#arith

[practically-an-x-man]

Sick Day

For @can-of-pringles, I'm so sorry you haven't been feeling well but hopefully this will make it a little better?

Pairing: Arith x Iriel (not my OCs)

Word count: 1,138

____

Arith trudged into the kitchen, his eyes half-lidded and steps dragging as he made his way up to the counter. Fixing his coffee was easy enough, though his fingers felt heavy and uncooperative.

"Are you feeling alright?" Iriel asked, already seated at the table. Arith ran a hand over his face, trying to coax his brain to spit out a thought or two.

"Hm. No. Think I'm coming down with something." he mumbled, taking a long drag of his coffee. Iriel made the best coffee, but today it hardly tasted like anything. At least the steam helped clear out the congestion settling into his sinuses - for the moment.

"You can't get sick, you're a demon." Iriel pointed out.

"Would you tell that to my corporeal form, then?" he huffed, "I'm sick, angel. You think I'm making it up?"

"Well... no," she agreed, "But I think it could be psychosomatic."

"Please. Infernal brains are too powerful to be swayed by mortal psychology."

"Tell that to the Slap-Chop in the cabinet."

"The infomercial was very convincing!"

Iriel laughed, high and bright and succeeding in drawing a brief smile from him. She shook her head, then waved him over to the table.

"C'mere, let me see if you have a fever."

Arith obliged, setting his mug down and crossing the room to join her. As soon as he sat down, she placed one hand on his shoulder and pressed the other to his forehead. Her lips pulled into a faint frown. Even worried, her golden eyes seemed to capture the sunlight trickling in from the window.

"You definitely feel warmer than usual." she decided, her hand sliding down to cup his face before falling away. "Maybe you should take it easy for a while."

"That's what I've been saying." Arith grumbled, wincing at the gleam of midmorning sunshine. He'd woken up with a headache, and the light was only making it worse. His bones ached. Sick or not, he was sure he'd be getting nothing done today.

"I think I'm gonna go back to bed." he muttered, ducking away from the sunlight. He'd been compared to a vampire probably hundreds of times in his immortal life, but it had never felt more accurate. If he stayed out here too long, he thought he might simply crumble into dust.

"Alright," Iriel said, "I hope you feel better."

"Thanks, dear."

He wandered back into the bedroom and all but collapsed onto the bed. With his body aching and his sinuses clogged with congestion, he could hardly find a comfortable position. But finally his weariness dragged him under, and he drifted off.

____

Some number of hours later, Iriel's soft voice pulled him back up to wakefulness.

"Oh, that can't be comfortable."

Arith groaned, shifting upwards and blinking the grit out of his eyes. Somehow, he'd managed to fall asleep on his stomach, with one leg twisted over the other and his head propped up on his arms. When he shifted, the muscles all along his ribs twinged from the awkward position. His right hand had fallen asleep.

He flipped himself around, rubbing his eyes and propping his body up against the headboard, and found Iriel standing by the side of the bed.

"It's nearly two. I made soup." she said, sliding onto the bed beside him. There was a cup of broth in her hands, which she handed off to him as soon as he had a hand free. He took a sip, inhaling a lungful of aromatic steam as he did.

"Mm. Thank you." Arith mumbled, managing another sip. He wasn't sure it would help much, but he hadn't eaten anything all day and knew he had to get something into his system. Besides, it was good soup.

"Have you tried miracling it away?" Iriel asked, rubbing her palm in slow circles over his back as he worked his way through the cup of broth. Arith found himself leaning into the touch, sighing faintly.

"Don't know that I have the strength for a miracle right now."

"I'd offer to help, but I think divine magic would only make you feel worse." she said, sounding a little forlorn about it. She never liked seeing him hurt, and he supposed this fell along the same vein.

"You're still helping." he insisted, "The soup helps. I'm really glad you're here."

She hummed a little at that, and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Arith smiled.

"Do you need anything else?" Iriel asked.

"I don't think so," he said, then reconsidered, "Well, maybe some water?"

With just a snap of her fingers, Iriel had a glass of cool water in her hand. She handed it to him, taking the empty bowl of soup as she did. The broth had settled his stomach a bit, and Arith downed the water quickly. Already he was starting to feel a little better, thanks to the extra sleep and a little food.

When he'd finished with the water, Iriel took his glass and disappeared into the kitchen. She wasn't gone long.

As soon as she returned, she reached out and brushed his hair away from his forehead. Her fingers were gentle as she once again checked his temperature.

"You still feel warm."

"Not much else to do but wait it out." Arith said, "Sleep it off."

"Well, I'll wait it out with you." she replied, slipping back into the bed beside him and tucking her head down onto his shoulder. Arith didn't move away, but he didn't move closer as he usually would.

"Nah, Bambi, I'll get you sick too. I'm alright."

"Ah, I'll miracle it away before it sets in." Iriel argued. It was enough to make Arith relent - maybe not his wisest decision, but after thousands of years spent at a distance, he'd take as many of these little moments as he could get. So he pulled his arm around her and rested his chin against the top of her head.

This time, it didn't take much for him to fall asleep.

____

The rest of the day passed by in much of the same. He slept as much as he could manage, and spent the rest of his time pushing fluids and eating a few spare meals. After a few hours, he felt well enough to move from the bedroom to the couch, though he still found himself dozing.

But it paid off. By supper, he felt well enough to manage a trip out, and he shared a lovely meal with his angel. His day, as poorly as it started, grew much better in the later hours.

Just as he suspected, Iriel woke up sick the next day. Arith spared only four seconds to tell her "I told you so". The remaining twenty-three hours, fifty-nine minutes, and fifty-six seconds were spent utterly doting on her.

But what else was new?

[hyenakat]

comeuppance i guess

[can-of-pringles]

New Arith picrew yippee

[diagoose]

Finished this Sketch i did a while agoooo

got Vlask’Tuumil(top), and her child Arithe.

due to being half Djinni Arithe gets to be a noodle dragon. yayyayayyay

[lakerunes]

The Runes - Tiwaz

The rune of Justice, of making the rightful sacrifice for the greater good regardless of being the faulty one, the wisdom of ruling for what is right.

[saltandsugarcore]

[keyrinq]

my oc cinematic universe is enlarging ...

[honoringthor]

Alfablot - The Heathen Halloween

[practically-an-x-man]

Would it be presumptuous to ask for a director's cut on Without Leaving So Much as a Feather Behind?

Oooooh, I'd be happy to! I put a lot of thought into that one :D

Link to the ask game here, link to the original fic here

____

He could tell that Iriel had to be pushed to her limits. Arith walked the streets, holding a piece of cloth over his face to stave off the unpleasant miasma of sickness and rot all around him.

"Miasma" was a very intentional word choice here - before people knew what caused illnesses, they assumed disease was caused by bad smells, known as miasmas. This is also where the "pocket full of posies" nursery rhyme comes from, since people would keep flowers in their pockets to try and stave off the bad smells/miasmas.

There's an element of this that did help the disease, since it inspired people to bathe more often, avoid waste or other common disease vectors, and cover their faces to avoid breathing in the miasmas. Obviously it wasn't all effective, since they didn't know how diseases really transmitted, but it helped to an extent.

It was the expression he often fell towards when he wasn’t paying much attention, a blank façade that others often struggled to read. Inwardly, though, he was in turmoil. Far too much turmoil for any self-respecting demon, he thought, but that realization only worsened it.

You commented on this, but you're absolutely right that it was a reference to how Arith tends to have a more emotionless facial expression when people see him. I put so much work into getting these little details, in this fic and all the others I've written for your OCs, and I swear their Toyhouses became like a character bible for me.

His first thought upon seeing the soon-to-be mother was that she was young. There were many young mothers in this time, and had been throughout history, but it never grew any less of a shock. She seemed to be barely past childhood herself, at least in his immortal eyes, how could she bring her own child into the world?

This part is angsty, but she had to be young because of the lyrics of the song - "a crying child pushes a child into the night". And on top of that, I wanted this whole scene to feel really dark and impactful, because it had to be enough to make Iriel break down. And she's an angel who's been around for thousands of years, so she's not going to cry at just any old unfortunate scenario. This one had to hurt to make it real.

His second thought was that she was sick. Very sick. Her face was pallid, though spots of red rode high on her cheeks from the exertion of labor. As he’d noticed before, her shouts of pain occasionally cut into fits of coughing, and her whole body shuddered with the force of it. Her skin was slick with sweat, though he couldn’t tell how much of that was fever and how much was pain.

When I wrote this piece, I intended for it to be an influenza outbreak, but I intentionally kept the time and place a little vague. I'm not sure where Arith and Iriel are during your canon timeline for them, so I didn't want to say "this is the Spanish Flu in 1918" specifically because I didn't want to conflict with the timeline in your head. It's the same reason there's no strict timeline in Lucky other than it being vaguely in the modern age. I want these pieces to be able to exist in your universe if you want them to, but also to exist as standalone, separate pieces if you'd rather have them that way.

Admittedly, it's kind of hard to work with that vague sort of timeline, since I start to second-guess what all I can include in terms of culture, setting, references to other historical events, etc. but I think it's worth it for the sake of keeping everything consistent in your world.

“No, no-” Iriel said, practically pushing him out of the room, “Too crowded. No space to work. Wait outside.”

This line is another reference to the lyrics of the song - "a husband waits outside". Arith isn't a husband yet, but he will be in time, and it's his future wife that insists he wait outside :) I was proud of that little detail

The newborn was still, his wrinkled face slowly darkening as he failed to take in a breath. The woman holding him flipped him on his side, patted his back, whispered prayers to Margaret of Antioch - if only she knew what company she was keeping - but couldn’t coax the infant to cry or cough. The midwife’s face slowly changed from trepidation to sorrow.

First of all, writing this hurt. I was so afraid that I'd push it too far with the angst - it felt okay to me, dark but not torture-porn dark, and normally I'm not afraid to approach those darker topics, but this is a birthday fic. Admittedly I was a little scared you'd get to this part and be like "what the fuck now I'm sad on my birthday, this is a terrible present" (not really but you know what I mean)

Also, Margaret of Antioch is the patron saint of childbirth and pregnancy, which is made ironic by the fact that there's both a literal angel and demon in the room with them here.

He rolled his shoulders and felt a deep, not-quite-painful sort of relief, like stretching a limb that had been cooped up in an awkward position for far too long. He supposed, technically, that was exactly what it was, only his wings had been cooped up in an unseen cosmic plane rather than simply twisted up under his clothing. He flapped his wings once or twice and gave a cursory look over the feathers, deeming them suitable to fly but in need of a good preening when he next got the chance.

You had commented on this saying that I'm really good at describing wings and flying, and thank you for the compliment! I had a lot of fun writing this whole scene, and I've had a lot of practice writing about wings and such (200k fic about Angel, old 40k fic with my OC that has wings, currently 80k words into a fic about a shapeshifter... I write about a lot of characters with wings lol). And you know I just love birds, I find the mechanisms of flying absolutely fascinating.

I don't know where I'm going with this. I just... I think about it a lot.

Iriel’s wings were messier than his, a reflection of how overwhelmed she’d been managing this plague.

That's a reference to Good Omens canon, since there's a line about angel's wings usually being less well-kept than demon's wings :D

She broke above the clouds, Arith only a few wingbeats behind her, and managed to flip herself almost upside down to look at the stars unimpeded. It was a different world up here, cold but beautiful, with a whole landscape of stars surrounding them. It made things feel like the early days, the early early days, before the Earth and its atmosphere, when all that existed was the vastness of space. There was something calming about that… and something strangely lonely. For all he tried to bury it, Arith shared Iriel’s appreciation for humanity. The world was so… quiet without them.

This whole description, with the clouds giving way to a whole different world of stars, was inspired by two things. One, the lyrics of the song, with the "gateway to the world/had never belonged to angels" part. And two... that scene in How to Train Your Dragon where they go flying with Astrid for the first time and break through the clouds the same way. It's just such a beautifully-animated scene, and the image of the clouds as this sort of barrier or gate into the atmosphere really stuck in my head.

“Six blocks away…” Arith murmured, so close and so softly that he could feel Iriel’s hair brush his lips, “Six blocks away, a blue-faced child has just taken his first breath and begun to cough. His mother is sobbing. He’ll be a small boy, and sickly. I can only do so much. But he will be alive.”

This was, I kid you not, the first line I wrote for this fic. I came up with this moment first and thought it was absolutely beautiful, but I knew that the rest of fic would end up being really angsty and emotionally painful in order to give this moment the impact I imagined it with. And again, I was worried that was too dark for a birthday fic.

After I jotted this moment down, I messaged you asking if emotional hurt/comfort would be okay for the gift fic. I didn't want to give the concept away, but I also didn't want to end up hurting or triggering you again with such a dark piece (I was especially worried about it after you said the CPR in King kinda got to you, I know you said it's okay now but I still felt bad), so I wasn't sure how much to say. And I was really glad you did say it was okay, because I didn't want to have to let go of this moment for the sake of writing something lighter. It just... doesn't fit any of my own OCs the way it fits Arith and Iriel, so I don't think I could have even retrofitted it into another fic for the sake of keeping it alive if you said no.

I'm really glad you trusted me with the hurt/comfort and angst of it all, because this moment here is one of my favorite moments I have ever written, period.

[sayjoisme84]

Common Misconceptions in Old Norse Religion

[kiwimadegames]

'Tic Tac Arith' (1984) By: Steven C. Darnold (Alexandra) For: Commodore 64 A mixture of Tic-Tac-Toe and Math. This was mentioned in the TPUG Commodore 64 meeting magazine in 1984 https://ia802602.us.archive.org/24/items/TPUG_Issue_03_1984_May/TPUG_Issue_03_1984_May.pdf

[g3bo]

Isa’s always a little intimidating to pull but I think I got it in the best way I could’ve. Arith Härger’s interpretation of Ingwaz hit a little close to home today too;;

[can-of-pringles]

My oc Arith cosplaying as Papa Emeritus iii aka Terzo 💜🖤

[oxalisvtesblog]

I'm sorry you had to see that. Magister Gothren's really quite charming once you get to know him.

Ralasa's gone to great lengths to discredit me, you see. My muthsera knows this. If I succeed, he'll see that I am the fitter servant!

My master has a kind and gentle disposition

Muthsera Gothren expects unwavering obedience, but on the whole, it's been a delight.

I know he's treated you poorly, but isn't his candor refreshing?

Now that he's finished grieving for that harpy, Ralasa, I mean. He even paid me a compliment! Something like, "I suppose you're not totally useless." It's a start!

Ok so, why isn't there tons of slash with these two? There's literally nothing.

[instant-ramen]

The Wisdom of Odin

[saltandsugarcore]