#mercedist

   DAYS like these were still unfamiliar; for the coast they’d call home was almost never touched by frost, far removed from the bitter northern winds. If she plumbed her memory, she might remember a rogue snowstorm when she was a child: crystalline flakes disappearing into ocean waves, making a strange blanket on the sands, only to be washed away with the rising tide. Fódlan was much more accustomed to a true winter than that; and yet, it seemed, some of its residents could still forget.

   The smith stifles a chuckle, a wane smile claiming their lips while the other gawks at them for a few moments. They hadn’t intended to startle–– merely to offer small talk and perhaps poke fun at the way she’d shivered and huddled into herself. Despite her arms being mostly bared, and calves to match, Emké stood resolute and easy; only crinkling their nose when a particularly bitter breeze came by.

  “It’s a nice break, for me.... easy to forget there’s such a thing as cold when you’re working the forge.” She admits. Fingers flex in thick gloves with scorch-marked palms, as if for emphasis; a morning of labor already behind her.

Tea is served, very much steaming hot with rare tea leaves used. 

Why though?

  “....”

"What do you call a pile of kittens? A "Meow"ntain."

Send me 😍 if your muse finds mine attractive

He’s going to cry, he’s going to fucking cry. He loves her so sooo much too, she probably has no idea! “Haha, Mercedes, I better be a bit attractive if I don’t want to bring shame to you when we walk together side by side...”

⨳ — SEND 💖 TO HOLD MY MUSE’S HAND;

Both of his hands are hers to take, and keep, forever. As is his cheek, his cheekS even, and his lips if she ever asks for them.

His whole body and mind and soul- okay is everything is hers, to do whatever she wants with.

He laughs, genuinely laughs, as he catches the guilty finger in his hand and delicately kisses it. “So do I, Mercedes.”