#amaurot's next top model

[elfyourmother]

I suppose this world isn’t quite so terrible after all, heroine.

[elfyourmother]

YES

That tail is batting away all those haters 🔥  

(via)

[elfyourmother]

If you're doing the two-part drabble meme, might I suggest one for Emet, with line 24? not too sure for situation, maybe 10 or 25? You can pick which one! if you want to, that is.

The mask of scarlet stared back at her, reflected in pristine crystal. It rested comfortably upon her wide, aquiline nose, framing the thick curve of full lips painted the selfsame shade of scarlet. It was taboo of course, this manner of adornment. Unseemly. An invitation for discord. What had that insufferable lecturer told her so many times?

No one cares for a tall poppy.

So small, this place was, for all its mundane wonders. Naught but a gilded cage, and she longed to stretch her wings and soar.

Still, the mask was hers, and all it entailed. The key to unlock the cage doors, if only a little—and mayhap it was their way of washing their hands of her, at long last.

“I believe congratulations are in order…Azem.”

She turned, shifting her body, to see him standing before her, his deep cowl lowered to reveal his glory. His silvery hair cascaded straight down his back, over his shoulders, to his waist, stark and bright against the sober black of his robe. Eyes of amber shone like jewels beneath his hooded brows, twinkling in the lamplight which softly illumined his sharply sculpted features. She drowned in them, openly and without shame, for that was her way.

Why must such beauty be hidden away, lest it shame others? She never understood it.

But as she gazed upon him, she could not help but give voice to her suspicions. “Tell me…was this your doing, Emet-Selch?” she asked, enunciating the title sharply, each syllable formed deliberately upon her tongue, though not with acid. Not this time.

Hades blinked slowly at her, the long curve of his thick lashes fluttering slightly as he did. “What if it was? Would you be wroth with me, were it so?”

She considered it a moment, pursing her lips--but only a moment. “No. Tis altogether fitting, mayhap. I have never belonged here,” she said, soft and matter-of-factly. It was never with self-pity that she said such things, not anymore. She had simply come to accept it.

“I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough,” he said, firmly. “You would not have been chosen if you were not. You possess all of the necessary traits, of course—born under the Sun, your restlessness, your hunger. And you are needed. Your voice is needed. We risk stagnation and entropy otherwise. They do not understand the inherent perils of conformity for conformity’s sake; mayhap Azem’s seat has stood vacant for far too long. But you understand, Mül. You always have, even if the dimmer among us have not.”

Müllenkamp nodded slowly. His arguments were sound, as always. He was right, as always—and her heart felt lighter then; she had not realized until that moment how tight her chest had become, and she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, exhaling in the strangest manner of relief. She laughed suddenly, a spasm deep and rich from her rippling belly. “I think you just wanted an excuse to fix your gaze upon me,” she teased.

Hades raised his hands upon her slender shoulders, slipping them inside the satin fabric of her robes to splay his fingers against her bare skin, kneading it gently in his firm grasp. The faintest hint of a smile crept at the corners of his sensual mouth, the ever-present pout curving upward just a touch. “I want you. Is it so very queer a thing for so cold a creature to seek the warmth of the sun, your Radiance?”

A shiver of pleasure edged down her spine at the epithet, which spread warmth of its own through her cheeks, settling upon her very spirit as might a thick, woolen mantle. “You are not cold, Hades,” she countered—firmly.

“Pray continue to keep my counsel, love. I’ve a reputation to maintain,” he said, leaning in close, so close enough that she caught the scent of his favored pomegranate tea in all its tart sweetness upon the heat of his breath against her flushed, dark skin.

Müllenkamp’s retort was silenced by pouting lips pressing hard and fierce upon her own, parting her mouth with a hot and eager tongue. So cold a creature, indeed, she thought idly, helplessly melting into his kiss, drowning and drowning. Infuriating, intoxicating—but never cold, her Architect. They did not know him, as she did. His hands in all their wiry strength slid the ebon robe down over her shoulders, and his mouth followed, seeking the warmth of her skin in all its lush mahogany splendor, tracing with his tongue the shimmering, gilt ink she kept hidden away.

Always adorned in gold, she was, from the spiraling marques upon her skin to the delicate chains about her belly.

But for the mask of crimson. When she reached up for it, thinking to lift it from her dark eyes, his hands reached up with a quickness to snatch her wrists hard—hard enough that her breath hitched within her throat.

“Keep it on,” Hades whispered, a wicked grin etched upon his lips. “I would give you a proper initiation.”

And he did.

[elfyourmother]

Dear Gisele--when was the moment you fell for a particular Ascian, and what was it that led you to believe (correctly) that there was hope for him in spite of tempering etc.? How much weight does past-life memory hold, if any?

What might I say? I am a fool, as ever I have been, and I read too many romances, and I have lived my life with my head drifting in the clouds. I am a flighty creature, and I know this well. Mayhap that is why we are so well-matched, he and I. But I knew he was different, from the start. From the start, he was witty and urbane, quite unlike the rest of his kin...every Ascian I had the misfortune to encounter until yon Paragon of Cats was dreadfully tedious and utterly dire, altogether intoxicated by their own sense of self-import. Hades had a personality. He was brilliant, of course, and made me laugh. I have a well-known weakness for such things, as my long history of paramours can attest.

We spoke often, and at length, on that journey through Norvrandt. Betimes it was difficult to remember that we were foes, I must confess. And I enjoyed his company, even when he was insufferable--which was often! Oh, I was under no illusion that he had no ulterior motives in so befriending me. If he sought to subvert me, we both of us played our gambits with one another, for I sought to subvert him in turn. Always, I have sought to understand my foes, even were peace unattainable--I wed Ysayle Dangoulain, did I not? Twas in these conversations that I began to realize just how fundamentally he differed from his kin, however, beyond the jesting and the theatrics. Hades suffered like none other, because Hades alone among his Unsundered brethren carried the weight of his great loss. I was minded of the teachings of the Dark, often, with him--that unlike his brethren, what he did, he did for love’s sake. Amaurot was his flame in the abyss, the unspeakable grief for his lost people he carried these long millennia quite literally upon his bent shoulders.

I am Dalish, chérie. These things have meaning. And no one who is beyond hope loves so deeply, feels so deeply, as did Hades. This, I have learned well.

As you might expect, twas when he saved Shtola from the Lifestream that things changed between us. I came upon him slumbering in the wood not long after, and it was no gambit made me sink beside him upon the warm loam, brushing stray locks of silver from his brow. That was when I knew, and for certain, that it was no longer a game to me, this amiable contest of wills upon which the fate of two worlds entire rested. Of course, as I learned later on, it had never truly been a game to him.

As for our ancient bond...I remember naught of the life we once shared in Amaurot. It was trial enough to remember my life in Thedas. But of Hades and Aphrodite, I have only his words and recollections. Betimes I am...wistful...? Mayhap even guilty, I suppose, that I do not. Truthfully, I fear I may disappoint him, as such. But he assures me that it matters not to him, that it is myself, Gisele des Fortemps for whom he so yearns, and not the memory of who I once was. Hades is many things, but he does not dissemble, nor has he ever played me false, even when I named him an enemy and not a lover. And while he reminisces quite fondly and shares many tales, now that the scales of Zodiark have fallen from his eyes, they are ever fixed upon the future. I am grateful for it, and for him.

[elfyourmother]

If you are still taking questions, Gisele: since you voted Hades into the Scions, how has your time with him been?

Of course! I am terribly loquacious, after all.

Until recently, tis been...uncommonly quiet? He has slotted right into the Stones, as though he belonged there all along, truly; the outer circle are all terribly fond of him, even if Riol still does not trust him entirely. Ironically enough, he and G’raha have become thick as thieves, which was quite unexpected! But he accompanied us to Azys Lla at his own insistence, when we sought the cure for tempering, protecting us well in Thancred’s place, for Haurche was feeling unwell. I suspect he wished to test the limits of his power, as much as gallivanting about with me on an adventure. I do not know the extent of it, still, after his uncanny return to the realm of the living. But he is tremendously skilled with the Dark, as one might imagine, and has shared some small morsels of wisdom with me regarding technique. He invented the discipline, after all.

But, the night he accompanied Haurche, Aymeric, and I to the Palais Dzemael operahouse for a command performance of The Dream Oath, and the fete which followed at Fortemps Manor, he managed to set tongues to wagging. Flirting outrageously with the Lord Speaker at a fete will do that. I warned him to be circumspect, and keep his nonsense to a respectable minimum for the sake of decorum, but Hades is Hades and shall never be told what to do...ever. Emm is still putting out the brush fires he set, but daily we receive missives from any number of suitors, ladies and lords alike, by the Fury.

More seriously, and recently, he volunteered to scout the Garlean tower at Pagl’than, swearing to watch over Arenvald. He still recalls naught of Fandaniel, but if anyone might recognize such designs, t’would be a Paragon himself. But, disaster struck, quite naturally. Hades blames himself for it, though we none of us do...except Tsuyu. She trusts him even less than Riol in his accounting of what transpired, but she is terribly fond of Arenvald, and mothers him incessantly, and I suspect she merely takes her anxieties for the lad’s well being out on Hades. They quarreled mightily upon our return to the Stones, but he has been a comfort to Alphinaud, and that has helped, I think. It means a great deal to us all.

[elfyourmother]

‘nocturne op. 9 no. 2’ by chopin but you’re in a hotel lobby avoiding the rain on a cold night in an unfamiliar city, captivated...

‘nocturne op. 9 no. 2’ by chopin but you’re in a hotel lobby avoiding the rain on a cold night in an unfamiliar city, captivated by the soft piano music that reminds you of home. (youtube)

[elfyourmother]

What is Aymeric and Hades' relationship like?

...odd. XD

Very few people outside of the Scion inner circle know who Hades actually is. Everyone thinks he’s a just a Garlean aristocrat who defected after his family was slaughtered by pro-Zenos forces during all the current turmoil in Garlemald. If there’s a mild resemblance, it’s chalked up to this dead family being a distant branch line of House Galvus. The very first thing they decided after they agreed to let him join the Scions was this cover story and that none of the Alliance leaders would be told his real identity unless they absolutely had no choice.

Aymeric is the exception, and it was a real sticking point tbh--the very type of situation that Thancred warned Gisele about, before she married him: how would she handle it if the Scions’ interests and Ishgard’s were ever at odds, that as far as Scion business went she absolutely couldn’t favor Aymeric over the other Alliance leaders or else jeopardize the political neutrality that was essential to their work. They actually fought about it, Gisele and Thancred. He shouldn’t be privy to the order’s secrets just because he’s her husband, he’s still ultimately Ishgard’s figurehead in the Alliance and a political creature like Aymeric would surely seek to use it to his advantage etc etc

(Thancred likes Aymeric well enough, but Thancred is incredibly pragmatic and has to consider all angles, even if Gisele doesn’t want to hear it at times for as calculating and clever as she can be herself)

The thing is, Aymeric knows very well and for all his cunning he would never seek to use Gisele’s position as Antecedent for his own political gain. He absolutely has lines he won’t cross and that’s one of them. But he also keeps his own counsel quite well--he feigned ignorance when questioned about the missing Eye to protect Estinien when he ran off with it, and much later on hid Ysayle in the Congregation’s infirmary during most of Dragonsong, risking the wrath of the Vault and his reputation on protecting her from the Inquisition, ultimately releasing her into the custody of the Scions. Aymeric can and does very well keep secrets for the greater good.

That Gisele is romantically involved with Hades is the real reason she told Aymeric who he was, though. There’s really no way she could have avoided it, given who she once was. So Aymeric is the only one outside the Scions who knows “Hades d’Amaurot” is actually Emperor Solus aka Emet-Selch the Ascian Paragon.

It’s weird though. Hades greatly admires Aymeric for his cunning and has been almost going overboard to ingratiate himself with him because he’s Gisele’s husband first and foremost, but also because he (correctly) thinks winning Aymeric over is much easier than the rest of the Alliance leaders given the lady they share in common.

He rather enthusiastically dove into the restoration project because it’s exactly the kind of large scale project he can sink his teeth into. “The Architect” wasn’t a show title. And even though he’s very much sucking up to Aymeric and Haurchefant in doing so (because Francel is leading the whole effort), Hades genuinely enjoys working in the Firmament. Oh he’ll never get his hands dirty, of course--his depression-induced lethargy isn’t totally gone, and that’s really what it was instead of “laziness”--but he lends his considerable expertise to the planners and builders and crafters, passing on ancient construction techniques that have been long forgotten, helping them tweak designs, telling them when they’re terrible and need to be scrapped. Urban planning was a big part of Hades’ job in ancient Amaurot, he was responsible for much of the city’s design and layout. The Firmament having green spaces and fountains and all of that are things he very much insisted on.

Aymeric doesn’t know what to make of him, tbqh. Initially, he absolutely does not trust him, except to the extent that Haurchefant and Estinien and Ysayle have vouched for him. It’s not that Aymeric doesn’t trust Gisele’s word or judgment, but he knows she doesn’t always see clearly when she’s in love with someone. And like the others, he gave him the “if you break her heart, I’ll break your face” speech except since it was Aymeric it was obviously very eloquent and the threats were much more veiled. XD But it came from a deep place of concern, even deeper than the others. Fear, even. His father sought to treat with Ascians too, and knows very well how that turned out.

But remember that Aymeric is also very much someone for whom deeds matter as much or more than just pretty words, and he’s been getting steady reports out of the Firmament. He deeply appreciates everything Hades has been doing there even if he’s not nearly naive enough to believe it’s not without ulterior motives. Still, he can’t fault him for those motives either--and most importantly, he makes Gisele ridiculously happy. He protected her and saved her life. As a result, Aymeric very much wants to believe that he’s turned over a new leaf and genuinely wants to start anew, so why not give him a chance to prove himself worthy of it? So far, he has. And Aymeric does come to genuinely like the man, he’s witty and urbane.

[elfyourmother]

What are Hien and Emet's takes on the tiddy armor

They are both thirsty af but Emet’s more subtle about it most of the time

Hien, while extremely Concerned, simultaneously has no idea how she manages to fight so well in some of her getups and is like “head empty tiddy soft”

Emet just thinks the more outrageous the better, but he’s not one to care about tiddy just being out. That’s boring and crass to him. It has to be Fashion. where is the drama??? is the tiddy being Served????? thing is, everything is Fashion on Gisele, and it’s one of the reasons he loves her so much

[elfyourmother]

[this is from the post 5.3 fic I started a few weeks ago.]

“What on earth is there to consider? I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation! What’s the matter with everyone? Have you all lost the bloody plot?” Alisaie cried, pushing off the wall—with her brother’s prudent, cautioning hand upon her shoulder. To her credit, she did not take a single step further toward Hades, though her hands had balled into fists. “This, this…monster tried to kill us! He has spent thousands of years plotting, scheming, leaving a trail of blood across worlds beyond measure. All because we are little more than insects to his ancient, eldritch eyes. What honestly makes you believe this isn’t just another scheme? That he isn’t manipulating us to his own ends, even now? We would be fools to suffer him to live, much less join us!”

“Killing him won’t bring your grandfather back, girl.”

Estinien’s voice was quiet, and characteristically brusque, when he spoke at last, and all eyes in the room fell upon him when he did; he was leaned back against the bar not far from where Thancred stood, resting back upon his hands. Alisaie’s eyes narrowed, glaring daggers at him.

“Choose your next words carefully, Estinien,” she said coldly.

Estinien chuckled lightly under his breath at her implied threat, shaking his head. It was no mockery, thus; Gisele, well familiar with his quirks, knew it for a manner of self-deprecation. More than once, in private conversation, he confided that he saw much of his younger self in the headstrong young mage, and mayhap that was why he’d taken such an interest in mentoring her, beyond his well noted affection for her brother.

But the brief expression of irony which danced across his sharp features faded, and in its place was one uncommonly gentle, empathetic. “All my life I hungered for vengeance, only to discover how a bitter fruit it is, once tasted,” Estinien said solemnly. “As bitter as the lies upon which we supped all unwitting for a thousand years. It all turned to ash upon my tongue, for Nidhogg’s demise did not return my family to me. I spilled the blood of enough dragons to drown Coerthas and Dravania both, seven times over, and what did it avail me? Ysayle was right to call me a butcher, and I cared not, not until it was too late.”

“You did these things in defense of your people,” Alisaie objected.

“By his own words, did he not?” Estinien asked, with a shrug, jerking his head slightly in Hades’ direction. “I once viewed dragonkind much the same way as he saw mortals: little more than feral, unconscionable beasts, monsters worthy of aught but steel. And it was that very hatred which left me vulnerable to Nidhogg’s possession. Let anger be your strength, aye, but have a care that it not consume you, nor blind you to the possibilities before you. It consumed me too long, and were it not for my comrades, it still might.”

[elfyourmother]

was tagged by @kunstpause​. this is from the post 5.3 fic I was working on before the monthly prompt shenanigans happened

-

Gisele’s breath hitched as Hades lowered his pouting mouth to her own; helplessly, she clung to him, surrendering to her own longing, and lost herself in his lanky arms. He parted the fullness of her lips with an eager tongue that tasted faintly, as always, of pomegranate wine; she leaned into him, and caressed it with her own.

It was far from the first time he’d kissed her; but it felt that way, and perhaps it was, for the night he came into her chambers at the Pendants and they’d made love was entirely different than this. Then, there was aught in him that hungered something fierce and terrible, desperate for a mere inkling of respite, anything to fill the gaping void of grief within him. He drowned himself in her then, and mayhap hated himself a little for it. Gisele rather foolishly believed it a turning point in their grand jeu to decide the fate of two worlds, and it was with uncharacteristic naïveté that she did.

Then, he broke her heart atop Mt Gulg.

This was different. And somewhat felt mended within her, some long forgotten thread which frayed woven back into the tapestry of her heart where it belonged.

Hades clung to her for a long while, kissing her again and again; betimes a quick taste of her lips, others long and sensuous. For so eloquent a pair, in the last and at the least, no further words were required. Gisele simply drank of his love, offered so freely, as though she were dying of thirst in the Sagolii Sands. And he held her as though he never had before, as though he were afraid she would slip through his fingers if he but let go.

After an age of this, he at last pulled away from her—and with great reluctance, Gisele noted.

“Go home to your friends, my Sorceress of the Dark. But take with you my love, always,” Hades said.

Gisele swallowed hard, already feeling painfully bereft and reaching for him even as he pulled away. “What shall become of you? Shall I ever see you again?”

Hades shrugged rather nonchalantly. “Who’s to say, really? Why don’t you ask your cards.”

“You delightfully insufferable old queen,” Gisele chuckled lightly.

“Oh, I do so try.”

Hades swept a characteristically grandiose bow before her, and with his back still bent low, gazed up to wink at her with a cheeky little grin, which set her to giggling despite herself.

“Be serious, you imp,” Gisele said, primly folding her arms across her chest.

And when Hades rose upright, the casual mischief had faded from his eyes, but none of the affection. “I am, my darling. What you ask of me has, truthfully, no resolute answer. A great deal of it rests upon things quite beyond my control. But were it up to my will alone, this would not be our final parting. I do not wish it to be—and not merely for the memory of the woman you once were, mind. Seek me in the place you least expect, and I shall be there, I promise no more and no less than that,” he said.

Then, he was gone.

[elfyourmother]

14 and 15 for gisele

14 got answered

15. What is the most important item in your character’s possession?

There isn’t just one, is the thing...I say this a lot but we’re talking about a woman who alchemically preserves every flower everyone’s ever given her.  From a practical standpoint it would have to be her Job crystals (she keeps them on a charm bracelet). From a sentimental standpoint? Most of it is jewelry, funny enough. The set she’s always wearing in 99% of my gpose shots, with the Fortemps crest, that Haurchefant gave her on their wedding night--the first one, the night before they went to the Far East, and secretly got married in the Congregation’s chapel. That set was actually intended for Haurchefant’s birth mother, and Edmont never gave it to her for obvious reasons, but he’s kept it in all the years since. And at some point during Dragonsong, once Haurche had recovered enough to continue recovery at home in the manor, Edmont had a serious heart to heart with him about a lot of things, but chiefly his intentions with Gisele, Aymeric, and Estinien.

I want to make it clear that Edmont was always totally supportive of the relationship, and from the very start--I mean as far as he was concerned, he gained 2 more sons and the daughter he always wanted and never had. And more than anything, Edmont has always wanted his sons to be happy. He never wanted them to suffer the way he did, because he fell in love with the “wrong” person in the eyes of society. But he was just worried a lot for Haurche et al, given noble society’s stupidity wrt rank and all that, but especially because this is the point in the story when Estinien is possessed and will likely need to be killed in order to stop Nidhogg. So when Haurche said that he intended to marry them, Edmont gave him the old jewelry set and told him to give it to Gisele when he felt the time was right. That was his way of giving his blessing, in so many words. Follow your heart, I will support you.

Then there’s the pendant she made out of a sliver of Hades’ auracite. Even after he’s back alive and well again, she still wears it, only she worked the Gemini crystal into the design, because she kept it--Gisele did give all the others except the Sun crystal to Elidibus, but she absolutely could not bear to give up Gemini (for obvious reasons).

There’s a book of Hannish poetry that Urianger gave her that she carries with her everywhere, not just because she loves the actual work (though she does), but also because he wrote her a beautiful note on a slip of parchment inside, and Gisele has kept it there ever since. 

Her Samurai crystal specifically, because it was a gift from Hien.

Something else, too...once, during one of their talks on the First, Emet once asked Gisele if there was anything in particular that she missed from Thedas, some token or memento that she wished she could have back. Gisele offhandedly mentioned her grandmother’s diary, and the rose that Alistair gave her, the one she always wore in her hair and memorialized by wearing a different one when she came to Eorzea.

So one day ages later, like after everyone’s back on Source, she wakes up in her room in Fortemps Manor and out of nowhere she sees a very worn, leather bound journal on the desk, with a very familiar rose on top of it. Emet refuses to take responsibility for it and feigns ignorance and said it was probably Feo Ul, but Gisele didn’t buy it for a second.

Of course it was Emet, but the rose alone is proof of it, because Feo Ul would never have been able to retrieve it. Gisele was wearing that rose the night she killed Urthemiel, just like she always did. And because she’d died, the enchantment she’d cast on it faded and it had already begun to decay by the time of her funeral. Alistair fought the Wardens bitterly--they wanted to have her memorial at Weisshaupt, and enshrine her ashes with the other Wardens who’d died to stop the previous Blights. But Alistair told the First Warden to fuck right off, and so she was given basically a Viking funeral on Lake Calenhad. That rose burned with her body. There would have been nothing for Feo Ul to find.

Emet, otoh, with his affinity for the Lifestream...

[elfyourmother]

Prompt 9: Lush

Warm, was the loam spread beneath her toes.

Rich, was the heady scent of blooming flora for which she held no name.

Golden light—the truest light, dazzling from the burning sun—danced across leaves of verdant green, casting shadows in flickering echo across the soil.

As above, so below.

Their voices carried upon the gentle breeze, in the sweet and lilting melody of their wordless song, the heart of Spirit reverberating deep within her soul:

This place is sacred. Be welcome, beloved.

The skies opened then, pouring its own benediction out in warm droplets through the dense canopy of green, upon her dark skin.

She raised her arms in answer, adorned with gold, and spun a pirouette, without a single care, losing herself within the song of the wood.

Somewhere, from the deepest shadows, he smiled at her as she did.

[elfyourmother]

love how even on a shitpost video Emet’s voice makes me weak

[elfyourmother]

Prompt 30: Splinter

Gisele could not take her eyes from it, transfixed by its beauty, and marveled at how so small a thing it was, given the titanic struggle which produced it.

Such a tiny, tiny thing, it was.

It radiated heat upon the palm of her hand, pulsing softly with the faintest whisper of aether against her skin, this slender and feather-light shard within her hand. Her fingers curled around it, and she raised her fist to rest against her heart, closing her eyes slowly and inhaling deep. In the silence, the whisper turned the echo of a melody, haunting and melancholy. Fitting, of a surety, for she who held it in her grasp, this piece of her heart rendered in slim, fragmented auracite.

She would treat this as no battle trophy; mayhap those who did not know Gisele des Fortemps would have believed it such, but none who knew of a surety the boundless depths of her heart. She would honor it, as only she could, and not merely because of what he had exhorted her to do, at the last; but she would have even had he not, for how could she possibly forget?

And so, upon the Scions’ triumphant return to the Crystarium, when the feasting and revels were done, Gisele quietly slipped away and made such preparations as were needful. She gathered some few supplies from her apartments at the Pendants, requisitioned some small items from her comrades at the Mean, and retrieved the requisite tools of her art.

All of this, she bore with her in a leather satchel, hoisted upon her shoulder, when she closed her eyes and drifted away upon the flows of aether far from the Exarch’s city, once more to plunge far beneath the peaceful waves of Kholusia.

The light of the sun still penetrated the darkness, as it did when dawn rose at last upon this city of endless night, but the lights of Amaurot yet endured, glimmering soft and dreamlike high above her. And as she wandered the tree-lined agora where the streets shone as shimmering mother-of-pearl, Gisele was still treated with exceeding kindness by the spectres of the lost, who guided her gently to the place she sought: the garden she had found upon her first, awe-filled sojourn to the city, then surrounded by her comrades, when she first sat to gather her tumultuous thoughts and settle her frayed nerves.

This time, however, Gisele set down her satchel, to spread an enormous blanket upon the immaculately manicured grass, and carefully laid upon it her finest grinding wheel and file, mandrel and ores—and that slender shard.

It was not her lavish atelier upon the Jeweled Crozier, but it would more than do.

Thus, did Gisele roll up her sleeves, and begin her work.

The truegold softened and melted within the blazing heat of her arcane fire—what did Avatar of Destruction need with a forge?--and with a master artisan’s deft hands and discerning eye, did she begin to shape it in accordance with her will. Of a surety, Gisele believed fervently that the act of creation was no less a form of magic than that which she wrought with aether, and mayhap the most potent of all magicks. Was magic itself not at its most simple definition the art of affecting change by energy in accordance with will? It mattered not the method, for all magic worked thusly—whether upon Source, or the Seventh, or the First. Only the trappings varied in nature, but the underlying principle remained thus. So, too, was the art of creation. Gisele smiled to think on it, and the passionate words she once shared on the matter. Emet had been positively delighted by her conjecture, at the time.

And you wonder why I adore so you, heroine.

And as she carved and filed, chiseling and twisting the delicate metal and bending it to her will, Gisele’s thoughts never left him; his wry smile, his indolent sashaying, even his ridiculous pouting and sulking. For a moment she feared she might weep once more, for what seemed like the hundredth time, but she took a deep breath, inhaling the impossibly verdant scent of fresh-cut grass, and exhaled long, to steady her suddenly palsied hands. With every onze of discipline she might possibly bring to bear, Gisele concentrated intently upon the thin metal, and remembered: the warm flush of his cheek when she pressed her lips against it so suddenly beneath the starlight boughs of the Greatwood. The hardness of his body rocking against her own, bathed in flickering shadows beneath the moonlight drifting through the gauzy curtains of her bedroom at the Pendants. The heady scent of the roses he’d strewn at her feet when she danced for him. She remembered this much, and more, as she bent will and delicate hammer and file upon the metal by turns, tapping it into filigree formed of an intricate glyph, one Gisele held in perfect memory despite its complexity. Her heart overflowing, she poured every onze of emotion within it upon the metal, all that swelled within at the thought of him, of them, of their impossible journey, of what had transpired in this place mere days prior: hope, fury, incalculable grief, yearning, regret, and...

...above all else: boundless, everlasting love.

It made a fitting tomb wrought in gleaming gold for the shard that remained. With the lightest of touches, she plucked it up with her tweezers, and slid it into place, affixing it to nest within the heart of the filigree, with a satisfying little click. Surveying her handiwork for a final time, she turned it again and again within her fingers, searching for some manner of flaw, but there was none. There never was, with her work, and never when she bent her heart to it.

Gisele cradled the pendant within her hand, at last, and brought it to her trembling lips, pressing a soft kiss against the warm metal, the gently pulsing stone.

“Fare thee well, Hades of Amaurot,” she whispered softly, at last permitting the tears which had threatened to fall, shuddering with her head bowed, and with shaking hands clipped it to the waiting golden chain, sliding it over her head. She had measured precisely the tiny links, as was her wont, and the pendant eased to nestle within her bosom, over her heart.

And Gisele clutched it, and keeled over, and at last wept as might a brokenhearted child.

***

The sand was warm beneath her toes, even as the sun began its descent low and quick beneath the La Noscean horizon. Most of the festival’s revelers gathered upon the edge of the shore, where the gentle waves crashed into the sands, camping for the most advantageous location to view the fiery spectacle which would begin shortly high in the skies above the island, but Gisele stood some way back, keeping a secluded distance, to mark the occasion in her own way.

Around her neck, upon the slender chain of gold, Hades’ auracite hung beside the Gemini crystal, an identical shade of scintillating violet—the very same as Gisele’s eyes.

“You really do perform exquisite work, my dear,” Hades said, drifting an idle hand down the soft, generous curve of her décolletage, to rest upon the pendant. Gisele’s heart skipped a beat at the warmth of his touch against her skin, exceedingly gentle as it was.

“I had somewhat powerful to inspire me,” she said softly, wrapping her arms about his neck, and leaned into him.

Hades smiled, and Gisele permitted him to draw her into his arms, tightly, as he lowered his eager mouth upon her own, to part her lips with a craving tongue.

[elfyourmother]

Would Emet ever wear something horribly unfashionable just to mess with Gisele? Because I don't know why, but I have this mental image of him wearing Tripp Pants.

Never. There’s nothing entertaining to him about distressing her like that. She’d just refuse to be seen with him until he changes, as a start, but much more importantly to him she’d know he did it specifically to upset her, and not out of cheeky fun. And despite popular belief, Emet’s not like that. He’s not some jackass from the depths of /b/ trolling for its own sake. He would never do anything to hurt her feelings like that.

The worst he gets is unbelievably loud aloha shirts, but he has a genuine ironic love of them, and he still manages to make them look good somehow. It’s like on him they’re so tacky they wrap right back around to fashion. Think of any of Tom Selleck’s outfits on Magnum PI.

[elfyourmother]

👀 for the meme~

[👀 to see them in something suggestive]