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28. “I think you are the sweetest thing.”

There’s a quest in the Crystarium that spawned this idea. So. Blame that?

The sight that greets Thancred as he walks into The Wandering Stairs is one he never thought to see. So surprising is it, that he stops in his tracks and stares for a moment before it clicks in his brain that: yes, he is seeing what he thinks he is seeing. Yes, he is awake and therefore this is not a dream. And no, definitely not a hallucination. 

It shouldn’t stop him the way it does, but he’s shocked and something wraps around his heart and squeezes. 

It’s a simple scene. Something going unnoticed by other patrons of the tavern, undoubtedly due to how normal and mundane it truly is. Phaedra is sitting on a love seat, and Ryne is beside her, kneeling on the other seat. In Phaedra’s arms is a swaddled bundle, from which two small arms are reaching up with tiny grasping hands. Ryne coos and fawns over the infant, clearly besotted and enthralled, even from a distance. 

As he approaches, he glances around the Stairs, looking for the parents - he spots them by the bar, surrounded by friends and talking animatedly while regularly looking over to the Warrior of Darkness, the Oracle of Light, and the infant. Clearly, they’re enjoying a moment’s respite from being parents and are happy to leave their precious child in the hands of two so well known heroes. 

Ryne spots him and hops up off the seat. “Thancred look!” She grasps him by the wrist, pulling him in the direction he was already walking, “it’s a baby!”

“Aye. I see that.” He sits beside Phaedra and leans towards her. For comfort he slides his arm over the back of the couch and behind her shoulders. The baby is tiny and pink. He would guess not more than a sennight old. There’s a thin, feathery layer of hair peeking out from the blankets, and big blue-green eyes stare back at him. “Does it have a name?” 

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❛  you can miss something but not want it back.  ❜ for Iyna

Some days she just didn’t know what to do with herself.

In the military, there had been a routine, a natural order to things, certain as breathing. The day was regimented, tasks assigned. The pecking order was obvious and to be adhered to. Stay in line, don’t volunteer for anything, keep your head down. Keep it simple, stupid.

She hovered outside the Adder’s Nest, watching men and women in uniform, before shaking her head and going on her way.

In the military, there was never worry about where to sleep; barracks were the automatic home. In the field, transports and tents worked for shelter. Or just leaning back to back with a squadmate, weapons in hand, among the rest of the platoon scattered and half-hidden across whatever thoroughfare or battlefield they had settled in.

She waited outside the Flames’ headquarters, watching them march and salute, until her colleague’s business was complete and it was time to leave. She turned away without hesitation.

In the military, food was a bland mass-produced set of predictable choices, the outsides slightly burnt, the centers slightly cool and undercooked, but it was consistent. Field rations could be improved by scavenging the countryside, or purchasing–or taking–from locals. One never wondered at market selections or how to add spices to dishes; that was for logistics and the chefs. All a soldier had to do was eat what they gave her.

She strode through the Aftcastle, past the sea of red-clad Storms and headed for the Hyaline, barely sparing them a glance.

In the military there was no real time to be alone; finding such moments were rare and precious. Platoons trained and worked together. Spent rec time together. Slept and showered and geared up together. Fought and, too often, died together. There was always someone to have your back, share your foxhole, hear your fearful, non-sanctioned prayers–and know they’d never tell, because you heard theirs, too.

She shivered as she watched the knights pray together. Such an odd thing to see, as they moved in concert. Stranger still to her was the tall woman leading them, armor gleaming, third eye hidden. Their gazes met across the square. The invitation was still there–a place to belong, a roof overhead, food thrice a day, companions at her back. A simple, regimented–though never quite predictable–life.

Iyna shook her head again, breaking eye contact with her fellow defector and walking away. She’d had her taste, and it was enough to sate that strange little ache in the back of her chest, that longing for familiarity.

But now that she knew so much more was out there, she could never quite see herself ever going back.

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"“Bad form, when you’re such a charming conversationalist,” he conceded. The nutkin kept eating." from Walk in the Wilds, actually lol. I really like the way you handled Thancred's post-lifestream/pre-reuniting time, and how he came to have a little nutkin friend :D

I love that nutkin and think it needs to be involved in game more.

Walk in the Wilds” is poorly titled but dear to me as it’s the first long form thing I had written in ages, after a really rough time. There are still a lot of bits to it I like, and some I wanna expand on and rewrite better (but it stands as it is).

I like poking at the bits we hear about in canon, or would logically occur, but for various reasons don’t see in game, which is where “Walk” and a few others come from.

~Thank you~

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One morning I woke up for work and my brain was working at 50% capacity at max. Normally I wake up pretty fast, but not that day.

I have the time to do it, so I decide to get a little extra with breakfast. Maybe food will help me wake up. 

Put bagel in toaster, microwave bacon, start frying egg.

Toasted bread pops out of toaster.

Me: *stares at toaster incredulously for way too long*

Me: *realizes bagels and bread are next to each other on top of the fridge*

Me: *realizes that I’m so fucking asleep that I didn’t notice I was putting bread in the toaster instead of a bagel*

Me: fuck what do I do with this toast. I don’t want a bread-sandwich, I want a bagel sandwich. But I don’t want to waste bread…

My half-functioning brain: idk put it back I guess

Me: *puts the toast back in the bread bag and toasts a bagel*

Me: *makes bagel sandwich and rushes to work*

Me: *scarfs sandwich and works*

@ 10 AM, when I have COMPLETELY forgotten about the toast incident, I get a text from my husband and the following conversation happens:

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Kiss prompt: …in danger.

I always felt the reactions of the Scions to the WoL turning into a Light Warden were a bit… underwhelming. So. *cough* I changed it a bit. And I also… adjusted the changes. Making them more physical and grotesque, I guess. 

Thancred dashed forward even as Emet-Selch disappeared into a cloud of black aether with the unconscious Exarch. The others stood around, struck dumb, by what had just transpired and before them, Phaedra was on her knees, retching.

“Urianger!” He shouted to startle his comrades from their stupor and grabbed Phaedra by the shoulders at the same time. “Y’shtola! Do something!” 

Under the bare parts of his hands, her skin was cold and clammy. Her whole body was furiously shaking and on the floor were small puddles of white ichor that dripped from her mouth. Her breathing was harsh, forced and shallow; every one appeared to take monumental effort and only made her shake more violently.

“Phaedra,” Thancred leaned closer, trying to get a look at her face but she kept her head bowed. He could make out a grimace of pain when she spat more of the white goo to the ground in front of her. Glancing around, he saw their companions still standing, shocked. Like gargoyles, and just as useful. “Don’t just stand there!” Roared Thancred, “do something!”

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Tagged by: @dragons-bones thank youuu <3

Favorite colors: Blues and purples, particularly electric blue and orchid/amethyst purple

Last song listened to: Actual last song: The Young Mariner - Henry May Long OST. Last song listened to with lyrics: No - The Long Haul

Favorite song: Uuuuuuuhhhhhh…… *stares blankly*

Favorite Musician/Singer: Very into 21 Pilots, AJR and Henry Jackman atm

Last film watched: Black Panther. WAKANDA FOREVER

Favorite TV show watched: O jeeze… Great British Bake Off has a special place in my heart. That wholesome competition, tho. But aside from that, I loved Altered Carbon, Yu Yu Hakusho and The Witcher. And, when I want to watch trash, NCIS and Project Runway.

Favorite OC: Gwen, I think. Though I also have an MCU-related OC named Avery Pitch who I’ve written a lot about but haven’t posted anything for. Gwen is more fun to write and write about because I’ve developed a better understanding of her personality and inner voice, and I also have a fairly good grasp of Thancred’s inner voice, so I can write her from an outside perspective, too.

Sweet, spicy, or savory: Savory plz. Sweet is OK, but I’m kind of picky about it. I can do icecream and sweet drinks no problem, but I have to be in a certain mood for actual desert foods. I’m the person who gets a slice of cake and eats the cake but leaves the icing on the plate, or takes one bite of cheesecake and is done. My husband is secretly a dragon (he eats ghost pepper salsa on the regular >.>;; he loves food that makes him sweat and tear up) so I’ve learned to like spicy stuff more, though I’m noooot on his level lol.

Sparkling water, coffee, or Tea: Coffee – but by coffee I mean Starbucks coffee, aka: milk, sugar, whipped cream, a ton of flavoring and a little coffee or espresso mixed in there somewhere. Otherwise, Masala Chai :B

Pets: Two cats. A black cat named Toothless, aka: Toothels, Round Boi, Whiney Boi, Scaredy-baby, and Buttmunch. An orange-and-white cat named Pez, aka: Pezzels, Jealous Boi, Tsundere Boi, and Buttmunch.

Tagging: @the-divine-miss-blue, @anomaliewrites, @rhymingteelookatme, @autumnslance, @stars-bleed-hearts-shine, @exposed-whimsy, @mysteriouslydelicateface, @evangeline-cross

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already exhausted and mentally unstable, she accepts titania’s crown in feo ul’s place and becomes the new fae king. this completely throws the exarch’s plan into disarray as well as the man himself, and the scions. she reasons cheerfully that she had already sacrificed her mortally long ago, so why not make such a harrowing experience more fun? she enjoyed her time in il mheg and wouldn’t mind staying forever, especially as its sole ruler.

and it wouldn’t be as though she’s trapped there. she could freely roam with the power she wields and bring her newfound joy to others. to the crystarium, who had been so kind to her, and she earnestly wishes to return the favor. she doesn’t care about fighting or the lightwardens or the impending apocalypse. her night sky is back and that’s all that matters. she cannot be convinced otherwise and the threat of titania retaliating against such the fate that the exarch sought was too real.

they are at a stalemate and the clock is ticking until the light consumes the first, until the eighth calamity. the warrior of light is no longer thus and will not fight their battles for them. she would rather dance and play until the end of the world and encourage all the mortals she loves to do the same.

exarch comes clean out of desperation and titania soothes him, tells him none of it matters anymore and he doesn’t need to cry over it. perhaps if she had known the whole truth earlier she wouldn’t have taken the crown, but what’s done is done and she wants him to enjoy the moment while it lasts. he will refuse her offer to stay in the castle with her, but only barely, and titania doesn’t press or force him to because she knows he will be back. he’ll always come back to see her again and each time the hope in his eyes dims all the more. she has forever to wait for him to accept her, after all.

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For the record: Duskfeather’s standard tack looks a great deal like the Deepshadow Cocobo Barding, specifically because it has a plethoral of little pouches and spare knifes and that sort of thing.

Not sure I can promise any full pictures of Duskfeather in the barding, but I will make an attempt to sketch up a griffin-friendly (…or, you know horse-friendly, seeing how those actually exist to model stuff off of) version of the barding for funsies.

also sidenote I love the Deepshadow barding it looks so GOOD

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Kiss prompt: …in relief

Set after the attack on Rhalgr’s Reach; I don’t think it’s established where Thancred is during this period, so I feel like this works with the canon. 

Rhalgr’s Reach is a mess of bodies, and fire and debris. It seems as though the Garleans left nothing untouched in their surprise attack and that those who survived did so only by pure luck. 

There’s a stench of blood in the air. Thancred can hear members of the resistance wailing over the bodies of their friends and fallen comrades. He hurries through the throngs of people, his heart in his throat and something constricting around his chest. 

The area allocated for healers is overrun, to the point that people are recovering on bedrolls on the ground. People in white - healers - hurry from person to person doing their utmost to administer aid. Some look haggard and dead on their feet, but they push through their own tiredness and their own injuries to tend to the others. 

Gritting his teeth is all Thancred can do to fight the urge to yell. He should have been here. He could have done something, been of help. Been of aid… Or at least been a distraction long enough to let more people get away. This is a horrific blow to the Ala Mhigan Resistance. And the loss of life is just… It’s so much. Too much. 

How do the Garleans justify such barbarity? 

Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of the woman he is searching for. She goes from one person to another, handing out potions and water and food from a sack. The people she is with are survivors with minor injuries who have already been treated. Thancred makes an immediate U-turn and beelines for her.

“Phae,” he says, relief washing over him like a cool stream. She drops the sack as he brings her into his arms. She sags against him and digs her fingers into his jerkin as she hugs him back. “When I heard about the attack I–” Thancred draws back enough to look her over. There are bags under her eyes, dried blood on her face, and a bruise forming on her cheek. Thancred cups her jaw and kisses her soundly. 

“I’m fine,” Phaedra assures him in a voice that is less than convincing, but he doesn’t push it. “Y’shtola…” Her gaze moves beyond him to the healers quarters. “She’s… not in a good way.”

Ice fills Thancred’s veins. “How bad?”

“Bad.” Phaedra rubs the heel of her right hand over her eye. “She took a direct hit. So did Lyse.” There’s a pause. Thancred can see her considering her next words, so waits for her to find them. “Zenos yae Galvus led the charge.” 

It takes at least five seconds for the name to fully register. Thancred knows the name. Of course he does. Everyone knows the name Zeno yae Galvus. He’s the crown Prince of Garlemald and his skill in battle is as well known and feared as his name is. That anyone is still alive is just short of a miracle. 

“He is… so strong, Thancred.” Phaedra continues. “I fought him with everything I had, and could barely make a dent.”

He searches his mind for something to say. Words of comfort, or words of encouragement but he comes up blank. There’s not much to say in the aftermath of something so dire and horrific. Thancred strokes his thumb over her jawbone. “You’re in one piece. That’s what matters.” He kisses her forehead and offers a quick ‘thank you’ to the Twelve in his head. 

“There’s more.” Phaedra sounds weary now and exhaustion appears to have caught up with her when Thancred looks at her once more. “They’ve taken Krile.”

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recordare - what is your muse’s least favourite house chore? which is their favourite? For Aeryn :D

(I ended up sending you the exact same question before seeing this one in my inbox! XD )

Aeryn’s a very tidy person by nature and habit; she’s more bothered by the mess itself than anything. There’s something satisfying in the visual progress of cleaning dishes, wiping counters, dusting, sweeping. It’s calming and gives her time to think–with pauses to rush to a desk and write something down quickly at times in between, when said thinking gives her an idea for an arcane problem, or a line of song or story.

The exception is laundry. It’s heavy and stinky and wet and reminds her too much of her mother’s sickbed on the worst days. Hanging it up to dry? Not a problem, and putting it away–hung up or folded neatly, that’s fine–but washing clothes is perhaps her least favorite thing.

She is developing spells (think D&D’s Prestidigitation) to try to keep clothing clean in the field and to avoid doing what laundry she can.

Aeryn also definitely has been pestering and pouting at her Ironworks friends to come up with some sort of automated washing device for the Rising Stones because come on. And she’s poked around the Crystal Tower on the First where she can to find any hints of Allagan ingenuity pertaining to this chore, too. The Exarch is greatly amused by this, and once made a comment about how some things really don’t ever change.

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8. How would each of them explain how they met? and 9. Who accidentally drinks too much caffeine and who has to deal with their partner bouncing off the walls?

8. How would each of them explain how they met?

Phaedra would just be veeeery blunt about it. And to be honest, they didn’t have the best first introduction when they met. She took out the voidkin with him, but was then highly confused as to what was going on and why she suddenly fainted. She’d definitely make fun of how he “failed to sweep her off her feet”.

Thancred on the other hand… Well, he would explain that they actually met long before that day. Several times, in fact. They were never formally introduced, but he would see her running errands around Ul’dah and conversing with Momodi in the Quicksand. Any time he tried to speak to her, she would dash off on another errand or task, or hurry to the Pugilist’s guild to get training in for the day. 

The first time they spoke was in the Quicksand. Phaedra walked into him and almost dropped the package she was to deliver for Momodi. Thancred uttered “excuse me” while Phaedra snarled “watch it” at him. 

It wasn’t love at first site by any means, but even before they met properly outside of Ul’dah and got to know each other, Thancred was rather intrigued and… drawn, I guess, towards Phaedra. 

She does not know that the instances where they met briefly without names and as perfect strangers in the Quicksand are the times Thancred considers how they met. 

9. Who accidentally drinks too much caffeine and who has to deal with their partner bouncing off the walls?


Phaedra is definitely the one who would drink too much caffeine. She doesn’t drink it much, and so doesn’t have a particularly high tolerance for it, so it doesn’t take a lot for her to be a jittery bouncy mess. She only relies on caffeine when she’s researching or traveling a lot. 

Mercifully, its reasonably easy to get her to calm down. Between sparring, which is the easiest way, and other more intimate methods, Thancred can generally get her to settle. If those options aren’t possible, he does his best to keep her reasonably settled until she inevitably crashes.

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18. “Watch me.”

This has been sitting in my inbox for so long; i couldn’t think of a single thing for it. So… I tried. >.>

This is very much a… more introspective thing? I think. I don’t really know. Basically, Phaedra has a very low opinion of herself. She thinks she’s the stupidest person in the room, all the time. And if she’s good at something, it’s luck. 

Or something. Anyway. This is weird. Sorry?

“Watch me.”

Phaedra watches from a safe distance as Thancred takes up his defensive stance in front of the stationary dummy. She tries to pick up on the smaller aspects and details; the way he digs his feet into the ground for traction, how he holds his gunblade, where his eyes move with each precise strike. 

He is fast when he moves, faster swinging the blade over his head. The honed edge of the blade slices into the dummy. His next move follows as fluid as water; a mid-air spin to add further devastation to the next attack. He pulls the trigger; the blank ammunition explodes and sends a cloud of dust, straw and splintered wood scattering from the impact. 

His breathing is even when he looks across to her; hardly a hair out of place. He gestures with a simple nod of his head. “Your turn.” He moves away and points with the end of his blade to the sand. “Take up your stance.”

Keep reading

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The consequences of my perpetual neglect of Tumblr’s tagging system have come back to haunt me again.

This time it’s because I’m trying to find a post I vaguely remember about Endgame Depressed Thor that actually had a whole hell of a lot of good discourse and discussion. My only point of reference is that it came out after Endgame. And I….think maybe before ShB was released. Maybe. Not so sure about that one.

All of these things you’re seeing reblogged from my own page are things I’m rediscovering and giggling about whilst combing through my pages and pages of posts and likes trying to find the particular one I’m looking for.

We’ll see if I ever find it, if I even liked or reblogged it when I saw it (which I’m… like 80% sure I did), or if it was even on TUMBLR because it could have been on Reddit or something, or if I just resign myself to reblogging old funny shit

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📜 📜
  • It’s probably common enough (?) for miqo’te, but her ears are a bit on the sensitive side. She just enjoys having them rubbed or scratched, and will pretty much melt like puddy.
  • In addition to that - she hates 98% of helmets, hats, hoods, and other assorted headgear that makes her ears sit uncomfortable. Not a fan of ‘ear pockets’ either. Finding headgear she actually likes is rare. (Things like eyepatches or flowers not being counted.)
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📜 📜 about whomever!

I’ll do one of each then ^-^


Whenever Akira is stressed over the amount of responsiblity that the title of Warrior of Light/Darkness has with it, she’ll go and ride on Mr. Chubbs, her fatter cat mount. He may unnerve all of her allies with his soulless eyes, but whenever it’s brought up that he may be a voidsent in the flesh of a dead cat, she just smiles before commenting:

“We don’t talk about Mr. Chubbs condition.”

Of course, she also doesn’t mention that when he came wobbling up to her, in Camp Drybone, it had been right after the Waking Sands being attacked, nor does she ever mention that he had a wind-up Thancred with him either.


Normally he has high levels of insomnia whenever he tries to sleep, and when he does sleep, he has dreams or nightmares of creatures that he’s heard of, but as far as he knows, he’s never seen. Dreams of an anata with many arms and swords who guards an orange, fire-like crystal, a Kraken in a sunken temple who ends up ripping his left arm off, and a demon-like being that had been at the center of time.

He normally chalks it up as him reading so many fairy tales when he was young of a group of people saving the world, and looking up to the magicians in those old tales.

As for how he combats his insomnia? Well he will either go drinking until he’s pass out drunk, or go and find the hardest thing to fight and kill without dying himself.

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📜 📜

thanks for the ask!! 

Shiloh is musically inclined. Growing up in Limsa Lominsa, her mother, her brother, and her were welcomed into the Seafaring Roe family that saved them. She grew up with music, piano, fiddles, lutes and guitars and hand drums. Kitchen parties were a regular occurrence, and they always included music, mostly Vylbrand folk music, but as she got older her musical interests branched out. She’s out of practice, but give her any one of the mentioned instruments, and she could both play and sing, liquid courage helps. Music fell by the way side after the Calamity when she went into medicine, and while she doesn’t have much opportunity to play anymore, she owns a guitar, and has an extensive orchestrion sheet music collection. She was star struck the first time she met F’lhaminn. 

Shiloh’s been trained as both a chirugeon, and a conjurer, and combines both disciplines when she heals, her first medical mentor was a lalafellin surgeon who used thurmaturgy (fire to cauterize, ice to slow blood flow,) when they worked, and the combination of the magical and practical left a lasting impression. Shiloh is known to carry various poultices, potions, and alchemichal treatments, in the event her mana stores are too depleted (say..after fighting a primal, or dragons, or anything where she needs to use her magic offensively..which is all the time) so that she can still heal after the fact, be it her own wounds, or casualties, events like the Steps of Faith, Rhalgr’s Reach, Doma castle and Gymlite dark come to mind. 

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"Did you do that on purpose?" For whoever would be most fun for you to write :D

C’oretta ran across the narrow wall top, her footsteps certain, as the magitek armor marched forward. The others were fighting the regular soldiers, but if that suit joined the fray…

She was running out of wall, there wouldn’t be a better time. She leapt, flipping as she went, trying to land on the nose of the armor to engage the pilot She landed on top of the pilot instead, both she and the other miqo’te letting out garbled shouts. C’oretta scrambled as he tried to shove her out of the suit. She threw herself down in the seat sideways, and ended up with a faceful of blue-furred tail.

She bit it.

He shrieked and bolted upright as she spat out fur and blood. C’oretta kicked him in the hip, and the Garlean stumbled and fell out of the armor, now halted without its pilot. The man landed with a thud on the ground.

C’oretta righted herself and took control, not even checking to see if the soldier below was conscious or not. She rushed the suit into the fray. “Coming through!” She shouted.

The whine of the cannon got the attention of her comrades and the Garleans both. Everyone scattered as the cannon turned red and C’oretta realized she may have just pushed the ceruleum levels a little too far. She leapt out and dashed after her friends.

The armor exploded, sending shrapnel raining down, though the Garleans took the brunt of the damage. C’oretta remained laying in the dirt a few yalms from the blast, reconsidering having woken up that morning.

Someone poked her with a toe. She looked up, and groaned at Dark. She put her head back down.

“You’ll live,” the roegadyn said dryly. “Impressive work. Did you do that on purpose?”

“Which part?” C’oretta muttered into the ground. She looked up and grinned brightly. “Of course! It worked, didn’t it?”

Dark sighed and shook her head, an amused twitch at the corner of her lips, and C’oretta had the distinct impression Dark knew she was lying, but had the grace not to say it.

That was workable. Especially if the bard turned it into a story that made C’oretta look cool.

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C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite? D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

Phaedra does enjoy chocolate! She’s partial to milk chocolate and mint chocolate, specifically. She’s definitely not big on it, it’s more like an occasional treat and a luxury she’ll allow herself once in a while, because despite having money and means now, she knows what it’s like not to have money and means and doesn’t want to waste what she has on frivolous things - basically she’s always thinking what she has will be taken away or it’ll slip through her fingers at some point and she’ll be left with nothing. 

So, its a rare treat for her to buy for herself. If someone gives her chocolate, then she’s more likely to share it out without actually having any herself. Because, again, money and means. And growing up an urchin, she learned to share the wealth with others when you had something. 

D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

You would have to be very clear that it’s a date for Phaedra to actually realise it. Because Aymeric wasn’t clear, and she left that lunch/dinner thinking “that was a really nice dinner with Aymeric. Why don’t we do that more often?”

And Aymeric was left thinking: “Ah. Should have been more clear.”

Ideal date would be something where she doesn’t have to fight and doesn’t have to lead. She likes the idea of someone planning things out (and oh god, please plan because spontaneous things make her stress) and being led to things and not having to think for a while.

It could literally be anything. Though a trip to Costa del Sol on a particularly hot day would be amazing. Or isolated springs in Upper La Noscea. Heck, even the Forgotten Springs in the Sagolii Desert would be lovely, or a twilight walk in Vesper Bay. Just so long as she doesn’t have to think. 

Preferred date partner would be Thancred, for obvious reasons. But when that’s not possible, she’ll go on “dates” with Alisaie or Tataru where they walk arm-in-arm (or side-by-side in Tataru’s case) and just talk and relax for a while. 

Thank you for the asks! <3

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“You’re getting crumbs all over my bed.”

when g’raha voices his mild-mannered complaint, tiamat merely gives him a flat look and continues to nibble on a biscuit for an entirely too long period of time before eventually choosing to respond.

“you speak as though you use this bed.” at the very least, she doesn’t talk with her mouth full. small victories, g’raha thinks in exasperation and amusement both.

“‘tis the principle of the thing,” he says with a small shake of his head, striding over to his bed (their bed, he realizes excitedly). “and i cannot say i would be inclined to use it knowing there’s crumbs everywhere.”

he gestures to said crumbs even as tiamat chews her food. she looks down at them, then back at g’raha, and then holds the biscuit between her teeth and brushes the crumbs away with quick sweeps of her hand.

“… now there are crumbs all over the floor.”

tiamat snorts in laughter at his overly serious tone as she finishes her snack. “but are you going to sleep on the floor? because i won’t. i’ll be in this bed, crumbs or no, so you’re free to take your pick.”

“a hard bargain as usual,” he hums with feigned contemplation, “i suppose i will have to settle with sharing a bed with my dearest love, all of her messes included.”

“oh, attempting to charm me, are you?” she waggles her eyebrows a little and g’raha takes her by the chin to pull her in for a soft kiss, which she sighs into, utterly pleased.

“i need not do such a thing,” he says lowly against her lips, “as you seem to already be in my bed.”

tiamat outright cackles and snags him by his robes, yanking him into the mess of blankets along with her.

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“You broke my nose!”

not remotely shippy or anything but this was the first thing i thought of enjoy

“you broke my nose!”

“i am fairly certain you’re exaggerating.”

alphinaud glares daggers at his sister from where he stands hunched over, blood lazily dripping out both nostrils and into the grass. alisaie shrugs a little, though both arms are crossed, and deliberately looks away while alphinaud groans and resumes his nosebleed vigil.

“i smell blood, what did you two mess up this time?”

the twins startle on cue when tiamat slides into the scene, skirting around alisaie and heading directly to the wounded party. she crouches awkwardly beside him and gestures vaguely, encouragingly with a hand. alphinaud obliges to the unspoken request and turns his head towards the warrior, still positioned uncomfortably to avoid any unnecessary bleeding into his clothes.

tiamat hums a little, the tips of her claws touching the side of his nose with bare minimum contact. her aether sinks into the cartilage as she both assesses the damage and delicately weaves the bruised tissue back into place.

“she broke my nose,” alphinaud says glumly, nasally.

“i did not break his nose–”

“oh no, it’s definitely broken.” tiamat cuts in, “a fairly common fracture though, so it’s easy enough to fix.”

tiamat doesn’t comment on the slow tilt of alphinaud’s head towards alisaie, his eyes wide and filled with pointed intent. the nose-breaker in question does an overly dramatic, massive second shrug coupled with a shake of her shoulders. whatever sort of pyrrhic victory alphinaud would indulge in, tiamat would allow in total silence.

“it was an accident!” alisaie nearly shouts. “i said i was sorry!”

“’sorry’ doesn’t fix what is broken,” tiamat adds lowly and in a very specific sort of tone she saves for times where she needs to be an adult. it causes alisaie to shrink in on herself a little, thoroughly scolded with only a few words. she sighs and presses on: “what were you even doing that caused this?”

alphinaud stands a little straighter as the bleeding eases. “she threw a tome at me.”

alisaie spins back around. “i thought you were going to catch it!”

“why would you throw one to begin with?!”

as the arguing resumes in earnest, tiamat finishes up what healing she can do for alphinaud’s face, and gracefully backsteps away in long strides before leaping away from the perimeter. by the time both twins look to her for exclusive support for their side of battle, she is long gone.

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