#even if it was just for that night in msq ! the way he looks up at the stars.. looking forward to gaining more knowledge in the future

[noxtivagus]

we won't be afraid to forge ahead fr

#🌙.rambles #[ ffxiv. ] #endwalker means so much to me.. #'youre not alone' #:<< n then hope & despair n #that scene w hermes means the world to me. #yk the way he. hdkfjalsd everything about it!!!! the way they told the story n the actions they put rlly just. oh my god #the way he opens up. the changes in facial expression. the way his vas say his lines in both english & jpn (just the ones i've listened to) #hermes is such a lonely character ! i like him so much ! #'but now i know i'm not alone. not the only one for whom the flowers weep' #knowing that he's not alone.. comforts him so much. makes the burden of his doubts lighter. giving him hope. #even if it was just for that night in msq ! the way he looks up at the stars.. looking forward to gaining more knowledge in the future #n he thanks the wol so tenderly. he's really so kind at heart #:c hermes speaking of acceptance. if we be different from the rest of the world then so be it. at least i have you; you'll always have me #i'm sorry i swear i'm not delusional i'm not rlly writing directly to hermes rn no i'm not Too delusional w fictional charas #these words just have.. a nice sort of feeling. fuck if they're cheesy let me just dream n say them for a bit #ok but back to hermes :<< 'to know that you too have experienced suffering...is a comfort' & #'it's just...the fact that you are still here in spite of your suffering gives me heart' & #'to so willingly lend an ear to ease my burden... you are a strange one' #his voice is so soft n gentle wtf. the flowers make me so sad omg n then meteion n the stars n. his voice his eyes his smile oh no #the way his vas deliver these lines r just. oh my god that's unfair really #yk.. in the tales from the dawn. 'a question of life'. the way he recounts back on the wol. & w meteion. those nights c: #one thing that gives me comfort is that even though it's been nearly a year since i personally have finished endwalker #i'm still. here. i'm still me. i've gone much further than i ever thought n surely i'll reach even further in time #not alone huh :c ffxiv has a lot on that n on hope n tomorrows n it rlly serves as a. reminder to me #i'll watch the other cutscenes sometime. didn't realize how fast time just passed by rn #i'll write to myself i think before i sleep. i'll try to actually sleep before 2 am this time instead of 4 >< 🥹🤍 #n i can do more tmrrw instead. or even the day after that. i'll try to get as much ffxiv related stuff done tho so we can push w the fc c: #one last wait T_T 'a sentimental gift' quest name n. description; 'you needn't be an entelechy to feel the weight bearing down on hermes' #searching for flowers w meteion.. hehe what bittersweet precious memories of mine.

[hythlodaes]

to you alone

emile / estinien - 2k words endwalker spoilers, set after msq quest the color of joy

It’s difficult, with Estinien this close, to think anything other than, What are we doing?

The moon sets early. 

Emile only notices because he keeps glancing at the window, watching the light pass through and fade as the evening stretches on. He’d expected a quiet night alone upon their return to Sharlayan, but the simple happiness of his friends surrounding him surpasses any desire for solitude. He’d always prefer to watch Alisaie joke around with Raha, their happy chatter filling the spaces in between bites of food. Alphinaud sips at his tea across from Emile, and it reminds him of all the places he’s seen the same sight: the Rising Stones, the Fortemps Manor, the Crystarium. 

Krile watches with the same kind of amusement, something borne of recognizing peace while it lasts. Emile feels its warmth in his chest, and he lets himself savor the moment as he sips his own cup of tea. It would be perfect, if only for one thing—

“Lest you wonder, we’d invited Estinien as well,” Alphinaud offers, but his impression of him does little to settle the unease that stirs in Emile’s chest. Neither does Krile’s designation of Lone Wolf. 

He works up a smile in response—some part of him wishes it was that simple. 

The problem is, they were alone together in Radz-at-Han. They were alone for the first time since they sailed to Sharlayan, and it was too easy to fall back into it. Just you and me, then—Emile pestered him to play tour guide until he gave in, and for a moment it felt like they could just be themselves, walking through the busy markets, taking in the sights, Estinien pointing out the different foods he’s tried. 

They were nearly separated at one point walking through the crowd, but Estinien reached out and placed a hand on Emile’s lower back—a single tether between them, and Emile swears he can still feel his touch. 

Whatever is changing between them may be quiet, but it is hard to ignore. 

Perhaps that’s what makes Estinien’s absence even more noticeable. Emile knows him so well but he doesn't know about this, and though it feels like the wrong time to be asking the question, he doesn’t know if it can wait. 

For now he settles into the comfort of having his friends surround him, letting himself enjoy this brief moment of respite. It’s after they leave, when he still can’t let it go from his mind, that he realizes that he needs to find him. He climbs out the window and carefully picks his way over the ledge, blowing out a frustrated breath at Estinien’s penchant for heights as he pulls himself up to the roof. 

Of course Estinien is there. He sits on the far edge, his back to Emile as he looks out at the harbor. Starlight coats over him, a blue echo above the golden glow of lanterns on the street below. Emile freezes for a moment, the cold night air pulling at his shirt as he watches him, and he has to swallow back the affection that rises up his throat. 

“I thought I might find you here,” he murmurs when he crosses the distance between them. Estinien doesn’t look at him, but he angles his head towards him, his hair now bound and exposing the line of his ear down to his jaw, a sharp curve cut from light. It exposes his neck, revealing pale skin that Emile can’t let himself look at for too long. Instead, he takes a deep breath and sits beside him. “You missed dinner.” 

In the absence of an immediate response, the silence of the night is dotted only by the distant sounds of movement in the harbor, voices carrying from the paths below them, but then comes Estinien’s deep voice: “I needed a moment to think.” 

“Oh,” Emile says, and the uncertainty he’d been feeling gives way to doubt. It punches through him, and he swallows hard. “If you’d like to be alone, I don’t mind—”

“‘Tis all right.” 

He leaves it at that, and as many times as they’ve sat in shared silence, Emile doesn’t know if it’s ever felt uncomfortable. Maybe he’s overthinking it, but Estinien still just stares at the view before them, and Emile follows his gaze, wishing he’d remembered to bring his cloak—though he doubts that he would’ve kept it for himself, anyway. 

The chill of the night freezes the air itself, and stray snowflakes drift around them despite the clear sky. Emile’s eyes linger on the stars for a moment, at the skewed shapes of the constellations he knows by heart, and then he looks out at the water. The ocean blurs deep blue into black, a distant push and pull that sinks towards the horizon until it disappears entirely. 

His skin itches as he tries to think of what to say, but how do you talk about something like this? Estinien seems lost in his own thoughts, still leaving Emile with only his profile lined in ghostly white, and it wears on so long that it feels like it passes them entirely.

“Estinien,” he says, his voice so much quieter this time. “I don’t mean to intrude. You merely have to say the word and I’ll go, I promise I won’t take offense.”

But the sharp cut of Estinien’s gaze finally turns to him, intent and steeled with resolve. Emile wants to understand but he feels overwhelmed by the way their eyes meet, and he realizes that for the first time since they were on that damned ship, they’re truly alone. 

“Stay,” Estinien says. “Please.” 

It leaves no room for question, and neither of them look away. It brings Emile back to that place they were those last few nights they had together, and he feels his heart pick up a beat, wanting only that closeness again. He swallows the desire back, clearing his throat as he searches his mind for something to say. It’s difficult, with Estinien this close, to think anything other than, What are we doing?

It’s in his eyes, shining silver in the stars’ reflection. He always looks beautiful in this light, which is when Emile knows him best, where they have found each other again and again, and that has to mean something, doesn’t it? There has to be a simple answer, here.

“Do you—,” he starts, but hesitates. Do you want to talk about it? he was going to ask, but it sounds so foolish in his head. “What were you thinking about?”

Estinien is quiet for a long time, but then comes a single word: “You.”

“Me?” he repeats. “Why?”

Estinien’s brows dip down at the center. “Do you truly need to ask?”

When Emile thinks about it, he supposes he doesn’t. In his mind, he sees the two of them dancing driftless into the night, drawn in and out of each other's space until they lingered, faces close. There was that last embrace, the strength of Estinien’s grip around him, his hands bunched in Emile’s sweater, and his breath against his neck. In his most recent memory: there’s the sound of Estinien’s rumble of a laugh as he led him through Radz-at-Han, his gaze on him each time he glanced over his shoulder, and his fingertips just barely touching the exposed skin at his waist.

Emile’s breath shakes on an exhale as he looks down at his hands in his lap, and he admits, “I cannot deny that things have felt different between us as of late, but I dare not let myself hope for more. In truth, I’m afraid to want what I cannot have.”

“Emile,” Estinien murmurs, and Emile’s attention snaps back up to him. His expression has softened, eyes crinkled at the corners, and there’s something so gentle about the way he says his name, something that contrasts the rasp of his voice. He lifts a hand to Emile’s cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth as he cups his face, eyes searching his. He breathes out, “You need not fear.”

Emile watches him until he can’t take it, and he turns into his open hand, closing his eyes as he presses a kiss to the rough, calloused skin of his palm. When he opens them, there is something in Estinien’s eyes that he’s never seen before, something open and wanting. He draws his hand away, his fingertips cool along the heat of Emile’s skin as he traces them down to his neck, and Emile’s all but certain that he can feel the rapid thrum of his pulse underneath—his nerves alive and rushing through him, giving away his desire. 

“May I?” Estinien asks, glancing down at his mouth before returning his gaze. 

Emile nods, just the slightest tip of his chin as he leans in. “Please.” 

The gap between them isn’t so far, after all.

Emile’s eyes fall closed as Estinien kisses him, the touch of his lips far more gentle than Emile had expected. He feels the warmth of it spread through him against the cold of the night—warm like honey, like the morning sun, like home. It surrounds him: the proximity of Estinien’s body, his breath against his skin, the way his fingers curl around the back of his neck to pull him closer. It’s what passes between them: the confirmation that they both want this just as much as each other, that it’s more than just a kiss, it’s a beginning. 

The world around them feels so far away that it hardly matters at all. 

Emile licks at his bottom lip, every thought held captive by the slight gasp Estinien makes as he parts his mouth, as he lets him in, as he shifts so he can wind his arms around him. Emile responds in kind, fingers pressing into his back until they’re chest to chest, and it deepens as they find a rhythm, something slow and languid that builds too strong. A soft moan crawls up Emile’s throat, and every beat of his pounding heart says, this feels right. 

They linger forehead to forehead when they part, sharing the same space for a moment longer before Emile pulls back, and he marvels at Estinien’s messy hair, the shine of his lips, the way his eyes blink slowly back into focus.

Emile reaches up to smooth part of his bangs down before he leans in to kiss him one more time. This one is brief—something chaste, something sweet—and he feels himself grin after. He has to bite down on it, unable to contain his happiness, and he clears his throat before he asks, “How long have you been up here? ‘Tis freezing.”

“I thought you would bring your cloak.”

“I left it inside,” Emile murmurs, but he pauses as his words catch up with him. “You knew I would find you?”

His lips curve up at the corners. “You always do.”

“Oh,” Emile says absently, and his face warms with a blush that he thinks he should be embarrassed by, but he can’t find it in him. He keeps watching Estinien and Estinien watches him back, and there’s an intimacy in that, in knowing what his lips taste like, in not being afraid to look. He watches Estinien and he fights a shiver, because he wasn’t exaggerating about how cold the night is, and all he wants is to warm up. “Come here.” 

Estinien draws closer, shifting over until there’s no space left between them. He fits himself into Emile’s side, wrapping his arms around his waist, and Emile rests his cheek against the top of his head as he closes his eyes, shutting out the night, shutting out the view, until it’s just them. He can see it so easily—the two of them curled up together on the roof, the stars turning above them, and he feels like he’s outside himself, watching them breathe slow and deep against each other. 

They won’t stay much longer, not with the temperature still dropping, not with the new weight tomorrow brings, but this is its own kind of promise, a way of saying, No matter what happens, we’ll have each other. Hold onto me through the night.

Emile presses a kiss into his hair, and for now, it’s enough. 

#first kiss fic <: #emile/estinien #ffxiv #oc: emile jenidaut #they're kinda cute ig #this happens early in endwalker but after everything i can't see it /not/ happening then #and the wol stares out the window in the cutscene so like. it's all right there klsdfdsf #also shoutout to azia for helping me straighten this out #i have like four versions of this fic with varying confessions skdjfds #but here we are <3 #my writing

[ecosystem-administrator]

Sole

Timeline: 5.4, minor MSQ spoilers Pairing: Thancred/Urianger

Thancred and Urianger are off on their scouting mission to Garlemald, but Urianger is behaving just a little oddly.

“Do we need to get you new shoes?” Thancred frowned at Urianger as they set up camp for their first night on the road. Ever since they’d left for their scouting mission into Garlean territory, Urianger had been weirdly quiet, and there had been something a little odd about his gait all day. It had taken Thancred the whole day to work out exactly what it was, but now that they were settling down and he could see the little fidgeting movements Urianger was making with his feet, the reason was becoming clear. “And why in the world wouldn’t you have said so before we left?”

Urianger blushed, looking even more uncomfortable for a moment, and then gave Thancred the pleading look that shouldn’t work so well coming from a man a fulm taller than he was, and somehow worked on him every time anyway. “There is no need,” he said. “That is…the age and condition of the boots are not the matter at issue. I assure thee I shall adjust ere we arrive in enemy territory. Already I am having less difficulty than when we set out.”

He had been keeping up better toward the end of the day. Even so… “All right, enlighten me, what can possibly be wrong, then?” Thancred looked down at Urianger’s feet, clad for once in solid closed-toe boots that would cushion his feet for long hikes and insulate him from the frigid climate of Ilsabard. He had to admit, it was a little bit odd to see him in proper shoes for once; even back at the Waking Sands, when the rest of him was covered, he had preferred sandals, a sensible choice given the warm climate.

And then Thancred laughed softly, shaking his head. Of course… “Urianger,” he said, now amused, “how long exactly has it been since you wore anything with a closed toe?”

“Less than a decade, if I must hazard a guess?” Urianger offered, blushing to the tips of his ears. “Beyond that, I have not kept careful count. I am adjusting swiftly, I assure thee, and will not hamper our progress.”

“You are an absolute madman.” Thancred leaned over to kiss him on the cheek briefly. “Not that I'd have it any other way. I won’t say anything else about it unless I actually think we’re going to be in trouble, but do let me know if you aren’t feeling better adjusted to wearing socks before we approach civilization.”

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2023 #urianger augurelt #thancred waters #urianger x thancred #this post brought to you by autism

[baidar-oroq]

Trying to get back on the writing horse again after taking the holidays off, which is proving difficult for me because of assorted personal reasons.

Two days after I completed and posted the last parts of The Unheavenly Creatures, after all, my father had a stroke, and the second half of 2023 has seen him go through a series of complications and further hospital stays, and I've had to become even more of a caretaker for him than I was before his stroke. When I wrote my first novel, my parents were both in relatively good shape; when I wrote Unheavenly, things were less good, but I still had ample time to sit for a few hours a day and bang out a couple thousand words if inspiration hit.

The Night Does Not Belong To God has not been so lucky. And no, I'm not saying "boy, I wish my dad would feel better so I can get back to writing about my blorbos!" I'd be happy if I could write as much as I could because that means he wouldn't require as much care as he does now, so his health is in a better place. I've accepted that this novel, which is sizing up to be longer than Unheavenly (and we all know how awful I am at estimating word count) is going to be written in fits and starts. But I'm going to keep at it. I like the world I'm creating. I like the mythology of it. I like that I have all of Ancient Etheirys to play with, and I've done some really fun things with it already, and when I pay those off, wow, is it gonna be fun.

And yeah, I like that when I open a document and start writing, Venat's alive again. I've written over 400,000 words about her; the entire 6.0 MSQ is shorter than Unheavenly, and Venat only occupied a small part of it. I like that I've made her, in many ways, mine; I like that I've rather shamelessly turned Baidar into a full on shonen superhero who can fly, because why not? I'm looking at what was shown about Dawntrail and my hindbrain is wondering if I'm gonna have to send Venat and Baidar to check out Solution 9. I have actually figured out how Harvest of Souls ends. I know the last line.

It's just gonna take me a bit to get there.

#ffxiv #endwalker #venat #baidar and venat au #the last novel had a twist i waited for ages to unleash #i've got one about as good for this novel #just going to take patience and time!

[halonicheart]

Last Smile

Summary: A brief Lovechefant ficlet of certain events in Heavensward, MSQ A Knight's Calling spoilers.

The world around was already twisting into a blurry sunset orange tango, coupled with the figures around him that were his comrades now becoming faceless silhouettes- blobs of sentient colors with faces that sound far off. It was almost comical when he weakly surveyed his surroundings that the only thing, the only person he could still make out more clearly than all else was her. Haurchefant cannot help but let out a weak, wheezing laugh at his own expense. Through his racing memories fogging his mind, he recalls the time he vouched for her and her company… in his fading moments, he admits to himself he mainly vouched for Lovette above everyone else, though he has his suspicions that his own father was well aware of the fact. At the time, he had called her a Beacon of Hope, a grand title for an even grander hero whose tales he will never get to hear. 

He meant every word of praise, he knew now that he had every right to call her such even when she looked at him as if moments away from shattering to pieces and the weight of the world crushing her heart, still she shone brightly in the abyss. Her tear ridden eyes glimmered like starlight, much like the way they did with joy the night they first met. In the midst of his reminiscing, he realizes her lips are moving- likely frantically babbling, a charming tendency of hers that makes him cough out another wet chuckle before reaching out for her. “Lovette…” 

She goes still, wide eyed for only a single heartbeat before she scoots closer to him, hands grasping onto his own. He wished so terribly to give hers a reassuring squeeze but try as might he could not muster the strength. “You.. you are unharmed? F-forgive me… I could not bear the thought of… of… ” Like the lovelorn fool he is, Haurchefant tries to sit up just to get closer to her only to pathetically wince. He cannot bring himself to laugh much more, the pain may be fading but so too is he, that much was evident when whatever remained of his grip loosened just enough that he could feel his fingers slip through her hands. Haurchefant could only smile when she clamped her hands tighter, for a mercy, the pressure kept his consciousness grounded just long enough to muster what he knew would be his last words to her. 

In truth, he wished to cry. The poignant aching his chest hurt much more than the gaping wound in his abdomen. All the promises he made her will go unfilled, the ventures he wished so dearly to be whisked away with her on were not meant to be. A distant thought reminds him he never even got to present the dress he swore to have made for her… Still, even had he known it would all come to this from the day he met her, he would not have changed a single aspect of his life. There was no greater blessing than to have been able to meet his Love and be loved by her in return. She will live past this moment, that was how this was meant to be, and she will shine ever brighter despite the hardships she will face, this he knows for certain. 

He breathes in deeply, one last time. “Oh, do not look at me so… a smile suits you best…” Haurchefant has lost all feeling in his body, he can only pray that he was actually smiling at her. Lovette hurriedly nods as she swipes fiercely at the fresh fat tears streaming down her cheeks. She sniffles, the ends of her lips curving into a strained smile. “... Please don’t forget mine…” His only selfish request of her. 

 “I won’t…” Lovette hiccupped between the sobs she tried so desperately to hold back. He can only hope she doesn’t feel guilty for crying in front of him. “I’ll never forget your smile… Ser Knight...” A single tear is shed from Haurchefant, one that Lovette quickly wipes away. If only she knew how happy it made him to hear her call him that one last time. A silly, misspoken name that was quite frankly redundant in meaning. He recalls fondly how humiliated she was when he had to break it to her. Silly as it was, he cherished it all the same. To be sent off this way… he could not ask for more. 

He wished to stare at her longer, for eternity if he could, but he was growing ever so tired. Haurchefant could no longer keep his lids from falling. The world has gone dark, his body cold. 

He could not see the light leave her eyes. He could not hear the wails of agony that spilled from her lips nor the chanting of I love you… He could not say I love you back. 

#cadaverous creations #lovechefant #lovette vairemont #its a bit rough but I can always clean it up later #honestly this is really self indulgent #the links place in there lead to other fics that connect to this but they need to be read for this tbh #I cried while writing this please praise me #take that as you will tho I cry a lot over XIV #anyways hi Im still alive #I think

[ayakamizu]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 13 - Check

Check: Verb. To make an inquiry, investigation, etc., such as for verification. Characters: Alphinaud Leveilleur, Alisaie Leveilleur, ??? Expansion: Endwalker Rating: G Notes: Takes place sometime post-Endwalker! Spoilers for MSQ are referenced, but otherwise this is just a somewhat spooky encounter the twins have in the middle of the night.

“Gods, my back is killing me,” Alisaie complained, extending her arms up and groaning as the popping feeling she felt in her back. She slouched in her chair, watching her brother comb through the book he was reading. “How long do you plan on staying, brother?”

“Not too much longer,” Alphinaud answered, thumbing the next page. “I just have to finish this last chapter…” He trailed off, humming under his breath. Alisaie rolled her eyes, resting her chin in her hand and staring at her brother.

“Are you going to finish your sentence, or am I going to have to try reading your mind?”

“Huh?” Alphinaud asked, looking up from his book. When her words registered, she could see the light, embarrassed flush on his face. “Oh! Right, well, I was going to say that you can feel free to return to your quarters whenever. I don’t want to keep you from resting.”

“And leave you here, all by yourself, in some dark library?” Alisaie asked, gesturing to the high bookshelves surrounding the pair with narrowed eyes.

“Tis not like these shelves are strangers, dear sister,” he countered. “I remember many nights spent here studying for exams, researching papers…”

“And returning home late to Mother’s fretting,” Alisaie reminded him, giving an exasperated sigh. “Come on, you can put that away and return to it tomorrow at a reasonable hour—”

But before she could finish her sentence, a loud THUD! echoed in the room, causing the pair to jump in their seats.

“What the—!” Alphinaud exclaimed, startled. He nearly fell out of his chair in shock, wildly looking around. Alisaie felt her breath catch, getting up out of her chair and reaching for her rapier, muttering a curse under her breath when she realized she left it in her room.

“...Should we investigate?” Alphinaud probed, slowly getting up out of his own chair and looking towards Alisaie.

“And get ourselves murdered in the middle of the night?”

“I highly doubt something like that will happen. It’s likely just a mammot—”

Alphinaud cut himself off with a high pitched yelp, running over to Alisaie when another, louder noise could be heard. Alisaie made a note to tease him about it later (and perhaps let Ayaka know so she could have a comrade in this endeavor), but for now she focused on the fact that the noise sounded closer than before.

“Alisaie,” Alphinaud hissed, grabbing onto her upper arm with a tight grip. “What do we do?”

“Surely we can go around the other way?” Alisaie suggested, frantically looking for an escape path. She muttered another curse under her breath when she realized their corner of the library only had one way out. “Bloody hell, maybe we deserve this for choosing some dank corner to spend the night in—”

“Don’t say that!”

“Well now, what do we have here?” They heard a voice—a bit deeper, but oddly familiar—say from behind them, causing the pair to screech and jump away. Alisaie brought her arms up into a fighting position, trying to emulate what form she’s seen Lyse and Ayaka take as monks. Behind her, Alphinaud was trying to catch his breath, clenching his shirt tightly. 

“Who's there?!” Alisaie asked, trying to peer into the shadows and having a hard time seeing the other occupant. She didn’t remember the room seeming this dark even minutes ago!

“Oh. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to cause any alarm,” the voice apologized, sounding more sincere than Alisaie would have guessed. Slowly, a figure emerged from the darkness and the twins felt struck with surprise to see an Auri woman—dressed in full armor at that—standing in front of them. Her golden eyes were taking them in, but she made no comment on their defensiveness. “I came here looking for a specific tome and, to my surprise, I wasn’t the only ones here this late at night.”

“T-Tis quite alright,” Alphinaud answered for the two of them, his voice losing the shakiness it gained moments ago. “I hope we didn’t disturb you and your reading…”

“Oh not at all,” the woman said, giving them a reassuring smile (again, something about it felt familiar). “I had just got here when I thought I heard something and decided to investigate…”

“Was it that loud thud?” Alisaie questioned, curious now. “I can promise you that wasn’t us.”

“Yes, it wasn’t,” the woman said confidently. “You needn’t worry. I handled it.”

Somehow that didn’t feel as reassuring as she was sure the woman was hoping it sounded. At least it didn’t to Alisaie, but behind her she felt Alphinaud go more at ease, the grip on her jacket relaxing.

Before Alisaie could say anything, the woman tucked a strand of dark hair behind her horn and turned towards the pile of books the twins had accumulated in their time spent here. She raised a brow at the collection, but must’ve decided not to ask about it if her unconcerned shrug was anything to go by. She did, however, turn her attention back to them and once again Alisaie felt like she was being sized up. “You two should get some rest, it’s rather late. Surely your… parents must be concerned about your wellbeing so late at night.”

Sure, their mother would be worried if she found out they were reliving their Stadium days of spending late nights in the library—especially when they’re supposed to be relaxing now that the Final Days are over. These days, she thinks Ayaka would be the more likely candidate to give them some grief for staying up so late. Alisaie could practically hear their friend’s worried tone as they woke up late for the third day in a row, wondering if they wanted any herbal tea recommendations to help them sleep better at night—

“I can put these books away for you so you can head out of here,” the woman offered, although it sounded less like an offer and more like an order.

“We couldn’t possibly leave you to clean up our mess,” Alphinaud countered quickly. “It’s our responsibility—”

“To get a good night’s rest,” the woman interrupted, a slight smirk on her face. “You both might be young now, but you won’t be able to keep this sort of thing up forever. It’ll cause your body more wear than you think.”

Alisaie groaned, shaking her head. “You sound just like someone we know.”

“Then perhaps you’d ought to listen to your friend, hmm?” The woman teased, shooing them away. “Off you go. I can clean up after you. I’m used to doing things like that.”

“Because you’re a Dark Knight?” Alphinaud asked suddenly, making Alisaie turn to give her brother a funny look. Silently, he gestured to the greatsword strapped to the woman’s back and Alisaie muttered another curse under her breath for not noticing it sooner.

“Quite,” the woman answered. The smile on her face morphed into something more secretive, which was doing awful things for Alisaie’s curiosity. She almost wanted to ask the woman what she meant, but decided against it. “Now go on, you two.”

“Thank you,” Alphinaud said, giving the woman a quick bow in gratitude. “Is there any way we can repay you?”

“Just sleep well and try not to spend late nights alone in a drab corner like this,” the woman answered, sounding serious. A dark look crossed her face for a second and Alisaie was reminded, suddenly, that this woman managed to sneak up on both of them. “You never know what could be lurking in the dark.”

Although they were well aware of what sort of awful things lurked in the shadows (voidsents, bandits, all sorts of evil beasts, and formerly Ascians), neither of them knew what to say to that.

Giving one final bid of gratitude, the pair set off towards the Annex in uncharacteristic silence.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxiv #ffxiv writing #expac: endwalker #c: alphinaud leveilleur #c: alisaie leveilleur #c: fray myste #c: esteem

[tishinada]

So, last night @rainofaugustsith​ ran Kass through the Ghimlyt Dark (thank you!!)

I adore the way Raubahn physically interacts with a Lalafell (Haurchefant was also really good at this.) After the dungeon, when you’re reporting to him about Alisaie’s collapse and you get another vision from the Crystal Exarch trying to pull you to the First, he runs around the table and gets on one knee to talk to you and make sure you’re ok. Not really a surprise since, of course, a lot of his story arc has been as surrogate father to Nanamo and Pipin, and except for being a bit over-protective of Nanamo, he’s clearly treated them with respect for their abilities (you don’t get that sort of unreserved affection and loyalty in return if you haven’t.) But that moment really struck me. Even if he did the same with other races, I feel like it was included so he wasn’t towering over a Lala WoL in particular.

Also, Kass wakes up in a bed in Ishgard that’s big enough for about 8 Lalafells to sleep without touching lol.*

Then I stayed up way too late getting her through the opening quests of Shadowbringers, lol.

(SPOILERS FOR A DWARVEN PT OF SHADOWBRINGERS)

I’ve not only looked forward to this because Shadowbringers is so good, but because one of the first things I noticed on Zas was there were no Lalafells on the First. Anywhere. Which is eerie if you like Lalas like I do. But of course, you don’t find out where they are (or even that they are called dwarves) until you reach the level 78 quests just before Mt. Gulg. Even if dwarves are mentioned, there’s nothing to suggest a connection to Lalafells

And because we know the First’s dwarves are so reclusive, I wondered if people would react uniquely to a dwarf (especially an unhelmed dwarf because presumably at least some residents of the First would know what that culturally meant to the dwarves of the First.)

It turns out that yes, someone does. AND if you’re playing a Lalafell WoL, you are given enough information to know your race is called dwarves on the First before you even meet with the Crystal Exarch for the first time:

During the tour, Bragi, the manager of the marketplace says: Forgive my asking, but you are a dwarf, yes? We don't get many of your lot coming down from the mountain these days."

And I have the option to respond with "dwarf?" or "Actually I'm a Lalafell." (paraphrased, I didn’t think to type them out atm.)

Then he goes into his description of the peoples in the crystarium which obviously doesn't include dwarves. So Lalafell players find out their First equivalent are called dwarves long before anyone else. He also adds later if you click on him:

"Bragi: I didn't point them out earlier, but I'm sure you'll spot a Mystel, or another Ronso like me sooner rather than later. Even Viis like Captain Lyna aren't that unusual in this city.

Bragi: Aye, the Crystarium's long been a sanctuary for all manner of refugees─except maybe the dwarves. Your lot prefer to keep themselves to themselves, in my experience."

So, a Lalafell player gets this information way before anyone else. Which is only fair since it would be really eerie (and tragic) to be moving through an entire world where apparently your people didn’t exist.** Instead, you’re given just enough information that a player with a Lalafell WoL isn’t particularly bothered by their absence. And would realize when you’re sent to the dwarven village in the MSQ that you are about to meet the dwarves.

I’m looking forward to seeing what other unique dialogue Kass gets, particularly in Tomra, lol. And because I’m going to lean into this a lot, have Kass’s Shadowbringers glam for warrior:

My HC is that the Crystal Exarch brought the chest piece with him when he met her outside the city so she wouldn’t stick out any more than necessary since lalafell/dwarves are such an unusual sight on the First. And already thoughtfully dyed that shade of pink she loves (considering his hero worship for the WoL, I think it’s entirely likely he’d extracted details like that from one of the Scions who arrived earlier.) Either he dismissed the idea of the helm because he knew she’d reject it, or that would conflict with their story that she was from the Exarch’s homeland, meaning she wouldn’t have the right to wear the helm belonging to either dwarven village. Easier to have her be viewed as an exile.

I’ll post any more unique dialogue as I find it!

*I found the solo duty at the end of post-Stormblood with Zenos was a lot easier as a tank than it was for Zas as dps, lol, mostly because warriors really do soak up most damage with a shrug. It just takes longer than with dps like bard.

**I did check to see if Giott is in the bar at the beginning. She is not, so Kass is the only “dwarf” in the entire Crystarium.

#ffxiv #shadowbringers spoilers #oc: kass (ffxiv) #lalafell warrior #lalafell #lalafell-specific dialogue in shadowbringers

[fistsoflightning]

let it all be said

ffxivwrite2022 14: attrition n. the act of weakening or exhausting by constant attack or pressure.

thancred & zaya. 6.0 85-86 MSQ spoilers. 1582 wc.

Do you really love me?

It was something Zaya had asked him with a heavy tongue and far less coherency through the haze of their first levinstrike tincture, when Chessamile and Tehra’ir and Urianger hadn’t come to a consensus on how much aethersand was needed to restore the natural imbalance of Zaya’s aether and had overestimated in their calculations, and in the moment Thancred hadn’t known how to react before they’d passed out. When he’d asked them the next morning, baffled and a bit hurt, whatever they had seen in his expression had them panicking. A seed of doubt planted in their head by a nosy onlooker, they’d told him, apologetic. The regulars at the Seventh Heaven hadn’t made it any better when Zaya had made to return to the First with his belongings at his request, seemingly convinced that Thancred couldn’t have changed in the years since.

I don’t know how you couldn’t, they explained frantically, even though Thancred had done his best to assure them that no real harm had been done. If the way you hold me isn’t out of love, then I don’t know what way is, and then, more hesitant: I just thought you might have said so, by now.

Thancred had been too focused at the time on keeping Zaya from worrying themselves to tears over nothing to process that last statement, but it stuck with him like burnt caramel in his teeth. It didn’t seem to bother Zaya past being a fleeting, nasty whisper in their head ignited by everything else they’d told him about, but in exchange it became a voice in his own, ever louder in the dark.

Why haven’t you told them?

At first it was because it was too soon—even after years of looking and wanting and telling himself they are not someone you can have—and then it was out of fear that he would only sound like his old self, when he used words like love and beloved carelessly. Later, he decided to tell them when they returned to the Source, and then changed that resolution when he wasn’t ready to ‘when the world stopped needing to be saved every other week’.

That last one in particular had been a bad excuse, because now the Final Days that had wiped out the Ancients were terrorizing Thavnair, threatened to destroy their very star, and he still hadn’t said shite. 

Thancred rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms before he returned to wringing the excess water out of a pair of washcloths in the basin. Now was hardly the time for him to get stuck in his own head, lest he turn himself into a blasphemy over three words he kept himself from saying.

If not now, a quieter, more honest part of him said, no less scornful than the voice that accompanied him in his darkest hours, then when, you daft idiot? You know well enough that the world never stops long enough for the two of you.

It was a question that he had no good answer to, but he was saved from having to consider one by Zaya, knocking gently on the drawers of the vanity they were leaning on to call his attention; when Thancred looked up, he was momentarily charmed by the way they had pinned their bangs away from their face before he realized what Zaya wanted of him.

"My apologies," he said softly, making his way over before he held out one of the damp washcloths to them. "I fear I got lost in thought."

Zaya looked up at him curiously, but ultimately said nothing as they took their washcloth and turned around to clean their face. When their eyes caught his again in the reflection of the mirror, their resultant smile was brief and dim before they looked away, busying themselves with finding their facepaint in their pack.

Perhaps it was the early hour, or the burning sky hidden behind the curtains he’d drawn shut the night before, but Thancred had never seen Zaya’s nerves get the best of them, not like this. His eyes narrowed as they shifted their weight from one foot to the other and then back again, the same way they might have kept balanced in a fight.

"Feeling alright?" he asked. They stilled, eyes flicking back to his figure in the mirror, and then set down their usual assortment of cosmetics and brushes on the vanity.

“Fine,” Zaya answered hastily, signing the word into the mirror for him to see. It was, annoyingly, the answer Thancred was expecting—after all, what better way to spread despair than for the Warrior of Light, savior of worlds, to admit they were less than alright with the current apocalypse they had to fix—but then their hands twitched, halfway back to their pot of facepaint and their brush, and lifted again as Zaya moved to add, “nervous.”

Thancred kept quiet as he stepped out of the shadows and to Zaya’s back, slightly to their left so he could be seen in the mirror. “I’m here to lend an ear, should you have need of it.”

The scales on Zaya’s nose and brow warped as they scrunched their nose and reached up for their cracked horn, fingers looping in the tails of the silk ribbon still tied around it. “M’ horns ‘re fine,” they said, reflection frowning back at him in the mirror. Thancred laughed, reaching out to clasp their shoulder.

“Not quite what I was implying, bluebird,” he said, delighting briefly in Zaya’s flustered expression before he clarified, “Did you want to talk about whatever has you anxious?”

Zaya shook their head, though not in refusal. “Scared,” they admitted to his reflection, the gold specks in their irises flickering as the candlelight swayed back and forth. “Th’ land is on fire, and ‘m leaving.”

It was a fear Thancred understood well; he had never taken well to being redirected from the battle at hand, despite knowing full well his capabilities served better elsewhere. “Things do tend to worsen when we turn away,” he said, gently running his thumb along the line where the scales on Zaya’s arm met skin, “Though I suppose you have far less experience than I do in retreating to fight another battle.”

He watched the mirror even as Zaya’s head dipped down, their face invisible as the shadows overtook everything except the glow of their limbal rings. “Wanna stay.”

Thancred swallowed thickly, and felt as if the air around them both had changed through naught but Zaya’s honesty. His hand dropped from their shoulder so he could curl his arms around their sides, pulling them closer to his chest. “If you were not our best chance of reaching out to Elidibus, I would…” he said quietly, biting his lip before he could continue.

Strictly speaking, Elidibus seemed far more reasonable than his fellow Paragons. There was a fair chance he would speak truthfully on the subject of the Final Days to the other four Warriors, but they were too far beyond the point of no return to risk learning nothing, and Zaya had apparently established some manner of bond with the Ascian in the short moment before he was sealed in the Crystal Tower. Anagnorisis, Urianger had called it. Recognition.

If they hadn’t pointed the fact out themselves over their table at the Meyhane last night, Thancred might have fought to keep Zaya here, ashamed as he was to admit it—but it was at their suggestion that their paths were diverging.

Years ago, it had been him citing their duty as Scions to keep the distance between the two of them from growing closer. It would be unfair to ask differently of Zaya now, especially with so much more at stake than there was when it was just primals and tempering and Garlemald. Completely selfish.

But to hold his tongue was to keep running. All these years, he’d buried his true thoughts away out of fear that his words might sway someone he loved into doing the wrong thing, especially because his dearest friends and family were all in the same business of keeping the world from calamity—only for his lack of them to nearly convince his foster daughter to give up her life to make him happy. He’d failed to tell Louisoix and Minfilia how much he cared for them because he’d convinced himself it wasn’t the right time to pour his heart out.

When, if ever, was the right time, for people like them? Where did duty end and loving begin, if they were ever separate to begin with? How wrong could loving someone be, if all you had was stolen time between this terror and the next?

What broke him from his reverie was not some answer from on high to all his long-held questions, but a touch, and a voice he loved; Zaya’s head shifted beneath his to look at him in the mirror, one of their hands coming to rest on his above their sternum as they steadied their voice and asked, “You would what?”

Perhaps a better Scion would have said nothing, rather than let the most reckless Warrior of Light know there was a different path for them to take; Thancred, however, knew Zaya preferred the truth above all else, and so he let himself fall.

“I would have asked you to stay,” he said, and then, almost drowned out by the sound of his own heart racing: “I love you.”

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #thancred waters #thancred x wol #wolcred #c: zaya qestir #s: bound by faith #endwalker #elie's ffxivwrite2022 #tales from the blue #WELCOME TO 'IDEA THAT SHOULD BE IN STORMCHASER' PART 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO #i wrote more but the deadline... it approaches ominously #PLFTI IT WILL PROBABLY COME UP BEFORE THE END OF THIS MONTH (?) #also of note: i wanted to do a proper gpose but my mom would have seen & i would have just died of embarrassment on the spot #elie writes

[arcann]

3, 10, and 16 for the wol ask?

thank you sasha my beloved mwah mwah

3. How good are they at saying “no”? Has it gotten better or worse with time?

Very bad. Extremely. Ever since they were a child. Now it's worse! Most of the time when they don't want to do something they procrastinate doing it and give very pathetic excuses for it. Or find ways around it (they feel guilty for looking for them though). It's so bad that sometimes Alisaie their friends come along to say no for them. Embarassing how they celebrate themself when they manage to do it when they're on their own.

10. How do they deal with the pressure of being a or the Warrior of Light? Do they have a ritual to relax and recenter themselves?

They have let pressure overwhelm them and have had breakdowns over it. They tend to isolate themself or run away but they do come back and quickly since deep down they know it's not right. Much later they like to go somewhere close to the sea or just large bodies of water andwatch the sunset like they used to do with their father. And even later, since the sea is not always close, they learn how to sew and cook which they do it for large periods of time until they feel better and gift the results to the people around town when they get actually good at it.

16. Tell us about the two major events from MSQ that left the deepest emotional scars on your WoL.

Discovering how Minfilia was lost crushed them since every other Scion had been found alive. They had very high hopes they would find her well and to be taken away by Hydaelyn left them resentful. All that resent would slowly get redirected towards the ascians, the people that brought the Flood to the First. It became a viscious and ugly sentiment.

And yeah of course Haurchefant. It was so bad their mind and the drk soulstone made a little not-their-child physical manifestation of all their guilt and impotence that killed birds. Because they hate birds. That's messed up.

Bonus from my Werlyt rewrite: Letting Alfonse get recaptured by the 7th Legion and never seeing him again. Maybe. They spend all night running around Mor Dhona knowing it was not possible that he was still there and end up having a breakdown in front of the Agrius wreckage in the Silvertear Lake.

It's meaningful

So yeah just adding that because in context and in their darkest moments they relate romantic love with loss, grief and failure.

#the first batches of taigat's food were chugged by the voidsent blorbo btw #oc: taigat

[therisingphoenixden]

Prompt #4: Of Dawn and Dusk

Prompt: Free Space - Celestial (with thanks to @milesmentis for the word)

Characters: Urianger, Berude Eijin

Content Warnings: Shadowbringers spoilers, HW post-msq story spoilers

After witnessing ceaseless daytime brought by the Flood of Light, it was a relief to see the night sky again. The twinkling stars brought a sense of peace to the young auri woman as the long grasses of Il Mheg tickled the back of her neck at the collar of her yukata and her bare legs. Here, lying back on the grass in the enchanted land of the fae folk, she felt a measure of peace she hadn’t felt since her youth with the Mol clan.

The stars could tell her things, should she will it. Her time in Ishgard training in Sharlayan Astrology had taught her as much, though her skill in divining was greater with her deck of sixty than it was with reading the stars.

Still…it was soothing and brought to her a peace she hadn’t felt in so long. She closed her eyes, eager to enjoy the sounds of a peaceful night after several hard-won battles.

Until the telltale swishing of fabric among the tall grass reminded her that she was not alone. Berude felt no need to reach for her katana, just a fulm away had she felt threatened. 

Had she truly been away from the Bookman’s Shelves for so long? Her crimson eyes opened and she stared up at Urianger, not clad in his astrologian’s robes for once but a simple tunic and breeches.

“Thou seeketh succor among the Firmament as well?” His voice was low, just loud enough for her to hear but not loud enough to wake the more dangerous creatures wandering these enchanted lands.

With a soft groan, Berude sat up and patted the grass next to her in invitation. After a moment of thought he settled next to her and she couldn’t help but lean against hs broad shoulder. “Every time I restore the night sky, I always like to watch.” She shrugged. “I suppose as a reminder that, even this far from home, the stars are the same.” She looked down at his new attire and smiled. “I suppose it’s not too dissimilar to your desire to garb yourself in the night sky.”

He hummed, and the sensation vibrated through her horn in a not entirely unpleasant way. “Where dawn will banish the darkest night, so too will dusk seek to quell the light of day.” Berude stifled a smile as she watched the stars. In his five years here on the First, her dear friend could still be maddeningly cryptic.

Well, two could play that game. “The eternal dance of Azim and Nhaama. It is…unnatural to interrupt it. If I am the only one who can restore it, then I will do so gladly.” It was oddly fitting that a daughter of Azim raised by the children of Nhaama would be the one to bring back the night. Distantly, she felt Urianger tense next to her. “An ill portent in the stars?”

“Wouldst thou prefer the truth?”

She sighed and stood. “Must we tread these paths again, dear friend? I have already forgiven you for your secret dealings with the Ascians and the Warriors from the First.” It was a silly impulse. Foolish, really. But she stepped closer and embraced him, her head resting atop his. “Please, if it is absolution you seek, know that you have already been forgiven.”

She could feel him tense again, a shuddering breath shaking his shoulders as he slowly returned her embrace. “Thou will succeed in thine task, but the cost will be great.”

“If the stars will it, then I will gladly pay it.”

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #au ra wol #urianger augurelt

[weatheredpileoftomes]

theatre of combat

For FFxivWrite2022 Day 26, “break a leg”. Frydlona and Emet-Selch, mid-Shadowbringers, ~600 words. Spoilers through lv 77 msq and implied spoilers for drk 70.

Well-wishes(?) from an enemy(?).

“The orchestra is tuning up,” Emet-Selch murmurs.

Frydlona jumps. He hadn’t been sitting at her table a moment ago.

He’s out of place in the Pendants, even aside from how she hadn’t invited him. Her suite is all warm brick and dull metal, potted plants and cream-pale stone. Emet-Selch stands out against that background like the kind of exotic flower you have to root out and burn to keep from taking over your garden, which is more or less exactly what he is. Frydlona had helped the Botanists’ Guild deal with a seven-sisters rose incident, once. She’d do it again.

“You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” he asks, slouching back against the table.

“Get out.”

She will say one thing for the Exarch—he’s about the only person in Norvrandt who doesn’t just wander into her room, even though he technically owns it.

“No moralizing speeches? No furious denunciation of my villainy? No protestations of your virtue?” Emet-Selch presses a hand to his heart, assuming he has one. “How…un-heroic of you. Are you sure you’re feeling quite all right?”

Frydlona isn’t, but she isn’t going to tell him that. Her head hurts, dully, with the feeling that her skull is contracting in rhythm with her pulse. She’s tried to Esuna it away with no luck. Divine Benison helps a little; Myste’s Blackest Night helps a little more. It isn’t that bad, though; it’s not worth setting aside her glaives for. It just…hurts, a little. All the time. She’s had worse.

What worries her more is that it might be related to how Y’shtola and Mi—Ryne keep looking at her. And now, very differently, how Emet-Selch is looking at her.

It’s a thoughtful look, a little unfocused, almost dreamy except for the pinch of his brows.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Frydlona says, “but I’m fine.”

His gaze sharpens on her and he smiles. “Of course you are. A hero always is, aren’t they?”

She knows how to deal with people like Emet-Selch, in every way. Never let the Ascians see that they’ve rattled her, even when they have. Never let a man who acts entitled to her time see a weakness. Still, this bitter echo of her own thoughts makes her flinch back.

“You’ve got heroism on your mind today,” she says, trying to recover.

He shrugs. She wonders if he knows that the movement is a little too broad, even for his usual flourishing style. Nashmeira had to teach Frydlona to gesture too much, to make up for the motion of her dance and the distance of the watchers. Emet-Selch is sitting still just a few fulms away from her. “Well, of course I do. I’ve been thinking about you, and all your little…struggles. Was the Lightwarden of Amh Araeng easier to kill than the others?”

Frydlona wants to turn away, and doesn’t want to turn her back on him. “Does it matter?”

“Hardly.” There’s such finality in his voice she wishes she hadn’t asked. “Do enjoy your final battle. I’d tell you to break a leg, but…” His eyes trail down her body, lingering where the drapes of her costume cross at her thigh. “You do need those as a dancer, don’t you.”

She’d slap him, but she’s not entirely sure he wouldn’t like it. “Goodbye, Emet-Selch.”

“No gratitude at all,” he says with a deep sigh, and vanishes again.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #my fic #my fic: frydlona #my fic: frydlona: gen #insofar as...shadowbringers...is gen... #my fic: 5.0 #frydlona merlgeimwyn #emet selch

[ecosystem-administrator]

Pawn

Timeline: 6.0, mild MSQ spoilers

In the aftermath of the disastrous 'dinner party', Mayhem is not in a good frame of mind.

They couldn’t afford to take time to slow down even after what Mayhem had just been through with Zenos; but the trip from Camp Broken Glass to the Tower of Babil would take a couple of days’ travel on foot, and during that time at least no one asked much of them while they recovered.

“I know there isn’t much use asking if you’re all right,” G’raha murmured into their ear the first night out; they’d almost begged to be held, not trusting what their mind might conjure around the edges of sleep. “Whenever you’re ready to speak of it, I’m here for you.”

“Thank you, love,” Mayhem sighed, half burying their face against his neck, enjoying the way their ears brushed against his chin. “I…seeing his expressions on my face…it’s hard to describe the way it makes my flesh crawl just remembering it. I can’t believe I walked straight into their trap.”

Their lover stroked their back gently, soothingly, and Mayhem found themself relaxing a little further against him. G’raha’s hands were strong and deft from years of wielding the bow, something they’d often appreciated but rarely more than in this moment. “We all did,” he answered slowly. “And yet it is hard to imagine how we could have done otherwise, not and lived with the results. Would you have abandoned the refugees to the cold if you knew that Fandaniel meant for them to distract and slow us? Walked away and left the twins behind, or forbidden them from going at all and pursuing their own answers?”

Mayhem curled their tail around his arm, pressing closer into his side. “…Because villainy can look like a thousand things, but there are only so many ways to be good. Is that it?”

“Something like that. Maybe we could have done more if we’d had more information, but we had no way of getting that information. If we start to blame ourselves for every unforeseen consequence of our sincere actions, we’ll never do anything at all.” He kissed one of their ears, and then the other, lips curling into a smile at the instinctive flick of each one against his lips. “…And I know that you know this. That isn’t really what’s upsetting you, is it?”

“No…I mean, that’s part of it.” Mayhem sighed. “…I hardly feel like I know who I am right now, so it’s all getting muddled up. I haven’t felt this helpless since…” They grimaced. “…Since the Bloody Banquet.”

“The last time you danced someone else’s tune all the way to the bitter end,” G’raha murmured. “It’s no wonder…but we have the resources now to counterbalance our enemy’s plans.” A slight huff of laughter. “We got a head start by running off into the cold before the song finished playing, didn’t we?” He reached down to cup Mayhem’s face, finding their chin and lifting it until he could kiss their lips gently. “…We’re going to fix this. I promise.”

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2022 #mayhem #g'raha tia #g'raha x wol #endwalker spoilers

[snow-system-wol]

In From the Cold

It's... not a very pleasant time for him, is it?

And the consequences are fairly severe.

(Handling this specific piece of writing a bit differently. Due to the more extensive nature of things, the trigger warnings themselves will be given below the readmore)

(Typically, we do not crosspost chapters from the more triggering side set of stories / ones including writing from other alters in our system, but this is 100% MSQ so, in this case, we will.)

•quest-typical triggers (possession, forced body swapping, implied drugging/similar state, kidnapping, violence)

•heavy paranoia regarding possibility of nonconsensual sexual interactions

•allusions to CSA

•emetophobia warning (after S'ria awakens safe in his actual body, just the paragraph beginning with "You force yourself upright")

You awaken and it all feels very wrong. The most obvious and pressing thing is the stupor you claw your way out of, the already too familiar sense of having been drugged present in the heavy way your eyes open (if not by substance then by some other means). The next is, of course, that you are not where you were before (nor do you have any sense of how long you may have been unconscious and that idea does not sit well.)

Looking up from your plate and across the table, you just have to bite down on a near-hysterical laugh. You don't really remember all that much of your childhood but – He had done these, right? Champagne socials and formal dinner nights? And at least a few times, just like this – you and Him seated at a too long table, playing out a parody of normalcy for a short while.

You wonder, sometimes, if He wished for actual family in those moments instead of…you. Or perhaps He had imagined it more like a romantic dinner for two, as if properly trying to court you first, before... well, ending the night as was typical in that place.

What a strange unintentional mockery of that Zenos had stumbled upon, though the original memory is a joke in of itself. This is barely weirder, somehow.

Perhaps it's all that, or perhaps it's whatever slumber you just snapped out of, or perhaps it's something else, but your mind doesn't feel…quite right. He may be acting too dull and placid to get a rise out of you, maybe, but Fray should've been stirring at the first sight of Zenos' face (and Fandaniel's for that matter, shite was he standing much closer than you'd expected him to be). They aren't though, it's just you, and a confusing and jumbled sort of “you” as well.

Fandaniel is quick to make you aware of your new circumstances, a faux-polite smile on his face, and you feel – odd. This body feels unfamiliar and weak and ill-fitting, yes, but any truly upset reaction fails to come. You can't help but agree with him about it feeling rather refreshing. More than anything else, the long-ingrained phantom touch on your skin is finally gone, knowing that this is a body that He has never been able to touch. It's a relief.

A relief that lasts only as long as it takes to remember that your true body still exists and you have no idea where it is or what may have been done to it while unattended. Then the fear starts to set in.

You are trying to pay attention to Fandaniel's monologue, as surely important as it is, but you can't help but keep picturing mental images that distract and disgust you. It is the oddest thing though. The body doesn't seem to feel nausea and there's the sense that there isn't even anything in its stomach if it could – and while you can feel the body trembling with panic, the heart barely is beating faster.

You immediately suspect that this body is not alive, if it ever even lived in the first place. The unsustainability of this form only worsens your concern over what may have become of your true one.

You watch Fandaniel traipse over to refill the wine glass in front of Zenos and the giggle actually does slip out of you this time – where it is soundly ignored. That was your job when there were guests over. Gods, one really does need to be careful with those reds, though, they stain. Pour with a flourish, but never to the extent that one risked spilling. The difficult part is not flinching if you're touched, lest you shake the bottle.

You wonder if Zenos has noticed that you aren't paying much attention to him. It isn't like he can see your face at least, but, he'd be able to tell, right? You focus on him more once he stands up. He does not walk towards you though, no, striding towards a darkened section of the chamber while you try to follow his words with a mind clouded by that lingering tiredness and by anxiety both.

He talks about things the same way a predator kills a prey – circling vaguely around the point he wants to make before diving straight into the heart of it. The room brightens enough to see your body slumped loosely in a chair at the same moment that you realize what Zenos plans to do with it.

As horrified as you'd felt over the vulnerability of your abandoned body, the idea of him puppeting it about is viscerally worse. You'd been morbidly worrying about – well – it's not like your corpse-like vacant form would likely hold much interest for Zenos, if he prefers you as live prey, but you cannot deny that there is an edge to the violent obsession that has you afraid of what directions his fascination may go. There is an overlap between the carnal natures of violence and sex both, and if he craves one of those two with you…

But at the very least, your body looks precisely as dressed and put together as you last remember it. (And you are so intensely glad that G'raha had borrowed his scarf back while you were resting by the fire, because you fear you may have to burn these clothes when all of this is through, because one of the two of them had to have put your body where it currently sits and your skin crawls at either of them having done it.)

On the flip side of that coin, opposite to whether there'd be an urge to defile your body while it was unoccupied, is this new proposal – Zenos wants to feel what it is like to be in your skin, and gods help you, there is not a single thing to stop him from indulging in any whims he might have.

You have to remind yourself that you are being irrational, that the situation is already pretty damned bad without you drawing all sorts of horrifying possibilities out of thin air.

Your body sits up, smiles, and disappears – and it finally dawns on you that in your fear for yourself you had not considered what he may choose to do while wearing your face.

Gods, you are already physically strong enough to overpower any Scion in a one-on-one, maybe even two-on-one, fight – the ability to catch any one of them completely off guard just rendered it unfair. You could probably kill half of them before they even were fighting back, that is, if they'd fight back. You realize, your borrowed heart in your throat, that you don't know if… well, perhaps some of them could overcome it, but the twins, G'raha, could they even bear to fight back against you?

With them knowing you share your body and mind among multiple people, would they think that you'd just finally snapped before considering foul play? The idea of any of them spending their last moments thinking that you killed them has grey clouding in the corners of your vision.

You desperately hope that at least some of them know you well enough to see through such a ruse, if you can't get there fast enough.

And you suspect that you actually can't, this choice of body bordering on cruelty – feeble and tired, in a way that feels as though weakened by illness. You can't say you remember all that vividly, but you'd swear your body held more strength than this as a half-starved teen…or maybe your sense of scale has just degraded away from a normal person's over the years.

While the injuries are adding up as you pick your way through the ruined city, you really are trying, so it's just so utterly hopeless of a thing to be caught in that blast. And this damnable body – it was dead, you know it – it has to have already died before you were shoved into it and is desperate to return back to that state, having only half awoken in the first place. Heart: sluggish, mouth: dry, eyes: as you are presently realizing, seemingly unable to cry. (And fuck, you want to in the moment, the frustration and pain overwhelming.)

For a near mercy, you can't feel the cold very well, either. At least blood is working as it is meant to – not that it is ideal, the way the inside of your armor is slick with it, but it provides some measure of normalcy and sense of severity.

You don't need that anymore. Measuring severity, that is. Half-conscious and crawling, you know you won't be alive all that much longer, if you can't so much as stand.

…Even if you can't walk back to meet Zenos, you shall still crawl. 

The stars, for once, grant you a kindness and allow you just enough time to intervene. You don't even really care what you are seeing, what manner of form Zenos was taking, so long as you block the attack from landing on G'raha and Alisaie. Your eyes are blurry, but the sound of metal on metal is clear and your heart sings with relief. Summoning the last of your strength, you fling yourself at Zenos.

(Your body is tall, lanky, probably not all that hard to knock over if taken off guard. You are right.)

The rest of the Scions have gathered by the time you lose consciousness and it is a relief to know that none of them are unprepared now.

 

Your eyes open blearily and for a moment you are confused about if you fell asleep in camp. It's dark around you, aside from the lights about camp, and bitterly cold. The memories of the sudden tempering scream echoing from the tower begins to return to you. There is quite a group clustered around you, Scions plus Lucia and Maxima besides. Too many people, to be fully honest.

“Is everyone all right?” Your voice comes out strained and multiple people sigh in relief.

“Perfectly fine, yes. I hope the same can be said of you.” G'raha's voice is so gentle and caring with how he says it that you almost relax for a moment before the rest of your memory catches up with you and you immediately understand why he'd asked. The answer is most likely, ‘no, it cannot – fuck, absolutely not.’

Gods, you don't know how long you've been unconscious, but you can feel how recent his presence is, you doubt it'd been long at all, it barely even feels faded from you. There is an almost physical sense of residue clinging to you, on your skin and filling the spaces between your organs, and you feel defiled in a way that is near incomprehensible.

In a near hysterical train of thought, you almost rather he'd just have fucked you instead, something your mind could at least parse. (No, you don't. You don't wish that. The devil you know is no better than the one you don't.)

You bite your lip to try to ground yourself, nearly jolting at the pain of your tooth scraping an injury that is already there. You focus and feel a corresponding dull pinprick ache in your thumb. It's an easy sequence of events to follow – the mistake of Zenos catching your fangs on your skin, probably a common accident if not used to them – and then the wondering, ‘ah, I guess these are pretty sharp?’ and poking your finger solidly enough to bleed for your efforts. That's a normal thing to check, that's normal, of course he'd be curious about having fangs given his hunting and biting obsessions. Nothing needlessly unsettling about that, the possession part besides. You'd do the same, maybe, in that position. 

(It's easy to picture him doing that, but it's also easy to keep picturing things. Maybe he'd taken a moment to properly map out and feel how sharp all of your teeth are, heedless of the violation of jamming exploratory fingers in your mouth. Maybe the body's instinctive gag response to such a thing is just from your own broken psyche and he could've poked about to his heart's content. Maybe he'd been curious, had kept exploring this body just to know his enemy a bit better, while the ability to do so was right there and no one ever had to know –)

The ‘not knowing’ is almost the worst part.

It is very poor comfort to you that you genuinely and honestly do not think Zenos would go so far nor even want such a thing, because you can picture and feel it and so that distinction of reality no longer matters.

How alien your familiar flesh feels. You are staring down at your hands and legs as if they don't even belong to you and right now they do not and you can feel the way that you are shuddering and breathing so fast that your head spins, with lungs so tight that any attempts at sobs come out as squeaks (and you are tearing up, but you will not cry, you will not cry.)

Your ability to focus on more than your building breakdown is very limited, but you at least have the lingering awareness to be aware of much you're having a whole thing in public.

Someone, you do not know or care who, reaches for you and all you can do is press yourself further against the crate behind you and force out a desperate “don't.” The hand retreats immediately and you are glad for that. No one touches you, at least (the only hands on you are those that your mind conjures).

But there are still far too many people standing around you and talking incomprehensibly and looking at you and too fucking close to you – with the violation burning in your body from the inside out and knowing what is surely about to happen, you want them to stop looking and not see you like this. Let them avert their eyes to this, please.

You force yourself upright enough to at least get to your hands and knees before being sick. It is a miserable experience, your body fervently trying to reject any trace of him. It feels like it should help, but no such luck – the sensation is far deeper and harder to reach. You are reduced to empty dry heaving without the sense of defilement or the phantom touch having abated at all.

You'd rather be put back into that near-shattered corpse than feel like this.

The dissociative fog in your head is worsening and welcome. You find yourself not caring who steps in or what happens, so long as you don't have to experience the body like this.

Alisaie was very aware that S'ria had started to spiral into panic attack – but it didn't take someone who knew him to figure that one out, the way he had stiffened and begun hyperventilating. She winced sympathetically at S'ria turning over to empty his stomach, but Alphinaud seemed far more concerned at that reaction than she was. He paled and paused for a moment before snapping into something more put together and tersely focused. He firmly told everyone except for G'raha and herself to stop crowding S'ria and leave, and his tone left no room for arguments.

Turning her focus back to S'ria, it seemed as though he'd physically settled enough to stop and slump back into his prior position against the crate. There are immediately concerns in her mind, looking at how weak and exhausted he seemed. He needed rest and to be moved somewhere warm (as well as hydration whenever it seemed manageable for him.) These seemed easy and universal conclusions to come to, watching G'raha knelt down by S'ria to try and convince him to relocate.

Alisaie wasn't sure what she expected to happen, but she was at least well aware of the sort of sappy ease and comfort they often had around each other. She did not expect him to flinch away from G'raha, curling up with a mistrustful look that held little recognition. G'raha looked stung but not surprised.

She remembered speaking with S'ria, sitting on some rocks together out in Ahm Areng, about the nature of his other parts – and immediately wondered if this wasn't the same one she'd briefly met (or only seen, not even spoken with) out in Gyr Abania, the way his body language made him look like a scared child. She also realized, tactically, that Alphinaud asking her specifically to stay wasn't only because S’ria normally trusted her as a person.

Alisaie shifted closer to S'ria, Alphinaud and G'raha backing up a touch in response.

“S'ria?”

He lifted his head to properly look at her, something he hadn't done for either of the boys. That was a good start. He shifted closer to her and further away from them, and she immediately realized they would have to split up for him to successfully rest.

She could do this – it was just like looking after Halric, wasn't it? That had been nice, in its own way. A catharsis at being able to provide a sense of safety and comfort to those who needed it.

While her place on the battlefield would always differ from Alphinaud's, she fully understood why he'd followed a healer’s path – as she'd done much the same outside of battle, and was prepared to do so again now.

“It's really cold out here. Do you want to come inside, where it's warm?”

S'ria made a noise that might've been agreement but made no attempt to move.

Alisaie tried again to prompt him, hoping it would not backfire. “Ria? Can you stand for me?” She'd never asked if that name was okay to use, before this incident.

His eyes snapped to meet hers, finally looking clearer, and he struggled to get to his feet. Alisaie nearly sighed in relief when he took her outstretched hand and let her help him up.

She quickly led him back to the small house they'd been occupying before they could get intercepted by anyone unaware of the situation. S'ria seemed to largely relax once they were safely in the tiny bedroom with the door closed, where Alisaie immediately turned the heater back on to full blast, remembering how icy S'ria's hand had felt in hers. She opened a bottle of water she'd grabbed on their way through the house and handed it cautiously to S'ria, waiting to see if his hands would support the heavy glass.

“Here, drink – slowly.”

S'ria drank most of the bottle over the course of several minutes, thankfully without incident. Alisaie started running through a mental checklist of physical health needs and comforts.

“Ria, is there anything you want? Food, something warm to drink?”

He shook his head cautiously. “...hurts."

It was almost startling to hear him suddenly speak, sounding completely different than normal as well. Alisaie also almost swore over the fact that medical aid as a potential need had slipped her mind, given the lack of major battle as a reminder.

“I'm sorry I didn't ask sooner – what hurts?”

S'ria quietly raised his shirt on one side and Alisaie winced. She understood the impulse, given who was in the body at the time, but trust S'ria to body ram himself hard enough to damage his own ribs. She supposed future consequences were not on the table in that moment.

She hated that S'ria had quietly wandered about for several minutes without complaining about the injury just as much as she loved that S'ria let her sit down right next to him without flinching. He looked calm and peaceful for the duration of the healing process. 

By the time the healing glow had left her hands, S'ria looked to be falling asleep sitting up. She urged him to properly lay down and drew the blankets over him. Alisaie made it a few steps away from the bed before a soft voice spoke up again.

“Menphina, wait.” Alisaie's heart lurched. She turned around and made eye contact with S'ria in the dimly lit room. “Don't go.”

“All right, I'm not going anywhere.” She sat back down, fighting with the straps of her boots and kicking them off gently enough that they wouldn't absolutely thud onto the floorboards. The moment she crawled under the covers, S'ria more-or-less immediately latched onto her as a physical anchor.

There was a moment of mental readjustment when he started purring, of confusion about if she'd misread his emotional state, until she remembered that purring wasn't just for contentment – it was also an instinctive self-soothing response to distress or pain, especially among miqo'te children. (Which, according to his mind, he probably was one right now.)

Alisaie adjusted them into a position that seemed most comfortable for both of them. S'ria appeared to fall asleep before long and she waited to see if enough adrenaline would leave her body for her to do the same.

 

Alisaie awoke, disoriented, knowing it was probably some odd time in the afternoon by now. The obvious cause of her returning to the waking world was one Warrior of Light somewhat awkwardly wiggling free of her arms. It was… hard to interpret, especially while half awake. It didn't seem like the movements of the child from last night, but she also suspected that S'ria's reaction to waking up unexpectedly in someone's arms would be far less subtle.

“S'ria?”

There was an immediate freeze and then a slow exhale. “No, I am sorry.” The voice was high and soft, properly enunciated – and very clearly not S'ria, yes. Alisaie struggled with her reaction. Her first instinct was to demand to speak with him and see if he was okay, but he'd been very clear with them about requesting a different person not being something that really works, so that would just be… cruel of her to say then, she supposed, rejecting Menphina’s presence immediately.

“Is he all right, at least?”

Menphina seemed to be struggling with how to answer that question, but her face and body language did that for her. She brushed Alisaie's sleep-mussed bangs out of her face with an expression that was equal parts concerned and apologetic.

“Pray give me a moment to fully wake up and settle in �� and then I believe a conversation with everyone else present would best serve.”

#snow-system #ffxiv-oc #ffxiv-reactions #s'ria 🌸❄️ #again we don't normally crosspost from the side fic but. msq #so simply be aware that this is drastically more morbid than most other pieces of writing on here #S'ria trauma psychological read #we've Lost the Boy #writings

[stasisarbiter]

Volume 3 of my adventures in Eorzea text doc! This turned out longer for some reason, and it’s mostly rambles anyway so I’ll put it behind a read more (if I can figure out how to)

- Off to a crypt to beat up some doomsday cult! - It's quite interesting to see the starting zone of a different class (i assume that's what Gridania is) - Gridania at night is so peaceful, love the sound of crickets (at least in games) - Oh it's yet another dungeon! I wonder what the boss will be. The bow guy mentioned bird people so maybe them? - I've only just realized I'm called a Gladiator and the npc's are lancer, conjurer and thaumaturge, none of those are classes as I've heard of them, perhaps I get real classes later? - I'm a bit unclear on what interject does. I've been able to cancel enemy aoe's (the orange areas) with low blow and shield bash, but interject almost never works (I think it worked once?) so it must be for some other use. - Oh a squid wizard - Low blow didn't stop squid wizard's charge move, but that's probably because he's a boss and immune to stun? - I feel like most of my gameplay is done during the night for some reason, although it might be day rn and it's just raining. - Mother Miounne also pretty, elf race is pretty, but necks kinda long - Oof, poor rando party - Airship to the Golden Saucer? If I wasn't pressed to get my chocobo i'd investigate further. - Oh hey a third skill for my combo, finally I can stop pressing two buttons over and over and now I can press THREE! - I was just here yesterday but it somehow still feels like coming home back in Ul'dah - Papashan! - Hecatoncheires? They better have a hundred arms - Ah another duty/dungeon? idk the terminology. I wonder if these would go by faster if I was a dps class instead of a tank. - I always forget it resets iron will at the start of these, I always forget to turn it on until a mob attacks the npc's instead of me - Oh I got sync'd down to level 20 so I don't know my 3-part combo anymore, boo! - Nope they have 2 arms, kind minotaur-y but no eyes? or perhaps they're under those helmets. - This dungeon has a lot of random dead ends that has nothing in them. - Had to dodge so much in this Kottos fight. - This Gyges guy has some real weird aoe indicators - I feel bad for beating up the Hecatoncheires though, they didn't do anything wrong - Random merchant/thug encounter, I can't imagine this goes well for them. Well they got stomped and now I'm passing out again! - Used my past vision powers to prove a woman innocent! - The Scions you say? I've heard of you from a certain xenomorph - Ah! Edda! Oh noes, her fiance? Apparently that happened many days ago even though I was just in Gridania like... an hour ago, guess that's what happens when you do non-stop MSQ = Hmm looking at a quick wiki browse with no spoilers the point in the MSQ i'm at is level 17, even though I myself am level 27, so I still have a ways to go before getting my chocobo. Might have to wait until tomorrow. - At least I can rent a chocobo to get around! And the riding music is nice. - Oh Tataru, I've heard of you as well. - Oh god, more voice acting, it's so few and far between it's jarring every time - Lady put on a shirt - Perhaps it's the read from her VA but she sounds like she's stifling a huge smile the entire time she talks - Primals probably are a huge problem in this world, but I can't help but feel they might be friendly, probably my conditioning in Granblue - How is being able to see the memories of others gonna help me slap around primals? - That doesn't seem like a particularly strong passphrase Minfilia - I'm really not keen on Minfilia's voice for some reason, idk why it's not particularly bad, but doesn't really fit her? Maybe that's just me though.

- Sadly it is time for bed and still no Chocobo, but tomorrow! By the gods I’ll get it tomorrow!

#Stasis Plays FFXIV

[spinneryesteryear]

FFXIV 5.2 Reactions

Jotted these down when the patch came out, but only just now typing them up to get the notes off my phone, lol.

- Just fiddled with my graphics settings and now the game looks fantastic, especially at night. On the other hand, I have 30 fps now. RIP. Gotta find a way to toggle settings before I enter a raid.

- Really, playing FFXIV is like watching a TV series but new episodes only come out every 3 months.

- Gaius’s new model is so hi-def and realistic it just makes that blue-haired girl next to him look even more baby-faced and anime. Kinda jarring, tbh.

- pls let me recruit Estinien to fight the Weapons, I beg you

- Okay, so talking to Unukalhai right before while I was in the Rising Stones and hearing his warning about auracite leads me to suspect something will happen while transporting the Scions home. (Or it’s a reference to Oversoul with the Weapons. Or it’s just his standard dialogue, idk.)

- G’RAHA I’M MARRIED. Or my character is. In my head. To Sidurgu. NOT YOU.

- *mind drifting to odd details during cutscene* Lyna has fantastic winged eyeliner.

- Okay, wild theory: Zenos has possessed Ardbert’s body and is hunting sin eaters for his newest sport, hoping to lure us out.

- Frickin’ fake Ardbert will pop up during this announcement, I just know it.

- ALPHINAUD, DID YOU JUST SIGN ME UP FOR PUBLIC SPEAKING??!!

- I *knew* it!

- Y’shtola, what does your x-ray vision tell you? And why is Ardbert’s beard missing? Did the Ascian shave his corpse for reasons unknown?

- Okay, so it’s probably not Zenos in Ardbert’s body.

- 2nd wild theory: Elidibus isn’t tempered by Zodiark in the same way as the other AScians. Probably quite contradicted by canon, but I can’t remember all his moon monologues. Still, something seems different about him.

- It’s heartening that Beq Lugg disapproves of the Ascians’ careless appropriation of corpses.

- “It is recommended that you set aside sufficient time to view these scenes in their entirety.” HOLD ON TO YOUR BUTTS, FOLKS!

- Okay, that statue is terrifying. It represents a sin eater, I assume. Also reminds me of some real-life pagan idols. It’s gonna come to life, isn’t it.

- Ah. Yes. Of course.

- It’s less scary when alive somehow. Save for the unfocused eyes. Like the Ronkans’ answer to Allagan chimerae. Or the sphinx from Greek myths. Yep, it has riddles. It’s gonna try to keep one soul, though, I’m sure.

- FIGHT TIME

- so glad I came on PLD

- I’m sure those cubi had nothing to do with the Amaurotines

- “How polite.” - Y’shtola summing up what I think of every FF boss’s insistence on holding fights in alternate dimensions.

- Ah, Tiuna was a fellow WoL. Let me pay my respects at her grave, dang it!

- Four (properly clothed) Roegadyn all standing here on patch day for the cutscene?! What is this madness?1 Maybe there truly are dozens of us out there...

- Is Y’shtola gonna enchant the broom? Yep. She gets more like her mother every day.

- poor Runar, his waifu running off to save the world again

- ngl, Ardbert’s voice when it’s so not Ardbert is really tripping me out

- The WoL is so angry and betrayed over this misappropriation of Ardbert’s body and I’m so, so glad to see this reaction. Ardbert is our #1 best bro. We will not stand for his memory to be abused like this.

- HOLY CRAP THAT’S TERRIFYING

- Elidibus sounds like a tired old man. A tired, bitter old man. Which he is.

- Doing SHB MSQ as tank allows me to relate to Thancred on another level. THere’s a certain bond between co-tanks who trust each other. We view ourselves as hte only responsible ones (especially since neither Urianger nor Alphinaud are competent enough to achieve Troll Healer status) and there’s this silent understanding behind our actions. I can’t describe it better.

- Urianger’s waterwalking was every bit as dramatic and played out how I anticipated. Thancred’s exasperation was on point. And I suspect their dizziness is due to the fraying soul-body connection.

- Urianger is so desperate to not swim, he makes a deal with the Fuath. THat sounds like a spectacularly bad decision, even for him.

- Now Alisaie is signing me up for chores. Good grief. She’s eager to be on our way.

- “It is a minor miracle that we accomplish anything at all.” You got that right, sister.

- Ryne guilt-tripping her dad and Uncle Orange, lol. Oh, wait, and me, too. Did everyone receive a sass upgrade this patch?

- It is nice to just hang out with the Scions, though. Too bad a FATE had to gatecrash. I knew it’d be those guys Elidibus encouraged, though. Am unsure what game he’s playing by encouraging people to be heroic. So far.

- So is no one in the Crystarium questioning why the Exarch is suddenly going around with his hood down? Or did he do that regularly before the WoL showed up?

- Okay, so can Elidibus just conjure up a vision of the sky falling and awaken the Echo within people like that?

- why did Venat and Elidibus have their top-secret meeting sin the same location? Or store the recordings of their meetings in the same location? Were those even the same locations???

- lol, Elidibus bluntly refuses to reveal his plan

- the bit with not being able to sleep and getting up for a drink really resonates with me

- quick, which do I pick? Granson, my edgy little brother, or Giott, my tiny, badass sister?

- on PLD currently and Granson was in the patch trailer so my edgy wannabe DRK bro it is!

- let me go off to hunt Elidibus down with Granson and Giott pls. PLS. I want them for trust.

- uh-oh, why are we staring at the moon? Are we just giving Elidibus and/or Zodiark the stink-eye, or something more?

- so is G’raha steadily getting more and more crystallized?

- and WHO THE HECK is parading around in Asahi’s body????

#Spinner plays FFXIV

[blackestnight]

all the strange delight

a brief interlude, set somewhere in the latter half of the 6.0-6.1 gap but completely free of msq spoilers.

also, listen, it’s still march 30th on the west coast.

The last few weeks had been strange.

Hanami had been in Norvrandt for—well, just over a fortnight by her reckoning, but how long it had been on the Source was hard to say. Then she’d returned to Yanxia, and on to Thavnair, then Ul’dah. By the time she’d made it back to Ishgard she had been dragging her feet, exhausted from the constant time changes and the hundred thousand little errands that had dragged her across the continents. And to make it stranger, Aymeric had been…happy to see her. Not that he wasn’t always. But he had said something to the effect of glad you made it back, and asked if she was staying the next day, and if she would be free that night, and she vaguely remembered answering yes even while she detached herself from his embrace and stumbled off to bed, despite it barely being late afternoon, where she’d slept so deep and so long it felt almost like dying. As a result she’d woken up well before the sun, and well before Aymeric, who had only grunted and burrowed further into his pillow when she slid out from under his arm. She’d hidden out in the scullery for most of the morning—although Margelyne liked to argue, Hanami respected the woman too much to subject her to her filthy gear—and then she’d been off to Skysteel, where her day had gotten stranger.

Stephanivien was always strange, granted, but she was used to him. And usually he was happy to leave her alone when she wanted a quiet (for relative values of quiet, as machinistry went) place to work, or to offer insight if she asked for it. He’d been gracious when he saw her fumbling with the joints for her hand brace, offering to piece together the fittings for her (she’d scowled but, considering the shape her hand was in, couldn’t argue). So he’d chattered while he assembled pieces and Hanami polished rough edges of the brass plates, on and on about some story Joye had told him, until he’d given her a look, more focused than his absentminded monologue, and said, “Though you must surely have plans for the evening!”

Which was—new. Hanami supposed she was friendly with Stephanivien (for relative values of friendly, as her habits went) but she wouldn’t go so far as to call him a friend. They worked together, on occasion, and he always filled his workshop with aimless talk, but they didn’t talk about themselves.

So she only said, “No?” in a tone maybe sharper than she needed to, but he didn’t seem offended, just surprised, and went back to his story and his work.

By the time she packed up and made her way back to the manor (passing by the armorer in the Crozier, who had tried to refuse payment for fixing her broken gauntlet, and she’d gotten so caught up in arguing that she’d forgotten the other half of the errands she had to run) she couldn’t even bother to be surprised by Aymeric greeting her at the door with a kiss.

Not that she was complaining, but it was all strange, so when he stood up she said, “Either you have a favor to ask me or I am forgetting something.”

“Always so suspicious,” he teased her, taking her bag from her shoulder while she toed off her boots (which were still scuffed, and she’d forgotten the fucking boot polish because of fighting the armorer) and taking her left hand in his right. Then: “I haven’t any favors to ask.”

So she’d forgotten something. She racked her brain while he led her down the hall toward the dining room—you couldn’t spit on a calendar without dampening an Ishgardian holy day, but she never celebrated those and Aymeric ignored most of them too; it wasn’t a city holiday, or there would have been more decorations and fewer open shops. Probably not their anniversary either.

The dining room was lit, the fire crackling in the hearth and a miniature feast spread out before the two chairs in front of it: steaming plates of rice and fish, bowls of soup and chunks of fresh fruit, and a little pile of packages wrapped in patterned paper.

“What,” she said.

Aymeric bent at the waist once more to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Happy nameday, my sunrise.”

She blinked. Mentally rewound her day—thought back to Stephanivien, and the armorer.

“Is that today?” she said.

“It is,” he said, unfailingly gentle. “And I have received a number of requests to pass on best wishes, as well as a demand from Lord Emmanellain that I embarrass you to the best of my ability with traditional Coerthan songs.”

“You would not dare,” she said.

“I absolutely would not,” he agreed. “But should he ask, feel free to huff and pout as though I had. And given your unpredictable itinerary,” he added, with a gesture to the packages, “your friends and family thought it easiest to send you gifts here, which worked out quite well.”

She marveled quietly at the table—at the pile of gifts, and the food, laid out neatly but just a little less perfect than Margelyne or Grafant would ever allow, so he had to have made it himself—and then back up at Aymeric, who brushed her bangs free of the dried sweat and grime clinging to her forehead from a long day surrounded by heavy machinery.

“Thank you,” she murmured, overwhelmed by a fondness so swift she almost couldn’t give it a name.

He bowed once more to give her a third kiss, soft and sweet, and she felt his mouth brush against her skin when he said, “Before I forget, I ought to give you my gift.”

He used his grip on her hand to turn her palm up, and placed something hard and cold into it, which—when she leaned back enough to look at it—revealed itself to be a fresh tin of boot polish.

She almost felt bad for smearing sweat on his shirt when she pressed her head to his chest and laughed, but he didn’t seem to mind as he guided her backward toward their waiting dinner. “Just what I wanted.”

“You never do remember,” he said, obviously amused. “And to think, Hilda insists that I am a terrible gift-giver.”

“Hilda has no idea what she is talking about,” Hanami told him, entirely serious.

He squeezed her elbow and she set aside the tin of polish on the end of the table, instead letting him lead her to the painstakingly pleasant night he’d put together—planned for, even without any idea as to whether she would be there at all—determined to enjoy the present.

—

#final fantasy xiv #oc: hanami hagane #s: a minor justice #this is very silly #aymeric de borel #listen. if i can't use fic to make fun of myself what good is it #writing - mine