#rip elpis

[yloiseconeillants]

aaaaaaaaaaaaand the greater amaurot polycule 

(minus panthea @whatsthisascianbullshit who is always arriving late and plus ares @abyssalmermaiden who is a friend to the GAP)

timoria @lilbittymonster ; minthe @tallbluelady ; kytheon @mythandral ; erasmos @azure-dragonsinger ; icarus @hermits-hovel

[impossible-rat-babies]

probably bc it was less bothersome in ShB but the whole botanist/fisher studium quests are weird

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Eros: Chapter Two

Eros: Married to Dream of the Endless, you find yourself sent back in time to Ancient Greece where you, unfortunately, meet Oneiros. Fresh off a divorce and drowning the sorrows of his son’s death by indulging in the Panathenaia, you find yourself trapped beneath the lustful gaze of your future husband. In your defense, he seduced you first…

Warnings: Language, Taunting.

To Note: Morpheus x Wife!Reader, Time Travel, Oneiros is used for AncientGreek!Morpheus.

Word Count: ~2.8k

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By dinner that night you had nearly drowned yourself in turbulent thoughts and discomfort. Your friends were gossiping while lounging at a table, they were gushing about all the men and woman that had arrived through out the day. Apparently in the celebrations, orgies were a common occurrence among the aristocrats and it was always a guessing game of who would be getting with who, or more importantly, who would get the golden invitations to the orgies with the most powerful people of Athens. You didn’t mind the open sexuality of Athens, it was actually a freeing thought… but you’d spent the afternoon and night in a state of hurt with a very agonized heart.

Why did it pain you so much to see Oneiros in pain? It was clear that he was hurting. Hurting and drowning himself in wine and debauchery to take his mind and being off the fact that his son had died and he’d gone through a divorce. You hated seeing him like that. You hated it so much. But you were well aware that Morpheus had gone through this phase in his life. He’d gruelingly explained it to you on a rainy afternoon after you had pestered him about his past relationships. He was your husband and you loved him so much, yet you still knew very little about his past.

He hadn’t wanted to tell you anything. Hadn’t wanted you to know about his failings in martial relations and love period. But the Endless loved you with every grain of sand he possessed and had explained the sorrows and troubles he’d gone through… minus the time proceeding his divorce. Watching the debauchery unfold in front of you, you fully understand why he hadn’t uttered a peep about his greek era. The greeks certainly knew their way around bodily delights.

“Elpis?” You blinked and glanced at Merope, she and the other girls were looking at you with concerned looks. They had noticed a change in you since earlier, had barely touched food or drink and spent an awful lot of time sitting with a faraway look within your eyes. “You’ve been rather demure since luncheon, is all well?” It wasn’t like you could just unload all your troubles on the three women, no matter how much you wanted to.

“Just a headache,” You informed her before unfolding yourself from your curled position and rising to your feet. You brushed out nonexistent wrinkles from the skirt of your dress.  “I think I need some fresh air and to cool down.” Your fingers tugged at your clothes, undoing several pins that kept fabric folded against your body in a decorative way. The silken fabric loosened and draped until it was just barely held together on your body. Now you didn’t feel so smothered. “I’ll be out for a walk, don’t let me keep you up waiting.”

It was clear that they weren’t convinced by your words as you strode past them with your peplum fluttering behind you. It was a hot night in Athens, but the breeze from the Aegean Sea cooled you down as you took a garden path that led straight to the beautiful water. Standing at the waters edge, you crouched down and brushed your fingers through the slightly warm water. This wouldn’t last forever, surely, your Morpheus was probably ripping through realms and universes trying to find you… you just had to deal with his past self until you went home.

Which you didn’t know when that would happen.

And you didn’t like the idea of leaving this Morpheus in pain.

But could you actually do anything about that?

You didn’t exactly have a handbook on what to do when you time traveled.

Destiny will be up your ass if you screwed this up…

Then again maybe this was supposed to happen?

You growled and dropped your face into your hand with a more than exaggerated groan. You didn’t sign up for this time travel bull shit when you married Morpheus! All you had to be, according to Morpheus and just about everyone else in the realm, was his wife. Of course you wanted to be active in the realm and help out the denizens, dreams, and nightmares as their queen, but no one held you to duty.Just as you sighed and dragged your fingers down your face, pulling your eyelids as you went, you felt a tingle in your being and a shiver run up your spine. You rose to your feet and turned around.

Ah.

High above on one of the balconies overseeing the Aegean Sea, lounged Oneiros in all his glory. His tunic was half on his body, revealing a great expanse of his star sculpted physique. His hair was ruffled since you had last seen him. Right. Lucienne reluctantly mentioned that Morpheus had a few hoe eras. This was one of them. Even though he wasn’t your Morpheus, you could still feel his inherent desire and lust. It was certainly directed at you since you had met eyes with him. That both scared and excited you.

“Elpis?” Kynna’s sweet voice broke your stare down with Oneiros. Jarred from holding the lustful gaze of Oneiros, you blinked rapidly. “What are you doing outside all alone? Did you have a bad dream?”

“Kynna!” You softly exclaimed, striding up to the girl and plucking her from the ground. What on earth was she doing out of be? There were half naked adults everywhere! “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“You’re not in bed,” The little girl pointed out like it would make a difference, making your eyebrow pop up. The utter cheek!

“That’s because I was out for a walk, come little one, back to bed, you have a great many activities to do tomorrow.” Continuing to carry Kynna, you entered the large stone building and walked towards her families wing. Your heart throbbed in your chest the entire way to her room.

You sat in your seat stiff as a bored. It was another extravagant luncheon hosted by one of the noble families. You hadn’t wanted to accept the invitation, you weren’t versed in the politics of Athens and certainly didn’t know anyone other than your three knew friends. The only plus side to attending was the delicious food served. You’d spent a lot of time snacking on olives while partaking in wine, and it was nice to eat a proper grecian meal.

Under normal circumstances, the men would eat separately from the woman, but since it was Panathenaia, an exception was made so everyone could mingle and celebrate in shared fashion. As uncomfortable as you were with the flirting and innuendos, you did find yourself laughing at a few crude jokes and well entertained by the conversations you found yourself drawn into.

The men and woman of Ancient Greece were beautiful, impossibly so, but they were also so easy to get along with and forget that you didn’t even belong in this era! Several times you found yourself falling into a place of comfort you should not entertain! So every time a conversation got a little too intimate you pulled back. But that being said, you carried small talk and day to day conversation quite well.

At least until a certain someone arrived.

Your attention was drawn to Oneiros like a moth to a flame. You couldn’t help it. Not when he was the love of your life and the very being you promised to spend the rest of eternity together. Not when you had allowed the anthropomorphic being to place a physical part of his Endless being within your own so that you may spend every moment he had left in time with him.

But he wasn’t yours. At least not yet. That didn’t stop the smoldering looks he sent your way and it certainly didn’t stop the fire that burned deep in your belly until you squirmed in your seat. Gods damn that being for being your kryptonite! Wanting payback for what he was causing you, you began eating grapes. One by one. Allowing your fingers to linger on your lips while you held his gaze.

 It was a rather torturous sight to see.

The purple peplum you had on, held in place by golden pins and a decorative belt that wrapped around your waist. The fabric was just as light as all the other peplums you’d ben dressed in, but at the moment you felt like it weighed a tonne. Feeling suffocated by your feelings, the heavy gaze of Oneiros that seemed to follow you everywhere, and the general sultry atmosphere that enveloped the commons, you had slipped to the gardens for an afternoon stroll. Even with the fresh air you were still struggling to control your emotions.

“I just want to go home,” You softly murmured to yourself, allowing your hand to brush over several hibiscus flowers. “But I can’t even have that. No, someone just wants to fuck with me and my heart by forcing me to live through one of my husbands darkest times.” Sighing, you continued running your fingers over flowers and leaves. Lifting your eyes to the skies, you willed time to go by faster, wishing for the relieving darkness that harkened a sleep that blocked out the visceral agony you felt.

Before you had married Morpheus, you used to be so excited about falling asleep at night. You practically lived two lives, one on earth during the day, and second, more meaningful one in the Dreaming at night. You knew almost all of the denizens of the Dreaming before you had become romantically involved with Morpheus, so your nights had literally been a second life. But then the Endless had finally decided to make his intentions clear with you.

You had been swept off your feet by a blanket of stars Morpheus had weaved himself and courted like a spoiled regency debutant. It had been so extravagant that you had nearly told Morpheus that he only needed to get you flowers and talk to you regularly… but you had quickly found that bestowing you with gifts and words of affection were his love language. He wanted to shower you with gifts. He wanted to bespoke words of adoration to you. You were his universe. He was the being you never knew you needed. Together you felt complete.

Sniffing while your eyes burned, you hastily wiped at your eyes and nose lest you start balling in the middle of the garden and cause an upset. Why were you doing this to yourself? You knew you were playing with fire. Finding yourself and stopping the threatening onslaught of burning hit tears, you cleared your throat and looked up at the flowering pink shrub you found yourself in front of.

Oleander.

Smelling the fragrant blooms, you reached up to take one of the pretty blooms. It was just out of reach, but if you stretched on your tippy toes, you could probably reach it. So you stretched upwards, pressing close to the plant. Your fingers brushed the soft petal, but you couldn’t get a good grasp that wouldn’t tear the delicate bloom apart. In your struggle, you hadn’t noticed his approach and jerked in place when fabric bushed against your back as a pale hand reached over your head and effortlessly plucked the bloom for you.

Freezing in place as your breath caught in your chest, you clutched your hands to your chest. It wasn’t like you could ignore him now. Slowly turning your head, your eye met vibrant blue and you had to force yourself to stay still. Gods all you wanted to do was wrap your arms around his body and never let go! Oneiros twirled the bloom between his lithe fingers, all the while maintaining his intense gaze with yours.

You fascinated him, hypnotized him with your eyes, demanded his heart and passion with but a glance. Yet you never drew close enough to indulge. It was maddening, for Oneiros wanted no other but you. You’d drown out the sharp sting of loss he felt. He was sure of it. But something kept pulling you away the moment he was sure you’d finally break. The Endless offered the plucked flower to you, waiting for you to either accept or refuse it. Given your rather flighty disposition, he half expected you to flee the garden.

But you didn’t.

No. Oneiros was surprised when one of your slightly trembling hands reached to accept the flower. Your eyes were trained on the bloom, and you made sure not to touch him… but your silence spoke a million things.

It was getting harder and harder to avoid interacting with Oneiros. You didn’t know if it was because you naturally gravitated towards him, or if it was because he clearly wanted you. Nothing you did rid you of the pain you felt from him. So you had gone to the baths to try and soak out the stress you felt. It was nearing midnight, so most of the nobles were either indulging in bodily delights, drinking, or sleeping off the alcohol. That meant you could enjoy the public bath house in privacy.

So you slowly made your way into the steamy room and carefully unwound the belt around your waist. Then your fingers plucked the pins from your shoulders and you carefully folded the silk cloth that hung around your body. The steaming water looked inviting as you stepped down into one of the pools, and you sighed at the nostalgia that filled your mind. The bath house pools were much like the large bath you had in the Dreaming, and made memories of relaxing in it cradled within Morpheus’ arms as he told you stories of past dreams, surface within your mind.

You wanted to go home so bad.

“Are tonights revelries not to your appetite?” You jerked in place at the sound of his voice, your head snapping around to see Oneiros lounging in a corner of the bath. Shit. Shit. Shit. It took everything you had not to stare at his naked body leisurely sprawled across the sitting ledge without care. His black messy curls made your fingers twitch for they ached to run through them. Oh, it wasn’t just those curls either, you wanted run your fingers along his skin, trace his muscles, adore the curves and planes upon his otherworldly body, kiss him until you were forced to take a breath… It took you a solid minute to find the courage to reply.

“I do not usually partake in such festivities, my lord,” You replied, a slight tremble in your words. A black eyebrow arched and you forced your gaze to the carved statues of spites mounted at the end of the room. “I am more reserved with my affections.”

“But not entirely opposed as your skin paints a different story,” Oneiros pointed out, his eyes lingering on the faded marks of someones apparent love. Oh yes, someone had the pleasure of indulging in your body. Someone worshipped you greatly and with complete devotion. The marks were subtle, but intentional. Territorial even. The Endless watched as you flushed beneath his scrutiny, and took great enjoyment in knowing that he did have an effect on you. “Who would leave a creature as lovely and delicate as you, by yourself during such festivities?”

“He’s away on business and I do not seek to control him,” You told him, carefully unfolding yourself from your tight ball. Instantly the Endless was drinking in the view of your gorgeous curves and faintly loved skin. He wanted to devour you. You wanted him to stop hurting. So you rose to your feet in the water and slowly sloshed over to him. “Why are you here, my lord?”

Clearly he didn’t expect you to ask him such a question, but nonetheless he humored you after taking a sip of his wine and eyeing your goddess like body. Soft and begging for worship. One he would surely get lost in should the chance arise.

“I am enjoying the festivities, the same as you,” You nearly snorted and rolled your eyes. He may not be your Morpheus, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t pick up when he was lying. You lifted your chin.

“No, you are not,” Now that was a bold statement to say directly to his face, and you could see his eyes darken.

“You dare think to know my intentions better than I?” He questioned back, eyes searching yours to see how far you would push his patience. Your lips were distracting, after your grape stunt he had wanted nothing but to devour them to see if they were indeed as soft and inviting as they looked… as was the rest of your glorious body. Tender curves begging to be caressed, clear skin aching be marked once more, lips that called to be tamed…

“I know enough to wonder why you are here, rather than with the men and women desperately throwing themselves at you.” You informed him before turning to the side and moving back towards your folded dress. You left the bathhouse and a ravenous Endless behind, your heart beating fast in your chest.

Date Published: 1/22/24

Last Edit: 1/22/24

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[ishgard]

I'M COMING OUT OF MY CAGE AND I'VE BEEN DOING JUST FINE

the scene/imagery in my head for this is way above my skill/patience/time right now but I at least wanted to play with the idea and get it out, hopefully one day I can come back to it like I want but I think this is a satisfying enough 'first draft' X'D (there should be so, so, so much more blood and nudity)

in gbf aria is 'a piece of mana's dead soul that was cultivated by the otherworld to eventually take her place'. one of my early quotes that sort of set her vibe was something edgy like 'i'll rip you open, clean you out and wear you' more or less

this has actually translated kind of nicely to xiv: amon wanted to recreate the woman from his fragmented memories [mana in elpis] and managed to pluck a similar soul from the void to suit his purpose. aria is mana's 13th shard, and she would be more than happy to take mana's place :)c

[underratedbitch-number13]

Part 3 : Elpis

A/N: I know that I have been gone for very long and almost abandoned these series. But I have exams going, and yesterday's paper was one of the shittiest ones I've ever written and I was feeling super down. So I came back to finish the angst, lol.

Anyways, I think it's lowkey rushed, but I hope everyone likes it :)

Also It felt so weird writing this chapters because I kept getting new ideas and I wanted to keep writing, but I didn't want to make it tooo long, though it's still pretty lengthy.

Repeating for clarity, MC DID NOT KNOW Mammon at all. She's a complete random stranger who happened to be there.

This part is going to be pretty heavy, so please proceed with caution.

Part 3 : Elpis

(Mammon x F!MC)

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, Mammon is almost about to attempt suicide, bullying, verbal abuse, physical abuse, and mental abuse, blood, self harm, nightmares.

A LOT OF ANGST!!!

If you are sensitive to any of these, please do not read. This could be triggering.

Written in Third Person POV. Also, If there are any grammatical errors, please feel free to correct them.

Number of words : 2.5k

|| ☞ Part 1 || ☞ Part 2 || ☞ Part 4(coming end of April 2024) ||

———————————————————————

Simeon woke up with a gasp.

Beads of sweat lined his forehead as he desperately tried to calm his erratic breathing. It was the 6th time in a row.

He had another vision.

Simeon and Luke had temporarily returned to Celestial Realm after Luke fell seriously ill. Luke had almost recovered, but he needed a few more days to heal completely before they returned for the exchange program.

Simeon and Luke weren't aware of anything that had transpired back in Devildom in their absence, because they had left before the video was released.

But since the past few days, Simeon has been seeing terrible visions.

Visions of Mammon's death followed by utter chaos among his brothers, then a war with the human world. He vividly remembers seeing the Sorcerer's Society up in arms against the 6 brothers.

Solomon was there too, fighting against the brothers.

Simeon felt shivers when recalled how brutally Solomon ended Asmodeus's life after using their pact to his advantage. The entire war was a bloody mess with many dead, including Belphegor, Asmodeus, and Leviathan.

His visions never showed him the end of the war, so he never knew who won.

Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand Simeon decided it was time to talk to Michael. He needed to inform him about the visions and apologize for not telling sooner.

Getting out of his bed, Simeon got ready to visit Michael.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

Michael appeared perplexed when Simeon told him about his visions.

Visions were not a part of Simeon's powers. Now he was seeing a recurring vision, that too one about a war between humans and demons?

Michael sent Simeon back after reassuring him that he'd get in touch with him about this matter soon. Unsatisfied with Michael's answer Simeon reluctantly headed back to his place.

He had a sinking feeling in his stomach and he couldn't shake it off.

He cared about Solomon and the brothers, and he had grown very attached to them. These visions were like nightmares to him, and he felt helpless. He really wanted to do something to prevent all of this.

The thing that perplexed him the most was Mammon's death.

He did not know the cause of his death, he only knew that his body was found in the human realm with his heart ripped out.

Seeing his brother's body in that condition had incurred Lucifer's wrath, equivalent to what he had seen during the war before his fall.

The brothers had concluded that humans were somehow responsible for Mammon's death and bathed the human world in blood. Simeon's head hurt just thinking about it.

"Father," he prayed. "Please protect everyone."

———————————————————————

♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎

———————————————————————

Barbatos and Diavolo had known. 

They were aware of the tragedy that was about to occur, after all, Barbatos had already checked every timeline.

Unfortunately, all of them only had one outcome, Mammon's death.

Diavolo was devastated upon learning this. He had failed! He failed as the future King! How could he not protect his subject, his dear friend Mammon?

Barbatos himself felt a little lost, his stoic persona wavered as remembered what he what he saw. Although he never openly showed his affection for Mammon, he cared. He cared more than anyone would believe.

It was hard for either of them to digest the fact

The panic slowly started to set in.

Diavolo insisted on talking to Mammon immediately, but he was stopped by Barbatos, who informed him of how every effort made by them in other timelines had done more damage than help.

In one timeline, when they tried talking to Mammon about his mental health, he denied everything. He laughed it off and replied with a "Nobody can hurt the Great Mammon!"

In other timelines, if they punished the students for bullying him, they would isolate themselves even further from him and would call him a snitch or a baby. And if they tried to stop Asmodeus from releasing the video by going to the past, another video of Mammon would always surface.

In the end, they couldn't change the future.

———————————————————————

♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎

———————————————————————

The winds picked up as Barbatos chanted mantras to invoke his most powerful magic.

Diavolo stood not far away, looking at the figure at a distance with a grave look on his face, his demon form emerging as Mammon stepped closer to the edge.

The Prince of Hell had never imagined that a day like this would ever come. The guilt in his heart was immeasurable knowing he had failed his dear subject, and he had almost been too late to realize that.

Now they had no option but to do this. Barbatos was going to freeze the time on Earth for a couple of hours until the full moon ended and then erase his memories from the past few months.

The next moon full as powerful as this one was three months away and that should give them more time to do something.

His eyes turned to Barbatos on his left as he stood in a trance-like state with his eyes closed, a dark aura emitting from him. He was almost done with the process.

"δεθιλΠγπξΨυΣἀἧΪΏ"

Barbatos began chanting louder, and his eyes slowly started opening to release his powers.

Diavolo turned his attention back to Mammon to check on him, and his eyes widened at what he saw. “Barbatos stop!” He yelled and grabbed the butler’s arm to break his concentration.

Barbatos fell on his knees, eyes opened wide and bloodshot, tears pouring out of them. "My Lord," Barbatos gasped, completely out of breath. "Why?"

Diavolo winced at Barbatos' state."Barbatos, I apologize. But we don't need to intervene anymore. He already has."

———————————————————————

♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎

———————————————————————

Silver butterflies.

They were a sign of God’s presence.

Diavolo, Barbatos, and Lucifer were the only demons who knew about those butterflies. They are usually seen when someone about to die is about to ascend to heaven OR it means that God was around.

Mammon, who was surrounded, couldn’t see the silver butterflies dancing around him.

They formed a line that was going in a particular direction. Almost like it was linking Mammon with something.

Or someone.

A human girl?

Diavolo and Barbatos watched from a distance, as the girl approached the bridge. She too was surrounded by the silver butterflies.

And she could see them.

There was awe on her face as she stared at those beautiful miracles fluttering around her. The bright full moon, the silver butterflies, and the gentle cool winds made the scene look magical.

Diavolo and Barbatos watched as the girl followed the butterflies giggling, not noticing Mammon.

Until she did. Her eyes fell on Mammon's figure, still in his human form, standing on the ledge with a painfully serene look on his face. The silver butterflies long forgotten, she ran towards Mammon with wide eyes and a panicked expression.

"No," she gasped, grabbing Mammon and pulling him down. “Please, please don’t do it.”

"What da hell?" Mammon cursed. "Who are ya?"

The human who was smiling and giggling just a few moments ago now had heavy tears flowing down her face.

"Please don't do this."

"What is it to ya?" Mammon yanked his hand out of the human's hands.

"It's not worth it, please. Don't do it," she repeated.

Mammon sighed irritatedly. "Look human, ya should go back. Ya don't know me and it's not yer place to tell me what to do."

"Please, it will hurt your loved ones--"

"I DON'T HAVE LOVED ONES." Mammon roared. "I am a scumbag, I don't deserve to live or be loved."

"That's not true!"

"What do ya know?!"

"Yes, I don't anything!! But what I do know is that nothing in this world is worth more than your life. It doesn't matter who loves whom. It's never going to be worth more than you!"

Mammon stayed silent.

"Why should you die for their sins? Why should you suffer because they aren't good people? I'm sorry you had to go through whatever you did, I'm sorry you don't think you deserve to be loved, and I'm really sorry that you find solace in the idea of dying. But please please please for the love of God, please don't do this"

Mammon wanted to scoff at the human. For the love of God? His father whom he betrayed for his wretched brother who has abandoned him now?

Karma, it's probably Karma, Mammon thinks.

He didn't want to listen to the human in front of him, after all, she was speaking the truth. He shouldn't have to suffer for his brothers.

But he was tired. Mammon didn't feel like he had enough strength to be strong another day. He had forgotten how to love himself, and without love, he knew he would shrivel.

Death was really the only option left.

Mammon realized that he shouldn't waste his time any further talking to this human. She was too nice for him and it's pretty late for a human girl to be out anyways.

"Look, I get what ya tryin' to say-"

"No," she stopped him from speaking, taking hold of his arm again. " I am not going to let you do it. You better be prepared to kill me if you want me to let go of you."

"Have ya lost yer mind?" Mammon looked at her with disbelief.

"No, I have not. But I will lose my mind because of guilt if I ignore this and let you do it."

Why? Why was this human going so far for him? Pity? Guilt?

"I will be there for you. We can be friends."

Mammon scoffed. What an arrogant human.

"Yer as stupid as ya look. Ya think I won't kill ya? And what makes ya think yer sob speech is enough to not make me jump? Ya only wanna be ma friend outta pity and I don't want any of that. Ya don't havta feel guilty or anythin. The world is not yer child an yer not responsible for it. Go home."

Mammon forced himself out of the human's grip and stood up. He looked at her, as she stared blankly at the ground.

He felt bad for being rude to her, but he had no choice. Mammon didn't like pity. After giving her one last look and climbed the edge again. He was about to switch to his demon form when a thought crossed his mind

Won't the human get terrified if she sees his demon form? What if she has nightmares?

"Give me one minute," she spoke interrupting Mammon's train of thoughts. She whipped out her phone and began typing furiously.

Is she calling for help? Will I have to deal with more annoying humans?

"Done," she declared and tossed her phone to the side of the bridge. It landed sideways and you could hear it crack.

What the--?

"Can you move a little and make some space for me? " She asked Mammon, coming over to where he was standing.

Mammon stood on a small ledge at the end of the bridge. It was the darkest corner and that's why he chose it. Although it was small, it could still hold two people.

"What are ya doing?" Mammon questioned, as the human struggled to get on the ledge.

"Joining you."

"What? Why? Human, have ya seriously lost yer mind?"

"No."

"Then what hell is yer problem ?! Why can't ya just leave me alone? Was that irritating speech of yours jus' empty words? Does the same logic not apply to ya?"

"My brother committed suicide six months ago."

What--??

"I was the one who found his body. It was dark when I entered his room and his legs hit my face. He was hanging from the ceiling."

Mammon was left speechless at this sudden confession.

"I often wondered you know, why did he do it. He didn't leave a letter, a note, or even give a proper goodbye. He was my only family. I haven't moved on from his death yet. What if I had paid attention, would I have noticed that my always happy and smiling older brother was actually struggling? Did I ever notice how tired he looked or how lifeless his eyes were? If I had, maybe he would still be here."

There was a pause, as she struggled to continue.

"Maybe if I was a better sister, maybe if I wasn't such a burden, then he wouldn't have died. I feel so pathetic you know. So useless. If anything he deserved to live more than I do. He worked so many jobs to ensure we both had a roof over our heads and food on our plates. He sacrificed most of his life to make sure that my life was good, and what did I do for him? Nothing."

"Hey stop. Yer not to blame for anything that happened, and ya don't havta to tell me if it's so painful--"

"No, I am telling you all of this because I want you know to that I don't have a reason to live either. I had lost my will to live the day my brother died, but I kept going because everyone told me that my brother would've wanted me to be happy. I tried, I tried so hard to be happy but I couldn't. And today when I saw you on the ledge with the same expression as my brother on the day he killed himself, I felt the world slip under my feet. If I can't stop you from killing yourself, it's going to destroy me. So why not join you? I always feared dying alone anyway."

She had successfully climbed up and now stood beside Mammon.

"If you don't mind, can I request something? Can we hold hands when we jump?"

Mammon could tell she was trembling, he could sense her fear.

Humans truly are the most annoying species in the whole universe.

"Tch, stupid human," Mammon grumbled and picked up the human in bridal style. He got down from the ledge and walked away from the corner, still holding her in his arms.

"What are you doing?"

"Shuddup, I'm taking ya to the mental hospital. Ya need some serious help."

"Do you know the address to one?"

"No, but ya will tell me. I know ya know."

"Fine, I'll tell you. But can we please stop at my place for a bit? I have to pick up a couple of things."

"Tch tch, Annoying little human."

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♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎

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ALSO GUYS I AM SO SORRY FOR ABANDONING THIS. I WILL FINISH THIS SERIES BY THE END OF THIS MONTH, I PROMISE.

And also thank you to everyone who took their time to read so far. I really really appreciate it.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated. Please let me know your thoughts on how you feel about this.

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[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day Six: Halcyon

an invitation sent, an summons answered—igeyorhm gets more than she bargained for. female azem x igeyorhm. endwalker spoilers + pandaemonium spoilers. written for ffxivwrites2024. rating: explicit. tags: explicit sexual content, seduction, strip tease, voyeurism, many many amaurotine headcanons 5424 words ao3 link rip to every debate team kid out there, i'm sorry rip to my brain for having to write igeyorhm 40 times and, like the formatting of a tumblr post, not getting it right on the first try once

Nothing ever happens in Amaurot.

That is Igeyorhm’s opinion. She has lived in the capital for countless centuries, and now she is quite certain that it is the prettiest, but blandest place on the Star.

Some would argue this is a good thing. Amaurot is a halcyon bastion of perfect paradise, cultured, peaceful, and pristine. It is a city safe from harm, safe from disaster, the crown jewel of their society and culture. Outside its walls, there may be mayhem and chaos, but here life is peaceful. Wonderful. Kind. Slow. Time to learn, time to live. Time to perfect that which isn’t and preserve that which is.

Boring. Dull.

She would not wish for chaos upon anyone, but some days she finds herself yearning for change. She may very well lose her mind without it—a poor look for the Rhetorician and auditor of knowledge and logic and reason. She is supposedly the cleverest of the Convocation, though she often does not feel like it. That title belongs to her cousin, the current holder of the office of Lahabrea. Clever, brilliant, bold. He is much older than her, but age means little after the first few centuries.

She sighs, casting a glance across the terrace. Like all members of the Convocation, her home occupies a penthouse suite in one of the tallest buildings in the city. Beautiful, airy, with a garden terrace open to the sky. This is where she passes her time when she is not in office. Her garden is lush, filled with vibrant and exciting plants and flowers, some unofficial creations passed to her by Halmarut to keep things interesting. A sunken rectangular pool sits as the focal point, filling the centre. Her favourite divan sits near the edge, surrounded by half-shelves stuffed with books. Her formal library is on the floor below, but she has been slowly moving more and more of it outside.

Igeyorhm purses her lips and turns a page of her book. It is a gorgeous day—a clear, cloudless sky, the sun high and bright, a pleasant breeze in the air. She should be content.

And yet…

She glances at the chronometer on the wall, rapping dark fingers against her seat. Fifteen past the bell. She’s not going to come after all…

The invitation was an impulsive decision. Azem is recently returned to the capital, and gods know she has better things to do than entertain the dullest Convocation member. Hermes’ inauguration as Fandaniel is on the horizon. He is still recovering from whatever disaster happened with Kairos and an investigation into the malfunctioning machine is underway. Emet-Selch has a hole in his memory, which does nothing for his demeanour. Lahabrea is handling that mess in Pandaemonium. And apparently a stray or feral familiar belonging to Azem has been running about Elpis, though she has said nothing of it nor has she claimed it as her own.

Igeyorhm would have very much liked to see it. But here she is, stuck in Amaurot with her books and her rhetoric, doing nothing.

She admires Azem. Tall, strong, witty, clever—she is striking and she knows it. Unlike so many others on the Convocation, she has never been one to bend to tradition, going about her duties in her own way as she sees fit. The last time she came back from a long journey she came very close to being asked to forfeit her seat. Her journeys across the Star led her to many new places, and to meet many new peoples. It is her duty to give hear their stories and give them counsel.

For one in particular, her counsel was a little too close.

Children are rare among Amaurotines. Child created the organic way, so to speak, even more so. Her dalliance with a non-Amaurotine could have ended her career had she not been a force to be reckoned with. As her brother, Emet-Selch was more furious than the rest, though even he could not bring himself to punish her for her trespasses. Her child was born some time ago, though as Igeyorhm understands it, she is being raised far away from the capital.

Azem terrifies her. Fascinates her. How dearly she would love to learn from her example—to commit wholeheartedly to one’s way of life without suffering the fear of shame. She has tried, but she can’t bring herself to do it. She is cold, aloof. Private. Standoffish. Others have noticed. Others have commented.

This is the way she is. The Rhetorician, with the heart of ice.

Metal scrapes against metal and the lift arrives.

Igeyorhm rises from her seat, shocked as Azem emerges from behind the golden grate and enters the terrace. She is gorgeous today—as she is every day. Though her robes are of an Amaurotine style, they have been adjusted and tweaked, creating a lavish outfit of flowing silks belted at the waist. She has forgone the classic black for soft oranges and yellows; together with her pale hair and her glowing orange eyes, she looks very much like a sunset. Her mask sits comfortably on her face, obscuring the hint of high cheekbones and an aquiline nose.

She moves with such determined grace Igeyorhm isn’t sure if she is making up for time lost or if this is simply how she is.

“Azem,” she says in greeting, bowing politely. Her unbound hair hangs about her, shading her face with a curtain of blue-black curls.

Azem laughs and crosses the terrace, sweeping her into her arms. “So formal,” she says, kissing her on either cheek. Her lips are as soft as silk. She smells of citrus and flowers and something Igeyorhm cannot place. “May we do away with titles for today? My head is already spinning and I haven’t yet met with the Convocation.”

Igeyorhm swallows the lump in her throat. Though their names are known to each other, it’s the principle of the thing. “Wine?” she asks, gesturing to a gilded decanter on a nearby table.

Her sunset eyes sparkle. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Igeyorhm pours the wine and hands it to her, retreating quickly to her divan. She sits on the edge and plucks her own glass from the ground, sipping quietly, the awkward silence pressing in on her. Azem does not seem to mind. Nothing seems to bother her. “I’m glad you have returned,” she says.

“A fair amount has happened in my absence, I see.” She perches at the edge of the pool and folds her legs beneath her, taking a sip of wine. “I have yet to speak with my brother. Hythlodaeus tells me he is in a… distraught state, shall we say.”

“Emet-Selch is often distraught.”

“He is. I fear my brother is wound too tight to be anything but distraught.”

Igeyorhm pauses. “Did you enjoy your time away from the capital?” she ventures cautiously. Gods, why is she stalling? She seems incapable of having a normal conversation with her that doesn’t amount of anything but meaningless small talk.

Azem smiles that soft, mysterious smile of hers and sets down her wine. Rising to her feet, she sweeps across the terrace, her vibrant sunset robes whispering around her. She reaches the wall and leans against it, turning her face westward towards Akadaemia Anyder. The light catches her hair, bleeding through the pale gold, setting her profile ablaze. She is not the flames of creation—no, that domain belongs still to Lahabrea—but she is the fire of the sun. Bright, enduring, eternal, and endlessly alluring. Stare too long and you will find yourself blinded.

Fire and ice are opposed. They cannot mix. One will always overpower the other.

Igeyorhm cups her drink in her hands, staring into the glass as she swirls the deep red liquid about. “Tell me honestly,” she says quietly. “Why come here, Azem? I know it wasn’t for the wine.”

“It could be for the wine. You have exquisite taste.”

“Thank you, but answer me truly.”

“Because you asked me to.”

“You could have refused my invitation. Many do.”

“Very rude of them.”

She flushes. “It was a last minute decision, you were under no obligation to say yes. Not when the Convocation gathers tomorrow. We could have met then.”

“And avoid the fun of sipping wine on your beautiful terrace and enjoying the pleasant weather?” She pauses, her gaze lingering on the institution in the distance. “But even if you had not invited me, is it so unusual for a friend to call upon a friend?”

“You consider me a friend?” The words are out before she realizes she has spoken.

Azem throws her head back and laughs. “Igeyorhm, what is in that ice-cold heart of yours that gave you that impression? How many years have we known each other?”

“I could not say. Knowing is different than friendship, is it not?”

“True.”

“And you have never sought to call on me in private before.”

“Our positions are quite distanced. Rhetoric and debate on one side, counsel and pilgrimage on the other.”

“Hardly. I do not believe they are that different. One could argue they are the same.”

Finally, Azem tears herself away from the view. She leans her back against the wall and turns her gaze on Igeyorhm, those intense orange-gold eyes burning into her from even this distance. “You think so?” she says, arching an eyebrow from behind her mask. “Then let’s play a game.”

“A game?”

“A game of debate. Put your texts aside, Igeyorhm. Take your nose out of your books. Let us have a sparring match. The winner receives a boon.”

Igeyorhm wets her lower lip. Her heart is thundering. “What kind of boon?”

“A gift. From me to you, or you to me. Whatever our heart’s desire.”

The pool ripples in the wind, its water lapping against the edge. To Azem, the sound must be negligible. But to Igeyorhm it beats like a drum pounding with the rhythm of her heart. “And who will be the judge? I cannot conceive of asking Elidibus here.”

Azem snorts, a grin spreading from ear to ear. “No, no,” she says, chuckling with mirth. “Please, no. Open the floor to Elidibus and soon you will have the whole Convocation gathered on your terrace, fast-tracking our session from tomorrow to today.”

Igeyorhm smiles. She loops a curl behind her ear, her fingers brushing her mask. “I would hate to see that. Not even my cousin has been extended an invitation.”

“He does not come here, then?”

“Even if I opened my doors to him, he would seldom have the time to visit. That sour business in Pandaemonium still weighs on him.”

Azem says nothing. Silence presses heavily on them both, the weight of the words sapping the levity from the room. Then she shakes her head, her pale gold hair rippling over her shoulders, raises a hand, and snaps.

A small fire familiar pops into existence. It is vaguely humanoid in shape with butterfly-like wings sprouting from its back. Green and orange flames lick along its sides, curling into some semblance of hair as embers trail off it and dissipate into the air. It floats gently above the pool, whistling with glee as it bobs up and down.

“Oh, stop that,” Azem says, giving it a sharp look. “Keep that up and I will send you back.”

The familiar makes a wheezing sound.

Azem’s lips twitch, trying to hide a smile. “Vesta will be our judge. It will make the calls, unless one of us calls to concede.”

Igeyorhm raises her chin. “And how am I to know it will be impartial?”

“You can’t. You will have to trust me.” Pushing off the wall, Azem crosses the terrace to settle on the end of Igeyorhm’s divan. She leans in close and whispers conspiratorially in her ear. “That’s the fun in it.”

The proximity of her presence sends an enticing shiver rolling down her spine. “And the loser?” she asks. By the Star itself, how she wishes Azem would unmask. She is the sole member of the Convocation whose face she has not seen. What does she look like beneath it? Is she as beautiful as her grace would suggest? “In the halls of debate, the winner may be rewarded with congratulations and cheer, but it is common practice for those who do not to denote their failure. If we are to play this game in the spirit of my domain, surely there must be some punishment.”

“Punishment?” Azem reaches for her glass of wine. “You certainly enjoy an escalation—”

“Penalty, then. Consequence, if you prefer. Or shall I keep digging through synonyms until I find one that appeases you?”

She chuckles and takes a drink. “What should this punishment-penalty-consequence be?”

Igeyorhm drums her fingers against her chin, lost in thought. The idea forming in her mind is… bold. Unlike her. Its out-of-character nature only makes her want to suggest it more. “The removal of one’s mask,” she says archly. “If we are friends, then surely we see one another exposed.”

Azem pauses. She takes another drink. “Done.” The wine has stained her lips red. “Then shall we begin?”

The rules of debate are simple: assert your thesis, defend it, and find the logical fallacies in your opponent’s. Argument and counterargument are etched into the building blocks of Amaurotine society; even from the earliest age, they are taught to defend reason. Theirs is a culture that prides itself on logic and wisdom, settling disputes with words and discussion first and warfare and combat second. Regardless of what Nabriales argues, as custodians of the Star, it is their solemn duty to protect it, not to sunder it apart.

Rhetoric and debate is oft considered the least impressive of any Amaurotine art. In a society of well-spoken individuals, being articulate and eloquent with words means very little. It is not enchanting like Altima’s compositions, nor beneficial to society like Deudalaphon’s inventions. It does not heal like Emmerololth’s medicinal practices, nor does it create like Lahabrea’s phantomology. But to shift the mind, convince others to see the way you do—it is a delicate art, powerful in its subtleness. And no amount of spellbinding creation magicks can turn one into a powerful orator.

It is not typical for Igeyorhm to become stuttering and tongue-tied. On most days, she is cool and clear and succinct—when she has time to prepare, she can shift the direction of the Convocation with just a few words. Debate is an art easily learned, but difficult to master, and its strength cannot be underestimated. Each member of the fourteen could claim to be an orator, but none of them have expertise. Her own cousin is too frank and blunt. Emet-Selch has yet to understand the role charm plays. Elidibus is too young, and his seat requires him to be impartial. Only Azem’s erstwhile mentor, Venat, understood the power speech can hold and how to wield it. Who else could convince the Convocation that she would not return to the Star upon her retirement?

With the right words, anyone can be convinced of anything.

“The floor is yours, Azem,” Igeyorhm says, leaning back casually on the divan. The movement tugs at the neckline, pulling at the neckline, exposing her collarbone. She hooks an arm over the back, running her fingers across the rich embroidery. “Your opening statement?”

“Already?” Azem brushes her long hair over her shoulder. “I admit I was not prepared to begin. Perhaps you should take the lead.”

Igeyorhm smirks. This coy display is an attempt to disarm her, convince her to take to the stage first out of kindness. Azem must know as certainly as she does that those who speak first are often the ones to lose. “This is my house,” she says. “It is my honour to go second. Your opening statement?”

Azem catches her eye. “Should I stand?” she asks, already rising to her feet. “I have been gone for some time, I’m uncertain of proper procedure.”

“If you wish.” Igeyorhm looks her up and down, lingering on the way her robes hug her curves. Her travels beyond Amaurot is etched on her body; it shows in the bare arms corded with muscle, in the strength of her legs, in the confident preciseness of her movements.

Azem cocks her head, a little smile on her lips, and bows theatrically. “Our seats are of opposing nature,” she says. “I am a traveller. I see the Star for what it is beyond the narrow walls and minds of Amaurot. Yours is the reverse—embracing the uniformity, upholding the status quo. Your rhetoric is not designed to bring change, but to uphold existing laws without question. I look outwards, whereas you look in.”

I don’t disagree with that. Not that she can say it aloud. “But as you travel, you offer guidance to the people, no?” she counters. “What is the difference between guidance and rhetoric? To give counsel is to convince. The wisdom you impart persuades them to your side, to your point of view. In that way, our seats are the same.”

“Hm.” Azem’s smile widens. She raises her cup. “What does Vesta think?”

The familiar’s flames hiss and whistle and it performs a little loop in the air, pointing a fiery finger at Igeyorhm.

“Ah. You are the winner, I see.”

Igeyorhm blinks. Over already? They had hardly begun. Her win is deflating, not satisfying. “Victory, then,” she says. Her nails scratch the divan’s embroidery, catching on the fine threads. “You do not have to keep to arbitrary rules made in jest—”

The familiar whirs.

Azem arches an eyebrow. “Oh, I see,” she says, tracing a finger absently over her belt. “Vesta says it should be the best out of three. To give me a fair chance, naturally. I am arguing against the Amaurot’s finest orator, after all.”

Igeyorhm pauses, mesmerized by the movement of Azem’s hands. The way her long fingers trace the bright brass, then float across the gossamer silks, gentle yet firm. This is no longer a game. They are vying for something, but it isn’t the prestige of their seats. “Even if it is best out of three, you have still lost this round,” she breathes, her voice low. “I believe you owe me something.”

Fingers against fabric. Twisting. Pulling. Touching. “Not my mask. Not yet.”

“Then something else.”

Water laps against the edge of the pool, gentle and pulsing.

Azem smiles and unclasps her belt, letting it fall to the floor. The silks fan out around her and grasps the overlayer, drawing it up and over her head.

Igeyorhm inhales a sharp breath, a rush of heat coursing through her. Azem is pale beneath her robe—her breasts full and round, her skin marked with a flash of stretch marks and a silvery scar on her side. Beneath the curves of fat, she is strong and firm. “Aye,” she rasps. “That will do.”

Azem tilts her head, her fingers toying with her skirt. The band sits low on her hips, the skirts flowing flush with the floor. “Defeat me again and I’ll lose another,” she murmurs, orange eyes blazing.

“Then it is my turn—” Igeyorhm exhales a breath, fingers now scraping against the embroidery. She rolls onto her side, her gaze drawn to Azem’s, and squeezes her thighs together. The pressure only inflames the desire blooming deep within her. “And I submit to you: the purpose of the Rhetorician is to gather knowledge. And so does the Traveller.”

“Is the knowledge gathered or is it hoarded?” Azem pulls her hair to the side, letting it flow over one shoulder and across her breast. Slowly, she slides a palm across her stomach. “With whom is it shared? Is it knowledge for all, or for the few who are worthy?”

“Knowledge is for all, but not all are for knowledge.”

“A nonsensical statement.” She cups her breast, squeezing the soft weight.

Igeyorhm muffles a strangled noise. Her skin prickles with heat. “The question at hand was not for whom knowledge is gathered, rather that it is. The Traveller guides the people of the Star, understand them, speak for them. The key to understanding is a knowledge itself.”

The little familiar whirs.

“And there we go—I have no choice but to accept defeat once again.” Azem smiles a hooks a thumb over her waistband. “I knew such games would lead to nothing good.”

She pushes her skirts down. Naked save for her mask, she steps out of the pool of bright fabric.

Igeyorhm grips the back of the divan. “I have won twice,” she breathes. “Care to challenge me a third time?”

Azem laughs quietly and pads across the cool floor. She throws out a hand, dismissing her familiar with a single gesture. It puffs out of existence like a candlelight snuffed. “I am amiable to a third,” she says, reaching the foot of the divan. She rests a knee against it, one hand caressing her breast. The other slides across her thigh. “But an addendum: this time, if I win, take off your mask. If I lose, I will remove mine.”

She exhales a trembling breath. “Yes.”

Azem smiles, that impossibly alluring smile. Her palm brushes her inner thigh. “There is a world unlike any other beyond this city,” she says, her fingers slipping between her legs. She exhales a soft breath, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek as she sinks into her own desire. “The Rhetorician seeks to record it, to study it, to learn all they can from it.”

Igeyorhm’s eyes widen, lips parted as she watches. She is fascinated, enthralled, arousal rushing through her as she imagines what those fingers would feel like slipped between her own. Ignoring her clothing, she presses cups a hand against the space between her thighs, pleasure washing over her.

“But the Traveller…” Azem lets out a small moan, her gaze lingering on Igeyorhm. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes alight. “You would examine it from a distance, Igeyorhm. But I…” She sighs, bringing herself closer to the brink. “I would experience it for what it is.”

She trembles, bucking against her own hand. There are a hundred counters to this argument, each one better than the last. But her mind is a haze, muffled by desire for the woman at the foot of her divan, endlessly yearning for her touch.  

She could win, easily. But this time, she does not want to.

They have long since stopped arguing the merits and purpose of their Convocation seats.

And this is no longer a game.

“I concede,” Igeyorhm says. “I concede.”

Azem’s eyes blaze.

Igeyorhm meets her gaze—and nods.  

It happens in a rush. One moment, they are staring at each other, hearts pounding, the soft afternoon light warming Azem’s naked skin. The next, her weight sinks into the divan and her lips and hands are on her. Azem climbs on top of her and kisses her deeply, her tongue slipping between her lips to tangle in her mouth—she tastes of summer and wine. Her fingers tug at the straps of her mask; despite the rough pace of her kiss, her touch is gentle, reverent.

There is still a sense of propriety here.

“May I?” she murmurs, her voice muffled against her lips.

Igeyorhm nods. “Yes,” she breathes. “Please.”

The mask slips loose. Sunlight warms her skin, bright and pleasantly searing, like the woman who has her pinned to the divan. She pauses, thrown for a moment by the removal of its weight. It has been a long time since she has taken it off, even in private. She can’t remember the last time she took it off. She can’t remember the last time she saw her own face in a mirror with out it.

Azem places it carefully on the armrest. “There,” she says, stroking her fingers across Igeyorhm’s face. Her blazing eyes pass over her, lingering on the beauty mark on her cheek, the broad shape of her nose, the depths of her dark eyes. She brushes a lock of blue-black curls from her forehead and leans in close. “I win.”

She kisses her again and this time—oh, this time, she melts. Azem’s lips are everywhere—her brow, her cheek, her jaw, her mouth, her throat. She sucks at the delicateness of her collarbone, leaving wicked marks peppered and aching across her skin. Her mask is smooth and cool when it brushes unexpectedly against her, the sensation leaving a strange observation lingering in the back of her mind. They are reversed: Azem, naked yet retaining the sanctity of her mask, while Igeyorhm remains clothed but exposed, her features visible for the first time in an age.

Azem tugs at the neckline of her robe. “I owe you a boon,” she murmurs, voice muffled. Her head is buried in her neck, her mouth hot and warm as she kisses her throat. “Name it.”  

“I…” Words. She cannot think of the words. Gods damn it all, she is the bloody Rhetorician and she’s been knocked senseless. “I…”

“Name it, Metis.”

Her name, not her title. A wondrous shudder rolls through her—she is light-headed, hazy, and yet has never thought more clearly in her life. “Touch me.” Soft at first, then firm. Strong. A demand. She links Azem’s hands with her own and puts it on her breast. “Touch me. Kiss me. Do what you wish to me.”

Azem laughs, her breath rippling enticingly across her skin, and she squeezes her breast. She rolls off and stretches out beside her, tugging at her robes. Metis lies motionless, anticipation coiling deep within her as Azem pushes her skirts up and the weight of the robes pressing into her stomach. Her lover—lover is it, is it not?—strokes a hand across her thigh, slow and sure, and her legs fall open.

Her mouth covers hers, kissing hungrily and she swallows her gasp as her fingers slip easily into the slick heat.

If she returned to the Star right now, she would do so happily.

If she could float away in this haze of ecstasy and release all her responsibilities, she would.

If time could stop and this moment could last forever, she would welcome it.

A cry escapes her, soft, gentle, humming on her lips, and she closes her eyes, sinking blissfully into the cushions. Azem’s weight presses beside her, anchoring her to this moment. Her lips wander, her hands roam, touching, caressing, stoking the fire. Metis sighs, her back arching as two of those long, pretty fingers slip with her in a single stroke. They thrust, curl, slow and deep, coaxing pleasure out of her until she is shaking. She bucks her hips, chasing the sensation, demanding more—a demand her lover is happy to oblige.

Her lover laughs and presses a kiss to her brow. She slips her fingers free and with a quick shift of her weight, traps her hips and straddles her. Metis’ eyes fly open and she inhales a sharp breath, a protest on her tongue—

Azem presses a fingers to Metis’ lips, then to her own. She rolls her hips—a test, a challenge, her intense sunlike gaze lingering on every part of Metis’ face—and arches her back, raising her hands behind her head. She lifts the length of her hair and lets go, the curtain of pale gold-spun silk glowing in the midafternoon sun as it falls free.

Metis watches, enamoured, mesmerized. She cannot look away from this woman in the mask atop her.

“I…” The words will not come. She is breathless, weightless, her mind numb, her body yearning for an end. “Azem…”

She shakes her head. “Iphigeneia,” she murmurs. She yanks Metis’ skirts up to her stomach again, rougher and coarser this time, and slides a hand between them. “No titles here among friends.”

“…friends…?”

“What would you say we are?”

Her fingertip ghosts across her clit—feather-light and impossible—then presses firm against it.

A wave of pleasure crashes through her.

Metis moans, chest heaving. Her hands tear at the divan, uselessly trying to find something to hold onto. She is too good, too much, too everything. Her thigh clench, muscles spasming as she draws nearing to her peak, an impatient whine fluttering on her lips. She is falling apart in Iphigeneia’s hands. Both of them are on her now, the fingers of one stroking her core with deliberate, tantalizing motions, the other working her clit in slow, languid, circles.

“Geneia,” she moans, too overcome to say the whole of her name. “Geneia, I—please…”

Sweat shimmers on Iphigeneia’s chest, her breasts, her stomach. Her mask catches the light, silver and white reflecting the light, its metallic surface so polished Metis could very well see her reflection within it. “This is good?” she asks huskily.

“I… yes…”

“What do you want? Would you like to let go? Or would you close you eyes and see where I can take you?”

She bites her tongue, wound so tight with desire she is close to snapping. “I… mhm.”

A small, little measly sound. She has never sounded so ineloquent.

Iphigeneia smiles.

Her orgasm ripples through her in, numbing her mind and soul. She cannot think, she cannot do, she cannot be—all she is, all she has become is the sensation coursing through her. Her name falls from her lips in a half-scream of joy, the syllables falling in a stuttering, helpless staccato through her gasps as she trembles and relaxes, her swollen cunt clenching around her fingers.

The tension courses through her again and again.

And again until there is nothing left in her.

When her mind clears, the fog of lasting pleasure hazing the fringes of her mind, she is lying limp and boneless on the divan beneath Iphigeneia’s comfortable weight. Her eyelids flutter open and she looks upon the golden sun burning bright above her—the flame that has done what none thought possible and melted the ice in her heart.

Her mask remains in place, safe and secure. If she had half a mind—which she currently does not—Metis would ask her to remove it. Seems silly not to, after what they have shared. There is nothing more intimate than this, save perhaps sharing one’s transformation.

Iphigeneia drapes herself over her, brushing her fingers across her cheek as she stares into her dark eyes. She brushes damp curls from her forehead. “Are you all right?” she asks quietly.

“I…” Metis trails off. “Mhm. Thank you.”

“You owe me a boon,” she continues, linking her hand with hers. She raises it to her lips and kisses the soft skin. The hand of a custodian. A librarian. An auditor. One who has never left Amaurot. “Since I have granted you yours, it’s only fair you return the favour.”

Metis strokes her other hand through her hair, enjoying the feel of the soft locks between her fingers. She lets it go, strand by strand, and brushes her fingertips across Iphigeneia’s collarbone, down her chest, across her breasts. She cups one gently. “Let me give it to you, if you want,” she murmurs throatily, her voice low.

Iphigeneia kisses her. “I am sated for now.”

Her stomach twists with disappointment. She isn’t quite done herself. Perhaps she can convince her otherwise…

“But for my boon,” Iphigeneia begins.

“Forget the boon,” Metis croons. “It was a jest—”

“I had something else in mind.”

“Very well. What is it?”

She meets her eyes. She takes a breath. “Your cousin is proving to be quite a hindrance and I am tired of it.” The shift in her tone from hazy bliss to cold and businesslike hits like a winter breeze. She is Iphigeneia no longer; Azem has returned in her full determined force. “I would ask for your help. I need to reach the lower floors of Akadaemia Anyder. To the Words of Lahabrea. There is something I need to see for myself and I would not have him interfere. And you have a way in that I do not.”

It is not quite a question. The words carry more command than a request.

Igeyorhm pauses. A command, not an ask—from a fellow Convocation member. There is something going on here, something she cannot put her finger on. Azem’s motives may be shrouded in mystery, but there must be a purpose behind it.

Nothing happens in Amaurot.

So, who is she to say no?

[mosthuggableffxiv]

Huggability Propaganda Collection: Emet-Selch

Man's been through A Lot. Also, it would be funny to try, he'd -hate- it.

He lost his race on a bad gamble that included his best friend

Look at that man. He's been through generations of loneliness and suffering. Will he ask for a hug? No. Does he think he wants one? No. But we all know he does. He made a fake city with fake people just to feel loved again. That man, needs a hug.

Dear god, after a thousand thousand years I think he needs it. / His face in Elpis? would be *priceless*.

He’s literally the loneliest man in the world! He’s so lonely he’s genociding every universe to get his friends back so he can have hugs!

And a small Emet essay under the read more

My god this is the man least able to catch a break in all time. A classical tsundere of the ancient world whose barely guised empathy and love for others takes an absolute whallop during the literal end of days, where both his best friends and EVERYONE aside from his shitty coworker and his two primaled acquaintances get their existences violently ripped apart and scattered into shattered yet just barely recognizable chunks. He at some point becomes the only sane member of the survivors left, pushing forward and despite his instinct for empathy must create horrors beyond comprehension to inflict on the new beings that exist if he ever wants a chance to save his home and loved ones. And he has to do this for thousands and THOUSANDS of lives, even self admittedly trying to move on sometimes with no avail. To save his loved ones he has to be both an enemy to all life and the sole keeper of his people or they’re all dead for good, or worse, trapped within Zodiark eternally outside of the cycle of life and death. And despite it all, everything he must do and become, the thousands and thousands of lives of solitude and tragedy and hopelessness he’s had to live, the MOMENT he sees a sliver of his old friend in you, he pauses. He stops. He aims for the chance, slim though it may be, to get to _do something for you_ again. To see you again.

Also, having him on the most punchable AND most fuckable polls AND this one is very very funny.

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

~*~

Hi! For October's WIP rec week, I would like to rec this story. It's primarily Xiyao, but Wangxian is still there and I love the idea of MY being WWX's older brother. @immoralq

Shards of Hope

by Dreaming_Days

T, WIP, 80k, Wangxian & Xiyao

Summary: He had fought his entire life to make his way in the world. Made choices that turned his stomach just to survive. Built a life with blood and sweat and watched it crumble before him. And, in the end, utterly forsaken, Jin Guangyao died. Then, 25 years earlier, Meng Yao woke up.

~*~

Also, if I may, I'd like to rec this story wherein Jin Zixuan is cut off from the family money and left to fend for himself. He is, predictably, very bad it. Cue Wangxian coming in to teach him how to do the adulting. The premise is funny, WWX is always a sweetheart and Jin Zixuan actually reflects on his faults. @immoralq

Reality Checks for the Absurdly Wealthy

by Elpie (Horribibble) (@elpiething)

M, WIP, 9k, Wangxian & Xuanli

Summary: It’s 2 PM on a Tuesday and Jin Zixuan is curled up in the corner of a dingy basement laundry room, tears in his eyes as he struggles to understand why the universe—and this washing machine in particular—hates him. And then the door squeaks open, and Zixuan’s only reaction is to stuff his face into his stupid quarter-zip like a cashmere fleece turtle. “Is someone in here, or is the laundry room haunted again?” A man’s voice calls, and it’s almost jarring how friendly it is. “Again?” Zixuan hiccups. Footsteps on the tile, and then there’s a man frowning down at him with open concern. “Aw, bud. Are you crying? Me too sometimes.” And he pops a squat, right there in front of the sad turtle man, and Zixuan gets a close up of the riot of tattoos on his arms and peeking through the gaping rips in his jeans. “I’m Wei Ying.” - In which Jin Zixuan gets cut off and is quickly adopted by a pair of heavily-tattooed magpies who teach him how to do things like do laundry, ride the bus, and take control of his own stupid life. An ode to friendship and emotional support dipshits.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for these hard-working authors if you like – or think others might like – these stories.)

[feralkwe]

Elidibus lives au :)

hahahahahaha hey. hey, azems-familiar, fuck you.

in order for a few things to work, i have to imagine that kit somehow is unable to pick up pieces like she normally does. it would take me more time that i'm willing to put into an ask to work out exactly what that is, but somewhere some of her resilience just... dies. also, for these purposes, i'm gonna play a little loosey-goosey with the magic hydaelyn puts into azem's crystal.

under a cut for spoilers.

seat of sacrifice still happens as in shadowbringers, with the caveat that elidibus has a moment of clarity in the lead-up to the fight, similar to what i wrote in "memories bring back memories." he knows, she doesn't (because how could she?), and he tells her what he remembers. is there a kiss? there might be, because i'm a monster. kit, not having any context whatsoever, doesn't understand. maybe she even rejects it, furthering both of their hurt. it doesn't matter anyway; he still has his duty, and she is but one life against the possibly hundreds of thousands (if not more) of sacrificed souls. he cannot let her live. they fight, and she comes out the victor, utterly destroyed. the aftermath plays out as in canon, because she does not have any foundation that would allow her to ask the right questions before he is absorbed into the tower.

everything else happens as normal through endwalker, except kit is left with a snagged thread of anguish that slowly unravels her. she can't quite believe what he told her, or grapple with what that means given she's killed him. her initial journey to elpis does nothing to buttress his version of events, and given the everything happening during this time, she dismisses it, assuming he was confusing her with azem. this reinforces her assumption that the only reason anyone cares about her is because of who her soul used to be, and her ability to fight now.

pandaemonium. guts her. slices her open like a caught fish and rips her insides out. everything he said is true, and though she tries to resist allowing it to happen, his own words that she can't use any of this to change the past or future play against her. she still falls in love with him, in full knowledge of everything. only that admission, that moment of clarity, that kiss at the top of the crystal tower. all of it cuts too deep because she rebuffed him in his moment of need, and then killed him. even knowing there was no choice, that it had to play out as it did, that just like with emet-selch they were at such a cross purpose that one of them was always going to die, it consumes her. she returns to the present, but explodes her relationships. urianger and thancred leave just as they did before, but this time she lets them go without a fight.

dawntrail happens largely as it does, except there is a pall hanging over hot warrior girl fun times, and by gods she tries so hard to move on. she tries to reconnect with urianger and thancred, but it's hollow. by the end of the msq she's managed to isolate herself. elidibun happens; fuck you. only... only... she can't do it. she can't do it alone. she can't move on. but there's an answer. the same magic that brought the scions back in ultima thule... maybe that could work. maybe... maybe there is enough left. she summons him back from the aetherial sea. at first he does not thank her for it. he was at rest. that is quickly set aside when she tells him about the elidibun in the oven. they decide, then and there, to grab what joy they can, given that so much of fate has taken it away from them at every possible turn.

they disappear. i don't see any other way this can play out. they find some reach of the world where they can be left undisturbed, away from those who would not and could not accept them, and carve out a life that destiny would deny them. there is love, and happiness, yes, and they get to raise their child in that cocoon of bliss. but it will always be colored by what they had to give up to have it. there will be adventures, but deep down kit knows it is never what it could have been, and he would always wonder if she gave up too much for their life together. deep down she'll know that just as she robbed elidibus of his life, she robbed themis of his earned peace, and he will always feel like he is holding her back.

so, there you go. i did not expect that to get dark, but here we are lol. thanks, i hate it lololol. i should totally write it.

[hrefna-the-raven]

Cheering up Timothy

Words: 1123

Warnings: smut, 18+, daddy kink

Handsome Jack was dead and with his death Timothy's life would surely change completely, although he didn't know how exactly since his boss' death was not a clause in his contract. Jack never thought he would die like he did, he was the hero of this story after all. Since the news of his passing the body double sat on the couch in their apartment, stripped of the ridiculous amount of clothes, the mask lying on the table in front of him, sipping on a half empty bottle of whiskey. He never was much of a drinker, but he really had no clue on how to continue and the easiest for now was to drown his fear and doubts of the future in alcohol. His lips felt already numb and his vision was slightly blurred, lost in his fearful thoughts, he didn't even notice that you entered the room and silently observed him for a moment. You knew him and Jack from their time on Elpis, helping them to save the day, kill the Colonel and open the vault. You always had a soft spot for Tim, tagging along, spending time with him and helping him wherever you could, you even lived with him and Jack in the same place to remain close. Seeing him so desperate now hurt a lot. You walked up to him, ripped the bottle out of his hand and took a long sip before putting it on the table. He looked at you with his bleary mismatched eyes as you stood before him dressed in nothing but his worn yellow Hyperion t-shirt and a faint smile formed on his lips. You sat on his lap, placing your hands on the sides of his head, looking deep into his eyes.

“You shouldn't be like this, Tim. With Jack dead, you are free and you should be happy and not sitting here alone on the couch, drowning yourself in booze.”

He wrapped his arms around, pulling you closer.

“I've got the face of the most hated man and he is not even alive anymore to keep this company running or to protect me”, he paused a moment before continuing, “to protect us. I...I just don't know what to do.”

You placed a finger on his lips, “we don't need Jack to protect us and we don't need him to keep this company running. I have the shares, you have the face, we're the only ones who know about his death for now, so together we will keep this train in motion. You're strong enough to go through this, let's do it together! Let's not give up our life!”

You leaned in and kissed him deeply. Tim hugged you tighter, pushing you firmly on to him. Your tongue played along his lips before entering his mouth as you placed one hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating on yours and the quickening heartbeat underneath. It is not the first time you tried to cheer him up, he was well aware of what was about to happen and he would enjoy it as much as all the previous times. You always knew what he needed and even at his saddest moments, with you on his side, he was the happiest man alive. Maybe also the most hated by proxy, but he tried to throw that thought as far away as he could. Bucking his hips, he rubbed against you, softly moaning as a bulge formed underneath his briefs. You broke the kiss to remove your tee and threw it on the floor. He leaned in to run his tongue around your nipple, sucking it gently. You rubbed yourself against his erection, moaning at the pleasurable feeling as the wetness pooled between your legs. Timothy lifted your hips up a bit to pull down his underpants and pressed you back on his erected cock. He felt so good, his soft skin on yours, his hard dick on your wet folds, it was a pleasure you wouldn't want to miss anymore. You started humping him faster, pushing him back and pressing your lips back on his. He eagerly sucked on your lips, rubbing your clit with his hand and a lustful moan escaped your mouth. You couldn't wait any longer, you needed to feel him deep inside of you. You lifted your hips slightly, grabbed his cock, moved it to your entrance and let your body down slowly. You both groaned at the sensation and feeling his dick twitch inside of you. You moved your hips back and forth, riding Timothy, very slowly at first before adjusting to a much quicker pace. Timothy's hands grabbed you, holding you still for a moment, breaking your kiss.

“I need-ah-f-fuck...you now”, he stammered lightly as his cheeks reddened.

His grip tightened and he heaved you next to him, moving one hand to your head, pressing it on the couch while he positioned himself behind you. Being beyond your range of vision, mixed with the sweet encouraging push of the alcohol, he acquired a sudden assurance that grew unto him during his years as a doppelganger.

“Oh Timmy, plea-”, you cut off the sentence as his other hand smacked on your ass.

“Daddy is going to show you some good time”, he drawled in Jack's seductive voice.

Before you could realise what he was doing, you could already feel the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Tell me what you need, pumpkin.”

“Tim-oooooh!”, you sputtered in an ecstatic moan before he pressed a hand on your mouth.

“Call me daddy, pumpkin, otherwise I will not fuck you.”

“Yes, daddy.”, you purred with intensified arousal.

Timothy push his hips forward, penetrating you deeply. He pushed harder and faster at every thrust, hitting your sweet spot just right. You could feel your orgasm build up and you started to push your hips against Timothy's thrusts to make them harder, trying to get his cock as far inside you as possible.

“Oh, pumpkin, daddy is clos-”

He came and you could feel his cum filling you up inside while your walls tightened and your own orgasm hit you hard. With a pleased sigh, you let yourself fall back on the couch, pulling Timothy, who was breathless and smiled happily, next you. You ran your fingers through his messy darkbrown hair.

“You really think I could be Jack?”, uncertainty filled his voice.

“You don't need to BE Jack”, you gently stroke his cheek, “just make sure no one will ever dare to challenge you and you'll be fine.”

You placed a soft kiss on his lips, placed your head on his chest an listened a while to his now calm breathing before dropping off.

[balladingbard]

Pandaemonium's End and Its Relation to Families

Spoiler-tagging under the cut, but let's talk a little bit about Erichthonios, Lahabrea, and Athena (because I'm seeing some confusion on Pandaemonium's ending as well as a call to understand just what was going on with Lahabrea and his family.)

Let's be honest - Lahabrea's family had some issues.

Whether it was Athena's quest for godhood, Lahabrea's distancing, and Erichthonios' trauma, I think we can all agree that this family needed to be in therapy, and for all that he went through, Erichthonios really overcame a lot of baggage.

But rather than get into what happened in Pandaemonium's end, I think it best to focus on what it may represent. After all, stories have meanings, and I'd like to offer one of many takes on how I understood the ending.

Pandaemonium...simply put...is about family. The importance of it, the danger of it, and the impact it has on us.

We get a brief glimpse of family life in some side talk from NPC's in the Ancient world. We see the brother/sister duo on Elpis. We see Themis mention his own parents. We see couples fall in love, and marriage exists in the Ancient world. But with Lahabrea, we get our first true glimpse of a family dynamic, and honestly? It's not a good one.

Let's dig a little deeper...

Athena - The Mother

When you think of a mother's role, what do you think of? Probably the nurturer. The comforter. The selfless one who loves their child with all their heart. But when we look at Athena, I think she's supposed to represent the mother who lives only for herself. Yes, she has goals and ambitions like most mothers do, but instead of having her son and husband as partners and supporters to those goals, she uses them as pawns. Instead of being selfless, she is selfish. Instead of being comforting, she is cruel. And instead of guiding Erichthonios in his role to find his own purpose, she seeks to live her own dreams and ambitions through him, regardless of his feelings in the matter.

Lahabrea - The Father

When you think of a father, what do you think of? Probably the protector. The fixer. The selfless one who loves their family with all their heart. But Lahabrea stands out as a parent many of us know too well - the distant one.

Lahabrea is the parent who's always at work but never home. The one who puts his job above all else. But more than that, his distance isn't just because of his devotion to work. It's a cover up for pain. Pain with his marriage to Athena, which became so powerful that he literally ripped a part of his own soul out to seal it away. He is the wounded parent, pushing his loved ones to the side and drowning himself into something else (in this case, his job) so as to numb the pain.

Erichthonios - The Son

Here, we come to the heart of the matter. Erichthonios, the product of two imperfect parents who ended up bearing their burdens as he grew up. These burdens left him to believe that he was worthless, confused about his purpose in life and whether he was meant for anything. But though Erich's journey from "unloved" son to finding his "true" family is probably the gist of his character arc, there's something that Claudien tells Lahabrea after his awakening that really speaks to what was holding Erichthonios back.

Despite focusing on Lahabrea (though we could add Athena to this conversation), Claudien sums up what was going on with Erichthonios. He had scars - perhaps not physical, but certainly emotional- and like anyone who has been through parental trauma, those scars had difficulty healing (if they ever truly healed at all.)

I think this is one of the "unspoken" messages of Pandaemonium. Though the Ancients prized their impact on the Star more than anything, Pandaemonium shows that the true impact was found in the hearts and souls of the people themselves, guided by the people closest to them. Sure, Athena's research was prized in a scholarly sense. Yes, Lahabrea was a powerful and prominent member of the Convocation. But what good was their prowess when they did so much damage at home? Erichthonios spent his entire life trying to find meaning and purpose in all the hurt, and as we saw through his recorded message, he didn't stand with his father in the Final Days. One can't help but wonder if Father and Son truly healed their relationship, or if it was just simple patchwork. Or perhaps more healing could’ve happened had the Final Days not interrupted it.

It just shows how damaged Ancient society had become, elevating the Star and "purpose" as a whole over individuals and their own well-being. It also shows how powerful an influence parents and guardians have over their children. And just like reality, there are some wounds that go so deep that they may take an entire lifetime to heal (and let's be honest - some scars still remain.) But it gives us hope that even though the LahaFam never really did get "fixed", so to speak, healing still took place. Lahabrea faced his past and accepted responsibility. Erichthonios learned the truth and found that he was more than who his parents said he was, and came to see his father in a more endearing light. And even though Athena remained her selfish self (just like some real parents do), Pandaemonium showed that blood doesn't necessarily make a family. As Erichthonios learned, family can be found in friends too, or a time-traveling adventurer masquerading as Azem's familiar.

[moonlit-orchid]

Zexal Month Day 11- Justice

@zexalmonth yes i know I'm skipping day 10, I just found this one easier for now X3

Eliphas stood there, head bowed. He didn't dare make eye contact with Don Thousand Don, who had been a monster until now. Don, whose clothes were ripped and torn to the point that even the poorest beggar would scorn them. Even with him in this condition, he was still the king. He would always be the king, the master.

For he was Emperor Adonis, the one born with a miracle. No matter what he wore, how messy his appearance was. Even though Eliphas was dressed far more nobly, he felt inferior right now. He was inferior. He always had been. Adonis was the king. His king. And his role was that of a servant.

"Look at what you've done, Eliphas." Adonis's voice was harsh. Cold. The voice of an angry, powerful king. "Look at this destruction. You betrayed, betrayed my family, and what of it? This world is in ruins due to the war. There are children you traumatised by trying to use them as living weapons. There is my family that you let get hurt. Athena, Elpis, you took them and turned them into weapons along with the other children. Elips you took from his birth. Oizihle is dead. What kind of audacity did you have to believe you, who had always been so far behind, you could ever be the Emperor?"

Eliphas looked down. He couldn't speak. He couldn't justify what he'd done in any way.

For he had done it all. He had betrayed his Emperor, forcing the chaos to override all else in the aim to make the good king seem bad, and as such accidentally created the monster that created the armies of the Barians and gave power to the 7 Barian Emperors resulting in a never ending war. He was the one who took orphaned children and tried to use them to fight the monster. He was the one who took the little princess and made her a weapon, tried to break her yet she refused to submit. He was the one who had taken the infant Elpis and robbed him of his childhood and even his name. He was the one who ordered the men to capture Oizihle all those years ago, culminating in that boy's chaos consuming him and making it appear as if he was dead, leading him to the path of hiding, of deception, leading to his death now at Vector's hands in an attempt to break the cycle of vengeance. It was Eliphas's fault, all of this. But what else could happen? He was never the one meant to be king.

Eliphas was a servant. He could never be a king. So he bowed his head, intending to reply with an admission of guilt.

"But I will not punish you."

Eliphas's head shot back up. Those eyes he met now, they were the eyes of his dearest friend. The eyes that had made Ena fall in love with Adonis, the eyes that made Eliphas loyal to him. He couldn't even speak for shock.

"You may have tricked me, ay, but you yourself was tricked and used and overcome by power too great for you. You may have led to a war, but I continued it myself. I am not innocent, but I am not guilty either. Neither are you. For we were pushed down this path by those before us, and were too foolish to recognise it, but were also unable to combat it. We both are as guilty as each other in our crimes, and yet we both were consumed by powers that upset the delicate balance within us."

"For that reason, I shan't punish you. You must instead make amends like I will, by rebuilding this world to finally give our people some justice."

Note: Ozihle, the name of Don's eldest, is a made up name, combining the name of the greek goddess of despair with the greek word, according to google for "Mist".

[birues]

19 and 41 for Tuana?

thank you for the ask friend! 💜💜💜

questions post

19. What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

I think it really depends on the person and why they're avoiding from them. Thinking about elpis... She couldn't avoid Hades but there were so many emotions bubbling up to the surface. So she lashed out. Jabs, ireful remarks and so on.

If it's guilt and shame she's feeling, she would do her best to ignore the other person, escape or try to divert the conversation in another direction. For example, if she got stuck in a room witth X'rhun after she soooo stupidly make a patch with a voidsent and became a reaper despite going through all that red mage vampirsm arc

41. What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?

There is a lot. She picks out a lot of stuff from here and there. But no matter how hard she tries that Ala Mhigan upper class upbringing seeps out. Her mannerisms are very similar to her mother which she grew up both admiring her and being afraid of her. And she can't rip it out, all that hardwired mimicking... While her accent is... kind of non descript with some Ul'dahn tones... Ala Mhigo still is very visible if you know how to look.

Same with Ul'dah/ Master Hamon who adopted her. Her trademark fist gesture is a direct copy of his. And a very extensive swear lexicon, of course. How else would you survive Ul'dah?

Of course, then there's Azem's memories... and Ardbert soul merge... Both change her sometimes in subtle sometimes in not so subtle ways. Azem especially messes her up because it is very hard for her to discern which life the memory she rememebers belongs to. She remembers all of it as her memories. While she doesn't inherit Ardbert's memories, sometimes they flash out like they do in Eden raids shadowkeeper fight. And look! Since when Tuana can use an axe?

[everthewip]

fictober // ffxiv

Prompt numbers: 5 "You're the smartest person I know" & 6 "I can't wait for you"

Fanfiction Fandom: FFXIV

Rating: G

Warnings: None besides Endwalker Spoilers

Characters: Azem, Venat, Emet & Hythlodaes (briefly)

Other Notes: two in one since I won't be able to write tomorrow. There's not direct ship here but if you squint you could find Azem shipped with all three of them. It's been a hot minute since I've played ffxiv so cut me some slack if i screwed any lore up

Also this is kinda long

ALSO also Azem written as fem b/c i wrote this with my Azem in mind (sorry)

Their people had twisted and writhed, flailing within the promise of a purer sunrise. Radiant and warm, an ocean of light to consume the darkness that had befallen the world; forgetting the beacons that already walked among them. Yet those beacons, rather than illuminating a new path, were gladly snuffed out in exchange for a promise. It was a sea of falsehoods, where hope retreated to drown; cold and airless, sinking to depths yet untouched, in a darkness where no hope might thrive.

And yet, she walked with her head high, held above the raging surface.

Waters once bluer than the clear skies were stained red by bloodshed, as red and black as the heavens from which fire rained. Buildings once unyielding crumbled into dust, the majesty of their architecture lying shattered in heaps of rubble. Streets once walked by the many were littered with their corpses.

And yet still she walked on, her steps following the same path as the one who came before, as she had always done.

Most beasts that roamed paid The Traveler no heed, for there was a fire in her eyes that burned hotter than the flaming skies; as if the very sun had erupted and she carried the full majesty of its rage. Those who dared attack found her burning gaze searing their flesh, just as the bite of her blade ripped through them, adding their wicked blood to the dark pools of the innocents. One could not know the world as she did – with all of its beauty and dangers – without knowing how to fight and kill. She was many things... but that day, more than anything, she was merciless.

It was a long pass through the ruins, but the carnage left in her wake was no more and no less than what already filled the once peaceful city.

Somehow an Aetheryte yet remained, turning slowly with shards of crystal broken and littering the ground. It glowed, a gentle beacon in such a tragic landscape, and yet neither man nor beast lingered near it. There were remains, of course; some rushing towards it and others away. Husks frozen in place where fire had struck and burned, leaving charred flesh and silhouettes. If she listened closely – and she did, always, despite herself – she could hear the echo of their cries.

The Aetheryte stirred at her presence and soon enveloped her entirely, pulling apart her physical form to carry her essence along an unseen stream. Within moments she had reemerged, her form restored, her feet touching distant floors.

Curiously, the interior of the Propylaion remained intact, despite Elpis having been one of the first struck by the endless tragedy. There was certainly a strong magic there, and though she could not place the source, she had the sense that this building was a destination for more than those traveling by Aetheryte. Had she the time she would have investigated further, as her curious nature was wont to do…

But there was no time. Not any longer.

And so she made for the double doors that opened into the research facility, only to have a presence halt her inches away.

Her breath caught in her throat.

He had been here. She could not say how long ago, but his presence had been important enough that hints of him remained.

Oh, how she longed to see! To witness the echo of his time there, to experience what had drawn him to linger at this door! Fate, however, was cruel. She could not have the pleasure of seeing his smiling face again and instead could look only to her own memories. They came without warning then, as memories often do, though they were far from the memories she would have chosen.

She had gone to him not long after her departure from the Convocation. Fury still heated her blood, but it was quelled the moment she reached him. His smile, ever so calm and content, gave her comfort. The very fact that he could keep smiling, despite the horror around them, gave her hope.

And then he had spoken of his intent, without fear or regret, his eyes alight with purpose, and she had broken.

None could claim to have ever brought Azem to her knees, to have her pleading at their feet with everything that she was. Nor would she have allowed anyone else to see such desperation, such weakness. It was a sight sure to be met with disapproval, and though she had never cared to uphold social expectations, she had ever made it a point to stand as either a guiding light or a formidable flame.

This was unlike her.

This was unbecoming.

This was her goodbye to Hythlodaeus.

He had knelt with her, eased her against him, comforted her as she clung to his robes and wept.

“Do not weep, my friend, for what greater purpose might I serve than to ensure there is yet a future for you?”

His words had not swayed her and by the time she left, he had promised to reconsider. A vain part of her dared to hope he meant it and, perhaps in some small way, he did. But Hythlodaeus had made his choice and he was stubbornly set upon it. If his sacrifice contributed to the saving of their world, to ensure his dearest friends could thrive and continue their great work, then he would gladly give himself a thousand times over.

She did not see him again. In the days that followed a message was delivered to her hands.

Take care of our charmingly dour old friend; I promise, we will be together again.

His last words to her, a request she could not and would not fulfill.

It hurt to remember and so she forced the memory away. Emet-selch's presence lingered there in the doorway as well, a touch of his magic, strong and undeniably familiar. She focused on that instead, allowing it to stir furious embers and fortify her resolve. With a fury, she shoved the doors open and stepped out into the once beautiful outpost of Elpis.

The air was quiet. All researchers had fled or died. The abominations brought to life from their fears had attacked and the more violent of Elpis' research subjects had retaliated in kind. Remnants of the slaughter remained, though many of the beasts who survived and had the means to leave did so. Some still lingered, wandering the darkened landscape like the beasts that lurked in the ruined cities.

There was no fear in The Traveler.

As she walked, her mind lingered on Emet-selch, for such thoughts hardened her heart and kept her anger unyielding.

He had already infuriated her by agreeing with the Convocation's decision, more-so when he tried to stop her departure. His efforts had been in vain, for even if she'd given him her ear, the Convocation would not take back their declaration. She was no longer Azem and never would be again. She was The Defector. There was no place for her there, not among the Fourteen, nor even within their beloved home. Without a word she had left, taken to the roads, to travel as she always had. They could claim her title, but they would never retake her role. She would ever be The Traveler, Convocation be damned! If there was another way to stop the horror they faced, then she was determined to find it. Along the way, she would help those who needed it, for she knew the Convocation would not. This had been her goal. She had not bothered to even say goodbye.

Not to Hades, at least.

She returned only when she discovered Hythlodaeus was gone. If her presence sparked anything among her people, she did not notice nor care. She had marched across what remained of Amaurot and sought out Emet-Selch himself, disregarding whether he was alone or in public; daring anyone to stop her once she found him. Perhaps it was for the best that the man was on his own, grieving beside a tree in a small park that was otherwise deserted, so quiet had the city become after the sacrifice.

He heard her steps, sensed her presence, caught glimpses of her soul from the corner of his eyes. She burned so radiantly, so beautifully, with a passion he had seen again and again in battle. In those moments she was brilliant to watch… but never had he felt the heat of her aggression directed so fervently towards him.

When he turned, his face was met with the searing sting of her palm.

“How could you!” she hissed, raising her hand to slap him again. This time he was swift, grabbing her wrist in a firm hold before she could meet his burning cheek. He held fast when she tried to yank herself free, and when that failed, her remaining hand curled into a fist. He was barely as swift to catch her before her fist made contact with any part of his face, but he managed to evade it and detained both of her hands.

“What is this brazen foolishness!?” he growled, forcing her to turn so her back was against the tree. He towered over her, not threatening so much as cautious and tense. Golden eyes glared daggers, but behind them she could feel his concern, and it only angered her more.

“You could have stopped him! He would have listened to you!”

“When, pray tell, have you ever known Hythlodaeus to heed any word I say?”

“You are the smartest person I know, you could have found a way!” But she knew his words were true, even if her heart did not want to accept it. Their eyes met, blazing suns against golden stars, and a moment of understanding passed between them. The loss of one so beloved turned their sorrow into chains, tethering them together, even if for only a spell.

Hades let his guard drop, his expression soften, his regret and self-inflicted guilt spill freely between them. It was so rare for him to show his emotions and the suddenness of it caught her off-guard.

“I did all I could to stop him.” Carefully, he released her wrists, though his hands remained ready to catch them again should she start swinging. Instead, her hands fell to her sides, limp.

“Did you, Emet-Selch?” she asked, her tone undeniably bitter.

He did not answer and she did not wait for one. Her palms rose to push him back and she took her leave, with no intention of speaking to him ever again.

And so this scene replayed in her head until she came to the edge of the island, her gaze drawn up to a floating mass of land upon which stood a single blossoming tree. The leaves were pink and vibrant, a stark contrast to the darkness that remained all around; a single reflection of the beauty this place had once claimed. As she watched it, a golden glow appeared from the edge of the mass above, and soon a familiar figure took to the air and approached.

“Argos...” she murmured fondly, reaching out to scratch the familiar's shimmering ears. Eyes of crystalline azure met her own with overwhelming joy and love, carrying a hope that defied the terror facing the star. All thoughts of Emet-selch were gone in the wake of Argos' gaze and for the first time The Traveler felt at peace.

“Will you take me to her?”

He would, of course, as it had been She who had sent him down to fetch her.

Venat stood near the edge, gazing down into the sea of clouds below. She did not turn at their arrival, though her head did lift in silent acknowledgment.

As he delivered The Traveler to his mistress, Argos left them both, vanishing in a golden light. His presence lingered for but a moment more and then they were alone.

“I am impressed you found me,” Venat stated, her tone calm.

“Your trail was easy to follow.” The Traveler found herself smiling as she stepped closer, unable to resist the warmth her former mentor's presence imbued. “Too easy, in-fact. I half-wondered if you had left me clues on purpose.”

The older woman turned, blue eyes taking in the sight of her protege. “To have left clues would suggest I knew you would come, but I admit your arrival was unexpected.”

“Knew, or perhaps hoped. Whatever the case, I am here.”

“So you are, and full glad am I to see you again.”

Venat returned the smile and for a moment all was at peace. She could not have known her friend would come to her and indeed hadn't until the moment she arrived in Elpis. Her presence was undeniable and comforting, for there were many things Venat longed to say, things she'd feared would be left unsaid. Had they the time, she would have gladly lay beneath the blossoming tree and spoke of happier things; of memories and dreams, of the sights her dear friend had seen during her absence. She would have welcomed a small respite of normalcy, something to carry with her when she was gone. But time was not on their side, and if she was to say all that she needed, there could be no delay.

“We sent word to you,” she added, bringing them out of their quiet serenity and back to the present. “But with no response… the others told me that I can't wait for you, and yet I hoped...”

“My mind remains unchanged,” Azem interrupted, her smile falling. “I do not support what you plan any more than I supported Zodiark's summoning.”

“I expected as much.” Venat's smile did not fade, though it grew sadder as she offered a nod. “So why, then, did you come?”

At this question, Azem turned her gaze away, a flare of anger threatening to rise.

“Because you are to become this being's heart, and in so doing I will have lost all whom I hold most dear.”

Her words drew a pained exhale from Venat's lips, but her protege was not yet finished.

“Zodiark has stolen Elidibus and Hythlodaeus, and for what? Their lives in exchange for a brief reprieve and nothing more. And Hades… Hades may yet live, but there is no place in my heart for him, not any longer.”

She looked up, the fire in her eyes settling into a solemn ember. “And now you will leave and perhaps your Hydaelyn will do what Zodiark could not… or perhaps It will fail, and your life will be lost for nothing.”

The Traveler's fingers opened and her blade fell, striking the earth in a small burst of aether that faded into the air. Her eyes rose, head tilted back to gaze up at the skies.

“I am no longer The Traveler, as you know. They call me The Defector, now. Yet still I have wandered, as it is who I am, and the Convocation cannot take that from me.”

Her eyes fell shut, though her head remained tilted, face to the heavens.

“There are places and people I have grown to love with all of my being… Some of them have survived. Many of them have not. Many more I could not save in time.”

She exhaled a breath and opened her eyes, looking to Venat once more. In the older woman's gaze she saw sorrow and understanding, the plight of Azem - a tether that would ever bind them.

“I do not know what summoning Hydaelyn will require, but if giving you my life might make you stronger, make her stronger, then I am here to give it. I want to believe there is another way to save our star, but I have seen firsthand that I will not find it on my own.”

There were many reasons Venat had chosen her successor, but as they gazed at one another, the offer hanging heavily between them, she could see but one: love. It was love for their star and its people that guided them together now and love is what would carry them forward.

Love, too, is what drew her response.

“No.”

The refusal was unexpected. Venat watched as Azem's gaze shifted from surprise to recognition; from recognition to anger. That brilliant gaze burned into the older woman, but it was not unfamiliar and she would not be swayed. She stood firm, but across from her, so too did The Defector. She stood just as tall, just as unyielding, and where Venat's gaze hardened into pools of unbreakable ice, the young woman before her threatened to melt her resolve with eyes of fire.

“No?” The word was bitter from Azem's tongue; not truly a question, but a challenge.

Venat's eyes narrowed.

“No.” Before Azem could resummon her blade, as the rage in her soul threatened she might, Venat stepped forward, brought a light hand to cup Azem's cheek. That touch alone calmed the woman, and despite her fury, she turned her head to nuzzle against that sudden caress.

“It is noble of you to offer your life to strengthen my sacrifice,” Venat continued. “But it is vital to our world that you survive.”

“And if I don't?” Her voice had, without warning, grown small and tired; her gaze exposing a lifetime of fears that made Venat's own heart ache. “If your plan fails and all is lost, I will die regardless. Will you not allow me the honor of at least choosing my own death?”

Despite the heaviness of those words, Venat could not help but smile. “You have so little faith in me to believe, wholeheartedly, that we will fail?”

A flush rose over Azem's cheeks. “I did not mean – I – it is not that I have no faith in you, Venat!”

“Oh?” Venat chuckled, letting her hand fall, though Azem was quick to catch it in her own.

“I just – if you do succeed and we are saved, what will I do? Without Hythlodaeus, without you?”

“What you have always done.” She squeezed Azem's hand. “Wander, explore, help those who cry out for help and befriend those who's hearts beat with the same passion as your own.”

Venat lifted their joined hands and pressed a lingering kiss to Azem's knuckles.

“Whatever happens, you will always be a Light that moves across the land, until the very end of your long journey.” Her breath, her words, warmed Azem's fingers. “And at that end, when asked whether this life was a gift or a burden, it is my hope that you will look back on the paths you have walked, on the darkness you have brightened, and be able to answer with all of the truth and love that burns in your soul. Whatever that answer may be, may it come with no regret.”

[hqmillioncorn]

FFXIVWrite Day Three (freeday): insomnia

"Slept well last night did you?" Hades asked Babycorn. He wasn't all that happy that he had to be the one to look for and then fetch their missing companion. "You must be her familiar. If you can sleep in such uncomfortable places like that." Babycorn yawned and kept walking ahead of Hades. Even if she did finally get a good nights rest yesterday she was still a little sleepy. "Thanks for finding me Emmy." she mumbled.

It turns out that there was not much of a difference between Elpis in the daytime to Elpis at night. Babycorn figured that most of the Concepts would be asleep by now but to her disappointment most of them were still roaming about, ready to attack her at any moment's notice.

“Does everyone work all day?” Babycorn asked no one in particular, “Sounds kinda boring…” 

Since she was all alone with no weapon on her, Babycorn made sure to avoid walking too deep into any areas with them. Which was surprising she was managing to do while not really paying to where she was going at the same time.

She had no idea how far she had walked but considering Babycorn could still see the little building she was offered a place to sleep in-she must not have walked that far. 

Babycorn let out a sigh and decided she didn’t walk anymore, she sat down onto the grassy ground and hugged her legs closer to her, leaning her head on them. 

It made sense, she was exhausted. So much had happened today. Traveling to the past, meeting Hades and Hythlodaeus, being tasked with the job of finding out what happened to Hermes. She was so tired. 

Before she knew it, or could do anything about it, Babycorn’s eyes began to close. 

“Mmmaybe…I…”

Darkness slowly began to overtake her vision. 

Unfortunately like the countless other times she had tried earlier today, the peaceful silence didn’t last long. 

Visions of fire falling against a dark sky. The deafening sounds of people screaming all around her. Shadows all around her, calling her a monster over and over and over again. Her own baby brother taking hold of someone and slowly raising them up to their mouth and-

“STOP!!” Babycorn screamed, thrashing her body around violently, trying to fight back against the imaginary enemies in her head. They weren’t real. She knew this. Babycorn paused, just to end up almost crying again. “...Just stop it…Please just leave me alone…” She wanted desperately to close her eyes and drift off to sleep, to forget this whole mess even happened.

Something deep inside her just wanted to take her memory of the whole thing and rip it right out of her. 

“Wow! It’s a beautiful night out isn’t it?”

“WaAAaaAA?!” Babycorn let out a yelp and fell back in shock. “W-Who’s there?!” She was sure that she hadn’t been followed by anyone the entire time. Maybe someone had seen her walking around and decided to follow her?! Hopefully it wasn’t someone bad, she was pretty much defenseless…

To Babycorn’s sorta-relief it was actually someone she had briefly met before. “It’s meeeee!!” the doll said in a high-pitched tone, “Your best friend Sicily! At your service!” A burst of glitter exploded behind Sicily and Babycorn couldn’t tell if that was real or if she had hit her head just a little too hard when she fell. 

Sicily paused her introduction to bend over and help Babycorn sit up again. “Up and at em’! You don’t wanna get any grass stains on your pretty white robe!” She advised. Unfortunately it was a little too late for that at this point for Babycorn but the effort was still appreciated. 

Sicily took the time to dust Babycorn off. Poor Babycorn was too tired to tell her she didn’t really have to bother doing that. “By the way…” She walked all around Babycorn in a circle, examining her from head to toe, “Where’s the outfit me and Venice gave you? You looked sooooooo cute in it earlier!!” Sicily sniffled and though she was incapable of actual tears on account of being a doll, one look at her face at the moment would have you thinking otherwise.

Babycorn hesitated to answer. The truth of the whole thing was that she had taken it off shortly after parting ways with Sicily and Venice. Since they had both told her they would be leaving soon Babycorn had figured there would be no real danger to not wearing it. Besides people doubting her story of being Azem’s familiar but people seemed to believe it with or without the outfit.

“Umm…” Babycorn nervously looked around for anything that could help her in this situation. Ultimately it all came down to her. She nervously tapped two of her fingers together and looked down, “Its cause…These are my pajamas…? It wasn’t entirely a lie. Wearing this robe was really comfy and felt more like wearing a blanket than a usual robe did. 

Sicily’s eyes instantly lit up. “Ooooohh!! And since you’re out here you didn’t want to get your clothes we gave you dirty so you’re wearing pajamas instead!!! Ooooh!! Babycorn!!!” In an instant her ragdoll arms were wrapped all around Babycorn in a tight hug. 

“AAAuHHHauccK?!?!” Babycorn felt herself being lifted off the ground but weirdly enough it wasn’t too tight a hug. It must have come with the whole thing of Sicily being a soft ragdoll.

Sicily swayed Babycorn in her arms from side to side. “You’re so smart!! And so cute!!” she let out another squeal and finally set Babycorn down on solid ground, “I’m so lucky to have a little sister as adorable as you!!” 

“L-Little sister…?” 

Babycorn had heard both Sicily and Venice refer to each other as siblings but she must have somehow missed the part where they called her a sibling too. Maybe she had too much on her mind at the time?

Sicily grinned, “Little sister!! Maize all made us so we’re all family of course!! That’s what she told us!” 

“Oh, cool…” Sounds like something Cherry would-

“And families have to help each other when they caaaan! Which is why…” Sicily sat down and crossed her legs in between each other in a knot. She patted the ground next to her for Babycorn to sit down next to her. “Which is why I’m here to help you!” Her eyes sparkled with a hint of red to them. 

“Help me? With what?” 

There were a lot of things that Babycorn needed help with. But she couldn’t think of any way that Sicily could help with any of them. Unless this doll somehow was privy to some secrets about Hermes or something.

“You’ve been having trouble sleeping tonight!” 

“H-Huh…?!” Babycorn was so caught off guard by Sicily’s correct guess that she didn’t have the foresight to deny her accusation. 

Sicily covered her mouth and let out a loud giggle. “Don’t try to hide it and pretend everythings okay! We can tell! Because I’m having trouble sleeping too!” Sicily stood up from where she was sitting and rested her hand on Babycorn’s shoulder. 

“And we know it's because of you.” 

There was something chilling about Sicily’s voice. Babycorn didn’t like it.

“How do you-?”

“Oh, I can always tell.”

Babycorn heard another unfamiliar voice behind her. As soon as she had, Sicily froze and fell to the ground in front of her. Like a toy that someone decided they were done playing with. Babycorn let out a scream and stepped back, kicking Sicily away from her. Sicily did not react at all, her eyes were blank and she was as still as a corpse. 

Before Babycorn could turn around and run away she bumped right into someone, which caused her to fall backwards right onto Sicily. 

Babycorn panicked and tried to get away, only to trip over herself and Sicily over and over again. Until she felt someone grab her by her foot and lift her up. Even being upside down she could tell who it was that was holding her up. 

Even if they’ve never met before.

“Azem…” 

‘Azem’ smiled at Babycorn. Or did she frown? Babycorn really couldn’t tell from her upside down vantage point. 

“That’s my title! Don’t wear it out!” Azem grabbed hold of one of Babycorn’s hands in an attempt to flip her back up, when she did that Babycorn could finally tell that she was smiling. “But you can call me Maize! I don’t mind!” Maize lowered Babycorn onto the ground and gave her a small pat on the head.

Babycorn struggled to find the right things to say that wouldn’t get her exposed as being from the future and also a part of Azem’s broke of pieces of the future. “Um…? I thought you were supposed to be somewhere else? You know? Being somewhere that isn’t here?” It was something she had overheard Hades and Hythlodaeus talking about. 

That would surely raise no suspicions.

Maize laughed nervously to herself for a bit. “I-I was! But I heard word that there was a new familiar of mine roaming around Elpis! And helping Emmy and Hihi too!” Babycorn guessed that Emmy and Hihi must have been nicknames for Hades and Hythlodaeus. Maize leaned in closer to Babycorn until she was staring down at her, “A familiar of mine I have no memory of creating.” Her stare was pretty damning. 

“I-I-Is that so? Haha…” Babycorn’s days were numbered, she was so sure of it. This was the end. 

But in a move that could both be described as unexpected and a relief, Maize stood straight up and clasped her hands together in a smile. “And so I headed right back because I just needed to see the new cutie I made!! Don’t tell Emmy and Hihi though! They would never let me live it down! Teehee!” 

Creating dolls in her sleep was nothing new for Maize. It just so happened that most of the sleep created ones happened to be more of a nuisance for everyone involved in contrast to the more friendly ones. So when word had reached her of a new doll taking Elpis by storm, she couldn’t resist making the trip.

Babycorn’s relief was very short-lived as it was replaced by a mild panic when Maize suddenly rushed up to her and grabbed hold of her face.

“Mmmmpppph?!?!” Just what was this lady doing?!

Maize ignored Babycorn’s scowl and simply continued to examine her. “Oooooh! Just look at you!! Your cheeks are so cute and full! And are those freckles I see?! How adorable! And your hair has the same color and consistency as Sicily and Venice.” She paused to laugh to herself about something, “I wonder if your hair would taste the same when boiled and covered in spaghetti sauce?”

“Excuse meeee?!”

Was she going to be the one being eaten instead?! 

“Never mind all that!” Maize waved Babycorn’s worries away and turned Babycorn’s head to the side. “Omigoooosh!! Look at your ears! They’re so different!! I wonder why?” Turning Babycorn’s head to face her again, Maize noticed something else. “And…Your eyes…They’re the same color as…!” She let out a loud gasp and covered her cheeks in embarrassment. 

Babycorn decided to ignore whatever her ancient was doing and rubbed at her face. 

“It wasn’t my imagination then…was it? This doll's texture feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before…” Maize continued to mumble to herself, all while walking in a circle. “Almost as if…as if…” 

Babycorn froze.

“As if…You’re not a doll.”

“I…um…”

There wasn’t really anything Babycorn could say in her defense. And running away screaming at the top of her lungs wasn’t a viable option either. There was nowhere to run!

Maize looked down at her, though the ancient was considered short by this world’s standard it didn’t make a difference to Babycorn, she still towered over her. As most things did. 

Babycorn looked up to meet Maize’s one uncovered eye. It was a bright red. Which did not help in making this entire situation any less scarier. 

“You’re alive. A living concept. Just like most things here, aren’t you?” 

Babycorn remained silent. Mostly out of fear rather than necessity. 

“Which means…”

“Which means??”

“Which means you must be me and Emmy’s daughter from the future?!?!” Maize let out a maniacal laugh and twirled around in place, “Kyaaaaaaaa!! You’re even cuter than I imagined you’d beeee!!!!” 

“NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Babycorn let out a scream so loud that it was almost a shock that it didn’t wake up everyone in the nearby vicinity.  It did scare a couple of birds from their trees though.

As soon as Babycorn finished screaming Maize frowned. “Aww…Guess I was wrong…” She was more than a little heartbroken about the fact that she was not talking to her and Hades’ future daughter but she would get over it. Surely this didn’t mean that they weren’t any less destined to be together.

Maize knelt down to Babycorn’s level and brushed some of her loose hairs down. She noticed that her hair was a mess and the bags under her eyes were worse than her own. Not only that, her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had just been crying. Maize was more than familiar with that look.

Babycorn simply looked right at her. The rush of despair of being called Emet-Selch’s daughter still running through her mind. Coupled with the actual realization that she was face to face with her ancient who wanted a child with Emet-Selch had rendered her completely speechless at the moment.

“You must have been so lonely out there.” Maize gently set her hand on Babycorn’s head. “I’m sorry I created you and left you alone for so long.” Had she known she created her, Maize would have canceled her trip and stayed to shower Babycorn with gifts and affection as long as she could.

“It's a scary world out there. Isn’t it?” 

Babycorn was still quiet, speechless. Though this time it was because Maize’s hand was resting on her head. It was a nice feeling. A feeling that Babycorn always secretly wished that people would give her. 

A warm touch to hold her that everything was going to be okay. 

“To journey out there, to places you hardly know with people you can’t trust, I wouldn’t blame you for being so scared of it all.”

Babycorn raised her hands up and grabbed Maize’s wrist, just to make sure that she wouldn’t let go. 

“Losing people is never easy and it never gets any easier. Then to continue living on for them like nothing ever happened? You don’t know how to do that, do you?” 

Babycorn shook her head.

“Aww, sweetie I’m so sorry! I wish there was something I could have done. But I think it's a little too late for me to do anything…”

“It’s okay…”

Maize adjusted her hand “For now. I’ll just relieve you of your worst one!” 

Babycorn’s hands let go of Maize as her arms fell to her side. In an instant, Maize removed her hand, a long glowing thread was attached to the end of her index finger. It wasn’t too long of a thread but it glowed so bright it looked like it was almost on fire. Interlaced around it was another thread, much longer than the first. 

Maize wordlessly moved the thread around in the shape of a circle. From there she could see the memories stored inside of it, all from Babycorn’s point of view. It was a nightmare from what she could see, but the most confusing thing about it was Babycorn’s sympathy for the monsters tearing people apart. 

“Haha! Ew, gross.” was Maize’s only reaction to the whole thing. No wonder her poor little doll hadn’t been able to sleep. “Let’s take care of this!” With a flick of her hand the string collapsed right into her hand alongside the extra one.

Then in an instant and with a clap of her hand, Maize turned the memories into nothing more than dust that she mindlessly sprinkled into the ground. 

As soon as the memories were destroyed Babycorn broke out of her trance with a gasp, only narrowly missing hitting the ground again thanks to being caught by an awakened Sicily.  

“Got ya!” Sicily set Babycorn down on the grassy ground and stepped back. She held her non-existent breath until Babycorn took a breath of her own. Even if Babycorn wasn’t a doll like her it didn’t mean she didn’t care any less about her than before.

“Good job Sicily!” Maize gave her a congratulatory pat on the head and then walked over to inspect Babycorn. 

Babycorn was sleeping soundly on the ground. She had turned herself over on her side, most likely the position she slept in on her own bed. There was a smile on her face and a tear in one of her eyes. 

Maize smiled, “That should do it!” She brushed a part of Babycorn’s hair away from her eyes and stepped back. 

“I hope Babycorn won’t mind that you did that Miss Maize!” Sicily jumped onto Maize’s arm and wrapped her own arms around her. 

“She won’t mind! If she could-I think she would thank me now that she can finally get some sleep!”

“You’re so nice Miss Maize!!!”

“Oh, don’t say that!” Maize chuckled, “After all, I want to get some sleep too!”

[demilypyro]

wondering vaguely your opinions on [Endwalker spoilers] Elpis Emet-Selch? I like the artistic interp that being a DRK makes him ripped

i hate that guy lol