#stcrmscngs

[gunbrker]

              REUNION IS A COMPLICATED MATTER.     though some may envision it as anything but somer,     a moment of pure elation where the heart may beat    &    skip,     caught in its own exhilaration that all prior feelings of sorrow are no more,     it's not as simple as that.     to return to the old is impossible,     a dishonest request that discards the present    &    beckons a honeyed time where all is believed to be simpler,     but it wasn't,     it wasn't,     it's a specific view of the past.     who thancred waters was in the past is different from who he is now.     this reunion shall serve as a harrowing reminder of how much time has truly passed without them.

              ❛     come now,     ❜     even so,     the impervious mask shall not falter amidst these circumstances,     no matter how dreary.     so long as there is still a sliver of hope,     he shall strive to be similar to the past,     the same cheeky thancred whose lips could curve into a smile with ease,     whose brows could raise    &    fool as if it were an acquired aptitude.     ❛     is that any way to look upon an old friend   ?     you look almost like you've seen a ghost.     or am i mistaken   ?     ❜

starter.     /     @stcrmscngs​

[amaurotyne]

Gaius could not tell if it was incredibly late, or early. Darkness fell upon the thick copses of trees like a shroud; even the stars would not be shining this night and that left Gaius a bit perturbed for he could track where he was by starlight. 

Grumbling softly, with disdain, Gaius elected it would be more wise to make shelter and weather the storm that meandered amid the horizon. He could smell it in the air--the incredible stillness that came before the storm. 

He deftly moved through the dark thicket with a grace of a man 30 years his junior. He came upon an abandoned cabin, or at the very least--vacant. If he had come across someone’s winter home, he would make sure to leave a large sum of gil to cover his intrusion. 

He stepped inside just as the thunder shot their boom like cannon fodder, lightening flashing like the fire of guns. Gaius couldn’t help but be plagued with the distant memory of wartime, the bugle sounding the battalion call, the screaming, the smell of mud and blood billowing their stenches through the trenches of no man’s land. 

The memory attempted to protrude his consciousness but he pushed it away; burying it deep within him. He stumbled into the cabin. He sighed in relief -- it was abandoned. The winds had picked up, and it took a great deal of effort to latch the door shut. 

He exhaled a breath, his form drenched by the time he was able to lock the doors. Once again he grumbled his disdain. This was a new low. He was fortunate that his subordinates were away on assignments. 

The weather caused his knee to ache, and it took him a moment to survey the room. 

He realized it wasn’t alone. Someone had been staying, another interloper or was it a squatter? He hid his breath as he made his way upstairs cautiously, Gunblade in hand. He could hear movement, someone definitely was in the room. 

Making his steps light, Gaius lunged forward with a swiftness. His intention was to pin the person to the floor and demand they leave; however, in the dim light, he saw a flash of silver strands. His amber hues widened upon registering who he was looking at. It was none other than Estinien. 

Gaius gritted his teeth and slid to a halt despite the ache in his knee. He sheathed his blade and stared. 

“ What are you doing here?” he asked without greeting. He felt less tense and if he was going to be stranded in a storm, Estinien was one of the few that he could tolerate. 

He exhaled. “ My apologies, I thought you were an interloper.” 

@stcrmscngs​  // Starter 

[blaackbiird-archive]

The Witcher starters

@stcrmscngs ❝ this place isn’t safe when you’re alone. ❞ (sidurgu for sigun)

“I’m fine,” Sigun assures the man as she stares over the ledge into the abyss below the Brume. She was here with M’firhi to help him with some Clan hunts, but he’d left her to her own devices while he conversed with Ardolain inside. 

‘Don’t go too far,’ he’d told her, but really, how far is too far? He’ll forgive her, she thinks with a snicker. It’s not like he’d specified.

She looks over at the man standing behind her and blinks. She hadn’t expected an au ra in Ishgard of all places, despite the strides they’d made towards improvement.

Come to think of it, that’s probably why M’firhi had wanted her to stay close...

Still, “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

[maskedmuses]

Protective Sentence Starters || Still accepting

@stcrmscngs​​ asked: “It doesn’t matter how I am as long as you’re okay.” (Vel for Urianger! Tank and healer content ^^!)

Teeth clenched hard as the cast of the Benefic had drained him, the lucid state that had replenished his drive to fight having waned in the moments after the battle had concluded. His jaw tight, golden focus wholly on the Miqo’te whom had taken severe damage from the foes that had targeted Urianger from the very first cast. Whether it was simply the way the man stood out, or the potential to keep the man healed, monsters found the Elezen’s flesh to be rather intriguing.

But in the end, Vel was always battered for it, and even now as they took a moment of respite to recover from their fight, the near guilt of it weighed upon the man’s features. A grimace seemed nearly cemented upon his countenance as the blade was placed across Vel’s back and Urianger’s globe clipped to his side.

“Pray thy wounds be not too deep.” He began, a tired, old sentiment whenever he was alongside the hero instead of another adventurer that might be more capable upon the battlefield. Urianger was nothing to sneeze at, but he excelled in working behind the scenes, avoiding the fray if he could help it. Unlike those who were battle worn and accustomed to welcoming the attacks of all sorts.

Yet, his voice stilled as the man retorted, catching Urianger off guard. A breath taken, before a shake of his head, brows furrowed in annoyance at such a notion.

“After all thy trials and tribulations, thou thinkest thine health is but a small matter to mine mind?” His lips pursed briefly, his stare hard upon his company. “Mine life doth be not but a fleeting light upon this star, while thou art destined to illuminate lives of everyone thou touches.” His shoulders tense, Urianger could not understand how his importance could be more than that of the Warrior of Light.

Nor how such a man could not think of himself first.

“Both lives doth harbor importance, therefore do not only concern thyself with mine wellbeing, but consider your own as well.” Finally tilting his head towards the direction of nearby civilization, lashes fell over daffodil hued irises. “Come, thou still have wounds that needst tending and an empty belly. We shalt remedy both maladies, lest I impose Synastry upon thine aether.”

[ncegling]

The Warrior of Light is too attractive for his own good, wouldn’t you agree?

Random asks! | @lxght-brdnd / @stcrmscngs / @primalvessel

The Warrior of Light (and Darkness? Was that part of his title now?) certainly was. Aymeric wasn’t blind. He had seen his dearest friend in action, had seen how effortlessly he could overcome any obstacle before him, and the sight had stirred more than a few feelings inside of him. 

“He is,” Aymeric said with ease, and a slight touch of curiosity. “I do wonder what purpose there is behind pointing this fact out to me, though.”

[crystaliiize]

@stcrmscngs / Starter Call

He was alive.

He was tired. He was worn. There was no small part of him that was perhaps even a bit disappointed that he still drew breath, because the death he had planned for himself was truly just rest. For a hundred years he had worked himself to the bone and there was no denying how attractive the thought of just no longer being was. 

But Vel had gone and ruined that. The light had been expelled while both the warrior and the Exarch drew breath, and it left the Exarch in the awkward position of being alive far after he had anticipated his death would come. Not only that, but it had been made clear to him that his death would be... poorly received. 

The red-haired miqo’te couldn’t help but smile wryly as he heard footsteps, annoyance Vel’s entrance into the Ocular. “Here for your lessons?” A joke, one he doubted the other would even remember. 

[blaackbiird-archive]

@stcrmscngs

“You can’t spend the entire month holed up in here,” M’firhi declares as he just walks right into Sid’s inn room without even knocking.

He gets a grunt in response and laughs softly. Rielle was downstairs, enjoying the festivities Gibrillont and Adaillie had put on. Nothing quite as ostentatious as the rest of the city, but there was an abundance of drinking and caroling. True, their versions of songs were much more dirty than the girl her age should probably be hearing, but she’d seemed happy enough and eagerly urged him upwards to Sidurgu.

He had put his goldsmithing training to the task over the last month in order to make gifts for both the dark knight and his charge, and we wasn’t about to let Sid poor holiday spirit get in his way. 

Not that he has much room to judge, this is the first Starlight he’s ever celibrated himself, after all...

“C’mon, get up,” he says cheerfully, reaching out to yank the blanket off of Sid, only to stop dead at the sight of the man still in full-armor under the blankets.

“Huh.” He shouldn’t be surprised, he knows Sid will never feel completely safe in Ishgard. Still, to wear his armor to bed...

Shaking it off, M’firhi starts poking Sid in the horn until the man finally gives in and opens his eyes to glare at the miqo’te. He’s awarded with a box shoved in his face.

“Hey!” he grunts, jerking back so the box doesn’t take his eye out. “What’s the deal?”

“It’s Stardust,” M’firhi replies with a roll of his eyes, waiting for Sid to sit up fully before dropping the box - carefully - into his lap. “Go on, open it!”

Sid grumbles, clearly unhappy at having been disturbed, but obediently starts pulling back wrapping paper. When he pops the lid of the box open, however, he freezes at the sight inside.

M’firhi watches, not breathing, as Sid reaches into the box to pull out his gift. A small, wind-up model of Fray. The toy’s helmet is missing and the face underneath is modelled exactly as the Au Ra remembers him. 

He’s silent as he holds the minion gently between his hands. His head lowered, hair hiding his eyes.

“...Sid?” M’firhi ventures after a moment, anxiety starting to grip his heart. Had he... was this wrong? He didn’t want to upset the man...

[blaackbiird-archive]

The Witcher starters

@stcrmscngs asked:  ❝ when i go it will be far more dramatic than this. ❞ (nero for m'firhi)

‘You could have died!’ M’firhi had all but yelled at them man when he was conscious again. And that was his response. Why did he expect anything else?

“Gods help you if it is,” he growls as he helps Nero sit up enough to drink some water. Gods indeed, his heart is still pounding out of control and its been at least a few hours since they’d arrived in the Reach following the man’s collapse.

Electrocution, some ugly bruising, and a severe concussion that he’d hidden from them going into that battle. M’firhi could throttle him if it wouldn’t exacerbate his condition.

How much more dramatic does he want it? M’firhi’s supposed to be the one dying heroic deaths on the battlefield, not Nero.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, do you know that?” he gripes in irritation, despite the worry still shining clear as day in his eyes.