#am i thinking about emet selch? maybe. leave me alone.

[thefandomexpert]

sorry this was on a a house of dragons or whatever gifset and i’m about to loose it girl what. literally every fucking blorbo and He and babygirl meowmeow etc on this site embodies hot and miserable. those are like. core tumblr sexyman characteristics.

[snow-system-wol]

Before going to Sharlayan, S'ria quietly slips away to make one more visit to Amaurot -- so that he may speak again with a old friend. (Or, a shade of him, at least.)

Ao3

Amaurot was a strange place (or a strange shadow of a place, anyway), and each following visit left a stronger impression on S'ria. Yes, both times were harrowing experiences, to say the least – perhaps with Elidibus even more so than Emet-Selch in some ways. Emet-Selch, for all the harm he had done, seemed at least like he wanted him to understand something, wanted him to see something.

Even Elidibus claimed otherwise, his trial was surely meant to hurt more than truly to make a point. Or rather, the point was most likely that it would hurt him.

S'ria felt like his choice to return a third time now would somehow result in something terrible happening.

If S'ria tried to look past all that, at the city itself, it just felt… unbearably sad to be there. The fact that it wasn't truly real was felt in every corner of the place. S'ria couldn't say he understood how Emet-Selch had conjured Amaurot into existence, but S'ria had truly expected the city to crumble around them when he was gone. The fact that it persisted is almost macabre somehow – a graveyard for both its inhabitants and its creator.

There was also something else there, though, that nagged at him. Even if it had been all but confirmed, that his unsundered self would remember this place, he couldn't remember anything. The feeling of a blank spot in his memories where he knew something had been there, it was all too familiar and it put him on edge. Unlike the normal situation, however, S'ria suspected none of the others in his head could readily recall these memories either.

Maybe it was better not to know, if even a hint of recalling The Final Days had such a drastic effect on people.

For such an eerie place, there was no danger here anymore. It was just a harmless snapshot in time. That was really the only way S'ria could justify coming back alone. Well, that and the fact that truly no one else could have come with him, not anymore. He supposed he could have asked Ryne, but it seemed like something that would worry her unnecessarily. (He, of course, visited her and passed on Thancred's regards already. His priorities remained well in place.)

Despite walking past seemingly alive Amaurotines, it seemed more lifeless than ever now that there were no truly alive Ascians remaining here. Ah, but that was not… wholly true. That was the whole reason he came back here, after all. Alive, no, but present in the moment, yes.

S'ria reached a quiet overlook, one that was shadowed by trees and offered a bit of peaceful seclusion.

He was not sure how this worked, really, but all of his past experiences implied it could be as simple as…

"Hythlodaeus?" S'ria called out barely louder than his speaking voice and waited.

The city remained quiet around him. One of the most jarring things about Emet-Selch's illusion, he was realizing, was that it had some of the little things but missed others. The faint wear of foot patterns on stairs, fallen leaves scattered below the foliage – that was all perfect. But unless Amaurot was entirely closed off and had no wind currents, the lack of rustling in the trees felt unnatural. It was too still.

At the least, the uncanny lack of sound meant that it was very easy to hear Hythlodaeus' movements as he approached.

"How odd… I was led to believe that you and yours left this shard. Yet you've called for me."

"Ah, yes, the others are safely back home, and I'm able to travel freely for now. And, Elidibus…"

Hythlodaeus sighed, the sound just slightly off. S'ria suddenly wondered whether he even needed to breathe in this state of being.

"I am aware. I would like to think it could have ended differently, but – I had meant it when I said I hoped for your survival."

Hythlodaeus settled down on a bench and patted the spot next to him. S'ria clambered onto the seat as gracefully as he could, and couldn't help but be reminded of his similar problem when they'd first met. Why did they have to be so tall?

"Surely you came all this way for something more than to socialize with me, yes?"

"Yes and no. There are… two things I'd like to ask you about, even if you may not answer."

"I think that you shall find me to be a fairly open book." He raised his hand to his mouth as if to politely cover a laugh, S'ria could even see his shoulders shake briefly, but there was no sound. S'ria held back a shudder. It occurred to him for the first time since stepping foot in the city that– perhaps Emet-Selch and Elidibus were not the only beings in Amaurot that could be dangerous to him.

Perhaps that was uncharitable. If Hythlodaeus meant any ill will, he'd had plenty of times alone with S'ria to act on that by now. It wasn't Hythlodaeus' fault if he felt just a little bit off to interact with sometimes. He couldn't control being little more than a ghost.

S'ria cleared his throat. "First question. You had said 'my new old friend'. That and the other soul crystal… what can you tell me about who I was, before?"

"Certainly, I –." Hythlodaeus cut off mid-phrase. "Oh, how odd. I could tell you about the title and role, but that much is already knowledge you have. I could tell you that Emet-Selch and I both knew you, but… I was never meant to be so well-crafted as to possess more than a few memories. Anything else is simply a vague implication of recollection. I feel..."

" ...as though you should know, but don't? Believe me, it's familiar," S'ria said dryly.

Hythlodaeus nodded. "I apologize that I cannot give you what you ask. I only hope that your second question will not be so fruitless."

Right, the second question. In truth, it was more so this that gnawed at S'ria, more than questions about his identity. He'd had an entire journey to decide how to approach this, and yet the result was mostly improvisation.

"You're the only one in this city that is… aware of their predicament, and based on this city remaining for months with no steward, I imagine it will be here for quite some time. Maybe even forever, to whatever extent that means. I'd thought, at the time, that this place might just fade with Emet-Selch. I – are you all right? Is there anything that could be done for you?"

S'ria got the sense that Hythlodaeus was giving him a strange look, even if his face couldn't be seen.

"That is quite sweet, even if – are you offering to assist me with ending my own shadow of existence?" To S'ria's relief, he sounded more amused than offended. "I'm afraid you know not what you offer, nor the magics at play."

S'ria drew back. "I don't mean to seem callous, it just seems… a difficult way to spend eternity."

"Mayhap it would be, if I were truly here. In reality, we barely are present when unobserved, nearly in stasis." Hythlodaeus turned to stare out across the city. "Even when I am awake, I do not feel troubled by the idea that the true Hythlodaeus is no more, nor am I troubled by my state of being. Whatever thoughts Emet-Selch may have drawn from when he reconstituted me, I believe that he might have remembered me as… happy, in those memories. To answer your question, I do not have any complaints that need be addressed."

S'ria was not certain whether that was better or worse. It was good to not be upset, but maybe less so if he actually couldn't be. Still, it was a relief to know he wasn't actively suffering.

"I am glad that this is not difficult for you." 

"As am I." How odd it was, that a person with no visible mouth or eyes could smile at S'ria.

They lapsed into silence again for a time. Now that neither of them were speaking, the lack of expected sounds in Amaurot quickly regained S'ria's attention. He was distracted enough that Hythlodaeus had to prompt him a second time for him to notice.

"Might I ask one question of my own?"

S'ria would prefer to say no, certain that it would be something he'd rather not discuss. It seemed a fair courtesy, though.

"You may ask." He chose not to promise an answer.

"Are you well? Your soul seems far less troubled than the time we first met, and calmer still than when we last spoke."

S'ria relaxed. "Oh. Yes, I think I'm doing a lot better than I have in a long time. Things are still… when is the world ever not ending? But I've been happy with my life for these last few months, tough as it is."

"You don't know how much joy it brings me to hear you say as such. One always wants to see their friends heal – and you do seem quite content."

S'ria realized he'd started gently purring while thinking back on the more pleasant parts of the last few months with the Scions, and did his best to stop. Hythlodaeus responded with another of those strange silent laughs.

He stood up, immediately towering over S'ria, and turned as if to make his way back into the heart of the city.

"I am relieved to see you well, and appreciative of the effort and consideration it took to visit me – however, might I speak freely?"

S'ria nodded, hesitantly.

Hythlodaeus looked back at him, only darkness visible beyond the eyes of his mask.

"As things currently stand, this simulacrum of Amaurot is not meant for the living, only for us shades now. I believe it'd be for the best if you did not revisit a fourth time. You should return home."

[queenofnohr]

Im not gonna be able to sleep until I post up what I’ve been cooking

Anyway she still doesn’t have a name but she is a character to play with ishgardian lore more

Her basic premise is that she’s 27 layers of repressed and is a perfect, good Sister of the church, but in reality her kindliness is because she views other people as animals that need to be shepherded. Also when she doesn’t get her way, Violence Is The Answer.

She’s a special case though because I think Stormblood comes before HW for her………. Like. The timeline is she leaves Ishgard -> ARR happens and she learns from Gaius that might makes right. Then she goes to StB and tbh vibes with Yotsuyu (since she too was horribly abused in Ishgard as an Au Ra until she literally hid her identity a la Yugiri in ARR) a little. Zenos takes one of her eyes because if there’s anything I respect about him it’s the fact he collects unhinged women and makes them worse so he sees the repressed hatred and fury in this min height Au Ra woman in the role of an all loving Sister and says “no, no, that simply won’t do.” So he takes one of her eyes to see her actually get *furious*. The Yotsuyu stuff post StB disgusts her because tsuyu very much is not Yotsuyu and seeing Yotsuyu fulfill her vengeance by killing Asahi makes her go “Maybe Every Emotion I Am Now Feeling Can Be Quelled By Murdering The Pope, Who Is Surely The Origin Of All The Suffering I’ve Experienced Till Now :)”

So she goes to Ishgard on the war path and is Actually Kind Of Cool with Nidhogg murdering everyone until she realizes that she would’ve suffered at his behest as well for being an ishgardian.

The thing issssssss. About the pope killing……… I think she’s probably an Astrologian and I think she was maybe prodigious at reading the dragon star and so I think, once she hid her identity, she was kept protected - which is also what allowed her to pose as a perfect good Sister of the church - *by* the pope and probably the Heaven’s Ward. This, of course, means the people closest to her that actually got to see her face and stuff whom she got to interact freely with is also the people she is later on the earth path towards. Anyway at the end of HW it’s her going *shion sonozaki voice* I did it! I killed everyone I wanted to kill!!!!

ShB I can’t say anything much rn other than her vs Emet-Selch is literally a showdown of egos in whose “right” it is to guide the star

EW same idk although this woman does not have a shred of hope in her body.

All I can say is that when Pandae rolls around, she looks Athena right in her white woman gaze like You Wish You Were Me

At some point she probably goes DRK but instead of like grief and the burdens of being a hero etc her storyline is all about confronting her fray who is……….. yes it’s her “evil” side but more than that it’s her killing the little girl who was scared and alone (and who eventually lashed out at everything, including the people she loved)

Myths of the Realm is also a doozy for her because she hunts Halone for sport, killing her with her own two hands while Halone apologizes, telling her she really is one of her children (i.e. of the Fury)………. And with truly nothing else left to kill, no one left to blame anything on, she’s forced to accept that her abuse was like, actually a societal problem.

Anyway she probably owns horribly oversized shirts that read shit like “Halone wishes she were me” “Tyrants love me, gods fear me” “Hydaelyn’s favorite child”

what kind of vibes are y’all sniffing from this woman

[allycryz]

Incandesce

Explicit Fic

Thancred x Nerys (WoL) x Emet-Selch / Thancred x Nerys / Emet-Selch x Nerys / Some Thancred x Emet-Selch

When Nerys made the mistake of telling Emet-Selch to surprise her, this is not what she had in mind.

Even more astonishing: that Thancred is interested.

(A lot of other ships mentioned/discussed, primarily Nerys x Haurchefant and Nerys x Estinien x Aymeric)

Shadowbringers Spoilers

[From This Prompt List]

Prompts Used: Hot Springs in Winter / Restraints / Double Penetration Other Tags: Minor Breathplay in the water, Shaping Aether into Extra Hands, Brief Food Mention

Meta Notes:

This is currently not-canon in the general, overarching sense, but everything that happens prior to Nerys entering the hot springs is canon. 

Prelude

Beneath the thickest canopy of trees, Nerys can ignore the great and terrible light above. Pretend she is in the Shroud again. There are Duskwight waiting among the Night’s Blessed for her to return with supplies and reports. Never mind that it’s a name they don’t recognize. The elves of the First separate themselves by region and family, not clan.

Many of Night’s Blessed look like the faces she grew up with. It has...been a long time since she was with such a group. Visiting her parents and Uncle Vaquelin had been lovely, but brief. And that was so long ago now. Before Doma, before Gyr Abania, before Minfilia came here with Ardbert and his companions.

The memory of that long-ago visit conjures Haurchefant, who she had brought with her. Her family loved him–how could they not? It makes her miss him all the more. Their too-brief, too-scarce meetings since her arrival are not enough.

She leaves the nostalgia and safety of the trees behind along with her brooding. People are expecting her. A truth no matter what world she lives on, whether they call her Warrior of Darkness or Light. Nerys is thankful this place doesn’t also remind her of Ishgard. Then the homesickness might turn her brooding into outright tears.

Now. Collecting reeds for the girl’s basket. They should be due south from here.

“Far be it from me to meddle…” Emet-Selch materializes beside her, as if picking up a prior conversation. “But my curiosity outweighs my desire to see where ‘the chips do fall’.”

Nerys turns her gaze toward him without breaking her stride. Last time he did this, she was picking berries and near fell over into the dirt. “Saying ‘far be it from me to meddle’ does not cancel out any subsequent meddling, you know.”

One corner of his mouth tilts up. “I expected my company to be polite enough not to mention it. More fool me.”

“What do I know about manners?” She cannot help herself. Maybe it is the pleased, attractive smirk whenever she says something diverting. Maybe she is tired of all the misfortune around them and needs levity. “I am but a simple warrior, a weapon of brute strength raised in the woods.”

“Self-deprecation does you no favors, my dear. Even when it is clear you know it’s all rubbish.” He waves a hand. “You are among the politest of my enemies.”

“Thank you?”

“Mm. I can be generous.” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Now, about my query. Tell me...which suitor do you think will win out?”

That almost makes her stumble. And she can tell from his expression, he is reliving when she almost fell upon her basket of berries. A rare mishap from her that he will never, ever let her forget. “I...beg your pardon?”

“No need to beg for it, this one is free,” says Emet. His tone is insinuating as ever on that point. “You clearly carry torches for both Masters Waters and Matoya. I get the impression he was your lover at one time? The outline I have of your activities before the Exarch summoned you does not include the gritty details. As for her, only the Hrothgar moons after her more than you do.”

Nerys opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “You truly have been watching, haven’t you?”

“Oh not everything. Mortals are not so difficult to read, once you have practice. And your eyes…” He catches her chin, directing his gaze into hers. “They are terribly expressive, once you know what to look for.”

Emet-Selch wants a reaction. She puts her hands on her hips, lifting an eyebrow. Waiting for him to continue. As if his thumb isn’t stroking over her jaw, gentle as a lover. The touch as stirring as when he graces her with a particularly enticing smile.

“Now...” He does not need her permission to continue so she doesn’t give it. Clearly, this is a soliloquy he wants to perform. “I am not sure you know how many carry a torch for you, and I shan’t spoil it by telling you. But it does make things interesting. Not to mention, this Lord Haurchefant your group often mentions. Shall you abandon your noble suitor for a rogue posing as a knight? Or for a scholar of great and terrible power? Will one of the yet undeclared reveal themselves and win the hero’s heart?”

That heart thuds painfully against her chest. The way he shapes his syllables charges each provoking word. And the directness of those wine-gold eyes, a shade paler than her own but no less piercing for it.

He has gotten so much of it wrong. That does not negate how easily he has gotten so much of it right.

Nerys curls her fingers around his wrist and tugs his hand down. Emet-Selch does not resist, though when their hands are navel-level he twists just so, clasping her wrist in return, They remain locked thus, neither one letting go.

“Surely one as ancient as you, as easily bored as you,” she says. “Must know there are other options.”

“I don’t think a vow of chastity would suit you. Your eyes run too hot upon your comrades-”

“Lord Haurchefant,” she continues. “He is my lover and my beloved. Were I the marrying kind, his ring would be on my finger. That would not stop either of us from sharing physical and emotional intimacy with others.”

Emet-Selch says not a word, betrays no emotion. He does not veer into patronizing congratulations or arrogant dismissal. That same thumb begins to stroke again, over her gauntlet.

“There are others in the Source with such arrangements. I’m delighted to know it’s fairly common in the First.” Nerys cannot resist her smirk. Is this how he feels when he lectures her? “For some, it is about a variety of sexual partners. Sometimes it’s like that for us. More often...we are the kind to fall madly for someone or someones, in addition to wanting the physical parts. So whatever may happen...it is not a matter of winning.”

“Well,” he says, looking at her as if for the first time. Considering.

“Well,” he says again, with a slow smile. “You are full of surprises, my dear. I thank you for not being as boring as I expected.”

“Accuse me of many things, but never that.” Nerys takes a step back, breaking the link of their hands. “But I don’t think my expansive heart is my most unique quality.”

“On that, at least, we agree.” His enigmatic smile inflames just the right amount of curiosity in her. She resists best as she can. “Well, that puts to rest one of my little games. No reason to stay and help you...what is it again? Collecting reeds so a girl may make a basket?”

“Yes, that,” she says. “Would you like to join?”

“Oh, I am not so starved for stimulation to partake.” Purple and black aether swirls around his ankles. “Whistle for me, when you’re doing something actually worthy of a hero.”

“No need,” she says. “Somehow, I think you’ll know.”

He smirks as he disappears.

Weeks Later

"Alone at last."

In one motion: she slams the book shut, jumps up, has the knife pointed and ready. The sharp edge gleams in the lamplight, as bright as his gaze as he sighs at her.

"Really," says Emet-Selch. "I thought we were past this stage."

They were. They are. It doesn’t change that Eulmore is an ever looming spectre at their heels. That this pressure on her chest and shoulders is building. For their last few talks, Ardbert has made sure to catch her attention well before speaking.

She keeps thinking Ran’jit is about to appear and cut her down.

Nerys exhales a breath, blade staying poised for the moment. “Do you always startle trained warriors?"

“Only you, hero.” He touches the pad of his gloved finger against the dagger point. “This is not so beautiful a weapon as your lance."

"A lance is a little more difficult to keep close at all times." It is, in fact, leaning against the wall of her room. Just behind him. By the way his eyes flicker to the side and then to her, he knows it.

They are well past when she might run for it, and brandish it at him. The gaze feels so much like a challenge though, she contemplates it. He wouldn’t expect her to start a physical fight after weeks of banter.

Nerys withdraws the blade.

“It is a well-made little knife. A gift?  I don't recall seeing it on you before."

"I always keep a dagger on me, one never knows when an ambush is coming." She slides it back in the sheath, touch lingering on the deep-plum leather of the hilt. "...But yes, this is new."

"I thought so. From Thancred no doubt, as he has been lavishing attention on you as of late." He steps away, spreading his arms. "He was the paramour I expected to win. At least until you explained that you don't limit yourself to just one."

His words conjure visceral memories without much effort. Her tender, still-aching reconciliation with Thancred at the start of this week. What they could have had in Ala Mhigo had the Exarch not spirited him away the day they meant to talk.

But also, the day in the Rak’tika Greatwood with Emet-Selch. His teasing about the choice she would “have” to make. Her defiant lecture. His fingers on her chin and on her wrist.

"Over Y'shtola, you mean?" She leans her back against the desk, arms crossed. "Or the other admirers you claim I have? Which are who, exactly?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he says with a wag of a finger. His pale gold eyes and wicked mouth brim with laughter. "You will have to try much harder than that to get my secrets."

“Does that mean you won’t explain what ‘alone at last’ means?”

"That one should be obvious, my dear." He remains apart from her but his gaze feel like a touch. Like a stroke of hand over her arm or cheek.

Attraction is like that. And she is adult enough to admit he is attractive–painfully so–without it needing to be a problem. It doesn’t change who they are or that one day, she may need to face him on the battlefield.

(Nerys had been able to face Estinien and Thancred both after all. Though unlike them, this man’s mind is his own. She is certain Zodiark’s pull is not the same as Lahabrea’s or Nidhogg’s.)

"I have been busy of late,” she says. “But surely there are others you might visit."

"None of your Scions will play with me the way you will," he pouts. "Even your scholarly Elezen friend will only suffer me so long."

Nerys laughs. "Who says I am willing to play with you? Or that is what we do?"

Emet-Selch’s expression reminds her of Aymeric’s cat, affronted over Nerys taking his spot upon the chaise lounge that one time. Unlike Sainte, he does not stomp away with a disgruntled noise. “I have never lied to you. Do me the favor of not lying to me.”

"Never?" She asks without real conviction. Nerys is certain he has not lied to her or anyone in their group. Omitted, yes. Likely a great deal.

“Never.” Emet-Selch crosses the space, moving close to her. The fur of his jacket brushes against the front of her gray linen gown. He leans in, leans in, his breath tickles her face and she tries not to give him the reaction he seeks.

He gets so close his lips graze her cheek and she breaks, breath hitching. And then he leans past her, reaching behind to take up the book she closed. "Collected Folk Tales of Lakeland. I admit, I expected something related to your quest."

His face is hidden but she feels his smirk as keenly as she feels the heat of his body against her. "I needed a little break and stories always cheer me. I wish the ones I heard as a child were collected somewhere."

"Ah, but they lose magic that way, don't they?" He breathes into her ear. "Some in the telling, but far more when we commit them to the page."

Don't shiver. Don't react. "Why not have the stories both ways?"

His chuckle is low. "Why not indeed. You do not like to make choices, do you?"

"It isn't that." Her arms remain folded against her chest. Still, if someone were to come in they would think something else was happening. And that would not be a full lie.

On impulse, her eyes flicker about to make sure Ardbert isn't there.

"Too many people reduce life to hard, either-or decisions," she says. "And I have found there is almost always a third or fourth or fifth way."

"An optimist. How very…" Emet-Selch pulls back to look at her. Sighs. "Very boring. I expected better, given all the pathos I have seen in your eyes."

"I'm sorry to disappoint." She turns towards the book, straightening her disrupted papers.

His hands come down on either side of her, balancing against the gentle curve of the desk edge. She is caged, with his breath upon her nape and his body a wall of flame grazing her back. Nerys has managed this session to not rise to his bait, but her resolve is weakening and this does not help.

Attraction does not have to mean anything. You have the will, to have it be a simple fact; not a catalyst or excuse.

"Come now,” he murmurs. His nose tickles the back of her neck. The skin there is extra sensitive; hair freshly trimmed to the new, shorter length. “You have a better retort than that."

"You think so? Maybe you're the optimist."

His laugh is a puff of air upon her. "Better, but still sloppy. I expect more from my playmate."

She wants to argue that point but he has already exposed her defense for the lie it is. Call it play or teasing, Nerys does enjoy these times. When she might pretend he is just a handsome man come only for banter; not...whatever they are to each other or will be.

She enjoys him.

Her eyes flicker to the window. Fading sunlight catches the light fall of snow, the first in a long time for Lakeland. It pulls at her heart for another reason: terrible homesickness for Ishgard. And the position of the sun now means-

"I have to cut this ‘play session’ short. I'm expected elsewhere." Nerys turns in the cage of his arms and gives him a gentle push. "And you're not allowed to be in my room when I am gone."

"Spoilsport. Whatever do you expect me to do? Languish in waiting?"

Her way cleared, Nerys moves past him to the bag she packed earlier. Just a small thing with the necessities for this jaunt...and if she doesn’t sleep in her room tonight. "I know you'll think of something. Surprise me."

As soon as she says it, she regrets it. Too late, his smirk is wide, his face lit with enthusiasm. “I can do that.”

He disappears in a swirl of aether. Nerys wonders if she made a fatal error.

---------

Amaros fly them to the Ostall Imperative. From there, she and Thancred walk the forest path. The creatures of the lilac-and-bone-colored forest keep their distance tonight, many hiding from the strange weather. They still need to be alert though, lest they or brigands cross the path.

Even still, she keeps having to look at him. Assure herself he is there, with her. Truly with her. Their hands brush together once, twice, three times before he at last laces their fingers together. Smiles up at her with a look that stills her breath no matter how many times it happens.

She has loved him...a long time. Grieved him in different ways for different reasons for a long time. And now here he is, having asked for another chance and she hopes this week is not a long, wishful dream.

“It’s never snowed while you’ve been here?” Nerys asks, using her free hand to dust the flakes off her shoulders. Five long years here, under the horrible light. She cannot imagine. No wonder he felt like a stranger when first they found each other in Laxan Loft.

"Not that I've seen. You've brought balance back to the place."

"We have, not just I." She squeezes his hand.

Thancred chuckles. "You should take the credit."

"So should you. And-"

He cups her cheek, tugging her down into a kiss. Deep and soft and intoxicating. All week he has caressed her like this, each time overwhelming her with the gentle sensuality of it. She can almost forgive him doing it just to win an argument. Almost, until she pulls back and sees the old familiar gleam, the old familiar smirk.

"You can't...do that every time." Nerys says, a little breathless. Hands still gripping the supple material of his coat like a lifeline.

"I would never. Only some of the time." His smirk grows. Twelve, but she missed that expression on his face. Not that she loves this new, more serious Thancred any less. Every part of him, every facet, she adores. "Though, I think I need to do it once more."

Never mind whoever waits for them. Now that she can touch him like this again, feel him like this again, she never wants to stop. And from the way his hands grip her, run over her sides and hips, he doesn't either. She presses herself close to him, lips tracing the line of his jaw to the shell of his ear.

Thancred pulls himself back, eyes hot. "If we don't start walking again, I'm going to drag you into the bushes."

She doesn't move. "That isn't incentive to walk."

"I should have known better." He holds out a hand and she takes it, surprised when he starts down the path again. “Come along.”

He must want this date to happen as planned. Thinking about it...they have not had many formal engagements like this. They were either comrades or they were lovers. Maybe there would be a trip to the market or a shared drink in Revenant’s Toll between battles and bed.

Nerys wonders if he might be inspired to poetry, like he had once with his other paramours. Not all of his couplets were groanworthy.

Bosta-Bea awaits them at Clearmelt, her smile wide and welcoming. The sign near her declares that the springs closed at sundown. That alone means Thancred put down a lot of coin for this. Bosta-Bea’s excellent humor doubly verifies it.

“I’ll be just inside if anyone tries to bother you,” she says after greetings and pleasantries are exchanged. “I doubt anyone will but just in case…”

“My thanks,” says Thancred. He hasn’t let go of her hand yet and he squeezes it while he speaks. “The changing rooms are just through there?”

“Yes, with towels to use in the bath.” Bosta-Bea ushers them through to the first room. It’s filled with large stalls that each contain shower, changing room, and locker. Everything hums with magic, likely a number of convenience charms throughout to dry hair and keep belongings safe.

In her own stall, Nerys strips away her leathers. The cool air of the new winter prickles over her skin until she can get under the hot water, rinsing the day off. She is still not used to washing shorter hair. Her hands reach for phantom length to lather with shampoo.

Nerys misses her curls. The haircut was necessary. For catharsis: chopping away locks that held memories of the past moons. For symbolism: starting again, refusing to let grief weigh her down.

And she did it in the city she calls home. Jandelaine paid a house call to the Fortemps Manor. Lord Edmont tried not to hover. Artoirel did hover, repeating questions and bringing her cups of tea and plates of orange-cardamom shortbread.

The hole in her heart began to scab over, the patch knit in tandem with her brother and second father; her friend wielding his scissors; and all Aymeric and Estinien did for her and with her the days and nights following her rescue from the Ascian in Zenos’ body.

Nerys is glad she did it.

Even still, she misses the length and the curl. Hasn’t acclimated to the change yet. Everyone has been complimentary. Thancred spent last night and the night before murmuring about her beauty as he took her apart. And Emet-Selch-

She yanks on the knob, turning off the shower and the intrusive thoughts with them.

The charms she expected are present, drawing the moisture from her skin and hair. Most don’t submerge themselves fully in these springs, never mind the new addition of cold wind and snow. Nerys wraps the soft towel around her body, slips her feet into the provided sandals. She takes her pack and lance with her. No offense to the lockers, but trouble never picks a convenient time to find her.

The first thing she sees is his gunblade propped up against one of the walls, just out of range of water but close enough to run for. She laughs and walks over, doing the same with her lance before taking the knife from her bag.

"Knifeplay?" Thancred asks. "I'm not sure I want to introduce that in this setting."

She turns to him with a snappy remark but it dissolves away.

He sprawls against the side of the bath, arms draped over the edge and head tipped back. What she can see of his muscled chest gleams with moisture in the moonlight. The light snow falls on his cheek.

“Nerys? It’s cold out.”

“It’s uncharacteristically cold tonight,” he said, standing outside her room at the Pendants. A pile of blankets in his hand. Two nights ago. Three days after they agreed to begin again, starting a slow and sometimes aching courtship.

Her chest tightened. “You had better come in then.”

“Just to deliver the blankets?” His eyes gleamed.

“Hm…” She pulled him inside. “That’s a start.”

His towel is folded, just within reach outside of the pool. Well then. Nerys lets hers fall, watching his eyes rake over her lush curves to the apex between her thighs. She takes her time walking over. A swell of pleasure rises in her gut. At the water’s edge, she bends at the waist to set towel and knife down within easy reach.

"You should come here," he says, a soft growl beneath his words. She fights the shudder wanting to rip through her.

"Just a minute." She slips out of the sandals. Dips a toe into the water, testing it. He starts to move towards her, but stops all at once when she holds up a hand. "Sit. Stay."

Thancred smirks. "You remember right? That I always repay you when you tease me."

A soft warmth incongruous to the moment floods her chest and she is helpless not to smile at him with soft eyes and a softer voice. "I have never forgotten a single moment, Thancred."

He swallows, his eyes telling the jumble of emotions roiling in him. She can see all the Thancreds she has known–the serious, protective Thancred, the closed-off and grieving Thancred. The teasing, playful Thancred who seduced her all over Mor Dhona. The attentive, caring Thancred who always knew when she needed him to take over and give her release, or when to let her hold the reins.

The loving Thancred, though neither of them have said the word yet.

"Nerys," he says, voice raw. "Come here."

She goes to him, sliding into the water and into his arms, into his lap as he embraces her. His tongue slides over her bottom lip and she opens to him, lets him plunder her mouth as his hands slide over her hips and waist. Traces her new scars, every mark she has earned since the Bloody Banquet. She finds the ones he has gained since, and where the First has failed to duplicate them. His soul is a near-perfect copy of the body in the Source, but there are small differences.

He parts from her after an eternity, gasping as he rests his forehead on her shoulder. "My plan was for a long, slow night of seduction. And yet, here we are."

“We always end up here,” she says with a laugh. Just as they had meant to take things slow, at least a few weeks before they became lovers again. Why had they ever thought that was a good idea? "Didn't you have any company, these five years?"

"Very little," he admits. "Almost none, once I took in Min-...Ryne. I couldn't exactly leave her to wait at a campsite while I lurked in a tavern looking for a companion."

"Very little," she repeats, cupping the side of his neck and the tattoo. Rubbing it gently. "You don't have to tell me details but...anyone I know?"

He smiles; a little sad, a little soft. "Despite having all the time to do so...no, I didn't make a move on either of them. By the time they got here, I was once again wrapped in my anger and grief."

Nerys sighs and kisses his forehead. "At our pace, neither of us will confess to Y'shtola before our sixtieth Nameday." As to when he might speak to Urianger, maybe before his fiftieth.

His laugh is gentle. "I forgot you were an optimist."

The word startles her in a way she can’t disguise and Thancred is alert all at once, ready to ease whatever troubles her. She shakes her head to assuage him. “Nothing. Nothing, just reminded me of a conversation I had with...someone, earlier.”

“Sweetheart.” The old endearment enfolds her in its warmth despite the slight reproof. “I can guess who from the evasion. It won’t bother me.”

"The last thing I want is to cause you more pain."

“He is not Lahabrea.” Thancred squeezes her hip. "Not that I am fond of our 'friend.' But it won't injure me to know you talk to him."

"Alright." She wraps her arms about his neck to better balance herself. The cold air and fall of snow prickle at her shoulders and chest, a sharp contrast to the heat of the water and where their skin presses together.

"And what about you?" He asks, shifting his leg just so between her thighs. No pressure against her center, not yet. "Was there anyone since I saw you? I know it wasn’t five years for you but..."

"Ah...yes." More heat rises in her. "...Estinien and Aymeric."

Thancred’s eyebrows shoot up. "Both? At the same time?"

“Mm.” Nerys finds herself ducking her head, vulnerable. Those stolen nights in Ishgard seem a dream now, all the more because she had thought it would never happen. And had made peace with that. "Estinien walked in on us and...well, they are a couple. It wasn't so odd to invite him…"

"And you’ve wanted him as long as you wanted Aymeric," says Thancred. He has that smug expression he gets sometimes. “Perhaps for longer. I wondered when it would happen.”

She huffs, scowling. "Is this what you do? Figure out who I am in love with and wait for me to say something?"

"I can't help it." He dips his head, kissing her shoulder. "I seem to have an extra sense for this sort of thing with you."

“I’m glad we found each other.” She means it teasing but again, her words come out warm with emotion. How long till she can stop feeling so much relief to have him in her arms? Sometimes she thinks she feels more than she is supposed to, with no way to stem the tide.

“So am I.” That leg moves with purpose now, nudging against her folds. He leans forward, catching her cold-stiffened nipple between his lips. She gasps, a low moan following right after. Thancred smirks and looks up at her. “Your exploits make for stirring tales.”

“Well, that answers that.”

In an instant, Nerys is up with the knife while Thancred rises, his fists raised. Their usual weapons are just far enough that blades and hands make sense for the interim.

Emet-Selch lounges on the opposite side of the bath, chest and below submerged in the water. He chuckles. "This is the second time you've aimed a blade at me today. I'm starting to think you don't like me."

Thancred growls. "You're trespassing, Ascian."

"Oh?" He shrugs. Nerys refuses to note how well-sculpted his shoulders are. "I wasn't aware you owned these natural springs, the night air…"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Mayhaps. But I was practically invited. Isn't that right, my dear?" Emet-Selch turns his gaze to Nerys, making no secret of how his eyes sweep over her nude body, her erect nipples, the drops of water coursing down her blue-gray skin.

She is already bare and it still feels like he is undressing her with his gaze.

“What? No.” She shakes her head at Thancred’s shocked expression. “No. When I said ‘surprise me’, this is not what I meant.”

“Well, this is why being specific is important." Emet sighs, sinking deeper into the water. “Will you put that knife down? Having two things pointing at my way is rather disconcerting...though stimulating."

At that, Thancred seems to remember he is naked and erect, though the cold air is working to amend the second problem. He sinks back into the water.

Nerys stoops to set the knife down, one arm shielded over her breasts and trying keep her thighs together. It wreaks havoc on her balance and makes Emet look even more amused. She gives up–he has already seen her–and sinks back into the water without further attempts at modesty.

The Emperor was a soldier, in his way. If his immortality hadn’t made him immune to being scandalized, being in the barracks surely had. As soon as she sits, Thancred slides an anchoring arm about her waist.

"Better," says Emet. "No wonder you have been neglecting me to spend all your time with him, hero. He is rather spectacular, beneath all the scowls he sends my way."

Thancred rolls his eyes. “You got your surprise and answered your question. Whatever that was.”

“Oh, that?” Emet-Selch’s smirk unfurls, slow as honey without the sweetness. “Our Warrior told me about Lord Haurchefant, how open they are with each other. I wondered if she was so with her other paramours, talking freely about her conquests."

Thancred glances her way again.  There was no reason to volunteer that information, it just...came up. When provoked, to be fair. Every other time she’s spoken about it...no she cannot say it was always to score points against Emet.

The look he gives her isn’t accusatory, she realises. It is...considering.

“And then here I find you two, comparing notes. Well, comparing notes against near celibacy. Either way, it’s very interesting.”

Nerys squeezes Thancred’s knee below the water. Rubs her thumb over the joint. “How long were you there?”

“Oh, long enough to be enjoyable but not so much to have been rude.” He slides a hand through his hair, pushing back locks damp from steam and snow. It...does things for his face, which he likely knows. “I did tell you that I like to watch.”

“Had your fill then?” Thancred asks, squeezing her hip.

"It takes much more to sate me. But it seems you two will be boring and stare at me till I leave." He sighs. "And as you are both submerged, I cannot even have something nice to look at. So, I suppose I'll go…"

No wait- She almost says.

She almost says! Twelve, Fury, whoever was listening, preserve; Nerys had actually thought of asking him to stay. This attraction is more dangerous than she thought. Clearly she is not so cool and objective about his beauty, if she is so on the verge.

Thancred goes very still beside her.

Nerys curses inwardly. Of course he catches on. This is what he does–understand what she wants before she admits it to herself. And that is all fine...until it is this man behind everything they have fought, everything that has hurt them and taken away their loved ones.

Attraction is not harmless and objective if Thancred is beside her, hurting because of it and her.

“Depends,” says Thancred, squeezing her hip again. “Are you going to sit there and make remarks, or are you going to do something useful?"

What?

She turns to Thancred, at a loss. Even at his most reckless, he wouldn’t invite an enemy to...maybe she misunderstands.

Emet-Selch is very still, the self-satisfied expression gone from his face. Thancred has surprised them both.

“Are you…” She swallows and starts again. “Are you saying…”

“You’re attracted to him, and he to you.” Thancred says, pressing lips to her temple. The soft pressure is unlike the rigid way he holds himself, tension all through his body. “And while neither of us trust him, sex doesn't have to require that.”

It doesn’t, but it always has for her. Even one night with a stranger requires someone she feels relatively safe with. More than that–he isn’t telling the whole truth. He isn’t testing her. That isn’t his way. But he has a reason she can’t guess at yet.

She does not trust Emet-Selch. He is not safe.

But. But.

If...when he strikes, it will not be while making love to them. It seems too gauche, too crude for him. There have been other times, more seemly times he might have waited for her to lower her guard. Like hours ago, when she presented her back to him and he had all but molded to it.

And she trusts Thancred.

“Okay,” she says. Not even sure that Emet will agree or if he is about to laugh at their temerity. Two sundered beings, thinking they might bring pleasure to an Ascian. “But if anyone says stop, we stop. No questions asked.”

“Agreed.” Thancred says, keeping her close to him.

Emet begins to rise until Thancred lifts a hand, gesturing for him to stay put. Clearly amused, the other man complies.

Nerys startles when Thancred lifts her into his arms and out of the water, carried like a bride through the chill air. He has always been strong but...he lifts her as if she is nothing. His muscles speak to the strength he has honed these five years but still, she hadn’t grasped the change. Not until now, cradled against his chest with her long legs dangling over his arms.

Thancred crouches, setting her into Emet’s lap with her back against the Ascian’s chest, smoothing his hands over her arms before he lets go. At once, Emet slides his hands around to palm her breasts. She gasps at the electric touch–both too much and not enough.

He is not shy. And he is not going to dismiss them.

His hands feel better than he imagined. And she can admit now: she imagined.

"I've no idea what you're trying to prove, Thancred." Emet says, breath against her ear. "But as it gives me something I want, I will examine it later."

Something in her clenches at that. “When you spoke of play...have you been flirting this whole time? Or was that just to rile me?”

“Yes.” Emet presses his lips to the side of her neck, feather light. Almost imperceptible. His hands are the opposite, purposeful as they knead her breasts, roll her dark purple nipples between his fingers until she squirms on his lap. It’s like he knew how sensitive she would be there.

Thancred’s hand reaches behind her, gripping somewhere on Emet. His shoulder? Digging into his hair? He has to lean in close to do it and Nerys takes advantage. She presses her mouth to his brown nipple, chasing a rivulet of water down his chest. Sweet, just like he can be.

"You don't put anything inside her until I say so," says Thancred. His voice is harsh but he shivers beneath her lips.

"Oh," Emet breathes. "Do you always let him boss you like that, my dear?"

He squeezes her left breast and she gasps against Thancred instead of answering. All at once he stills, waiting for her response. “S-sometimes. It depends.”

That earns her more pressure against her needful flesh, the fingers pinching just so. “Tell me.”

Nerys tries to look back at him. He frees one hand to catch her chin, directing her eyes back to Thancred who kneels before her. It almost doesn’t feel real, without seeing Emet and his smile and his pale-gold eyes. It could be anyone behind her, certainly not him of all people.

Except that voice. She would know it in the haunting light of Kholusia or in the darkest cave of the Night’s Blessed. At some point, he slipped under skin as if he was meant to be there.

Thancred watches them, running one hand up and down the outside of her thigh in slow strokes. The other is underwater, mirroring the touches on himself. He nods, giving her permission to tell their secrets.

“We...switch,” she says. “I often prefer someone to hold my reins. But...sometimes I like telling him what to do. Withholding from him until he is good. Making him beg.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Emet purrs, proving just how long he watched them. She frowns and puts her hand on his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.

“That’s his name for me. You need to choose your own.”

He sighs and she can feel his eyes rolling. Dramatically. “Oh, very well. I suppose I could continue calling you my dear.”

At those words, his teeth sink into her earlobe and his hands resume their kneading. His erection presses at her under the water, the thickness apparent just from the feel of him. She resists the urge to grind against it, lest it end things too soon.

"Any other orders, Thancred? Or are you content to watch me tease her until she begs for release?"

Thancred cups her face between his hands and kisses her, unhurried and deep. She grows pliant under the luxurious touch of both men. No reins desired in her hands tonight. And from the glint in his eyes when he parts from her, Thancred can tell.

“Hold her arms behind her,” he says. “And you’ll be nice for us, won’t you sweetheart? He shouldn’t have to worry about holding you back."

"I'll play nice. This time."

“Ha." He nips her jaw. "Say stop, and we stop. And if you can’t speak, go very still and I will too.”

Nerys nods. Strong hands grip her arms, arranging them to cross behind her back before locking tight upon her. Except-

Except, there are still fingers on her breast. Palms anchoring her hips tight against Emet. She looks down and sees black and purple aether in the vague shape of hands, cupping her aching chest.

Emet chuckles, low and dark. His cock twitches against her. "I have my talents."

Twelve. Growing wet is...different in hot water. But there is still a heated, slick pulse between her legs and her hips try to jerk in response to the idea of what he could do with all those hands. The heat filling her has nothing to do with the springs.

Thancred pushes the aether-hands off her chest so he can cup her breasts, drawing them up as he lowers his mouth to suckle at one. Her head tips back and Emet-Selch takes advantage, lips pressing to the side of her neck. The barest hint of teeth whispers with them.

“So sweet, so good,” murmurs Thancred. His large, callused hands slide over her as his tongue traces her nipple. "What do you want tonight?"

Nerys can barely shiver, the hold on her is so tight and strong. Emet’s fingers pulse against her, firm but not harsh on her skin. “I want you. I want you both. However you want me.”

He smiles and she readies to receive another litany of compliments. The words always flow from him when he is amorous, praising every twitch of her muscles, every way she takes him into her. Instead, he rewards her with another dizzying kiss; so intense she forgets herself and tries to throw her arms about him.

Emet tightens his grip, tutting against her neck.  "And she was so well behaved until now."

“Sorry,” she murmurs against Thancred’s mouth. “I just-I need to feel you-”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Thancred hushes her, his fingers against her mouth as he moves into her space. She parts her lips and takes the tip of one, swirling her tongue about it. “Ah, I’ll give you what you need.”

He slides a hand onto the back of her neck, nudging her down while she continues lathing his finger. The many hands clutching her accommodate, till she is suspended and bent over, balanced by the arms held taut behind her, barely on Emet’s lap. Her chin dips into the hot water and she stares up through lowered lashes.

Thancred stands, sliding a hand to grip just beneath the swollen head of his cock.  Not as thick as what she feels against her rump, but it has grown to its full aroused length. Emet hums appreciatively, likely at the outstanding number of ilms on display. She thinks–it is hard to think, held like this, a slip away from all of her sinking into the water, his cock before her-

She thinks there are more hands on her now, thumbs rubbing subtle, light circles into her arms and legs and ankles. Emet follows the orders; nothing is inside her yet. But oh how she wants there to be, an end to the sweet torture of the many teasing touches.

“Well?” Emet asks. “Are you going to give her what she needs? You certainly have enough of it.”

Thancred smirks over her head, slowing the pace of his stroke as he goes from root to tip. Caressing each bit of the shaft before swirling his thumb over the head, worrying at his lip when he does so. Both she and Emet make pleased sounds at the same time, hers much more needy and inelegant.

At last, Thancred slides one hand into her short locks; keeping her in place as he guides himself into her mouth. Slow at first, then pressing deep as she relaxes her mouth and throat. She cannot take him all the way but she tries, savoring the heady taste of him and spring water until her toes curl.

He fucks into her mouth, his hips jerking in quick thrusts. The water splashes up her face and she closes her eyes, the sensations heightening the moment she does. Over the splashing she hears Thancred say something. In response, two fingers plunge into her folds. In and out, pulling back as soon as she tries to grind against them.

She thinks they are Emet’s flesh hands. She cannot be sure.

Nerys squirms to free herself, needing to touch Thancred. Run her hands over his shaft where her mouth cannot possibly go. The grip on her limbs tightens, a third finger slides into her. She can feel Emet’s body move with a chuckle even though she can only hear the water splashing over her nose and closed eyelids. The threat to her breathing goads her pleasure.

Thancred’s grip in her hair tightens, the other hand joining to burrow in the violet and white strands. His fingers in her scalp send a new wave of feeling through her. She moans around him, the pressure in her building but with no outlet in sight.

His thrusts speed up and she knows what is about to happen, groans in encouragement as his release pours into her. He doesn’t let go, not until he is fully spent and the momentum gives way. She can hear him now, the running litany of praise he must have kept up the whole time. “-so good, so good you did so well…”

He drags her off him and kneels, pressing her to sit again with her back against Emet, lips brushing against hers as she swallows and catches her breath. Nerys opens her mouth to him and he follows her, tasting her more fully. Tasting himself more fully.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I feel like I’m close but also not at all.”

“I can take care of that.” Thancred says, kissing her forehead. He takes a deep breath and submerges beneath the water. She isn’t sure what he’s about until his mouth latches onto her clit, sucking as much as he can below. The fingers inside her curl

“Fuck,” she hisses again. They’re going to eviscerate her like this.

“Look at you.” Emet says, mouthing along her shoulder. "How easily you come apart. How eager you are to obey, and he is not half so dominating as I would be."

She moans–from his fingers, Thancred’s mouth, the implicit promise in Emet’s words. Nerys answers the challenge in them instead. “I-I know he’ll make it good for me. I d-don’t need that much encouragement.”

“Implying what? You aren’t so assured of me?” He catches her chin between thumb and forefinger, turning her head back towards him until it almost hurts. The edge of pain thrills down her spine, joining the rest of the heightened feelings in her. “I think you can accurately guess the heights I could drive you to.”

His breath tickles the corner of her mouth. At last she sees his eyes and the roaring fire they contain, the undisguised need and want. She gasps, not just from the increased thrusting of his fingers, the pressure and seal of Thancred’s mouth. If he had ever shown her that look before, she would have dragged him to bed and the consequences be damned.

Thancred emerges, taking a breath at the same time he slides his hand over the one Emet has on her face. Presses his mouth over the other man’s fingers before kissing Nerys like she is the oxygen he couldn’t have underwater.

His other hand slips between her thighs, direct and purposeful on her sensitive bud. His words pour into her ears–”yes, let go, let go, I want you to come like this, just like this”–and Emet’s fingers move faster inside her. With his wonderful, knowledgeable hand at her clit and his ragged words against her cheek, it doesn’t take long for her to come with a cry.

Thancred swallows her yell, her shaking prevented by Emet’s grip. For a moment, all she sees are the brilliant stars above them in the inky sky. The snow falling on her hair. The crescent moon, reminiscent of one of Emet’s toothier smiles.

Emet lets her go all at once and she collapses against Thancred, melting into his soothing touch. Her breath is loud in her ears, near as much as her heart slamming against her ribs and his against her ear.

“Good girl.” Thancred kisses the tip of her pointed ear. “Do you know what I would do for you, if we were in a different setting?”

She shivers, feeling the cold air for the first time since he put her in Emet’s lap. “Tell me. Please.”

“I would let you take us both, together, at the same time. Get you so stretched and wet for us, so slick...” The soft growl is back in his voice and she might climax again, just from that. As maple-sugar-sweet and poetic he can be, as worshipful as he may choose to be, this is a part of him too. Hungry and demanding.

“True, we cannot prepare her easily in this setting.” Emet says. “Very well, you’ve convinced me.”

There is a soft snap.

Nerys lies in a bed–her bed, in her room at the Pendants. She is warm and dry, not a drop of water on her. Warmer still from Emet, stretched out and pressed along her side, tracing patterns into her abdomen. (Also, the bed is made. The coverlet is far too expensive to come from the inn. She touches the red material in wonder.)

“Hilarious,” Thancred says from the center of the room. Naked and sopping wet, with all their belongings beside him in a careful pile. Emet would not harm their weapons, even if he might be unkind to Thancred’s person. “You might have dried me off too.”

“Hm…” Emet pushes himself on one elbow, the other hand tapping a finger to his lips. “If you fetch the oil from her bathroom cabinet, I shall dry you off.”

For a long moment, Thancred stares him down. Eyes narrowed. But there is no real ire and with a sigh, he makes for the bathroom. The aether lights flicker on as soon as he steps inside.

“How did you know...Emet-Selch! I said you’re not allowed to be here when I’m gone.”

She starts to sit up. Quick as any hunting animal, he braces his arm on the other side of her and swings a leg across. He leans over her, caging her in on all sides  without touching her. Yet. “Yes, but I never agreed to those terms. Underhanded but...my hero did request surprises.”

Nerys puts a hand flat against his shoulder with the intent to push. His skin is warm beneath her palm, the silken feel of him unexpected. It would be so easy to shove him off, storm away from the bed. Except this is the first time truly looking at him since they began and...he has her trapped. Immolating in the pale gold fire of his eyes, mesmerized in the quirk of his brow and tilt of his full lips. The longer she stares, the more neutral his expression becomes and he returns the scrutiny.

There is no buffer. No Thancred to protect her or distract her. And she is afraid-

But not of him, she realises with a start. It’s the intensity I feel when he touches me. I’m scared of how much I want him to touch me again. I’m scared at how right this seems.

She pushes herself up with one hand, the other cups the back of his neck. Pulls him down to her. Emet stills only a moment before his eyes flutter shut and he submits to her, mouth moving soft and slow over hers. His hands curl about her waist, thumbs stroking over her skin. He savors her with the slow drag of his tongue coaxing her more open, more vulnerable to his ministrations.

When they part his eyes are half-lidded, expression utterly relaxed. He’s beautiful. He’s always beautiful. But this pierces her in a new way, so lovely he could rend her heart in two with one look. And he just might.

The hands on her hips pull her forward as he leans back. She ends up in his lap, straddling his waist in one fluid motion. Nerys reaches between them to stroke him. He has been patient this whole time, the least she can do is-

Emet catches her hand and lays the attached arm upon his shoulder, then the other. She opens her mouth to protest and he interrupts her with another kiss. Just as slow and aching, one arm hooked behind her back while the other traces fingertips along her jaw. His hand is gentle as it runs over her throat, down between her breasts, stroking circles into her waist and hip.

Nerys realises it is the longest he has gone in her presence without talking. And she feels the laugh bubbling up her throat, mouth trembling with the strength of holding it back.

“Laughing at me, hero?” He murmurs against her mouth. Nips her lower lip in reprimand.

“N-no I just...felt giddy all of a sudden.” Damn her, ruining the mood like that. Just as his hand was traveling down.

“Liar.” His scolding teeth sink into the side of her neck. She gasps against him, laughter dissolving into a breathy sound. “Better. Let’s see what other preferable sounds we can draw from you.”

“You’re getting close,” she says. Now her smile is irrepressible. “A little lower and to my left…”

“Dear, dear, dear,” he sighs. “And you were so obedient before. Do I bring out the minx in you so much?”

“I thought that was part of why you always came back to talk.”

Instead of a verbal riposte, his hand moves down and to her left. Circling her center, finding the clit and pressing down upon it. As if he has brought her to pleasure a thousand times and knows just where to touch.

Nerys buries her face in his shoulder, shuddering until his strokes are too much and she has to moan against him.

“What delicious noises you make, my dear.” He says, continuing to circle. Continuing to scrape his teeth over her skin. “Thancred was a fool to ever let you go.”

“I was.”

Nerys opens her eyes. (When did she close them?) Thancred stands a few paces from the bed, glass bottle in hand. Both of Emet’s hands splay against her back, pressing her close against him. She feels his fingers snap against her, drying Thancred in an instant.

“At least you admit it,” says Emet.

Nerys has to push a moment before he lets her lean back, getting a better view of Thancred. Shakes her head. “It wasn’t as simple as all that, or one person’s fault.”

As mad as she still is at the Exarch...she might have spoken to Thancred a dozen times before this week. Taken the aetheryte to Mor Dhona to see him, pull him aside when he joined their party in Gyr Abania. Or called him over linkpearl, as she did the night they almost lost Y’shtola.

He pushed her away after they found him in Dravania, even more after Minfilia. But she squandered opportunities, each a bright and alarming memory in hindsight.

Before Thancred can respond, Emet puts a hand to her cheek and makes her look at him. His free hand raises, wagging a finger in her face before tapping her nose. “Ah ah ah, don’t let him off so easy. Not when he is doing his best to make it up to you now…”

Nerys sees the moment a thought takes hold, curling the ends of his mouth upward, drawing his brows down. He flicks a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, is that it? Why you asked me to join?”

Thancred cloaks the soft, warm expression at Nerys with a scowl at Emet. “Don’t pretend to understand my motives.”

Emet clicks his tongue in mock scandalization. “Presumptuous of you, thinking you’re allowed to gift wrap and present me as an apology present.”

Oh.

Nerys extricates herself from his lap, climbing off the bed in a hurry. Walking to Thancred. Searching his closed-off expression for a hint. “Is...is that true?”

Thancred reaches out and takes her hand. Lifts it to his mouth. For all the things these two men have done tonight, for all the things they might still do; these soft touches disarm her the most. And then he removes the facade for her, showing the hope and wariness and the mocking little smile. One she knows is always meant for himself, not anyone else.

He sighs “He’s not wrong, but he’s also not right.” Thancred peers behind her at the bed. “But if Emet-Selch feels used, he is free to leave at any time.”

That last part doesn’t sound angry or annoyed as much as...challenging. She watches him smirk and quirk a brow. Daring the other man.

“Naughty boy,” Emet murmurs. “No, I won’t leave. This has proven to be an interesting night indeed and I am not satisfied yet.”

Nerys touches Thancred’s cheek, drawing his gaze back up to her. Looks him dead in the eye. “You don’t have to do this. Your feelings matter to me and-”

“I could have let him leave, and given you a memorable night without him. I decided I wanted to give you this instead.” The old roguish smirk grows on his lips. “And besides, he has a nice prick.”

She exhales slow, deep, making herself relax. Banishing the anxious tension in her neck and shoulders. “Okay. I believe you.”

“You always can.” Thancred draws her face down and she follows, sinking into his embrace. He still holds the bottle and it’s cool against her back as she presses against the delicious heat of his body and the hard planes of his chest. As he moves, so does she until the backs of her legs hit the mattress. Down, down, she goes until she is sprawled with her head and shoulders in Emet’s lap, Thancred holding himself above her.

“That last part,” Emet says, taking the glass bottle. “You couldn’t see my ‘nice prick’ in the water.”

“But I can see it now.” Thancred shifts his balance to one hand, the other sinking between Emet’s thighs. Sliding a hand over the long-neglected length and this time, Emet doesn’t forestall his own pleasure but lifts his hips. His full lips part and he sighs with relief.

Nerys tilts her head to look up at Thancred, who gives her an expectant look. This old game then. They haven’t played this one since the Spring Festival in Mor Dhona. She meets the challenge with a grin of her own and adjusts her position to better participate.

His fingers return to the root of Emet’s cock and slide upward. She chases them with her tongue along the velvet underside. The scents she associates with him–petrichor and ice and stone–are less here. He could be anyone she might bed.

Emet gasps and slides his hand into her hair. Guiding her as much as Thancred. The steady, near-painful pleasure is unlike many men she has taken to bed for a single night. Who often keep distance and treat her like glass. He is unlike anyone else.

The fingers twist over the swollen head and slip away for her to do the same, mimicking the motion with her swirling tongue. Emet increases pressure on her until he slides between her lips. Nerys bobs up and down without further incentive. That his grip remains insistent only makes this sweeter.

He is nearly as thick as Haurchefant, sure to make her jaw ache.

Another hand–Thancred’s–grips the back of her neck and nudges her down, down, her eyes watering as Emet fucks into her throat. Her nose meets the prickling thatch of auburn curls. Emet lets loose a more desperate sound, the groan raw as he pulls her off of him, fingers still digging into her scalp.

“Good girl,” murmurs Thancred.

“And good boy.” The hands in her hair twists, angling her to watch Emet take hold of Thancred and kiss him with teeth and tongue and heat.  Arousal pulses through her at the sight. They’re beautiful. They’re beautiful and tonight they are both hers.

Nerys rises up, sliding into their tangle and they open for her, mouths and hands worshipping at her skin. She wants to be at the center of this. She wants to be selfish and feel them attend to every inch of her before they fuck her. She wants them to burn her until she is naught but ash and pleasure.

“I need you,” she says to them both. “Please don’t stop touching me.”

“Oh, my dear.” Emet catches her chin, sliding his thumb between her lips. “As if I-we could. You are a feast laid out for us and we are but beggars.”

She sucks on it, watching desire flare in his eyes. Emet sighs as if resigned, sliding his hand down so that he can kiss her again. The gentleness of it has her arms and neck prickling with awareness, her breath catching. Everything about him screams danger and yet–yet he coaxes her with lips and tongue, courting her instead of simply taking.

As if sensing her thoughts and needing to disprove her assumption, he turns her about in his arms. Bites down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Nerys gasps and Thancred is there to catch her, soothing her even as his own teeth drag over her pulse. Behind her is rustling and the soft pop of a bottle uncorked. She can hear Emet moving his hands together, warming his palms.

Thancred has not forgotten her request. As his mouth travels over her, his hands move in long strokes over arms and waist, hips and legs, neck and cheek. A dizzying perusal of caresses, maintaining the contact she needs.

She startles when Emet squeezes her rear, shivers when one oil slicked hand slides towards the tight ring of muscle. When the first finger begins to circle, Thancred kisses her shoulder. As it slides in to the knuckle, he strokes her sides.

“That’s it,” Thancred murmurs. “You’re doing so good. Look how wet you already are, ready for me to slide deep into you. And I will, as soon as he’s done preparing you.”

“My,” Emet says, kissing behind her ear. “He is a chatty one.”

“He is one to talk.”

“He must feel lost without some narration. Or is the talk for your benefit? Do you need me to tell you how good you’re swallowing me, how tight, how perfectly made for my fingers and my prick you are…”

Nerys means to laugh but a moan comes out instead. Digs her fingers into Thancred’s ivory locks and urges his lips downward. “I-I don’t need it but I like it.” She could have them talk to her like this for hours.

“Impatient,” Thancred mutters at her insistent pushing. He puts up a resistance, sliding his tongue over her stomach all the same.

“I don’t see you stopping me.” Nerys smiles down at him. “Unless you plan on making me pay?”

Teeth sink into her other shoulder as Emet adds a second finger. She wriggles against the sensation, tugging at Thancred’s hair in response. Quick, as if this is a battle–and maybe it is–Thancred grabs her wrists and pins them down on either side of her. Nerys grips at the unfamiliar coverlet, meeting his smirk with a scowl.

She tries to lift herself up, presenting herself for his mouth. He ignores the offering, attending to her breasts instead. Dipping down and then back up as soon as she thinks he might taste her. His grip is iron when she pushes against it, squeezing in warning when she does it again.

“Two strikes…” He says.

Now she has to know. Nerys tries a third time and finds herself dragged to lie on her back, his shoulders shoving under her thighs until they press against her stomach. Emet's slick hands leave her and she moans at the loss.

"You'll have him back in a moment." Thancred says. He glances up, has a wordless conversation with Emet behind her. Takes hold of her arms and lifts them, passing them over. Her wrists are shoved down, captured in the harsh grip of one hand pinning above her head.

It should be worrying that they are cooperating this well to make her writhe. Instead, she feels giddy and like she might dissolve from the force of anticipation..

She tests the restraint and finds no give, not even with her two hands to his one. Emet looks down at her, pitiless and expression bright with desire. And then her eyes shut because Thancred devours her. No mercy, no restraint, his hands gripping her thighs so tight they might bruise. He pushes her higher and higher until he thighs shake and she can see the edge-

And then he pulls back completely.

"Please," she gasps. "That's not fair. I need you-"

Emet’s face is upside-down above her, but he finds a way to slot his mouth against hers. She pours her frustration into the kiss, demanding release with a bite to his lip. He only chuckles against her mouth, his slow reprimand becoming something fierce. Engulfing.

When he parts from her, his lips but an ilm from hers, his eyes are unfocused and his breath ragged. She tastes his blood on her tongue. Licks her lips.

"Not yet," says Emet. "Not after we went through all the trouble of preparing you."

His hand is unyielding against her. Nerys tries to move her hips and legs instead and Thancred presses further, going the small distance needed to bend her in half. "I could come again after-"

“Listen.” Emet nips her shoulder. "We’ve staked a claim upon your pleasure. You’re going to have it...when we’re ready. Yes?”

Fuck. His words, his lowered voice...She would rub her thighs together if she could, if Thancred wasn't between them. Instead, she feels herself growing wetter, hotter. Thancred’s fingers slide over her but for all the lewd noises he draws out, he does not touch anywhere that might bring her release.

"Answer him, sweetheart,” says Thancred. "For once he is making sense."

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“What was that?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll do what you want me to.”

"Good girl," Emet says, the two of them moving her to sit up between them again. "That deserves a reward."

"Please tell me the reward is your cocks," she says, leaning back against him. "Otherwise, I don't think I'll make it."

"Impatient." Emet mutters but he drips more oil into her cleft, the three fingers returning to open her, stretch her. She braces herself against Thancred, half slumped over and cheek pressed against his heart. If she tries to touch herself, he will stop her but she considers it. Dares one hand down against her stomach. He grabs at it, kissing her as he does.

Nerys groans, rocking back against the fingers stretching her. Grasping for the peak Thancred almost brought her to.

"She's ready," says Emet at last, his voice rough. His hands dig into her cheeks, squeezing as he parts them. "Needy creature. Who knew you had it in you to desire so much?"

"I knew." Thancred kisses her shoulder. "He'll learn, sweetheart."

"That you think you can teach me anything…" Emet mutters. "Mortals. And their arrogance."

"Please," Nerys begs, her voice taut with need. She clutches at Thancred as an anchor against the sweet torture they’re putting her through. "You can lecture us all you want but first give me your-"

At that, his head presses against her. Rocks a moment before sliding into her oil-slicked passage, his hands stroking circles to soothe her as he enters slow and steady. When her breath hitches and the ache is almost too much, he stops and kisses her nape and spine until she relaxes again.

She’s trembling in his arms, overwhelmed at the fullness, the sensation of him deep in her, wrapped around her. His aether seems to sink into her, embracing her as if he has re-manifested all those phantom hands again. But it is just him, just a barrier taken down between them.

When she beds someone with strong aether...those times were just a shade of this. This is beyond anything she has ever experienced.

Emet skims his hands over her muscular thighs, hosting her close until his chin rests on her shoulder. She opens her eyes as he eases them back, watching the view trade Thancred for the ceiling and instinctively reaches out for balance. And then Emet kisses her neck and soothes her skin and she relaxes again.

"Well?" He says, holding her legs open. "She wants you too, Thancred.”

Thancred crouches between her thighs, running a hand over his cock. It has returned to its full aroused length, a tantalizing bead of moisture at the head. His refractory period is always impressive, and they have taken their time since the hot springs. Teasing her until she feels ready to burst.

"I wonder if you'll even physically be able to take it all." Emet says in her ear. "Stuffed as you already are."

He rocks his hips just so and she whimpers at the feel of him. It is true–she is already full to bursting. It is also true–she wants to take as much of them as she can. All of them if she is able.

“If it’s too much…” Thancred leans over her. Presses his cock against her folds as he lines himself up. “Look at me.”

She looks at him, into the warm depths of his eyes. Into the need and heat. Nerys lifts her hips in invitation and Emet is there to slide them back down, groaning softly.

“You know how to stop things, sweetheart. If it gets too much.”

“If it gets too much,” she repeats, licking her lips. “Thancred please fu-”

He slides into her without resistance, slick and ready as she is. It is almost too much and he isn't even half-way seated inside of her. She bites her lip so she doesn't say the word because she wants more, she wants to be utterly lost-

Emet bites the back of her neck and she cries out, but her body relaxes. Thancred slides deeper inside her, bracing his forearms on either side of them. Tension furrows between his brows.

“Alright?” He asks, more breath than sound.

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Please-please-”

"How sweetly you beg." Emet curls one hand around her breast, the other sliding down her stomach. Dragging to where Thancred is buried inside her and her swollen nub waits succor. He traces outside it, slow and taunting. "It almost makes me want to see how long we can keep you just shy of climaxing."

Thancred smirks. Some of the tension eases in his face. "Keep talking like that, it's making her clench around me."

"Bastards," she moans, reaching for Thancred. Resting arms on his shoulders as he begins to move, his slow, vexing strokes in rhythm with the lift of Emet's hips.

"Oh, do be nice," Emet continues as his fingers brush against her core. "I have only ever admired you. And here you are, exceeding all my expectations. You, who shine brighter than most mortals, you're almost radiant now-"

Nerys cannot think enough to string a response together. Sex is often a release for her, a way to center herself. This feels like...being remade. Like the tandem motion of their bodies strips everything away until there is only the pleasure and the ache. Even the growing cramp in her calves cannot compare with the ecstasy coursing through her.

They are both talking, dropping praise upon her but now she cannot hold onto their meaning. Only the feeling of them sliding in and out of her, the ache and stretch of her body, the slap of their skin on hers. Especially as the pace picks up, both men pushing each other to a greater tempo, snapping hips to drive her back and forth between raging fire and raging fire.

The fingers at her clit press down. The edge is in sight and she sobs aloud for them to keep going. To keep moving. Not to stop again, not when she is so close.

Thancred kisses her. Lips press against her nape and she can feel Emet's smile, his breath as he mouths words into her skin that she cannot hear and cannot parse. They move faster inside her, the finger circling, teeth on her flesh-

Nerys screams as her pleasure rips through her, clutching at whatever she can as her mind enters the strange place of release–a mind so focused on one thing as to feel almost blank, a mind so overcome with feeling that there is nothing but relief and pleasure and not a single thought. She gasps and arches and sobs as they work her through it, the frenzied rhythm milking every onze of pleasure from her

Emet gasps and she feels the final, desperate thrusts of his release. And Thancred, Thancred keeps going, keeps moving in her and moving her against Emet until they are both sensitive and depleted and keening and then, and then Thancred lets himself go.

Nerys is nothing but ash and pleasure, smoldering between them.

Emet moves first, lips pressing to her back as his hand traces patterns into her skin. Idle, swirling loops and flourishes that guide her back to the land of the living. She follows their trail without hesitation, her hand sliding over his as she follows.

She opens her eyes just as fingers slides over her cheek. Thancred leans over her, forehead pressed to hers. Studying her as if he has never seen her before. Maybe he hasn't. Maybe she is someone else on the other side of what they shared.

Maybe they all are.

He slides out of her and she whimpers at the loss, both of him and the heady sense of being filled completely. But he returns to her, resting his cheek against her the swell of her chest while the rest of him lies flush against her.

Nerys strokes his hair and finds the energy to speak. “Okay?”

"Okay," says Thancred. Smiles a little. "I don't ever want to move again."

A soft snort behind her. "Your time is short as is."

"Hush," she says. "You're not going anywhere either."

"Oh?" Emet kisses her shoulder. "Bold of you to-"

Despite what he just said, Thancred moves. Slides up and nudges Nerys just so until he is able to press his lips against Emet's. The Ascian hums in response, submitting to the delightful reprimand.

At last Thancred pulls away with a sigh. "Much better."

Emet chuckles. "So, you two plan on keeping me here tonight. Well, I put myself at your mercy...provided you let me lead the figure at some point."

"If you're good," Nerys teases, and then gasps as Emet rolls his hips against her.

“My dear,” says Emet. His hands slide up her stomach, cupping her breasts. She can tell from Thancred’s expression, they’re sharing a conspiratorial look. Anticipation and wonder sing through her. “Let me prove just how good a playmate I can be."

[kunstpause-archive]

FFXIV Write Prompt #20 - Hypocrisy

“Must you pester me all day?” Emet-Selch’s voice sounded disdainful as he didn’t even deign to open his eyes. 

Cassia’s voice was dry as she rolled her eyes at him. “Evidentially so,” she said. It caused him to frown before he opened his eyes after all.

“Oh, it is you, It thought i was the other, noisy one.” 

Cassia’s eyebrows went up as she gave him a sceptical look, not knowing whom he was referring to. “The noisy one?”

With an aside wave of his hand he shook his head. “No matter.” He seemed just a little bit less annoyed than before, but still not really in a mood to talk. “What do you want then?”

Briefly, she considered simply leaving him to his own devices but she had already talked herself up and into this and it seemed like this was as good a situation as any. “I wanted to thank you again for saving Y’shtola,” she started. “It occurred to me that everyone was rather dismissive about it, a bit rude even in the way they showed their gratefulness.”

Emet-Selch let out a soft snort. “A bit rude? That is an oh so polite description,” he said. “But I did not expect much more if I am honest. I could see plainly how skeptical everyone was. I have eyes, after all.” He sighed with a tired shake of his head. “Was this all you wanted?”

“I also have an answer for you,” Cassia hurried to add.

“An answer?” he asked curiously. “Not a question for once?”

Cassia shrugged. “Well, you were asking earlier. When you were leaving the cave with the murals. And my answer is yes.”

Emet-Selch looked almost confused for a moment and Cassia sighed.

“Yes, I would wish for the same.”

When it seemed to dawn on him what she was talking about his eyes narrowed. “I doubt you could even grasp the situation enough to make a comparison,” he said, his voice a bit harder than before.

Cassia clenched her hand into the skirts of her dress for a moment as she tried to reign back her own temper at his usual, infuriating, dismissal.

“Why do you always do this?” Cassia asked, a sliver of exhaustion shining through her voice. “You tell us we don’t have all the information, and when we ask you ridicule us. And you tell us about the past, but gods beware should we try to sympathise - then we couldn't possibly understand all of a sudden.” The frustration welling up in her made every word sound a bit sharper than usual. “So what is it that you actually want? I’d suspect you are doing all this for some sick sense of gleeful entertainment - but that couldn’t possibly be true with how much complaining you do about how boring we all are.” Her hands were on her hips now, everything about her stance issuing a clear challenge. 

It took Emet-Selch a moment of openly confused staring before he caught himself and his usual, slightly dismissive looking expression was back. “Well, look at that. Who knew you had more in you than the polite questions after all?”

“You could have, if you’d have bothered to answer any of them,” Cassia shot back before she shook her head. “But you’re doing it again, just brushing it all off. I don’t know why I bothered…” She turned around to leave when she heard him chuckle slightly and suddenly she wasn’t simply annoyed - she was furious.

“How dare you,” she hissed, as she turned back to him abruptly. To his credit, his smile disappeared instantly, but Cassia was sick and tired of the whole charade. “How dare you laugh at an honest attempt to show you sympathy, and in the same breath declare us the lesser beings?” In her anger, she took a step closer to him. “You think we couldn’t understand? I lost my entire world too. Nine years ago, when the calamity - that your people were responsible for - wiped it from existence, killing almost everyone I loved, everything I knew.” 

Cassia felt herself shaking with anger. Anger at the old pain resurfacing, anger at his blatant dismissal and anger at herself, for feeling so hurt by it. “Adriene and Lay and me, the three of us are all that is left. Are the only people in existence that still remember what it was like. We have lost everything, except each other. And you dare to stand here, all high and mighty and ancient, and tell us we couldn’t possibly understand your pain…” She forced herself to stop and take a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, but no less intense. “You are a hypocrite. And if you were really that intent in making us understand, then you wouldn’t throw my every attempt to do so back at my face.”

There was something in Emet-Selch’s eyes that Cassia couldn't place as he, too, took a step closer. The lines on his face were hard and somehow it almost felt like he was suddenly even taller, more imposing than before. But she stood her ground, her eyes burning with determination. 

“This might be the first time I’ve seen the real you and not just the polite and accommodating role you’re so fond of playing,” he said with a hint of interest in his voice. Cassia was about to snap at him again but before she could draw a deep breath he inclined his head. “I apologize,” he said simply, as if they were discussing an everyday matter. As if she hadn’t just exploded at him. “You are not wrong. What I said was certainly beneath me.”

It wasn’t what she would consider a heartfelt apology, but it also was way more than she would ever have expected and Cassia felt the storm inside her simmer down again. 

“Good,” she said simply. “Then maybe next time we can have an actual conversation.”

The corner of his mouth twitched briefly, and Cassia could see he was trying to keep a neutral look, probably to prevent himself from saying some other demeaning quip about her questions and she narrowed her eyes again.

“Come on, tell me how insignificant we are again, you look like you’re dying to…” she said sharply and the sudden, sheepish look on his face made her sigh in exasperation. “You just can’t help yourself, can you? Like a creature of bad habit…”

“You try and unlearn a few lifetimes of habits over the course of one conversation,” Emet-Selch said, his raised eyebrows matching the hint of mockery in his tone. Yet Cassia had the distinct impression, that there was something almost defensive hidden underneath it.

“I wouldn’t have to,” she shot back. “I haven't ever been this much of an ass in my one lifetime yet.”

As she saw his eyes flash with amusement, Cassia felt a dry chuckle rise up her throat. Briefly she wondered how she could have gone from genuine anger to what all of a sudden felt like almost playful insults in such a short time. There was something about the Ascian, as infuriating as he was most of the time, that seemed to endlessly fascinate her. And as she watched the subtle change on his face, wondering what it all meant, she noticed that she definitely wasn’t alone in feeling like this about their interactions. There was something in the way he looked at her, how he subtly seemed to size her up, that felt strangely familiar.

As if he had caught himself staring, Emet-Selch suddenly cleared his throat. “Now, if you would be so kind and let me return to my nap,” he said, with another nod at the tree he had been lounging in comfortably before she had interrupted him. “As enlightening as this talk was, I am afraid there is nothing so remarkable about you or your kind as to keep me from it.”

His voice sounded as dismissive as usual again but his eyes still lingered, and they said something decidedly different. Suddenly something clicked in Cassia’s mind as she saw his look or what it was. A wave of surprise and amusement went through her, followed by an unsettling curiosity and the knowledge, that she was about to do something reckless again.

“Liar,” she said with a knowing smile on her face and her tone made him pause. 

“Beg your pardon?”

“You can keep saying how unremarkable you find me, but if I know one look on every man's face, it's the look of someone who is picturing me naked,” Cassia said, her lips curling up into a sweet smile. “You find me interesting enough for that. Not that I blame you,” she added, before throwing his earlier words back at him, “You have eyes, after all.”

Cassia suspected that the absolute stillness he displayed was what he did where other people - the ones with far less life-experience - would have started to splutter. 

“My dear,” Emet-Selch finally said as he found his voice again, “You are certainly the most entertaining of your bunch.” He sounded almost perfectly normal, if it weren’t for a slight hint of raspiness that definitely hadn’t been there before. When Cassia only looked at him with raised brows he shook his head in disbelief. “Are you actually propositioning me?” he asked, not quite unable to banish the curiosity from his voice.

Cassia chuckled again, this time in genuine amusement. “I would never dare to,” she said with an overly earnest tone. “Could you even imagine? A Warrior of Light and an Ascian?” She shook her head before - for once - making the wise choice and turning to walk away again, ere the situation got more out of hand than it already was. “I’ll leave you to your beauty sleep, but I’m looking forward to our next conversation.”

As she walked away she thought she could hear him say quietly, “So do I.”

[efrmellifer]

Tempestuous

I was in a mood, so here’s some angst with a side of Aytien c:

It hadn’t been enough.

She’d refused Haurchefant’s offer of an eternity in Halone’s halls—she could only assume, for someone as heroic, as pure of heart as he must have been received as the most honored of guests—and struggled to her feet, fingers on her bowstring and light’s corruption making a cataract on her eyes.

The green of late spring’s grass, bleached white.

She had denied herself the comfort and bliss and taken her final shot.

Final, indeed.

She fell, choking and heaving, her soul coming out of her in coughed-up chunks to splatter bright on the stone below her.

It was too late. It was so incredibly too late, and she was going to die.

No. They wouldn’t kill her, because she was still their friend, in every way they could sense.

Maybe Y’shtola knew. And Ryne. They would know that Etien was about to burn away, cocoon in those waxy feathers, and hatch into some fresh horror. Martyr to monster.

They had always said ‘you are what you eat,’ and she had swallowed all that light down like cold, grainy soup.

Now she burped it up. Now she became it.

She took a ragged breath.

“Etien?” Thancred shouted.

She could only howl in response, not quite a word, maybe it had been “no,” or perhaps “go!”

Whatever it was, all the Scions stepped back, every single one hesitating.

When they had fallen, Etien had carried on, gone to Ghimlyt, explored the Syrcus Trench.

What were they to do now that she had fallen?

They couldn’t run, go back through the recreated ruins of Amaurot. So they watched, and saw the cruel, keen gaze with which Emet-Selch watched Etien squirm and suffer.

“This is what I brought you here to do. To slowly sink into the madness you’ve been holding back for so long now. This is the creature I expected to see prone before me, gnarled and weeping. And oh, when you break through this last restraint, what a beacon you shall be.”

She wept openly now, the tears milky for the mix of that whitish light mixed in.

“No,” she whined, battered at his feet.

She mustered her strength to lift her head, and turned to the Scions. Or where she thought they were, based on her hearing. “Leave me,” she whispered, voice breaking.

Maybe she went fully blind then. Or maybe they did turn and walk away. Maybe G’raha had done something, though she thought she would have heard that.

No matter how it had happened, they were gone now. She couldn’t sense them. Couldn’t hear them, definitely couldn’t see them.

She sighed, turning back to Emet-Selch.

She might have tried to speak, but the words died in her throat as she collapsed completely, belly to the rock, her ear and cheek squashed against the stone as well.

It burned the whole time, burned just under her sternum and behind her eyes. The headaches the Echo gave her had never hurt this badly.

Etien had only been able to see the outside of those feathery cocoons before, peppered through Holminster Switch and Malikah’s Well, or wrapped around Tesleen for those horrid moments where Alisaie had been screaming no over and over, and they had both looked on in shock.

Well, they were worse on the inside.

She couldn’t see, and everything hurt.

And then, it was over.

When she opened her eyes, all she could see was the aether she wanted so badly, little glimmers of gold at the edges of her vision.

And then the need hit her full force—she was starving.

Gods, she was so hungry. She licked over the sharpness of one eyetooth, feeling herself salivating at the  idea of having some delicious aether. She wanted it, she needed it… how was she going to get it, down here in the ocean with only ghosts?

The eggs the broodmother was laying?

She hissed as if burnt. No!

Finally, she pushed herself to speak, to try to understand.

“Emet-Selch… why?”

“Hush,” he said, his voice the softest it had ever been when he addressed her. “Be still. For now.”

He laid a hand on the side of her face, and she expected a coolness to it, against the new heat of her color-depleted skin.

But it wasn’t comfortably cool. It wasn’t even warm. It was just pressure.

And then, the feeling of his hand rooted something in her, spurring a rush of memories.

How many times had he done this to her, so long ago that recalling it was like seeing another’s life through her own eyes?

The three of them, sitting under trees and debating one thing or another, and when she made a good point, his hand would rest on the side of her face.

For a long time, she had leaned into it happily, the same way Hythlodaeus never pulled away when she grabbed his sleeve, or they would lay hands on each other in intellectual frenzy.

Until she realized that it wasn’t a friendly gesture.

He was making a pass, attempting to possess her with a brush of his fingers against her temple.

And so she didn’t sit alone with him so much, choosing to wedge herself on the other side of Hythlodaeus when they all sat down.

And still, he looked at her like he was looking out the window to see the sunlight spreading over the land.

Now, she sat here, alone with him again. There was no one else but they two. And he still looked at her that way. But the light she gave off did not feel like sunshine.

“Why?” She asked him again, not able to get out her full question, “Why are you torturing me? Why have you forced me into doing what you want me to do, again?”

He didn’t say anything, just leaving his hand on the side of her face, affectionate while she couldn’t shrug him off.

Her throat was closing up, so she had to get out the last thing she might ever say, and she didn’t want to waste it on talking to him anymore, so she parted her lips and spoke, “Aymeric--”

He hauled her up. “I’m here, dearest.”

She opened her eyes, gasping like he had just pulled her from underwater, blinking incredulously that she could see their room around them: the painting on the wall, the bedside table, her robe at the foot of the bed.

“By the Fury, you scared me,” he murmured into her hair, arm across her collarbone like a safety restraint. “You were whimpering, but I didn’t manage to wake you—not for lack of trying. When you called for me, I took my last resort.”

Finally, Etien’s mind settled, the whirlwind it had been riding around the inside of her skull finally gone.

She sobbed, one heavy exhale that wanted to portend tears, but they didn’t come.

“I dreamed he won,” she said simply. “That I was trapped in the Tempest forever, too big for my body and forever starving to cannibalize an entire shard.”

“You are not in the Tempest,” Aymeric replied. “You are in Ishgard, as just as you need to be. You’re safe.” He stroked her hair now. “Do you need anything?”

Etien shook her head, another sobbing sort of breath leaving her as she did. “I need to stop having nightmares.”

“I’m afraid I cannot control that, no matter how much I would like to,” he sighed. “All I can do is stand guard when you’ve shaken yourself from their grip. But that, I do happily.”

“Hold me,” she requested.

“But I—I am, Etien.”

“No,” she mumbled, coming out less like a word and more like a gently sad chirp. “Let me see you.”

So he adjusted her in his lap, so she could look up at him.

Etien traced Aymeric’s jaw with freezing fingertips. “At least he’s given me some answers.”

“Oh yes?”

She nodded slowly. “Getting to see her memories—mine, apparently, but she feels so far removed from me I can’t rightly say that—told me why I felt the way I did when I first came here. What was that, three years ago now? Four?”

“Closer to four, I believe,” Aymeric replied.

“You, Haurchefant, and I were something of a trio when we got to be, weren’t we?”

He caught Etien’s hand, pressing a kiss to her chilled knuckles. “Yes. We were.”

“It always felt so… natural, so right,” she continued. “I think something deep within me was remembering him, her, and Hythlodaeus.”

Aymeric deflated. “And I would be in his role?”

“That is the one departure,” Etien said softly, “I love you. I love you, and you wouldn’t force me into positions like that.” Her nose wrinkled.

“Like…?”

“I didn’t want to be his lover, nor some figure he was ever striving to restore. I’m not a moss-covered statue with her arms fallen off, needing him to come sculpt me back into the shape I’m supposed to be.” She blinked slowly, settling in Aymeric’s arms. “And he’s not a sculptor.”

“He was a broken man,” Aymeric commented.

“And he was hoping that when everyone was as broken as he was, it would feel like it had gone back to normal.”

“But you, my dearest, are unbroken.”

She laughed, letting her eyes close now. “The unbreakable hull christened with gods instead of wine.”

“It makes you divine,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “Are you tired?”

Now Etien nodded, wiggling out of Aymeric’s arms and back onto her side of the bed. He curled around her again, though, arms banding just above her stomach, clutching her close.

“Then sleep. I will keep watch.”

“I have nothing to fear; you’re here,” she said, sleep-slurring already creeping back into her voice. “You should sleep, too. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I simply answered your call. And I will do it again.”

At this, Etien giggled, turning onto her back for a moment to pull Aymeric to her for another kiss. “I pray for both our sakes it won’t be necessary… tonight.”

[eliniei]

Not As It Seems XXI

Summary: When Emet-Selch doesn't return before a big storm hits, the Warrior of Light goes to find him.

A/N: This was In honor of 5.2 and the addition to umbrellas to the game!

Word Count: 2666

Masterlist: here Ao3: here

I peered up at the chronometer on the wall next to the fireplace. I clicked my tongue when I saw how late it had gotten and tilted my head back to the book I was reading. A few moments later, I pursed my lips, my eyes shooting to the window as raindrops beginning to splatter against the glass in the fading, dreary light. 

Where was he?

With a sharp exhale through my nose, I slid my gaze back to the page as I attempted to push it from my mind, crossing my legs and sitting back in my seat, trying to get comfortable. I glossed over the words however, my mind refusing to focus on them.

He was always back by sunset.  

Finally, after a few more long moments, I huffed and shut the book harder than I had meant to, the sound echoing in my empty house. I set it down onto the table next to the couch and leaned my elbow on the cushioned arm. I set my cheek into my palm and stared into the fire. I sighed, feeling the restlessness and impatience in my body as the fingers of my other hand began drumming against my thigh.

It was odd, afterall. I had made and eaten dinner by myself when the Ascian usually joined me. And now, there I was sitting on the couch, alone . 

Not that I expected him to be there with me. I was sure he had his own business to take care of and I had spent many a night without him in the past. But after settling into a routine like the one we shared...surely he could have at least informed me that he would be late. 

Slowly, my eyes wandered back to the window. I could hear the rain beating down on my roof now and I bit my lip. We were in for a nasty storm. 

Hopefully he hadn’t...somehow gotten caught in it?

No, that was ridiculous. I huffed a laugh at myself for thinking such a thing. He was more than capable of taking care of himself. He was an Ascian, for Twelve’s sakes.

My brow furrowed.

… An Ascian with a penchant for sleeping in trees-

I stood quickly, worry churning in my thoughts. He-he wouldn't be out sleeping in this mess , would he? 

I bit my lip, stealing one last glance out the window, watching as puddles formed in the cobbled pathways of the Lavender Beds. 

Surely, he wasn’t out there but...there was no harm in making sure right?

I nodded to myself as my resolve strengthened and I decided to go take a quick look.

I rushed to the door and easily lifted my coat from where it hung, then shrugged into it and grabbed the umbrella from its place on the next hook over before I swung the door open and headed outside. 

I opened my umbrella as I stepped out in the downpour, boots splashing in the small pool of water collecting in my yard when I stepped off of the bottom stair and took a look around, straining to see my surroundings. It was so dark already- almost too dark to see with the oncoming night paired with the storm clouds high above.

“There’s...no way he could be sleeping through this, right?” I asked myself aloud as I held my hand out in front of me, summoning a ball of Verfire to light my path, then took off in the direction of the wooded area near my house. 

He could have, in truth, been anywhere in Eorzea. Anywhere in the universe. But I had seen him eye the small forest from time to time when we took our short reprieves in my home. I didn’t know why the woods seemed to soothe him, and loathe as I was to admit...I had never bothered to ask.

How...uncaring I seemed. 

But, with a sigh, I trudged on through the thick, wet grass.

When I entered the trees, I lifted my hand, illuminating the branches, inspecting them carefully as I searched for him.

With spring barely gracing Eorzea, there were nothing more than buds of leaves on the branches. 

The thought of it made me frown. If he was truly out here, he would be soaked . He once told me his mortal vessel could still get sick and-

My eyes widened and I sucked in a sharp breath, coming to a sudden stop, a dark form appearing in my peripherals nearly causing me to trip. I moved my arm in front of me so the light caught it and blinked down as I beheld Emet-Selch sitting on the ground , leaning against the trunk of a large tree with his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his chest. 

His brow was furrowed as water dripped off of his nose and chin, his entire body tense and shivering.

My breath caught and I quickly moved to slide my coat off of my shoulders, the ball of flame coming to a float in the air between us.

Thank the Twelve I had decided to come look for him. He had to be freezing , even under all those layers.

And he called me reckless. 

I clicked my tongue and shook my head as I laid my heavy coat over top of him, then held my umbrella out so that it covered him instead. 

Not that it would help much at this point, but perhaps he would be-

Before I realized what was happening- before my reflexes could respond, his hand shot out at me, roughly taking my outstretched wrist as he stood in a fluid motion. My coat fell to the wet ground in a heap and he twisted my arm in his unrelenting hold until I dropped the umbrella.

A pained whimper escaped me as he spun us around, releasing my arm only to catch my throat and throw me against the tree. The breath was knocked from me upon impact, shock freezing me into place as he descended upon me, teeth bared and pale golden eyes nearly glowing with anger and fear as they glinted off the light of my fire spell. 

“Emet-Selch-,” I choked out. His hand trembled as his fingers tightened around my neck in response, his chest heaving with deep, unsteady breaths. 

A terrified shiver ran up my spine at the feral intensity he was exuding. I had never seen this side of him- and I hoped I never would again.

We stared at each other in a stunned silence for long moments, water quickly seeping into my clothes, soaking my hair and streaming down my face. He slowly came to his senses, his features softening as he began to realize who I was. 

“Oh, hero,” he began, voice wavering slightly and so quiet that I almost didn’t catch it with the sound of the rainfall around us. “It’s you.” I swallowed audibly and released a shaky breath as I nodded. He looked from side-to-side, brow furrowing. “What are you doing out in this weather?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but his gaze slid down to his hand, still wrapped around my throat. 

Immediately, he released me, pulling his arm back and blinked down at the palm of his glove in surprise. I slumped against the trunk of the tree, trying to calm the trembling in my own body as I sucked in deep breaths. 

“I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered between calming breaths. “I didn’t mean to-to startle you.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said with a shake of his head, waving me off as he tried to fit that apathetic mask of his back on, though his face remained troubled. “It’s not as if I greeted you with a warm welcome.”

“Are...you alright?” I asked as I searched his expression, worry finding its way back to the edges of my mind. I lifted my hand to brush away some soaked strands of hair that had clung to his face in his movement before placing it against his cheek. He closed his eyes, breathing a relieved sigh at my touch.

“I am...not fond of the rain,” he admitted after a few seconds, opening his eyes and peering up to the dark sky, drops raining down on his face. My arm fell from his cheek, returning to my side. “It’s cold and wet and brings about the worst sort of dreams.” I pursed my lips.

“You...could have just come home where it’s warm and dry.” 

“ Home ,” he muttered quietly, huffing a humourless laugh as his gaze dropped to the side. “I fell asleep long before the storm began, I’m afraid.”

“Do you want to tell me about it? Your dream?” 

“Truth be told, Warrior of Light, I am not so sure it is something you’d want to hear.”

“But I…” I paused, trying to figure out how to convince him of my sincerity. “Maybe talking about it could…help?”

His eyes rose to mine once more, and I summoned a soft, reassuring smile to my mouth. He examined my face for something I couldn’t name, hesitation etched into his expression, his body tense with apprehension. 

“Or I could just...leave you alone,” I offered, quickly. “If that’s what you would prefer.” 

He sighed through his nose, averting his gaze once more, and I could see his mind churn with uncertainty as he pulled his lips into a thin line. 

When he provided no further response, I tried with all my might to keep my face from falling as I nodded, disappointment and hurt flooding me with the realization that he didn’t want my help, my comfort. 

That maybe he didn’t want me anymore.

Had I done something to lose his faith in me? My heart dropped to my stomach at the thought.

Perhaps I had been wrong, afterall. Perhaps...he didn’t feel the same way.

“Okay,” I whispered with finality. “I’ll go.” 

I began pushing past him, reaching for my discarded belongings. I frowned at the state of my coat, now a sopping mess on the forest floor.

“You know where you can find me when you’re-” 

Before my fingers could grasp the handle of my umbrella, I was forced back against the tree once more, finding myself in much the same position as when I had startled him. A strangled cry of surprise got caught in my throat as Emet-Selch pinned me to the trunk, pressing his weight against me before leaning down, leaving no more than a hair’s breadth between us.

I inhaled sharply, my fingers gripping the tree, nails digging into the bark as I watched him with wide eyes, confusion evident on my face.

“Don’t,” he said, tightly, his breath warm on my face. 

“Don’t?” I breathed, not bothering to mask the hopefulness that had returned to my voice.

“Don’t go.” 

My breath caught at the insistent tone of his voice and I let the tension in my body go as my heart fluttered with his words. He pushed further forward, gathering my lips in his. A soft whimper escaped me at the contact, my hands lifting from the tree to grip the fur of his coat as I kissed him back.

When he broke away from my mouth, he rested his forehead in the crook of my neck and my arms wound around him, holding him closely to myself, rubbing soothing circles over his back.

“I think, hero, that I would prefer your company,” he said, quietly. I pressed my cheek to his temple, my arms tightening their hold on him. 

“Of course,” I assured him, breathing a laugh as my eyes stung with tears. “Of course I’ll stay with you.” He nodded his head against my shoulder and lifted it, pressing his mouth to mine once again, kissing me slowly. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer to him and my hands threaded in his hair, balling in response. 

He pulled back once more, pressing his forehead to mine. One of my hands moved to cradle his cheek, my thumb stroking along his skin as I examined his face- his eyes were lined with red, dark circles bruising the skin underneath. 

“Do-do you want to go back home?” I asked. “Maybe...take a warm bath and rest by the fire?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before shaking his head, releasing me and taking a step back. 

“Would you mind sitting with me awhile?” My brows shot up.

“W-well...no, but-”

“Perhaps,” he continued, cutting off my words. “We can endeavor to make better memories of the rain. Together .”

My mouth dropped open, any argument I had lost as he snapped his fingers and my coat appeared back on my body, my clothes and hair suddenly dry.

“Wouldn’t want you to get sick again,” he explained as I inspected myself. When I looked back to him, his attire had been dried as well and he was leaning over to pick up my umbrella. When I had accepted it, he took his place back against the tree. 

“Well, come on then, hero,” he commanded when I made no move to sit. “You’ll find the ground quite dry.”

I pouted my lips at his order and a smirk played on his lips as he watched me, expectantly. Finally, I rolled my eyes, a smile spreading across my mouth, and went to take my seat next to him. 

“Not there,” he said as his fingers wrapped around my wrist and tugged me down. I swallowed a squeal as I landed in his lap, the umbrella nearly flying out of my hand. He brought his face close to mine once again, nuzzling my cheek with his nose. “Here,” he whispered in my ear, the tone of his voice making my face flush. 

He planted a small, quick kiss on my cheek before allowing me to get comfortable. 

I situated myself into the cross of his legs, holding the umbrella over the both of us. He wrapped his arms around me, leaning into me as he rested his chin on my shoulder. I relaxed into him, my free hand laying atop his arm. 

We sat in a comfortable silence for a long while, listening to the sound of the ran rustling the grass of the forest floor, spattering on the top of the umbrella. I took one of his hands, and as I pressed my cheek against his, guided it over my heart so he could feel the steady, comforting thump . 

“I love the rain,” I started quietly, as his palm flattened against my shirt. “It’s soothing to me.”

“How so?” 

“It helps take the pain away. It helps me forget about my duties and obligations and reminds me to just...live.”

He hummed, the rumble in his chest driving a chill up my spine, and tilted his head to place a slow kiss to the side of my neck. I smiled, twining my fingers between his and released a deep breath.

“Just like you,” I finished. He stilled behind me, his reaction making my smile widen. “And I hope that... one day, somehow… maybe I can help take your pain away as well.”

His hand fisted in the material of my shirt. 

“Oh, my dear hero,” he replied, softly, arms tightening around me. “You already do.” 

I felt tears rise to my eyes again as I squeezed his hand, an unsteady laugh escaping me. His other arm loosened, rising to grip my chin. He tilted my head to the side, catching my lips once more. I readily accepted him, breathing him in deeply. 

When he broke away from me, he tucked my head under his chin and I released a content sigh. 

“I dreamt about my home,” he began again after long moments of quiet. I settled into him, ready to listen to anything he was willing to tell me, in hopes that it would calm his mind and quell his fears. “And its final days.”

[shardweavers]

Chapter Twelve - Old, Unhappy, Far Off Things

[Half a bell prior to the death of Shoto’s door...]

Closing the book that sat before him, the Crystal Exarch glanced to the small chronometer on his desk and sighed, rubbing his temples; page after page of Allagan tomes researched, all of Beq Lugg’s notes and annotations and fae wisdom, and yet he felt no closer to an answer on how to imbue the vessels--no closer to guaranteeing the Scions a safe return to the Source before the First consumed their souls. “Another sleepless night, and so little to show for it,” he grumbled. Standing and stretching, he glared at his chair, silently rebuking it for the aches in his back; picking up his staff, he took the book he’d just finished researching and replaced it on the bookshelf, looking around the Umbilicus afterwards.

Surely, somewhere in this grand tower, the answer he sought was waiting to be found...he could feel it. He just had to persist, didn’t he…?

When his gaze fell on his desk once more, he realized the journal he'd been writing in for the last few weeks was still open; the Exarch placed his staff on his back, and gently plucked the journal up, intending to put it away. The last bit of his entry from last night caught his eye before he could:

Seeing the encouraging look on Angel's face was...nostalgic. It reminded me of when we were trying to find clues to open the Tower in the first place. He was so fascinated by my retellings of Allagan history back then, in a way only Lyna has since echoed. 

Maybe that's why I'm so certain the answer will come to me if I just keep searching…? I have so many people around me who bring about miracles.

"...Miracles," the Allagan Miqo'te trailed off, then frowned, sighing again. "Mayhap... that was the wrong word to write." 

He shook his head to clear it, then closed his journal and placed it under a larger book...now wasn’t the time for melancholy. His friends, the brave Warriors of Light and Darkness, were heading out into Norvrandt today. Once he had seen them safely off, and run his own minor errands, he could return to struggling with the vessels.

Flicking his ears, the Exarch allowed himself a small smile and took in a deep breath as he headed out of the Umbilicus. Yet no sooner had he entered the Ocular…

Something was wrong. He could feel it.

Biting his lip and frowning hard, the Exarch yanked his staff from his back as he hurried to the mirror at the center of the Ocular. He paused for a moment, then tapped his staff on the floor. The soft clang echoed through the empty room as the mirror lit up with a glow.

A view of the Crystarium appeared as its citizens bustled about, starting their days. The Mean's artisans were setting up their workshops, the Musica's vendors were preparing their shops, the guards were preparing for a shift change... nothing seemed out of place yet. 

The red-haired Miqo'te put a finger to his chin, thoughtfully. "Am I just imagining things...?" 

A sudden burst of movement flickered from the mirror, and all at once, he sensed the aetheric signature of powerful magic used somewhere in the Crystarium. The Exarch’s heartbeat kicked into overdrive; he sent out a silent magical alert. Every guard in view leapt to attention; Lyna came hurrying in to give orders. 

The Allagan Miqo’te grit his teeth, then raised his staff toward the mirror.

"What was…?" he let his question trail off, nothing else had been disturbed... He checked in on the Catenaries, but the people there seemed safe, and looked to be just getting up and ready for their days. ...Another violent pulse of magic, more powerful than any he knew--the Pendants. There was no mistake; this time he was sure. "My friends," he whispered, worriedly; he shifted the mirror’s image in a hurry. 

The moment he looked in on the Pendants, he was greeted by citizens clamoring near the Master of Suites, and guards trying to calm them down. His ears pinned back, then he shook his head and took a deep, calming breath. He needed to sort out what was happening before he ran off. 

The Exarch lifted his staff again, then looked in on each of his friends' rooms. Sumire's room was a bit disheveled; his bed was a mess, and his door was still open, but it didn't look damaged. Yuki's room was quite tidy, though her coat was still on her bed, by an unpacked bag. Ice and Angel's room bothered him the most; food was half-prepared, a knife was on the floor, a chair knocked over, and the door still wide open. When he went to try to look in on Shoto, he found aetheric interference made it difficult. He knew he'd found the source of the disturbance... but why--?

For a brief moment, the image cleared. He saw his friends on defense, and a familiar figure, all too familiar. A figure that made his ruby eyes narrow, and his blood run cold. The Crystal Exarch had his answer.

“...Emet-Selch…!”

He loudly clanged his staff on the Ocular's floor to disperse the mirror's image as he ran out to head to the Pendants...

* * * [Half a bell after the Ascian Tea Party.]

"My lord?" Lyna's voice broke through the Exarch’s thoughts as he stared at the blank mirror, pushing away the memories of earlier that day. His ears perked at the Viis’ quiet voice, and he closed his eyes as he let out a silent breath.

"Yes, Lyna?" His voice was quiet and contemplative; he still felt himself shaking inside, but tried to make sure it didn't bleed through. He had to maintain some level of authority and decorum.

"Are you certain this is wise?"

"No," he replied without thinking; his ears flicked and he sighed again, shaking his head. "But I'm not certain what other course of action I could have taken, to be truthful." Turning from the mirror, he headed down the steps in the center of the room, his captain following him.

"We could have kept him locked up," she offered.

He immediately shook his head, "No. He’s too powerful, magically, to be held that way--if he'd have wanted to, he'd have simply disappeared from his cell, or torn free from his bonds. I'm not really certain why he didn't at least try."

"Then... do you trust him to keep his word?" Lyna was confused, and it showed in her expression. The Exarch had entrusted her with many details, yet she knew he still hid much from her; this felt like another of those times where she wouldn't get a straight answer.

"I don't trust him as far as I could throw him," the Exarch grumbled, glaring at the floor--and, to a degree, at himself. After a silent moment, he looked back to Lyna. “... I do, however, trust our Warriors of Darkness. After all, if not for them, I--" he stopped, then shook his head a little as he corrected himself, smiling ruefully, "rather, none of us would be here."

"...If I may speak freely, my lord...?"

"Of course," the Exarch tilted his head a little. Lyna made a face, then took a breath.

"Was he not the one to place you and the Warriors in mortal peril before...?" She took a step forward, "I worry for you all should he decide to try once more. He is one of the 'Ascians' you told me of, correct...?" The Exarch's ears perked at her question... he'd forgotten that he'd explained that.

"Yes... I understand, Lyna. But...in this matter, we must trust them." He smiled at her, doing his best to reassure her; as much as himself. "I am certain that, if they must act, they will make the right decisions."

Lyna looked to the Exarch for a moment, then smiled a little. She saluted and nodded, "I will head out to make sure transportation is available when they are ready to head out." She turned, then hurried off.

The Crystal Exarch stood in the middle of the Ocular, alone. For a brief moment, he felt the emptiness of the tower itself, and let his eyelids fall shut.

"Ah... I have work to do as well, don't I, my friends...?" He opened his ruby eyes, feeling as tired as he ever had, "For the Scions, and the Source..."

* * * In the aftermath of that morning, Yuki found herself quite overwhelmed with everything that had transpired; thinking about it at all gave her a headache.

First they’d fought a desperate battle against Hades, seemingly returned from the dead. Then there was how the battle had ended, and afterwards, all of this talk about creation magic and the lost powers of Amaurot…! The Viera glared at her palm, almost daring something to conjure into existence suddenly; her expression fairly said “go ahead, aether, make my day.” ...Of course, nothing happened.

What a nonsensical notion, she thought to herself. 

And yet...and yet the most sensible woman she’d ever known was buying into it completely, to the point that the Ascian was coming along with them to Eulmore! To Eulmore, the very place he’d helped twist into…!

It was all a mess. The Viera groaned, flopping back onto her bed. Her emerald carbuncle hopped up lightly to join her, snuggling close to her; Yuki brought her thin fingers down on its head, gently petting the creature...it helped her clear her thoughts, and grudgingly accept that there was no changing things, not at this point. 

She’d better get moving; Shoto would be expecting her and her compatriot. So first, obviously, came gathering Sumire from his room.

Standing up, Yuki hoisted her dark blue travel bag, slinging it over one shoulder and moving towards the door. She glanced back at the room one more time to make sure she didn't leave anything; a sheen from the nightstand caught her attention, her carbuncle bouncing happily over to it, scrabbling at the nightstand with her little paws. Her eyes widened a bit in surprise, and her hands automatically went to find that, sure enough, she’d forgotten her necklace! 

This morning must really be getting to me, she thought ruefully to herself, fastening the black cord about her neck and adjusting the single crystal...touching it brought back memories of a younger Miqo’te, his purple hair bouncing as he bounded through the Limsan crowds to present it to her like a trophy, grinning from ear to ear; his little token of thanks to his best friend.

Yuki allowed herself a soft laugh. It all seems so long ago, now...Heh.

With her necklace secure, she patted the carbuncle’s head again and headed for the door, the magical beast following with a coo. 

"Thank you, Carby. Now, let’s see if we can go get Sumi moving." 

Late, late, late; always late despite all their best efforts. And on today, of all days! An important day like this! They sprinted through the streets of Amaurot, hoping very faintly that the others weren’t gone, but knowing that--

"Theia! Over here!" A familiar voice called.

"You haven't left yet...?"

Why were they still here...?

"Because we're supposed to leave together, silly. Don't you want to go with us?" The familiar voice responded with a snicker.

"But I'm so very late..."

"You often are," another voice replied, reassuringly, "So why would we leave before you arrived?"

"You're part of our constellation," a warm, calming voice spoke from behind. "Worry not, we would never leave you behind, Theia."

"Persephone..."

Sumire had fallen asleep again after coming back from the Ocular; despite his getting dressed after the fight, he hadn't made up his bed before he'd left. The blankets had been kicked off the bed at some point during the night, and he hadn't picked them up. He was using his pillow more like a stuffed animal than a proper pillow, and he was curled up tightly near the bottom of his bed... despite having laid down across the middle.

"Per...se...pho...?"

He blinked awake, just as the sun peeked out from behind some clouds to light up his room. Tears stung his eyes, and the Dragoon reached up to wipe them away in confusion.

"What was I...?" 

Sumire pushed himself up, then rubbed at his eyes again. He tried to recall even the end of his dream, but it wouldn't come back, and all he could feel was the lingering sadness deep within his heart that he had no context for. 

"Just a dream," he told himself, then frowned, "Like always, it's just a dream." 

Taking a deep breath, he looked around his room, fighting down another yawn. "How long have I been..." 

Shaking his head, he flicked his ears as he stood up, letting his thoughts trail away into nothingness. A yawn overtook him, and he almost involuntarily stretched his whole body; even his tail, shivering afterwards...he still felt out of it. Drowsy wasn’t quite the word, but it was close, perhaps? Sighing, he pulled his shirt off and headed to the bathroom to wash his face--maybe the water would help him wake up more.

The young Dragoon cupped the warm water from the faucet, letting it heat up for a moment before splashing himself in the face a few times, grabbing a towel afterwards to dry off. Leaning on the sink, he stared into the mirror with a pensive frown.

That dream...it didn’t feel quite right. I’m used to strange dreams, ever since back then, with the dragon...But...That was stranger than any I remember...

...And it felt like... Reaching up to push his hair back, he examined his right eye in the mirror, the pupil and iris moonstone-white; dead to the normal sense of sight, it could now only sense the otherworldly radiance of aether. It had ached so badly in the Ocular, especially every time he looked over at the newly resurrected Ascian, but now it felt fine, and it looked no different than ever. He flicked his ears.

“Honestly, what...what was all that drivel about creation magic...?" Letting his hair drop back over his sight-blind eye, he let out a long, haggard sigh. “Couldn’t it...Couldn’t just...be...their normal magic, acting up…? Or being weird, or just…” He made a face and glanced over to the towel once more…

“But then, I’d have to worry about Yuki, wouldn’t I…?”

No, no, that couldn’t be it. Yuki would be fine. She had to be. She was the stronger one.

Sighing with the weight of his fatigue, he went back to the process of washing his face. He cupped more water, then ran it and his fingers through his shaggy, violet hair to push it all out of his face. He kept splashing his face and running water over his head until he no longer felt like he'd go back to sleep if he stopped.

Yuki would be fine. She had to be. She was the stronger one.

* * * Sumire hadn’t expected the person he was thinking of to greet him as he stepped from the bathroom, but-- “You’re late.”

--there was her familiar voice, greeting the shirtless Miqo’te as he was drying off and nearly making him drop the towel he was using to do so. He managed to instead put said towel over his head as he blinked, his eyes wide with sudden surprise at the presence of the Viera before him.

“Y-Yuki!?” His ears flickering nearly sent the towel to the floor a second time, so he put it around his shoulders. “Wh-What are you d--?"

“I came to make sure you were okay,” she said in a mildly reproachful tone, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes just so. “It’s already been half a bell. You were asleep again, weren’t you?” He didn’t answer, but the color in his cheeks and the way he quickly went back to drying his hair, as well as the unkempt status of his bed and the way he guiltily glanced over to it, gave her all the answer she needed. Yuki let out a long sigh, frowning more than a little at his lack of denial.

“Is it that late? I...I didn’t think I’d been out that long, honest. I didn’t mean to make you worry...I’m sorry.” His ears pinned back and she shook her head, smiling just a little, though she still looked worried.

“I'm just concerned about how...worn out you’ve seemed to be. Are you sure you're feeling okay? You don't have to push yourself."

Well, that was enough to make Sumire very, very interested in the ground, scuffing his foot against the ground. “I...I’m not pushing myself.”

“...Sumire.” Yuki was not having it.

“I’m not pushing myself that much!” Sumire protested. “Look, it...It’s probably a side effect of the whole...rejoining of souls, that we were just hearing about. It makes sense, you know? Given that back when we were in the Tempest…” The Seeker gripped the ends of his towel around his neck, "I saw Renda-Rae in the Light, and she lent me her strength to help Shoto. Just like you saw Nyelbert, right?” “...That’s true,” Yuki admitted, chewing her lip. Each of them had spoken, in that brief moment, to one of Norvrandt’s former Warriors of Light. “So no matter what, we know they’re part of us now, at least,” Sumire said, nodding, his tail flicking and curling lightly in thought. “And my body’s probably just...adjusting to that.” “Even with that logic, no one else is--” Yuki started in, huffing, but paused as she realized that wasn’t quite true. “...Alright, so Angel did sort of summon a glowing...orange...not-carbuncle in front of everyone...And Shoto mentioned strange things happening too.” Her long ears twitched slightly as she considered this. “...But still--”

Her voice died as she saw the disappointed look on Sumire’s face. "So you've really not noticed...anything since then?"

Part of him sounded like he didn’t quite believe her; the other part just sounded kind of saddened, and the combination was enough to make Yuki turn towards the window with a sigh, staring out of it for a long, silent beat… “I...No. I haven’t. Everything is fine,” she replied, insistent, accenting the fine. “It’s you we need to worry about. Mostly, anyway.”

“Alright,” Sumire replied; he wasn’t sure he wanted to push further on that topic right now, and besides, he kind of needed to put a shirt back on, he was getting a little cold. He reached for the one he had been wearing, but it turned out that a certain Emerald Carbuncle had curled up on it quite comfortably, and Carby made a plaintive warble when he so much as reached for it. Acquiescing, he hung the towel over the back of the chair and dug a new shirt from the dresser; he caught Yuki watching him out of the corner of his eye, though she made a frustrated noise and looked away when she caught his gaze.

It should’ve made him chuckle, or at least smile; even if it was overbearing, he didn’t mind that Yuki was concerned for him at all, it had always been her way. But when he picked up the shirt, his hands shook, and he stopped.

A wave of alien sadness, sadness from nowhere he could identify, welled up in his chest; tears pricked his eyes, several falling onto the fabric. He shook his head and hurriedly tried to wipe the tears away, but Yuki had noticed and practically bounded over to him, even more concerned. “You’re not okay,” she whispered, “I knew it.”

He felt his face flush in embarrassment, but he couldn’t lie to her. Sighing, he shifted to sit on the dresser; he slipped the shirt over his shoulders, but didn’t button it up at all yet. “You were crying, Sumire, please...at least tell me why,” Yuki pressed, and his tail flicked, his ears drooping.

“I don’t...I don’t remember.”

"Remember what?"

"I don't remember why I'm sad. I-I woke up like this." He took a long breath, shaking his head, and kept going before Yuki could ask another question or interject. "The only really different thing, other than just being tired, is...is this, and the dreams.” “I thought you told me your dreams are usually just...echoes, from the dragon’s blood?” Yuki’s frown intensified.

Sumire nodded. “Usually, they are! But these are...different. They’re strange, they don’t feel like the ones I get from the dragon’s blood, and I can remember those. These, I can’t. I can’t even recall the faces I saw, or imagined I saw.” He reached up to touch his chest. “All that I’m left with is whatever emotions the dream stirred up, like...this stupid sadness, sadness I have no context for.”

Yuki’s eyes narrowed, but not in a glare; more like she was mentally comparing something. “You can’t recall anything, at all?”

Sumire blinked and cocked his head to the side. “...Now you sound like you know something about them. Are you okay, Yuki?” He couldn’t help but give a bit of a wry smirk at the opportunity to tease her, even lightly; and he was rewarded with the Viera’s cheeks coloring as she huffed, pouted, and pointed a finger at his forehead.

“No no no! We’re talking about you! I told you, I’m fine, nothing is different, everything is okay! But you are having weird dreams that you can’t remember, which make you cry; Angel is having nightmares and orange imagination beasts; a-and Shoto’s crying her eyes out, over eggs.”

Sumire blinked. "I don't think it was eg--"

“Eggs, Sumi!” Yuki had turned sharply to the side, put her hands on her hips, and stomped her foot. The violet-haired Miqo’te blinked again, his mouth a perfect “o”, but he let it go--he knew when Yuki didn’t want to talk about something, and Yuki did not want to address the Ascian-shaped elephant in the room, least of all Shoto’s feelings of guilt involving the Paragon.

Yuki crossed her arms, taking a few deep breaths and calming down, lowering her voice a little. "You should all go talk to Chessamile. Maybe she's got a tonic that'll cheer you up." Her expression now looked downcast, and Sumire couldn’t help but hop down from his seat on the dresser, shaking his head. “Yuki...I’ll be okay. I’m feeling better already, just talking like this, I don’t need a Cheering-Up Potion.” He offered her a smile.

She did not believe him. “That dream had you crying over the sight of your, of your own shirt,” she said, biting her lip, her ears twitching slightly again. “You’re going to be okay in Kholusia, in Eulmore? We’re going to be there a while, and…” “Of course I’ll be okay,” he replied immediately, not even having to think about it. “I have you with me.”

There was a long, long moment of silence, in which Yuki blinked, and her cheeks went a brilliant cherry-blossom color, her mouth hanging open. Her expression turned rapidly to a protesting pout, her hands finding her hips as she stared right into his eyes and Sumire began to feel rapidly like he’d made a terrible mistake.

“Wh-wh-what’s that supposed to mean, Sumi?!??”

Sumire held up his hands, blinking. “Nothing strange…? It’s just...We’ve gone everywhere together since we met, haven’t we?” He tilted his head. “You’ve saved me numerous times when I got in over my head. You've been the reason I could make it through so much that I probably shouldn't have."

"Sumire," she mumbled, paling. Her pout was giving way to a crestfallen look, an ashen, fearful expression, the more he spoke, but Sumire hadn’t noticed as he kept speaking-- “You’re my partner, aren’t you?” ...There was another long moment of silence as Yuki’s expression changed again, her cheeks going brilliant red once more. “...Y-yes! That! Of course! Of course I am, and we’re...Right!” Now, despite her affirmative words, the Viera looked clearly angry; she looked like she might kick over the table, and her ears twitched much differently than her earlier agitation, extremely irritated. Once more, Sumire worried he’d made a huge mistake.

“Yuki?” "Yes. Yes, we're partners! Y-you're absolutely right, and there's no way that could be misconstrued or anything! It's, it's all fine! Everything is great!" She stamped her foot again, and the table shook from the force. The Miqo’te’s own face was now full of concern. “Yuki, are you...Sorry, I worded that wrong, I should have--”

"N-NO! You're fine! I'm just, I need, to go get some air! Aaaugh!" 

Yuki turned on her heel, then stormed off; Carby leapt up from Sumire's shirt, then bounded after her. She only took a few steps before she stopped; the carbuncle leapt up into a twirl, then disappeared into aetherial mist… and Sumire was left there, staring at where the carbuncle had disappeared and stunned by what had just taken place. 

Part of him wanted to immediately run after her, try to get her to understand what he'd meant. But that would be foolish, he knew; she needed some time to herself, especially if she had also dismissed Carby. Sumire shook his head, gazing at the floor with a soft, small sigh.

And then he noticed it; a bright glimmer, a shining thing. When he knelt down, he realized...it was a violet-colored...crystal, it looked like? It hadn’t been there before.

"That's odd, did she drop this?" He reached out to pick up the crystal so he could return it to her, but pulled his hand back instantly at the touch; it felt like it had burned him, but not with heat. 

"What the--... it.. it's cold...?" 

He looked down to his hand, then the crystal, "...Violet... ice?" 

Sumire didn't want to touch it again, as cold as it was, but he was curious.. upon closer inspection, he realized the violet-colored ice was shaped like a tiger cub...

* * * Stupid Sumire. Why did he have to go and say things like that?

Yuki’s teeth were grit tight enough to snap as she stalked across the length of the Exedra; she didn’t know if anyone greeted her, and she didn’t really care, right now. Her body was almost on autopilot, it felt like, and she was just trying to get...away.

But she couldn’t. As fast as her stride carried her, her village caught up to her in her mind’s eye; the violet-leaved trees surrounding the Crystarium melted away into the deep green forests of her youth, the bustle of the Exedra and the Dossal Gate became birdsong, and she could hear her mother’s voice, bright and melodious.

“Mjöll!”

That isn’t my name, she thought.

But it had been, back then. Back when her whole world was the woman she could still see if she thought for even a moment; her light brown hair, long, tied into a single braid that fell down between her shoulders, framing her long ears. Her mother’s smile was always warm, always welcome, her arms always open to embrace her only daughter. “There you are, my precious Mjöll!”

“Stop it!” she hissed to no one, quiet and fierce, trying to calm the storm of her emotions, her eyes shut tight. 

When she opened them, she realized she’d made it up the stairs to the Amaro Launch, standing out on the round platform where the amaros took off and landed...when she gazed out at the barren mountains of Lakeland, in the distance, it struck her how truly similar they were to the Skatay Mountains of her homeland...or would be, if it ever snowed on Norvrandt. 

The homeland she would likely never see again, that she’d left behind along with the name “Mjöll” and the only family she’d ever known, at the age of seventeen.

But I had to. 

I couldn’t...I couldn’t live like that!

She counted herself lucky that her tribe had been part of Clan Veena; if she’d been Rava-born, she’d have been sworn to the Green Word, and her friends in childhood had sworn that Ravan mothers killed daughters who discovered the world outside. She’d have been trapped in the Golmore Jungle forever, if the Imperials hadn’t gotten her first. 

But still, what her Clan had in common with Clan Rava was this: when they came of age, and the Wood-warders came wandering in, they would take a mate. Then, the Wood-warders would be gone again, and the women would spend the rest of their lives anchored to their village. Chained to their village, raising the children of a father they would never even know as more than a name.

She’d been revolted by the idea ever since she first understood it, ever since it was something other than a nebulous concept of roles in Vieran society. Her mother and her teachers had all promised her it would make sense as she grew, she would understand it, she would welcome it.

She hadn’t. It was vile. To...to rut with someone you barely knew, like an animal, once every three or five or even ten years, and then let them disappear back into the woods with barely a word. 

The soothsayers could mumble all they wanted about how “the distance 'twixt two bodies does not dictate the distance 'twixt two souls,” and how anyone who thought different was “looking for coexistence beneath a loincloth”, but it was all stupid nonsense. None of the Viera in her village who mated had ever thought of their mates outside of that cursed season, and why would they? The men were there to saddle the women with their children and go off into the wood to die, usually in agony, always alone.

The idea of that being her whole life, of being yet another village mother haggard from chasing after her children, whom she would raise to be nothing but more mothers, made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. It felt wrong, it wasn’t what she wanted. She knew she was meant for more than that, and she was drawn to the world beyond the Skatay, beyond Dalmasca. “Mjöll, this is foolishness! You have a responsibility,” she could hear her mother telling her. “When you hold your own precious kits in your arms, you’ll understand…”

“I don’t want that!” she’d said. “I don’t want to be forced to spend the rest of my life that way, I want to make a difference...”

“You will make a difference! You’ll be guaranteeing the future of our people!” “Not like that…!!”

“Then like how, Mjöll?” Her mother had her hands on her hips, frowning, her glare piercing.

“Like...like an adventurer,” she’d managed.

It wasn’t unheard of for Bangaa, either in small adventuring groups or whole trade caravans, to pass through the village; many of the village girls, Yuki included, would always secretly make time to go hear their stories of the outside world. For most of them, it was enough just to hear the wild tales, but what she’d heard had stirred something inside of Yuki, a yearning that had never died. And most of all, she loved their tales of other adventurers, fighting fiends and righting wrongs in far-off lands. She knew, from the first tale she heard, what she wanted to do in the future. Her mother hadn’t been amused in the least by her suggestion, her expression turning deeply angry. “You mean to run off with those disgusting, greedy lizard-men? Off to be sold into slavery or get killed playing at revolutionary?! Absolutely not! I forbid it! I won’t hear any more of this nonsense, Mjöll!”

And here was the expected outcome, her mother’s words firm and absolute. Yuki desperately wanted to protest, to convince her mother otherwise...but...it was impossible. 

Her mother believed too much in the trap that was their culture. In mothers bound to create more mothers, forever. In tears, the young Viera had gone to her room and prayed to any of the Twelve that might listen for another path. For a way out. For escape.

And she had been answered by a very different Mother. By Her.

Hear. Feel. Think.

That had been the same night she’d left the Skatay Range, and the forest that ringed it, forever. The argument with her mother had been the last time she'd talked to her. The only thing she left behind had been a single note in her room, intended for her mother, that told her of her decision and that she would be okay on her own.

Yuki curled up a bit at the memory, pulling her legs up and against her chest as she sat alone at the edge of the platform.

She had wandered for a few days after she'd left; she’d had to evade more than one Garlean patrol, and vividly remembered the terror of crouching beneath a farm shed’s ruin, breathing shallowly, as a battalion of magitek armor trampled through the smoking, burning field behind her. She was endlessly grateful to find one of her Bangaa friends on the way, and they had traveled together to Kugane.

The city had been beautiful, yes, and she’d been free.

Free and completely alone. 

It had been overwhelming, all the sights, sounds, and even smells of Kugane. Everything was so new... and she’d felt so helplessly, completely lost and afraid. All of the darker whispers she’d heard from the other girls and from the travelers on the road, along with her mother’s angry reasons for denial, had loomed like phantoms in her mind. She’d been sitting by the dock, morosely chewing on a bowl of rice she’d managed to buy with some of her last coins, when a fisherman approached her. He was a huge, barrel-chested Roegadyn; she thought now he was probably a Sea Wolf, though she knew nothing of the Roegadyn at the time save how large and rather frightening they were. “Why, ‘ello, lass,” he’d said, cautious and friendly, but she’d still jumped at his voice. “Not oft I see forest folk ‘round ‘ere.”

The young Viera hadn't known what to say; being honest, her voice had left her in her fear. Seeing how she shook, the Sea Wolf looked apologetic, and knelt down to make himself less threatening, taking one knee...she remembered most of all now how kind his weathered features had been. “Wot’ll be thy name, then?”

Yuki smiled sadly and shook her head at the remembered question, laying her forehead on her knees; a pained chuckle escaped her. The question had only frightened her more, as silly as it seemed now; she only knew she couldn’t keep her forest name after she’d thrown everything else about the forest away, it wouldn’t be right. But then, what to say? That she didn’t know her own name…? It’d been then that she’d finally started to cry…

“That was the first time I cried since I left, wasn’t it?”

The fisherman bit his lip in worried sympathy, and his warm, large hand had patted her lightly on the head. “Ay up, ay up, nowt of all t’at. Ye’ve no need t’ tell me thy name if ye don’t want te. Are ye lost?” The Viera found her voice once more, though it came after a ragged sob. She shook her head to his question, unable to stop crying. “I-I came here... h-hoping to be... an a-adventurer…”

She expected him to laugh at her, or sneer, but he just looked surprised that she’d actually responded, and then his features had become thoughtful as he smiled, his finger against his chin. “Hm. Reckons I ye might have a bit of t’ auld luck in Eorzea, more’n ‘ere...Well ‘en, tells ye wot, lass. I surely need an ‘elper on me way back t’ Limsa Lominsa--that’s t’ great port town of t’ West. An’ ye might well find adventurin’ there. What ye say?”

It had been a small thing, really; a little act of kindness. But that offer, that opportunity, that had shaped everything, really. That offer had let her keep moving forwards, instead of bringing her journey to an abrupt end or taking it down a darker, more terrible path than she wanted to think about, even now. And back then, it had been a life ring tossed to a drowning girl. She’d leapt at the chance; she’d nodded so fast she felt almost dizzy, her face beaming with her first genuine smile since arriving in Kugane, a flame of hope kindled in her heart.

“Y-yes! Yes, please!” “Then there’s nowt else for ‘t,” he’d laughed. “Ahldstyrm is I, Cap’n of t’ Glorious Summer, an’ promises I that I’ll see ye safe t’ harbor.”

She wished she could’ve given the old Roegadyn a hug now, gone to him with all her troubles. She owed him so much, looking back.

If I’d gone anywhere else but Limsa...I’d never have met Sumire, either, would I?

“Yuki?”

Shortly after boarding the Glorious Summer, she and Ahldstyrm had realized the problem with her remaining nameless--he didn’t want to press her, but she’d wanted to help, earn her keep, and both captain and crew would need to get her attention somehow.

“Reckon we’ll need t’ call you sommat, e’en if just for t’ trip,” he’d pronounced, scratching his bearded chin as he looked her over. “...Yer hair an’ ears, lass, if’n ye don’t mind my sayin’, puts me t’ think of t’ snow, surely...There’s a Hingashi word for it, ‘yuki’. Seems it fits ye? D’ye reckon, leastways till we gets t’ Limsa?”

“Yuki...” She tried it out, welcomed the sound. “Yuki...Yes. I like that.”

And just like the first snowfall that marked winter, it had stuck.

"Yuki...?"

Her name again... That wasn't from her memories, though.

No, that was Sumire's voice; she was sure of it. She lifted her head, then turned to look beside her...and there he was, dressed for the trip, had his travel bag over his shoulder, and had his lance resting beside him; he was solely focused on her. 

How long had he been here...? 

She tried to pout at him, but couldn't manage the usual amount of energy behind it.

"I thought I told you I needed some air?" She tried to grouse, but didn't really mean it; judging by the little wry smile on the Miqo'te's face, he knew that. He shook his head in response, then looked to the mountains in the distance.

"Sorry, Yuki, but...you’ve been out here for a while," his tail curled a bit behind him. "I told Shoto you went for a walk, after the chaos this morning."

"Is she still getting ready?" Yuki shifted, letting her legs dangle over the end again, while she stretched her arms and back.

"She finished. She asked where you were when she noticed you weren't at the gate. I told her I knew where you'd be," he shifted to stand up carefully, "so I said I'd come tell you she was finished getting ready."

Yuki just watched him stand up, silently. Sumire placed his weapon on his back, then held his hand out to her. She looked at his hand, then up to his face for a moment. 

In her mind’s eye, she saw his bare chest, his bright smile, all the parts of him she couldn’t stop looking at, lately. She felt a warmth spreading slowly up her spine, a warmth that spiked when he said those terrible words--

“Of course I’ll be okay, I have you with me.”

She couldn’t feel that way about him. She wouldn’t feel that way about him. It was wrong, it was disgusting, it was a betrayal of everything she stood for, she might as well have marched back into her village in the Skatay foothills and literally chained herself to the cold earth.

“We’re partners, aren’t we?”

Mentally, she heard another voice, a Xaela voice; the Dotharl chieftain’s eyes sharp even if Sadu’s characteristic smirk had never left her face, her own arms crossed as she cocked her head. The day she’d drawn Yuki aside, after the Liberation of Ala Mhigo--

“How long will you play with that one’s heart, forest girl? He’d chase you across fifteen reincarnations, and you won’t even tell him one thing or the other…?”

No. 

She’d been wrong. 

Sadu had been wrong then, and she’d continue to be wrong. She shook her head and stood up on her own, and Sumire blinked, but withdrew his arm without saying anything more.

"So, Shoto's gone on ahead then, I assume?" 

Yuki turned to head back up the long platform to the Launch. Sumire hurried to keep up with her pace, then chuckled again. 

"She wouldn't leave us behind. We're supposed to head out together, so she won't head off until we're all with her."

Yuki stopped at that, then blinked. She felt an odd sense of deja vu she couldn't place. She looked at Sumire as he took a few steps ahead of her, then stopped. He turned to look back when he realized she wasn't still beside him.

"Sumi, didn't I tell you that once?" She asked before he could speak. He flicked his ears, then looked thoughtful for a moment. It did feel like a familiar response, but he couldn't recall who'd said it before.

"You may have... I don't quite remember." He shook his head, then smiled at her, "Either way, it's true. Shoto's waiting for us."

STUPID SUMI, IT’S NOT LIKE I LIKE YOU OR ANYTHING

Hopefully you enjoyed this brief interlude into Tsundere Viera Land. Next chapter, it will be ALL CAT HUSBANDS, ALL THE TIME.

Sidenote: Enjoy Patch 5.4, everyone!! :D

[fheythfully]

an idea is like a virus [SHB AU]

What is the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm? An idea. Resilient... highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain, it's almost impossible to eradicate.

She does not mean to sulk, of course, but--she thought they’d miss her more. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, realizing that the time she spent worried about their sudden collapses and departure of souls had not been met by equal concern on their end. [an Inception-inspired AU]

[My Inception inspired AU is here! First thing I’ve written in a year so I am a little rusty. Click the read more or read on AO3.]

She does not mean to sulk, of course, but--she thought they’d miss her more. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, realizing that the time she spent worried about their sudden collapses and departure of souls had not been met by equal concern on their end. When the Crystal Exarch led her to the audience chambers of this world’s Crystal Tower and let her know of this world’s perils, she had been ready to bear the burden. She had set out for the sands of Ahm Araeng in search of Alisaie only to be met by ungodly heat, more unbearable even than the deserts of Thanalan on summer’s midday, and a quick greeting by the girl before her figure disappeared into the wilds and an assurance that she had it under control. At first it had been pleasant, although surprising, to suddenly find herself with an excess of time on her hands before the next amaro transport would be by to take her away in search of Alphinaud. She wandered the stalls of Mord Souq, tasting the strange delicacies of the local tribe and taking in the sights of the crystallized emptiness to the south. She did not get a chance to bid farewell to Alisaie before her departure, though the girl’s friend, a kindly hyur woman, let her know she’d pass on the message.  Alisaie has been busy, she told herself as the rolling sea of browns and golds blurred below her in the ascent of the amaro bearing her away. It only makes sense that she would have duties she cannot be pulled away from, especially in a hard place like this.

Kholusia looks enough like Vylbrand that it makes her queasy to see the state it’s in, especially once she spots windmills in the distance looking so much like her parents’ farm. The relief she feels upon seeing Alphinaud is nearly physical in its intensity, her soft spot for the boy she’s watched grow into a confident young man leading her to embrace him in sisterly affection. His body tenses under her touch and he pats her on the back, a touch awkwardly, before drawing away and laying out his master plan on how to infiltrate Eulmore. He talks with his hands, eyes on the glittering city in the distance, and soon enough the realization dawns upon her: he’s grown without her presence even further into his own. There is an assertiveness in him that had not been there before and a near dismissiveness she’s sure he does not mean, but it burrows under her skin anyway, leaving her feeling out of place at his side in a way that she has not in years.

Encountering Thancred and his young charge, the quiet girl named Minfilia, is uncomfortable to say the least. She knows he’s been here the longest of all the Scions, five years spent on his own adjusting to a new world and new dangers and politics that seems even harder to navigate than Ishgard’s had been. But the man has seemed to grow colder in his age, more abrupt rather than cunning and frustrated with everything--Minfilia defying him to find her, especially, and everything to do with the girl in general. She tells him he is being too harsh one night after he spends a good half a bell berating his silent charge over a misstep in battle she’d done, and Thancred levels her with a look she had not expected to see since Lahabrea’s possession.

“Don’t presume to know what it’s like for us, when you’ve only arrived now that our battles are nearly done.”

She does not speak to him much after that, for what could she say to dispute the truth of his words? The First seems to indeed be on its way to recovery due to no small part of what the Scions have been working towards all this time in her absence. She fights their battles, assures their victories; it is a relationship similar to the one she’d had with the group at the time of Ifrit, Titan and Garuda: she is their sword, and they wield her thus.

Staring up at the ever blinding skies, she misses Tataru. She misses Aymeric who had a cup of tea and a chat ready for her even amidst his busy work rebuilding Ishgard. She misses Lyse and the spars they’d have, the blonde boldly stating she needed time off to stretch her limbs. She had forgotten what it felt like to be an accessory and not part of the team.

The whimsical, near frightening colours and inhabitants of Il Mheg are not enough to thaw her relations with Urianger, who remains as unreachable as ever. Under the towering ancient boughs of Rak’tika she watches Y’Shtola hesitate to bid farewell to the family even she has now found for herself, lingering with one last gaze over Slitherbough as they depart. The other woman is politely friendly but the chasm suddenly between them yawns wide, and she watches Y’Shtola get smaller and smaller on the other side. She watches all the Scions disappear into the horizon away from her and feels small herself, an outsider to this group of people who’d found themselves perilously lost in a world not their own and built themselves a new life to survive.

Beside her, the Ascian wearing the body of the late Garlean emperor  tsks  . “So much for friendship,  hero .” The two of them sit apart from the rest of their group, a fire burning low between them, and she tells herself the suspicious glances cast their way are for his sudden appearance at her side. “So what happens when you kill all the Wardens, then? Will you be set aside like a rusty blade?”

She ignores him and pokes a stick into the dying embers of the pit. Emet-Selch laughs at her silence, gaze so heavy on her she can feel it burning a brand into her skin.

.

.

They return to Ahm Araeng and she speaks to the last remnants of her Minfilia. The sullen, quiet girl bearing her name and visage does not reappear at her side when she emerges. Urianger, when she finds the rest of the Scions, shakes his head when she asks about Thancred.

The less that is said about Ahm Araeng and the Warden there, the better.

.

.

She listens silently when Y’Shtola and Urianger pull her aside and tell her what she already feels within: the light is consuming her alive. She has become the Warden of the First Reflection.

There is nothing to be done to save her. Nothing in the books of the Crystarium, in the abyss of Allagan research spanning the depths of the Tower, and even the Exarch shakes his head, lips downturned, when he is consulted.

At last, she is a dead woman walking.

She thinks that, all things considered, it has been a long time coming.

.

.

The Light within her blurs together all senses and experiences, even memories; she remembers walking for what she knows is the last time through the Crystarium, entirely alone as she makes ready to depart. Bereft of weapons and gear she has the sensation of having flown somewhere, or perhaps she walked, but somehow she has found herself underwater in a city the likes of which she has never seen before. Or maybe it’s not entirely true; she thinks she’s dreamt of it before, or perhaps is dreaming now, walking streets as silent as a graveyard as she seeks out Emet-Selch and his offer of a dignified death.

Is she still breathing? Is she still living? She is not worthy of it. She feels the Light within her churning and hungry, straining against the threads of her soul and mortal shell holding it back. It’s only a matter of time before they snap and in a moment of sudden clarity she is overwhelmingly glad that the Scions are not present to see their vaunted Warrior of Light turn into a monster.

Blearily, she spots a figure before her. Unlike the others it does not move out of her way, but instead stands tall and stubborn in her path until she has no choice but to force her limbs around it. She hears a sigh, and then harsh fingers grip at her shoulder.

It is so unexpected and sudden that it grounds her. The corona of light that has been dimming her vision flares and she blinks, having no choice but to face the figure insisting on her attention. 

“Really?” It speaks, a woman’s voice, drawling and mocking and in Common and not the strange language she’s been unable to make out from the other inhabitants. “This is how you’re going to die? Walking to certain death like a martyr, happy to let a villain take your life into his hands? You disappoint me, hero.”

She’s lost for words, no small part due to being directly addressed in such a manner in what feels like a very, very long time--since she had come to the First, perhaps. It clears the fog up in her brain somewhat, some flickering semblance of self sluggishly batting away at the Light cocooning her thoughts.

The tongue in her mouth feels heavy, marble-like. “I have no other choice.”

The figure’s hand, still gripping her skin as if she is not burning its flesh on contact, tightens. “No choice? Don’t make yourself even more pathetic than you already are.”

On habit alone she tilts her chin and purses her lips. Stubborn to the end, apparently. “So what, you have some better ideas on how to not die and consume all of the First? I’m all ears.”

The mouth under the hood smiles in a way she knows it does not mean it. “You really think he won’t destroy this Shard after your timely death? Is this all it took for you to lose your brain?” A laugh, somehow familiar, and she bristles further. The city around her sharpens in its clarity and her chest expands in a deep, angry breath ready to let the stranger have it--and then another hand comes down upon the stranger’s, prying it away.

Emet-Selch stands before them, grasping the stranger’s arm. “That’s enough out of you,” he directs at her hooded companion. There is a certain flatness to his tone, a bite in his words she has not heard even directed at her. In response the figure shakes her arm free and moves to entwine her fingers with his, smiling mockingly, until the man slaps her fingers away in disgust. “Leave us be. You have no place here.”

The woman lets out a dismissive laugh. “I have no place to be here? Steps away from where you murdered me, and where you are about to do so again? Your humour has me turning in my grave, Hades.”

She’s submerged in the heavy silence that descends. Enough time for a single breath, and then the woman turns towards her again. Pale hands reach up to draw back her hood--and something within her screams that the action is wrong, she should not be witness to any of this--and then to remove the delicate white mask that sits perched across her nose and cheeks. She throws it aside on the ground and stomps it for good measure, until motes of aether rise up as the mask simply dissolves on the paved street.

“Astra,” Emet-Selch says, barely constrained fury shaking his voice. “Get out.”

The woman’s lips turn into a pretty pout. “You can make me leave any time you want, Hades. You’re just not wanting it hard enough.” To her she sends a conspiratorial smile, as if they are old friends sharing a secret. “That’s always been the case with dear Hades, you know. Forever wanting things but never knowing how to go about getting them the right way.”

A streetlight down the road goes out. She suddenly realizes she does not even know the name of this place, hidden deep on the ocean floor. She wets her lips. The sense of wrongness inside of her grows. “Who are you?”

Astra raises an eyebrow at her, eyes wide. “We look so much alike, and still that is the question you ask? You just keep finding new ways to disappoint me.” To Emet-Selch, she shakes her head. “You broke her so thoroughly, dear. I’m very hurt.”

Somehow, she is still breathing. Still living. The Light within her writhes, but she wants to know more: the city standing tall and desolate around her, this man named Emet-Selch-and-also-Hades, and the woman Astra before her, with such pale hair and eyes yet still undoubtedly  her . 

“Why do you look like me?” The hints of a demand enter her tone. “What is this place?”

“You finally start asking the right questions!” The lights around them all begin flickering, but Astra’s excitement is palpable as she claps her hands together and grins at her, all teeth. “I’ll help you out with another one: how did you get here?” At her confused silence, her grin stretches until she can see the canines peeking out, like a mummer’s mask at a horror show. “Try to remember, now. How did you get here, to the bottom of the ocean, to this gloriously dead city of Amaurot?”

She opens her mouth to answer, to say she flew to the coast of--somewhere, or took a boat, or-- “I don’t know,” she says instead. “I don’t--I don’t remember.” She frowns. “How can I not remember? Is it the Light?”

A cold hand settles on her cheek, curiously soft and at odds with everything the woman has been so far. Pale eyes swim with pity as they stare into hers. “Sweetling, the only Light within you is the blessing you’ve been carrying all this time.”

With a furious sound the ground beneath them cracks. A cacophony of noise follows as around them the buildings begin to cave into themselves; trees erupt with their roots torn wild from their carefully curated placements and somewhere beyond her sight, she hears the unmistakable sound of rushing water flooding the bubble of air surrounding the city.

She’d nearly forgotten Emet-Selch’s presence. With a hiss he tears the woman away from her, clutching her wrist in his hand with strength that will leave her with far more than bruises. “You damned woman,” he seethes and his form begins to shift, as if he’s been hiding a monster of his own beneath his human shell this entire time. “If only you would stay out of my way--”

Her wrist must be broken, but Astra only laughs. The city around them continues its rapid collapse. “As if it’s my fault you can't bring yourself to kill me,” she says, and with barely a flicker of her other hand, drives a knife of aether straight into his heart. “Fascinating, considering you had no such qualms the first time.”

Ella watches the life leave the Ascian’s eyes, and has a moment to wander if it had been the way Lahabrea had fallen, too; did you not need to sunder the soul, to ensure an Ascian did not merely jump into another inhabitable body? But no--Emet-Selch sags to the ground and Astra uses a toe to poke his body with a sigh.

She turns her eyes towards Ella, the knife of concentrated aether still sparking with magic in the palm of one hand. “He remembered me very horribly, I’ll have you know. I didn’t have one unkind bone in my body. Not to mention this manner of speech. How self-obsessed can one man get, to make his once-lover sound so much like him?” She tuts and shakes her head. “Guilt does such funny things to memories we hold dear.”

She approaches closer. The strange city of Amaurot around them has fallen, a tremendous wave of water coalescing behind the woman’s form.

It will be upon them in seconds.

“It’s time to wake up,” Astra says. She’s close enough that the Warrior can count the very faint freckles upon her nose, as if this strange duplicate of hers had even that tiny detail down. “You’ll be very confused, and very alone, and the void between worlds will be a frightening place indeed. But rest assured that your friends are waiting for you on the other side, and that this has been nothing more than a very real, and very bad nightmare.”

The touch of aether is hot and electric against her neck. Astra’s smile is trembling. “Make sure you kill him for good for me, will you?”

There is no chance to reply. The knife cuts her open.

[jenovahh]

Comm 03 - NSFW - Glitter

Rating: NC-17/Explicit Tags: Female!WoL, Cunnilingus, Penetration

The commissioner has chosen to remain anonymous! Thank you so much for this prompt it was fun to write and challenging!

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Warrior of Light.

Liberator of Doma. Savior of Ala Mhigo. Retriever of Coinpurses.

Warrior of Darkness.

Enough titles to sing your praises to fill an entire book, by this point you were sure.

Have books been written yet? You hadn’t been approached yet for a biography. Mayhap you were on the move too much for anyone to sit you down long enough to talk to you about your life; not that your life is much of a secret. 

Any news of your deeds and miracles had reached nearly every part of the continent. At the very least, the only thing missing would be the more trivial escapades or your humble beginnings.

Sometimes you miss those days. The days of stepping out and actually exploring. Choosing to help the occasional stranger but still going your own way, seeing the world at your own pace. Some might think not knowing where your next meal would come from daunting, but you had never worried. You could fish. You could hunt.

You could be yourself. For yourself.

It pained you sometimes, to think of the life you could have lived. If you hadn’t met wonderful people like Y’shtola or Thancred...if you hadn’t encountered Lyse in the forest. Or...Papalymo.

Grimacing, you heave out a sigh, trudging along behind the Scions through the Rat’tika Greatwood, its muggy swamps and blistering heat doing nothing to improve your mood. 

After nearly being accosted by the Night’s Blessed, fending off a potential Vauthry invasion, and held at knife point by small army of Viis, you believe you’ve earned a well deserved break, especially knowing that exploring the looming temple nearby is on tomorrow’s list of events.

You are provided with a rather cozy room, given to you by the Viis in exchange for their seal. They are all quite lovely and so is their home, your eyes drifting to the beautiful women of the village as they lead you to your room that you’ll be staying in for the night.

To your surprise there is a plush feather bed resting against the far wall, instead of a hammock like you were expecting giving what all you had seen of the village. A small basin with a mirror rests in a corner of the room as well as a desk, but the room is otherwise for the most part barren. 

None of the luxuries or comforts offered to you back at your room in the Crystarium, and you are just now aware of how concerned the Exarch is for your overall well being and happiness.

You returned to your room after a hearty dinner provided by the ever hospitable Viis, waving to the Scions as you announced you would be retiring to your room for the night, practically falling onto the bed for some well earned rest. 

You had already bathed in their bathhouse, feeling a bit better considering you had dove into the murky waters of the nearby lake filled with Hydaelyn knows what. It wasn’t all bad, being able to dive below and explore the ruins, feeling that sense of discovery and adventure you had longed for when you were a child.

You couldn’t hate the job entirely, even if the stress was monumental.  There was absolutely no way you would be able to explore an entirely different world if you had kept to your path as a young adventurer, if you had never joined the Scions.

There might not even be a world at all.

“Really hero, must you think so loudly?”

You’re on your feet before you can blink, dagger in hand as you immediately turn towards the voice. Vision focusing, you meet stark, gold eyes, twinkling in obvious amusement in what must be considered your antics.

“My, you sundered souls are so easily excitable. Though I suppose there would be drawbacks to being unable to sense the very aether around you…” Emet-Selch trails off, hands up turned as he shrugs his already sunken shoulders.

 He looks exactly as you had seen him earlier this morning, dressed in the same imperial robes with the same silly white streak in his hair. You twirl the dagger in your hands with ease, scoffing as you move to lie back down in your bed. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Ascian?” you question harshly, not at all willing to play nice. You weren’t quite ready to throw your life away, mouthing off to a being such as he; you were no fool. You were sure that even a child could sense the danger he exuded from his very being, but you also weren’t in the mood to deal with mind games.

“My, my, aren’t we touchy.” He comments, crossing his arms and looking down at you from his nose, his lips pulled in a condescending smirk. “I come to pay the vaunted hero a visit, and am only met with hostility. Surely you are not so inhospitable to all your guests?” He asks, voice lofty and teasing, making your brow furrow in irritation.

“If all you came here to do was mock me, I would prefer you leave me be.” Is your answer, wanting to close your eyes and ignore his presence. Sadly, even with his rather hands off approach to “aiding” your group as he had said he would, you didn’t quite trust him enough to blink, let alone rest around him. 

Choosing to lay on your side, you keep your eyes on him, taking notice of how his own rove across your body in a way that is almost curious. 

“Normally I would follow your request and be on my way, however I find my curiosity weighing out my apathy.” He crosses over to the nearby desk and you watch as he snaps his gloved fingers. With slight wonder, you watch in awe as the simple wooden chair transforms into an extravagant, plush lounge chair.

He reclines as a royal would, crossing one leg over the other as he stares you down, eyes somehow serious and taunting at once. “I find myself interested, and perhaps a tad too invested in what could possibly be upsetting you so. So by all means, let it out.” He grins, making a sweeping motion of his hand.

You regard him silently for a moment, wondering if he’s actually serious. It’s not often you find yourself presented with the opportunity of someone who will listen. Listen to your frustrations, your woes, your chagrin at having to be you. 

Of what it is to be the Warrior of Light.

“You’re not going to run off and tell Elidibus what a sad sack I am if I do talk to you, are you?” You question, moving to sit up to put you on equal footing with the Ascian sitting across from you. He rudely snorts, the action somehow still elegant on him. “Hardly.” He scoffs.

“There’s not much to say really. I wish I wasn’t me.” You offer nonchalantly, missing the slight look of concern on his face.

“Do not waste my time by giving me clipped statements.”

Something in his voice makes you look at him again, reevaluate his presence in your room. He might be relaxed in his chair, but his focus is entirely on you. There is a muted demand to his last statement, an edge to his tone that maybe, just maybe, he actually does want to listen to you.

“I don’t enjoy being the Warrior of Light.” You begin slowly, trying to judge his reaction but his face is as impassive as ever. 

“There was no way for me to predict that I would be Hydaelyn’s chosen,” you can’t help but giggle at how his face twists with disgust at Her name but you continue, “and be the sole Champion of Eorzea. I had only left home to go and see what the world had to offer, only to find that I was the sole savior the world had.” Just saying the words irritates you all over again, losing what calm you had.

“It’s not enough that the Source can’t stay saved, but I must also be the savior of this world!” You hiss, baring your teeth at the ancient being before you. “Was it not enough that I had to liberate two nations? Strike down three Ascians, beings so old and powerful that I cannot even begin to imagine what any of you can do. More and more is constantly asked of me, and I…” 

You let out a staggered breath, shoulders slumping much like the man across from you. “I’m tired of it.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air between you, somehow heftier by the weight of his stare. You wonder what is going through his head. You take the time to quickly analyze his features, seeing as any time he deigned to make an appearance, the tension in the room would skyrocket and he would scurry off after sowing his chaos. 

He looks as tired as you, if not more so, the dark circles around his eyes strangely enhancing his sharp, handsome features. His golden eyes twinkle like the finest cut topaz, shimmering as if the very sun itself lights them despite how dimly lit your room is. His hair seems to fall a little too perfectly in place, the white streak of his hair standing out even against his pale skin.

“Perhaps you need a way to relieve the tension.”

His words snap you out of your silent appraisal, finding his expression has changed, his voice teasing. “Sadly screaming into my pillow and beating things up don’t make me feel better.” You huff, leaning back on your hands.

“Screaming into your pillow you say?” He echoes, chuckling at his own personal joke. “That very well may happen. My proposal was one of a far more pleasurable method of, as you mortals say, blowing off some steam.” He purrs, voice low and seductive, a baritone as smooth as a fine brandy.

You arch a single eyebrow at him, wondering if he was really offering what you thought he was offering.

“Are you propositioning me?”

Always best to make sure.

He barks out laughter at that, making a show of wiping his eye. “Never let it be said that the Warrior of Light went into things half sure.” He snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, hero, I am offering you release; a union of our bodies to ease all that turmoil you’ve got building inside you.”

You can hear the amusement in his voice, and you quietly wonder if he has any secret motives by sleeping with you. However his words from days prior, that he only speaks the truth, leaves you doubting that he would use sex as a means to silence you.

Though you can’t deny, it would be very dramatic, and very much like him.

“If it is your own pleasure you worry about, fret not; I have had...years of practice.” He murmurs, bringing one hand to his lips to slowly pull his glove from his hand. You watch the action from start to finish, mind already wandering to how smooth his hand looked, and how great it would feel on your body.

“Very well.” Standing to your feet, you move to tower above him in even strides, looking down at the ancient being before you. “If it is release you’ll grant me, then I will allow it. However, it must be on my terms.” Your voice leaves no room for argument, and you take pride in watching as his eyebrows raise toward his hairline for a moment. 

“By all means, hero. State your terms.” He makes no move to stop you as you move forward to kneel on the chair, straddling his lap with ease. He’s warm, which strikes you as strange, though you suppose that despite being an Ascian, he still has taken a mortal form. 

There is desire in those molten pools of his, and knowing it is directed at you is empowering. You place your hands, worn and torn from battle, upon his shoulders, shuddering beneath his touch as his hands settle themselves at your hips.

“If you wish to help me find release, then you must please me.” You begin, taking care to watch for any change in his expression. “You must do as I say. Touch me how I wish. Take care of me.” His hands play with the hem of your nightshirt, his fingers sending sparks racing down your spine as he just barely brushes against your skin.

“So the vaunted hero wishes to be worshipped?” Though phrased like a question, it one of rhetorical nature, his eyes half lidded as they trail down your body. “A mere mortal asking worship of a Paragon. Hydaelyn’s chosen consorting with a bringer of darkness…”

His smirk is roguish as he finally slides his gaze back up to your own. “Why, if I were not here to hear the very words straight from your lips, I’d find myself disinclined to believe them.”

You take his chin by the hand, keep his focus locked on you. “I’m surprised you’re still alive, with all that pride you have.” You tilt his chin and he allows it; it is a control he bequeaths to you. “You probably don’t like that; having to bow to the whims of a mortal.” You finish with a click of your tongue, watching as fire lights behind his eyes.

“Is that a challenge, hero?” He mumbles, bottom lip poked out in a pout, eyes sparking with indignation.

“It’s your pride on the line, not mine.” You reply easily, taking his hands in yours and placing them on your waist. “However, I am not so callous as to prevent you to do anything you dislike. You will speak up if I do something you don’t like, won’t you?”

His eyes twinkle for a moment, his hands creeping underneath your shirt to finally grasp at your skin. “Of course.” he murmurs, eyes drifting from yours as he raises your shirt, exposing your skin to him. His eyes are hungry, and you wonder if he is more eager for release than you are.

“Let’s put these skills of yours to the test then, Ascian.” You huff, allowing him to raise your shirt high enough that his fingertips graze the underside of your breasts, glad he had chosen to come at this hour when you’ve forgone your undergarments. His touch is confident, self-assurance shining through every glance of his fingers on your tender flesh.

“Does the hero want me to sing her praises?” He questions, tilting his head as he looks at you from beneath his lashes. “To worship her as one would a god?”

“Yes.” You answer without hesitation, raising your arms to help him get your shirt off but he wills it away with a mere snap of his fingers. His hands climb higher, eyes drinking in your form though there is a distant look to them; as if he is looking through you. “Touch me.” you demand, watching as his hands cup your breasts gently in his hands, running his thumbs across your nipples, now pebbled from his attentions.

“Your mouth...I want you to,” you don’t even get to finish the sentence before he leans forward and his lips press to the skin of your breast, teeth lightly nipping on a pert nipple that has you shuddering above him.

You must say that he is as skilled as he claims, his movements practiced and calculated as he tugs delicately with his teeth, knows just how much suction that has you writhing in his lap. He releases your breast with a pop, his breath ghosting across the now moist skin. “I do hope you are up for the challenge yourself, hero.”

His tone hints at pleasures unknown and stories untold, that you find yourself momentarily shaken, enraptured by the lust pooling in those gold eyes. Eager to take back control you fist your hand in his hair roughly, brows furrowing at his smirk. “Did I say you could talk?” you hiss, to which he snickers.

“Then what would you have me do?” He asks, hands moving to slip themselves to running down your back once more, his hands dipping to play with the top of your waistband. “Simply say what you desire, hero. I am more than willing to play the part.” The huskiness in his voice spurs you on, fuel to your already raging desire.

“I want you between my legs.” You state without pretense, not dropping your gaze as he rises from the chair, moving the two of you to the bed. When he lays you down you find that it too has changed, much like the chair from earlier. Gone are the cotton sheets, replaced instead with fine silk, caressing you much like his hands are. 

“I want to see you too.” You add, stopping him before he can settle himself above you. 

“As you wish.” He acknowledges, his robes dissolving into mist before your very eyes, baring his lean form above you. You didn’t expect him to have no meat on his bones, but it is still somewhat jarring all the same to see him bare before you; all hard lines and lean edges, a faint musculature that betrays the awesome power you know lurks beneath the surface.

You reciprocate the same shamelessness he had shown earlier with his appraisal of your own body, watching with rapt attention as he climbs into the bed to hover over your body.

You expect him to go straight between your legs but instead he busies himself with your neck, pressing feather-light kisses to your skin as his hands roam across your naked skin. “So quiet. Must I work for it?” He purrs against your skin, the sound going straight between your legs. 

He trails down with more kisses across your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. You slip your fingers into his hair as he continues his way downward, parting your legs so that you may hook them over his shoulders.

“Feeling inadequate Ascian?” You tease despite the breathlessness to your voice, seeing that mahogany hair with a streak of white between your thighs. With another snap of his fingers your bottoms are gone, leaving you fully nude to him.

“Never.” He says with a smirk, pressing gentle kisses to the skin of your inner thigh. You unintentionally jerk in his hold, knowing you are dripping wet for him and yet he will not touch  you where you need it most.

“What are you doing?” You ask, a growl rising in your throat at his teasing. 

“I am between your legs, as requested.” He croons, caressing your thigh gently, pressing more kisses to your skin. “Or did you desire more from me?” 

He is obviously having too much of a good time with this, and that will not do.

“Eat me out.” You order, pressing your hips to his face. “I want you to make me come.” 

He holds your gaze for just a moment before he finally presses his mouth to your folds, testing the waters with small flicks of his tongue. The sight of his golden, hawk like eyes peeking from over your curls is erotic in itself, his tongue growing braver until he finally slips pasts your folds to seek the pink bud he knows is lying underneath. 

Whimpers begin to slip out as he devotes himself to his task, annoyance shining his eyes momentarily before they have that far away look to them once again. His tongue circles around your clit in a way that makes your head spin, your breaths coming fast until he pulls away.

“I will be the first to say that while your physical form is appealing…” He murmurs close to your dripping sex, breath sending shivers racing up your spine. “However...with my sight I find your soul far more beautiful.” 

You flush red at his praise, shivering as he brings a finger to slowly drag across your clit, his gaze almost awestruck at how you keen out your pleasure. “Loathe as I am to take demands from a mortal…” he trails off, moving to press a kiss to your folds, drinking down your nectar. “Your soul shines far too wonderfully like this.” 

You’re sure you feel your heart skip a beat for a moment, caught halfway between embarrassment and affection. He resumes his task with ardor, his eyes fluttering shut despite his prior comment on enjoying the appearance of your soul. 

Perhaps he doesn’t need to actually see to look upon your soul, but most coherent thought goes out the window as Emet-Selch flicks his tongue at your sex, unashamed of the mess you’re making of his face in his bid to please you. His eyes are open again, staring through you, into you, and you wonder what you must look like to him.

The thought of someone as powerful and ancient as him steals your breath away.  It makes your thighs clench tighter and your heels dig harder into his back. If it hurts, he doesn’t complain, if anything it spurs him on further, his movements growing more insistent. The moans finally begin to flow forth, filling the room that you haven’t realized has slowly changed, so caught up in chasing your pleasure.

 He’s found what rhythm you like, what makes you moan loudest and it’s a continuous push to the edge with no signs of stopping. You pray that none of the Scions will suddenly require your presence, for you’re sure that your moans are quite audible from outside the door, and this is the last thing you want to explain to them.

How does one explain taking an Ascian to bed? What words could smooth over the fact that one of your greatest enemies currently lies nestled between your thighs, lapping at your folds as if a man dying of thirst and gazing at you like a blind man seeing for the first time? 

It’s wrong, it's oh so wrong and you know it, and yet you find yourself unable to convince yourself to push yourself away from the Ascian to stop him, though from his grip on your thighs, he wouldn’t let you leave if you tried.

You watch hazily as one of his hands reaches downward, a moan pulled from his throat as he strokes his length. While his moan excites you, how deep and rich it was, you will not let him be distracted from his task.

None too gently do you pull his mouth away from your sex, urging him upward so that you may flip him beneath you. “It’s not your turn.” You huff, warmth blooming in your chest at how his eyes rove across your form in a way akin to reverence, eyes still glittering as he uses his sight to peer at your soul.

Pressing him on his back you climb higher until your hips rest just above his face, and from there he needs no further instruction as he presses his mouth to your clit once more, a low and throaty moan tugged from him as you pull at his hair.

You can’t help but take a peek at his length behind you, noticing just how hard he is, and you haven’t even touched him. You wonder if he really is that excited solely from pleasuring you, a pearl of precum leaking from the tip that you’re eager to taste, but not right now. Not when he slips a finger into your aching hole and thrusts it in time with his tongue working your clit, his name torn from your lips in a sigh as you press your hips further into his face. 

He makes no sound of protest as you do so, that eagerness he had displayed before returning full force that has your legs quivering to keep yourself upright. Pleas for more tumble forth from your lips, his eyes holding yours in a gaze so intense that you find yourself unable to look away.

A second finger slips in with the first, thrusting at a fierce pace that practically has you sobbing in ecstasy atop him. It feels so godsdamned good, you feel ready to overload after having denied yourself release for so long.

You’re not sure when you started begging for him to make you come, for him to finally give you that last push you needed, but he curls his fingers just so and you fall apart atop him, crying out his name in abandon as your orgasm shakes you, barely able to support yourself on your arms as white hot pleasure shoots to every nerve ending in your body. 

You moan in light protest as he continues to lap at your core, his fingers having retreated but his attention has not. “E-Enough,” you breathe shakily, hardly able to move yourself from atop him to flop on the bed. You feel him shift to move and as you turn to face him you freeze, feeling every bit the proverbial lamb before the golden eyes of the wolf. 

His lips shine with your juices, pink tongue coming to swipe across them. His eyes are half lidded as he stares down at you. Though he is currently in the dominant position, his gaze speaks of subservience; a need to please that has your lust spiking all over again as you roll to your back to fully face him.

“Where would you have me next?” He asks, moving to hover above you, caging you with his arms. You let your own snake around his neck, tickling the fine hairs at the nape as you bring him closer to you. 

“Inside me.” You whisper, feeling suddenly hesitant to kiss him. The decision is made for you when he closes the gap, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip to get you to open up for him. 

Soon enough do you take over the kiss, having him moaning into your mouth as you reach between the two of you to stroke his cock. “I want you to fuck me.” You hiss, feeling how hot and ready he is in your hands. 

He lets loose a low chuckle, the baritone of his voice rumbling through you. “Such vulgar words, Warrior of Light.” he purrs, lining himself up with your entrance. 

You feel the head nudge past your folds, your hips already angling to try and take him inside before he can even push himself inside. “I find myself quite willing to obey, so long as you let me see that wonderful soul of yours.” 

“What’s so,” Your inquiry is cut off as he finally pushes inside, feeling as if the breath was knocked out of you at his girth. He just barely pushes your limits, your body doing it’s best to adjust to his length as he presses kisses to your jawline. “Twelve above…” you moan, rolling your hips against him that has him thrumming against you.

“Yes, just like that.” He praises, pulling out slowly, letting you feel the length of him before thrusting back in, making sure you’re adjusted. He continues that slow pace, watching you closely for any discomfort, but you haven’t the heart to tell him you’re simply wrapped in so much bliss that your body feels as if it can barely take it.

“W-What does it look like?” You ask, breath hitching as he just barely brushed against that spot inside of you. “My soul, I mean..” 

It took every ounce of effort you had to form coherent sentences with Emet-Selch thrusting inside you, his strokes measured and purposeful. Even in this was he skilled, as if he was determined to make sure the only noises you were making were lustful sighs or wanton moans.

When he smirks at you, his own hair mussed, skin flushed, you find he looks incredibly charming. “Normally it is the color of the sky. What the sky is supposed to look like. A dazzling, brilliant blue.” 

His hands move to clutch your hips, gripping with surprising strength as the same smirk turns devilish. He brings you down hard on his cock, pleasure shooting through you as he stays hilted inside you. “It flares crimson like a sunset when you make your demands.” 

You gaze up at him in wonder as he finally sets a steady pace, making your back arch in invitation to which he readily accepts. Bending over he takes a nipple between his teeth, nibbling lightly until his mouth engulfs it entirely, tongue swiping over the sensitive bud in perfect synchronization with his thrusts that has you mewling like a cat beneath him. 

“Fuck me,” you demand, though it comes out a plea with how pleasure filled your voice is, your arms clutching him tightly as you meet his thrusts. “Fuck me like you mean it,” Your taunt is cut off by your own moan as he plunges deep inside, his moan dancing with your own as he pistons his hips into your wet sheathe. 

You’re glad he had changed the bed, the room to much finer material because you are positive that the old, rickety cot would’ve left no pretenses as to just what was going on in your room with how forceful his thrusts were. 

You had forgotten that there would be strength in the lean muscle that was currently flexing beneath your greedy hands; muscle that was now being put to use as Emet-Selch drove himself inside you, his mouth hanging open to make room for his sharp breaths as he plunged deep inside you.

He buries his face in your shoulder, your hand fists in his hair as he rocks into you at a brutal pace, giving you just what you desired, or rather at this point needed. There is something else you need, before it is all said and done.

You carefully roll the two of you over, the surprise in his eyes endearing as you straddle yourself atop him, hands flat on his chest as you begin to raise and lower your hips onto him. Now he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you, your eyes fluttering shut as you race toward oblivion, your body seemingly moving on its own accord. 

“E-Emet,” you whine, feeling yourself so very close that edge. Distantly you realize you’re not ready for it to be over yet, not ready for him to stop looking at you as if he had not seen something so magical. 

The choice is taken from your hands as he rubs at your clit and you come undone, crying out his name in release. Stars dance behind your eyelids as your orgasm sweeps you away, feeling Emet-Selch follow you soon after with your body clenching him so tightly.

The two of you lie there for a few moments, catching your breath as you bask in the afterglow. He is the first to move by trailing a hand lightly on the skin of your back, seeming to be content with the silence as you come down from your high. 

You shift to meet his gaze, which you’re surprised to find calm and affectionate. “Well?” He prompts, the corners of his lips pulling into a satisfied grin. “I made good on my word, I hope?”

You hum thoughtfully for a moment to tease him, giggling at his displeased expression. “Yes. It was more than satisfactory.” You concede, giving him a mischievous grin of your own as you trail your finger across his chest. “And you? You seemed to enjoy yourself quite a bit.” You tease, pleased to see him suddenly unable to look you in the eye.

“Yes, well...it certainly wasn’t a waste of my time.” He scoffs, giving your skin a light pinch, smirking at your yelp of pain. 

“I have half a mind to crush my head between my thighs Ascian.” You snarl, giving him a hard jab, to which he gives a genuine laugh. 

“If that is your way of asking for another go Warrior, I find myself ready for the task.” His touch turns heavy as it snakes down your body, his voice but a whisper as he holds you close. 

You try to ignore the way your heart flutters at his amorous actions, but find yourself unable when his eyes glitter, knowing he is looking upon the beauty of your soul. It is certainly not the strangest compliment you’ve received, but it is by far the best.

[bloodstarved]

distrait

Rak’tika teems with soul and movement. Everything surges with life—with aether—that it almost makes you dizzy. There is a surplus of light, too, which is to be expected when the Lightwarden yet lives. But despite that, the Greatwood is warm and feels terribly like home. That is, save for the one cold spot in the forest standing just a few fulms from you, slouching insouciantly with an annoyed look on his face.

“Go ahead. Ask. I know you’re dying to,” he says, deadpan, as he laces his fingers behind his back and pretends to inspect the surrounding foliage. The others have already begun the short journey back to Fanow, and it would not take long for them to notice your absence. But you yet linger, inspecting Emet-Selch for the first time while he studiously ignores your wandering gaze. His posture is terrible, of course, but there is a certain tiredness about the creases of his mouth, his eyes, the downturn of his lips. Like he hasn’t truly rested in an age and a half.

“Why?” you ask, if only to satisfy his need to hear himself speak. “Why did you help us?”

He sighs. “I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I said I desired your trust?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, very well.” He turns his head just so: that he might peer at you with one golden eye. “Perhaps I am merely interested to see how far you go, hero. It is only fair that you have all of your little friends at your disposal. You ought to thank me, you know.”

He did it for you. That floors you, for some reason, and your brows knit together as you watch him. “I...thank you,” you offer sheepishly, feeling incredibly stupid. Thanking an Ascian for rescuing Y’shtola. Thanking the former emperor of Garlemald for rescuing Y’shtola. “How ridiculous,” you say aloud.

Emet-Selch laughs at that; he tosses his head back and cackles into the canopy of leaves about your heads. “Ah, yes,” he remarks, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “What a merry band of misfits we make! Solus zos Galvus, whose guiding hand over the centuries has led more than one empire to greatness. And...you, who has killed one or two silly little primals.” He waves you off dismissively.

Your lips quirk, unbothered. “I have another question,” you announce, taking a few steps closer to him. He watches you, hawklike and predatory, but you lift your chin and stare him down. Unafraid, as is your right. Killer of gods, slayer of Ascians, savior of worlds. He does not scare you, and that causes his grin to widen. “What makes you so interested? Your kind have only ever wanted to see me dead. What’s different here?”

“Oh, trust me, my dear, I would like nothing more than to see you destroyed. It would certainly make my job that much easier,” he chuckles. You tilt your head, your gaze upon his face unwavering. For some reason, you think he is deflecting.

“That’s a little on the nose,” you say. “It’s not like you.”

That earns you an arched brow, and he looks at you with renewed interest. “And you know me very well, do you?” he asks, serious all at once. An intensity enters his posture, and he leans towards you, eyes narrowed. You blink, bemused, and you find yourself discomfited by this sudden, severe Emet-Selch.

“Well, no…”

“I see.” He seems disappointed, almost, but you cannot begin to fathom why. You frown, a tingling in your hand as if wanting to reach out. But for what? What purpose? To touch him? You find the impulse absurd, but it persists. You dig your fingernails into your palm. The way you are looking at him does not go unnoticed, and Emet-Selch purses his lips at you, his gaze expectant—questioning. “What is it now?” he complains when no answer is forthcoming. “Is there a stone in your shoe you’d like me to remove? A bee in your bonnet? Perhaps you—”

There comes a resounding smack as your hand makes contact with his cheek. You had used more force than intended, but your palm presses against his face as you meant to. That startles him, and for a moment his eyes are wide with surprise, and you derive some satisfaction from that. “...Did you just slap me?” he asks, stunned.

“Maybe,” you reply, eyebrows drawn as you inspect the point of contact, where your hand cups his cheek. It fills you with a sense of bizarre nostalgia—for something you cannot quite place. His face is heated to your touch, so warm you can scarcely stand it. But you do not pull away, and a look of wonder comes over you. The gesture is hardly tender, possessing more detached curiosity than any semblance of intimacy. That same curiosity bids you to lightly brush your thumb over his skin, electric to the touch, like grappling with a live wire. Why do you look at me so, Emet? The thought takes you off guard as it comes, unbidden. A soft query, spoken with a gentle smile. You find it hard to reconcile it as your own conscious thought.

 Emet-Selch wraps his hand around your wrist, stirring you from your confused preoccupation. You think he is going to remove your hand, but instead he slides it over his skin, to his lips where he presses a soft kiss to your palm. You yank yourself out of his grasp, scandalized. He merely stands there, amusement practically surging off of him as he watches you, a catlike smirk curling at his lips.

“Tsk, tsk,” Emet-Selch tuts in faux disappointment. “And here I thought things were about to get interesting for once.” But there is something in his eyes that you cannot place. Some glint, some depth belonging to a person that is not you. He slumps his shoulders and turns away from you. “Well, run along then. Before your friends come searching.” A clear dismissal.

You stare at him for a moment longer, absentminded as you trace his hunched figure with your eyes. Then you walk away, leaving him there—alone—with his own thoughts.

[tarajenkins]

Given what you've said of Vauthry, about how we're never given any chance to even try and redeem him, help him become a better person, I'd like to ask: how would you go about "saving" him? When he transforms into that Lucifer/Archangel Michael-looking guy, he seems permanently lost, but how would you write out a redemption narrative for him?

I love this ask, I hate the answer I have to give. But it’s gonna be a long response anyway, because context and because you already know I don’t know when to shut up about characters, lmao. 

SO I HOPE YOU LOVE HEARING ME RAMBLE UNDER THIS CUT (but I won’t blame you if you don’t)

I don’t think the in-game narrative allows Vauthry any chance at redemption in the current time, even if he had the agency to take it.  I don’t think we ever saw what he actually could have been. I think what we saw in Shadowbringers was the Lightwarden he’d been carrying finally “awakening”, as Innocence’s Triple Triad card put it. Or, as the X-Files put it in their eighth ep: “We are not who we are”.  

Even if that Lightwarden could be driven out of him (I know an “Aethertech” who would do anything to make that possible cough), I don’t know if he’d regain clarity he may never have had to start.  I’d love to think that he did, a long time ago. The Minstreling Wanderer tells us he can’t say whether or not Vauthry was a monster as a child, when you unlock Crown Of The Immaculate EX.

I believe the Lightwarden’s influence was driving a lot of his brutal acts of “justice”, because that is kinda their whole thing.  As for the man inside the monster?  I have a hunch he was desperate to not be seen as unnatural, and was trying to make sense out of what was happening to him in a way that would not make him a hybrid abomination. Because if he wasn’t a God, if he wasn’t this divine thing he was told he was – then what was he? The way he worded it, “this is why I was born…as man and Sin Eater both…” – it makes me feel he had, at some point in his life, at least once, ASKED why he was born as he was. That he had perceived it was wrong. He needed it to be right. And that was just fuel to the corruption fire.

The talk of godhood actually seemed to be a recent phenomenon, as no other NPC mentions a thing about it – they refer to him as “Lord Vauthry”, and speak of him in mortal terms, apart from his miraculous ability to keep the Sin Eaters at bay. He freely boasted of being a God to the Crystal Exarch, yet we’re to believe he didn’t say a word to his own people, all this time? Or that no one, in turn, would mention to us “Yyyyeah, about this guy….” Mayor Punchable Face may have told him he was a God, but it doesn’t sound like Vauthry bought into it enough to spread the good word for at least twenty years. 

Also consider he called his transformation into Innocence a “trial”. Why would a god need to be tested? And by whom?

By the time we see him in-game, it seemed he was in a rapid decline of sanity, or at least the ability to keep up appearances, and whatever was left of him was fervently clinging to the only purpose he was ever apparently given – which is exactly what that Lightwarden (and Emet-Selch) would want. 

 He was really cynical about the rest of humanity. Given his father, I can see where he’d get that from. Not that daddy told him people suck, it’s that Vauthry probably learned that by his father’s example. Maybe by the rest of Eulmore, too, but I got the impression he was kept seriously isolated from society before his inauguration. He seems to prefer being alone – he only leaves that room when he moves the Sin Eaters against Lakeland. He gives no indication he knows how to socialize, period. You either come to him, or you don’t see him. (He may be keenly aware humes don’t typically reach at least fifteen feet tall. Seriously, look at Cruelty’s size compared to player characters, now look how Cruelty makes a comfy couch for him.)

Cynical, and yet, he wanted to see the people of Eulmore’s “dreams fulfilled, their wishes granted”. Just so long as he was the one responsible, and he was the one recognized for it. He needed their acceptance. 

ANYHOO.  On to stuff I still have zero idea what to make of. 

I should preface the rest of this infodump with the fact I found the Eulmore arc to be the weakest of the expansion, between Vauthry and Ran'jit. Most of the MSQ was given nuance. Eulmore was given a Saturday Morning Cartoon sledge. A -lot- of questions, with no answers, unless Squeenix decides to be generous in a fifty-buck lore book later. (something I hated Warcraft for. I should not have to pony up for a book to understand the main story quest chain in a game.) So, here are some of the questions I’ve got:

- FOOL! THAT WILL NEVER WORK!

They don’t really explain why Emet-Selch thought corrupting an infant was a good plan, as the Sin Eaters seemed guaranteed a win on The First, if only by outlasting the survivors of the Flood. Impatience, maybe? Why not give it to the mayor? That dickpickle would’ve said yes. Maybe we’ll get more answers with the Eden raid. IT’D BE NICE *COUGH*

- The meol thing.  

It’s using Sin Eater’s non-existant flesh to make a bread, and through that bit of Sin Eater, Vauthry could control whoever ate it.  The fanbase loves the “soylent green is people” angle, but it’s done pretty haphazardly, when you think about it like that? Sin Eaters have no lasting corporeal body. They are Light, mixed with a bit of the lingering essence of whatever they originally were – and what they originally were did not have to be humanoid. They dissolve into sparklies in the air upon death – and arguably, they would not have to die to contribute sparklies to somehow mix into food. Forgiven Cruelty lost a whole wing to Thancred when Thancred first took Ryne from Eulmore, and it seemed to have grown back just fine by the time we see Cruelty again. Killing Sin Eaters also would be entirely counterproductive to a nation that devoted themselves to NOT killing them. Also – we are shown the Afflicted, people who are falling to corruption from a SIn Eater attack they’d survived. How is it people who eat meol don’t become corrupted themselves?

Where did the idea for meol  even begin? Vauthry’s father was ousted by the people as mayor before Emet-Selch said hey there, friend, you have a punchable face, let’s make a deal – and Vauthry only took control of Eulmore 20 years ago. He looks a LOT older than 20, or even 40. So his father must’ve rode his child’s coattails before then.  Did Mayor Punchable Face think that was a wise countermeasure against future insurrection? In any case, Vauthry did not exert that control until the WoL and allies were coming to kill the Lightwarden of Kholusia (him), so it did not seem to be a priority of his. Alphinaud confirmed the people were of a free mind until they were made to fight the WoL and allies. (and dialogue stressed it was very noticeable when someone was not of a free mind.) Squeenix: *throws meol into purse* I have to go plotholes came up

- The “Perverted Paradise”.  (I at least giggle every time Alphinaud says this.)

Vauthry is presented as the pinnacle of vice, yet the game does not really show this well – in some cases, not at all.

Gluttony: He isn’t shown to indulge in drink, let alone overindulge. Apart from the meol scene at the end, which was related to controlling the Eater-corrupted citizenry, not gluttony, he was not shown to have so much as a snack. There’s food in his chamber, all of it untouched. But! In the Shadowbringers trailer, Squeenix thought the best example to showcase Eulmore’s decadence was – three thicc'qotes. Having pleasant conversation ‘round a table. Eating fresh fruit.

Not the creepy-ass old patron who thinks that  since his pretty servant can’t sing anymore, she should be “Ascended” as a kindness, although it was implied she could have recovered her health, just not her voice. Not the guy who tossed his servant from a balcony because reasons and wanted us to bring him back. Not even the noblewoman trying to have her servant killed because her lecherous husband put designs on the poor girl.

Three thicc'qotes. Having pleasant conversation ‘round a table. Eating fresh fruit.

We get it, Square, we’re supposed to see he’s fat and think that is bad. Moving on.

Lust: He doesn’t visit the adult nightclub downstairs (the adult nightclub that is shown practically empty and behind closed doors, the lewdness of it all – I clutch my pearls.) He doesn’t  creep on your player character like Magnai did in Stormblood – he doesn’t creep on anyone. He doesn’t want you to be his steed. No interest is shown in the Sin Eaters apart from them fighting for him, as much as some people in the fanbase theorize he is fucking them. (They probably think that Spirited Away is about the sex industry and My Neighbor Totoro is about dead girls, too.) This game is pretty blatant when they intend that sort of thing, see: Yotsuyu, Sastasha, any number of things in Ishgard or Ul'dah. I’ve found nothing here, except the German translation for “Consort Of Sin: Forgiven Obscenity” is “Purified Fornication: Playmate Of The Redeemer”. Since this is not implied in any other translation, I put my trust in Koji Fox and the fact Obscenity’s job seems to be Official Nose Petter to Forgiven Cruelty.

Greed: I am not going to hold his rings and his robes against him, as Urianger has just as much bling (more, actually), The wealthy are made to give up ALL their fortune to be permitted to stay in Eulmore – but that wealth is then used to provide everything for free to those who live there, and the free citizenry are apparently given funds for private use to boot. If they intended to show that Vauthry was using all that for hookers and blow for himself, it did not convey well.

Wrath: If one has broken the rules of the city (or has thrown shade that takes him a full two minutes to catch), Vauthry definitely has this in spades, with a temper tantrum a lot like Philia’s Fierce Beating attack.  But again, the writers don’t really show the extent of the wrath they are trying to tell . Because if you don’t break the rules? Nothing happens, apparently. Trouble seems to have to be brought forward to him, he doesn’t go looking for it.  It didn’t feel any different to me than the Grand Companies, yet this is the one that finally makes Alphinaud do the *GAAAAASP*.

The populace does not seem afraid of Vauthry. In fact, they feel free to pop ‘round to have a word if they think something needs doing. Chai-Nuzz did not seem distressed by his wife’s suggestion she would have a word with Vauthry to soothe the “hard feelings” stirred up in the quest “Emergent Splendor”.  

Pride: He has great pride in his ability to keep the SIn eaters under control, but doesn’t really display any vanity in himself. No portraits, statues, etc. When Alphinaud interfered with Kai-Shirr’s punishment, Alphinaud was told he’d be permitted to stay in the city if he made a painting – not a portrait of Vauthry, but of the city itself.

Sloth: We get it, Square, he’s fat and he sits down, moving the FUCK on.  No actually, hold up, to be honest? As tired and :| as he looked all the time, he struck me as depressed. What guy in Paradise looks that haggard?

NOW moving on.

Envy: If my theory holds, probably plenty of unresolved envy for folks who are not “half Sin Eater”. Otherwise, I can’t think of an example here.

- “Ascension” (Sure thing, Jan)

This is only made reference to in the Weeping Warbler quest chain. “As all know, the sin eaters exist to devour the sinful. But also do they serve to gather the souls of the innocent, and shepherd them unto celestial paradise.”

Sin eaters ate a meal that represents the sins of a household you fool oh wait this is The First

The thing I don’t get here is - why are there obviously limitations on who can be ascended, and when? If the idea is strictly to feed the Sin Eaters, or make meol, or just be an asshole, why is this the only time we hear of it?

It’s like if there are no more mortals, Vauthry wouldn’t have that reassurance he is doing good anymore. Either that, or since he’s never worked in retail, he doesn’t know how to push features.

But I’m betting on the former.

- LASTLY: the hypocrisy of the writer’s narrative (and the fanbase).

Tesleen was our first and horrifying sample of what Sin Eater corruption can do to a human. No matter how strong her will may have been, she was just lost to it. She scratches madly at her face when she uses one of her attacks in Holminster Switch, as though trying to stop herself, or punish herself. But she can’t help it. And we know this.

Titania was a tragedy, had to be stopped. But, a TRAGEDY. Whatever was left of the benevolent ruler was corrupted. There was never a moment where our heroes went “dis binch just evil, they gotta go down”. ( I had many choice words for Titania when I wiped enough times to them, but no actual game dialogue really says it. )

We, the Warrior Of Light, came this close to becoming a Warden ourselves. Somehow it was stalled (convenience!), but there was never a question corruption = bad and out of our control.

Vauthry, on the other hand, is treated as though he is in full control of his faculties, although the corruption before birth makes that questionable at best and he pretty clearly is not? Even as he did that Exorcist neck-twist, no one was like “oh fuck, the Sin Eaters got to another one, damn that poor man”.  (Which would seem a logical conclusion to me, I hate we have like zero real say in our characters’ reactions) Not even a “ahaha okay no seriously what the fuck is going on guys”. Nope. Their reaction was “EVIL”.  Trying to help somehow was never on the table. Watching him die slowly at our feet was.

We saw the Echo of the real circumstance of his birth. It had to come from the Sin Eater that corrupted him, because he wasn’t out of the womb to see that scene play out. Or Emet-Selch. Either way, we saw it, yet at no time afterward do we try to bring the truth out. We just let everyone believe he was evil by choice, and not another casualty of this mess.

And remember earlier, how I said Alphinaud confirmed the free citizenry were not under Vauthry’s control until the fight? Remember the noblewoman whose husband went after their bonded servant, and so she tried to get the girl murdered?

Yeah, we catch up to that noblewoman who tried to murder her servant. She feels really bad about that now.  And what is an option we get to tell her ex-bonded servant when she wonders how she could possibly trust the woman who tried to kill her?

“Vauthry’s society brought out the worst in people…”

Fffffffuck you Square lmao

TL;DR:

In private RP land? In private RP land, where we can back the fuck up in the timeline at will? You are damn skippy that Lightwarden got purged before it took complete hold. (an Aethertech did it with SCIENCE.) And Vauthry is cynical and scarred and bitter and broken and betrayed, but he’s not evil. If anything, he’s actually pretty relatably human. And he’s actually pretty damn glad his father’s shitty legacy is over.

[snow-system-wol]

S'ria has some questions for Hythlodaeus, and returns to the First to visit Amaurot one more time.

Tw: loose reference to suicide

Amaurot was a strange place (or a strange shadow of a place, anyway), and each following visit left a stronger impression on S'ria. Yes, both times were harrowing experiences, to say the least – perhaps with Elidibus even more so than Emet-Selch in some ways. Emet-Selch, for all the harm he had done, seemed at least like he wanted him to understand something, wanted him to see something. Even Elidibus claimed otherwise, his trial was surely meant to hurt more than truly to make a point. Or rather, the point was most likely that it would hurt him.

At this point, S'ria felt like his choice to return a third time now would somehow result in something terrible happening.

If S'ria tried to look past all that, at the city itself, it just felt… unbearably sad to be there. The fact that it wasn't truly real was felt in every corner of the place. S'ria couldn't say he understood how Emet-Selch had conjured Amaurot into existence, but S'ria had truly expected the city to crumble around them when he was gone. The fact that it persisted is almost macabre somehow – a graveyard for both its inhabitants and its creator.

There was also something else there, though, that nagged at him. Even if it had been all but confirmed, that his unsundered self would remember this place, he couldn't remember anything. The feeling of a blank spot in his memories where he knew something had been there, it was all too familiar and it put him on edge. Unlike the normal situation, however, S'ria suspected none of the others in his head could readily recall these memories either.

Maybe it was better not to know, if even a hint of recalling The Final Days had such a drastic effect on people.

For such an eerie place, there was no danger here anymore. It was just a harmless snapshot in time. That was really the only way S'ria could justify coming back alone. Well, that and the fact that truly no one else could have come with him, not anymore. He supposed he could have asked Ryne, but it seemed like something that would worry her unnecessarily. (He, of course, visited her and passed on Thancred's regards already. His priorities remained well in place.)

Despite walking past seemingly alive Amaurotines, it seemed more lifeless than ever now that there were no truly alive Ascians remaining here. Ah, but that was not… wholly true. That was the whole reason he came back here, after all. Alive, no, but present in this moment, yes.

S'ria reached a quiet overlook, one that was shadowed by trees and offered a bit of peaceful seclusion.

He was not sure how this worked, really, but all of his past experiences implied it could be as simple as…

"Hythlodaeus?" S'ria called out barely louder than his speaking voice and waited.

The city remained quiet around him. One of the most jarring things about Emet-Selch's illusion, he was realizing, was that it had some of the little things but missed others. The faint wear of foot patterns on stairs, fallen leaves scattered below the foliage – that was all perfect. But unless Amaurot was entirely closed off and had no wind currents, the lack of rustling in the trees felt unnatural. It was too still.

At the least, the uncanny lack of sound meant that it was very easy to hear Hythlodaeus' movements as he approached.

"How odd… I was led to believe that you and yours left this shard. Yet you've called for me."

"Ah, yes, the others are safely back home, and I'm able to travel freely for now. And, Elidibus…"

Hythlodaeus sighed, the sound just slightly off. S'ria suddenly wondered whether he even needed to breathe in this state of being.

"I am aware. I would like to think it could have ended differently, but – I had meant it when I hoped for your survival."

Hythlodaeus settled down on a bench and patted the spot next to him. S'ria clambered onto the seat as gracefully as he could, and couldn't help but be reminded of his similar problem when they'd first met. Why did they have to be so tall?

"Surely you came all this way for something more than to socialize with me, yes?"

"Yes and no. There are… two things I'd like to ask you about, even if you may not answer."

"I think that you shall find me to be a fairly open book." He raised his hand to his mouth as if to politely cover a laugh, S'ria could even see his shoulders shake briefly, but there was no sound. S'ria held back a shudder. It occurred to him for the first time since stepping foot in the city that– perhaps Emet-Selch and Elidibus were not the only beings in Amaurot that could be dangerous to him.

Perhaps that was uncharitable. If Hythlodaeus meant any ill will, he'd had plenty of times alone with S'ria to act on that by now. It wasn't Hythlodaeus' fault if he felt just a little bit off to interact with sometimes. He couldn't control being little more than a ghost.

S'ria cleared his throat. "First question. You had said 'my new old friend'. That and the other soul crystal… what can you tell me about who I was, before?"

"Certainly, I –". Hythlodaeus cut off mid-phrase. "Oh, how odd. I could tell you about the title and role, but that much is already knowledge you have. I could tell you that Emet-Selch and I both knew you, but… I was never meant to be so well-crafted as to possess more than a few memories. Anything else is simply a vague implication of recollection. I feel..."

" ...as though you should know, but don't? Believe me, it's familiar," S'ria said dryly.

Hythlodaeus nodded. "I apologize that I cannot give you what you ask. I only hope that your second question will not be so fruitless."

Right, the second question. In truth, it was more so this that gnawed at S'ria, more than questions about his identity. He'd had an entire journey to decide how to approach this, and yet the result was mostly improvisation.

"You're the only one in this city that is… aware of their predicament, and based on this city remaining for months with no steward, I imagine it will be here for quite some time. Maybe even forever, to whatever extent that means. I'd thought, at the time, that this place would just fade with Emet-Selch. I – are you all right? Is there anything that could be done for you?"

S'ria got the sense that Hythlodaeus was giving him a strange look, even if his face couldn't be seen.

"That is quite sweet, even if – are you offering to assist me with ending my own shadow of existence?" To S'ria's relief, he sounded more amused than offended. "I'm afraid you know not what you offer, nor the magics at play."

S'ria drew back. "I don't mean to seem callous, it just seems… a difficult way to spend eternity."

"Mayhap it would be, if I were truly here. In reality, we barely are present when unobserved, nearly in stasis." Hythlodaeus turned to stare out across the city. "Even when I am awake, I do not feel troubled by the idea that the true Hythlodaeus is no more, nor am I troubled by my state of being. Whatever thoughts Emet-Selch may have drawn from when he reconstituted me, I believe that he might have remembered me as… happy, in those memories. To answer your question, I do not have any complaints that need be addressed."

S'ria was not certain whether that was better or worse. It was good to not be upset, but maybe less so if he actually couldn't be. Still, it was a relief to know he wasn't actively suffering.

"I am glad that this is not difficult for you." 

"As am I." How odd it was, that a person with no visible mouth or eyes could smile at S'ria.

They lapsed into silence again for a time. Now that neither of them were speaking, the lack of expected sounds in Amaurot quickly regained S'ria's attention. He was distracted enough that Hythlodaeus had to prompt him a second time for him to notice.

"Might I ask one question of my own?"

S'ria would prefer to say no, certain that it would be something he'd rather not discuss. It seemed a fair courtesy, though.

"You may ask." He chose not to promise an answer.

"Are you well? Your soul seems far less troubled than the time we first met, and calmer still than when we last spoke."

S'ria relaxed. "Oh. Yes, I think I'm doing a lot better than I have in a long time. Things are still… when is the world ever not ending? But I've been happy with my life for these last few months, tough as it is."

"You don't know how much joy it brings me to hear you say as such. One always wants to see their friends heal – and you do seem quite content."

S'ria realized he'd started gently purring while thinking back on the more pleasant parts of the last few months with the Scions, and did his best to stop. Hythlodaeus responded with another of those strange silent laughs. He stood up, immediately towering over S'ria, and turned as if to make his way back into the heart of the city.

"I am relieved to see you well, and appreciative of the effort and consideration it took to visit me – however, might I speak freely?"

S'ria nodded, hesitantly.

Hythlodaeus looked back at him, only darkness visible beyond the eyes of his mask.

"This simulacrum of Amaurot is not meant for the living, only for us shades now. I believe it'd be for the best if you did not revisit a fourth time. You should return home."

[fefyflor]

Light Warden

I woke up to see a bright light through my window. But why? I bested the last light warden.. then all the memories of what happened came to me. I will also become a light warden eventually. How long do I have? As I contemplate the light in the sky, I can feel Arbert looking at me.. So I just smile at him.

-A smile? By know you know that this is no time to be smiling- he says in a sad manner 

-i know but someone once told me.. a smile better suits a Hero… I guess I'm not a hero anymore am I?

-i told you this world has enough of heroes

-you're right..- i return to look at the light, to just let my fate sink in. When i looked back Arbert was gone, as usual. By now he knows i can no longer save his world, I don't blame him.

I go take a walk outside and I can hear the people of the crystarium just talking and asking themselves how is it possible for the light to return, where is the Crystal Exarch?, what's going to happen now? I wonder how my friends must feel. Speaking of the devil I see a red haired girl rushing to the infirmary. When I stepped in everyone looked in awe. She seemed spooked.

-you're up!- says surprised

-I had plenty of rest i guess-

-how are you feeling?

-I’m.. okay..

-I see, we are looking for a way to help you, please just rest and leave the rest to us- determined she looked at me with hope in her eyes

-thank you Ryne- 

I kept walking around and a headache struck. I could remember Emet Selch words and I tried to think if maybe he would be my best bet. Maybe if i can convince him.. maybe if i can prove i can harness the light i could live and keep my friends safe.

I went outside the Crystarium with the excuse that I just wanted some fresh air and time alone so the other won't bother me and I sat down by a plum tree and looked at the light in the sky. If only i could make it all disappear and bring back the night sky for everyone. G'raha Tia played his life to save this world even lying to me, his friend or so i thought I was. Without thinking much I got on my Chocobo and rode to Eulmore where I found Alphinaud dealing with some herbs. 

-Oh? Should you be up?- he said surprised 

-that seems to be the question of the day. But never mind i can't stay in bed for too long-

He seemed troubled -well as long as you feel up to it-

-I'll be okay I'm the warrior of li..- my eyes fill with tears

-whether you are the warrior or light or darkness you are my friend I worry about you- he cup my face with his hands and smiled. -we will find a way, never give up-

All I could do was cry and let him see my weakness as I had already given up on my life.

-do you think bards will continue to sing my story?-

-of course why wouldn't they? This will be your best story yet-

I smiled -i can already hear them sing-

-who is singing?- said Alisaie who just arrived 

-bards.. telling all my achievements and stories they come up with-

-just lifting up her spirits, everyone is down lately- said Alphinaud 

-Oh well not us, we continue to search and Ryne is here to help us-

-is like having Minfilia again like. All the Scions together-

-I actually miss her- i said wiping my tears

-we all do- Alphinaud said with a sad tone

After a bit of chitchat Alisaie left to deal with some reading as she said maybe she will find something to help me and Alphinaud continue to take care of Eulmore's people. I walked around the beach and I threw a stone at the water.

-Emet show yourself will you-

No response. I felt the urge to vomit and fall to my knees in pain when I felt a warm hand on my back. When I turned over with my blurry sight, it took me a minute to realize it was actually him.

-Do try to call me when you're not throwing up- said Emet Selch shrugging 

-Ugh I didn't know i was going to.. anyways can we talk?-

-I'm here aren't I?-

-I need some help-

-what can i help you with?-

-the pain.., the transformation.., i can't take it anymore-

-shall we go to my place then?-

-whatever you want just help me please- i said with tears in my eyes. For a moment I thought I saw him actually care but hesitated. He opened up a portal and we entered into another dimension where he had rebuilt his old town. I looked around in Awe. 

-I told you you'd like it if you see it- he said walking around showing off his creation

-it is.. beautiful.. I can see why you look down on us-

-well yes and no-

-Emet this place is amazing and I get why you want it back, i don't know why Hydelyn would keep this from me-

-Do you believe me now?-

-Is not that i don't believe you.. is just.. everyone will die and i'm just not okay with that-

-it would be for a greater good-

-Emet!- i just couldn't believe what he said but my pain just got me to my knees again. He held me and put me on a couch and whispered some magic that made my pain dissipate. -Thanks- i manage to say

-I can.. i guess i could protect your friends, your scions and we could strike a deal- 

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The surprise was written all over my face. He chuckled.

-I'm not entirely evil, what i'm trying is to get my loved ones back you know. I understand what is to lose everything-

-Have you even considered what your loved ones would think of you when they come back?-

-yes I have, a lot.. I am determined however and nothing will stop me-

I sighed deeply. Understanding if i would be in his place what would i do. I went against everything to save Estinien from Nidhogg and i didn't let anyone stop me either.

-Emet.. I want to help you..- He looked at me surprised.

-help me how? Stopping me or really helping me destroy worlds to revive my god?-

-there must be a way to do this without having to destroy so much.. let's talk to Hydelyn!-

-She killed my god.. she is nothing but a bad guy in my perspective-

-have you look from our perspective?-

-I have, I have lived like your kind for eons and even sired children, I tried to forget for once but the burden is so great… Why am I even telling you this?- he brushed his hair like composing himself after losing his cool.

-I’m about to die.. so might as well open up and talk to me, no?-

He hesitated for a moment then he sat down by my side and looked into my eyes.

-I just miss them.. I took their will with me and they are what drive me or i would have lose my mind a long time ago-

-I’m sure that they wouldn't want you to torture yourself for so long, at least i wouldn't-

-Well I'm just doing what my heart tells me, i can feel them talking to me and hurrying me to bring them back-

-It will be easier for you if you have someone to talk, no?-

-for some reason i can talk to you and feel alright-

-some peace in your biggest enemy huh-

He laughed truly and grab my hand

-i can help you keep your consciousness, help me in my endeavor-

-what about those I love..?-

-i could protect them and keep them safe on the calamities-

-including you?- He stumbled at my question and stood up like he'd seen a ghost. I simply look at him with tears in my eyes.

-including.. me..?-

-yes. Emet Selch or Solus Sos Galvus or whatever your name is-

-why me?-

-you've become.. well you are.. are you going to be okay?-

-I.. will be fine.. I will be able to rest once this is all over-

-Let me protect you- He took two steps back as I started to stand - let me be some peace in your hellish endeavor- he kept taking steps back as I walked towards him. -in return you help my friends and one day everything will be like you wanted..- I miss my step and fall towards when he held me in his arms. His touch was so warm when everything felt so cold around me. My vision was blurry with tears but he wiped them out.

-just what are you.. trying to do?- he said, ever so surprised.

-i just want you to be happy too-

-but why must you include me, your enemy in your loved ones? Why do you want to protect my happiness? 

-So old and so stupidly dense..- He felt insulted with my words yet he somehow understood my feelings.

-Alright alright- he help me stood up -let's do this together-

I threw my arms around him and hugged him, he hesitated but held me even harder like he was needing that hug. After what felt like a lifetime in his arms he broke the silence.

-Hades..-

-huh?-

-My name is Hades- I could have sworn he hugged even tighter as he said those words.

[allycryz]

WOL Challenge #1: Tea

Prompt List Here 

(Doing these out of order and likely not every day)

Nerys x Y’shtola, Nerys x Emet-Selch

Immediately post 5.0 in the Crystarium, Hurt/Comfort* (*I plan on him coming back, just not sure how yet)

--

They need this celebration.

She drinks and toasts and smiles and accepts their congratulations. The relief on their faces and their voices–it must hurt. The sharp but gratifying pain of disinfecting a cut.

Nerys stays for a few hours and drinks cup after cup of water. Alcohol might dull the pain but she's too fragile and none of these people need to see her crumble.

The natural flow of a party happens, breaking into small groups for long conversations or dedicated drinking. Everyone will assume she is with another group. That's when she leaves. When they look for her (and they will, especially Thancred and Haurchefant) they will start with her rooms. And she will want that comfort but not now, not yet. 

The Cabinet of Curiosity is never locked. 

"The Exarch believes our wealth of information should be available to all." Moren had said, which seemed ironic even then. She is still a little angry at Urianger, but at least he has never pretended to not be secretive. At least, not in this same bold way.

The single attendant nods to her as she passes to the lower floors. Her feet take her to her favorite spot, even knowing it's twisting the knife. The fairy tale and folklore section is small and the evocative purple binding of the book jumps out at her.

Nerys removes Collected Folk Tales of Lakeland from the shelf. Traces the raised letter of the covers and all at once she can feel his lips against her ear. His teasing her into a reaction while commenting on her reading material.

"I wish the ones I heard as a child were collected somewhere."

"Ah, but they lose magic that way, don't they?" He breathes in her ear. "Some in the telling, but far more when we commit them to the page."

"Stupid, foolish," she mutters to herself, to his ghost, feeling rage and sorrow rise up in her. He had never lied to her, but there were so many stories he had never told. If he had, maybe they could have avoided all of it. If he had stopped to consider that maybe they–sundered beings though they were–could understand loss and hard choices and sacrifice. 

She is so sick of people not telling her things. 

She is so sick of people she loves dying for others to live on. What if there had been a way? To save them all without killing a man she loved?

Nerys puts the book away as her lips and chin start shaking. The dam in her breaks and she can do nothing about it. Not when her body recognizes you are alone and it is quiet and no one is here and you need to break down.

So she breaks down.

Somehow she manages to get to a table and chair, muffling her sobs in her hands. Struggling to keep quiet when she wants to scream and howl. The attendant is far enough away but she takes no chances.

Whatever strength is left in her is gone. Whatever joy she found in the last hours is gone. Just like Ardbert and just like…

She reaches the post-sobbing stage of crying, to where tears run down her face and she sniffles but the worst has passed. Nerys wipes at her eyes with her sleeves. There are no tissues here, she will have to leave or just sniffle for a long time.

Someone walks down the stairs. 

Nerys uncurls herself, scrubbing roughly at her cheeks. It won't fool anyone. Maybe they won’t mention it. She turns in the chair.

Y'shtola reaches the floor and walks towards her. In each hand she carries a large mug with steam wafting from it. 

"We're not supposed to have food or drink in here," Nerys croaks.

"Will you tell Moren?" Y'shtola asks, a bemused expression on her pretty face.

"Not if you don't." Nerys accepts her cup, cradling it in her hands. It's red tea with the perfect amount of cream added to it. When she sips, she finds it's also the strength and sweetness she prefers. 

She would choose black tea over red most times but it is late and she shouldn't have something that will keep her up.

"It's perfect," she says. "Ah...will you sit?"

Y'shtola nods and takes the other chair at the table. A long silence stretches over them as Nerys watches the steam rise. It isn't uncomfortable and they might both be happy to sit in quiet like that the rest of the evening.

But there is a hint of expectation. Y’shtola would like to know what has Nerys so distraught, if she doesn't already.

"I…" Nerys swallows. "It could have been different. It should have been different."

Y'shtola raises her cup to her lips, sampling her own tea before setting it down. "What would you have done differently?"

"I didn't know then what I know now. Or could have guessed but–there must have been a moment I could have reached him. Some way I missed."

Y'shtola's voice is soft. "He could have also chosen differently. I wish he had."

Nerys looks up at that. There is a gentle sadness in Y'shtola's expression. She is not one for regrets, making it all the more jarring. 

"You do?"

"I do not excuse a single thing he did. Nor, do I think do you."

"If he lived, it wouldn't be a matter of 'all is forgiven'," says Nerys. Just as it hasn't been for Yotsuyu or Fordola. And the scale of their crimes are far different compared to Emet’s. There are many who will never forgive them and they are allowed to do so.

Just as...if he had lived; she would not have demanded any of her comrades or allies forgive him. 

"But he might have made some amends. And he might have come to terms with the fact that our cause was as just as his, even if we are sundered." Y'shtola shakes her head. "He liked us, truly. Perhaps we could have changed his mind."

And Nerys, broken down and tired and her guards gone, says it out loud. "I think I was falling in love with him."

And Y'shtola reaches out and clasps her hand. Her fingers are warm and strong and Nerys hasn’t held them since the night they almost lost her in Rhalgr’s Reach. "I had a notion."

Nerys lets out a shaky, choked breath. "It was far too recent to have done anything. Not that...even if it had started when we first met, who was I in the grand scheme of his life? Even if I was someone he knew once before the sundering… I am not them now. None of us are."

She hasn't told them any of Emet's insinuations from the Ladder, what Hythlodaeus said, Emet's shock when Ardbert joined with her.

But Y'shtola doesn't need that to understand. "Mortals and immortals alike find reasons to control others. None of them are valid in my mind."

"No, no you're right. I...guess I am indulging a little much in pity right now."

"You can indulge tonight. I keep thinking similar things about our friend." Y'shtola squeezes her fingers. "In another lifetime, he could have been so much more to us."

Nerys looks at her and feels like she could say anything. Confess anything. Y'shtola's presence gives her strength she thought she had spent. It always has. No wonder Nerys is in love with her.

She could actually tell her that now, in this sacred space of trust and honesty. And how farcical, that now when she thinks she could actually say it, could brave the possibility of Y'shtola turning her down-

-it is not the right time. Y'shtola deserves a confession not tied to grief or other people. She deserves for a time wholly dedicated to her. Even if the response is "thank you but I don't feel the same," Y’shtola deserves that care and kindness as her friend and as the person she is.

It is the type of dramatic irony so present in the comedic plays Emperor Solus commissioned during his reign. All they need are siblings in disguise and a throughline on the fluidity of gender and attraction to make it a true Solus Comedy.

Instead, she says "Y'shtola...will you stay with me a while? We can talk about anything at all, I just...would like your company."

Y'shtola smiles. "I picked the large mugs for a reason."

[illegiblewords]

Oh god so sometimes I double check FFXIV cutscenes either for shits and giggles or because I want to see if I missed something.

All I want in life rn is a scene of Emet-Selch learning the precise circumstances of Lahabrea’s death, because every single time I have gone back to the final Heavensward quest (as in, the quest literally titled Heavensward) his plan gets more and more unfortunate. It makes me laugh and cringe and yell at screens. Out of every character in the game Emet-Selch 100% canon confirmed understands EXACTLY WHY that was such a horrendous idea and I just need to experience that moment in real time.

Because holy shit it just gets so much dumber with each watch. I’m actually mildly upset, but not in a “devs goofed” way but in a “GO THE FUCK TO BED LAHABREA JESUS CHRIST” way.

Because apparently it is also canon that the guy was basically loopy from sleep deprivation 24/7 by word of Gamescom, and Igeyorhm is just not very bright and a terrible enabler. And this is consistent with her little “hahahaha I kind of fucked up one of thirteen shards of existence we desperately need oops” escapade.

But okay I’m gonna try to recap this because I haven’t posted my rant about why Lahabrea messed up so badly and needed to go the fuck to sleep on tumblr. My affection for him as a character increased exponentially after realizing he is sort of a loser and all the other Ascians are catty-judging him for it. While I’ll acknowledge the devs and say he probably has solid ideas in him somewhere past the HAHAHAHA LORD ZODIARKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!111!! and sleep deprivation and $5 words, those are not good odds for success.

Basically.

There were like a billion points preceding the moment where Thordan up and ate him that Lahabrea should've gotten the hell out of dodge. The entire reason he didn't was because he had to do his flashy experiment with Igeyorhm on the Warrior of Light. The way she agreed gives me the impression that he'd probably been nagging her about it behind the scenes for a while. Frankly I wouldn't be surprised if he'd tried asking other Ascians too and she was just the one who actually entertained him. Everyone else was like “LAHABREA THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA GO THE FUCK TO BED” but he’s loopy so of course he ignores them. Guy’s face basically lights up when Igeyorhm’s all m'kay lets do it on going Ascian Prime. Doing a high power experiment involving your own aether and a colleague's aether while a known Ascian-killer is in the room, without necessarily knowing how it's gonna go and what the effects will be? That alone was not a good idea. But oooooh they'll be so powerful, surely then they'll be able to defeat the Warrior of Light once and for all. Right? Right? Lahabrea and Igeyorhm were so wiped after that stunt failed that neither one of them could stand, let alone make a dark tunnel to flee the scene. Igeyorhm dies literally the moment after she suggests retreat, when the WoL uses auracite. Lahabrea, who really really should have had a little voice at the back of his head by then going "maybe I should focus on getting out of here", instead gets cocky and comments that now there's no way for the WoL to murder him too. Still can't even stand upright. Just running his mouth. Thordan enters with another eye. Thordan repeatedly makes ominous comments about being 500% done with Ascian nonsense for about five minutes. Thordan takes on a millenia of prayer from the notoriously devout Halonic church plus Nidhogg eye #2. No little voice for Lahabrea. Kind of read like it didn't occur to him he was in serious trouble until the moment primal Thordan said he condemned him to death. And by then he's still staggering around like a baby deer from the Ascian Prime misadventure plus being trounced by Warrior of Light.

But then.

THEN.

It fucking hits me.

Lahabrea after getting thrown out of his Ascian flesh-mecha is all WTF HOW DID YOU DIVIDE US WITH THE POWER OF LIGHT????

And I stared for about thirty seconds before just going “oh my god.”

Because another tidbit Emet-Selch confirmed?

Hydaelyn was tailor-made to divide shit. That is her biggest power. That is literally her MO. It’s the reason why, with less overall aether at her disposal, she was able to defeat Zodiark anyway. She was strategically designed to exploit that weakness.

Warrior of Light, blessed by Hydaelyn herself... what the fuck do you think their power’s gonna include?

Motherfucking division.

And like. Any alert Ascian who wasn’t Igeyorhm would probably have a moment’s pause and be like “no Lahabrea it’s a bad idea and it won’t work take a nap”.

Then instead of pausing to consider why he’s getting this response over and over again, wondering if maybe he missed something obvious--impossible of course, he’s Amaurot’s greatest orator and top of phantomology. Couldn’t possibly have fucked up.

...he gets indignant, conscious that people make catty comments behind his back, and determined to prove them all wrong. With this doomed plan.

And Igeyorhm is just like YAY ONE OF THE UNSUNDERED IS GIVING ME A CHANCE TO PROVE I’M NOT A FUCK UP AGAIN RIGHT ON, and is oblivious enough that the issues in Lahabrea’s plan shoot right over her head.

I still hope that through some weird twist the guy isn't totally dead just because he needs to be held accountable for how stupid that whole escapade was for him. And.

AND.

To add insult to injury.

Result of Lahabrea's experiment wasn't even impressive either. Ascian Prime was not particularly powerful. If he really, really wanted to try fusion--WoL is not where you do the test run. Even if it's the first time one of his fellow Ascians agreed to indulge him. Igeyorhm has a history of questionable judgment and of all people Lahabrea should have known better. ಠ_ಠ

EDIT: I am leaving old analysis up for posterity but have since reblogged a new understanding under this post that is sad as fuck rather than funny. I don’t begrudge past!me or other peeps for laughing at the old interpretation, but it’s kind of an “oh. oh no shit I fucked up and laughed at a terrible thing in ignorance” situation. Still love Lahabrea to bits and I think Igeyorhm is rad as hell, have added respect and appreciation for both now.