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vanitysruin · 5 years

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11. These vain reflections.

All was still in the deep, deep darkness that arrested her.

Delial was not unconscious, a realization that took precious time to make. The chill on her skin, the stillness in her chest, the sensation of being suspended in water without water crept back into her senses one by one. That her flesh did not glow for the first time in a dozen suns or more was eerie enough to make her consider the possibility that she was indeed in some manner of dream, but then the dark swept away just a little, like great wings peeling back in preparation of flight, and ugly veins of unearthly light crept beneath her skin once more.

It was a vast and grey place and she was alone. No, not alone, never alone. The Ascian's presence was unmistakable, the shadow that grounded her in the light-less gulf of nothing. She imagined, for a moment, that his silence was a courtesy: that he was letting her acclimate whatever trial it was meant to be. It was many moments more before he spoke.

"Focus."

His voice echoed off nothing and into nothing, and he sounded both near and distant. "Not even I can teach you what you already know. Focus. It has always existed in you, even if you've so shamefully forgotten. All it takes is but a nudge." He continued, disembodied and stern. "I have told you my story. Tell me of yours. Let us see who you are."

"But I--"

"Focus. Your Mother crystal has given you such commands before, as she not? Hear... Think... Feel." The contempt in his voice was palpable, and Delial imagined it took a great deal of will to keep his tone cool. Even so, it became edged and taciturn. "If it aids you, then do it. If you cannot, then--"

"I will. I will. A moment, please. I..."

Remember. Remember. Who am I?

Who am I?

She closed her eyes. She took a breath. She reached out for the memories packed away, before they called her hero.

I am.... I...

Something whisked past her, slid under her arms like wind. If she thought hard enough, she could almost feel... almost feel...

... the stone tile floors of home. Warm stone walls the color of faded terracotta. The city outside is grand beyond measure, incomprehensible. I have never been so safe as I was here, all those years ago. I take comfort in the little things that shaped my world. The mosaic in blue and white and gold on the wall on the floor beneath the hearth. The only portrait in the house of us, the five of us, forced together into one gaudy frame.

The suggestion of a query brushed past her then. Her toes touched upon something cool and solid. The grey broke into the warmer palette of her youth. No longer suspended, she found her footing in the center of a room that grew out around her, blooming into the shapes she can remember from a life so far away. It was Emet-Selch's doing, she knew, but there was still a tingle of pride in her heart. The nostalgia grew bolder as she remembered, remembered--

Down the hall, my father's study with its broad double doors left wide open. Stacked wall to wall with shelves and books and maps and nonsense. It spilled out into the parlor, my mother's domain, infesting the heart of our house with his scholarly obsessions. A pair of antlers, aldgoat maybe, mounted, purchased. Father was not a hunter, but mother loved it so. Said it reminded her of home. That was all the reason he needed. A thick woven rug, sofas that never sat right, left crooked because they would just get bumped out of order anyway. They were ugly things inherited through the passing of an uncle and father would hear no word of replacing them. They smelled of smoke and old wood and feathers. His favorite armchair, too, a hideous leather affair that looked as though it had survived calamities. Maybe it had.

The floor solidified first, and then the walls, and then it arched and curved overhead to seal the ceiling. Shorter than she remembered but she, too, was a shorter thing in those days long gone. Growing bold, she chanced a step, and then another. It did not surprise her to find that her feet were bare and she was no longer wearing the grim black robes that had become her working uniform. In its stead she wore a pale yellow sundress patterned with small embroidered wildflowers. And as the rest of the room filled in, populated by vague shapes that resolved themselves into drapes and books and laundry long forgotten, so too did Emet-Selch, occupying a place behind her father's armchair. He ran a gloved finger over it as if checking for dust. He did not seem impressed.

"Quaint," he said. The echoing was gone, his voice constrained by this semblance of body, of place.

Her fondness for the scene was nearly dispelled right then and there. Her father would have nearly lost his mind with rage if he had ever played host the eminent Solus Zos Galvus. She wasn't so sure about her mother: at the least, she would be deeply amused to offer him a seat on those hideous green sofas. Arms nested at the small of his back and he stood without his usual slouch, stately and severe, much more akin to the image she was familiar with as a child. Imperious, through and through, though thoroughly indifferent to all he surveyed.

"And what of it?," Delial said, perhaps a little more defensively than she intended. "I loved it here." All the trappings of home in a darkened room sitting an eternity away, back upon the Source. Not once had she revisited it person, not even after the city had been liberated. Surely it belonged to someone else, abandoned was. It was her own personal Amaurot, empty of the people she loved. There was nothing left for her there.

"I'm sure you did." Emet-Selch prowled, scrutinizing the little things that cluttered the place: a bowl of tarnished silver filled with crumbling potpourri, the heft of a stray book, the fraying corners of her father's armchair. He had the audacity to seat himself, first smoothing out the tail of his coat before plopping down with all the nobility he typically elected to ignore, save but for the shite-eating grin he pointed squarely her way. "Not bad. Not good, but not... terrible. I confess, I prefer my seats a little more gaudy and, shall we say, Imperial. But to each their own."

An ass is still an ass. He snickered as if she'd said it aloud.

"This is where we begin, then. The furthest you can go?"

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. Who were you, here?" He waggled his fingers, gesturing about the room.

Delial's hands brushed down the front of her dress. It was her favorite when she was little. One size too large, just as she remembered. Who was I? "I am Delial Blackstone. Daughter of Lyra and Garren, sister of Westor and Harvard, and I am a child of Ala Mhigo."

"And this is before you met your Scions of the Seventh Dawn?"

Delial blinked at him. His hands steepled, fingertips meshing together, and his golden eyes stared through them expectantly.

"Of course it is. I was-- I was a child. I didn't leave here, until..."

"... Until..."

"Until after the Calamity."

"And before? Who were you then?"

Smoke and gunfire. They'd become more and more prevalent in the days after the occupation, and would rile up again and again and again. The streets were safe if you complied. If you did not, then perhaps the Kinslayer would find you. There were so many of us then, nameless terrors that struck in the night, we who fought against a divided Ala Mhigo. They made us this way. We were their weapons, and we served proudly. It was for the betterment of our country. It was for the sake of our people. We knew these things. We believed it all.

Something pinched behind Delial's eyes. It did not take her by surprise: a familiar sensation, when she tried to reach back into those earlier years. Some things stood out to her clear as daylight: the marches, the bodies, the razing of the temples, the fall of the Mad King. Others yet remained vague and fuzzy, and it was not until much later in life that she realized that that may have been by design. The Imperials had their ways and Delial had not been so immune to them as she'd been led to believe. She thought herself chosen, favored, stronger than the things that bent her weak-minded countrymen.

"Well?" Emet-Selch's voice was impatient, his gaze much too sharp. She turned away from him to pad towards the window and with a sweep of her arms she drew open the curtains. Outside, the sky was a sea of oranges, reds, violets, and hanging high above it all was the red moon, a smoldering wound yet to inflict itself upon the world. The street before her home was quiet and empty, dark but for the occasional ring of bone white light. Even without the oppressive presence of the moon, many found a simpler and safer option in retreating to their homes once the sun was near enough to setting. Imperial patrols and ruffians, traitors and ne'er-do-wells, often prowled and clashed in the night. Smoke and gunfire, the crackle of magitek energy, the pale yellow searchlights peppered throughout the ward: such was the cost of a better, stronger Ala Mhigo.

"I was an agent," Delial said. "I sought out enemies of the Legatus and of the Empire within the city. Grimsong." The name brought about a reflexive smirk. "I called myself Grimsong. I was feared. The resistance knew me and they trembled. And then, one day, they caught me. It was not until much later - until Lyse, and the Griffin, and the rebellion - that I ever dared go back."

Movement drew her eye a little ways down the street. Shadowed figures paced by with their faces low, eyes darkened. Their lips moved but she could not hear them. As they passed nearer, she imagined she recognized the dark plum hair of the shorter figure. Perhaps she even caught their eye when they seemed to take particular interest in her house, staring as they and their companion stalked by. Soon enough they were gone, and the street was still once again. As an imaginary sun slowly set, the sky turned from firey to cool, and the burning red wound that was Dalamud became the lesser blue tomb from which another dragon would rise.

"How curious. Captured by the very rebels you had tormented for so long, and yet you live?"

"I know not how to explain it."

"Naturally." Emet-Selch tapped his fingers together, and rose from his seat. She imagined it was by some courtesy that he made some semblance of moving as a mortal might. In this place, she was certain he could snap his fingers and move mountains if he wished. Instead, he paced and took a place beside her at the window. "I believe I'm more or less familiar with all that rubbish between points B and C. C being here, of course. Or rather, I can take a guess." He cleared his throat and gestured with his hand as he spoke. "By some miracle you encounter the Scions, who somehow manage to recruit you to their cause: to become their Warrior of Light, and fight back against the Garlean and Primal threat. And so on, and so on, a few twists and turns later, you arrive here upon the First. Does that sound about right to you?"

"T'was a bit more involved than that, I assure you," Delial grumbled in response. It was pointless to be annoyed with him: an immortal thing, an Ascian, who expected the impossible and thus was forever disappointed. At times she had foolishly thought he wasn't entirely dismissive of her existence, fractured or not. And then there were times, as he did then, where he looked at her as if she were little more than a stain upon his coat.

"I'm certain it was. How very trying and difficult it must have been for you, hero, you have my greatest sympathies." Emet-Selch turned to her, all the better for him to stare down his nose at her. "You may not trust me, and though it wounds me I can live with it just fine. 'Tis to be my lot in life, ever the shady villain for you small-minded things. You know the feeling, don't you?" A cruel smile, a single chuckle, aimed perfectly to hurt. "Ah, but I distract myself. Let me ask you this, then, since your brain has been so conveniently muddled: do you believe me? That as I am His champion, you, then, are Hers?"

"If we are tempered, then how do we act as we do? As if we yet retain will and thought? I have seen--"

"What you have seen," he cut her off, "Are but pale imitations of a greater art. The principles may be the same, more or less, and we share them as best we can. To their credit, sometimes they come close, but sometimes..." Emet-Selch shook his head, a show of dismay that could not hide the cold twist of his lips. "What we achieved was perfection, and thus it follows that the will of our gods be manifested perfectly in us. Do you think any of this would have been possible were we reduced to mindless, drooling creatures?"

The Paragons warned of thine abhorrent kind. The echo of a boiling, raspy voice brought with it the vague shape of a god. Ifrit, or a vague semblance of Ifrit, descended upon the street. A crown of horns aglow, magma-hot, a maw eager to breathe his blessed flame: he stared at her balefully, accusatory. His lean and lanky shape flared bright but not bright enough, and soon enough his limbs and body crumbled like so much ash, leaving his fury to writhe like the smoke of an inferno long starved for kindling..

Beside him, a massive shape rumbled to life: Titan, towering above his beastial kin, glowered from beneath a heavy stone brow. Godless overdweller! Thy myriad heresies shall not go unpunished! He beat his fists together with a great boom of boulders colliding, and in doing so his body cracked and crumbled, the mountain broken before the warrior that was his doom.

Last came the gale, Garuda, a wreath of wings and talons and vicious hunger. Amid the whirl of claw and feather she could see Garuda's maddened stare, the fury born from disbelief. What are you? What have you done to me?! No mortal should possess such power! The winds stilled around her as she shrieked rage and agony. Feathers wilted and fell away from a single point of light: a crystal, torn from her breast, gleaming like a knife's edge. Impossible! Impossible!

Their trinity, bested years ago and a world away, collapsed and faded into ash. It was Ifrit's eyes that remained upon her to the last before they too scattered, grey and lifeless. Thou art of the godless blessed's number. Thine existence is not to be suffered.

"And so you trounced all that was set before you, god and man alike. Thus you embraced this mantle of yours: Warrior of Light, the Champion of Hydaelyn. She never even tried to hide it from you, did she? You knew no better. Those around you knew no better." Emet-Selch turned to lean a shoulder against the edge of the window and fixed her with a pitying smile. "All it took was a glimpse of a world consumed by her accursed Light, and even then..."

“I don’t want to talk about Her,” she said. A fresh, new ache clawed at her mind. Even knowing the story between Light and Dark, the casual hatred that simmered beneath Emet-Selch’s words felt appalling, wrong. Heed not the Dark One’s words. Was it command or memory that brought Her voice, so long absent, back to light?

“Ah, but we should!” He sensed her pain, surely he did, and he was ever ready to sink his fangs right in. Emet-Selch rounded in on her, forced himself into her place by the window, set gloved hands upon her shoulders to hold her there. “We must. Long have I known of her treachery, but I hadn’t realized the depths of her depravity until now. Oh, now it’s all too clear.”

Outside, the blue false moon strained and cracked, ready to burst. What emerged, shattering its constraints like glass, was no dragon but instead it was the very image of Her. Hydaelyn’s crystalline avatar loomed over the city, glimmering and pulsating with a light that no longer seemed as calm as serene as She once did. Warrior of Light, She seemed to call. Beloved daughter.

“It was only natural, I suppose: once tempered, forever tempered.” Delial could not tell if it was rage or light that flared up again inside her. His hands could have been a comfort were they not so cold and unfamiliar. Low he bowed himself that he could meet her eyes, that she could not escape his so easily. “But to take everything from you, after all you did in Her name. That is a cruelty even I cannot abide, not even for you.”

Remember. Remember. The fury of the light renewed itself, reaffirmed its presence with every beat of her heart. “These riddles again!” Delial wanted to beat it out of him, pummel the grim smug look clear off his face, but she could scarcely even focus on him. Again the light clouded her eyes, drowning out the Ascian and her reconstructed home. Above the city, the crystal glistened brighter and brighter still: an omen, a warning. From sparkling mote shall I swell to glorious sun...

“Hear! Think! Feel!” Her mantra was spat at her and Emet-Selch loomed closer still, defiant of the light that tried to blind her. “The empty places in your life, the impressions of people you loved but never knew! All these falsehoods made to shutter your eyes, to deny you your own truth!”

The crystal burned and with it the sky, brightening again in yellows and reds. In the distance, beyond the silence of this false home and the sound of Emet-Selch’s voice, came a steady, rising roar.

… and all the world shall bask in my warmth.

“Defy her. Defy her and remember. Remember who you are! Remember us! Remember--”

It came upon them, a flood of wretched, angry light. The memory of Ala Mhigo crumbled before it, even the highest walls unable to withstand the crystal’s wrath. The great griffon perched atop the gate, the palace, the menagerie, all fell in an instant, obliterated without a chance to resist. It was upon the street outside in an instant, and then it filled the window with its malice, blinding and deafening and complete in its destruction. Delial felt herself violently jostled, and she was certain that she would be obliterated too, dashed against the walls of a place that did not truly exist.

Remember us.

She could not hear but for the roaring in her ears. She could not think but for the absence of everything, of self, in the heart of absolute light. She could not feel but for the fire upon her skin.

Remember.

Time passed. How many moments she could not tell; how many breaths she did not count. She became aware, just as she did when first Emet-Selch brought her into that grey oblivion, of numbness in her limbs and a new pain in her heart. When she opened her eyes, the light was gone but for motes that hung around her like tiny fading stars.

She was not alone.

An Ascian stood opposite her. They stared at her expectantly, unmoving, silent. Delial frowned, overcome by a most peculiar sense of deja vu. She had seen this before.

Ware thee the bearer of the Crimson Brand, a voice nudged into her heart. She ignored it. She waited, watching. Any moment now, the Ascian would bare their teeth like a beast, splay their clawed hands, and charge.

She waited. They waited. The stars around them fell and rose in slow, artificial orbit.

Ware thee, for he is an Avatar of Shadow, that voice urged her, Whom death attendeth always. But there was no strength left behind it, no force of will to veil her mind.

This was where it began, was it not?

They are different somehow, this Ascian, different in a way that did not occur to her to notice before. Their robe was black and long and adorned with the markings of Zodiark’s devout. But their mask was not the deep crimson of their peers, but rather a pitch black, and in place of the speaker’s fangs or the emissary’s hooked beak, they were adorned with an extra set of narrowed, scrutinizing eyes.

Typical of him, she thought, wondering how she could have ever forgotten.When did he stop being so familiar?

The first time such a vision was placed before her, Delial too wore robes of black. They were different then, motley and crude, better suited to an aspiring adventurer. Now, they were longer and simple, a modest echo of her silent companion’s attire. Such decoration was not meant for her. But him… he was His most earnest champion, His most favored and rightly so.

Remember us.

She raised her head.

“Hades.”

Her voice rang out with a clarity that sounded alien in her own ears, and in that place it echoed out for an eternity. It struck him like a bolt of lightning, and his body flinched and straightened from its habitual slouch. He stopped himself from approaching, as if thinking better of it, hesitating. Time meant little enough to the immortal but millennia were still millennia and it had torn a gulf between them all the same. At last he brought himself to speak and his voice, too, took a timbre that did not suit his lesser, mortal shape. Deep and rich, it filled her heart like a song long forgotten.

“You’re a little late,” he said. There was a tremor in his voice, hidden deep beneath his brusque tone, beneath his sardonic nature. Ala Mhigo was gone, the cluttered parlor with its people-shaped holes was gone, but in those four words, Delial thought she felt the barest trace of home.

#writing #these vain reflections #wol!delial #what am i even doing?? i have no idea

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valkerymillenia · 6 years

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Hungry Hearts

This is a terrible movie.

Hear me out though.

The plot and theme are actually quite brilliant for an uncomfortable thriller and in other circumstances I'd love to watch something like this (remake it!) but the execution is terrible.

Everything, from camera work and lighting to script and editing, is terrible. The sets, though, are pretty decent for an indie movie.

The only good thing is Adam Driver's acting as an emotionally torn and concerned father. He's so good, in fact, that he makes everyone else's bad acting stand out even more. Although, if you're an Adam Driver fan, do check it out to hear him briefly sing in Italian, playing a beautifully protective and emotional father, and acting like a huge lovable puppy he is, but don't forget this is a thriller and designed to make people uncomfortable af so don't expect it to be cutesy.

For those who haven't watched HH, and probably won't watch it since it's considered so bad that it's hard to find, here's a summary (spoiler alert):

It's an Italian-produced indie movie about parenting at it's worst.

It's starts with a couple (Jude and Mina) meeting, falling in love, moving in together, marrying - the whole shebang - and then they have a baby and shit gets real.

From the start it's clear something is a little off with the with Mina, as she is distant and freakishly controlling in a subdued soft-spoken way, she appears frail and emotionally vulnerable which prompts Jude to bend over backwards to appease her, subtext reveals this as emotional manipulation.

It's not really mentioned much but Mina is at first convinced her baby is some sort of supernatural holy child, later she seems to forget about this and just change to an obsession with physical purity and cleanliness. She's vegan but it's not due to normal moral reasons, instead it's unhealthy and she's just convinced that meat is totally unclean and dangerous.

She ends up starving herself during pregnancy, refusing medical care (convinced ultrasounds are damaging and that she knows better than any doctor), and believing her dreams are prophetic.

After the baby is born, she restricts her son's diet so much that the baby is starving and not growing (she herself is wasting away), she also refuses to let him see sun, go outside, let anyone touch him without disinfecting their hands, shoes and cellphones aren't allowed at home, and she almost never leaves the baby's side, she believes only she knows best so refuses to allow the baby to be taken to a doctor, etc.

Jude does end up taking the child to a doctor on a rare day that she has to go out and learns that his 7 month old son is starving to death. He them tries to start properly feeding the baby and confronts Mina for her actions but Mina still insists she knows best, she says she will give in to Jude's food demands for the baby but never actually goes through with it and goes as far as poisoning her baby with laxatives and emetics to ensure the baby doesn't digest any of the food the father feeds him.

The problem at this point is that as much as Jude wants to protect his son and as much as he understands that there is something very wrong with Mina's mental health, he still loves his wife and doesn't want to take the child from her, so he ends up going to exhausting lengths to help the baby, even making excuses to take his son out to a church 3 times a day to secretly feed him, but when Mina figures it out she becomes even more overprotective.

The authorities Jude goes to for help tell him he needs documented proof of abuse other than medical records and even then it would take weeks for social services to intervene and a therapist to acess his wife's mental state.

Seeing as he doesn't have time to go through all the legal loops he takes a different piece of advice and kidnaps the baby to his mother's house but sues for custody so despite an upcoming legal battle, everything is legal and he loves his wife enough to let her visit the baby any time.

Unfortunately, while visiting the baby, Mina still insists on poisoning her son with laxatives and begins to show further signs of paranoia, claiming her mother-in-law's house is a "bad place". At some point she tries to forcefully take the baby home, yet Jude stops her and gently takes the baby from her arms but in a fit if frustrated aggression she accidently injures herself and leaves.

(SPOILER ALERT x2)

That night Mina returns with police and social services and a warrant that allows her to take her son by accusing her husband of physical abuse (nevermind that she hurt herself and he was nothing but kind even though he had all the right to have cut ties with her already). The police end up enforcing the warrant and escort her home with the baby, leaving the father and grandmother desperately trying to explain that the mother is the real danger.

Mina shares some sweet heartfelt (from her perspective) moments with her son and takes him to the beach for the first time. The next night she wakes up to someone entering the house and is shot dead.

Then we cut to Jude rushing into a jail to worriedly collect his son and it's revealed that his mother shot his wife, believing it would be the only way to save the baby even if Jude never forgives her.

The end scene is Jude at the beach at sunset playing with his now toddler-aged son.

...

So yeah, it's an uncomfortable movie as it is meant to be, with a decent idea for plot but everything else fails. The timing, the (lack of) soundtrack, the shabby editing, everything is just aweful.

The main actress (Alba Rohrwacher) does play mentally unstable and physically emaciated acceptably well but she's still subpar in any scene that requires actual interaction with other actors. Again, Adam Driver had the only acceptably good acting in the movie even if his character can be a little frustrating for being a bit of a pushover.

So... Good luck finding the movie if you actually plan to watch it, of not then here you have my two cents.

#hungry hearts #adam driver #alba rohrwacher #thriller #bad parenting #rach reviews

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eliniei · 4 years

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Not As It Seems XXIII

Summary: As Little Ladies' Day approaches Eorzea, Emet-Selch decides the Warrior of Light is due some celebration as well.

Word Count: 4330

Masterlist: here Ao3: here

Warnings: NSFW

“What in the name of Zodiark is going on?” Emet-Selch asked with unmasked annoyance as he took in the decorations around the city. I dropped a few coins in the shopkeeper’s free hand as she handed over a small gift bag.

“I put in a couple of extra jelly cakes for your companion,” she said with a wink, eyes travelling to him. “Since I know you are not wont to share .” I smiled at her and dropped it in the basket hanging from my arm.

“How could I possibly share something so good?” My grin widened, and I inclined my head to her in gratitude. “Thank you.”

When she nodded, I turned back to the Ascian, still scanning the market through squinted eyes. I watched for a moment as he ran a hand through his already-slicked back hair, glamoured so that no one recognized the distinct color.

I breathed a laugh and rolled my eyes, threading my arm through his and pulling him along.

“It’s for Little Ladies’ Day,” I answered, simply.

“Little...Ladies’ Day,” he repeated, slowly, furrowing his brow. “Another one of your Eorzean customs, I presume?”

“Mm,” I hummed in agreement, but offered no further explanation. He looked down at me and I noticed a somewhat perturbed expression on his face. A sly smile spread across my face as I watched straight ahead. Finally, he clicked his tongue.

“Alright, hero,” he began, eyeing me warily. “You win. What is it?” My grin widened.

“Suddenly interested in my traditions, are you?” I teased. He tensed and, with a sharp sigh, he began pulling his arm out of mine. I tightened my grip on him and laughed. “Okay, okay,” I conceded. “I’ll show you.”

He relaxed and I led him into the lift that would take us one floor up.

“Little Ladies’ Day,” I started as we exited, heading for the courtyard of the Aftcastle. “Is a celebration at the very beginning of spring when the peach trees begin to bloom. Each of the three city-states participate, though the main attraction is always in Ul’dah.”

We walked out of the Adventurer’s Guild and out into the sunlight. He held his hand up to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. As they adjusted, I motioned to the trees that had been planted all around, their pink blossoms waving in the morning breeze.

“And exactly what is it you celebrate?”

I lifted a finger to my mouth as I recalled the story.

“There’s an old legend passed down through the generations of a sultan who ruled Ul’dah with an iron fist,” I recited as we observed the adornments being fastened to the trees, blankets and umbrellas being set out on the ground surrounded by partitions to separate them. “To punish him for his callous ways, the Twelve provided him with no more than a single daughter, Edyva.”

An expertly dressed festival attendant motioned us to a red blanket, offering us the seat he had just finished preparing. A smile spread across my mouth and I inclined my head. I pulled my arm from around Emet-Selch’s and set my basket down before sitting on one side of the low table.

“Let me guess,” he said as he sat across from me without argument. “He was angry with the gods for giving him a girl-child.”

“Peach blossom tea, mi’lady?” the waiter asked.

“Yes, please,” I answered, sweetly. “And some cakes too, if you would be so kind?”

“Of course,” he replied with a nod.

“Thank you.” He bowed at the waist and walked away. I criss-crossed my legs and folded my arms onto the table, turning my attention back to the Ascian, who was watching me with a raised brow.

“As a matter of fact,” I continued. “He loved his daughter very much. But, he became obsessed with protecting her and confined her to the palace. As she grew older, however, all she wanted to do was explore.”

“Ah, this kind of story,” he interjected. The waiter returned with a wooden tray in one hand. He knelt next to us, gingerly placing a tea set and a plate of rice cakes between us.

“Please enjoy,” he entreated us before retreating again. With a renewed smile, I leaned forward and reached for the pot, pouring the pale tea into delicate white and pink cups. I lifted it to my mouth, inhaling its scent before taking a sip and releasing a content sigh.

“That good?” Emet-Selch asked as he plucked his own from the table.

“One of my favorites,” I agreed. “It’s very soothing.” I breathed a laugh. “I buy quite a bit of it at the end of the celebration to last me a while but… I’m not as good at brewing it. Haven’t found the sweet spot just yet. In the evenings they serve peach sake.”

With a fond hum, I set the porcelain down and looked back up to find the Ascian smiling softly. When he realized he had been caught, he averted his eyes from mine and cleared his throat, lifting his cup to take a long sip.

“Your story, hero,” he reminded me. I gave him a knowing smile and nodded.

“Of course,” I acquiesced. “The princess formed a plan. One day, when a peasant girl visited the palace kitchens with her mother, she switched clothes with the girl and wandered into the kingdom.

“It didn’t take very long for her guardians to realize that she was gone. The king thought that, perhaps, the peasant girl’s mother had taken her and had their house torn down, the family tortured and thrown into the dungeons.”

“She was found, I presume?” he asked me, his voice bored.

“Of course she was,” I said, running my pointer finger around the rim of my cup. “She explained what happened- that it was all her idea. She begged her father to punish the peasant family no longer.” I lifted it and took a sip, savoring the flavor again.

“When the king discovered his mistake, he freed the family immediately. He ordered their house rebuilt and not only apologized to them personally, but also insisted he act as the daughter’s steward for an entire day.”

The Ascian leaned back on his hands with pursed lips.

“Is that all?” I raised a brow at him. “I can hardly see what is worth celebrating if so.”

“Have you no patience?” I asked, coyly, finishing my tea and reaching for the pot again. “The king decreed from thenceforth that all girls- no matter their circumstances of birth- are ladies in their own right.”

“So, you spend one day a year celebrating women,” he concluded, draining his cup.

“I suppose, yes,” I answered. “I never really thought about it. It’s generally for young girls, but anyone can partake if they choose. I don’t usually participate.” I sighed. “Something always goes wrong and I usually help clean up the mess.” I set the teapot down with a clink against the table. “I don’t care much about being treated like a lady , anyway.”

He hummed as he examined the peach tree design on his china. “You could have just told me that without the lengthy story.” I rolled my eyes as I took a sip.

“You asked,” I replied with a shrug.

“I was coerced into asking.” I huffed a laugh into my tea.

“Alright, fine. You’re right.” I set the porcelain back down into the saucer and reached for a rice cake.

A few days later, I walked in the front door of my house and released a deep sigh. It had been a long day, assisting with the events of the day- setting up, breaking down, bringing smiles to the girls who partook in the festivities.

With a smile, I dumped the gifts I had been bestowed as thanks for helping into one of the plush chairs in my living room and placed my hands on my hips as my eyes scanned the sealed, brown paper bags.

It had been worth it though, my exhaustion. I’d always loved seeing children laughing and screaming in joy, completely taken over in their merriment.

“And what, hero, are you so happy about?”

The breathy voice in my ear made me jump. I spun around, immediately on high alert. When I realized it was merely the Ascian at my back, I rolled my eyes with a click of my tongue, and shoved his shoulder before relaxing.

“You know you shouldn’t do that.”

“And you know,” he began, raising a hand to my face, his fingers dragging down my cheek, a sly smile forming on his mouth. “That I always enjoy seeing you so flustered.”

When my face flushed, he chuckled and dropped his arm from my face. He wrapped it around my waist, pulling me into his side, his gaze falling to my gifts.

“And what is all of that?” I tilted my head, leaning it on his shoulder as my eyes followed his, my arm winding around his back.

“Sweets, mostly. Some tea. Leftovers from the festival.” He hummed, leaning down to pick up one of the parcels.

“Your reward for helping them is merely leftovers ?” he asked, incredulously. I spun out of his embrace, plucking the package from his hand as I moved.

“Maybe it’s all I wanted,” I shot back at him with a raised brow as I sunk into the couch and tore the seal on the paper. I made a show of taking one of the pink-colored hard candies from the bag and dropping it into my mouth. “Besides, I told you before. I’m not much of a lady.”

He watched, unimpressed, before giving a histrionic shrug of his shoulders.

“Then I suppose the dinner I have prepared was a waste,” he sighed. I paused and sat up again, peering at him over the back of the couch.

“Another meal?” I smiled coyly and he clicked his tongue in annoyance. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’ve told you before, Warrior of Light, that it doesn’t become you-”

“To gloat . Yes, I remember.”

“And if you insist on continuing, perhaps I will simply have to stop being generous .” I slid off the couch, leaving the sweets on the side table. I approached him with a feigned pout, lifting my arms to twine my fingers in the fur of his coat.

“How can I not tease the almighty Ascian for making me dinner,” I whined, tuggly slightly. He leaned down to meet me as my hands slipped under the coat, relishing the warmth of his body underneath. He hummed, bringing his face close to mine, running his nose along my cheek. One of his arms wound around my waist and he pulled me against him roughly.

“You could just say thank you , hero,” he breathed when his mouth reached my ear. A shiver of exhilaration rose up my spine and I grinned.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I asked, smugly mimicking his own words. He bit my earlobe in response, the sudden, stinging pain causing a yelp to slip past my lips. I clicked my tongue at him and frowned. “You know I appreciate it,” I conceded after a moment. He dragged his lips back across my skin, stopping until there was barely a hair’s breadth between our mouths.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper, his lips brushing against mine with each word. I released an unsteady breath against his face, my eyes falling shut.

Quickly, he pulled away and began heading towards the kitchen, looking over his shoulder for only a moment, a smirk crossing his features as he beheld my expression. I blew a sharp sigh out of my nose as I narrowed my eyes after him, but eventually gave up and dropped back into the couch, sucking on my candy and waiting for him to call me to dinner.

When we had finished eating, he pushed back his chair and stood up. I set down my wine glass and watched him.

“Now,” he said, approaching where I sat. “Your gift.” I furrowed my brow.

“My...what?”

“It is Little Ladies’ Day, isn’t it?” he leaned against the table.

“Yeah, but I-”

“And you are considered a maiden in your country, are you not?”

“Well, technically, I suppose, but I don’t-”

“Hero,” he interjected, hints of irritation in his voice, raising one finger to my lips to silence me. My mouth hung open for a moment before I closed it, pursing my lips. “For once in your life, just let it happen.”

When I didn’t argue further, he snapped the fingers of the hand still in the air and a box wooden box appeared in front of me. I marveled at its craftsmanship, running my fingers along its smooth lid. It was flat and long, mostly unadorned except for a small, golden clasp that held it shut, but still expertly made.

“Do have some tact, Warrior of Light,” Emet-Selch insisted as he crossed his arms over his chest. “And open it.”

I huffed a laugh and shook my head.

“Alright, alright.” Finally, I lifted the lid and my breath caught. Inside, on a pillow of black velvet, laid a delicate hair accessory. Chains of pink blossoms cascaded down from the golden pin at the top, the petals made of a satin, the soft smell of peach wafting up from it. “This is…”

“Enchanted,” he finished for me and my eyes shot back up to him. He was staring down at it, a fond smile on his face. “So that you may enjoy its scent at any time.”

Unbidden tears rose to my eyes in response and my eyes dropped to the gift again.

“I-I don’t know what to-”

Before I could continue, the Ascian reached for it, gingerly lifting it from the box. His other hand gripped my chin, tilting it up towards him. The soft expression he held for me caught me by surprise and my eyes widened as he interested the pin into the base of my ponytail, letting it dangle down to my ear.

“Do you like it?” he asked, wiping the unfallen tears from the corner of my eye with his thumb. A breathy laugh escaped me as I nodded.

“I love it.” I paused, inhaling a deep, steadying breath. “Thank you, Emet-Selch,” I breathed, sincerely. He hummed his acceptance as he released my chin, taking my hand and bowing at the waist.

“I was my pleasure,” he started, raising my hand to his face, his lips grazing the back of my knuckles. “My lady.”

My face heated up with his words.

When he straightened again, he pulled me to my feet. In a moment, a portal had opened behind him and he tugged me through, into my bedroom.

“Now, for dessert…,” he whispered, slowly spinning us until my back faced the bed.

“Dessert?”

His lips were on mine immediately, firm and hungry. I whimpered against his mouth at his quickness, my arms wrapping around his neck out of habit as I reciprocated. He tore the coat from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor before going to work on his tunic, deftly unfastening the buttons until it hung open. He shrugged out of it and felt for the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head in a single motion, barely breaking contact with me. My arms slid from around him, moving to unbuckle my belt and unbutton my pants before my fingers went to his. He pushed them down his thighs and pulled away from me to step out of them, then began inching mine down my legs.

When the both of us were fully undressed, he sought my mouth out again.

“Let me just-” I began reaching for the ornament in my hair so that it wouldn’t be ruined. He caught my wrist with a slight shake of his head.

“No,” he insisted. “Leave it.”

When I nodded my agreement he claimed my lips once more and began easing me back onto the mattress. When I was fully lying on my back, he broke away again and examined my face as he hovered above me.

He took both of my hands and lifted them above my head, gently closing them around the pillow in a wordless request. I released an unsteady breath and nodded again.

With my consent, he pressed a soft kiss to my cheek before, with excruciating slowness, he began trailing a line of them down my neck. He continued further down, pausing at the dip of my collarbones, relishing the quickening of my heartbeat.

When he reached my breasts, his mouth wrapped around my nipple, one of his hands attending to the other. I moaned at the sensation, back arching into him as he sucked and flicked his tongue against the hardened peak.

“Oh, Gods ,” I whispered, hands tightening around the pillow. He chuckled, lifting his mouth from my skin.

“Oh, my poor hero,” he cooed, flashing me a mischievous grin. “We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”

Another whimper escaped me at the tone of his voice and he lowered himself back down again, continuing his trail downward to my navel and below, taking his sweet time while the ache in my core only worsened.

As he settled in between my legs, he looked back up to me, a feral smile crossing his lips.

My eyes widened, only now realizing what he meant by des-

“W-wait-”

Before I could finish, he plunged face down, tongue easily parting my folds. I cried out, back arching further, hands clenching in the pillow. Immediately, his hands found my hips, holding them in place as he found the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex with his nose.

He hummed in approval at my response as he continued his careful ministrations, filling me with his tongue before dragging it in a slow line up my center to suck on my most sensitive areas, pulling moan after moan from my mouth.

As he purposefully built the tension in my body until I was near my breaking point, my hips began moving against his face, seeking the release I desperately wanted. His grip on me tightened and he paused his motions.

I nearly sobbed at the loss of contact as he peered up at me.

“Let me have my fun, Warrior of Light,” he instructed. I nodded quickly.

“Please, just-” One side of his mouth tilted upward and he went back to what he had been doing. A tremor ran through my body as his tongue began working me again, the sob stuck in my throat surfacing.

Slowly, he brought me back to the edge, his enjoyment clear in his eyes as he watched me, small, approving noises slipping from his mouth as he lapped at the wetness he’d caused. A shudder tore through me, my whole body arching against the mattress.

“ Twelve take me ,” I nearly cried.

“No,” he growled from between my legs, his breath hot on my skin. “Not your Twelve, hero. Me .”

But still, he refused me my end, slowing the motions of his tongue ever-so-slightly to keep me toeing the edge so that he could continue to taste me, continue to see the mess I had become because of him .

My body began trembling and I threw my head back, my hands gripping the pillow as tightly as I could.

“ Please, ” I begged. He chuckled against me, the vibration of his lips forcing a strangled cry from my mouth. “Please,” I said again, quietly this time, my voice unsteady.

And finally, finally , he gave in to my wishes, ending my torture and allowing me my climax.

He lifted himself again, hovering above me once more as I lay on the bed, quivering in the after-effects of my release. He brushed a strand of hair from my eyes before cupping my face and leaning down, pressing his lips to mine.

When he sought entrance, I willingly opened my mouth to him, letting his tongue twine with mine as I tasted myself on him. I took his face in both of my hands, deepening the kiss as he settled himself above me, his arousal nudging at my opening.

I wriggled my hips until he slipped inside without resistance, earning me a muffled groan.

His arms slid underneath my back, gathering me in his embrace and fully seating himself into me. He broke apart from my mouth, pressing his forehead to the crook of my neck as he began to move, the pace he set so slow, so gentle that my heart ached. I hooked one arm under his, the other going around his neck and threading into his hair.

“Just like that,” I panted into his ear, my voice no louder than a whisper, pressing a soft kiss to the shell. “That feels good.” I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles together. He nodded, his breathing coming out in fast puffs, warm against my chest and continued, the both of us allowing ourselves to get lost in each other- to just feel .

After a few minutes, he lifted his head and, with a grunt, hauled me up and into his lap. The silken flowers of my hair pin tumbled down against the side of my face. My breath caught as he reached and up brushed them back, his thumb stroking my cheek in passing. We sat in silence for a long moment, searching each others’ expressions, relishing each others’ company.

With a deep inhale, he claimed my lips once again as I gripped his shoulders for support, lifting myself for a moment to tuck my knees under me.

As I lowered myself back onto him, I returned his affections with fervor, continuing at the same pace he had been using before. His arms tightened around me as his hips raised into my, pushing himself deeper inside of me and a strangled moan escaped me at the feeling.

After a while, it wasn’t enough.

In a stroke of confidence, I placed a hand on his chest and pushed, wanting him to lie back.

He pulled back from my mouth with a raised brow. I matched his expression.

“Isn’t today supposed to be about me?”

With a grin, he relented and did as I requested, his hands resting on my thighs as I widened them, taking him inside of me fully once more. His back arched and his fingers dug into my skin, his whole body straining with the feeling of how deep he was. I leaned over him, taking his chin in my hand before kissing him slowly. When I pulled away, I sat back up.

“Watch me,” I implored him, undulating my hips into his as I slipped one of my hands between my legs. I heard his sharp intake of breath as his gaze focused on my fingers, felt him throb inside of me with excitement and my cheeks began to burn again.

I began moving my fingers in a circular motion over the bud as I moved on top of him and, mixed with the exhilaration the prospect of him observing me in this way brought me, it didn’t take long until my body began to tremble, my movements uneven and frantic as I bit my lip, trying to control the sounds slipping from my mouth.

He raised one hand to my breast to facilitate my release, teasing it, squeezing my nipple between his fingers. The other went to my waist, stroking the skin of my side in a comforting manner.

“That’s right, Warrior of Light,” he whispered, encouraging me. “Come apart for me.” I released my lip, unable to hold back the cry that forced itself out of my throat.

“And by Zodiark ,” he continued, admiration clear in his tone. “Look how beautiful you are.”

His words were the end of me. They thrust me over the edge, a violent spasm taking over completely as the waves of my climax hit me with force.

With my breathing unsteady and my body slick with sweat, I slumped over him, hands landing on either side of his head as I continued moving against him, faster this time to assist with his release. He threw his head back into the pillow.

“Keep going, hero,” he panted. “Just like-”

His words were cut off by a loud groan, his fingers digging into the skin of my thighs. He cursed, lifting his hips into mine with a desperate need. A moment later, with a strangled moan, he spilled himself into me.

I collapsed onto the bed next to him, the mattress bouncing with my impact. He rolled onto his side to face me, searching my eyes for a long while as the both of us caught our breath. I bit my lip and he raised his brow.

“Yes?”

“Why...did you do all of this?” His gaze lifted to my hair and a smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. Wordlessly, he raised his arm, untying the ribbon that held it up with one hand, then pulled it and the pin from the strands. My face flushed and he turned over, setting them both on the table beside the bed. When he turned back to me, he gathered me in his arms, tucking me under his chin, his warmth spreading through me.

“Sometimes, hero,” he began, softly as I relaxed in his embrace, my own arms winding around his back as I squished my cheek into his chest. “You deserve some celebration, too.”

I huffed a laugh and smiled as I tightened my hold on him, hugging him closely. I nuzzled my head against his skin and sighed.

“I suppose, every once in a while...it isn’t so bad.”

I felt his hand lift from my back and heard a snap. When the lights darkened the bedroom, I allowed my eyes to fall shut as I reveled in the continuous comfort that he brought me.

#ffxiv #ffxiv shadowbringers #Final Fantasy XIV #Final Fantasy 14 #final fantasy 14 fanfiction #emetselch #Emet-Selch #emet selch #emet selch x warrior of light

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