#minfilia my most beloved

[wintersneg]

what the fuck did minfilia, the most woman ever, just fucking die???????? this is so fucked up wtf ????? why would they do this to me?? girl please say sike this is so fucked up this is so upsetting i need a lobotomy

[anneapocalypse]

Not gonna lie, analysis of Minfilia that rests on a reading of her as some kind of hiring manager at a company really doesn't sit right with me, not just because it lends itself to some particularly uncharitable readings of Minfilia, but because it seems to me like a pretty inaccurate reading of what the Scions actually are in ARR.

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn are the union of the Circle of Knowing, a group of activist academics who accurately predicted the apocalypse but failed to prevent it and lost their beloved mentor in the process, and the Path of the Twelve, a group for Echo-bearers to help them better understand and make use of their gift--all doing their best to pick up the pieces and protect the realm in the wake of said apocalypse. Minfilia, formerly the leader of the Path of the Twelve, has now been thrust into the position of leadership over both at the late Louisoix's behest. The Scions in ARR aren't a company, they're an activist group, and in ARR still a very small one without the massive web of political connections they fall into later. They don't have a lot of financial resources. They're largely working quietly and behind the scenes. They have a secret code phrase to identify friends of the organization. Being recruited into this group in ARR is closer to being recruited into a resistance cell than being interviewed for a formal job.

Minfilia's role prior to the Calamity was as the leader of a support group for people experiencing a frightening, isolating, and as-yet poorly-understood phenomenon, a group where they could find others like them, understand what's happening to them, and learn how to use their gift for good. And to some extent, this is still a part of her role. The Warrior of Light is brought in because they were witnessed experiencing the Echo, and Minfilia is reaching out to them as a fellow Echo-bearer. I think it's a mistake to interpret her words and actions without that context, particularly her expressed hope that this most recent Echo-bearer she's invited into her group will find something like family there. I mean, listen to the joy with which she says, "I too possess the Echo." She's telling the WoL that they're not alone, that there is a name and an explanation for what they've been experiencing, that they can find others like themselves here. Yes, she's also asking for their help. But this is a pretty far cry from a job interview. However flawed the Scions may be as an organization, I can only see Minfilia's overtures here as offered in the spirit of friendship and camaraderie. And framing that as her trying to build loyalty she can exploit in a corporate manner feels extremely ungenerous given what we know of her character.

I don't want to sound like I'm here to defend the Scions in ARR against any and all criticism--I've discussed my own in the past, from their concerning tendency toward self-sacrifice to the attitude they develop toward the WoL (which is kind of up for interpretation based on your character's relationship to them but which can come across as a cavalier attitude toward the WoL's safety, taking advantage of their unique abilities, etc). In particular, the Scions' experience as a small activist organization, and Minfilia's particular experience as Echo support group leader, has ill-prepared any of them to be thrust into an international spotlight following the defeat of the Ultima Weapon. The attack on the Waking Sands has already revealed the weaknesses in their opsec, and certain scenes in the ARR patch quests reveal something of a power struggle between Minfilia and Alphinaud--one which Alphinaud ultimately wins, because Minfilia lacks the kind of confidence in her position to stand against the force of his personality, and she, like most of the other Scions, starts to fall into the trap of seeing Alphinaud as the second coming of Louisoix and lets him push her around accordingly. Minfilia is simply not equipped or prepared to lead the kind of organization the Scions are turning into. (Urianger, incidentally is one of the few who seems to notice this and remark on it, but also seems to feel that he can't directly object.) The cracks begin to show, and then it all falls apart, and when the Scions finally begin to put themselves back together post-Heavensward, I think they all understand that they can't go back, that what they rebuild will be something new. Over the next few expacs I think we see them developing a new group identity, recognizing that that old model no longer serves them and doing their best to adapt to constantly changing circumstances.

The Scions in ARR have plenty of problems, but they're not a for-profit company and they're also not the same organization as the Scions of later expacs. I think that context needs to be taken into account when interpreting their actions, especially those of their leader.

[lavampira]

📚💖💻 for the fic writer questions?

fic writer questions

ty beloved <3

📚 do you read your own fic?

most of the time! I write mainly for things that I want to read myself, but there’s some that I can’t revisit once I’ve finished without cringing or being too hypercritical LOL

💖 what do you like most about your own writing?

I mentioned my use of body language for tone last time but I think I explore characters’ psyche and internal thoughts well too!

💻 do you do research for your fics? what’s the deepest dive you’ve done?

it depends on the fic, but if I need a basis for something, I will! I’ve been really digging into stuff with ffxiv 1.0 for minfilia and pre-calamity mor dhona lore for the lady’s knight au - it’s set in an alternate ARR without ascians shenanigans but the background info gives me a better frame of reference for the fic’s set up.

[autumnslance]

Fic Stats Breakdown

Rules: give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and finally the fic with the least words.

Stats page my beloved. When I feel uncertain about myself, going there to see how much I’ve written, and how much it’s been interacted with, is always enlightening.

Also where you’ll see the accurate count of Bookmarks; you still can’t see info on private Bookmarks, but you get the actual number of them.

Tagged by @rinzukodas if you want to do it, by all means!

1. Most Hits: Unexpected. It's the one with the most updates, so makes sense.

She made it halfway across the room to the large man when she stopped and frowned. ’Was Thancred flirting with me?’ She always had such a hard time telling, and he seemed to have a mischievous reputation and way with women–especially if those visions were true and not some strange aetheric fever dreams. Aeryn shook her head. Thancred was a gregarious man, objectively handsome–the open cut of the oasis style shirt and jacket he wore tonight flattered his athletic form–and they’d fought alongside one another a few times now. He had been looking out for her, naught more, his perceptive skills noting her discomfort.

2. Second Most Kudos: Unexpected again! Cuz that and Downtime compete for my most read and popular fics. I should update Downtime.

3. Third Most Comments: Downtime! I tend to reply often, so my comment counts are high, but Unexpected is #1, while Bearing Sins of the Past is #2 for comment threads.

“I believe the Exarch wished Urianger’s aid with some arcane matter,” Alphinaud said, as he joined his sister. “They are like to be occupied for several bells. Why don’t you join us?” He said. “We were going to explore the Crystarium’s new nightlife, before retiring to our quarters--and knowing Alisaie, continuing to stay up half the night.” “Me? You’re the one wanting to gab endlessly as you write every stray thought into your journal,” Alisaie countered. Minfilia looked between them, bewildered for a moment--then she smiled, realizing the honest affection beneath the banter. She nodded. “I...think I would like that.”

4. Fourth Most Bookmarks: Rogue’s Prelude. An earlier longfic (37.2k words) of my headcanon of Thancred meeting Louisoix, Papalymo, and Yda as a youth in Limsa Lominsa.

The docks were busy; the tide had come in recently and had brought a number of ships with it, divesting cargo and people into the city. Thancred enjoyed the sights, sounds, and even some of the smells as he wove between fishermen stalls and merchant carts, seeking unfamiliar faces. He didn’t even look as he brushed past a few Thavnairian traders, listening to their sing-song language as he cloyed a purse from one animated fellow, arguing with the bosun of the ship they had just left. He should really pay more attention to his surroundings when in a foreign city. As should the older elezen man Thancred noted, leaning on a staff while a pretty blonde hyur woman consulted a map. Her elder listened to her with patience--or perhaps he was simply half-asleep in the sun and heat. Thancred ambled toward the pair, falling in behind sailors moving crates from the pier onto their ship, now that their passengers had disembarked. As he moved past his mark, he deftly nicked the contents from the old man’s belt pouch-- --and found himself skidding a few fulms down the dock, a brief flash of light and a sound like a small, localized clap of thunder ringing Thancred’s ears and causing stars to burst before his eyes. A few people nearby were startled; he thought he maybe heard someone laugh.

5. Fifth Most Words: Bearing Sins of the Past. A 25.1k longfic that unexpectedly came out of various FFXIV Write prompts about my WoL Aeryn's backstory; her bio-father's involvement in the Dragonsong War, and the Dragoon that hid that knowledge for twenty years to keep her safe--and bury his own guilt.

X’rhun narrowed his eyes. “I agreed to the secret for your damnable Ishgardian politics,” he said. “But it’s just us out here. Are you truly protecting Aeryn—or yourself?” Alberic turned, and X’rhun braced himself, as he was certain the dragoon was about to strike him. Instead, Alberic remained in a state of tension, staring without seeing at some middle distant point. “You ever carry something so long it’s become woven into you?” he asked quietly.

6. Least Words: Savior, the very first thing I posted to Ao3. 262 words, 2nd person POV about the aftermath of the Final Steps of Faith. There are technically shorter works, but they tend to go into my prompt or specific topic-chaptered fics.

You couldn’t save them. They had sacrificed themselves, to ensure you lived, to ensure this moment. They had come, once again, to your side. To end the war. To protect the city. To save a friend.

[lily-of-rabanastre]

Ascilia, Chapter 16—Excerpt 01

This is taking a rather long time to write. I've gotten back into Final Fantasy XIV, and playing a Minfilia alt has consumed most of my free time. Apologies for that. But I am having a lot of fun with her.

Anyways, enjoy!

Excitement and trepidation grew in equal measure within Ascilia as she observed the beginnings of the parade unfolding before her. Having been born under the Imperial occupation of Ala Mhigo, this had been her first chance to ever see a parade. And though one hundred and eighteen years had passed for her, as she listened to the cheering crowd of onlookers and watched as dazzling confetti rained down from above, she couldn’t help but feel swept back into the days of her youth.

This was the power of her beloved’s Echo. The power to bring life to one’s memories, forming perfect recreations of fleeting moments in time. From the merchants feverishly hawking their wares to the Chocobos carting the parade float towards the gates of Ruby Road, everything seemed flawlessly perfect.

Even the goobbue, bound high atop the float.

That it crippled her father in its mad rampage was not the creature’s fault. Ascilia had long accepted this truth. But none knew for sure what exactly had driven it mad to begin with. Was it the horn that sounded the moment prior to its bindings malfunctioning? Her mother, F’lhaminn, had once told her it was merely meant to put the goobbue under a hypnotic trance. The bindings themselves then, or the beast’s Elezen handler—an Ala Mhigan thaumaturge by the name of Corguevais?

Perhaps that was the case, she mused. Corguevais had turned up dead in Gyr Abania years later, his life taken in a skirmish between the Resistance and the occupation forces of Garlemald. But on that day, had he not reacted with surprise at the goobbue’s restraints breaking? And in the days to come beyond the parade, had he not routinely demonstrated himself to be a man of strong moral character?

Well, not routinely. The last they’d met, he’d unleashed a pack of coblyns upon her with the selfsame horn that started this mess.

“Come and get your flowers!” sang a fondly familiar voice, dragging her out from her thoughts and back to the parade itself. A fair distance ahead of the float, just before the gates to Ruby Road, a Miqo'te in a breezy pink blouse was passing out red and white daffodils  from a large bouquet-filled basket. “Flowers for all! Enjoy the festivities!”

Her contemplative grimace swiftly gave way to a warm smile. That was F’lhaminn Qesh—the Songstress of Ul’dah, and the woman she’d come to love as her mother. And not more than a few fulms away, approaching one nervous step at a time, was little Ascilia, her own past self. She’d wandered off without her father for a moment, drawn towards the parade. And as much as she’d wanted a flower, the poor girl couldn’t work up the courage to ask for one.

A fair distance behind both she spied her old friend, Chel, looking on in awe at everything around her. She’d only been sixteen summers old at the time, and just like herself this had been her first time in a city beyond her distant homeland. Beyond her was the familiar face of Thancred, his eyes fixated upon Lhaminn, and…

“What kept you?” came a voice from out of her sight.

Turning about she caught sight of F'lhaminn’s fiancé, Niellefresne. The Elezen’s words were not directed at her mother, but at the rest of their conspiratorial companions. With an affirming wave of his hand, a Reogadyn man approached their little gathering of souls. This was Greinfarr, a gladiator and longtime friend of her mother. Accompanying him was the final pair of accomplices—Popokkuli and Seserukka, Lalafellin twins and senior members of the Miner’s Guild.

“The parade has already begun,” Niellefresne sternly told them. “Make ready. Now.”

“You got it, boss,” Greinfarr nodded. “Leave it to me! I won’t let nothing go wrong!”

Before he could take more than a single step, F’lhaminn slipped a white daffodil beneath his chin, beaming a bright grin at him.

“Take it,” Niellefresne instructed him, snatching an identical flower from the basket. “As a precaution.”

“Oh, I, uh…” As he stammered and stuttered, Greinfarr gingerly took the flower between his fingers.

With a flourish of his wrist, Niellefresne slipped his own flower into his vest. Then he began to hurry away. “Let us go.”

Exchanging an awkward smile with F’lhaminn, Greinfarr hurried off as well, with the Lalafellin twins following closely behind him. Thus was Ascilia left alone with her mother once more—well, alone and beside herself, she mused. Watching as her mother took notice of her younger self, she couldn’t help but smile as F’lhaminn slipped a daffodil beneath the badge of young Ascilia’s cap.

“For me? Really?” young Ascilia gasped, a bright and cheerful grin growing on her face as she reached for the flower. “Thank you!”

“Pretty, aren’t they?” F’lhaminn responded. Removing the basket from her shoulder, she presented it to the young girl with a smile of her own. “Now be a sweetling and make sure everybody gets one, alright?”

Warmth flooded through Ascilia’s cheeks as her younger self accepted the basket with glee. Lily’s Echo had preserved practically every detail, from the sights and sounds to the very sensations she’d felt that day. It was difficult not to be overwhelmed and she found herself looming over the unaware girl, reaching out to her.

If she just slipped into the role of this phantom, she could experience these joys first hand once again. The parade, Lhaminn’s kindness, passing out the flowers… every wonderful memory of this day.

And all the heartache as well, whispered a stern, friendly voice in her heart. If happiness is what you seek, look instead to your future.

Her breath froze in her throat as she came to a halt, her hand barely an ilm away from her younger self’s shoulder. “I-I…”

“I will!” young Ascilia beamed.

Giving an affirming nod and a wave goodbye, F’lhaminn hurried away, joining the parade. Leaping and flipping, she took her place upon the coach at the head of the parade. The crowd of onlookers cheered at the sight, confetti raining down like snow as she bedazzled them with her felicitous footwork. For a moment Ascilia watched on as well, letting the bittersweet taste of the moment linger. Then she turned away. ‘Twould be better, she felt, if she spent this time waiting alongside Lily. After all, it wasn’t as if she could change what was fated to come. The voice was right—she’d long made her peace with this past. To seek to relive it now could only bring her needless pain.

How uncharacteristic of it, though, to suggest such a thing.

[charulein]

After spending most of yesterday playing ffxiv with my free trial ending and all, I had decided to see how far in shadowbringers I can get and...

It's not looking good lads

Look, I love G'raha - I mean the Exarch, as much as anyone, right, but after sitting through what felt like hours of exposition and worldbuilding I was exhausted. Picking up Alisae was at least a little reprieve from all that, with more emotional beats to it, though of course the one character I actually start liking dies to show us what the deal with the sin eaters is...

Then came Alphinauds exhausting exposition bonanza, and at this point I just read the dialogues and clicked on to be done as fast as possible - Norvrandt isn't particularly pretty and extremely depressing, and the music too dissonant and eerie to want to listen to it longer than is absolutely necessary.

Then you get inside this filthy kingdom blablabla king bad blabla alphinaud sad blablabla

At least the dungeon broke up the tediousness. I think it was pretty decent, the battle music went off, and I can't help but adore the visual design of the Sin Eaters - eery and statue-like, with eyes of bleeding darkness. Since my friends weren't around, I did it with the npcs and I have my complaints, but that system isn't really all that relevant.

What is, is the fact that only the Warrior of Light can absorb the light aether, which makes sense with the Echo and all, and everyone acting... Surprised? Like, wasn't that supposed to be the working part of your plan? I also don't particularly like being called Warrior of Darkness, but alas, that's not too annoying in the big picture.

Amd then comes the part that will make or break this expac for me: my beloved Minfilia.

I really hated the matter of factly exposition on her, how she saved this sorry world and keeps suffering for it. Like, i think this would have been a lot more emotionally impactful to experience firsthand, and not for a boring npc to read from a book....... Another thing that riled me up immensely was the twins being more worried about Thancred reacting to the news about Minfilia than the WoL.

It was my impression that during ARR, Minfilia and the WoL grow close, Minfilia even choosing to confide in you personally time and time again - and all this gets ignored by the narrative. Oh the WoL doesn't care, oh the WoL got over it etc. Honestly, the scions don't quite care about Stubborn too much, compared to Aymeric or Hien...

Anyways, despite knowing that this isn't Yucca's Minfilia, I couldn't help but shed tears at the prospect of seeing her again. I really really miss her, and ffxiv just isn't the same with her absence... I know it's not her, but I hope that she can come back home to Eorzea with Yucca, that she can finally see her family again!!!

So yeah, so far I'm absolutely not impressed with Shadowbringers, but I'll continue once I resub in September, so let's see if the writing improves after this ambling introduction.

[miss-tc-nova]

Inevitable - Thancred Waters x WoL

I really can’t describe just how much I love “The Ballad of Mona Lisa.” Anyway, I’ve had this plot in my pocket for a while and the song on a FFXIV fic playlist for ages and, yay! It’s done! Enjoy.

Theme inspiration from This Post by Dhol Writes

Music Inspiration: The Ballad of Mona Lisa by Panic! At the Disco

~~~~~

              Through the night of Mor Dhona, the chocobo carries his passenger towards the Crystal Tower. The man astride his back is lucky the steed already knows the path for his mind treads dangerous territory, falling deeper and deeper with each subsequent thought. But how could Thancred think of anything else?

              Thancred was the first Scion mistakenly abducted to The First, and if he was being honest, he probably took it the hardest as well. Not only was he forced to confront his misgivings concerning Minfilia and Ryne, but he had to suffer five long years without the support of the love of his life. So it should go without saying that, when they reunited after the incident at Laxan Loft, Thancred couldn’t have been more relieved.

              But when the Scions made their return to The Source, the Warrior of Light did not. Soul Crystals were safely delivered and everyone successfully reawakened in The Rising Stones; even G’raha was given a second chance to live his own life in his own time. As Tataru tells it, however, the beloved warrior stayed long enough to pass on the crystals before setting out to retrieve the Exarch and disappearing, citing unfinished business in The First that needed tending too.

              At first, there was disappointment in Thancred, but he couldn’t help thinking of Ryne and Gaia and their work to restore The Empty. Surely, that was a valid reason for his partner to disappear again for a few moons. Then the loneliness began to settle in and he found himself wishing for the adventurer’s immediate return. It was as if he were living in The First all over again with this separation. It made him surly and spiteful and, admittedly, he indulged in activities he probably should not have. It was the only way he knew to dull the pain.

              Then came the chocobo. The hero’s ever-noble, unmistakable steed turned up just outside Revenant’s Toll and the Scions were alerted. While there was no sign of the rider, the gunbreaker found a note addressed to him.

              His love had returned, asking for his presence alone near the Crystal Tower in only a few bells. Gods, he could hardly wait. His heart craved the company of the warrior and he set to preparing, hoping to make the most of the requested privacy. Shortly before he set out, however, the Scions had a guest: one Aymeric de Borel asking for the whereabouts of the Warrior of Light.

              His face was wary and grim, as if he expected the Scions to attack at any moment. Granted, the news he brought did not bode well for anyone.

              “The Warrior of Light is a Primal.”

              Aymeric had seen it himself in Ala Mhigo, the vaunted hero succumbing to desperation before Zenos and transforming before his very eyes. Somehow the adventurer escaped him, stole away to Norvrandt, and was likely still there only to evade capture. None of the Scions could scarcely believe it, but they all turned to Thancred.

              Thancred took his leave without a word, the Lord Commander’s tale playing over and over in his head. Surely he was mistaken; it was war, after all, he could’ve seen a summoner spell or even someone else change into a Primal. His beloved couldn’t possibly be a Primal, not when such beings are so detrimental to the very existence of the star. The Warrior of Light would never turn to a Primal’s power.

              They have enough aether for it.

              In fact, a Primal-possessed being would explain the behavior displayed shortly before leaving The First. Anxiety, anger, avoidance: several signs of hiding a secret. Even Thancred had been subject to the same explosive treatment as Emet-Selch on a few occasions—over a simple jest.

              No. The Warrior of Light could not be a Primal. It has to be a misunderstanding.

              The soft “kweh” brings the wary man back to the present. The bird had successfully delivered his patron to the gates of The Crystal Tower. His heart set heavy with worry, Thancred dismounts and rewards his courier with a pat. Really he’s just stalling, desperately trying to convince himself that Aymeric was wrong. He came alone for a reason though, and it’s not the same reason he’d intended to come alone before.

              Thancred pushes his way through the gates, coming upon The Eight Sentinels, now merely ornamental. The glittering tower looms above, its dark and terrible secrets locked behind a dazzling façade. All is still beneath its gaze and the man feels as if he might suffocate on the stale air.

              Across the way, strolling down the steps, is the very person squeezing down on poor Thancred’s heart. Beautiful would not begin to describe the adventurer, and that smile could bring anyone to their knees. Even the few words of greeting are enough to bring a tear to Thancred’s eyes. It takes everything in him not to abandon his rationale and sprint the gap.

              And so he says the words that will destroy his only happiness.

              “I spoke with Aymeric.”

              That smile is gone, replaced with stoicism that betrays the hint of a snarl. Shoulders tense and a palm hovers over the hero’s favored weapon. Worst of all, there’s not a single trace left of the person he loved. This has been going on for too long.

              Pleasantries go out the window as accusations are thrown both ways. Thancred rightfully berates the fallen hero who, in turn, suspects an ambush. They scream and snap at each other, until the crucial question comes from Thancred’s lips: Why?

              The monster masquerading as man simpers. “Because the Warrior of Light wasn’t strong enough.”

              Years of secrets come flooding out; the Warrior of Light’s greatest feats were committed by a self-summoned Primal feasting on the aether of Eorzea’s champion. The person everyone looked up to was a fake.

              Making the tough choices was never something Thancred had been fond of, but time and again he’d done what was needed. He’s made sacrifices, left people behind, and doled out his fair share of tough love. This hurt more than any of that. This was no longer his love, but a Primal needing to be dealt with.

              The moment Thancred puts a hand on his sword, a rippling shriek splits the air. He doesn’t have a second to waste; should the warrior attempt to enthrallment, he’ll succumb in an instant. So Thancred charges.

              A burst of light threatens to blind him as Thancred swings down on the creature. He makes contact, but when the light subsides, he finds a shield of heavenly wings beneath his blade. In the adventurer’s place stands something more akin to a sin eater. The glory of his opponent cannot be stated. Draped in pristine ivory accented in gold, they stand at the ready. Old scars and blemishes are gone, leaving behind naught but perfection. And he sees it all, for not a single shred of darkness graces the warrior’s presence, not even in the eyes. It’s such a perfect picture of light that his ally is nigh unrecognizable. It makes him sick.

              There’s no holding back when the Warrior of Light throws Thancred aside. He hasn’t even a chance to recover before he falls under assault. Eorzea’s hero was a force to be reckoned with before; facing this unbridled power may be the last thing the Scion ever does. Yet, somehow, he scrounges up the ability to keep up. His strength wavers beneath blow after blow—hands trembling and always on the back foot. Even his mind considers letting it all end, but Thancred remains standing. His resolve takes a blow, though, when the angel begins to speak. His faults, his failures, his losses: all of it spills from the monster’s mouth, dragging Thancred closer to the edge.

              Perhaps it would be best if he just gave in.

              His quaking knee gives, allowing the man to be snatched off the ground. He’s flown higher and higher into the sky before the warrior hurls him back down. There’s definitely a crack, his lungs spasm for air, and the contact his head made is dizzying, but the Warrior of Light hovers overhead, sparing him no mercy.

              This is it. The angel dives, heading right for him. His fight and his love end here.

              The ground shudders. All is still for a moment as Thancred struggles to comprehend the outcome. Above him remains the Warrior of Light, surprise writ across that ethereal face. While the impacted had been braced by the sextuplet of wings, this did not stop the angel’s impalement by Thancred’s gunblade.  

              Glittering lights begin to fill the air, taking pieces of the fallen as they go. Thancred lives, having bested the Warrior of Light, a Primal. But this is no victory. He killed Eorzea’s savior—someone so burdened by the hopes of others that they feared failure. Thancred could’ve stopped this; there must’ve been signs he missed or something else he could’ve done. He should’ve paid more attention in The First or found Feo Ul. Maybe one of the other Scions could’ve reversed this. How could he let this happen?

              His name brings his focus to the face of his love. There, in that last glimmer of fading life, he can see his beloved. That soft expression of adoration he’d seen many times over is the last straw for Thancred as he begins to break down, but the angel leans closer, pressing gentle kiss to his face.

               “I’m sorry.”

~~~~~

Nova’s Final Fantasy Masterlist

[atlasmisery]

one of my absolute favorite scenes in heavensward, and in the entire game itself.

characters being unfair or overtly emotional can make one eye-roll, but i opt to think of these moments as an incredible high for them. it shows them at their core, their performative outer layers shaved off to reveal what’s underneath.

thancred, up until the end of ARR, is known as the flirtatious and joking rogue of the scions. however, his silly, almost dorky moments in arr are sharply contrasted with the man he later becomes. hardened by surviving in the forests by himself, losing his ability to manipulate aether, and becoming distraught about losing his adoptive daughter... many things happen to him, and he takes on a very gritty, rugged appearance and demeanor. it’s a fascinating gap. but what’s even more fascinating is the result of this all.

this cutscene presents two situations.

emmanellain, who is suffering the consequences of his actions, seeing his beloved servant beat up and bruised because of his earlier mistake. he takes his anger out on the people of ishgard, claiming it all fell to pieces because of them

thancred, who is suffering from much loss. the most prominent one being losing minfilia, the girl he felt responsible for and helped raise. he is at a loss, and feels incredible pent-up bitterness about what couldn’t be helped.

emmanellain throws a tantrum, blaming everyone but himself for what happened. it’s a point of frustration, to the point the WOL tried to punch  emmanellain himself. but, is stopped by thancred, who seemed to be taking on a more ‘bigger person’ approach. he gives emmanellain honest advice, but is promptly punched. and, worst of all, emmanellain makes a claim that thancred knows nothing about consequences. that he is sure of everything, that every single one of his actions are celebrated.

this clashes terribly with thancred, considering the tragedy that made itself known to him, and he punches emmanellain. he gives him a harsh scolding, clearly alluding to his own struggles due to emmanellain’s unfair claims, and walks away.

the ‘conflict’ here is a point of interest for me. these are two characters who went through separate instances of tragic events, and became emotionally sensitive because of it. they lash out at each other in a fit of anger. the intersection of the separate tragedies of ishgard’s attempts at celebration failing, and minfilia’s ‘death’, falls to a single, amazingly presented argument. it’s an amazing scene that ties together two separate, now inter-mingled, arcs and an incredible character moment for thancred.

[allycryz]

Incandesce

Explicit Fic

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

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

Even more astonishing: that Thancred is interested.

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

Shadowbringers Spoilers

[From This Prompt List]

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

Meta Notes:

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

Prelude

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks as he disappears.

Weeks Later

"Alone at last."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nerys withdraws the blade.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She enjoys him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---------

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thancred chuckles. "You should take the credit."

"So should you. And-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nerys is glad she did it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nerys? It’s cold out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, that answers that.”

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

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

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

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

"You know exactly what I mean."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wait- She almost says.

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

Thancred goes very still beside her.

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But. But.

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

And she trusts Thancred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll play nice. This time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is a soft snap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was.”

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

“At least you admit it,” says Emet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl,” murmurs Thancred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He is one to talk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two strikes…” He says.

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

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

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

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

And then he pulls back completely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“What was that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Please-please-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe they all are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[elfyourmother]

Among the golden sands, amidst ruins desolate and haunted, beneath light burning and eternal, there stood three daughters of Hydaelyn:

One, the most penitent of sinners.

One, Her desperate champion.

One, a child yearning to grasp her purpose.

Together, they stood as one, before the blinding, cresting luminescence, terrible and serene, frozen in time.

And together, they were at once seized by memory, thrust into a waking dream: a dream of a kingdom falling, of heroes redeemed, of a single woman standing against the raging tide, but not alone, for she stood upon the shoulders of those who so loved the world they would do anything to save it.

When it faded, they stood no longer in the desert, but upon a vast, glistening sea of light, boundless, endless, eternal…they stared at one another, and the Penitent gave voice to what they all surely Knew, beyond all manner of Knowing.

“This place…” Ysayle whispered, in quiet awe.

Then, striding before them, appeared the Oracle.

“You… You’re…” the child stammered, her eyes grown wide, filled with no less awe, as she beheld the Oracle.

But Gisele des Fortemps did not see her as such, never saw her as such, even through the whisper of Presence that fell upon her shoulders as a gossamer shroud, even in eyes shining uncanny cerulean. It was not the vessel of the Mother which stood before her, and her dear companions. Not the savior of two worlds, or her own salvation.

Always, she was simply…

“Minfilia.”

The name—mortal, beloved—fell breathless from Gisele’s trembling lips as if a prayer. Her eyes traced the familiar curve of her generous mouth, the broad, button nose, the roundness of her cheeks, the softness of her eyes and the curl of her fluttering lashes.

Such was not the purpose for which they had come, at so great a cost; Thancred had not urged Gisele and Ysayle to flee with Minfilia-the-Child, for anything less than this brave and loving girl to seize her destiny at last, to choose for herself what that might be.

But Gisele, too, was more than the Warrior of Light—and Darkness, more than a daughter of Hydaelyn, gifted with the Blessing of Light.

Gisele was a woman who loved, and lost.

“Ours is a meeting long overdue. Full glad am I that we may finally speak,” Minfilia Warde said, smiling.

And then she turned her gentle gaze upon Gisele; that selfsame expression Gisele had seen countless times upon returning to the Solar, of joy and relief by turns.

“I’ve missed you, chérie,” Gisele said, choking back a sob; her thundering heart had risen to her throat, and she feared falling apart in so grave a moment. This was the girl’s time, not her own. She fought back the tears forming in her eyes, with all she was.

“And I you, bijou,” Minfilia replied, smiling serenely. It was the old endearment, once Gisele had not heard pass those lips in years, which threatened to unravel her.

But Gisele felt Ysayle beside her, then, a calm and steady presence brushing against her. Ysayle's slender arm slipped around her waist, and Gisele inhaled deeply; the scent of wildflowers clung as always to Ysayle, and Gisele took strength in it, in her, leaning into her all unwitting.

“We meet at last, Sister,” Ysayle said softly, to Minfilia. “Thank you, for everything.”

Minfilia’s smile grew brighter, and she nodded quite simply in acknowledgement. “Mother does not choose poorly,” she said, “and I thank you in turn.”

The Oracle lowered her gaze, then, to face her heir. “My dear, sweet child…yours is a burden none should ever be forced to bear,” she said, her voice filled with the sorrow of ages. She clutched the silver pendant which hung around her neck, and bowed her head in the weight of it; the same gesture Gisele herself had made countless times, that Y'shtola had teased her about picking up from her Elezen sorceress. That Minfilia should still make it, all unwitting, spoke volumes.

She remembered.

“Such pain and suffering you have endured, yet still you came. For this and more, I thank you,” Minfilia the Elder continued.

The child shook her head. “I’ve lost count of the times I’ve almost given up. If people hadn’t helped me every step of the way, I never would have made it,” she said, her youthful voice trembling, and in typical humility.

“Yet here you stand, resolved. Now…tell me your heart’s desire.”

Gisele spied a moment’s hesitation in the girl, now staring at her travel-worn sandals, and for a moment Gisele feared that she had lost her newfound resolve; but only a moment, for she raised her head high then, gazing up at her namesake with the fire of purpose blazing in cerulean eyes the uncanny mirror of the elder.

“To defeat the sin eaters, and bring this world back from the brink!” Minfilia the Younger declared, unwavering. “The remaining Wardens have hidden themselves from us. But with the power of the Oracle, I thought we might be able to find them…”

Minfilia the Elder nodded in agreement. “Indeed you could. Their radiance would be unmistakable.” Her brow furrowed then, a grave expression fallen upon her flawless mien. “But know, my child, that the power you seek will come at a price. We stand now at the crossroads. A decision must be made.”

Gisele was glad of Ysayle’s support, for she found herself trembling once again.

“’Tis only natural to be afraid. To hesitate. But for your many trials, you have grown stronger and wiser And with the love and support of those you hold dear, you have grown to love yourself,” Minfilia the Elder said.

The Younger bowed her head in a moment of anxious contemplation, furrowing her golden brows in silent musing, but she raised her gaze once more, and strode with confidence to cross the small distance between her and the Elder.

“The Flood has washed away so much of this world,” she began, “so many people and places and possibilities—and all the heroes who fought to protect them. Yet here the Scions are, trying so, so hard to help those few of us who remain. And seeing how tirelessly they work, how completely committed they are to the cause…I can’t help but believe.”

“We are in this fight together, all of us. Your struggle is our own, and we shall not waver,” Ysayle said softly, smiling at her in reassurance.

The girl nodded, returning her smile, and gazed back up at her namesake. “I want to do more than just watch and cheer. I want to make a difference. I want to help them, like they helped me—and maybe even inspire others to do the same! Coming together, providing for one another—that’s the only way forward I can see. Since all of our heroes are gone, we’ll just have to make heroes of ourselves.”

The Elder placed a warm and comforting hand upon the Younger’s shoulder, and Gisele could not help but slip her arm about Ysayle’s waist in turn, clinging to her love as her heart swelled with pride. Little Minfilia had grown so much over the course of this journey; and mayhap Gisele had not truly understood that, until she heard her impassioned words before the one they called the Oracle of Light. No longer was she the cowering child half hiding behind Thancred’s longcoat, being swept away by Fate all unwitting.

And, mayhap, Gisele saw more than a little of her adolescent self in the girl, at that moment, dreaming of a brighter tomorrow for the world she so loved--and the power with which to make it more than a mere dream.

“’Tis a beautiful, wonderful dream. One we share,” Minfilia the Elder said softly. “Though my power was all but spent in staying the Flood, I prayed this final act would give hope to those who survived.” Her eyes shone with pride, and no small amount of love, gazing upon her successor.

And successor was, of a surety, the word that sprung to mind. Gisele could not help but think of the Leonhart Romances, of all things; of the Sorceress, having come to her journey’s end, bestowing the last of her power upon a worthy successor, that she might at last know peace, before passing from this mortal coil. She swallowed the lump in her throat which formed at the thought, even as her heart Knew, beyond all manner of Knowing, that it was the very Mystery to which she was bearing witness, one that not even her Arcana would reveal.

That it was sacred, and Right, did not make it any easier, however.

“It did,” the Younger said.

Minfilia the Elder smiled, fair glowing. “That selfsame hope lives on in you, my child. And it gives me comfort to know that the future is in capable hands.” A gentle breeze fluttered across the glittering waters, a shift in the flows of aether, and Gisele felt Ysayle tense against her; surely, she felt it too. A soft humming sound flickered within Gisele’s lapine ears, then blossomed until it filled her very senses, reverberating throughout her heart; a gentle and most familiar vibration, singing to her very soul.

“Mother,” Ysayle mumbled in wonder.

“If ever you should falter,” Minfilia the Elder continued, “remember this: no one, however powerful, is immune to the whisperings of doubt and despair. Do not give in to them, but do not deny them either. Look instead to the light within, that you may continue to serve as a beacon to others.”

“Thank you, Minfilia, for believing in us. For believing in me,” the Younger said, smiling unafraid.

The Elder bent down, planting a gentle kiss upon the brow of the Younger, and they both were enveloped in a soft nimbus of light, shimmering like waves of heat upon a summer’s day; it faded just as quickly, in the child, but in the woman grown…it grew, smoldering as luminescent embers throughout her skin, her eyes, her hair.

Then, to Gisele’s surprise, Minfilia the Elder turned her glowing gaze upon Ysayle. “My most unlikely Sister…I have not the words to express my gratitude to you for keeping her safe—for keeping them both safe—in these tumultuous times. You are a heroine to us all, and have well earned your redemption. I could not ask for a better Scion.”

Tears welled in Ysayle’s eyes, and she made her a graceful incline of the head, with her customary quiet dignity. “I have done only that which is needful, to the best of my ability. There are wounds I caused which might never heal; but in so serving, I have found the companionship for which I have always yearned, and in such companionship have I found my purpose. I would never have done so without your intervention, and I have not the words to express my gratitude for such a deed,” Ysayle replied.

“Remember well what I said, beneath the stars of Zenith,” Minfilia said. “That is all the gratitude I require.”

“Always, Sister,” Ysayle said.

Minfilia’s smile was radiant, serene. “Thank you, Sister.”

She turned, at last, to Gisele, and it was scarce possible to mark where the light ended, and her old love began.

“Tis been a long and strange journey from Denerim’s alienage for you, my Sorceress of the Grey,” Minfilia said. “In all respects.”

Gisele wanted to laugh, when she felt Minfilia reach up to gently stroke the silvery fur of her tall, leporine ears, with a wry smile.

“Mayhap,” Gisele said with a sheepish little giggle.

Minfilia’s expression turned a bit grave. “Mother never chose so well, as when She chose you, my love. This I believe, with all my heart. But not even the most valiant of heroines can stand alone. This, I pray you remember, when despair threatens to consume you: you have never been alone. Not when you faced the Archdemon atop Fort Drakon, not when you stormed the Praetorium, not when you strode toward Nidhogg upon the Steps of Faith, and not when you broke the siege at Ala Mhigo. Always, you have been borne by friends and comrades, and those who hold you dear. And should you gaze upon the Darkness, knowing not what to do, know  that only together may you change the fate of two worlds—and more.”

“Thank you,” was all Gisele could say, with her heart beating in her ears. Oh but Gisele wanted desperately to cry, to scream, to beg Minfilia not to leave her once again, as she did in the tunnels beneath Ul’dah, not this time and for good.

But she glanced across the glimmering water to see Minfilia, the girl with wide and trembling eyes, and knew she could not.

This, too, was a gift.

This, too, was love.

Minfilia Warde wrapped her arms around Gisele, one last time.

“Minfilia.”

The name—mortal, beloved—fell breathless from Gisele’s trembling lips as if a prayer. Her eyes traced the familiar curve of her generous mouth, the broad, button nose, the roundness of her cheeks, the softness of her eyes and the curl of her fluttering lashes.

Gisele seared every ilm of her winsome features into memory, one last time. “I love you, Gisele,” Minfilia said softly. “Always, and forever. Always…”

Minfilia found Gisele’s lips with her own, one last time. Parting them with her tongue, Gisele savored her familiar sweetness, and closed her eyes, returning the embrace, losing herself in her arms, in her ardor, one last time.

Light, eternal, shone before her shuttered lids, but not the empty coldness of the flood, no; it was warm, so very warm, as the newly risen sun bathing her in soft radiance. Warmth enveloped Gisele, surrounded her, filled her, and her heart soared to bursting.

Love.

In the depths of her mind, Gisele laid her heart bare, one last time.

I love you, Minfilia. I shall never forget you.

The reply drifted through Gisele’s mind, silent and warm, one last time.

Farewell, my Light. ***

Gisele stood gazing out into the blanket of stars above the Crystarium. Somewhere, in the distance, Ysayle waited for her; Haurchefant gladly ceded his place at Gisele’s side, this night, knowing without words that it was Ysayle’s presence she needed.

“I’m sorry, Gisele.”

She glanced over to see Ryne frowning.

“Whatever for?” Gisele asked, tilting her head in confusion.

“You loved each other so much, and…” Ryne’s words trailed off. “And now she’s gone, because of me.”

Gisele placed a gentle hand upon the girl’s crown of auburn locks. “Petit, you have nothing for which to repent. I am proud to know you—so very proud of what you have done this day, that you have chosen to walk your own path on your own terms. And though it is another kind of love I feel for you, I cherish it all the same. We are family, and that is more precious to me than you could ever know. And I shall walk this path with you to the very end, come what may.”

Ryne threw her arms around Gisele in an impulsive embrace, and she held the girl tightly, smoothing her hair, whispering endearments against the tears. But Gisele knew they were tears of joy, and smiled.

“Thank you, Gisele,” Ryne said, sniffling.

“It’s of no moment, petit. After all, we have a world to save,” Gisele said, smiling.

[catte-bard]

7. “Hey, it’s snowing!”

December Christmas Prompts

(I’ve been in a Minfilia x Bellona fluff mood lately.)

AO3 Link

Bellona felt the first cold tingle on her nose. Blinking in surprise, she stopped walking and looked up at the clear night sky of Ul’dah. And she felt another tingle on her cheek and another on her forehead. Something cold but softer than a raindrop. 

She was familiar with the sensation. But that couldn’t be—not in the middle or arid Ul’dah? Then she saw them. The little white flakes slowly drifting down on the air. Snow.

Snow in Ul’dah of all places!

It brought a giddy laugh from the woman. “Minfilia! Hey, it's snowing!” She exclaimed, turning to  beam at her girlfriend. 

The snowfall was now beginning to come down faster. Drifting down at a more steady pace. And she was not the only person mystified by the spectacle. Several passerbyers also paused in their day to observe the snowfall. Couples whispering and smiling. Children pulling at their parents’ sleeves and excitedly pointing.

It was snow. Real snow. Bellona laughed with delight as she held her hands out to catch the little flakes on her fingertips. What an odd little wonder.

“Still think I was foolish for bringing scarves along? Now come here before you catch a cold.” Minfilia gently said, holding a scarf out before her.

“Ul’dah never gets that cold for scarves.” Bellona countered but didn’t protest. “You knew about this?”

“I did. I wanted it to be a surprise. This being your first Starlight with us.” Minfilia captured the awed adventurer in a fluffy pink scarf that matched her own, lovingly wrapping it around her as Bellona gawked at the sky. “Though honestly, you’re like a child who has never seen snow before.” She laughed.

“Not in Ul’dah.” Bellona pointed out. She looked back down at her in wonder. “How?”

The child-like delight in her beloved Warrior of Light was almost infectious. And she could not hold back the smile coming to her lips. After all they’ve been through of late, it was nice to see happiness on the other’s face. 

It had been her idea to come out here. A quiet romantic stroll through the city was what she suggested. So rarely did the two of them have time for such simple intimacy. Hardly even able to steal a hand-hold without duty always stealing all the moments they wanted alone with each other.

Since the storming of Castrum Meriandum, the Waking Sands had been rather quiet the last few days and the realm seemed at peace. So it seemed proper to take advantage of such a respite. The Starlight festivities offered them a chance to take advantage of this break. Minfilia had been absolutely delighted to hear that some of the revelry had already begun in Ul’dah. Even more so when she had discovered Bellona had never experienced Starlight.

It seemed perfect and even more of a reason for them to go then. Wanting to show Bellona one of Eorzea’s most extravagant holidays—one that had always been close to her heart even as a girl. 

And with an excuse made about wanting to go visit a nearby market, the two of them slipped from the Waking Sands, giggling like a pair of mischievous teenagers. Mayhaps, their comrades would have been understanding had they told the truth of the reason for their outing. However, Warrior and Antecedent both wanted the night to themselves. And someone would have tried inviting themselves along if they had mentioned the Starlight festival. 

“It’s a relatively new tradition. I believe it has something to do with the thaumaturge guild.” Minfilia told her as she gently tied the scarf. Not too tight that it would be uncomfortable. But not so loose that it would fly off with a gust of wind. “With Starlight comes images of snow and snowmen—and well as you can imagine, Thanalan is a place that sees much snowfall…

“And well, many children of Ul’dah were rather disappointed to never experience snow in their home. So the guild decided to step in and assist with spreading some holiday cheer. Every year they gather up ice crystals before the Starlight festivities and use them to make it snow within the city.

“Though...that’s the boring logical version.” Minfilia winked and pressed a finger to her lips. “For the children it’s a Blessing from the Saint of Nymeia for their good behavior.”

”That sounds wonderful.” Bellona laughed.

“Starlight always brings out the kindest sides of people. That’s what I’ve always loved about it.” Minfilia told her. “Well...that and it being celebrated as a time to spend with loved ones.”

And she smiled that special smile, she always had for Bellona.  Gods, that look she gave her. It always made her heart feel like mush. Minfilia always looked at her so softly. So warmly. In a world where people either looked at her with awe or fear, it was nice to have one person who looked at her so tenderly. 

“You always surprise me with what a romantic you can be, Minfilia Warde.” She quietly said.

“Am I really that romantic?” The other blinked.

“The romantic walk underneath the Starlight lights. The snow surprise. Talk of a whole evening spent together.” Bellona smirked. “And you’re trying to tell me that amount of debonair is unintentional?”

Such suave would make most men jealous. 

However, Minfilia merely shrugged innocently. “Perhaps, such things just come naturally to me without having to force them?”

“Perhaps…” She replied softly.  

And she stood on her tiptoes to kiss her silly girlfriend. Her lips warm and inviting under the chill of the Ul’dahn air. She heard a muffled sound of pleasant surprise from Minfilia, and felt her hands drifting up to cup her face. 

“Your hands are cold.” Bellona murmured against her lips.

Minfilia smiled back against her lips. “Really? I don’t think they’re that cold.” And she mischievously let her hands drift down to Bellona’s neck.

The Miqo’te let out a yelp at the feeling of freezing digits touching her neck. She attempted to flee however, her lover would not let her get away. Instead pulled her closer to deepen the kiss. 

Their giggles muffled between their lips, they playfully wrestled against each other. Their shenanigans of course didn’t go unnoticed. Earning sighs and eye-rolls from other passerbyers having to dodge around them on the street.

Oh how it felt good to be trapped in that lovely embrace. And under any other circumstance Bellona might have indulged in it. Lingered within her arms until she had to break to breathe. But not right now—not when her beloved’s hands felt like blocks of ice!

“Stop! Stop!” Bellona guffawed, leaning away from Minfilia to keep her from stealing anymore kisses. What an awful imp she was! “I mean it, your hands are freezing! You’re making me cold!”

“Oh alright.” Minfilia hummed. “Then I suppose we should find something to warm them up?” She pulled away, letting her hands linger briefly on Bellona’s face before letting them fall to her waist. “I thought I saw a vendor selling hot chocolate outside the Adventurer’s Guild. Does that sound good?”

A sudden shiver through her body made Bellona aware of just how cold it was. Suddenly regretting teasing Minfilia before they left for coming to Ul’dah in a jacket and scarf. The thaumaturge guild’s ice crystals did a fine job of simulating the winter weather. And the thought of steaming hot chocolate under the snowfall sounded incredibly pleasant right now. 

She draped her arms around Minfilia’s shoulders, snuggling close to her warmth. “Mmm that would be wonderful. You can tell me more about Starlight over it.” She hummed thoughtfully. “Honestly...there is just this one tradition that I’m very curious about still.”

“Of course, I’d be happy to explain anything, my love.” Minfilia beamed. “What is it?”

“Mistletoe.” She innocently said.

At once Minfilia’s cheeks flushed red. “Oh.” And then laughter bubbled up within her. “Oh. I would certainly love to teach you all about that particular tradition.”

“I’ve heard a lot about it and it sounds like a nice tradition.” Bellona smirked, not even bothering to keep the mischievous tone out of her voice. “Though I’d think I need help understanding it a bit more.” 

“Mm it’s one of my favourites actually.” Minfilia drew a gentle knuckle down her cheek. “One best enjoyed with another party.”

“Is that so? Well you can enlighten me on it even more over hot chocolate.” 

Yes indeed, Starlight seemed like such a wonderful holiday.

[efrmellifer]

Extant Ache

The ache of it was going to kill her. In her head, in her belly, down to the tips of her fingers. It hurt. It hurt. Y’shtola was right, Etien had cried as much to her out in the Exedra.

Hot, speedy tears sailing down her cheeks as she warbled out, “’Shtola, I’m scared. Minifilia—our Minfilia—called me a hero, but I’m sick with light. You saw it and Ryne saw it. I’m sick and I’m scared.”

Y’shtola beckoned Etien close, hugged her, and eventually stroked her hair, starting at the spot between the backs of her ears. “Shh, shh. You have made it this far. We can watch over you for this last Lightwarden, and then, all of us can return home. We must and will find a way to extinguish, to expunge, that light, and we can return you to Ishgard just the way you were.”

Etien sniffled, and Y’shtola released her.

“All right?”

Now Etien nodded, swallowing thickly. “All right.”

“Good. Go get some more rest. You worked hard out there.”

So she’d done that, getting in less of a conversation, and slightly less reassuring than she’d hoped, with Ardbert, and then he was gone.

“There’s only one hero in this room,” he’d said, “and it is not me.”

Etien’s eyes welled and overflowed again as she wanted to sink back to the floor, tears wetting her arm dressings.

If he meant her, which of course he did, then there was no hero here. There was just a sick, sad little kit prone to waterworks and hurting herself. Alphinaud and Urianger healed her faithfully, but eventually they would tire of bailing her out of her own foolhardiness.

A knock came at the door, and Etien sighed, pushing up and groaning as her joints protested, taxed in the days prior.

She wiped her eyes and went to the door, opening it for the Exarch.

“Exarch,” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t too tear-soggy. “Can I help you?”

“Forgive the intrusion, but Minfilia—that is, Ryne and the others were asking after you. Is everything all right?”

Etien shrugged. “It’s going to be a long night, I think. I had that pain again; I’m sure Y’shtola’s told you about it.”

“That pain again? Did it pass?”

She nodded, tiredly.

“Thank goodness for that. I would not wish to see you suffer.” He paused, head dipping. “...though, I know only too well how much you have suffered on our behalf in recent days. Indeed, I have no right to impose upon you further. Nevertheless, I must ask one thing of you.”

“And what would that be?” Etien asked, leaning against the door. She wanted to help, if she could, but… with this ache? She might crumble to dust, become Forgiven Foolishness, before she got anything done.

“That you survive this, no matter what.”

She sighed in relief. At least that was one of her goals, too.

“When the dust settles, you must return to your world. For the battles to come and the wars yet unwon.”

...ah, yes. Her eternally lengthening list of tasks. It was never ‘go home, that you might be safe and warm and happy in the manor.’ But… Etien hadn’t been chosen to live in comfort.

“The final Lightwarden is all that stands between us and victory. There is still much we must do to prepare, but for now, I will see if there is aught that may remedy the strange affliction which plagues you.”

Etien nodded her thanks. “I’ll see it through.” She punctuated it with a spirited crack of her knuckles.

“Of that I have no doubt. Even if I had my pick of every reflection’s heroes, I could not have asked for a finer champion.”

She smiled.

“I’ll not keep you from your rest any longer. Take as much time as you like.”

She sighed (but tried to keep it light and yawn-y), said goodbye, and watched him go.

She wouldn’t be sleeping yet.

Sat down on the bed, digging in her bag for paper and something to write with.

Then, Etien settled in to write.

My darling Aymeric,

I’m feeling introspective tonight. I was called a hero a few times over and I don’t know if I believe it. I know you do, and you never hesitate to tell me. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to be, or at least feel like, this confused little kit for the rest of my life.

Though I suppose… well. Some things never change? It was so easy to get lost, among all those trees.

…I don’t think I ever told you of the day I left the Shroud, did I?

May I? I wish I could tell you in person, and I suppose I could just wait until I’m in your arms again– we only have one Warden left, after all– but tonight, the story is burning within me.

Deep in the Black Shroud, there lived a small clot of Miqo’te. They were M tribe. Ellifer, his parents, his beloved, and their three kits.

The oldest was called M’etien whenever she went out.

I wonder if my siblings miss me. I still don’t know how the Delivery Moogles managed to get that letter from them to me. To Ishgard. I guess the news traveled and they made a guess?

Anyroad. When I was about 19, I was getting entirely fed up with the way things were going in my life. I was being trained up as a homemaker, despite my incapacity to do it ‘correctly’ and the outside taunts that that degree of relevance was never in my future. On top of that, I was spending a lot of time with T’ahn, and we were spinning plans to split off one night. Just us, no other females from other nearby tribes, even though that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

A couple years of that passed, and I could feel something slipping away inside me. I was never sure if I could regain it, but I refused to let what little stores of it I still possessed be taken from me any longer.

So I packed everything I felt like I could take. It was perhaps one change of clothes, a few mementos and a sundry or two. And my bow and quiver, of course. I hiked for days, trying to stay to paths I had walked thousands of times before, telling myself not to turn around.

I had to try to avoid detection along the roads, because I knew if I was seen, I would lose my resolve. Blessedly, I knew that I was on a trade route, and I climbed into the first wagon headed for Gridania. The rest is very much real history, documented and reported.

But you have the full truth: the Warrior of Light entered Gridania halfway to naked, dispirited, gil-less, and lonely, carrying only sparse memories of her first two decades of life.

I will say, as much as I wanted to discard all the trails of memories that came with calling myself M’etien, it is odd that now everyone speaks to me as if we’re very close. I don’t need to say that to you, though. You would always have been welcome to call me Etien, no matter how I introduced myself.

I did, however, permanently fuse that M to my surname. I’m not Ellifer’s kit, not T’ahn Tia’s breeding queen. I’m the only Mellifer there is.

I won’t lie and say I prefer sleeping in sand and coming to within an ilm of my life so often, but it’s a life where I have my friends, and most of all, I have you. And I would gladly go toe-to-toe with more Primals and nasty foreign generals in exchange for so sweet a life as that.

All my love, Etien.

She sealed it, scented it, and then did something she hadn’t done for what felt like far too long.

“Feo Ul! Feo Ul? My darling little branch?” She sighed. “Pixies. Feo UL!”

Finally, the mass of orange-red, the shard of the Faerie King, appeared before Etien.

“Here I am, my sapling!”

“You chide me for never calling, and then don’t come when I do,” she giggled, ruffling Feo Ul’s hair as best she could.

“What do ye have for me?”

“A letter. Get it to Ishgard, please? Also, you can have one of these apples when you come back.”

At that, Feo Ul licked their lips in anticipation and sailed off with the letter.

Etien sighed. Now she could sleep easy.

[starswornoaths]

Stay.

Over the years, Serella has found herself with many, many members in her little chosen family. Many of whom have already left, whisked away in slumber. There are only a few left to whom she hasn’t said goodbye. On her last night on this star, that changes.

Or:

Absolutely do not, under any circumstances, read this while listening to “Goodbye may seem Forever” from Fox and the Hound 0/10 sobbed while editing.

Word count: 2,836

Ordinarily, Serella loved riding through the Highlands on Ullr’s back. It was liberating, that feeling of the sharp chill of crisp Coerthan air lashing at her face and the howl of the wind in her ears as they raced through the snowy pathways and foothills around Camp Dragonhead. While certainly not so freeing as flying overhead, there was something special about feeling her bird trot against the resistance of several inches of powdery snow that glittered like stardust as he kicked it up in his wake. On another sort of outing on any other picturesque day she would happily hop off to play in the snow with her beloved bird— for how else would they stay young, otherwise?

Today, however, Serella rode from Mor Dhona straight into Camp Dragonhead with a heavy heart and a hard set mask of stoicism. She dismounted and led him to the stables, though yet lingered at her faithful friend’s side: she was waiting for someone, after all. Ullr doubtless sensed her dread, as he trilled in that questioning way that seemed to ask her, Mama, what’s wrong? Her heart squeezed in her chest, even as she forced herself to smile as she gave his side an affectionate pat.

“It’s alright, boy,” she reassured him, even as she knew it was a lie. “It’s alright, this...this shouldn’t take long.”

One of the passing knights recognized her, and reassured her that Lord Emmanelain would be out shortly. She thanked him and busied herself with slowly removing Ullr’s saddlebags one at a time to add to her own backpack. Even as she was mindful of the straps lest they chaffe him as she worked she felt her eyes sting— a stinging that persisted as Ullr reached over and gently nipped at the saddlebag she was now working to fasten to her own pack.

Another softly questioning wark came, as if asking, Mama, what are you doing?

The cold must be drying her eyes, Serella thought, and blinked back her tears as she lifted the second of the saddlebags and strapped it to her own pack as well; they weren’t that much heavier, she had emptied them before they left. 

“Hey there, old girl,” she heard a familiar, boyish voice call to her, “good to see you again.”

She straightened, intent on answering Emmanellain in that calm, collected voice she had been practicing for what felt like a lifetime when a happy bark sounded in the camp’s stone walls. She whipped her head around to see her brave little brother standing just outside of the stable looking at her like he was scared to his wits end, her mother beside him with eyes already haunted for her childrens’ absence, and her sweet, excitable canine bounding over like a bolt of lightning.

That she had not been expecting— and the surprise disarmed her of her staunch stoicism.

“Ma— Vardr—?!” She didn’t even care her voice broke or that her eyes swam with tears as she knelt to catch her sprinting companion.

He nearly barreled her over in his enthusiasm but she managed to keep knelt, even as she was bombarded with licks and tail wags and his happy whines. She attempted to soothe him around her own tears: she hadn’t realized just how much she had missed her pets, and felt Rhalgr’s absence more keenly than she had in recent weeks. She hoped her fuzzy cat was napping by her fireplace malms away in Foundation, keeping nice and warm.

“What are you doing here, boy?” She asked as he calmed down enough to sit in front of her and let his thump excitedly. 

“Brought him from your house— on orders from a bluebird chirping in my ear.” Myrina said from somewhere above her: she must have stepped inside the stable at some point. She couldn’t bring herself to stand just yet when Vardr was so starved for her affection— and she for his, really. “And lest you worry, I’ll be glad to take him home once we’re done here— needed an excuse to stretch my legs, anyroad.”

Though she was wholly and utterly delighted at being able to see Vardr again, her mother’s words gave her pause: a bluebird— Aymeric? He had been one of a few to know that she was travelling to Camp Dragonhead for personal reasons; she’d had to report it to all of the Alliance leaders lest they need her counsel, and never mind the way her stomach churned at the discovery of that particular requirement for the job and the revelation that this was just how Minfilia had lived; she hadn’t the wherewithal to unpack the emotions she felt with that. Much as she adored the other leaders of the Alliance, she doubted very much any of them save for him could contact her mother— or would even know to— in advance. We’re supposed to be neutral, the sweet fool, she thought with infinite fondness even as her heart twisted in her chest.

In the wake of everything that she was going to have to do and everything that was in front of her, Serella had somehow skipped past feeling overwhelmed by her emotions and had numbed herself enough to stand without fear of crying all over again.

“Pray tell your bluebird that I’m so grateful for this—” she thanked Myrina before turning to her brother, “— and thank you as well, of course,” she amended, trying to smile even as it felt like her skin was being pulled too tight from the already fleeting cheer. Like snow in springtime it rapidly evaporated, and she asked in a quieter voice, “how fare you? Are you sure this isn’t too much trouble?”

“Oh come now, old girl, give me some credit!” Emmanelain dismissed, holding a finger up. “I might not be quite so adept as Haurchefant had been in chocobo husbandry, but I know how to care for a full grown bird— who do you think Artoirel foisted all his stable boy duties on when we were children?”

The thought of Artoirel being the one to shove off work in their youth had Serella snorting in laughter; little wonder Emmanelain had been so quick to shirk off his own duties when they had first met.

“I was more worried about overwhelming you— you have so many other duties now.” Serella explained, even as she had continued to pet Ullr and Vardr in turns. 

“If Camp Dragonhead can’t provide for a spare chocobo, then I am already not doing my job.” Emmanellain replied with pursed lips. “And if anything changes to where we cannot, he will be taken care of at the Holy Stables.” He clapped a hand over his heart. “I swear I’ll see to it myself.”

“I never had a doubt in my mind,” Serella reassured him, though with a wince she hesitantly asked the two of them, “...might I finish stabling him? Say my goodbyes?”

“I would have insisted you do regardless,” her younger brother reassured her.

“It’s only right,” Myrina said, a hand coming up to pat at Ullr’s beak. “Poor dear already suspects, most like.” 

With a jerk of his head toward the path leading out of Camp Dragonhead, Emmanellain said, “go on, we can wait outside. Need us to take Vardr?”

“Nah, he can stay— he’ll howl otherwise.” Moving back inside Ullr’s pen, she patted her thigh. “Come on, boy.” 

Pleased as a goobue in mud, Vardr happily flopped down beside her as Emmanellain and Myrina quietly excused himself. Ullr preened his chest tuft nervously as she worked to remove his saddle and bridle. With her chocobo fully freed of his riding gear and her dog faithfully leaning against her leg she took her time carefully brushing out Ullr’s feathers; she had noticed that he had begun to look a bit lathered as they came into the Highlands. 

It was soothing, the back and forth repetition of feeling the brush drift through his feathers. She had always taken great pride in taking care of him herself; even the thought of this being goodbye, even for just a short while, made her insides knot themselves with guilt. Ullr fussed and whined, and he must have realized something was different about this time, she realized with the way he kept turning to look at her, kept trying to nip her hands to stop her from brushing him. To calm him, she began to quietly hum as she often did when brushing him. Though Ullr quieted, he seemed to eye her dubiously as she went about tending to him.

“I won’t be around for a while, boys,” she spoke quietly when her song ended and the brushing stopped. “I have to find all your aunts and uncles— I’ve told you about what happened, haven’t I?”

Vardr made a low, questioning noise and she felt him press his forehead to her thigh to tip his head back and look up at her. She did not meet his stare— she had fallen into a sort of melancholic trance, tending to Ullr as she was.

“They’re all sleeping, and I have to...to wake them up again. So you’ll have to take care for me, alright?” She made to sweep the feathers that had shed naturally off when impulse demanded she take a few of them and carefully tuck them away in her breastplate; Ullr was the only one she could conceivably take a part of with her, she reasoned. “Be on your best behavior, the both of you.” Ullr turned his head and gently bumped his beak against her cheek. She stroked the downy soft feathers between his eyes. “Don’t give Emmanellain a hard time; he’s doing his best. You know the stable hands: they’re good about keeping your hay fresh and your stall clean, so no pecking them if they forget your salt block once or twice, alright?” 

Vardr let out a startled snort when she moved to stand in front of Ullr, the poor dog being jarred from leaning against her leg as she shifted. She leaned down to give him an apologetic pat when he came to sit beside her again. She returned her attention to her horsebird when she heard a stable hand discreetly clear his throat. 

“Time for me to go now.” She pressed her forehead gently against Ullr’s and gave his head one last scritch. “I love you, Ullr. Be a good boy for me, alright?”

When Serella turned Ullr grabbed the hood of her cloak with his beak. When she turned to free herself, a heat already behind her eyes as she took her hood back, Ullr let out a mournful wark, pleading, Mama, stay?

“Now, now,” her chastisements were warbled through her unshed tears, even as she took a step backward out of his reach. “What did I just say? Be good for me, Ullr. I’ll be back.”

She patted her thigh again, and tried to ignore the way Ullr wailed at being held in his pen. The stable hand tried to calm him, but even as she stepped out into the snow, she could hear him butting his side against the door in protest. She quietly apologized to him: she had always been bad at hiding her upset from him.

Vardr fell into step beside Serella as she walked toward the path leading back through to Mor Dhona, where Emmanellain and Myrina waited for her at the edge of the camp. She felt her already lead filled stomach sink to the floor the closer she neared; three more goodbyes, and that would be all that held her to this star. As she came to a stop in front of them, she tried to claw at what remains of her stoicism she could find within her.

“Well, this is it.” Emmanellain said with a heavy sigh. “Suppose you’re heading straight out, then?”

“To linger would just make it more painful.” Serella reasoned. “They...they need me. And I’m faring little better without them.”

Myrina nodded in understanding. “You’re certain you have all you might need on the road?” She asked with a frown.

“It isn’t far,” she replied distantly, though after a pause, she amended, “...to the tower. I...I can’t take much with me past that, or so I’m told.”

The youngest Fortemps nodded grimly. “And...you’re alright with that?”

“No. But I haven’t a choice.” Serella shrugged. Turning to her mother and giving her the biggest hug she could manage, she whispered, “thank you for bringing Vardr with you for me to say goodbye, Ma— it means more than I can say.”

“Seemed only right.” Myrina sniffed. “Wish your brother was here.”

“He...he didn’t want to say goodbye in person.”

“I know. I got his letter. It’s...enough.” The way Myrina squeezed her daughter until her shoulders popped gave away the lie. “I can’t fathom the pain you two suffered in mourning your father and I. Don’t...don’t put me through that.” 

“We’ll be back as soon as we can, Ma.” Serella hoped that what strength she had was enough to hold her mother together for even a few seconds longer. 

“You’d damn well better be.” Myrina reached up on her tip toes and kissed her cheek. “I love you, little Ella.” 

“I love you, too, Ma.” With a sniffle and a kiss to her forehead, Serella let go. When her mother stepped back, her brother hesitantly came forward.

“Serella.” Emmanellain said in a serious tone, all pretense of his own boyhood gone. She looked at him, then— really looked at him, and saw that he was trying just as hard as she was to hold himself together. “This isn’t...do not call it ‘goodbye,’ alright?” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You adventurer types like those, but I deny your goodbye!” Tears welled in his eyes— and hers. “You will come home, you hear me? I accept naught less!”

“...I promise.” She said, and all pretense of Ishgardian mannerisms went out the window when he launched himself at her for a hug. She squeezed him tight enough that she felt his ribs creak. He only clung to her tighter. “We’ll come back, just you see.”

“You had better!” He sniffled into her collar. “Ullr will never forgive you otherwise— nor will I!”

“I know, brother mine,” she yessed him through her own tears— she had not realized she had so many of them to shed today. “I know. I love the lot of you too damned much to stay gone, you know that.”

“You had better.” He mumbled, going slack as if in defeat.

He was the first to let go and step away, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Taking the opportunity for what it was, she knelt down one last time to speak with Vardr.

“You watch over the others for me, yeah?” She asked him, and when he whined, she placed her hand atop his head. “I love you, Vardr.”

It didn’t surprise her when he started to trot along after her when she stood and turned to leave. She had anticipated it, and turned to look down at him over her shoulder. She held out her closed fist— a command she had taught him early.

“Stay.” She ordered him.

Vardr whined, pawing at the snow in front of him. Myrina knelt down and took hold of his collar, nodding at her sternly to go. 

Serella left, and did not look back again. She pretended that Vardr’s mournful howling was just the wind of the encroaching snow storm. Eventually, that was all she heard besides.

By the time she had made her way into Mor Dhona, past the settlement, and into the crystal forest surrounding Syrcus Tower, she had managed to take an old hairpin she had found in Eureka and refashion it with Ullr’s feathers. She had pinned it in her hair out of want for having something there— the dramatic in her demanded she leave her Orthodox hairpin with Aymeric in the infirmary before they parted— again— and she had not realized how familiar its slight weight was on her head until she went without. 

It felt oddly final, when she walked past the first gate to the tower. There was still yet the disabled wards to walk passed, but something about the heavy thud of the doors closing behind her felt...permanent in a way she did not want to dwell on. 

I’ll come back. And I’ll bring everyone with me. She promised herself, and that alone made her legs push her onward. She had someone she needed to meet up ahead, anyroad. No sense in keeping him waiting.

Uthengentle did not comment on the new hairpin when he eyed it upon her arrival to the doors of Syrcus Tower. Instead, he offered her a tired smile and put away his whittling. Not even left home, and it was clear the shadows had already caught up to haunt both their eyes.

“Well, Ellie,” he said in a weary voice, “ready to save the world again?”

“As ever.” She replied, just as exhausted, and felt like she left everything that was home the second they stepped through the doors. 

[burmecianblackmage]

Today marks this blogs third anniversary

Time sure flies, huh? Who’d have thought that what started out as a small little idea way back when would eventually grow to become such a grand and complex character, with a long and detailed backstory and even a very important NPC spawning off said story?

I sure didn’t.

To be quite honest, I was back then not sure whether or not Sceada would ever catch a hold in the rp community, and there have been periods where it felt like his foothold was vanishing, but he endured, and now I am still here after 3 years. And you know what?

None of that would have been possible without you guys.

A roleplay character and his story are, if you ask me, to an extent also only as good as their partners make them. The growth of a character comes through interaction, and without partners there simply is none. And with them, you sometimes don’t know just which way they might push your muse to develop - ain’t that the most exciting part about this our hobby?

So, in order to honor these three exciting, heartwarming (and heartbreaking at times), dramatic and simply awesome years, I wish to honor the people that made it possible!

~~~~ My dear friends ~~~~

@burmecias-protector

It seems fitting to start with you, cause after all, you were the very first person to ever give this blog a chance and play with me. And quite frankly? You never stopped being my go to person when it is about Burmecia and it’s inhabitants. You helped me shape my backstory and headcanons, allowed me to make your Freya a part of them somewhat by acknowledging the characters it introduced and their connection to her, and what I appreciate by far the most, even three years in you still play with me every now and then.

Thank you so much for everything. I know we may not converse much outside of rp but I still feel I got to know you a bit over the years and so I also want to say that I think you’re a great person and someone people greatly enjoy having for a friend. Stay awesome, and may your endeavors be crowned with success!

(Also, I’m still “sorry” for throwing Skadi at you like that, but I love what a good sport you’ve been about it and wanna thank you for dealing with her! I promise, she’ll eventually be less obnoxious)

@containyourmainposure

Oh Gwenny, if I were to list all the nice things I can say about you, I’d probably need a separate post just for you. You’re such a warm and kind person and you’re never afraid to voice your opinion, and I really admire that. And the same goes for the big changes you’ve made in your life, I am both so very happy for you and proud of you for making that leap, and at the same time a bit envious. Maybe one day I’ll have that strength too.

And your Leonora, my, she’s just such a wonderful sweetheart, I cannot fathom how one could not adore her. Reading you write her is not only a pleasure, no, it has also fundamentaly changed my perception of her when I replay TAY - I gotta admit, I at first considered her to be a bit boring in game, but I see now that I was mistaken, and not just because of how much depth you gave her. By now Leonora has actually become part of my extended list of favorites, and I feel you are to credit for that.

I always adore our plays, and am a bit sad to see them having become so scarce lately. Not only Sceada misses you and Leonora, I do too. I understand why the situation currently is as it is and let me assure you, it’s okay, but allow me at the same time to say that yes, I do miss these plays. And we don’t even need to go into detail about how much Sceada misses the sunshine to his rain... My poor lovesick fool. So I really hope that the day will come when we can play more often again. Until then, please stay as wonderful as you are and may you continue to succeed in all you do! You deserve all the happiness.

@artemisxbow

Maria oh Maria - no, I’m not gonna break into signing the opera from FF VI right now, behave Patrick - it feels like I’ve known you forever, though we only met through Pledged Prelude back in the day, and only rarely really spoke outside of plays. Curious how that sometimes goes, huh? But be that as it may, yours is a presence on my dashboard that I wouldn’t want to miss. I really adore your style of writing, the way you picture a scene and how you describe Maria and her inner struggles. I know out plays tend to get quite slow, curtesy of both our lives, but by the gods they are always, always worth waiting for. And seeing a reply after a long time has more than once felt like an exciting little present waiting to be unwrapped and discovered. Really, I love writing with you.

And Sceada is not in the least against it either. After all, if you would ask him who his closest friend is, who would he name other than Maria? He cares deeply for her and wants her to be happy, and he will never forget the kindness she showed him back in the day. I feel these two have a nice chemistry together, one of understanding and respect, and I shall with joy await just how that will develop over time. I for one hope that they both can learn to open up more to each other, both could really use it. But in the end, that’s not really up to us, right?

That said! I’ll also never forget the wonderful dynamic we had going when you played Victoria for a while, and she befriended Sceada, planning to use him for her own goals and played him. How he struggled with the path he saw her lay open for him to walk and it’s consequences, and last but definitely not least, their epic confrontation. Ah, good times...

Anyhow... what I want to say is Thank you Maria, for being such a consistent presence in my little Sceada’s life and for the many plays and deep conversations our muses shared. I shall gladly look forward for more to come, and I hope you do too. And who knows just where they’ll take us, hmm? ;)

@burmecianknight

Ah, Calisto... It’s been well over a year since you last graced our dashboards and we got to enjoy your presence, but don’t think that I’ve forgotten about you! Back in the days when I got to play with you it was always fun seeing your writing and the few threads we had always felt a bit special. I dunno why... but for Sceada you somehow felt like a sister, or probably what he would imagine it to feel like.

Kinda curious that it never occured to me back then that maybe they could be a ship, what with her being the only female Burmecian in his age group that he knew... - who knows if that would have worked though xD

Either way... I know you might not read this but if you do? I’d like you to know that I’m thankful for the time we played together and the plays we shared. And should you ever feel like returning? I will gladly play with you again right away.

@sharlayanmistress

My dear lady Minfilia, how long has it been? Too long. So I know you may not get to see this for a long time - if at all. But sadly that too is the nature of roleplaying, over time we are bound to say goodbye to many a player we liked.

You’ve been one such player for me. My Eorzea verse was pretty much centered on you, even thoug that was not the original intention. But Sceada felt so safe in her company and understood too, that actually she is to this day the only person who has seen his mark. Unbelieveable, right? But for him she was one he could trust - and apparently, he for her too. And I really liked that.

It is a pity that the canon story ended up ruining your muse for her, alongside your real life. I understand how you feel though, yet still... I’d have loved to play with you more. You had a very nice writing style. Maybe one day again. Maybe on another blog. Only time will tell.

@ladyofgentlebreezes

First things first: I always have and I still do love the concept of your Garuda. What with her memory loss and her Garuda-Egi trying to whisper into her ears - I found that briliant. But I also liked her personality. The sometimes shy, sometimes insecure she displayed, along with her kindness... She was a sweetheart with a troubled mind, and by the gods can Sceada relate to that. He truly wanted to help her and understand her.

And who knows, maybe even more could have come of it, we had some intriguing prompts that never failed to make me smile. I suppose we’ll never know.

But be that as it may... I wanna still say thank you Garuda, for you were a partner I adored and I always enjoyed your writing of your muse. I’d have loved to play more with you, but alas it wasn’t meant to be. Still I’ll always be grateful for the time we shared as rp partners.

@thepricewasright

Locke Cole! Boy, what a pity it is that we have not yet been able to play more. I always liked your muse in the games, and you play him so faithfully! And no, I don’t mean the fact that just like Locke you sometimes come and go ;) But really, jokes aside, I really like the way you play him, and even before we started playing I’ve enjoyed reading you on my dash.

And to think of the possibilities our muses have, the potential scenarios that might yet unfold! I’m so very eager to explore them and truly hope we get to do so one day. I mean, it’s not often that Sceada gets to have a “rival” so to speak, though we both know that their rivalry would be unneeded as their beloved loves them both. And the notion of them adventuring together! Whether it is pursuing some legends or rumors, or even looking for that cure, I feel these two can become quite close if things go well.

So, uhm, yeah. What I wanna say is, I’m very excited to play with you and I hope we get to do so again soon. I like the way you write and your presence on my dash, and I’d like to thank you for playing with me. May we have more fun plays to come! Or angst, muahahaha....

@ladyoflindblum

Did you know that ever since I first came across your blog I’ve been wanting to play with you? I’ve always adored Eiko, and your adult take on her is delightfully refreshing. I also fondly remember that time we both individually had the same headcannon, and how the idea still lives on on your blog. The concept of it will probably never stop interesting me.

And well, we did play. But for the longest time, it was only small interactions in groups, some even in distinct verses and so they never really met in their main verses. Until we started a thread over a year ago - and then life got in the way.

When you recently came to me and said you’d love to play together again, I was delighted - and surprised. Reviving the old thread? I’ve never had that happen before, but you know what? I love the idea. Especially since the setting’s so nice for these two to meet a first time proper! And you can bet I’m excited to see where this will go. So thank you, thank you a lot for returning and still being interested in this mine little creation!

@avaliantqueen

I’ve always liked Garnet (though for me she’ll always be Lilli, her german pseudonym) and so when I found your beautifully written take on her I could not help but want to play with you. But unfortunately, we somehow never got over the starter and maybe a reply or two before they died down. I gotta admit I still don’t know why... - but it is what it is. Maybe I’ll try again in the days to come, we’ll see ;)

What I can say here though is that the Mun here, Asuka, yeah? She’s an absolute sweetheart. And very talented. Seriously, have you seen her videos or her cosplay of Garnet? I am time and time again in awe when I see her works. Also, she is very kind and likes to help people, and is not afraid to stand up for those she holds dear, which I find quite admireable. So yeah... you keep on being your impressive self, you hear me? 

@beyondtheflyingbird

Mary! Have I ever told you what an absolute sweetheart you are? Well, yes, I know I have, but don’t think that’ll stop me from doing so again! Because really, you are such a nice and caring person! I still dearly remember talking to you when things were really rough for me and you even went so far as to offer me an alternative, a path out. I couldn’t take it back then, but I will never forget just how much it meant to me that someone cared so much. I know we haven’t spoken all that much in the past year because life has a tendency to get in the way, but I still feel that if things went extremely downhill and I needed someone to talk, you’d have my back - and I want you to know that I’d have yours, anytime.

Also, it’s so refreshing sometimes to just be able to talk with someone in your native language xD

That said, now that you recently returned I’m really hoping that we get to play together again! I love your Garnet and I especially loved her caring nature in certain threads and prompts. And you’re so full of great ideas! Like when I sent in that Kiss in the Rain thing and instead of just going small with a smooch or such in a rainy city, you had it have an emotional build up, a deep sadness over what was lost and a kiss meant to comfort an aching soul standing in the ruins of what once was his homeland - just how amazing is that? Seriously Mary, I’d love to play with you again, it’d be both an honor and a pleasure.

@sunny-explosions

Selphie is at times bubbly, usually quite cheerful, sometimes a bit too friendly - and eerily fond of blowing things up - and you convey that perfectly my dear! I always enjoy seeing you on the dash, and often can’t help sending in memes or prompts - even if my own muse is at times upset with me because of the results. And we’re still trying to whip up an actual, bigger thread so here’s hoping!

@feralstriike

Ah, the lovely Fran! We have had the pleasure of some small threads a few times so far, and I gotta admit I always liked the dynamic we had between our two not-quite-standard-human Muses. Fran is a mystery and apparently enjoys that fact, and if Sceada is one thing then it is fascinated by mysteries. I was always curious how they’d get along, and as we saw from some of the older threads they could well have become friends - and hey, who knows? Seeing how you came back a while ago, maybe that is still a possibility.

Either way though, I quite like your writing and I enjy seeing you pop up on my dash every now and then.

@briidunviing

Brii, I know we haven’t played much yet. We have that one thread, and a short thing from a prompt, and that’s it. And I also know that you more often than not feel your replies don’t live up to mine. Now... let me tell you something..

That is not the case.

Brii, you write your character well and convey what she feels or goes through clearly enough. You have an unique writng style, which sets you apart from others and on top of that your muse is quite the interesting concept. So believe me when I say that it is all fine, okay? Don’t worry about your roleplaying. Aren’t you, like most of us I believe, rp-ing because you enjoy it? Because it helps distract you, focus on something else for a while?

Also I’m so sorry about everything you have to deal with irl. I wish I could do more than just talk to help you but sadly, I cannot. So at the very least... allow me to offer you an open ear whenever your need one. To qoute one of my all-time favorite scenes in FF history: You Are Not Alone. Okay?

@dancing-dagger

I’ve been following you for a while already, but I don’t think we ever had much interaction before, which is a pity. I’ve quite liked both your Leila and Milleuda for some time now, but found myself struggling to find a way to initiate interaction. And then Sceada decides he wants to send that prompt in. Boy oh boy, did that turn out in an interesting way... I’m honestly quite curious whether we’ll continue with it, and just where it’ll go - depending on the result Leila will truly steal something from him xD

But either way, I’d love to get to know her and/or Milleuda better and interact with them, so I’ll try to come up with something for at least one of them! 

@the-shadow-of-a-wielder

You know, it’s kinda weird. I’ve known you and your muse for but a short time now, our first actual interaction having been the advent calendar I had made. And look at it now: We’ve been talking quite a lot, Amina has become a close ally to Sceada in the group verse and we’ve even discussed possible ways for it to extend beyond the group should the need arise. Granted, the fine tuning between our muses needs improvement yet, but I feel it works fine between us Muns, don’t you agree? And there is absolutely no denying that Amina is an interesting OC, so yeah... I’m really looking forward to continuing our plays^^

@losteidolon

Now we’ve barely known each other for a few days now, but when I stumbled over your OC I almost cried from joy. A FF9 OC! Well written! Interesting concept! And active! - Honestly, from my experience those are rare to come by! I am very excited to see just how our two OCs will get along - even though that one prompt already was a bad start in Sceada’s eyes. This is not how he likes to meet people xD

@colourfulvirtuoso and @elderinwhite

You two I’ve only recently started interacting with, but I have so far really enjoyed it! You have lovely writing styles and from what I can tell so far some nice ideas, so I am truly looking forward to playing more with you as time goes on!

I’d also like to give a big thanks to the groups I was part of in these 3 years, for I met many a wonderful person in them and enjoyed many an interesting and fun play thanks to them. So thank you Pledged Prelude @pledgedprelude, Crystathereum @crystathereum, Fate Cipher, Crowned Reveries and Crested Fantasia @crestedfantasia, it’s been a pleasure being part of you!

And lastly, I also want to thank my lovely girlfriend @pandoragu. We may have never actually played together on this account, with her Melly usually dealingwith my Kamiizumi, but she has helped shape this muse immensely in the two and a half years we’ve been a couple. Several ideas and headcanons have been bounced off her and adapted, leading to my Sceada’s backstory becoming more and more fleshed out, turning him into who he is today. Even if he himself does not yet know wholly who he is... So yeah, thank you my dear, for all your help with my little fool. I love you.

And that’s it! Thank you everyone for 3 great years! May many more plots and shenanigans  and threads come to life through our words! May we always find someone willing to listen to us and support us.

Thank You.

Patrick~

[kanameuzuka]

Basics —

NAME: Kaname Uzuka

AGE: 30

RACE: Lalafell

GENDER: Female

SEXUALITY: Bi-Sexual

MARITAL STATUS: Married

Physical Appearance —

HAIR: Black with light green highlights

EYES: One eye is violet the other emerald

HEIGHT: 3”5

BUILD: Petite

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: The tattoos on her forearm

COMMON ACCESSORIES: Long black nails that are both elegant and intimidating

Personal Life —

PROFESSION: Harem Madame primarily, but an under the table adventurer

HOBBIES: Seeking out magical relics and learning all manner of Arcane arts.

LANGUAGES: Common

RESIDENCE: Shirogane

BIRTHPLACE: Kugane

PATRON DIETY: Azeyma

FEARS: Being poor and forgotten.

Relationships —

SPOUSE/PARTNER: Umashu the Miqo’te

CHILDREN: None

PARENTS: Her birth parents are unknown, but was raised by the Raen Au’Ra named Kaname.

SIBLINGS: None

OTHER RELATIVES: None

PETS: A hunting Hawk named Numia’

Basic Traits —

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / in between

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between

empathetic / unemphatic / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

cultured / un-cultured / in between

loyal / disloyal / in between

Habits —

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

Hooks —

The Crystal Braves: A member of the Crystal Braves, Kaname is sometimes called away from her life in the Shirogane to help with keeping the various beast tribes from summoning their primals, or keeping factions in the various city states from throwing the realm into further turmoil.

The Velvet Couerl: The Catboy Harem house her mother left her in Shirogane. While out adventuring she often will come across gorgeous Miqo’te males that she brings back to work for her in her cat boy harem. They dance and please the high paying residents of the Shirogane and those who come from all over Eorzea to see their famed routines. When it comes to the Velvet Couerl Kaname is a fearsome Mistress.

OOC — This is my first real run at an original character. You may be more familiar with my primary blog (minifilia.me) which I run a lala version of Minfilia the most beloved of the Scions >:( I hope to add more things like this to give you a peak into Kaname and look forward to our adventures together :D

[charulein]

I'm I think halfway through Stormblood and I have lots of thoughts xd

So far I'm very divided by it tbh. The initial start until you get to the Liberation of Doma plot felt extremely,,, lacking. Especially since all the characters I cared about are dead - Ysayle, Haurchefant, Nidhogg, and Minfilia my beloved (technically not dead but at this rate she might as well be)...

What irked me most was definitely the beginning, with the Ardbert plot (don't care) and Uriangers double crossing ass (hate him), making Minfilia go sacrifice herself even more. Then that motherfucker Ilberd stole Nidhoggs precious eyes with his filthy paws???? And Papalymo decided to die, and took with him Yda/Lyses character development????? It was really grating ngl, especially since it was put as a noble sacrifice???

The whole Ala Mhigo situation is. There, I suppose? It's kinda hard to really get into it for me, since there are no characters I really like involved (unlike Heavensward with Haurchefant, Nidhogg and Ysayle), but helping the resistance was alright in the end. I think it's written pretty well all in all, just not a topic I'm very interested in.

The biggest bullshit honestly, is losing to Zenos - it really feels like a cop out. Stubborn defeated Ultima, Gaius, Bahamut, countless Primals, the superpowered archbishop, Nidhogg himself!! Firstborn of Midgardsormr!!!!!

And you get defeated by a puny hyur. With sword. Wow.

The Doma plot I liked because Yugiri and Gosetsu were there. No Thancred or Uriansnooze either lmao, what a holiday. The Kojin are cool! The whole thing with the Confederacy and them wanting a miracle, Susanoo and the Raen and diving, Yugiri actually trying to assassinate Zenos and Stubborn agreeing to help her!!

And the Azim Steppe with the Xaela happens!! Hien is actually cool and likeable and optimistic!! Cirina of the Mol is amazing too, and I really liked the Dotharl tribe (fuck the Oronir). The Naadam was fun too, and so was the rest of the Doma plot. I'm going to miss Gosetsu though :c

Anyways, Heavensward is still my favourite! Nidhogg was right etc