#surprisingly familiar but wildly different lullabies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nny11writes · 3 years

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For we will raise you, in safety and peace

Okay, tumblr ate the first attempt at this post, hopefully it doesn’t devour this one as well! Here’s the deal, I can’t seem to figure out a good ending for this fic to save my life and I don’t want it to languish in the pile of unfinished wips. So I’m going to post what I have here on tumblr to at least get it out there somewhere. If anyone has suggestions for an ending I am all ears! HUGE shoutout to @venn364 for helping me figure this fic out to this point and for helping me Horde-ify hush a by baby!

Rating: Teen (for some cursing) Category: F/F/F Relationship(s): Glitradora (Glimmer/Catra/Adora) Characters: Glimmer, Catra, Adora Warnings: None apply, this is a fluff fic Additional Tags: Multiple PoVs, fluff, happy fic, happy ending, crushes, idiots in love, dorks in love, young children, Catra deals with the curse of being cute, Adora is a massive dork but what else is new, Glimmer tries to flex on her crushes by singing, lullaby, hush a by baby, post war, post canon Summary: During the post-war reconstruction of Plumeria, Glimmer volunteers herself and voluntells her crushes to take care of the local children to keep them out from under foot. She just, didn’t expect the Horde to require childcare as part of their regular duties and rotation. Or Three Sapphics watch one another interacting with young children and go, “Well guess I’m somehow more in love, cool cool cool.”

Adora and Catra looked at one another and shrugged. “Yeah okay.”

Glimmer was relieved, don’t get her wrong, but that was…not exactly what she’d expected. “Just like that? That simple?”

It wasn’t like she’d expected them to just hop on board with her, even if she’d wanted this to all pan out.

Catra rolled her eyes, a bit too theatrically thanks, before answering, “Well, I mean, sucks to be doing Cadet chores again, but, whatever. Just a buncha kids.”

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Glimmer grumbled, rubbing a hand at her neck. “You’re not trying to act too cool, and you’re not freaking out enough.”

They shared another confused look before Adora spoke up. “I mean, why would I? We’ve done a bunch of rounds at the Infant Pods, more than our fair share in fact.” That last part she said with a pointed look at her oldest friend.

Catra stretched lazily, “I will not apologize.”

“Point is, we can do this. It’s pretty simple over all, especially with you there as a third!”

Glimmer laughed, “Wait. Hang on, seriously? I’ve never babysat before but you two have?”

“Really? Weird. But, uh, yeah. Everyone in the Horde has some child rearing experience, it’s literally part of your Cadet chores and rotation.”

The galaxy must be on it’s side right now. The Horde, the EVIL Horde, had enforced babysitting chores. “Why?”

Adora shrugged, “Well someone has to make sure they’re clean and fed, doing their homework-”

“Not destroying property or getting in dangerous situations before we could send them to the meat grinder-”

“Keeping them out from underfoot, and getting their energy out too.”

“Also the whole, sometimes babies just die when you don’t, like, hold them enough thing. ...What? Did you think Hordak was at the Pods rocking them to sleep?” Catra laughed.

It certainly was an image. Glimmer giggled as she pictured Hordak overwhelmed by a literal wave of babies. “No, I just never thought about it I guess. You’ll have to teach me.”

They both grinned and Glimmer felt her heart skip a beat. It was, look, don’t judge, it was a really, really good look on them, okay?

It only took a few minutes to arrive at the temporary nursery Perfuma had set up. While Plumeria was still being cleaned up, she’d wanted a safe place for the children to go, and only needed a few extra hands to help as she pulled her subjects to help redesign their homes. Not that she’d put it like that. Something about syncing their harmonies while reconnecting with their innermost roots? The point was that Glimmer had offered to help mostly to help and partially to avoid another extremely long and boring meeting, but one teleporting queen with no childcare experience was not ideal. Perfuma had been the one to suggest Catra and Adora, seeing as the reconstruction really relied more on Perfuma regrowing the homes in this particular space.

So, they were working with what they had. And apparently that meant Horde soldiers. Experienced Horde soldiers who knew what to do with kids. Weird!

When they arrived, it was chaos.

Catra couldn’t help the small grimace she wore, she’d never been fond of IPD. Kids are loud, they don’t have boundaries or respect for other’s boundaries either. She doesn’t know how many times some toddler or Junior Cadet had petted her or pulled her tail and ears with their mysteriously sticky little hands while covered in snot. But she could also say that the one good thing about it was, without fail, some baby was going to think you were the hottest shit ever. And it had done wonders for her low self esteem as a Cadet to know that she’d always collect a gaggle of kids who everyone claimed were impossible to handle doing exactly what she wanted.

It had actually been kind of hilarious out in the Crimson Waste to use some of the tactics she’d learned in the IP against grown gangsters and thugs.

Catra could also say that the very next best thing about it was watching Adora either slowly unravel into a total mess or watching Adora get all the other kids under her thumb. Not that Adora would think of it like that, the goody two shoes, but kids seemed to naturally either love the blonde or desire nothing more than to destroy her.

Especially at the time, Catra could relate.

She was actually kind of interested to do this now just to see Adora go at it again.

And also Glimmer apparently had no experience with kids and Catra would kill to watch that skiff wreck. No, ugh, she had promised to help hadn’t she? Alright, no watching that skiff wreck unless it happened before she could intervene.

She snickered a little as, just like she used to, Adora gave the attention claps that none of these particular kids would know. Embarrassingly, the old rhythm still made Catra’s back straighten a hair just thanks to the amount of times she’d heard it.

Adora’s voice rang loud and clear across the little fenced in area, “Atten-shun!”

The kids mostly stopped, but Catra had a feeling that was due to an adult shouting and not out of their training. Did rebellion kids have training? They had to get some kind of education for sure. Huh. Probably should look into that, like, now that it was post war and all.

“Hello, salutations, and greetings!” Adora started her old spiel as if she’d never stopped, putting on her ‘force captain’ voice which was almost a mockery more than anything else. Not that Adora realized that. “I am Adora, this is Catra, and this is Glimmer. Today we will be watching, caring, sharing, and not botching a wonderful day of enrichment with you. Starting now we will do our very best to educate, captivate, and celebrate without need to castigate! It is time to have fun and run, uh, under the sun! Can I get a hoo-ra?”

The part about their newly acquired sun was a nice touch, Catra mental gave Adora extra points for finally having learned to change it on the fly. Catra weakly lifted a fist to mutter ‘hoo-ra’ with a few confused kids. Oof. Rough, but not unexpected. These ankle biters hadn’t been trained to respond promptly and loudly to Horde commands.

Yet it still had about the same effect. The children were already split down the middle looking at Adora like she was a complete idiot or like she was the best thing ever. Soon more of them would think she was the best thing ever than not, kids loved Adora’s canned speech. It always got a few laughs. Kids were easily entertained by someone clearly putting on a show and rhyming.

Adora put on an over the top look of bewilderment, putting her fists on her hips in some sort of quasi-power pose before asking, “What kind of hoo-ra was that? I want you to shout from deep in your lungs, you won’t sound dumb when it’s all in good fun! Now can I get a HOO-RA?”

Catra gave a slightly more enthusiastic call, and was delighted when Glimmer gamely screamed her head off and then blushed as the kids stared at her, because they had still not shouted. Alright, this had already paid off! Nothing better that watching Glimmer blush like that.

Adora was smiling warmly at the queen, that was always a good look on her. “I SAID HOO-RA!”

This time they managed to get most of the brats on board. A whole army of kids no taller than her waist who were thrilled to scream, a few even did it more than once. It was kind of nostalgic.

“THAT’S what I call a call! I am floored by this horde-” Adora’s eyes widened in panic as she tried to pivot her pre-written speech for a second time. “-o-of wards! Floored! I am floored!”

Aaaand twice was one too many alterations. As much fun as it would be to watch Adora fall apart over it, Catra knew it was mean. And she was trying to, you know, to be less mean.

“Ca-Adora,” wow this was harder than she’d thought. She hadn’t almost called Adora a Cadet in years. “Will be working with any of you who’d like to play a singing and marching game. Line up in front of Adora if you want to join.”

Catra grabbed Glimmer’s hand to pull her forward, which really was only for the benefit of getting to hold Glimmer’s hand. “Anyone who does not want to play a game can join us, we will be taking care of the infants so it’ll be quieter.”

She was not surprised when most of the children flocked to play. There were always a few quiet ones or nervous ones who would hang back, and she was counting on it. Sure enough four kids shuffled their way instead of towards Adora, who was already sorting her little platoon into rank and file, teaching them a quick sound off to learn their names.

Catra motioned between her and Glimmer, “You know our names, what are yours?” The kids shifted awkwardly, looking at one another to start. Catra smirked. “If you don’t want to say I will give you a nickname. For instance, this is now Sparkles.”

Glimmer glared at her, but Catra didn’t stop or let her get a word in edgewise. She pointed at the first kid with glasses, “You can be Specs, short for specification.” A bold faced lie if she’d ever told one. “Stripes, I like your shirt!” Less of a lie. “Flower Power just like Princess Perfuma,” she nodded to the boy with a flower crown. The last kid was nervously shifting hoof to hoof, “And Two Step you got some fancy looking moves.”

“And what do you all think we should call Catra?” Glimmer asked, grinning evilly, as if the kids wouldn’t just suggest kitty or fluffy or whiskers. Maybe tails if someone was feeling creative.

“Kitty!”

Catra chuckled, it was like clockwork. “How about Big Cat? It’s cooler than Kitty!” They nodded gamely to the change. “Cool. Now, does anyone want to help me with the babies? We just need to hold them.”

That was how Catra found herself leaning back against a tree with an infant sleeping on her chest after she’d situated Glimmer and the quartet. All while snickering at some of the concerned looks being shot their way as Adora got the platoon marching and singing. If they weren’t gonna get their asses in gear to manage all the hyper kids, then they could suck it up. Besides, it wasn’t even that intense of a song.

“I think that learning is cool!” The kids echoed after Adora. “Which is why I will stay in school!”

It was schlocky and dorky, if she’d been over there she’d have died of embarrassment already.

Still, Catra couldn’t help but melt a little as Adora exaggerated a high march and then kids behind her did basically whatever they wanted as she marched them around the nursery. It was nice. Even if it made Adora look really dumb, it also made her look happy. Something Catra hadn’t seen a lot of from her in years. Oh no, she was getting mushy about this now?

Disgusting. She needed a distraction stat.

“Anyone have a good story?” Catra asked and after a beat of silence, promptly ignored the kids as they started almost talking over each other to tell something about their day or who knows what. Thankfully Glimmer seemed interested even if a little stiff and awkward. Catra was grateful that her fur hid a sudden blush as she watched Glimmer holding a baby and being enthusiastically engaged in the kids' stories.

Wow.

She gets away from the Horde for less than a year, and now she’s getting sappy over Sparkles.

Gross.

Adora, of course, had a plan. A good one with details and everything!

She was using her patented IPPA (thankfully, things had to be going pretty bad for her to resort to Infant Pod Plan B) and so far things had gone well. She’d taught her platoon to march, even got them to make up some rhymes to sing for it (even if she’d had to backtrack after one of the boys said ‘butts’ and everyone then started to just scream sentences with little sense ending with ‘butts’). After a bit of that she got them doing some basic exercise with her. Jumping jacks and running, she’d then start a game of charge and was already wincing in sympathy pains as some of the kids hurled themselves full speed at the enemy team only to fold in half around their linked arms. Still, the point was to give them free reign here to lose their minds and wear out their bodies a little in preparation for a well earned nap or quiet play time.

After making sure that Catra had eyes on her group, Adora left to hunt down water for everyone, and maybe spent a little time making heart eyes across the field.

Catra, despite what she thought, was pretty good with kids. Especially little infants. Between her fluff, heat, and purrs she was an instant baby soother. Adora would know, she was once the only big baby that Catra would soothe the same way. When they’d been younger, Catra used to lose her temper during IPD, but the older they got the more she’d pull it together. There had always been something heartwarming about watching Catra sit down with a kid who was upset and listen to them intently.

Then there was Glimmer. Gosh, she’d been so nervous going in, but seemed to be quickly becoming a favorite. Because Glimmer always listened to people, no matter their age, and her high energy responses appeared to be winning her fans. The more she integrated with the kids, the more she relaxed too. And there was something absolutely mind blowing about watching her bounce a little baby in her arms, while gasping in genuine delight at something a kid had scribbled into the dirt with a stick.

Adora didn’t even blush, didn’t feel a lick of shame as she quietly got affirmation that yes, girls.

“Ew,” one of the kids snickered after finishing their water, looking right at her before making a face.

She smiled, shrugging and offered her best, worldly advice. “Girls are great.”

“Ew.” They repeated before giggling and skipping away to their friends.

Whether they eventually agreed with her, liked boys instead, like everyone, or even no one, Adora felt very assured in her assessment of wow girls pretty, so she let it slide.

Later, standing at the barrel and handing out gourds of water or helping kids re-apply their protective balms (the sun was nice, but the sun could apparently burn you which was insane), she did another check. Taking note of any particularly worn out kids to send over to Catra’s group, and was very pleased that no one seemed to be really injured. Man, this was way easier than manhandling Recruits who were about to be Junior Cadets. Maybe she could do this more often? Without all the jockeying for power and praise it was actually fun.

After another thirty minutes whizzed by according to her internal clock, Adora decided it was time to start her platoon’s cool down for water and snacks. Maybe a nap after that. It was all smooth sailing!

Adora managed to make eye contact with Catra, flashing a quick few hand signs they’d made up when they were eight and almost lived in the pods between Adora’s clumsiness and Catra’s random bursts of high energy. Catra nodded, both hands occupied as she bottle fed one of the infants, and Adora almost died. First of cuteness, because Catra was looking so cute! But also from laughter because Glimmer’s tongue was sticking out between her teeth in concentration as she carefully fed another infant. And also because she looked super cute doing it!

What a sight! It took her another minute to realize she was just standing there staring at them with a horrifically soft smile on her face. And Catra was staring back with an equally mortifying soft look. And Glimmer was now looking between them with her own embarrassingly tender look.

So this is how I die, public affection.

For some reason this was the thing that set her off. Blushing as red as her jacket, Adora pivoted around to call the platoon to get some snacks and more water. Which, considering most of them were either still singing or making up marching songs, took a little bit to organize.

The snack and water break had been decently timed, they had just finished burping the last of the babies when Adora called all the kids over. Catra waited with Glimmer until everyone else had something to eat, before mingling as best she could. It was more second nature to keep her head on a swivel, making sure no kids were making a jailbreak and no one was beating someone else’s face in. Although that probably wasn’t a concern on the Rebellion side. Maybe she’d have to rescue a kid from suffocating under a bunch of hugs?

She shrugged and got a gourd of water, barely finishing it before Two Step tugged at her hand. They’d only gotten more energetic the longer they’d been helping, so she wasn’t even surprised when they asked, "Can I pet your fluff!?"

Catra sighed heavily. This is what she got for wearing a crop top around children. She turned to look at the Two Step and smiled as best she could while also dying inside. If she didn’t let it happen following her own rules, many kids would simply find a way to make it happen anyways. Better to get it out of the way and without sticky hands. Seriously what do kids even do that makes their hands that sticky? "Sure, but only if I can touch your antlers, they look fuzzy."

They almost stabbed her in the stomach with said nubbly antlers in their excitement, apparently oblivious for at least a moment about how fragile they were. Two Step was still wiggling around the way they had the whole afternoon as they rushed to explain, "They are! They’re new and growing in bigger and my dad says that someday they’ll be HUGE like his!"

She ran a few fingers carefully along the warm velvet and nodded, it was softer than she’d actually expected it to be, and it almost seemed like she could feel the blood pumping in them? Or maybe her brain was messing with her? Either way, weird. "Neat. Your turn kiddo."

Catra did her best to not groan in annoyance when the girl simply leaned forward to rub her face on the fluffiest part of her belly.

"You said pet."

"I am petting!"

"Petting is done with your hands, not your face."

"Says who?"

Well shit, had her there. “...alright, well played.”

She glared as the trademark a high pitched whistling sound of cooing alerted her to Glimmer and Adora looking at her with hearts in their eyes and sparkles around their faces. Not literally, but she could picture it. The traitors. She could see Glimmer mouthing the words so cute and groaned. She was not cute! Ugh!

“Okay, I think that’s enough.”

Two Step grumbled but let go. “Thanks!” And with that they skipped away to hang out with the other kids.

Oh yeah, definitely time to put the kids down for a nap if they could.

It had taken longer that Glimmer expected to calm down the kids. A small handful of them went tearing off around the field cackling like loons as Catra easily loped after them on all fours. Which of course resulted in more kids wanting to get chased for some reason, shrieking in delight each time Catra put on a hair more speed to tap their arms or legs. Eventually even they were exhausted and fell panting into the grass for Adora and her to watch while Catra continued herding. It was adorable and Glimmer was never, ever gonna let her live down her afternoon of being a sheep dog. If only Bow or Entrapta were here to take a picture!

Glimmer reluctantly left her post of watching and jeering at ‘Big Cat’ to help Adora get the youngest ones situated and sleeping rolls or blankets laid out. For the ones who refused to take a nap (whether because they weren’t tired or wanted to pretend they weren’t tired), Glimmer asked around to find a few decks of cards for them to use. She wrangled a promise from each group to be quiet so their friends could sleep, and by the time she’d finished that it was tempting to take her own nap.

Adora was efficiently sorting kids into sleeping spaces, and Glimmer smiled a bit at the way she let pairs and groups just pile up together. Having seen the impossible looking ways Adora and Catra could be found tangled up after a nap, she felt pretty confident that they knew what they were doing.

When Catra finally arrived with the last two kids, both of whom she carried under her arms as they giggled, Glimmer was grateful for the chance to relax a little with her friends. She nudged Adora’s side as they passed and whispered, “Maybe afterwards you can use She-Ra? You know, give them a climbing gym or swing them around.”

Adora blinked rapidly before breaking out in a huge grin and did a little over the top flexing before they made their way over to sit with Catra. And for a few minutes they sat in a peaceful silence, enjoying the sounds of the forest and leaning against one another.

“Pssst,” Stripes rolled over to look at them, making huge puppy dog eyes before asking, “Sing us a lullaby?”

Glimmer’s eyes sparkled as she turned to watch Adora and Catra apparently debate the issue, because hello! Getting to hear them sing lullabies! They rapidly signed back and forth, faces squashing and stretching as they added emphasis to the conversation before they turned and nodded.

“Okay,” Adora said softly, “but you can’t laugh, we only know Horde songs.”

“The Horde had songs?” A little boy asked, popping up from his blanket with a huge smile.

“Yeah we did. To be fair, they’re not uh,” Adora faltered and quickly looked at Catra, which to be fair Glimmer hadn’t considered that the songs they knew might be inappropriate. She quickly decided that she also didn’t really care.

“Adults probably wouldn’t like them here.” Catra supplied with a mischievous grin, apparently knowing that the kids would all be desperate to hear them now.

“Catra!” Adora hissed in what was probably supposed to be a whisper.

“I want to hear!” Glimmer added fuel to the fire and snickered at the look of betrayal on Adora’s face. “What? I do!”

She threw her arms in the air before huffing in her fake annoyed voice, “Fine, I’ll sing a song!”

There was a moment before Adora shakily started to sing both a very familiar tune set to very different lyrics.

Hush-a-bye baby, your crying will cease For we will raise you, in safety and peace If the walls crumble, there’s no need to bawl We’ll burn the villains, princess and all

Glimmer sputtered, accidentally ending it before it even started, not just because the lullaby included a line about burning rebellion citizens to death including princesses. But also because her mother used to sing this to her! “Wait, wait, wait, that’s- that’s not how that song goes!”

“Wha- yes it is!” Adora huffed, arms crossing as she blushed, “I said you couldn’t be mean!”

“First of all, you said I couldn’t laugh and I didn’t! Secondly,” Glimmer cleared her throat to sing her version. She’d always loved singing, even took lessons when she was younger before deciding she’d rather do it for fun. But what was the point of being able to sing flawlessly under pressure if not to flex on your crushes?

Rock-a-bye baby, thy cradle is green; Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen; And Buckley’s a washer, who wears a gold ring; And Tambour’s a drummer, who drums for the king.

Not that she got any further than Adora did before being interrupted as well.

“Ew, it’s all princessy!” Catra jeered playfully getting a few giggles from the kids.

“Uh, yeah, my mom sang it to me when I was a baby!”

“Gross. Ours is better!”

Adora laughed nervously, apparently unsure what to do as their play fight went down in front of a room full of impressionable children. Which, really, was her own fault for not expecting it.

Glimmer puffed up and leaned forward, tapping Catra on the nose just to be a brat before issuing the challenge she knew would get results. “Prove it!”

Ah, the good old stand by of “prove it”, as equally effective as a double dog dare!

So Catra, looking genuinely affronted, took a breath and sang in a wholly and unfairly good voice.

Hush-a-bye baby, your crying will cease For we will raise you, in safety and peace If the walls crumble, there’s no need to bawl We’ll burn the villains, princess and all

Baby is drowsing, valiant and brave With Hordak’s power, disorder we’ll stave Though cadet’s sleeping, her dreams we all share For order and harmony’s, our duty to bear

Hush-a-bye baby, do not you fear Never mind, baby, your squad is right here Strong little fingers, but eyes must shut tight Stay sound asleep now, until morning’s light

“People sang to you as babies about Hordak’s power and burning people?” Glimmer asked, both perplexed at the Horde-ified version and slightly disturbed. No wonder some of their soldiers bought the Evil Horde’s propaganda if this was what they were taught from the cradle!

“Glimmer, I love you, and I say this with as much respect as I can,” Catra said without an ounce of respect in her body or soul, “We grew up in the Fright Zone under the eyes of commanding officers of the Evil Horde. What did you think they sang to us about?”

Well shit, had her there.

#Glimmer #Adora #Catra #Glitradora #SPOP #she ra #fanfiction #fanfic #dorks in love is just *chef kiss*#the Horde sings lullabies to their babies #surprisingly familiar but wildly different lullabies #halp this fic won't let me wrap it up in a satisfying manner so I'm throwing it into the wind to see what falls out #this could absolutely end with them going into a relationship #or it could absolutely end with them just crushing on one another #suggestions are welcome!

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cowperviolet · 4 years

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A Guide to Medieval Childhood

Our popular imaginings and depictions of medieval childhood tend to be somehow both scarce and bleak. It’s often supposed that childhood as a category didn’t really exist until the twentieth century, and that even the highborn children before that blessed time were regarded as basically inconvenient mini-adults until they were old enough to fight or marry, respectively.

The sources we have tend to favour the royal families and the high aristocracy with some wealthy merchants thrown in the mix, so, unfortunately, the information below would mostly be concerned with these groups - although I’m going to do my best to include some facts about the lives of children from lower social strata, too.

Infantia, or infancy

As Maria von Trapp used to sing in technicolor meadows, let’s start at the very beginning - it is, after all, a very good place to start.

A mother rarely gave birth unattended - and I’m not talking about medical professionals; more often than not, these would be represented by a sole midwife. However, having a close friend or a relative with you as you are waiting for the baby to arrive was a practice well-established by the early fourteenth century even among royal women, whose births, marriages and deaths alike were always ruled by strict ceremony.

In their case, as in the case of all great families of the land, the practice also had a purely pragmatic side - additional companions mean additional witnesses who would be able to swear, should a scandal arise, that the little heir really arrived in the lawful way and had not been, say, smuggled into the bedroom in a pan. (In the case of the British royal family this precaution eventually led to the Home Secretary being obliged to attend all royal births, and was only done away with in 1930, when the late Princess Margaret was born).

Of course, for all the companionable support, the birth was not without its risks - for the child even more so than for the mother. It was for that reason that, uniquely, the Church allowed the midwives to baptize newborn - or unborn - babies in case they don’t survive by the time the sacrament in question could be performed properly by a priest.

If everything went well, it was the time to prepare the child for an ‘official’ baptism in the local church, which was going to not only save his soul for the world to come, but to help his standing in this one - after all, being baptized in a particular church meant being integrated into the larger community of the parish. The mother could rest - she was not required to attend the christening (or, rather, she couldn’t, as she would only be able to enter a place of worship again after being purified via a brief ‘churching’ ceremony on the fortieth day after giving birth). The child’s godparents would have been there to stand in her stead.

In fact, many contemporaries considered that a woman needs at least a month to properly recover after birth. Nor was it supposed to be a time of solitude - receiving female visitors was both allowed and encouraged.

Meanwhile, the child would be transferred into the care of a wet-nurse. Breastfeeding your baby yourself usually signified that you simply cannot afford wet-nurse of good character. The good character part of the job description concerned itself both with the purely physical characteristics - the wet-nurse had to be a little below thirty, to have white teeth, sweet breath, and a child of her own not above eight months of age, otherwise her milk could be considered stale - and the moral ones. It was believed that virtues and vices both could be transmitted through milk, and thus it was imperative to choose a wet-nurse both sensible and respectable.

Once hired, she rarely left the baby’s side - contemporary writers acknowledged that leaving an infant to cry is harmful for the child’s health, both mental and physical, and therefore a nurse should always be at hand with either her breast or a lullaby. In the highest households of the land, such as that of the royal children of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, one or two women were also employed as specifically the child’s rockers, tasked with, well, rocking their little charge to sleep - though not too quickly or too harshly, ‘for fear of making the milk float in [her] stomach’.

Every medieval baby, regardless of his family’s income, was swaddled from birth and until he was about eight or nine months of age: not only would he be kept warm, the parents judged, but it’s also going to help his limbs grow straight. A ‘breechcloth’ – essentially, a premodern nappy - was a piece of easily-washable linen, doubled over and then fastened into place with pins. Then a linen shirt would be gently placed over the infant’s body, after which the swaddling bands proper – sometimes three yards long – would come out. They were long, narrow pieces of – you guessed it - linen.

This swaddling part was universal for everyone; however, even here, before the child could partake in any fashion proper, the class divides came out to play. Babies from wealthier families could sport crimson mantles and bands decorated with gold embroidery (sometimes coordinated with that on their mothers’ outfits, like on the famous Cholmondeley Ladies painting at the top of this post).

Another – perhaps, more familiar to us – sphere of baby-related conspicuous consumption was the cradle. When, in 1494, the son of Beatrice d’Este and Ludovico Sforza was born in Milan, the proud father presented his guests a four-poster cradle covered in white satin, where the little heir now lay. When Lucrezia Borgia gave the d’Este family an heir, she splashed out on the cradle for the little Ercole even more. According to contemporary witnesses, the cradle was located under tent-like Moorish-style silk draperies done in the Este colors. It was on a platform encased in a great carved and gilded canopy, six feet long and five feet wide. The cradle proper was curtained in white satin, with the sleeping baby covered with cloth-of-gold.

The weaning tended to come, by our standards, rather late: some contemporary arguments recommended three years for boys and two years for girls (the former, after all, were expected to lead more active lives, and thus needed their mother’s nutritious milk more). Even then, hard food was to be introduced gradually – starting, for instance, with a chicken leg the child could chew on.

Once out of swaddling, the boys were dressed in smocks, and the girls in gowns – not that there was much visual difference between the two, mind. Regardless of their parents’ social standing, they all also wore tight linen caps that bore the charmingly hobbit-y name of biggins.

Naturally, the higher one stood upon the social scale, the more ornamental these gowns and smocks tended to be. The toddler Princess Elizabeth, who was the daughter of Henry VII and thus the aunt of her much more famous namesake, was dressed on separate occasions in a green velvet gown edged with purple tinsel and lined with black buckram, a dress of black velvet edged with crimson, or a kirtle of tawny damask and black satin. Admittedly, these were mostly for ceremonial occasions, and in the privacy of her yellow ochre-coloured chambers even the princess probably tended to wear something more comfortable. In winter, she was kept warm with furred robes fastened with silver buttons and caps trimmed with peacock feathers, and, regardless of the time of the year, indulged with sweets made from sugars flavoured with rose and violet, as well as with fruits from sunnier climes like pomegranates, quinces, and almonds.

Royal families were never noted for modesty of consumption in any era, but even the middling merchants of Florence were often criticized for spoiling their children with fine clothes. Fra Dominici wrote scathingly about parents who dress their children in ‘fancy garments, stamped shoes, short waist-coats, tight and fine-knit hose’. Neither did he approve of toys like “little wooden horses, attractive cymbals, imitation birds, [and] gilded drums,” recommending instead more virtuous playthings like “a little altar or two, … little vestments … little candles … [and] little bells,”, so that the children could pretend they were acolytes or priests. Three guesses no prizes as to which category ended up being the more popular one.

Some types of toys would have been surprisingly familiar to us – for example, doll furniture. In Germany one could find whole doll kitchens with dishes, meat plates, cutlery and furniture since the 1550s at the latest. Wealthier girls were also bought so-called fashion dolls that showcased, you guessed it, the latest fashions in the land.

Of course, poorer children had to make do with dolls stuffed with straw, and play with such props as animal knucklebones or wooden wheels. However, it doesn’t mean that their lives were completely devoid of fun. Contemporary paintings, such as Peter Brueghel’ Children’s Games (1560), show children playing blind man’s bluff, ‘paper, scissors, stone’, roll hoops and rock barrels.

Pueritia, or childhood

A child’s education started with learning his (or, rarer, her) letters. A rather charming contemporary advice recommends the parents to do it by carving each letter on a piece of fruit, and reward the child with the fruit in question if the letter is correctly identified. These kinds of basics could be learned at home (though, if you decided to choose the method above, better do it specifically in the kitchen) – however, once the rudimentary parts were done with, the paths of learning could branch wildly.

The wealthiest families hired tutors for their children, and these posts, prestigious and coveted as they were, could sometimes become subjects of competition. For example, when the future Elizabeth I grew old enough for her first lessons, it was assumed that these are going to be provided by her aunt and godmother, Lady Troy. However, the less highborn, but more ambitious Katherine Champernowne had other ideas; Henry VIII ended up being impressed by reports of her as a woman of good education, and appointed her to be his daughter’s governess in 1536. She held that post until 1544, when her precocious charge overgrew the standard highborn lady’s curriculum that consisted of reading, embroidery, music, riding, falconry, and chess. After that, the scholar William Grindal became the princess’ tutor, introducing her to classical authors such as Plato.

Latin and, to a lesser extent, Greek literature was not exclusively the preserve of the upper-class education. The cathedral school of St. Paul’s, for instance, taught children from middling walks of life - such as one Geoffrey Chaucer, the son of a wine merchant - and placed a great emphasis on the learning of Latin. The recitation of the Latin alphabet started with the sign of the cross and ended with ‘Amen’: quite a sign of respect, coming from a religious institution. The school’s library was full of books on logic, law and medicine, as well as such still-popular classical hits as Aesop’s Fables.

The boys (unlike in the more flexible world of private education, school pupils were invariably male) also owned some books of their own: contrary to a common misconception, even before the invention of printing press books were not necessarily objects of luxury. For example, when in 1337 John Cobbledick left twenty-nine books to Oriel College, each of them was priced at about 6 shillings. Two centuries later, when William Chatsworth sent his beloved wife Bess of Hardwick gifts during his sojourn in London, he included some learning materials for their children: three French grammars, a copy of Cosmografie de Levant, and psalms in French.

Charitable institutions could sometimes take care of the education of poorer children: for instance, in 1542, the Alderman William Dauntsey of London directed in his will that his executors should build a charity school of eight chambers (one of them for the schoolmaster) in West Lavington, Wiltshire.

Boys who could boast some musical talent had an unusual route for both education and promotion: chapel choirs. Many noblemen - and noblewomen such as Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry VII - engaged in cultural patronage, supporting at times dozens of choristers. Margaret herself had hired a composer, Robert Cooper, who was entrusted with finding gifted boys for her chapel from ‘London, Wynesore and in the west country'. She also made sure that, apart from musical education, the boys in her choir received tuition in Latin: in January 1506 the same Cooper was responsible for purchasing five 'gramer bokes ... for the chyldryn of the chapell', costing 4s 3d. Their education ensured that, after growing out of their roles in the choir, the boys would be able to continue academic studies. One Thomas Freston left Margaret’s chapel at the age of 13 to attend Winchester College, while the 1460 statute of Tattershall College specified provision for ‘four poor boys’ who were 'teachable in song and reading, to help the choristers, each of whom is to have commons and clothing and all else that the choristers do'.

Girls could be educated in convent schools; some, though by no means all, later chose to enter these nunneries as actual novices (they couldn’t legally make such a decision until the age of twelve, however, just as they couldn’t legally consent to marriage). Within the convent walls, as outside them, their comforts depended a lot on their parents’ standing - if their entry fee was generous enough, the girls, whether they came as pupils or little novices, could count on having a bedroom to themselves, a generous provision of wood to burn in their fireplace, and rare foodstuffs for their tables. When Edward I’s daughter Mary entered the convent of Amesbury as a novice in 1285, at unusual (and frankly illegal) age of seven, her lifelong allowance included an annual provision of twenty tuns of wine from the Bordeaux claret merchants and forty oaks as kindling for her fireplace.

Convents were supposed to foster the life of prayer and quiet contemplation, which was even harder to get used to for her teenage novices than it were for the secular boarders, who weren’t, after all, handled as strictly. However, even in a nunnery, there was a certain softening of the rules when it came to young girls. For example, at the Feast of St Nicholas, the patron saint of children, the youngest novice was named the Girl Abbess and allowed to lead the community in dancing and revelry.

Adolescentia, or adolescence

This stage of life was thought to start at about fourteen and end in one’s early twenties. Highborn children of both sexes were usually sent to foster at the homes of friends or relatives of equal standing, both to finish their education and to establish useful connections. When the teenage Jan of Brabant was sent for foster at the English court, he devoted his years there to perfecting the arts of jousting and hunting with falcons, as well as the less official, but nonetheless useful skills of party planning, people-charming, and careful gambling. His future bride Margaret of England, meanwhile, was improving on her feminine arts of weaving and embroidery, often spending substantial sums on gold thread and silks of different colours.

The machinery of altar diplomacy was already in full swing by the time they reached that age, even though marriage proper - with the consummation implied - was usually still a few years in the future. The fate of Margaret Beaufort, who gave birth to her first husband’s son at age thirteen, was considered grotesque and frankly unsafe; after all, it’s no coincidence that she could have no children after. For instance, Thomas Aquinas cautioned in his Mirror for Princes that consummation should be delayed until the woman had reached the age of eighteen, and the man twenty-one.

The complicated diplomatic and legal negotiation process behind such agreements was left to the heads of the families and their respective employees, without the involvement of the betrothed ones themselves. After all, it included such charming tasks as drawing a complete summary of all villages, farms, rents, forests, and windmills belonging to the future groom’s family which would be able to provide the income for the bride’s dower, or widow portion, in case she outlives him - a pretty significant possibility, considering.

Lower down the social scale, marriage arrangements were not so pressing a concern - urban artisans, male or female, often married only in their mid-twenties. When their children reached adolescence, they usually worried about arranging an apprenticeship for them rather than a betrothal.

A child could be apprenticed to a master who practiced one of the trades regulated by the guilds of the town. These included mercers, grocers, fishmongers, drapers, tailors and even artists. The training usually took seven years, during which the master in question was obliged not only to educate the apprentice, but also to feed and clothe them and generally treat them like a member of their family (which usually also meant having them help around the house). This way, the future artisans spent their adolescence in a situation of indenture and completed their training in their early twenties. The ultimate dream after that was becoming a master in their own right and acquiring one’s own workshop; but, like people in their early twenties everywhere, most were too broke for that, and ended up working as journeymen in their master’s workshop for some more years - or sometimes for the rest of their lives.

Although the most prestigious trades, such as those of mercers or goldsmiths, only admitted men, others - the tailors, the bakers, the printers, the bakers, sometimes the painters - were open to apprentices of both sexes. Female artisans often ended up marrying their colleagues from the same guilds, and then keeping workshop together, but sometimes they kept their trade and conducted their business separately.

At this point, gaining the trappings of trade and marriage, they progressed into the adulthood, and thus beyond the scope of this post.

Sources:

Devices and Desires: Bess of Hardwick and the Building of Elizabethan England by Kate Hubbard

Daughters of Chivalry by Katie Wilson-Lee

The Lives of Tudor Women by Elizabeth Norton

Chaucer: A European Life by Marion Turner

Kisby, Fiona. “A Mirror of Monarchy: Music and Musicians in the Household Chapel of the Lady Margaret Beaufort, Mother of Henry VII.” Early Music History, vol. 16, 1997, pp. 203–234

The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 1400–1700: Objects, Spaces, Domesticities by Erin J. Campbell et al.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing ref #writer #writeblr #writer's problems #fantasy guide #writing resources #writers resources #writers reference #middle ages #medieval #history #medieval history #historical guide #writing community #writeblr community

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damnprussia · 7 years

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Star Wars: A PrUK Story

@aph-memepan, I’m your secret santa for @prukevents & the PrUK Secret Santa! I won’t lie, I struggled a lot with your prompts, I have no idea why. I’m writing this, powering through a week-old headache and I realise that it just can’t wait.

You asked for superpower AU and that’s not my specialty at all; I’ve been hit with the Star Wars bug (okay that’s a lie, I’m always hit with the Star Wars bug) and this Jedi AU has been calling my name. I have no idea if you like the Wars, so I’ve tried to keep this as vague as possible while still keeping with the idea of ‘superpowers’. Force sensitivities = super powers basically, right?

Rated SFW, mentions of sex, and some psychological manipulation.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . . .

STAR WARS

Episode LXIX

SOME GAY SHIT HAPPENS

It is a period of war between the Jedi Order and the evil Sith Empire as the two armies fight for control of the galaxy. As the Sith spread across the galaxy, their numbers grow with mandatory conscription of those sensitive to the Force on planets they control.

One Jedi Knight, Gilbert Beilschmidt, has fled the Jedi Order and is presumed dead. He is residing in the planet Nebulan, hiding his connection to the Force as the Sith Empire overtake the planet.

His former Apprentice, Arthur Kirkland, betrayed the Jedi Order and has risen the ranks of the Sith. He takes residence on Nebulan, taking command of its jurisdiction. A ripple in the Force alerts him to a familiar presence that is not far away...

“Last call, we’re closing soon - last call.”

A bar on Nebulan was surprisingly busy for an average night, but that wasn’t so bad. The patrons were rowdy as usual, with young men and women chatting each other at the bar, engaging in fights, and probably making illegal trade deals in the corners, or whatnot. At least nobody’s limbs had been amputated.

The bar hadn’t been full like this since the Sith Empire - a powerful legion of Force users who used their powers to gain power over others.

From a business standpoint, Sith occupation of Nebulan was a good thing. Young Sith apprentices and loyalists enjoyed their drink, and as much as they enjoyed reaching out to take control of everything they could, it seemed that they enjoyed losing control just as much. They didn’t tip too well, but they made up for it in third and fourth rounds.

From a business owner’s standpoint, Sith occupation was a headache that no medicine or droid lullaby could send away. They were rowdy, loud, demanding, and awfully rude to the locals who might just be trying to escape their troubles.

Somehow, though, peace and calm reigned in the bar. There was always order, and usually calm. Disputes were taken outside and matters settled promptly. It may have had to do with the certain business owner and bartender who appeared to rule with an iron fist. There was something innate about his ability to set things at a calm.

Gilbert Beilschmidt had come to Nebulan mysteriously, set up his business seemingly overnight, and that had been that. Those that inquired about his past, where he came from, who he was, were met with vague, dodgy answers, and since he was good at what he did - that is, getting the patrons drunk and making sure nobody died in the process - questions soon died away. Gilbert was integrated into the community as quickly as he could pour his drinks.

With fifteen minutes left of an otherwise smooth night, two young Sith were harassing a lady at the bar. They were both young, obviously apprentices, wearing black. For the moment, the bartender (and other patrons) ignored them, not wanting confrontation. However, the moment they both put their hands on her, both of their nearly-full drinks shattered, alcohol spilling all over them. Somehow, not a drop reached the lady, who quickly ducked out of their domineering after they both stood up in anger.

“Who did that?” they were shouting, looking around wildly to find the source of the mischief. Just as they started accusing other patrons of being the cause, Gilbert approached, standing before them. “Alright,” he said simply. “Out, both of you.”

They looked affronted. “You don’t tell us what to do-”

“OUT.” Something in his tone, and the sharpness in his red eyes quieted them both, and all other patrons around them. For several moments, they stared at each other, before slowly, the willpower of the younger patrons wilted and they slowly retreated, mumbling under their breaths.

Within the hour, the rest of the patrons were gone, quick to leave after the other Sith argued about “returning for revenge”. Gilbert was not intimidated by their words.

His only other assistants were two droids who cleaned, passed drinks to passengers, and assisted in security detail. He liked them, because they were resistant to the powers of the Dark Side that the Sith possessed. They fettered around the establishment, sweeping and mopping after their unruly patrons.

Gilbert was cleaning his second-to-last tankard behind the bar, when a shadow from the corner of the building began to move, and come towards him.

“I announced last call an hour ago,” Gilbert said to the dark form, hardly looking up.

It was a man clad in black, just as the other Sith had been. He came to the bar, silently, deliberately, and sat down on the closest stool, off to the far right corner. Gilbert did not seemed perturbed by his presence, even as the other leaned in. “How long have you known I was here?” He took the edges of his hood and slid it back to reveal a pale face with sharp features, and illustrious green eyes and blonde hair.

Only then did Gilbert look up and face him. He took a deep breath, staring at the face of Arthur Kirkland, his former apprentice, back a long time ago, in a different time, when he was a different man. When he was a Jedi - when Arthur was a Jedi.

Damn. Arthur looked magnificent. Confident, powerful, intelligent.

As they stared at each other, assessing one another, Gilbert was reminded of the first time he had laid eyes on the man, nearly ten years ago. Far away, in the Jedi temple of Coruscant, illustrated in a convenient flashback sequence:

“You’ll be given an apprentice,” he had been told by the Jedi council. “One who is not a child, and not our typical recruit.”

Gilbert knew then that he should have said ‘no’. Whenever the Jedi council deviated from the norm, it meant it was convenient for them, and inconvenient for everyone else. But Gilbert was in no position to reject the Council’s decision to assign this unorthodox Apprentice on him.

“What makes him special?” Gilbert had asked.

There was nervousness throughout the council. Eight powerful Jedi, looking at each other in disdain. Never a good sign. “He has the potential to be a powerful Force user. Incredibly sensitive, with Force precognition and emotional manipulation. He is an adult, from the far corner of the galaxy.”

Gilbert’s eyes narrowed. “So?” There was more to this...

“We have acquired him based on the facts that he has an affinity for the Dark Side. Sith Masters were closing in on him, and from what we have seen of him, he was not entirely unwilling to join.”

Yes, there it was. There was the one thing he was waiting for. “An affinity for the Dark Side”. Just like him. That’s what they saw in Gilbert - due to his own “affinity for the Dark Side”. “So you want me to sway him from that?”

“You have been able to resist the temptation of the Dark Side unusually well, even when you were near completion to your apprenticeship under the Sith, Gilbert. You are the only one who can turn him away and form him into a model Jedi. You must do anything in your power to keep him from turning to the Dark Side.”

Gilbert hadn’t told them what they already knew - that he was hardly a ‘model Jedi’ himself, and his “resisting the Dark Side” was sometimes interrupted with flirting and secret affairs with it.

And when he saw him for the first time - fierce green eyes, a stern expression, an anxious composure, Gilbert had done his best to be stern and diplomatic.

“I will be your master,” he had said. “You are my apprentice. I will teach you the ways of the Force.” He saw Arthur’s eyes light up in eager anticipation, and Gilbert swallowed hard.

“You will learn the Light Side of the Force.” When he saw that enthusiasm falter - just a little bit, just enough for someone with keen vision to notice - was when Gilbert knew that he had a long, and difficult road ahead of him.

Transformed from the fierce, anxious young man who had greeted him ten years ago, into the confident, relaxed demeanour of a Sith Lord who sat at Gilbert’s bar (spoiler: Gilbert’s attempt to ‘reform’ Arthur had, in fact, been an abysmal failure to be explored later), watching him calmly, calculating his next moves. “How long have you known I was here?” he asked.

“Since you walked in,” Gilbert replied. After a moment of hesitation, he began to pour the man a drink. “You reek.”

Arthur seemed to revel in it. “My last reports indicated that Gilbert Beilschmidt, Jedi Master, was declared dead in battle.” He accepted the drink with a nod of thanks as Gilbert slid him a glass. “It is awfully bold of you to place yourself here, in the midst of Sith territory, and it takes an enormous amount of power to hide it all for as long as you have been.”

“It was not Sith territory when I came here,” Gilbert replied with a deep frown, now busying himself with checking his bar stock of drinks. “The reports stated I was dead, but I know the Force has told you differently.”

Arthur paused, taking a drink but keeping his eyes on his ‘host’. “So you let us invade without lifting a finger to stop it.” He put the drink down with a heavy thud. “Was I the reason you left?”

Gilbert’s hands stilled on a bottle of syrup, his back turned to the other man. “...No,” he responded at last, but it did not have a certain level of conviction to it. “After being routinely passed over for missions, promotions, and clearances, it became clear to me that the Council had no faith in me, and so I lost my faith in them. So I left.” He shrugged.

There was silence for a long time as Arthur drank and Gilbert cleaned, the only sound from the quiet commands from Gilbert to his droids. “And now you’re a bartender,” Arthur finally said.

The other walked over and put both hands on the bar in front of him, eyeing Arthur down. “And you’re a Sith Lord with a high enough body count to make me blush,” he replied in an unimpressed tone. “Funny, how times change.”

“You seem hardly impressed with how far I’ve come,” Arthur drawled. “Are you disappointed in what happened?”

What happened was something that would haunt Gilbert for years. Well - not necessarily haunt, because Gilbert himself did not seem to mind what happened, but everyone else did.

He had let Arthur go.

“You must do anything in your power,” he had been told. Gilbert had taken those instructions very liberally. Arthur had been fascinated by Gilbert, in all the wrong places. Fascinated with his past, his Sith origins. Fascinated with his red lightsaber. Fascinated with Gilbert’s ability to walk that line between Light and Dark, never quite falling to one side or another. Fascinated with Gilbert’s interpretation of the Jedi Code, and how Gilbert used those interpretations to manipulate it. Fascinated with him.

Gilbert, in turn, had become fascinated with Arthur, in all the wrong places. Fascinated with his past, with his decidedly not-Sith origins. Fascinated with Arthur’s fascination with his red lightsaber. Fascinated with his ability to some close, so close to the Dark Side, but never quite fall into temptation.

“You’re the only thing keeping me on this path,” Arthur had said to him once, and that was when Gilbert realised that this was a failed endeavour. But they tried, oh did they try. They tried lots of different things. Meditation, training, battles, mind games, coaching - oh, and sex. They tried a lot of sex. And, of all those things, the sex was arguably the most effective.

So Gilbert, simply tired of fighting a steadily losing battle with a Jedi who slipped further and further away from him, let him go. It was only a year after his graduation from Padawan to Jedi Knight did Gilbert formally (well, as formally as could be done in the early morning after a very emotionally-charged night) relinquished Arthur of his duties as a Jedi, and sent him on his way.

“Am I disappointed?” Gilbert reiterated, contemplating. “No,” he finally said. “Are you happy, where you are?”

Slowly, Arthur laughed. “One isn’t necessarily happy in the ranks of the Sith. But, in that sense, yes.” He finished his drink and the glass shifted forward towards Gilbert, who resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he took it and began to pour another. “Interesting how times change, indeed. You were a Sith, who became a Jedi, who became a civilian. I was a civilian, who became a Jedi, who became a Sith.”

“I got tired,” Gilbert explained as he poured the glass. “Tired of the looks from others, and tired of only seeing you on a battlefield on the opposite lines. And tired of…” he hesitated with the last words. “Tired of feeling my connection with you, through the Force, knowing there was an incomprehensible amount of distance between us that could never be shrunk. So, I left. So I would stop being bothered by it, and I could busy myself with other things, and drown it away.”

Arthur accepted his glass back when he opened his hand and it slid into his palm. “Drown it away?”

It was Gilbert’s turn to pour himself a drink. Straight liquor. “I still love you,” he replied blankly, quickly replacing the words on his tongue with the alcohol.

“That surprises me,” Arthur said, a genuine look on his face to match his words. “So much time has passed.”

The man simply shrugged, already half his drink gone. “Oh well, it is what it is.”

Arthur did not indicate one way or another his own feelings, and Gilbert did not expect him to. Part of him didn’t expect Arthur to necessarily even care about what Gilbert felt. Instead, Arthur sat in relative silence, finishing his drink while Gilbert finished his own, finished his chores at the bar, and powered down the droids.

When Arthur’s drink was finished, the glass rose into the air and gently placed itself in the sink as Gilbert observed silently. “You’ll see me again,” Arthur said as he stood up and patted the top of the bar. “Unless you get found, and conscripted. Then it’s doubtful.” He was smiling.

Gilbert rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll do my part to make sure that doesn’t happen - and you do yours.”

Arthur left, and Gilbert lingered in the bar a little while longer - he had one more drink for himself.

Several days passed, and Gilbert did not see any more of Arthur. It was business as usual. However, on the third day since his unexpected visitor, rumours began to circulate, and they made their way into the bar - “The Jedi are mobilising,” many of the local patrons were saying. “They are coming to liberate Nebulan.” They felt safe to speak such words, because that day there were no Sith to be found in the establishment. Most likely, if the rumours were found true, they were preparing for battle.

“Oh, wouldn’t that be something,” he’d say, serving them their drinks and cleaning up, just as every night. Gilbert remained calm and neutral as he discussed the matter. There was a buzz in the air from the patrons, however - he was tipped generously, and the energy was higher than it had been in a long time.

Gilbert went home that night. He lived in a very small home not far away from the bar, located in one of Nebulan’s largest cities. His own bar was just outside of a main shopping district, down a quiet street. His own home was even quieter.

He went inside, removed his boots, said hello to his home droid, K-6, and went to his bedroom. There, he stood for a long time, into his wardrobe that opened before him, and stared at the beige robes that hung up neatly inside. His old Jedi robes, that he had not worn in a long time.

The Jedi were coming. Gilbert had a choice - remain in the shadows as he was, and leave the fate of the planet up to others, or take charge, as he used to. Fight, as he did. He was one of the Jedi’s finest pilots and duelists. Gilbert had been strong, he had been brave. He knew this.

He stepped forward and reached into an inner cabinet of the wardrobe. He pulled out his lightsaber. He had not held it for a long time. Silver and black, with an elegant handle and inside, a synthetic red crystal. It was a lightsaber fit for a Sith, but it was Gilbert’s, one he had crafted from hand and loved very much, no matter his alignment.

He glanced up when someone was in his house. He did not move. He knew who it was.

“Are you jealous that someone might kill me before you do?” Arthur’s voice was light and teasing. He was leaning against the doorframe, Gilbert could see that without even turning around. Damn, he was so sure of himself.

“Hardly. If there’s one thing I don’t have to worry about, it’s you getting killed by some random Jedi you don’t approve of.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Arthur as he approached. Gilbert kept the lightsaber in his grasp, gripping it tightly as he felt Arthur’s hands slide up his back, to start at his shoulderblades, and move around to hug him loosely around Gilbert’s neck. Arthur’s cheek pressed against his own and it took every ounce of willpower for Gilbert not to lean into that. He took a deep breath instead and kept his gaze focused on the symbolic article of clothing, that probably stood as a metaphor for his past strength, or something like that.

“You’re the only one,” Arthur finished.

“I wasn’t aware that it was so easy to declare yourself immortal in that way,” Gilbert responded, weakly. Damn it, his resolve was crumbling. He leaned back into the other man - a little bit, just ever so slightly.

Arthur, meanwhile, was probably drinking it in. “What will you do?” he asked, as one hand reached up to thread through Gilbert’s hair with surprising grace. “Will you fight?”

Gilbert closed his eyes. If he put on those robes and returned as a Jedi when they arrived, it would be like nothing had changed. Arthur would still be a Sith, and Gilbert would still only ever see him when they faced in battle, only fleeting moments as they subtly defended each other’s life while furthering their own goals.

Wasn’t that sort of back-and-forth what Gilbert was tired of?

But wasn’t the justice of the galaxy, the thrill of the fight, and the ability to use his powers why he joined the Jedi to begin with? Why he turned away from the Dark Side, and why he continues, to this day, to resist its temptation?

Gilbert lowered the saber. His own subtle way of relinquishing control.

Arthur kissed his cheek and pulled away, his fingers lingering on Gilbert’s shoulder for just a moment longer than necessary. “I will keep you safe,” he promised.

As he stepped away, Gilbert turned to face him for the first time. Arthur was already turning on his heels to go, and Gilbert felt a bit cold. “Arthur,” he called after him.

The man stopped and turned, eyeing him carefully. “Yes?”

“Would you like a drink?”

The Sith smiled a slow, very knowing smile. Gilbert simply took a deep breath. Arthur knew what this meant. Gilbert knew what this meant.

Arthur was already beginning to shed his robes.

“I’d love that.”

A/N: So, I think that I will be continuing this, as I greatly enjoyed playing with it - but I may begin at a different time, perhaps “at the beginning” when Gilbert and Arthur first meet, and both of their origins are further explored. I’m still a bit unsure.

I hope it made sense and I hope that you enjoyed it! Any and all feedback would be lovely!

#pruk #prueng #engpru #aph prussia #aph england #aph memepan

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nitemice · 7 years

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Hey, here's my latest post over on my main blog:

For an album by Paramore, After Laughter is severely lacking in many of the trademark features we’ve come to know and love from the band. Their new album manages to feel wildly unlike them, and yet inextricably linked to them.

Paramore is one of my all-time favourite bands, along with Garbage, They Might Be Giants, The Little Stevies and a few others, so I was super excited for a new album. That anticipation only grew when I heard the first single Hard Times, which felt funky, and fresh; different from Paramore’s previous stuff, but awesome.

My anticipation was further exasperated by the fact I didn’t listen to the album initially when it came out on May 12, because I was in the middle of my review of Sumo Cyco’s Opus Mar and I wanted to be able to go in fresh.

That said, despite all my hype, I couldn’t bring myself to buy After Laughter without hearing it in full. And what a shock I got!

As with last album, Paramore’s lineup has changed for this album. This time they have lost Jeremy Davis, but have gained one of the original Farro brother, Zac Farro, leaving the band with Hayley Williams, Taylor York and Zac Farro. This turns out to be just another chapter in Paramore’s tumultuous history, of which I wasn’t fully aware until recently.

As much as some would like to put that history out of mind, it has actually formed an important element of Paramore, as it’s given them something to sing about album after album. In fact, I can’t think of another band whose lyrics comment on the state of said band as much as Paramore, and this continues to be true on this latest album.

As with my other album reviews, I’ve listed previous Paramore songs each track reminds me of (with the album they come from), a rank for each track on this album, as well as a comment about each track. Plus there’s an overview of the album as a whole at the bottom.

1. Hard Times

Reminds me of: Turn It Off [Brand New Eyes], Fast In My Car [Paramore] Rank on this album: 1 Being the first single, Hard Times was the first thing I heard from this album, and what a powerful way to open! It bursts through the door with a tropical energy, thanks to bongo beats and light guitar riffs. The lyrics are a clear comment on the band history, as well as Hayley’s personal struggles, presented in relatable language. The upbeat nature of the tune sharply contrasts with these lyrics, but it’s all about overcoming and getting through the “hard times”, so it feel like a victory dance in musical form.

2. Rose-Colored Boy

Reminds me of: Be Alone [Paramore], Still Into You [Paramore], Looking Up [Brand New Eyes] Rank on this album: 5 Rose-Colored Boy uses its upbeat, 80’s-inspired sound to tell the story of a relationship between the titular optimist and a pessimistic narrator, who’s struggling with the encouraging influence of the boy. Like the songs that surround it, the lyrics here feel somewhat counter to the boppy, fun feel of the music.

3. Told You So

Reminds me of: Hard Times [After Laughter], Ain’t It Fun [Paramore], Let The Flames Begin [Riot!] Rank on this album: 3 Told You So has a boppy, light feel, with tropical undertones and lyrics that contrast with the tone of the song, similar to Hard Times. Distortion is also used to interesting effect, to symbolically distort certain lyrics, making it feel surprisingly natural and fitting. An interesting mixture of riffs also appear, playing across guitar, synth, and pitched percussion.

4. Forgiveness

Reminds me of: Grow Up [Paramore], My Heart [All We Know Is Falling] Rank on this album: 11 Forgiveness is a laid-back tune with a great syncopated rhythm which transforms into a full-on swing during the choruses. The backing guitar riff is very choppy, leaving space for a set of vulnerable vocals, which don’t pack much power, but totally work in the context.

5. Fake Happy

Reminds me of: Interlude: Holiday [Paramore], Fences [Riot!], Tell Me It’s Okay [Paramore] Rank on this album: 7 Fake Happy opens with an intro thankfully different from the rest of the song. In fact, there’s an edited version on Spotify that does away with it altogether. It’s a drab, slow and depressing lament that sounds like it was recorded underwater. From here, the song pivots into a boppy, soft rock with a slight 80’s vibe, which just continues to open up as it goes. The lyrics comment on the pressure to always act happy and make out that everything is good. My favourite part (possibly on the whole album) would have to be when the choir chimes in with their riff, because it sounds so much like the Bob-Omb tune from Mario 64. I love it; it’s hilarious and I laugh every time I hear it.

6. 26

Reminds me of: Rose-Colored Boy [After Laughter], Last Hope [Paramore], Misguided Ghosts [Brand New Eyes] Rank on this album: 12 The most vulnerable-sounding track on this album, 26 is a semi-acoustic song, dominated by restrained vocals and plinking guitar. These are joined by some classic Paramore violins in the latter half, which fill out the sound beautifully with a lullaby-like quality. The lyrics here are more hopeful than most other songs on the album, about overcoming the pessimism of others and yourself.

7. Pool

Reminds me of: Decode [Brand New Eyes], Still Into You [Paramore] Rank on this album: 6 Apart from a very familiar sounding riff that opens and remains in the background of the song, Poolis a mellow, contemplative-pop style track that heats up slowly. The sound has watery quality to it, which match the song’s title and the lyrics where water is used as a metaphor for the various elements of a dubious relationship.

8. Grudges

Reminds me of: Where The Lines Overlap [Brand New Eyes], Part II [Paramore] Rank on this album: 4 Grudges opens with springy, synthy riff that heavily reminds me of Crying. From here, the song moves back to a light pop-rock flow with an interesting, shifting rhythm. The lyrics are about recovering a friendship and making up for lost time, and opportunities.

9. Caught in the Middle

Reminds me of: Daydreaming [Paramore] Rank on this album: 8 Caught in the Middle‘s biggest strengths is its catchy bridge, which is a total earworm, and ever-driving beat, which keeps the song moving. Shifting between a sparse but solid 80’s guitar riff in the verses and a funky reggae feel in the choruses makes for a widely varied song that never overstays its welcome, stylistically.

10. Idle Worship

Reminds me of: Fake Happy [After Laughter], That’s What You Get [Riot!], Conspiracy [All We Know Is Falling] Rank on this album: 2 Idle Worship is the track that finally made me “get” this album. It’s an electronic new age track, with an ethereal vibe. I read this song as a regretful plea from Hayley, to the fans who look to her as a beacon of guidance and “salvation”, to understand her situation. She’s just human, with as many mistakes as any of us, and holding her up as a “superhero” or “saviour” puts an unreasonable amount of pressure on her. The verses can get a bit shouty and breathless, but it feels right in the context. The “la la” refrain sounds phoned in, but again it seems to fit. The chorus is catchy and sort of fun, which helps disguise the true bite of the song.

11. No Friend

Reminds me of: Idle Worship [After Laughter], Future [Paramore] Rank on this album: 10 Picking up where the last track left off, No Friends is a very unusual sort of track. It mainly consists of drums and a variety of guitars, playing a hypnotically repetitive melody. Underneath, the voice of Aaron Weiss of mewithoutYou delivers a poetry-like medley of somewhat surreal lyrics in a Nick Cave-like muttering. It starts off too quiet to decipher, getting louder and clearer as the track progresses. The lyrics again comment on Paramore’s turbulent history and their relationship with their fans, echoing thoughts from Idle Worship, as well as eluding to various previous tracks from Paramore’s body of work.

12. Tell Me How

Reminds me of: Forgiveness [After Laughter], (One Of Those) Crazy Girls [Paramore], Hate To See Your Heart Break [Paramore] Rank on this album: 9 As the last track of the album, Tell Me How is a bit of an anti-climax. It’s a Nerina Pallot-style contemplative-pop track, which starts out calm, yet emotive with mainly piano, vocals and percussion. As the song goes on, the guitar and drums get louder and rockier, introducing a tropical, marimba-like riff. The lyrics echo many of the themes of Forgiveness.

At first blush, the most obvious thing about After Laughter is that it feels so totally different from Paramore’s previous albums. It’s a much more contemplative and measured collection of thoughts and tunes. With this, it lacks many of the hallmarks that we’ve come to take for granted from Paramore: the roaring vocals, the shredding guitars, the punchy, punky rock. Instead, many of the tracks have an 80’s or tropical Caribbean feel, with some more adventurous drumming and instrumentation thrown in. Overall though, they have swapped the rage and despair of previous albums for a mostly jolly, middling, ho-hum sound that often doesn’t really match the lyrics it accompanies. To my ear, the lyrics are also much more coherent and easy to follow.

As a whole, the album doesn’t flow super-well. Nearly every track is totally stand alone, providing no interaction with its neighbours. That said, thematically, the songs seem to come in pairs: something that could have been highlighted by ordering the songs differently.

Some songwriters write fictional stories in their lyrics. Others like to borrow from the stories of those around them. With Hayley, you really believe that everything she says and sings about is something she has personally experienced, and that’s never been more true than on this album. Each song feels like a letter to a specific person or group, ranging from different (current and/or former) band members, to the band’s critics, to its fans. Each packs a considered and sometimes surprising message that makes the album both easier and harder to fully grasp.

It may take a while (I know it did for me), but if you really focus in on the lyrics of the songs, you’re able to get a sense of Williams’ headspace. From there, you start to understand where this album comes from, as opposed to the surface impression of everything that’s missing or different about it. After I understood that, and the sentiments behind the songs, I also started to like more of the tracks for what they are, rather than despite it.

Once I really started to understand this album, it became hard to review because I felt like I was contributing to the problems covered by the album. I don’t want to misrepresent Paramore or contribute to their anxiety. There are things that I love about Paramore that just aren’t here, but I feel bad to have a crack at them for that. Everyone changes, and we have to accept that. It’s an affront, but Paramore may argue that that’s what their fans need.

Much like Paramore’s last album Paramore, After Laughter feels quite different from everything that’s come before. When I first heard that last album, I didn’t like it much. However, despite that initial take, Paramore eventually became probably my favourite of Paramore’s albums, because of its mixture of emotion and fury. And with time, I think that will be true, to some extent, of this album too. I doubt it will ever be my favourite, but I can say I’ve already begun to like it.

RATING: 7.5/10 – ★★★★★★★✬☆☆

But you don’t have to take my word for it…Listen to the album for yourself, and make up your own mind. Then you can let me know what you think of Paramore’s After Laughter.

So, are you a fan of Paramore? What’s your favourite songs of theirs? Did you pre-order After Laughter? What do you think? Did it live up to your expectations? Have I said anything you disagree with? Tell me & everyone else who passes through here what you think in the comment below.

To Infinity and Beyond,

Nitemice

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