#(shakes head) archadians...

[disillusionedjudge]

@tarnishedxknight - continued from here

Gods above, she should have been dead.

With a low groan, Gylfie blinked open her eyes as her head throbbed and swam. But her blurred vision only made her knotted stomach worse, and she squeezed her eyes shut despite the agony in her skull, and remained still. Terrified to move as adrenaline continued to rush through her veins. Could she even move? Oh, gods, if something was broken--

Her heart felt as though it were going to burst as she gasped for breath, but... Slowly, she began to test herself. She wiggled her fingers, then her toes, and allowed her hands to twitch. Cautious but eager to determine if she could move. To see if something was broken. The ringing in her ears made it impossible to tell if they were calling down to her, or if someone had joined her. Although she knew, herself, that she should have been dead, the thought had yet crossed her mind that the others may believe the same. Because... because Larsa was with them, and she knew he would not give up so easily.

Right?

She shrugged her shoulders, and bit back a hiss of pain as her muscles screamed in protest. Her body would be battered and bruised without a doubt, but... still, as she tested each limb and forced herself to move despite the pain that radiated throughout, she could not deny her relief. Slowly, she rolled onto her side - her jaw clenched tight to muffle her agonized cries and whimpers - and forced herself to sit up. Her chest heaving with the effort and pain her body was in, and she squeezed her eyes shut once more as she fell back against the rocky mountainside. Tears slipping out and down dusted and scraped cheeks as her hands shook.

How in the seven hells had she survived?

Yet, that was not a question Gylfie needed answering. Not as her mind slowly came to, not as her stomach began to settle, and as the throbbing inside her skull began to ease. Nothing was broken, although her exhaustion left her utterly spent and unable to move much more. But... Larsa needed her. She needed to get back to him and the others. It would soon be nightfall, and if she were left alone--

Her heart began to pound, but she dared not let herself get lost in the idea of being abandoned there to die. But a thought was still a thought, no matter how hard she tried to push it down, and a part of her still wondered if she was already abandoned. Basch was traveling with them, after all. Would he not seize the opportunity to have one less Archadian to deal with? Why would he stay to help her, when he had so quickly abandoned his own brother? Gods above, would he leave her for her loyalty to Gabranth alone?

Gylfie couldn't get her voice to work - unable to cry out that she was alive. To see if they were still there. Balthier and Fran would argue for her, wouldn't they? Larsa would. Surely someone would...?

No, she could not wait for someone. She needed to move. Needed to--

A fresh surge of adrenaline gave her the strength to move again, but as she tried to draw her legs beneath her so she could force herself to her feet, a strangled scream caught behind her clenched teeth instead. Her shaking hands flew to her left thigh as she glanced down, wild-eyed and gasping for breath, and felt her heart jump into her throat as her stomach lurched. Blood was beginning to soak the stone beneath her - spilling from a jagged gash from split flesh she could see beneath her soaked and torn clothing. How she had failed to notice it sooner, she did not know, but she was going to be sick.

She choked down the bile that rose into her throat, her jaw still clenched far too tight, as her breaths came out in shallow, shaking pants. She jerked her head back to look away from the wound as she clutched her thigh in a desperate attempt to stanch the flow as her blood began to stain her skin. As her heart seemed to race faster and faster - as it took everything in her not to spiral into a complete panic attack. She didn't want to die. She didn't--

"He--" Gylfie's voice was strangled - choked with panic and desperation. Her heart skipping a painful beat when she heard her name. Thank Faram! "He-here! Please..."

But her relief was shortlived, and as Basch came to her side, a part of her wondered if she would die after all. He would leave her to bleed out and rot, would he not? Why would he spare you when he left his brother and mother for death to claim?

"Where--" Gylfie flinched with a hiss as she recoiled away from him. Another strangled whine catching in her throat like a wounded dog's. Were they alone? Gods, do not let that be! "Di-- Did Balthier fol-follow?" Her heart only beat faster, though she hardly seemed to notice. Her breaths shallow and ragged as her mind continued to spiral. As her terror replaced her hatred of him. Her wound was still bleeding, the scent of it choking her as it coated her hands and soaked her pants, and she could no longer escape the terrifying thought that she was going to die.

And Basch would leave her, like he left his brother. Like Takrin left her.

"Do-- Do not le-leave," she begged. "Please."

[stingslikeabee]

' some wounds do not close; i have many such. ' hi you get gabranth today.

'The Favourite' starters . accepting

An imperial judge was already someone difficult to physically harm given their metal plating; a magistrate such as Gabranth should be nearly impossible to hit, unless the very man wished for such. And yet, once his deadly armor was removed during one of their clandestine encounters, the Bhujerban gasped audibly at the angry, red gash that was visible on Gabranth's back. It was fresh and it should be stinging enough to make a lesser individual flinch, but not him.

Not Gabranth.

"You didn't tell me you were injured," Melissa exclaimed, and the noises coming from the adjourning room were the cues that the Landissian needed to determine his companion had started a search for some potion or lotion for the marred flesh. The dancer's voice was mixed - concern and reproach mingled in an unique way, the Bhujerban's disposition growing agitated as she settled behind him with the necessary instruments.

"The Empire has no shortage of enemies," the man merely shrugged, an action that got both of Melissa's hands over his shoulders almost immediately, forcing him to be still. Although the woman had said nothing, Gabranth used to joke that she spoke through the mere jingle of her jewelry. It was as if her bracelets and other trinkets reacted to his carelessness instead, beads and chains clinking loudly while she worked on his back and puffed hot air over his flesh.

"This was no enemy - that armor of yours is a monstrosity to get off even with your aid. I cannot think of anyone skilled enough to cut you like this unless you allowed them the privilege," the Bhujerban countered, even if both of them were aware that, right then, Melissa could have done it - the dancer had her digits coated in a soothing lotion, but they could very well carry a blade. The judge bared his unguarded frame to her - and in doing so, offered more than just tangible skin and bodily warmth.

"This was friendly fire, was it not? During a training session?" the Bhujerban ventured a guess - after all, only another magistrate could best a colleague, and they often trained with and without their weapons. The fact that it was on his back suggested a bit of foul play - the act of a coward, perhaps when Gabranth was already retreating. It fueled Melissa with a strange type of fury: quiet and cold, even if her hands had been working diligently on the area.

"You worry too much about me - you should know some wounds do not close; I have many such," Gabranth said in that unique conversation where neither looked the other in the eyes given their angle, but Melissa knew what he meant. Shaking her head and finally done with everything, the dancer finally left the bed if only to carry the curatives elsewhere and clean her hands of whatever lingered of the lotion. Some of the Bhujerban's own jewelry was discarded then - and she made considerably less noise when returning to bed, climbing onto the furniture from the other side and kneeling in front of the judge at long last.

"I know. I cherish them," she said, raising honeyed eyes to look into his usually tormented blue irises; "Gabranth has no such wounds, only Noah. As long as they exist, so does he. And I'm here to make sure he never disappears," the Bhujerban explained, voice as light as a feather but with words carrying the weight of all Ivalice on them. It was a promise; a futile one, the judge argued, but they were equally stubborn and fond of lost battles.

Melissa dragged herself forward them, picking both of Gabranth's hands and placing them over her waist - there was not much left to remove off her body if the Archadian opinion was anything to go by, but that was a task for the man hiding under the heavy plating discarded a moment earlier. The digits over her hips pressured the smaller body in response, earning the man a smile - instinct or not, that was precisely the reaction the dancer was seeking.

"Now, careful with your back, Noah. Let me soften the fall for you," the girl murmured, pulling him for a kiss and wordlessly begging for him to cover the Bhujerban instead, "Lay your burdens on me for now."

[lambofasolidor]

@tarnishedxknight - continued from here

Cygni remained crouched as her head spun - her blood pounding in her ears as she squeezed her eyes shut. She was almost afraid to move. Afraid if she did, she would find something broken. Find that the crash had done more harm than she could tell. It had been far from ideal to be sure, but what had to be done had to be done...

She opened her eyes as she heard the sound of someone struggling, and her pain dissipated with the jolt of panic through her heart. She heaved herself to her feet, ignoring the sudden lurch of her stomach as she clenched her teeth to keep from vomiting, and moved to Basch's side as he slumped over. Her vision slowly coming back into focus as she grabbed hold of his arm, and touched one hand to his cheek. Whatever pain and discomfort she felt fell away as she examined him - as her mind sharpened - and she resisted the urge to lay a tender kiss upon his forehead. Ignored the surge of relief and joy that filled her chest just at the sight of him alone, and instead focused on taking count of his haggard state.

That alone turned her joy into utter heartbreak.

"Dee-deep breaths for me," she whispered, and did well to hide the way her voice wanted to shake. Did well to steady the tremor in her hands as she did her best to force her attention away from his frail frame. Gods, he was so thin... And the raw flesh that had been eaten away from the restraints of his cage-- "'Tis only- only me, Basch. I- I have you, now." I will not let you go again. "Ste-steady. Let- let me take- take care of you."

It was easy enough, to allow her magic to flow through her hands. For her to direct it into him, as her brow furrowed in concentration and as her breathing slowed. As her own aches faded into nothing, with her attention only on healing someone as dear as he. But Cygni met his gaze as his eyes slowly opened, and--

A smile tugged at her lips - filled with relief despite the way her heart ached for him - and as tears of relief pricked at her eyes. And hearing her name fall from his lips...

Oh, it was so good to see his smile again.

"I- I am here," she soothed, and briefly permitted a moment's affection by brushing her thumb over his cheek. Her gaze flicked briefly to the scar that marred his face and ear, and she felt her heart begin to break all over again. It was not difficult to see the torture he had suffered, but to know the bad blood between him and Gabranth...

She dare not allow herself to think of such things.

Instead, Cygni kept focus on Basch. On her magic surging through her and into him, and on their surroundings. Ever painfully aware now of the quiet that descended upon them, and the waking fear of being caught by Archadian soldiers. But she would not rush him, not when he could barely even open his eyes. She doubted there would be trouble from Archadians just yet, with how far they had fallen. "Keep your- your focus on- on me. I- I need you to- to stay awake for- for me a- a little longer. We- we can rest once we- we return to- to Dalmasca."

[tarnishedxknight]

"What... did you want to do about us?" Gylfie's gaze lingered on her lovers - her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her brow furrowed with worry, but still filled with love. "Politically, we may have nothing to worry about, but... you are still married." She shifted on her feet, and her gaze flickered away a bit awkwardly. "I don't know how this could be taken in this time, even without such constraints."

(( @disillusionedjudge for Caelen and Wynna in their poly au, specifically from their Dalmascan au, and in their mcu au! And if we wanna make things extra complicated, maybe Gylfie just found out she's pregnant? 👀))

@disillusionedjudge

Caelen glanced at Wynna, and not a moment later, she at him. "Well..." he began with hesitation, "to be quite honest, I am fairly certain that all legal record of our marriage was destroyed long ago, and that we likely are not considered wed by the standards of this time period."

"That is hardly the point, darling," Wynna said gently, smirking ever so slightly.

"I-I know, I..." He glanced at Gylfie and then back at Wynna. "I merely did not want Gylfie to think that the two of us were somehow more official or more in love simply because we were married. I am rather certain we are all on equal footing in many ways in this time."

"I see," Wynna said. "Perhaps you are right, but so is Gylfie. We do not know what is socially acceptable here. Goodness knows that in our own time our love might have been held up to ridicule even without the dire political consequences it begged. For all we know... the three of us being in love... could be outright illegal." Oh, but she'd frightened herself with that innocent musing. "Oh gods, do you suppose it is?!" she said, starting to panic.

"We do not know that for sure," Caelen said, taking her hand. "Please do not fear just yet. We... Might we ask someone?" he suggested, turning back to Gylfie. "Is there a way to do so without... arousing suspicion?"

Wynna suddenly giggled in so high-pitched a manner as to cause Caelen to look at her in surprise. She slapped her hand over her mouth before whispering the reason. "I do adore the way you say 'arouse,' my love. Please forgive me."

"You are impossible," he said affectionately.

Wynna blushed. "I shall try to focus, but I simply cannot be held responsible for my actions if you continue to use words like arouse."

Caelen couldn't help but smile, despite the seriousness of the issue at hand. Wynna had an almost childlike innocence about her that was refreshing, even if at times it was borderline inappropriate. He loved her for who she was, however, and he was sure that Gylfie did the same.

"Speaking of such things... We shall have to figure out a solution soon. If we are to tell everyone that we are married, yet Gylfie is with your child, that will no doubt be seen as scandalous..." Wynna said.

"One can only assume it will be, yes," Caelen said, though he really knew nothing about the societal norms of this time. "I... honestly think the best approach is to inquire with someone we trust as to what is socially acceptable and what our options are. Do either of you know such a person?"

"Not me," Wynna said, shaking her head. "I believe I've spoken more to the Archadians than I have to anyone of this time." Realizing what she'd said, she glanced at Gylfie. "I did not mean you, love," she clarified. "I have actually found Drace to be rather palatable for an Archadian."

"As have I, but she would know no better than we what we might face in this time," Caelen said.

"What about the one in charge? Lord... Stark, or some such?" Wynna asked.

"Would men not be more prejudiced to our relationship than women?" Caelen asked.

"I do not know, but... women seemed to be rather empowered here. At least in this kingdom. Perhaps we could ask one of them? There has been one who has been rather friendly and forthcoming to me of late. The one named after an insect."

Caelen's brow furrowed in confusion.

Wynna's gaze moved back and forth between him and Gylfie. "Well... she introduced herself as Gnat."

Caelen fought back a smile. "N-no, love, I believe that is short for something longer. Natasha, I think."

"Oh." Wynna considered that for a second. "Well that makes a lot more sense," she concluded. "Might we inquire with her?" she asked.

[lightinxthedark]

How would Veadris react to Ashelia or Caelen being in a poly relationship? How would she react if they have a child/children out of wedlock?

@tarnishedxknight

((ooh, these are good, heh. I'm gonna answer them separately because the answers are gonna be a tad different, but not a whole lot!

How would Veadris react to Ashelia or Caelen being in a poly relationship?

To be perfectly honest, she wouldn't understand it in the beginning, and I'm not sure if she would come to a full understanding, but she would support them regardless. Again, Vea wants her children to be happy and safe, and if they find happiness with multiple partners, how could she be upset about that? She... is very much so monogamous, so the idea of loving multiple people at once and being able to commit to multiple people at once is kinda mindboggling to her, heh. Not in a bad way or anything of the sort, but she would worry about one person not being as fully committed to one of their partners, jealousy becoming an issue, and someone accidentally feeling like they're the third-wheel in their own relationship. I think she'd definitely question Ashe or Caelen about it because she's worried about them, not because she thinks they're wrong or leading someone on or anything of the sort, but once she realizes they're genuinely happy and everyone involved is consenting to being in a poly relationship, she'll accept it. Again, she might not understand it, but she loves her children, she wants them to be happy, and they can make their own life decisions just fine.

How would she react if they have a child/children out of wedlock?

So... I'll answer this in general, but it's gonna pick on Caelen specifically since he's the one with a child out of wedlock in an au I have with Silence, heh. In general, Vea is... not gonna be pleased, heh, since while her mindset/beliefs are fairly progressive all things considered, she is not as progressive as to be chill with people having kids without being married. Now, she's not an ass about it, and she may disapprove but she's not going to judge since it absolutely has zero effect on her, but she's going to shake her head and hope for the best. Vea believes it's better to have kids while married because that will provide stability for them, though, as a quick tangent, she knows not all marriages work, so it's different if someone becomes a single parent because of divorce (or if something happens to their spouse in general), and would rather see that someone gets a divorce than force themselves to stay with someone who they're not compatible with for whatever reason because there's a child/children involved.

Anyway. She wouldn't be happy initially, but she would push aside her disappointment in favor of making sure Ashe or Caelen are alright, and doing what she can to support them, although she'd make it clear they're responsible for their child. Vea will be delighted to be a grandmother, but if Ashe or Caelen are capable of taking care of their own child, she's not going to take responsibility for their child because they don't want to. Now, obviously, it would be different if they couldn't for whatever reason, but that's just a given in general - Vea would never hesitate to take in any grandchildren of hers if something happened to their parents.

In the case of Caelen's au daughter, Myra (who he has with my muse, Gylfie, over on @disillusionedjudge), Vea would, again, not be pleased, heh. Especially taking into consideration that Caelen is trying to hide his true identity and Gylfie is an Archadian Judge - those two having a child is not doing them any favors about keeping their relationship on the down low, lol. And, to be clear, Vea wouldn't be disappointed only with her son - it takes two to tango, after all, so she wouldn't be pleased with him or Gylfie, but... at the end of the day, what's there to do? She won't stay disappointed forever and she won't hold it against either of them, and she will do whatever she can to help them out. If they need her to babysit Myra, she'd do so in a heartbeat. If they want pointers or suggestions, she'd be happy to teach them what she knows about parenthood. She'd understand Gylfie's struggles with motherhood and would sympathize with her feeling disconnected from her daughter, and she'd understand if Caelen is overwhelmed by being a single father and running his business. Now, of course, this is all running on the assumption she knows Caelen is Cael Skjult and all that jazz, but I'm not gonna dive into the specifics of that, heh. And, in their case, it would be a situation where Vea would raise Myra herself if they asked, just because of how complicated their situation is.

Going back to a more general answer, aside from being disappointed, Vea would be worried for Ashe or Caelen. She knows they would be heavily scrutinized for having a child out of wedlock, especially if Ashe or Caelen are in Dalmasca's center of attention for being royalty. Caelen's au with Myra, for example, would probably lead to judgment but maybe not as harshly because he's living in Old Archades, while if he fathered Myra out of wedlock while he was still a Prince (especially as Crown Prince), that judgment would be a helluva lot stronger. And if Ashe had a child out of wedlock? Vea knows that judgment will be 10x worse for the sole reason that Ashe is a woman. So, regardless of how she might feel initially, she's also going to be incredibly protective of Ashe and Caelen because of that, and will stand by them no matter what.

[ff12-ultimania]

Airship Gallery: Ifrit

The first of the Ifrit-class aircraft belonging to the 8th Fleet. It has heavy armor and powerful firepower capable of decimating ground forces.

[elfyourmother]

👀

This is actually from an FFXII fic I started a while back and poked at a little and swore I was finally going to finish this year and...lol. But it’s Balthier/Fran/Ashe, my OT3 of OT3s from that game~

---

“Tsk tsk. Palace security has gotten awfully lax, don’t you think?”

A familiar voice startled Ashe from her brooding reverie, rich as velvet; she froze, her heart pounding as she closed her eyes, fearful that she had simply imagined it, out of longing. Then a second voice followed, every bit as familiar as the first, light and no less lovely for its sharply accented Common.

“We ought to have a word with the guard."

“Well, I shall leave them a stern letter of disapproval…after we kidnap the queen. Must remember our priorities.”

“Of course. I’ll turn you in for the reward then, and keep her for myself.”

“Fran!" 

Ashe could not help the quiet laughter that rose up from her at their jesting; it filled her with warmth, bringing to mind the old days on the Strahl. It was then that she knew it was no hopeless delusion born of her pangs of longing. Turning away slowly from the railing, Ashe opened her eyes to see them: Balthier and Fran, casually leaning against the doorframe. Fran was all lithe viera elegance, tall and gracefully limbed, sheathed as always in leather and gauzy lace which left bare a great deal of her flawless dark skin. And Balthier, only slightly shorter, wore his favored leather trousers, and the finest Archadian silks, as immaculate coifed and groomed as always. The dashing pair were every bit as beautiful as Ashe remembered; perhaps more so, now that they were no longer merely a memory. A lump formed, unbidden, in her throat.

“Your majesty,” Balthier said. He swept into a bow as graceful as any royal courtier, but gazed up at her and winked as he held it, before raising up with that impish grin that she’d seen a thousand times in her dreams, and feared she would never see again.

A dam within Ashe burst, opening the floodgates of emotion so long suppressed; wordlessly, she crossed the short distance between them, and clung to him, weeping into his shoulder with little heed for propriety—or for the tears which stained his vest of fine silk brocade.

“Now, now. Don’t be so thrilled to see me,” Balthier gently teased her, his soft voice like velvet to her ears. But she felt his arms wrap tightly about her, returning the embrace warmly, and he held her as she wept. It was soothing.

“I thought I watched you die,” Ashe whispered. “I could not bear it. I’ve tried.”

Ashe felt a warm, slender hand upon her shoulder then, one far softer. “I’m sorry. Everything happened so quickly. We thought only of the city,” Fran said.

“What happened? Why—?” Ashe began, but Balthier pulled away from her then, reaching into his pocket for a fine linen handkerchief, and offered it to her. As she dabbed at her swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks, she caught him at a glance, gently shaking his head.

“Not here,” he said quietly.

Ashe stared at him, her head tilted in confusion. “Why did you come, this night, and in such secrecy? You'll always be welcome here. You acquitted yourselves with valor, sky pirates or no.”

“The chains of command are heavy, aren’t they?” Balthier asked. “We merely thought to free you of them, if only for a night.”

“You wish me to leave?” Ashe blinked, her confusion no less great. “I cannot simply just—”

“Why not? The moon needs no minding,” Fran said.

Balthier strode with purpose toward the large double doors which marked the entrance to the queen���s apartments. “Come, Ashe. The night grows short and the Strahl awaits. You can afford to be spirited away for a few hours.”

So many protests came to Ashe’s mind, that this was ridiculously impractical, that a queen couldn’t be so flighty as to fly off on a whim, that if the guard discovered she were missing the whole of the palace would be roused—

When Balthier turned toward her then, with an outstretched arm, and beckoned to her with ring-covered fingers, all of those perfectly logical objections flew out of her head.

[joulethieves]

WOW stellazzio preview I just wrote? Sure. Trying to get warmed up for nanowrimo. This takes place in chapter uhhhhhhh. 9 of 13, I think. They have arrived in Archades.

The slant of the dying sun illuminates the windowpanes of Archades’ monoliths, swathing the city in russet-gold. For a moment it resembles Dalmasca and Her red-clay cliffs along the Ester, but the familiarity does little to douse the anger still vibrant and bubbling in the pit of Vaan’s being.

“Do you have any idea what that stunt you pulled could have cost us?” Balthier seethes, the rasp of his hushed whisper reminiscent of a snake. Vaan flinches. His shadow looms over Vaan, who refuses to look back at the pirate. “That scene garnered more attention than our lark in Bhujerba. What exactly was your plan, hm? Have you learned nothing of our journey thus far? Vaan--”

“They were trying to buy her!” Vaan nearly shouts. His fists clench at his sides and finally Balthier sees his eyes, the fury in them, the undeniable glisten of hot tears. The glare of the sun bounces off a nearby windowpane and paints the bruise on his face in a spotlight. Vaan still wears the mark of that scum of a gentry across his face. He could have healed it, easily. But he doesn’t. “They were trying to buy Penelo. Like she was cattle. In broad daylight.”

Balthier’s lip curls in disgust as the reality smites him. “Classy as ever, Archades.”

But Vaan doesn’t laugh. When he speaks next, his voice is tighter. “They didn’t care what she thought. What I thought. What any of us think - any of us,” and here Vaan gestures to himself, his tanned Dalmascan skin, his flaxen hair, everything Archadia is not. “We’re less than people here. Even with a stupid chop. Not even that’s good enough.”

With disgust and defeat, Vaan throws the chop across the alley’s width, and it bounces off the brick onto the cobblestone. It bounces just once, scuffing the waxy coat. Balthier still knows of a place that polishes them, and finds the memory holds no comfort. He wishes he could forget such things, but despite himself, he picks up the chop anyhow. Aside from the scuff, it bears the same exact resemblance as anyone else’s, although Balthier acknowledge it is Vaan’s, and Vaan’s alone. Jules had played them all for fools earlier, but in doing so only proved Vaan’s gumption and charming tact; perhaps it was exactly that spectacle that drew the rogue gentry to him and Penelo, frolicking about the Uppers like exotic gypsies. That seemed easy enough: blame Jules. It’s better than blaming Vaan, who, when Balthier hands back the chop, turns away from it in disgust.

“I don’t want it. I don’t want to belong here.”

But Balthier just closes his fingers around the smoothed wood, grabs Vaan’s wrist, and places it within the palm now far more pliant in his grip. “Take it back,” Balthier says, “and make it yours. You earned it.”

“I don’t want it,” Vaan bites back, capricious. “I don’t want anything here.”

“Just hours before, you were enamoured with this very city.”

“Yeah, well I changed my mind.”

Balthier laughs, but not at Vaan, and not aloud. He buries the sound within the wall of his teeth. “Then we are not so different, you and I.” He’s still holding Vaan’s wrist in his hand when he lowers it and adds, “if only it hadn’t taken me sixteen years to learn it.”

The sun sets faster in Archades. Not really - but the city eats the light hungrily all the same, and soon they are left enshrouded in the shadow of the alley. Without the glare of the sun, Vaan’s face has softened, and it is he who pulls away from Balthier’s grip. 

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he says, “to be seen as an outsider everywhere you go. In Rabanastre, I used to belong. Then I--we--became orphans. It was like we weren’t Dalmascans anymore. We just existed there. And yeah, it’s only been two years, but it’s amazing what that did to us. It was like I didn’t belong anywhere. We weren’t good enough for anything. And even when we had money, booths didn’t want it. Not from us. When Archadians came, all they wanted was the money from people who had this.”

Vaan’s fingers bloom around the chop again, framing the writ of passage with dirty, dull nails and scuffed gauntlets. “And now I finally have it. What they want. What everyone wants. And where did it get me? Face-down on the ground, and thrown into a fountain.” His laugh sounds unlike him, too cynical for Vaan. He’s not one to laugh at things like this, and Balthier doesn’t like it. Archades works its grip strong in any pure of heart that dare venture here, and Balthier feels the urge suddenly to spirit them away back to Tchita under the stars where they both can breathe feel like they belong. 

It’s his turn to laugh.

“And to think, it’s been six years. And you - you’ve not been here even six hours. Yet here we are, already itching to leave.”

“I can see why you got out of here,” Vaan murmurs. And finally--finally, Vaan looks at him for the first time since last night. For some reason, it has felt like longer. His eyes are lush like a swollen raincloud and Balthier finds himself parched. “All these buildings clog up the sky, huh.”

It is with a gentle touch that Balthier guides Vaan towards the exit of the alley, where he will bring them both to the inn Jules secured for them on a lesser-traversed street. There, a bath and a bed await, both he cannot wait any longer in which to indulge. “You’ll see soon enough what truly was the last straw that sent me me cloudborne,” Balthier says darkly. “Draklor awaits our shining faces first thing in the morning.”

Vaan makes a face at that. He’s tired. Balthier, too. Hell - they’re all bloody tired and tonight will be the first night in weeks any of them have had a bed. A real bed - not a cot, not a lump of grass in a field, not a bedroll at a hunter’s camp. A real gods-bedamned mattress, boxspring, and frame.

And a bath. Balthier feels he could weep.

As they emerge from the alley onto the street, foot traffic has slowed. It’s a residential neighborhood and most pedestrians are home now with their families, settled down within their brownstones for dinner. Trees dot the pavement in perfect symmetry, even lines, and meticulously spherical topiaries. They resemble moogle pompoms, he always used to think as a child. He still does, now.

“You kept your own chop. Even after all these years. Were you always planning on coming back?” Vaan’s thoughts bring him back to the present. Balthier shakes his head.

“The first rule of thumb as a leading man - always expect the unexpected. Improvisation is a given in my line of work.” A wink, just for show, but Vaan’s looking at the trees. “Best to come prepared.”

“So...you’re saying I should hold onto mine too?”

“Archades is a city of closed doors. That’s your key. If you ever care to return, you’d do best to hold onto it.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then it makes a fine paperweight.”

Vaan’s mouth quirks to the side, and he bits the corner of it, white teeth on lips chapped by dry northern wind. Balthier doesn’t miss the gesture, and remembers the feeling of them from last night, all too vividly for a kiss that lasted barely a bruising three seconds. He imagines the pad of his thumb running along it, applying a rosewater balm to that pout before further slickening it with his own tongue, but shoves the thought away. 

“Hey,” Vaan says as they amble down the street, his temper simmered away to the softer desert boy Balthier has come to know in the night, “those funny trees look like moogle pompoms.”

Balthier smiles, and tilts his head. “Why, yes--I suppose they do.”

[dirthavarens]

sweet dreams?;; balvaan

fandom: FFXII pairing: Balthier/Vaan rating: teen and up

i was in a mood. for @skystones while i write the ACTUAL fic. my focus is shot and this is all i could muster up for today, ri. it’s entirely unrelated but here you go.

“don’t feign ignorance, boy,” balthier’s voice is curt as he speaks, the sharp spike in his words catching vaan’s attention in a way that leaves his mouth agape in a blend of trepidation and intrigue. “you know why you’re here.”

he wants to say he doesn’t know what the elder man is speaking about. he wants to play the fool and say he’s wandering as he often does, but the archadian’s coeurl gaze is trained on him with interrogative intent and he can’t bring himself to form a sentence. vaan inhales through his opened mouth and closes upon exhale, allowing the heavy flow of air to escape through his nostrils into the smoke filled chamber he finds himself in. 

a sky pirate’s den. 

a place shrouded in enigmatic mystique; a place vaan found himself craving to be with every fiber of his being. and balthier, the one he admired most--in more ways than one--was there, beckoning him further inward. 

“coeurl got your tongue? come now, vaan. it’s not like you to not have something to say.” a smirk accompanies the smooth provocation and the dalmascan almost does forget his words.

“n-no,” he stutters out after a beat. then, more assuredly, “i just wanted to see where real sky pirates go.”

a lie.

“ah-ah. try again,” balthier says as he steps closer to vaan. the voices of those in the background fade into muffled chatter. vaan hears nothing more than his pulse, his breath, and every syllable of the pirate’s words echoing through his person. “why are you here, vaan?” 

vaan hesitates, but balthier’s finger is curling under his chin, pressing the sandy stubble down as he tilts the dalmascan’s head upward. the calloused knuckle is smooth against his flesh. their eyes meet and the younger swallows thickly. 

“for you.”

balthier’s lips twitch into a grin that sends something hot and viscous oozing to the core of vaan’s being. a hand is at his side, pulling at his hip until it’s ground firmly against balthier’s thighs. damn his height!

his lips are being guided--not that they need it--towards the pirate’s and he can feel balthier’s sultry breath splaying against his slackening mouth. he wants to keep his eyes open, wants to recognize the actuality of what was taking place, but his vision blurs and in his newfound intoxication, he can’t. eyelids lilt gently shut as lips softer than a summer’s breeze tease at his own. there’s power surging from somewhere deep below and vaan dreams of unlocking it, of testing the waters and pushing until he just couldn’t take anymore. 

but then something’s prodding at his side.

a sharp elbow and he’s pulling away from balthier to see penelo’s scowl. 

“wake up, vaan. we have to get moving.”

“pen?” he inquires, shaking his head as his hands close around empty space. his eyes grow wide as he feels reality tearing into him, the world around him fading to black.

and then...

“we’ll leave you here. i’m sure fran and balthier would love to take the treasure without you.” penelo is staring down at him against the glare of the mid-morning sun. “i tried waking you for breakfast but you were going on about you-know-what again. you know, he’s going to hear you one of these days. if he hasn’t already...”

“h-hey! don’t jinx it.” red-hot embarrassment settles into his stomach as he scrambles out of his sleeping mat, hair resembling a chocobo’s backside. he gathers his things and does his best at rushing around to get ready for the day’s journey. outside the tent, he can hear that voice like liquid silk and he does his best to tune it out. he knows failure is out to find him, but he’s quick to avoid. 

once out of the tent, the group turns to look at him. everyone was awake and packing, readying armor and weapons, but when vaan steps out, all eyes are on him. silence passes in a way that even the wind licking at the sides of the hollow cannot intrude upon it.

and much to his dismay, it’s balthier that speaks first. “finally care to join us, eh, vaan?” 

“just wanted to see how long you’d wait for me,” vaan returns as he passes balthier and grabs at his sword and shield. “seems i’m worth at least an hour.”

“on the contrary,” starts the archadian in feigned annoyance. then his voice dips lower, reserved for vaan’s ears. “some of us were enjoying the show. you seemed awfully interested in something.” 

he forces the flush from his cheeks, thankful for the perpetual ecru tone that his facial features don, and shoots a glance at balthier. thanks penelo. 

“wouldn’t you like to know?” he bites back as he tightens his sheath around his waist and shoves his sword into it. nothing more is said on the matter, though it’s clear from the glint in balthier’s eyes that he heard more than enough. 

[tarnishedxknight]

This is purely hypothetical, of course, but could a Rozarrian or half-Rozarrian be able to serve as a Judge Magister or would that raise hell in Archadia? Whether it be from the other Judge Magisters, the Solidors, or the Senate? -for Gabranth or Drace or both

Drace: *chuckles* "I can scarcely see how that would come about. It would take years to qualify and train them to be worthy of the rank and what then? Who could trust a Rozarrian among Archadian ranks? What would be their purpose, their... agenda? Handing over a large chunk of power to a Rozarrian during wartime, power over a portion of the Empire and her military... the very idea seems absurd to me. There could be no goal in mind for the Rozarrian other than to further fracture us or to claim power for their own Empire, for the purpose of tilting the scales of war in their favor. Nay, House Solidor would be fools to name a Rozarrian to our rank, and not a one of us would trust one even if they were."

Gabranth: *folds his arms and remains silent*

Drace: *looks to him* "Well...? What say you?"

Gabranth: "Perhaps a pureblooded Rozarrian patriot thinking himself bold enough to attempt to infiltrate us would fail before he even began..."

Drace: *waits and then prompts him to continue* "...but?"

Gabranth: "But a half-blooded Rozarrian?"

Drace: "Is there a difference?"

Gabranth: "If all it is, is blood?"

Drace: "Blood without loyalty, is that what you imply?"

Gabranth: "What if the other half were Archadian, and that was where his loyalties lay?"

Drace: "Then he would not be Rozarrian, he would be Archadian, as you have always said of yourself, for example."

Gabranth: "Not once the other Judge Magisters were through with him. Am I not forever known as a half breed among our ranks?"

Drace: "Perhaps, but the other half of your blood is not our most formidable enemy."

Gabranth: "I am certain Landis would bear Archadia no deep love... if it still existed."

Drace: *sighs at him* "There is a world of difference between Landis and Rozarria."

Gabranth: "I think it is possible. Certainly for a half-Rozarrian but also for a pureblood if they were disenchanted enough. A defector, perhaps. One with valuable knowledge who wishes to help us defeat his homeland. It would be an attractive ally to House Solidor."

Drace: *scoffs* "Unlikely, that."

Gabranth: "But not impossible."

Drace: "And how, pray tell, would we ever trust him? How would we ever know his story of disenchantment and defection were real and true?

Gabranth: *smiles* "I have my ways."

Drace: *smiles and shakes her head* "He would not be accepted within our rank with open arms, that is certain."

Gabranth: "He would if I accept him."

Drace: "And would you?"

Gabranth: "If he earned it of me."

Drace: "Let us leave this conversation with the following status, then: thank the gods it is purely hypothetical."

Gabranth: "Yes. I have enough to deal with as it is."

[disillusionedjudge]

@tarnishedxknight - continued from here

As Basch spoke, Everren finally turned her gaze to him instead of the stars, and listened in silence. Her expression blank and eyes unwavering, though her straight posture seemed almost at ease. While cautious, there was a part of her that was... rather curious. Perhaps it was a good a time as ever to induldge that curiosity and feel out the type she now journeyed with.

"I will trust you know your own capabilities and limits, then," she replied simply with a slight dip of her head - her tone a little more cordial. "And I suppose that makes us both." She doubted sleep would be coming to her that night, either, although it would not be her first sleepless night to work through. She would push through it, she knew, and could nap during their rests in the morrow if she so needed to. Although... "And how much, I wonder, does your unrest stem from us?"

Everren's voice lacked any hostility or scorn, and she canted her head as she studied him. Her features changing to reveal a little more emotion - an openness in her curious gaze. She was far from affronted by Basch's uncertainty in her, Balthier, and Fran. She knew not everyone took kindly to sky pirates for a reason - especially someone of his background. And, if he didn't wish to speak of it, she then turned her head to gaze out once more. "Of course, times are darker now than ever. Far too dark for the mind to rest easily without completely burdened."

A slow sigh escaped her lips as she shook her head, more to herself, and felt her heart grow heavy. How long had she tricked herself into believing she could keep running? How far did she think she could go before Archadia came creeping back into herself like the shadows? Perhaps they had damned themselves the moment they decided Rabanastre under Archadian occupation a fit place for a bit of treasure. Perhaps...

She turned her head slightly as Basch spoke again, but did not look at him. It was a strange observation for him to call out if he had no intention of forcing her to speak of it, yet... she found it hard to let it bother her. She knew it was true - knew she had not so easily shaken her duties as Balthier had. A part of her was tempted to simply let his attempt at conversation fall short - to dismiss him with silence. She doubted he came from a place of accusation or disdain, and with her own inquiry still fresh...

Her head shook with a faint, humorless chuckle. "Old habits are hard to shake, I reckon," Everren said dryly. "An easier comfort to behave on the familiar in face of the unknown. You hold true to your former duties, do you not?" It was a rhetorical question - an answer she had seen clearly from the moment she had met him. "If you fear you are with a deserter or coward, I can assure you, I am neither. My hand had been forced by matters personal outside of my duties." That was as far as she was willing to share. She had no intention of revealing her Archadian blood, nor had she any desire to explain what that personal matter had been. It was her embarrassment to bear, and hers alone.

[disillusionedjudge]

@tarnishedxknight

It was unsettling how Ashelia behaved the moment Vossler left. The way she hugged herself - the way she breathed out in relief. If she was more at ease walking with her than she was with one of her own Knights...

A part of Gylfie was tempted to take care of the issue more permanently.

But she didn't dare comment on the Princess's state, and instead let out a snort at her reply. "I can imagine," she muttered dryly, and shook her head. "You handle yourself well despite it, Your Majesty. I'm impressed." And... sympathetic. While she held no love for Dalmasca and, at times, found Ashelia to be rather childish, she was not too proud to admit she rather admired the other woman's grit and composure. She would have preferred a more threatening course of action to get Vossler to back off if she were in Ashelia's place, but... she supposed the Princess had little choice in the matter.

She couldn't shake the sense of guilt in the back of her mind at that thought.

Ashelia's swift response to her question caused Gylfie to glance back at her with a raised brow, but she allowed her to explain herself. Allowed her to avoid what she had truly been asking about, because it was clear to her that Ashelia already knew what she had meant. Instead, she let out a faint hum in response, and turned her gaze away. "You can say the Archadians," she said instead - her voice rather matter-of-fact. Not... proud, however. Not smug. Just... calm. Simple. "I would be fool to be upset over the truth. I know well the Empire is your enemy, and therefore, as is myself. I can handle your ire, Princess, if you wish to express it."

She didn't miss the way Basch turned to look at Ashelia. Didn't miss the concern in his gaze. And she couldn't help but give a brief bow of her head to him, as if to silently reassure she was not causing harm to the Princess, and ignored the twinge in her heart. It was... hard, admittedly, to interact with him, not only because of Gabranth's personal hatred towards his brother, but because of how much they looked like each other. Truthfully, she missed Gabranth and Drace, but... she knew she could not return to them just yet. Would they forgive her for this? Would they see her working alongside the Dalmascans as a betrayal?

With a faint breath, Gylfie shook her head slightly to chase away those thoughts, and was content on falling silent once more. Content with just... simply walking alongside Ashelia, if the Princess continued to allow it, and focus on their journey. She would... figure something out with the information she held on Vossler, and do what she could to keep Ashelia from him without raising suspicion. It would be difficult, she knew, but if she could--

As the Princess finally spoke again, Gylfie turned her attention back to her, and...

She remained silent for a few, long moments. Her expression unreadable as she studied Ashelia. As she mulled over the way her voice trembled and dropped to a whisper. She said gave no explanation on how Vossler was different in private, but... Gylfie needed no explanation to have an idea of what she meant by that, and it took everything in her to swallow the sudden swell of hot disgust and anger in her chest.

As much as she wanted to hold Vossler's betrayal over his head, she knew it was something she could not hold onto for much longer. No, she was not willing to toy with him if it meant him keeping control over Ashelia in turn.

"I am going to stand guard tonight," Gylfie said - her voice low to avoid attention, "and I want you to ask Azelas to stand guard with me. Do it privately or immediately after I offer, I care not, but use your alleged trust in him and your lack of trust in me as your reasoning. I will handle it, and I swear to you, I will handle it with words and words only. But-" She glanced back toward the Princess - a firm yet worried look glinting in her gaze. "-I want you to listen. Pretend to sleep, but listen to what I say so you have an idea of what to do yourself."

She turned her head away, and let out a faint scoff. Her eyes darkening as she gazed ahead. "I have dealt with my fair share of ill-intentioned men," she all but growled, "I know well how to handle them."

For a moment, Vossler almost did challenge Gylfie. He had learned something of the Judge Magisters and a few of their lesser Judge minions during his dealings with the Archadians. This one is nothing more than a welp with dreams of becoming her father. To that end, she was trying much too hard to prove herself. It is pathetic, really. This is why women ought not to play at soldiering, he thought. Deciding he didn't want to get into it with this Judge and risk exposing his true plans with the Archadians to the Princess, so he relented, albeit with a clenched jaw and a bruised ego.

Ashelia had wrapped her arms around herself without even realizing it, and the breath she release felt almost as if she had squeezed it out of herself with her own arms. It bothered her terribly that she felt more comfortable around the Archadian Judge than she did around her father's own Knight, but right now, that was her reality. The truth was, she was incredibly grateful for Gylfie stepping in, even if she was bewildered as to why she would have done it. They really didn't need a scout at the moment... did they?

Ashelia huffed rather dejectedly at Gylfie's comment regarding Vossler's lack of boundaries. "And even more painful to endure," she replied without thinking. She ought not to speak so of her father's Knight to an Archadian, especially since... Vossler was actually her Knight now. That thought disturbed her even more. Ashelia felt like she ought to feel honored that her father's Knights would support her, those who remained alive, that is. But all she could think about was the fact that she felt far safer and more comfortable around Basch, a former Knight stripped of his title and convicted of murdering her father, than with Vossler, a supposedly loyal Knight of the Order of Dalmasca.

When Judge Ynarra asked her if she was alright, Ashelia once again answered too fast. "Of course not," she said, feeling immediately that she needed to explain. "No one believes I am who I say I am, my capital city is occupied by-" ...by the Archadians, she almost said. "-by hostile forces, and I haven't the means yet to free her. How would you feel?" It was a rhetorical question, not meant to be given an answer and Ashe didn't expect one. But she also knew that wasn't what the Judge had meant, and she was pretty sure Gylfie knew she knew that too.

A rather surrendering sigh escaped Ashe then. She looked on ahead, thankfully not able to see Vossler anymore. Her gaze did catch Basch's as he turned to look back at her from where he'd been walking with others. Her first instinct was to smile at him, and so she did, but it was a timid and unsure thing, and she hated herself for that. She wanted things to be like they were before, when he was the one person she could go to with anything, the person she felt the most comfortable with in the world. But she just couldn't see past his conviction of kingslayer.

His eyes held concern for her, and why shouldn't they? Even now, even after the hostility she'd shown him during their reunion, he was still concerned for her safety and well-being. He seemed no different to her, the same honorable and selfless person she'd always known. And yet... she couldn't go to him with this, especially now when he and Vossler had just been reunited as well. They'd been friends since before Ashelia was born, and... and she just couldn't do that to Basch...

Not to mention the fact that Basch might not even believe her if she did tell him.

The thought of that made her shudder, and she glanced over at Judge Ynarra. "Ser Azelas... is... a... a loyal Dalmascan, but..." she said finally, feeling her heart begin to beat faster. She should not be discussing this with an Archadian! "... he is a very different person in private..." That was all she could say. She let the tremble in her voice and the way it lost its strength and faded into a whisper at the end tell the rest of the story for her.

[joulethieves]

love potion--

companion piece to @doctorcid’s postgame skypirate boyfriend drabble 

vaan wakes in the dead of night. odd, it is, for him to rouse at this hour from sleep - especially in this bed, of all in ivalice - but it would appear the owner of aforementioned bed is not present beside him where he should be. from beneath the excess blankets, vaan can see the glow of a nearby magicite night-lamp on balthier’s desk; a soft beacon in the strahl’s cabin darkness. though the spot next to vaan is empty, he can hear balthier in the room, the man’s movements quiet but nearby nonetheless.

he chances a peek over the edge of the lavish duvet to find balthier standing over his desk of a polished oak, a desk that would be lovely if it weren’t so littered with layers of maps curling at the edges, strewn with compasses and sky jewels, feathers, trinkets and the like. balthier holds a box in his hands and vaan recognizes immediately that it is the gift given to balthier earlier that day - a custom alchemy kit, ideal for mixing powerful curatives in nothing short of a style of flourish. vaan grins, moreso at himself than balthier; he knew the gift would be perfect for his mentor-turned-lover. the dalmascan’s knack for white magicks has his palette attuned to every curative ever mixed, and he can say safely that balthier makes not only the strongest, but the best-tasting, to boot.

truth be told, it’s kind of a gift for both of them, though the custom engraving vaan ordered on the polished silver makes it for balthier and balthier only. just, well, as long as he isn’t mixing ethers for any other white mage in ivalice, though that goes without saying.

across the room, the soft warmth of the magicite lantern kisses the hard edges of balthier’s noble profile. vaan watches from his private little vantage point and is struck, again, by the notion that balthier is the most beautiful hume he’s ever seen.

so he expresses it in the only way he knows how:

“nerd,” vaan teases quietly, and he smirks as he watches balthier startle and turn, though his hands still cradle the box in his hands protectively. “i knew you’d love that as soon as i saw it.”

he can’t see balthier’s reaction clearly in the angle now, but a shift in the light on his face suggests he is smiling, close-lipped. “you hit the mark on this one,” he responds, voice as soft as the lamplight. vaan shifts a little, reveling in the overstuffed down comforter that is reminiscent, vaan thinks not for the first time, of sleeping on a cloud. not that he’s ever slept on one. but being in balthier’s bed seems close enough.

“i always hit the mark,” vaan retorts, and balthier runs his hand along the box’s contents; vaan can imagine the pads of his fingers, dried from winter wind and gunpowder, tracing along the velvet that molds around each custom piece. he preens a little, beneath the duvet. getting gifts for anyone now is a near-constant gesture; his life of a sky pirate allows himself the indulgence of such excesses to a point where penelo, at least, has admonished him on his frivolity. but vaan pays her no mind. for too long have they lived growing up with their grimy hands against shop windows, and now if vaan sees something he knows would be a great gift, he very well buys it, dammit.

balthier, at least, never complains at the lavish gifts. which is well and good, because their time apart spent in all corners of ivalice has the older sky pirate constantly at the forefront of vaan’s mind, and he sees something that reminds him of balthier nearly on the daily. but indeed, this particular investment hit the mark. vaan is thrilled balthier is so taken with it, though it’s not like he gave the pirate much of a choice to admire it at first - they rather quickly jumped to dinner and then to other things shortly after, much in the fashion of their impassioned yet sporadic reunions. 

“where did you find such a thing?” balthier asks, and holds the box near the lamp again to admire the polished silver of an alcohol burner. it’s compact, all of it - the kit is designed for travel, quick-fixes, tight spots and a quality finish. 

“if i told you, you wouldn’t like it any more,” vaan admits from the bed. balthier snorts.

“i could have ventured a guess; what business had you in archades as of late?”

vaan yawns and shifts. “a delivery for tomaj; everyone in the north wants cactoid liquor and he’s reaping the benefits. pays well, too. it’s kind of a funny story, actually; remember that archadian gentry from years ago? he gave me a chop for finding him an alchemy apprentice?” balthier makes a noise of accord, and vaan continues. “well, i ran into him on the streets and we caught up. it got me thinking about you, and i thought i’d ask him where to get a nice kit; told him i had some nerdy friend who mixes the best potions on this side of the nebra. turns out the basement of the magicks shop is filled with that kinda stuff for curative alchemy and other geeky trinkets.”

balthier shakes his head as he nestles the alcohol burner back in its velvet-molded encasement. “for someone so thoughtful, you’re awfully derogatory to the man who hand-muddles mint for your ethers,” balthier admonishes, and vaan blows a raspberry from his side of the room.

“come back to bed and be a dork tomorrow. you can mix me something special at breakfast before the hunt.”

balthier snaps the wooden box shut and places it gingerly atop the maps. “planning to be throttled that bad by the beastie, are you?”

vaan grins when balthier rejoins him in the nest of covers; he is surprised, but not unpleasantly so, when the older man scoops vaan in his hold immediately. “nah, more planning on you to be, and me to fix it. vitality before violence, if you like; s’what you said the first day we met.”

balthier kisses the back-shell of vaan’s ear, and the dalmascan can feel balthier smile against him. “vaan, how touching,” he begins tenderly, nuzzling into vaan’s hair with a yawn. in the darkness, balthier finds his hand and threads his fingers through vaan’s. “i never knew you listened to a word i ever said.”

“shut up,” vaan laughs under the cloud-softness of the duvet, but he squeezes balthier’s hand greedily and they fall back asleep together for the first time in months.

[joulethieves]

balthier headcanon #3492384 special deluxe ffamran edition--

i really love the idea of balthier being a huge slut for gossip. balthier loves the hot goss. ffamran also loved the hot goss. it’s an archadian trait he was never able to shake even when he wrested himself from that snakepit and to this day he loves to start rumours of other people just to be petty. as a teenager in archades ffamran had very curious ears, light and fast feet, and knew every nook and cranny of all the noblemen rendezvous spots that he’d poke around in every now and then to get a peek at who is meeting up with who, who is fucking who, who is thinking of breaking off their marriage with who, ffammy knew it all. ffammy had the pettiest dirt on all the gentries and judges. that was where his strength lied. house solidor is shooketh. ffamran totally saw vayne off one day with al-cid during early contract negotiations and boy did they look extra cozy. you can only imagine how many seasonal operetta tickets and unreleased highly-anticipated famous novel drafts vayne had to send to ffamran’s door to keep his god damn mouth shut. balthier is a leo for fuck’s sake; he loves to know everything all the time always. where archades put priority on information of the useful sort, ffamran grew bored with such mundanity of one’s day-to-day drawl and decided to put his own spin on it. ffamran had a burn book you know he did. ffamran was catty as fuck, the gossip queen, with a perfect view from his bedroom window and a telescope to boot, to spy on people through their bedroom windows and the streets below. why do u think he chose the partner with the biggest fucking ears. you know he’s like “fran holy shit tell me what those two are talking about over there across the tavern because i know that’s rita from the akademy like 6 years ago and i need to know who that guy is with her because that’s definitely not the father of her 6 kids, tren.” “why do you fucking care” “because we are headed to archades soon and whatever i can find out from this right here will get us to tsneoble in five seconds now LISTEN”

[joulethieves]

things i can’t write, apparently - my 13 fic balvaan arc

things i can write, apparently - vampire albalvaan au with ellie. 

anyway here’s a very bloodstarved vampy balthier at his wit’s end because this little dalmascan hume he rescued from an archadian vampire ritual smells very tasty. on the run from the empire with fran and vaan, balthier finds shelter with them past the sandsea’s border on the edge of rozarria. al-cid (wow surprise he’s a fuckin vampire too because we do what we want) greets them and -  quick to note balthier’s pathetic starved state - gives him an offer balthier is hard-pressed to refuse, as taboo as it is for vampire to feed off vampire. while fran busies herself getting vaan drunk downstairs at the tavern so his dumb hume ass doesn’t realize he’s been traveling with a vampire the whole time, al-cid and balthier go off for some catching up and maybe a healthy snack rebecca

“if you’re going to be such a tease,” balthier says evenly when he finds his voice, “then i daresay i’m better off finding an alley rat.” they, at least, are more polite; he doesn’t quite care for his dinner to have such a mouth.

 in the darkness al-cid’s hand leaves its perch by balthier’s head and there’s a rummage of skin and metal as the rozarrian unclasps the choker ‘round his neck. it drops onto balthier’s lap, and where his flesh was surrounded before in a cold snaking hold, it now lays bare to him a tantalizing scent from every pulse of his veins, full and ripe. balthier can’t help it - he groans, and it is piteous but at the very least he knows al-cid loves the flattery. “very well,” al-cid’s voice is a rumble in his throat now naked for the taking; he leans in, mouth perched near the shell of balthier’s ear, and his lips graze the jewelry there, “have your fill.” he barely finishes his sentence before the archadian’s head cants, mouth agape to find purchase in tendon, and finally, finally, he drinks.

he’s not known to be a messy eater, being a bunansa and all, but the broken threshold barbs his usual pristine table manners and he quaffs long from where his teeth anchor in al-cid’s dark flesh. the blood on his tongue is hot, scalding even, and it burns in all the right ways as balthier loses himself. rivulets messily overflow from his mouth, dribbling down his chin to mar his cotton tunic and his hands find purchase in al-cid’s thick curls if only to keep him near. the sounds of his own breaths through the feeding would be embarrassing were he not completely lost in the sensation of a hunger finally sated; the taste is heady and thick and fills his veins with warmth. finally, he thinks, tongue laving at the marred flesh his teeth graze with a tremble of his jaw. finally.

by the time al-cid pulls away balthier feels like he’s barely started, but ah, he knows how these things go - though he’s never pushed himself to this point of hunger before. balthier nearly follows al-cid, magnetic against the flesh, until the older man’s hand resorts to pushing the archadian back roughly against the chair to wrest his lips from his neck. balthier is breathless, heedless to the mess he’s made as reality fades back and his headspace is filled with a light and warmth he hasn’t had in weeks. his chest heaves, matching al-cid’s, and-- well. he’s already a mess before the man, no real need to hide it now. balthier licks his lips though the gesture is useless to clean up; al-cid’s spare blood litters his shirt and he feels it soaking into his chest.

“tasty, am i not?” al-cid goads, and balthier hates that he could still drink from him..  his tongue still yearns for it and he licks the ridges of his teeth to steal the final samplings that linger; the feeding was enough to give him focus back into his eyes, give him energy for another day or so, but it wasn’t enough.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he says, throat raspy still with al-cid’s blood, “my standards were ever-thwarted by my state.” but his voice lacks an edge, because truly, the fop did do him a mighty favor and only now does balthier realize how truly dismal he was before.

“surely i am no dalmascan rose, but the blood of my ilk is not so easily given. do consider yourself lucky, balthier.” balthier moves to rise from the chair and his limbs feel lighter. he feels lighter, all of him. he feels well enough go skip back downstairs, order a round for the entire bar, and play his favorite sonata on the dusty piano by the door for all to admire. but he merely stands there, learns the feelings of his body again as a living thing and not some sallow shell of a vampire, and sighs.

 “lucky, then, shall i call myself this eve,” he decides to concede - at least, to that point. he won’t say thank you. he didn’t ask for any of this. “though i do require a change of clothes, it seems.”

 al-cid’s chuckle is becoming a too-familiar tune this evening. “we always jest back home, how messy you northerners feed,” he comments, but heads towards the chest at the end of the bed where he rummages through fabrics. “this will do, rogue.” he hands balthier a folded tunic, of no different shade than the one of his own before he sullied it with margrace blood - a fine cotton, breathable and light, with gromets and ties and a high collar that al-cid would likely unfold but balthier presses down flat and crisp.

though redundant, al-cid turns on the oil lamp next to his bed, and has a seat. “feeling better now, are we?” 

 balthier stares down at the crumpled bloodstained tunic on the floor. that was a favorite of his - shame, all of it, too much of everything in this room is shame, but he’s too damn full to feel that bad about it. al-cid’s blood still echoes in his mouth. “you certainly know how to show a man a good time,” balthier responds, and avoids eye contact where al-cid hunts for his gaze. “i would do well to return downstairs.” now that i can likely look at vaan without picturing his neck betwixt my fangs, he adds quietly. 

 balthier turns to leave, and al-cid barks out a laugh that stills his footing. “truly your northern upbringing did not breed you to be so ill-mannered! eager though you are to sever your ties, i do hope you’ve still some sense of propriety, rogue.”

balthier turns back to al-cid, brow furrowed, though he quickly pieces together that there is, indeed, no free lunch here - al-cid is palming between his now-spread legs through the fabric of his trousers, awakening a new rush of blood altogether within balthier. 

 “you’re foul,” balthier says plainly. 

 “i do beg your pardon, archadian. but there appears to be other flesh of mine that currently calls to the workings of that mouth of yours.” curtly al-cid gestures with his head for balthier to approach the bed, and though he thinks he has better things to do, he kneels between al-cid’s legs anyway. balthier bristles as al-cid pats his head once, twice, his brilliant fangs glinting in the lamplight when he adds, “and this time, do not spill a drop.”

----timeskip to idk sometime later in a safe port town -----

in the distance, vaan runs off to catch up with fran's long, leisure strides. al-cid watches the pair with a catlike grin, before glancing at his younger companion doing the same.  'he certainly is cute--is he not?' he pries, and balthier shrugs him off.  'not the worst hume to look at, perhaps,' he replies stiffly. 

it is their first day in a town where they can remain anonymous and surrounded by humes, al-cid still can't take his eyes off the dalmascan. 

he watches them until they disappear in the crowd before asking, 'so, when do we eat him?' 

 balthier turns to glare at al-cid so swiftly his neck nearly crack - and al-cid can feel it now, the blood boiling beneath balthier's veins, alive and tempting as that handsome vein that throbs when he's pissed. 'you're a pig,' he snaps, his tongue sharp with the ache of hunger. 

the insult sounds stale from his mouth because of it, and al-cid tsks, shaking his head. 'and you,' he corrects, ' are a prude. do not tell me that scent has betrayed you. he is a virgin,' al-cid stresses the final word, a rasp in his voice not there before. 'no wonder he was to be sacrificed on the new-century's moon.' 

 'you'd do best to keep your hands to yourself,' balthier snaps, standing to wander aimlessly away - in search of some damn food , hopefully, to smother that nasty temper. 

al-cid waits until he's out of earshot even for a vampire, before chuckling.

 balthier didn't say anything about where to keep his mouth.

[stingslikeabee]

5judgements​:

   The festivities were certainly a well deserved moment of entertainment for the many of them. A week of their local forces participating in a grand display of their prowess and might, for their civilians to witness cooperation across several branches of their all consuming military. Through the skies fly slow their most grand of airships, donning long flowing regalia flags, decorated in the colors found across the palace. Occasionally the smaller vessels take formation and dance alongside one another through the clouds, cutting their way between each other with well practiced precision and lethality. All meant to inspire, to see that any able bodied subject would want to join up in arms to defend and expand their nation. It’s an incredibly grandiose celebration of their underlying terror, a superpower across Ivalice that would consume the world whole if left to it.

   They never outright made a notion to such things. Their senate was present in a stand meant for them and the Solidors, the Emperor noticeably missing for the time being but young Larsa roaming around freely, drifting from seat to seat and trying to pick out the best place to watch the Archadian opening while Vayne watches him. He at least appeared to be in an amenable mood, the two of them chatting way unheard from such distance.

   So far there are only standard foot soldiers that mull about on the field in aid of officials to the games, marking out boundaries and ensuring that their wards were prepared accordingly. A paling tower sits in the middle of the cleared out grassy area and the magus in charge of it stands at the base, hands on hips, staring upwards at the ladder that they will eventually have to climb up. At least it will be a great view when the fighting does start. The dome that would form will be to protect spectators from any stray magick that might become of the combatants, safety a grand concern when in the full view of their most proficient soldiers. All this could be seen from beyond wide open doors that lead out from the palace, propped open so those that were either directly participating or arrived at the behest of another could freely come and go.

   Drace seems to have been informed that Melissa had arrived, as the sound of her armor is unmistakable even amongst the droning chatter of thousands of people.

  “You look simply stunning my dear,” she starts off, smile evident. Drace walks the entrance landing without her helmet in place, choosing to instead hold it against the front of her hip in hand. “I dare say you might prove to be a deciding factor in today’s act, Ghis won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

   Drace hums an amused tone, turning her attention away from Melissa just as the aforementioned Magister approaches the two of them.

“Drace, your assumptions are bold, as usual,” he shakes his head in admonishment. “And you..”

   Ghis looks Melissa over now, a kind smile befalling his features.

“-are just as heavenly as ever. I simply must afford to you my most grand apologies for not having sent an invite myself. We got held up over Balfonheim and only just returned last night. None too soon, either, any longer and we would have missed this opening night.”

   “Yes, a travesty to not have His Honor here, so he can find himself flat on his back in likeness to the prior-”

“Drace.”

   She simply grins and stares at the exasperated Judge.

The steps that took Melissa around were slow and leisured - she was really taking the chance to absorb all the marvelous sights that the festival provided, as well as the priceless chance to see the palace from the inside. Well, that might have been imprecise - for all intents and purposes the civilian guests were outside the fortress proper, but well within the famous grounds. Surely the most imposing architecture feat of all the Empire - the average, proud Archadian would likely prefer the current resident to the Solidor House to any tomb or shrine from the centuries of the old kings and queens, should Archadia expand further enough to swallow these areas under its rule as well.

The fact she had not strayed far from her allotted seating area made it easy for the judge magisters she was closest with to spot her - not that her clothing did not play a role in that aspect as well, considering how light and pale it was in contrast to the darker tones favored by the local population. Drace’s armor alerted Melissa to her presence despite the non-stop conversation around, as well as Ghis’ shortly after - the Bhujerban was finding that each judge had a peculiar cadence to their step that carried over to how the plates of metal moved, and someone used to paying attention to the smallest sonorous details such as herself was starting to train her ears to distinguish them without visual cues.

“Your Honors, good morning to you both,” she bowed profusely to both magistrates despite their familiarity and kind words. Melissa knew better than to skip any of the politeness and respect individuals of their station deserved when in public - Ghis’ warnings during a dinner shared many weeks ago were still imprinted vividly to her mind. Ignoring the curious and bewildered looks of bystanders had become second nature by now - the Bhujerban was more often than not in the company of judge magisters (or the occasional young royal) than the normal civilians in town. At some point, the dancer had started to wonder if she was now also considered a dangerous connection herself if only for her liaisons with the likes of Drace and Ghis.

“Your excellencies are far too generous with your praise, but I must confess I hardly expect to be under any sort of spotlight. I shall be delighted to be a member of the audience for a change - I have heard so many fascinating things about the planned activities for today and none seemed to be unduly exaggerated thus far.”

The Bhujerban took a few steps closer to the pair of magistrates, their conversation carried at a normal tone despite the overall excitation in the air - it seemed as if the physical proximity to a judge magister prompted others to lower the volume of their voices, so Melissa had no reason to elevate hers. She looked at the other female first, and unless the dancer was imagining something, she was positive that her next move would be well-received by Drace.

“Judge Drace, although I am immensely grateful for your invitation, I would like to ask if your excellency would be amenable to offering a chance at redemption for Judge Ghis? If His Honor has the time to show me around before the tournament begins, I should think it would be more than enough as an apology - although none should really be necessary, I would never dream to stand between a magistrate and their duty to Archadia.”

Melissa ended her proposition with a bow, but the smile on her face told Drace plenty - they had talked frequently when Ghis was out of town; and the Bhujerban suspected that the female judge had an agenda of her own in relation to the pair by inviting the dancer herself. Unless the younger woman was terribly wrong, Drace would probably be more than happy to excuse herself and give Melissa and Ghis every single chance at being alone.