#{ WoL: Alright well hurry up and get over here }

[voidsentprinces]

#{ shitposting } #{ I was going to say pizza but for some reason I didn't think pizza was universally beloved as soup } #{ WoL: Hello? } #{ Estinien: Hey whats up? } #{ WoL: I need your help can you come over here? } #{ Estinien: I can't I'm hunting monsters } #{ WoL: Alright well hurry up and get over here } #{ Estinien: Well I can't find them } #{ WoL: What you mean you CANT find them? } #{ Estinien: I can't find them there's only soup } #{ WoL: WELL THEN GET OUT OF THE SOUP AISLE! } #{ Estinien: Okay YOU DONT HAVE TO SHOUT } #{ WoL: ... } #{ Estinien: There's more soup! } #{ WoL: What do you mean there's MORE SOUP!?! } #{ Estinien: There's just MORE SOUP! } #{ WoL: Go to the NEXT AISLE! } #{ Estinien: There's still soup! } #{ WoL: WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW!? } #{ Estinien: I'm at Soup! } #{ WoL: What do you mean you're AT SOUP!?! } #{ Estinien: I mean I'm AT SOUP! } #{ WoL: What store are you in!? } #{ Estinien: I'm in the Soup Store! } #{ WoL: WHY ARE YOU HUNTING MONSTERS IN THE SOUP STORE!?! } #{ Estinien: FUCK YOU! }

[morocosmos]

FFxivWrite2023 Day 6 - Ring

Masterlist Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Pairings: Original Female Character(s), eventual OCxOC (F/F), Sanson Smyth, Guydelot Thildonnet, Sanson/Guydelot Rating: Teen & Up (may change) Additional Notes: Deipo is the younger sister of my WoL, Moro'a, and his only surviving family. You can read about how they were unhappily reunited here.

Much later in the evening, Sanson was at home, drying his hair off when his linkpearl rang.

"Hello?" he answered, puzzled that someone was calling him at such a late hour. "Captain!" a cheery, familiar voice greeted him, and he smiled. "Good evening, Yezih. Is there something you need?" he asked. Yezih Naharaf had been the third addition to their unit only six moons ago, fresh from the guild with Luciane's blessing and a nigh burning desire to stir hearts with hope through her music. She’d even taken to Guydelot’s unorthodox tutelage like a sylph to woodland; so well that Sanson had worried it would discourage the rest. But her confidence had instead fostered a sense of competition he didn’t know them capable of.

"Yessir! I was wondering if you'd learnt when the new instruments were arriving." As a matter of fact, Sanson had — Corgg had promised the instruments would arrive from the Carpenter’s Guild no later than tomorrow. Lothaire’s harp had finally given in to the damage it’d sustained in Ghimlyt, but both he and Ceanan were due for better instruments regardless, and Yezih was long past the novice instrument she practised with.

“With any luck, you’ll have it before your afternoon drills,” Sanson told Yezih. The barely audible yes through his linkpearl made her feelings clear. “That’s great! Thank you, ser,” she gushed. Then her voice dropped an ilm, ever so slightly shier. “Erm…I don’t suppose the other one will be ready as well, will it?”

“Corgg did not mention anything. I took it to mean that Master Beatin is still examining Rema’s fiddle, and I have long since learnt not to hurry the man with his work,” Sanson answered carefully. “Your friend can trust that it is in good hands.” There was a pause, and before Sanson could wonder if he had upset Yezih, she responded, “Alright, Captain. Night fare you well.” The Keeper hung up as quickly as she’d called.

“She was asking about her friend’s fiddle, wasn’t she?” Guydelot asked from his bedside. Sanson nodded. Few things could dampen Yezih’s mood, but this was one of them.

“Say, Chief, you reckon we should get her to talk to Deipo?” 

That gave Sanson pause. Perhaps, given the nature of Deipo’s situation…he shook his head, discounting the idea swiftly. “I cannot assign Yezih such a difficult task,” he countered. “She is far too green to be watching over a former conscript, and in more ways than one.”

“Alone, perhaps. But what if she accompanied us? It’s not like we’ve gotten anywhere trying what we have.” Sanson was firmly against the idea. Surely Deipo would eventually realise they meant her no harm; he and Guydelot only needed a better approach. 

But what if this is it? “At the very least, I would have Moro’a’s blessing before we proceeded with such an idea,” he relented. He’d think on it over the morrow, and if nothing else turned up, he would try to contact Moro’a.

#life has been fighting me #brain has been fighting me #and the writing has been fighting me #kae scribbles #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Done

Wrote a fic for the wonderful @jessabug916 featuring her WOL Aerli and Estinien. Hope you all enjoy!

Another glorious morning… Aerlinneal groaned as she tried maneuvering herself out of their bed. One more moon to go. Just one. She noticed though that her husband was nowhere to be found in their bedroom. Feet now firmly planted on the floor, Aerli debated whether to sit a few more moment or attempt to balance herself to actually get up.

“Good morning. I made you some breakfast!” Estinien announced as he carried a tray into the room. “How are you feeling?”

Aerli stared daggers at him.

“That good, huh? Well, at the very least you’ll have breakfast in bed. Toast, jam, an omelet, a few pastries, some fresh fruit…”

“I’m not bloody hungry.” Aerli growled, finally heaving herself up. “And I need to pee. Again.”

Estinien smiled. “Maybe you’ll be hungry after you pee. Never know. Either way, I’ll be here when you’re done.” He sat on the bed and took a pastry from the tray.

After a few minutes, Aerli returned, still scowling. She plopped on the bed next to her husband and attempted to nonchalantly grab a pastry.

“Ah, so you are hungry!” Estinien said happily, finishing off his own. “It’s good to keep your strength up, my love---for you and the babe both.”

The only strength I want is to push this thing out of me when the time comes. “Right.” When she finished the pastry, she took a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice from the tray. “Tell your child to stop kicking my ribs and sitting on my bloody bladder.”

Estinien chuckled and lightly caressed her belly. “Hey little one, it’s not nice to do all that to your mother, alright? She needs her rest and to relax before you arrive—”

“Which can’t come soon enough, by the way.”

“And I realize you’re running out of room, but let’s be good to your mother, okay?”

Godsdamnit, why does he have to be so fucking adorable right now? “Plans for today?”

He shrugged. “Nothing really. The nursey is all set. Shopping was done yesterday. I’ve got no tasks from Vrtra today either. We have the day to ourselves.”

Aerli sighed heavily. I just want to curl up in a ball and pray labor is quick. “You can do that what you want, Estinien, I just…”

Estinien wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, we don’t have to figure it out. And best of all, we can do absolutely nothing too.”

He’s right. We could simply relax and enjoy each other’s company…oh fuck. “Your child is on my bladder again!” Aerli groaned and hurried, as fast as she could, to the bathroom.

***

A few hours later, Aerli had decided to take a short trip into the markets of Radz-at-Han with Estinien. Where’s the stall with the kulfi? I’m seriously craving one or two or eight of those today. “Where’s the stall? I swear it was nearby—”

“Steady, Aerli. It’s…” Estinien glanced around, trying not to bump into passersby. “Oh, there’s a sign. Closed today. They’ll be back tomorrow.”

ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!?! “What?! I want kulfi, and they make the best! What the fuck?!”

“Aerli, please, we can get you something else. That stand there has Kaju ki Barfi and rice pudding. Oh, and they have a special for Gulab Jamun! What do you think—”

Estinien glanced around him and saw that his wife had stormed off. “Aerli! Wait!”

She turned and had possibly the meanest scowl on her face that Estinien had ever seen. “I. Want. Kulfi.”

He took one of her hands and squeezed it. “I’ll get you kulfi. Why don’t you sit down? I’ll be right back with kulfi and a mango lassi. How does that sound?”

Aerli growled and sat on the beautifully decorated stone bench. “Fine.”

Estinien smiled warmly, placing a kiss on her head. “I’ll be back in a few moments.” He walked back towards the stalls, leaving Aerli to stew.

I just want some fucking kulfi. Is that so difficult? IS THAT SO FUCKING HARD?!?!?!? I love you, baby. I really do. But I am so over this.

Though it felt like a thousand years, Estinien returned to his wife within a few minutes---kulfi and mango lassi in hand. Aerli greedily took the kulfi, took a bite, savored it, and then---

Spat it out.

“This is disgusting! It literally tastes rancid!” She shoved the barely eaten kulfi back at a wide-eyed Estinien and drank the lassi. “At least this is okay.”

“Aerli, I—”

“I’m going back to our quarters. I need to lie down…and fuck it all, I have to pee again!” She finished the lassi in three gulps and took the aetheryte back to the Meghaduta.

Estinien sat the bench and blinked several times before discarding the kulfi and using the aetheryte.

***

“Aerli? Are you alright?” Estinien asked from the other side of their bedroom door.

“I just want to nap.”

“Would you like company?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll be about here, so if you need me, just give a shout.”

Aerli heard him walk away and felt hot tears falling down her cheeks. I need you. I need you. I need you. Everything is awful today. No kulfi. Peeing all the time. Baby kicking my ribs. Too hot in the markets. Can’t even get comfortable in our bed. I need you. I need you. She bit back a sob and tried to fall asleep.

The tears just fell harder.

Before she knew it, she was sobbing and cradling her belly.

“Oh, my love,” Estinien murmured as he got into bed behind her. When did he---nevermind. He’s here. He’s here. “What’s the matter, Aerlinneal?”

“Just so tired of being pregnant…and I sound so bloody ungrateful…I love our baby. I really do. I love them so much, and I love you…it’s just so much and I’m so uncomfortable and bloated and feel awful…” I need you. “I just want them to be here with us.”

One of Estinien’s scarred hands gently caressed her belly. “It’s been a difficult time for you. I know this. But please, my dear Aerli, know that I am here for you always. You have not simply my lance but my heart, my strength…everything. All that I am. And I too want them here with us. I cannot wait to meet our child. Until then, use me as you see fit. I shall endeavor to make your surroundings as comfortable as possible. Would you like some pillows fluffed and placed to support you? Or shall I carry you to the gardens outside? Make you a snack? Or perhaps, a cuddle while you nap?”

Oh gods, he’s so good. Well, not good at money. But still good! She sniffled. “Hold me while I sleep? Please? I-I…need you, Estinien.”

“A pleasure to serve as always, my wife…” He rumbled, placing several kisses along her neck. “Sleep, Aerli…sleep, our child…I love you both…”

“I love you too.”

Aerli drifted into the land of dreams with her husband holding her. If paradise exists, it’s right here, right now. Perfect…oh come on.

“Fucking seven hells, I have to pee again.”

Aerli scowled as she waddled to bathroom, leaving a sniggering Estinien in bed.

#other people's wol #estinien varlineau #estinien wyrmblood #estinien x wol #wolstinien #gift fic

[allycryz]

WOL Challenge #3: You

[Prompt List Here]

[Filled Prompt List Here]

Haurchefant x Nerys, set immediately after Ardent [Ao3 Link]

Heavensward, right after Inquisition trial and before “Keeping the Flame Alive”

Rating: T for off-screen sex, sex talk

~*This is 2K words, most of it is fluff and I revel in it*~

The Fortemps library is a grand one. Haurchefant is not certain how it compares–he has only been in Haillenarte's with Francel–but imagines it is the finest in Ishgard. His father is a man of letters, a true believer in the power of words. And one who expected his sons to follow suit.

His education differed greatly from his brothers’ the day he became a knight’s page. Even still, his lord father sent him monthly parcels of books. He was expected to read them all and send detailed reports on the contents. Had he ever kept up his thaumaturgy studies, he would have been hard-pressed to find the time.

As it was, he’d stayed up often to fit in the poetry and novels not on the list. Count Edmont was a modern man and his syllabus reflected this–vetted popular authors and poets made it into the parcels. Never in the quantity Haurchefant would have liked. And never some of the one-gil books he bought in The Pillars.

When he was a boy, there were songs for sale about body functions and noises; exaggerated tales of heroes fighting all manner of beasts and foes. As a youth, these became long, violent epics of battles and bravery. As a young man: lurid poems and explicit romance novels. Some as grand and sweeping as the classical romances his Father promoted. Some were not.

He has managed to introduce some contemporary poets into the collection. Not all. Edmont’s tastes in poetry run more traditional. Some of the rising stars of the field are roundly rejected.

Haurchefant is working on that.

Today, he feels romantic in both classic and literal senses. And as his Father has ordered him to stay for a day and night, indulging in a novel sounds just the thing.  It seems that getting trapped in a blizzard–even if things had gone fine, more than fine–means your noble father turns to such decrees.

At least, that is what it means now they are growing close, as they never had been. Another miracle Nerys has wrought with her coming. And as Haurchefant has full faith in Corentiaux and the rest...he allows himself to be thus ordered. 

Someone else is in the library. He can sense it soon as he enters. A soldier learns to tell when others are near, even in safe environs such as this. Haurchefant softens his footfalls, peering about the shelves. There, in the alcove reserved for study, he finds the source of today’s romantic mood.

Nerys looks up, eyes turning soft. His heart swells in his chest, his mouth cannot help but smile. It’s unstoppable and he does not ever want it to cease. Was it really only yesterday? That she told me my love was returned?

It seems a dream now, albeit the sweetest one he has ever had.

Her hands sweep at the papers she has laid out, pulling them into a stack. Flips over the one on top. “Hello.”

“Hello, my dear.” How nice to call her that. “I thought you were on a shopping expedition with Emmanellain?”

“I was.” She touches her neckline. So caught up in her eyes, he hadn’t noticed the gown she wore.

Scarlet as the unicorn on his shield, set off with dangling garnets in her ears. The heart-shaped neckline shows off her elegant neck and collar bones. The sleeves are slashed to reveal white fabric beneath and the cuffs have delicate pearls. “I found this. For when I’m here at the manor and not about to fight Inquisitors or dragons.”

“You are breathtaking in it.” He circles the table to take her hand. Bows over it before pressing his mouth to her knuckles. Etiquette demands he should kiss the air above it but surely exceptions are made for lovers. 

She is my lover now, he thinks in wonder. Her cheeks stain with a fetching indigo shade. “My lord is kind.”

Haurchefant drops to one knee before his lady and turns her hand. Her palm is just as lovely to kiss. “Your lord means everything he says. But if you require further proof of my ardor…”

Nerys darts a glance about before tilting up his chin. Her kiss is sweet and soft and not a little heated. Would that he might lay her upon the table in this temple of learning and know her better.

Alas, Nerys has asked for discretion. Time to better acquaint themselves as lovers before declaring themselves. They are still friends–always will be, if he has anything to do with it–but this dynamic is new and strange. Haurchefant can understand why the most public figure in Eorzea might want some measure of privacy. 

Though, he reflects as he parts from her. Half the fun would be keeping quiet and avoiding discovery.

“I know that look,” she says. “You’re thinking of something lascivious.”

“When I had this look before I confessed, what did you think it meant?”

“The same,” she admits. “But that your love of innuendo was good-natured teasing.”

He heaves a sigh. Either he is not as obvious as Estinien always accuses him or she’d been in deep, deep denial. “Dearest love, how-”

The library doors bang open and the culprit whistles as he walks inside. Haurchefant rises, knowing exactly who it is before he comes into view.

“Old Girl! Old Man!” Emmanellain grins. “You didn’t tell me we were having a party in the library.”

“Impetuous Youth,” Haurchefant shoots back. “What if one of us was deep in study?”

“Oh I don’t deal in ‘what-ifs’. You two are having a conversation, not studying; ergo all is well.” 

“He has a point. I think,” says Nerys. “By the by, if Haurchefant is ‘Old Man’, what do you call your eldest brother?”

The two men exchange looks. Smile. Say in unison, “Artoirel.”

Nerys groans and flaps both hands at them in dismissal. “Go fetch whatever you two were looking for. I am actually working on something.”

“Am I to be banished for my baby brother’s crimes?” Haurchefant presses a hand to his heart. “Mistress Eluned, you wound me.”

“If I must be quiet and meek like a mouse, so must you. After all, I am the true leader of our brotherly trio.”

“You are right of course. I could never compare to you.” Haurchefant shakes his head. “Very well, Impetuous Youth. As mice scurry to cheese, let us go to the books we seek.”

“Ordered to seek,” Emmanellian mutters. “I’m to review Ymbelet’s Theorem of Command and deliver a report. As if we hadn’t put our schooling well behind us.”

Haurchefant does his best to soothe his brother. They quiet down at last: the younger man taking his volume off to his chambers, the elder settling into an armchair within eyesight of Nerys. (Far enough away that she may stop hiding her work.)

His novel is a work of popular fiction he’d garnered approval to stock here. No erotic scenes, but romantic enough. Should he ever get his eyes to stay on the page.

Alas, the white-haired sorcerer-king and his beloved princess and his soul-eating sword are no match for the Warrior of Light. The curve of her cheek. The braided coronet of purple and white hair, crowning her while the rest of her curls are a lovely raiment over her shoulders. The quirk to her dark, sweet lips.

She lifts those golden eyes, meeting him. If he were not already lovestruck and bedazzled, that gaze would ensnare him. He smiles and lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug. Haurchefant isn’t sorry for lingering before a sunset; and that natural wonder is naught in comparison.

“My lord,” says Nerys, her voice carrying. “May I help you?”

“Nay, Mistress.” He shakes his head. “Simply exist as you are and I am satisfied.”

That is when Alphinaud bursts in, looking drawn and pale. If Haurchefant is annoyed at another interruption, that vanishes at the sight. He jumps to his feet. “My lad! Are you alright?”

The youth shakes his head. “Nerys. Tataru has grave news about General Aldynn. We must be off at once.”

She rises, hurrying over in a rush of white and red silk. In an instant she has changed from playfulness to resolute determination. Always ready to become The Warrior, his Nerys. 

“Do you require anything?” He asks them. “You know my sword is yours, as is any resource at our disposal.”

Alphnaud shakes his head. “No one must see us enter Thanalan or leave. As soon as we cross back into Coerthas, we’ll send word.”

“I thank you. If you needs must bring the General somewhere safe, Camp Dragonhead’s doors are open to you.” If he must return to his command rather than fight at her side, at least he might be of some use to her. He loves–truly loves–his role but lately, his dearest wish is to be a shield at her back and a sword in her arsenal.

Ah, well, even Sorcerer-Kings do not get all they want. Why should he?

He dips into a sweeping bow to them both. Alphinaud returns it before rushing out, every emotion writ upon his usually perfect diplomat’s mask. Should the General die, the youth will carry it as he does everything else that occurred with the Braves. Haurchefant sends a prayer to Halone, asking for mercy on him.

Nerys takes his hand. Squeezes it. He squeezes it back. She smiles before picking up her skirts and rushing afterward.

It proves impossible to focus after that, even more than before. For a moment he entertains armoring up and following. This isn’t Dragonhead and so none of the knights with orders to keep him safe are here. (That time with Iceheart, Corentiaux had actually sat upon him.)

But they have asked he stay behind. So he will.

Haurchefant can take care of Nerys’ papers for her. He means to pointedly not look at the contents. He truly does. But he sees a piece of paper with his name on top, another with his last name, and his resolve crumbles.

The first piece of paper is titled “Minako” in large, neat letters. Beneath are names like Mamoru, Umino, Motoki. Her Yellow Chocobo is named Minako. Therefore, this is for…

The next sheet of paper confirms his suspicions. Under the heading “Black Chocobo” are the names Endymion, Starlight, Twilight, Onyx. Below that, a subheading “Elegance” with virtue monikers: Noble, Dignity, Charming.

And so, when he arrives to the last three papers (titled “Haurchefant”, “Greystone”, and “Fortemps”), he cannot contain his joy. The little note scribbled atop “Haurchefant” tickles him further. He gave you the Chocobo and you adore him. Will he be offended? He might be offended. 

Haurchefant is certainly not offended. 

He delights in the candidates, even some of the ones she crossed out. Sadly, there is no option for “Haurchefant” or “Haurchefant II.” I suppose that might get confusing.

Grinning, he picks up her leather folio and tucks her work inside. Hopefully, she will forgive his snooping because he has some ideas about this.

--

The Lord Commander’s bed at Camp Dragonhead may be the most comfortable place in Eorzea.

Nerys should get up to clean, brush her teeth, all the little nighttime rituals. But she is so pleasantly exhausted and the blankets are so soft and warm. She stretches, luxuriating in the feel of them against her skin. It has been a harrowing few days since her abrupt departure from Ishgard. But all is well and now, she feels nothing but comfort.

The bed could be warmer with her companion. But then she wouldn’t get to see his bare bottom as he slips into the bathroom. Halone must adore him to bless him with such a lovely rear.

“My love,” he calls after a while. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh? Should I be worried?”

“I hope not.” He returns with a washcloth, his black silk robe barely closed against the cold. The fireplace sends flickers of light across his sculpted chest.  “I may be overstepping but...I must say that I truly adore the name Grey. Though Tempsy is charming. Also, may I suggest Haurchon?”

What does he...oh. Oh! Nerys groans and buries her face in a pillow. She had been in such haste to rescue Raubahn–rightfully so!–that she had left all her papers there. All face up, all in the open.

The mattress dips as Haurchefant sits beside her. One hand strokes her hair, gentle and sweet. “I should not have pried but Nerys–my dearest one–I am utterly and truly touched by the idea. Though of course, if you pick a different name I will not be offended.”

“I only...well, I wouldn’t have him if not for you,” she mutters into the pillow, heat filling her face. “And if not for him, we wouldn’t have been in Coerthas that day.”

“So we owe him a great honor, for bringing us together at last.” His lips press against her bare shoulder. “Of course, the truest honor would be to name him after yourself-”

She turns then, mortification at last leaving her. Cups his face in her hands. “I am not playing this game where we go on for hours about who is better.  Let’s agree it’s you and end it there.”

“Oh my love,” he sighs, bending down to her. “Though you are wrong, I must obey if it proves to you the depth of my regard.”

“I know another way you could prove it,” she says, pulling him atop her.

--

Grey likes his name.

#seaswolchallenge #nerys eluned #haurchefant greystone #haurchefant x wol #emmanellain de fortemps #Alphinaud Leveilleur #they're cute! #I love them #I love writing him when he's in love #and he is so often in love #:3 #ally writes

[starswornoaths]

A Little Fall of Rain - Commission!

A commission for the always lovely @anorptron, featuring an equally lovely Sage! Thank you so much for your support! \o/

Commission info!

cw: mentions of injury, mentions of death

5.0 spoilers ahead! Emet/WoL

After the sin eater attack on Lakeland, the Scions are at an all time low. Their morale is shattered, the high of their emotional and personal victories stolen from them by Vauthry’s cruelty.

And Emet-Selch should have been happy about that, so why wasn’t he?

After raising up and guiding both the Allag and Garlean Empires with his own hands, after dedicating multiple lifetimes to serving as both the Architect that built such civilizations to soaring heights, and the Harbinger of their downfall, Emet-Selch was more than aware of the delicate balance one had to strike between benevolence and wrath. When the time was right to be gentle and nurturing to a fledgling civilization, and when to bring his might as a sorcerer of eld to bear in order to tear it down at its zenith. 

Despite being one of his more resounding successes in sowing those seeds of chaos, Vauthry had no such natural affinity for wielding his authoritarian power with any semblance of grace or dexterity. Even in victory, Vauthry couldn’t help but act as a gloating child, jeering from an overhead loud speaker attached to his personal airship. 

It didn’t even matter that they were on the same side, technically: the sound of it alone was enough to grate on Emet-Selch’s patience. 

Vauthry’s bellowing, made tinny through the speaker he was projected through, rang sharply in his ears even now, after those gaudy Eulmoran airships had long since taken off for brighter skies. Even with the heaviness of the rainfall that had happened during the battle, and the fat droplets that yet stubbornly continued to fall in the ensuing stillness, were nowhere near as weighty as the defeat they suffered, nor the weight of the insult that Vauthry heaped upon them, on top of it all.

Emet-Selch should be happy. He should be pleased with the progress that his plans have made, now that the final pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. He should have taken this victory and rode its high as long as he could and just basked in it. The sin eaters besieging the already beleaguered people of the Crystarium— at the height of their hope, no less! — should have been the definitive moment of triumph that he had always thought it would be, his just reward for having played his part so perfectly.

So why did it all ring so hollow?

The wounded and dying soldiers, battered in both body and pride, barely paid him notice as he drifted about Fort Jobb as a wraith: silent, looming, practically gliding around the writhing and the eerily still alike. It was hardly a new experience, all but floating among the dead and the dying, and he paid it no mind.

“The tragedy that has befallen you is of your own making. Divine retribution for your defiance.” He distinctly recalled Vauthry taunting.

Cruel for both the callousness of the words and the lack of truth to them; those who dwelled on the First were hardly responsible for the circumstances that led them to this point— in particular when it was the Ancients that guided them to their fate, even before the Ancients themselves fully understood how they had arbitrated over their now fractured world.

They weren’t even people, these frail, fading fragments. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t stand up to destiny. Not even the Ancients could, once.

They weren’t his concern, besides. Hawkish gold eyes scanned the crumpled forms in search of someone familiar. In search of one soul in particular, though if any of those other miscreants were scuttling about, they would do: they would all lead him back to Sage.

It was ultimately the mistrustful gunblade wielder that Emet-Selch found first. Just as well; judging by the purposeful strides he was taking, he was going somewhere in a hurry. Keen on tracking down the Warrior of Light amid the aftermath of such a struggle but not wanting to have to subject himself to this particular buffoon’s empty words and threats, the Ascian hung back and observed from the shadows, as he did best.

A ponderous frown marred his face when he realized that Thancred was not, in fact, approaching the Warrior of Light, but instead speaking with one of the less wounded Crystarium guards. What benefit of the doubt he might have been inclined to give the Scion was promptly dashed when he then moved on to checking in on that discarded little shard of Hydaelyn’s voice— she had a new name, he vaguely recalled with disinterest. With a huff of frustration, he moved on to the next Scion.

That sorceress provided more promising results, for a blessing, as she did not tarry in tracking Sage down— but then, she’d admittedly not had to look far, as he was helping one of the wounded to her for healing just as she had begun her search for him. Feeling charitable— or perhaps, pitying them when they were at their lowest, Emet-Selch silently decided that this would make them even for him ripping her out of the lifestream. 

Sage himself was unsurprisingly nondescript as he helped that granddaughter of the Exarch’s into one of the cots that had been haphazardly set up for triage of the battered battalion.

Y’Shtola clicked her tongue in admonishment, even as she helped ease Captain Lyna down with him. The moment Lyna was settled, Sage withdrew and awkwardly straightened— awkwardly, because of the way it seemed like he couldn’t quite straighten himself to his full height. As if he were too injured to do so.

“Get yourself situated in one of the empty cots, Sage. I’ll be with you as soon as—”

“I’m not wounded.” Sage lied, hands attempting to be subtle as they cradled his side.

“Sage. I’m not completely blind. Nor a fool besides.” Y’Shtola pursed her lips, displeased, even as she had already begun to examine Lyna more meticulously. “You need tending to.”

The Raen’s face crinkled in an almost endearing way. “It’s nothing that can’t wait.” He insisted, unmoving and uncompromising as ever.

After a moment of scrutiny from the corner of her eye, Y’Shtola’s shoulders slumped, ever so slightly, as if in defeat.

“I will not beg you to lean on me, Sage. If you say you are well enough, so be it.”

Even Sage seemed surprised at her words, gaze flitting to the other Scions scattered about the triage center. The young boy twin in the blue coat, he seemed the most fretful, even as he continued to weave healing magicks on a soldier lying on the cot before him, with the assistance of his carbuncle. His sister winced as she looked away. That card flinging fae lover was nowhere to be found. If Emet-Selch had cared to guess beyond his indignation, he might have conceded that the man was simply using his healing magic elsewhere. The gunblade wielder sat on one of the cots, under the watchful eye of that little Oracle girl, both of them strangely silent.

When it was clear no one was going to truly argue with him, Sage took his leave and scurried off with a relieved expression on his face. Curiously, the Scions only looked all the more troubled for his leaving, even as they made no move to go to him.

He said nothing, and for a moment longer, observed from a distance. It was a curiosity, wanting to know how the Scions took Sage so obviously wounded and limping off, even as he felt a low roiling anger in the depths of his belly at how none of them even spared him a second glance as he left. 

“I can’t heal stubbornness.” Y’Shtola all but growled, as if to herself, her focus on the injured Captain.

It surprised him to hear that frustration in her voice almost as much as her dismissal of Sage had been to begin with. 

“Sage doesn’t like relying on us, you know that.” Thancred spoke, his voice oddly soft for how brusque the man had been in all the time Emet-Selch had known him.

They must not have realized he was standing there yet, still so caught up in attending to the wounded and shoring up what tattered defenses they had.

“But we are not leaving him to suffer.” Alphinaud piped up firmly, even as he didn’t look away from his task. “Once we’ve tended to the more immediate cases, he is getting healed.”

“As if that were in doubt.” Alisaie snorted, almost indignant.

Emet-Selch’s frown deepened. They might have thought that was truly good enough, but the thought of Sage being left in obvious agony for any length of time, even for reasons like this, sat poorly with him. Even disregarding what physical wounds he had, it was clear that Sage was already in obvious agony from the light that he had already absorbed.

And his task was not yet done! None of them were! Even as wounded and bleached out beyond all recognition as Sage was, those who purported themselves to be his dearest friends would leave him languish because he’s stubborn? Unacceptable.

“Let this be a lesson to all those who would walk the path of sin— the wicked shall not inherit this world!” Vauthry’s words again echoed in his mind. On that one point, they both agreed.

The writing was on the wall: things were looking grim for the Warrior of Darkness and his cohorts. If there was ever a moment for him to determine that Sage’s cause was unworthy, his abilities lacking, it would, sensibly, be here. 

And Emet-Selch should have been happy about it, Zodiark take him. This should have been a moment to gloat.

If the Scions had at all noticed him at any point before, during, or after that, he didn’t stick around long enough to find out for himself. He had already melted into the dark, already uninterested in their petty meandering and their simpering, hand wringing uncertainty . Now that he knew where Sage was, and understood that he would not be able to well and truly enjoy this victory without knowing that his enemy was alright, there was nothing else for him to do but try to make sure Sage was hale and whole.

A complication in his plan, the Warrior of Light. Emet-Selch wasn’t supposed to care.

That fact didn’t stop him from easily catching up to Sage, didn’t stop him from emerging into the moonlight and making the effort to appear as though his arrival was entirely coincidental— or at least, antagonistic.

He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” He purred as though he happened upon Sage by complete accident.

The Raen met his gaze evenly; it would seem that there was no patience between either of them for ruses and games. Just this once, given the circumstances, Emet-Selch couldn’t find it in him to be bothered by Sage’s stoicism. It shocked them both when he reached for the Bard and caught his chin in his hand. Even as his own actions startled him, Emet-Selch refused to show it, tipping his own chin up to pointedly stare down his nose at the Warrior of Light.

“You can’t just flit to and fro with such injuries.” He clucked his tongue in admonishment, and he felt his nose wrinkle in displeasure of its own accord when Sage winced.

“...Yeah.” Sage agreed quietly. “Didn’t want to worry them, but...I’ve been better.”

That admission was enough to shock Emet-Selch down to his bones. Sage couldn’t say that to the Scions, but he could admit it to his enemy? For what? To what end? He scrambled to make sense of it— what angle was Sage trying to play, what advantage—

Sage flinched again when he tried to move, and practically bit his tongue when he jolted out of Emet-Selch’s grip to curl into himself, as if to try and shield his body from the pain. It was such a reactionary, in-the-moment movement that it would have been almost impossible to fake. 

He wouldn’t anyway, the thought occurred to him, even as he did not want it to.

Something akin to understanding, bone deep and centuries old, awakened in his chest when realization settled over him: like himself, Sage felt more comfortable being weak with someone who was an active threat to him than let himself be vulnerable in the company of his comrades. 

After a long moment where neither of them dared to move, Sage deflated around a sigh, and stole the breath from the Architect’s lungs altogether when he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the shoulder padding of his coat.

The contact made him seize up bodily in spite of himself. The two of them had always, always had distance between them, physically. It had been a safety precaution— on both their parts, he imagined— and it had been preferred. To have that line crossed, not with violence but with vulnerability, was a situation that he had never thought would come to pass. Most of all, because he never believed either of them would ever allow for such vulnerability to exist in the first place.

Most worrying of all, in particular for him, was that he was not repulsed by this new nearness, but instead bent his head down and curled, ever so slightly, into that horrifying new lack of space between them.

“...Sage?” Emet-Selch called his name quietly. He wasn’t sure whether he should be upset or not that his name felt natural to say, despite having never said it once before as anything but a curse, what few times he had said it at all.

He wasn’t even sure how that name felt on his tongue, when not wielded as a weapon to be brandished at the hero.

“Sorry.” The Bard mumbled, and swayed dangerously on his feet. “...Sorry—”

At the buckle of Sage’s knees, Emet-Selch’s arms were wrapped around him to keep him from collapsing onto himself in a heap, and though the motion made the Warrior of Light gasp in pain and clutch and claw at the back of the Ascian’s coat, Emet-Selch remained gentle, shushing him as he carefully knelt with Sage in his arms.

Every tender feeling he had buried since he had lost his first Imperial son rose to the surface, burning the otherwise numb and bitter bones of him. Even as he winced at the way it made the hollow of his chest ache, he held on just as tenderly to Sage, with no less care. In that moment, something inexplicable and undefinable had gripped his very soul, and something about the predicament they now found themselves in made Emet-Selch feel as though all he had in the world who might understand him was the man in his arms.

“Stubborn fool, playing at normalcy while you’re falling apart,” said the Architect, fond even in his insults. His voice was strangely thick with emotions he couldn’t name and daren’t examine. “What ever am I to do with you?”

Any response that Sage might have given him was cut off when he choked back a noise of pain again. He shifted, just barely, in Emet-Selch’s arms to ease the pressure off of his wounds, inadvertently pressing himself deeper in his enemy’s arms.

“Need to be strong for them.” Sage ground out, as if to chastise himself, through his clenched teeth. 

The words were half grumbled into the front of Emet-Selch’s coat, almost inaudible for what trickle of raindrops still pattered against their coats. Sage’s broad hands clutched at the back of his coat with such a desperation that he heard the thick cloth creak under the strain of his grip. He felt his heart squeeze in his throat. Even now, even beaten down so low, Sage would still wrestle with himself and rally every bit of strength he had in himself to fight. And for what? A group of ingrates that didn’t understand how much Sage mattered? Or if they saw, they did next to nothing to show it?

“No, you don’t.” He said darkly before he could stop himself. 

Sage looked up at him, but Emet-Selch was already overwhelmed, and avoided his gaze as he took a moment to swallow his heart. It still pressed hard against his throat when he spoke again, voice thick with everything he denied feeling.

“Do you not understand how tales work, hero?” He asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “I didn’t spend entire lifetimes as Emperors that built the arts just for story structure to be ignored.”

“This isn’t a fairytale, Emet-Selch.” Sage shook his head, still trying— and failing— to keep himself from grimacing. 

“Isn’t it?” He challenged. “Or have you already forgotten your role, hero? This is your low point. Your rock bottom before the triumphant rise. This is no time for you to hide your wounds away and act tough, or else you won’t be ready for the finale.”

The silence that Sage answered him with stretched on, marked only by the faint pitter patter of raindrops trickling down from the heavens again, inconsistent and faint as they were. It barely registered to the two men huddled around one another. Almost nothing else mattered but them in that moment.

At that point, there wasn’t much left to matter outside of them, for how thoroughly beaten down and all but decimated the Crystarium’s resistance was.

Sage looked up at him, and it was so, so hard to hold that piercing gaze when he was looking up at him so imploringly. Those eyes were too familiar for him to dismiss as a stranger’s gaze, but too different to let himself believe that he was fine with settling for this shard of his former friend. 

Too enchanting to pull away from.

“If you keep staring at me so, hero...I might think you are expecting something.” Emet-Selch managed around the lump in his throat. 

With the ongoing history of Sage flustering at such ribbing, he’d been all but praying to Zodiark that another such instance would be enough to snap the Warrior of Light out of such a state. Anything to bring back that tinge of strangeness with this new-old friend of his.

“A kiss, maybe.” 

Sage’s lips had barely wrapped around the last of his words before the look on his face told Emet-Selch all he needed to know: he had not meant to say that. The slack, shocked expression, the way his body tensed impossibly more, even through the agony and the injury, was enough for Emet-Selch to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was no ploy, no feint to try and catch his enemy on the back foot; in truth, Emet-Selch wasn’t even sure there was anything Sage could do in his condition, even if the doubt had been given any chance to take proper root in his mind.

Sage truly meant it. He wanted to kiss him. He might have laughed had he not been sent reeling by the revelation.

“And why would you want that, exactly? From me, no less?” He snorted before he could stop himself. When Sage tried to duck his head, Emet-Selch’s gloved hand shot out to hold his face there by the chin to force him to maintain their eye contact; if he couldn’t look away, then neither could Sage. “Ah, ah, ah, honesty is preferable among allies, is it not?”

“‘M no fool, Emet-Selch. I know this means all bets are off between us.” Sage ground out around another wince of pain. “Is it so awful to want a soft goodbye?”

Somehow, despite how adept he was at laying out blueprints for a plan aeons in advance, the thought hadn’t even occurred to the Architect, to end their alliance here. After one loss, even one as catastrophic as this? Even as Sage’s purported enemy, that struck him as grossly uncharitable, even were he to not account for the victories that had led the Scions here.

“Were you not listening, hero?” He sneered down his nose at the battered Bard. “I told you. This is your low point. Your rock bottom before the triumphant rise.”

When Sage opened his mouth— to retort, to gawk, it didn’t matter— Emet-Selch sealed it with his own.

Despite the man asking for it, Emet-Selch expected some level of resistance, some sort of tension, something to imply that Sage had some sort of misgiving. Something to tell him that this was wrong, that they were wrong for bridging that divide between enemies in search of something softer. 

There was no sign to be found, and its absence doomed them both.

Sage all but melted into him, those large hands of his moving in the scant space between them to clutch and claw at his robes, to pull him closer, as if breathing him in would be enough to mend the wounds and the light that have ravaged his body. His grip was so strong, Emet-Selch could hear the leather and the dense fabric of his coat creak between his fingertips. For a moment, it felt as though it were his heart that Sage was squeezing for the rush of endearment that hit him. It was enough for him to cup Sage’s face in his gloved hand, enough to inspire gentleness in him that he had long forgotten.

When had he last kissed someone, and so earnestly? His last wife, when he was the young Garlean Emperor, perhaps, but even then, his attachments to mortals were typically ephemeral, fleeting. He had made the mistake of loving the families he had helped to build, only for them to be lost to him all over again. As if Zodiark himself punished him for straying, for forgetting his first family, from an all but forgotten time when he didn’t know the fear of losing those he loved. 

Sage should have been no different. He should have been a passing curiosity, a flickering comet streaking across the night sky, momentary and easily forgotten. Not this...this aching, raw reminder of the person he used to be, even as every detail that did not match the friend he remembered was as a knife to his heart. 

There was a passing temptation, an itch, beneath Emet-Selch’s skin to rip his gloves off, to feel the Warrior of Light’s skin and scales beneath his fingertips— but that would require him letting go of Sage. The thought of it rankled something dark and possessive, awakened that long slumbering want to covet and keep. 

That wriggling want nestled itself beside that longstanding ache for the one that came before, the one that had shattered into so many fragments and scattered them among the stars. That this fragment was warm and familiar and solid was enough to stir Zodiark into pulling hard at the back of his mind— remember. Remember who you have lost. Remember who I can yet save.

Emet-Selch buried all of it— the whispers of his Lord, the almost-familiarity, the passing impulse, and his fingers, all in Sage’s hair when he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. It was hard to block out all of those warring thoughts, the thundering of his own heart, all of it, but the taste of Sage on his tongue made that struggle worthwhile.

In truth, it was harder for either of them to know where one ended and the other began anymore— or what any of this meant for them going forward. 

It startled him, how reluctant he was to pull away from Sage. By all rights, it should have been nothing but a performative gesture, a hollow token of false affection. It should have made him feel nothing. As it stood, it felt like he were drowning, it felt like he could not breathe for fear of letting even more of Sage into his very being, but he couldn’t help but gasp deeper between kisses. Intoxicated, he could only let Sage rest his weight bodily against him and hold him as tightly as he dared for Sage’s injuries.

With some paltry space between them, Emet-Selch thought, however foolishly, however desperately, that he might regain some of his good sense. But then Sage took longer than him to open his eyes, and oh, but that dreamy, dazed expression and the slow blink at him was almost enough to inspire further foolishness and kiss him again. He was fearful that he would never stop, and they would never get anywhere.

The expression on Sage’s face made it plain that there was something he wanted to say, but a worrying pop from somewhere around his hanging ribs sent him flinching as far away as the circle of Emet-Selch’s arms allowed him with a gasp of pain. It was enough to remind Emet-Selch that he was in desperate need of care. Care that he had run from when it was offered— the sweet fool. Such a pitiful state didn’t suit him.

When Emet-Selch tutted in gentle admonishment, Sage stilled, and again, those eyes captivated him, even wide and gawking as they were. Even the facade of irritability couldn’t withstand such an earnest expression, and he gentled, the hand that had held Sage’s face close once more bridging the distance between them, molding to his cheek. Even as he couldn’t feel much through his glove, he smoothed his thumb back and forth across Sage’s cheekbone.

“Mark me, hero,” Emet-Selch said softly, in the most authoritative tone he could muster, even knowing that he couldn’t muster much in the wake of the tumultuous tides of his heart. “This maudlin pall ill suits you. This is not the end— not of your struggles, and thus, not of our truce.” 

Sage’s expression twisted into one of pain again— emotional and physical both— and a part of Emet-Selch hated that he had to put such a weighty mantle on his shoulders again. Even on opposing sides of the conflict, it was undeniable that the both of them were the Scions of their people. The last bastion of hope and love and grief, meant to stem the tide of the other. 

Despite the inevitability of their fate, Sage was brilliant enough to make Emet-Selch dare to hope, even through the tempering and his own resignation at their destined clash.

And the Warrior of Light needed that hope to be rekindled in him, to spur him to go on, Emet-Selch realized, and made a point to look down his nose at Sage as he gripped his chin to force his gaze to stay on him.

“If you’re so desperate to beg your enemy for a kiss, then let me promise you another, when you can show me the night sky in Kholusia.”

Sage’s eyes widened impossibly further. His mouth opened to try and speak, but even through feeling the muscle of his jaw as he tried to work out what words to say, Emet-Selch didn’t let go of his chin.

“Sage!” Another voice called out breathlessly, shattering whatever spell they had cast on one another.

It was enough to get Sage to wrench his head free of Emet-Selch’s grasp. He snapped his focus to his approaching comrade— the astrologian one, for the life of him, Emet-Selch couldn’t find it in him to care enough to remember his name.

“Urianger—” Sage gasped.

Ahh, that had been his name, then. Or perhaps a choked back sneeze. Emet-Selch didn’t particularly care one way or the other in that moment.

Though a part of Emet-Selch was relieved to have the trance they had fallen into broken, it still startled him how much of himself was so reluctant to extricate himself from Sage; he had thought that the moment he remembered himself, it would be repulsed by his own behavior, his own fondness— weakness— for Sage, but even in that moment as he saw the elezen approach, he could only mourn the end of this moment for what it was.

Still, it wouldn’t do to let that weakness be visible— as the Ascian Architect, Emet-Selch had a reputation to uphold, after all. Though he, too, had turned his head in the direction of the approaching Scion, he glanced back at Sage, still loosely in his grip, from the corner of his eye. Half out of habit, and half out of fondness, the corner of his lips curled into a grin on its own.

“Best get to it, then, hero.” He said. “I’m an impatient paramour. Tick tock.”

Sage couldn’t stop himself from tightening his hold on the front of Emet-Selch’s coat in a desperate bid to keep him there, even as he knew better than to hope that the Architect wouldn’t fade into the shadows, out of his reach.

Again.

All the same, he clung to that comforting, somehow familiar presence until it literally slipped through his fingers, wisps of smoke and shadow and not of this world. A grim reminder of their differences— and of what fate will have in store for them, should Sage fail to hold up his end of their agreement.

He opened his hand, staring down at his empty palm, and tried not to contemplate such grim thoughts. 

When Sage tried to stand on his own, he was reminded of the other wounds he bore that forced him to his knees in the first place. For a blessing, rather than having to brace for crashing back to earth after barely managing more than a crouch, it was Urianger’s arm looped through his arms, around his back, that kept him from that jarring impact.

“Be at ease— I have thee.” Urianger reassured, the arm not holding him upright as he straightened glimmering with starlight and gently laid over Sage’s chest. “Thou mayest seek the comfort of the Architect, as is thy prerogative, I wouldst only beg thee to not do so to escape relying on thy friends.”

“Uri—” Sage winced, tempted to avert his eyes.

“I beseech thee, hark to mine words: we art here for thou, as comrades and family alike. We always have been, even as we hath failed to support thee as we should have.”

Maybe it was Urianger’s healing magic, but even his words acted as a balm on Sage’s battered soul. Reluctant as he might be to believe it, he could only look at the evidence— and when he forced his head up at the sound of more approaching footsteps to see Y’Shtola, Alphinaud, and Thancred in tow, he couldn’t help but believe that they truly wanted to bridge that gap that had always been there, between them.

“Forgive our delay— we only waited so long as we did for the Crystarium healers to arrive.” Y’Shtola spoke, her voice much gentler than it had been when Sage left them at the triage tents. “Alisaie is preparing a bed for you with Chessamile as we speak. Come, let us help you.”

“No need for the fuss—” Sage tried to insist, when Thancred, swift as the wind itself, swooped in— quite literally— to lift Sage’s legs so he was suspended between himself and Urianger’s efforts.

“Sage, you might not open up to us as much as we might hope, but we’re not stupid. There is absolutely a need for the fuss. Now let us fuss.”

Alphinaud nodded in agreement, but his efforts were focused on joining his healing magic to Urianger’s. Even just the immediate relief of not feeling any of the pain from his wounds was enough to flood Sage’s every sense with contentment, though that feeling was immediately chased with the sheer exhaustion he hadn’t been able to feel through the pain and the stubbornness and his own aching heart, twisted and conflicted and longing as it was for a living shadow now beyond his reach.

“All will be well, Sage. Thou needs but have faith.” Urianger promised him, as he had done for Ryne before him.

As he faded off, rocked to sleep by the gentle swaying of Urianger’s and Thancred’s coordinated footfalls, Sage made a desperate wish: let me one day believe that, even as he had just enough faith to fall asleep in their company and know that he was safe and taken care of. Between the healing magic and the calm that swept through him, it was easy to drift away to slumber, even as he could feel the little pinpricks of raindrops tapping at his skin and scales.

He paid it no mind. What was a little fall of rain, after all?

#injury cw #death mention cw #ffxiv #writing commissions #anorptron #Sage Bradley #Emet-Selch #5.0 spoilers #shadowbringers spoilers #thank you again for the commission!!! #this was so fun to work on and your boy is such a joy to write! #poor sage ;m; plz let people love youuuuu.......

[keeperprinceling]

Girl Next Door AU No WoL business, just two Keepers who randomly ended up living next door to each other~

featuring @menphinasbow

She was just… the girl next door.

She had a garden, and a thing for moogles. 

Sometimes she sang to herself while she weeded. Sometimes he stopped to listen. 

Sometimes she sat on her steps, leaned her head against the white stone wall, and watched the sea until the sun sunk below the horizon. Sometimes she fell asleep on her beach chair and he’d see her there when he got in. 

Sometimes she’d say ‘hi!’ when she saw him. Sometimes he’d wave in her general direction.

They were neighbours. She was pretty, he was busy. 

--------------------------

His foot paused on the stair as he heard the scream. It didn’t sound so much in immediate life-threatening danger as surprised and potentially-but-not-incredibly hurt, so he hesitated. He was tired. It’d been a long day and he just wanted to get inside, get undressed, and relax. Honestly, she was bound to have a linkshell and someone else would be along to check on her. But… feeling the weight of the carbuncle’s gaze, he looked down at its wide, black eyes, and begrudgingly nodded nevertheless. He’d check it out. It scampered off across the grass, hopped his fence, and disappeared into his neighbour’s yard towards the sound. Keeping hold of his bag, he followed, vaulting over the fence to land in her lower-leveled lawn, pushing off hard enough with his hand to miss landing on her little carbuncle-themed bench; he picked himself up from his crouch and found the carbuncle nowhere in sight, but her window was open, so that’s probably where it went. He leaned towards it and found the inside of her cottage a mess, piles of books strewn everywhere - an empty toppled-over bookshelf looking the culprit.

“Are you alright?”

Movement among the books turned out to be a hand, his carbuncle appearing behind the books to sniff it delicately, neverminding its added aetherial weight to the pile that buried her. He took the little twitch of her fingers as permission to come in and used the unlocked front door to enter, quickly but gingerly stepping over the mess to get to the bookshelf and lift it off her, setting it back against the wall before reaching down to help her up, books shedding off of her like water. He offered her his support to make it to her sea-green couch and helped her ease down onto its cushions. She thanked him, he replied he was glad he could help; he was too tired to flirt and her family name wasn’t right for it anyway so he didn’t put effort into being charming. She explained she had been redecorating. He slyly suggested she might have wanted to remove a few more books first. She sighed in a long-suffering way that he enjoyed; he offered to help clean up the mess. She refused - he had helped her more than enough already, she didn’t want to take up too much of his time, especially after work. His carbuncle practically sprawled in her lap. He called it and it came; he suggested she get someone else to help her move the heavy stuff in the future. She nodded but didn’t look too enthused with the prospect. She wished him a good night, he did the same. He left. 

-------------------------

The knock at his door was unexpected. The sunlight streaming through his blinds unwelcomed. He wanted to roll over, bury his head in his pillow, and go back to sleep, but a second knock made him check to make sure his linkpearl was still seated in his ear - which it was. So the knocker wasn’t someone from work. Which meant he could ignore them. … but he was already awake now, and the slight chance that they could be family made him roll up out of bed. He padded up the stairs, running a hand through his hair and pulling a shirt on over his head to look halfway presentable in this indecent hour before opening the door. It was the neighbour-girl; she had half-turned away, as though about to give up, but turned back to him with a smile when he answered and held out a basket of… muffins? Thanks for helping her before, she explained. He invited her in - he didn’t know what else to do in that situation. He made tea and brought out some preserves and butter, plates and flat knives. She sat at his little kitchen table, sunlight drenching her, and followed him with her eyes, asking questions about his choice of tea - he had it because it was familiar - and preserves - again, familiar - and how long he had been out of the Shroud - something he hadn’t specifically shared? He didn’t even know her name. She felt it wasn’t that hard to figure out, and he had to give her that. He asked about where she was from - she didn’t have the feel of a traditional Keeper about her - and she replied vaguely “here and there”. They ate muffins and drank tea and talked small. He found out she taught younger children in the city and volunteered with orphans in Limsa Lominsa, and she adored the sea, but he already knew that part, at least. She asked about his job - guild Arcanist - and how he got to Limsa from the Shroud - long story - and complemented the tea. 

Her name was Yvaine, and sometimes her nose crinkled when she thought something was funny, but not quite funny enough to make her laugh. He would be helping her move that bookshelf in exchange for some “amazing” Ul’dahn delicacy. He didn’t like the sound of foreign food, but he had nothing else planned for the day, and it had been his suggestion she find someone to help her. And she brought muffins. He couldn’t say no.

------------------------

Her cottage was a lot more organized the second time he entered it. The books were stacked neatly around the room with enough space to move the bookcase over to an adjacent wall, between two windows. She welcomed him in and apologized for the mess anyway, and explained her plan for the bookshelf, the couch, the desk, and a few small pieces of furniture besides. They got to work. 

Her eyebrows furrowed when she concentrated. Whenever they finished moving something she would stand back with her hands on her hips and really look at the design before she decided that was where it belonged. She got them glasses of water when they finished moving the larger pieces and took a break, and when she drank she closed her eyes - but she must have felt him looking, as she kept them open the second sip, looking out the window at the roses she had planted. There was framed art on her walls - some that were rather well done, others that were obviously painted by children, signed with a large, unpracticed script. Some of the stick figures in the artwork were obviously her, with the teal tail and ears and hair, often accompanied by dots for eyes and a big smile. Sometimes music notes were attempted in the air beside her, sometimes she had something like an instrument in her hand. He pointed them out, asked if she played, and she smiled fondly at the picture, or the memory of the child who drew it, and replied that she was good with a hand-harp and the flute, that she used to sing at taverns to earn a living when she was a little younger. He… couldn’t picture her in a tavern, but then he really only knew of Buscarron’s Druthers and the place with the Mizzenmast in Limsa. He could easily picture her earning a living with her voice, though. But he didn’t say that. 

They moved her desk, and he asked who taught her to sing. They rearranged chairs as she asked him how he ended up an arcanist. They unrolled a new rug - the reason behind the entire rearrangement - and he asked her… about moogles, as the rug was nice and understated but for the mythical creatures that adorned its corner edges. She smiled wide, but admitted rather sheepishly - her shoulders shrugging slightly - that she thought she had seen one before, once when she lived near Gridania, but, beyond that, she thought they were cute, and she was much less bashful admitting that fact than her earlier admission. She liked to have cute things in her house, she stated proudly, and he couldn’t help smiling with her.

The room was rearranged before the end of the day - including placement little plush dolls and figurines to adorn the bookshelf they had put back together - and she begged a postponement of the promised meal to go for a quick swim to cool off. In his opinion, he swam too often for work as it was, and the idea of seeking a swim for enjoyment had never once crossed his mind, but she laced her fingers and to deny a request like that was impossible to do politely, so he agreed. He intended to head home and relax for a bit, but he barely had time to take off his shoes when there was a knock at his door and Yvaine stood there in a swimsuit with a towel thrown over one shoulder, urging him to hurry up when she saw he was still fully clothed. He felt turning her down would cause more of an issue than playing along, so while she stood on his lawn in her sandals, sun hat, and dark glasses, he changed into a loose short-sleeved shirt and long shorts, deeming them good enough, and eventually joined her. She made a face at his choice but didn’t say anything as she led him down the short walk from the white cobblestoned path to the beach, dropped her towel, and made immediately for the water. He joined her, but far less enthusiastically.

She had learned to swim when she was still small. For a good portion of her growing up, she hadn’t been near the beach for very long, though, but loved it so much she had been determined to live by the sea one day, and here she was. She swam like a fish. He waded in up to his waist and considered the task complete. She floated peacefully as the sun set and stars started to appear, and he reveled in the coming of the night, relaxing muscles he never realized he had been tensing during the day. He still wasn’t used to a diurnal schedule. She had never been nocturnal, despite her heritage, but admitted to enjoying the ability to see better in the dark than everyone else. He felt… odd, that that was her only takeaway. But then she was getting cold, and deemed it time for dinner, and led him ashore to dry off. 

She met him at his place a little later, damp but in dry clothes with all the ingredients for the meal she promised, which she made in his kitchen. She hummed when she cooked. She seemed surprised by his offer to assist and assured him this was payback for his help, but he got their places set and stirred things in passing anyway. They talked about food, and cooking experience, and first cooked meal experiences, the good and the bad and the disgusting. She refused the idea that any food was inherently gross, saying that it tasted good to someone otherwise they wouldn’t be making it, but he stood firm in his belief that some things just shouldn’t be eaten. 

Her meal was spicy and flavorful and he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not - the taste was so different his immediate response was that he didn’t care for it, but the company was nice and so enthusiastic about its taste he was sure that, to someone, it tasted delicious, so he ate it all with her. They had sweetbread for dessert; she very obviously liked dessert.

When she left she thanked him for helping her redecorate. He thanked her for the meal. She smiled. He smiled. They wished each other goodnight. 

--------------------

At work the next day he saw a little unicorn figurine, part of a whole lot being imported from Ishgard, and bought one off the seller once the merchandise was cleared.

He didn’t see her when he got home, and the lights in her cottage were out, so he placed it in her mailbox for her to find when she got back.

-------------------

With talks of another pirate raid on the winds, he was away from home for an entire week. When he returned he found a handful of colorful seashells on his garden wall that made him smile. He looked over at her house, but in the middle of the day on a Watersday, she was probably out. He took the largest of the conical shells with him and put it on an end table before falling into bed, very much enjoying how it did not rock to and fro.

When he woke, hours and hours later, he needlessly ventured out into his yard, the moon a heavy gibbous overhead, and breathed in the quiet night… and smiled, because it wasn’t so quiet. A song hummed in the breeze and he wandered over to the fence between their yards and saw her there, tending to some exotic bloom that glowed in the night. He asked what it was called. She nearly jumped in surprise at his voice, exclaiming that he was back with the same breath so she sounded surprised, but quickly cleared her throat to play it off, even as he smirked down at her from his higher vantage point, arms crossed and leaning on his garden wall. She answered his question, asked how he was. He replied vaguely - long story - and returned the question. She answered positively and quickly looked back at him as though wanting to ask him something else but decided against it. He… didn’t want that, so he prompted the question. She offered him a way out if he didn’t want to answer, but asked more about his job - the open water, the pirates, the danger, what attracted him to that profession. He started to answer her without trying to talk himself or the job up, but the open interest in her face and her reactions to what he considered mundane was just too much to let go; he started to embellish portions to make the stories - already occasionally larger-than-life - more and more unbelievable, but her eyes kept getting wider and wider as she accepted it all at face value. He couldn’t help making it seem a little more dangerous than it was, drawing her further and further in, her gardening all but forgotten as she ended up standing on the other side of the bench against her garden wall, so close that he could reach out and pat her head if he wanted to, but instead he just leaned closer, quieting to add more drama and make the tale more intimate. It was when he revealed the leader of a nefarious pirate crew to be none other than Leviathan, the Lord of the Whorl, did she suddenly wise-up to his yarn-spinning. Her brows first furrowed in fear, but then angled down in disbelief, and her mouth turning from a small “o” of fearful disbelief, and then an “o” for disbelief of an entirely different sort. She frowned at him and crossed her arms in front of her chest, her tail lashing warningly as he laughed and apologized. 

“You’re tricky, Khit’li Mewrilah,” she stated accusingly as she turned back towards her gardening. 

He softly replied to add that she was a little bit gullible, and she ‘tsk’d him as she knelt back down. He smiled down at her, but she was pointedly ignoring him now. He chuckled, apologizing again, and told her it wasn’t all made up before he wished her a good night. Once he had cleared sight of her she called after him, asking which parts were true, and he called back, his heart fluttering in his chest, that she’d just have to ask him again another time.

ANYWAY I enjoyed myself xD ♥ Maybe I’ll continue it in the future \o/

#ffxiv #finalfantasyxiv #story #khit'li and yvaine #check out 'The Full Story' on his page #for more shenanigans~

[astrangeevent2002]

Shadow (Young!Sirius Black x Female!Reader)

A/N: This request was so interesting that I just had to do it!!!

Warnings: maybe swearing (I can't really remember)

Word Count: 1,652

Requested?: yasss

Could you please do a Sirius x reader where you and him don't really get along in person but you're quite fond of his animagus even though you don't know it's him. And then stuff happens? Not naughty stuff but cute stuff

Blurb: (Y/N) hates Sirius. And he hates her. But what happens when she tells the cute dog that's been following her her true feelings about Sirius.

It was a normal afternoon. James was hitting on Lily. Remus was reading. Alice and Frank were awkwardly talking to each other. And you... You were in the middle of a very heated argument with Sirius.

What were you arguing about this time? Godric knows...

It didn't really matter. What matters is that you were right and he was wrong.

"But it's not! That's why you're wrong!" you practically yelled at Sirius.

"Geez! Can't you just admit that you're wrong and I'm right?" he replied, getting frustrated.

"No, I can't actually because I'm not wrong. You are!" you jabbed his chest violently.

He turned around and started walking away.

"Where are you going? I'm not done with you yet," you yelled.

"Well I am," he answered without turning around. Then he continued walking.

"Awww. The couple's bickering again," said James.

"We are not a couple!"

"Sure you're not," Lily said sarcastically as James poked your cheek.

You slapped his hand away. "We really aren't! He's just being an ass again."

"Well hurry up guys. I'm hungry," shouted Peter while motioning for all of you to hurry up.

You groaned. Where the hell was it?

You were looking for your shoe. You had one on but had no idea where the other one was.

You plopped on the common room sofa face first.

As you were about to give up and just not go to Hogsmeade you felt something wet touch your hand.

Immediately you pulled your hand away from whatever it was and sat up straight.

Looking at the thing you realised what it was.

It was a dog. An adorable, black dog.

It was just sat there with your shoe in its mouth.

"I'll take that thank you," you said reaching for your shoe.

The dog just moved away from your hand. Just out of your reach.

"Hey!" you stood up and walked toward the dog.

Every time you got closer it moved away from you until you were practically chasing it around the common room.

"Give that back! Right now!" it didn't seem like it was going to stop anytime soon.

Just as you were about to get it you tripped over a cushion that must've fallen off the couch when you stood up. You fell face first to the ground.

You looked up and saw the dog stalking off and out of the common room making a noise that sounded a bit like laughter.

The next few weeks the dog would follow you around the castle and even went to Hogsmeade on the weekend a couple times.

It was like your little shadow. So that's what you decided to call it 'Shadow'.

The first time you called it that it didn't seem to like the new name much but too bad. You liked it.

Also, arguments with Sirius had gotten worse. Now you argued over every petty thing you could think of.

But he was just such a dick sometimes. Well... most of the time.

"Here Shadow!" you called to the dog who lazily walked over to you.

It was a particularly quiet day. Most people had gone to Hogsmeade.

It was just you and Shadow. Sat in front of the fire in the common room.

It was peaceful.

Then you heard a loud crash outside. Immediately you rushed to the window to see what happened.

All you could see was Professor Slughorn covered from head to toe in bright green gunk.

Almost instantly you realised that it was probably the work of the 'Marauders' as they liked to call themselves. You thought that was a stupid name.

You thought of how annoying Sirius was sometimes as you sat back down on the couch.

"You know, Shadow, Sirius Black can be such a prick sometimes. Well, most of the time. But he's not that bad. He can be a decent person some of the time. I'd like him if it wasn't for the fact that he's an insufferable jerk who loves to argue and refuses to admit when he's wrong." you ranted to Shadow who sat in exactly the same place as before.

"Shh guys! You're going to wake her up!" you heard someone whisper shout. The voice sounded familiar.

You felt yourself being carried by somebody but you were too tired to open your eyes.

"Aww! Sirius, you look so cute together!" whispered a voice you recognised instantly. Lily.

With that, you made the effort to open one eye. Looking up you saw a mop of messy black hair and a very angry looking face.

You snuggled closer to Sirius' chest. Wait...

Sirius was carrying you!

As quick as a flash your eyes shot open.

"Oh, you're awa-"

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" you shouted, trying to get out of his grip.

He carefully put you down and started explaining.

"I saw you sleeping and didn't want to wake you up. That's all."

"Oh. Alright then," you replied and straightened your top. "Well, in that case, goodnight," you said.

You quickly turned on your heel and marched off towards the girl's dormitories.

Over the next few days, Sirius had actually been pretty decent. He'd opened doors for you, gave up his seat for you at dinner and even smiled at you a few times.

That's not to say that he'd stopped teasing you. He was just finally civil with you.

That made you suspicious. Very suspicious. But what really gave it away was the argument you had, or rather didn't have, on your way to potions that week.

"Oi! Black!" you yelled down the corridor.

He turned around and you ran to catch up to him.

"What a pleasure to see you (Y/L/N)."

You eyed him up wearily.

"Yeah... Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that your shirt was untucked."

"Oops! I'll fix it now." he said calmly and started tucking his shirt in his trousers.

"And has your hair ever been within 5 feet of a hairbrush?"

"I've been meaning to get a haircut actually." he acknowledged.

"Urgh. What is wrong with you?" you yelled frustratedly.

"What do you mean?" Sirius looked at you confused.

"I mean why aren't you arguing with me? We haven't had an argument in forever. What is up with you? You're being a decent human being now?"

After your rant, Sirius just laughed as you stared at him. Why was he laughing at you?

"Would you like to tell me what you find so funny?"

"You-" he said in between chuckles "you're mad at me because we haven't had an argument?"

"Yeah?" you realised that it did sound kind of stupid when he said it out loud.

"Wow! Now you're being ridiculous! I thought you liked me being nice."

"Why would I like you anyway?" you asked. You had never given any sign that he had a chance of even being acquaintances.

"Well seeing as you like me when I'm not being a- how did you put it? oh, 'an insufferable jerk who loves to argue and refuses to admit when he's wrong'? That's right."

Wait. You had said that. But not to him. How did he know?

"Wait. I never told you that!"

You looked up at him but he was gone.

A few days later you finally thought you figured it out. So you confronted Sirius.

"I know you overheard my conversation," you stated matter of factly as Sirius jumped because of your sudden appearance next to him.

"Could you be a bit more specific? I've overheard a lot of your conversations," he replied.

"Wait! What conversations?" you asked suddenly interested.

"That's private," he answered smugly. "Anyway, what conversation are you referring to?"

"The one I was having with Shadow," you informed him.

"Ah yes. Shadow the mysterious dog I've never seen but you keep going on about."

"She's real if that's what you're implying." you snapped.

"I wasn't implying anything sweetheart but it's funny that you should call the dog a she."

Sirius returned his gaze to the wand in his hand which, quite clearly, wasn't his.

"Why is that funny? The dog is a she so-"

"It's not a she." he interrupted.

"It's a dude?"

"Yeah."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"How would you know anyway? You said you never saw the dog," you recalled.

"Well how could I?" he smirked.

"What?" you were very confused right now.

"Well how can a person see themselves?" he asked before swaggering off and leaving you more perplexed than ever.

"He was being so stupid today!" you said to Shadow. Obviously referring to the bane of your life, Sirius Black.

You explained to her what he did this time.

"And I just don't get it. What does he mean 'How can a person see themselves?'" you said imitating his deep voice.

Shadow just barked.

You stroked the dog gently.

"Well, I'm off to bed. Goodnight Shadow."

You stood up and started walking up the stairs to the girl's dormitory.

You were stopped however by a small, nervous cough.

You turned around and saw Sirius Black stood in the common room.

"What are you-"

"I told you 'Shadow' wasn't a she."

Just as you were about to ask what he means he transformed into the black dog you had befriended. He stalked up to you and licked your hand.

"You're an animagus?" you guessed as he returned to his human self.

"Exactly." Sirius moved closer to you.

"So you heard everything I said about you?" you facepalmed.

"Yes. And you seem to really like talking about me, sweetheart."

Sirius gently removed your hands from your face.

"And I've got to say I didn't mind. At least now I know you sort of like me back."

"Wait-" you let your brain process that. "You-"

"I like you (Y/L/N). A lot."

Before he could say anything else you pressed your lips to his and kissed him like you had wanted to for the past few months. Happy that your feelings were requited.

"Does that mean you'll be my girlfriend?"

"Yes. You dork."

Bonus:

"Hey, Remus, Lily, Peter! Get in here now."

The three others rushed into the common room just as you pulled away from Sirius. You were both startled by the sudden intrusion.

"I knew! I knew it!" Lily yelled, running away before you could stop her.

Tags:

Sirius Black:

@mycobrakai1972

@bear105

Permanent:

@mindofthescattered

@dygalome

@wolfdragon0424

@siriusement

HP Universe:

@hope-became-knowledge

#black #black x reader #dog #gryffindor #gryffindor reader #gryffindor!reader #harry potter #hp #imagine #imagines #marauder #marauders #marauders era #marauders imagine #marauders oneshot #oneshot #oneshots #reader #reader insert #request #requested #shadow #sirius #sirius black #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x female!reader #sirius x reader #sirius x fem!reader #sirius x female!reader #sirius orion black

[eliniei]

Naughts and Crosses - An A!WoL fic

Summary: Upon discovering Lahabrea asleep in his office, Hythlodaeus convinces his dearest friend to play a game with him.

A/N: Prompt idea came from a tweet made my ValriaRei, here.

Word Count: 2971

Masterlist: here Ao3: here

“Lahabrea?”

I knocked on the door that led to the Speaker’s office and waited for him to either answer or bid us enter. When I received no response, I pursed my lips and looked over my shoulder at Hythlodaeus, who tilted his head.

“Lahabrea, sir?” I called again.

Nothing.

“Is he not in?” I hummed and shrugged my shoulders. 

“It doesn’t look like it,” I replied with a sigh, looking down at the large book in my arms. “Now what do we do? He wanted this manuscript right away.”

“I suppose...we could just leave it on his desk,” my companion offered, reaching past me to turn the handle. My eyes widened and I tried to shove him out of the way. 

“‘Daeus!” I whispered forcefully. “You can’t just enter his office without-”

Before I could stop him, he pushed the door open. I sucked in a deep breath and held it as the hinges squealed. Hythlodaeus looked down both sides of the hallway, watching for any unwanted company. 

When no one came, I exhaled in relief. He nodded his head towards the office.

“Well, go on.” I hesitated, clutching to book tightly to my chest, insides twisting in knots.

“What if he-”

“He’s not going to be mad,” he insisted. “And if he is, I’ll take the blame.” I clicked my tongue and rolled my eyes.

“That is not comforting in the least, you know.” He chuckled quietly and pressed against me, nudging me forward with him. 

“Come on,” he ordered again. “I’ll go with you if it’ll make you feel better.” I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment before finally giving in with a nod.

“Fine,” I sighed. “But we put it on the desk and leave immediately.” I eyed him warily from the corner of my eye. “ Nothing more .” One side of his mouth tugged upward at my pointed statement. 

“Oh, alright,” he agreed. I examined his masked face, trying to judge his sincerity before nodding. 

The both of us poked our heads inside and glanced around. 

A large desk sat right in front of the door, its surface cluttered with papers and quill pens, and multiple stacks of books towered above us. A cushioned desk chair was pushed in underneath and a large, glowing window behind it, the light of the midday sun illuminating the room. 

Hythlodaeus scoffed as he took a step past me, moving to take a closer look. 

“You’d think the almighty Speaker of the Convocation would be a little more...organized,” he said, amusement in his voice as he leaned over, examining the paperwork, locks of his long, pale hair slipping from beneath his hood. I pursed my lips again and closed the distance between us, waving my hand in his face. 

“Stop that,” I commanded. “That’s private.”

He huffed a laugh and stood straight. 

“He’s never going to know.” I blew a sharp breath out of my nose as his grin widened.

“You promised.” He tilted his head towards me. 

“I did not promise,” he teased as he tucked his hair behind his ear. When I shot him a look, he released a defeated sigh, and dramatically draped himself across the arms of the chair, the back of his hand on his forehead in mock sorrow. I watched him, unimpressed. 

“Hades has rubbed off on you more than you know, my friend. You used to be fun.”

My cheeks puffed out in indignation as he stood again, and stepped around the chair to meet me. His eyes lit with glee at my expression and he lifted his hands to my face. He squished my cheeks, forcing me to blow the air out. I narrowed my eyes, but he took a step back.

“Well, come on, then,” he said, motioning towards the desk. “Do your duty and deliver this book that was extremely important .”

I clicked my tongue at him and did as requested, gingerly setting it down in the middle so that it  didn’t disturb anything already there, but would be noticeable when Lahabrea returned. I picked up one of the pens lying around and reached for a spare piece of paper to jot down a quick note.

When I looked back up, Hythlodaeus was standing in front of one of the bookcases on the other side of the room. I sighed in frustration.

“‘Must you?”

“Calm down,” he said without looking my way, eyes roaming the different trinkets and books the Speaker had collected over the years. “I won’t touch.”

I crossed my arms over my chest with a frown.

“Explain to me why we’re friends, again.” He chuckled in response and reached out to pluck a small figurine from a shelf.

“‘Daeus!” I hissed. His hand paused and he heaved another histrionic sigh. 

“Oh, alright,” he relented. I shook my head as he turned back towards me. 

“Now I know where Hades gets his flair for the dramatic,” I muttered, coming around the desk again and towards the door.

I was halfway out when I realized my companion was not with me. With a groan, I leaned back into the room, peering at him from around the door.

“Are you coming or-”

Quickly, he lifted a finger to his lips, cutting off my sentence. I furrowed my brow, shaking my head in confusion. With the same finger, he pointed down. I followed his gaze to a couch and a side table I had not noticed before.

On the surface of the table sat a red Convocation mask- Lahabrea’s. 

And on the couch-

My eyes widened as my whole body tensed. 

The Speaker himself laid there, his hood drawn over his eyes to block the light, his breathing even. I watched as Hythlodaeus bent over him, carefully searching for signs of consciousness. He reached an arm out, waving it over Lahabrea’s face. When he straightened again, I saw a familiar glint in his eyes, clear and playful.

“‘Daeus, don’t even-”

“Play a game with me?”

I clenched my jaw and closed the distance between us.

“We are not pranking a member of the Convocation, Hythlodaeus. That is where I draw the line.” I tugged on the fabric of his sleeve, urging him to leave with me. “Let’s get out of here before he wakes up.”

“Don’t be such a spoil sport.” He turned back to the desk for a moment, and reached for a pen and inkwell. “We prank Hades all the time .”

“Hades is not part of the Convocation,” I reminded him. “And we’ve been friends with him for years .”

He hummed, unconcerned, as he dipped the quill into the ink and knelt next to the couch. “Come on, it’s a new game. One of our classmates came up with the idea.”

I bristled as he drew four lines on the other man’s face, two horizontal, two vertical. 

“Paper would work just fine-”

“But not nearly as fun.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, but he stood again and nudged me with his hip. “He’s asleep, he won’t have a clue. Besides, it’s only fair since he had us rush over to deliver this book and we found him slacking .”

“You are a constant headache, you know,” I sighed. “A horrible influence.” He flashed a smile and held the pen out to me.

“Alright,” he began, taking a deep breath. “You be the X, I’ll be the O. To win, you want to outsmart your opponent and get three in a row. You go first.” 

“Just so you know, I’m doing this against my will. If he ever finds out, I will absolutely not hesitate to throw you to the wolves.” 

“Yes, you’ve made your point abundantly clear, but you’re simply worrying over nothing,” he chuckled and I pursed my lips, looking down at the table now on Lahabrea’s cheek as I debated where to place my first move, tapping the feather against my lips. When I decided, I bent over and gently drew an X in the top left corner, then handed the quill back over to Hythlodaeus.

We played the game out, thinking each play out until all of the squares were filled and neither of us victorious. 

“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” I complained. “Let’s get out of-”

“Aw, come now,” he cooed. “We can’t simply leave without a winner and his other cheek is open.” When he went for the pen again, I leaned away, holding it out of his reach.

“‘Daeus, we really need to-”  

“ What is that incessant racket?” Lahabrea grumbled. The both of us froze and I held my breath. A moment later, Hythlodaeus recovered from his shock and plucked the pen from my hand, moving quickly to  set both it and the ink back on the desk as the Speaker began to wake. 

We were nearly out the door when he called after us, halting us in our tracks.

“ What are you doing in my office?”

I cringed and turned back to the desk as he stood from the couch. 

“We-we were delivering the book you requested from the archives of the Akadaemia,” I answered, folding my arms behind my back and forcing a smile to my face. “You didn’t answer, so we thought to just leave it on your desk, sir.” His annoyed expression lightened, immediately.

“Ah, yes. Thank you both for bringing this all the way to my office so quickly,” he said. A nervous laugh escaped me as the Speaker approached the large window behind his desk. “It was a big-” He paused. I watched his reflection in the glass as his brow furrowed, noticing the ink on his face.

“What is-” He lifted his hand to wipe his cheek, the still-wet ink staining his fingers. His eyes shot up to the window again and I sucked in a breath as his gaze locked with mine. “You-” He whipped around the face us. “What did you-” 

“Well,” Hythlodaeus interjected, attempting to keep his voice nonchalant, lifting his arm to rub the back of his neck over his hood. “It’s probably time we get back to class…” He shot a look down at me, nodding his head back toward the door. 

“Right, uh-” I bowed at the waist and quickly spun on my heel as Lahabrea began making his way around the desk, irritation spelled out in his eyes. “Have a good day, sir!” 

“Get back here-!”

“Go, go go-,” Daeus whispered, urgently, a hand pressing on the small of my back.

I hurried out of the office, Hythlodaeus right on my heels, closing the door behind him. 

“What happened to taking the blame?”

“Only if we get caught.” A frustrated groan left me.

“Why do I let you talk me into these things? You always get me into trouble,” I chided him as we hurried towards the exit that led back into the city, where we could disappear until Lahabrea had calmed down. “If I get kicked out of the Akadaemia for this-”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. At worst we’ll just have to spend extra hours in the lab watching over one of his creations.”

“Or cleaning up after one of his creations,” I mumbled.

I heard my name echo from down a hall as we passed, the voice familiar. I came to a fast stop and, though he tried to skid to a halt behind me, Hythlodaeus bumped into my back, causing me to stumble forward a few steps. He grabbed my arm to steady me.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “Lahabrea will be right on our tails.”

“Why are you two in such a hurry?” the voice asked as a figure jogged up to meet us.

“Hades!” I said with a bright smile. 

“Ah,” my companion said as he turned to face the newcomer. “I see.” Hades grinned down to me as he clapped Hythlodaeus on the shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his waist as he bent down to press a quick kiss to my lips before straightening again.

“Just on our way back to the Akadaemia for class. What about you?”

“Oh, the Convocation asked to speak with me about one of my-”

Lahabrea bellowed our names from down the hall and I jumped, my face flushing as a squeal slipped from my lips. Hades’ shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes as our friend breathed a laugh.

“Caught, again.”

“What have you done now?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Don’t look at me,” I whined. “This was all Daeus’ idea.” He sighed, putting his hands on his hips as he shook his head.

“But a member of the Convocation ? You two are always-”

“You’re far too serious, Hades-,” Hythlodaeus started, but Hades clicked his tongue.

“And you aren’t serious e-”

“Oh, there he is-”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Hythlodaeus grabbed my wrist and pulled me around the nearest corner. Hades raised a brow as he watched.

“What are you-”

His eyes wandered to where we had just escaped from, his last words cut off by a cough, his eyes wide with surprise. 

I peeked around the corner to see the Speaker come to a stop in front of him, his arms crossed, the anger radiating off his body.

“Hades.”

“L-Lahabrea, sir,” Hades responded with a respectful incline of his head, clearing his throat and trying not to stare at the writing on the Speaker’s face. “Is...everything alright?”

 “As a matter of fact, I was looking for the very two students I often see in your company. Did you happen to see them pass this way on your way in?”

His eyes flicked to me for half a moment and Hythlodaeus pulled me out of sight again as Lahabrea twisted to follow his gaze. A gasp of surprise nearly escaped me, but Daeus’ hand clamped over my mouth.

“Uh- I’m sorry to say that I have not seen them today.”

The Speaker hummed. 

“Is there a message I could pass on to them for you?”

“That won’t be necessary. You may wait for me in my office, I will be back momentarily to escort you to the meeting.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Two sets of shoes clicked on the tiled floor, one moving away, the other getting closer. I spun quickly, frantically pushing Hythlodaeus to move further down the hallway. 

“He’s coming,” I whispered. “Go!”

The both of us took off running straight out the exit with nothing but a quick look over my shoulder to see Lahabrea standing in the exact center of the hallway, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched us leave.

We ran until we had to stop for air, hiding ourselves in an alley between two tall apartment complexes. I tore the hood from my head and collapsed against the stone wall, sliding down until I sat on the ground. Hythlodaeus leaned over onto his knees, the both of us gasping for air. 

As we caught our breath, he began chuckling. I tilted my head back against the wall to watch him, though his laughter was infectious and soon the both of us had devolved into fits of giggles.

“Did….did you see...his face ?” he said between laughs. I held my stomach, tears rising to my eyes, unable to respond.

A moment later, however, there was a hum next to us. Daeus’ laugh choked to an end as Lahabrea stepped out of a portal. 

My mouth immediately dropped open, eyes widening. I tried to scramble to my feet, but the very second I was upright and ready to make my escape, a hand gripped the back of my robe and jerked me back, a short squeal of surprise slipping from my lips. 

“Oh, please,” the Speaker purred. “Don’t stop having fun on my account.” 

“Please, sir,” ‘Daeus began, pleadingly. “It was all-”

“Ah!” Lahabrea lifted his hand to silence my companion. He released my robe so I could turn to face him. “Save your excuses, Hythlodaeus. I do not care that it was likely your idea, you both will receive punishment nonetheless.

“You will report to my research facilities at the Akadaemia after your classes and assist in the care of my most recent creations for an entire month.”

I pursed my lips, gaze shooting to my friend. He, at the very least, had the sense to look somewhat sorry. 

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled in defeat, reaching back to pull my hood up once more. 

“I will be making sure to check up on you there, so don’t think about skipping out,” he continued, gaze easily sliding to Hythlodaeus. 

“Of course, sir,” ‘Daeus confirmed with enthusiasm, placing a hand over his heart. I rolled my eyes, knowing what was coming. “I would never dream of it! Is that all you would ask of us, Lahabrea, sir, for this travesty we have committed?”

I elbowed him in the side and he hissed in pain, covering it with one hand.

“As a matter of fact,” the Speaker began again. “Tonight, when you have finished your cleaning duties , you will meet me in my office and-” He lifted a hand to motion to his face. “Teach me how to play this game of yours.”

My brow shot up as he turned, his portal opening once more. 

“‘Til this evening.”

When he was gone, Hythlodaeus laid his arm across my shoulders as he slumped against me. I clicked my tongue in annoyance and tried to pull away from him.

“I told you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whined, drawing his words out. “I tried .” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I’m never listening to you again,” I groaned as he tightened his hold on me. 

“You always say that.” I sighed and shrugged his arm off, then started making my way from the alley. 

“Come on. We should get back to class.”

“Race me?”

“‘Daeus!”

#FFXIV #ffxiv shadowbringers #Final Fantasy XIV #Final Fantasy 14 #final fantasy 14 fanfiction #amaurotine warrior of light #lahabrea #hythlodaeus

[voidsentprinces]

Exarch: Become...what you must...become the Warrior of Dark.

Alisaie: How the hell is the Warrior of LIGHT suppose to get in touch with his DARK side?

WoL: ...I know a guy...I'll be back.

Alphinaud: What do you MEAN you know a guy?

WoL: Shut up, Alphinaud I said I'll be back.

Exarch: There he goes...

Alisaie: Wonder who he's calling.

WoL: Deep breathes...gotta get in touch with Fray. Dark thoughts. Dark thoughts...Varis naked...Hello?

Fray: Hey, what's up?

WoL: I need your help can come over here?

Fray: I can't, I'm buying glamour.

WoL: Alright, well then hurry up and come over here.

Fray: Well I can't find them.

WoL: What do you MEAN you can't find them?

Fray: I can't find them, there's only soup.

WoL: ...Well then get out of the SOUP MARKET!

Fray: Alright you don't have to shout at me!

WoL: ...

Fray: There's more soup!

WoL: What do you MEAN there's more soup!?

Fray: There's just more soup!

WoL: Go to the next market!

Fray: ...

WoL: ...

Fray: There's still more soup.

WoL: WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW!?

Fray: I'm at Soup.

WoL: What do you mean you're AT SOUP!

Fray: I mean I'm AT SOUP!

WoL: What bazaar are you at!?

Fray, standing next to Runar: I'm at the Soup Bazaar

WoL: WHY ARE YOU BUYING GLAMOUR AT THE SOUP BAZAAR!

Fray: FUCK YOU! *click*

WoL: ...

Alphinaud: Any luck?

WoL: Oh no, we're fucked.

[voidsentprinces]

Crystal Exarch: Please...become...the Warrior of Dark.

WoL: ...can...you hang on a moment I need to make a call.

Crystal Exarch: Take your time.

WoL: *runs outside of range and picks up Tomestone* Hello?

Fray: Hey, what's up?

WoL: I need your help, can you appear?

Fray: I can't I'm buying glamour.

WoL: Well hurry up and get over here.

Fray: I can't find them.

WoL: What do you mean you can't find them?

Fray: I can't find them, there's only soup.

WoL: ...What do you MEAN there's only SOUP!?

Fray: I mean there's ONLY SOUP!

WoL: WELL THEN GET OUT OF THE SOUP AISLE!

Fray: Alright, you don't have to shout at me!

WoL: ...

Fray: THERES STILL SOUP!

WoL: WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S MORE SOUP!!

Fray: There's just more soup!

WoL: Go to the next aisle!

Fray: There's still soup!

WoL: WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW!?

Fray: I'm AT SOUP!

WoL: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE AT SOUP!

Fray: I MEAN I'M AT SOUP!

WoL: WHAT STORE ON YOU IN!?!

Fray: I'm at the Soup Store!

WoL: WHY ARE YOU BUYING GLAMOUR AT THE SOUP STORE!?!

Fray: FUCK YOU! *click*

WoL: ....

Crystal Exarch: ...is everything alright?

WoL: So what if we just say I'm the Warrior of Dark and I don't do anything...shadowy?

#{ its a good meme george }