#???? since the wind-up mystel

[lily-ohfally]

public transport.png

[queensbrother]

xi. minion

#FebHyurary  

[spirestar]

@heartinhands : see + standing in the rain (medraut + xiv muse of ur choice)

Proper rain clouds are new to Lakeland. It's been over a century since they darkened the sky into the evening, since greys and blues were spread over the wide expanse above like oil paint on a canvas. The Exarch has no need for his hood, not anymore, but with the rain he's more than glad for it. Already his robes are beginning to soak through pitifully, but he promised the Scions he would look, and look he shall. As if he had to be asked to promise / As if he wouldn't promise much more.

As a round of freshly relieved guards head toward the Crystarium proper, the Exarch lifts his skirts to meet them, one crystalline arm raised in greeting. "Has anyone seen--?" Yes, says a mystel he knows is called Yasha-Hann, and when they nod toward the Rookery and the stilted walkways near it that's all he needs to know. He bids them farewell with a similar wave and is off again, the staff on his back smacking at his ankles with how haphazardly he's tied it in place.

Of course she's here; It's the only place with a good view of Lakeland that isn't in Lakeland and about as far as one can go to get away from the crowds of the city itself. With the weather, though, he has to walk carefully up the metal scaffolding to find Medraut stood at the end of the platform, her hair plastered to her cheeks, soaked to the skin. The Exarch is beginning to feel the same, though, and another breeze of cold wind blows water onto his face. So, though there's a greeting on his lips, polite and uncertain still, his body opts for a sneeze in its place. At least he won't frighten himself into not saying anything at all.

He awkwardly squeezes out, "Ah, e-enjoying the weather?" after he rubs at his nose for a moment. His tail is hanging low, waterlogged, and the cold makes his face go just a little red. The cold. Another stream of water drips from his hood and he begins to regret ever wearing the damned thing again. Really he hadn't considered the consequences, it's been so long since a time he could even think to remove it to begin with! In a jolt, the Exarch lifts his hands to hug them around his arms. Only the flesh one is actually cold. "Seems to be no end of it in sight!"

[hear-feel-think]

FfxivWrite 2022 | #29 - Fuse

Rating: G

The Crystal Exarch ponders his past, present, and future

----------

He was alone in the ocular. The door was locked securely, and Lyna stood guard outside. He took his hood down, since he had a moment to himself. His ears popped up, stiff from being pressed down under the heavy hood for so long. He stretched and flicked his ears to clear away the feeling. The mirror reflected his image, and he stepped closer. The Crystarium residents said he still looked as young as the day he arrived, but he could tell the difference. He pulled at the bags under his eyes. Male Mystel always looked like their eye bags were deeper than they were, thanks to their facial markings, but even so his had gotten quite bad. His hair, too, showed signs of age, though it was the dulling of his once-bright red that gave it away, not the obvious greying at the tips. Aging hair went grey from the roots. This was a product of his pact with the Crystal Tower.

When he drew from the Crystal Tower, the tower drew from him. It took a little bit of his corporeal aether, though it was kind enough to replace it with a part of itself and not leave him missing that bit entirely. Well, not kind per se. It was kind in the way the wind was kind enough to fill the sails of a boat or the rain was kind enough to water the flowers. It was a force of nature, or rather of Allag, and any benefit he gained from its operation was either coincidental or of his own design. Each time he cast a spell using the Tower, he felt its pull in his extremities, sapping him of his aether. It lifted his hair, pulling out the colour a fraction of an ilm at a time. Its power flowed through him, through his staff, and into the spell. But his own aether flowed out through his arm, mingling with the spell, leaving a little more crystal behind each time.

Some spells took little out of him, but others, like the one he used to call upon the soul of the Warrior of Light, took nearly all he had. Between the recovery period and the research he needed to do to be a little more sure he would summon the right person, he could only cast that one again after a period of several months. He only hoped he could get it right before the crystal overtook him completely. He could picture it, one day, the crystal growing up his legs joining to the floor of the ocular. Maybe it would cover his whole body then. Or maybe he would remain conscious for a time, able to say goodbye and try one last time to summon the hero and save the world before he fused with the tower forever.

He shook his head. Maybe today was the day he cast his last spell. Probably it wasn't. But he had regained his strength after the last attempt, and he had studied hard, so there was nothing left to do but clear his mind and try one more time. He covered himself with his hood. The hero must not know his true identity.

The Crystal Exarch raised his staff and extended his hand towards the portal, drawing aether from the tower once more. "Let expanse contract, eon become instant!"

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[mach-speed-spin]

Beyraiderz had a great setup for a lot of interesting stuff, but it never went anywhere

Now, I know that there are a grand total of probably 0 people out there who think Beyraiderz is anywhere near as good as the other seasons. And possibly 1 or 2 people that genuinely liked it (out of the 5 that even watched it). It’s on YouTube on the official Metal Saga channel. Give it a go. It’s not great but it’s not terrible either. Plus the main rival character is a guy wearing a miniskirt. At no point is he ridiculed for it. Why is Beyblade better with gnc characters in 2013 than Hollywood in 2021? But I’m getting off track

Here are a few ideas that Beyraiderz introduced that never went anywhere (but should have). Spoilers for Wheelz and Raiderz ahead

Beyblade multiverse: If you’re not familiar with Wheelz and Raiderz (or just couldn’t understand the confusing ass finale of Wheelz. Don’t worry, it took me 3 watches), Beywheelz ends with Ryan succeeding in activating the portal. However, the portal is bigger than he thought. He expected to take less than 10 people. He took the whole city. So Team Estrella (plus Odin), decide to explore the new world they were transported to. The concept of a bey-verse should have been far more fleshed out. And it could have given us things like Hasbro’s other beyblade spinoffs (like XTS) anime appearences. Also, in Raiderz Ricky is stated to be from another universe, but they never followed up on that

Beys being rare/forgotten: In raiderz, there are a total of 6 beys in existence at the start of the series. By the end there are 7. Most people don’t know what beys are, and have no idea what the ruins of what used to be stadiums were used for. Rachel says that beys were common in ancient times, but that they fell into obscurity with time. Considering every beyblade series has beys be not only common knowledge, but the largest sport on Earth, this could have set Raiderz apart from the other series

Kaiser Grey/ Flame’s motivation: Let me get some lore out of the way. At some point in the past, Flame was the protector of the Raiderz world. Nature was controlled by six mythic beasts. Tempest was a villain who attempted to steal the power of the mythic beasts for himself, but was stopped by Flame. However, Flame died and the mythic beasts disappeared. Without the mythic beasts, a drought ensued and lasted long enough that Flame became a myth and there still wasn’t rain. In the present, 6 batters each came face to face with one of the mythic beasts. Battling in arenas would give them tokens, which would increase the power of the beasts until they could bring prosperity to the land again. Flame was revived as Kaiser Grey, but he was no longer a noble hero. He wanted to rule over the world with an iron fist, claiming that by giving people freedom, you allow them to abuse it (like Tempest did), and that it endangers everyone. The final battle is one of idelogies. Sacrificing saftey to achieve freedom or the other way around? This idea, handled well, could make Raiderz one of the best seasons with the villain alone

More use of bey magiic outside battles: Ever since the first season of the original series, we’ve had characters who would be considered superhuman in real life. The most common explanation for this is that they channel the power of their beys into their bodies. This was a theory at first but V-Force confirmed it was possible, when the villains state Tyson drew power from Dragoon allowing him to run at superhuman speeds (he outruns a car and a pack of dogs) G-Revolution gave us the inhumanly strong Moses/Crusher, the gravity-defying Mystel, and all those characters who grew wings for no reason. MFB had Ryuga’s teleportation, Zyro’s flaming hands, Wang Hu Zhong yeeting Da Xiang into a flying city, Tetsuya talking to crabs, and Gen can apparently breath underwater. Not to mention how impossibly durable all characters are. Burst has Lui’s hair, Delta’s hair, Aiger’s a super saiyan, several accounts of possesion, etc. You know what Raiderz had? A guy who could blow up boulders with his bare fist. There is no explaining Jin Ryu’s power as symbolic or anime logic. He straight up demolishes rocks by punching them (and has limited wind powers as well, making a kamehameha out of air). Like 99% of bey magic, it’s never explained but we can make the connection. Task can teleport/become invisible. Flame/Kaiser has a flaming eye. Raiderz could have elaborated so much on one of my favprite concepts in the franchise, but it didn’t

That all said, Raiderz was kinda fun. I just wish it could have done more

[universal-kitty]

“ don't go. stay. “ for your ship with CAT MAN

sacred romantic moments

Things were already in a precarious balance as they were. No need to push anyone further or start falling behind (giving too much space would only cause more need for worry, after all)... Yet maintaining such a careful hand was taxing. Not only to himself, but to the vary wards he was meant to look after...

None that made his heart ache as viciously as the Warrior's- Rhela's- own exhaustion and worry.

Ever since coming to Novrandt, their job had been tireless. Arrive in a new place, confused, alone(, thankfully clothed), and immediately stressed. (With no help from Lyna, but he couldn't blame her for that; she was protective, and in a time such as this, who wouldn't err on the side of caution?) Though the Crystal Exarch (ah, yes...that fancy little title) had assured Rhela of many things, the most important one being that their friends were here- there still was hardly enough time to explain the situation.

After all, at his behest or otherwise, they'd all gone out into the winds, attempting to aid in saving the First... A place once only heard about from the mouth of one who had long since passed. (Though the Exarch himself wouldn't find out about this for awhile yet.)

...It wasn't to say, however... That he hadn't gotten away scott-free, either. Rhela had been quick to find the opportunity to ask for a Miqo'te- a Mystel, in this world- who should've been inside this Crystal Tower. G'raha Tia...?

To pretend to not know such a name was, perhaps, the greatest pain of all.

So for the most of the early days after (finally) getting ahold of Rhela, things became a whirlwind of exploration, discovery, learning of the situation...and so, so much more. The war against the Sin Eaters was a troubling one, after all, and one that the surviving peoples could ill afford to lose. Though spared from the worst of the potential onslaught, they were backed into a terrible corner regardless, with the situation continuously getting no better. At least with the Warrior of Light- no, perhaps Warrior of Darkness...?- at their side, the tide could finally be turned.

Such was the hope of the Crystal Exarch. Holding steady as could be, no matter what life threw at him...but suppose even that could not last long?

It was impossible to not notice the toll being in the First took on Rhela. (Or was it past incidents finally catching up? The Exarch had took notice that a lot of the Scions gave Rhela their own berth, both nudging them along and yet refusing to push any harder than that. What happened...?) Though their initial fears had been brushed aside- soothed a little, upon seeing their friends healthy and well- they had never...relaxed. Not a moment where they stilled, that the Exarch saw that their eyes weren't glazed over and expression impassive; seeing something no one else could.

It wasn't the Echo. He could tell that much. No, it was something deeper and more personal... An ache that had been created along their journey, and had left them here. To figure themself out. Put themself together after untold hardship.

He wanted so badly to know what happened in his absence. To gently pry those moments out of their mind, hear them, and soothe whatever wounds had been left behind. However, he knew Rhela; they would never let a stranger in so easily. Especially one as shady as him...and giving up the ruse was out of the question. Nor would he stoop so low as to ask Lyna to pry on his behalf. Never!

...But there had to be something he could do...?

He would eventually find his chance one day, finding that he could not focus to save anyone's life. Given the situation was already that dire, the Exarch figured now would be a good time to step back, take a break, and allow himself a moment to pull himself back together. Fresh eyes were sorely needed at this time and focus besides, so what time could be allotted would be put to its best use eating, perhaps idly watching the sky, and trying again later.

It was on his way to the Crystarium itself that he spotted someone still awake, out on their lonesome while most people were setting up to break for sleep. (One figures out- eventually- how to make do through the constant light, and while nobody was fully on the same page... It had worked well enough so far.) He slowed to a stop, staring. Wondering if his eyes were deceiving him, seeing the Warrior with their hands in their pockets, staring up at the warped sky of light.

...Were they imagining blue skies, too? A night sky, with the moon that they had loved so much? Despite everything, his insides twisted with worry, wanting so dearly to give those familiar sights to them, but...

He stiffened up as their head turned, looking directly at him. Their dark green eyes blank a moment, sending shivers down his back. Somehow...terrifying, but also so powerful it sent a flush of heat into his cheeks. A feeling not felt in so many years, he nearly fell over at the feeling of it, knees shaking a moment before the Exarch forced them to steady, at any cost.

He couldn't embarrass himself now...!

"Hey," they called out to him softly, walking over, hands still in their pockets. "You taking a break, Exarch?"

"Oh, y-yes! I couldn't quite focus on my books, so... What else can one do?" He shrugged helplessly, a wry smile on his lips and struggling to cover up any semblance of that hopeful kit still alive somewhere in the depths of his heart. Shoving down every hopeful thought, from dreams of adventuring together to giving Rhela the tight, apologetic hug that they so dearly deserved for all he was putting them through.

"And here I thought you were just magitek," they teased, an amused smile sliding onto their face. Even their eyes seemed to liven up at the thought, further stalling the Exarch's brain. "Or...more Crystal Tower? Heh, what I'm saying is...I'm surprised you'd need a break at all."

"I'm still majority a living being, I'll have you know," he shot back, straightening up. (Still silently wishing for just a bit more height...) "Even as I am, my eyes can still tire. A break can be for everyone, no matter how much crystal they have on them."

"Lunch, too?"

"More of a snack, really," the Exarch hummed, glancing down at the little wicker basket he toted with him. "Figured a bite to eat wouldn't go amiss..."

"Well, sounds like you're all set," Rhela mused, laughing softly. More air than noise, but it had the Exarch swallowing nervously regardless. "I'll leave you to it, then. There's some stuff I gotta-"

"W-Wait!" They both froze at that, a momentary, stunned silence coming from both parties. He...did not mean to say that as loudly as he did. Suddenly, deeply thankful for everyone breaking at around this time; to rest and go home to family, rather than watch the honored Crystal Exarch make a fool of himself in public. "Please, I... Don't go. Stay. If you would...?"

He had no right asking this of them. Even after saying it, guilt welled up in his chest like a strike: hot and painful. He should apologize for yelling, for asking that of them, and then leave to find somewhere much more private than the open-air tables—

"Alright... If you're sure?" Their voice was uncertain, but curious...and once again, he felt spoiled by their mere presence. Their endless kindness to a "stranger" who did not deserve it.

"Yes... I am sure. I would welcome your company." He nodded, regretting that he now had to save face, but internally delighted at obtaining some time with his hero. He gestured where he was originally heading, and the two made their way to the tables. An awkward, yet somewhat understanding silence, following them over. It would be hard to move past such an interesting outburst, but the Exarch had every belief it could be done.

They sat down, Rhela taking the incredibly bold move of sitting directly next to the Exarch, then leaned back comfortably into the chair. (Oh... Their posture had gotten better, too. What had brought that on?) With hopefully steady hands, the Exarch opened the basket...and then immediately proceeded to smooth out the handles and lid more than he really needed to. Nervous as all hells, this poor man.

"You may have some as well, if you'd like. I packed more than enough."

"...You overpacked snacks... Why?" Rhela shot him a look, ear flicking in amusement as the Exarch could only shrug helplessly.

"Habit. It's not uncommon I meet Lyna while on my way to a break or while taking one... Otherwise, she forces me to stop working so hard." He laughed softly at that. "Regardless, because I run into her so often... When it comes to making snacks for myself, I make extra without thinking too much about it."

There had been a certain look on their face, that whole while; one that was somewhat distant, perhaps a bit on edge. However, at the mention that he always prepared extra food for Lyna, their expression softened. In fact, their whole body did; shoulders slumping from unknown tension and head tilting back a bit.

"...You really are like her grandpa, huh? Though I think she's the one who's supposed to be taking care of you." Surprised, he laughed. Short and stunned at first, before damn near cackling with amusement at the their words, heart warmed.

"Ahaha... You won't believe how often I've heard something to that effect," he said warmly, shaking his head. "I won't deny my age is beyond anyone else's...but I can still handle myself and hold my own, you know."

"Nah... The staff is a cane, and I know it," Rhela shot back, grinning freely as they reach forward, grabbing a sandwich slice for themself and biting into it without hesitation. "Don't worry, though; I'll make sure it's a secret only we know."

...It warmed his heart inside and out. Desperately trying to etch this moment into his memory, from the gleam in their eyes to the happy hum that sounded as they ate food that he made. (His heart soared at the thought. How he wish they had more time together... To learn more about cooking and make them whatever food they desired.) Eventually, he took one for himself, eating it as casually as he could manage...trying to somehow not look desperate for their attention. (While he wholly was.)

Not even noticing how Rhela's stare lingered on him, trying to make sense of him. Place him from somewhere, at some time...

"...Thank you," he said at last, voice gentle in its reverence. "For all you've already done so far. For all that you may do, to help me...help Norvrandt. It means a lot to me."

"I wish you'd tell us more." He laughed softly, shaking his head.

"I understand, but time is limited, here. Sin Eaters are what we must focus on. I wish I could tell you more, but..." He shrugged, helpless and...in a moment like this, wishing things did not have to be the way they were. (He could give up, of course. It would be so, incredibly easy...but knowing how much Rhela loved to save people and wouldn't risk a life... He couldn't. He really, truly couldn't do it. Even if it hurt to do so...he would at least save many more with this plan.)

"Well... Same as always, I guess," they sighed, taking another slice. "Only so many details given to the hero that must carry them out." A bite of the sandwich, chewing...and then seemed to realize something, eyes going wide and hurriedly finishing off the food. "O-Oh! Not to... I don't know-"

"You don't need to apologize," Exarch assured, a small, apologetic smile on his own lips. "I truly, sincerely wish I could tell you more. Your trust in me, however, despite all of this... I am deeply grateful."

They gave him a look...and then laughed softly, shaking their head. A brilliant sight, just as soothing as the sorely missed night sky.

"I'll take comfort in that, then. And this food! I feel like cutting off the crusts was a waste, but these are so, so good, too... Exarch! You have to tell me your secrets!" Another peal of warm, amused laughter from the Crystal Exarch, nodding as he leaned in closer to quietly share his secrets.

[anchanted-library]

FFXIV Prompt. 04. Clinch

"Alright then!" Y'Shtola said, a bright twinkle in her pearly eyes. "Speaking for myself, I wish we had done this ages ago. It felt like we never held a remembrance for Minfilia. We could not have asked for a more perfect time!"

"So who'd like to go next?" Thancred asked, eyes still heavy.

"Why not you, old friend?" Urianger prodded. "No one knew her better than you did, save perhaps for Lady F'lhaminn."

"Who is F'lhaminn?" Minfilia asked. 

Thancred smiled fondly. "We can scarce examine every life that Minfilia's touched. But F'lhaminn—the Songstress of Ul'dah—is perhaps appropriate to touch upon. After all, she was Mifilia's mother."

"Her Mother?" the younger Minfilia asked. "But her name, it sounds Mystel... I mean Miqo'te!"

"So you noticed that, did you?" Thancred laughed. "Well spotted!"

The small girl swelled with pride, as she always did when Thancred praised her.

"Indeed, F'lhaminn was not her birth mother, rather her adoptive one. When Minfilia's Father, Warburton, died from injuries sustained from a goobbue attack, F'lhaminn took her in and raised her. The two women could not have been closer had they indeed been Mother and Child."

"Was she the one who raised Minfilia to be such a great woman?" the child asked, eyes sparkling.

"Lady Minfilia hath always been inclined most readily to kindness and compassion," Urianger said. "But the Lady F'lhaminn certainly did her part to reinforce Minfilia's nature. Easy it would have been for Minfilia to travel down paths, led astray by unhappy thoughts and festering sorrow. But F'lhammin worked patiently. Tirelessly. And within no time at all, Minfilia was back to her old, sincere self."

Thancred's heart wandered down the musical passages of his memory before he picked an anecdote of F'Lhaminn, Ryosen, and Minfilia.

He smiled. "Alright. I got one!"

*

"Minilia!" F'lhaminn called. "This way!" She hopped from rock to rock, tail straight as an arrow from her excitement.

"Please wait!" Minfilia called, huffing and puffing. "I... can't... keep... up!" 

She stopped in her tracks, doubled over and hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. A stitch in her side ached so badly she feared that it would last the rest of the week. She felt deeply embarrassed. She may not have been a field agent, preferring to manage the affairs and movements of the Scions from their Headquarters, but she did dedicate an hour every day to exercise—and three on weekends! It was so embarrassing to be outdone by someone so much older than her even by a little bit, let alone to the point where F'lhaminn wasn't even breathing hard while she, Minfilia, could hardly breathe.

"Here," Ryosen offered her his bottle. There was a sheen of sweat upon his horned brow, and he was also breathing more heavily than normal from the exertion. But years of practice meant he probably had hours to go before he would really start to tire. "Have a sip, Minfilia-sama. But don't go more than a mouthful! It will hinder rather than help!"

Minfilia gratefully accepted the proffered bottle and took a deep draught. "Thank you Ryosen-san!" she said gratefully. It was difficult to maintain her usual dignity with her pale hair plastered to her face by sweat, so she abandoned it altogether. "Oh, my hero! Could you be a bigger hero and carry me on your shoulders?" She tapped one of his broad arms as high as she could reach with her muscles all numb. 

Mmmmmh! What had been in that bottle? It was sweet like blueberries and cream, and it's effect was remarkable! She felt like a gentle, cool breeze was spreading through her veins.

"I would love to," Ryosen grinned wide. "But I think you have another malm in you. You are not yet as tired as you think!"

Minfilia groaned pitifully. Ryosen was like a Gridanian life coach at heart, always encouraging everyone to push their envelope as far as they could, never interfering unless he suspected they were out of their depth.

Most days she admired how good he was at this, and acknowledged that there was some merit to letting people persevere and realize just how strong they truly are, rather than stepping in every time they broke a sweat. 

But today she was on the receiving end of his lesson, and looked at him mutinously.

"Now now," he said brightly. "Don't look at me like that! Remember what you told Yda the other day?"

Minfilia lowered her head with exaggerated dispiritedness. "'Can you imagine the pride you will feel when you accomplish your goal?'"

"Actually, what you said was, 'Grin and bear it, squats champion!'" Minfilia groaned again.

Ryosen's eyes grew more serious. "It's alright. You can do this. Besides," he nodded at F'lhammin a few dozen yalms away, where she had also stopped to catch her breath. "If you recover quickly enough you might overtake her!"

Minfilia felt her face brighten. "That lights a fire in my belly!"

"Not too fast," Ryosen cautioned. "Or you'll tire yourself out even worse. I guarantee you will feel embarrassed afterwards if I have to carry you after all while your Mother walks." "Hai!" she cried, loping along the trail. As it turned out, she did manage to overtake her mother briefly, and even completed their trek without needing assistance.

She was feeling quite good about herself as she collapsed onto the shore of the mountain lake F'lhaminn had scouted out on one of her excursions. She lay down on her back, allowing the wind to bring the scents of the many flowers blooming in the meadow. A few butterflies danced above her head before one of them descended lazily onto her nose.

She giggled.

"Well done, Minfilia!" F'lhaminn beamed. 

"Thank you Lhammin," Minfilia gasped, sending the butterfly darting away. "I didn't think I could make it!"

"Not that," F'lhaminn said softly, sitting down next to her. "You clinched yourself a really good man. I'm so happy for you!"

Minfilia bolted upright, her face flushing. "Wh-wh-wh-wh-what?" she stammered red faced. Her face was so hot she thought steam was rushing out of her ears. She waved her hands animatedly in a manner which screamed denial. "It's not like that, not at all! Absolutely not! Ryosen-san is just..."

F'lhaminn laughed, patting her gently. "Oh? So it was just my imagination then. You Certainly don't light up like a hundred suns when you feel his presence. And that unbridled joy that I have never seen you exude is just me too. I understand." She winked. "It's the worst kept secret in Mor Dhona. Even Papalymo has noticed it."

Minfilia tried to quieten down but her face still felt quite hot. "Do you think he... likes me?"

"I think that even he has his own fears," F'lhaminn whispered conspiratorially. "It's difficult to remember sometimes that he was cloistered in Bishamon's temple since he was thirteen. There were some things he never got to experience growing up. Even he still has things he could learn. He would never tell anyone his true feelings first. Does that give you pause? If it does, the two of you will be doing this dance for the rest of your lives. We only live once you know."

Minfilia said nothing. She watched Ryosen. He stood some distance away, getting a fire going to cook their evening meal. She smiled at the thought of his cooking. He wasn't too bad at it, especially when using foraged ingredients.

"See, there's the sort of smile I never saw on your cheeks before!" F'lhaminn sang. "There are smiles, and there are these beautiful expressions that come straight from your soul and light up your whole body, but which we must also call smiles because vocabulary is limited like that!"

Minfilia chuckled. "Yes," she admitted at last, for the first time in words. Her voice was so high it sounded like a songbirds. "I do... I do... l-l-like him." Her Mother pulled a face at her choosing the word ‘like’. "And he likes you too," she huffed.

"What should I do?"

"Decide that for yourself!" F'lhaminn got onto her feet. "I brought you two here, to the most romantic spot I have ever seen, hoping you can work this out like grown-ups. The rest is up to you! Do not let me see you back in Revenant's Toll for at least five hours. I'm keeping count!"

With that, she recited a spell and teleported back to the Mor Dhona Aetheryte. For the second time in ten minutes, Minfilia was so caught off guard it felt like she'd been knocked skywards. "Eh.... ehhhh? EHHHHHHHHH?"

*

The group laughed heartily.

"I do believe thou art making that up, mine Old Friend!" Urianger cried, tears streaming down his face.

"On mine honor, it's true!" Thancred said with mock indignation painted on his face.

"How did you ever hear that?" Y'Shtola asked. “Not Minfilia herself? Or Ryosen?”

"From F'lhaminn of course." Thancred smiled. "She said 'And that's how you put your foot down, Thancred! And that's how you win my girl's heart.'"

Another round of laughter broke out over the campfire.

It was twenty minutes later that Erika broke the silence that followed. "Dinner's ready! I chose Ryosen's method of cooking for obvious reasons!"

*

[dholwrites]

All The Little Things

Notes: Commission piece for @dialga Relationship: Crystal Exarch x Female WoL (Na’na Niall) Rating: G - General. (Very high fluff content) 

Ao3 Link

4 sweet moments between a knight and her prince after the return of the night.

1 Stars and the Moon

The stars danced before his eyes on the backdrop of a pitch sea. They sparkle together with the full moon, hung high and clear as the sun. Ever since Na’na returned the night to Lakeland, he couldn’t resist the way it pulled his eyes upwards. The way the tower walls glowed under the moonlight tugged at the memories of his youth; moments when he would hide out in high corners to read a book, discuss theories with NOAH, or catch himself daydreaming about Na’na. G’raha quietly chuckled to himself. It had been a while.

“There you are, I was wondering where you disappeared to,” a sweet voice called from behind him. Na’na had climbed up the stairs into his hiding spot, her footsteps barely letting out a sound. How she knew to look up here, he would never know. The sound of his heartbeat echoed in his ears as she moved to sit down next to him. His gaze lingered on her profile, captivated by the way her hair and ribbon played in the wind, a smile on her lips and excitement in her eyes. Thankfully, she was too distracted by the constellations to notice his staring. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? You can see all the stars from up here.”

“Yeah...” He trails off before turning his gaze back towards the sky. “It reminds me of the skies in Mor Dhona. I wish I could see them again.” With you. Those words fell at the tip of his tongue like lead, yet his heart flutters at the mere thought of being so balant about his affections.

‘It’s not as lovely as you.’ Would that be too cliche? Perhaps ‘you’re more beautiful than every star in the sky,’ would be a better choice?

“Oh, Raha, you silly prince.”

“Prince?! But- I- I’m- wh- w-wait a moment!” His heart leaped with joy at the nickname. His cheeks grew warm as words tumbled out of his mouth before he could catch them. Did his words slip without him realizing it? His train of thought came to a halt at the sudden warmth on his hand and side. Na’na had slid from her spot to be right next to him, resting her head against him. G’raha could barely calm his frantic heart before it leapt out of his chest at the soft hands taking his. 

His gaze begins to drift back towards her eyes as they light up at every constellation she can find in the night sky. Then to her lips, captivating him by how soft they look. Surely they would feel just as soft when he kissed her. His eyes continued to travel until they found their way to their intertwined hands. They felt so small compared to his own. His mind whispers to hold onto her, to keep her close even if she needs to leave. That still hadn't changed since he last saw her centuries ago. 

“Raha?” He snaps back into reality at the sound, blinking owlishly when they lock eyes again. 

“Apologies, I can’t help but get lost in thought. I couldn’t help but think about the Source.”

Na’na lets go of his hand to wrap her arm around his back, pressing herself to his chest. “Even if you are here in this world, we can still see the same sky. Remember, no matter where you are and who you become, you will still be my ‘Raha’.”

With her simple words, a realization dawned upon Raha; if Na’na Niall hinted at wanting to touch a star, he would gladly put the entire galaxy into her hand. 

“You look at me like I’m a star in the sky,” Na’na jokes, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.

G’raha lets out a small laugh, “Because you are.” 

2 Sharing a Meal

G’raha lets out a sigh at the sight of books piled high around him. Most of them were books borrowed from the Cabinet of Curiosity, while everything else he brought from the Source. Hopefully, at least one of them would help him find a solution to the Scion’s predicament. He owed it to them for causing this when he first summoned them here. Yet his mind started to wonder every time he attempted to pick up a book and start his new task.

Days flew by in a daze after their stargazing date, and G’raha had gotten even clumsier since then. Lyna had more than once saved him from tripping down the stairs, pulled him aside from running into a lamppost during an inspection, and made sure that he was actually paying attention to what he was reading. The captain had become increasingly distressed over all the accidents, despite his best attempts to assure her that he was definitely not getting sick. The source of his mishap is much more... personal. No one needed to know that he’d been daydreaming about the Warrior of Darkness, especially not if there was a chance that word would get back to her. 

His thoughts come to a halt when something sweet gets shoved into his mouth.

“ Rarararahaaa~” A familiar voice cooed from behind him. Not a moment later a piece of cake carefully balanced on a spoon appeared before his eyes, this time offering it for him to take it instead. Na’na had moved beside him with two slices of cake balanced on the other hand. “Say ‘Aaaaaaah~’”

“Aaaah,” he hesitantly opens his mouth and allows himself to be fed, the warmth of his cheeks coming back twofold. G’raha took the extra time to savor the piece, the sweet and fluffy cream with an equally light and soft sponge, the cake baked perfectly. “Did you get these from the market downstairs? They are perfect.”

“You can thank me by finishing a slice.” Na’na had already scooped another piece into his mouth, letting out a huff as he obediently chewed. “You shouldn’t be overworking yourself! I was hoping that you would take it easy now that the First isn’t in danger, but then I hear from Lyna that you’ve shut yourself in the study for hours again. You need to take breaks too, Raha.”

“I was just researching on how to get the Scions back home.” Well, at least he should have been. He’s been watching her go about her day, sometimes talking to the Scions and other times fending the weak from monsters. The way she moves, interacts, and fights captures every bit of his attention. And there is nothing he wants to change about it. “You told me that Krile believes that their lives could be at stake because I poorly summoned them to the First. I need to work to get them back to the Source before something bad-.”

“That is not a good excuse! You’ve been holed up here for the past few days without a break and I refuse to let you continue this until you get some sleep.” She shoves another spoonful of cake into his mouth without warning, only when she was sure that he finished did she take it back. He could feel bits of sticky cream coating his lips. “Since you can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, I’m going to do it for you.”

He barely had time to hide the grin that wormed its way to his face. G’raha felt almost a little giddy with joy as she worried about his health. It would be much easier to simply agree with what she says, but hearing her words always made his heart flutter. 

The miqo’te finally closed the book in his lap and set it aside. “Na’na, since I have fused with the tower, I do not need to sleep anymore. It does not affect my health to stay up for hours to get what I need done.” 

There was angry look that flashed across her eyes, one sharp and dark enough to kill a Primal. G’raha barely managed to suppress his laughter behind his hand; all he sees is the pout she is trying to hide behind the facade.

“You leave me with no choice.” A pair of lips meets his. Her lips. Her lips are sweeter than cream and softer than cake sponge. His breath caught in his throat, eyes fluttering closed as he returns the kiss. He could feel the drumming of his heart in his chest, his thoughts giving way to his senses. A delightful shiver runs up his neck when she pulls away and gently brushes his lips with her own. His focus remained at her lips. He felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

“Can I have another?” is his only hushed reply.

  3 Stories

G’raha had taken a break from his studies to see Na’na before she headed off on her next adventure, but the scene before him made him hesitate to join in.

“Miss Na’na! Can you tell us another story? Another one about the knight!” A flock of children swarmed around her, their joint efforts managing to lure her to the grass patch beside the building where more children were playing. Many of them had stopped their games to join the crowd. “But I wanna hear about the big monsters she fights!”

Among the crowd, a red haired mystel child stood out to him. Their short hair is much darker than his own, but the red shine is unmistakable under the sun. Would his child look like that? Heat burns at his cheeks at the thought, but he is reluctant to stop. A mystel child with red hair and golden eyes would be the heart of the Cystarium, and he had no doubts that their child would be doted on by everyone. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you, Raha?” G’raha jumps back at the sudden voice. He would have tripped over his robes if Na'na didn’t catch his hand in time. She pulls him towards her, allowing him to use her as support to regain his balance. Once she was sure that he’s fine, she bows down to peek under his hood. Their eyes catching each other and causing her to break out into a grin. “Careful, I don’t think the Crystarium would be happy if they found out that their Exarch got injured on my watch.”

G’raha was going to wave off the children’s concern, only for Na’na to take his hand and drag him over. Some of the children scrambled up to their feet to greet him. Before he knew it, he was sitting at the front next to Na’na with her head resting against his shoulder. He could feel the curious, innocent stares directed towards them by the children, with some of the kids even whispering to each other. He made sure that his hood was still pulled up and over his head to provide him a refuge to hide his expression. 

His tail flicks and curls nervously, with the tip occasionally peeking out at the edge of his robes. G’raha had entertained these children before, yet now he wasn’t so sure what he should do, not without attempting to move away from Na’na. Luckily, she had already begun to spin her stories, one tale after another of the places and things she’d seen. A large plain where tribes of Drahns roam, where they would battle each other to claim the right to rule over all others. A kingdom of knights waging a war against dragons in a frozen tundra, and their descendents finding peace after a hundred summers. A princess that lives underwater, giant owls that protect books, and talking fish too.

He knows each and every story like the back of his hand, but hearing it being told by Na’na herself allows him to see it more vividly before his eyes. Be it the cold nipping at the end of his fingers and tail, the chatter of Reunion in his ear, or the ache of traveling in his bones. G’raha perks up when a fluffy tail suddenly brushes against his own, carefully stroking up and down before wrapping around the end of his own tail. A hint of who it is comes from the shaking of stifled laughter rumbling at his chest and the squeeze of her hand on his knee. 

“Na’na,” a voice calls from a distance. G’raha turns his head towards the source to spot a hyur approaching them. He’s dressed in dark armor with a bastard sword strapped to his back. He looked almost apologetic for interrupting her during her storytime, but clearly there are more important matters. “I need a bit of assistance with something.”

Na’na gives him a quick nod before slowly rising to her feet. G’raha went along with her, his hand lingering in her hold and reluctant to let her leave so easily. He watches as she apologizes to the kids for cutting the story short. The children quickly chime in with their complaints about the abrupt ending, also getting on their feet to complain. They only stop and start to split off into their group of friends after she made a promise to share more stories the next time she was free. 

“Looks like I’ll have to cut our time short as well, Raha,” she whispers to him as they follow the Hyur towards the main gate, their fingers still intertwined with each other. Na’na tugs at his hand to pull them to a stop just a few steps away from the gate. She was tapping her cheek with her finger, her eyes staring ahead without seeing. 

“Don’t push yourself too hard. You’ve already saved the First, surely everything else can wait.” It was a poor excuse to get her to stay, they both knew it. She had always been able to see through his words and find what he really wanted to say. Na’na gives him a wave of her hand, claiming that it would be quick. He wished he could go with her, to leave his duties behind for a moment and enjoy the adventuring life with her; taking down enemies side by side, spending nights cuddling each other around a fire, and hearing the rise and fall of her chest when they finally retire to bed.

“Na’na, next time, would you mind if I join you?” The words slip out before he can stop them. His entire body froze at the realization before his eyes slowly moved to see her reaction. Her own eyes widen at the question, ears perking up and shoulders stiff as if she doesn’t quite believe what she is hearing. Her gaze darts back and forth between him and the entrance. A lapse of intense regret crawls up the back of his neck in her silence. It’s enough for him to feel the cold sweat starting to form under his hood.

“You want to come on an adventure with me? Of course!” He lets out a sigh of relief, the tension slipping from his shoulders. Only for him to be pulled forward by his hood, Na’na’s lips colliding with his. A kiss that he returned back, returning her affection with as eagerly. Just as quickly as it started, she was gone. Out of his arms and already making her way towards an unknown destination. Her hand waving at him from a distance as she calls out, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon!”

G’raha could see the end of her tail was wagging with excitement that she wasn’t even attempting to contain. He bids her farewell, standing at the entrance of his great city until he can’t see her anymore. Only then does he turn around and make his way back to the Tower. His fingers reached up to trace where she had kissed and wished that he could feel them once more. 

Perhaps when she returns. 

  4 Running a Dungeon

He could feel it. The aether tingled under his skin and brimmed with energy. Every healing spell sealing cuts and healing bruises as he got them, yet they continue to come even when they are hurrying to the next nest of enemies. It struck him as odd, surely Na’na of all people should be able to tell? Still, he didn’t question her judgment and pushed on. 

Days leading up to their departure, Na’na poured over maps to figure out the best place that would best match both their skills. When he told her that any place would be fine, she was quick to point out how well he was doing when he was in Kholusia. She was blunt about making sure that she doesn't take him too far from the Tower. G’raha couldn’t help but let out a chuckle to himself, the one thing that is his source of power only turning out to be his greatest weakness. In the end, it’s worth it when he gets to see how much she frets over the little things. Yet, that doesn’t explain her healing. 

She settled with the Rak’tika Greatwood, it is close enough that he won’t feel sick 

Ancient trees scattered around with their branches stretching towards the sky and their roots cemented into the ground. The sun rays filtered through their leaves, giving the place an otherworldly glow. The only sight back in the source that might even compare would be the Black Shroud in Gridania, yet even then they couldn’t come close to how large the trees were here.

Before long, the moon had replaced the sun in the sky. The warmth of the makeshift campfire and sweet aroma emitting from the mug in his hand was more than enough for him to regain his strength. His other senses were more focused on the wisp of space between him and Na’na. The fire casts its soft light on her face, framing her portrait in a loving glow. Her eyes shone like amber in the morning sun. It felt like for a moment the world had stopped to marvel at her. He would gladly sit there for eternity if he could. 

He finally mustered up the courage to ask the question that had been on his mind since they had set out earlier. The small worry had bloomed into a huge concern, as she had been excessively healing him all day but still refused to rest. Even when he suggested they take a break. “Na’na, you were healing me for quite a bit today. Are you feeling alright? Is something wrong?”

Na'na smiles at him apologetically and moves in her seat on a large fallen branch to turn towards him. G’raha slides close enough for their knees and thighs to touch, even his tail moved to brush against hers, almost wrapping them together in an attempt to ease what nerves she might have. Was something troubling her? Has he done something wrong? Wait, what if his tanking skills need some work and she’s too sweet to tell him to improve? Had he been bad enough to warrant overhealing? He was slowly spiraling further into his mountain of worries, only for the gentle brush of Na’na’s hand to startle him back into reality.

“I have a Dark Knight stone. It’s not mine, at least not from the beginning. It was N’hect’s.” Her voice becomes softer and softer with every word, her gaze turning up towards the stars glittering in the night sky. His ears perk up at the name, one that sounds strangely familiar but he can’t remember from where. Her grip on his hand brought his attention to her sheepish smile. “He was my first knight, the one that showed me that chivalry can and still does exist in this world. When he… fell during the war, I decided to take up his job.”

Na’na shifts in her spot to pull out a small pouch from her pocket and drops its contents onto an open palm. It was her stone, a yellow rune carved onto the deep red background. He had only ever seen drawings of them in books as a way to pass down specialized abilities. This one was worn at the edges, and a few nicks and cuts showed its age. “During the war, we fought side by side. I got careless… It was a blow that neither of us expected and he was able to react first.” 

She closes her fist around it, eyes brimming with unshed tears as she tries to keep herself together. Her voice becomes small and tight as she tries to keep the emotions from leaking through. His own heartaches alongside her as she continues. “He lost his life to save mine.” 

“I have already lost him.” Her eyes tearing up looked like wells of gold, and he could see her pure love and honesty. Her hands dropped the stone to squeeze his own before she lifted it to cup her cheek. Her head turned slightly to brush her lips against his palm and melted his heart in turn.  “I don’t want to lose you too. You gave me hope. You gave me the hope that the world is worth saving. When we met, I was questioning if it was really worth all the pain that I was going through. Your kindness, your thirst for knowledge, and all the little things that make you so genuine. I’m scared that I will lose you one day too.”

“I know that you have been working yourself to death and you’re not alone anymore,” Na’na whispers to him like it was her best-kept secret, she reaches out to cup his cheek and turns him to face her. “Remember when you told me that you thought of me like a star in the sky? I don’t want to be, I don’t want to be somewhere out of reach. I want to be beside you. Instead I want to believe that the stars have led us together again, and I want nothing more than for us to remain that way. Taking one step after another, together. For the rest of our lives.”

G’raha attempts to blink away his unshed tears, but she continues to whisper sweet words. “My princeling, my Raha. You give me the hope to continue fighting this fight. That this world I fight for holds someone like you.”

“I love you.” 

Her hand reaches up to twirl a strand of his hair, her eyes fluttering closed and forehead pressed against his. G’raha finds his own eyes closing and feels the tension in his shoulders starting to break away at her words. Words that he never knew he needed so much. “At the end of my legends and stories, I want to be together with you. No matter what becomes of the Warrior in everyone’s eyes. I will find myself coming back to you, my beloved Raha.” 

Na’na laid bare her heart to him, every word causing his tears to slip until they were all running down his cheeks. G’raha takes in a shaky breath to calm his racing heart. Despite knowing how much she loves and cherishes him, his heart would flutter and his body grows warm whenever she said those 3 words. 

“I want to be with you through all your adventures. Fighting alongside you, sharing meals around a  fire, and sleeping beside you under a starry sky.” He finally found his words, opening up the deepest part of his heart for her to see. His palms feel sweaty and a creeping feeling of embarrassment comes up his spine to cover his face with a blush. Still, he shakes his head out of shame and leans forward, pressing his forehead against her. The world fell away once he felt her breath on his lips, and it was taking all his self control to not kiss her senseless.

With lips just ilms apart from meeting, he whispers out his confession. “Not just that, I want to see your smiling face to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see before I fall asleep. I want to see kids running around with my hair and your eyes, to be the shoulder you lean on, to be the person you seek out in a crowd.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you and only you.”

[sworn-unbeliever]

30 - Splinter

(or: The Unchosen One) (or: The Completely Canon Story of How Teremy Arrived at Norvrandt)

((The last entry! I wanted to go out with a bang. Or a diatribe since this entry is really long. First of all, a huge thanks to @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast, an amazing person who tirelessly(?) organizes this event and with such passion and love. You’ve inspired so many to write or post, including me. Thank you so-so much. Also thank you to @abeat once again. I had asked her to have the Exarch describe Jeremy and she ran with it. She is amazing and hilarious and I can’t thank her enough for that and everything she’s done.

I debated whether or not to break up the story of how Teremy came to Norvrandt into a 3-part story for free Sunday. Then I opted to take Sundays off. But because of that, I decided to do this story as the last entry, and all in one go. Thus this entry is probably more digested than what it could have been. Either way, I had this silly idea stuck in my head for awhile about the sword in the stone and I finally got to write it. A huge thank you to anyone and everyone who has stuck around with me, my obsessive, self-indulgent stories, and this sarcastic musician-poet-dancer-thug up until now. You can also find me at @adeat, @quasionion, and @aspected-benefic. Until next time!))

Wc: 5,250

“Apologies for taking you out like this, but the citizens are as baffled as the local doctors. Perhaps you are able to shine light on this precarious situation.” said Lyna.

The two arrived side by side at the Rotunda. Upon Lyna and the Exarch’s arrival, commonfolk and guards alike parted, allowing them to pass. The Exarch didn’t have to go far to see what Lyna had been talking about. There in the center of the crowd laid an object that had not been there previously—a sword with a third of its black blade lodged in an oddly specifically-shaped stone. In fact, said object seemed so foreign that it looked as though someone had played a practical joke. Yet, as the Exarch held a hand towards the blade, he sensed great powers within.

“Whomever or whatever had brought this object here is no ordinary being.” said the Exarch. “The question is… what is this sword’s intended purpose?”

“This is why we’ve called you, my lord,” said Lyna, “in which you may hopefully shed light on this puzzling matter.

The Exarch held a hand to his chin and tilted his head. “Hm. ‘Tis most puzzling indeed. Perhaps I may attempt to divine an answer.”

Lyna bowed. “Please do, my lord.”

Closing his eyes, even though no one could see as such, the Exarch called upon the powers bestowed upon him by the Crystal Tower. He looked into the divide between worlds to see who the foretold hero would be. Using his phenomenal magical powers, he created a portal to show an image of the foretold hero. The crowds gasped in awe and wonder at the vision shown to them—a handsome, brown-haired miqo’te with a smile that radiated like the ever-present sun.

“Yes, I see it now. He is someone who is brave, kind and true. He is always kind to all creatures except his enemies. His enemies are creatures who are the bane of all that is good within our world. He feeds hungry orphans and houses needy animals. He is wise, benevolent and handsome—”

“What does being handsome have to do with being a legendary hero—” Lyna mused quietly under her breath. “Wait, is he feeding those orphans bacon bread?”

“—courageous and more powerful than anything across the land and sea—”

Lyna had never before doubted the wisdom of her grandfather, but she felt that was about to come to an end if this sweeping description continued for much longer.

“—he will come to us and slay all of the Light Wardens, Vauthry, and every last Eulmorean—”

“I doubt that’s necessary. Since when is mass murder heroic—” Lyna started to say.

“He is also chiseled like a god of war and has a magnificently long—”

“My lord, perhaps you should to try to summon the hero now?” Lyna interjected to prevent the description of the foretold from quickly going from a PG-13 rating to an 18+ one.

The Exarch coughed. “Yes! He is indeed the destined hero—the one foretold in the records.”

In the background, Moren, holding a tome, nodded vigorously.

“I see…” The Exarch held a hand to his hood, “... I see his name! His name is… Jeremy! Jeremy Itsubishi!”

Lyna quietly sighed, relieved that at least the remainder of the lengthy description had remained decent. “Where is this one, this Jeremy Itsubishi?”

“Alas, it may seem that he is… in a realm far beyond us. Much like the ones that have been drawn before.” The Exarch said tactfully. “But fret not. Mayhap with my magics I may be able to summon him here. Please stand back. I can guarantee neither the accuracy nor the drawbacks of this spell.” He held his staff in front of him.

The crowd, including Lyna, took large steps backwards to give the Exarch all the space he needed.

Closing his eyes again, the Exarch once again drew upon the powers bestowed to him by the Crystal Tower. He channeled his energies to cast a spell—one of which he had much practice. A giant, flat circle appeared in thin air. The Exarch reached inside, his hand vanishing into the hole. Bystanders peered to the sides and out the other end of the portal, yet saw nothing. A few moments later, the Exarch grinned like a cat that had just pounced on its prey.

“I have you now. Throw wide the gates!” the Exarch bellowed.

Everyone in the vicinity raised their arms as powerful gusts of wind billowed violently, yet somehow everyone’s feet remained firmly in place. The Exarch pulled his hand out of the portal. When the the portal vanished, all that remained were the Exarch himself and what he had pulled out.

Or, rather, who—a miqo’te, or mystel as they were known in these parts.

Blinking a few times, said miqo’te-mystel rubbed his eyes, one foot forward in a natural fighting stance, and looked around. “What the fuck is this place…? Can a guy ever get two winks of a rest? God fucking dammit! Agh. Next time, send me a warning ahead of time before you drag me through time and space?”

Lyna gestured to the brown-haired miqo’te-mystel that had just arrived. “Benevolence personified, my lord.”

Not one to be deterred that easily, the Exarch cleared his throat and spread his arms wide. “Welcome, destined hero, to the Crystarium in Norvrandt. I am the Crystal Exarch and I am the one who have summoned you here. You are the one fated for a destiny greater than you could ever imagine, Jeremy Itsubishi!”

“Jeremy…?” the brown-haired miqo’te-mystel asked. Rather than the higher pitch than the Exarch had imagined, this seeker spoke in a lower pitch with a natural velvety growl, even discernable from one word alone. “You mean my brother?”

Silence.

“... brother?” the Exarch asked.

“Jeremy’s my younger brother. I’m his elder twin brother. Teremy.”

The Exarch said nothing.

The crowd said nothing.

Lyna gestured to the brown-haired miqo’te-mystel again. “Once again, your aim is impeccable, my lord.”

* * *

“Teremy…?” the Exarch repeated slowly. “In what realm does one name their child ‘Teremy’?”

“I ask myself that every single day of my life,” said the aforementioned Teremy.

“Hmm.”

Placing a hand to his chin, the Exarch circled around Teremy, looking at the seeker up and down in a similar manner as one would appraise a fine piece of art. All the while, Teremy stood ramrod still, arms firmly at his side, his ears shooting straight up to the sky. Teremy sensed no malicious intent from this very familiar-sounding miqo’te, but at the same time, the longer the Exarch stared at him, the higher Teremy’s fight or flight thermometer rose. Any second longer and Teremy’s instincts will bolt him out of the room, whatever intention they had with him or no! Thankfully for Teremy, the appraisal process ended sooner, rather than later. The Exarch returned to his original position of in front of Teremy, his hand still on his chin.

“Well, he seems to appear the part on first blush,” said the Exarch. “He is quite handsome and his face, height and frame match the appearance of the one seen in the vision. Yet, there’s something different about him. I’m afraid I can’t quite place a finger on it.”

“Is it his hair, m’lord?” Lyna asked.

“Come to think of it, his hairstyle is different,” said the Exarch. “Rather than a lampshade, his hairstyle appears to be rather… messy? Side swept? But no, ‘tis another facet, one I’m failing to discern.”

Right then and there, Teremy wished his hairstyle looked like his brother’s. Then his mind could click on a light bulb as to what the fuck was going on.

“Then perhaps his build, m’lord?” Lyna asked.

The Exarch gave Teremy an appraising look up and down. “Yes, well, while the frame fits, his muscles are certainly much… larger. More pronounced. His shirt may as well be a second skin. A venerable god of war indeed. Perhaps he does even have a magnificently long—”

Teremy flattened his ears and pulled his hood over his head. “Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind—”

Lyna cleared her throat. “My lord. Although the spell may have been deceived by facial likeness, perhaps we can still take this situation to our advantage and have him try to pull out the sword from the stone anyway.”

Teremy pulled his hood back down. “Sword in the stone…?”

The Exarch gestured to something behind him. “Yes, well, we had attempted to call the hero seen within a vision to pull this sword out from the stone. Perhaps you can feel the blade’s energies from here? I can sense it. And it has been and shall be foretold—”

Moren, tome in hand, nodded vigorously again.

“—that a hero will pull this sword from the stone and use it to save our world.”

“That’s one hell of a story for you to drag someone all the way through time and space,” said Teremy.

The seeker paused to regain his mental state. He had taken on an empire. Primals. Violent illegal cartels and their lords. Getting dragged through time and space seemed like a logical next step. He pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. Pain. Bad idea. Yet he still stood amid a crowd and in front of a hooded miqo’te no less. Pulled through time and space all because his brother was needed to fulfill some kind of prophecy. And it wasn’t like Teremy could nope out of there. He had no idea where he was in the first place.

Might as well see this great big fuss first.

Teremy turned around to see exactly the description—a sword in a stone. Nothing more, nothing less, except for the sword itself. Teremy recognised the type of blade right away.

A gunblade.

The chamber was the largest thing Teremy had ever seen. The blade itself thick with a black coating except for its sharp edges. What was a gunblade doing here? What was it doing in a stone? Waiting to be picked up like a hero of legend.

Indeed, a legend: Teremy’s own brother.

The seeker’s mind jumped back to a point in time when Jeremy pulled out that own gunblade. Wherever he had found it mattered not. The thing got destroyed in a later ensuing fight anyway, but the point of the matter was that Jeremy had kept it. Prior to then, the younger Itsubishi brother had never shown any particular interest in the gunblade. But then again, things changed. Did Jeremy’s sudden affinity for the gunblade show some kind of destiny at work? Fate’s guiding hand that gestured the way?

And then fate in the form of this Exarch guy nabbed the wrong brother.

Teremy approached the sword in the stone. The crowd and the Exarch took a step back to give him some space.

‘Well, what the hell. Might as well give this a shot. Nothing left to lose.’ Teremy thought.

He gripped the gunblade’s handle. Immediately he felt the smooth coolness as though forged to fit his hand perfectly. He and Jeremy had the same size and shape of hands, but different dexterity, with Teremy being common and right-handed. Then why did this grip feel so natural? Why upon its touch did he feel like his very arm had been stuck in the rock and not this sword’s blade? Did Teremy imagine things? Fully expecting the blade to take his arm off the moment he pulled, Teremy yanked the handle with all his might.

His arm swung straight up with so much force, Teremy fell backwards. He shoved one foot behind him, quickly regaining his footing. The crowd gasped and murmured, but not the kind of gasp that he had expected. Not disappointed but not awed.

Confused?

Flecks of rock and debris trickled down on Teremy’s head and face. After shaking his head, he lowered his arm to see that he had indeed pulled the sword out.

With the sword still lodged in the stone.

In fact, Teremy not only pulled the sword out, he pulled the stone out as well.

Holding the blade sideways, his left hand cupping the flat end of the blade—or, rather, the stone—he turned back to the Exarch. “Does this count...?”

The Exarch’s pursed lips told the whole story. “Hm. Perhaps I truly need to perfect my aim after all.”

“There is always next time, my lord,” said Lyna.

Teremy’s ears darted around to the front and the side to catch the audio filtering in.

Disappointment.

Chatter.

Norvrandt will forever lord under the curse of an ever-present sun. Sin eaters will reign until the end of days. Teremy frowned and stared at the sword-still-in-the-stone again. His mind flashed him images of a time when he still lived under his father’s roof. A time when Teremy had been nothing but a disappointment to his father. A time when he protected no one but himself. His fight or flight radar soared near the top, only to be stopped by a roadblock called his ire. In just a few short moments, Teremy had been dragged around just to let others down by virtue of not being special, and that was that?

The Exarch placed a hand on his hood. “My apologies. I must return to my quarters. Also, I apologise again for inconveniencing you. You are free to stay here at the Crystarium as long as you’d like. We shall summon your brother in due time.”

He leaned on his staff. Teremy held a hand forward to brace him, even if he didn’t feel like he had a right to be in the Exarch’s presence. The Exarch turned his head towards Teremy and smiled.

“Thank you, but I shall be all right. This is nothing new. Believe me.”

Lyna sighed. “Yes, he is correct. This is nothing new. Teremy, if you don’t mind, I shall take the Exarch to his chambers.”

Without knowing what else to say, Teremy held onto the Exarch until Lyna got her hold on the cloaked figure. Once the two headed back, the crowd dispersed as quickly as Teremy had arrived. Teremy looked at the sword-still-in-the-stone.

“What should I do with this thing?”

No answer. Everyone had gone their separate ways. And now Teremy had no other choice but to do the same. Exhaling loudly, he placed the sword-still-in-the-stone on his back where he usually strapped his gunblade. May as well make use of it. Thanks to years of extensive training, he felt very little difference in weight. Had to be good for something.

Teremy wandered south. Some things remained the same as he knew them to be, yet different. Same gardens, though in circular plots with lampshades hanging overhead. Trees yielded leaves of not only green, but lovely shades of lavender and blue as well. Long lamps and domed areas that shone an unearthly shade of blue. He definitely wasn’t in Eorzea anymore.

But the question was… now what?

“Um! Are you Teremy?” asked a vaguely familiar voice that sounded like that of a small boy.

Teremy whirled around to see a dunesfolk lalafell looking back up at him. Blond hair parted in the middle, crimson eyes that matched his bandana and jacket, and an aura of magic surrounding him. But moreso than the lalafell’s presence or his appearance, his voice caught Teremy’s memory cue. Where had he heard that voice before?

Just in case Teremy’s mind played tricks on him again, he spoke cautiously. “Now all of Norvrandt knows my name. No thanks to that spectacle earlier.”

“Spectacle? Ah… I must have missed it.” the lalafell asked. “I just got here myself. Thought to take a walk and get a good idea of this place. Understand your surroundings and all that.”

“Fair. Then how do you know me?”

“I was part of the group that catered to that dance auditions. You know, the one you took part in. When that plant monster attacked, I was your co-tank. The, uh, paladin, if you can call it that,” said the dunesfolk.

The lalafell’s words acted as a cue that triggered Teremy’s memory. The dance auditions in Costa Del Sol. A disgruntled auditionee summoned a giant plant monster in retribution. What Teremy had once believed to be just the catering crew turned out to be an astrologian, a white mage, and a paladin—although more like a hybrid spellcaster who shielded his entire body with big guard and flung magical swords like a red mage—who helped the dance crew fight off the sudden foe. Teremy distinctly recalled the voice of said paladin who warned the party of dangers. A young boy’s voice.

A voice exactly the same as this lalafell’s own.

The lalafell nodded and smiled. “You remember! So you are Teremy Itsubishi?”

Teremy nodded. “If you’re looking for Jeremy, he’s… not here. Unfortunately for the prophecy.”

Joey put his stubby finger to his mouth and tilted his head, looking down, as though weighing options of how to answer as such. When he craned his neck to look up again, he finally spoke. “I just happened to see you and you looked lost and confused. That’s all.”

The seeker rubbed his face. All those years of trying to look indifferent… thwarted by his bewilderment. What a day. “Right. You said you missed the spectacle. Thankfully for my pride. At any rate, what’s your name again?”

“Joey. Joey Madison.” The lalafell gestured to himself with his thumb. “So, um, what brings you all the way to Norvrandt?”

“I—” Teremy started, but stopped. What was he supposed to say? One moment he was in Costa Del Sol chilling with his brother on the beach, and then the next moment he found himself sucked into a portal with only time to grab his clothes. Not even his trusty gunblade.

Joey tilted his head. “Here, come with me. My mistress, Reonora, also got summoned through the portal and I followed her here. She’s going to ask the Exarch some questions. He might have some answers for you too.”

‘Sure didn’t have any answers earlier.’ Teremy thought, but followed Joey anyway. Couldn’t hurt.

* * *

As it turned out, Teremy hadn’t been the only one who got dragged through a portal against his will—the entire Fortunes & Fancies crew—of which Teremy had correctly remembered as the catering crew at the dance audition—had been dragged here as well. The Crystal Exarch’s original aim was to find the fabled Warrior of Light, the one who had saved Eorzea time and time again alongside the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Somehow, this extended to a humble shopkeeper trying to make a living, and both her retainers. Well, Rosemary, anyway. Joey had followed Reonora here by reopening the portal, but only due to traces of energies. He couldn’t open the portal back. In other words, in an attempt to find the Warrior of Light, the Exarch had pulled in nearly every single Scion of the Seventh Dawn, and them too.

For Teremy, because the Exarch had a vision of some legendary hero that could pull a sword from the stone. Now all Teremy had was the sword… and the stone.

Teremy folded his arms and said nothing as he listened to everyone else talk. To his limited thug mental capabilities, he gathered that the Scions had scattered at various parts around this world, and the Leveilleur twins happened to be the easiest ones to reach. At least from the Crystarium. Speaking of twins. Teremy bitterly wondered how one of them thought if they learned the other had been hailed some chosen hero, yet they weren’t the one and now they’re stuck here. No, no point to think about that. Things happened for a reason. Even though Teremy wasn’t exactly sure as to what yet.

“We should split up.” Reonora concluded. “I can go to Eulmore to find Alphinaud.”

Teremy unfolded his arms and stepped forward. “Then I’ll go to Ahm Araeng to find Alisaie.”

Everyone, including the Exarch, looked at Teremy in surprise.

“Are you certain?” The Exarch asked. “‘Tis true you have been pulled from your homeworld against your will—and for that, I deeply apologise. But you’re welcome to stay in the Crystarium as long as you like. There’s no need for you to go out of your way for this trouble, especially after the trouble I have caused you.”

Teremy cracked his knuckles. “Sitting still makes me antsy. Destined hero or not, I might as well make myself useful.”

Reonora held Rosemary’s hand. The keeper had clearly chosen who she wanted to take with her. Though she looked at Teremy as she spoke. “Then please take Joey with you. He may not look like it, but he is a versatile all-rounder. He should be able to help you in any capacity you need.”

Joey performed an eastern bow. “I’ll do my best!”

Teremy placed his right fist in his left palm and bowed.

“Then it’s decided,” said the Exarch. “Please speak to the Amaro Keepers once you have fully prepared.”

The girls headed out first, followed by Teremy and Joey. As the seeker and his newfound companion headed to the Amarokeep, Teremy wondered what he was going to do with this sword and the stone combination. He quickly concluded that he’d just carry the thing around. If nothing else, having the feel of a gunblade made him feel better, even if half of its blade was rendered useless. All else fails, he had an interesting sword-mace and story to tell Jeremy when he got home.

If he got home.

* * *

The last time anyone saw any trace of Alisaie, she was last seen at the Inn at Journey’s Head. From Mord Souq, Teremy and Joey traveled south—Joey on a flying chair, Teremy on foot. He needed some time to work off his nervous energy.

The blazing hot sun beat down upon them. Occasionally Teremy felt breaths of cold coming from Joey’s own aura. At one glance, he saw a few ice cubes hovering around the lalafell. Magic really could do anything. Although Teremy felt the effects of extra heat from his black clothes, he welcomed that feeling right now. He needed that reminder that he was still alive.

Expected of a place that bared an eternal sun, the Fields of Amber gave home to some of the largest sabotenders Teremy had ever seen. Gigatenders, as the natives called them. The two also passed by varieties of turtles and moles, but none of them gave the two any extra trouble. As they continued south down a rocky ledge, Teremy placed his hands in his pockets. His fingers grazed upon aether-charged bullets. To think, he had the bullets but not an actual gunblade to fire them. His gunblade had been left behind at Costa Del Sol. All Teremy had left was this part blade mostly rock thing. Maybe he could fire off a round or two and a Burst Strike would blast the rock off. He pulled the gunblade from his back and slammed the rock into a nearby larger rock. All Teremy felt was the other rock shatter upon impact. That rock. Not the stone, that looked not even a grain out of place.

Joey jumped and squeaked. Had Teremy not been in such a sour mood, he would have thought the lalafell’s noise to be cute. “Everything okay?”

“Too much sun.” Teremy strapped the gunblade to his back.

“Here, have some cold.”

Teremy never asked for anything, but he felt a cold breeze slowly billow around him. The miqo’te smiled a little. “Hypothermia.”

“S-sorry!”

“I’m kidding.”

“Oh!” Joey placed a hand to his mouth. “A sarcastic type. I see.”

“Glad we understand each other. Thanks for the cold, though. Feels nice.”

Teremy held one hand over the horizon. How much farther was this inn anyway? What kind of inn could even survive in the middle of a desert?

Just when Teremy thought he saw a trickle of blue like an aetheryte crystal coming from between two large rock formations, he also saw a flash of white streak across the sky. Pure killing instinct. And from Joey hopping off of his chair, Teremy knew that the lalafell sensed it too.

What they saw was a sight they had never seen before—beings of pure white with angelic wings but forms of monsters screeching from the sky and diving down towards what looked like hyurs in rags.

“Those are Sin Eaters! We have to be care—”

Joey didn’t have time to finish his sentence, for Teremy already ran ahead at full speed. Imbuing his body with the power of wind, he ran faster than Joey’s lalafell legs could keep up. The miqo’te thought he heard things from the lalafell like “—ful.” “This guy…!” and “Wait!” but too late. Teremy had already committed the moment he saw someone in trouble. And soon, one of the sin eaters keeled back in the air from Teremy’s shoulder tackle. A reverse roundhouse kick to send the next one flying. And a quick burst of qi energy launched like a projectile to push away the last.

“You all right?” Teremy asked what appeared to be hyurs.

And indeed they were. Or whatever they were called in this world—Teremy forgot the explanation nor did he have time to care. His strikes had only served as a distraction. The sin eaters regained their senses quickly and dove again.

“Go, quickly! I’ll hold them off!” Teremy whirled around and grabbed the gunblade strapped to his back. Footsteps pattered behind him. Good.

One of the sin eaters took a large dive at him. Teremy swung his gunblade, except that the weight at the tip felt much heavier than usual—not enough to knock Teremy off balance, but enough to feel the weight of that attack. Rather than slash and slice, the stone still attached to the gunblade bludgeoned the sin eater. Good show but not exactly what he was looking for. Taking a chance, Teremy filled the revolver with one aether bullet, snapped the gunblade back into place, and fired.

Ka-thunk.

The recoil of a burst strike sent Teremy flying back. He skidded on the ground to prevent himself from falling. And yes, to answer his question, the stone remained perfectly intact. Putting the useless gunblade away, he resorted back to martial arts again. A shoulder tackle. A series of hand strikes to points usually vital to humans, but the sin eater didn’t seem to recoil in the same manner. Now what?

A flechette of magical swords impaling the sin eaters answered Teremy’s question. Immediately following the hailstorm came bolts of fire. A sudden bolt of lightning that shocked the sin eater to its core. A bolt of unaspected energy flecked them, followed by a large gust of wind to blow them off target. Teremy watched as a red blur collided onto the sin eater in front of him, but it was the sin eater that inevitably went flying from a impact spell with Joey’s open palm as a catalyst.

“Careful. These sin eaters can sire you into one of them if they feel like it,” said Joey.

“Thanks for the heads up.” Teremy called back. ‘Huh. Magic and martial arts together. Don’t see that every day. Cool.’

Teremy turned around, raising his fists in a fighting stance. Now he and Joey stood back to back.

Turned out that these three sin eaters weren’t alone. Another screech and more arrived. Joey flung spell after spell. Lightning to unaspected kinetic magic. Wind to unaspected kinetic magic that sent sin eaters flying away towards Teremy, causing the miqo’te’s strikes to collide even harder. But the more sin eaters they felled, the more came. The more strikes the duo dished out, the more sin eaters clawed their way. Teremy felt more irritated than winded—the miqo’te was just getting warmed up. But Joey, as befitting of a typical spellcaster, felt his stamina ebb away from him. It wasn’t long before the lalafell fell on his knees, panting, using vercure to heal his and Teremy’s wounds, but the same spell couldn’t cure for Joey’s exhaustion.

Although Teremy could rely on his martial arts to attack, his very instincts reached to his gunblade. He had to be there. He had to be the one in front, to protect the party. To protect the people behind him. To protect his companions.

To protect…

Teremy clenched his teeth. He had known the answer all along. He just didn’t want to see it. He pulled the gunblade from his back. “You know what? Fuck this. I made a vow upon my honor to protect others. Destiny can go to hell!”

With the hardest swing he could muster, Teremy smashed the blade’s stone prison against the rock wall.

CRACK.

The stone shattered. The sword’s blade gleamed in the light, shining brightly like a smile from its first taste of freedom. His grip on the handle never felt any better. As he swung, he felt like this blade was not a weapon, but an extension of his own arm. Moreso than any blade he had ever possessed.

“C’mon!” Teremy beckoned to the sin eaters as his battle aura flared twice as brightly.

He vaulted into the air and spun around, sword outstretched. The blade cut cleanly into the sin eaters’ flesh. Another spin cut even deeper. Sensing the danger that shifted from Teremy’s battle aura alone, the sin eaters now flew away from Joey and towards Teremy instead.

Joey struggled to stay on his feet just enough to see Teremy call all the sin eaters in the vicinity to himself. Even in his tired state, Joey noted just how much the miqo’te’s fighting style had changed. Although powerful and graceful before, Teremy’s moves flowed much more naturally. Much more gracefully. Like he now had the means to complete his purpose. Still, there had to be something Joey could do. He watched Teremy spin around to attack all the sin eaters at once. But that alone, was that enough?

“Teremy. I got an idea. I’m going to imbue your blade.”

Whether or not Teremy had heard Joey, the lalafell proceeded anyway. Using Teremy’s blade as a catalyst, the lalafell summoned magical fire onto the blade. When Teremy spun, a trail of fire followed, cutting and burning into the sin eaters’ flesh. With their combined attacks and another flechette hailstorm, the sin eaters collapsed to the ground. Their bodies dispersed into the air, never to be seen again.

Joey flopped to the ground and sat down, exhaling. Teremy, too, panted slightly and leaned on the wall. The miqo’te laughed. Then Joey. And soon, the tension from the battle subsided from laughter of genuine relief.

“That was a good idea with the fire thing.” Teremy pointed the blade of his sword upwards and turned it with a flick of his wrists, reflecting light from the sun. “I’ll have to remember that technique for myself.”

“And you… you freed the sword from the stone,” said Joey.

Teremy stared at the black side of his blade. “I did, didn’t I? Heh… rather than be chosen, I forced my way, you could say.”

“Sometimes destiny is what we choose for ourselves,” said Joey. “Maybe the stone knew that.”

“Or I hit the damn thing too hard for its liking. Yeah. I’ll go with that story. Fate splintering off into the great unknown thanks to me.” Teremy strapped the gunblade to his back. “C’mon. Let’s go find Alisaie.”

As the two headed into the Inn at Journey’s Head, Teremy felt a wave of relief tide over him. Now he understood why he had been called to Norvrandt. There were people who needed saving and people he had to protect. He didn’t need to be chosen to protect others. He had already decided long ago what he wanted to do.

[fistsoflightning]

i’m jumping in on @whitherliliesbloom‘s fairy au? i’m jumping in! also; i love everyone’s fae au posts and am hoping i don’t heckel anything up here :\

some say they hear birds singing with the breeze; some say they hear a child laughing happily. if you could ask the wind, they'd tell you that is the sylph who tames lightning and myths; this is the fae that names them by the ways of mortals, and their name is zaya, keeper of the secretive mountain aviary.

headcanons (and wavy hand storyline for zaya) below the cut!

zaya is a sylph, more accurately a lightning sylph that tends to birds in the mountain ranges surrounding il mheg! they’re rather reclusive towards other fae, but will occasionally meet with others who fly across the skies doing their thing such as the fae of the night, since they are the one who causes the lightning storms in il mheg’s skies! they themselves are flightless, but to balance that they fly on ochir’s back, a mythical thunderbird they raised themself! 

their mountain aviary is very close to the lakeland entrance, and is quite easily seen from settlements in lakeland; however, to obey to the current titania’s wishes, they will cover the aviary in clouds to hide it from mortal eyes.

zaya is not quite your traditional fae friend! they prefer the company of mortals to fae, and often fly down from their mountain home to meet with some of the mortals living in lakeland! they are an avid trader, and deal in fae goods; stardust for lazurite, sugar blooms for sparrow feathers, eternal ice for sunlight catchers; they trade for baubles and objects that catch their eye and fancy before considering use, seeing as they have all they need at home. they’re quite similar to crows, in a fashion; even their clothes have all sorts of bits and bobs that came from mortal children and weavers. their fascination with mortal lives could be tied to a certain set of lost memories that came with the price of becoming a sylph...

when more and more mortals begin to enter the fae kingdom in search of a cure, zaya begins a small service; entrance to the kingdom for a hefty trade, since advisor urianger does not take kindly to their activities. most times, they trade a flight on ochir’s back for a certain type of crystal; auracite. they use the auracite they receive to feed ochir! he needs a good meal of aether to produce proper lightning storms, after all.

(here’s where things get hand wavy; ignore these if shurimun has something else planned!) when the snow mother becomes reclusive herself, zaya has to move their aviary much closer to lakeland and rak’tika than before, leading to an increase in thunderstorms over both areas. mortals begin to attribute this to the curse spreading across and through norvrandt, and curse the thundering skies with a passion. even more people come to them, seeking to cross into the forbidden kingdom to search for an end to the storms and curse before it can destroy all they have.

zaya sees many mortals across, and few back; many die to the harsh conditions found in il mheg; fuath and pixies tricking them into their demise, or the queen’s royal guard finding them and ending them for reasons unknown. of the mortals zaya ferries across, they see many elves and many humes across safely. the first of the mortals to be deemed worthy of a small time as one of them, alphinaud, oft has his sister demanding zaya take them across the mountains despite the fact alisaie herself is ill with this curse. zaya only agrees to take her when a face familiar to many of the snow fairies comes back; thancred waters, the man who betrayed the snow mother’s trust.

thancred remains with zaya in their aviary while alisaie endeavors to join her brother, ochir her (temporary) mount. he and zaya do not get along, at first; he tries to coerce them into speaking about the thunderstorms when they are mute, and they attempt to retrieve the crystalline spring he’d taken for peppermint and the snow mother. neither of them get what they want; the rulers of the mortal kingdom have already taken the spring, and thancred cannot for the life of him get any information from this stubborn sylph!

zaya continues their work (illegally, if you asked advisor urianger) of carrying mortals across, but now they only dare to let those with strong hearts and strong souls across; not many seem to survive the trip into il mheg, they’ve noticed, and when a mystel and viis by the names of tehra’ir and valdis request entrance with a massive haul of auracite, they can hardly decide; these mortals are different than the rest, somehow.

after ferrying them across, a change strikes; there are suddenly no more mortals asking for passage, and zaya finds that the duo have been sneaking around. not to harm any of the fae, no, but to take down their own kind; there have been spies and soldiers alike who have made it past nymph laurelis, and not of zaya’s accord.

okay! that’s all the story/backstory tie in i’ve got rn. i didn’t wanna overstep boundaries, so those of you in the fae au are allowed to ignore parts if you don’t likey! time for some more random headcanons >:3

like lunya, zaya was originally a mortal drahn! they came in the same wave of people, though zaya was an adventurer among plunderers; they hadn’t intended to harm any of il mheg’s inhabitants in their wake.

a greater sylph by the name of sadu saved zaya in the exodus! they were mortally injured at that point from some rather violent fae they had thought to be kind, so sadu inscribed a set of magic tattoos into their arms that took sadu’s faehood and gifted it to them.

the aviary that zaya cares for? it was originally sadu’s! that’s why ochir’s here...

ochir is a mythical thunderbird that spawns the frequent thunderstorms over il mheg! he’s a kind fluffy boy... just don’t hurt him or any of the other aviary birds and you good.

of all the fae zaya is likely to meet, it would be the snow mother and lunya! due to reclusion in mountains and to flying across the skies bringing the stars/storms, zaya would likely have frequent encounters with both of their sisters. what they interact like is up to you!

zaya knows most of the mortals that have snuck their way into il mheg, mostly because they helped them. the ones they do not know are probably hien, aymeric, and estinien! otherwise you can point your fingers at them for it :P

zayacred is a hard maybe they will, maybe they won’t, tbh; i don’t know if shurimun is done with thancred?? i’m not sure if he should/would come back?? i’m drawing a blank but if i can borrow thancred’s character he and zaya absolutely go on a mini excursion after alisaie settles down/gets taken back to the mortal kingdom to go resolve the growing thunderstorm over rak’tika! y’shtola lives with the settlement in slitherbough and has reported of a storm brewing for weeks that is preventing the trees and grass from getting light or rain; rak’tika is slowly dying for some reason...

if the New Mortal Wave goes well, then zaya might come back down from their mountain aviary! since they’re so interested in mortals and their lives, allowing them back into the kingdom would be good reason for the reclusive lightning sylph to rejoin the common society! they left in the first place since a lot of the other sylphs disliked them.

[windupnamazu]

can i bleed within your love? words: ~1450 notes: y’shtola & lunya, wol/exarch, shb spoilers

Y’shtola doesn’t see the look on the Warrior's face when the wind suddenly shifts and the Exarch’s cowl comes flying off with a wave of aether, but it’s impossible to miss the way her voice breaks as she calls out to him.

“G'raha Tia,” Lunya says, aching and desperate and afraid. Not of the Exarch, but for him. The Mystel— no, Miqo'te, for the smell of Sharlayan, of home, is so distinct and so familiar Y'shtola curses herself for not catching it before— freezes, hesitates, trembles as he pulls the Light from her.   

The pieces of the puzzle that's been bothering Y'shtola since her arrival in Norvrandt start to fall in place, but there’s no time to put them together when the aether pulses violently again and the Exarch smiles, reciting what's meant to be his final words.

There is much more than simple admiration in his vermillion eyes as he gazes at Lunya. 

"My friend. My inspiration," he says like an oath, and Y’shtola hears a love powerful enough to fight the limits of time and space and destiny.

Though the Light is blinding, she reaches out with her aethersight and forces her eyes to part the veil that smothers Lunya's form into a luminous blur. When the Warrior begins to cry, it is perhaps only Y’shtola and the Exarch that realize. 

This cannot be allowed to pass, she decides then, the Exarch and Urianger and their stupid secrecy and plans be damned. But before she can even try to draw up a new plan - something, anything, anything to stop this wretched, reckless man from breaking her friend's heart - there comes—

The boom of a gunshot all but directly in her ear, the metallic smell of gunpowder and blood, a strangled gasp, twin shouts of horror catching in Alisaie and Alphinaud's throats, Ryne's shriek as sharp as the knives she wields, the thud of a body hitting the floor, and then, the worst of all the sudden noises: a guttural scream of raw heartbreak and terror.

"RAHA!" 

The Light blisters and blooms like a poisonous flower, engulfing the mountain peak. Thancred pulls Y'shtola close and forces his hand over her eyes, plummeting her into merciful darkness as her skin crawls in discomfort she wasn't prepared to bear.  

Emet-Selch— that slimy, slithering snake— says something, and Y’shtola hears it but doesn’t really while her dearest friend’s agonized cry rings in her ears and all of her senses are overloaded. When she recovers, the Ascian is gone, and so is the Exarch - but Lunya is unconscious but unturned, Ryne shuddering as she forcefully pushes the Light away, away, away. 

Y'shtola's head pounds with a million questions and a splitting headache. How did Lunya know the Exarch's name? What was wrong with Urianger? What are they going to do about the Light now? How long could Ryne hold it? What is she going to say to Runar, to the Night's Blessed? How many times has she failed Lunya now?

The Warrior - their friend, their sister - still burns so brightly that Y’shtola can barely look at her even as Alphinaud determinedly carries her down the mountain, terrifyingly still in his arms and her hair glowing ominously under the everlasting Light. 

Lunya unravels as they push into the depths of the Tempest. The sound of her sandals on the ocean floor are steady and her voice is calm and focused, but Y'shtola sees the Light slowly begin to tip out of her little by little, like a ball of thread uncoiling across the ground, tangling and knotting like a noose.

It makes her think of the moons between the move to Mor Dhona and the banquet in Ul’dah, and how no one had the time to check with their newly titled champion to see how she was handling things. They just assumed that she would be alright - adventurers were made for change, were they not? She handled all her assignments with all the ease she had before being named Warrior of Light. They had no reason to worry for her.

No one had considered that next to Alphinaud, she was one of the youngest Scions at the time. She had been nineteen summers old when Y'shtola recruited her - still a child, in the eyes of many, and they had turned her into a soldier overnight. 

There was one evening, in the midst of the preparations for the upcoming banquet, when she arrived at the Rising Stones far too quiet and her smile far from genuine. Y'mhitra mentioned a report that the Warrior of Light joined the Sons of Saint Coinach in exploring the Crystal Tower, hadn't she? Why hadn't Y'shtola prodded further? Why hadn't she asked Lunya personally how things were going with the expedition? Why hadn't she pulled her aside to ask if everything was alright, that day?

It was wrong of them then and it is wrong of them now to let things go in silence, to simply expect things from Lunya rather than to ask and to offer. But she does not know what to say now - Rhul’s daughters were good with calculations and biting words, but what of expressions of comfort, of empathy? Y'shtola has never been one to placate and soothe - her wand had always been enough, but even if she had it here there was nothing conjury could do to ease a broken heart or dissolve the all-consuming Light.

Mhitra would know what to say, she thinks. Krile and Tataru could coax her troubles from her.

But her sister is not here, she is not Krile or Tataru, and they don't have the luxury of wasting time thinking on their shortcomings and failures. Down in the Tempest, there is no one to count on but each other - and Lunya doesn't need flowery words and promises that might as well be empty. She needs to be grounded, to be reminded that she is not alone in the shadows of deep, for her companions to take actions that are worth something.

With aether pooled in her staff, Y'shtola knows this is one thing she’s good at and can give for sure.

"Good morning, Raha. 'Tis good to see you awake."

When the Exarch - G'raha Tia - weeps and whispers a disbelieving "'tis good to be awake," Lunya takes a step forward, and then another, and another, until finally she breaks and she runs to him and all but leaps into his arms. He kneels to embrace her, and though they are both battered and bruised they hold each other tightly - like a star splintered in twain, its pieces finally coming together again after a lifetime apart, uniting seamlessly along the split, the universe righting itself again.

And perhaps that's exactly what they are, Y'shtola realizes as Lunya begins to sob and G'raha presses his forehead against hers, murmuring something soft to her. The question of how they know each other still remains, but for once Y'shtola finds her scholarly curiosity sated enough by the sight of her friend, who was known to give and give until she had naught left to, finally receiving and taking and claiming what she wants.

She had her own reasons to distrust the Exarch, but she thinks she can trust him with Lunya's heart.

When they finally part, coaxed gently by Urianger to return to the surface so they can tend to the Exarch's wounds, Thancred guides G’raha forward on their way out of Amaurot. Lunya and Y'shtola are the last ones left on the platform, the Warrior pulling her adoring gaze away from the Exarch's back to look at her. 

"He makes you happy," Y'shtola tells her before the Warrior can say anything, snickering with she hears Lunya squeak in surprise, but not shame. "I will not interrogate you, don't worry." She allows herself to laugh fully when the Lalafell huffs.

"Shtola," comes Lunya's voice a moment after, exhausted yet gentle and happy. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"For looking out for me." Y'shtola feels a bump against her hand, and she gives in and briefly pets Lunya’s head. The Lalafell sighs in contentment. "Your presence kept me grounded. Thank you."

Y'shtola can no longer see it, but she still feels the warmth when Lunya beams at her like the sun come to earth, and she thinks that her smallest friend must understand the way she loves better than Y'shtola does herself. 

"I've been with you from the start," Y'shtola reminds her with a smile. Surely their souls knew each other once before, and that such a statement must ring true in more than one way. "And I'll be with you until the end."

[alannah-corvaine]

epilogue;

It’s a habit that she knows she should break.

There’s no reason to return to the First, not when the Shard is settled and calm and things are bad back home. But the vaunted Warrior of Light can’t help herself, can’t stay away. There are things we cannot afford to lose, the Exarch had told her. His words have resonated with her more than he could ever know. Just not in the way that he had meant it. The world can’t afford to lose her. And Alannah…

...she can’t lose him.

She already has, of course. He was gone before she’d known she’d miss him, before the dust had even settled after their last meeting on the burning sands of Thanalan. She’d never expected to see him again, never expected to follow his footsteps back to the First. Never thought he’d be a misspoken memory maligned by a fate he’d never asked for, in whose footsteps she could do naught but tread. 

And then...to meet again the way that they had. To learn his thoughts and fears and the demons that haunted him, and to find that they mirror her own. His shoulder, though that of a specter, has seen more of her tears than her comrades of many years. How can she explain the connection between them when she barely understands it herself? 

In any case, she has long since served her purpose here. There are no more foes to vanquish, no shadows to peer into. No, her trips to the First since the fall of Emet-Selch have been unsanctioned and secret. They have to stop, she thinks. But she can’t stop.

Perhaps she could have, if it weren’t for the boy.

Alannah can’t decide if this is a cruelty or a kindness. If it were anybody else, she could not be sure, but his soul is entangled with hers, there is no mistaking it for another’s. 

The boy is young when they meet for the first time. The only time, because she keeps herself distant. He is innocent, ignorant of the deeds that have earned him this second chance. Alannah has decided that she will not be the one to tell him. He deserves a life free of pain and of worry. He deserves to be happy. 

So she watches from afar, easing the anxious ache in her chest with her various visits. Always a stranger, an unseen silent guardian. The time between worlds flows erratically, and though she is aware of its mysterious twisting and turning, she cannot help but be taken aback each time she returns. After an absence of weeks in the Source, she may visit once more to find that years have passed on the First.

To see him grown, a boy becoming a man, brings her a joy that borders on terror. The fear of losing him once more brings her back again and again, indulging in a selfish need that is unbecoming of the selfless Warrior of Light. And yet. 

This particular sojourn finds her hovering outside the window of a Kholusian tavern, her face hidden in the shadows cast by the flickering candles in the window. She has nearly made up her mind to go inside, determined to keep her cloak pulled tight around her with her hood hiding her features. Her eyes are drawn instantly to the youth seated at the center table, surrounded by loud and rowdy companions. These faces she knows too, and her heart gladens at the sight of them together once more. 

Putting aside her misgivings, she pushes the door open and enters. 

Instantly she is assaulted by anxiety, certain that the white of her hair and the unmistakable aura of power will give her away. But the tavern dwellers take no notice of her, strange and foreign as she is, and Alannah decides that the tense set of her shoulders is more like to make her stand out. She makes her way to a less occupied corner, murmuring her choice of drink to a maid as she passes by. 

The inn is crowded this eve, and as she weaves her way through the sea of people, she can’t help but feel awash in a celebratory warmth. Nigh on fifteen years have passed in the First since her victory over the Light, and not for a moment have the people taken their hard-won peace for granted. A dream-like calm enfolds her in its embrace, and she finds herself lost in memories as various faces pass her by.  

The twinkling lights dim and blur as her eyes become heavy. Soon a blink becomes a nod, and she succumbs to a drowsy comfort dragging her down beneath consciousness. Just for a moment, she thinks hazily, already lost to the tug of a sweet dream.

“Ardbert, ya lazy lout, put some muscle inta it!”

The large galdjent roars with laughter, even as beads of sweat dot his forehead. His companion, the dark-haired hume Ardbert, struggles to contain his own mirth as he grins fiercely at his friend. The two are locked in a mighty struggle of an arm wrestling match, neither willing to admit defeat, muscles straining as they wrest for dominance. 

“You’re getting soft on me, Branden,” he chuckles. Truth be told, his own arm is starting to shake from weakness, and there’s a very good chance he’s going to lose this match. Beside him, Renda-Rae lets loose a raucous cheer, and it’s obvious the mystel is deep in her cups.  Lammit and Nyelbert sit nearby deep in discussion about some finer point of magic that Arbert will readily admit he neither understands nor cares about. Still, their company is welcome, even if they have different interests. 

Moments later his arm falls, and Branden claims another victory. Chagrined, Ardbert pays for his next drink, lamenting the lightness of his coin purse. Shaking his head, he takes a long drought of his own ale. “We’re not finished here,” he declares, fighting a smile. “Not until I’ve won, anyway.” 

“If it’s a challenge you want, it’s a challenge you’ll get, boy!” Branden offers his outstretched hand once more, an amused twinkle in his eye, and Ardbert accepts it immediately.

“Wait wait wait wait wait!” Renda-Rae calls, halting their competition. “I say this contest needs some real stakes. What about…” the mystel taps her chin, deep in thought. “I got it! Loser has to wash the winner’s leathers for the next moon!” The men recoil in disgust, neither wanting to imagine such a scenario. Still, they agree, and the terms are set. They clasp arms once more, the beginnings of adrenaline coursing through their veins. 

As they await Renda-Rae’s command to start, Arbert takes a quick survey of the room. Most of the tavern’s patrons are familiar to him, having lived in this village their whole lives. They are men and women he has known for years, shared in their triumphs and their heartaches. Some few are strangers, but the town is no stranger to passersby, and their coin is always welcome. 

One such stranger he spies in a corner, hooded and unobtrusive. Something about them draws his eye, and he watches with interest as they suddenly jolt upright. The hood falls from their face, and now he can see that the stranger is a pale young woman. Her long hair is a brown darker than his, and as it spills around her he can see distinct strands of white threaded throughout. An interesting appearance for a woman who looks no older than his own age. 

She hurriedly rises from her seat, obviously in a rush as she makes for the door. Her gaze flickers across the room as she pauses at the door, and for the briefest instant his eyes catch hers. 

Wildfire erupts in his veins, and Renda-Rae’s voice is a million malms away as she calls the beginning of the match. The pressure against his hand is nothing against the sudden tidal surge of memory that threatens to drown him. All sound fades from the room, all sight from his eyes but the image of her face, burned into his being like a brand. 

“Oi, whatsa matter with him? You in there, Ardbert? Keep it up and you’ll be washing my underthings ‘til your next nameday!”

“I think he’s lookin’ at that girl. Look at ‘im, he’s completely besotted! I can’t believe me eyes.”

But Ardbert hears none of this. The roar of blood in his ears is too loud, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He knows her name, it’s on the tip of his tongue. A parade of images flashes in his mind, each one tightening a vice around his ribcage. Memories of another life, memories of an afterlife. Memories of her.

Midnights in her room. Fear and despair in her eyes. Her hand touching his, the brilliant light between them. Her laughter carried on the wind and a smile just for him. A final stand and her gift of redemption.

He can’t breathe. A pain such as he has never known in his life threatens to break him in half. He’s half out of his chair before he knows what he’s doing, tugging his hand away from Branden without acknowledgement of his sudden fervor. She’s already out the door, taking her answers with her. Panic ignites in his breast, and his fevered brain finally loosens its grip on her name. 

“ALANNAH.”

Stupid stupid stupid!

She should have never gone in there, should never have let herself get comfortable. To fall asleep here of all places! Her lack of diligence is astounding and this is probably why the Scions never let her go anywhere by herself. Alannah steps out into the darkening eve, drawing her cloak around her and adjusting her fallen hood. Sloppy, she sneers at herself in disgust.    

A disaster, that’s what she is, making these trips to the First when it’s all done and over. She’s the only one who can’t let go or move on. Sometimes, when she’s bitter, she wonders why she should. Her friends aren’t the ones with a fragmented soul, with a piece in the shape of the hole in her heart. There are some things that cannot be explained by words alone, that only the soul knows, some wounds that will never be whole again. 

A commotion from inside the inn catches her attention. A lone shout sends tingles up her spine, making her knees weak, and all the breath leaves her. She doesn’t know how, but she knows. Her heart beats frantically, erratically as the door slams open behind her. Her own name thrums in her ears, a radio signal calling her home. 

His harsh breathing and heavy steps come to a halt in her wake.

“Alannah.” 

A small sob escapes her. How long has she heard that voice in her dreams? How long has it been since those blue eyes beheld her, aware of who she is? She is afraid to turn, afraid to face a dream that will vanish in the morning light. She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have come. He deserves a life free from the trials and travails of a hero’s lot, and she will never ever be able to give that to him.

“It is you, isn’t it? I know you felt it just now, whatever it was. Just turn around, please. Look at me.”

Her feet have no will of their own as she slowly shifts to face him. Agony is written in her eyes, and she has not the strength to hide it. His own expression, when at last she beholds him in her sight, is naked confusion and something she can’t name. Her hood drops away from her face, leaving her exposed to his scrutiny. She licks her parched lips, trying to find any words that could possibly be enough between them.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Her voice is hoarse and raspy. “I’m sorry.”

Ardbert takes a step closer, his brow furrowing. “Sorry? For what?” 

“I--” 

A sudden wave of exhaustion nearly knocks her off her feet. A bone-deep weariness settles in her like a stone, bearing her down to the ground. Too much, it’s all too much, when all she wants to do is cry. Her ears catch the sound of dirt gravel crunching beneath boots approaching her as the world spins, and she falls into darkness as the ground rushes up to meet her.

Ardbert watches her as she sleeps, sitting on the edge of the inn room bed as she lays curled on her side where he’d laid her some two hours before after her collapse. It’s a familiar feeling, as though he’s done this before, standing guard by her side until her waking hours return. He thinks of the look on her face as he’d confronted her, such anguish in her eyes that pierced to the heart of him. He remembers her burden, what once was his, and feels guilty. 

As he wonders what has befallen her since that day in the Dying Gasp, an unruly finger rises to brush the bangs from her face. His hand lingers overlong, content to caress the soft skin of her brow. She stirs beneath his touch, sighing into wakefulness as her eyes grudgingly open. He does not withdraw, hesitating as her groggy gaze meets his.

“Ardbert?” Her voice is quiet, almost timid.

He makes a noise of confirmation, and she lets out a long breath. Alannah looks at him then, her uncanny green eyes making him dizzy. There is a long moment of silence between them as they memorize the other’s features, drinking in all that they have missed in their separation.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs, feeling oddly protective of a woman whose deeds and power are unrivaled. 

Her face crumples, as though she is about to cry. He knows just how much it costs her to answer with a tiny “no.” She buries her face into the pillow, great sobs wracking her body as her hands clench and unclench in the blankets. Before she can curl into herself, Ardbert pulls her against him, wrapping his arms around her tight and murmuring words of comfort into her hair. 

They lay like this for a long time, until she is drained of her tears. 

She slumps against him, with no will or energy to move. Her breathing eventually evens out, her body shuddering one last time. “I tried to stay away,” she confesses, “but I keep coming back. I had to know that you were okay. And…” she pauses, a knot of fear in her throat. “I missed you,” she whispers, hiding her face again.

He frowns and gently pries her away from his chest. “Why would you stay away? Shouldn’t a hero have free reign to visit the world she’s saved?” 

He sees the bitterness in her face for the first time as she answers. “You should have a free life. One far away from me and all the horror I bring with me, and all the things you left behind. Me being here...just seeing me brought back your memories of all of that. In my selfishness, I’ve ruined the life you deserve. Because I couldn’t stay away.”

It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, with lips pursed and brow furrowed. 

“A life with you in it could never be ruined,” he tells her softly. “I would rather have you here, and know all the evil of the world, than live in ignorance without you.”

She gazes at him, stricken, as though not daring to believe. A war within her rages on her face as she absorbs his words, torn between what she knows and what he offers. 

Ardbert smiles, a tinge of sadness touching his expression as he runs a hand through her hair. “You have saved everything I have ever held dear, and did what I could not.”  At this she stringently objects, shaking her head violently. “You saved me,” she says in a broken voice, tears returning to her eyes. 

He has no words for what he wants to tell her, so he brings his fingertips to her face, tenderly swiping away her stray tears. They trail from her brow to her cheeks, descending to her chin as he tilts his head toward hers. 

The first touch of their lips is tentative and slow, a gentle press as his hand slips between the strands of her hair to support her neck. A light sparks between them, ebullient in its brilliance, a radiant reminder of Her blessing that they share. A brief pause for breath, then the kiss becomes something more. He is pressing her down, the warmth of him surrounding her, a homecoming that she has not felt in years.

Moments pass, or hours, neither of them know. She forgets her name, her titles, the weight of the world. All are distant stars in the sky as she lays in his arms. 

She touches him too, tracing the line of his jaw and the landscape of his chest. There cannot be enough kisses between them. Soft kisses, long kisses, passionate and devouring. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” she confesses as they shed their clothing, hungry for closeness. 

He breathes against her neck, as uncertain as she is, only knowing that every cell in his body begs to be closer, closer. Easing himself into his elbows above her, he smiles at her reassuringly, leaving a chaste kiss on her lips. “If you tell me to stop, I will.” 

She nods her head nervously, already winding her limbs around his. A sweet ache builds and builds in her chest as he moves in her, ‘til it brings her near to tears. “I…” Mere words are not enough for this moment, unneeded as their souls rejoice. 

“Stay with me,” she gasps, undone and unraveling. “Please, please stay.” 

His lips curve against her collar, nipping at her skin. Ardbert raises his head to look at her, heat piercing him at the sight of her tangled hair and wild eyes. He kisses her again before rolling onto his back, bringing her with him. As she lays on his chest, panting for breath, he presses one palm to her hip and the other to her face. 

“As long as you will have me, Warrior of Light,” he kisses her forehead, “I will be at your side.”

[aryalaenkha-a]

FFXIV SHADOWBRINGERS FANFICTION

Title: Back from the First Shard Characters: Aria nan Laesca (WoL), Thancred Waters, “She”. Warning: 5.0 spoilers Important note: Based on French Translation of the game.

Back in the Source, after spending some time in the First Shard, Aria went to the Rising Stones to reassure Tataru about the Scions who were still stuck there and explain what had happened. The Lalafell also took the opportunity to give her a summary of what had happened during her absence.

Before returning home, the Garlean made a detour through the rooms of the Sanctuary to reach the bedside of a particular person. Thancred. They had said goodbye only a few hours earlier, just before she walked through the gate, knowing they would see each other again soon. But she had become accustomed to his presence at her side, and his sudden absence was almost painful. She sat on a stool next to her "Sleeping Beauty", tenderly stroked his still warm cheek with her fingertips, tears at the edge of her eyes. She knew full well that he would not wake up, his soul being far from his body, but she hoped that he could feel her presence. A slight smile briefly appeared on her face when she saw his thin beard and long hair. It reminded her of a conversation between Urianger and him as they sought a way to get to Nabaath Areng; two strangers had congratulated the Elezen for his well-trimmed beard when he had not cared about it in a while and the Hyur groaned because it reminded him - to his great regret - that he was almost hairless. Her eyes eventually settled on the necklace he had worn since they had known each other - and probably since long before that - and he never left. She hesitated for a moment and then took it off before tying it around her own wrist, thus keeping something of his always with her. 

"I'll give it back to you as soon as I can get you back here. I promise you, Love," she whispered before coming to put a tender kiss on his lips, a rolling tear on her cheek. She got up, sighed sadly and left the room with regret and teleported to the Holy See.

In her apartment in Ishgard, the Warrior of Light looked up at the stars, leaning against the railing of her balcony, wondering if the First Shard there, somewhere. She finally returned inside, the cold wind starting to get a little too bite, and settled down at her dressing table to do her hair before going to bed. But as she took her brush from the drawer, Aria heard a voice address her. A voice she had already heard not so long ago in Amaurot.

"You love this man, don't you?"

The Garlean looked up and noticed that something had changed in her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were a lighter pearly grey, iridescent and gleaming with a slight silvery aura.

"Why does that concern you?"

"I try to understand the feelings that the different fragments of my soul have had over the millennia. Ardbert seemed to have feelings for the Mystel who accompanied him but he was never able to confess his love for her before they died. And you were not far from taking the same path as him."

"Being Hydaelyn's chosen one and being in love are unfortunately two things difficult to combine," Aria replied, lowering her head slightly.

"Even if you put your life on the line at every moment, you also have the right to be happy with the person who is dear to your heart."

"It's not that simple..."

"I know it only too well, believe me. But this Thancred is probably the one who can best understand you and calm you down. And... he seems willing to do anything for you. Am I wrong?"

The Warrior of Light began to blush for the only answer, rubbing the necklace she was wearing as a bracelet with her opposite hand, while She giggled gently before taking on a more serious look.

"However... Even if your feelings for this man are pure and sincere,  you seem disturbed because of Hades. Could it be because of the love I have for him?"

Aria frowned, not expecting such a question. "Yes. Even though I know without a doubt who my heart belongs to, some of my thoughts are turned towards him."

"I'm sorry about that. Although our love has lasted since time immemorial and will take forever to die out, do not pay attention to it. The compassion you feel for him is only a reminder of the affection I have for him. But I am your past and you are my future. Only what you want matters to you, and nothing else. I'd just ask you not to hate him. Hades has always been a deeply good person who has always sacrificed everything - himself too - for the sake of his people."

The Garlean nodded gently. "Okay."

Her reflection's smile in the mirror grew larger, grateful for having accepted Her request. "Well... Why don't you tell me more now about your meeting with this white-haired Hyur?" She said in a mischievous voice.

"Why tell you this when you can read my mind?"

"Because it's more fun to get to know each other like this?"

Aria sighed, chuckling softly as she shook her head. "I was hoping to get some sleep..."

[maxmiz]

I want to hear more about your Harry Potter/ beyblade headcannons tell me all 😘😍😍😍😍 (if you want to of course!!)

GLAD YOU ASKED *-*[Warning: Long Post Ahead. Ignore errors if any. I typed it out in a rush]

Of course, I would love to talk more about Harry Potter/Beyblade headcanons. Also, anon, since you do seem so interested in them, I suggest you check out @lucy-mac​‘s art and AU on her set of HP/Beyblade headcanons which you can find here. She really put some thought into it, so please do give it a read page. Anyway, coming to my own headcanons (I’ll use dub names)….

Beyblade/HP AU Headcanon #1

I want to first elaborate a little on the Blitzkrieg Boys. First of all, I want to talk about the Abbey. I have a headcanon that the Blitzkrieg Boys, in this alternate Potterverse, are all from pure blood families, with the exception of Kai. Kai’s father was a Muggle that his mother ensnared with a love potion (much like Merope Gaunt did to Tom Riddle Sr.). The other boys were offered by their parents to serve the Dark Lord, i.e. Voltaire, and Kai being his grandson, had no option but to serve him and do his bidding, especially since Kai’s father had abandoned him and Kai’s mother was killed off by a killing curse by Voltaire for being ‘weak’ (like Merope, her magical abilities were questionable) and for mingling with a Muggle.

So these children of Death Eaters (i.e., our boys and Kai) each were sent to this institution, where their memories were obliviated by the Death Eaters and they were conditioned to learn only one thing - they were trained to purge the world of Muggles and Muggle Born witches and wizards and the Dark Mark was seared into their skins. This institution, much like the abbey, was to raise an army for the Dark Lord. And it was led by the most loyal Death Eater, Boris Balkov. Notice the similarities between how the people in the abbey dress and the Death Eaters:

(Source: Pottermore)

Coming back to our Blitz boys,

So I headcanon that Tala’s mother was a Muggle born witch who was also a ballerina. She often danced ballet (while her husband was away) in front of Tala, as she loved to remember her Muggle roots. However, after she discovered that her husband had joined the Death Eaters and after suffering abuse from him, she left Tala. Tala, of course, after escaping from the institution, only remembered his mother - that memory of her dancing was the only thing that helped him maintain his sanity in that institution and it manifested itself in the form of his wolf-woman patronus, Wolborg. This is similar to my Tala/Wolborg headcanon over here.

The other boys find it difficult to produce a Patronus because of their unfortunate memories, but being together when they subsequently fled to Durmstrang, helped them finally find some happiness. When Kai escaped, though, he went to Hogwarts.

Beyblade/HP AU Headcanon #2

This one is my invention. Let me introduce you to the concept of a Reverse Patronus. Now, as you know, a patronus is cast based on a powerful, happy memory. Kai’s only happy memory from his childhood would be that of his loving mother before she was killed off. So his patronus would ideally be a Phoenix, ie, Dranzer. However, the abbey strips Kai of all his pleasant memories.

Kai is trained in the abbey very strictly in the Dark Arts. He is taught many things, including and especially the art of casting a Reverse Patronus. Casting a reverse patronus is strictly forbidden by the Ministry of Magic, mainly because it feeds on the darkness and negativity inside a person. Naturally, once Kai starts casting it, his Reverse Patronus takes the form of a Black Phoenix, ie, Black Dranzer.

Casting a reverse patronus can drive anyone crazy, since it feeds off the darkness inside people. I headcanon that during a particularly difficult Triwizard Tournament task, Kai faces multiple dementors which try to suck the soul out of him. Kai, however, doesn’t want his teammates to help him, because he is full of himself. He tells them to back off. He knows that he is more powerful with a Reverse Patronus than a regular patronus (since he has no happy memories) and casts it. However, it actually affects him more because he has tried to run away from it since childhood. It is then that his friends step in. While Kai feels himself drowning into darkness, his friends step up and draw their wands, determined to bring him back from the brink even if they get overwhelmed. Kai is moved and his dark patronus turns into a regular patronus. He finds that his teammates are there for him and the red phoenix, Dranzer, becomes his patronus :)

Beyblade/HP AU Headcanon #3

The Mirror of Erised headcanon. I think, despite his perpetual state of self-denial, Kai sees himself with his teammates Tyson, Max, Ray, Daichi, Kenny and Hilary in the Mirror of Erised. Judy sees herself reunited with her son. Tala sees himself with his mother. Brooklyn sees himself on a swing with friends around him, as a child.

Beyblade/HP AU Headcanon #4

Max is also the heir of Slytherin. Yes, you heard that right. I headcanon that he is Kai’s cousin, but neither of them is aware of the same since Judy did not raise Max (but merely visited him sometimes while he lived with his Muggle Born dad).

As I mentioned before, Max’s bit beast Draciel, in the Japanese version is Genbu. And Genbu is represented by a tortoise/serpent.

I headcanon that Max has always known that because of the necklace that his mother gave him as a symbol of his heritage - Slytherin’s locket which bears the mark of Draciel. (Matching this with canon a little).

However, with Max wanting to distance himself as much as he can from his lineage, he prayed to the Sorting Hat to place him in Ravenclaw where he could be with the smart ones in his class, rather than in Slytherin where people might discover who he is.

However, during the Triwizard Tournament he comes face to face once again with his mother, Judy, the Minister for Magic who conveniently keeps ignoring him until he emerges as a victor and proves to her that he is as good a wizard in Ravenclaw as he could have been in Slytherin.

Beyblade/HP AU Headcanon #5

Brooklyn is our fandom’s Credence as his loneliness and genius is taken advantage of and he is pushed over the edge, until he finally is calmed down. As I stated earlier, Mr. Dickenson is the fandom’s Dumbledore and Dr. Zaggart is Grindelwald in a way.

Hilary is Hermione for sure.

Jazzman is a bit of a Rita Skeeter.

Also, Wyatt is like Colin Creevey with his super fanboy-ism for Kai, the best seeker that Slytherin house has ever seen!

Beyblade/HP AU Headcanon #6

I should just write a fic called the Gift of the Animagi xD Bad literature pun? Never mind. So I headcanon that Ray and his tribe, ie, Mariah, Lee, Kevin and Gary are all animagi. Ray being the strongest sorcerer of the lot was allowed to turn into the prestigious white tiger - the symbol of their tribe. However, he chose not to train with them in their traditional, but instead went to Hogwarts to learn magic. As a result, they felt betrayed.

Beyblade/HP AU Headcanon #7

This headcanon pertains to the tasks for that each Bladebreaker faces in the Triwizard Tournament.

Keep in mind that Judy designed these tasks, so they are ruthless af. Also, Hiro is like Ludo Bagman, here. He sucks up to Judy (Percy-style) and tests his brother and his friends.

Tyson does the ‘catching the egg from the dragon’ task, because dragons are his thing and because he is a brilliant seeker (because he commands the wind in canon, catch my drift?)

Max saves his friend underwater in the lake fighting merpeople, because he’s our water baby. He faces off against Mystel and Mariam in this task.

Hilary is given a time turner and is asked to go back in time and save Tyson’s life in a specific situation faster than the other competitors.

Ray is challenged to enter into the forbidden forest and fight off the magical creatures inside and emerge out the other end. BUT WITHOUT A WAND. So Ray exploits the loophole and transforms into an animagus. He faces off against Mariah here.

Kai’s task is given above.

Daichi faces a lot of insecurity and a bit of an inferiority complex in canon as we know. So in his task, he faces an army of boggarts that turn into his dad, his teammates, his house-mates and, HIM, and tell him that he is a failure and will never be as good. According to the rules, he can use any spell except for ‘Riddikulus’. Daichi eventually conquers his fear, believes in himself and wins.

Kenny doesn’t compete. But he provides them with a lot of help

In the final task they collectively enter the maze.

Well, this is all for now xD I have a lot of headcanons overall, but I hope that this’ll suffice. Because I’ll never stop writing.

P.S. Don’t use my headcanons in your fanfiction as they’d coincide with a fanfiction I wrote. Thanks!

[Tagging my peeps who usually read my headcanons, in case you guys want to read it and chime in @lucy-mac (you already know these), @zadien, @falbcrg, @midnightstarr8, @beybladedigimonanime, @indigojupiterstuff, @vattallini, @bey-hunter, @wr3h, @obsessivefictiontrash, @littleshechan, @martyoshka @fyrua]

[universal-kitty]

   I need to go to bed, but one more thought about the wind-up mammets... (Because I saw this post- the inspiration to my previous post- and had an idea.)

   ...G’raha and Rhela not being together yet, but Rhela often having out either Wind-up G’raha or Mystel out by their side. Considering his crush on them....real G’raha doesn’t really know what to make of the situation. Especially since Rhela carries either around quite a bit...and Raha would be lying that he wasn’t a little envious of that kind of affection.

   Anyways, he ends up- at some point- stumbling in on, say...Rhela reading Mystel a book. Wind-ups likely aren’t meant to get tired, but he looks so tiny and sleepy in their arms... It’s an amazing moment, topped off by them pressing a kiss to his little head.

   Mystel barely reacts he’s so sleepy, but G’raha nearly topples over. K-Kiss? Kiss on the head???

   .........He wants a kiss on the head.....

[universal-kitty]

Hello! For the poetry prompts,' I may not believe in fate , but i believe in you ’ with G'raha Tia?

poetry starters

   “You could’ve warned me, you know.” G’raha sheepishly looked up from his studies, to the familiar face of an old friend. However pleased as punch he might’ve been to see them at any time previous, now was....perhaps not the time to be so excited about seeing his hero again. After all, things have gone in very topsy-turvy ways recently, and for Rhela to be upset at him is only natural.

   It’s what happens...when you conceal your identity from someone you not only care deeply about, but when the feelings are unexpectedly returned... Well. It causes far more issues than G’raha had originally hoped for.

   Perhaps not that “dying to save the person I cherish most” is much for “hoping for something” now, is it? A certain....healer Myst- Miqo’te would certainly remind him as much.

   With that glare they give him- the angriest he’s ever seen them- perhaps that assumption is accurate.

   “I am aware,” he says, as kindly and neutral as possible. “However, it would have not served either of us well, had you known my identity from the start. You must understand why I did what I-”

   “Don’t give me that crap,” they snap, tail and ears flicking in agitation. “I know you did those things thinking it would be for the better. So that you could....die like that. But don’t put my feelings aside here, G’raha.” His heart dared hope for meanings within those words, but he was quick to tamper them out.

   Another thing he desperately wanted, but could have nothing to do with: the feelings that had consumed him here in the First, pining away for a champion lost, but one that was still out there. That could yet assist him in saving the First without issue. In preventing the very calamity that happened upon this world!

   If only it had been so easy as his daydreams played them out to be...

   The sound of boots cuts off any further thought, watching Rhela stroll into the area with purpose, dark green eyes behind a pair of glasses trained on his pure, bright red. It made him want to fluster and avoid their gaze....as much as he wanted to meet their gaze head on, and never look away again.

   ....His resolve wavered in their light, and he glanced away but a moment before- unable to help himself- he looked back at them once more.

   Even while angry, they were still so cute... It’s simply not fair.

   “...I was worried about you,” they say after a lengthy pause, passionate gaze softening into such a worried, sorrowful expression that his heart broke into pieces on the spot. Hands raising unsurely, wanting to comfort, not knowing where to begin. “I don’t know....what I’m angry at, even. Am I mad at you for lying to me...? For you not being you or your stupid plan? For....getting one of my own friends in on it...!!”

   First contact in ages, and it’s Rhela pushing him harshly, G’raha stumbling in shock. Th-They’re so much stronger now! He could still distantly remember his youth... A small, playful push he well deserved for teasing them too much. It had been a strong wind, but this.... How much stronger did they get...?!

   “I-I.... You got me worried sick over so many things!” Ah, the anger was back. Though when they looked up at him again, ears laid back and.....tears...? In their eyes... “Worried about the people here, the lives being lost, where G’raha was, who you were......why I kept being so scared for you!!! It’s not fair that you led me on like that!!” Another push, though softer this time.

   A sob echoed in the room, G’raha’s heart- if not before- officially broken at their words. At the tears of a hero he’d come to treasure so much... How could he ever forget how emotional they were? The soundless cry as the doors closed shut...

   The red streaks in their hair, proof of their devotion to him. That his life had impacted someone- his own hero- so greatly, that the color of his own hair would live on theirs forevermore.

   “Say something, you-!!!!” On their next attempt to push him, G’raha indulged on a once passing thought. One that had toyed with his mind many times, distracting him from work and losing him in a world of daydreams that- all too often- Lyna had to snap him out of.

   He pulled them close, hugging them. A hopefully painless activity, as he was all too aware of the crystals and trinkets that decorated his outfit as the Crystal Exarch.

   “I am sorry,” he murmured, pain leaking into his voice. “My friend, it was never my intent to hurt you as I did. Were I able to, I would take your pain away... That being said, I fear I could not do things differently. I will not see to it that you save one life at the sacrifice of the many. If there is....another way, then I could, perhaps, consider that. As things are right now, however...” His voice wavered, feeling the small, yet strong arms of the Miqo’te in front of him embrace him in turn. His heart aching fiercely, wishing for nothing more but for this moment to last forever and-

   “I know.... I know, but it still hurts. It’s still not fair to me, G’raha...” Any concerns of pressing baubles seems to go right out the window when they’re nuzzling into him like this. (He can only hope those strong ears of theirs don’t pick up the racing of his heart...) “I want to do something for you. Anything. I just...” A shaky breath in. “I don’t want to lose you again...”

   “...I’m sorry, Rhela.” It feels like all he can do; apologize to them. Again and again, until momentary forgiveness can be achieved. Until they can accept that and, from there, find a way to progress without stopping him in his quest to save the First.

   This land who needs him as much as all and any lands need this beloved, treasured, Warrior of Light.

   “If it is any consolation,” he murmurs, a hand stroking their hair. Daring to hope, “if there is anyone out there who might find a way for things to end for the better, it would be you. You’ve always been incredibly determined like that.” Rhela’s head rises at his words, staring up at him with such a pleading look that- for a moment- G’raha forgets himself; a hand strokes their cheek, admiring the dark lines of their race. A naturally occurring feature for them, and one that suits Rhela all too well, he feels.

   “I may not believe in fate, but I believe in you.” He says it with such conviction, that for a moment, it feels....like truth. Like there is no possible way that they- together- could not ever fail in whatever they set their mind to. G’raha returning in full to the Source? Why not! Surely, anything could be possible. It’s simply a matter of-

    ......Of perhaps not cupping Rhela’s cheek like he has every intent of bowing down just a little bit lower to kiss them, how about that?

   He backs off in a rush, face flushing just as quickly as Rhela’s does, having realized at the same moment what the Exarch himself caught onto. It’s, perhaps, a great kindness that nobody happened to walk in on them, embracing like they were secret lovers....!! (The worst part is G’raha wondering how he could even respond to rumors like that...! How does one deny interest or feign lack of when all one has ever wanted was to be with that person?! It simply would never work out!!)

   “A-Ah...... Thank you, G’raha...”

   “It’s, ah....it’s no problem at all. You know I’m more than happy to support you and provide encouragement.” By the Twelve, he wishes to hide his visage away in his hood...!! This is killing him.

   Which is why it breaks his heart as much as it does make him relax a little when Rhela backs up for the door. “Well, I.... I better head out. There’s still so much to do, so much to see-”

   “O-Oh! Yes, of course...”

   “I’m sure.....Thancred or Alisaie is wondering where I am...”

   “Y-Yes. Do take care, Warrior.”

   “Mmmhm. You too.” And with all that awkwardness, they’re gone. As quickly as they came, but now leaving G’raha with a burning, aching hole of want in his heart. A hand coming up to absentmindedly clutch his robes- right over his heart- and stare where they had left.

   ....Once upon a time, he had woken up, virtually alone in a new world. One not his own, where the Warriors had long since died out. Not even Cid was there....nor anyone else who might have been a part of NOAH. A single Mystel- Miqo’te- and the star of the WoL, who- almost like a promise- indeed left a star behind in which to chart his desperate, hopeful course. But now faced with the realization that they would not so simply let him die.....and left G’raha with a hesitation of wanting to go in the first place...

   “...You make things so difficult,” he mused quietly, pulling up his hood and turning away from the door. “You say such things, not knowing that I, too, would like to........”

   He shook his head. Words were unimportant right now. More importantly.... He needed to do as Rhela bid him to do. They had not want him to go away a second time? Then gods willing, he could do something- anything- to make it happen.