#house of hearth shenanigans

[draco-glacialis]

Navia: Who else is hiding in the laundry room trying to listen to Chlorinde and Furina's convo?

Arlecchino: Me. I'm in the laundry basket.

Neuvillette: I'm in the washing machine.

Wriothesley: I'm in the closet.

Arlecchino: We accept you Wriothesley .

Wriothesley: No I'm literally in the closet.

Arlecchino: Love is love.

[aixeko]

Hi good evening, morning or afternoon Aixeko. I was wondering if you could write an intersex Arlecchino x fem reader who spend their wedding night on the beach.

𓆩♡𓆪 “ DID I DREAM THAT WE DANCED FOREVER,

in a wish that we made together, on a night that I prayed would never end ” 𓆩♡𓆪

| Starring | Newly-wed Intersex-Service-Top!Arlecchino x Pillow princess?Reader

| Setting | Wedding night on the beach

| Scenario |  [ REQUESTED WORK | DRABBLE ] SMUT! With tooth rotting fluff. Pronouns are not used, only female anatomy is used. The children call the reader by the title “Mother.” Soft Arle. Skinny dip. Semi-Public love making. Aftercare. So fluffy it’s making me barf rainbow. Arle is mainly referred to as Peruere. Not really proofread.

► RADIO CHANNEL [Author note]

× My first request, had to prioritize this first over my current w.i.p arle fic lmao × This also reminded me of my first fic of Arle, which is the "Peruere" one, it's exactly how I imagine their wedding was like 🥹 Perhaps those who read it can take it as a little prequel to the fic × Anyway, I assumed you wanted smut from the intersex Arle part so here it is, no angst which is surprising. Hope you enjoy <3

[ Word count: 2240 ] | Art credit: Nuiilar on Twitter

The harmonious voices of the children's choir sound through the velvety night sky, their melodic tones blending in perfect unison with the tender moment unfolding before their very eyes. At the sight of their father dipping their mother for an intimate kiss, the children can't help but be sent into fits of gleeful excitement, ending their synchronized orchestration.

You all but chuckled at the audible jubilation; you could practically hear their eyes sparkling with enchantment as they cheered and clapped upon witnessing such a rare affectionate display between their parents. Even after the mandatory altar kiss, the kids were still bubbling over with joy, perhaps influenced by such an intense, delightful air of love.

The kiss lingered, time seemingly freezing in tune as if the world melted and revolved around you, suspending this tender moment to an everlasting core memory in a sea of recollection. Yet, with much reluctance, you were the first to break the magical spell laid upon her lips, pulling away despite your heart's yearning to savor the embrace just a little longer. After all, you were still in the presence of your children; you wouldn't want the situation to escalate to something much too inappropriate in a public setting.

You sense a slight disappointment from Arlecchino as your eyes open to absorb one another's souls once more. The edge of your lip twitches upward into a knowing smile, and Arlecchino, who notices it, can only shake her head in infinitesimal embarrassment at her sudden need to be as impossibly close as she can be to you.

You lean in close, hot breath trickling against her pierced earlobe as you whisper, "Quite eager are we now, my dearest, Peruere?"

Your voice is laced with playful teasing, yet your vocals do not reciprocate the soul; your body, betraying your hypocritical saying with the factuality of reality being that every fiber of your being is aching with desire for her; you can practically hear your heart racing like a dog off its leash, a clear evidence of your struggle to contain the passion that threatens to consume you whole.

The laughter in your throat burst out of its confinement as you saw a tint of red painting her cheeks. The infamous Knave, Arlecchino, the fourth of the Fatui Harbinger, a woman of near godly power and the Father of the House of the Hearth, whose shyness is one of a thousand lifetimes' worth of rarity, has fallen prey to your shenanigans. Despite the silliness of it all, a warmth envelops your heart in gratitude for having a chance to live in a lifetime where she, whose heart is covered in frost, can blaze in your presence.

The discordant atmosphere slowly faded to one of a gentle breeze, the moon rising to its fullest, symbolizing the dead of the night, where beauty arises in the silence of humanity. Under its moonlit gaze, you drag Arlecchino with you, grinning and laughing like the carefree days when the world was a simpler, less complicated place, one in which your shared young minds felt like their rulers.

Footprints imprint the sand, lasting mere seconds before being washed away by the shore like those traces have simply never existed. Reaching what seems to be the midway point of the enormous coastline, you release your hold on your lover to dance a few inches away, allowing your body to embrace nature's hug.

You let out a sigh of contentment, letting your arm remain outstretched while your eyes linger on the moon. A smile creeps upon your face at the familiarity of such a scene, more specifically the one who illustrates it similarly.

"The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" You questioned, turning to look at her with closed-eyed grins.

Arlecchino—Peruere, who had not once settled her gaze on where your perspective retained the attention of nods in agreement. Because once the world was obstructed by its blind spot, she had surveyed its scenery and details like an ancient book lost in the depths of falsehood. She had watched her world countless times, wondering how she had been so fortunate to stumble upon such treasure. How can someone like you allow someone like her to take your hand in a marriage vowed to withstand beyond life and death?

"My dear Pierre, are you alright? You seem to be in a daze of sorts."

Half worried and half-amused, you made your way to her, pressing a palm against her forehead to check if the woman had contracted a fever, knowing full well it was rare for such a thing to occur.

"My enchantress, had you not satiated yourself enough with this relentless amorousness?"

Arlecchino's words have you in light giggles; you had not intended for her to feel seduced by you, but it seems your obliviousness has added fuel to the caged flame since the next thing you can render is her lips against yours.

You're left stunted for a while before finally, your body relaxes within her embrace, returning her eager kiss with equal ferocity. You can feel the air in your lungs being drained lifelessly out of its source as if a vampire has wrapped its sharp fangs around your frail neck. You struggle to keep up with the intoxicating atmosphere, trying desperately to chase after her momentum while still maintaining a semblance of control to leave oxygen for breathing.

"Per—peruere—" You choked between the small gap of the kiss, barely allowing even a whisper; no longer are you able to stand in the same balance as hers.

Her ears luckily picked up on your pleas, and immediately she pulled away, allowing you to inhale and exhale in rapid motion in the sudden presence of oxygen once more. She's apologetically whispering countless expressions of regret to the point where her mother tongue and dialect slip into the mixture.

"No—no, it's okay. I-I'm fine now, just... I didn't expect you to be so pent up." 

At your own words, your eyes linger on the bottom half of her body, your point being proven further by the observation of the large bulge that is threatening to be released from confinement. Arlecchino didn't say anything, either out of shame or at a loss for words in the situation that she let advance despite her usual meticulous calculation of actions.

You mentally estimated the distance and the time that would be wasted in making your way to the resort and decided that the sea was much closer.

"Shall we dive into the sea? You look like you require some cooling, do you not, Peruere?"

You speak of teasing remarks whose tone is masked by an innocent facade, making sure to emphasize your point by allowing your body to press up close against her tall, defined stature, an arm around her neck, and another palming the growing arousal. Arlecchino finally registers the escalation of the situation and opts to play along with this little game of yours.

"We shall, my bride."

Without a moment of hesitation or an added explanation, your lover brought your lips against hers, all the while undressing you with practiced ease. You didn't protest her actions, mirroring them by both the kiss and the clothes, which were tossed to who knows where, but amidst the mayhem, you deliberately saved the most anticipated removal, her pants, for last to savor the tense sexual air a little longer.

The moment you have your hands on her zipper, Arlecchino lifts you by the knees, causing a gasp of shock to escape from your swollen lips. This moment of withdrawal allows you to see that she has not worn boxers the whole time and how truly ravenous her cock is with the way it stands tall, twitching.

She carries you into the cold water, and once inside, she leads you to a boulder, remaining silent throughout. This leaves you speechless, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, partly from a lack of words and partly from the freezing temperature.

"All talks with a lackluster action to speak for, and yet you still refuse to commence your needs when necessary; you have not changed once since we were kids."

Fiery energy erupted from Arlecchino's hands, casting a flame not strong enough to scorch you but one that emits gentle warmth throughout the cool surroundings. The burning fire danced harmlessly, its soft glow illuminating the dark space, creating an inviting scenery in contrast to the abyssal one. It paints your features with luminosity; such radiation makes both of your details more prominent for one another's enjoyment.

"Mn, sorry, love, it seems old habits die hard," you whisper, now in a much raspier and softer tone due to the recent past event that conspired.

This time, you take the initiative and lean in for a kiss. What sets this moment apart from the others in spite of the short range of time is that this is driven by a pure, heartfelt love that comes from the very core of your being—and you can tell it is the same situation for Peruere.

Through lidded eyes, you pull away slightly to consent to her entrance. "Go ahead, Pierre. I'm sure it's starting to hurt, and worry not; I promise you that I will mention any sort of discomfort," you murmur, your voice low with reassurance.

Peruere is hesitant as she presses you lightly against the smooth boulder—not that she doesn't have faith in your words—quite the opposite, really. She wouldn't admit it to you, but whenever it comes to lovemaking, the woman is absolutely restless; having you so close and so vulnerable is a core memory everlasting in her heart, yet she's afraid that one day she might accidentally hurt you in some way, somehow, pathetic, isn't it? She is so deeply in love with you that any brute force against you could practically kill her as well.

It wasn't until you pressed a soothing kiss against her temple that she obliged and inserted her throbbing member inside you, starting slow with just the tip. Regardless, a pleasured whimper betrayed your will, excitement coursing through your veins at her entry. This singular expression of enjoyment is all it takes for Peruere to continue, and sure enough, the full length of her consumes your wall like a perfect piece dug through a pile of unmatched pieces in a puzzle.

You arch your back, a hand covering your eyes as she begins to fasten the pace of thrust, a clear sign of a soon-to-be thrilling momentum and a now comfortable adjustment to a once ocean of anxiety.

"Ah...! Mmm... Just like that, Peruere—" Your voice hitched at the sudden intrusion of her mouth against your neck and the tip of her member pressing on your g-spot.

She elevates you higher against the stone, allowing her to be in position for a deeper reach within your core; meanwhile, her free hand uses its thumb to rub against your clitoris, and the added love marks all over your neck and collarbone have your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

It was only a matter of time before your body felt the sensitivity of the stimulation at its maximum, followed by a quickened heart rate, capricious breathing flow, and tension in the muscles around the pelvic area. Clear symptoms of your upcoming climax.

"Peruere—Please, Oh Archons! ... Don't stop!" You cry, practically clawing her back.

Peruere follows with your desperate plea, allowing her to do what she is best at by hitting your g-spot at the precise time, and she is quick to swallow your moans with a feverish kiss as you come to your long-awaited, blissful orgasm.

She keeps her cock inside, thrusting at a gentle and slow speed to prolong your enjoyment in exchange for her own needs. When you come back to your senses, your energy is practically nonexistent, at which point you feel guilt forming when you realize you won't be able to return her pleasure. Sensing your worries, she plants a kiss on your ear, whispering sweet nothings to ease your blameworthiness.

"Stress is not good for the heart, little dove. My pleasure does not account for the one I am rewarded with by seeing you in euphoria; now do not taint this moment with sorrow. Rest now; I will deal with everything."

A small smile curves at the edges of your mouth, a mental note in the back of your mind forming to thank her for this moment later. Safe and content with her, you fall prey to your exhaustion, resting in utter peace without worries, knowing your Peruere is here to protect you from the accursed world.

꧁ᬊᬁ𓆰𓆪ᬊ᭄꧂

When Arlecchino is sure you're comfortable and clean, she finally decides to take care of herself and opts to go for simple nightwear.

She sits on the edge of the bed, a tender expression consuming her face at your moonlit features in such tranquility. Even when you are not conscious, she still feels as if she is protected just by being near your presence, as if away from the judgment of the world where no name of the Knave or Arlecchino is mentioned, a world in which she is only known as Peruere by her one true soulmate.

Peruere, who grew up with nothing, finally has everything she ever wanted.

Arlecchino slips in under the cover, her arms engulfing your body in a protective cocoon.

With you,

Peruere has a reason to live. 

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ] × Am I slick? No, not all.

[maglorthecrab]

shenanigans in the house of the hearth

[shewhowas39]

OC Insight: What Kind of Love Are You?

i was tagged byt he lovely @gilded-glitter!

rules: take this quiz as your OC and share your results!

i took this for June by durge OC from my fic Juniper & Starlight

(art by @redraccoonart)

LOVE AS A THRESHOLD

Your love does not ask for much. Your love does not take. Your love is free, and unquestioned, and here for wherever needs it. When you fall in love, it is as gentle as a breath in the night. It is quiet, and it is effortless. It is tender. If your love was a house, it would readily welcome all who come through. If your love was a hearth, it would warm the hands of whoever stopped by, whether for a day, a month, a year, or forever. When you fall for someone, it is without strings, without conditions, without need. You love for the sake of loving, for the sake of caring for those who need it. You love with a giver’s heart and a giver’s hands and are made so much stronger for it. Being loved by you is to always feel at home. Your love may not always be well-received by those unprepared to linger, but it is unforgettable all the same.

aw, this was sweet! all right, i'm gonna tag @andauril @eldritchelfwriter and @atsadi-shenanigans!

[celestemona]

HIIII BEA I AM BACK WITH MORE HEADCANONS (A distraction from my language homework that's due tomorrow morning smh)

Kazuha's kids love to listen to him playing his leaf tunes. They're like a lullaby to them. Perhaps his son Kazumi tried to imitate him multiple times but failed and Kazuha's just all chuckles

Since Marie has a brother that's like 14 years older than her, she has that aura ykyk hehe. Imagine having a much older brother and a father who's the boss of a prison be the family of your crush. Like anyone who's pinning on her will have nothing but nightmares getting through Cameron and Wrio. The two would team up to be Marie's bodyguards and when she calls out on them they'd play dumb like "whaaaat haha wdym"

At one point Marie also gets a bit hardcore as she gets older. She's still a daddy's girl, but she's also her father's daughter ykwim? Perhaps she also learns how to box like her dad??

Since Eveline is the Hydro dragon offspring and can naturally wield hydro, she spent her childhood being so confused as to why other kids can't wield hydro like her. Imagine her hanging out with kids and they're like "Wow you can wield Hydro without a Vision?" and she's like "You can't???"

Game nights are always playful war for Lyney's household. Both Lyney and mama reader try to play nice for the twins but always end up victorious and somewhat competitive. In a way, they think it's a way for the kids to nurture their strategizing skills. They make sure to treat Corinne and Quentin some treats tho after every game night hehe.

Heizou. His kid(s). Unknown Case Files game. Imagine.

Fontaine mama readers having mother's group sessions twice a month because why not

The other Harbingers are quietly very fond of Kimi. Every once in a while, Scara would bring her to Fatui Headquarters for work to look after her. The other Harbingers secretly look forward to seeing Kimi as she seems to be the only bright and warm thing in the cold halls of the Fatui Headquarters. Kimi also likes them and sees the Fatui as her home somewhat!

Kimi and Mama reader ice skating in Snezhnaya!!

Okay yapping over I hope you have a wonderful day/night Bea!!

OMG!!!

Hi Yessu, my dear ♡ How have you been aside your studies?

I loved the last headcanons you sent me but these… I think I even got a bit emotional lol Some of them are more canon than you'd imagine...

I mean. How could I disagree with a scene of a little Kazumi trying to imitate his dad by blowing a leaf and ripping it? He's so used to listen his dad's music since he was just a baby that isn't strange he wants to copy him too. His son's shenanigans amuse Kazuha but you can see the love and joy shining in his eyes too. It'll take a while for Kazumi to learn how to play a leaf correctly because he's a bit hasty but eventually he's gonna achieve it <3

One of the million things I love in Marie is her aura hahahah It's also quite funny that Wriothesley's constellation is Cerberus because only it can explain the three "dogs" from the Fortress who are super protective over her: Papa, Cameron & Mama hahah

I absolutely LOVED and agreed with the hc about Heizou's children and Lyney's.

Though Heizou's daughter isn't as interested in police stuff as her parents and older brother are, Ren, on the other hand, can become a bit too competitive when he's playing board games with Heizou. To this day he hasn't beaten his dad or his mom lol

Lyney and Mama!Reader giggling at their twins' pouty AAAAAA <3

By the way. Now that you've mentioned the harbingers meeting Kimi (which is true since she was still pretty small back when he was in the Fatui), I remembered Arlecchino's voice line telling us about those days la Signora used to visit the House of Hearth and rejoy in the kids' attention.

These two had some good times together ♡

[lyzelky]

OC Insight/ What kind of love are you?

Rules: Take this uquiz as your OC and share your results!

Tagged by the lovely @dwarfsized!

TAV

(Sculpt and Render by me!) Love as a Threshold

Your love does not ask for much. Your love does not take. Your love is free, and unquestioned, and here for wherever needs it. When you fall in love, it is as gentle as a breath in the night. It is quiet, and it is effortless. It is tender. If your love was a house, it would readily welcome all who come through. If your love was a hearth, it would warm the hands of whoever stopped by, whether for a day, a month, a year, or forever. When you fall for someone, it is without strings, without conditions, without need. You love for the sake of loving, for the sake of caring for those who need it. You love with a giver’s heart and a giver’s hands and are made so much stronger for it. Being loved by you is to always feel at home. Your love may not always be well-received by those unprepared to linger, but it is unforgettable all the same.

:^) Tagging @gilded-glitter @atsadi-shenanigans @kittenintheden and anyone else who sees this!

[bittersweetresilience]

sunny's favorite asukiess creations

hearth (18,589 words)

Because how do you describe a dream once you wake up, when it’s fleeting and slipping through the cracks in your mind like it’s a sieve? You can barely wrap your lips around the concepts and words before you realize it has slipped through like water, and what lay in your hands is just a pang in your chest? When every moment away from it clouds your mind just a little more, until the memories are threadbare? or: Adrien understands what it means to have a home.

Back when I first met Autumn I was on a reading spree and I saved this fic for last and it just completely stunned me. I remember whipping out a textbox page to annotate for my comment, and that's what kicked off insanely long commenter™ Sunny. No matter what Autumn says! This! Is! My! Favorite! Autumn! Fic! At least until I see the secret one she won't let me see... but no, it will always be special to me.

the secrets we keep (14,661 words)

In the wake of a summer that Adrien never wanted to end, all that he wishes to push away comes back to haunt him when the school years starts again: self-doubt from identities that feel no more real than anything else; ghosts of parents who still talk to him; and most all, a fear that the people he loves will leave him in time, too. however, maybe the person who can relate most to him is the one he's never far from.

The best memories of reading this fic as Autumn wrote it and chatting about it and being teased with every Félix mention and being in love with her mind forever and always... if you've ever liked an asukiess meta post or idea post you'll love this. Combination of all of those beautiful things.

wip i saw as of yesterday

Perhaps premature to put it on this list but I have to include it because it was a taste of AUTUMN ORIGINAL WRITING!!!!!!!! AUTUMN ORIGINAL CHARACTERS!!!!!!!! And theater kid Autumn, too. Autumn could be published... Autumn could do anything... if those fools don't get it I'll start my own Autumn publishing company...

switching shenanigans (1,337 words)

Félix.............. first Autumn Félix.............................

felinette fics

FERAL EXPLODE BOOM DECEASED GRAVE HEADSTONE FIRE HOUSE EMOJIS

The art piece whose WIP inspired a fic out of me which was Autumn and my friendship's origin story... FUCKING NATHALIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I accept this. Such a drop dead gorgeous piece.

The most insane fic ever with the most insane fic art ever... WITNESS!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

EEEEEEEEEMOOOOOOOOOOTIOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love how much Autumn loves this piece, every time she reblogs it it makes me happy. Get some horror in this Felinette tonight.

POLAROIDS I LOVE THEM. LOVEYBUG AU WEEK I LOVE YOU

Can you even function after looking at this. They. Shrimping.

HE'S EVERYTHING TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

This is criminally underrated... Look At Him. HIS FUCKING BUNNY

I ran out of link blocks but I also wanted to share Unrequited. HAMBDS.

AND AUTUMN'S SUPER SECRET LOVEYBUG ZINE WIP

AUTUMN AND HER CLASSICS!!!!!!!!!! AUTUMN AND HER HUMONGOUS BRAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I worship this. It's all Autumn, I just helped with images.

Okay, I was slightly more involved with this one, but Autumn's contributions literally made it 1 billion times better and I will forever cherish the memory.

Hnwhnfhwnfjgnhsnghsnhsfshwhgwnhgwghgh... Emilie...

autumn's felinette and adrifelinette thoughts

Just in general. I am so lucky.

autumn's friendship

I scrolled through our pinned messages and almost cried laughing...

[e-steamedtea]

I'm here to run my mouth once again!

All I can think about are the shenanigans that must bless the House of the Hearth. They're such a cast of characters with a loving but incredibly scary "father". I like to think that hanging out with them either stresses you out or makes you laugh so hard that your sides turn red. From the sheer absurdity of what they can get up to.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

TWOW: Asha I (fragment)

I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking,

"Stumpy, you're not seriously going to write a summary based on an enhanced image of George R. R. Martin's computer screen, are you?"

Listen, if you think I've got any self-respect left, clearly you haven't been paying attention.

Quick summary of the previous chapter for context:

House Frey's army is advancing on Stannis Baratheon's army, which is currently stationed in a snowy, abandoned village.

It's speculated (treat it like a guarantee) that Stannis will lure part of the Frey army onto a brittle frozen lake, where they will plunge through the ice and die.

Moving on.

...daughter of the Lord Reaper of Pyke... ...Asha thought as she look a... lay of the land.

The narrator of Asha's chapter is quickly revealed:

it's Asha.

+.+.+

The leader of the enemy wore silvered plate and mail, in laid with details of lapis lazuli. The crest of the warhelm was tall, fashioned in the shape of the Twin Towers of House Frey.

That leader, with the stupid looking warhelm, is Hosteen Frey.

What I don't understand is how Asha can see him so clearly. The conditions are expected to provide almost zero visibility.

This chapter might occur after Night Lamp shenanigans, and Hosteen wasn't one of the casualties.

+.+.+

Before him rode three banner bearers. One bore the stag and lion standard of King Tommen, another the Twin Towers of House Frey. The third brandished a bloody head impaled upon the point of a tall spear.

What a fun parallel.

With him rode three of his lads. Tumco Lho carried the three-headed dragon banner of House Targaryen, red on black. Larraq the Lash bore the white forked standard of the Kingsguard: seven silver swords encircling a golden crown. To the Red Lamb Selmy had given a great silver-banded warhorn, to sound commands across the battlefield. - Barristan I, TWOW

+.+.+

An old man's head it was, white-bearded and one eyed. The spear was... with a pale wood, almost white... along its upper shaft had... dark and red.

That better not be who I think it is.

Is the head on a weirwood spear? Rude. Uncalled for! These Freys, no respect.

+.+.+

Crowfood Umber, Asha knew. The old northman had fought to his death, it seemed. Perhaps the foe had thought the sight of the severed head would take the hearts of the...

NOOOoooooo!

NOT AN UMBER.

The Giantslayer disagreed. "You would make His Grace look weak. I say, show our strength. Burn Last Hearth to the ground and ride to war with Crowfood's head mounted on a spear, as a lesson to the next lord who presumes to offer half his homage." - Jon IV, ADWD

I HATE IT.

No one should have to lose their life for Stannis! No one!

+.+.+

They rushed together like...

two incestuously-inclined siblings embracing, their hearts overflowing with a mix of familiarity, warmth, and forbidden passion.

Final thoughts:

You know what I realized last night? A substantial portion of the Frey army drowning in a frozen lake is a pretty ironic way to die given what they did to Catelyn Stark.

George R. R. Martin, man. He never forgets.

Final chapter: Alayne I (Sansa I) 😱

-> return to menu <-

[romaritimeharbor]

Well, he isn't exactly my favorite (that would be papa Arlecchino ❤️🖤🤍), but he did pop into my head near-immediately when I saw the post.

So, I noticed how in both of your Dad!Pantalone(... Dadalone!) au's, his is originally in his care (for however brief a time) before they begin attending the House of Hearth. So what if it was the other way around?

Maybe for whatever business related reason, Pantaloons finds himself taking a steady series of visits to the Hearth to talk with Arle on important manners, then they meet the Reader, maybe they've be instructed to meet the Regrader by Arle herself, they have a little chit-chat (since iirc, Pants is a yapper according to an Arlecchino voiceline, right?) and maybe after some reoccurring encounters, Panasonic finds himself becoming fond of them. So during one meeting, he broches the idea of him adopting them.

Shenanigans occur 🤭

Now, as for things I'm looking to seeing you write from the list? Hmmmm, currently I'd say the Kafk hurt/comfort and the Arle hurt/comfort one (the one where the Reader worries the Arle doesn't view them as one of her own). Oh! The Wanderer Angst to Comfort also interested me quite a bit!

Also, a little bit back I was able to actually find the energy to send a couple req ideas your way, and was just wanting to check if you got those?

THE RETURN OF DADALONE!!!!!! i miss that guy more and more everyday i need to write more fics about him fr <3 need to start on all of my old serieses again actually, but specifcially that one...

he IS a yapper according to literally every playable harbinger LMFAO love that for him!! i may just write thia idea today... possibly... 🤭

i see i see!!!!!! i'll keep this in mind hehehehe. the kafka one shouldn't take very long to finish once i actually start, so i've been meaning to begin it for some time now. maybe this is a sign to?

yep yep i believe i did!!!! i'm fairly sure i did, anyways? but i will definitely go back and check to be sure 🫶

[draco-glacialis]

Tsaritsa: Did you take out Furina as I requested?

Arlecchino: Furina has been taken out, yes.

Tsaritsa: You have my grat-

Arlecchino: It was a great restaurant.

Arlecchino: We had a romantic candlelit dinner.

Arlecchino: Furina proposed afterwards- we’re filing the wedding papers.

[housedeaubemarle]

The Grand Hunt - Part 1: The Call

Follows after 'A House Call' but without any direct connection.

Part 2: The Tracking

Part 3: The Hunt

Part 4: The Trophy

(written, as always, with the inimitable and ever patient @escherstrange-ffxiv who has been nothing but hospitable in allowing me to use her boys for FFXIV-Regency-with-a-side-of-Downton-Abbey-related shenanigans; I am much obliged)

tw: harassment, stalking, assault, blood

~*~

It has been about a month since the grand ball of Maintigny, a much-talked-of event in which joyous merrymaking and - because this is Ishgard - gleeful scandalising had taken place. Ishgardian highborn society still reflects on that starry night with fascination if not delight, much to Lady Oisinne de Maintigny’s satisfaction. Even certain members of the High Houses have been heard to still bring that night into conversation. 

That was then. Now, it is a calm early morning in late spring, and among the correspondence delivered (with increasing regularity) to House de Losstarot is a faintly-scented notecard, bordered with handsome filigree. Directly in the centre of the card is one handwritten sentence in (perhaps vexingly) familiar cursive script and brown ink. 

‘The Dowager Viscountess Philomene de Aubemarle kindly requests the pleasure of the Lords Joshua de Losstarot and Isillud de Losstarot’s company at her home, this day at 11 o’clock.’   

There is no instruction on what to do if they are unable to give her ladyship the pleasure of their company. 

~*~

"I swear to the Twelve if it's another social…"

Isillud reads and rereads the card. "To call someone so early and at such short notice for just a social call is most unlike the dowager."

"You think it's something else?"

He pockets the card. "She has done much for us; the least we can do is be prompt."

As if on cue, the carriage stops in front of House Aubemarle, with the crow perched on Isillud's shoulder helpfully cawing to inform the siblings. Joshua shields his eyes from the glare of the morning sun while Isillud gives three solid knocks on the door.

30 seconds later, ever reliably, Marceaux stands in the doorway. Not a single eyelash bats at the appearance of the dark bird on Isillud’s shoulder.

“Good morning, my lords. My lady will receive you in her drawing room. This way please.”

He guides them to said room, different from the cream confection they’d been received in on their first visit. This one is decorated in shades of pale dusky rose and pastel pink; nothing loud or garish, but it gives the impression of more warmth than the previous drawing room. Such warmth is augmented by a low fire burning in the hearth. And there, on another sofa before yet another full tea service on a similar low table, sits the Dowager Viscountess. She’s been staring into the fire, hands folded in her lap, when Marceaux announces “Lord Joshua de Losstarot and Lord Isillud de Losstarot” as he opens the door.

She turns her head, but does not rise since she is the elder relative. The woman sitting beside her, a Duskwight with sandy brown hair tied in a bun, does stand however, in order to give a respectful curtsey to the gentlemen. She appears older than the Losstarots, but bears no resemblance to the Dowager.

“Good morning, my lords. Your punctuality is commendable indeed. Please have a seat.” There is a brief pause when she notices the crow. Then she turns to her companion, bids the lady bend closer so that she may whisper something right in her ear.

“At once, milady,” replies the woman, and disappears quickly from the room, closing the door behind her. 

Meanwhile, the Dowager herself sits forward, and begins pouring a milky beverage into the porcelain cups. It is Ishgardian tea this time, it appears.

“I am sure the invitation was an inconvenient surprise, and you have my apologies. It is frankly barbaric to send a card at seven o’ clock and expect one’s guests four hours later on the same day."

All of them step forward to take their seats, with Joshua saying, "Not at all, Viscountess. It is our pleasure to serve after the kindness you have shown us since we first met."

"Even so, I shall be direct in order to make up for such discourteous manners.”

She finishes pouring and looks up at them. 

“I would like you to hunt down some people and enact justice on behalf of House de Aubemarle.”

Joshua's gracious smile changes to confusion at the Dowager's request. The crow tilts its beady eyes curiously at the Dowager though Isillud is the least affected of the trio.

"Like vigilantes?"

The Dowager tsks. ”Not quite vigilantes, my lord. I do not wish you to make a career out of it. But time is of the essence, and I find myself in need of some resourceful young men.”

She sits back against the sofa with her cup, but doesn’t lean into the cushions. Her posture is as straight as ever.

“Last evening, just after sundown I was told, two of our housemaids were returning from running errands at the Crozier, when some men accosted them. Those brutes made them the typical perverse propositions their kind always does, and when our maids tried to flee the situation, they were grabbed and manhandled into an alley.”

The calm on her face gradually gives way to stiff anger, as she continues. 

“It is surely by the mercy of the Fury that they successfully fought off these assailants before anything worse occurred, although not without some cost. They arrived home, both terrified, one wounded. It was not without effort to even discover from them the series of events I have just told you. Such is their condition that they cannot recollect anything that may help us conclusively identify these savages. Suspicions are all we have.”

The Dowager’s grip on her teacup tightens as her anger mounts.

“Ishgard is no city for the faint hearted. It has its myriad dangers. However, no one who wears the uniform of House Aubemarle has ever had to fear for their safety or dignity, from the Pillars to the Foundation. Someone has dared to touch our people. Something must be done.”

Joshua taps his chin, eyebrows knit as the cogs turn in his head. "Possibly the first time, or they aren't the only victims… Viscountess, do you know if your servants were the first attack in the Crozier? Have there been other noble houses who have this same issue?"

“To my knowledge, we have the misfortune to be the one and only occurrence. None of my circles have mentioned such violence in any capacity. And I would have heard if there had been such incidents.” She shakes her head. “Most of our concerns for safety involve idiots duelling each other over petty concerns, and the occasional, deluded individual who imagines their thievery will go undiscovered.”

The door of the room opens quietly, admitting the woman who had left earlier. She sets a small bowl of blackberries on the table.

The Dowager glances over, then gestures at it. “For your bird, if it should care for it, Lord Isillud.”

She continues, addressing the woman who's resumed her seat beside the Dowager. “Nisette, what were the girls doing in the Crozier?”

“They had been to the locksmith, milady. Mr Ofanleitasyn had ordered a new lock and key for the back kitchen door. There was a message sent in the late afternoon to say it was ready.” Nisette herself presses her lips together in some distress, and hesitates. It is only when the Dowager nods that she continues. 

“The others wouldn't have let Rewelle go in the first place, as no one was available to accompany her. But Rewelle insisted. She even roused Yisa earlier than usual to go with her.” 

The Dowager’s frown is disapproving, but she doesn't say anything. She turns back to her guests.

“My lords, there is a reason I do not believe this is any mere attempt at a robbery. As I said earlier, thieves who try to rob a noble house, much less servants who were not carrying anything particularly valuable, are deluded fools.

“No, this involves Rewelle, and thus suspicions, regrettably, must fall on Lord Ajax Gaussain.”

Isillud nods to his crow. "Go on, Will. Don't forget to thank the Viscountess for her hospitality." The crow glides to the bowl, cawing and bowing its head before helping itself.

Joshua has a look of distaste when he hears the name. "You think Lord Ajax fancies your servant and this is his way of intimidating her?"

The Dowager’s lip twitches slightly upwards at Joshua’s unhidden reaction. “Your brevity, Lord Joshua, is admirable though I find ‘fancy’ too agreeable a word for what is at play here.”

She lets out a breath, as if bracing herself for her own elaboration.

“He first caught sight of Rewelle late last year when he accompanied his mother here on a visit. I was preoccupied with my recovery, and so for ten days, my servants had to endure the foolish amount of bouquets and trinkets he sent to the manor’s back door in an attempt to woo her. All those ‘tributes’ were disposed of as soon as they were discovered. When a necklace arrived, they felt compelled to inform me and my daughter, despite my condition. I made Oudine bide her time while I wrote to Lady Amitte regarding the inappropriacy of her son’s behaviour. The necklace was also returned.”

(Beside her, Nisette nods silently as she keeps her head down, focusing on some stitching she has produced.)

“That woman,” says the Dowager with sharp disgust, “had the gall to say, ‘respectfully’, that her son would not ever pursue a lowborn woman, and perhaps, I had let my illness cloud my judgement. Nonetheless, as a ‘favour’ to myself and the name of Aubemarle, she would let it be known to her family, and request her son to inform his own… associates, that we would not countenance the harassment of our servants. She even sent that ridiculous necklace back. Our outrage at seeing it in this house again, I will not describe.”

The short silence which follows is filled in only by the sound of the crow’s beak clinking gently against the bowl as it picks up berries.

“For a time, it seemed Lady Amitte’s motherly advice worked. Nothing more darkened our back door, and we ensured no Gaussain ever entered our home again, no matter how many calling cards they left. Then, the shadowing began.” The Dowager takes a sip of her tea, more to calm herself than out of thirst. “Rewelle would go out into the city, and distinctly feel herself being watched. The girl thought it her own imagination, and so kept it to herself.

“Until the day he directly approached her in the Crozier.” The Dowager’s lip curls in a sneer. “I will not repeat the odious promises and reassurances he poured into her ear. Being one of her status, Rewelle could not safely deny his attention and was forced to have his company all the way to our back door.

“Mr Ofanleitasyn witnessed Lord Ajax leaving after Rewelle ran into the kitchen, frightened and upset. He himself asked to see my daughter at once and reported the entire incident.”

(Nisette has been silently glaring at her thread for a few minutes, as if the sewing had insulted her entire family line.)

“The servants were instructed not to let Rewelle run errands if possible, and if she had to, one other person was to be with her at all times. For her part, Oudine went to speak directly to Lord Tramault.”

The Dowager puts the cup down on her lap, and looks the Losstarots in the eye. She had already been angry from the moment she began her story.

The calmness of her tone doesn't match the fury burning in her dark brown eyes.

“‘Sending a lowborn woman little presents and walking her home is no crime’ was the answer given.”

Joshua looks at Isillud; the older brother notices the stare and instead turns to pet his crow, smoothing out the feathers with his fingers. 

"Indeed it is no crime, but," Joshua rises and paces the floor. "It is the inability to bow out like a gentleman after rejection that makes it twice as rude."

"She's just a conquest," Isillud adds. "Being the youngest just means he still has his mother's petticoats to cower under." A tiny smile curls at the corner of his mouth.

Joshua sticks his hands in his pockets, scowling at Isillud. "Some people just have all the luck," he mutters darkly. "That makes retribution more satisfying." 

"But all you have right now are suspicions." The bright emerald eyes of the older Losstarot look to the Dowager. "Please allow me to speak to Rewelle and her companion, Viscountess. Even if it's hired thugs, it'll be a start."

The Dowager stiffens visibly. “‘Just a conquest’ indeed. You know, your house currently possesses a most noble motto, 'May the Rood ever flourish', but perhaps ‘en toutes choses, brièveté’ would be more appropriate.”

Joshua is amused by the motto enough to grin, despite the Dowager's expression. "It would be ungracious to beat around the bush when you have spoken plain, Viscountess."

She gives him a look, then eyes Isillud warningly. “I shall not have one of this house be hunted, physically or verbally. Aubemarle has always taken care of those in our protection. I must ask for delicacy in your inquiries.”

Isillud remains serious. "If all goes to plan, she need not utter a word. I'll speak to them in your presence if it will allay your doubts." Joshua nods along with a smile that says, ‘He knows what he's doing.’

The older lady looks at each brother in turn, as if to appraise their intentions, then shakes her head. “Have a care, my lord. Such a promise, in the presence of others, will only inflame the rumours of your family's abilities.” 

The Dowager stretches her hand towards her attendant, who instantly puts away her stitching and places the Hornbill walking stick into her mistress’ hand. She gets up, prompting everyone else to stand.

“I will have them brought here. When your interview is concluded, have the goodness to stay a little longer - there are other things you ought to be apprised of before you begin any kind of search.”

Nisette curtsies, both Losstarots bow, the Dowager leaves. Only the gentle crackling of the fire, and the soft clicks of a crow’s beak fill the air upon her exit.

As soon as they are left alone Joshua flails. "Really? Here? And you call me reckless, Izzy, they're maids, the gossip will reach Ajax within two bells, no longer, and we'll lose the lead."

Isillud stares evenly at his brother. "And what was your plan?"

He hems and sputters back, "I-I don't know, use Rewelle to lure him out, make a rumour you're marrying her?"

"Ajax Gaussain has been telling every willing ear that I have bedded every man on the star, and you think he'll believe that?"

"He's not wrong!"

Isillud sticks a finger up at Joshua, "Not true, Marceaux still has his virtue intact."

"...Eventually!"

The crow caws, flapping its wings and making a clawing motion with its feet. Both brothers shout, "No!" in unison at it. 

Joshua scratches his head, "Whoever's doing this, we must lure them out of Ishgard first, there are too many eyes and wagging tongues to be subtle."

Isillud takes the liberty to settle in on the couch, sarcasm plain on his face, "I'll try."

~*~

The brothers wait - suggesting, disagreeing, re-suggesting, disagreeing again - for quite some time, before there is a polite knock on the door.

In a way, the young lords are to be pitied when expecting only two people, seven individuals instead pour through the doorway, practically filling the room. From the group, three of them come forward: two Wildwood Elezens - one wears a maid’s uniform, while the other has on a dark green gown, a chatelaine jingling softly with its accoutrements as she moves - and one Keeper Miqo’te, dwarfed by everyone in the room. 

Despite the vast difference in height, it is the Elezen maid who clings to the tiny Miqo’te girl, hand never leaving the latter’s shoulder. Her long, lustrous jet-black hair is tied back neatly, leaving two thin bangs to frame her lovely - worried - face. Her eyes are dark, with thick black lashes; below them are a shapely nose and rosy lips upon a fair, smooth complexion. If she had been highborn, the entirety of Ishgard would have fallen over themselves in their efforts to win even just a smile from her. This could not be any other than the Rewelle spoken of earlier.

Her support, Yisa, is a sight once never seen in the city, but now becoming ever so slightly more common. The first thing one is drawn to are her large, luminous eyes, their irises white like the full moon. They are well matched by her white hair, woven with faint pink-purple highlights, and two sharp furry ears that point upwards. A small braid hangs on each side of her blue-grey face. Thick white bandages are wrapped around her tiny forearms, going up past the puffy sleeves of her uniform; above her collar peeks the corner of another bandage.

The Elezen in the green gown, with honey-gold hair and pale green eyes, curtsies deeply. The retinue behind her, consisting of one Hyur woman, another Hyur man and two more Duskwight men follow suit with their silent greetings. All of them look grimly determined.

When she raises her head, the green-gowned one has a distressed expression despite her polite greetings. “Good afternoon, milords. I am Mrs Marinterre, the housekeeper. I was instructed to bring you Rewelle and Yisa.”

(Rewelle’s grip tightens. Yisa reaches up to her shoulder to pat her friend’s hand.)

“I do beg milords’ pardon for the intrusion of my other colleagues,” says Mrs Marinterre. “They are… very much concerned for Rewelle and Yisa. My lady, the Dowager Viscountess, has suggested that perhaps you might be able to put their fears to rest.”

(The Hyur footman at the back, with dark brown hair and black eyes, looks particularly unconvinced.) 

It is not done for servants to question their betters like this. In any other circumstance, this would be unheard of in such a tightly-run ship as the Aubemarle house. It would seem that they have been given special dispensation by the Dowager herself. Tellingly, Marceaux is absent - he had no say in any of this. Allay their doubts as well, not just mine, the Dowager is saying.

In the Losstarots’ case, they hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly is not this. Isillud's eyes widen, his jaw slacks as he takes in the features of each and every servant. Joshua's mouth opens but no sound comes out, making him look like a goldfish with each false start. "Uhh…" 

But Isillud has not spent the last 5 years wandering the world in vain; he may still be adjusting to the inner workings of Ishgard's high society but he knows people, and people always need something to believe in.

You wish to make a show of this? So be it.

The painfully thin Elezen exhales, back straight, legs crossed. "Before I begin, I simply ask my captive audience that what will soon transpire does not leave the room." He puts a finger to his lips. "Ishgard is never ready for some secrets." Once he has the room's (silent, doubtful, confused) consensus, he removes his gloves with his teeth, because he knows he's absurdly beautiful when he does it. 

Joshua cringes at the scene, covering his face with his eyes while facing the door. He mentally calculates how long it will take the room to realise his disappearance; before he even begins the crow perches on his shoulder, claws digging through his jacket.

If Izzy stays, so do you, it says.

Isillud extends his hand to the crowd: a slender hand but with its fair share of cuts and creases, the sign of a life that hasn't been without its obstacles yet soft and graceful as a noble's hand should. He slowly sweeps his hand across the servants.

It stops in front of Yisa, not Rewelle.

"Perhaps, Miss Yisa, if you went first, you could assure Miss Rewelle of my intentions?" He drops his voice, soft and low as if he was coaxing a man to his bed. "You only need to hold my hand."

~*~

Tiny Yisa looks up at the very tall noble with his hand outstretched towards her. Well, all of them are tall, noble or not. But he seems taller, and from the way his green eyes glow (not even a Keeper’s eyes glow like that), and his voice calls like a turtledove to its mate… more curious than any other Ishgardian she’s met.

Her large eyes take him in, disconcertingly direct. Ishgardian servants don't look their masters so rudely in the face. But what she sees makes her blink slowly, consideringly. An ear flicks.

Then she turns from Isillud to look up at Mrs Marinterre and the rest of the staff. “He will help. There will be more danger if you all stay.”

“Yisa…” says the Hyur woman at the back, brow wrinkling in deep concern. 

The Miqo'te nods encouragingly. “Go. It will be fine.”

Mrs Marinterre looks at her thoughtfully, then at Rewelle. The black haired maid draws in a deep breath. “Please,” she says softly.

The housekeeper nods decisively, then curtsies towards the Losstarots. She turns around and begins gently shooing everyone out.

“But-!” 

“Come on, Lamb,” says one of the Elezen footmen, pushing his Hyur friend to the door. He stops to glance at the scene before him, the light gleaming on his glasses, before sweeping his still-protesting colleague out. Mrs Marinterre closes the door firmly.

In the much emptier room, Yisa looks back at Isillud. “I do not know your secrets, my lord, but I think you should love them better. Do you still wish me to go first?”

Neither brother knows what to say at this Keeper's ability to clear the room, in spite of the Dowager’s permissions, to boot.

Though Joshua looks at his brother for guidance, Isillud simply looks at the young woman in front of him, taken aback by her kindness. His hand falters as he says, "...thank you." Yet he still extends it to her. "Only if you wish it, otherwise it's best to proceed to Rewelle's."

Yisa nods, then very gently takes Rewelle’s hand from her shoulder. She squeezes it reassuringly.

“I am still here. I am well,” she says. “Be brave. Tell him what happened.”

Rewelle takes in yet another deep breath, then releases it. “Alright.”

Like an officiant at a wedding, Yisa softly places Rewelle’s hand into Isillud’s, then rests her own atop her friend’s. After an instant, she removes it. 

“I woke Yisa up earlier than she needed to,” begins the maid hesitantly. “I wanted her to go with me to the locksmith’s since everyone else was so busy. With my lady Viscount out of the city, we wanted to make the house ready for her return. The others didn’t wish me to go, but…” 

Rewelle’s worried brow now takes on a defiant turn. The delicate air of her previous expression disappears. “I didn’t want to be some… some bird in a cage. I didn’t want his lordship to win. So I insisted I go. Yisa was very kind to agree to come. Lamb kept arguing with me, kept saying to leave it to the next morning, but I wouldn’t listen.

“We got to the locksmith’s well enough. I even taught Yisa one of our children’s rhymes on the way. We said hello, and collected Mr Ofanleitasyn’s parcel. It was a small thing - just a lock and a key, wrapped in paper - so I slipped it into my pocket. The sun was going down, I remember.

“Then…” She pauses, swallows, continues. “Then, halfway on our walk back, Yisa said she could feel something strange.” Rewelle glances at the Miqo’te who nods solemnly, eyes still bright and gleaming. “She gets these… notions, when things aren’t right. When someone doesn’t mean well. So I said, hold my hand, and we’ll walk as quick as we can.

“Then two men. Two Elezens because they were too tall to be anything else. They stepped out right in front of us, blocking our way. Said… said nasty things about us.” Rewelle’s hand begins to tremble as her breathing picks up. “I told them to leave us alone, that we were from the Aubemarle house. They laughed. They laughed. Said that we could have been from Durendaire and it wouldn’t have mattered one whit.

“Then one of them said they knew the Viscount was away. That the old lady Aubemarle was just… was just…” She instinctively grips Isillud’s hand tighter, to try and stop shaking. Tears of anger pool in her eyes. “Was an old baggage with no power to protect us.”

Yisa reaches out to take her other hand, holding it tightly.

Rewelle, a little bolstered now, exhales. She continues. “Yisa told me there was another one of them behind us. So I told them they were rotten scum and their mothers would die of shame if they smelled their stench, and while they laughed, I threw the parcel at one of their heads.”

A very small, grim smile peeks out - the first time she’s done so since she entered the room. “I think I managed to get one of them, because one said something about their ‘bleedin’ eye’. While they did that, we ran sideways. I felt the one at the back lunge for us but we were too quick. At least… for a moment, we were too quick.”

The smile vanishes. “They grabbed us from behind. Called us all sorts of names. Dragged us into an alley… there was… a knife. Maybe two. They pointed it at us, said that if we didn’t want to be cut to ribbons and thrown out of the city into the abyss, we’d come along quiet-like.

“The knife frightened me. Greatly. I couldn’t move when I saw the blade. So I just kept quiet and nodded. But Yisa…” She looks at her friend, and tears roll down her cheeks. She sniffles, trying to breathe through the memory, but keeps going. 

“She leapt right at them, my lord. Like some sort of fearsome beast, screeching and yowling. She’s so small but so lightning fast, they couldn’t get at her properly. I don’t know how she did it, but she got all three men. She got them so fast in the dark.

“Yisa was the one who dragged me out. Told me to run and not stop. And we did. We ran all the way to the back door. I didn’t know…” Rewelle shakes her head. “I didn’t know Yisa had been so hurt until we reached home, and I saw all her blood on the floor.”

Rewelle stops; she raises her head to look up at Isillud, wordlessly pleading for him to say it is enough.

~*~

Isillud's eyes are shut tight, losing himself in the depths of her memory. Her narration fades into background noise as he retraces Rewelle's footsteps around Ishgard, looking up at the men who accosted them. 

A ruby clasp in one ear, too luxurious for a thug. 

He stares at the blade through her eyes, pointed at her neck: Small enough to be missed when one's frozen in fear yet large enough to show off. 

Show the mark to Joshua, he has an eye for brands. 

The thugs themselves have faces far too common in Ishgard, right down to the eye colour, but the clasp is as good a clue as any. His head bows lower as the memory goes on, fingers slowly wrapping around Rewelle's hand. 

Watch, don't look away as Ishgard did when your house fell.

The pool of blood jolts Isillud; he pulls away as if her touch is fire, his breath hitches from the rough return to reality and his eyes snap open at Rewelle's tear-streaked face silently pleading  to him. He looks at his bare hand, then slowly to her. It is hard to smile, not after what he has seen; he simply bows from his seat till his forehead touches his knees. "Thank you Miss Rewelle, you have been extremely helpful." He nods to Yisa, a silent cue that he's done.

Joshua - leaning against the couch the entire time - looks expectantly at Isillud. "There are things I'll need to show you when we get home," Isillud says, "I think you'll be able to recognize some if not all of them."

Rewelle, very surprised by the reaction but relieved that whatever strange thing the milord had been doing is over, steps back. She would have fallen if not for the steady hand of Yisa, who is staring at the lord, bent over double on the sofa. The other highborn, the younger one, seems at a loss for what to do himself apart from respond to his brother in the affirmative.

She looks back at Rewelle. “Are you alright?”

The Elezen hasn’t stopped shivering, but still answers, “Y, yes. I’m… fine. I will be.”

“Good. You will be.” Yisa pats her hand reassuringly and finally lets go. “Please will you go and find Mrs Marinterre? Tell her milord is finished here.” 

“Yisa?”

The Miqo’te smiles at last. “I will join you very shortly.” 

Rewelle nods. She curtsies to both the lords, murmurs a thank you and a good afternoon, and leaves quietly.

Yisa watches her go, then kneels in front of Isillud. The noble’s breathing is laboured, and she can see that he shakes. 

So in her calm, even voice, she asks very gently, like someone trying to lead an injured animal out from wherever it has curled itself up in: “Milord, I know this is not done in Ishgard. But I am not Ishgardian. Would you let me ask Menphina for her blessing for your trials?” 

Isillud busies himself by putting on his gloves, clasping his hands together in an effort to stop the shaking. He ponders over Yisa's offer, looking over her features for… what, he does not know. Her offer is plain yet he knows many would politely decline for the Fury's blessing is more than sufficient. Men have triumphed over dragons with it alone, after all.

And yet he remembers when he knew the Fury was no longer enough.

He smiles gently, nodding once. "That is very kind of you, thank you."

Yisa stands, raises one small hand as if in benediction. She shuts her own eyes now, and begins to murmur. 

It is not in Common nor Ishgardian, but something else entirely - the sounds wash over each other, syllable upon syllable brushing each other gently, like the susurration of long grass swept by wind under the pale light of a full moon. It is calming, and soft, and somehow, strangely cooling, even in the warm drawing room.

There may, or may not, be a faint, thin layer of frost surrounding Joshua, Will and Isillud as Yisa prays. It disappears as soon as one blinks.

The blessing is not long. She ends with ‘Menphina’, then reopens her eyes. Their luminosity seems to have increased as she smiles. “You too are kind, milord, to accept a servant’s small prayer, and not to Halone the Fury at that.”

“The Fury is one of the Twelve. She would not begrudge a prayer from her kin.” It is curious how the chill in his hands is not like the Ishgardian cold, but a soothing breeze to calm his heart.

A touch of approval appears in Yisa's expression. “Menphina the Lover sees fit to bless you, for you love. Too hard sometimes, She says, but you love, all the same.” She steps back, and curtsies. “Thank you both, milords. May your hunt be courageous, your prey worthy.”

"Thank you," Isillud says quietly as she leaves, her white tail brushing the door before it closes.

The crow appears to examine itself, poking its head beneath its wings and waddling in a circle shaking imaginary frost off its tail. Joshua, however, experiences none of it, instead his mind drifts to Zeir. Is she well? Has she returned to the Shroud?  He bites his lower lip. Will I ever have the chance to make up for what I did?

"Joshua."

The boy snaps back to reality. Isillud straightens his coat, standing by his side. "Let us say our farewells to the Dowager and be on our way. We have tough work ahead."

~*~

Against expectation, the lords Losstarot needn’t leave the room to find her ladyship. The Dowager herself comes in not long after Yisa’s departure - no doubt informed by the able Mrs Marinterre that the lords have completed their questioning - and unlike earlier, quite alone. Her walking stick is an able assistant as she moves into the room, quicker than people usually imagine. 

She takes her place in a chair this time, holding onto her cane. There is no preamble whatsoever, no reference to, much less apology for, the peculiar ill-discipline of her staff, and absolutely, no mention of Yisa’s oddness.

“So gentlemen, do you believe the noble name of Gaussain has been dragged into this sordid affair, or is it merely the ramblings of an old woman?”

"There seem to be clues pointing to it - a ruby earring and a blade. For a thug to brazenly wear a ruby in Ishgard knowing the implications means they must know the Gaussains in some form," Isillud explains. "Do you know if they have any such associations, or employ a certain group of people?"

Despite herself, and the fact that the young lord has brought up rubies - something the Gaussains have worked for years to be associated with - the Dowager raises an eyebrow. “You flatter me by thinking one of my age would be privy to the activities and agendas of men three times younger than myself.”

Seeing Joshua begin to open his mouth, she waves a dismissive hand - a little jest, in the only way the Dowager knows how.  

She looks away to stare at the fire, consulting memories of conversations and gossip that might be of use. 

At last, she says. “I have only little pieces of knowledge, my lord. I beg your indulgence if these are irrelevant to your efforts.

“First: House Gaussain, you may know, trades in bladed and edged weapons, but I do not place confidence in that regard. Their reach is long established, and far - most in the Pillars, and perhaps even the Brume, could have a Gaussain dagger. I have heard they were recently trying to reach some form of understanding with House Haillenarte regarding firearms, but that might be unimportant. 

“Second: among Lord Tramault’s favourite subjects is his family’s rubies. Oudine had been at a meeting once where he claimed their exclusivity and rarity were unmatched in this city. That their quality and cut could only be found in a place that knew gemstones just as Ishgard knew ice and snow.” Her voice flattens when she adds, “Lord Tramault’s love of the irritatingly dramatic is second only to his love of deriding Ishgard.”

She huffs, then continues. “And third: Lady Hailleone was lamenting how her younger grandsons had been frequenting a most unsuitable establishment. It was not enough that the place exposed her darlings to unsavoury dealings, but to be situated within sight of St Reymanaud's Cathedral was practically blasphemy.”

The Dowager looks up at them expectantly. “Those grandsons of hers are frequently seen in Lord Ajax's company. I shouldn't doubt that two noblemen of your stature will be able to locate the place, and persuade people to talk.”

Then her brows furrow in an actual confused expression. “Thugs wearing rubies in the Pillars? How stupid could they be?”

Joshua files the information in his head for further use, especially of House Gaussain's arms dealings. "The lure of luxury is often irresistible, Viscountess. Give a man or woman a free bauble and if it matches their eyes they'll wear it for life." He snorts derisively at his own opinion, one seemingly learned from experience. “Also, why does Lord Tramault still stay in Ishgard if he hates it so much? A man of his wealth could easily settle well in Ul'dah."

Isillud's ears have perked at the mention of grandsons. "An unsuitable establishment, you say? Tell me more."

While Joshua rolls his eyes, the Dowager holds back a remark - not a thing she's accustomed to, so it annoys her somewhat - about how Isillud seems rather too eager to keep the rumours regarding him much too alive. They are here to do her a favour, and what is more, have clearly accomplished more in one hour than she could have done in a day. So she should at least try to be as helpful as she can bring herself to be.

She replies to Joshua instead. “Spoken like one older than his years.” She shifts her weight, leaning a little bit more on her cane. “There has been a House Gaussain in Ishgard for as long as memory holds. I can only assume that for all his contempt, the respect and regard given to a house that has withstood so much is still an incentive to stay.”

Then she eyes Isillud, whose own green eyes have sparked a little more awake, still inexplicably waiting for her to come back to his question. 

“Young man, I have a feeling you can tell me far more about unsuitability. I ask you to remember your health at the very least. I do not know where this place is; perhaps one of my servants might have an idea. If my son were here, no doubt he’d be able to even tell you the number of bricks used to build it.”

She pauses a moment, then evidently reaches some decision within herself, because her indignation has not left her body nor her mind. It hasn’t left since she was told what had happened the night before.

“Let me be blunt, my lords. I myself am mother to a rascal and a wretch, so I am peculiarly not unaware ofcertain liberties men will take. However, there are rakes, and there are degenerates.” 

She glares at the fire as she speaks, perhaps a habit when there is no justifiable target to direct her anger towards. “Remont does not press attention on maids who do not desire it. He has flaws aplenty - the stubborn and deliberate inability to accept a refusal is not among them. Ajax, on the other hand, has no such honour. I am sure you have heard any amount of gossip regarding his… proclivities. No doubt the side effects of his selfishness, left to their own devices without succour or recourse, are pitter pattering around the Brume. But he is ever shielded, for he is a Gaussain.”

She is a little too far from the hearth for the firelight to fall on her face, but it does not appear necessary. Fury is what lights her eyes, as it had done earlier.

“I have played this game too long not to predict the outcome if I did what I ought. Whether it is I or Oudine who speaks, the High Houses will not be of help, not for the likes of a lowborn servant or a foreign Miqo’te. They will be of even less help if House Gaussain is involved.

“If you manage to find evidence, make it ironclad, unless you wish to see exactly how unforgiving Lord Tramault is when it comes to what he would call slander. Even if his youngest is an acknowledged libertine, Rewelle remains physically unharmed. There will not be a case to make in his eyes; there will be reprisals. One false step, and both Aubemarle and Losstarot will pay dearly.”

She looks up at the Losstarots finally, stern and determined. 

“But some devil drew blades on unarmed, untrained girls. He cannot be allowed to escape unscathed.”

Joshua puffs his chest at the Dowager's praise, recognition he has long sought to hear. Returning to Ishgard had indeed been the right choice.

"Ajax may be well-protected, Viscountess, but whether all his hirelings are is another matter," is Isillud’s comment.

Joshua looks at his brother. "You suggest a warning?"

"Provided we find the right men." Isillud pats his crow’s head, which it uses to nuzzle his hand. "We're looking for someone who has a scratched eye and a ruby earring."

"Doubtful Ajax will have them remove it, and it's probably a very loyal one." Joshua ponders briefly. "So they must come to us."

It is hard to tell whether Isillud is smiling at his crow or because he has a plan. "A shame we are very decent, lawful, upstanding young men."

Joshua seems to agree. "We'll talk to your servants about the place, the sooner we begin the less people will notice." He bows and turns on his heel to the door.

Isillud follows after taking a few seconds to reassure the Dowager. "We shall see that justice is served. Fury keep you, Viscountess."

“And the same to you both,” says the Dowager, inclining her head. The rage has simmered down palpably. She is the Dowager Viscountess again, at home in her drawing room without care. “I shall await news, good or otherwise.”

She waits an extra minute after they leave. Only then does she allow herself to sigh out loud, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Vouloix my love, put in a word with the Fury if you please. Your daughter has already been through much - surely you'll not see her house endure any more trouble.”

She pauses as if awaiting an answer, but of course, none arrives.

Outside, Marceaux is ready and waiting. His expression is far less poker faced than before, replaced instead with some concern, and mostly eagerness to help. It is also his way of apology for the previous rudeness of his subordinates, despite the Dowager's sanctioning their actions.

He bows to the brothers. “Milady the Viscountess has instructed us all to be at my lordships’ service. If there is anything any of us may assist with, I beg milords to allow us to do so.”

Isillud Losstarot demonstrates that he CAN have restraint, surprisingly, when he speaks to Marceaux. "Firstly, I hear the Gaussains place much pride in their rubies. Please send a sample to the house - preferably with some eclairs." And with a straight face too. "Secondly, include the address of the place Lady Hailleone's grandsons frequent, I suspect we may find our culprits there if not the Brume."

He bows politely to the older man. "I shall inform you anon if we require a third request. We thank you for your assistance."

The Losstarots make their due exit, climbing into their carriage. Joshua waits for it to move before he speaks. "You're trying to throw spies off with the eclairs, but you won't survive a bar fight."

"Neither can you," Isillud retorts. 

"Hmph." The youth sulks, watching House Aubemarle shrink in the distance.

Isillud steeples his fingers, watching his brother through them. "We're going to tell them a story instead."

"Puh-lease," Joshua snorts. "Everyone knows how close we are with the Viscountess."

"Which makes a betrayal even more irresistible, doesn't it?"

Joshua whips back to his brother. The initial reaction is of shock and horror. It freezes, then softens. "Ah."

Isillud's eyes seem luminous in the darkened carriage without the sun shining in from its curtained windows. "Stay home and wait for the package; be ready to receive my call."

"I thought you'd send me to the Brume."

"No, it's better if we look even more fractured than we already are."

"I beg of you, don't suck cocks until it's done."

"No guarantees."

~*~

Barely an hour later, a snow white Chocobo arrives at the front of the house of the Losstarots. Its tall rider alights swiftly, secures the bird to a post and walks up to the door. A box wrapped in plain brown paper hangs from a handle made of securely-tied twine in his hand.    

Two polite knocks elicit the presence of good Ser Drouhont at the door. With a quick smile, the blonde rider of the Chocobo presents the Dowager Viscountess’ compliments to the lords Losstarot, with a token. A sense of deja vu hangs in the air as the parcel is delivered.

The rider bows, bids Ser Drouhont a good afternoon and as quickly as he arrived, goes on his way.

Within the privacy of the house, when the paper is inevitably cut away, and the twine kept safely, half a dozen golden-brown muffins greet the eye. They're still warm and emit a pleasant aroma of honey and vanilla.

Tucked between the muffins on the left is a tiny thing wrapped in white crepe: a thinly wrought necklace. Nothing any highborn Ishgardian would bother with, but the very slim chain isn't remarkable. It is the simple, rather small teardrop of a pendant, gleaming a clear blood red under the light, that explains its inclusion in the box. 

Meanwhile, a twice-folded piece of paper sits atop the muffins on the right, bearing a message in unfamiliar handwriting:

‘Eclairs would take too long, so Mr Ofanleitasyn asks pardon for only being able to make honey muffins. Her ladyship warns that the jewel on the necklace is suspected to be Gaussain since it was the one given to Rewelle, but it is not certain. Her ladyship - in her words - has never been tempting enough to receive as precious a gift as a Gaussain ruby. 

Lady Hailleone de Chaunollet had been rather misdirected, perhaps deliberately. Find Journey’s End, a merchant of potions towards the back of the Crozier. Give the proprietor 3000 gil, and ask for a bottle of Lovers Meeting. They will grant you access to the bar beneath.

Good hunting to you all.’

-

To be continued

[defiedlife]

ooc. I originally had thoughts of descender Aventurine (tl;dr he goes past the Penacony wall, time-space shenanigans happen, and he ends up in Teyvat) for a genshin verse.

BUT after brainstorming some with Naans ( @narvvhal / @kushtibokt ; it won’t let me @ you on your Aven gdi) I’m now like…. actually a House of the Hearth verse would work really well.

pspspsps @ any Arles out there??? who wants a traumatized child whom becomes a chaotic gambler?

[mothfables]

Hatchlinghood Shenanigans #1

    “Have you lost your Hearth-damned mind?!”

    Sunstone squeaked in alarm at the shout. Chancing a glance behind them, they saw Gossan storming up the path with a furious expression. They scrambled faster.

    Marl and Hal, their partners-in-crime (so dubbed by the adults), scurried as fast as they could along the path-that-could-barely-be-considered-such that ran along the edge of the village. Sunstone was ahead of them, clinging to the rocks of the cliffside. They were almost to the top; they could just barely reach up and grab the edge. They were so close-!

    Suddenly they heard twin yelps before a hand grabbed the back of their shirt and yanked, making them lose their grip and scrabble for a handhold.

    “Oh no you don’t! Get down here before you hurt yourself.” Sunstone was placed roughly on their feet and looked up to find themself face-to-face with an unamused Gossan. “What in Hearth’s name made you think that was a good idea, Hatchling? The three of you could have been seriously hurt!”

They could only squeak in response.

    Gossan sighed, lifting a hand to rub at their face. “That’s enough excitement for one day, I think. Come on, you lot, back down to the village with you.” They began herding the three protesting hatchlings back down the path.

~~~~

    Sunstone pouted from where they were parked in front of the firepit by Porphy’s house. Gossan had dropped them there with a stern warning to ‘not go sneaking off again, so help me-’ and dragged Hal and Marl off to be watched by some of the other adults. The three of them weren’t allowed contact for at least the rest of the day. ‘To keep you from concocting any more insane stunts’ (Gossan’s words). They didn’t see what the big deal was. Sure, hatchlings weren’t allowed out of the village crater until they were at least 10 cycles old; but they were right on the cusp, so it counted! And it’s not like they were going to go climbing the geysers or anything. They weren’t that dumb.

    (Sunstone and Marl had considered it, but Hal talked them down. What the grown-ups didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. …Unless one of the others blabbed, that is.)

    Porphy chuckled from where they were stirring their latest batch. “You three went and found trouble again, did you?” Sunstone pouted harder. “You might be the biggest troublemakers we’ve had since Slate, Feldspar and Gossan. Yes,” they laugh at Sunstone’s shocked stare, “they were hatchlings once, too, you know. We all were.”

    “Even old Spinel?” they breathe, incredulous.

    “Even old Spinel.”

    No way was Porphy telling the truth. Spinel had been old even before Sunstone’s hatching. They couldn’t imagine them any younger. It was impossible.

    “You want to hear about the time Slate and Gossan fell into the Zero-G Cave?” Porphy asked conspiratorially, glancing up in the direction Gossan had gone.

    “Yeah!”

    They chuckled. “Alright then. But only if you help me with the next batch. Think you can do that?” Sunstone sprang to their feet with a bright grin, all traces of their earlier sulk gone. Porphy waved them over, showing them how to properly mix the concoction bubbling away in their pot as they began their tale.

    “So Slate had just come up with their first jetpack design…”

~~~~

    That was how Gossan found them, hours later, the two of them chatting away as they filled bottle after bottle, cheerful grins on both of their faces.

[journalist-in-salty-snow]

Tag List Page 1

General Tags

#arlette answers – General anon answers

#reports for the public – Information reports on characters

#the shenanigans of a journalist – Meme related

Nation of Origin Tags

#people of freeing winds – Mondstadter related

#people of binding stone – Liyuese related

#people of eternal thunder – Inazuman related

#people of verdant wisdom – Sumerian related

#people of the water – Fontainian related

#people of blazing war – Natlanian related

#people of the hoarfrost – Snezhnayan related

#people from far below – Khaenri'ahn related

#those from beyond the sky – Outlander related

Family Tags

#fools to the end – Fatui related

#family through flame – House of the Hearth related

#father of the hearth – Arlecchino related

#card-wielding crowned cat – Lyney related

#silent feline observer – Lynette related

#deep diving penguin – Freminet related

Harbingers

#embodiment of sea eater – Tartaglia related

#the master of mora – Pantalone related

#frozen fire moth subdued – La Signora related

#mechanical marvels – Sandrone related

#god that never was – Wanderer/Scaramouche related

#mayor from the homeland – Pulcinella related

#father of the hearth – Arlecchino related

#echoed cries of a dove – Columbina related

#crow masked doctor – Il Dottore related

#shadow faced general – Il Capitano related

#first to wear a mask – Pierro related

[seelie-buddy]

Amidst glistening snowflakes

summary : just some wintery shenanigans

contains : relishing the warmth of tea with Zhongli ; enjoying the snowfall with Diluc ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person

word count : 1.1k

The morning sunlight did little to warm you, but it was welcome nonetheless. The steaming teapot placed by the armchair you lounged in, and the blankets bundling you in a warm hug were plenty to keep you warm.

The tea in your hands clearly contrasted to the sight of the window you gazed out of, you mused to yourself.

White, flaky snow drifted down blissfully, the wind swaying them, bringing some snowflakes to land by the window sill. For but a moment, you could see their sparkle before they melted away.

The smile on your face melted as you noticed a figure amongst the snowy storm. Browns with accents of gold. It took you no time to recognise him.

An exasperated sigh slipped past your lips as you pulled away from the warm blankets, reaching your front door just as knocks echoed through the silence of your house.

A gust of frigid winds rushed past you as you pulled the door open, snowflakes getting swept in along with the wind.

"Zhongli," You invited him in quickly, shutting the door with even more speed, shivers running down your body. You would've shown your displeasure if you weren't worried for your dear visitor.

"I didn't think the snowfall would begin this early," Zhongli admits before you could question. "It was quick to start, even quicker to cover the ground in pure white."

Chuckles left your mouth as you took in the state he was in. Pure snowflakes glistened amongst his brown hair before it slowly faded, leaving behind bits of moisture.

"What tea will you have?" You ask to divert your amusement; the sheepish smile on his face was not something you were graced with often— this friend of yours was greatly wise, but he could be quite silly at times.

It was not unusual for him to show up at your door every now and then, whether it be due to a sudden downpour making him seek out shelter, or simply having bought something from the market while thinking of you.

Nor was it uncommon for him to forget his wallet while you strolled through the marketplace, or for minutes to turn into hours while he gazed upon the city's bustle that remains even after the sun fades and the moon shines.

"I smell oolong," he says, sagely for a man who conveniently managed to find himself amidst a snowstorm. "A cup for me as well, if it is not a hassle."

"Not a hassle if it's for you," you have your hand dismissively before an idea blooms in your mind.

Positioning your hands behind your back, you look up at him, his amber eyes picking up on your playful mood as he quirked an eyebrow your way.

"In the land of the God of contracts, it is only fair I receive for what I give, no?" You smile cheekily, much to his amusement.

"Indeed, then what is it that you wish for? I will give it to you," he replies, willing to play along.

"How about," you tap your index finger against your chin to mock pondering. "The tale left incomplete from last time?"

Warm laughter rings through the room, his eyes turning into honey toned crescents, his smile just as intoxicating as it is contagious.

"Then your wish I shall grant, for the cost of a cup of tea; a fair trade."

The world falls silent and still under the snow outside of your home, where warmth from the hearth and cups of tea is relished alongside laughter, companionship, and tales of the mighty and mythical of history.

Diluc noticed it quickly: the white dust floating with the wind and settling on his window sill.

Rays of sunshine filtering through grey clouds that stretched over the sky in a manner not dissimilar to a fuzzy blanket. The darkness felt strange when the clock ticking away on the wall indicated the hour of noon.

Snow was not new to Mondstadt, and this weather surely did not surprise, given all the warnings of snowfall Mondstadt had received; Diluc returned to his work without another thought.

His attention was diverted again, barely minutes after. Faint sounds fell on his ears as he moved to peer out the window. His eyes caught you, out in his meadows, and uncaring of the wintery weather.

Your mirthful laughter spilled into the air as you outstretched your hands to catch the glittery white flakes. The euphoria bubbling within you increasing with every blowing breeze that brought snowflakes to you.

Your heart soared as glittery flakes landed on your skin, only to disappear, almost like a figment of pure imagination; a little magic trick.

Your fingers began to numb against the chilled winds, and frozen snowflakes. Why had the sight needed to be so mesmerizing, so captivating, but frigid as such? To enchant you so, only for it to be too cold for you to enjoy? It was unfair.

"You'll fall sick," a voice called out to you as you turned, eyes catching Diluc's. A spare jacket in his hand, and a slight frown on his face— enough for you to know he wasn't a fan of your antics: freezing to admire the frosty weather was poor judgment on your behalf, you couldn't deny.

But could he really blame you? The serene sight of snowflakes was enough to make you all but rush away from the warmth of the fireplace, all other thoughts pushed aside so you could enjoy the weather you seldom got to enjoy.

He placed the jacket onto your shoulders, and you quickly put it on, sighing at the protection it gave you from the biting cold.

"Dress warm next time," Diluc scolded, his exasperation diluted by the softness of his tone.

"You're dressed as usual," you poked out your tongue at him, successfully earning an eye roll.

"I have a pyro vision, a few minutes like this won't do me harm. But you—"

"Okay, okay," you bounced in your heels, too much energy bubbling in you to listen through his scoldings. "I'll ask Adelinde to make me a hot drink and I'll be fine!"

Diluc sighed, his frown, slowly but surely, growing into a smile. He extended his hand towards you, ruffling your hair, making the snow that collected atop your hair scatter, the sight similar to blowing on a dandelion.

You scrunch your nose as snowflakes tickled your nose before melting away; a sneeze escaping you before you know it.

A beat of silence, the snow continued to drift around you in a flurry of soft coldness.

And then: laughter.

"Let's go inside," you say, rubbing your palms together, "I need that warm drink right now."

Diluc gave you a nod— and hey, you definitely saw that eye roll!

Feeling content with your little playtime in the snow, you chose to follow him back to the warmth of the burning hearth.

a/n : the city where I live had some snowfall over the last week thus inspiring this (ironic how I have a week off from school as 'spring break')

p/s : this was supposed to include Kazuha too but that idea wasn't getting formed into words, I might write and post it later, maybe, depends