#so it's gonna get done before the rest of the scions even know she's up

[tallbluelady]

"let's go smash some stuff until you're ready to talk"

Before Rowan could even reach for the doorknob she heard a knock.

"Ro?" Khaliun's voice was soft but clear through the door. "Are you awake? Will you talk to me?"

"I'm awake." Rowan grimaced at Ardbert. "Though I'm regretting it at the moment."

"I can't blame you for feeling that way but... Cerigg and Taynor said they're ready to face Phronesis once and for all."

"What good is that going to do? I've seen the sky." 

"It'll be something for you to do while everyone insists that you rest," Khaliun said. "And we both know that resting really isn't your style."

"Senseless destruction isn't either."

"It's not senseless - it'll help lay a poor sinner to rest," Khaliun said.

Rowan sighed and looked to Ardbert, who was doing his best to hide his emotions.

"Mayhap purposeful destruction will do me some good..."

[wind-up-thancred]

bit of thancred character musing under the cut that im gonna try to approximate from a 6am discord rambling into something i can actually post. both SHB and EW spoilers included

i saw some folks talking on twt about how guilt seems to be a very important factor in his life and i agree. i think a lot of major parts of his character and arcs have been due to guilt over something he did (or didnt even really do, re: the whole goobue rampage situation). it's driven him to work his ass off after louisoix which lead to him getting possessed... but its probably also what motivated him to do better for ryne after being forced to look his fuckups directly in the eye instead of just wallowing about them. but i think, at the same time, he doesnt really seem to, like... actually be proud of himself for a lot of the stuff he's done in order to work off that guilt? the biggest giveaway for that being the line in endwalker on the ragnarok where he talks about his "good deeds" cynically and seems to insist that they were never really that impactful in the first place. that they'll just go to dust when he dies.

in shb, during the ahm areng segment, not only does he talk down on himself in general, but also puts down his attempts to help OG minfilia back in the pre-ARR days... when i'm pretty sure she never even blamed him for the goobue rampage in the first place.

it's all a little bit sad to me, tbh. i've seen some people reason that, because he was only able to escape poverty due to louisoix seeing potential in his thieving skills, he's essentially internalized the idea that he's only really worth keeping around by ANYONE if he's actively being productive, either helping others or trying to fix whatever fuckups he feels he's made. i think that would explain a lot of this

note the "few positive traits" line, which to me comes across as "i was only picked up out of childhood poverty because he thought my skills were useful." though i don't really know how much of that mentality he's managed to work past by post endwalker. he IS able to go off on his own, and mentions that he trusts the scions to keep themselves safe now... but as i ranted about before, the short story points out that he's only really content to rest briefly before he feels obligated again to seek out unrest to try and help, specifically mentioning minfilia again. also, a couple times during the story, notably post ARR after his possession, mid SHB after he's wounded in a fight with sineaters, and post SHB after he passes out due to the weakening soul-body bond, he seems to dislike even having to rest for medical reasons

it's a pretty interesting part of his character to me. idk if the writers specifically had his rigorous upbringing in mind when they wrote these parts of his character, but to me it would make a lot of sense as an explanation for why he's so averse to rest and why he carries so much guilt and why he's so passionate about keeping the folks around him safe. that's kinda been his whole reason for life since he was a kid-- using his skills for the benefit of others. to him, doing anything other than that would be a waste, it seems.

idk. funny guy makes my heart hurt. yes i had all these dialogue screencaps saved and on hand. yes i am a little insane. what of it

[ffxiv-swarm]

prompt 19: taken

She and Avery have been together for a while. Rita thinks she’s probably getting a decent enough handle on this dating thing, considering she’s never done it before.

(“What th’ fuck,” Gan says when she mentions that. “What about Emm?...what do you mean, not th’ same thing?!” But it isn’t. This is serious. She and Avery live together, fight together, have faced down the end of the world together. He may not have her near-bottomless well of aether, may not have been Hydaelyn’s Champion first, but his is the seat of Azem—alone among the Scions, alone among all the men of the world, he is the one she trusts on the battlefield. And because he is kind and patient and good—because he calls her my lady and means it—she trusts him with her heart as well.)

(It is absolutely not the same thing as when she was with Emmanellain de Fortemps.)

They’re in Tural for two days when she realizes she might have a problem. Not with Avery—gods, no, even in this beautiful land filled with new and exciting people, he only has eyes for her. (Sometimes literally. When she debuts a new swimsuit he nearly trips off the edge of the For’ard Cabins pier.) She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is loyal.

No, her problem is with everyone else.

Wuk Lamat shrugs cheerfully when she brings it up. “There aren’t a lot of elezen here! Avery’s just...new. Exotic! Like I was in Sharlayan!”

Rita narrows her eyes at her. “When you were in Sharlayan, you were single.”

“What does that have to do with...oh. Oh. Right.” Wuk Lamat certainly understands when flirtation is directed at her—though watching her try to flirt back is an exercise in torture—but when it comes to other people, well, the subtext has to be delivered with a sledgehammer. “But he’s so—I mean, no offense, but he’s so spindly.”

“Your fellow Tuliyollans don’t think so,” Rita growls. (Technically untrue; spindly is certainly an accurate description next to a Xbr’aal or a Hanuhanu or even most Mamool Ja, and she and Avery and the twins have gotten a lot of extra portions foisted on them by locals who think they need to eat more. But that’s not the part she’s complaining about.)

They’re sitting at a little table outside Aunt Tii’s, drinks in hand. Avery’s in line—it is a long line—to fetch them lunch. It’s an Ishgardian thing, Rita had explained, and then Wuk Lamat had asked her what Ishgard was like and that conversation had lasted them until Avery was three people away from the counter and Rita had looked up to see a Tonawawtan woman leaning over from behind Avery to put her hand on his arm, gazing softly up at him and asking something about where he was from, he was so tall...

Rita sets her piña colada down, takes a deep breath, and adjusts her bra straps.

“Oh no,” Wuk Lamat says.

Her ears are pinned back, but only the Xbr’aal here will know what that means. She rises from her seat like the tide. “I’m not gonna hurt anyone,” she says evenly.

She doesn’t have to. No, instead she saunters over to where Avery is, setting each foot in front of the other in a way she knows emphasizes the curve of her hips. It’s immensely gratifying to watch Avery turn to watch her, a smile tugging at his lips, but that’s not why she’s doing it. No, she leans against him, draped against his side with his hand coming to rest on her waist, and says, “Love, refresh my memory. Did I order th’ shrimp tacos?”

Avery blinks at her. She knows what he’s probably thinking—that she rarely forgets anything, not least because she writes everything down. “You did; why?”

She shrugs. “Wanted to make sure. The table next to ours had some and they look incredible. Think we can get extra salsa?”

He peers over the tops of his glasses, doing that little squint he does when something is at the exact wrong distance for his farsighted gaze and yet too far for the glasses to help. “Aunt Tii seems not to have run out yet.”

She grins, sharp and not aimed at him. The Tonawawtan woman has shrunk back, red-faced, and Rita spares a moment to flick her the coldest glance she can. Back off, her eyes say. He’s mine.

Her mouth, on the other hand, says, “Grand! Extra salsa for me, then. Th’ mild stuff, I don’t wanna accidentally kill you.”

Avery’s ears turn red. “I am perfectly capable of handling spice—”

She grins up at him, twining a lock of his hair around her finger. “I know. But we can’t cheer Wuk Lamat at her coronation if your mouth’s on fire.”

They order the mild salsa. By the time they’ve got their tacos, everyone trying bites of everyone else’s—Wuk Lamat’s pulled xibruq is the clear winner—Rita’s almost entirely forgotten having to stake her claim.

She does sit a little closer to Avery than she normally does, though. Just in case.

[smallest-turtle]

Scion Teenager Squad Upon Ye

Deidre has more than one person she's close with beyond typical friendship but Alisaie is the only one where that relationship is also a romantic one. I like Alisaie's energy, she feels and shows all of her emotions very intensely and she does not fall into the same trap the other scions had to crawl out of with the willingness toward heroic self sacrifice. Another thing I've posted about before is that when She helps the wol, she is doing what the wol is also doing. When other scions help the wol, they are doing things out wol wouldn't be doing to begin with. When she helps us she is ACTUALLY lightening our burden, imo.

I like her and Deidre together because they're both red mages, and I have her involved in the rdm questline. She gets to see Deidre kind of struggle with the class, due to her being a white mage and her having taken up dark knight already, which is something the others never really see. Alisaie knows Deidre from dealing with Bahamut (and admired her prowess and witnessed how she would build a little camp and make sure she and alphy and arenvald all got fed), but being reintroduced to her in this setting where she Struggles opens her eyes more leading into the canon events. She cares deeply about everyone, she sees how Deidre is still pretty distant from the Archons, and helps bridge that gap by ensuring they Work Together, which Deidre really appreciates after feeling like they just send her (and arenvald) to fight alone. Alisaie is one of the few who are truly willing to see the emotional struggle Deidre has with Not Wanting to be the wol but continuing because no one else could any of those things, and how it combines with both her childhood 'if you want something done do it yourself' stubbornness and her genuine desire to help a cause bc its important to someone shes come to care about.

Deidre appreciates that Alisaie, like Arenvald, helps her in the things she's actually doing to begin with, and that she doesn't shy away from the parts of her that are ugly and bitter about whats happened to her. When it comes to Deidre seeing herself in Zenos, comparing herself to him in how she's his equal as the Alliance's weapon against the Empire, she's gonna argue but she wont say the alliance Doesn't use her as their trump card the way the rest of the scions would. She also argues for Deidre to rest like a normal person the way Haurchefant does, and carves out the space for her to do so when needed. She's there for her emotionally when she's struggling after she's recovered from being turned into the Light Warden, when she has her breakdown bc the white hair after the transformation wont hold dye well and cuts it all off, any time she needs reassurance that her scars are flesh and not crystalizing since she has nerve damage in her hands and can't feel well, there's a lot of personal self-image stuff that Deidre struggles with that really only Alisaie is privy to.

In Deidre Alisaie gets someone who has similar motivations to her, they work together very well, much like in canon she makes Alisaie want to improve herself. She likes that Deidre is drawn to experiencing new things and that they can do that together, and that even with her adventuring she knows Deidre will always circle back to wherever she feels is home. She considers Deidre to be reliable and easy to talk to, doesn't judge when Alisaie has to take a few tries to work her emotions out into words or has to troubleshoot her feelings about a situation out loud in order to puzzle them out properly. She also morphs anywhere they're staying into a stable, predictable environment they can anchor themselves to amidst the tossing and turning of always traveling, which helps Alisaie keep her head on straight.

Also they're teenagers/young adults (as time progresses) and they can just be silly together sometimes. They've been through a lot of hardship, but their relationship is also one that can survive normalcy and peace. They are each just as likely to join the other on an adventure as they are to sit quietly in the other's company while they work on something. They also get along decently with each other's families and other loved ones which is a bonus.

Another random WoLQotD/OC question

I thought I'd ask this while I worked on my other questions. :)

If you're a WoL x NPC shipper, what drew you to that ship and why? What makes that ship the pinnacle for you and your oc? Is it that you love the canon character you write them with, you find their dynamic interesting or something in between?

If you're not a WoL x NPC shipper, but you have a ship with another person, how did that come about? What makes that ship fulfilling for you? Has the ship impacted your relationship with that other person? Feel free to gush, I wanna hear it!

Oh, and pictures are a must (if you have them).

[vierandancer]

For what felt like an age, Meiko clung to the door of the Ocular like a beggar seeking asylum in a church. If the friendly guard had been waiting outside like always – it must have been his break – surely, he would have been alarmed by both her behavior and expression.

It’s still here. Of course it would still be here, though. Otherwise, where would she have ended up? The First is still here.

Which meant the Source was, too.

A part of her wanted to find Ryne or Lyna again, but she knew she had to return to the Source and tell everyone everything as soon as possible. She did not have the luxury of lingering.

–

Traveling between worlds often left Meiko feeling a bit drained, and so when she reappeared at the Sharlayan aethernet plaza, she once again found herself leaning against a structure.

Eyes scanned the heavens for signs of impending doom, and fortunately, there was none. Not here. Not yet.

Time. Time. Time. The word repeated in her head as she steeled herself and braced her body to break into a run. She had to tell everyone. She had to tell everyone everything, as soon as –

“Meiko! Did you just get back?”

She stopped, practically jerked back before she could take another step. There was A’kihiko, jogging up towards her.

“What’s the news from the First? Did you manage to drag anythin’ outta Elidibus? Wish I could’ve gone with. We really need to figure out how to get us all back and forth ‘tween the worlds some–why’re you crying?”

She didn’t quite know why. Well, no. She did. It was a mixture of things, both happy and horrified; seeing her brother reminded her yet again just how strongly their fates were entertwined, both as Scions…and shards of Azem.

Sundered. She had seen through Venat’s eyes how they had all been sundered.

Again, she was clinging, this time to his shoulders and she sobbed. She had done such a good job of keeping the waterworks at a minimum this whole time, but seeing Hiko brought it all down on her again.

“Mei! Did something happen to the First?!”

“I – “ She didn’t want to worry him. “The First’s fine – s’fine, peaceful – I just –” She paused, drawing back and shaking her head. “No, we – we have to tell everyone. I – I don’t even know where to start –”

“It’s only me and Krile and Tataru here,” A’kihiko frowned, looking her over. “Afore we do anything, let’s sit down. Come on, you’re a bloody mess.”

“No, Hiko, we need to – we don’t have any time –”

“S’the End of Days, Mei.” He took her by the arm and started dragging her down the steps. “We got the rest of our lives. Now stop fighting and walk.”

–

Considering the sensitivity of the information, A’kihiko deemed they’d take their food from the Last Stand to the docks. He carried both their plates, insisting Meiko walk on ahead  with the drinks as if she needed to be supervised, and the two of them took seats on the edge of one of the piers.

“There we go,” he grunted as they both sat down, allowing their legs to dangle over the water. “Just like when we were kids, aye?”

“Mm.” Meiko’s tears had dried, but she knew there was a chance that wouldn’t last for long. Already, she could feel emotions stirring in the pit of her stomach, bubbling up to her throat. “…Are you gonna let me talk now?”

“Sure. So long as you don’t forget to eat,” He was already choping into something of a fried fish on a stick himself. “Spill.”

Meiko couldn’t help but laugh a little at his behavior, reminiscent of when he had been but a malnourished kit, and then turned her gaze towards the waters below. Time. The concept was inescapable.

“…Lyna and Ryne are fine. They’re well, and the First is seeing an age of peace,” she started finally. “Though, even Ryne admits she’s sensed somethin’ off as of late. I told her what’s been on, but she had nothin’ new to add herself.” She chewed her lower lip. “So I went to the Oculus to see if I could get hold of Elidibus’ consciousness. Don’t ask me how I did – but I did. We spoke a fair bit, and in doin’ so, he remembered some new information. Nothin’ too useful, but it brought him to the conclusion that… he should send me to the past.”

A’kihiko looked up. “The past? What past? How?”

“Usin’ the bloody Tower. He had … I don’t know, he had power over it somehow.” She couldn’t explain or understand that if she tried, despite her best efforts. “Just – he opened a portal for me. A portal to Elpis.” She looked at him. “S’not just that moody flower, Hiko. Elpis was a place – a testin’ facility. Of the Ancients.”

Her voice trembled and she looked at the burger in her lap, appetite lost.

“I went back – and I walked ‘mong them. I met them, Hiko. Hythlodaeus, Venat…and Emet-Selch. They mistook me for a familiar of Azem, one o’ his creations.” She shook her head slowly. “Elidibus had told me that Fandaniel was once the chief of Elpis, told me to find out what I could about him. That maybe there was a secret to stoppin’ the End back then. So I tried not to look out of place and just…passively learn, aye?”

“Nothing ‘bout our lives is passive.” Her brother muttered. He, took, was slowly shaking his head. “So, right. You traveled through time. Met the Ancients. Pretended to be a magicked thing. What then?”

Meiko closed her eyes. “Venat recognized I was from the future.”

“Ah fuck,” Hiko whispered.

“They…she, Hythlodaeus, and Emet-selch they insisted I tell them everythin’, and I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know what I was lookin’ for, and Emet would’ve likely arrested me or some shite if I refused. So I did it. I told them ‘bout the End of Days, and Amaurot…and how we fought on the First.”

Meiko wrung her hands together.

“Hermes – that’s Fandaniel, his true name – he was at the center of it all. Him and his creation, this wee bird lass called Meteion. She was an experiment tied to Dynamis – akasha, that is. Hermes sent creatures just like Meteion into the sky to discover new civilizations and learn from them, and they’d connect to Meteoin through a single mind and report back on their findin’s. But what they found was…well. It was fuckin’ depressin’, I won’t lie. Dead worlds, fallen civilizations, empty and barren stars…”

She looked to her brother.

“But that was just – that was a narrow observation. Just because things ended, didn’t mean that there was no happiness when those worlds were alive! But Meteion and Hermes didn’t accept that. They got all fuckin’ nihilistic and drew the conclusion that life itself is nothin’ but pain and sufferin’. So…”

“So that’s the source of it,” A’kihiko finished. “Hermes and Meteion, then? They’re the cause?”

Meiko shook her head, “Only Meteion. She escaped into the stars before we could put an end to her, and Hermes put into effect a memory-erasin’…somethin’ that hit him, Emet-selch, and Hythlodaeus. Only Venat and I escaped. So,” she gave a humorless, dry chuckle, “Turns out I didn’t screw up the past. I was part of it all along.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then her brother nudged her.

“Eat your burger, you said you would.” When Meiko finally acquiesced, A’kihiko went on, “So Venat did what she did, and became Hydaelyn, with full knowledge of what was to come. Guess it’s safe to say we can trust her after all, then.”

“Aye,” Meiko muttered through a mouthful. “She – she wasn’t what I expected. I learned she was the previous Azem. Our Azem’s predecessor. Beat the shite out of me at one point,” she snorted lightly and swallowed. “Emet-selch was the same snarky wet blanket, but a wee bit more tolerable. Hythlodaeous was a doll. Hermes was…” she shook her head. “Despite it all, I still liked him far more than fuckin’ Fandaniel.”

A’kihiko laughed now, too. “He was an awful fuck wasn’t he? But considerin’ what you said – I can see where that piece of him came from. Wantin’ to die.”

“And wantin’ to protect and support Meteion. He must’ve known she was out there, too. To some degree,” Meiko paused to take a sip of her own drink, eyes heavy as the story neared its end. “The End of Days…Zodiark bein’ ‘round helped keep the Source shrouded in aether. Aether can resist dynamis if it’s thick ‘nough – s’why the first Final Days only affected the Ancients’ magic. They were too aether dense to be hit directly. But since the people of our star are sundered, their whole forms are at risk. Now, though, we can be reached. And we have.”

A’kihiko sighed beside her after a minute of silence.

“Well. Just another day for the Warriors of Light, eh?” He nudged her. “You got all the pieces we needed, Mei. I wish I’d been there with you, but it wasn’t meant to be. Literally. I’ll be here for the rest of it, though. And we’ll figure this shite out, one way or another.”

“Aye, I know.” Her brother was so simple sometimes. Simple in a way that was comforting and resolute; almost like he knew how things would be, even though he didn’t.

She wondered if Azem was like that, too.

“So, what ‘bout the home front? You said the others are elsewhere? Why’d you end up back in Sharlayan?”

“Got grounded,” A’kihiko smirked. “Got a wee bit reckless and nearly blew up. S’long story that’d only make your hair more white. Just know I recovered fully and am ready to go back into battle.”

Meiko put down her burger once more and immediately swatted at him.

“Fuckin’ menace! Blown up!? Gone for a few days and that’s what you do!? I’m never leavin’ your side again! And they had to send you back to Krile, ooh, Hiko –!!”

[atamascolily]

Unicorn Chronicles, Book 4: “The Last Hunt,” by Bruce Coville

The Last Hunt is even longer than Dark Whispers--the hardcover edition runs to a whopping 605 pages (not including a multi-page character list), so it's a great example of Sequel Creep. Scholastic never gave it a paperback run, so Coville ended up buying back the rights and re-releasing it as smaller volumes (bringing the series to seven in all) to balance it back out a little. But still. It's a lot.

Coville says in the acknowledgements:

If I hadn't been painfully aware so many people were waiting for this story, I might have given up at any number of points along the way.So thanks, dear fans, it's been a long journey, and I literally could not have done it without you.

1) Awwww. 2) #relatable.

The Last Hunt is divided into sections based on time: 'Blood Moon Night," 'Day One of the Invasion,' and so on. The entire book spans about six days in all (five days + the Blood Moon), although there are lots of flashbacks and the last chapter opens with a time skip of several weeks. Suffice to say, this is one hell of a week. Each section is also captioned with a quote--sometimes from one of the Unicorn Chronicles, sometimes from Sun Tzu's The Art of War, which is unexpectedly plot-relevant.

We left off with Beloved and her army of Hunters invading Luster by ripping a hole in the Axis Mundi, the World Tree, with the intent to kill all the unicorns. The unicorns, led by the newly crowned Amalia Flickerfoot, must decide what to do next.

What follows: so many subplots, an inevitable quest, dragons, humans gonna humans, baleful polymorphs, dramatic battles, and a literal deus ex machina.

WHAT HAPPENS:

Lightfoot is right by the Axis Mundi when the gate opens, so he watches in horror as the Hunters come through. He tries to escape to warn the Queen, only to be pursued. To escape, he runs through the Gate to Earth, which for some reason burns people the second time around if they don't wait long enough (for reasons that make zero sense to me). Lightfoot finds himself in Beloved's keep in the Himalayas, and finds Cara's mother Martha asleep and pulls her out of the Rainbow Prison.

Fortunately, Martha was able to make contact with Ian and company long enough to learn how to pull them out, so she does. Lightfoot is afraid to go through the gate because he doesn't want to get crisped, so they wait until Beloved sends her troops after him, and then sneak in behind them. It turns out Fallon created the unicorns and is basically a deity.

Beloved has adopted a bunch of orphans -- girls abandoned by their families--whose purpose is to be unicorn bait. We meet one of them, Feng Quan, who is a total badass and a Sun Tzu stan, who is horrified when she witnesses a unicorn being slaughtered and jumps ship. Feng Quan runs into Belle, who has been haunted by the Whisperer (who knows Belle wants to be Queen) and convinces the skeptical warrior to take her to Amalia Flickerfoot.

Meanwhile the Geomancer M'Gama has been captured by the delvers, and Rocky and his reunited cove search for his teacher, the wizard Namza, who is turned to stone and having a lot of flashbacks. They eventually join up and work to stabilize Luster, which is devastated by increasingly severe earthquakes as  Beloved's gate is destroying the Axis Mundi and thus the entire world.

The queen sends Cara on another quest, this time to beg the dragon Grammaug for aid. (IDK while Amalia doesn't try to get all seven dragons, but okay, fine, whatever.) This time, it's only Cara and Medafil, because everyone else is busy. Cara encourages her grandmother to "think like a human" to outwit Beloved, which Feng Quan seconds when she arrives.

Grammaug turns out to be a dragon who turned into a human (it's complicated) and came to Luster because she was basically allergic to the world that all the other dragons went to when Bellemore opened THEIR gate. I thought that her story dragged on a little long, but it does eventually turn out to be relevant, since we are introduced to Transformational Magic, which can be moved around from person to person. Watch this space.

Hunters are looking for Cara, using special "blood trackers" that cannot be fooled, because Beloved wants her for unspecified reasons. Thomas the Tinker is also on his own quest to pick something up at the Queen's behest. The centaurs are having drama of their own as well. Ian tries to track Cara and gets captured by the delvers and taken to the king, who sends him to Beloved.

Grammaug agrees to help, but they are intercepted by the hunters on their journey back and Cara encounters Elihu, the mysterious "friend" Fallon has been searching for, who transforms her into a unicorn in order to lure the hunters off the scent.

Amalia and Feng Quan come up with a plan and send Grammaug to deliver a message, lying to the dragon about the details to mislead Beloved. Grimmwold summons the Queen's Players as part of the plan. Cara runs into Fallon, who reveals that Elihu created Luster, and was banished from the gods' realm because of it, and Fallon came down with him. Grammaug persuades Firethroat to join the battle; Firethroat is very pro eating humans, and agrees. The Whisperer uses Martha Hunter's anger about her mother to try and turn her against the unicorns.

Everyone converges on the Axis Mundi before the battle. We learn that a deity called Allura was responsible for sending the story of the Whisperer from the Chronicles and giving it to the centaurs and she made the Squijum. Like Fallon, she is searching for Elihu. Cara reveals her true identity, and reunites with her mother, who rejects the Whisperer.

Fallon summons the Whisperer and fights it to the death (Fallon's doesn't take). The group pieces together that the Dimblethum is Elihu--he returned to his true form when he betrayed Luster by helping Beloved with the Gate, only to revert back when he used his magic on Cara--and they must bring him back since he's the only one who can save Luster.

The Queen's Players stage a performance and Thomas produces a cockatrice who starts turning Hunters to stone. The dragons shoot flames, and the unicorns attack. Rajiv frees Ian in the chaos. Moonheart dies in the charge. Beloved is perplexed by the Whisperer's absence, and the centaurs and delvers arrive to join the fight. The Hunters flee back to Earth. The Axis Mundi splits in half and the dragons try to hold it together temporarily.

Cara attacks the delver king, who is trying to murder the Dimblethum, and the delver king falls into a conveniently opened hole in the ground and is swallowed up forever. Fallon uses transformational magic to swap places with Elihu so that Elihu can fix the tree. Elihu can't hold it alone, so Allura helps and both are swallowed up by the repaired tree. Graumag dies.

Beloved, believing Cara to be dead, takes Martha hostage and taunts Team Good. Cara reveals herself and Beloved begs for death. Cara tries to heal her and fails and Beloved dies.

Rajiv joins the Queen's Players. Cara is still a unicorn and no one can turn her back, but everyone's okay with it? The surviving Hunters are put to sleep and woken one by one and given the choice of staying in Luster or returning to earth; Feng Quan and Belle work with the maidens. The new Dimblethum and the Squijum visit the Axis Mundi every night to mourn their fellows and M'Gama and Namza are still in comas and we never learn their ultimate fate. Firethroat is in mourning and refuses to talk to anyone.

HOW I FEEL ABOUT IT:

"meh". So much happens and it's extremely epic, but I only care about half the characters, and the rest is just tedious. The whole deus ex machina thing could have been interesting, but wasn't--I could deal with ONE god running around but three was pushing it. The Dimblethum being Elihu was fine, but Fallon and Allura on top of that was too much. I would have preferred Grimmwold stepping in with a legend that allowed them to piece the answers together or something--not this.

It was hard to tease out what was relevant and what was a red herring (Felicity in the Rainbow prison, the Blind Man, etc). Lots of new characters, but I felt like the old characters were already underused - I wanted to see much more of Thomas and Grimmwold, for instance. Feng Quan, however, is absolutely awesome and I love her.  She and Belle are perfect together.

Cara ends up staying a unicorn was something I definitely did not see that one coming. Which makes Cara/Lightfoot the strongly implied endgame ship, which is just NOT WHAT I WAS EXPECTING WHEN I STARTED THIS SERIES, THAT'S ALL. They barely have any time together at all in this, even at the end, which makes me sad. Likewise, all that Lightfoot/Belle stuff never gets addressed.

IDK why Jaques keeps giving speeches about how he doesn't care if he and Cara are related by blood - they seem to be more for Cara's benefit than any character development/change.

Lightfoot's first glimpse of Earth (which he has never seen before) is incredibly poignant. So is his wandering around the deserted castle and struggling without hands. I wish he and Cara were able to discuss this, but NOPE, there is no time for discussion in this entire book, sigh.

The whole business about only going through the portal once in a given time period makes zero sense to me, especially given the established worldbuilding. It feels so contrived. Likewise, Belle and Martha are tempted by the Whisperer, which doesn't really go anywhere for either of them?

I don't know why Elihu smashes the amulet to transform Cara if there's this whole transformational magic thing going on. I still don't really get how that works.

I am also annoyed that Fallon deals with the Whisperer instead of the unicorns. So much for the unicorns "embracing their own darkness" and coming to terms with the fact that they screwed up in their ambition to be perfect.  What a wasted opportunity.

Also, it's book four, and we're only NOW finding out there's a prophecy that a scion of the hunters and the unicorns is the only one who can destroy Beloved?? Seems like we needed that earlier. We knew Beloved wanted Cara, we just didn't know WHY until the last possible minute. [Also, who told her that and why??] Without the Whisperer, Beloved is pretty helpless, which annoys me--I wanted her to be a villain in her own right.

Coville is very clear that Beloved tortures Ian, but like, only emotionally, because this is a kid's book, and that Elihu and Fallon are Definitely Not Gay For Each Other, which annoys me. (Coville is generally sympathetic towards queer folks; I really enjoyed his short story "Am I Blue?" which is about a literal fairy godparent and a working gaydar, so this was disappointing.)

The whole subplot with the Blind Man borrowing Ian's eyesight goes absolutely nowhere. I thought the Blind Man was going to play into the Luster drama somehow, but no, he's just some random magician who uses his deal with Ian to blind him at inopportune moments for reasons of his own that are never explained. WTF. This is one reason I hate Ian's subplot so much!!

Likewise, Martha seems cool, but her genuine beef with Ian, Beloved, and Ivy/Arabella get smoothed over and ignored because there's just zero time for anything in the midst of the chaos. Which is too bad!

The fact that the Squijum is the personal favorite creation/messenger of a god is just hilarious to me. Doesn't mean he isn't annoying af, though.

I WANTED ALL SEVEN DRAGONS AHHH.(though apparently there’s a secret eighth dragon no one talks about??WHAT???)

I think I'd be more okay with it if there was more time at the end to see the characters react and reflect--there's only one chapter, and it's not nearly enough. Is Lightfoot still Prince or is the Cara the heir now that she's a unicorn? How do THEY feel about that? That's another subplot from the previous books that just didn't go anywhere, and it bugs me.

(I was convinced Beloved was going to wake Martin Hunter from his sleep and have him lead the attack--like a reverse King Arthur--and I'm SO MAD THAT DIDN'T ACTUALLY HAPPEN...)

Also the fact that Cara has to mercy kill someone at the climax of not one but TWO BOOKS in this series... damn. I’d like to see some more reflection and thought about this after the fact.

Also, the whole thing with the delver-unicorn connection -- what kind of relationship are the two species going to have moving forward? RADIO SILENCE. What the hell did the other dragons think was happening during all this and why didn't they help/investigate? Are the Hunters going to stage a counterattack or disband now that they've lost their leader? Are the unicorns going to return to Earth or will it continue to be just the Guardian of Memory?? There are so many things that are just left hanging, and while MAYBE Coville will write another book to address these issues (it's happened before!) I am grumpy because I WANT TO KNOW, DAMN IT.

I had hoped on re-read I'd feel better about this, but I don't. I get to the end and I think "why?" which is not a great feeling to have. IDK what exactly I expected from this series--it definitely delivers in some ways, and in others, it totally falls short. I’m still impressed Coville managed to finish and it’s not entirely his fault that the results didn’t match up with my expectations, but it’s still sad that older!Me isn’t more excited about the end results.

*sigh* Maybe older!Me will buckle down and write a fix-it fic or two to make younger!Me happy. Currently, the only Unicorn Chronicles fic on A03 is a complicated crossover between LOTR and various other media featuring a human!Lightfoot, which I probably will never read, but it makes me happy to know it exists. FFN has more stories, but this was never a popular fandom, so the field is wide open for anything I want to do with it (more so than usual). Also, it seems I wasn't the only person of a certain age imagining self-insert fic in this universe, which is oddly reassuring.

[alamhigyoooo]

AS PROMISED - talk to me about your OT3!! ♥ I wanna know it all!! Does it take long before they are all on board? How do Raha and Aymeric get into each other? Does it start physical or are there feelings involved quickly? Tell me about their dynamic with each other and with Hallura \o/

aHHHHHOOOOOOOOO BOYYYYYYYYYYYYYY EVERYONE STRAP IN FOR A LONG ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! g’raha x hallura x aymeric is HERE

sticking this under the cut because i’m about to unleash an essay on yall about my ot3 but read on if you wish to find out more about them...

spoilers for 5.3!!!

so immediately after bringing g’raha and the scions back to the source, hallura has a total breakdown in private about how suddenly she has to live with extremely deep love for two people with BOTH of those people now very present in her life (for anyone who doesn’t know i had an extreme crisis about hallura’s endgame ship which i detailed, in part, in this chapter’s comment section) 

to recap hallura’s love life until this point: she fell in love with raha and planned to propose to him before he locked himself into the crystal tower, and then during the events of heavensward started sleeping with aymeric as a coping mechanism. eventually feelings were admitted and they started seeing each other seriously in secret; hallura proposed at the end of stormblood and then they went public with their relationship after the ghimlyt dark. THEN hallura got summoned to the first and discovered her first true love who she definitely never stopped loving was alive and also was very much in love with her, and since then she’s been carrying a guilt over having feelings for two people and it’s been eating away at her

BUT YOU CAME HERE FOR AYMERIC AND G’RAHA’S ROMANCE...so let us begin :)

they actually get to know each other when hallura kind of goes awol on both of them; once raha was done convalescing (she stayed by him every day) hallura went back to aymeric and spent one night with him but was totally silent the whole time, and then the next day she was gone off to ghimlyt to deal with the threat of the sapphire weapon.

except she didn’t come back right after that, or after a few days, and only through the grapevine did either raha or aymeric find out that she’d then jumped over to gangos to help the bozjan resistance. aymeric actually took a trip to the rising stones in secret, where he was found by raha, and that was the first time they met each other...aymeric wasn’t sure what to think (i wouldn’t say he felt threatened but he was definitely uncomfortable) and raha was extremely embarrassed but secretly very enchanted by aymeric (catboy got MAD flustered over him he could 100% see why hallura would choose aymeric)

aymeric learned a long time ago from thancred who g’raha was, though i don’t think he realized how deeply hallura loved raha still, and when aymeric would pay visits to the scions post-5.3, alphinaud and alisaie filled him in on what happened on the first since hallura could never bring herself to, and piece by piece aymeric started to understand just how much hallura was probably breaking over her feelings

and meanwhile raha was dealing with his own internal struggle upon returning to his new body, wherein his more temperate crystal exarch persona was failing to overcome the more hot-blooded g’raha tia’s still-fresh feelings for hallura and in typical g’raha tia fashion he decided to do something extremely stupid and punish/restrain himself by ensuring he saw aymeric as much as possible to remind himself how he didn’t fit into the picture anymore...

it’s during this time (a few months i’d say) that they kind of just get to know each other...and i think honestly aymeric falls first? i talk a lil bit about it here; raha is super hopeful and positive and just everything that brings out the best in aymeric, and aymeric quickly understands just why hallura loved g’raha so much. he drinks big Respect Hallura juice, and even though it’s hard for him to admit, he agrees with her taste - raha is a wonderful person who has a lot of love to give, and pretty soon aymeric is like oh god. oh fuck. well. i guess we’re going in! (definitely inspired to be a little chaotic romantically because of hallura, but the chaotic bi energy was there to begin with) 

raha’s a lot slower on the uptake re: self-penance, but once aymeric sets his sights on wooing raha it’s over for the catboy...raha is too much of a romantic and too SWEET to not just freakin swoon over a tall elegant dark-haired man actively attempting to Get Him. like aymeric he is also very much approving of hallura’s taste, but unlike aymeric he also denies himself hope - so basically we just have aymeric courting (discreetly) raha; the other scions are kind of surprised to see hallura’s paramours getting along so well in her absence but hey man if it works it works and better that then to have them fight yo

but all this time hallura is GONE like she just....she’s gone lol

she only chooses to return to eorzea (a HOT minute later) to break off her engagement with aymeric because she was so so guilty about loving raha still - but she didn’t break it off to leave for raha. she’s determined to give up on relationships altogether and just be single for the rest of her life because she’s certain she’ll never get over either of them, but neither of them deserve to live in what SHE thinks is limbo while she fights her own feelings.

so surprise surprise when she returns and finds both aymeric and g’raha absolutely chilling with each other in ishgard at the borel manor and they’re both reading by the fireplace and she comes in and sees them and they’re both so so happy to see her, and her perfectly rehearsed rejection just evaporates from her mind and she tries to run away again because this has to be some kind of sick joke - 

in this ot3 i attribue most of the communication to aymeric, and he, while thrilled to see her again, straight up is like “no you sit down we’re having a talk right now” and she confesses on the spot she has to leave him and can’t be engaged to him because it’s not fair to him that she’ll never get over raha - which is ALSO a confession to raha that she still loves him (and let’s be real it was clear that she did but g’raha is a river in egypt called de nile and never let himself believe it)

there’s a lot of crying involved; aymeric is obviously upset because he doesn’t want to not be engaged to hallura, and he tells her on the spot that she can’t do that because that’s not fair, and all he wants is for them to talk to each other, and they’re both kneeling on the floor and he’s clutching her shoulders and that’s when raha just gently touches both of them and says he’ll just leave...it’s his fault they’re falling apart like this

and both hallura and aymeric both ADAMANTLY say “NO!” and latch onto him, and then all three of them are crying on the floor and there’s lots of apologies and none of them really know how much time has passed, but eventually they cry themselves out and it ends with hallura’s head in aymeric’s lap and she’s holding raha’s hand and aymeric and raha are sitting beside each other...raha is so exhausted he’s leaning against aymeric’s shoulder

and hallura breaks the silence after a while and says “so where do we go now?” because it’s very obvious that there is no going back to the way things were, and that’s when aymeric clears his throat and admits (with embarrassment) that he’d be open to trying something with all three of them

raha is like Excuse me? and hallura sits up bc what the heck has she missed, and aymeric then admits further that he’s caught feelings for raha and has even slightly been trying to court raha...much to raha’s embarrassment he’s like “you were WHAT? so i wasn’t just imagining it?”

and hallura is like...she can’t even be mad because a) that’s exactly her own dilemma and b) that’s also really hot,,, but while she would be happy to do it everything hinges on g’raha’s consent; and it takes raha a moment to process but honestly when presented with two open hands waiting for him (him, not just any third party) he cannot help but take them with a smile. and i think this is really important for g’raha because hallura and aymeric BOTH actively express interest in HIM, for who he is, there is room in the relationship that can only be filled by raha, and raha is someone who wants so very desperately to belong.

so of course he says yes, and that’s how the ot3 is really born. there’s some more talking about things - living arrangements, scolding hallura for ghosting them for like 3 months, what the heck are they gonna tell the scions - but eventually they settle on a three-way engagement of sorts, and they’re all going to have matching rings and other cute bs

they are very much founded on feelings first!!!!!!! hallura might be the biggest thot in the world who actively makes aymeric into a thot as well but to me there is no way they could have survived as a functioning ot3 if it was not based in emotion. raha is too in his head and aymeric is too much of a thinker for something purely physical to last, imo.

...that is not to say, however, that they aren’t physically compatible - they are most definitely physically compatible. (for content sake i shall keep this post sfw but if you were to send an nsfw ask...i’m just saying i will definitely answer 👀)

dynamic wise (and this is where i get meta, the characters fall into these roles without necessarily realizing it themselves LOL i love being the writer) the ot3 can be summed up like this:

aymeric: the thinker (left brain LOL)

raha: the dreamer (right brain LDKJGLSKJD)

hallura: the heart

raha & aymeric represent the rationality of the relationship and do a lot of talking, a lot of planning, and a lot of smiling together. they’re the leaders, so it’s in their nature to have a game-plan for things. raha inspires the best in aymeric: his enthusiasm is infectious and really stokes aymeric’s determination, and aymeric draws a lot of strength and inspiration from raha’s own knowledge as a leader that coexists with his belief that mankind is worth saving. there is an EXTREMELY healthy amount of mutual respect here, and these two are absolutely the “romantic looks over papers that they could honestly care less about” plus aymeric finds raha’s allagan nerding ADORABLE; raha is just absolutely smitten with how charming aymeric is and very much admires his determination to overcome the obstacles set against him, and how aymeric loves his people despite ishgard’s very prominent flaws.

hallura & raha represent the spontaneity of the relationship - they don’t let their feelings control them per se, but they’re the ones who really say “screw restraint” and push the relationship into the unknown - exploring new parts of the relationship, experiencing the world together, excitement for growth and change. these two are allergic to stagnation and are constantly striving to be dynamic (in my piece “fade” i touch on how i think raha’s controlled crystal exarch persona gives way to his younger, more carefree self, in a good way) and they serve very much as the relationship’s “light”, which is not to say that aymeric is not bright for them, but hallura and raha are more like the sun as aymeric is like the moon. these two are the “batteries” of the relationship and keep things exciting and fresh.

hallura & aymeric represent the confidence and assuredness of the relationship - they have spent a LOT of time together already and have a very good grasp on what they like, what they want, etc. they are both quite confident in themselves and they uplift raha from his insecurities to show him just how much he’s worth. when confronted with outside criticism or scorn these two are the ones who stand their ground; they have the experience to show for their commitment and they’re very much teachers in the way that raha is still a learner. they are also the comforters - aymeric is very good at soothing, and hallura is very good at talking someone’s ear off to help them feel better LOL these two are the romantically matured ones and they set the example for give and take of the relationship.

it’s not always perfect, there are definitely spats and each has their notable quirks. hallura is the fighter, and if she doesn’t understand something she’ll call it out or say something, and that can be a little abrasive; raha has a lot of self-confidence issues and has trouble vocalizing his needs, which leads to some miscommunications at the start; and aymeric has a tendency to ice people out when he’s upset and while he’s the logical one he is also the one who remembers stuff - THIS is the grudge holder LMAOSDKJFLLGLHSLDKFGLJ 

but all in all i think they balance each other out relatively well! i will admit that i worked really hard to find a dynamic that worked realistically for them - i was terrified of just slamming them together because it was “easier”. i told myself if i was going to write an ot3 i was going to do it justice, and besides the relationship dynamics are just that much more fun to write especially for someone like me who delights in exploring the details of every interaction LOL

i hope you enjoyed!!!! this got REALLY LONG god i am so sorry sdfklgljsldkfglj please always feel free to send me ot3 asks i will COMBUST and then write a dissertation in reply LMAO

[faelune-home]

FFXIV Write 2020 #9: Lush

(A/N: No WoL featured this time, instead I did an NPC focused piece. Then again, as a post-Stormblood piece, miqo!Fufu would probably be the most likely one in this timeline, but the WoL doesn’t even come up so it doesn’t matter.

So here’s another mourning piece, in similar vein to my piece for Minfilia posted pre-ffxivwrite. With Lyse in the Shroud. :’’) I had this idea a while ago actually, but this got me the spark to actually write it.

Given how open the prompts are, part of me wonders if I’m still on prompt here when I don’t use the specific word and I don’t draw a lot of attention to the word meanings a lot. :’D I tried to allude to the word here by focusing on the life in the forests of the Shroud, but idk if I still miss the mark there. But it’s good to get me writing anyway, which is the point.

Spoilers for end of HW patches at least for a character death

Word count: 1395

@ffxiv-writers)

The East Shroud had ever been so full of life. In the treetops, in the ferns, in the tangled bramble patch, even deep in the twisted forest of the sylphlands, the creatures ever stirred. It was almost hard to imagine that only a scant few weeks before, a vicious primal that could’ve ended it all had hung over the imperial castrum at the forest’s edge.

That end never came, if only due to the acts of one man.

Near Amarissaix’s Spire, Lyse stood silent, staring at the metal walls of the castrum, so alien compared to the greenery surrounding it. So alien, yet so familiar to herself, with all the time she’d spent as part of the Scions fighting the Empire. Under another’s name…

She shook her head of the thought; she missed her sister greatly, of course she did. But then maybe the way she’d handled it hadn’t been the healthiest. Even so, Papalymo and the other Scions had indulged her odd grieving method. In a way, as much as she maybe could’ve been set straight long before now, she’d still come out okay. Maybe?

“Oh Papalymo,” she sighed, “sometimes I wish you were still here. Even if it wasn’t to have you help me - even if I still feel like I need the extra hands, especially running a whole resistance - at the very least...I want you to see how much I’ve changed.”

She smiled ruefully. “Of course, sometimes it feels like I haven’t at all. But I know I can’t just go crumbling when people need me. And at least I have Naago to keep me right...but it’d be nice if you could do it too.”

But there was no-one to respond to her. The only sound in the forest was the buzzing of insects and the rustling of the leaves. She sighed again.

“H-hey, excuse me miss!” she jumped as a voice called to her; a hyuran man in a Twin Adder Private’s coat ran up to her, “I’m sorry miss, I-I’m gonna have to ask you why you’re here. Idle loitering an’ all.”

Lyse flinched. Had she really been standing there long enough to look suspicious?

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to be here this long or I would’ve told an officer or someone at the Hut. I’ll be on my way soon, if someone from the Reach doesn’t come shortly after me,” she told him, shuffling on the spot. His eyes widened.

“Hold on, you’re- I’m so sorry, Commander Hext, I didn’t realise it was you!” He bowed, embarrassment clear on his face.

“Oh, no no, it’s fine, like I said, I shouldn’t have been standing here without telling someone,” she spluttered, surprised that he recognised her.

“I-it should be alright for you to stay, I can tell my commanding officer you came ‘round. But uh- why are you here, if you don’t mind me asking? I figured if it was official business like, you’d have an entourage or you’d be in the city.”

“I...Well it’s nothing official,” she shrugged, then looked back at the wall, adding, “I was just here to pay some respects. I was almost done.”

“Your old partner?”

She started, eyes wide at the young man, to which he flinched again and said, “Sorry! I didn’t-”

“No, I don’t mind,” she said quickly, trying to calm the jittery soldier. Gods they were both so flustered at that point, somebody could jump and reach the trees quicker than any Ishgardian dragoon. She looked over his uniform again, spying the Third Class emblem on the arm. He was still only a new recruit. “I just didn’t expect you to know him, that’s all. How long have you been an Adder then?”

“Not that long, ‘fraid to say. I remember seeing you and the lalafellin man around the city as part of the Scions before I signed up. Heard he passed at some point during the raid on the castrum.” Lyse frowned, looking to the structure with a hard look in her eye.

“B-but I helped with taking back Ala Mhigo,” he said, a proud smile spreading across his face. “Hells, I was with one of the groups storming the city as well.” The woman gawped. He looked the same age as her, and barely a new recruit at that.

“Well, I’m surprised. Grateful but surprised,” she said. He gave his chest a beat with his fist, and said, “Was only happy to help, Commander.”

“Lyse,” she smiled, “Just Lyse is fine. I just didn’t think Gridania would want to send such a new recruit all the way into the worst of the fighting and risk losing a fresh soldier. Not that you probably aren’t capable but-” She stumbled, worried it would sound like she was dismissing him, but she stopped when he shook his head.

“Nah, you’re right. I’m as green as any leaf in this wood here, But I asked to go in. Me and the rest of my unit, sprouts the lot of us.”

“...why?”

He shrugged. “Ours isn’t a common opinion in Gridania, I’ll say that first. ‘Cos most folk are still bitter about the Autumn War, even if it were years ago now and barely anyone that took part back then is still around. Some few are, aye, but not a lot. But my comrades and I thought, ‘If the alliance can forgive Ishgard for not doing their part for so many years while focusing on their war with the dragons and still take them back, then we could do the same for Ala Mhigo. Let bygones be bygones and help them out now they need it most.’ And if we were needed most in the thick of it, then we were gonna be in the thick of it.”

“That’s a good sentiment,” Lyse smiled, “I’d say Gridania should be proud to have a soldier like you in their ranks. It’d be nice to have more good thinkers like you and yours.” She sighed.

“Gridania’s always had some problems, and it’ll take time to sort it out. But one step at a time, right? But then I could say the same about Ala Mhigo.” She looked to the sky, her mind flashing back to that night as the mimic of Dalamud hung in the clouds, holding fast to its draconic prisoner.

“That’s why I wish he could be here to see it all now,” she mumbled, almost forgetting her company.

“What was he like?” the soldier asked. 

A smirk crossed her lips. “He was stubborn as anything, and feisty. His tongue was sharper than any whip if he caught you saying or doing something ridiculous. I can attest to that right now.” She laughed, ignoring the prickling feeling at the corners of her eyes.

“But for all he said he was the no nonsense type, he could be lenient. Oh, he was lenient for a lot of things that he probably would’ve been snippy over otherwise. For every 10 silly questions I asked or stupid statements I said that he gave me grief over, there’d be another 5 things that he’d just let me have even if it was wrong or foolish or I should’ve known better.” Her words trailed off into a sob as tears flowed freely. In her mind she could almost hear a familiar voice chastising her for breaking down so easily in front of a stranger, especially with her new position.

To his credit, the soldier held out a handkerchief to her and said solemnly, “He sounded like a good man, Lyse.”

She nodded, taking the cloth and dabbing her eyes. “Yeah. He was a brilliant man. Brilliant and smart and ridiculously patient for someone that could blow up so quickly. He put up with me for so long.”

She sniffed, “Imagine, some brilliant scholar like him having a silly girl like me trailing around after him for years. Gods above, it’s a wonder anyone took us seriously.” Eyes dried, yet still watery, she handed back the handkerchief.

“Like I said before, I didn’t know him,” the man said, taking it back and pocketing it, “But from what you’ve said here, he would’ve been proud of the woman you are now. I feel pretty certain saying that.”

Lyse smiled again. “You know what? I feel certain enough to say you’d be right. He would be.”

[autumnslance]

Hey, I'm gonna need you to give us a short story with Thancred teaching Aeryn how to gunbreaker now, specifically through dueling and close melee range.

((You’re just trying to enable me and get some trope-ridden, indulgent fic posted, huh? Well joke’s on you buddy, I already have a tropey, indulgent draft, though it’s from Heavensward patch era, featuring grumpy Thancred, amused Midgardsormr, and definitely a sparring match. Now on Ao3. So is the follow up.))

——-

“You’re avoiding me,” Aeryn said before Thancred could walk away.

“No,” he answered. “I have been busy. As have you. All of us, preparing for Ser Aymeric’s grand tournament.”

“Then let’s prepare,” she said. “Spar with me.”

“Perhaps later–”

She crossed her arms and glared. “Why? You’re lounging, so please don’t tell me you’re currently busy. I also checked with Tataru.”

Thancred closed his mouth to bite back the ready reply. “Why do you need to spar anyway? We all know you are going to win. ‘Tis what you do.”

She caught the bitterness he tried to hide. “Not always,” she answered. They did not look at each other for a long moment. “Anyroad, I shouldn’t get complacent. And you’re the best sparring partner.”

“Am I?” he asked. There might have been a hint of acid in his tone.

“None better. Absolute taskmaster.”

He snorted and pushed off the wall he was leaning on. “Well fine, if you’re going to be flattering.”

They made their way through the gates and across the Steps of Faith, the wind whipping at their clothes and hair. Aeryn watched him.

“What?” He asked.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked. “After so many years in Thanalan, and you tend to wear lighter gear–”

“No,” Thancred said after a moment. “It is rather refreshing actually. And desert nights are chilly in their own way. Though I admit, I would not say no to an afternoon lounging in Vesper Bay’s square over crossing this bridge.”

“With overpriced orange juice from the Pissed Peiste?”

He did not reply, though for a moment it looked as if he might. He must have remembered he was angry, and wished to forgo banter. Aeryn suppressed a sigh.

“The tournament will be happening around here,” Thancred said as they reached the open plain beyond the Steps. The road stretched east and up toward Camp Dragonhead, clouds gathering over distant Xelphatol beyond the hills. Down to the west, she could barely make out the glint of Whitebrim’s towers.

“You will want to have a good idea of the ground,” he continued, crouching and peering across the open space. “Wouldn’t do to fall face first at some private’s feet because you tripped over a chinchilla’s burrow.”

“I think there’s a detail coming out to grade the area later today,” she said, drawing her rapier. “But that will just make it easier.”

“Hrmph.” He stood again, stretching as he did, then swinging his arms. “No doubt. Still; let us forgo magic for now. I want to see how you have worked on your swordsmanship these past few moons.”

“You’re sure you’re not cold?”

“I am limbering up,” he said, tone as cool as the air.

Aeryn shrugged. If he wanted to be that way. She was about to start her own stretches when Thancred suddenly dashed at her, blades drawn, making her bring her own up to meet them and immediately putting her on the defensive, forcing her back a few steps.

“Do your enemies announce when they’re ready?” He snarled, testing her defenses. He was mostly using his long Allagan blade, but she kept an eye on his smaller off-hand weapon; he had changed how he fought during his time in the wilderness.

Before, he had fought with a single sword, or matched short blades. His style had been flamboyant, even to the point of showing off, as a way to obfuscate his strikes and baffle his foes. As he pushed Aeryn across the clearing, she noted he still fought with flair and panache not found in most combatants–yet seemed more direct, less reliant on feints and misdirection than in the past. There was nothing wasteful in his movement, for all they flowed like a dance.

She could admit she was a bit envious.

And still on the back foot, godsdammit. She tried a parry Haurchefant had taught her, and gained back a few steps. A few quick strikes practiced with Lucia put Thancred on the defensive, and she caught him briefly grin.

“Mayhap your flirting across Coerthas has done you well after all,” he said, a sharp edge to the teasing.

“What?” Aeryn demanded. How dare he, he knew her better than—

The Echo’s warning came a moment too late as he spun away from her riposte, running his blade along the length of hers until with a flick of his wrist, her sword was caught, her arm twisted back as he stepped behind her, his offhand coming up to rest lightly against her throat.

“You’re easily distracted,” his voice rumbled low in her ear.

Aeryn turned her head to retort, but the words stuck when their eyes met and she was suddenly, intensely aware of being pressed against him, back to chest, their breathing heavy from the exercise and nearly in time with one another. They were close to the same height–he was only perhaps two ilms taller–so their faces were close, his brown eye strangely hooded and his lips were right there as he leaned in and gods why was she even thinking that…

They were close enough she could taste his breath, their lips barely brushing. Her eyes closed of their own accord, in anticipation of further pressure.

“…No,” he breathed, and she was suddenly spun, like when they used to dance to entertain the other Scions in that time Before Ul’dah.

Aeryn and Thancred stood in the snow, staring at one another. “That’s enough for today,” he said brusquely. “If you stay focused, you should do well enough against the Grand Companies.”

“Thancred…”

He turned away. “I apologize; that was an inappropriate distraction.”

She stared at his back for a long moment. Before he could turn his head to look, she cleared her throat. “Nothing to apologize for,” Aeryn said shortly. “All’s fair, as they say.”

“…Quite,” he replied, though sounded strange. “I believe I am rather cold after all, and will retire to the Forgotten Knight for some of Gibrillont’s mulled wine.”

She waited for him to add more, to invite her along, to offer to discuss whatever the seven hells that had been, but he walked on toward the gate. To be fair, though, she couldn’t quite manage to make those offers herself.

Aeryn watched him go, then continued to practice; not as effective as with a partner, but better than nothing, and she wouldn’t be returning to the city with him and the continued air of awkwardness.

“Thou art restless,” Midgardsormr’s voice rumbled from her left. Aeryn paused, looking over to see the small dragonet form of the ancient wyrm sitting upon a nearby stone.

“There is much to prepare for tomorrow,” she answered, returning to her drills.

“Yet there is spare time for courtship rituals?”

Aeryn fumbled mid-maneuver, nearly dropping her rapier. She blinked at him. “What? No! That was…we were sparring. Practicing, for tomorrow’s tournament.”

The dragonet tilted his head. “‘Tis not what it appeared, but mortals are strange.”

She only grunted a response and returned to her ready stance. Feint, riposte, zwerchhau…

“He is strong and skilled,” Midgardsormr continued, in a musing tone. “As I recall, such qualities are sought after, as mortals require physical mating to pass on–

“Midgardsormr,” Aeryn hissed–after stumbling again, her face on fire.

He flapped his tiny wings, and she swore he was grinning. “I was but making an observation, child, and musing on the differences between thy kin and mine own. Draconic mating is a melding of mind and spirit, rather than the flesh.”

“I am aware,” Aeryn said tightly, trying to not snap at the Father of Dragons. This was not helping take her mind off that almost-kiss. She was certain, too, the elder knew that.

There was a shift in the dragonet’s stance, and his deep black eyes now watched her closely, the hint of mirth faded. “Thou hath enjoyed the man’s companionship in the past.’Twould seem since his return, you have been at odds.”

Aeryn sheathed her blade; she was getting no further exercise in today. “…Yes,” she finally answered him. “‘Twould seem that way. I…failed to save the person he entrusted to my care, and then I failed to bring her back.”

Midgardsormr shook his head. “She but followed thy Mother’s call, and made her own choice. There was naught for thee to do upon the matter. Thou shouldst not blame thyself–Nor bear blame from others.” The last came with a slight warning growl.

“I…I don’t know if he does or not,” she admitted. “We’ve worked together, and he was honestly concerned when I was poisoned…And…” Her back pressed to his chest, his eye looking into hers, their lips not even an ilm apart. “…I’m likely imagining things, that’s all.”

That had to be it. A simple distraction, as he had said. She mustn’t read into it.

“Hrmph,” Midgardsormr rumbled. “How thy people have propagated when capable of such self-delusion is one of life’s great mysteries.”

She glowered at him. “Which of us is the expert at mortals, actually being one? You’re mistaken. Thancred is known for his flirtations and distractions; that is all it was. Naught more.”

The dragonet stretched, and made a motion almost akin to a shrug. “Thy protestations are noted,” he responded, before fading out in a puff of aether.

Aeryn rubbed her forehead. She could still sense his rumbling chuckle in the back of her mind. Once she was more or less composed–or at least no longer felt as if her face would set fire to the Gates of Judgment when she passed through them–she made her way back to the city.

—

What in the seven bloody hells had he been thinking?

Thancred ran a hand over his face as he nursed his mulled wine. The problem, of course, was that he had not been thinking. Caught in the rhythm of their sparring match, he had reacted on instinct, and she was right there and…

Inappropriate, he reminded himself. For so very many reasons. He knew at one point he had had a list, the first time he had bucked this ridiculous notion of an interest in the woman who had become their Warrior of Light.

There was one; the champion of the realm could certainly do better than a grizzled, magicless rogue.

There was another; since his misadventure in the Lifestream and being left in Dravania’s wilderness without magic, he now looked and felt closer to his actual age of thirty-two winters. Still young enough to do his job, but it seemed a decent gap against her twenty-six. She was even younger than–

That thought made him slug down a too-large gulp of too-hot wine. It helped focus the pain and gave an excuse for the tears threatening to appear as he coughed, waving away the bartender.

Aeryn had looked him in the eye and nodded when he had told her “whatever it takes” and yet…

That was not fair, and not part of the list, though he couldn’t help the anger, the grief, the shame at lying to F'lhaminn.

He retired to the small room in Cloud Nine that Tataru had rented for him. Laying in bed staring at the ceiling, he found his mind wandering back to the sparring match. How Aeryn felt pressed against him, how she smelled, how her grey eyes had darkened and then closed as their lips nearly touched…Godsdammit.

He could always blame spending time alone in the wilderness for how easily distracted he was by a pretty woman, colleague or not.

That Aeryn had seemed willing did not help; it would have been easier if she had pushed him away, cursed at him, reminded him that she did not experience such base attractions. A voice whispered that did not negate a desire for intimacy, and there were those rumors of her and the knight. He told that voice to shut up as he rolled over. But his imagination continued, conjuring images of furthering that kiss, of pressing closer, his fingers tangling in her fine black hair, the taste of her…

The aftertaste of mulled wine on his own tongue remembered the bite he had smelled in the fallen cup at Falcon’s Nest, her lying on the floor as chaos reigned outside, and the feeling of his heart in his throat at the idea of Aeryn poisoned.

Perhaps that was why he was in such a strange mood, he decided. Fear for his friend’s life, even as he was still grieving Minfilia.

Satisfied, he turned his mind to a mummer’s breathing exercise, a trick to fall asleep quickly, forcing his mind to still so he could rest.

—-

((There’s a lemony solo-Thancred follow-up to this too.))

[novaeagle]

Y’Shtola x Casimir

Prompt: Y’Shtola falls asleep in Casimir’s lap while he’s talking to someone and strokes her hair like a cat. 

Y’Shtola found him on the steps leading up to the Exarchs office, talking with a few of the Crystarium residents. He was dressed plainly, in a half done button up shirt, and pressed slacks, his glasses perched precariously on his nose in the way that drove the Miqo’te wild because she was SURE that they were about to fall off his face. She was dressed differently as well, forgoing her usual Black Mage dress for a simple sweater, and jean bottoms, a much warmer attire for the oddly chilly land. Perhaps it was the fact that the Light absorbed all the heat, but it was much colder in Lakeland than it was in the Rak’Tika Greatwood. 

Casimir paused long enough in his conversation to shoot Y’Shtola a heart melting smile and a nod, before turning back and finishing his sentence. Y’Shtola didn’t mind, there wasn’t anything important for them to do just yet, and she wanted to take the time to spend a few moments with him, even if it was just to sit beside him as he spoke to the citizens. It was one thing that he had decided to do, just sit on the Crystarium steps and speak with the people, whoever approached him. Not many did at first, keeping a respectful distance from the Warrior of Darkness, but one day a group of children playing around wandered over, one brave soul asking him to tell them a story. Soon there was a crowd of more than just children sitting around him, adults too listening in rapt attention as Casimir spun tales of his exploits and his adventures in the Source and in Norvrandt. 

Now, groups of people came up regularly, many just wanting to talk about the weather, many wanting his opinion on items or ideas. He spoke to all of them freely, glad to put a smile on as many faces as he could, and happy to see the Crystarium grown and thrive in the absence of the Lightwardens and Sin Eaters. Today he had a small group, a few Elezen, a Miqo’te, and a Dwarf, surprisingly without her helmet on, when Y’Shtola walks over, sitting down beside Casimir and leaning a little on his shoulder. After one of the Elezen finished speaking, Casimir glances over at her, 

“Hey love, did you need anything?” Y’Shtola shakes her head, 

“Just wanted to come over and listen to the great Warrior of Darkness speak.” Casimir scoffs, rolling his eyes before reaching up and touching her nose with one finger,

“You and your silver tongue.” She narrows her eyes at his cheeky grin, before humming decidedly and settling back down on his shoulder as he turns back to the group. After a few minutes the Elezen pair say their farewells and leave, and the Dwarf runs off to get more alcohol, receiving a call from Casimir to bring him some as well. the Miqo’te stays, sitting cross legged a step down from Casimir, staring up at him as he asks, 

“So ya used ta be a Mystel as well? Wha’ happened fer ya ta turn into a Hume?”

“That, my friend, is a long story, so as long as you have time, I will talk your ear off about it.” The Mystel nods excitedly, and Casimir grins, launching into his story. Y’Shtola’s eyes begin to get heavy, the sun beaming down on her and Casimirs soothing voice droning in her ears making the woman yawn, sliding over and down a step to lay her head down on Casimirs lap as he spun his tale, talking of the many magical means by which his physical form changed. Her tail twitched at Casimirs touch, his fingers suddenly in her hair and running softly over her eyes, her body relaxing, and a purr or two escaping as his hands soothe her, making her fall slowly into sleep. 

Casimir glances down at the sleeping woman, his story over as both the random Myste and Giott the dwarf gaped at him. 

“By the gods, Casimir! I’m glad I grabbed an extra drink or thirty, that tale was wild enough to NOT be believable!” Casimir chuckles, 

“The stories are true, but a few names and places are left out, as they’d only bring more questions and pertain to where I and the Exarch came from.” The Mystel nods, a frown coming onto his face.

“Will... will you and the Exarch leave us?” Casimir shakes his head, 

“Not for good. I promise you, I will be back, and if I can help it, I’ll bring everyone back with me. My companions aren’t supposed to be here in the first place, they were drug over by inaccurate, desperate magiks, until the Exarch finally managed to pin me down and bring me over.” A soft, rumbling purr suddenly sounded out, and all three glanced down at Y’Shtola, Casimir with love and the other two in shock. 

“Aye, she really loves ya... Mystel don’ purr like tha’ unless they’re with someone they really love ‘r trust.” Casimir smiles down at Y’Shtola, his hands still slowly running through her hair,

“We’ve been through too much together not to trust eachother... I’d put my life in her hands any day, and she’s done the same with me...” The three watch Y’Shtola as she lets out another soft purr, and the Mystel stands up,

“Aye, well, Ah best git back ta work ‘afore I get yelled at. It’s nice speakin’ with ya Casimir.”

“You too brother, have fun!” The Mystel scoffs, but leaves with a smile on his face. Giott chugs the last sip of her drink, sighing appreciatively before nodding,

“I’m gonna go continue to get drunk, join me whenever if ya want!” Casimir nods to the dwarf as she runs off, leaving him alone with Y’Shtola. He turns his attention to her, gently rubbing her ears and running his fingers through her hair. 

“You know...”he speaks softly, not wanting anyone else to hear, and not knowing she’s listening in, “I’m really not the Warrior of Darkness, or Light. I’m just a man with an ability to survive being tempered by Primals, and can apparently survive absorbing massive amounts of Light Aether. I couldn’t have done anything I did if it wasn’t for you, and the rest of the Scions. You’re the real Warriors of Light, the ones who kept me alive and kept me fighting. You’re the one that helped me through Limsa Lominsa, who introduced me to the Scions. You’ve always been there for me, in the Steppes and in Ala Mihgo. It’s always been you behind me, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay the debt I owe to you but damn it if I’m not going to try my hardest... I love you Y’Shtola...” He kisses his hand, placing it gently on her cheek, failing to notice the growing smile she wore, or the lone tear that fell from her closed eyes. 

[fistsoflightning]

and then there was two.

there will always be someone who is completely, wholly unsaveable.

        gatheredfates’ [30 day WOL challenge] | prompt: salvation

even before zaya met the newest reincarnation of minfilia, part of them knew it wouldn’t be who they were expecting.

minfilia—the first minfilia, the one who kept this world living for two centuries longer than it should, started a cycle of new minfilias that inevitably dashed their lives against the horde of sin eaters because her self-sacrificing, bleeding, golden heart would never be dimmed by something as simple as time and new life—had been dead for a very long time. even before those two centuries lost to halting the flood. she may have died in the sil’dih aqueducts to save what warriors of light she could, but to zaya she died the moment they drank firebrand poison and wine while toasting to a naive new ul’dah.

the memory of her haunts both of them in the worst ways, the two of them cursed to be in pain just by being touched by minfilia back before she was a leader and icon and a banner to rally under; hells, that selfsame memory nearly got both thancred and zaya killed, back when they were out for someone to blame for all the regrets wadded into the hole in their chests that losing her made standing by the cliffside outside of idyllshire.

but she will always, always be right over zaya’s shoulder no matter what, so they try their best to separate the minfilia living inside their head and the minfilia standing right in front of them; in this world, minfilia is more than a decade younger than her, more a daughter than a sibling and deserving of so much more than what zaya can give her. it’s going through the motions but with only half the heart behind them; half-moon smiles, quiet adventures in il mheg, laughs that are less than their usual thunderous quality. their heart has been bleeding for far too long to remember how they even managed to comfort lunya, sirius, and valdis in those humble beginnings in pearl lane, wound deepened by missing friends and another war.

zaya may have been one of many warriors of light, but minfilia was the leader of the scions, the one who remembered thancred and zaya from before the calamity split their memories into two, the one who persevered through countless duties and pains to make sure the world at large would be safer, if even by just a fraction. 

and even in death, she leaves both zaya and thancred on their knees when the child whose name is only minfilia because it fulfills the populace’s need for heroes and legends and lights at the ends of countless tunnels says:

“i wish they’d just say it—just say that they hate me! i can see it thancred’s eyes, in zaya’s smiles—that they wish i was dead so she could return…”

…

there will always be another version of them hiding behind the topmost layer, and zaya finds that the newest one is quieter. more akin to brooding than to escaping or confronting, more like the state they were in after fighting zenos back in ghimlyt dark. they thought they’d shaken this version of themselves off, stored it in the back of their mind.

and yet here it is, with all the dreadful penchant for reminiscence they could ever want.

someone in their motley crew of heroes suggests they take a night of rest before facing a trolley ride one might not return from—honestly, zaya wouldn’t be surprised if it were lunya or hanami who asked (more like demanded), hoping to get them (or thancred) to say something, anything—and by the dirty looks lunya gives both of them before retreating to her sleeping bag, thancred hasn’t done anything either.

“i can’t believe either of you right now. idiots, the both of you.” lunya hisses as she rolls out her bedroll next to hanami’s, and zaya silently agrees before slinking out of the small room all of them have been spared to sleep in for a few short bells.

even in spite of the light festering under their skin, eating away at the font of lightning at the center of their soul and sapping their energy. zaya is too tired to sleep. too awake, too aware to sort through everything, and too in pain from the swell of their heart beneath their skin to choke out the words i’m sorry in some worthless attempt to make up for faults that have been lying below the surface of their skin for years.

so instead of retreating to the shed thaffe and jeryk cleared for them to sleep in, away from the endless light, they climb up to the tallest cliff, sit at the edge, and stare blankly into the orange sands of amh araeng. waiting, observing, taking in the endless weight of a dying world and drowning in it to see if they can even possibly measure up to what little minfilia feels when the people of the crystarium call her oracle, a beacon, a living legend.

even if zaya was fourteen again and filled with the anger at their own family they’d dispensed a while back, they don’t think the sheer rage of being shunned would match up to the despair of not just feeling, but knowing two people who are supposed to be your guardians detest you. zaya couldn’t dare to pretend they knew the pain minfilia was going through. hells, they barely knew themselves; understanding others was beyond them.

so they don’t, and instead of dwelling on the things they cannot understand, they focus on meditating—familiar, comforting, simple. close your eyes, breathe in deep, count to ten, exhale, repeat until your thoughts are calm instead of thunderous. 

and, inevitably, in the quiet lull of the thunderstorms inside their head, their thoughts wander to the minfilia they knew—the one that yet lives inside their head.

she might be two summers their elder, but zaya can’t help but think of her as younger, even when they met in the goldsmith’s guild all those years ago—she a miner with a gift and an almost-brother and they a goldsmith with nothing left to lose. even now, with her eyes stolen away by the crystalline blue of hydaelyn, zaya can remember the warm grey from before she was a mouthpiece for this god all of them were bound to, and wonders why.

why take her? why someone so dedicated, so optimistic, so many things left to do and say? why make her a mouthpiece instead of giving the mercy of not seeing your friends and almost-family suffer at the sight of you? why can’t zaya save the first woman they thought of as my sister since leaving the steppe?

i promise i won’t hurt you, they said once upon a time to a girl afraid of them because of their legacy as the ‘bolt from the blue’, coliseum menace and one of few to face off against ‘raging bull’ raubahn aldynn and survive the encounter. i promise.

why were they calling themselves a hero—or worse, minfilia’s friend if they couldn’t extend, couldn’t keep that promise with a girl that carries minfilia’s legacy?

zaya opens their eyes to the expanse of orange sands once again, entirely drained and wanting to go back to a time before… everything. they can’t come up with an answer before sati comes out from the bushes and sits beside them, laying her hand over theirs in a solidarity zaya hasn’t seen from her in years—not since she was small enough to not see above their waist and living under both dorbei’s and their care.

“are you…” sati trails off, her voice murky, like zaya is underwater and hasn’t surfaced in a long, long time. “no. i’m… i’ll just sit here, ‘kay? not gonna leave you here.” her voice is the firmest it’s been in years, more confident in her decision than ever before, and zaya doesn’t fight it. they don’t fight reese or rjoli’s pitying stares, ihget’sae’s worried glance from the corner of the room, hanami’s angry tail whips, or lunya’s frustrated silence when they walk back into the shed, either. they don’t rest much either, instead pulling out their journal and flipping to the page where thancred had jokingly wrote some poetry over five years ago, before everything crumbled and their ul’dahn trio fell to two, fingertips running over the words—

but i have promises to keep, and miles to go before i sleep, and miles to go before i sleep.

…

zaya quietly walks over to minfilia as thancred and urianger do some final checks to their equipment and the talos, not really knowing where their fellow warriors are but knowing they don’t have long before they leave. their stomach churns, empty and hollow, but filled with imaginary butterflies instead; the kind that accompanies both their feelings for thancred and the dread of arguments.

“minfilia?” they say as clearly as possible, voice still cracking from the dryness of amh araeng and the struggle of learning to speak after decades of hardly opening their mouth. “c’n we talk?”

she sniffles, nodding her head, and zaya scoops up both of her hands into theirs, quietly turning her to face them and oh, her eyes are still red and teary, she’s still not handling this well. the urge to just pull her into a hug and never let go is overwhelming, but what she needs is not a pat to the head, not a simple hug, not just loving words and a sincere apology but all of the above.

if only thancred could pull his guts together to join them.

“heard you an’ urianger yesterday,” zaya says soothingly, tightening their grip over minfilia’s small hands only when fear seeps into her expression. “and ‘m so, so sorry i can’t love you the way you need me to.”

minfilia practically stumbles over her words, quietly tugging her hands further and further from zaya’s grasp and oh gods zaya really hopes they aren’t hurting her, quickly letting go when she tugs next. “i—no, it’s fine, i promise! yesterday was just—”

“no, y’u were…” it’d be too cruel to say that she was wrong; too cruel to say that both of them truly wanted the best for her, didn’t hate her in misguided parts when thancred said nothing at all and zaya couldn’t find the right things to tell her, but it was easier, if needed. then again, zaya had never been one for the path of least resistance. “you were right, but not about one thing; we… we both hate ourselves.”

she looks utterly shocked at the idea, but zaya pushes forward and tells the tale of how they and thancred almost didn’t live to see norvrandt; how they pushed each others’ buttons until he cracked first, how they both tortured themselves over the mess that was that age-old escape from ul’dah and how minfilia’s legacy has haunted them for longer before they knew her… with many, many changes. it isn’t a ballad, nor a fairytale, but it is the truth, and it is what she deserves to know about her guardian and her ally.

“you… you two…?” she mumbles, eyes wide and less teary than before. good. “but—you two are practically—when we were in dhon mheg, and the ravel, and the temple, you two were inseparable.”

zaya feels like that is a gross exaggeration—they can stand not knowing how thancred is doing for a few minutes—but continues anyways. “not always. we’re a lil’ stupi’ now, b’t we were worse ‘fore this.”

“i don’ wanna be forgiven,” they say, quietly; a secret that very few know and even fewer try to remember. “i don’ deserve to, an’ neither does thancred. but…” they pull her closer, wrapping their arms around her back and hugging her tight, as if she might suddenly disappear from zaya’s life like minfilia did all those years ago before they could tell her how incredibly glad they were to know her. “i wanna try again—do better, f’r you, if you let me.”

minfilia, for all her strength, doesn’t respond—not speechless, but occupied. her tears drip, drip, drip down zaya’s back, the blue overcoat they normally wear tied around their waist to reveal their (rather ragged) white tanktop. when she does catch her breath for long enough in gaps between her silent sorrow, she pulls her arms away from zaya’s chest to wrap around their neck instead, burying her face into their shoulders.

“i… i don’t know, yet,” she says truthfully, and zaya is glad thancred told her about the whole lying versus harsh truth thing they’ve always had a hard time explaining themselves. “can i tell you when we get back?”

when we get back, zaya thinks, sifting through the words in their head. she was always more earnest around them, or lunya, or any of their small crew that wasn’t thancred, really, but in her words she promises, not tries to promise. we.

“o’ course,” zaya promises back, because it’s the least they can do. they have a lot of promises to keep, they realize shortly after opening their mouth, but it feels… good. “always.”

...

the trolley crashes—because yet again, nothing is ever easy for the warriors of darkness, is it?—zaya’s horn is cracked from falling onto a very big rock, ran’jit is soaked in the memories of an old, different minfilia and then betrayed by the newest minfilia, and thancred stays behind. zaya prays it’s not because he fears what he might say to the old minfilia but because he’s had decades to learn that sometimes actions speak as loud as words do from learning zaya’s story until it was burned into his memory, fingers calloused and burnt from learning a storm made incarnate inside out, and he’s finally decided to use that knowledge instead of keeping it boxed in his chest. their head is utterly throbbing as they run ahead of lunya, lightning running through their blood faster than ever before because what if they lose not one but two on this journey, what if thancred has finally bit off more than he can chew, what if it’s like ul’dah all over again—

“zaya!” ihget’sae barks out in worry, even if his voice is more angry than it is soothing, and it hurts so much more than they thought it would to listen. “slow down!”

they stop, then, if only because the sickening feeling of bile rising up their throat from the pain is new, different, horrible. minfilia—who looks worriedly at them as she passes—keeps running ahead, and only when hanami and sati catch up to all of them does zaya start their desperate sprint again.

when the light-seared sky makes hanami’s aurum regis horn glint menacingly, zaya clutches at their own horn tighter. the crack feels bigger than it should, but it—their horn—doesn’t matter. if the price to pay for norvrandt’s salvation was their horn and the pain sure to follow, they’d pay it gladly. they’ve survived worse than a loss of balance; even if it did mess up their ability to fight with their fists, it would be a equal exchange for a world.

one life for one world, urianger’s voice rings from memory, except this time he had no say in the sacrifice. 

good, a more bitter part of them responds. the pure rancor from the voice inside their head sings of something abyssal, something they usually bury under lightning and fire and earth, but it sings truer than most of zaya’s scattered thoughts, as of late. as it should be.

zaya keeps running.

and when they finally make it to the fallen palace of nabaath areng and get dragged through a centuries-old memory of ardbert, minfilia, the warriors of darkness before them, and the flood, zaya is left on their knees by minfilia for the second and final time.

“ours is a meeting long overdue,” the word says to the oracle, not even waiting for the warriors surrounding little minfilia to regain their bearings. “full glad am i that we may finally speak.”

zaya remains sitting on the liquid crystal floor as lunya, hanami, sati—everyone but them gets up to look minfilia—the word of the mother minfilia—eye to eye, instead staring at the light bleeding and blurring her figure like some runny painting in a tarnished storybook left out in the rain. maybe it’s the tears stinging at the corners of zaya’s vision, but she looks… tired. tired of waiting, tired of watching, tired of perpetuating a cycle of pain and suffering that is going to end, one way or another, now.

and suddenly, they have one answer to thousands of whys. minfilia cannot be saved, they think, because she is like you. determined. blessed. chosen. (cursed.)

so when the word—minfilia looks to them longingly, zaya does not say how they wish she was still alive, how they wish they could show her what they can accomplish now. instead, zaya foolishly says, “t’hncred says ‘ello,” and keeps their mouth shut for the rest of the short visit to some realm where the gold of both minfilias’ hair bleeds into the light-soaked scenery, their saved tears quietly hidden behind untied hair and long bangs.

they think they might make it from this conversation relatively whole, watching quietly and contentedly as the two daughters of hydaelyn speak their minds with them as the witnesses. the almost do, and then minfilia whispers “i am truly sorry, friend. i love you.” and zaya’s heart is undone.

…

they don’t wake up with everyone else at the foot of nabaath areng, after minfilia disappears for good and after the waking memories of ardbert being refused his sacrifice.

instead, zaya wakes to their hair untied, thancred’s (torn, bloodied, stained) coat thrown over them, and a girl with grey eyes and terra-cotta hair looking surprised to see them awake. not a few seconds later does zaya sit up, head reeling as they look around to see the scions sitting just a little bit over three yalms away

“zaya,” she exhales tiredly. “you’re awake. lunya thought—” she points to their right horn, not daring to touch the ridges. “—the wound you were hiding here was more serious than just knocking you unconscious, seeing as it… well.”

they reach up to touch where the crack was, fingertips shaky and scratched up beyond all belief and find the smooth surface that only accompanied crystal, and from the slight thrum in their horn from the touch…

“thancred says it’s lightning crystal, or some gemstone attuned to your aether.” the girl carefully presses a mirror—dusty, old, slightly cracked—into their hands. “i, er. i don’t quite understand it all, but… when she—minfilia, that is—brought us back to nabaath areng, my appearance and your horn were already like this.”

zaya lifts the mirror to their face, and oh—the crack on their horn is filled with small slivers of gleaming gemstone; blue topaz, which explains the weird, sharp, clear and crisp tones to all of the sounds zaya’s can hear. it’s almost too similar to the exarch’s situation, what with the crystal marking his face and arm, but hells, they’re surprised they can hear at all with the gemstone filling the gaps between rough bone. gemstones aren’t crystal, after all.

but zaya has more pressing matters to attend to than figuring out the logistics of filling in a fracture with a non-organic material; besides, it’s not like their horn will be going anywhere.

“who are you?” zaya asks as the chatter from the scions and warriors die down.

“i—” the small girl with the weight of a two century long legacy in her hands and every last one of them standing by her side pauses, a small glimmer of hope crossing her eyes like a thunderbolt as she looks at them carefully. they both know what zaya asked wasn’t from amnesia, but of something else. “my name… is ryne.”

firefly, zaya quickly signs, and thancred inhales sharply from three yalms away even as ryne tilts her head in confusion. he knew nearly every sign in the book; it wasn’t surprising he’d catch them giving ryne a gift of their own. it’s the closest to saying i love you so, so much without saying it at all, because words wouldn’t possibly fit i’m sorry, are you alright, and can i try again all in six words.

“means firefly,” they clarify for ryne when she looks back at thancred, confusion turning into worry. “your new namesign, if you want? can’t keep callin’ y’u minfilia.”

“...i would like that very much,” ryne says, smiling and trying to keep a few tears from building at the corners of her eyes, and in that very moment—then there were two of an old friendship left behind, the shadow of minfilia finally lifting from zaya’s shoulder as ryne’s smile brought zaya’s heart back; salvation.

[sootcloak]

Crow’s Shadow: Carrion Circle

Second part of a short serial installment I’m working on as a general exercise on plotting, editing and the like. You can find the other parts linked here - {Part One: Repair Required} - I’ll add the last link once Part Three is up. Same spoiler warnings as Part One apply. Same general content warnings apply.

~2400 words, featuring Hilda the Mongrel and Rostnthal the Reborn. Centered around a tense cross country trip, and the looming specter of a dangerous foe. Twelve help me I’d hoped I could fit more of the plot into this one the last part is gonna be so long, such a pain to edit.

A cold, mountain spring cuts through the highlands. The water runs babbling over old, long-smooth stones. Along its bank, a cart is still. A pair of chocobos sleep, curled in on one another. Bright yellow feathers pool starkly against the grey and white of the highland’s snow-covered earth.

The campfire, dim and growing colder by the minute, pops and sizzles in the moonlit dark. Every few moments, the earth rumbles with a heavy snore from deep in Rostnthal’s chest. The old Sea Wolf is leaned up against the back of one of the birds, a canvas sheet thrown over both he and the chocobo. Hilda lies beneath the cart itself, nestled up in a tight ball of quilts and jackets.

In the back of the cart, Vavara rifles through the packed supplies. She loads specially marked shells into her revolver. It’s reflective white metal glints in the moonlight. It has a mirror shine in the dead of night, it’s engravings doing little to break up the perfect polish she’s maintained. It is a slow process, painstaking with just one hand. The cartridges hum and vibrate in their chambers, the ether concentrate within nervously singing to her heightened hearing.

Six shots in each cylinder.

If he’s there, it’ll take at least fifteen of these to break his barrier. Even with aether-charged rounds, the inadequacy of her armaments hangs over her. Missing an arm means choosing between her spear and a firearm. Damaged as she is, she might not even have enough aether at her disposal to ignite the spearblade.The core nested between her lungs is pressed cold and stark against her heart, like a long-dull knife. Her soul, nestled within it’s crystal depths, aches from long-faded scars. Her whole body would be a treasure trove for him, secrets to decipher, power to steal. Weapons to wield.

Even then, measured against his life - her secrets, her safety, all things are cast into the pot.

--

She loads a spare cylinder with slow, committed strokes. It’ll take a long time to reload the weapon, even with this preparation.. She didn’t pick this hand, but she’ll play it till the cards are on the table. Folding was never an option, anyways.

Light falls on the small camp, the morning sun casting light into the narrow crevice beneath the cart. Hilda wakes up with a yawn. Her arms stretch across the dirt, eyes squeezed shut. She growls softly deep in her chest, and sits up. Her forehead slams into the wood with an audible crunch.

“Seven hells-” She snarls.

“Gyahah!” Rostnthal’s laughter echoes over the small glade, watching with a gleaming eye as she clutches her forehead.

“‘Ey, Ashenheart! I won! Ye’ owe me a drink when we get back!” His grin is audible, a chuckle reverberating in his voice.

“I never agreed to playing your game.” Vavara says. “Besides, I owe you more than a drink if we all return safely.”

“Heh. Humorless. What with ye’ hangin with the Scions lately, thought you may’ve lightened up some. Guess even they can’t get ye’ out’a that shell.” His voice is no less mirthful, seemingly unfazed by her chilled tone.

“A’ight, come get yer food. Breakfast’s done.” He slaps the side of the kettle, ringing loud and full. Still groaning and clutching a bloodied face, Hilda drops into a cross-legged sit besides Rostnthal.

They goad and poke at one another, the words fading into white noise as Vara sits atop the cart.Her eyes’ light dims, old, ash-soaked memories rising from the shadows of memory. A wave of nauseating nostalgia hits her in the gut.

“You not eating?” Hilda prods Vara with an empty bowl. The old, smoke-scented memories submerge into the dark again. 

“Not right now. I had hardtack before you two were up.” She pushes herself up to her feet, her arm stretching, slight shoulders squaring for a moment under the winter overcoat.

“I’ll get the birds ready while you two eat. We need to move soon.” Her footsteps crunch in the snow as she walks away. A hanging tension in the air slowly seeps into the air as she walks away.

“Y’know,” Rostnthal calls out, voice low and rumbling. “Ye’ still haven’t told us where we’re goin’. Or anything else of substance, really.”

“Yes,” She says as she hoists the barding onto one of the birds. She glances over her shoulder, eyes dimly glowing with an unnatural, cold light in the shadow of the brim of her cap. “I am aware.” The words are biting, dismissive.

“D’ye intend for us to go into whatever trouble is brewing blind?” His tone is calm and grim, his one, good eye locked on hers.

“I do.” She returns his gaze, ironclad.

“An’ if that means things get bloodier than they ‘ad to?”

“It won’t. I can’t protect you on the battlefield. Not in my condition.” She turns away, leading the chocobos to the cart’s front. She clips their barding in, the ‘coos’ and ‘kwehs’ of the birds giving her occasional pause to double check her work.

“So you won’t be there.” She says without turning. “I’ll be leaving you and the birds out of danger. When my student finds you, you’ll take him to Dragonhead.” 

“Wait, what?” Hilda pauses halfway between bites, eyes narrowing. “I came out here to help, not to be a damned taxi. You’re not traipsing off on your own, ‘specially not after all your talk about this fucker who’s hunting you.”

“You want to help?” Vara’s grip on the wood tightens, words turning venomous. “Then I’ve told you how. You want to die? Then go on, follow me after we part ways.”

“Oh, that’s rich.” Hilda’s tone sours, “What’s your deal? We went over this on our first day out, and now half a week in you’re changing your tune? We know it’s dangerous, we get it.”

She sets her half-finished meal aside, standing up. Her hands come to rest on her hips, Rostnthal’s eye moving to rest on her.

“We signed on for this. We knew it’d get bloody, we knew it’d be a close thing. Y’think we’ve not learned to read you? That we were blind to what we were getting into?” She says, defiantly staring down at Vavara.

“So you’re going to ride in and save the day? Vanquish the bad man with your shiny gun and sporty marksmanship? You think you have what it takes to stand against  a man who’s decided he’d rather be a demon?” Vavara takes a deep, steadying breath. There’s something about the question which makes Rostnthal’s hairs stiffen. The skin on the back of his arms and back prickles. He’s still watching Hilda, a blooming anxiousness slowly taking up more space in his chest. He pushes the feeling down.

“Wouldn’t have stepped up if I didn’t think I could help” Hilda says, “An’ I may not be some vaunted champion of the realm like those you’ve been keepin’ the company of, but I-”

“You sound like a child. Too busy playing hero to see the danger you’re in.” Vavara’s chiding words cut through her momentum.

“What do you believe you are wagering? Your life? That in failure, you would die?” Her laugh is a single, wrenching cough. “This isn’t a battle of life and death. I’d sooner shoot myself in the head than allow any of those ‘vaunted champions’ to face him. Even the Warrior of Light, no especially the Warrior of Light.

“He does not kill. He captures. And those he captures become another one of the Empire’s experimental weapons. You would not die, you would become a monster to be sicked on your allies, your friends, and your loved ones.

“So I will face him alone. And you two will ensure an innocent boy does not become a monster because my past came to call. And if after hearing that, you still want to be the hero? Fine. You can be like all the others before you and die like one, too.” Her voice nearly chokes at the end. Shoulders tense, she pushes out a hoarse, whistling breath.

“I’ll do what I do best. Survive. And whatever I have to do to make sure he gets through this too? I’ll pay that price. Worry about yourself.”

“Vavara.” Rostnthal says, leaning in. “What’s so important about this kid that yer so concerned about ‘im getting captured.”

“Nothing. He’s just-” She begins, only for him to hold up one hand to silence her.

“Ye’ never go this far ‘just because’. I’ve seen ye’ in the ‘eat of battle. Cuttin losses ‘as never been somethin’ yer averse to. Even with lives. So if this kid is a hazard to himself more than anyone else, I reckon ye’d try and save him, sure. But to be willin’ to train and tutor a complete greenhorn, let alone throw yerself into the fire for ‘im?? Doesn’t add up.”

He waits. His eye locked on her back, her greying, braided hair shifting with a breeze. Hilda glances between the two, silence bubbling and steaming with tension.

“He is Blessed.” She speaks with a hushed admission, her voice accompanied by an undercurrent of choked, hissing metal.

“And from my observations, he has an aptitude for its power rarely seen. But he is young, foolhardy. I took him in because he otherwise would have found the Scions. And I refuse to see them make another martyr.” She glances back to the other two, over her good shoulder.

“His power will invite controversy and challenge, especially if he cannot wield it. And should Llain capture him, the prospect of an anti-eikon weapon imbued with the power of the Echo is a looming threat I cannot risk. If he can wield the Echo, if he learns how to use it to reinforce his sense of self and being, then he would retain his sanity through any kind of augmentation. Any kind of torment.” Her hand reaches up and rests flat against her chest, claw-tipped fingers scraping against the cloth and leather of her coat. 

“His soul could reside in even steel and crystal, and be unharmed by the process. But if he is captured before he learns to understand and wield the Echo, he could well become a weapon of terrifying power. An incarnation of death made manifest in steel and ceruleum.”

“I refuse to be the mother of death.” She says, softly, almost-inaudibly.

Rostnthal opens his mouth to speak, but the glare he receives from her in return stifles him for a moment.

“None of that changes what you must do. I trust you enough to determine your own path, if you will not heed my warnings. I will tell you what you need to know, even if it is not all you want to know.”

“No, it does change what we need to do. Whether you think so or not.” Hilda says, her confidence returning.

“That kid. What’s his name?” She asks, eyes fixed on Vavara’s.

“Tahve’ir.”

“Well, he’s going to need a teacher still, by your tone. So getting him out isn’t enough. I’ve got to make sure you both get out.”

“And if you can’t?” Vavara says as the two share a long, grim stare.

“Then I get him out, and come back for you. You said he doesn’t kill, and I doubt he can make it back to Garlemald in a single night. So, we get Tahve’ir out, and if you get caught in the meantime, I’ll run back and get you out in the night.”

“Nah.” Rostnthal’s voice rumbles softly, quietly. “Ye’ ain’t got experience with that kinda work. I’ve ran with the yellow jackets and the like, bustin’ slave rings and smashin’ smugglin’ ops. If she gets caught and we have to pull out, I’ll go. An’ you’ll take the kid.” He looks towards Hilda, a confident spark in his eye.

“Alright. Best not mess it up, y’old drunkard.” Hilda says, she cocks a nervous grin and playfully jabs his arm. He just chuckles grimly.

“So you won’t heed my warnings.” Vavara’s voice is distant, a kind of shrill, haunting whistle riding under the injured voice. “It always happens like this.”

“Chin up.” He says, crossing the distance between himself and her in a few steps. He drops to one knee, and rests one hand on her shoulder. He grips her softly, confidently.

“I’m not ignorin’ what ye’ said. We can’t win in a direct fight? Then we’ll just have to run ‘im ‘round the bush. Keep ‘im guessin’. Keep ‘im dazed. We’ll work on strategies on the way there.” He takes a deep breath, and then stands. He climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Have faith.” He says, patting the birds with a solid, steady palm. “‘Ave faith, an’ all will be well. Besides. Yer not meant t’look so glum. Doesn’t suit yer’ image. Times like these, a snarl’s better.”

She just takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and nods.

She jumps up into the back of the cart as Hilda finishes dumping the last bits of the kettle, and scooping her bowl back up into one hand. The dinnerware sack lands in the back with a cataclysmic, chaotic crash.

As soon as her boots are fixed upon the wood, Rostnthal whips the reins and the birds kick up dust as they run.

--

The sun sinks back low in the sky again. Pale-red light streaks across the untamed mountains between Ishgard and Ala Mhigo.

A small shack with a sprawling, chaotic garden sits on a low, narrow plateau. Heavy, metal boots scratch into the wet, snow-melt fed earth. A man with sandy skin, a straight back and strong shoulders stands at the edge of the homestead. His hair is neatly, painstakingly pulled into a long, salt and pepper braid. It rests on his armored pauldrons, and hangs down to his waist. His eyes, a gilded, ember orange, take in the small, humble abode.

In one hand, he holds a thick, angular blade. It’s gunmetal edge reflects no light, despite the bright morning. Coarse and rough, like a painted, sharp thorn of ink clutched tight.

In the other, he holds a stark, shining revolver. It’s pearly white metal casts myriad colors onto the ground around him, and up onto his own blackened platemail. 

In the light of dusk, his aura shines bright and ethereal around him. Dancing, half-there reflections in intangible glass.

He takes a deep breath, and cracks a cheery grin His shadow stretches over the gardens in the evening light. He can smell the faintest hint of ceruleum in the air.

“Finally. Progress.” His smile is all teeth and ambition.

[mitaikenhorizon]

45, 52, 59!

45. What are some things that annoy your OC? 

For Juno it’s when things aren’t thought through and planned, despite her own impulsive nature. Ideally she’d have a whole blueprint for every move she’d make in life but alas that’s not the case and it kinda drives her nuts. It’s a bit hypocritical but that’s just her thing, she sees flaws in herself constantly and seeing people act the same way sets her off. Other people should be better.

Ama’s annoyed by people not letting her protect them but that’s moreso of her being annoyed at how weak she feels to the people around her. She’s very self deprecating so it tends to boil down to “I annoy myself” and “I’m a burden to everyone around me I’m awful” but something less like That is probably being forced into social events...she can’t bring herself to say it because of her anxiety but her anxiety is specifically WHY she hates them.

Mira tries to be positive but man...man she can’t stand people who lie, for better or for worse. Over the course of her journey she’s more willing to listen and forgive, but she doesn’t take being lied to all that well, because she gives people her trust and they do this? Why?! Who are they to say she wouldn’t handle the truth without even trying, it’s a real blow.

Oooo I’m gonna put the rest in a readmore since it’s getting long and the next one gets kinda dark... (tw talk of death, and suicidal thoughts/idealization, and general depression)

52. What are some of your OC’s motivations?

Ama desperately wants a reason to be alive, plain and simple. Being thought of as worthless, a burden, and even told she shouldn’t even be alive since she was practically born by her father she thinks her life is only something to be used for someone else’s benefit. She was never the first choice, but she was meant to stay put just in case she was needed. Even after growing more on her adventures she is still quick to sacrifice herself in favor of someone else. She’s a kind person there’s no denying that, but in the back of her head she always thought to truly make up for...well being born, is for her life to end, lift the burden of herself from everyone’s shoulders, no matter how much good she tries to do. She still keeps her helpful nature, but eventually she does it for not wanting to add more bad to the world, and to show kindness to those who might not have gotten it before.

Juno is kind of similar to Ama in that respect, except Juno isn’t looking for a reason to be alive- it’s to atone. Her past in Othard’s forest and her doings as the wicked witch chase her down, and in turn push her forward. She believes she was guided to the stars, the scions- everything, as a way for her to atone. Healing magic to make up for causing harm, stopping Galemald once and for all instead of hurting her own, it was fate. But for most of her time on her journey she felt it was only temporary, a task, that once she completed it, she’d have no reason to go further...Thankfully, the more she goes on, the more she settles into the idea of maybe, once it’s all done she can start her new life officially.

Mira initially took Miounne’s advice as a way to see more of the world, to do good in any way she can. But she soon realizes it was just a distraction from her own grief, and keeping up a facade to be the big sister to everyone around her, to make her family proud...It’s only after reaching her lowest and being shown that same support she wanted to give others that she found her motivation again, but this time with more meaning. She wants to give it her all to have no regrets, to be a beacon for those around her, she wants to be a hero. Mira has always been a helpful and kind person at heart, but now she wants to use that as her drive- and not the ghosts of her past mistakes.

59. What does your OC think of him/herself?

As stated above Ama thinks VERY lowly of herself, she thinks she’s weak- both physically and mentally. She thinks she’s ugly, scary even. She was raised to think she was a burden, and that’s what she believes. A stepping stone for other people, people who deserve to be alive. She views anything she does negatively, that she could have done better, or what she did was selfish. Even if she’s helping someone, that’s just to make herself feel good isn’t it? She feels like she doesn’t deserve love. Someone pls help this girl.

Mira on the other hand, tends to view herself fairly neutrally. Her ego isn’t inflated by any means, but she knows she has strengths and she deserves to be proud of them. Also stated above, she sees herself as everyone’s big sister, whether the person likes it or not. Partially it’s due to her wanting a sibling herself, but becoming one to almost everyone she meets is just as good! People say she’s reliable, but that’s something she gets a bit embarrassed saying about herself, since to herself she seems a bit of a goof. Honestly in general, she sees herself as a very normal girl, when she’s actually quite extraordinary.

Juno thinks she is a stain on this very star- But no for real she sees herself as cold, distant, and uncaring when honestly she’s anything but. She does everything she does because she cares TOO much if anything, but she wants to give off the vibe of “I’m bad to the bone, I got secrets you don’t wanna know, don’t even think about it.” because she fears loss, and thinks if she pushes things away she won’t care. The one positive she sees for herself is that she’s very knowledgeable, but she sees it as a curse since that’s what got her in this mess to begin with.

[salaciouscrumpet]

Whumptober Day 9

Whumptober Day 9 Prompt: “Shackled”

Sorry for the delay, folks! I got busy with the (Canadian) Thanksgiving weekend and didn’t have the time or the solitude for writing. (Although I did get the opportunity to brainstorm a bunch of ideas and bounce them off my partner, who doesn’t write but is very enthusiastic about supporting my writing.) This one didn’t quite go in the direction I had planned, but that’s pretty much par for the course at this point ...

CW: mentions of childhood abuse and neglect (although not the focus of the ficlet)

Characters: Luke, Kate

Takes Place About 10 Years Before the Series Begins

Luke remembered this strangely disconnected, floaty feeling from his childhood. He’d been around seven or eight, and although he hadn’t realized it at the time, it had been the last time his mother had done anything approaching ‘coddling’ him. His parents had never been big on physical affection (or, indeed, any signs of affection whatsoever) and had shied away from anything that might risk turning their future warrior soft. Bumps and falls were not fussed over, nightmares were not comforted, and anything that might be seen as weakness was pushed down, hidden, or stomped out entirely. But this one time – this last time – Luke had suffered a cold that, through neglect, turned into a bad bout of pneumonia that had required hospitalization. As a general rule hospitals were to be avoided; as a child, Luke had assumed it was admitting weakness, to need medical treatment. As an adult he realized it was because he had injuries that his parents didn’t want to have to explain to authorities: mended breaks, old bruises, older scars. The doctors and nurses would see the injuries and would be obligated to report them to the police, or to children’s aid. And while most of Luke’s injuries came from training – most of them – some were the result of ‘punishment,’ and in any event the police were not going to sympathize with a hidden order’s need to produce and train soldiers, or the methods they used in doing so. 

He remembered waking up in the hospital and smelling that disinfectant smell, and hearing the beeps and whirs of medical equipment. Everything was too bright and too loud and he wanted his mama – and for once, Mama was there, at his bedside, fussing over him and smoothing down his wild dark hair and bringing him ice chips to suck on. Adult-Luke knew that his mother’s fretting was partly for show, to demonstrate to the hospital staff that she was a good mother who loved her baby boy very much. Child-Luke had just been grateful she was there, taking care of him. It hadn’t lasted, of course – it never did – and days later Luke was back at home, being interrogated by his father because the police had come calling, and just what had Luke said to them when the doctors and nurses asked him how he got those scars and bruises? He’d earned himself a new set of scars and bruises by the end of that interrogation, but at least he had the memory of his mother fawning over him once last time. 

This time he woke up to the floaty, disconnected feeling and he wasn’t in a hospital at all, although the air still smelled faintly of sanitizer (and muscle liniment, another odour he equated with comfort). He was lying on the lower half of a set of bunk beds in what looked to be the small bedroom of a cabin, and there was a soft quilt draped over him and the lights were turned down low. He didn’t recognize his surroundings, but it was quiet and peaceful and it felt safe in a way that few places in his life had. 

The memory of the last time he’d felt this way intruded on his present surroundings, and a pang of disappointment thudded through him as he saw his mother wasn’t there – and then, suddenly, the memory of why she wasn’t there rose to the surface of his mind and reality came crashing down upon him. 

There is no Knight Lukas Kandarian. 

Panic flared, and Luke tried to bolt upright only to realize his left arm was restrained, bound by thick Velcroed cuffs that looped around and kept him pinned to a railing beside the bed. The back of his hand was covered with medical tape that held a needle and tubing connected to an IV stand hung next to the bed, and he couldn’t read the tiny lettering on the bag that would identify what drugs he was being pumped with. And his other arm, his right arm, was gone, or it had to be because he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything below his shoulder, and the last thing he remembered was fire pouring through his veins and searing over his flesh and – 

Alarms blared and the dim lighting in the bedroom was suddenly turned up and the tiny, crowded room filled with people. Hands pressed Luke down; he felt fingers at his throat, weight against his shoulders, and he was being pushed back into the mattress. He flailed, trying to wrench his bound arm free, and every movement made his entire body scream with pain, just as it had when – 

“Luke!” A cool, dry hand cupped his cheek, and a pair of pale blue eyes swam into his field of vision, blocking out everything and everyone else. He blinked, trying to get the face to come into focus, but the world remained hazy. He recognized the voice, at least: Kate, his half-demon girlfriend, who he’d been seeing behind his parents’ backs for the better part of a year. 

He opened his mouth to say her name but all that came out was a raspy croak that bore no resemblance to words. His mouth was terribly dry and his lips felt cracked and torn; he remembered biting his lips – and tongue and the inside of his cheek – to keep from screaming, and he tasted blood now, along with the sticky, cottony feeling of dry-mouth and dehydration. Kate held something cold to his lips and as he sucked on the ice chip and felt that blessed wet coldness on his tongue he blinked again, fighting back the memory of his mother doing the same thing for him years ago. 

While Luke slowly and cautiously nursed his ice chips Kate turned and motioned everyone else out of the room. The rest of the crowd remained an indistinct blur, all his attention and focus fixed on her. She looked tired and pale, with deep bags under her eyes, and there was a small cut along her cheekbone that was patched with a butterfly bandage. Her dark auburn hair had been pulled back in a braid, but somewhere along the line curling wisps had come loose to frame her face. Even exhausted and battered Luke had never seen anyone more beautiful. 

The panic had receded somewhat but Luke was still painfully aware of the restraints holding his arm in place – although he had enough presence of mind to notice that his right arm wasn’t gone, was in fact covered in stark white bandages and strapped to his chest. He still couldn’t feel it, but the fact that it was still there and not sparking endless waves of agony throughout his body seemed like some kind of miracle. 

Kate saw the direction of his gaze and smiled, small lines pulling at the corners of her mouth. She had a lopsided smile, the result of an unconscious attempt at hiding crooked teeth, and it made a tiny dimple appear in her right cheek that she would deny the existence of. Her hand, when she brushed it over his face, was surprisingly cool. He frowned at that; Kate always ran warm, which normally he appreciated since he typically ran cold, but for some reason her cool touch felt just as welcome. Maybe it was just that he always welcomed Kate’s touch, no matter what. 

“You’re safe,” she said, speaking quietly, as if to a skittish animal. “Your arm is … It’s healing.” 

Luke frowned again, because he was pretty sure that shouldn’t be possible. He remembered the Scions of the Unforgiven, and a sorcerer with a willingness to use blood magic, and he knew they’d intended to cripple him before they killed him. And then he remembered that the Knights of Oberon had left him to them, and that his father – his own father – had written him off, and suddenly nothing made sense because Kate certainly didn’t work for the Scions or the Knights and Luke didn’t know where he was but he was pretty sure he wasn’t in that horrible dark barn. 

“Where’mi?” he managed to slur out, although it took several tries to make himself even that intelligible. “Why’m I ‘strained?” 

“At the camp,” Kate replied. She gave him a stern look, then began pulling the Velcro restraints loose. The rasping noise was very loud in the otherwise quiet bedroom, and when she drew the strap away from his arm Luke managed to hold back all but the smallest sighs of relief. He couldn’t believe how agitated being restrained had made him feel, how vulnerable – even though he knew, intellectually, that there was no way a simple fabric-plastic mesh would keep him pinned if he really wanted to break himself loose. There were methods of restraining Incarnates and Knights of Oberon like himself – as his captors had demonstrated – but he couldn’t imagine Kate, of all people, using such means on him.

“As to why you’re restrained,” she went on, “You kept trying to rip the IV lines out and escape. And, I mean, I get it, you didn’t know where you were and you have some pretty good reasons to want to run, but we were afraid you were gonna hurt yourself.” Luke heard her unspoken “or someone else.”

He hung his head, embarrassment rippling through him at panicking in front of strangers, but then glanced up at the IV bag. He still couldn’t read the tiny lettering, and the contents of the bag were clear like water. “What’s in the IV?”

“Now? Saline, painkillers, antibiotics, I think. Before? I know we had to give you some blood, and you were pretty dehydrated and malnourished, so there was more saline and some kind of ... mixed meal replacement stuff? I’m not sure on the specifics, but Charlie can explain it better than I can.” 

As Kate went to put the restraints away in a nearby cabinet Luke settled his uninjured arm in his lap, studying it closely. There were red marks from when he’d pulled against the fabric, and underneath that he could see faint bruising from the manacles the Scions had used on him, but overall his left arm was undamaged aside from the silvery scars he’d had for years. Every Knight had their share of scars; his weren’t even all that dramatic or impressive. He looked down at his other arm, with its crisp white bandages, and suspected the same could not be said of that limb. He wondered what it would look like with the bandages off, and felt a mixed sense of curiosity and dread at the answer. On the one hand, he shouldn’t even still have a right arm, not after what that sorcerer had done to him. On the other, what if it was grotesque and misshapen? What if the limb had been saved, but what was left was so badly damaged as to be useless? What would become of him? The Knights of Oberon had no use for broken warriors. Then he remembered that he was no longer a Knight of Oberon, and the panic set in once again, because if he wasn’t a Knight of Oberon, what was he? 

He forced himself to calm down before the alarms started blaring again, and focused on his current circumstances. “The … camp?” he repeated, latching on to the first thing he could think of and looking up at Kate through his lashes. 

Kate shrugged, sitting down again in the chair beside Luke’s bed. From the looks of things she’d become accustomed to that perch: she sat, and folded her arms on the bed, an inch or two shy of touching his quilt-covered legs. She rested her chin on her arm and looked at him. “The Alliance camp. Our headquarters.” 

Luke sucked in a sharp breath, then forced himself to let it out slowly. The Alliance were very secretive about where they made their main camp. The Knights of Oberon had been looking for years, and every time they thought they were getting close they’d arrive only to discover that the allied supernatural forces had moved, or that they’d never been there to begin with. It made him sad, the mistrust between their two organizations, but there were supernatural species within the Alliance that the Knights of Oberon had hunted for centuries, and just because those species worked together to keep one another – and the mundane world around them – safe didn’t mean the Knights weren’t still considered the enemy. Luke was amazed that the Alliance would permit him within their headquarters – then he realized why. 

“Oh,” he said, voice coming out soft and just a little bit broken. “You know. About …” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t acknowledge his being disowned out loud. Kate just nodded, chewing on her lower lip, and Luke decided to switch topics: “How did I get here? Why am I here?” 

When Kate looked up again the expression on her face took his breath away. Her eyes shone with ferocity and her jaw was set in a hard, sharp line, her mouth pinched. 

“Because you’re mine,” she said fiercely, unfolding her arms so that she could reach out and place one hand on his leg, just above his knee. Even through the quilt she felt cool to him, and he realized he was perhaps a little bit feverish and that that was why Kate was cold in comparison. “You’re mine, and I don’t give a fuck if your stupid fucking family and your stupid fucking order want to throw you away. I want you. I want you, Luke.” 

“Oh,” Luke said again. He felt a little breathless and a whole lot lost. 

Before he could find the words to express how Kate’s declaration made him feel – and honestly, he wasn’t sure the words even existed to express his gratitude and the warm kernel of happiness that arose inside him at the realization that Kate wanted him as much as he wanted her – his attention was drawn to the doorway. A tall, angular woman with rich dark skin and hair pulled back in a pile of elaborately-sculpted dreadlocks leaned up against the doorframe, a tiny small on her full lips. He didn’t know her, but he recognized Ardyn LaSalle, the leader of the Alliance – the woman known as the General for her precise and competent leadership style. According to the files the Knights had on her, the General was a werewolf – turned, not born, and therefore seen as ‘lesser’ among fellow werewolves, and yet she had risen to a position of power and respect. No one would dare put this woman down for not being a pure-blooded were, not if they valued their skin. 

“Ma’am,” he said, feeling an absurd urge to stand and salute her, or at least to stand and fall into parade rest before her. He wasn’t even sure he could sit up without help, however, so the urge remained unfulfilled, and instead he gave her a tight nod of respect. 

“Mr. Kandarian,” she said in return, giving him a nod of her own. The tiny smile widened a little, becoming something toothy and almost predatory. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at least. Katherine’s had a lot to say about you.” 

Beside him, Kate ducked her head, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. Luke found that hilarious, that she could flat-out admit to wanting him, but the idea of him knowing that she’d been talking about him to other people made her blush. He let his good hand fall over hers on his knee, and his large fingers covered hers entirely. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand; he wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to soothe him or her. 

“So,” Ardyn LaSalle continued, still smiling, “In answer to your question about why you’re here, specifically, it’s fairly simple: The Alliance wants you, too.”

[impracticaldemon]

Dangerous Connections [late submission for Saichifest 2019]

by impracticaldemon a modern, non-canonesque, 4200-word vignette

Rating:  M / Lemon   Read also on FFN | AO3

Author's Note: I have no idea where this story came from. Unfortunately, it nagged at me until I wrote it, which delayed other writing. Part of the inspiration came from @nospringonions fanfic for Saichifest 2019 (although that fanfic feels brighter, and has a beginning, middle, and end).  This is one of my very few non-Shinsengumi-era stories. The setting is a modern Japan AU that has a slightly? darker feel to it than Hakuouki SSL. Partial inspiration for the feel—and Saito's motorbike—go to @kurokiorya

As a final note, the entire second half of the story is more or less about sex.

Dangerous Connections

"I found you a tutor, Hajime-kun!"

Saitō eyed his friend warily. That particular grin always made him nervous.

"Tanaka-sensei said that she would find somebody appropriate, Sōji. There's no need—"

"Tanaka-sensei has already approved my suggestion." Okita's smirk became even more pronounced. "She agreed that it made sense to get somebody who knew the club, and wouldn't mind working around your weird schedule. Besides, it turns out that Chizuru-chan was already on her list of candidates."

Saitō felt himself tense. "Yukimura? Sōji—that's—I don't think that's a good idea at all."

Okita laughed. "Worried you won't be able to concentrate? On the bright side, you won't want to embarrass yourself, right? I figure you'll be speaking and writing English like a pro in no time!" He punched Saitō lightly on the arm—lightly for Sōji, at least.

"There must be other—"

"Get a grip, Saitō! Your family said you had to pass your English competency exam, or quit the team." Okita's expression darkened. "And this year we're going to win the championship, so don't you dare let them force you to quit!"

"I don't intend to!" replied Saitō with rare heat. "You shouldn't have gotten involved in this."

"Oi, what's with you? I thought you'd be pleased. I'm pretty sure you've had a thing for Chizuru-chan for ages—and didn't you mention that your dad wanted you to find a suitable girlfriend? I mean, you're twenty now, and graduating uni in a couple of years, and—"

"Stay. Out. Of. This." Saitō turned on his heel and stalked off, shoulders rigid.

Okita was so surprised that he watched him go.

"Well that was weird—what the hell did you say to him?"

"Nothing he wanted to hear, apparently." It wasn't Heisuke's fault that Saitō was behaving like he had a poker up his butt, but Okita had to suppress an instinctive desire to lash out at the younger man. He didn't handle rejection well—he knew it, but that didn't make him any happier right now.

"Anything I can do to help?" Fortunately, Heisuke was reading the room for once, and didn't demand an immediate explanation. Okita grimaced inwardly. Heisuke was a good guy, and he'd matured a lot in the last couple of years—they all had, supposedly.

"Doubt it. Not unless you're in the mood to torture Hajime-kun for personal information?"

Heisuke stared at him, then waved his hands in an emphatic denial. "First of all, torture really isn't my thing. Second, I wasn't planning to die today."

"You saying I can't take Saitō?"

"MMMMFFFF." Heisuke pantomimed locking up his lips and throwing away the key. Then he ruined it by adding, "Who knows? Not me." He grinned at Okita. "I knows nuffin' guv'nah!"

"What the hell was that? As if your English isn't bad enough to begin with."

"Better'n yours and Saitō's, I hear."

Okita grimaced, then shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me, but Saitō's dad says he either passes the next time, or he's out of the kendo club—national championship or not. The guy's a hardass, too—if he says it, he means it. But we need that championship if we're going to get funding to go international." He scowled.

"Makes me glad I'm not the heir—or even runner-up heir—to some fancy corporation, for once. My dad just wants me to take his guilt money and lead my own life."

"Yeah, yeah. There are worse things, you know?"

"So I'm told." Heisuke bit back a snide rejoinder—Souji was always grouchy when it came to families. Besides, it reminded him what he'd come to say in the first place.

"I don't know if it's related, but I have some news for you. Bad news, and I wish Shinpat had found you first, to be honest. Assuming he didn't avoid you on purpose."

Okita gestured for him to continue, though he was still staring in the direction that Saitō had… gone.

"You know that pharmaceutical company that's been in the news so much recently?"

"No." Then Okita reconsidered. "Wait—yes. Hijikata was ranting about it yesterday, I think. Kondō-san kept having to calm him down—not that there's anything new in that."

"Well, turns out they were into some seriously illegal shit, and even had some kind of stolen army biotech they were working on."

"So?"

"It was owned by Chizuru-chan's dad. In fact, her brother was the manager, at least on paper."

That got Okita's full attention.

"Well, shit."

"Anyway, nobody knows if they were set up, or who leaked the info to the cops—or the press—and so far it's hard to say who in the family knew all the details."

"There is no way Chizuru-chan knew about it, or was involved," Okita snapped.

"Yeah, we know that. But for now, the family, and everyone close to the family, is a suspect. And it gets worse."

"How?" Okita was already trying to sort out the kind of impact this could have on the club. Chizuru was close friends with all of them, and she acted as a kind of book-keeper and general secretary.

"Chizuru's dad made a substantial donation to the club, back when Chizuru started university. That's kind of why we got stuck with her in the first place, remember—not that I minded."

Okita remembered. "Fuck. FUCK!"

"Right? A club like ours—any sports club that wants to compete at the national level and beyond—can't be associated with illegal drugs. And these ones involve army tech, so..."

"Why the hell didn't Hijikata explain this to me yesterday?!" demanded Okita.

Wisely, Heisuke didn't point out that Sōji probably hadn't been listening. Sometimes things were okay between those two, other times they weren't—as in, really weren't. At times like this, he envied Hajime-kun for not living with the rest of them.

Okita glared at Heisuke for not answering his question. "Fine. Where's Chizuru-chan?"

"We don't know."

"What?! How is that even possible? She lives with us, for crying out loud!"

Heisuke took a half-step back, mentally cursing Shinpachi for setting him up to be the bearer of ill tidings. Sōji tended to hit first, ask questions later—well, not so much now, but still. Normally, they sent Sano-san to do stuff like this, but Sano was out of town for the week.

"We think she's either been taken away by her dad, or kidnapped by those Kazama thugs." Heisuke had to lean in to whisper the words, and Okita took the opportunity to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

"Then what the hell are we doing just talking about it?! Why are we here at school instead of out looking for her?"

"I'm not gonna talk if you keep doing that!"

"Fine. Screw English class, I'm out of here. And I'm really pissed at Hajime-kun for not telling me all this earlier—he must have known."

"Our job is to go to school. Keep up appearances."

"Thank you for that, Hijikata-mommy-san. Sure, I'll do that." Without another word, Okita spun away from Heisuke, and ran for the main entrance.

Heisuke hesitated, then flung up his hands with a groan and sprinted off after him. Nobody was going to be happy when Sōji encountered the ladies and gentlemen of the press. And it wasn't Heisuke's fault that they'd trailed him here after Hijikata-san had slammed the house door in their faces.

Saitō's bike was expensive, but not showy, and it was a lot less noisy than most. That being said, he hadn't taken quite as much care as usual when he'd taken off from school after running into Sōji. Fortunately, he couldn't sense anyone watching as he methodically stowed the bike, and hurried through the parking lot door of his non-descript apartment building. On the face of it, he was just another young guy who'd probably forgotten something he needed for work or school. He'd done a good job of being anonymous here for two years; there was no reason to mess that up now.

He'd originally hoped to throw people off the scent by showing up for class as usual, but he just wasn't calm enough to pull it off. No matter how hard he tried, he still lacked the detachment and control of his father and grandfather—as they often pointed out. And ugh. Sōji had meant it for the best, but Saitō had hoped to avoid anything that might link him to Chizuru except as a member of the club's championship kendo team. The Kazama had top notch intelligence gatherers.

He made himself take the elevator up to his floor—which wasn't the penthouse, since that was just too obvious for the scion of a wealthy corporate empire. At least he wasn't the heir, thank all the gods. He unlocked the door to his apartment, and then carefully locked and bolted it behind him once inside.

"Hajime-san?"

And there she was, waiting for him. His heart-beat picked up at the thought.

"Chizuru…" It was still a delight to use her unadorned first name, and to hear his own name on her lips. He knew he was blushing, but he couldn't seem to help it, or to suppress the inappropriate—very warm—images that caused at least part of the blush.

Without warning—except that he was trained to read an opponent's slightest movement—Chizuru threw her arms around him, and buried her head against his shoulder. He tried not to react to her sudden proximity, but his hormones had other ideas. She was obviously frightened, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to gently lift her face to his, and kiss her. Not that they hadn't kissed before, but it was still so new to him—to them both—that he was immediately swept up in it, and didn't notice the passage of time until he realized that he had her pressed tightly against the hallway wall, one hand in her hair, and the other stroking the soft skin of her back under her blouse.

When he tried to draw away, Chizuru clung to him, her lips nuzzling his neck. He could tell that she was embarrassed, but also determined to keep him close. If only he were better at rational thought when they were together like this! Then he could comfort her properly, while still being aware of his surroundings, and considering what to do next.

"Chizuru, we need to plan." She couldn't stay hidden with him indefinitely—though part of him wished she would—but the alternatives weren't clear. "I think it's going to get more difficult after today…" Not so much because of Sōji blatantly throwing them together, but because the press was out there now, and hungry for details. The Kazama family wouldn't miss the opportunity to seize Chizuru if they could find her, and he suspected that Kōdō was finally scared enough to accept the Yukimura-Kazama merger, and hand her over to them to seal the bargain.

Saito made another effort to put some distance between them, but thinking about Chizuru engaged to Kazama Chikage made him want to do anything other than let go. In fact, he wanted very much to forget about everything other than finding out how best to please his beloved—if still secret—girlfriend. His mouth dipped down to the tip of her closest ear, and he began to trace the outer edge with his tongue, which elicited an intoxicating, shivery kind of gasp from Chizuru. He felt his pelvic muscles contract in response, and blood rush down to harden him into full arousal. Without another thought, he pressed a hard kiss—almost a bite—into the side of Chizuru's neck, making sure that his teeth would leave marks.

"Hajime…" Chizuru's voice was a little rougher than usual, and her breathing had quickened. He tightened his hand in her hair, and forced her head up to look at him, so that he could admire the scarlet that now bloomed high on her cheeks, and the way her eyes seemed to glow as she warmed into passion. When he brought his mouth to hers, abandoning her ear and neck, and biting gently on her lower lip, she made another half-muffled sound of pleasure, but louder and more distinct this time. He found himself trapping her even more tightly between his body and the wall, and grinding himself against her, while his tongue parted her willing lips and began to explore her mouth, eventually so deeply that it felt like a flagrant expression of what he wanted to do with the rest of her body.

As if in response to that thought, he felt Chizuru's hands tug the tail of his shirt free of his jeans, so that she could caress his bare skin in the same way that he was touching hers. His father wouldn't be very impressed at how easily distracted he was, he knew, but something rebelled in him at the thought. His friends and colleagues pushed him to be more open; his father and grandfather demanded perfect stoicism. Only Chizuru let him be entirely himself—she didn't mind his silences, she trusted him to listen when she wanted to talk, and she never seemed troubled by his awkwardness. He was utterly in love with her.

Still kissing, they undressed each other, fumbling at buttons, and even occasionally snarling at layers that wouldn't cooperate with their need to be skin-to-skin. Saitō retained enough sanity to lift Chizuru into his arms and carry her to his small bedroom, which was surely a more private and appropriate place to communicate such desires. Not until he laid her down on his bed—hair loose, clothing wildly askew, love-bite darkening on her neck—did he fully process what they were doing, and freeze, appalled by how far he'd let things go. He immediately sat back, still straddling her hips, and forced his greedy hands away from her skin.

To his surprise, Chizuru smiled up at him, and reached out to run her own hand down across the muscles of his stomach to rest lightly on the tight bulge still constrained by his lower fly and boxer-briefs. The button to his jeans was already undone, although it had taken her some minutes to achieve this, earlier. He still wasn't sure whether the button had actually been difficult, or if she'd just been distracted by his lips on her skin, and on the thin material of her lacy bra. Her nipples had hardened intriguingly under the ministrations of his stroking, pinching fingers, and then tongue and teeth.

He stared down at her now, breathless and dry-mouthed with desire, blood pounding in his ears, but desperate not to injure her in any way. Her thumb rubbed gently, but attentively, at the head of his erection, and he flinched inwardly at the combination of the exciting, pleasurable sensation, and the vulnerable, loving, determined expression on her lovely face. It might feel wonderful, but it wasn't right—not when there was fear and sadness lurking behind her passion.

"Chizuru," he whispered, barely able to resist leaning forward into her touch, while forcing himself to keep his hands curled on his thighs, rather than caressing her breasts, or busy with the pale blue panties that lay visible below her loose, rumpled skirt.

"I want this, Hajime. You love me, you believe in me, and I want you to be the first, since I don't know what the future has in store for either of us."

"We'll stay together no matter what, I promise, if that's what you want. But don't—Chizuru, those are the wrong reasons—you must know that!" He hoped that his voice betrayed neither the effort it cost to be rational, nor his hurt at her lack of confidence. In him, in them, he wasn't sure which.

He read stubbornness—and true longing—in her eyes, and the set of her lips. She wasn't going to back down, not when she believed in what she was saying.

"Your father won't want an alliance with a disgraced family, we both know that. And the Kazama want me so that I can produce an heir to both families, Kazama and Yukimura, now that their victory is certain. A marriage, an heir—that will bring everyone into line, and keep our noble blood pure." The last word was low and bitter. "Are you going to subject your family, and your friends, and all their dreams, to the inevitable retaliation? They—the Kazama—can be brutal, you know."

"My family can look after itself," he told her forcefully, trying and failing to ignore her insistent caresses. He shifted a little, then caught her wrists, pushing her down into the bed. "Don't offer yourself to me on such terms. I'll refuse." He wasn't sure he could, but he'd do his best.

Chizuru stared at him, clearly frustrated in every way, but also, maybe, a little hopeful. Or was he imagining it, because he wanted her so much, and needed her to want him back out of love and passion, not despair—or as part of some ridiculous, fatalistic goodbye.

"Hajime? I don't want you to get hurt. I love you. That's the only reason I would ever go to them—"

"I know, but this—" He swallowed, unable to do what he should, and just get up, and get his mind back on prioritizing her safety, and—and so on. Why couldn't things be simple? Why did he always think too much?! He could practically feel Sōji's eyes mocking him for his indecision.

"I'm sorry," Chizuru whispered into the silence. "I was being selfish—to want this time with you. This is my fault—"

"Dammit—no!" He let go of her wrists and curved his hands around her cheeks to cradle her head. "Just… just don't go there." He bent down to kiss her fiercely on the lips, and was surprised to discover that his control was still pitifully weak. Desire reignited as he registered the heat of her skin against his bare chest, and felt her lips part beneath his. He heard her breath hitch—just as it had earlier—and then her arms tightened around him, pulling him fully against her, so that he barely had time to brace one forearm to avoid falling.

"I won't give up—"

"I won't let you go."

With little grace, but also no pointless self-consciousness, he freed them both from their remaining clothes, and gave himself over to kissing and teasing and caressing his beloved's body into heated, extravagant arousal. Inexperience didn't mean lack of imagination, and he'd imagined making love to her so many times before, often to his own chagrin. He kissed and tasted and left marks on her skin, and suckled her breasts, and ran strong, demanding hands along her sides and over her hips and belly and around her smooth backside. And he thanked her, in fervent, heartfelt whispers, for letting him hear her cries of passion, and for sharing her wonderful, sweet body with him.

Her scent was intoxicating—he hadn't realized how much it would affect him. When his explorations finally reached the damp, sensitive folds of skin at her centre, and his fingers started to learn the contours of her most private places, her soft cries became whimpers, and he saw her biting her lower lip so hard that he thought it might bleed.

"Chizuru…" He almost stilled his hand, worried for the first time that he'd somehow hurt her, in his ignorance, but when his fingers slowed, and he lifted his lips from the hard nub of one breast, her expression plainly begged him not to stop, and he felt her hips jerk so as to press her mound more firmly against his hand. Only a little while later, he found himself sliding his fingers within her, both elated and a little shocked by how much he wanted to do such things. His body was beginning to quiver with need and anticipation of release, and he knew that she could feel his hard length pressed tightly against her thigh, and perhaps even the slightly sticky fluid that had started to pool on her skin. Without conscious thought, he pressed his fingers deeper within her, and felt inner muscles tremble and contract against them. Abruptly, he wasn't sure how he was going to manage to hold back any longer. He pulled away from her uncertainly, aware that he'd become completely focussed on sensation.

"Hajime…" She said his name like a plea, and lust jolted through him.

"Chizuru, I… I…" He swallowed, so deep in desire that he couldn't form a proper question. When she reached out and pulled his mouth down to hers, kissing him passionately, his whole body twitched involuntarily, and he clung to her, feeling his climax starting to build out of control. He could only hope—though he was moderately optimistic—that he'd made his lover feel the same way.

He was incredibly grateful when Chizuru shifted her hips, and awkwardly, but without hesitation, helped guide him to her entrance. He took that as permission to finally surrender his thread-bare self-command and join with her, and a soft groan escaped his lips as he thrust into her, his hands moving to grip her hips as he rocked hard against her once, and then withdrew a short space before burying himself deep into her once more, savouring the way her tight, slick walls clenched and pulsed around his shaft. She was very wet, and she smelled of arousal and sex, and a strong wave of possessiveness swept over him along with the desperate yearning of near-orgasm. Unable to stop, he thrust into her again and again, listening to her moan, and feeling her writhe beneath him. Somewhere in the haze of adrenaline and pleasure, he promised himself to do more for her next time, since this time he seemed to lack the ability to do much more than ride a dizzying wave of physical sensation until he was coming hard and fast inside her, his seed spilling hot within her welcoming body.

They lay together for some time afterwards, without speaking, their bodies still joined, their skin sticky with sweat and still sensitive to the other's touch. Saitō was conscious that he had left numerous bruises and marks on Chizuru—some light, some deep—and he was embarrassed that he didn't fully recollect being so rough. It had also occurred to him, too late, that he probably hadn't been careful enough or gentle enough, given that it was her first time. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be able to think clearly enough to express his concern just yet. He suspected he was smiling, and was a little worried that he looked smug.

Chizuru, on the other hand, looked… happy. More than happy. For some reason that Saitō couldn't fathom, she was gazing lovingly up at him through dreamy, half-closed eyes, and showed no inclination to have him move from where he lay. The only problem was that he felt a distinct inclination to make love to her again, but wasn't sure whether that would be either appropriate, or welcome. He'd never been entirely sure what women really thought about sex, having never had the opportunity—or courage—to ask. But… she really did look happy. And beautiful. Gorgeous, even. Although that didn't necessarily reflect how she felt.

"Thank you," he said, at last. It didn't begin to convey how he felt, but it was a start.

"Oh…" Chizuru looked startled, but then relaxed again and grinned at him. "You're welcome—I mean, thank you, too."

There was a lot going on, back in the real world. And somebody was going to track them down, probably either Sōji, or Hijikata-san, and probably sooner rather than later. Saitō tightened his arms around Chizuru.

"Remember, you promised."

"I know. No giving myself up just to protect everyone I care about—and especially you—from the anger of the most powerful family in the country."

He blinked. "Somehow you make it sound like I'm being selfish." Then, before it could even begin to turn into another disagreement, he added. "But even if I am—yes, that is correct. Also, to quote something either Sano-san, or Shinpachi, said one time: have a little faith, okay?"

Chizuru looked up at him with an unusually roguish smile.

"I have faith in your endurance…"

Saitō felt his eyes widen in surprise, and then Chizuru suddenly looked away, red suffusing her cheeks. Gently, he turned her face back toward his, and kissed her forehead.

"I'm sorry if I was too rough—I really am. I don't know what was wrong with me. But I'd be very happy to let you test my endurance, if you want to."

And if Sōji, Hijikata-san, or anyone else needed him in the next hour or two, then that was just too bad. Chizuru's well-being, and her good opinion of him, were far more important than a national championship, a potential rift with his father, or the threats of a family with distinctly dangerous business practices.

[END]

A/Note:  I realized part-way through editing that the background for this Saito is influenced by that of the Saito from an entirely different otome game (DTL)

Tags: @shell-senji @hidetheremote @eliz1369 @nalufever @annedey @nospringonions @soujthings @do-it-for-keef @sabinasanfanfic @fury-ous @canadiangaap @aetherium-weaver @hakuyamazakisensei @petri808

To those who read Teachings of Demons:  the new chapter is underway and should be finished this weekend.  Still dealing with a number of distractions, but hoping for solid writing time in March.

~ Imp

[faelune-home]

FFXIV Write 2020 #12: Tooth and Nail

(A/N: There’s a part of me that’s not actually too happy with the presentation of this fic. I struggled with trying to phrase certain things or even just to move the scene along (The scene itself I’m fine with I’m quite happy with my topic. Though I’m amused at myself that another ‘simple idea’ got away from me and turned into feels lol). Maybe whenever I go to post this to Ao3 next month, I can edit it and fix it up with different eyes another day.

Speaking of feels, part of the problem during writing was I actually got weirdly emotional actually writing this. :’D But then as much as I say I am not my WoL, my feelings are very much the same as hers as a player, I have kinda projected that part of myself onto her in a way rip

Set during late Shadowbringers, storming Mt Gulg.

Word count: 1547

@ffxiv-writers)

The climb was intense, worsened by the assault of the sin eaters that managed to slip through the fae folks’ ranks. By the time the Scions had even made it to the top of the mountain - pearly pillars and lavish gardens awaiting them - they were already spent. Their own Warrior most of all.

“No-one here would judge you if you took the time to rest. We can push forward for you and let you save your strength for Vauthry,” Ryne suggested, wearing through her lip with worry. Despite her heavy panting, doubled over onto her knees, Fufu shook her head and gave the young girl a pained smile.

“I appreciate the thought, but it's fine. I can handle this,” she said, straightening up and giving Alphinaud a grateful nod, the boy having been tending to a nasty scratch on her arm.

“I would echo Ryne’s sentiments,” Y’shtola piped up, a heavy frown on her face. Even as the other miqo’te girl opened her mouth to protest, the scholar continued, “I am not trying to suggest you aren’t capable, we all here know that you could handle a fight like this at any other time. But I'm not going to pretend I’m not concerned about your current state. If you’re already struggling like this after four Lightwardens, what would taking in a fifth do to you?” Ears flattened against her head, Fufu could only grimace, unsure how to respond.

A loud hollar of “Incoming!” made the party start, ready to either dart for safety or jump into a fight; Thancred and Alisaie ran toward the waiting group, having chosen to scout ahead and deal with any lingering sin eaters in their upcoming path, yet now a horde followed them back to their companions. As the two ducked for cover, Y’shtola and Urianger swiftly took their places.

The throng of beasts were quickly lost in the blazing smoke and ash, most destroyed by the two Scions, and what few survived fled back into the mountaintop palace.

“Well, I’ll say that the way is mostly cleared now,” Thancred panted, collapsed against the wall, though he wore a crooked smile as though he’d just returned from a simpler errand. “What’d we miss?”

“Though not one to question her fortitude, it appears the weight of the Light within bears heavy on our friend’s shoulders,” Urianger responded, his expression blank as he averted his eyes.

“There’s no weight here,” Fufu grumbled, exasperation evident in her huff, “I can keep going.”

“Can you?” Fufu winced, casting a glance toward Alisaie, flinching again at the girl’s harsh expression. Despite the look in the miqo’te eyes seeming to say ‘Not you too’, the red mage brushed aside her brother’s fretting fingers and walked up to the Warrior of Darkness, saying, “You are an incredible fighter but this particular trek has shown your limits so far. Twelve above, we had to catch you when you nearly fell off near the start, and we’d barely fought anything then.”

“We were in the middle of fighting something then, weren’t we?” the woman pouted. Then with a sigh, she added, “I hear you all, and I know that you’re all worried. And I get the logic of asking me to save my strength for Vauthry. He’s not gonna be an easy fight and it's already hard enough with every sin eater under the skies hounding us here.

“But I have to keep going. I couldn’t bear the thought of everyone rushing in to clear a path for me without putting in some of the work myself. I’m gonna give this all of my strength and I’m gonna see this done.” Looking over all her gathered friends with a smile, she nodded.

“I want to see this done so the people of Norvrandt can finally know some peace. I know the sin eaters won’t disappear completely once he’s dead, even with however many we’ve had to deal with just getting up here, but without a leader I’d like to hope they’ll be easier to fight for the soldiers or hunters across the lands. But also…” She trailed off, a guilty look in her eye.

“What?” Ryne prompted. Fufu gulped, her lip quivering.

“It’s a bit of a selfish idea, even if it’s paired with something that needs to happen anyway,” she mumbled, looking to the ground. “I want to see this finished, and then we can work on a way to get everyone home.” Even as the stunned looks spread throughout the group, she continued, “I haven’t been here for years like everyone else. I haven’t had to adjust to the same degree as you all. But I can see the love and care you have for the people here. 

“I wanted to help not just because it was the right thing to do, to prevent something if it was in my power, but also because I knew you would want to see people you’ve all grown to care for kept safe and assured a future. But now I want the same,” she finished, her voice quivering and a stray tear dribbling down her cheek. “Vauthry’s the end and I want to see this through every step.”

There was almost no immediate response, bar the tentative reassuring hands of the twins on the woman’s shoulders, as she frantically rubbed at her face and tried to fight back the rest of her tears.

“You’re right that it is a necessary act that we return home, given the state of our bodies here,” Y’shtola finally spoke up, voice even, “but to call it selfish that you desire our own safety seems cruel to yourself and your own feelings.” 

She smiled, tinged with melancholy, “I appreciate your candidness however in acknowledging that we have integrated into groups and cultures that we have no doubt grown close to. Of course I have thought of home and my family many times these past few years, but I’d be a fool if I didn’t admit to wondering if there were ever a way to remain here. To stay with ones I would cherish with equal measure.”

“But you can’t, can you?” Ryne mumbled. Thancred gave her head a gentle pat, yet said nothing.

“Not as far as I have researched, unfortunately,” the seeker miqo’te admitted.

“Any such research done on the Source would be too late for our dearest companions, given the vast stretches of time that would pass here,” Urianger added, at some point in the conversation having put distance between himself and the group, staring out over Kholusia with his back to them. Ryne sniffed, and the Warrior of Darkness pulled her into a hug.

“If this is to be the way of things,” Alphinaud stated, a serious furrow to his brow, “then the least we can do for our friends here would be to leave them with the gift of the night and no more Lightwardens to harass them. As you said it, we would promise them the future.” Everyone nodded, the determined looks mirrored on all their faces.

Then a loud echoing filled the air, the Scions flinching at the force as the mountain under their feet quivered.

“HAVE THE VILLAINS CEASED THEIR ADVANCE? DO THEY NOW REALISE THE FUTILITY OF THEIR CAMPAIGN? HAVE I BEEN PROVEN RIGHTEOUS?!”

Thancred stumbled to his feet, weapon in hand as he grunted, “I think I speak for all here when I say that I’d very much like to finally shut him up. Let’s get on with this then.”

Everyone got to their feet, ready to move on finally, but not before they paused and looked to their ailing friend, concern still evident in the air.Thancred turned to her and said, “I shall be leading the van as always, but it's your own decision if you're up front with me or if you decide to hang back until the way is clear. No one here will force you one way or another.”

“I appreciate it,” Fufu said, “but I’ll be going.” The man shrugged, looking neither bothered nor encouraged by her response. As he shifted to the front of the group with Y’shtola and Urianger, and Ryne trailing behind, Alisaie marched over to Fufu, her arms folded stiffly and her lips pressed thin, and stated, “I want it said now that the first sign of you struggling or wavering, you will stop and rest. There’ll be no question about it.”

Fufu spied the way the elezen girl’s hands gripped at her elbows, the knuckles white with the pressure, and the watery sheen in her blue eyes. Giving her a reassuring smile, Fufu ruffled the girl’s hair and said, “I can agree to that. If it puts your mind at ease.”

“It’s got nothing to do with that,” Alisaie huffed, head ducked down before racing ahead with a quickness. Stifling a chuckle at the girl’s obvious concern, Fufu gave herself a shake, ignoring the uneasy ache buried deep in her gut, dismissing it as the light within her. This was the final trial. After this, the Exarch could get them all home. Even if he didn’t know how, he’d have the time to find out with no more sin eaters to threaten the people. She could do it.

They could do it, with all their strength together.