#Skyward Charisma

[kittenintheden]

Not Your Sweetheart Ch 35 - Crooked Smile

Not Your Sweetheart Chapter 35 - Crooked Smile

The one where I absolutely delight in reminding everyone that Astarion has a dead average 10 charisma and an 18 CHA Tav gives him a run for his goddamn money in all the best and most angsty ways.

AKA "gets away with it bc hottie w/a body" meets "wins every social interaction and is also troubled and hot."

AKA the seducer gets seduced and he's mad about it, until he isn't.

But also it's a whole campaign? You know. Do not enter unless you're expecting true-to-life D&D -- everyone hot as hell but stupid as fuck. Get your top-shelf found family and hotties battling for flirt dominance tropes here. 

---

A little bit of downtime at a riverside settlement followed by some confessions. Read on AO3.

Commissioned piece of the dorks by the fantastically talented @hamrikaa (see the full thing in Ch 10).

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Astarion sobers and looks away, now picking at his nails. “Do you worry?” he asks softly. “That we’re still not strong enough?”

Ori sighs shakily. She knows without asking that he means strong enough to take on their personal tormentors, rather than the looming threat of torment via mass ceremorphosis.

“Yes,” she admits. “But I’d be more worried if we weren’t together. All of us.”

Automatically, like a knee-jerk, he says, “We can’t rely on the others to-”

“Astarion,” she cuts him off, not unkindly. She reaches over to take one of his hands in hers. “They’re with us. You know that, don’t you?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes skyward in an attempt to ignore the slight sting. “They must be fools to willingly enter a vampire lord’s lair,” he says.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Caring about someone will do that to a person.”

He lowers his eyes to meet hers. Rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. Takes a breath, and says, “There are alternatives, you know,” he says.

Immediately, she starts to shutter herself off, knowing what’s coming, but he watches as she pushes back against it, breathing in and opening her eyes back to him. She’s willing to listen.

“If I take Cazador’s place, I’ll be able to make absolutely sure she’ll never touch you again,” he whispers. “That no one will ever touch either of us again.”

Ori bites the corner of her lip before she responds. “At what cost? This isn’t free. You know it isn’t.”

“A half-dozen already-damned souls for our safety?” he says, reaching to brush her hair back into place from where the breeze has mussed it. “I think that’s more than worth it.”

She looks to the ground, pushing off the railing and setting aside her goblet. She kicks at the ground as she thinks. Then she puts her hands on her hips and looks him in the face. “I get it. I do. I just can’t get around waving off the lives of the only people who were there with you. The only people who could come close to understanding.”

Astarion rolls his eyes. “They’re nothing. I was nothing. Don’t you see that? I was… nothing before you knew me.”

Her features crumple a bit, eyes shining. “Sweetheart, you are not nothing.”

[sass-squat]

Which Link would most likely win the Hunger Games?

This has probably already been done but regardless we're still gonna do it! Anyways, we are ignoring the canon age limits for the games so hear me out, I know the obvious answer is probably Wild but consider the many other strengths, advantages, and strategies the other Links could utilize when all fighting against each other. Any magical abilities or items involving time travel are banned however cause that's CHEATING.

Time - One word. MASKS. He’s got 3 masks that change his form giving him an advantage in various settings. Deku mask for the sky/forest, Goron for the mountains and volcanoes, and Zora for the water. There are also the Stone and All-night masks to consider especially in these circumstances. And of course there’s the Fierce Deity mask which would be great for taking out other tributes but be honest, do you REALLLLY think Time could or would use it against any of his boys?

Twilight - I’ll be honest he doesn’t have a lot going for him weapons wise but he DOES have sheer brute strength and his ability to turn into Wolfie. He can easily track other tributes before they find him and sneak up on them in wolf form since most won’t consider their enemy coming in the form of a wolf. Plus, he doesn’t really have disadvantages terrain wise and fellow animals will likely like him and be willing to help him which is a win.

Sky - Remember y’all this man is a GOD KILLER so he will not be afraid to do what needs to be done. Plus he’s got Skyward Strikes for dayyyyyys and he’s definitely got an advantage in terrains that require battles in the sky or that take place on high ground. Not only that, he’s the best swordsman in the group so that is something to consider. However his stamina does leave something to be desired.

Warriors - This man doesn’t really have any special weapons other than his sword and fire rod but what he DOES have is his charisma and military leadership experience. In the famous words of Haymitch, “When you’re in the middle of the Games and you’re starving or freezing, some water, a knife, or even some matches can mean the difference between life and death. And those things only come from sponsors.” Warriors has a lot of experience rallying and leading armies so I believe he would be able to form alliances among tributes and lead them accordingly. Not only that, but you cannot convince me he wouldn’t have the Capitol completely wrapped around his finger and be able to get sponsors left and right.

Legend - Jesus Christ what DOESN'T this guy have? He's got everything from weapons to rings to magic to all boost his chances for survival. Not only that, but he's also got experience to back up his crazy arsenal. You wanna know what he doesn't have though? A good personality. This man would probably make the Capitol HATE him within the first five minutes of meeting him, and everyone knows how the Capitol reacts to people who disobey and rebel against them. So while he himself may not have many disadvantages, the Capitol itself would likely be his biggest enemy.

Hyrule - Listen, Hyrule may not have any fancy sword fighting techniques but he is damn good at magic and I believe that that skill alone would be a massive advantage. Especially when you consider how he could use his healing magic to cure himself and allies which is something no one else would really be able to do without aid from sponsors. On top of that, his ability to turn into a fairy could make hiding from other tributes easier. Plus, his Hyrule (pun intended) is likely just as bad as any Hunger Games setting poison/toxins wise so he already has a lot of experience surviving in environments whose sole goal is to try to kill you.

Wild - Oh boy, it's the man the myth the semi-feral king of survival himself! Whatever survival skill it may be Wild has got it and is simply there to have a good bad time! This guy is a master of just about every weapon out there in addition to being able to run like mad and climb entire cliffs in seconds. Wild also has the ability to scavenge and cook food from what he finds and brew potions that boost his physical state in various ways. That is of course assuming he can find a cooking pot AND that the smoke/fire won't draw the attention of other tributes. However, I believe his biggest weakness would be his inability to NOT break every single weapon he finds. Fighting the literal calamity with nothing but a tree branch and a pot lid may have worked at the time, but fighting fellow incarnations of the Hero who all have similar skill sets and abilities is another story.

Four - I honestly think that Four could win the Games mainly because nobody could find him for the vast majority of it. Like, he could easily pull a Lucy Gray Baird and just shrink into a Minish and wait out the majority of the games. But in the case that he IS discovered or when the others have killed each other off, there are very few people know about Four's ability to split into four people and so he could easily split and perform a surprise attack of sorts and strike as four people rather than the expected one. His biggest disadvantage however, is his small size and any sort of intense weather. Opponents larger and stronger than him could likely overpower him and any rain or dramatic weather could be dangerous as a Minish.

Wind - I swear this kid runs on spite and sheer stubborn determination most days. This kid forcibly dragged the Triforce from the bottom of the ocean and stabbed the King of Evil in the head as a child do you really think he'd die easily in the Hunger Games? Anyways, I would say weapons wise Wind's greatest advantage is his fire, ice, and light arrows. While they do take magic, getting hit by any of those arrows would cause major damage if not instant death for any opponent. In addition to that, he would have a great advantage in any water-based terrain and his ability to manipulate the wind could be used in a number of circumstances as well. However, while he is very strong due to his power bracelets, his shorter physical stature would still likely put him at a disadvantage against larger opponents.

[veilkeeper]

Tav asks for you! General 1, 8 and 9, story specific 12, 15 and 17, and romance 1 and 12 for Roz?

questions from here

(Roz is transmasc and nonbinary, they/them pronouns.)

General

1. Where can your Tav be recruited? Are they first encountered on the Nautiloid, or in the Nautiloid crash region? Or are they not recruitable until a later act?

Hm... I'm tempted to say the player would find them on the nautiloid, but in the interest of not throwing another githyanki in there, I'll say the PC finds them for the first time later, on the risen road. They'll be cagey but with a high enough charisma, they'll tell the PC they were pretty sure this road led to elturel. Or maybe there's a brainlink tadpole moment and the PC can feel that they were heading to elturel, somewhere familiar to them. when it becomes apparent that you share their tadpole affliction and that the PC intends to do something about it, they consent to traveling with the party, if the PC is so inclined.

8. What do they say when the Player Character asks them to stay in camp? How about when the Player Character asks them to come adventuring again?

Roz is very non-combative when it comes to "orders", so while they think it's a bad idea to leave them in camp, they'd probably just do an "uh huh. I'll be here if you need me." When the PC asks them to rejoin the party, something like "About time. I was getting sick of standing around." if they're romanced, theyd switch to a softer "i would prefer not to, but if you insist," if they're asked to stay behind.

9. Does your Tav have any escalating conflicts with one of the other companions, like Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s knife-fight?

I don't think so. Roz prefers to stay under the radar. If they have a problem with anyone, they would rather keep it to themself. And since they're very good at taking cues from other people, I think they'd be good at keeping at the very least a working relationship with everyone.

(more below!!)

Story Specific

12. Is it possible for your Tav to be kidnapped and replaced by Orin? How is Orin's deception revealed? How do they react to the PC rescuing them in the Temple of Bhaal?

YES. I'm a sucker for the drama. How does she get caught, though? Probably by talking too much. Suggesting the PC does things before being specifically asked for an opinion, being a little too verbose and intense to really sell it. Roz is definitely shocked that anyone would come to rescue them, and would thank the PC the next time they're spoken to in camp. "I wouldn't have dared ask you to put yourself in danger for me. So, thank you. Your consideration is... appreciated." *looks away awkwardly*

15. How do they react when the Dark Urge first reveals their amnesia and murderous thoughts to them?

Roz: "Thank you for telling me." 1. Is that all? 2. You seem troubled. 3. You're welcome. Narrator: [Insight: Success] *They shift on their feet, their eyes turned skyward. They're uncomfortable, but you do not think it is because of anything you've said.* Roz: "Not troubled. I simply do not know what you wish for me to say. You know these desires are not normal or you would not confess them like this, so I will not deign to convince you that they are. However, as thoughts alone they matter little. The mind is full of things we may not wish for. If they trouble you, I would suggest not turning them to action. But do not fear judgement from me, either way."

17. If romanced, how do they react to the Dark Urge trying to kill them in Act 2?

"Ah. And yet, you passed up a very good opportunity to see me dead, so I like my chances. (More seriously) Tell me what you need, please." As always, Roz would first and foremost be concerned with Durge's feelings and waiting for the cue on what they want them to do in this situation. Afterwards, they'd ask for more details but in a way that more suggests that they're looking for a game plan for the next time their lover might get possessed by the murderghost that seems to live in their brain, and less as a judgemental, "you owe me an explanation" sort of thing.

Romance

1. Is your Tav a romanceable character? Are there any specific requirements to romancing them?

Definitely! But it would take some effort. I don't think there's specific requirements per se, but it would take some persistence: they're the kind of person who would take a few flirts before they acknowledge the PCs interest. They would definitely be interested, they just wouldn't be sure that the PC is right away, and would need some convincing first.

12. Free space! Share anything from your companion!Tav au!

Stealing from my long ass meta post sitting in my drafts: They won't autonomously talk about themself, but if the PC brings them in the party, they will occasionally make comments, and similar to Sten in DA:O when camp is set the PC can ask about it. I.e. they'll mention having been in this area before, or they'll know the history of something that a githyanki soldier wouldn't.... typically know? And the PC can ask about it and that's when they'd talk about themself. They'd be a very "you get what you give" companion. The more effort you put in to take interest in them, the more forthcoming they'll be.

[fel-path]

At last, the trap had been set. 

There was to be no traffic on this road, leaving the small, seemingly unimportant bridge devoid of travelers or adventurers. There was only the shadowy, armoured figure of Varah Terok standing at the base of the structure, hands folded behind her back. 

The witch was a fearsome sight, her Voidheart raiment cackling with violet arcs of pure magic, her cowled visage devoid of any discernible features save the baleful, white glow where her eyes should be, the darkness within seemingly taking the shape of a shadowy skull. Tall and poised, she merely… waited. 

He was nearly here.

The sense of something wrong was felt, the hair on the back of her neck stood up as an involuntary sensation of welling fear coursed through her before it was quickly squashed. The road before her darkened visibly, the light dying as a portal of dark magic was conjured. Any animal within the area quickly hightailed it out of there as the two darkcasters stood apart from each other.

The other was a tall man, and where he was once handsome, he had been twisted with the taint of Fel. Grotesque horns protruded out of his head, reaching skyward with a ball of green fire swirling between the sharp tips. Long, white hair fell down past his shoulders, his lithe form clad in expensive finery that spoke of excess wealth and indulgence. Jewelry decorated every part of his form, and a clawed hand came up to gesture towards the masked warlock apart from him. 

“You… you are not Severen. I wonder if one is friend? Or foe?” His words, flowing like rich honey, dripped with power and charisma, that elongated, forked tongue snaking out as he grinned a fanged smile. 

The armoured witch scoffed loudly. “Twisted and vile, just as I remembered you before your ghastly descent into corruption. How you survived for so long will forever be lost upon me.” 

The demonic human hissed a sound, this interruption a mild inconvenience in the grand scheme of things. “Impudent whelp. I will deal with your insubordination, but first. You sent the distress spell, what could possibly require my most unfortunate intervention?”

The woman barked a harsh laugh, the sound loud and grating. “You think this plea to be rescued? Hah! Severen is dead. Korlast is dead. Balagan is dead. This is a trap I have laid over decades.”

The demon snarled, growing bored the longer this drew out. Another upstart Harvest Invoker, likely, all lies no doubt. “A most desperate effort to garner power, I will flay you slowly until I grow bored of your screams. Tell me, insect, who dares stand against Az’dramin.”

A silent pulse of magic was felt as Varah dropped the spells to conceal her power, letting the demon be able to detect her magic properly as she spoke. “I am She who Remembers, the Surviving Light.” A clawed gauntlet came up to banish her helmet with but a wave, revealing those bright, corrupted eyes and scowling visage beneath. 

Az’dramin took a long moment before letting out a loud, boisterous laugh. The ball of green fire that swirled between his horns pulsated with power as he struggled to contain himself. “Oh, I see it clearly now. A cleric who survived, come for the vengeance for the betrayal I laid at Grand Hamlet. Except, now you are without your Light.”

Fangs were flashed once more in a most devious smile, a step closer taken as he found himself now utterly enjoying the moment. “Disgrace. Failure. You’ve had, what? Years? Decades? A lifetime to plan out this futile gesture. Tell me whatever words you had prepared before I drain that soul like I did your sisters.”

Varah narrowed her gaze at the human-turned-demon, the man who had used to have been a patron of her holy order. A traitor to Brightwood who opened the gates to Grand Hamlet to let the Horde storm in without siege. “I do not need to say anything. I just need you to die.” From behind her back, her clawed hand produced a massive, powerful soulstone of a deep violet, swirling with Fel magic within the center. 

“NO!”

With a sound like the crack of lightning and within a fraction of a second he had shifted into a realm of shadows to close the distance. Magic hissed around them as their auras were clearly visible, his own a potent host of demonic energy. 

But Varah’s? In this plane, her aura was a titanic fount of pure, raw magic. Like a mountain it towered over him, burning with the righteous fire of a hundred suns, pure, undaunted hatred threatened to drown him out. 

A clawed hand belonging to Varah had intercepted the magical translocation, holding him by the throat before tossing him against the wall of the bridge. This bridge, the one where the warlocks had struck down the cleric known as Indina Malvyst. The Bridge that had brought Varah Terok into the world. 

The witch was immediately upon the demonic figure, assailing him with claw and spell, searing bolts of witchfire scorching flesh and finery, though her talons were blocked by a pair of daggers that materialized within his hands, being able to parry the feral, frenzied strikes with a building difficulty. 

Az’dramin hissed in challenge, slipping away as he watched the witch lash out in pure wrath. Despite the decades, it was clear Varah would not go down without a fight. A blade sung out with a low, concealed strike, digging into the side of the woman’s side, punching through bravado and metal, face twisted in such terrible delight. Varah growled, driving her talons into the meat of his scaled shoulder, slicing tendons as the soulstone fell to the ground. 

“You’ve already tasted the delight of Fel magic, fallen cleric. Imagine what you could do with more.. Any lover of your choice, every lust quenched, any desire fulfilled..” Az’dramin drew close enough to allow that slippery, forked tongue to drag over the witch’s cheek, lowering his guard as he willed his presence to overpower Varah’s willpower. 

The witch turned to quickly sink her teeth into the fleshy tongue, tearing the appendage free in a spray of blood. The demon cried out in surprised anguish just as Varah drove her forehead into his nose, shattering it and causing another spray of tainted blood to fill the space around them. 

“That you think I actively seek any power betrays your own cowardice!” A strike powered by pure shadow magic rocked Az’dramin’s face, both clawed gauntlets gripping him by the horns. With a powerful grip, she drove her knee into his face repeatedly. A symphony of wet gurgles and cracked bones filled the space as Varah began to turn that twisted visage into a bloody pulp. 

“I recall EVERY virtue I stood for!” 

CRUNCH. 

“I remember EVERY oath I took!”

CRUNCH.

“I AM INDINA AZREI MALVYST OF THE ORDER OF BRIGHTWOOD!”

CRUNCH.

“AND WITH YOUR DEATH I FULFILL A THOUSAND VOWS OF VENGEANCE!”

One final knee strike send the demon reeling back, his face unrecognizable, pits of his skull visible as blood poled from now-empty eye sockets, fangs spilling out in shattered splinters. Incapable of speech, he crawled with a pathetic attempt to escape. Unable to utter incantations, unable to see the threat, he was utterly defenseless. 

The witch held out a hand, and there was a powerful flash of Light around her. A hammer crafted from pure, golden magic was materialized, held out to Varah with several pairs of hands without bodies, though she knew her sisters were just as eager for justice to finally be met out. The weapon was a large, powerful mastercraft that mirrored the weapon that Mother Aspiel had carried as a symbol of her status. The weapon had always been meant for Indina, and now her clawed hand took the weapon from the disembodied hands, the head of it engulfed in a powerful, burning holy fire. 

“BRIGHTWOOD IS FOREVER FREE OF YOUR BETRAYAL!”

With a single, powerful motion, she struck not at the demon, but at the quivering soulstone. The glass shattered with a cataclysmic explosion of dark magic, engulfing them both in a blinding light. The witch, holding the blessed hammer known as Reminiscence, was protected from the shockwave, but Az’dramin was not as fortunate. The demon evaporated, reduced to ashes within moments in a purifying flame, yet the torture he felt lasted what felt like decades. 

The bridge grew quiet, and throughout Duskwood, the wailing spirits quieted, if but a moment, the entirety of the region had a breath of relief as a lingering, infested wound was finally purified. 

[aquaticpal]

7. Favourite dungeons?

Ancient Cistern (Skyward Sword): when I played it for the first time, I very quickly recognized that I had descended into Buddhist "hell" due to all the spinning wheels and spikes - in Chinese it is commonly spoken of in terms of the wheels (cycles) of reincarnation, and how much pain a soul must go through before it's fit to be reborn. And then I felt really vindicated to have recognized the analogy after I googled up the story of the Spider's Thread. A very clever concept for a dungeon, A+ execution.

Snowpeak Ruins (Twilight Princess) is a commonly loved one because of how unconventional it was, but I also remember the puzzles/level design in it being very enjoyable. Plus hot soup~~

Forest Temple (Ocarina of Time): just really brilliant level design, especially when the concept of "how to make a 3D Zelda game" was completely new territory. Lots of spooky atmosphere but without going outright "horror and gore" like Shadow Temple. I'll be thinking of the twisty hallways forever.

8. Most underrated Zelda game?

S P I R I T T R A C K S

(It gets so so much hate for its control scheme and musically-disinclined people having to play the panpipes. But I had no trouble with either and the train travel was made enjoyable by the irresistible overworld music. And then you get to spend all that time with Zelda~)

Oh but also, probably almost nobody played Four Swords Adventures because it seemed so complicated with the multi-player GBA setup, but folks don't realize that the game was playable single-player and still a fun romp in that way. It was gimmicky yes but it was still a solid Zelda game underneath the gimmick!

9. Least favourite character in the series?

Umm there might be some other minor character I dislike more that hasn't come to mind right now, but Astor is pretty up there for being a wet rag with zero charisma and zero compelling story. Just fails in every possible way.

TLOZ asks

[looloolooweez-sims]

At the start of Round 2,

The Caliente family:

Lives in the Skyward Palms neighborhood of Oasis Springs; with N.A.P.s Rock Your Body, Support Performing Arts

Has about § 1,985 in the bank

Owns a house worth about § 95,925; with lot traits Convivial, Party Place, Romantic Aura

Personal details under the cut!

Nighat "Katrina" Caliente:

Is an adult

Has the traits Family-oriented, Hot-headed, Romantic; plus the aspiration trait Alluring

Has the Wellness aspiration Inner Peace

Has the Wellness aspiration Self Care Specialist

Has the Wellness aspiration Zen Guru

Is in the Entertainment - Musician career, at level 5 "Jingle Jammer"

Is working on the skills Guitar (level 4), Piano (level 4), Comedy (level 3), Parenting (level 3), Wellness (level 3), Cooking (level 2), Fitness (level 2)

Dina Caliente:

Is a YA

Has the traits Lazy, Materialistic, Romantic; plus the aspiration trait Alluring

Has the Romance aspiration Soulmate, at level 1 "Amore Amateur"

Has the Popularity aspiration Neighborhood Confidant

Is in the part-time Retail job, at level 2 "Sales Floor Clerk"

Is working on the skills Charisma (level 6), Dancing (level 3), Fitness (level 3), Mixology (level 3)

Nina Caliente:

Is a YA

Has the traits Active, Hot-headed, Romantic; plus the aspiration trait Alluring

Has the Romance aspiration Serial Romantic, at level 1 "Amore Amateur"

Has the Deviance aspiration Villainous Valentine

Is in the part-time Retail job, at level 2 "Sales Floor Clerk"

Is working on the skills Charisma (level 5), Mischief (level 5), Dancing (level 2), Fitness (level 2)

Benazir Caliente-Lothario:

Is a toddler

Has the trait Charmer

Is working on all toddler skills

[hegeso]

22.4.24

on a rock beach at dawn

two blue moons, spinning like wheels, converging

tall, veiled man standing waist deep in the cold water pointing both skywards and into the water.

beckons me forward. i wade out to join him

he takes my hands and holds them to his chest. in the most loving voice says to me “this is penance.” grabs my wrists, forces me down. i drown.

i’ve recently reconnected with a dear friend.

i’m rapidly coming to remember how significant our bond felt back then. he’s a curious individual—the ability to exist around him feels so safe that i question whether or not my experience is unique. perhaps everyone feels that way around him. you know, there are people out there who excel at making everyone feel safe and seen, who are naturally charismatic and comfortable to be around. i know that i have an inherent charisma and likability, sure, but i’m too afraid of self-involvement or self-aggrandizement to trust that another person could feel the same easy attachment or link that i feel. some magnets are bigger and stronger than others, and if i am a modestly sized magnet, an electromagnet isn’t going to feel the same pull to me as i to it.

that is to say, there is a part of me that is wounded and insecure enough to even care about this kind of thing.

off topic. returning.

i felt a strong pull to him back then, and the attraction was the rare kind, the specifically indefinable kind. i have felt this only once before. M— was at one point my best friend, once a queer platonic partner, once a romantic interest, once an object of my sorrow, always anything. always mattered, always will matter. bound by thread so strong that i nor they will ever have the means to break it.

my feelings towards M— are complicated to say the least. i love them. i love them? was i in love with them? am i still, despite rarely speaking to them anymore? is “love” too base a word or concept to use in our situation? i know that the thought of them can still make me cry. truthfully, i would have been happy to live and love alongside them until i died. it’s been 7 years since i met them, and my heart still aches for them now as much as it did then. need to clarify, reiterate rather, that this ache and attachment is that rare indefinable kind. this person could be anything to me. anything that they or the situation needs, i will be there to fill the role. and i know i am significant to them in turn. i don’t want anything from them, i don’t expect anything from them. things were just whatever they needed to be. no anxiety, no jealousy, just affection and understanding. decidedly a category outside of traditional social relationships.

it could be that i’m as naive as a child, that i’m confusing natural affinity with something encoded in the akashic records or some related fill-in-the-blank, book of fate, written in the stars, destiny, et cetera.

i’ve felt this once before, now twice. there’s no choice in the matter, there’s no opportunity for control. i don’t want to have any say-so, and i certainly don’t feel the need for it. i don’t need to see the path ahead of me. it would be foolish to try to do so.

i’m feeling pretty embarrassed at myself right about now and am kicking myself for promising a fair exchange of vulnerable information because if i stay true to my promise then he will see all this nonsense and potentially misunderstand. although i don’t think he really would.

{A/N: gave a watered down confessional to tone down the embarrassment, hello N— of the future who might be reading this}

it’s silly. all the hoops we jump through to avoid being misunderstood, or to avoid something being taken the wrong way, to censor ourselves out of fear—of what, of missing a connection? of making a connection we’re afraid of?

it’s silly. friendship is such a gamble

it’s silly. everyone wants to think that others want something from them.

but—

—it’s useless.

to what lengths will i go, and for what?

[carmensolny]

Skyward Style: Unveiling the Hottest Aviator Sunglasses Trends of 2024

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[cyclonesyndicate]

BLOOD RIVALS | BEOWULF | TRIAL 1.3 | RE: WRINKLI, FANTASIA

And the cat leaves them guessing for the answer to her power. Typical and also expected from someone with a power called Scaredy-Cat that’s being pressured for a murder involving scaring someone to death. Beowulf’s attention is captured again and he leans forward again, still not placing his legs back on the ground. He chuckles over in Fantasia’s direction.

“I don’t know if I believe the whole parent-child thing but something between rivals. Now that’s something special. Just like Fantasia said, it’s thrilling. I think it takes a very special bond to truly be rivals with someone, much more than just resentment.”

And then his attention goes to the cat, herself.

“The concept of the office is stupid to you.Not so much to Elegante though, right? She seems like it’s something she really wants. So she tried to get it. With this…completely silly and bogus trap. Like Fanta over there said, there is a lot you could have happened upon to get you clued in that something was going on.”

Beowulf had this confidence and charisma in his voice that made it always seem like he had everything figured out. That he was strong and that nothing could throw him off. That doesn’t drop as he continues but he seems less chipper. Less like he’s trying to stick it to Treiz and more like…he feels melancholic about the entire charade.

“You know Elegante well enough, maybe you knew it was his handiwork. You go on the look for your arch-rival..and where else do you find them but in the changing room. Probably already with a black eye. Or maybe you saw Lechuza there, right after giving him that black eye and you assumed the worst.”

He sighs, turns his gaze back skywards, and closes his eyes.

“Elegante’s your arch-rival and the only person suited to take them out is you. So you protected them.”

He finally pulls his legs down and sits normally in his seat. He leans forward on the table as his smile returns and he looks over to Treiz.

“But that’s just my silly little theory. Feel free to tell me how wrong I am. In fact I encourage it so we can get ourselves just a step or two closer to catching the bastard that killed someone." 

[comparativetarot]

Knight of Wands. Art by Jessica Howard, from The Forager's Daughter Tarot: Afterlight Edition.

Dissection: A garter snake catches something in its gaze, and winds its way up a post to get a better view. A fiery forsythia blooms nearby. The yellow flowers are bright and stand out against the duller colors of early spring. An ornate wand points skyward, ready to send a burst of energy into the air. A quarter moon hovers overhead, growing fuller with each passing day.

Compass: The Knight of Wands embodies determination, charisma, and an adventurous spirit. He can act with quick confidence and cool charm; whatever best fits the situation. Unafraid to make the first move, he seeks a good challenge. His bright personality draws the attention of everyone around him.

Reflection: Forsythia is a beautiful shrub, and it truly looks ablaze when it's in full bloom. Seeing the bright yellow is a thrill when late winter is dragging on into spring. Unfortunately, they don't bloom for very long. Just like a flame, it seems they appear overnight, demanding the world's attention, and then burn out in a fizzle. The Knight of Wands has a similar trait: he is full of passion and incredible energy but can quickly become burned out and exhausted.

The snake is emblematic of the Knight of Wands, and garter snakes are prolific in the woods where I grew up. There are many associations with snakes, both positive and negative. In some stories they are hypnotic, able to charm their prey with a stare. They can lash out when feeling threatened and move silently through the underbrush. The Knight of Wands, like snakes, has always captured our attention as a powerful symbol and linked to intense energies.

Position: Upright - Confidence, passion, Charming, Exciting, Fearless Reversed - Arrogance, Hot Tempered, Manipulative, Poor Self-Image

Sign: Garter Snake - Charming, Self-Assured Forsythia - Fiery, Attention Grabbing, Bright Wand - Directed Energy, Action, Conviction

[musashi]

2021 Writer In Review Meme!

@wutheringmights said that the writers should get in on the end of year art memes and you know what!!!! i agree. this is one of the first years in a while i was constantly writing and i want to brag too, hehe.

here’s some excerpts im particularly proud of from the respective months i wrote them in~

January:

Another lurch in the spirit’s being, and Fi shutters it with calculations before it can get to her. A reason. A reason for her behaviour. Possibilities pop up and simmer out. She wants to keep an eye on him and monitor his health—low probability, she can do that without manifesting. She wants to keep watch on the area while he’s in a vulnerable state? The same—the evil around them has an easily detectable aura, and most of it wouldn’t dare near the sacred flame. Maybe the sword feels cramped? But nothing’s stopping Fi from making herself smaller, turning her body to stardust within its hilt. Nothing adds up—besides the stirring against her crystal heart, like a loftwing chick’s clumsy first flight.

~ In Emergency Situations, Your Sword Can Provide Medical Attention

February/March:

She sings. Marin’s pressed into his side, an arm around Legend’s waist, and he tries not to become lost in the notes he’s heard a thousand times and wants to hear a million more. His head swirls with the scent of her this close—fresh cut flowers, bonfires on the beach, she smells like summer and young love and memory, and she holds him, and he melts into her shoulder and her wild red hair, unable to fight the impulse any longer. Legend brings a shaking hand toward her, pawing at a courage that comes so easily everywhere else, and Marin meets him halfway, lacing the fingers of her free hand with his own. Her skin is so impossibly soft, the strength in how she holds him so apparent regardless.

~ Down [Chapter 1: Legend]

April:

Now, the sunset’s flashing its last hurrah across Hyrule in a golden parade of light, and Twilight lets his heart ache its bittersweet ache as he takes it in and buries his fingers in the sand and resists the urge to look toward his growing shadow. Wind and Wild are two blurs of bright blue, foot-racing through the salty waves, the champion desperate to win at something as it very quickly became clear that no living swordsman could best the Hero of Winds in a seaside battle.

~ Down [Chapter 2: Four]

May:

There’s so much he’s still missing, so much life he’s yet to remember, pawing at scraps of who he was before. Pictures the princess left him, and scrawlings on yellowed paper burnt with malice and hidden in the castle walls, with so much at stake, and so many eyes upon him, he feels it necessary to stay strong, to silently bear every burden. Anything can send him tumbling back to that mysterious Before—the scent of fruitcake baking, the croak of a hot-footed frog, the right notes on Time’s ocarina, the velvety petals of a silent princess in his hand.

~ Down [Chapter 3: Wild]

June:

Most of all, Sky thinks of the day after Pipit’s Wing Ceremony. He thinks of the broken wail of his mother’s loftwing against the thundering winds that whipped and tore around Skyloft, he thinks of the scraps of his father’s best tunic hanging from the bird’s bleeding talons. He thinks of his fingernails dug into the dirt while he sobs, and sobs, and sobs, and he thinks of the pity he never stopped seeing thereafter in the eyes of everyone who looked his way.

Of the pity bed at the academy, why don’t you stay the summer in your dorm. Of the pity buffet Zelda brought him to a few days after, all his favourite foods lined up in the empty academy kitchen. Of the pity party his life became in the whole year following, a sudden and suspicious charisma that drew people to him, people who had never noticed the silent boy before.

Pity grades. Pity letter. Pity win. Pity sailcloth. Pity date. Pity sword. Pity destiny.

~ Down [Chapter 4: Wind]

July:

Skyward Sword HD said no writing this month <3

August:

Malon considers this for a moment before nodding, nonchalant. In some other lifetime, perhaps, this would be a revelation worth thinking about, but knowing Link has taught her to stop being surprised. Thinking back to all those years ago, when he’d stumbled into the castle grounds looking dirty and lost, the way her heart soared when she saw the fairy duck into his hat. Strange magic has always just swam around him, sparkling at his fingertips with every whistling note of his ocarina. Link’s a fairytale, even like this.

~ Rest Stop

September:

Tonight, Fi is restless, warbling energy glowing off her blade in quiet bursts, refusing to calm. Sky isn’t sure if it’s because she knows they’re talking about her and wants to be present as she’s able, or if it’s something more conciliatory, a way to put the lot of them at ease. It feels more like the second, Sky ponders, and it drifts along his head again—this vibration in his veins, like her wings on his hands. Like she’s touching him delicately, moving him into position. Not an order, never an order—always a guiding light, a tilt of her head to act as his compass, a two-digit numerical with a percentage trailing behind it like a comet’s tail. Even now—with the contradiction of her lilting monotone silent—she suggests, advises, encourages.

And Sky trusts her, so he listens.

Finally, his fingers weaving through Time’s hair without a single mussed-up objection, he braids.

Imperfect braids, of course—Zelda taught him in a single day, long ago when they were kids, and she’s so adept at doing her own, he rarely gets to practice. But it’s something to do to assuage his sick friend’s headache when the act of just entwining loses its appeal, and so Sky braids, feeling in that moment that there’s a one-hundred percent probability of it being the best thing to do.

~ Down [Chapter 6: Time]

October:

On paper, it’s an otherwise unremarkable sound. He’s got six sick friends still ailing in the house, and it’s probably the three-hundredth sneeze he’s heard in the last two weeks. Anyone else would probably ignore it and press on with their work, admiring the newborn night as it rolls across the hills of Hateno. Sky, however, isn’t anyone else. His ear twitches, and he stills his ladle where it is.

Who was that?

That doesn’t sound like any of them, is the thing. It’s not Hyrule’s sleepy-sounding rasp, or Wind’s near comedic half-scream. It’s not Time’s scrapey, metallic tenor, not Four’s breathy stifling, definitely not Wild’s loud orchestration. It’s not Legend, sounding like a remlit kit.

And his heart sinks for a moment as he nears the end of that list, but it can’t be Twilight either, because Twilight does that weird thing where it sounds like he’s just coughing, leaving Sky with a bless you hanging at the edge of his tongue, completely unsure if the situation calls for him to say it. He hates that. It’s not that.

~ Down [Chapter 7: Warriors]

November:

Twilight belts out a broken battle cry from reserves he doesn’t have, charging Sky with blade brandished. Every part of the chosen hero runs on instinct, then—his hand is at his back and his own sword is bared, and she’s not happy with him but he has no other choice. Right at the start, it’s clear Twilight isn’t fighting to injure, but he’s just as fierce as he is in any spar, swinging strong and heavy where he lacks in precision. Sky’s forced to block the first slice, and his palm is searing, violet flames crackling at the point where he meets her. He pushes through the pain, but he can almost hear Fi’s voice in his head—crying out in an agony of her own, what are you doing stop that don’t hurt him please don’t hurt him PLEASE—

I’m sorry, his heart cries back to her. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

~ Down [Chapter 8: Twilight]

December:

The weight of the whole world sits there on her shoulders, a swirling pink-black miasma that she sees sometimes in her deepest nightmares. It roars and screams and bears down heavy, and under its oppressive cloud the princess finds herself unable to breathe, to move, to speak. And she thinks, if I had my sealing powers, and she thinks, if I had a sword that demons revile, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe she could fight the beast as it looms, maybe she could save the world she so loves, maybe if she had been handed an easier destiny, or a map to navigate this one she’s stuck with, maybe the words wouldn’t stick, maybe the wreckage wouldn’t be so airless.

What an absolute fool she’d been, to think every demon could be slain with a blade.

~ Shattered Silence

I’m really proud of how much i wrote this year! in december alone i’ve written 20k+, and that is absolutely insane to me. the zelda fandom and especially the LU fandom has been incredible for my creative output--i am surrounded by so many people who are so generous with their time, encouragement and feedback. 

thank you so much to everyone who read my work this year, especially everyone who read Down! i never could have anticipated, writing chapter one almost a year ago, that it would have ever received the reception it did. i hope to write so much more ;__; <3

[tiamat-zx]

New Stats, Who Dis (Campaign 3 Spoilers)

So… Campaign 3 finally debuted on October 21st, 2021, which just happened to be Matt and Marisha’s wedding anniversary. YAY! And as such, we were introduced to our brand-new adventuring party.

Well… “brand-new” may be stretching it, to put it mildly.

Why? Because there are quite a few familiar faces who have the opportunity to explore their stories further: three of the “Crown Keepers” from Exandria Unlimited!

And as part of their inclusion into this new group, as Matt had mentioned on Twitter recently, the Keepers had been given the option of rerolling their stats. And while Orym of the Air Ashari did not get his stats rerolled… the same cannot be said of our favorite fiery faun and breezy bard, Fearne Calloway and Dorian Storm.

To start with, Fearne’s Dexterity of 14 is unchanged, and her Armor Class and Maximum Hit Points remain unchanged at 17 and 24, respectively. However, her Strength and Intelligence did get a respective ashy reduction from a 8 to 7 and 10 to 9. But on the upside, she DID benefit from a scorching boost in her Constitution (14 to 15) and while that does not affect her HP, her Wisdom and Charisma are definitely noticeably better, stoked from a 16 to 17 and 13 to 15, respectively.

And you know what’s ironically funny about the Charisma increase? It’s been stated that her mini had to be redesigned four times, just to make her bosom bigger. Fittingly enough, that would add to her fey charm, and she was already charming in EXU, if her effective Charm Person gambit on Poska were any indication. Plus, Ashley just wanting that for Fearne? I mean, who would refuse a request from Ms. Johnson, right?

Meanwhile, Dorian has received quite the drastic “second wind” in terms of his ability scores. While his Wisdom score did take a dive from 10 to 9, and his Intelligence remains a stagnant 12, the rest of his scores definitely ascended skyward; his physical scores all getting a soaring increase (Strength from 14 to 17, Dexterity from 14 to 16, and Constitution from 10 to 17), while his Charisma only slightly receiving a tailwind boost from 15 to 16. (It should be noted that his maximum HP at the time this card was shown was not updated correctly, so if the rolled HP did not change, then it should be increased from 17 to 26.)

…

And now, as an honorable mention, the silverfox of the Search for Grog (and Bob): Sir Bertrand Bell.

Seeing as Campaign 3 begins in 843 PD, a good 30 or so years after the trek to Pandemonium, Bertrand has definitely seen better days. And as such, he lost 13 levels due to old age and with them a lot of his higher stats, though ironically getting a boost in Intelligence and still being at level 5, thus having Extra Attack as a fighter. But despite being in his 80s or so, he wasn’t so feeble as to not be useless in a fight; he still had enough vim and vigor to be of assistance to the rest of the group in their first ever combat outside the Spire by Fire tavern.

Of course, while Orym and Fearne are said to be in it for the long haul, it’s still up in the air as to how long Dorian will be here as he seems to be a long-lasting guest at best. Not just that, but there are questions as to whether or not Bertrand will be a permanent fixture in the group because of his old age, or whether he truly IS Bertrand and not, say, someone masquerading as him. But perhaps we’ll find out more this week.

But all the same, I am excited for this campaign, especially with the rest of the group being eccentrically unique in their own rights. I mean, when you have a psionic southern sorcerer, the goth queen to out-goth every other goth in CR to date who is actually rather sweet, an earth genasi who is literal punk rock, and a healbot named after one of their maker’s favorite smells… there’s a lot of roleplaying potential here. And when you mesh the fresh faces with those whose stories we’ve only scratched the surface of, it’s definitely going to be a wild ride.

[ellstersmash]

Not to Keep

Fandom: Mass Effect (Original Trilogy) Pairing: Kaidan x f!Shepard Rating: T for Teen (cw for alcohol use) Words: 2.7k [Read on Ao3]

shep and kaidan go undercover, set early in me1. this was originally a prompt for "fake relationship" from Leather & Lace Romance Week, but then I waited 3.5 years to finish it 🥀

-

It all seemed so simple. Infiltrate a wedding, extract intel on Benezia, use that to find Saren.

Easy-peasy.

Until Shepard shows up in the shuttle bay looking like that. They've only been working together for a couple of months, and Kaidan has seen her covered in blood spatter, dripping sweat post-PT—hell, even bare naked in a hotel room. But it’s safe to say he never thought he'd see her like this. Full makeup, soft curls, a long red dress that shouldn't fit anyone that perfectly, and, dangling from two fingers, a pair of classy black heels.

Kaidan swallows hard and gives her a curt nod. “Ma’am.”

“Alenko.” He shifts on his feet as her eyes travel the length of his body and back up, her cool stare giving nothing away. “You clean up nice.”

“Ah, thanks. And you look—”

“Oh, I'm dressed to kill.” Lips the same shade as her dress curve into a grin. “Figuratively, for once.”

Kaidan chokes and laughs, caught off guard in a mixture of nerves and surprise. “Was that a joke, Commander?”

Her expression narrows into a pinched, self-deprecating smirk. “If you have to ask, then no. And I definitely haven't been thinking about it since Williams zipped this damn thing up.”

The thought of his CO, this formidable woman, giggling to herself over a stupid joke for an hour is... well, it’s uncharacteristically cute. Kaidan rolls it around in his head for an indulgent minute, trying on the fit before letting the image go.

Just one more thing to jam into that Never Gonna Happen file.

“Right,” she says, back to business. “Let’s get this over with.”

They board the shuttle for the short trip to the venue, and go over the mission brief one final time: intel extraction remains their highest priority—one of their hosts, Polona T’Shan, was rumored to have a close business connection with the matriarch; protecting their cover is important, but heavy security is not expected; their false identity profiles should be enough to get them in the door, and from there the two of them will be responsible for avoiding unwanted attention by appearing as a couple.

Kaidan knows his own limits. He’s a soldier, not an actor. This pretending to be someone else, this lie, it isn't part of his training and it sure as hell isn't part of who he is. But if Shepard’s as nervous as he is, she isn't showing it.

She’s looking at him again, in that intense all-in way she sometimes does. Before her, he had never met someone who was aware of—and pursued��what they wanted with such confidence, such dogged determination, and to have that kind of focus set on him even for just a moment is… terrifying. In a good way, he thinks. It makes him feel warm and cold at the same time. It also makes him want to stare right back, but that way lies only trouble, and none of them need another helping. Not right now.

Kaidan leans back and rests his head on the cool, if slightly unsteady, inner shuttle wall as Shepard drums a rhythmless pattern into the space between their seats.

---

Kyra drains her glass.

As it turns out, Asari weddings aren't all that different from the few human ones she’s attended. Though this reception is a far more extravagant affair than she’s used to: four days of mingling and games and dancing and drinking and food. Really not her cup of tea.

And apparently not Alenko’s, either.

He’d made a beeline for the bar as soon as they’d entered, and returned with an easier stride and a glass full of some bubbling neon sugary shit for her. She’d have preferred something stronger, of course, but they do have a mission to complete. If they can manage to get Polona alone for a moment.

She slips her hand into the crook of his elbow and feels him stiffen, then relax. Quick and conscious. He’s nervous, out of place, on edge, and then completely calm and collected.

No doubt in her mind he was the right pick for this one.

The thought settles her stomach, and just in time. Two asari approach, their hands extended in enthusiastic welcome.

“Greetings!” one of them says, with a voice smooth and sweet as wildflower honey. “Oh, what a lovely pair you two make. Right out of the vids, could be. This one’s even better looking up close, don’t you think so, Liria?” The asari takes Alenko’s hand, sensual and deliberate, then turns her attention to Kyra. “And goddess, that dress is stunning; really, sweetie, it fits you like a glove. You”—she drags one finger down Alenko’s lapel—“are a lucky man, I hope you know.”

Eyes wide, he clears his throat and coughs, then regains his composure with a brief glance in Kyra’s direction.

The second asari offers an apologetic look to each of them in turn. “Rialla, darling, slow down or you’ll scare them off.”

“They certainly look sturdy enough.”

“I am so sorry. She’s had quite a bit to drink, I’m afraid. Never could pace herself at a wedding.” She laughs. “My name is Liria, and my companion’s name is Rialla, and ever since we saw you walk in, we have just been itching to get to know you.”

Kyra plasters what she hopes is a warm smile on her face, mentally pulling up her cover identity as reference. “Emily, and I’m delighted to meet you both. This is John, my um—”

“Her very lucky partner.”

The two matriarchs titter and tease him, both in turn, and once again he’s in control. Kyra can’t help but be impressed by how effortlessly he charms them. And she’s far from immune. It’s her mission, yet she is all too prepared to be led around the room by that firm hand at the small of her back.

Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko: respected Alliance Marine, powerful L2 biotic, all-around stand-up guy, and—apparently—a smooth son-of-a-bitch. It’s an unexpected feature for someone so soft-spoken and unpretentious. Like he has a hidden switch somewhere.

Or a button.

Press For Instant Charisma.

She briefly entertains the idea of hunting for it, then aborts the thought with a twist of her lips and tunes back in to the conversation.

---

The lie is getting easier. Shepard is tucked under Kaidan’s arm, and he’s almost comfortable.

Their new friends are exactly the right sort. Nosy, talkative, well into their cups, and connected. Old friends of their mark, both of them, and Liria has history with Benezia herself. Shepard spins her tale about a chance meeting with the missing matriarch at a charity benefit and their tapering correspondence, followed by a rumor igniting hope for reconnection. And they eat it right up.

All he has to do is act natural and help Shepard keep them talking.

“Well, you know Polona wasn’t only Benezia’s lawyer.” Liria leans in close, her voice not quite as hushed as she probably intended. “They were involved, some centuries back. Quite the scandal at the time, but then Benezia always had... selfish tendencies. Now, I’m not sure why they parted ways, or how serious it was, but—”

Not to be outdone, Rialla’s hands flutter for attention as she pipes in. “It must be more than a passing fling from two hundred years ago, though, because I heard that her Turian lover—or, well, husband now—almost called off this very wedding!”

“Really?” Shepard asks. What’s supposed to be idle curiosity is bordering on serious interest, her voice taking on a firm, interrogative quality to match her narrowed gaze, but a brush of his thumb on her shoulder and she reigns it in. Loosens up with a tilt of her head and a hand to his thigh that has him tensing up instead.

“Oh, yes,” Rialla says. “It was all very tenuous there for a while. And to think, then the four of us would never have met!”

Kaidan raises his glass with a smile as genuine as he can muster. “A tragic loss for us, to be sure.”

With a deep, warm smile, Rialla fans her face and leans in close to Shepard, but speaks for the whole table to hear. “Do let me know when you're finished with him, would you, dear? I think I may be quite in love.”

He's fine until Shepard smirks, then he's far too warm. Suffocating.

He tugs at his collar. “You think their, uh, conflict had something to do with Polona and Benezia’s involvement?”

“I seriously doubt it,” Liria says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “That was ages ago, not yesterday. Beni’s still pining after Aeth—”

Rialla laughs. “Oh, it’s Beni, now? I had no idea you were such intimate friends!”

“I’m 800 years old, my dear.” Liria scoffs. “I have quite a few friends you don’t know about.”

“Is that supposed to make me jealous?”

“Of course not, don’t be silly!”

“Silly? Goddess, must you always be so patronizing?”

“Must you always twist my words?”

“Oh, here we go!”

The situation spirals into chaos before either he or Shepard can recover it, and she stands up from the table, pulling at his elbow.

“I love this song,” she mutters pointedly, and leads him to the dance floor. It’s a slow number, thank god. He’s not nearly drunk enough to dance to something with a beat.

They sway slowly, and she presses close, his neck prickling underneath her palm. His own hands settle on her waist, then more naturally to her hips.

“Damn,” she whispers. “Damn.”

“I know. But hey, we’ve got the rest of the night. And tomorrow night. And the next night. And—”

“The next night, I know.” She groans and drops her head to his shoulder.

Kaidan smiles into her hair.

---

The night is officially over. The band is still playing, but most of the guests are gone, and despite making a number of connections, they’ve learned nothing more about Benezia's whereabouts.

They have, however, made decent use of the open bar.

Kyra downs the last of her champagne and orders a cocktail, dealer's choice. It arrives glowing and smoking and she takes the skyward trajectory of Alenko’s brows as a personal challenge not to hesitate.

A potent combination of peppermint and blueberries and battery acid hits the back of her throat and makes her head swim on contact.

Next to her, Alenko is nursing his third.

“How’s your drink?” he asks.

“Surprising.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“Um… Yes.” She clinks her fingernail against his glass. “How’s your whiskey?”

He frowns and takes a sip. “This is not whiskey.”

“Didn’t realize you were such a connoisseur.”

“No, I mean it is literally not whiskey. Didn’t have it, I guess.” He drinks again. “It’s weird, right? Walk into any bar on Earth and they’ll have a dozen to pick from, but soon as you take off…”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “No burgers. No guac. No ice cream.”

The low chuckle he gives is a sound she’d like to hear again. And again, and again, and—

“When you put it like that, this spacer life is a real sorry existence.”

Kyra nods and wonders what he misses most from home. Or who. But that is none of her business, so she empties her glass and tips the bartender in preparation to leave.

“Sorry tonight was a bust, Shepard.”

“It wasn’t a total loss. Decent food, free booze.” She rests her chin on one closed fist. “Good company.”

“By that, I assume you mean our new asari friends.”

“Sure.”

Holding his gaze is harder than it should be. He cradles his nearly-empty glass and taps his fingers in sequence. Up and down, like a zipper.

At last, he looks away. “I was going to say ‘beautiful,’ by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier, before we left. I was going to tell you how incredible you looked, but then you interrupted me, and I never really got the chance to say it so I figured I might as well say it now.”

Warmth rises in her belly and she rides it like a wave, unscathed and unchanged on the other side. She turns to face him, wriggling in the seat in preparation like he’s about to try and upend her. “All right, Alenko. Hit me. I’m ready.”

He gives a huff of nervous laughter, one hand going straight to the back of his neck. “Well, uh... that was pretty much it.”

“That’s it? You waited all night to tell me that you were going to tell me I looked beautiful, but didn’t?”

His lips roll together, and he cedes the point with a tilt of his head, then meets her eyes again before his take a slow, uncertain wander around the rest of her features.

“Shepard,” he says when he makes it back, and it’s a name so overused it may as well be a title—but not spoken like that. Low and drawn out and a little bit reverent, it becomes almost intimate for the first time in years and she can't help but wonder how her first might sound.

“You look really beautiful tonight.”

Oh. Oh no. Kyra knows she should say thank you, and tell him to finish his drink so they can get out of here, but this next wave won’t subside and the air won’t reach her lungs and all she can do is stare at him.

“I mean, not just tonight, but especially—” he continues, visibly flustered by her silence. “You know, the dress and the lips—ah, make-up! And, and the hair and everything, it’s just very, um, tasteful, and… Um.” He clears his throat and pushes his drink away by inches, folding his hands tight together. "Feel free to stop me anytime.”

Ah. There. That’s the Alenko she knows and can handle.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” she says, sending a silent prayer of thanks to whichever god kept her voice from breaking.

The smile they exchange is soft and charged and it smooths him over. His eyes are brown. Kyra knew that already, but clinically. On paper. Hair: black. Eyes: brown. Year of birth: 2151.

She didn’t know it like this, tangibly, all wrapped up and swept away in a simple fact.

This time she’s the one to give in. “You know, you should really keep that button pressed, Alenko.”

“What?”

“The charisma button.” She jerks her head toward the door, grabs his hand for the sake of anyone who might still be awake and sober enough to notice, and leads him out. “Push it. More.”

“I— what?”

Kyra chuckles to herself and steps into the elevator. “Forget it.”

The doors close once she chooses a floor and she regrets taking his hand because now she has to let go.

Kiss me. Come on, Alenko. Quick, before we go back. She can’t think it any louder, can’t make it any clearer without crossing a line. Be better if he does it, but he won’t. She knows he wants to just like she knows he never will, because he’s a good soldier and a good soldier doesn’t fuck with the chain of command. Not without a compelling reason, at least, and she can’t give him one.

Their floor lights up and reality pours in. He follows her across the dock, at a distance now that no one who would care might be watching.

Kyra takes a sharp, deep breath. Three more nights of this—unless they can get their intel sooner. Three more nights of flirting and dancing and soft touches all for show and not to keep. Maybe she should have brought Williams after all. Or Garrus. Or anyone else.

Distracted, she nearly trips getting into the shuttle, and somehow he’s right there, a broad hand on her waist to steady her.

A nod and he detaches. Steps back. “Ma’am.”

Ma’am. But he is a terrible liar, and she’s never been good at a long con.

[lino-know]

Misfits

pairing :: reader insert! w/ lee know word count :: 2.4k chapter count :: 6/? genre :: historical au!, enemies to lovers, mostly fluff + adventure

description :: in which you and minho are travelling bandits who steal things for a living, but he has an uncanny talent for getting in your way and finding where you are. also known as me speed-running the enemies to lovers and squeezing it into the span of god knows how many chapters.

note :: I say 'enemies to lovers', when it's really a combination of witty banter and increasing sexual tension. there is a plot if you squint hard enough, but honestly it's mostly the reader running away from minho and minho squirreling his way back into their heart.

also there is smut, but it's later in the story.

see the end for historical notes if you're interested!

also posted on ao3 | chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

schedule :: updates every tuesday until it finishes!

writing bgm for this chapter :: breath of the wild - rito village (night) ambience

you stare in silent awe at minho's silhouette from your position amongst the trees, your figure hidden in their shadows. head bowed between his shoulders and in deep reflection, his presence seems to add on to the sombre atmosphere already in the graveyard, but not in a bad way - in the same way that the statue of a buddha at a shrine signifies the presence of a guardian and adds on to the atmosphere of the site being a place for paying pilgrimage, minho being there adds on to the graveyard's purpose of being a place for mourning and a place for the dead and the living to meet, almost as if reminding you about the fragility of human life - that even though you as a living human reside in a different world than that of the dead, ultimately you are destined to cross over eventually, some day in the future once your body withers.

somehow, in this place of absolute tranquility, that thought inspires a strange sense of calm inside of you, rather than what should have been panic and fear. perhaps it's because of the sense of inevitability that comes with the act of living - after all, doesn't the act of dying constitute the act of living?

brushing the philosophical thoughts away, you turn your attention back to minho and realise that this position also makes him look smaller - the bowed head makes you realise the fact that despite all his grandeur and charisma and sarcasm, minho is probably only a few inches taller than you, judging by how you didn't exactly need to angle your gaze skyward to meet his. you suppose, at the end of the day, he's still a mortal man, even though his ego far surpasses that of his size.

for a moment, you find yourself living in frozen time, a moment of calm, peace and solemnity captured at the present, accentuated by the gentle whirls of wind curling around your body, as if spring has arrived early. the sun is half hidden behind a cloud, casting a few stray rays of sunlight amongst the light that brightens the clearing - a perfect picture of ambience.

until you shift your position and accidentally step on a tree branch, the sound of the wood cracking underneath your shoe resonating throughout the clearing.

the loud crack immediately shatters all semblance of peace and calm on the site. you freeze, panic seizing up within you immediately with the fear of being found, because minho is going to think you're spying on him, eavesdropping on him. you scramble to get a hold on reality, your instincts telling you to run away immediately, but the moment you regain your wits, he is already up, posture tense and an arrow nocked onto his bow. since when did he -

"who's there?" he demands, pointing his weapon at your direction. you swallow, limbs tense with the fear running through you, and you force yourself to keep calm, even though the sound of your heartbeat overwhelms everything else, because the only thing standing between his wrath and yourself is the tree in front of you. even the birds originally chirping fall silent, as if nature has come to a standstill, interrupted by his anger, and you know you've made a big, big mistake. you should've left the moment you saw him. you should've left him alone in his quest, where he specifically hinted for you to not find him. you should've -

"show yourself, or I'll shoot." and you know his threat is a promise, because that's the way with minho, and because he's pulling the drawstring taunt, ready to let the arrow fly free. taking a deep breath and praying to the gods above, you step out of your hiding place and try your best not to look sheepish or guilty. "hi, minho."

if he's surprised to see you there, the emotion doesn't show on his face, which is only full of fury. if anything, the drawstring is pulled even more taunt. "why are you here, __________?" minho's voice is lowered from the shout earlier, but that doesn't make it any reassuring - if anything, the undertones of a threat is even more evident as you raise your arms slowly, showing you mean no harm. but you know it means nothing to him, because all the damage has already been done, and ultimately, he knows you wouldn't do anything. not with him holding a weapon at your throat. "didn't I say we wouldn't meet?"

"I didn't know this place existed," you reply. no lies. no lies because he'll immediately sniff them out, and before you could blink you'll already be dead. the pure, undiluted anger on his face tells you he's serious - and definitely not in a mood to humour the light-hearted banter you've almost taken for granted at this point of your relationship. "I was riding tokki along the coastline, and she recognised your horse." as if on cue, she whinnies at his horse, who sends a greeting of its own back. "it seems like a great spot for a walk." damn, _________, what an excellent excuse.

"okay," minho doesn't seem convinced, and his refusal to lower his weapon adds to the point. "so why did you stay after seeing me?"

why indeed? that's a good question. that's a very good question, and sadly you don't have a good response for that because every answer, every excuse and every lie that runs through your head sounds worse than the last. so you do what you do best in this situation - and frankly, the only thing you can do in this situation. "I'm sorry," you mumble, finally lowering your gaze, unable to meet his eyes directly.

"sorry? you think that's going to cut it?" he scoffs, but you can hear the pain lying underneath his tones - the sense of betrayal underneath it all, because he probably thought you much more capable than this, and frankly, you thought you were better than this too. minho shakes his head in resignation and finally lowers his weapon, but not because you're forgiven - even worse, it's because he'd given up on you. "I thought you're better than this, __________."

"minho, wait - "

"no," he cuts you off, setting the bow onto the ground, crossing his arms, gaze level with yours, and you find it extremely hard to meet the intensity of his glare. "I don't want to hear your excuses, _________. I've warned you more than once - stop trying to find out more about me. stop asking questions about me. you've crossed a line that I've told you not to." minho's eyes flash with anger. "now please leave, properly this time."

you bite on your lip. while he's technically in the right and you in the wrong, for some reason his words infuriate you, rather than making a sense of shame well up. maybe it's because of his refusal to listen to you, or maybe it's because you have a stupid sense of pride and an overly inflated ego. whatever it is, it's encouraging your stubbornness to keep bargaining. keeping your voice level, you try again. "look, I'm really sorry - "

"as you should be."

" - but could you just let me explain?"

"like there's anything else to explain. what else is there to say? it's pretty clear, isn't it?" minho's voice is dismissive, showing his eagerness to shut off the conversation, and that seems to set something off inside of you. when you fall silent, trying not to let your anger get the better of you as you take deep breaths to ground yourself, he seems to take it as an indication of you giving up. "well, I guess that's all, then. now - "

"stop cutting me off everytime I speak!" you yell, and he jumps at the sudden raise in volume. "I'm trying to tell you something, and everytime I start you just cut in! you think you're the only one with boundaries, lee minho?! sorry to break it to you, but I'm not the only infuriating asshole who keeps getting on someone's nerves around here. you're fucking insufferable as well, it's just that no one has the guts to say it to your face." minho's stunned expression at your words is an image you wish you can savour for a bit longer, seeing as you're finally able to shut him up, but it's also an indication that your words bought you some time, so you rush on with your speech. "I really came here by mistake, okay?! and the reason I stayed is because I was curious why you're here in this random place out of the blue, alright? the place is so quiet and it makes me feel at ease, and it's the first time I see you so peaceful and calm and I've never seen that side of you, but I was enthralled so I stayed." you take a deep breath. "that's all." minho doesn't reply. "I'll go now, then." turning on your heel, you prepare to leave the clearing, fighting the urge to break down even though you aren't sure why, only clear that there are numerous emotions swirling in a whirlwind inside of you, slowly becoming overwhelming.

"you wanted to know why I'm here in this 'random place out of the blue'?" his voice is quiet, unlike yours, and you suspect that's his way of expressing anger - completely opposite from you, whose anger is much more explosive. when he repeats your words, you realise how stupid that sounds, because why else would he go to a graveyard other than paying his respects to the dead? "you want to know?"

unsure where he's going with his words, you turn around, before nodding, uncertain. minho sends you another gaze, but this time you can't read his expression, nor what he's thinking. "come here." for one second you thought he's beckoning you over so he could kill you easier since you're in easy reach, before you realise that the grave he was kneeling in front of earlier is now behind him. stepping forward tentatively, you take his previous position and bow your head to pay your respects to the deceased, before raising your eyes to the characters etched on the stone.

"lee...?" you don't recognise the names printed there, which you expected, but the surname catches your eye, and you find yourself reaching out to trace the characters with your fingertips, your curiousity getting the better of you, before you realise. "wait, isn't that - "

"my family." minho's voice is carefully contained, sounding strangled, as if the words are trying to force their way out of his throat. "my ancestors. they're buried here. are you happy now?"

you swallow, trying to get rid of the lump in your throat. certainly everyone has their own past, and minho has to come from somewhere, but you find it hard to associate the alias of the 'white wolf' and all the legends you've heard about him with this desolate, run-down place - this fishing village in the south, in the middle of nowhere. but then again, most heroes had an ordinary beginning.

"...I'm sorry," you finally mumble, not sure what else to say, because really, what is there to say? your initial sense of indignation deflates, until it melts away to a sense of overwhelming shame welling up inside of you, having not only intruded upon minho's private place, but also demanded an explanation from him when he clearly doesn't owe you one. bowing your head in front of the marker again, you exhale, trying to think of ways to redeem yourself even though the options don't look to be that many. "minho, I - "

"please go." his voice is quiet again, a note of finality enunciating the end of his sentence, and this time, you don't push it. you don't say anything, and you don't argue back. Putting your hands together, you bow to the marker again, before drawing yourself up, taking a deep breath before turning around and facing the surely thunderous expression on minho's face.

instead, what meets your eyes is a blank mask, completely void of expression. there is no anger on his face - no sense of fury or annoyance, or even a semblance of frustration, but...nothing. emptiness. not even his eyes betray anything - not even the threats and warnings he usually sends your way when he's angry, or the dancing spark of mirth when he's teasing you. minho's face is unreadable, unreachable, and it is this lack of anything at all that tells you you've well and truly screwed up.

"so will I see you again?" despite the knowledge that he's already lost to you, and the growing ache in your chest that you'll come to realise as a mixture of pain and regret later - regret that your foolishness has cost you a potential friendship and blossoming relationship in the form of a companionship in him, and regret that you've made the situation worse because you wanted to defend your pride - you still try to salvage the pieces that you know are already crushed up underneath his heel and gone to the winds. you still try to revive a piece of the old minho who had bantered with you, who purposefully picked fights with you just to tease you, through a line from that time that seems numerous lifetimes ago, because only when one loses something do they realise how precious it is. but even when the question leaves your lips in a hollow attempt at being light-hearted, you know it's futile because it doesn't light up his eyes the way it did only a few hours ago.

he sends you a look, before walking past you to sit in front of the grave again. you swallow again, trying not to let the wetness welling up in your eyes drip down your cheeks, the tears burning your vision away at his silence as an answer. however, just as you're prepared to honour his wishes and walk away, minho speaks - as unexpected as always.

"only if I want to, _________."

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

arrow :: archery has a long and rich history in korea and there has been records of archery culture being depicted in murals of goguryeo (the bigass kingdom in the north if anyone forgot). however, archery as a means of combat was only developed at the end of the 16th century due to japan's repeated attempts at invading the Korean peninsula. nonetheless, archery as a means of martial arts dates back to 1766 BC in china, and the sixth century in japan. since this story takes place in around 530 - 660 AD, we can *assume* that archery is a means of defense/offense already present. also, I chose archery because it leaves the wielder vulnerable, which means that minho here is specifically trying to take his target down - he's so overcome by his emotions that he neglects defense and is eager to get rid of whoever's interrupting him.

drawstring :: essentially the laws of physics - the more tension you apply, the further and harder the arrow will fly

grave :: so usually instead of a grave, there is a kind of memorial dedicated to your ancestors when they pass away. in the case of larger or more prestigious families, the chinese has an ancestral tomb of sorts - it's not the large big royal tombs in places like westminster abbey, but it's more of a temple where there are memorial plaques of your ancestors and you go there to pay your respects. I'm not sure what kind of memorials the koreans would have had, but since at this point of history the majority of their culture is influenced by china, this might be possible. also, the reason I used graves instead is because it'll be more convenient for the reader to bump into minho out of nowhere - if they've noticed an ancestral tomb they would've walked away.

[additional note about ancestral rites :: there are much more formal ancestral rites that include cleaning the tombs and offering food to the ancestors, and are performed on specific days like the anniversary of their death, or in april (see 'jesa' on wikipedia for more information if you're interested). however, descendants are also free to visit their ancestors' graves on more casual occasions if they would like to. here, minho is dropping by for a visit for his own reasons, and thus this is more casual in context]

bowing :: as a means of paying respect

kneeling :: optional (in east asian cultures when paying respects to the dead), but the position indicates a further degree of submission and therefore respect to whoever is being knelt to. also noted that the religion followed in korea is buddhism and/or confucianism, which differs significantly from catholicism where the main idea about prayers is to kneel. In east asian traditions one usually sits in meditation when praying rather than kneeling (at least, from my knowledge)

characters :: chinese characters rather than hangul. the hangul system was developed in the joseon dynasty, and was made the official writing system of korea only in 1446. before that, korea primarily used hanja, which is the korean name for chinese characters.

surname :: (this might seem overwhelmingly obvious but just in case) korean/chinese names are constituted of generally three characters - the surname first, before two characters that make up the main name. the reader insert character person would've noticed the first character as being the same with minho's own.

a/n :: this is big yikes behaviour and also the atmosphere shift?? woah. also thank you so much guys for the 35+ notes on my last chapter! that's the most notes any chapter of misfits have got so that was an amazing feeling for me, thanks a lot uwu

taglist :: @eightlee, @jin-neck-shaft (send me an ask to be added to my taglist!)

[caligoascendant]

A shining star of excellent charisma and fine conversation, this rascally opulent fiend is as well known as his antics aboard as he is with his advice on aesthetics. With keen eyes ever fixed skyward, this fine fellow is a well practiced member of the External Relations Department in the Tower. I give you...Sigma, The Opulent Fiend!  One of the many talented stars within my Tower, a room vassal of excellent prestige, despite his tendency towards vanity.  (Truth be told, though, he’s in good company in that department.) 

((This fantastic picture was crafted by... @jujulebee​ Be sure to check out their other works!!!! ))

[whitherliliesbloom]

your voice will save me

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #23 - soul ]

[ alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,416 words ]  ★ [ post-5.3 ]

a sequel to a fill i did from last year’s ffxivwrite. i had the idea for this fic for a whole year but never got to write it. aka, it took one year for me to finally give alphinaud closure.

soul- the spiritual part of a person that some people believe continues to exist in some form after their body has died

it’s a long time coming, but alphinaud thinks he should finally tell the warrior of light the words his soul has been yearning to say for thousands of years

Revenant’s Toll feels particularly cold with the nightly breeze, and it sends chills down Alphinaud’s spine as he casts his glance outwards to look upon Silvertear falls, watching as the sky, now free from miasma, is glimmering with a sea of swaying stars that casts distant reflections of light upon the lake where the wings of a great wyrm once stood vigil.

He shivers, grasping at his gloved hand to steady himself, counting his own breaths as he looks upon the tower of crystals with a pang of hurt that leaves his throat dry. The sight of the tower alone reminds him of skyscrapers and the sound of distant rain, and memories that were not his own flash, albeit briefly, through his head like a bolt that strikes at his very heart. 

The boy barely manages to compose himself, steel himself with the resolve and cool that a distant, untarnished version of himself had once possessed. Even in the midst of falling stars, a rain of fire and rivers of blood that ran the streets, that man..... himself from an ancient time, Alphinaud acknowledges bitterly with bit lips, he would not allow his emotions to sway him so.

And yet when he hears a familiar voice call out to him from behind, call out to his very soul that has been aching since the beginning of time, he knew that the him of the present was incapable of being as cold and unfeeling as he had once been.

“Alphinaud?” his flower whispers a name into the night, his name. The name of his current form, one that he can barely hang on to as yet another brief flash of a blazing meteor shower tears through his focus. “You called for me?”

“Yes.” He holds his breath, turns around and gazes down at her with a muddied, dishonest smile upon his face. “I....I wanted to talk to you.” there’s hesitation as he speaks, pain laced in his tone, but Illya makes no remark on it as she moves to stand next to the man, crystal violet eyes cast skywards at the dead of the night. “I’m not bothering you am I?”

“You never bother me.” Illya responds swiftly, her fingers resting upon the stone railing and shivering a tad as she finds the surface cool to the touch.

He swallows the lump in his throat, eyes averting her own and body fidgety, restless as he attempts to find the words in him to even begin speaking - because heaven knows there are so many he wants to say to her.

Previous countless mental rehearsals are now forgotten, replaced with only the raw emotions of a flickering, barely visible light within him. 

“I.... I just wanted... To call you out here to... Well... clarify some things... and... and to apologize for others...”

His voice is sheepish, timid, completely unlike the assured confidence of her beloved scholar who had been so eager and ready, eyes blazing with confidence during his fight against the specters of light, his magicks woven from his passion like bursts of fire and gusts of summer wind.

But her smile is still patient and kind as she watches him carelessly stumble upon his words, a hand raising up to tuck a long fluttering strand of hair behind her ear as it blew effortlessly in the lake breeze.

“I never did apologize... Well, there are a lot of things I have to apologize for but-” Alphinaud frowns, “I-I.. I could not well carry on without first trying to apologize to you for all of my transgressions.” Inhaling sharply, the elezen clenches his fist and casts his gaze down upon the stone under his feet. “I’m sorry for worrying you so much all the time, especially when my soul had been pulled to the first. I’m sorry for not being there for you when you struggled with yourself... I’m sorry for putting you through such heinous betrayal because of my incompetence as a commander of the Crystal Braves. I’m sorry for all the times I used you, doubted you, hurt you...”

His voice shakes with the sorrow worth many years of regret, of the guilt he’s pent up and swore to himself he’d make amends for. His heart is aching, the agony of his own past sins coming back to haunt a more mature, wiser, older form of himself now. But he knows it is nothing compared to what he has put her through.

“When we first arrived in Ishgard, I promised you that I would do better - be better for the sake of the others and you who I have wronged. I don’t know if I’ve gotten far enough yet to say I’ve fulfilled that promise... And for that too, I am truly sorry.”

lllya parts her lips to speak, but her voice is hushed, watching as what little shred of dignity has drained from Alphinaud’s navy blue eyes with a sea of cyan sadness washing through her own. And when she takes a step towards him, he holds his hand up and she swallows back her protests reluctantly, intent to listen to his heart until the end even if it killed her to do so.

“And... and also... I’m sorry for pushing you away.” 

That statement applies to himself from six summers ago, but the distant glaze in his eyes as he attempts to recall memories of a long forgotten city tells the girl that he was referring to otherwise, and she casts him a confused tilt of her head before he finally speaks again.

“In a time long past... in a city of creation and innovation... That man, Apollo...” Alphinaud shakes his head. Saying another name that was not his own would be deflecting the blame, “the unsundered form of myself sought to reach distant heights that I believed not even the convocation could dream to match. And in my vain, egotistical pursuit for ideals that I wasn’t worthy of I...” He chokes back a sob, the thought of his sins against her too much for even himself to even recount. “I hurt you. I told you such blatant, awful lies. I let my jealousy and my own incompetence sweep me away. I-”

“Alphinaud.”

Her voice calls out his name. His name. The name of his current form - his present form. It is the only name Illya knows and will ever acknowledge. 

And though her expression is stern, eyebrows furrowed and peach pink lips pressed into a tight line, she still says his name like melted caramel, unbearably sweet and warm in its tone. 

“I can accept your apology for everything else. I forgive you. But you’re beginning to apologize for mistakes that aren’t your own.”

“But I am- I mean... it... is me.” 

In a way, he acknowledges... Not fully, of course... but the revelations of what had been his past life is proof enough that he, even if a fourteenth fraction of what had once been the man named Apollo, he still must bear part of the responsibility. 

He’s lucky enough as he is to have been granted a second chance, just as Apollo had begged and prayed to the heavens for. He cannot even fathom a world where he had not met Illya anymore.

His beloved smiles, hand raised up to press against her beating heart, as if to feel the essence of her twice rejoined soul. She searches for whispers of herself - of the perfection version of the woman she once was, feeling the bright amethyst constellation stone that bore the insignia of the blistering sun warm in her pocket. She hears no words, only a wave of emotions that cascade through her and almost sweeps her away - she has after all ever been the most sensitive with the voices of unseen beings. 

But even with the two shards of a whole soul shone brightly within her, and she can almost envision the visage of a dusty, quiet library in her mind, there is not a trace of anger or hurt in her heart. 

“I am Illya Skawi. And you are Alphinaud Leveilleur.” Her gentle tone belies the weak little tremble in her voice as her eyes swirl with an ocean of unfiltered emotions. “I am nowhere near as perfect as Chloris, I know I can never be.” Her hands clasp together tightly, held close to her chest as if to guard her heart. “I may inherit her will... but I will never be her.”

Where Chloris had bright, flawless sanguine pink eyes that morphed in hue to reflect her thoughts, Illya inherited a pair of more timid orbs of lavender twilight. Where Chloris had unmarred skin of a porcelain doll, Illya’s skin was covered with a map of the galaxy - the speckle of stars from bullet holes upon her thighs, the milky way that cut across her collar bone and the auroras taking the form of teeth marks all over her abdomen. 

And where Chloris had an unparalleled talent for optimism, charisma and hope, what remained in Illya was only the painful, unreciprocated love she had for the world that would be the very bane of her mental stability for as long as she can remember. 

Even with her soul reunited with Ardbert’s, she knows she is but a husk of what had once been the fourteenth member of the convocation - of azem... Emet-Selch at least wasn’t mistaken in spelling that fact out. 

“And the woman that Apollo loved is not me - not this ugly, fragmented, weak little shard as I am.”

That’s absolute nonsense, Alphinaud wants to retort. Illya is anything but. It may not who Chloris had once been - but it is who the woman he loves is. Whole, beautiful and divine, her hair is woven from moonlight and her eyes are pressed from a bouquet blossomed flowers. Her voice a melody of a songbird, her skin a distant and unexplored, yet welcoming cosmos. She is a ray of hope, not just for him, but practically everyone else he knows... and he could think of no better personification of perfection than her. 

The world may disagree, the ancients may cry in protest and the whole, unbroken version of him may think to question his judgement. 

But Alphinaud knows, even if he is wrong about everything else and will continue to be as imperfect and sinfully tainted as he is, that he isn’t wrong about her.

“You’re not- You are not....ugly...” the words die at his throat, he’s lacking in the strength to debate as fervently as he is usually capable of doing. “Or weak for that matter. You’re...” 

“I’m not Chloris. And you’re not Apollo, either. Perhaps we were once upon a time, but not now, not here.”

The breeze picks up and howls in his ears, carrying the chill of his doubts and guilt away into the night. And as the bearer of hopes and miracles flashes him a radiant smile, he feels his chest clenching with a warmth that he can barely contain.

Illya turns to look back over Silvertear falls, the light from the moon and the fields of crystals casting a halo over her hair as it fluttered like a veil in the wind. Her skin glows with color, warm against the backdrop of grey stone and dark blue sky. 

“I did ponder over the circumstances of our meeting... If it was pure coincidence or a mechanism of fate bringing their souls... our souls together again.” Illya hums, fiddling with her fingers as she contemplates out loud. “And I wonder... if the other shards of Chloris and Apollo are so tightly wound together that they’d meet again in other worlds too...” 

“They will.” He answers on impulse, as if his entire being already knew the answer. “I believe they will.” 

It’s a naive and an impossibly idealistic wish... one with a hint of selfishness and ego too, perhaps... but those are the core of who he is- who his soul is. And if Apollo loved Chloris even half as much as he loved Illya, then he knows, is certain with all his heart that the thread that keeps their fourteen souls tied together for eternity will not be so easily severed. 

There’s a quiet that looms over them, with only the sounds of the wind and the chirping of the crickets ringing in the air. Illya doesn’t turn to look back at him for a minute, lost in her own thought and drowning in a pool of her own emotions - thousands of years worth of them.

“That’s good. I’m glad...”

When the girl turns around, her violet eyes are wet with crystal clear tears, they catch the rays of moonlight and reflect off her face as they roll down her cheeks past upturned lips. 

“Because Chloris loved Apollo, you know? She loved him very very much.”

Alphinaud hadn’t noticed when he’d started crying either, quiet sobs breaking out of him as he lets out a choked laugh, raising a gloved hand to feebly wipe away his tears.

“He did too. He loved her so much that it killed him.” 

His heart is so full to the brim, spilling with unbearable adoration and devotion. When Illya spreads her arms out wordlessly, sniffling back her own trickling, glistening tears, he picks her up and wraps his arms tightly around her, feeling the beating of his heart match in tandem with her own. 

In their warm, tender embrace, he hears the echoes of a distant past - yet another vision of a splitting star flashes in his mind. But he doesn’t flinch this time as he holds his entire world in his arms, afraid and determined to never let go. 

“I love you. I love you.” Her declaration is all he hears, along with quiet whispers of his name. His real name. 

Alphinaud. Alphinaud. Alphinaud. Alphinaud.

This love was hers to bear, and no one else’s - not Chloris, not Ardbert, not the twelve other flickering star blossoms that are out there, undoubtedly fighting with their entire being to reunite with their own other half. And no cry of ancient beings, no fracturing of worlds or falling of the moon or stars will stop her from loving him. Even until the sun sets, even until the end of times. 

And though their souls may have been set adrift, he knew that his soul would always be destined to love hers in return.

“I love you too, Illya.”