the only one having strange thoughts. "I know, right? Because there are so many people around us right now, and we were talking about how unlucky it is that we were created with an expiration date, but honestly? There could be someone here who could die within the next ten minutes. We are lucky we have a year, a whole year, because even though we could have had more, we also could have had so much less and it is beautiful how life works that we -"

"Actually," Unus interrupts, grimacing slightly. "I meant it is weird that no one is questioning the suits. Or the magic floating timers."

Annus deflates slightly. "Seriously? Tenebris literally told us that there is a magic called the Veil which manipulates the senses of humans to believe that we are completely normal. They gave us the rundown on all the different magics just yesterday."

Unus pauses. "Oh," they say, sounding faintly embarrassed. "I was not listening. Apologies."

Annus rolls their eyes. Already they're going back to thinking, and maybe it's bad to have so many philosophical thoughts in their head all at once, especially so early in the day - so they're lucky when Unus interrupts yet again. "So what do we do now? Mark and Ethan do odd things because they have a year left to live. Should we?"

That's a thought Annus had considered. "We do not have to be like them. They have decided to live ridiculously for their last year. It is completely undignified. There is no need for us to lose any respect we may have from Tenebris or the others simply for a bit of… whatever it is that Mark and Ethan get out of being idiots."

Unus, it seems, has stopped listening. Without Annus even noticing, they have slipped into the doorway of a nearby shop and grabbed something before immediately darting out again, falling into quick step beside them. They grin at the disbelieving Annus, proudly holding a bag of pink and white marshmallows in their hands.

"You completely just stole that," Annus says, stunned.

Unus shrugs. "Eh, no one saw. Somehow. This Veil thing really does work wonders. Say, Annus -" They pop open the bag, cramming a marshmallow into their mouth before holding it out to their friend. "Do you think we have magic like Tenebris's or Wilford's? We can sometimes do something close to teleportation, yes, but that is not exactly the kind of magic I -"

Annus holds up their hands, pausing in their tracks. "Hang on. Are we going to completely skip over the part where you stole a bag of marshmallows?"

Unus also stops, widening their eyes in a motion of mock shock. "I did, didn't I! How fantastic! I do wonder if I will be arrested!"

They almost skip ahead, humming to themself, the timer ticking noiselessly above their head.

[301:20:45:01]

To the entities, Mark and Ethan are an embarrassing mockery of humankind, and a childish, disgusting one as well.

"Bugs," Unus grimaces. The two of them aren't even watching the video in which the youtubers ate bugs; they're sitting in one of the dimly lit rooms Tenebris assigned for them, Annus's one, and watching today's video, which is about salsa dancing. But Unus hasn't shut up about the bugs since it happened. "Annus, I cannot get the bugs out my head."

Annus sighs. "They also ate Play-Doh and drank each other's piss, Unus."

"A whole bug head. He ripped it right off."

Annus pauses the video and turns to face Unus seriously. "We get it. They ate bugs. They are gross. Why are you so stuck on the bug thing, anyway?"

Unus leans back in his seat, slumping against the glossy pleather and sighing dramatically. "He tore the bugs whole head right off, Annus. Can you imagine?"

The room is silent for a few moments before Unus's dreamy expression wears off and they open their eyes to meet Annus's unimpressed glare. "What?" they say, throwing up their hands. "I just admire him."

"You are not supposed to admire him," Annus says through gritted teeth. Their shoes are tapping off the floor; they can't seem to stop it. "They are both fools and will likely get themselves killed before the year is up. What is there to admire? Their lack of survival skills?"

Unus bobs their head from side to side, staring at the paused screen. "They have fun. All we do is walk around and talk. The marshmallow stealing I did was the most fun I have had so far."

Annus's room is rather empty. There is a bed they don't use, because sleep is nothing to them, as they've learned, and there are white curtains over a large window, and there is a red rug and black wardrobe and a bedside table with a knife-carved spiral in it. Annus insists they don't care for mortal belongings and that physical objects mean nothing to them. Really, they think they're just scared to own anything, but they won't admit this to Unus. Especially now, when the emptiness seems to stretch, far beyond the room and into Annus's chest, tightening painfully. Something in them aches. The timer above Unus's head ticks, ticks, ticks without sound. Annus wishes there was sound. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"What sort of fun," Annus hisses, dangerously low. "Do you wish to have?"

Unus doesn't pick up on the danger in their voice. "Anything. We are wasting our time like this, Annus."

Annus closes their eyes. "We have all year," they murmur. "We will make the most of it. We have all year."

Unus hums. They say nothing more. Their thoughts are loud, however, and Annus almost drowns in them.

They unpause the video.

[292:17:22:10]

Los Angeles is big. There are lots of places for someone to hide, should they wish to.

Annus never wants to be separate from Unus, they don't. But today they are. It's for their own good. Of course it's for their own good. It's silly to get attached to someone who's going to die, and maybe Unus needs a reminder of that.

It wasn't hard to get Mark's address. And that wasn't even the scary part. No, no, that wasn't the scary part. Annus knows what the scary part will be.

Mark, when Annus sees him, is smaller than they expected.

Not in terms of physical size. Physically, they're identical. No, it's the way Mark carries himself. He raises himself, tall and bold, but Annus sees what he hides behind. Not a lack of confidence. Not an unsureness. It's something more, and they can't quite pin it. But Mark feels small. Annus feels powerful. Annus feels big.

Mark is tired. Annus can feel it. The man is dressed in a pair of joggies and a white hoodie - merch for the channel, which makes Annus's heart rate spike with anger. Mark's hair sticks up at the back, like he's just awoken from sleep at six am. His glasses are crooked. His eyes are brighter than Annus's. Something about that aches.

Mark makes toast. Annus waits for him to see them.

And when Mark turns, when Mark's bright, keen eyes widen, when his mouth falls open and his plate slips from his hand and shatters on the floor next to his bare feet, Annus is ready. Annus is beside Mark before he knows it, a hand on the back of his neck, one hand over his mouth. Annus smiles. They can see the spirals in their black eyes reflected in their creator's glasses.

"Shh, shh," they soothe, pushing Mark's hair back from his face. "Good job. Quiet now, Mark. Quiet."

Time is strange. It flows in one direction at the speed of 24 hours per day, 1440 minutes per day, 86400 seconds per day. Annus is suddenly aware of all of it. They are aware of the over 11,200 days, the 270,000 hours, the 16,00,000 minutes, the 966,080,000 seconds that Mark has been alive. They are suddenly aware of all of it.

Life feels strange in their hands.

[291:11:56:58]

Unus Annus uploads "Mark Punishes Ethan." Unus is very silent as they watch it. Annus is also silent, but for a different reason.

"That was fake, right?" Unus says in a small voice after the video's done. "Ethan edited this one. Mark wouldn't have made him edit his own - he loves Ethan, right? Annus? That was fake, right, Annus?"

"Su-ure," Annus says. Unus bites their lip.

That night, Annus watches Mark hit Ethan over and over again and remembers the feeling of Mark being putty in their hands.

[275:10:49:59]

Annus has paid Mark a few more visits. It is, they find, almost too easy, to inspire bloodlust in a previously stable man. Or was he previously stable? Annus checks Mark's eyes. They can see a past in there. Maybe Annus's work isn't far off from what Mark does to himself anyway.

On their last visit, Mark sits up and grins with a fire in his eyes.

"Clever, clever," he purrs in a voice silkier and darker than his own. "Maybe this year will last well for you yet."

When Annus leaves Mark that day, they're shaken. They track down Argentum and corner him, immediately demanding to know the name of the immortal man who had possessed Mark, the one who'd given him the power of creation as well.

"Well, funny story," Argentum says, sounding slightly nervous with the way Annus has him pinned against the wall. "Funny story, but I believe his name was Mark as well. To tell them apart, we all call immortal Mark "The Actor." Why do you ask? Annus? You don't look well. Annus? Hey, Annus?"

[255:13:15:55]

Unus is many things, but they aren't stupid.

They know Annus is visiting Mark. They just know. Watching Mark's behaviour on the channel change, hearing the blood thump in Annus's veins when their creator appears on screen - they know. They know their friend is lying. And they know they broke their promise, the mutual agreement not to speak with the men who made them.

Therefore, Unus doesn't feel bad appearing in Ethan's house at three am one day.

Ethan is strange up close. Strange, because he's so Unus-like, of course, but there are the slightest differences. Ethan has darker hair, while Unus has found theirs to be lightening. Ethan has pinker skin, while Unus is paler, grayer. Ethan's chest rises and falls as he sleeps, small, whistling breaths escaping through his teeth. Unus's chest is still, most of the time.

Ethan's eyes, when they open, are a more vibrant blue.

"Do not," Unus says immediately. Ethan shuts up. Unus glances around Ethan's cluttered room, clicking their tongue at the piles of clothes and papers and workout equipment strewn across the floor before dragging over a chair, dumping the jacket and bag that was on it to join the rest of the mess. They sit. Ethan has propped himself up on his elbows, staring, eyes wide with shaky fear. Unus likes it. They find it's almost fun to make someone afraid.

"This is a dream," they say. Their head bobs slowly, hand tapping off their knee as if to some unheard rhythm. "You are dreaming, Ethan. I am not here."

A shaky breath leaves Ethan's lips. "Not here."

"Not here," Unus agrees. They drag a hand across Ethan's forehead, smiling softly. "Not here. Are you enjoying your year, Ethan?"

Ethan hums, eyelids fluttering shut. "Mhm. Been making good use of… time, think…"

Unus raises an eyebrow. "Uh huh. Have you noticed a change in Mark lately, Ethan?"

Even as out of it as Ethan now is, he still looks slightly distressed at the question. "Y-yeah. He acts… scary, sometimes. I think it's for a bit, but then he snaps a bit. His eyes change colour. They turned, like, white the other day… I dunno if it was a bit, he didn't say…"

Unus listens. Unus goes home.

[255:11:46:09]

"You lied," is the first thing Unus says when they arrive in Annus's room. "You have been seeing Mark. Manipulating him, even. What is your deal, Mori?"

Annus had been expecting this. They are standing by the open window, staring down at the golf course next to the cliffside below, but they turn when Unus comes in. The death omen is blazing with rage. Their eyes are black and hollow, and something seems to radiate from them, something dark. Annus decides to tread carefully.

"I want to drive him and Ethan apart," they say simply. That's not entirely a lie. "Why does it matter?"

Unus shakes their head in disbelief, momentarily stunned silent. "I - Why? What do you gain from that?"

Annus finds a smirk on their face. "Entertainment!" they exclaim. This is also not a lie. "Look, Unus, Mark and Ethan abandoned us. Created us with an expiration date then left. Why not fuck about with them a bit?"

Unus lowers their arms to their sides. Their black eyes melt back into their normal white sclera and blue irises, and they sigh through their nose loud enough for Annus to hear. "You said so yourself," they say quietly. "We are lucky to have the time we do. Mark and Ethan… this is their last year before death too. We need not ruin it for them."

Annus says nothing. Unus walks over to them and hesitates before taking the other's hand, holding it gently in their own. Both of them are cold.

"Let us live, and let them live," Unus says softly. Their eyes are burning cold. Annus could drown in them. "And let us not waste time."

[234:22:55:01]

"You start with casting on," Bim says loudly, holding up the yarn and knitting needles in his hands. "This is how you turn loose yarn into neat little stitchy stitches that sit oh-so perfectly on your needle. Now -"

"May I ask," Unus interrupts, tapping his own needles together on their lap. "Why do so many of Mark's egos wear suits?"

The sun is bright today. Unus didn't expect to be sitting on a bench in the garden learning to knit with Annus and a few other egos today, but Erik had come to their rooms and asked politely, all shy, and how could one say no? So now they're soaking up the sun, practically sweating in their solid black suit, breathing heavily and swinging their legs back and forth through the warm air. Erik, sitting in the grass with Ayano and the Host (who's at his most undignified that Unus has ever seen, criss cross on a picnic blanket and somehow weaving a daisy chain with bandages over his eyes), flashes Unus a grin and answers for Bim. "He thinks he looks good," he says, voice trembling slightly, which isn't unusual for him. Erik clears his throat and adjusts his collar. "So a lot of us have… interesting outfits. Annus, you got off lightly."

"I can imagine," Annus says dryly. They wipe sweat from their forehead, groaning softly. "I have seen King once or twice around here, although he does not seem very social. One of his squirrels broke into my room the other day and tracked peanut butter all over the floor."

"Is that why you told me to stay away from your room?" Unus says, a small smile splitting their face. "Aw, Annus, you do care. Guys, they care about me!"

Annus flips them off while Erik, Ayano, and Argentum, who is laying in the grass near Annus, laugh. "I actually hate you and I am terribly glad we need only spend a year together," they say curtly, raising their chin. "You are all awful."

"Notice how they go all formal and dramatic when they are trying to be angry," Unus whispers to Ayano, who giggles. Annus rolls their eyes again.

They've only been here a few months, and already, Unus and Annus have become quite close with most of Mark's other creations. Argentum, Ayano and Erik are the most friendly ones - Argentum cooks elaborate, unusual meals for them to try, Erik leaves them little trinkets outside their doors, and Ayano is teaching them both Japanese swordfighting and self defense. The Googles are seen around on occasion. Blue prefers to stay close to Bim or King, often hiding out in the forest, and Red stays out of their way, generally. Yellow and Green are the kindest. Unus and Annus once spent an afternoon with them while Erik repaired them after a fight with Google Blue, the five of them talking for hours. Then there's Ed Edgar, who's constantly high and speaks in proverbs. He doesn't seem to mind having the entities around, but makes for rather circular conversation. The Host is weird and mysterious, which the omens enjoy. The doctor, Edward, acts as a parental figure for Erik and Ayano, and therefore tolerates Unus and Annus. He taught them some medical terminology, just for the fun of it. King prefers to stay in the forest with the squirrels, and Bim is often not home, but when he is he has blood on his sleeves and his too-sharp teeth. Bing, the other android, is athletic and funny and acts as a fitness trainer for the both of them. And the Jim brothers, CJ and RJ, are excitable, noisy and far too in love with the concept of a self destructing channel for their own good. They're teaching Unus and Annus ASL, which is fun. Honestly, the two omens are starting to learn to love it here.

Because of all the people they're sharing a home with, they've had a lot to do. Lots to learn, lots to keep up with - cooking and languages, sports and exercise… and apparently, knitting. This one was Bim's idea, and Unus was pleasantly surprised to see they have a hobby outside of cannibalism. To be honest, the death omen has no clue what they're making, but the air is warm and smells faintly like rain and barbeque and it's fun, not thinking about the clock above their head. It's fun just simply being.

"Anyway," Bim says, sounding slightly irritated from being interrupted. "To cast your yarn, you need to pinch the yarn and make a small loop, leaving a yarn tail. Grab the unattached yarn and bring it up behind the loop -"

"Why do you two have to die?"

This outburst startles everyone, and they all turn to look at Erik, who is red in the face and whose lip is quivering like he's near tears. "Sorry," he mumbles, and it seems he really is near tears, eyes sparkling. He scrubs at them fiercely with his yellow handkerchief. "I just - it's h-hard, loving people and see-seeing them d-die all the - all the time - I c-c-care about you g-guys, and I - and I - and I don't want to l-lose more people -"

The Host is already moving closer to Erik, murmuring soft reassurances into his ear. Ayano is holding him in her arms, a fierce protectiveness in her dark red eyes. Argentum dithers nearby, staring down at the boy sadly. Bim is opening his phone, suddenly silent and refusing to look up. Annus just looks uncomfortable, twisting their hands in their lap. And Unus… Unus feels something heavy sinking in their stomach, something they can't explain. Without even meaning to, they slip off the bench and to their knees next to the crying boy, which startles him enough that he looks up. Unus and Erik stare at each other for a moment. Unus's lips part. Their skin feels like it's burning.

They don't realize they've placed a hand on Erik's shoulder until they're no longer there in the garden.

Their eyes open to the inside of a bus, bright mountain scenery going by the giant windows. It's small and cramped, and seems to somehow be fitting what looks like an entire family inside. Fifteen people and sixteen dogs, Unus counts instantly, all of varying ages and styles. The youngest looks to be about twelve, dressed in white overalls, while the oldest is a cheery looking middle aged man wearing all white and lounging across the seats at the front. Unus spots Erik immediately. Sitting in between two brothers - because these are brothers, of course they are, this is a family - and laughing. He's laughing. Laughing, and wearing a pair of shorts with a tucked in collared shirt, covered in orange flowers. No prosthetics. Not shaky, not near tears. Unus has never seen the young boy as happy as he looks here.

"Pass me the DS, Terik!" Erik crows, grinning as he makes a grab at the device his older brother is holding.

The other boy, pimpled and wearing a baggy yellow hoodie, laughs and holds it away from him. "Fuck off, I'm training Maggie! I just managed to get a new chihuahua and I'm gonna win gold with this gal, don't you think? Look at her! Look at her, don't grab - Larik, will you restrain the orange menace for me, please?"

The boy next to the window, who is short and stout with curly hair and braces, teasingly tugs at Erik's arms. "Give the man some space," he says in a deep voice, grinning. "He's playing his super important game, let's leave him to concentrate on his deeply intense gameplay -"

"Nintendogs is intense gameplay!" Terik protests, and shoves Erik into Larik's side. "If you two are gonna be assholes, go sit next to Smerik or something. He's passed out, probably stinks of vom - Hey, Denny, when are we getting there? We've been on this stupid school bus for hours!"

Unus turns to face the front. It's then that they focus on themself, and notice something strange - they are holding a long black scythe in their right hand, their face reflected in the blade. Their eyes are a solid, empty black, their hair a glossy white. Something about them seems much more gaunt and hollow. Unus takes a moment to gape at themself, and is disgusted by how old and brittle they look, grey and pale and broken.

"Listen, dude, I'm not gonna go over the goddamn speed limit!" someone shouts, startling Unus from their thoughts. A man, sitting in the driver's seat, with patchy facial hair and wearing a blue cap and jeans, a crumpled cigarette hanging out his mouth. He glances away from the road, making a face at his brothers behind him. "We'll get there when we get there!"

"Fuck the speed limit!" cheers another boy, this one wearing black sunglasses and a baggy hoodie that hangs over the ends of his arms. He kicks his flip flops into the air, whistling. "We're in the mountains, Den-Den, no coppers anywhere near here! Why don't you let me drive?"

"Because you're bloody blind, Sterik?" the driver deadpans, and the bus erupts with laughter. Unus watches the boy sink lower in his seat, face burning with humiliation, even as Denny continues talking. "And I don't wanna risk Dad getting a call. He's already gonna flip his shit when he gets a call from Renny's school about the missing schoolbus and connects it to us being missing. He'll fuckin' kill us, but hey - some time away from him and his stupid business will be good for all of us. Especially you, Erik. He hasn't let up on you since -"

"He got Mom killed?" Sterik suddenly snaps. The bus goes silent. Erik, previously giggling with all the rest of them, goes very silent. The youngest boy, frowning, shifts in his seat.

"Not his fault Mom died," he mutters. He brushes biscuit crumbs off his overalls and glances nervously towards Sterik, then towards his other brothers for support. "It was an accident -"

"Termites," spits the angry boy, flapping his sleeves and practically sitting. "She fell through the fucking floor because of him -"

"Language," says another boy loudly, this one with dyed blonde hair and black tattoos. This immediately earns him a harsh laugh from Sterik.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" the boy cheers. Erik, Unus notices, has shrunk down completely in his seat. Familiar tears well in his eyes. Unus grips their scythe and bites their lip, unsure of what to do. None of the brothers have seen them. They cannot intervene in what's happening.

Without warning, Terik stands and staggers to the middle aisle of the bus. "Course it's Erik's fault," he booms, waving his DS in the air. Erik, next to him and still sitting, visibly flinches. "But who fucking cares? I wanna get to the mountains and streak naked through the trees. Who gives a fuck about anything Erik did right now? Come on, Denny, speed up a 'lil."

Larik, still sitting next to Erik, sighs deeply. "Let's shut up about this," he says, sounding tired. "Hey, Killian, come here, kiddo -"

"Oh yeah, let's shut up." This is Sterik. He is standing now, facing Terik and grinning coldly at the ground. "Let's never acknowledge what happened and drive off to the stupid fucking mountains away from Dad and leave him alone to break his hand punching holes through the walls in Mom's room again when he's pretending not to miss her but he's sitting in her bed reading through her notebooks." He spins round, getting his bearings and stepping towards the driver's seat. "Come on, Denny, lemme drive. You're no fucking fun."

"Sterik!" choruses at least three brothers at once, not including Erik. Erik is covering his ears, sinking low in his seat, gripping his yellow handkerchief tightly. A jolt shoots through Unus - hadn't the boy said that had been a gift from his mother?

They aren't given time to comprehend it. A tall, slim boy with shaggy hair has also gotten up, pushing past Terik to get to Sterik at the front of the bus. "Enough," he shouts, tugging his little brother's arm roughly. "Siddown, bro, this is silly -"

Unus's body goes cold, and Sterik shoves and grabs the wheel, and a dog barks, and Erik - Erik. Erik looks Unus dead in the eye. For a moment, he sees. He looks so much younger and smaller than the Erik Unus knows. He has seen death, and - and he is about to see more. The tragedies in this boy's life are not yet done. Unus's pulse quickens, and a strange peace settles over them. They close their eyes.

The bus screeches, and then the wheels no longer touch the rocky ground -

Unus raises their scythe -

And they are in the garden again, and Erik's eyes are once again wide in front of them, full of the fear of death, full of guilt and grief, and Unus understands.

"You lost your family," they murmur, drawing their hand away from Erik's shoulder to his chin. His face is pale and sweaty, and Unus feels his breath hitch as their eyes meet. Unus's hand feels empty without the scythe to hold. "You have not yet finished grieving them. A mother, fourteen brothers, pets - and you blame yourself."

"H-how do - do you kn-ow that?" Erik whispers, fear piercing his trembling voice. He looks over at the others sitting near him, but Unus doesn't break eye contact. Erik swallows, and shrinks back from Unus's gaze. "Unus - Your h-hair, your - your eyes - Wh-what are you d-d-doing?"

Erik Derekson has seen death. Unus can see it in his eyes. There is something dark and haunted there. He doesn't understand, yet. Unus doesn't either.

"We have a year," they say to the shivering, unlucky boy who has seen more death than any child his age should have to. "You will not lose us just yet. Time is ours, for now. Do not be scared. We have a year."

[234:17:12:00]

Later, Unus tells Annus they have no clue what happened, which is true. Annus fills them in. According to them, one moment Unus had just been sitting there, then they had touched Erik's shoulder and the air had gone cold. Their hair had begun to glow white, and their eyes had melted to black before they suddenly started talking about Erik's family. There had been no explanation for it, and Erik had been rather terrified. Bim nearly threw a fit when the boy left his knitting materials to go back inside, Ayano and Argentum in tow. Unus hadn't meant to scare him. They'd merely wanted to offer reassurance.

"I am not sure what came over me," Unus admits, their shoulders rising to their ears. Their hair has faded back to brown, albeit a bit lighter than before, and their eyes are blue again, albeit slightly darker. Their reflection looks wrong. "I believe I… saw Erik's memories. I saw the deaths of his brothers when they went over the mountainside. I was there." They look Annus right in the eyes. "Mor, I held the scythe that killed them. What is happening to me?"

Annus can't answer. They take Unus's hand and they both look at their reflections. Unus sees death in their eyes.

The timers over their heads continue to tick. The soundlessness is beginning to drive the entity insane.

[233:15:23:12]

Unus speaks to Erik the next day.

"I am sorry," they say. "For what happened. I did not mean to get into your head the way I did. I… do not know my own power."

The two of them are on the porch, late at night, staring out across the gardens that spill close to the edge of the mountainside. Erik's glasses are fogged up, so Unus can't see where he's looking exactly, but they can tell the boy is shivering in his baggy red hoodie that they're pretty sure belongs to Ayano. "That's ok," Erik mumbles, tapping the wooden fence with his fingers. His nails are chipped black. Unus wonders which of Mark's creations painted them. "I know you didn't mean it. It's just strange, knowing you saw… that."

Unus nods stiffly. Their neck aches, and their collar feels like it's choking them. "Mhm. The abilities I have been given are strange." They pause. "I am sorry about your family."

Erik shrugs, glasses glinting in the light of the porch lantern above them. "Not your fault. F-freak accidents have killed just about everyone I love. That's just… a fact of life that I can't ch-change. I'm unlucky. I guess that's the - that's the c-curse Mark put on me."

Crickets chirp in the grass somewhere. Unus and Annus had gone out a few nights ago to hunt for them before eating tuna sandwiches on the chess board. They're thinking about that as they answer. "Does Mark intentionally create flaws in his creations, or does he really not know?"

Another shrug, and Erik bites his nails. He doesn't seem to notice he's doing it. "A lot of us have weird catches in our c-c-creations. Like, Bim is a game show host, but his shows never take off, like, proper. The Googles have to obey whoever has their command phrase. Bing breaks easily. Dark has really bad insomnia. Wilford can't remember anything from his past. Host is blind and bleeds constantly from his eyes. Silver can't tell his girlfriend the truth about who he is or about Mark. The Jims only have each other. Ed is an asshole, although I don't think that's Mark's fault necessarily. King is a bit of an idiot - not that I don't like him! He's j-just an - an idiot. Doc didn't go to med school. Ayano can't keep a boyfriend cause she's too, uh, possessive. And… me." He takes a deep, shaky breath. "I'm unlucky. I g-get people I love k-k-killed."

Unus doesn't know how to respond to this.

"Death comes for us all," they say, which isn't the right response.

"I kn-know that b-better tha-an anyone," the seventeen year old boy responds. He sniffles and wipes his face. "I don't wanna l-lose - I don't - you and Annus -"

Unus pats Erik's shoulder gently. "We have time. We have time."

Fall field crickets, which is the most common cricket type in this area of LA, usually only live for up to a year. Just one year. They sing every night, searching for a mate. Searching for purpose. Unus can almost understand that. With a year to live, not much can be accomplished, and of course no one would want to be alone for so long. It almost hurts, hearing their neverending song. It sounds like loneliness. It reminds Unus of the days they have left, the days that they're desperately trying to cling to.

Above their head, the time drains in the humming of the lantern and the chirping of crickets who sings a year long song.

#unus annus #boop writes #markiplier #crankgameplays #darkiplier #the host #erik derekson #ayano aishi #bim trimmer #silver shepard #actor mark

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annaofthenorthernlights · 4 years ago

Text

Dinner for two

A Kristanna one shot fanfic

Rating: F/M

Relationship: Anna/Kristoff (canon verse)

Words counting: 2401

Summary: On the evening of the great thaw, Anna provides Kristoff with a gallant dinner at his new accommodation. This is about coming home and getting first steps into friendship. Some feelings... Because I can´t help it getting them together in an innocent way...

Hope you enjoy!!! :)

So, the villain was thrown overboard and put to the castle jail for the time being.

There had been great cheer and laughter once the party of three plus a reindeer and snowman riding between the animal´s antlers had got down from the boat to get into the harbour on a transport vessel.

Then, everything happened in a rush over… The moment they descended the boat, people came running up greeting and questioning them with lot of excitement.

Elsa first talked to Kai, then turned to Anna “I will have to talk to the ambassadors and guests of honour to explain. You will make sure to take a rest before tonight´s dinner, will you?”

“But Elsa,” Anna intervened, “you need a rest, too.” Elsa waved off and explained, that she would rest later, for sure.

“All right,” Anna smiled and then gasped, leaning closer to her sister, whispering, “I would like to take care, Kristoff and Sven get a suitable accommodation for the time being. But for that, I will need Gerda´s help. Is that okay with you?” Elsa nodded happily, that was a great idea. She then left towards the castle. The people would not come to close near her, after all she was the queen.

Anna turned to Kristoff, who stood surrounded by some customers from the marketplace. He got questioned on what had happened and he shrugged, not really knowing what to say.

Anna wanted to step up, hooking herself into Kristoff´s arm kind of protecting him from the friendly attacks. But then a thought struck her mind ´you just kicked your false fiancé overboard and now you go for the next one? ´ She felt a bit forlorn and silly. But then, the ice harvester was her friend, was he not? He looked like he desperately needed some help, it was her turn now to step in for him. So, Anna came along and stood next to the man who had raced down the hills with her. “Ah, you must know, it is all rather complicated. We will explain in time, I promise. But will you please excuse us, we all need some rest.”

The chatter ebbed and the people apologetically moved out of the way and smiling they went off.

Kristoff sighed and glared at Anna “thank you. That was spooky.”

“Ehem, nearly as scary as Marshmallow on the north-mountain…?” She giggled and then added quickly, “don´t worry, I will show you and Sven a safe place.”

****************

A bit later, Olaf sat on Anna´s bed and looked around in amazement. “Oh Anna, your home is so lovely. I like it.”

“Glad you do,” Anna smiled at her little friend, “you are welcome to stay with me if you like.”

“Oh, I don´t know. I promised Sven to come over for a visit.” Olaf mused. “Do you think, Kristoff will stay forever in the stables? Should he not rather be sleeping in a bed like other humans?”

Anna glanced to the window, that gave free sight towards the old stable department and hoped deep inside he would feel comfortable right now.

She had offered Kristoff a guest room within the castle. But he had been so reluctant, at the end he confessed he rather stay with Sven in the super nice stables, she had just shown to his best friend. Anna had understood that after all the excitement, the man appreciated the solitude with his companion. She than had promised him to come over later with some dinner.

On Elsa´s request Kristoff had been invited to dine with them and the other guests. That was worse to him than her offer of the guest room in the first place. Anna had chuckled, nodding understanding, and had then excused him for the occasion.

Now, she was about to get ready for the evening dinner. As much as she had ever wished to dine with her sister, to be surrounded with people for chatter and laughter, she now felt kind of uncertain of how to feel about all those people seeing her again. She still felt silly, childish of the late event. She had thrown herself at that betrayer´s neck practically publicly. Gossip would rise for sure… But then, she did not want to leave Elsa alone that first evening back at home.

And then, Anna had mused if she should ask Kristoff why he had come back to Arendelle after all. Apparently, he had rushed to help her. Had Olaf been right, that he loved her? She decided to wait for a proper opportunity to talk to him. But not tonight. They all needed to settle in the first place, get a rest and especially no overthrown talking yet.

Olaf liked what he saw.

Anna had finished dressing. Her light green dress was simple cut, with some traditional embroidery in mix of dark green and black along the front buttons, that run the bodice. The skirt´s bottom seem was embroidered in the same style, just broader stitched. Her hair was combed in a bun, with two braids engulfing the round piece. A green sleeve was stuck decoratively in the right-side braid. Together they went downstairs towards the great dining room. Olaf then left, to see Sven.

The dinner was a quite ongoing. Elsa sat at the head of the table; Anna was seated next to her at the top of the right length side. It was all so overwhelming to Anna, although she was exhausted from all the happenings of late. She would enjoy so much sitting next to her sister daily from now on.

Next to Anna sat Lord Dubois of Bourgogne. He was kind, with a fatherly way of conversation. Lord Dubois had offered to take Prince Hans back to the Southern-Islands, as they lay on his way back home. Elsa and Anna had thanked him for taking care of that misfortunate topic.

Before desert was served, Anna leaned in a bit closer to Elsa with a questioning look. Elsa looked puzzled, then understood. She smiled and nodded with her head for Anna to leave.

Anna quietly said goodbye to her table neighbour and got up. She nodded in the round and then left silently.

Once out of the dining hall, she hurried up towards the kitchen. It was not uncommon for her to show up there. Olina, the cook, had been informed before by Gerda, of the princesses´

request for the night. So, when Anna stood in the door, two baskets with food, dishes, and cutlery service were already packed and ready for her to pick up. Nobody would say a word or question her doing for tonight.

***********************

Kristoff was laying cosily against Sven´s body. The animal had dozed off, after he had been offered a giant bucket of carrots that was delivered by a stable boy. Apparently ordered by the princess personally. The haystack in the corner had been multiplied as well and the water barrel freshly refilled. It was a nice place, dry, warm, and clean. What more could he ask for?

At this very moment, a kicking noise against the door startled him from his musing. Then a soft nock, the door opened slightly, and an auburn head peeped through, grinning “hello, disturbing?”

Kristoff pushed up from his position, unwillingly nudging Sven with his elbow. The reindeer startled up from the ground so fast that Kristoff nearly tipped over backward. Regaining his composure just as fast, he easily cleared his throat, “no, all fine. Please come in.”

Sven had already skipped over to Anna and pranced around, showing his happiness seeing her.

“I must say,” Anna chuckled, stroking Sven´s chin, “this is certainly a far more natural greeting than over there.” She nodded her head towards the castle.

“Why am I glad to have stayed out of that…?” Kristoff remarked with a grin and stepped closer to give Anna a hand with her bringing in the baskets. “Have you kicked the door just before?” he asked. “Yes, I thought it was loose and I could just push it with my foot. But it didn´t move so I still had to free a hand.” Anna shrugged and then explained, “oh yes, that´s your dinner. I hope you like it. I guess the cook has put in enough, hopefully.”

Kristoff stared at the baskets in front of his feet and asked, “but you got something to eat already, did you? Who do you think should eat that all up?”

“I thought you must be starving by now, so I wanted to make sure you get the best share of it!”

“Thank you,” Kristoff meant it because his stomach did rumble since a while, “that´s very considerate. Must you go back immediately, or can I offer the princess a … seat in the strow?” He gestured with a generous move towards the stables, where Sven had laid himself back down in the corner.

Anna grinned and then laughed, feeling so comfortable and honestly welcomed. “Oh yes, that would round up the evening just perfectly, thank you!” She followed Kristoff´s gesture and went over to the strow and plopped herself down into the golden bed. She patted Sven´s neck behind her, adjusted her skirts shifting around and then sat straight, ready to be a good company.

“Where is Olaf,” Anna looked around wondering where the little fellow had gone. “Oh, he went back to your room. He said that he had never seen a bed so comfy in his entire life and couldn´t wait to go get a good sleep. Honestly, how long has he actually lived?” Kristoff chuckled and grabbed the baskets, then placed himself opposite from Anna.

“True,” Anna sighed, “but I´m so happy we have him here.” Kristoff nodded, reassuring gently, “yes, he is unique.”

Going through the immense food offer before him he whistled, glaring at Anna in amazement. “Okay, that´s provision for a week. How long do you want to jail me up in here?”

Anna stared shocked. He felt imprisoned. No, that´s not what she had meant it to be… Panic rose within her and tears shot to her eyes.

Kristoff noticed her face going white and eyes filling with tears. Oh no, what had he said? “Anna are you, all right? What is it?”

“Is it so terrible for you to be here in town, at the castle´s environment?” She whispered, facing down, and fiddling with the fabric of the skirt with her fingers.

Kristoff´s heart skipped for a moment. She worried for his well-being and thought he didn´t like it here… How fond he was of her. She was so honest, so selfless. “No, Anna. I´m grateful to be here. That you let me stay in here with Sven and don´t rush me to sleep in a room I could not identify with right now. I was kidding about being jailed up, okay?” He tilted his head to get a glance at her face.

Anna looked up slowly when he was about to speak. She smiled uncertain of how to respond and then smiled at him, “you´re welcome. This place is yours for as long as you like.”

Kristoff sighed relieved to have her smiling again, “thanks. Sounds great to me. Besides, I could not go anywhere far for the time being. I will have to reorganise my stuff.”

Anna gasped, put a finger up as to mark the importance, “about that! Thanks for the reminder. Don´t worry, it´s all organised. Kai will take care of that. But we need an exact and clearly detailed list of all your belongings and supplies, that go along with the sled.” She started fiddling around in one of the baskets and pulled out a bundle of papers and pencil. “There, will you please set the list till tomorrow morning? That´d be great!” Anna beamed and laid the paper and pen next to Kristoff on the floor.

The man looked back and forth from her to the paper. “Are you serious?” he gasped. “You shouldn´t…”

“I promised you, forgotten? I would have totally understood if you had just walked off. But to be honest, I was so glad and thankful for your coming along. What would I have done without you?” Again, Anna´s eyes got moisty, but she composed herself, clearing her throat, adding conspiratorially “but still I understand it was Sven´s idea, right?” She winked and then put a sheepish smile, pulling up her shoulders giggling.

“Yes, absolutely, it was!” Kristoff laughed and waved a hand in defence.

“But now,” Anna nodded seriously to the baskets, “you should really do yourself some good and start eating, please.”

Kristoff had insisted she should have a little share, otherwise he´d feel foolish eating all alone. As she hadn´t had any desert yet, Anna gladly granted his wish and helped herself with some nuts and another glass of wine. Then she checked the sweets basket and cried out joyfully discovering some chocolate cake.

Kristoff tried not to stuff impolitely, but the diverse ingredients were delicious and so multiplied he could hardly decide where to start and how much he should enjoy. As he hadn´t eaten a lot the last days in the first place, he felt full very soon.

He rubbed his stomach and sighed contentedly. “Thank you so much. I think I have not eaten so well, since… I even can´t remember haven eaten so well ever before.”

“Don´t tell me you would not enjoy a vast food feast at your family´s place?” Anna laughed, but then gasped and stared at Kristoff.

He had not noticed still caressing his belly. “No, that´s all wonderful. Berries, mushrooms, and sorts, you know. But I still indulge from that delicacy you know.”

“Kristoff. Your family.” Anna put her hands to her chest, “don´t they need to know that we´re all fine and things have turned out to the best?”

Now Kristoff looked at her, grinning, “I think, they already know… But if you like, I will take you up there again as soon as I can. So, you will tell them personally okay? But no, maybe that´s a bad idea. I mean, they will surely love to see you again… Only, you never know what they are up to the next time you meet them… you know?” He looked kind of apologetical and then uncertain not to scare her off.

Anna smiled, shrugging she mused, “well, what if we just roll with it….?”

#kristanna because the are adorable #first steps into friendship #love

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chrysalispen · 4 years ago

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Prompt #7 - Nonagenarian

AO3 Link HERE

=====

"Where are you going, Nonna?"

Vita bas Laevinus smiled at the eager and upturned face of her young grandson - followed the sharp track of a pale blue gaze half-concealed beneath a forest of pale gold curls - and bent her attention back to lacing up her pattens.

"Into the woods, dear," she said, "to prepare for tonight's dinner."

"By yourself?"

"And who else would be coming along? Your sisters are still at the schoolhouse and you've your chores to finish."

"Father says women and children mustn't go into the forest alone. There are monsters." The child shifted uneasily from foot to foot, as if he had something to say and not yet enough wherewithal nor courage to say it. "My chores are done, so I'll come with you, Nonna."

"Will you?"

"Someone has to protect you from the monsters."

"That's very brave," she said. "You don't even yet know why I'm going."

"...Are you gathering kindling for the hearthfire? Wait, but no- we have plenty of wood." His little brow knitted, a tiny line indexed from third eye to brow, before a sunny, triumphant smile replaced it. "It would be... would be gratuitous."

With a laugh she reached for the worn wicker basket hanging on the hook next to her shawl.

"Goodness, child, am I to be subjected to yet another of your large words?"

"I read it in one of Octavia's fairy tale books," he said, with an air of practiced indifference. "It means 'unnecessary'."

"Does it?"

"I can spell it, too. Want to hear?"

He was already rattling the letters off, swift and precise, before she could acquiesce. Five going on ninety, Vita thought with no small degree of amusement. The boy had mastered his letters before he was out of diapers and had feverishly consumed the contents of every book he'd laid hand upon since.

Vita ruffled his wild wind-tossed hair. "I'm going mushroom-picking," she said. "You can tell me some more of your words on the road. And if you watch and listen as well as you talk, you'll learn how to find the best caps for eating."

His eyes lit up.

"An adventure!"

"An adventure," she agreed, smiling.

~*~

Three winters passed and Vita was six and eighty.

Three winters had passed since her youngest daughter's death - since she'd come to live with her son-in-law and help care for the children - and she was starting to feel every turn of the seasons deep in her bones. Winter had lingered this year, and her difficulties remained even with the arrival of the warm months.

Safely unseen, watching from the window over her cookstove, Vita uncurled her aching fingers with the unhurried and experimental hesitancy borne of long experience with chronic pain. Her hands didn't hurt half as much as her poor hips; more often the chill left her too lame to forage in the wood alone for fear of falling. But she suspected it would not be so very long before she would be unable to cook the family meals without aid.

She was starting to slow down for good. It was only to be expected. Happened to everyone eventually, she supposed. Even if she worried what would become of them after she was gone, whenever that might be.

At least I have a willing and eager young assistant, she told herself, glancing at the boy dutifully slicing a small block of cheese. And that was true enough; her grandson's early promise seemed only to blossom with each passing day, his fine and agile mind paired with a penchant for observation.

Although she wished he would make some friends his own age.

"Don't you want to go play with the other boys, Nero? It's a nice day and everyone else is outside."

"I can't. Father wants me to help him plant the north field, so I'm not to play today." Wiry shoulders lifted and dropped in a single abrupt and listless motion. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to associate with them."

"Whyever not?"

"...Because they're envious of me," he said, in as flat and factual a manner as she would have expected to hear had he informed her the sky was blue. He rolled up the sleeves of his secondhand dalmatica, faded and oversized, bulky in the waist but already too short in the arms; it was tight about those shoulders, knobby but broad. "Nonna, can you show me how to make your pasta?"

The boy's voice was curiously brisk. Vita's brows arched upwards in a silent question, but the calm and shuttered expression he wore told her she'd get naught else of importance out of him.

At just eight summers he was already learning how to hide himself from the world. She sighed.

"Yes. But not before you wash your hands."

"I know." He was already reaching for the water bucket.

Her gaze sharpened at the sight of his forearms. They were mottled with fingerprint bruises, the marks made by hands much larger than any of his classmates. But before she could remark upon it, his arms dropped to his sides and the voluminous sleeves hid them from sight as he turned away and made a quick exit.

The old door latched shut at his back, and like an errant cloud crossing the path of the sun, Vita's smile faded. ~*~

"He's not taking any bleeding test and that's final." "What? Of course he'll take the placement test. Why wouldn't he?"

"There's no point. He's not going to any blimmin' Academy, either. Long past time he got his head out of the clouds and learned his place in the world." Atticus bas Sceava was well on his way into another stupor. The unlovely paired scents of sweat and stale gin hung around his haggard features like an invisible cloud, his bloodshot grey eyes squinting at her out of sallow sockets. "Anyroad, I need him for the harvest. Eleven summers is plenty old enough for him to start properly earning his keep."

"We can hire extra hands for the harvest if that's what it takes, Atticus."

"Thresher's broken. And I've not the money to hire extra hands, let alone send the boy to some high-priced school in the capitol. He belongs on the land-"

Vita's lips tightened.

"He belongs wherever he wishes to go. If his future is elsewhere then I'll do what needs must to help him find his path."

Her son-in-law drew himself to his full seven fulms of height, looming over the worn surface of the table. She tensed but held her ground; the drink always turned his temper sour but he had always stopped well short of raising a hand against her. "Old woman," he growled, "mind your place and stay out of my affairs. I am the head of this household. You have no right-"

"They are my grandchildren! I have every right."

His teeth bared, like the hackles of a rabid dog.

"You'll hold your tongue if you like it in your head. You've always encouraged him in these fool notions about his tinkering. He's had plenty of book learning -- more than any of his sisters -- and now it's time he learned how to be a man and help run the farm." A petulant sort of animal cunning twisted at his lips. "Besides, there's no one on either side of the mountain knows how to fix a thresher of that make and model. He'll be staying whether he likes it or not."

Vita's expression remained carefully impassive, but as Atticus slumped back into his chair and reached for his bottle, all she could think about was the way her grandson's eyes came alight every time he could do what he loved- and the shuttered coldness in them when he couldn't.

We'll see about that, Atticus, she thought, hobbling away, ignoring the grinding ache from shoulder to wrist as she leaned upon her cane. We'll see about that.

~*~

"Father wasn't awake to see us leave, was he?"

"No, dear."

"Good," Nero said forcefully. His long legs kicked to and fro and his sharp eyes were fixed upon the timepiece overhead.

It was a warm morning, this day of her ninetieth summer: very still and humid, and Vita and her grandson sat alone on the small platform to wait. In this remote part of the province, the train that eventually ran on a route into the heart of the imperial capitol came only once a day.

She studied him, a boy with an intellect too large for his still-growing body. The clothes he wore were ill-fitting - more secondhand items from his sisters, worn and patched where the threads had run bare, too narrow in the back, too short in the arms and legs - but the texts in his lap were new, a farewell gift from the mayor who had acted as his patron when his acceptance letter had arrived from the Imperial Magitek Academy.

"You have your iden... your card."

"My identification card, yes."

"And your train pass."

"I've checked twice now."

"Mind you pay attention to your route. I've heard they have soldiers on these trains that will be very rough if you try to get back on the train once you're off." She fidgeted nervously with the embroidery in her lap. "Do you have your lunch box?"

"It's right here."

He patted the package that sat alongside the big leather bag holding all of his personal belongings, securely wrapped in plain hempen cloth, his initials sewn into the corner. Vita's smile was sad.

"The very last meal we cooked together before you went away to your new school," she said. "Think of your poor Nonna when you eat it."

"I will."

"And mind you write often. I want to hear all about the city."

"...Nonna?"

"What is it, dear?"

"You needn't worry for me. It's an adventure," he said. "Right?"

For just a moment she saw something of the boy he'd once been, for the first time in years. Worry lingered there in the tilt of his mouth, perhaps. Bitterness. Or the anxiety that ever came upon the cusp of the unknown- and then like a passing cloud, it was gone and he was grinning at her: mouth stretched wide and exuberant, pale blue eyes twin stars.

It would be more difficult without his hands to help at the farm, but it was the right thing, she understood: to let him go his own way.

"One of many," she said, smiling at last.

#ffxivwrite2020 #prompt 7: nonagenarian #nero tol scaeva

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