#chysgoda

[twotonedechoes]

@chysgoda​

Art’imis: “we should get a healer to document what happens to you before you do.”

“Good idea!”

“Wait. What? Why?”

[dragons-bones]

Unsolicited Prompt: #couple problems (i.e. ‘if they don’t clean the peanut butter off the knife before putting it in the sink again...’)

Okay so before I finally answer this MONTHS AND MONTHS LATE, required context.

One: I don’t write Ishgard as a one-to-one Fantasy France Equivalent because I just don’t find that to be fun to write, but I do draw on a lot of Quebecois-like nonsense for Ishgardian/Coerthan culture (which is what happens when half your FC is Canadian), amongst other Eastern Canadian foibles, for when I want to look at the real world for influences. All food is fair game, though.

Two: I envision Limsa Lominsa as a bastard mishmash of Boston and Halifax (primarily Boston since that’s where I lived most of my life).

Three: I once asked the FC which of the two would be more likely to have butter tarts as a regional dessert, Limsa Lominsa or Ishgard, and got the immediate reply, “Both, but Ishgardians add raisins,” which initiated Butter Tart Discourse.

Thus: this. I don’t normally do timeline notes, but this specifically is probably somewhere in the late 3.X range, if not the lull before Stormblood begins proper. (So fairly early in Aymeric and Synnove’s relationship, within the first six months minimum.) But it recurs. A lot. ;)

------

It was as Synnove was setting aside the now-empty bowl that had been full of the maple-butter-egg-sugar mix that she had used to fill her small cups of pastry that, from the corner of her eye, she spotted a hand slowly, deliberately ilm towards her baking tray, in a manner that would have succeeded had she not been mama to one of the most notorious sugar fiends in Eorzea. She tipped her head the tiniest fraction, giving her enough of a view of the hand in question to note that it contained small, dark objects that were banned from her kitchen when it came to this particular treat.

She immediately grabbed her tray and yanked it out of the way, clutching it aside protectively. “Do not,” she said with a growl, turning more fully to glare at the hand’s owner, “get those things anywhere near my butter tarts.”

Aymeric froze, eyes wide and startled at being caught in the act, before he pouted at her. “But you like raisins,” he said, a note short of a full-blown whine.

“Not in butter tarts, you heretic!”

“It’s butter tarts without raisins that are heresy!”

Her knight attempted to lean around her, using those damnably long elezen arms of his to try and fill the pastries with the offending dried fruit despite her objections. He had her nearly boxed into the corner, so with a scowl, she hurriedly hopped up onto the counter, sliding until her back hit the wall, and planted her foot in his chest to hold him off, pastry tray held over her head to finally get it out of his reach. Aymeric narrowed his eyes at her and surged forward, using all that muscle and strength she normally loved to force her knee to bend and bring himself closer and defile her tarts; in retaliation, she wedged her other foot up and used the leverage of both legs to shove him back.

He scowled up at the tray, finally thwarted, then dropped his head to rest it on her knees. The hand holding the raisins deposited said raisins in a pile on the counter, which then he used to wrap around her calves. “Your arms will get tired,” he said petulantly. “And then you’ll need to have those tarts the correct way.”

A loud clatter caused him to raise his head and turn, and Aymeric stared incredulously as Galette, concentration fierce on her face, carefully used a tightly controlled slipstream to finish placing the pastry tray into the oven. Once the tray was settled on the rack, she headbutted the door shut, and looked up at him in turn.

No raisins in butter tarts, Galette primly chittered. We are civilized in La Noscea. Perhaps next time if you ask nicely, we’ll add walnuts.

“Walnuts are vile.”

Mama, you picked an absolute barbarian. With a flick of her tails, Galette sashayed out of the kitchen--after using another curl of wind to flip the five minute hourglass timer next to the stove.

Synnove, arms crossed since Galette discretely relieved her of her burden, smirked triumphantly at her lover when he met her gaze again. “It’s not like you can’t have butter tarts with raisins whenever you’re in Ishgard,” she drawled.

“You make your tarts properly runny,” he grumbled. “And your crust is the perfect blend of flaky and buttery, I don’t know how you do it.”

A warm glow of smug pride settled in her chest, her smirk widening further to Aymeric’s exaggerated eye roll. (Hah, like she couldn’t see the smile tugging at his lips.) Score one for Aunt Angharad’s secret to proper pie dough: butter and lard.

“And you can’t ask Hersande to perhaps adjust her recipe because...?”

“Well. I quite enjoy living.”

Synnove paused, tilting her head thoughtfully, and then nodded in acquiescence. She certainly knew how her auntie would react to anyone telling her to change one of the recipes that had been handed down to her by her mother and grandmother.

Aymeric, still bent over her, rested his cheek against her knee, and his pale blue gaze was suddenly oddly bright, morose and pleading all at once. “Please may we have raisins the next time you make butter tarts?”

She smiled, half in exasperation, half in fondness, charmed despite herself. No adult man had any right being that adorable. She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the silky feel of those black locks as she brushed them from his eyes and said, lovingly, “No.”

He dropped the act and sighed in defeat, shoulders dropping. “Damn.”

[autumnslance]

Unsolicited Prompt: #couple problems (i.e. ‘if they don’t clean the peanut butter off the knife before putting it in the sink again...’)

Scene 1:

“Thancred, why are these pages bent?”

“I didn’t have bookmarkers handy--”

“So you folded the pages?!”

“Just the corners!”

“And the cover is stained!”

“It’s dusty, it’ll--oh. Hrm. All right, I’ll get you a new copy--”

“This edition is out of print! You can’t just ‘get a new copy’!”

“Well then I shall have it restored. Luckily I know someone very good at that.”

“I am never loaning you another book.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“I mean it this time! I am not falling for your charms and empty promises again!”

“Does it help if I am veeeerrryyy sorry?”

“Maybe in a couple days, right now I’m still angry.”

*Sigh* “Worth a shot. ...So I’m sleeping in my own room tonight then? ...Iiiii shall take that icy glare as a ‘yes.’“

(I headcanon Thancred as being kinda hard on books, which drives Aeryn up a wall as she won’t even make margin notes in academic texts)

Scene 2:

“You already own that blouse.”

“In lavender not in lilac.”

“...There is no difference.”

“Yes there is!”

“If you say so. But then why do you also need it again in three other colors?”

“Well if I have to match various other outfits--”

“Glamours exist, Aeryn.”

“But you have to have a base to Glamour from and certain dyes every time aren’t cheap either.”

“And where, exactly, are you going to put them all? Your closet is over full already.”

“Welllll...”

“No.”

“Oh come on, they won’t take much space--”

“I will not have you overrunning my closet with your duplicates!”

“You’re not even using the whole wardrobe!”

“Because I am sensible with my clothing purchases!”

“So am I! I just like having more than three options.”

“As do I but there is such a thing as excess, darling. ...I don’t care how cute you are when you pout, the answer is no. Make your own space or don’t purchase more than you need.”

“We have very different ideas of clothing needs.”

“Obviously.”

(Variations of this conversation occur any time shopping happens. Currently Aeryn has taken over a third of Thancred’s closet and he’s struggling to not lose further ground.)

[starswornoaths]

“what can i do to help?”

Pick your poison

Uthengentle lacked the hypersensitive hearing of M’iqote or Elezen races, but he didn’t need it to hear Bel swearing up a storm from within the training ground.

It didn’t take long to find her, hacking away at a training dummy with her lance. Even from a distance, the stiffness in her posture and the deep crease in her brow told him that she was less training with technique and more just working out aggression. Maintaining his distance, he waited for her to work out the worst of it.

When the trusts of her lance slowed and her shoulders slumped in heavy panting, Uthengentle finally called out, “That bad of a day, eh?”

“Isn’t it usually?” Bel growled with another pointed thrust of her spear.

“No, usually you’re just tired from training. What happened? Tell me all about it.” When she didn’t immediately answer, he tried again, “I promise I won’t threaten bodily harm on anyone who’s upset you.”

That got the desired effect, and she laughed hard enough she stopped attacking the training dummy.

“Just things with training.”

“What can I do to help?”

Bel didn’t immediately answer, though Uthengentle made a mental note to speak with Art’imis about it later, let her know what’s been happening with her daughter, especially if it was something discriminatory.

“...I don’t want to talk about it here.” She finally said quietly, and started her rotation over again.

“Why don’t we head to Serella’s? It’s not far, and it’s a hell of a lot warmer there, and you could see the pets.” When she didn’t stop training, but wavered between putting her weapon down and continuing, he sweetened the deal with, “I’ll get us some cocoa and cookies from that one stall you like on the way-”

He made good on his word to get them a nice hot drink and snack, and with a notice to her mother of where she was going, they made for Serella’s house, given how much closer it was than his own home in Ul’Dah. It was the best he could think of to give her both privacy to feel comfortable with talking about it, and also have backup snacks, blankets, and affectionate pets to help lift Bel’s mood.

[ishgard]

chysgoda replied to your post: Thinkin’ bout Zenos in his airship with muffled...

And it has to be Sinatra’s ‘Fly me to the moon’

Precisely.

[jenovahh]

chysgoda replied to your post “quick thing if u ever spot me out in the wild on jenova or like...”

I was beginning to think no one else on Jenova used tumblr.

trust me, i didnt pick this username because im creative

if you are determined to meet me out in the wild, call me a witchy thot and i will know you follow this blog

[aethernoise]

I think Alyx would make a very good NineTails

big agree!!! I associate both Vances with foxes too so Vulpix and Ninetails are both :ok-hand:

[autumnslance]

Dark: Art’imis is unable to comment right now because she is respectfully admiring those uttterly divine arms. Bel admires a sharp dresser.

What does your muse think is my muse’s most attractive feature?

Art’s not wrong, though Dark thinks Bel’s got the more flattering take.