#agnieszka

“Magic was singing in me, through me; I felt the murmur of his power singing back the same song.”

As the last vestiges of autumn fall away, it’s time for a little Uprooted art ❤️

Ah, Uprooted by Naomi Novik, one of my great loves~ Chaotic Sunshine plus Lawful Grump but they’re a power couple? Sign me UP ✨

I wanted to contrast the Wood with the Tower in the back while also weaving the Spindle all around them. I also happen to believe in long-haired Sarkan supremacy just for the aesthetic even if it’s not practical

I created this as a mini collab with my good friend Marcie over on Instagram (@mariamarcelcw) and her art piece is amaaaazing so def go check it out!

zodiaccity:

Add the letters in your first name using the numbers below =) 

- Under 60 points= NOT TOO SEXY
- Between 61-300 points= PRETTY SEXY
- Between 301-599 points= VERY SEXY
- Over 600= THE ULTIMATE SEXIEST

• A=100 B=14 C=9 D=28 E=145 F=12
• G=3 H=10 I=200 J=100 K=114 L=100 M=25
• N=450 O=80 P=2 Q=12 R=400 S=113 T=405
• U=11 V=10 W=10 X=3 Y=210 Z=23

Don’t forget to add your name and your total!!!

athenasdragon:

Here’s a piece I wrote last winter for the Uprooted holiday fic exchange, finally posted on Tumblr for the Uprooted Harvest Faire! @uprootedficathon

The title is from the poem “A Dream Pang” by Robert Frost. AO3

Autumn was always a busy time in the Dragon’s tower. Over the years, Agnieszka had dragged him out to dance at more and more harvest festivals across the Valley, and then there was the matter of collecting the towns’ tributes. Seven years after Agnieszka was chosen, the people of the Valley lined up their daughters as usual, unsure whether the tradition had truly passed into history; their witch embraced them each and presented them with vials of dust to sprinkle over the earth before the first snowfall in order to ensure a plentiful harvest the following spring. The Dragon Girls were born blessed, now, not cursed.

This year marked the twenty-first since Agnieszka was whisked away from Dvernik and the Dragon smiled in spite of himself when the leaves began to turn. He and Agnieszka were not always together—business had kept him away in [capital] for most of the summer, and she had extended her benevolent reach far into the Wood—but when the apples ripened and the wheat was bound, he could close his eyes and see the flash of the bonfire on her hair and the imprints of her bare feet in the cool grass, hear her laughter like a spell commanding him to dance with her.

He leaned out the library window, spellbook forgotten where it lay open on the table, and breathed deeply of the first cool evening. Soon the mornings would be thick with fog from the Spindle, but today the harvest was barely begun; he could see motion all over the valley as the farmers drove home carts heaping with their first week’s bounty. Farther still, at the edge of the Wood, he could see the lights of torches as a few straggling gatherers emerged from the dusky forest with baskets full of mushrooms and kindling. He scoured the tree line for a trace of smoke from Agnieszka’s cottage, trying to pretend that he didn’t care much whether she had returned to her home—and that he certainly had no intention of paying her a visit if she had.

“If you lean much farther you’ll fall out.”

He whirled around at the familiar voice and had to fight down a grin when he found Agnieszka standing just a few feet behind him. Instead he arched one brow as he pulled a leaf from her hair, taking in the dirt caked onto her dress and bare feet. “You look like you fell out of a tree and into my library.”

She smiled back and reached out to wipe a streak of mud onto his jerkin with one grimy hand. “You look like you haven’t left your library in months.”

He caught her wrist and took half a step closer, bringing them chest to chest. He opened his mouth, closed it absently when he realized he could smell the sun on her skin, and opened it again. “You look like you nested under a log for the summer.”

“And you’re as pale as a grub under a log,” she laughed.

“Oh, you—” He cut himself off as he pulled her against him and caught her mouth with his. She was still laughing into the kiss as she threw her arms around his waist and lifted him off the ground and spun him a little, every touch pouring pure joy into him as real as any magic. He grumbled when she set him down and made a show of dusting himself off, but when she touched his face and whispered his name, there was suddenly nothing he could do besides hold her tight and press his face into her neck and whisper hers back.

Keep reading

wherestoriescomefrom:

The Valley by Ridiculosity. Written for the Uprooted Harvest Faire by @uprootedficathon. For @athenasdragon. 

A simple bed sharing fic for a simple girl (ie, me). Here’s a taster: 

There was a shadow under the gap, and it was moving. It paced up, then it paced down, then it stopped directly in front of the door.

He let out a curse and a breath.

When he opened the door, she seemed to be on the verge of knocking.

“What?”He snapped.

She had the decency to look sheepish. “I – I couldn’t sleep.”

“Congratulations,” he said.

Heaven help him, she was in nothing more than a plain white shift. She wasn’t even wearing shoes or slippers, she was in just that – her arms were bare, the curve of her neck was somehow more pronounced. It took every ounce of self-control to not kiss her then and there.

You have seen her naked, he told himself. You have seen many women naked. There is nothing she had that you cannot otherwise find.

He really shouldn’thave reminded himself of the fact that he had seen her naked. Now it was hard to push the thought away.

Read the whole fic here!

thevikingwoman:

For@uprootedficathon‘sUprooted Harvest Faire 2019 - thank you for doing the event! 

A small piece of domestic fluff. Set some time after Home, but can be read alone.

Fandom:Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Words:734

Agnieszka/Sarkan | Post-Canon | romance
rating: Mature, for sexual references. fluff, quite some time post canon,

Read on AO3

Pies

He doesn’t think much of it, at first, when Agnieszka isn’t in their bed when he wakes. She normally sleeps later than him, but sometimes something wakes her (the Wood, though he doesn’t want to think about that), and she starts breakfast before he wakes.

She isn’t in the kitchen, though, and he can’t hear her outside. There are dirty dishes in the skink, and a used cup with half a cup of cold coffee is left at the little table in the kitchen.

He takes the cup to the sink and empties it.

He makes himself breakfast, and he is not worried. Not overly worried. He puts down his plate and looks outside. No Agnieszka, and the hollow in front of the cottage is empty, the basket of treefruit is gone.

She must have gone to the wood today.

He sits and eats, and once he does there is a note on the table, in Agnieszka’s messy hand.

I’ll be at the tower preparing, please come help.

Preparing what?

He cleans the kitchen with a simple cantrip, and casts the spell to take him to the tower. He repaired it, some years ago, and the bulk of his library and his laboratory is there. He uses them often, though he lives in the cottage. The rest of the tower is repaired too – the kitchen and dining area, the guest rooms. They’re all useful when guests arrive from the capital or elsewhere.

Hopefully Solya has not announced he is arriving for dinner. Sarkan makes a face as he surveys the antechamber. No, Solya would have messaged him, not Agnieszka. And he is still afraid of the Wood.

She would not be in library, he thinks, what would she prepare? Hopefully she is not in the laboratory. Is she preparing guests rooms? No, she will be in the kitchen. Sarkan smiles to himself and makes his way there.

He is right, of course. Agnieszka is in the kitchen, slicing tree-fruit.

“There you are! Get to work.”

There are lined pie dishes everywhere, and more dough under a cooling spell.

“You’re baking them into pies?”

“It will be good, and there are so many. Hopefully I can make enough for everyone.”

She hands him the knife and her cutting board, and he goes to work automatically. People eat them now, especially the younger ones. The ones who do not remember.

“What is the occasion?” he asks, but he knows as soon as he asks. It’s harvest time, and the villages will have their celebrations. Agnieszka will want to join her family and her friends, and maybe even visit every village.

“The festival. Danka told me the headwomen and men decided to hold an very large feast in Olshanka this year. Instead of, you know. The Choosing.”

His knife slips and he curses as it cuts deeply into his finger, blood running everywhere.

It’s been ten years, and he’d forgotten.

“Sarkan,” she exclaims, full of love and worry. “Let me see.”

He knows it useless to protest and extends his hand. She picks it up in both of hers, gently.

“I’d forgotten,” he says. His life is very different now. He is glad he doesn’t have to do that anymore. That he doesn’t have to avoid their eyes, as he takes someone away, someone who would fear him more than she should. People are still scared of him, and he still has little reason to go through the cities and villages, but he can go.

“So, you’re not going to send me away with a bag of silver?”

Her voice is teasing, and her magic knits his skin together with a smell of lemon, cool and fragrant.

“You’re my wife,” he says. He does not find it amusing.

She laughs. “All better.” She kisses his finger, and then his cheek. “I wouldn’t leave anyway, Sarkan.”

She picks up the board and fruit and knife stained with blood, and tosses the fruit slices in the trash, and the other items in the sink.

She is still an infuriating impossibility, ten years later. But a good one. He takes her into his arms, and he kisses her.

“I have much more fruit. Be careful this time.”

He concentrates, and everything on the table piles up at the other end. He lifts her onto the cleared space, and slides his hands under her skirt.

“Forget about the pies.”

They do.