#writing wares

[felix-lupin]

Decided I should finally write a pinned post so have this.

Call me Felix! anu soweli Lupen ★ They/them, but he/him is ok too. ill use it for myself sometimes.

Partnering Aro ★ Asexual ★ Transmasc🏳️‍⚧️ ★ Masc + Neutral Nouns

My Ao3 is FelixLupin. I write when I feel like it and have time.

Art (& writing ig?) requests n stuff are open but I reserve the right to Take Forever or just Not.

If triggers are tagged they will be tagged with just the trigger and/or trigger tw when I remember (this is not very reliable though). So, e.g., #flashing or #flashing tw. mentions/discussions of things, if tagged, will just be tagged as the thing (so, "sex" rather than "sex mention")

Other stuff under the read more. Tags, fandoms, my banner id, other stuff

Status: 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

(Status last edited: June 1st, 2024, 1:45 PM)

Last Edited (besides 'status'): April 9th, 2025 (general editing)

Banner ID: Multiple drawings of Susie from Deltarune. In one, she's holding her axe over her shoulder and smiling; there are three headshots of her, with one showing her laughing uproarously, one showing her smiling, and the last showing her grinning menacingly and salivating. The next shows her holding her arms crossed in front of her like she's defending, and the one after that she's just standing with her hands in her pockets. In the bottom right corner of the drawing there is a small headshot of her gnawing on a bone like a dog. In all of the drawings except for the last two, which show Susie's light world form, she is in her dark world form. The background is purple with a repeating pattern of Susie's axe, yellow hearts, pink fire, and green fire.

My Tags:

#animal arsenal = Animals!!! I will also usually tag it with whatever animal it is (the plural of the animal; so if it is a picture of a dog i will tag it #animal arsenal #dogs, and if it is a video of a crow I will tag it #animal arsenal #birds #crows) as well as the toki pona classification (soweli, waso, kijetesantakalu, akesi, etc.)

#art arsenal = Other peoples' (usually, but not always, specifically non-fandom) art. This includes writing. I will usually try to tag it with whatever kind of art it is as well (drawing, painting, writing, poetry).

#ask game! :3 = ask games

#ccccposting = my cccc posts tag bc i dont want to maintag it all the time

#classics = Pretty self-explanatory. Things I consider to be "tumblr classics"

#cotlposting = my cult of the lamb posts tag bc i dont want to maintag it all the time

#do queue think even the worst person can change…? = queue tag. i do not tag this reliably because i only really use it when xkit autotags it for me<2

#skyrimposting = my Skyrim tag

#felix artwolf = My art/drawing tag

#felixlupin.txt = Original posts

#tumblr games <2 = Answers for ask games, tag games, picrews, etc

#hello people in my phone = My ask tag

#tmagposting = my the magnus archives tag

#🌫️the one alone🌫️ = my tag for The Lonely (Magnus Archives fear)

#lupin liveblogs = liveblogs for media and stuff as I'm watching it

#mi awen e ni = Toki Pona for "I am saving this." Saved stuff / stuff that i am saving for later

#mi moku e ni = Toki Pona for "I'm eating this." Stuff that's very good and I like it a lot. Started saying this in reference to that "[watching/reading/listening to] x isn't good enough i need to eat it" meme. So, stuff that reading/seeing it isn't good enough i need to eat it.

#ni li ante e toki mi = Toki Pona for "this changed my speech." Posts that changed my vocabulary. Posts that I reference in my daily life in my speech and think about often.

#soweli Lupen li toki = toki pona post tag. like if im using toki pona, or if I'm talking about toki pona.

#writing lupin = My writing tag

#writing wares = Others' posts relating to writing, such as writing advice, memes, etc. Forgot I had this tag tbh I'm gonna try to start using it again

Fandom Stuff

I am in a lot of different fandoms tbh. what im mostly focusing on will be different based on my mood. RN it's mostly The Magnus Archives/Protocol.

Fandoms I'm in:

The Magnus Archives/Protocol <- my hyperfixation rn <2 I go insane over Tim, I miss Sasha, I am putting Jon in Situations, and Martin is literally me fr. Also Alice Dyer I love you

Cult of the Lamb <- I like this game a lot! I think it is very fun and I like the fanart that people make for it. I replay it alot bc ona li musi tawa mi (it is fun to me). #1 Shamura lover btw I would kill and die for them. if I was a character in the game I would be one of Shamura's disciples, just so we're clear

Undertale & Deltarune. <- Always at least a little mentally ill about both of them, esp Undertale. I would kill and die for Chara, Flowey, and Susie btw

Chonny Jash/CCCC (Chonny's Charming Chaos Compendium). <- I have a lot of Mind thoughts. I have thoughts about all of them tbh, but Mind thoughts specifically.

Camp Here & There <- SYDNEY !!!! <2222222. thats all i have to say. ALSO ROWAN <2222222

Helluva Boss <- Most active for a day or two whenever a new episode/thing comes out.

Hazbin Hotel <- A reblog here and there. It was okay

Good Omens <- I like Crowley a lot. Put that guy (gender neutral) in Situations

Avatar: The Last Airbender <- Love all of the characters from ATLA tbh. Great show 10/10 no notes

Five Night's at Freddy's <- This was my first fandom! So it has a lot of nostalgia for me. I liked the movie, it was fun. Favorite animatronics are Foxy and Mangle bc I'm basic like that.

Gravity Falls <- Haven't re-watched it in a while but I still hold a lot of fondness and love for it. sitelen tawa ni li pona mute tawa mi (this show is very good from my perspective)

The Owl House <- When the Owl House was coming out Hunter got a chokehold on me and forced me into a hyperfixation on the show face-first.

Other Stuff

I am physically incapable of shutting up sorry (i am not sorry). Unless I get locked in gay tumblr baby jail (hit the post limit).

As you could probably tell from the other sections, I know a little Toki Pona. My Toki Pona is not very good so please forgive me if I say something incorrectly. I may sometimes throw some of it in tags n such to practice.

I reserve the right to call things kijetesantakalu that are not technically kijetesantakalu based solely on vibes. foxes and seals are kijetesantakalu tawa mi

# of times people have commented on my queue tag: 6

Banners <2

[IDs in alt text]

[annabelle--cane]

I really like. fiction podcasts.

[cryptic-symbols]

most fandoms with popular no children gifsets of their blorbos completely miss the mark. its about a very specific codependent dynamic that I'd argue isn't all that common in tumblr-beloved media. most of the time, popular characters in toxic relationships have more nuanced feelings for each other or some desire to fix things. other mountain goats songs usually fit better.

that being said. having recently listened through the silt verses, carpenter and faulkner are the first characters I've seen who deserve to be no children'd. I've never seen two fictional people more doomed, tragically inextricable, and intent on making each other miserable. the drowning line is even thematically appropriate. im impressed!

[cherrywhite]

Okay some of these I had written down before chapter 43 but I finally found the time to sit down and make a bingo sheet for the last few episodes. Ranging from Legitimate Predictions to Things I Want to Happen to You Know What? Sure 🤠

Template if anyone wants to make one of their own:

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

I Made a Resolution for 2025 to Earn at Least Some Money From my Writing, Each Month (averaged out though the year), which I've not yet kept.

But the year is still young.

My first ambition was to finally finish writing, and self-publish, an original fairy tale with an "Own Voices" protagonist who has cerebral palsy and is aroace (but without using those labels).

But, as I realized, back in February, my neurodiverse body-brain connection breaks down if I try to write fiction (and fiction specifically) when my disability makes the physical act of writing more difficult (as in: the words just leave my brain in the middle of every other sentence, and I get exhausted).

Then, I woke up the other day and thought I might have the spoons to edit and publish short fairy tale genre stories I've already written through the years.

So, now a poll:

And here's the poetry chapbook I wrote 9 years ago:

I get about $6 in royalties for every two books sold through this link, BTW.

[thetasteofsunshineonyourtongue]

I'll be explicit about who this is! The fic dillin's referencing is one that I wrote, I'm super flattered that it got such a glowing review (also the link to the fic if anyone is interested)

[ursulaklegay]

new contra points video made good points but i did have some issues with it, mainly:

I find the "these people are just stupid" argument to be meaningless and even harmful (what is "intelligence"? who has access to education, to critical thinking? and if there really is such a thing as inherently biologically "smart" and "stupid" people, how can you fault the "stupid" people for having a brain that works differently?)

Leaving out the topic of Psychosis when talking about conspiracy seems like a mistake, the overlap between the two is huge

[myketheartista]

whenever artfight comes around and i start locking in, i feel like im temporarily possessed by the spirit of a small victorian child that is experiencing whimsy from simple things like eating ice cream or perhaps jumping rope. nothing else in the world can stop me.

[myreia]

Exile from Delight

—chapter 2: the casual cruelty of causality

Rating: Mature Characters: Thancred, Hilda Pairings: Thancred x Hilda [background Thancred x Aureia (WoL) and background Aymeric x Aureia (WoL)] Chapter Words: 3,372 Summary: Hilda isn’t supposed to mean much to him. A good time, a fun time, a distraction from his sorry lot. But sometimes the best of distractions come hand-in-hand with a sharp tongue and a quick wit. Call it the gift of insight, if you would. Prompt: v. laughter | gift Chapters: one • two • three Read on AO3

Where are we going?  

It’s a question he doesn’t bother asking as Hilda marches him through the streets. They wind their way through slush and snow, past the blocks of worn stone and creaking scaffolding that should have fallen down ten years ago, and join the crowd that flows from one end of the Brume to the other during the early afternoon lull. Despite the changes Aymeric de Borel’s reforms have brought, they have yet to become tangible for the folk down here. The Firmament may offer a glimmer of hope, of a community strengthened by a shared goal—but there will always be lowborn in the same ragged clothing, huddled by the same crumbling walls, warming their hands over makeshift firepits that have come and gone for gods know how long.

There will always be those left behind.

Movement catches his eye as they round a corner. The crowd is thicker and moving quicker than usual—steps swift, feet light, hoods pulled up to cover faces, as if no one wants to be caught in the street. A mark of the tension in the city, perhaps. Ishgard may have joined the Eorzean Alliance thanks to Aymeric’s efforts and Aureia as his linchpin, but in welcoming Eorzea, the city has welcomed its problems. With war brewing on the Gyr Abanian front and new primal threats on the rise, there must be a question at the forefront of her people’s minds, regardless of station: can Ishgard survive more war?

“Funny how everyone’s out for a walk today what with this weather and all,” Hilda says, huffing for breath. The Brume isn’t the place for a leisurely stroll, and what they are doing certainly isn’t leisurely—she has set a blood-pumping pace, her cheeks turning red and her eyes bright. She surveys the road ahead with the warmth of familiarity, and raises a hand to a passerby, a small smile on her lips. “Then again with all the ruckus the highborn are causin’, of course folk want to see what it’s all about—”

“Ruckus?”

“Didn’t you know? There’s some kind of goings on in the Firmament today.” She shrugs. “That young lord Francel is throwin’ one kind of a fête or another… Little early to be doing that if you ask me, but I won’t say no to seein’ lowborn in high spirits.”

He pauses, brows drawn together, and glances over his shoulder at the passing crowd. Was his read wrong?

No time to think. Hilda is off again, traipsing through the snow with fierce determination. She pauses at the lower entrance to the Forgotten Knight, slipping beneath the overhang to brush snow off her gloves and out of her hair. His chest tightens. For a moment he is certain she is going to lead him through the door, perhaps ply him with a drink or two, but she ducks back out into the snow and continues on.

He blows out a long breath and watches it rise. He has avoided the Forgotten Knight for weeks now, ever since the night he returned with an injured Alisaie. Aureia still calls the inn here home, though rumour says she has been spotted at the Borel Manor more often than not. She isn’t the type to take up permanent residence there, but knowing her she has likely strewn enough of her possessions about that she may as well be living there.

Twelve take him. His gut twists just thinking about it even though he knows she is gone, accompanying the twins to Limsa Lominsa. Even so, he’d rather not take the chance of running into her. As she has made it repeatedly clear, they have nothing to say to one another.

Up the slippery steps, past a group of children with their legs swinging over the edge, and they make it out into Foundation. The city bustles with activity—soldiers returning from across the Steps of Faith, merchants headed to the Jeweled Crozier, nobles and commoners meandering through the streets, Halonic priests pausing to talk to passersby, the aetheryte plaza lighting up as visitors and citizens teleport in from wherever their journey took them. The growing threat of a snow storm does little to hinder them.

This is just another day in Ishgard.

Hilda slows her pace as they pass beneath the Arc of the Humble and enter Saint Reinette’s Forum. She draws to a halt and folds her arms, surveying the square with a strange look in her eyes.

The snow is thicker here. Drifts form against the walls of buildings and beneath stone benches and forgotten carts and the various bits of debris that have washed up even this close to the Pillars. The head and shoulders of the great dragoon atop the running fountain in the centre is weighed down by a blanket of white. A group of children race around it, throwing snow and tripping over their feet. Their giggles fill the square with glee.

“You don’t see it, do you?” Hilda says quietly.

Thancred shrugs. “‘Tis likely I do, if you tell me what you’re looking for, which I suspect you won’t.”

“And that right there, that is the point.”

“You have lost me, I’m afraid. Look, are you going to tell me why you dragged me here? We’re not exactly the kind of couple to take a stroll around the city and see the sights.”

She rolls her eyes. “So we’re a couple now, are we? Thought I was a distraction.”  A pause. She glances at him, hesitant to speak. Odd, for her. “Grief is a funny thing, ain’t it? The more you live, the more you lose and some days it don’t matter whether there’s a sun in the sky or a fire in your hearth, you might as well have neither. Everything’s tellin’ you there’s nothin’ good left here. You can be surrounded by folk—good folk, bad folk, and everythin’ in-between—and somehow you’ve never been more alone. I find sometimes it helps to be reminded you aren’t. Does that make a lick of sense?”

“Frankly, darling, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

A dark look crosses her face. “Then you’re as blind as you are in that eye,” she snaps.

Anger gnaws at him from the inside, scratching away at old hurts. “I am not.”

“What?”

“Blind. At least, not in the way you think.” Wind gusts about the forum, chafing his exposed face and chilling him to the bone. “‘Twas an accident some time ago. A consequence of my time lost in the Lifestream. I am not blind in the conventional sense but…”

He pauses, scratching at the stubble on his chin. It’s odd to be recounting this to Hilda. They’ve been all manner of intimate, but he has said scarce about himself. Close in one way, yet distant in the ways that matter. Another habit of his, this one going back further than his disastrous exit from Ul’dah. “My ability to manipulate aether is gone. Cut off as assuredly as a limb severed from a tree.”

Hilda whistles. “Well, now… that sure is somethin’. Here I thought you insistin’ on walkin’ everywhere was some strange Scion quirk. You’ve all got ‘em.”

He meets her eyes and her expression softens. Now is not the time for jokes.

“How did it happen?” she asks gently.

“The same as anything grievous does,” he replies with a shrug. Across the forum, the children’s chase comes to an abrupt stop as one of them tips over into a snow drift. The others laugh and follow suit, one at a time, toppling over like a series of Doman mahjong tiles. “Unintended consequences for unintended actions. Do you know the circumstances that preceded Aureia’s exile to Ishgard?”

She nods.

“Then I will not bore you by recounting it. What you must know is that we—the remaining Scions, that is, and our leader—found ourselves beneath Ul’dah that night. It was clear within minutes of setting foot within that watercourse that there was no way to hasten our escape without a diversion. Y’shtola and I provided that diversion with the acceptance that we would give our very lives. Anything to ensure that Aureia and Minfilia…” His leg twinges, a deep ache above the knee that seldom bothers him save in the cold. An old injury now, though he can still recall how it felt when the arrow plunged through it. He doesn’t remember when or how it healed; he must have the Lifestream to thank for that. “And we did. Or we should have. Just as her spell brought the tunnel down upon our enemies, it thrust her and I into the Lifestream. Body, soul, and mind. Perhaps to be lost forever in the maelstrom, ‘till circumstances found otherwise. It was by no mean feat that Aureia retrieved Y’shtola. As for me…”

“You found your own way out.”

“One could say that, yes. Was it chance or fate? Perhaps an expert in aetherology can decide.”

“An aetherologist? Bah.” She snorts with laughter. “Don’t need an aetherologist to guess it spat you out on account of your foul moods.”

“Hey, now—”

“You’re a sour man. Sometimes. Wouldn’t put it past you to give the Lifestream a bellyache and watch it spit you out, eh?”

He forces back a smile. Damn Hilda. For someone who is supposed to be a casual affair, she certainly figured out how to mock him and make him laugh in the same breath in record time. Moenbryda would tease him, were she here. Something about how he always thinks himself more complicated than he truly is.

But Moenbryda isn’t here. She died well over a year ago, a distant past after the tribulations the Scions of the Seventh Dawn have gone through. Gone and forgotten. The others do not speak of her, and Twelve know Urianger will clam up the moment she is mentioned by name. Minfilia is gone now, too. Not dead, but something more than that. Worse than that. Will her memory be victim to the same inevitability? Just as Louisoix more than half a decade ago?

His heart clenches, his breath growing shallow. The ache in his leg pulses, annoyingly persistent. It usually fades faster than that after it flares up.

“Did it work?” Hilda asks solemnly. “That diversion?”

“Aye, it did. Aureia is here, is she not? And Minfilia is not.”

“What happened?”

Thancred eyes her. “You’re full of questions,” he grumbles under his breath.

She shrugs. “So, shoot me.”

“Not everything can be resolved with your rifle, Hilda.”

“Ha! Try arguing’ that at the Machinist’s Guild.” Her smile fades, her expression growing grim. “No, but truly. What happened? You Scions are among the most resilient folk I have met. So, if your Minfilia isn’t here, then…”

“Gone. She’s with Hydaelyn now. Of her own volition, or so I understand.” He pauses, the full answer far too complicated and fantastical to describe. Though Krile has assured him that Minfilia has joined with the goddess, he still cannot make sense of what happened in the Antitower nor the implications of what came before in the Ul’dahn waterways. What possessed her to turn around that night? And why did Aureia not stop her? “She was a civilian, Hilda. I trusted Aureia to keep her safe. She promised me she would keep her safe. And that is all you need to know.”

She nods. “This Minfilia… she was important to you.”

“As close as a sister. Like family.”

“Can’t say I know what that’s like, losin’ family. On account of me presentin’ a big problem to their noble arses… well. There was my mum, I suppose. And I’ve got friends who are good as kin, and if one of them up and vanished into nothing, I’d be downright furious about it. But I suppose the question is, Thancred—” She turns sharply and meets his eye. “Who are you angry at? Y’shtola, for castin’ that spell? Minfilia, for makin’ whatever choice she made? Aureia, for lettin’ you down? Or yourself, for not bein’ there to stop it all from happenin’?”

“I…” Her words are sharp and they leave him raw and aching. But it’s a good hurt—as if she is resetting a bone. Strange how Hilda has loosened his tongue on this subject more than anyone. Not even Krile, who claims to be Minfilia’s dearest friend, did as much. “I don’t know.”

Wind howls through the square, gusting snow and tugging at their clothes. Hilda’s hair blows across her face, getting stuck in her mouth. She spits it out and looks away, shoving her hands into her armpits as she observes the children shrieking by the fountain. They are playing on the lip now, walking in a short line with their arms thrown out. There are as many Hyur as there are Elezen, just as there are as many highborn to low. Perhaps this next generation is already resisting the prejudices of their forefathers.

“Look,” Hilda says after a moment. “I’ve known anger before. All kinds. Righteous anger, bitter anger. There’s a lot to be angry for. I grew up hating’ the highborn arses, and my father before that, and the drunken lout my mum was seein’ before I was old enough to know who my father was. But nothin’—nothin’—compares to the anger I feel on days I hate myself. Days when I’m too slow, too stupid, too reckless. Days when I muck things up worse than a chocobo’s stable. I’ve been trusted with things before, and aye, I have failed. And any time I’ve had reason to be angered with someone, the real person I am angry with the most is myself.”

“What are you saying?”

“Do yourself a favour and find an answer to that question. Because I don’t think there’s a way out of this until you do—HEY!” She takes off at an abrupt pace, marching towards the fountain with her hands in the air. The children freeze, wide-eyed and still as statues. Two are standing in the water, their coats hiked up to their knees. “Get out of there, you idiots! Go! Scram!”

The children scamper off, darting out of the fountain and across the forum, leaving a trail of footprints behind.

Hilda sighs and stretches her arms above her head as she watches them go, a fond smile on her lips. “Little fools,” she says as he joins her. “Don’t know what they’re gettin’ into.”

“An overreaction for a fountain, no? I didn’t take you for one to impose such arbitrary rules. Does Saint Reinette have some greater meaning for you?”

She snorts. “It’s nothin’ like that. Shouldn’t play in that water—on account of the piss.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“Didn’t you know? Lowborn’ve been pissing in that fountain for centuries whenever some highborn buffoon gets his head stuck too far up his arse. Time honoured tradition at this point. Still, don’t want the children playin’ in… well. You know.”

“Frankly, that’s less of a mystery than how that damn fountain remains running in the first place in these temperatures.”

She chortles. With a shake of her head, she scuffs her boots on the ground, scraping at the ice and snow, then heads leisurely across the square. Always on the move, this one. Their trysts have all ended in some variation of her pulling her clothes back on, giving him a wink and a smile, and hastily exiting the scene. At first he thought it was due to some embarrassment about being (or not being) with him. The most unpleasant of the Scions, eleven years her senior (fucking hells), and with an appearance on the same level as a dishevelled nutkin. If he were her, he wouldn’t be caught dead with him, either.  

Now he knows she simply cannot stay in one place for long.

Their relationship to date has been succinct. Perfunctory. The sex is good; she’s creative and spirited and invigorating in ways that stretch even his imagination sometimes. They fulfill each other in that way (most days), but no more than that. He can’t even take a gander at who she is beyond Hilda the Mongrel. Sharp-tongued, foul-mouthed, quick-witted. Proud and determined, a voice for her people. A damn good shot. In another age, she would be a folk hero.

He knew as much the day he met her.

With that in mind, wandering the streets with her after one of their encounters, long after the point where she would have (as she puts it) fucked off, is…  New. Odd.

Newly odd.

It occurs to him that this may be the most they have spoken one-on-one outside of sex. Just as it occurs to him that there must be a reason why.

“I have to hand it to you,” Thancred says as they climb the next set of steps, following the long, sweeping arc upwards to the Pillars. They’ll exit out into the Jeweled Crozier soon enough… is the ring still at the pawnbroker’s? Should he stop and make sure? “This was a convoluted way of asking about Aureia.”

Hilda stops short, one foot ramming into a step. “Bleedin’ hells, ouch—” She sucks in a breath and winces, shaking her boot back and forth in the air. “Aye. It is. ‘Cause it’s clear to me no one else wants to do the dirty business of bringin’ her up with you.”

“Right. Perhaps because no one else considered it their business.”

“Rotten luck. I’m too nosy for that.”

“It’s rude.”

“Tough. Don’t know what manners you Scion types were brought up on, and I ain’t gonna stick around long enough to find out.” Her ruby eyes narrow and she sets her foot back down on the step. “You’re hurt. She’s hurt. Someone has to do somethin’.”

“It doesn’t have to be you.”

“I may be nosy, but I’m not usually one to shove myself into a place I don’t belong. Trust me on that. But you two’ve caught me in an awkward position, y’know. I am her friend, aye. Just as I am yours. And as much as I dislike being stuck between the pair of you, I don’t know how many times I need to say sort your shit out.” 

“I would love that, darling, but I doubt even the smartest, calmest mind in Eorzea would know where to begin.”

“You’re being unfair to her.”

“And you are not?” He steps into her, his gaze trained on hers. Their shadows flicker in the dark of the passageway, dancing away from the glow of distant lanterns. “You haven’t told her about our little sojourns, have you? For the truth of the matter, Hilda, is that you have been sleeping with me long past the point where you should have stopped. You’ve come to enjoy yourself, and a little part of you—that selfish, self-indulgent part that whispers in your ear at night, craving all the things you know you shouldn’t have—just can’t be silenced. Not yet. Not while you’re still having fun.”

She returns his gaze, a muscle twitching in her jaw. “You do realize she thought you were dead,” she says flatly.

His stomach drops, his heart hammering beneath his breast bone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She thought you were dead. When you were lost in the wilds. There’s a reason she never came to look for you, she was grieving  your sorry arse. And when she finally discovers you alive and well, you’re holding the meanest, fattest grudge against her for something beyond her control because you’re too twisted up inside about the people you’ve lost. Did you ever stop to think she’s lost them, too?”

The passageway echoes with the sound of her voice, carrying it above and below—on and on and on, it might as well have been heard in the Brume.

“That…” He splutters. “That is not… That is…”

Hilda shrugs and spreads her hands. “That’s the truth of it, ain’t it?” she says pointedly.

For once, he has nothing to say.

Hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, he follows her up the rest of the stairs and breaks through into the bright, cheerful pathways of the Jeweled Crozier.

next chapter ->

[arcane-strangeness]

so um. I may have listened to like 8 episodes of I Am in Eskew in 2 days. I'm being normal about it. Spoilers for episodes 10 (Performance) through 22 (Ingratitude) below the cut.

Oh. Okay. This is the first time I think a series has made a decision that I absolutely loathe though completely respect. I hate that it happened, but I understand why they did it.

I can't imagine how David is feeling. He finally had something real, something tangible, someone who could see this cities horrors just like him, who is trapped just like him. They get close, weathering whatever Eskew tries to throw at them, and Allegra opens up to him, telling him her story, how she got there. David, this poor, miserable, repressed man can't, or won't do the same. So she tells him she understands, but warns him not to wait too long or Eskew will get to him, or her, before he gets the chance. This is the beginning of the end.

its David's reluctance to trust that takes him down. Eskew forcefully evicts him from his apartment, little by little, ripping away everything he thought he knew as fact. He has a chance to reach out for help, to reconnect with Allegra, but doesn't take it. Eskew takes that away from him too, when he refuses.

So now he's out on the streets, homeless, cold, in the perpetual rain of the shifting streets, struggling for help and money. He's now begging anyone he comes across, but no one lends more than a few coins. The City breaks him, over and over and over again. And only when he finally succumbs, bending his head to the higher power, is he allowed to reunite with Allegra.

But she's... different. She knows things she couldn't or shouldn't possibly know. Her eyes are dull, flat. She no longer notices the monstrous creatures that lurk in the shadows, the shifts and changes The City makes as easy as breathing. Eskew has gotten to her. Or perhaps, David is the one who's changed, just as she warned him. Was she ever real? Or just a clever puppet pulled on the strings of Eskew, playing a part.

The one person he could trust, the one solid, consistent part of his life, is gone. He waited too long, kept himself shut off, and The City punished him for it. Allegra goes from his acquaintance, his girlfriend, maybe, to his wife without any further warning. Eskew gives him a family in the course of a night, takes away the creatures that haunt him, and trusts that his reluctance to trust will lead to his downfall, which it inevitably does. It's unclear if things would have gone differently had he just accepted it. The likely outcome would be Eskew takes him too, just as it took Allegra.

I love how he's such an unreliable narrator, he truly thinks he can outwit this place. But it reads him like a book each and every time, manipulates him and steers him towards the next series of horrors. It uses his own nature against him, the mistrust it itself instilled in him, and lets him ruin things for himself over and over and over again. Any sense of happiness he gets, The City is allowing him to get. There is no pleasure without pain, but the opposite is even more true. Hope is the worst feeling anyone could have, as it hurts the most when it's taken away. And Eskew uses, and continues to use that against him.

I truly cannot emphasize the absolute devastation and hurt this reveal in 20: Bug caused. I can only recommend experiencing I Am in Eskew for yourself, if for some reason you're reading this before having listened, Job Ware and Muna Hussen (also known for The Silt Verses!) are absolute masters at their craft. At 30 episodes long, with 20-30 minutes in each, it's a fairly short watch compared to the likes of The Magnus Archives or The Silt Verses.

[27dragons]

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jayce/Viktor (League of Legends) Characters: Jayce (League of Legends), Viktor (League of Legends) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dom Viktor (League of Legends), Sub Jayce (League of Legends), Top Viktor (League of Legends), Bottom Jayce (League of Legends), POV Jayce (League of Legends), Werewolf Viktor (League of Legends), Monsterfucker, Orgasm Edging, Orgasm Control, Cock Warming, big dick, neither SSC nor RACK, Dubious Consent, (but jayce is into it actually), Tickling, Possessive Behavior

Summary:

Jayce loves Viktor with his whole heart, and isn't about to let his partner suffer through this curse alone. He's done the research, and it's perfectly safe for him to stay with Viktor: silver solution in his blood will keep him from being infected, and the fact that they're lovers now means that even transformed, Viktor won't try to kill him. Jayce is certain that he's totally prepared to spend the full moon with Viktor.

Viktor isn't so sure.

[ser-estinien]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Persona 5 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren Characters: Kurusu Akira (Persona Series), Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mildly Dubious Consent, Alpha Akechi, In A Rut, Omega Akira, running for his life, fingering with clawed gloves, Don't Try This At Home, Knotting, Claiming Bites, but the oopsie version, Akira is the epitome of that Mark me down as scared AND horny meme, Possessive Akechi Goro, because that's my bread and butter, generally rough sex, mild spoilers for 3rd semester palace, also palace ruler mentioned, Blood, ... and blood licking .. it's abo don't look at me Summary:

Akira thought his solo trip to Mementos would be an easy and enjoyable go, taking down weak Shadows for sport. He soon finds his isn't the only one looking for a good time, and Goro Akechi is far better at hunting than he is.

[abearbutch]

choosing the thing that eats you

The Silt Verses - Ch. 6 / I Am In Eskew - Ep. 23

(ID in read more)

[Image One ID: a screenshot of the script from the silt verses chapter 6, image reads:

VAUGHAN:

Isn’t this great? We each get to choose the thing that eats us.

CARPENTER:

(Narrating)

They say it so casually. Tossing the thought out into the world. Lets it go. Forgets it happened.

They have no idea how long I’ll keep turning that phrase over in my mind.

We each get to choose the thing that eats us.

End text. End Image One ID].

[Image Two ID: a screenshot of the script from I am in Eskew, episode 23. Text begins:

Because of course it’s already occurred to you that if the tide is rising, there may come a time soon when the sea creeps inwards to the very roots of the palm trees at the peak of the island, and you will be caught between the land and the ocean, and you will have to make a choice between facing the creature that dwells in the trees and the creature that dwells in the water.

End text. End Image Two ID].

[emberdune]

spiritual successor to "people turn into FUCKING SHRIMP"

[crackinglamb]

Chapters: 11/43 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: The Iron Bull (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Female Inquisitor/The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor & Solas (Dragon Age) Characters: Mira Foret, Leliana (Dragon Age), Male Lavellan (Dragon Age), Cassandra Pentaghast, Varric Tethras, Solas (Dragon Age), Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi, The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Original Characters, Vivienne (Dragon Age), Sera (Dragon Age), Josephine Montilyet, Dorian Pavus, Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Merrill (Dragon Age), Loghain Mac Tir, Cole (Dragon Age), Blackwall (Dragon Age), Cullen Rutherford, Kieran (Dragon Age), Morrigan (Dragon Age), Flemeth (Dragon Age), Corypheus (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Modern Girl in Thedas, Established Relationship, Open Relationships, Aromantic spectrum, Mira Is a Charger and a Healer, Mira Has Some Knowledge of Events, Explicit Sexual Content, Size Difference, Service Top Bull, soft domming, Aftercare, Just Because Bull is a Masochist Doesn't Mean He's a Sadist, Eye Trauma, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Found Family, Childbirth, Background Relationships, Platonic love is important too, Additional Warnings In Author's Note Series: Part 2 of Driftwood Summary:

Mira Foret has left behind her life with the Chargers. But that was only the beginning of her tale. The Inquisition awaits.

 NSFW will be marked with**. Beta'd by Iron_Angel.

Updates on Mondays.

Chapter 11 - Not Pretty

She could feel Dorian’s gaze on her back.  At every lack of hesitation before crossing a threshold, every deliberate turning away from the growths of red lyrium on the walls and floors.  Every journal and note she found and hastily transcribed into shorthand.  She didn’t flinch at odd sounds, didn’t hold her bow in readiness.  There wouldn’t be a need until they reached the upper level of the dungeon.  He wanted to ask, just as she was sure he wanted to know why she’d not questioned him on the fact that they’d time traveled.  She should have been shocked, incredulous.  Angry, even.  No matter that she ‘caught on quick’.

Instead, she put one foot in front of the other and marched through the bowels of Redcliffe Castle as if she knew where she was going.

DAFF Crew Tags

@warpedlegacy @rosella-writes @effelants @bluewren @breninarthur @ar-lath-ma-cully @dreadfutures @ir0n-angel @inquisimer @theluckywizard @oxygenforthewicked @exalted-dawn-drabbles @mogwaei @melisusthewee @blarrghe @agentkatie @delicatefade @leggywillow @plisuu @hekaerges @queenaeducan

[myreia]

Exile from Delight

—chapter 3: unlikely gifts in unlikely places

Rating: Mature Characters: Thancred, Hilda, Aureia (WoL) Pairings: Thancred x Hilda [background Thancred x Aureia and background Aymeric x Aureia] Chapter Words: 3,459 Summary: Hilda isn’t supposed to mean much to him. A good time, a fun time, a distraction from his sorry lot. But sometimes the best of distractions come hand-in-hand with a sharp tongue and a quick wit. Call it the gift of insight, if you would. Prompt: v. laughter | gift Chapters: one • two • three Read on AO3

On a day like today, Ishgard’s favourite market is an anomaly.

It should not be as bright as a summer’s day. And yet despite the white-grey sky and the flurries in the air and the snow drifting about on the ground, the Jeweled Crozier sparkles like a gem. Lanterns glow above the vendors’ stalls, nailed to posts or strung on lines. Brightly coloured pennants flap in the air above the stalls, buffeted to and fro by the wind. Merchants call at passersby, welcoming new customers to browse their wears. A bard has set up several blocks down, playing the soaring notes of their violin to a rapt audience.

Though the crowd here is a mix of servants running errands for their employers, off-duty soldiers, on-duty Temple Knights, and unimportant scions of lesser noble houses, the Crozier is the common ground between lowborn and high. More Elezen than Hyur here, immediately noticeable given both he and Hilda are a good foot shorter than most passersby. All are welcome, no matter their station. It is a paradox, both frenetic and calm. Some stroll, others hurry, the great need to rush contrasted against the great need to slow down.

Is the ring still there, he wonders? Gods, why did he let her bring them in this direction. He would rather be anywhere else.

“Hilda,” he calls, hurrying after her.

She strides up the slope ahead of him, her long legs taking it at a robust pace. Her gaze darts from one stall to the next, but she never stops to take a closer look. She must know these vendors like the back of her hand—and there must be a reason why she has led him here of all places. “Aimless” and “Hilda Ware” do not go together.   

“Hilda—”

She glances over her shoulder, a cross look on her face. “What?” she replies, folding her arms. She’s made her stand in the middle of the street, obstructing the flow of traffic in both directions and drawing more than one annoyed look. “Isn’t it about time you turn around and fuck off? Halone smite me for wanting to do your sorry arse a favour.”

He sighs. “Look,” he says. “I apologize for my… abruptness. And general boorishness foolishness.”

“You apologizin’? In earnest?”

“Aye. You of all people do not deserve to receive my… well.” He shrugs. “I have been a fool in many ways. Your blunt honesty has only made that more apparent, and I’m sorry I did not take it well. You’re right.”

“In what way?”

“In every way.” He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat. An itch scratches at the back of his mind, a fervent desire to walk straight past Hilda and to the pawn shop. “Particularly where Aureia is concerned.”

“She’s my friend.”

“I know.”

“One of the best I’ve had.”

“I know.” He meets her gaze. Raven hair and ruby eyes. “She and I would have called each other that, once upon a time.”

A disgruntled cough cracks through the air and he can feel the disapproving glare of an elderly noblewoman on him. Hilda must have seen it too, for she grabs him by the elbow and pulls him aside to the wall of a nearby building.  

“Listen,” she says under her breath, brushing her fringe out of her eyes. “I’m not here to tell you what to do. It’s breakin’ my mind that I am even here tryin’ to have this conversation. You called me disposable earlier on, and I was quite miffed about that and I thought—yeah, well, you’re just some dumb old sod who can’t keep it in his trousers.”

Old. He isn’t old by any stretch, but the remark stings more than a little. “A fair assessment, I won’t deny that. I should tell you about the time the call of drink was so strong the table appeared to be quite the lovely companion.”

“…don’t tell me you tried to tumble the table.”

“As friends would tell it, aye, that is something of the truth. I… do not recall that evening very well.” He can’t remember the details, but he does remember Moenbryda’s laughter. He should have known better than to have challenged her.

Knowing what came after, he’s glad he did. There will never be a night like that again.

Across the street, the bard finishes one number and begins another. A mournful, aching tune, dancing upon the wind.

“Tell me somethin’,” Hilda says after a moment. “That night in the Forgotten Knight… why did you come and talk with me?”

Thancred turns his head, his cheeks chafed in the bitter breeze. Gods, he could do with a scarf or two… “I was at the bottom of the bottle yet none too pleased about it,” he replies. “I was angry. Aureia and I… we had exchanged some sharp words earlier that day. Sharper than usual, you know how she can get. And I thought I could… I don’t know. Make amends, somehow. Or attempt to. So I went looking for her in the one place I knew she would be.”

“And you found me instead of her.”

“Aye. Needless to say, that plan did not go as intended.” He sucks in a breath. “If you’re concerned I only approached you because of her, put your mind at ease. Only a shallow-minded fool would take you for her, and vice versa. You’re clever, Hilda, and wise beyond your years. And perhaps the most honest soul I have ever met.”

She snorts. “Say,” she says, elbowing him in the side. Her eyes are twinkling. “I do think that’s the first time you’ve given me a genuine compliment—at least one that wasn’t about my tits or my arse or my—”

He groans, a strangled noise spluttering in his throat. It only makes her laugh more, and soon he is laughing too. She leans an arm against the wall and doubles over, her body shaking with another round every time she glances up and looks him in the eye. By rights it should not be this funny.  

When their laughter finally exhausts itself, a cold silence settles around them, as crisp and sharp as the chilled air. They stand side-by-side, slumped against the wall, shoulders knocking together, and watch the passersby. The snow falls more thickly now, coming down in large, soft flakes. The kind that sets the scene for many the Ishgardian romance.

But this is no romance.

“Do you regret it?” Thancred asks.

Hilda ruffles her ponytail, brushing snow off of it. “Nah,” she replies with a shrug. “Some of it I wouldn’t do again, if I’m honest. Or maybe I would under different circumstances. But I have some big damn regrets in my life, and I’m afraid you’re far out from making the list. Sorry. You’re too insignificant for that.”

He frowns. “I don’t need you to pity me, you know.”

“Good thing I don’t. And… you’re right about one thing, y’know. I’m not a good friend. I’m an awful one.”

“…I wouldn’t say that—”

“This ain’t about what you’re saying, this is about what I’m sayin’.” She folds her arms and turns to face him, a determined look in her eyes. “I’m bein’ selfish, continuing on like I have even after I promised her… Suppose it doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re not the only one being unfair to her.”

“What is between Aureia and me is not your responsibility.”

“No, but I certainly didn’t make things better, and I’ll admit that freely.”

They fall silent again. She shuffles her weight, sliding her boots back and forth in the slush. He can easily imagine her taking off at a lunge and sprinting through the market. And maybe she would, if something wasn’t tethering her to this wall. To him.

“Whatever it is between the two of you, I complicate it,” she murmurs after a moment. “And I don’t want that. To be complicated. For either of you—”

“There’s nothing between us,” he interrupts, ignoring the sharp pang in his chest. “She has made that very clear. The Lord Commander has captured her heart. What’s past is past.”  

“Say that all you want, I don’t believe you. I know some of the story, not all of it, and before you ask it’s not my place to tell you what she told me. I hold my friends’ confidence, I’m no gossip—”

“I wasn’t accusing you of that. Nor was I asking.”

“Right, well.” She blows out a puff of air, red flushing her cheeks. Perhaps it’s just the cold. “You still care for her. You should tell her so. So, why don’t you?”

He looks away, his eye catching a bright piece of tattered blue fabric as it dances on the breeze. A piece of a pennant, torn off by the wind. “Because she already knows.”

The blue scrap tosses and turns like a leaf, falling over and over as it sails over the crowd, tumbles by the stalls, swept off towards a horizon of noble manors, towering bridges, and the ever looming shadow of the Vault. He tracks it for as long as he can, until—

Her laughter is unmistakeable. As is the profile of the man at her side.

The way his heart both plummets and races tells him all he needs to know. Still, he cannot help but stare across the market as Aureia descends the stairs from the level above, her arm looped casually through the Lord Commander’s. Her raven hair has grown out some, save for the uncharacteristically delicate fringe that brushes across her forehead. The deep red ends remain missing—he cannot fathom why she insists on dyeing it now she has no need to keep her identity sequestered away. He isn’t sure what is more surprising—that she is here in Ishgard when she is supposed to be in Limsa Lominsa, or the elegant fur-trimmed gown she has squeezed herself into.

The again she has always proven to be remarkably adaptable. And from all appearances, she has adapted quickly and expertly to highborn society.

He bites his tongue. Aymeric de Borel is a good man. Too good of a man. Fiercely determined with unshakeable ideals and all the recklessness of a revolutionary, and yet he has the patience to play the long game. A solider who never loses sight of his compassion. A politician who wears his heart on his sleeve. Despite the envy he has felt for him at times, even he will begrudgingly admit that the man is a wonder to work with.

He and Aureia match each other well.

Hilda nudges him. “There’s some affair up at the Fortemps Manor,” she says matter-of-factly. “Count Edmont’s idea. The younger lordling told me so.”

“I… see.”

“Want to crash it?”

It wouldn’t be the first time. “No,” Thancred replies after a moment.

She smiles faintly. “You splittin' up from me?”

“Aye.” He meets her eyes. “I suppose I am.”

She pauses, watching him quietly for a time, a strange look on her face. Something akin to warmth. Fondness. Huh. And here he thought he didn’t matter much to her. And so it does not take him by surprise when she cups his face with her hand and leans in close, her fingers brushing his jaw in one final moment of bittersweet intimacy.

“Yeah. I am, too.” She kisses him chastely on the cheek. Then the gentleness breaks and she gives him a pat, grinning from ear to ear. “If you tell her a word of what I said, Waters, I will shoot you. That’s a promise.”

“Understood.”

With a wink and a nod, Hilda backs away into the road, gives him a jaunty little salute, and joins the flowing crowd. Her ponytail bobs, dark hair swinging back and forth as she marches on, growing distant, distant, distant, and then—gone. All the times he has watched her walk away, and this is the one where his heart pangs with a tender ache. He didn’t thank her before she went—should he have? She gave him a gift, knocking some sense into him the way she did. But when next they meet, they will be… strangers? Acquaintances? Two people looking for a fresh start, or perhaps none at all?

His days in Ishgard are limited. There’s a good chance he won’t be back once the Scions move on.

Thancred leans against the wall and arches his neck, turning his gaze to the sky. Though the grey clouds thicken, the stuttering light behind them implies a sun trying to break free. If they’re lucky, this freak storm will be over soon.   

“Thancred?”

Her voice washes over him, clear as a bell. He turns and finds her a pace away, ruby eyes looking him up and down. Snow settles about her head and shoulders, catching softly in her dark hair and clinging to her eyelashes. Judging from how warm and glowing she appears, she’s unbothered by the cold—though whether that has more to do with her natural control over ice-aspected aether or the Lord Commander’s massive wool cloak about her shoulders isn’t for him to say.

He flashes her a smile. “Fancy meeting you here,” he says.

Aureia’s expression falls. “I thought you were investigating the Gnath,” she murmurs.

“Aye, I was, and now I have other tasks before me. And what of you? Have you finished in Limsa Lominsa already?” Or did you leave the twins to take matters into their own hands? The Warriors of Darkness should not be their responsibility. He bites his tongue, reining in the words. It’s frightening how easily he falls back on provoking her, how readily he relishes in getting a rise out of her when he isn’t thinking.

It should not be this way. It was never this way before.

“Not yet, but I will be returning shortly. Alphinaud and Alisaie have found a promising lead.” She hesitates and sweeps a lock of loose hair out of her face. The tips of her ears are turning red with cold. “I have duties here, too. And, well—” A faint smile tugs at her lips and she glances over her shoulder, seeking out Aymeric. The Lord Commander is easily visible further down the market, head and shoulders above the rest as he speaks to the local jeweller. A much more prestigious vendor than the pawnbroker further down the road. “I suppose I have finally taken your advice to heart.”

“How so?”

“There is more to life than fighting, no matter your duty or your beliefs.”

A lump forms in his throat.

Aureia turns back. “Are you cold?” she asks gently. Her boots crunch in the snow as she takes a step towards him.

Thancred flinches and shuffles back, covering the movement by crossing his arms firmly over his chest. “I am well,” he says, shivering. It’s difficult to ignore the gooseflesh rising beneath his ragged shirt now she’s pointed it out. But he’s endured worse than a little cold. He will not let it bother him, not in front of her.

He has given her enough cause to worry about him in the past. He will not do so again, not even over something as insignificant as this.

She pauses. “I’m glad.”

Silence falls about them, as thick as snow.

Gods, when was the last time they had a discussion without arguing? Spoke without anger? Conversed without exhuming the multitude of grievances big and small, picking at open wounds that are still bleeding and old hurts that have long since scabbed over? There are some things that have been said that can never be taken back, but he still finds himself wishing for days long gone, when they could simply… talk.

He misses that.

Perhaps she does, too.

Aureia smiles tightly. “I must go,” she says. “Have a good day, Thancred. I mean that.”

She turns too quickly to see him raise a hand in farewell. Off she goes, not unlike Hilda before her, crossing the market with purpose. But instead of disappearing into the crowd, she returns to the Lord Commander, uncaring of who spots her or what gossip she may cause. She slips her arm through his, her expression brightening, and draws him to one side. They speak quietly together for a time, lost in one another and infected with joy. When he bends to kiss her, she rises up on tiptoe and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her.

They are happy together. And, in a way, it is a relief that she has found that. He can think of no other who deserves happiness as much as she.

Thancred looks away, that familiar itch once again scratching at the back of his mind.

His boots slip in slush as he shoves off the wall, earning a yelp and a gasp from yet another disapproving noblewoman. He weaves in and out of the crowd, excusing himself more than once as he hurtles down the road. When he reaches the pawnbroker’s stall he is frightfully warm in the chilly air and embarrassingly out of breath.

“Can I… help you, sir?” the greying Elezen asks as he skids to a stop before him.

Thancred grips the edge of the counter, his boots sloshing in the trampled snow. “I wish to inquire about a ring I saw in your possession,” he says. “Quickly!”

The pawnbroker’s eyes narrow behind his spectacles. “I have many rings, sir. They are a commonality in a shop such as mine. You must needs be more specific.”

“Ah—ha…” Choked laughter bubbles across his lips and he shakes his head, sweeping hair out of his good eye. By the Twelve, he must look like a madman. “Of course. You are right, sir, my apologies. It is silver with a black gemstone at its heart. The Ul’dahn crest is engraved on the reverse, if you know where to look.”

“I have perhaps come across such a thing. I trust the item is of some importance to you?”

“Aye—well.” He shrugs. “Not to me, exactly. To a friend.”

“I see.”

“Do you have it? I saw it in your shop not a fortnight ago—”

“A moment.”

“Do you have it or not? It is of vital importance—”

“A moment!”

He shoves his cold hands deep in his pockets, biting his tongue before his urgency gets the better of him. The pawnbroker fusses about with his trays and his drawers, content to take his time as he searches his stall. The ring will not change anything; he can’t even place a finger on why it’s so important to retrieve it. Perhaps it’s for Aureia, perhaps it’s for himself, perhaps it’s for the last vestige of a time neither of them can return to.

“I have it, yes.” Something small and metal clinks against wood and the tension flees from his body. He stares, astonished, as the pawnbroker shoves a small tray across the counter to him. “Is this the item you requested?”

Thancred exhales a long breath. The ring is exactly as it was the last day he saw Aureia wear it.

“Bought it off a half-Elezen adventurer,” the pawnbroker drones on, detached. “Poor woman. Down on her luck. Came here hefting a rusted greatsword over half her size and desperate to sell every trinket she owned. Anything for the gil. Thought it strange how someone like her could end up with a gem like this and from Ul’dah no less, but I pride myself on knowing when to hold my tongue. Wonder what happened to her—”

“How much, sir?” Thancred interrupts.

The pawnbroker pushes his spectacles up his nose. “Fifteen thousand.”

“Done.”

The snow finally slows as Thancred winds his way back down to Foundation, seeking out his favourite haunts in the lower part of the city. The ring sits safely in the inner pocket of his shirt, pressing against the soft spot above his heart. The band is too small to fit his fingers comfortably; this will have to do for now.

He does not know what he intends to with it. To gift it to Aureia now would be… overstepping. Crossing some kind of boundary, no doubt. Most likely she has no attachment to it, given how easily she disposed of it upon her arrival in Ishgard. But the itch in his mind has been sated, and he would much rather know where it is than see it lost to time.

Minfilia called him sentimental more than once. Moenbryda, a fool.

They were both right.  

Raising his face to the sky, he takes in the cautious rays of a late afternoon sun as it breaks through the clouds and moves on.