#Garlemald hc

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2023 || FFXIV Write info\\Prompt list\\Character info \\Master post ||

Prompt 25: Call it a day

end a period of activity, especially resting content that enough has been done

Character(s): Atticus Wolfram (aged 10)  Cw: none Word count: 613 Notes: Just a little intro to who Atticus’s first love was (the childhood friend referenced on day 11) Just a note that Atticus’s last name used to be Vendelin (hence the reference to 'Ven' on day 2) before he fled Garlemald. Figured I’d get that out of the way now so as to not cause any confusion! I am taking some liberties here with some stuff--personal hc on how I figured training worked before someone joined the Legion. First draft for now to get my thoughts out but I’ll clean it up after work! Readmore in place of a banner!

“Again,”

A swing of his blade in timed rhythm with the other blades around him cut through the air.

“Not fast enough, again!”

The blade swung to the left, just barely missing the boy’s hand next to him as he turned to swing his blade to the left a tick late.

“Norbanus! That delay could’ve cost you a hand!”

The boy next to Atticus—Norbanus, faltered a little, the exhaustion clearly beginning to set in. “Sorry sir, I just need a moment.”

“If you want to join any of the Legion’s boy, you won’t have many moments to rest. Again!”

And again, the boy–Norbanus faltered, this time stumbling forward, his blade sliding across the ground causing everyone else nearby to stop and stare.

The man heaved a sigh, placing his hands on his hips. “Alright, let’s call it a day. Get some rest recruits–I want you all in tip top shape before sunrise tomorrow. We’ll be running extra drills no thanks to your friend Norbanus over here.” A collective groan but one sharp look from their trainer and they all quieted down. “Good. Dismissed!”

A collective “Sir!” was chorused throughout the small group as they all saluted and disbanded the moment their trainer left the room. Most of the others whispered and snickered at Norbanus as they passed but Atticus stayed behind to help retrieve his practice sword and offer a hand up. Norbanus looked embarrassed at the thought of being helped up and stubbornly decided to heave himself up on his own to save himself from even further remarks from any lingering people.

“It was bound to happen to one of us,” Atticus muttered nonchalantly. He was glad it wasn’t him as he got enough stares and push back from the others for being half-Garlean but he’d never admit that outloud to the other. “The guy’s got a stick up his arse. We’re not even part of the military yet, it’s just pre-training for Legionaries, what’s his deal anyways?”

“My dad said he used to be a Legionary for the first Legion before he was formally dismissed for one reason or another but then the brute came back on his own…I think that makes him an Evocatus or something…”

Atticus scoffed lightly. “Well that makes sense why he’s been so hard on us when it’s only been a week…I wonder why he rather deal with amateurs like us instead of going back to his Legion.”

“Who knows? But I guess he’s just better preparing us for the real thing.” Norbanus paused, scuffling his feet. “I’ve got to get better too. I want to prove to my family my worth for the Empire.”

“You have time,” Atticus hummed as he tossed water to the other who easily caught it. “We can train together if you’d like, take it at your own pace.”

The other cracked a small smile, holding his hand out. “We’ve not formally met. Norbanus. Jullus Norbanus. Thanks for sticking around.” He added shyly.

“I know what it’s like to be the odd one out, figured it would be easier if you weren’t alone.” Atticus accepted his hand and shook it, mirroring his smile. “Vendelin. Atticus Vendelin.”

“Has anyone just called you Ven?”

“You’d be the first.”

“Well then that’s what I’ll call you from now on!” Jullus pulled out his sword and gestured to the practice dummy in the corner of the room. “Come on, let’s get to work! He may have told us to call it for today but I don’t think I’m quite ready to go home yet, you?”

“Not one bit!” Atticus laughed, pulling out his own sword, giving it a few good swings. “Let’s get started!”

[macchiavato]

FFXIV Rarepair Week Day 1: Astral - Umbral

Varis/Regula. Their relationship is the worst kept secret in the palace.

[stxrmnight]

If your WoL did the FFXIV event it means they know cars by another name

Credit of course to this post

[sands-of-amber]

FFXIV Write Entry #1: Cosmic Love

�� Prompt #9: Fair (Entry for Makeup Day #10) || Read it w/ notes on AO3 here ❀

Excerpt: He knelt before her grave for—what was it now—the tenth time? The twentieth? It did not matter, it may as well be the thousandth, for a single time was already one too many. The shadows from the clouds overhead cast their slow-moving gloom over the figure hunched upon the snowy ground, the watercolor hues of the sunset peeking through every so often. A rare respite from the usual grey skies that hung over Garlemald.

But you are not here to see it.

--

The fact that he had gone through it before didn’t serve to make it hurt any less, didn’t stop that old familiar ache from flaring up from deep in his chest. No. No matter how many times he was forced to repeat this cycle of grief, it never dulled the sting any. It never became easier to stomach like he’d hoped against hope that it would.

Each and every time, it was like another knife thrust into his chest and wrenched, finding new ways to carve away at whatever remained of his tired old heart.

And the guilt… The guilt he felt, especially upon conclusions in the same vein as this one, always struck him with such force that it was almost unbearable.

Knelt before her grave for—what was it now—the tenth time? The twentieth? It did not matter, it may as well be the thousandth, for a single time was already one too many. The shadows from the clouds overhead cast their slow-moving gloom over the figure hunched upon the snowy ground, the watercolor hues of the sunset peeking through every so often. A rare respite from the usual grey skies that hung over Garlemald.

But you are not here to see it.

The Emperor slowly rises to his tired feet and stares straight ahead at the elegant memorial before him, his hands tucked inside his coat pockets to lessen the chill of the icy wind, though it did little to lessen the bitter cold coming from within. It was a beautiful tribute: a statue made in her likeness, commissioned out of the finest marble by the most skilled artisans the land could offer. The pearlescent figure depicts the late Empress in a regal and elegant manner: sat upon the throne in ceremonial attire, crown upon her head and a serious yet somehow soft expression upon her face.

An inscription engraved on the plaque below the statue reads, ‘In loving memory of Her Radiance, first Empress of Garlemald, Aelia wir Galvus.’ The Garlean insignia sits proudly below the dates that denote the start and end of her painfully short life and the brief written tribute to her service to the Empire. Each time he stood here and gazed upon it, the date of her death slipped further and further into the past, but to him it still felt like just yesterday that her light faded from this world.

Next to his late wife’s grave stood that of their firstborn son, Lucius yae Galvus. To the people, he was simply  the crown prince whose reign never came to be, but to Emet-Selch, he was a hard lesson— a painful reminder that to hope was folly. To hope was to deny the bitter truth that he’d known deep down for millennia but had stubbornly refused in his foolish joy at finally getting to play “family” with the one soul his heart could not, would not, ever let go.

Foolish, stubborn hope. How sweet its first bite—and how sour its aftertaste.

He had kept up his façade as stern and hardened leader well enough, for he’d had eons of practice at tucking away and dulling his emotions by now and it was easy enough to slip on the mask of Emperor Solus whenever needed. It was easier still to drown (or at least numb) the pain in bottles of spirits or whatever play was currently showing at the theatre. He’d never cared much for the idea of utilizing alcohol as a vice back in the simpler days, but its appeal grew ever clearer through each torturous century he spent toiling away here. And it worked in his favor, because to the outside world it appeared as though he were acting as any other rich and ultra-powerful man should—gorging on the finest and most lavish of booze and entertainment that the palace’s coffers could buy. Only he, and to an extent his two co-conspirators, knew the real force driving his indulgence.

Despite his near-flawless outward performance, though, he’d been a wreck ever since the day she’d died and taken another little piece of him with her. He’d watched on in abject horror as the light of her brilliant soul had grown dimmer and dimmer, slowly fading out of this fractured world just after another soul’s light had entered it. Had only half-listened, pale-faced and heart in his throat, as the head chirurgeon bowed his head and mournfully told him what he already knew. He’d had to accept the wailing newborn into his arms and turn away from her still form as an attendant ushered him out of the room, chancing one last glimpse of her soul as they covered her body with the bloodied sheet, watched it abandon her fragile mortal form and slip away to return unto the lifestream.

And then there had been the matter of explaining the bitter truth to Lucius, of answering the dreaded questions of a naive child wondering why he wasn’t allowed to go see his mother after his brother was born, and why his father had shut himself away with the newborn and a nurse and he himself had been bade away and urged not to bother him for the moment. The palace had been cold and quiet that day, a solemn mood spreading among its inhabitants as the news inevitably made its rounds as it often so quickly did within those walls where servants’ gossip was an ever-turning wheel. And of course that gossip had made its way to the ears of the young prince, forcing Emet-Selch into a difficult situation when the boy came wanting for the truth.

And then years later in his prime, Lucius was ripped from him just the same, taken by the same wretched ailment that had afflicted his mother and left her body weakened, too fragile to survive her second birth. In both cases, the illness had not been known until it was already too late and their souls had gone back into the cycle to repeat this endless dance of death and rebirth at the hands of that horrid Hydaelyn.

Much as he wanted to love Titus and cherish the gift she’d given him—the life she’d given up her own to bring into the world for him—he just couldn’t. It ate away at him, the guilt of not loving this child the way he did Lucius, but try as he might he only ever felt numb when he looked upon his youngest son. To glimpse him was to glimpse the last remaining fragment of herself she’d left behind in this incarnation, to acknowledge him was to acknowledge that he himself had her blood on his hands. 

For one fleeting moment in time, we were happy. We had a family of our own and the world at our feet. I managed to find her, to pull her up out of this cesspit crawling with unworthy halfmen and their filth and raise her far above them where she rightfully belongs. And in so doing, I let down my guard and dared to dream that this time would be different.

But it was never any different, and he knew it. He had allowed himself to get swept up in foolish fantasies of marriage and having children and chasing the life they’d never fully gotten to have back then. When she’d discovered her second pregnancy he’d been surprised, having thought one was enough of a miracle, but he’d been happy nevertheless. Two was a good number—it was the amount of children they’d talked of potentially having back then. She’d delivered their first without any trouble, so the fear had scarcely been on his mind until he was suddenly watching her die right in front of him all because of what he had done to her. It was his fault, and he wore the blame heavy upon his shoulders much like the rest of his ceaseless burdens.

“There you are, Your Radiance. We have been looking for you; Lord Varis wishes to-”

“Leave me. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

The young page opens his mouth as if to say something more, but he immediately thinks better of it when Solus turns his head ever so slightly in the boy’s direction, just enough to shoot him a hardened glare from those weary aurum eyes. It’s a look that most would know better than to challenge, and young and inexperienced as the boy might be he’s smart enough to silently dismiss himself and leave the Emperor to his brooding.

Solus sighs, a heavy sigh that rattles his chest as he turns his gaze upward toward the heavens. Weary though his body may be in its old age, he wishes to stand here a little longer before retreating back to the seat of his throne. It was something he liked to do every year on the anniversary of her death, the one little sliver of foolish and hopeless romanticism he’d let himself cling onto—he liked to come out here and tell her about the goings on in the world and the progress he and his brothers had made with their plans. And then he’d look up and watch the flow of aether as life moved tirelessly around him, and wish that he could return to that aetherial sea once his mortal vessel had gasped its last breath.

What he would not give to join them.

Once he has had enough of allowing himself to feel for the time being, he turns and begins to make his way back inside the palace, but not before spitting at the sky and cursing Hydaelyn one last time for taking her away from him over and over again. For taking everything he’d ever loved and always finding ways to    weaponize that love against him. For punishing his selfless duty to the star by holding hostage the soul he was already eternally bound and devoted to—the soul which had been his long before She had claimed it for her own—and leaving him with naught but a madman and an empty shell of a devoted emissary for companions, neither of whom would ever be able to understand his plight far gone as they were. Not to mention two surviving ever-present reminders of what almost was, each with their own living legacies now that would ensure his mistake continued to create its grotesque ripples through time.

To call it unfair would be a gross trivialization at best.

[ishgard]

Because Kyanite inspired me and then I made inbetweens for both of them and I thought "well Alisaie would not appreciate this", one thing led to another and.......

'The Sudden Illusive Elezen Growth Spurt is a Lie' AU Timeline HC is something like:

A Realm Reborn - One Year (I place them at 17 by the time they start getting involved)

Heavensward - Half a year

Stormblood - A year and a half

Shadowbringers - Slippery because of cross-world travel, but approximately a two years total including the time they spent before the WoL got there up to returning to the Source

Post-Shadowbringers - A few months lull before events begin to unfold towards EW - growth spurt two, but on the source boogaloo

Endwalker - Half a year (most of it is like, marching to Garlemald)

Post-Endwalker - Two years!!! Scions get an actual bonafide break!!

So they're around about 24/25 going into DT.

Dawntrail is pending but I'm definitely stretching out the time for the first half vs the second half of the MSQ so probably at least half for just the first part, with a few months after finding the Golden City, but... I gotta revisit some details.

What about the other Scions?

🚪🚶‍♀️

[fatedroses]

I'm here for emotions and feels so

What do you HC was Lucius death? And seeing how the two brothers were, how did Titus take it?

Hello Anon, and thank you for the ask ^-^ My hc for Lucius' death actually came from an interpretation of the passage involving it in "Tales From the Shadows - Through His Eyes", where Emet briefly references it as an "absurd illness". For the sake of both drama and narrative (and because Emet is one of the most bitter narrators I've ever read the perspective of) I write it as magic cast upon him (think of like most of scholars abilities, bio, ect.) that presented as onset fatigue and nausea before rapidly progressing into degeneration and eventually his death. In turn, his condition was treated initially as an injury and then an illness, in part due to garlean aversion to magic and therefore likely lesser knowledge of magical illnesses/curses, especially that early in the empire. Lucius himself was the only one who knew immediately it was magic, but did not have anyone to treat it he cause he... uh... slaughtered the enemy mages that cursed him in a overprotective-brother-fueled rage. In turn he had no information he could give to any potential healer on hand. And also because writing wise: the thought that steadily through uses of Esuna, his son could've been saved would likely make Emet incredibly bitter about it and garlemald itself. On top of all that, writing him being the legatus leading the front at the time and knowing morale would tank if his very loyal, very protective men saw him and the way it was affecting him, he was hiding his condition until it got bad enough that he couldn't keep up the act anymore. (which was. a struggle. lucius was very much a social "im gonna drink with my troops and play cards" kind of guy.)

All of this fucks up Titus. He 100% blames himself for his brother's death because the reason Lucius got hit was from protecting him (he and his men were out of position one time and they got ambushed because of it), and that he didn't notice his own brother was that ill, basically in a "I don't care if he was good at hiding it, he's my brother" kind of way. Titus is, perhaps a bit ironically, how I write Emet if he was mortal, and in a cyclical way he had to watch his brother walk away for what Lucius considers a "noble" purpose and didn't (perhaps moreso couldn't) stop him (and he says some pretty terrible things out of grief but Lucius understood it was because he was going off to die while negotiating, rather than staying where he was safe and cared for, and Titus regrets that immensely too). Titus on top of that is a character I write as preferring to be in the background, who mostly enjoyed his peace being in his brother's shadow, and with Lucius gone he had to rapidly adapt to being in the forefront. The man basically had a midlife crisis in his early twenties because the grief and the pressure pushed and motivated him into becoming a legatus, being prepared to fight for the throne, fervently avenge his brother, and follow in his father's footsteps (even though Lucius' death heavily strained their relationship, especially once Titus realized that Emet doesn't adhere to Lucius' final wish). It wounds him so deeply that he goes from being a backline sniper to being at the forefront as a gunbreaker who trained so bitterly hard that there was a reason (that I write anyways) that he could stand toe to toe with Varis. TBH though the only reason I write that Titus even survives as long as he does was because, especially watching the empire begin to conquer through nations and the way Titus was spiraling, Arrecina shook some sense into her husband to actually work through his grief and level him out instead of him risking getting himself killed.

[eemamminy-art]

hc + 🚗 for a transportation headcanon pls!

Since there are cars in garlemald there's a non-zero chance that Zenos had a driver's license and I want to think he was so exacting and terrifying with his instructors. They'd all be afraid to fail him because he's the crown prince and also pretty well-known for being a living weapon masterful swordsman since childhood so each instructor he's given tries to just pass him through without any criticism.

... Failing to realize Zenos is also kind of a turbo nerd. They pass him and he's like "Wrong. That maneuver violated four different laws. Now, the real question at hand is whether you are incompetent, lazy, or intentionally trying to sabotage my lessons?" and then the instructor mysteriously disappears and he gets a new one.

For a maybe more lighthearted headcanon, I loved how in FFXVI Clive had a specific chocobo (Ambrosia my beloved) and I like to imagine people in Eorzea have bonds they develop with their chocobos too! Like imagine if Haurchefant's black chocobos he raised all had names, or like he knew the names of all the chocobos he raised who were given to various Lords in Ishgard? 🥺 it would be so cute... I know the player can do that for their wol, name their chocobo and imagine a relationship between their character and their steed, but it's so fun to imagine it for the NPCs too!!

Thematic headcanon ask meme

[starforger]

Rain + HC

She lost her family in the rain. Every last one of them, each with no past, and future preordained, were taken down methodically, and with remarkable ease. But they were deadly together, without a doubt. Every mission before this one was a success, every threat to their master’s plan cleanly eradicated. They were perfectly in-sync, six into one, one singular weapon that could- would kill on command. Unstoppable. Until one arose to stop them.

Emrys was the first to die. The Mercenary’s blade found his throat as he led the charge, cutting cleanly through his scales and stopping his breath short. He felt no pain, save for the ache of his own failure.

Geraint, the weapons expert, abandoned his post to save him. But he was too late, for Emrys and himself both. The Mercenary put a shot through his eye and he met the ground soon after his brother did.

Brialyn screamed, filled with rage and horror. Her fear took charge of her naturally steady hands and keen eyes, her sniper’s rifle now useless to her. She was shot three times, in the shoulder, the stomach, and finally, the skull.

The field medic, Cadell, was helpless to stop these deaths- as well as his own. The Mercenary easily broke through their failing ranks and slayed him. Cadell’s own blade was paltry in comparison to this strange man and his years of experience and bloodthirst, and could not protect him in the end.

Dafydd’s deployed drones, all too predictable for the Mercenary, were destroyed one after the other with well-placed shots and strikes of the blade, the last of which was meant for his own heart. His carefully-laid plans unraveled in an instant, and he fell to the ground.

And Seren… she who was reckless and rebellious, who charged ahead of the others, eager to prove her worth… she did not even get to bear witness to this slaughter, as the Mercenary easily dispatched her without second thought. She was tossed aside, and forgotten.

She does not even know his name. The man who stood against them, who defeated each one without breaking a sweat. Who so brazenly spared her as if to present a challenge. But she remembers his face, as well as the faces of her slain comrades, every time it rains. With Garlemald now a shell of its former self, she may be the only one who remembers. It is that memory that keeps her alive, that promise of blood to be spilt in the name of her family. A vow made in the rain: revenge.

[likemosaic]

I need to know ur hcs of hades as the king of ronka or whatever

rainbow i didnt study for this test im gonna fail,,,,,,,,,,,

MAJOR SHB/ENDWALKER SPOILERS :

i will admit i don't think about this much (i need to finish out the qitari beast tribes and i'm very garlemald focused because i'm a rome nerd) BUT it is a very good point! society building is clearly a hyperfixation for him, he loves to play civilization with people's lives (the tone is neg). and given the way time works on the reflections, it's entirely possible that ronka was his prototype for the eventual creation of garlemald. though ronka's history is a little bit choice based, i wonder if perhaps ronka went too well? he got too sentimental, he listened to his advisors too much, and they ended up being conquerors/went into assimilation of other cultures as planned...but their society never fell apart quite the way he wanted, thus the very intentional war of succession in garlemald. he wanted them to fight and fall apart from the inside because if the society is too successful, how will the calamity come upon itself? i like the societies he influences being ever-changing prototypes that he tweaks with each generation (see: allag and probably a ton of others). and of course, there was probably an azem shard there who he loved. probably that one we see on the mural who i cannot remember for the life of me. because he can't fucking resist

i don't remember much else about ronka or calamity lore because i'm a bad ascian writer who sometimes is just bullshitting around. so anyone else can chime in on this too (probably felicia when she hops on). if this didnt answer your question rainy feel free to take me out back and shoot me

obligatory post from our dms that feels relevant here with the azem shard in ronka (because that is technically ardbert lmao):

[lilas]

meg do you have any hc abt yugiri thoughts while her and avi are far from each other?! broken up or just not really together 24/7, if she thinks abt him often or prefers to keep her mind occupied with other stuff 🎤 (this is @fourteenthz btw hi mwah)

hi hello mwah

This ask kind of touches on this!

My personal headcanon is Yugiri isn’t the best at managing her emotions when things boil over. She feels strongly about things and doesn’t always know where to direct the strength of her emotion. She seems, to me, the type to keep it all inside until she physically can’t anymore and then she makes rash decisions.

So… she does try to avoid thinking about Avi’li. Especially when he’s gone during SHB (vague details are vague). From her perspective, he just upped and vanish during a critical time and she doesn’t even know why. What could he be doing that’s more important than dealing with Garlemald? So she’s angry at him for a while, and she doesn’t like thinking about him during that period, because the anger doesn’t feel good or motivating, it just feels sad.

After the break up, she thinks about him more in a way she can’t really help. She’ll be focused on a task and suddenly a smell or a sound has her remembering him. The word I’ve been using a lot for them is bittersweet. They’re fond memories for her, of them hanging out around the Enclave, training, fishing. But it’s always accompanied with that feeling of nostalgia and loss.

After a while it gets better, especially after they get proper closure (will happen… soonish in their canon). The bitterness accentuates the sweetness like a good, well balanced latte. Warm and comforting and not too sweet. Then she’s happy to think of him whenever he pops into her mind.

[plounce]

ffxiv fic ideas that ping around my brain:

pre-shb thancred teaches ryne how to trap and skin a rabbit. and it's half about illustrating them living on the run & thancred teaching her survival skills. and half about the symbolism of it all. and ryne looking at the rabbit. this tug between "yes thancred interacting with me and teaching me, awesome i love positive attention" + "i love living out in the world and being Free" and... the rabbit, hungry and naive, baited into the trap. and thancred looking at ryne and trying to decide whether to have her be the one to kill it. or for him to kill this poor creature who just wanted to live, who he needs to die, in front of her. and they clean it, cook it, eat it, but when they go to sleep ryne can't get its shivering form and big glassy eyes out of her head. (will that be me?) [babybirch_joannanewsom.mp3]

pre-shb urianger taking care of ryne for a month while thancred splits off to throw off a eulmoran tail. urianger and ryne hanging out and having an alright time. half about their relationship (the sweetness, but also the tough spots - urianger's role in ryne's existence (he is guilty about it, while he's the most normal adult in her life so her brain is incapable of being mad at him about it (or is it), ryne's mixed feelings about how thancred is always happier and relaxed and nicer when they're at the shelves (yay he's happy! vs i wish i got that all the time, i wish he thought me worth his best self) (in general there's a lot about the ghost of thancred in the room); half about them exploring the ruins of the bookman's shelves (i firmly believe there are underground cellars), its neighbors, and voeburt in general.

urianger childhood lore. i had some headcanons about him being raised by an old, frail, distant grandmother which got squished a little by ee3 but the new lore is in line with my hc that urianger was neglected as a child and tbh im delighted for confirmation. some stuff about the augerelt family in general. their house (smaller than many in journey's end) having rumors of being haunted. moenbryda. autism.

urianger, moenbryda, thancred, and y'shtola (plus yda?) as teens in old sharlayan, for whatever overlaps they had in the city as youths. i strongly believe that thancred & moenbryda were closer than thancred & urianger were as teens. i also think there's something with y'shtola being forced to leave the colony (and also being raised by y'shtola) and away from matoya and thancred's teenage years spent in Spy School (where they melt your brain) that could result in two really temperamental, angry, resentful teens. louisoix delegating moenbryda to try to be a good friend (good influence) to them, urianger getting taken along for the ride

thancred teaching ryne how to swim.

epistolary/fake media fic. the one i wrote for ds9 is still my fave thing ive written ever. i'd love to write some scion paperwork

lucia and maxima hanging out and talking about growing up gay in fascist conservative garlemald, the revelations about emperor solus, their work in current garlemald, and their opinions on gaius (lucia does not like him over the livia situation, while maxima has always considered him a moderate conservative that he doesn't like but now there's also some strangeness from when they were in the burn in stb patches) (generally 'i dont like him but i dont hate him as much as i used to bc its complicated and hes become emotionally pathetic'). fic would end with them going "fucking nero tol scaeva though, right?" "OH my GOD."

there's more. maybe i'll add to this. who knows. if you get inspired by any of these please write to your heart's desire

[velnica]

So I made this poll after seeing a few people's HC about his age and I thought I'd make my own! Mostly so I can keep my timeline straight but also I don't think I've done this before. Buckle up this is going to get LONG. The bulk of it is under the cut.

TL;DR in my HC, Sanson is 20 going on 21 because he shouldn't be at Carteneau. If he was he would have been more jaded and not as green as he carried himself in the questlines.

Owing to the time bubble (5 years) and my personal timeline (6.5 years) between the Calamity and the start of Heavensward, this would put him at 14 (time bubble: 16) when the call for Carteneau came. Sanson, being the stickler for righteousness that he is, would absolutely have volunteered for it if he could. If he was only 14 he would have been far too young for conscription. I believe this war was the turning point that either made him join the Lancer's Guild after the Calamity, or to focus himself on joining the Adders ranks if he was already there (as opposed to the Wood Wailers).

Why is him not being at Carteneau important? Simple: Sanson's story is one of ushering Gridania to a new future; from reviving the bards, uncovering a century old conspiracy (and holding the military to their words for it), to representing a more cooperative Gridania at Ghimlyt and Garlemald (with Guydelot explicitly saying he'd love to learn Garlean songs, even). If Sanson was at Carteneau, he would have been a changed man with much more cynicism in his blood than the one that we saw. Being young, he could very well be cannon fodders who were drafted just to pad Alliance numbers. He could have even, well, died.

No, to me it's important that both Sanson and Guydelot can look to the future with boundless optimism, instead of one that was born from personal brush with bloodshed a long time ago. There is also a line in the game where Sanson confessed he'd never seen a battle as bloody as Ghimlyt. If he was at Carteneau, I don't think anything would beat a literal meteor/dragon dropping from the sky in terms of sheer scale of violence.

But how could an inexperienced 20 year old be a Captain already? Consider this: in the wake of the Calamity, the Adders ranks (and all the other GCs) would have been thinned by a lot. There might have even been a vacuum in the military and so they all took keen interests in filling these decimated roles up as quick as possible. They were looking outward and inward as Vorsaile himself was a decorated mercenary before he was offered the Commander role. Sanson, with his workaholic tendency, was probably seen as a loyal and diligent soldier.

He probably also took to leadership training very quickly, with very good results (I HC that he is actually a stellar leader, just that he was in denial of this). This made him a very good candidate to be promoted to the Captain role. And this is also IMO why he was so invested in the Ballad of Oblivion. He would have seen his promotion as a great opportunity to prove himself worthy of the role, and being so young, this was probably his first official assignment, all the more reason to throw one's all into it.

But of course he learns very quickly that he's got a lot to learn still. I think the fact that the Adders were so ready to discard him in Stormblood probably shook him to the core—this is why I thought that the military was promoting a lot of people in fairly short time: the new generation were still just numbers to the brass, they were untested beyond Ixal skirmishes; not until Ala Mhigo and Ghimlyt. For Sanson this marks another turning point, that he was staying in the Adders not only as a career but to steer the future of Gridania somewhere better. This is why I go hard on the Grand Serpent Marshal timeline: with Sanson's righteousness, dedication and loyalty, if there is ever a need to fill that role in the future, you have the literal perfect person to fill it.

There is a secondary reason why I thought Sanson was only 20 and it has to do with Guydelot. They're both foils of each other: the (slightly) older person with no ambition, and the younger one with ALL the ambitions. They're meant to contrast each other with how stiff Sanson was, and how lackadaisical Guydelot was.

Sanson probably wished to NOT be like Guydelot when he hits that age, and Guydelot probably thought Sanson was on his way to waste his prime being a stuck up prat for the military. If Sanson was older, he might have been more set in his ways, and might have been less inclined to meet Guydelot halfway. And Guydelot might have thought Sanson be a lost cause because look at him; Guydelot was not in the business of changing anyone who were past his own station in life.

This is very apparent to me in the cutscene in SB where Guydelot praised Sanson for standing his ground. To me that is played almost in a 'senpai proud of his kouhai' kinda way lol. Look at Sanson! He's all grown up! Maybe he could be as good as Guydelot at this sticking to his own conviction thing.

Anyway this is getting *extremely* long, but this is how I see Sanson: a very green young man with ambition in his heart and stars in his eyes, and this could only work if he was not at Carteneau before we met him.

Disclaimer that I am NOT trying to disprove anyone else's HC; in fact I have talked at length to some people about this and still firm in my choice of making him 20yo. Remember that this is all personal preferences! I do confess initially I had him at 24-25 before Alpal and dianna convinced me that he's too innocent to have been a Carteneau survivor.

[asteriasfallingstarsandtears]

What if WoL instead meets Emet for the first time in Eulmore? As a former Garlean resident she'd recognize the Emperor's face, but she also knows that there are doubles at this point on the First. The chances of the very old and very dead Emperor being on the First being incredibly slim in her mind.

And this person, whoever he was, was very much not an elderly man.

This HC also requires the Chais to not accept the WoL when they enter Eulmore, precipitating the need for another sponsor or needing an alternative means of staying for investigation purposes.

(wish I had a little gpose to go with this but sadly not)

“How strange, so very few take in the sight from up here.” She hadn't noticed anyone else here when she had come here.

She turned to apologise for disturbing him but when she met his gaze she found she couldn't speak. Something about him was familiar, even more familiar than G'raha felt. It was impossible that they would have met, though she would have said he looked like the late Emperor of Garlemald. She had met other look alikes since her arrival here, not exactly the same as those she had once known on the Source. It was possible there was a reflection of the Emperor here. She didn't even know what year it was here, it could be the equivalent of his youth now here.

She shook her head, trying to concentrate again. She was babbling to herself, trying to justify what she saw. It was simple, really.

She wasn't on the Source and no one here, save those very few from the Source, were their counterparts.

“Did anyone tell you it's quite rude to stare and not introduce yourself?” His brow raised and he crossed his arms, looking annoyed save for the twitch of his lips. For all his seeming annoyance, he seemed to be fighting off laughing.

She licked her lips, trying to breathe. “Forgive me, sir. I did not know this balcony was occupied, I will leave.”

“Must you? Merely make up for your rudeness.” He strode towards her, leaning easily on the rail beside her. “Your name, for a start, and an explanation of why you might be out here, sad and dressed thus. Is this not the happiest place in all of Norvrandt?”

She snorted. “Happy for some.”

“True, there are a number of rather unhappy people below.” His lips curled up in a smile. “Now, will you make me guess?”

There was no way for anyone to know her here, and despite his being a stranger, she felt at ease with him. Far more at ease than she had in a very long time. Not since Haurchefant’s death, anyway. “Mina.”

“Mina.” He repeated, looking amused. “Hardly a common name amongst your folk. I'm sure there is quite a story about it.”

“Nothing so exciting, save I wasn't raised amongst my kind.” She wasn't lying, she hadn't been. She knew what her name would have been, but it did not follow the Mystal traditions, so it wasn't worth repeating here. “As for why I'm out here, my would be patrons have rejected me. It was but a moment of weakness.”

Also not a lie. It was easier to tell a kernel of truth always.

“Ah, you are new to this fair city. No wonder you do not feel the joy and exaltation so many others here do.” He gave a dramatic wave of his arm and rolled his eyes. “And so, you find solace on…” He peered over the rail, seeing only the sea before them and the crystalized wall of Light. “Emptiness?”

“Perhaps the decadence inside was overwhelming.” She shrugged. “I'll have to return eventually, if only to enjoy what brief time I've left.”

“Hm, you'll give up so easily?” He leaned on the rail.

“Hardly.” She grinned. “I've options, I'm told. Something called the Honeybee?”

He scowled. “Surely not, not you. You would be unimpressed and bored of the seductions that happen there within hours. It's hardly a challenge.”

“Maybe I don't want a challenge, the world's tough, and an easy life sounds…” she had trouble keeping a straight face. She knew exactly what the Honeybee was. She would be bored. “Well, the world doesn't always give us what we want.”

He didn't say anything about that, only tapped his fingers distractedly. She was about to excuse herself, claim she wanted to see the city before her removal or find her father even. She didn't want to, she enjoyed their small exchange, but it was a distraction and she only had so much time.

“I could sponsor you.” She stared at him, mouth slightly open. They didn't know each other, there was no reason for him to. Unless he had taken her suggestion of the Honeybee as a sign she was receptive to other things. She wouldn't oppose it, he was nice enough looking, seemingly well toned for what must be a relatively sedentary lifestyle here and despite the exhausted black rings and other signs of middle age below his eyes, his face wasn't so bad. “I've need of a companion and it would give you some protection against the less savoury types of Eulmore.”

“And in exchange?” She asked. If she didn't like the terms, she could say no. If he refused to accept her answer, she didn't need weapons to defend herself, they only made things easier. What little time she had spent here had taught her that nothing was free, even the food supplement moel came with the understanding of obedience.

[wildstar25]

more thought about end of endwalker Arsay recovering from the big fight and having her hands like so completely unusable. I mean, most her body was unusable for the first two weeks; but she really did a number on her hands in that fist fight. Tbh I imagine in the desperate attempts at keeping Arsay alive on the ragnarock, they didnt really get a chance to make sure every bone was set right before blasting her with healing magicks. Once she got looked at by an actual medical professional in Old Sharlayan it was determined they'd have to re-set a lot of those joints and fractures.... painful stuff to say the least.

The healing was the hardest part. Complete lost of dexterity meant no dual wielding and no mudras for months. She started relying on her carbuncle to pick things up for her. Wrapping her hands and wearing gloves gave some support as she began what could ostensibly be called physical therapy. Lots of daily stretching to get the soft tissue and muscles back to being adventure ready, the instructions of which were sent by Alphinaud. (He would instruct her in person had he not already be off in Garlemald.) G'raha and Y'shtola would supervise and provide lots of encouragement. She'd start trying to channel aether via her mudras, only to get the form slightly off and end up with Couscous (carbuncle) on her head (I hc that instead of the rabbit for arsay specifically). G'raha would do whatever he could to lift her spirits, Y'shtola would push Arsay to keep at it.

More months pass and eventually she can cast her mudras again, and the grip on her daggers have never been stronger. Still, subtle signs of trauma are there if you look long enough. Scars on her palm and knuckles and a finger or two that is always a little bent. The hand which struck Zenos that final time looking much worse for wear than the other. She doesn't care, it's nothing a little glamouring or gloves couldn't cover. If her hands work, that's all the matters.

Tataru gets in contact with Arsay one day. She's got a new outfit, custom, made with Arsay in mind. The set included a pair of gloves: one that covered her main hand almost fully, the other composed of perfectly aligned straps of leather that supported her hand and wrist. She thanked Tataru immensely.

[heirbane]

I'm realizing I write a lot of headcanons and ideas into long drabble posts instead of just... posting them.

So, hcs regarding the royal family I've mentioned in drabbles before:

- Varis was wed to a Garlean woman of Solus' choosing. The arrangement was made when he was still a boy and Varis' father still lived. They wed at 19. (I think this is semi-canon, but don't take my word for it.)

- Varis' wife fell pregnant within a few months of their ceremony. She first bore a daughter, one that was healthy on all medical scans, but came into the world asleep and did not awaken. A small memorial for her is hidden in one of the many palace's simulated biome greenhouses. Her name is never formally announced, and the plaque memorial simply dubs her "baby Galvus".

- His wife is with child again a few moons later. This time she bears a son, but does not live long after his birth. If there is a memorial for her, Varis has never revealed it publicly.

- While husband and wife were wed just over a full year, the compounded losses severely impacted Varis. With no supportive family of his own, he is left to raise a child that he has mixed, complicated feelings for. As a result, he doesn't raise Zenos much at all.

- Gaius, who lost his parents within a similar time frame as a child, does what he is able when he is in Garlemald. He has been afoot as Midas and his partner raise Cid, a boy a few years Zenos's senior, and is beginning to see the fallout of Garlemald's heavy-handed colonialism abroad. But he, too, is unwed, inexperienced, and emotionally stunted, as many, many men of Garlemald are. To care for his chosen brother and his chosen brother's colicy child is not something he knows how to do.

- So he doesn't. Zenos's physical care is handed over to wet nurses and tutors, and Varis is left to claw himself out of the chasm of his loss. By the time he does, he is not wholly the same man he was when he entered it, and the stage for what we know as Emperor Varis is set soon after.

[sae-mian]

🖊 for M'alik and Hana. More catte facts! And tiny bun!

aaaa a twofer!!! ty for the ask!

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🖊 HANA

for the littlest bunne (coming in at a whopping 5'5''), it may be interesting to note that he is the outlier in his family! all of his immediate family members are considerably taller, even by viera standards. his mother was said to be a little over 6'10''!

🖊 M'ALIK

SUPER fun fact.

m'alik was detained, tortured, experimented on, and forced into service in Garlemald for 1606 days.

he definitely wasn't counting.

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🖊 hc/funfact/anything goes post 🖊