Favorable Circumstances
Nov. 8th, 2025 12:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seleniasTitle: Favorable Circumstances
Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI
Characters/pairing: Dion/Terence
Rating: T
Word Count: 736
Notes: Written as part of a casual/fun community group challenge celebrating/feeling inspired by LOGOS's upcoming release next year. The collection is here! Prompts have been brainstormed by participants. There will be more letters added to the collection over time!
This letter was written in response to a prompt about a ho phase (pre-868 Terence go!). Suggestions of underage but nothing explicit. Talking around venereal disease, military shenanigans, and Dion and Terence's private relationship.
-
870, Oriflamme
Friend,
I arrived in a foul mood late yesterday from all the rain and I’m worse this morn. I paid for boarding among the pilgrims and fishmongers and took dinner in my room. It was quiet once the bell struck the late hour and I slept deep though I feared I wouldn’t away. The view of the shipyard was grand this morning. Tall masts, like whole trees, lit up by a mellow dawn. We rarely see them in port, safe and secure, only in pieces on the surf. I had breakfast before stealing toward home and you wouldn’t know belt-tightening is sinking into public consciousness by the plateful I was treated to. The proprietor meant a kindness — he asked how His Highness fairs afield — and I turned toward suspicion. Exhaustion is my excuse, but worry my companion!
At the house now, I do feel the trip was useless but I don’t wish to refute your encouragement; all has already been shaded, scrubbed, and parceled into chests to depart before the week’s end. I said my goodbyes when I took my vows half a decade ago and I repeated them again. The measure of loss will continue to reveal itself, but it is not a new struggle for House Clement, only a continuum. That aside. My things remain, including figurines and some letters (mystery as to who pens me?) sprinkled among my books and shelves. These were worth coming for. Yes, you were right (I can admit my errors but let’s not linger).
I just reread your missive that I’ve plodded over. I do regret laughing now. No, I have not forgotten previous engagements and of course you may want to ask. They were opportunistic, immediate affairs. It’s the nature of our stock too; there was barely time between a pillow and goodbye! I know what I am privy to that you are not. There’s no shame in your query and it does not “mock my happiness!” You are fastidious and earnest and I am a soldier content beyond measure to be privy to your command and generosity. I’ve sworn my allegiance to our friendship.
A knight’s accomplice is his word and his blade and there are some points that write home their grievances in lieu of maintenance (there was an awful suggestion of a mallet and a stump once — I think a man would die). For one wishing for a chaste kiss after a day of march or plaintive sparring there were a dozen more with gauntlets off, wringing their pale hands in anxious hope. Glades, tall grasses, and supply tents were not vacant for these vocations. There were unfortunate airs afoot to contend with among smaller battalions: not enough firm scrubbing, or Greagor forbid, companionable, ever-lasting warts (we may attribute to this rainy season). I’ve found most disenchantment has been the responsibility of imaginings. Talk is cheap, but effective (leaving also). It’s all one can do to stave off youthful boredom by testing the limits of some old dog’s patience. I found satiation and distraction in my work but tolerance was learned.
Physickers are the more scathing party and not ignorant. I have not been spared critiques or appreciations in my occupations (they are corrupt). Hardly a crevice was reported to be left un-examined or un-prodded after some fumble, and their remedies while unflattering were professional: a crystal sliver for one’s drawers to soothe (my teeth are clenched at the memory; our inventory, you’ve observed, depletes afield or in repose) and droughts to pass illness from the body. We have certainly all understood every miserable man in the entirety of Valisthea after a sip of bad water; there is little more humbling or absurd than the feverish, terrible crawl to a chamber pot to expire (so I’ve heard).
Blood is not a derivative of pleasure (nevermind anyone’s stepmother). Neither are requisites.
Sweeter things: I have seen new heights from the vantage of a wyrm. Greagor knows it’s not the wingspan nor spear, which is so hard, but surrounding it, present company, the environment — all else, all at once. I must think myself down.
There is more, but that’s enough. I feel increasingly like I could doze at this table. There are few things that exhaust me more than absence of habit. This is boring work, mostly. I walk strangely without command and my sword belt (the real one). I'll return posthaste.
Yours,
Terence
Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI
Characters/pairing: Dion/Terence
Rating: T
Word Count: 736
Notes: Written as part of a casual/fun community group challenge celebrating/feeling inspired by LOGOS's upcoming release next year. The collection is here! Prompts have been brainstormed by participants. There will be more letters added to the collection over time!
This letter was written in response to a prompt about a ho phase (pre-868 Terence go!). Suggestions of underage but nothing explicit. Talking around venereal disease, military shenanigans, and Dion and Terence's private relationship.
-
870, Oriflamme
Friend,
I arrived in a foul mood late yesterday from all the rain and I’m worse this morn. I paid for boarding among the pilgrims and fishmongers and took dinner in my room. It was quiet once the bell struck the late hour and I slept deep though I feared I wouldn’t away. The view of the shipyard was grand this morning. Tall masts, like whole trees, lit up by a mellow dawn. We rarely see them in port, safe and secure, only in pieces on the surf. I had breakfast before stealing toward home and you wouldn’t know belt-tightening is sinking into public consciousness by the plateful I was treated to. The proprietor meant a kindness — he asked how His Highness fairs afield — and I turned toward suspicion. Exhaustion is my excuse, but worry my companion!
At the house now, I do feel the trip was useless but I don’t wish to refute your encouragement; all has already been shaded, scrubbed, and parceled into chests to depart before the week’s end. I said my goodbyes when I took my vows half a decade ago and I repeated them again. The measure of loss will continue to reveal itself, but it is not a new struggle for House Clement, only a continuum. That aside. My things remain, including figurines and some letters (mystery as to who pens me?) sprinkled among my books and shelves. These were worth coming for. Yes, you were right (I can admit my errors but let’s not linger).
I just reread your missive that I’ve plodded over. I do regret laughing now. No, I have not forgotten previous engagements and of course you may want to ask. They were opportunistic, immediate affairs. It’s the nature of our stock too; there was barely time between a pillow and goodbye! I know what I am privy to that you are not. There’s no shame in your query and it does not “mock my happiness!” You are fastidious and earnest and I am a soldier content beyond measure to be privy to your command and generosity. I’ve sworn my allegiance to our friendship.
A knight’s accomplice is his word and his blade and there are some points that write home their grievances in lieu of maintenance (there was an awful suggestion of a mallet and a stump once — I think a man would die). For one wishing for a chaste kiss after a day of march or plaintive sparring there were a dozen more with gauntlets off, wringing their pale hands in anxious hope. Glades, tall grasses, and supply tents were not vacant for these vocations. There were unfortunate airs afoot to contend with among smaller battalions: not enough firm scrubbing, or Greagor forbid, companionable, ever-lasting warts (we may attribute to this rainy season). I’ve found most disenchantment has been the responsibility of imaginings. Talk is cheap, but effective (leaving also). It’s all one can do to stave off youthful boredom by testing the limits of some old dog’s patience. I found satiation and distraction in my work but tolerance was learned.
Physickers are the more scathing party and not ignorant. I have not been spared critiques or appreciations in my occupations (they are corrupt). Hardly a crevice was reported to be left un-examined or un-prodded after some fumble, and their remedies while unflattering were professional: a crystal sliver for one’s drawers to soothe (my teeth are clenched at the memory; our inventory, you’ve observed, depletes afield or in repose) and droughts to pass illness from the body. We have certainly all understood every miserable man in the entirety of Valisthea after a sip of bad water; there is little more humbling or absurd than the feverish, terrible crawl to a chamber pot to expire (so I’ve heard).
Blood is not a derivative of pleasure (nevermind anyone’s stepmother). Neither are requisites.
Sweeter things: I have seen new heights from the vantage of a wyrm. Greagor knows it’s not the wingspan nor spear, which is so hard, but surrounding it, present company, the environment — all else, all at once. I must think myself down.
There is more, but that’s enough. I feel increasingly like I could doze at this table. There are few things that exhaust me more than absence of habit. This is boring work, mostly. I walk strangely without command and my sword belt (the real one). I'll return posthaste.
Yours,
Terence
