#I recall it’s one of the times you talk to her in Ishgard

[impossible-rat-babies]

I s2g im gonna have to ng+ the ast quests bc there’s one line from leveva when u have a side conversation w her about how sharing aether with someone over extended time periods can have unintended side effects

[starrysnowdrop]

FFXIVWrite 2024 #1: Steer

Idiom: steer clear of; to stay away from purposely; avoid.

During the events of patch 4.3, quest “Under the Moonlight”; Hali tries to convince Yume to take a step back from participating in the investigation of Zenos’ death and potential resurrection.

“Yume, can I talk to you about something?”

The auri samurai glanced down at her pink-haired lalafellin companion and nodded. “Alright, what’s the matter?”

“Well, you see…” Hali scrunched up her face, trying to figure out how to say what she wanted to say. She folded her arms and continued.

“Look, Alisaie and I, well we are worried about you, and we thought that perhaps you might need to take a step back and let us deal with the… umm… problem at hand.”

Yume shrugged her shoulders, not following Hali’s train of thought. “What? Why would I need a break? I’m fine.”

“Yume… you have had to deal with a lot lately—”

“So have we all! Honestly I was thinking that Alisaie might need to take some time for herself with Alphinaud embarking on a diplomatic mission to Garlemald and all. She is the one that needs to relax for a while. But I’m alright.”

The lalafellin astrologian shook her head and looked up at Yume with a concerned expression. “While I agree about Alisaie, I still think you need to rest too, you know?”

Yume was growing tired of Hali dancing around the issue, or was it the person in question. She raised her voice as she replied, “Just say it already! It’s because of Zenos, isn’t it?” She sighed and placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t understand. He is alive, and I need to know if it’s really him, or if an ascian has claimed his body!”

“Yume, listen to me! I think you need to steer clear of all this right now, especially when we tell Lyse the truth. She’s not going to be happy with hearing that Zenos lives, in any capacity whatsoever. Do you really want to be there to witness her reaction?”

Hali briefly closed her eyes as she began to recall the events of the past few days spent in Doma.

“You just had to deal with Asahi threatening you over his obsession with Zenos, and you are still clearly shaken up by the echo vision we saw earlier, so perhaps you should go back to the Rising Stones to relax, meditate, and clear your head. I will keep you updated on everything, I promise.”

Yume shook her head, with slight irritation in her voice as she wanted to put this whole needless conversation to rest. “…No, Hali. I need to see this through for myself, and that’s final. Lyse will just have to be a good little leader and learn how to tolerate me being in her presence.”

This time it was Hali’s turn to sigh. Yume and Lyse were not on good terms with each other anymore, not after they have had several fights over Yume’s fixation on Garlemald’s crown prince. Though Yume never wavered in her duty and fought Zenos alongside her and their friends, Lyse couldn’t stand how much Yume seemed to talk about Zenos, and how the samurai picked up and read every tome she could that held information on him. To not only Lyse’s eyes, but everyone else’s, Yume seemed to be growing obsessed with him, and she always seems to talk about him as if he were a long-lost lover…

Hali wondered for a moment if that was how she looked like when she recalled her days in Ishgard with Aymeric, but she quickly pushed those thoughts from her mind and shrugged. There might be another dramatic argument in the near future between Yume and Lyse, but it couldn’t be avoided if Yume insists on going to Rhalgr’s Reach with her.

“Alrighty, suit yourself.”

Yume’s Blog: @firelightmuse

[moonchildffxiv]

|| ORIGINS : Chasing the Moon

To only remember her voice, and to hear others speak of your mother as if she still could suddenly appear again- you wish it so. There's a moment of hesitation every time he wanders further into the East. It isn't the visions of a woman who seems to be around every turn, it isn't the sound of a melody that he can't quite place the name to. There's slight bitterness that latches itself onto the back of his throat, and his palms always damn clammy. Its the fear that this place feels more and more like home, more than Coerthas ever had , more than Ishgard. His loyalty to the home that gave him so much never once placed into question but his heart torn in two as he tries to set his priorities straight. Between the stares, and between the fact that he can see the way that some of the merchants look at him in Kugane - well? It's not like he ignored it. They aren’t hiding the stares , they aren’t hiding the pity. They show more curiosity than disdain . So why not allow the gossip to flow freely ? What’s the harm in giving into local whispers? It would be from those rumors that he found himself steadily pacing his path past the village of Namai. Having taken a small leave from his companion's side it was the talk between Yugiri and a merchant that had drawn him in. It had started as friendly questioning about the invasion of the Imperials. The young woman’s eyes meeting Joon’woo more than once before some hesitation .

“You’re the first viera with that birthmark in a long time we’ve seen here .”

Is that so

“The last were different sure all sorts . But, to the north , there used to be - er a village planted in the valleys within the mountains . Ghost stories of a tribe that don' really come down for nothin except for supplies, my papa caught sight of one .. a lady one that had your mark ."

A tribe that bore markings mirroring Joon's own would begin triggering stories from Lupin to his left , an older man though wary of their presence would share his own recalling of the tribe that seemed to be nothing more than a tall tale . Finally a girl no older than Aliasie would speak , soft and unsure but clearly morbidly fascinated . Calling for a family member , her grandfather , to recall his encounter with the woman they all seemed to speak of.

At first he seems almost shocked at the man standing before him, there’s a glimmer in his eye one of disbelief before it melts away into fondness. There had been one with long white hair, deep royal blue markings at the tips of her tall soft ears , silver eyes that could piece straight through the soul yet all the more hold it delicately dressed in linens and a cloak that would hide the bundle she so carefully protected .

A smile would cross the man's face, commenting how the markings were what were so unique to him. Markings that almost rivaled the light of the moon under the star lit sky . He would slap Joon’s back and rattle on how she seemed nervous allowing so many new faces close. But she would never turn them away, even as she kept her stomach guarded she still allowed blessings and care to be placed upon her . She would allow herself to be sucked into the joy of the village that once encompassed them all.

She would visit . Her stomach bigger each time, her shy personality opening up to becoming familiar among so many . Her voice carrying a melody that seemed even foreign to the villagers , her mother tongue standing out amongst them.

There’s a sting in Joon’s chest and it feels like he’s underwater at this point , water rushing in his ears as he can catch words here and there about the woman who clearly held the world in two small bundles against her body. He can feel someone’s hand against his shoulder and soon he’s jerked back out of what ever haze he’s been trapped in since arriving.

“I remember her and think of her fondly - the poor thing. She loved those kits insider her - a true mother she was . A true shame she never came back, I would have loved to hear her sing again.”

You’re chasing a ghost at this point.

[shadowed-vigil]

day 4: reticent

adjective: not revealing one's thoughts or feelings readily.

characters: warrior of light, carvallain de gorgagne words: 818 (a continuation from day 3: tempest)

It isn’t long before Carvallain considers again. 

With no storms on the horizon and little else to do to pass the time on the way to Kugane, he figures it’s more a matter of politeness than anything else to offer her a drink — properly, this time, now that she isn’t heaving over the side of his boat. It looks like she could use the distraction, anyroad; not that she isn’t in fair enough spirits amongst her comrades, if not a bit reserved. 

Nothing a good bottle of wine couldn’t fix. 

The timing ends up being easy enough, the way she seems to be the last to linger out on the deck late into the evenings, a slip of liquid moonlight against an otherwise dark horizon. He supposes it makes sense, considering — again, Keeper, obligatory. 

Her ears twitch at his approach; her mouth more so at his invitation.

“Only if you want the company,” he amends casually. “It isn’t as though I can’t make do on my own.” 

She blinks at him. She seems to think something that she chooses to keep to herself before she purses her lips, and nods. 

She’s quiet company at first, joining him silently at his table, her gaze tracking his hands as he uncorks the bottle, tipping it to fill her glass, and then his. Polite, happy to trade small talk if not much else; still guarded, still somewhat distracted. 

“So,” he says, once they’ve finished their first. “The bow’s gone.” 

She blinks. Scoffs, a half-laugh, mildly incredulous. “It’s been gone.” 

It has been gone — along with the fair spirits and general sense of ease he recalls seeing in a different version of her, something that had existed as little as a summer or two ago. He inclines his head, refilling her glass. 

“Archery no longer to your liking?” 

She continues to look unimpressed.

“I just found something that suits me better. I’m sure you can relate, considering.” 

“I do,” he concedes. “It’s just quite the change, is all.” 

She says nothing to that, expression darkening, before she takes another sip. 

“I left home, too, you know,” she says brusquely, casting him a sidelong glance. “I wasn’t as secretive about it, though. Didn’t have to be — didn’t really have a choice, what with Dalamud falling out of the sky.” 

He hums.

“And now look at you.” 

She scoffs. “Yeah. Likewise.” 

He isn’t sure when it happens — sometime between the second drink and the third, her knee bumping against his beneath the table as she absently adjusts herself. She half-flinches at first, blinking in surprise. Carvallain simply takes another swig, watching from the corner of his eye as she seems to settle herself, the fluff of her tail eventually smoothing back down. 

(The touch lingers, featherlight, barely anything.)

“I don’t miss Ishgard,” he says — risks. “But I cannot deny that I’m not sometimes curious.” 

The shift is immediate, her expression that much darker, more guarded. Her nails dig in against her glass. Her answering silence fills the space between them, until she adjusts her hold, raising the cup to her lips and tilting it back, further — dropping it back to rest against the table with a thud. Empty. 

“Ishgard is well,” she manages, finally. “The Dragonsong War has finally ended. It will take time — to properly recover, to rebuild, but…” 

Carvallain watches, waits. Says, “I hear you brought an end to the Archbishop and Nidhogg both.” 

The warrior stills. Says, somewhat curtly, “Yes.” 

“For such good news, you seem terribly unhappy.” 

“I’m — not.” 

“No?” 

She purses her lips. Carvallain tries again. 

“At the very least, I thought you’d be relieved to be moving on — given what you said the other day.” 

There’s a wobble of her bottom lip, a flex of her hand. She continues to stare hard down at the table. 

“I said I was in the market for distractions, captain,” she says slowly, a half-whisper. “You’re giving a poor go of it, as it stands.” 

His turn, this time, to still — to slow, at least, letting his own glass eventually come to rest on the table. He tilts his head in contemplation, studying her. 

(As if he didn’t have eyes before, just that —) 

“...I didn’t mean any offense,” he demures. 

It finally earns her gaze on him, unflinching, challenging. 

“Prove it.” 

— 

Not that she really gives him the chance to, in the end. 

They make it as far as the bed before she freezes, the wrong sort of blush rising to her cheeks, chest still heaving as she pants — apologizes, draws away outright. They’re both still clothed in a way that matters when she climbs off of him, stumbling to her feet, apologetic and frantic and so deeply embarrassed — until he snags her wrist. 

“It’s fine,” he soothes. “I won’t breathe a word.”

She blinks up at him, swallowing thickly as she nods.

“Thank you,” she whispers, before slipping through the door.

[pr1ncesspopstar]

Double Shock - FFXIV Write 2024 - Final Day: Two Heads are Better than One

Ao3

Dawntrail Spoilers Ahead

-

“Those airships are much nicer than Koana’s dirigibles, I’ll give Eorzea that much!” Bakool Ja Ja the Mighty said to his twin as they stepped off the deck of Eorzea’s main means of travel onto the marbled floor of the desert oasis, Ul’dah.

“And the heat here is pleasant…” The Mysticadded, his face turned to catch the bright rays of sunlight beaming through the windows, walking his scales to a very pleasant degree.

Best to bask in it now before having to endure the cold soon to come with travel to Ishgard. They had complained loudly to the Vow of Resolve to send someone in his stead to that blighted-sounded land, someone more equipped to handle the cold, but the hhetsarro refused. Citing it to be improper if they were to exchange some small amount of soldiers to forge good will and understanding between their lands, but not have the commander of those soldiers to be the one to deliver these brave men and women to and fro.

Both the Mighty and the Mystic argued many reasons against the case, but Wuk Lamat was swift in her decision it was best he go. Her spin on it being a positive experience to explore shores beyond Tural at least had some sound to it. When he was young he seriously considered once or twice stowing away to escape the weight of guilt that only recently lifted from his shoulders. In a way, this was fulfilling that long abandoned dream.

“If you think the heat is nice, wait until you try the food. Amal’jaa food stalls, they’re all the rage now and they make a mean skewer. The cactuar is better here too, softer and folk aren’t as averse to eating it here, they’ve made it quite the delicacy.”

The brothers perked up at the sounds of an accented voice. A familiar, raspy, voice that didn’t take long to unearth memories of the rare traveler to grace their jungle home now and again, usually with students in tow. They turned with their full body, a grin coming to both of their faces at the approach of a familiar Boonewa, who had a small, blue-clad and masked Lalafell lass in tow.

“Latool Ja. It’s been quite a few years since we’ve last seen you. Have you come to pester us for once?” the Mystic couldn’t help but laugh. He recalled when he and his brother were smaller, and so voraciously would ask the traveling mage to teach him whatever spell he could spare from the monsters he had studied.

“Not just that, but last I heard you were putting on the act of a ‘dumb beastman’ to draw more people into your little guild! Finally get sick of it?” the Mighty greeted more obviously, raising his hand in greeting to the infamous guide.

Though talk of his name had quieted in the years since he left for Eorzea with that hyur student Bakool Ja Ja had heard of, but never met, few Mamool Ja did not know of the Blue Magic guide and teacher. His skills surpassed any bias one may have for the way the Whalaqee tribe did things. In fact, in the new Tural being built by the Vows of Resolve and Reason, there was much to be learned from them.

“I was, until one of our guild members came back from the New World and became infuriated to know we’d been tricking her the whole time! The look on her face, I’ll never forget it!” the older Boonewa laughed, his little companion joining in with her own breathy giggle. “Figured since we’d been found out it was best to put the gig to rest, especially since now we will be seen as we are, a reflection of Tural. Best to put a good foot forward, as they say here.”

The Lalafell girl clapped in agreement with her teacher’s words. The wordless sort, then. Fine by Bakool Ja Ja, gave him space to speak with the old master. “Did you come just to greet us, or is there something more to you waiting by the gates?” The Mystic asked.

“Here for business. I was kindly asked by both the General and the Sultana, if you’d believe it, to give you an in depth tour of the city and put you up while waiting for your squadron to arrive. They’re held up by a storm in Limsa, if I recall right. So you have the free time.” Latool Ja said.

“Aye, I believe that’s the name of the port city we just came from.” Bakool Ja Ja the might withheld a groan at the thought. No one could have predicted the weather to shift as terrible as it did. Turning what should have only been a few hour delay between his ship and that of his soldiers into a full day, maybe two if luck truly spat on their efforts.

“Then allow me to welcome you to the city of gold and sand, Captain Bakool Ja Ja. Follow Lulumi and I, and we’ll guide you through the city that’s become our home.”

The Blue Mage duo set off, and the Blessed Siblings followed with a bit more ease in their steps knowing they were being guided by a fellow brethren, one less of a stranger to this land so foreign.

-

For one thing, Latool Ja had been right on the food of Ul’dah being exactly to the taste of the Mamool Ja pallet. Every few streets he’d point out a favorite snacking spot of his, and usually that lalafell would rush off to buy something for the three of them before continuing on their way. Either she had deep pockets, or Latool Ja had quite the tab racking up

Charred yet soft grilled foods meats, or steamed insect legs with a creamy sauce, or mushrooms skewered and served with other veggies and all the fixings. That Admiral may have introduced Limsa as the home of the culinarian, but the street food here outshone them far more than anything offered to him amongst those ports.

Ul’dah had also been the most interesting city he had yet visited. Both heads were reminded of the home of the giants, with nearly everything being made of carved stone. Yet, the sizes were in reverse. Benches, railings, and so much more were made to be shorter and stout, no doubt to accommodate for the small stature of most of its citizens. Citizens who, to Bakool Ja Ja’s surprise, hardly batted an eye to his presence.

“The people of Ul’dah will accept anything in the face of good coin and thrills,” Latool Ja said as he polished off his skewer of mushrooms. “With the Masked Carnivale, we offer the people both in spades. And thankfully our only competition, the Blood Sands, is full of an honorable sort that would rather make peace with fellow warriors. They and the thaumaturgists guild recognize our magicks for what they are, and those that don’t are still impressed all the same.”

When mentioning this Masked Carnivale, the lalafell girl perked up. She hummed to catch her master’s attention, and made a quick series of movements with her hands. Ah, she was voiceless then.

“Fair point, Lulumi,” Latool Ja nodded, understanding the noise-less words before looking at Bakool Ja Ja with a grin he was familiar with. One of excitement and thrill, a lust for violence. “One of our shows should be beginning soon, so how would you feel about a front row seat to how we Mamool Ja have gotten our foothold here across the salt?”

The twins could not help but smile as they agreed to the show. Oh, how eager they were to see what these Eorzeans were made of.

-

The dim blue rights that illuminated the ring made for a dramatic showing of the Blue Mages’ talents. Long shadows and one spotlight to chase the dueling mage made it a far different type of show than what Bakool Ja Ja had heard the Blood Sands was like. Where the gladiators fought for pride against each other, the blue mages fought for survival against the monsters pitted before them in the ring. Before the captain of the landsgard was the fiercest of Eorzea’s monsters, but the once that had come to study and understand them.

There were several mages, all masked and identities hidden behind a stage name, that came into the ring and battled away before bowing out for the next mage to take their place. Each with unique styles, unique ways to handle each enemy. Some bet it all on a single cast of doom. Others built up empowering magicks before humiliating their foe with a weak spell that just destroyed them. That Lulumi studying under Latool Ja even entered the ring once under the name “Celestial Blue.” She threw everything and the kitchen sink at her opponent, burying the lion-like beats under a collection of stone, plants, and fish. Now that had been a humorous fight.

“If this is what Ul’dah has to offer, I doubt we’ll have much to worry about with them, will we, brother?” the Mystic remarked as Lulumi bowed and took off, soon reappearing next to them to continue watching the fight.

“And thank goodness for that. The less we need to worry over these foreign fighters the better.” The Mighy agreed. Not that he was one to shirk work, but even with two heads they already had enough responsibilities, it felt.

Before more could be said, a cloud of mist rolled into the arena, followed by a might, trumpeting roar. A beast of immeasurable size charged into the arena, with tusks the length of his body and an enraged look in its eyes. It was huge, wooly, and wreaking havoc on the wooden walls and spikes put into the arena, crushing them with ease. So far, this has been the mightiest beast they sent out yet. It was only a wonder if the fight they would send in turn would be able to stand up to it.

“Alright! Let’s go!”

A wild, brazen voice called out from behind the mages entry, before they burst open. A flash of metallic blue zipped in, too fast for even the flash light to catch onto and follow. The light moved wildly, trying to find the fighter in the dim arena before settling upon the monster, which started to shriek and wail. The crowd exclaimed and cheered as the beast began to lift off the ground. Beneath its underside, the figure of the mage was holding up the beast with a barely heaving chest.

“Ever heard the phrase ‘when pigs fly?’ Well, I’ll give you folks something better to bet on!” She called out to the crowd. This was clearly a former fighter of the Blood Sands, the only one so far to appeal to the crowd amidst the fight so brazenly. And the cockiness was likely earned as with a single breath and a sheen of blue, she and the mammoth went rocketing into the air. Higher and higher, as high as the ceiling would let them go.

But they didn’t just fall. No. They all watched as the fighter's fist heated up, glowing orange and adopting a sheen of metal as she climbed up her foe's body and above him. The beast was spinning, flailing with panic, unaware of the crash it was about to experience.

“When it starts raining mammoths!” With the cheesy, wild delivery of the line, a flash exploded out between her fist and the body of the mammoth. All bore witness as it’s body slammed into the dirt, buried and broken in an instant, a steaming bullet-like blow on its flank. All silent before the sound rang out over the arena. An impact between the mammoth’s fur and her fist like a bullet wound, then the creature's body slamming into the ground like a meteorite. It was insane, it was terrifying, it was immensely cool.

The warrior ensured the creature's fate with a cast of magick-like missiles and a wind-infused dive kick. Dust flew into the air, creating an azure-tinted cloud before settling and finally letting Bakool Ja Ja see the fighter the crowd seemed ravenous for. His jaw dropping at the sight of her posed with her finger pointed upwards, and red locks contrast to the shiny blue costume she donned with a horned mask.

“Say my name, Ul’dah!”

“Lazuli Heart! Lazuli Heart!”

“Wuk Lamat’s adventurer?!”

“Oh, you’re familiar with one of our stars?” Both heads looked at Latool Ja, who didn’t seem to be shocked despite his words. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, she’s the one I mentioned who returned from Tural recently. Have you met?”

“Yes, we’re… well-acquainted.” the Mystic put it simply. The head of the Mighty still just stared at the hero. He saw as she flinched at his and his brother’s shout of shock and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide, just as much surprised to see him as he was her. Neither expected to encounter each other here.

“Shall I take you backstage to meet with her?” the older Mamool Ja offered. The twins agreed, curious to hear of how the adventurer learned of blue magic.

-

“You’re far from home, Captain. Didn’t expect to ever see you in my home city.” Halditar gave Bakool Ja Ja a friendly, but strained smile. It was only natural. This was their first interaction since the end of the contest and after Zoraal Ja’s betrayal. It would take time for awkwardness between the two to fade.

“It was at Vow Koana’s instence. Trade some of our troops for yours, learn about each other.” He offered a shrug, not really sure what else to say. Yet, that seemed to light up the warrior’s eyes. As if a sudden realization had fallen to her.

“Ah, that explains why Pipin wanted my aid with training the newer troops!” she said to herself, before smiling and giving siblings a nod. “Well, I can promise you shouldn’t have any trouble with them. I trained right alongside them so I can promise they’re a grand bunch and eager to serve.”

Hearing that Halditar had a hand with the troops she would be returning home with, all that hope that he wouldn’t have to worry about the soldiers of Ul’dah vanished from both of their heads. Now he would only worry about them and what they were capable of.

“Right… In any case, I didn’t think you were the type to make a show of your fighting prowess. You seemed above that, in all our encounters.” the Mystic couldn’t help but remark. At this the redhead blushed and rubbed the back of her neck. Seemed she knew modesty in some ways.

“Ah, I can’t help it. I used to be a gladiator but the Blood Sands… Wasn’t a good fit. As a Blue Mage though, I can still have all the fun of a performance fight with none of the drama attached to being a known fighter. Makes moving around the city a touch easier.”

“That’s funny to hear from you. I thought you were all about the recognition. You certainly didn’t let me forget whenever you threatened me.” the Mighty couldn’t resist jabbing at the small ego the hero had displayed when they clashed, trying to intimidate him with her feats. A darker red colored the masked fighter's face as she closed her eyes, seeming to stew in her embarrassment.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I won’t deny I enjoy it but I never do what I do just for the recognition. I haven’t in a long time and probably never will in the future. I’m just the curious and helpful type, is all,” she insisted, removing the mask and putting on that pair of glasses she so needed. How she saw without them while wearing the mask, he was curious to ask. “Enough about me though. How are you enjoying Ul’dah?”

“It’s not a bad city. Good food, not much to drink though. I’m especially curious to try my hands against some of the fighters I’ve seen wandering about.” he shrugged.

In truth, it was hard to know what to say or how to say it to this woman. Still she exuded an aura of power and confidence that left his tongue tied. Especially aware of how one of their last interactions was pouring her heart out to her party, giving up everything he had been built for, for the better. What words could they exchange built upon his former villainy?

It seemed the adventurer had a better idea than him. She laughed, throwing a towel over her shoulders as she stood. “Of course you haven’t found anything good to drink with Latool Ja, the man has an endless stomach and a hate for alcohol! If you want a good drink, I know just the watering spot. Wait here, I’ll get changed and then I’ll take you out. You can even meet my combat squad. Get enough drinks in them and they'll be down to tussle with anyone.”

“You’ll take us out? You sure about that?” the Mighty’s eyes narrowed. He had no reason to expect a trick, yet he couldn’t ignore how his stomach tightened in worry. She had no reason to offer him her company in his mind.

“Indeed. We drink for two, after all.” the Mystic warned, hiding his uncertainty with ease. This only made the red-headed hero laugh.

“Oh, I love a challenge! We can see who can outlast who in a battle of cups. And of course I’m sure. You’re Commander of the Landguard and I’m a captain of the Immortal Flames, it would only benefit everyone for us to learn more of each other,” she said with a softer voice and expression. The strain melted away as she seemed to finally find a common ground with him. A stranger to her home, one that like his kin she could guide him through, and a station of power they similarly shared. “But more than that. You are one dearly trusted by Koana and Lamaty’i. It only stands that I should trust you too.”

And with that she left to change. Bakool Ja Ja could only wait in silence, both heads mulling over the sudden kindness, just everything the adventurer was still finding ways to surprise him with. Unaware that the strange, light feeling in his gut was not mistrust, but excitement as a young, budding friendship took hold. Both soon to learn they were more alike that different, and together they made quite the pair.

[starres-stuff]

Day 16: Third-rate FFXIV Write 2024

Third-rate: of inferior or very poor quality.

CW: Hints at Generational Trauma and Verbal Abuse.

There were times that Vi looked out a window when she was in Ishgard and she had fleeting memories of what it was like before the Calamity came and her world was blanketed in snow. There had been seasons, green grass, and running through meadows on summer nights. Those memories felt so surreal now, that she wondered if those times ever existed. 

“You seem to be struggling with disassociation again. Do you know what caused it?” Father Ashax's voice cut through her thoughts and drew her gaze from the wall of snow falling on the other side of the window. It was easy to see her emotions had left her numb again, the emptiness she felt rather visible in the fact she couldn't be bothered without mustering a smile for the old priest. 

“Mm it is nothing, it will pass as it always does.” Truth was there was a hole in her memory again, a good ten bells this time that had gone by that when she snapped out of it she could barely recall what she did during them.

“Ah but that is where you are incorrect. It is something, often a memory or emotion that causes us to turn ourselves off. We all do it when we are uncomfortable.” Father Ashax watched her intently from his oversized leather seat, his watery baby-blue eyes never looking away. He recognized this side of her all too well. It was more infrequent these days but he remembered well their first few conversations where she had lacked any warmth or feeling in her voice. Leaning forward he offered her a lemon cookie from the plate he had put between them that day. They were her favorite and he hoped they would coax her from the silence that robbed her voice again. 

“I am twelve damned uncomfortable.” Vi finally spit out, the bitterness and rage in those words showing the Priest he had hit a nerve rather swiftly. “For days now I have had these dreams, nightmares a little more accurately. I can see the way my Mother treated me growing up and it was humiliating. I do not know what to do with these dreams or her voice in my head telling me how worthless I am.” A pale and shaky hand reached out to take a cookie from the plate, which she shoved in her mouth so she didn't have to say anything more for a short while. 

“It is normal to have nightmares and be irritated as we go through our pasts Viviane. We are very complex in thought. Each of us deals with our thoughts and struggles in a different way but a good many that I see share this with you.” Choosing words wisely was crucial to the healing process and Father Ashax recognized that well. It was also important to help the person feel that they were not alone or alien in what they went through. 

“She always made me feel inferior,” Vi mumbled after she swallowed the cookie, she had curled into the chair like a child would and looked across the desk with that empty, doll-like gaze. “Nothing was good enough for her. I was not smart enough and she never wanted my company. If I tried to be there for her for anything, she would slam the proverbial door in my face and go about doing it herself or even worse; find someone worth her time. I was the third-rate daughter. Too delicate, in her mind, to be able to do anything to help her”

Folding his hands and steepling his fingers, the stoic man listened, graying eyebrows remained at a neutral position and eyes never left her face, but most importantly he never interrupted her as she spoke to him. 

“It was maddening Father.” Viviane retrieved her smoking case and drew out one of her clove cigarettes. “She had a habit of pushing me away, ignoring me when I talked to her. It succeeded in doing nothing but making me feel inferior and not worth her time. It-” A momentary struggle hit her and she paused to clear her throat, he could see on her face how hard it was to communicate the thoughts in her head. 

 “It hurts, far worse than I can express in words. Everyone wants to be there for the people they love and when they can't be that person won't let them in for whatever reason. It makes them feel not good enough for anyone.” Across the desk the Priest extended his arm, his lighter lit for Viviane to lean in and light her cigarette, and as he did this he whispered to her. “Be good enough for yourself, Viviane.” 

Into the flame, she placed the tip of her cigarette and pulled on it delicately until a bright ember began to glow where paper met flame. His words made sense to her, the recognition of them in her features, he had reached her; but could he pull her free? “She had her trauma, Viviane. This is something to always remember. While it was not right to treat you as she did, it was not anything you did wrong, my dear. She simply had her struggles like you do yours and she was not keen on asking for help like you are. Some would rather just tackle it on their own especially if they have been let down.”

Silence would Envelop them both as Father Ashax finished speaking, he had been counsel to many Ishgardian Nobles, some of which he would never speak of, one of those people being Saphelle Jienuex herself; a fact he would never divulge even with his last breath. There had been times that he thought to give up the Cathedral and his work to be more to her. While he never did that, he did honor her request from her dying day; to let Viviane know and help her see that her Mother did care. 

“We are the ones that decide how others see us, and we do that by not caring what they think of us. It sounds self and it sounds cruel, but another's opinion of us is theirs alone. What matters is what we think of ourselves, we control that and it creates what we show the rest of the Star.” across the desk he looked again to the young woman so concerned with being the perfect image for everyone else but herself and in that moment he saw her Mother sitting there some thirty years earlier, that same look on her face. 

“It feels wrong to worry only what I think of myself,” Viviane admitted, taken aback by the Priest's statements but at the same time seeing the logic contained within his words. 

“If we think of ourselves as boring Viviane, we will be boring. This goes for any emotion whether it is ours or others. It is how manipulation starts and verbal abuse grows. We become stronger by deciding for ourselves who we are, it's negativity and trying to please others that make us forget ourselves. Your mother saw herself as inferior once, and projected that on you until she got help herself.” 

[unbloomingmoonflower]

part of you, part of me

The strangest of things that could ever occur was a divinity falling in love with a mortal. Such a thing, you would only hear about it in faerie tales that mothers would tell their children before it was time to venture into a land of dreams.

Aymeric had always believed himself a realist. In his aim to lead Ishgard into a brighter future, he had no time to revel in such childhood stories. Not when peace talks were being done, alliances made, all to ensure a more peaceful era.

Such irony was it that a woman whose heritage claimed to be of a divinity currently walked within the walls of Ishgard--and within the borders of his heart. A Hyuran woman of sun-kissed complexion dotted with droplets of stars, with ebony hair and obsidian eyes, fascinated by the world around her. Venus, her name was, carried true divinity within her blood and yet was not so worldly to the realm of mortals.

"Do not all the gods watch what we do?" Aymeric had asked Venus once, as snow began to fall afresh over Ishgard. A marveling Venus lifted her hand to catch the flakes within her palm and simply answered thus: "Not many of the gods do. My sire does, yet has kept me shielded until I made the choice to abscond here."

Aymeric could not help but feel pangs of adoration and envy for Venus, at how she moved freely as the wind, and spoke of a world beyond the fabric of Eorzea--a world where the divinity stayed. He found amusement when Venus once said, "Lady Halone does cherish the people of Ishgard. The souls you worry of finding peace have done so in her grace."

In exchange did Aymeric say tales of the mortal world, of how Eorzea's people had aligned to reach true peace. Venus listened with such rapt attention, asking so many questions akin to childlike curiosity. It was endearing, truly. It moved his heart to bring such joy to Venus' countenance.

Now, as grey clouds loomed overhead, a chill had gripped Ishgard. Venus had wandered off and Aymeric took it upon himself to seek her out. Light snowfall began, melting upon the cobblestone streets upon contact, as Aymeric looked to and fro for the wandering goddess.

Just little ways beyond the cathedral, overlooking the rest of Ishgard, stood Venus. Her hands were against the stone railing, the cold wind toying with her hair. Exhaling a breath of relief, Aymeric approached the goddess, keeping his strides careful and even so as to not startle her. She glanced at him once he was fully at her side. "Weren't you supposed dealing with matters of state?" she asked curiously.

Aymeric shook his head. "That has been concluded, in a rather timely fashion," he answered. "What brings your thoughts out here?"

Venus gave a rather light shrug. "I wonder if my being here is causing situations for you in which you've had to defend me. If I am burdening you with my presence. I've said before, Aymeric, that Ishgard's people would see me as a heretic even if they see proof of my divinity before their very eyes."

"I recall. I've also asked for you to let me protect you."

"You did. I suppose I...worry. I am not a mortal woman. I am not of some noble house. What if this jeopardized everything you've striven to build?"

Aymeric's expression softened as he reached out toward Venus. His fingers caressed along the line of her jaw, the tips brushing against her cheek, prompting Venus to bring her gaze to him. No words were exchanged; just the simple action of Venus lifting her own delicate hands to touch along Aymeric's wrist and hand.

"This will jeopardize nothing," he murmured, curling his fingers over her seeking ones. "If I must, I will throw it away. Let the people elect another Speaker if it means that you will no longer worry."

"You don't need to do that. You're bringing Ishgard to a new dawn," replied Venus, her brows furrowing.

Letting out a soft breath, Aymeric moved his arms, winding them to bring Venus into an embrace. "Then you need not worry. You have become a part of my heart, Venus. So long as you remain, I will devote my all to you," he promised, his intentions clear. He was not going to shy away from the feelings he experienced with her, not going to second guess himself on his own happiness.

Her happiness was his own. She had become part of him. And surely, she must have felt the same for she did not pull away or rebuke his words.

Instead, Venus leaned closer into his embrace, her own arms banding around Aymeric tightly. "And I you. If I could right, I would renounce my divine blood and just live as a regular woman at your side..."

"You needn't change a thing about yourself," Aymeric chastised, his fingers seeking the ebony locks that flowed down Venus' back. "I did not fall in love with you for what could be changed. It was simply for you being as you are."

"Is that a promise?"

"It is. And I will prove it to you, every day."

[chysgoda]

🧡 kissing in bed / lazy kiss / cuddling

*Sets this down, walks away whistling innocently for a few steps before running like hell*

(itty bitty content warning for brief discussion of kinky sex)

Art'imis hummed and wriggled closer to the warm chest at her back. A rumbling chuckle made her ribs shiver pleasantly and a kiss was laid on her shoulder as prelude to amused words, "You're not a big time gladiator anymore lass. Got to get up with the sun like the rest of us working folk."

"I'm still recovering," the raen woman said mulishly. She pushed closer to his chest and pulled the linen sheet over her head. "Healers' orders Ilberd."

"Recovering from Vishap or last night?" Ilberd's rumbling chuckle became a basso laugh. He pulled the sheet away from her and smirked at his bedmate's surprised yelp. He caught one of her flailing hands so he could examine the skin of her wrist. "I don't recall you caring much about healer's orders while I was in you balls deep and had you trussed up so pretty."

Art'imis laughed and turned her head to kiss his cheek. "just another half bell love and then we can go back to responsibilities."

"How about I get that tea of your brewed and I can hold you while you suffer through it." Ilberd turned his head to catch her mouth for a proper kiss. 

"That's the best I'll get isn't it?" Art'imis pouted when she leaned back from the kiss. The big Ala Mhigan man chuckled again and tugged on a lock of her hair before he slid out of the bed. Art'imis pulled up the sheet and blanket when her source of heat left the bed. Her eyes fell half closed in a light doze as she watched her lover. 

"Friends tell me that the new viceroy in Ala Mhigo is a demon that makes van Baelsar look like a god of compassion." 

Art'imis bit back a groan. She couldn't really blame him for that thread of bitterness in his voice. After all the scions had interceded in Ishgard's favor, why not Ala Mhigo? But they'd talked about this so many times, the Eorzean alliance simply couldn't face down a legion with the full support of the Garlean empire. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Love, I swear Ala Mhigo's time will come, but right now all that would happen is the Empire would gain three new provinces to bleed dry."

 Ilberd walked back to the bed and handed her the mug of tea, "we'll discuss it tomorrow if you've survived all the politics of a state banquet."

Art'imis glared down into the contraceptive tea, her brows furrowing into the patch of scales at the center of her forehead. She let Ilberd pull her back against his chest and relaxed into the heat he radiated. She took a large swallow and gagged. For a crowded second she wasn't sure if she was going to choke or spit up the foul liquid. When she was finally able to swallow she started coughing. "Why do I let you make this? You always over steep it."

Ilberd kissed her horn and chuckled at the shiver that ran down her back and arms, "finish your tea.  We have a few extra minutes to enjoy ourselves since Yda is taking Bel to breakfast and then shopping."

"I can't believe I let you talk me into that either," Art'imis grumbled and then forced down the rest of the tea. Ilberd laughed again and put the mug on the night stand. The small woman joined his laugh when he rolled them so his weight pressed her down into the mattress and they enjoyed each other's company. 

…. ….

Minfillia caught Art'imis's elbow when the smaller woman swayed as they were walking out of the Rising Stones. They both frowned deeply, "You haven't been following the healer's orders have you?"

The paladin grimaced, "I think the battles with Nabrieales and Vishap took more out of me than I thought."

"And you do not do what the healers tell you to. Bel is better than you for Light's sake."

Art'imis waved a hand dismissively, "it will pass."

The junior sicons shook their heads listening to Minfillia's concerned nagging. It wouldn't be the last time the Warrior of Light pushed her limits to far. 

…. ….

"How long will the drug work for?"

"She is no longer protected by the mother crystal's blessing, if she drank all of it she will be weakened enough for your purposes for the next sennight."

"And in return for keeping her out of your plans you'll give me what I need to make the Garleans pay."

"I have always kept my word Captain."

"You'd better Ascian, I know how to end you now."

(I'm having a time so Art gets to take the brunt. I promise I'll write you something happy next)

[popotobun]

WoLianger Week - Day 1 - Aether

AAaaAAaaaaaaah I FORGOT THIS WAS A THING I MEANT TO DOOOO!!

(I’m happy with this one though, even if it’s the only one I managed to get written ahead of time. Enjoy!)

The contents of the tome he had in hand had long since lost his attention. Instead, Urianger watched Kell as he trained with Minfilia. Step by step, they moved through stances that flowed together, almost a dance. It was a rare sight, seeing Kell displaying such grace, and one admittedly difficult to pull his gaze away from. He tucked the observation away, a thought to return to and analyze later.

Despite all his information gathering in their early days together, he had still been surprised to see Kell pull out daggers and offer to work through some exercises with the girl. Though he’d known their Warrior of Light had gotten his start in Limsa Lominsa, he’d not uncovered the connection to the Rogues’ Guild. There was ever more to learn about him, a thought that brought a smile to his lips.

Together the pair continued going through the form Kell was showing, Minfilia getting a smile and hair ruffle of approval as they drew to the end. A gesture he had only seen used with Alisiae before. Had he bonded with her as quickly? Urianger found he could not recall. He had observed their passage through the Coils from a distance, but the experience had brought them closer. Perhaps the trials they faced here would grant Minfilia the same. There was something special there, another bond that she sorely needed. 

Setting her to practice further on her own, Kell joined Urianger, leaning on the wall beside him rather than taking a set. With the earlier thoughts of Alisiae fresh in his mind, Urianger posed a question, “Thine skills with the blade are ever impressive. I have oft seen thy use of martial disciplines. Didst thou have reason to not embrace an art like unto arcanima?” 

The flick of Kell’s ear told him the question had been heard, but the answer didn’t come immediately. Wariness was not the word the mage would use to describe his posture, but there was a certain defensiveness to him, “Why do you ask now?”

“An idle thought, given ample time ruminating in the past, that came to mind. I had taken notice thine talents tended towards the martial and thought little of it, until Lady Alisiae didst mention in passing the teacher thou didst share.” 

The firm line of Kell’s shoulders relaxed and he let his head fall back onto the wall as well, “Oh. Yeah… I guess I never really did talk about it when we were in the Waking Sands. I’d tried, when I first landed in Limsa. ‘Sure, marauders, I’ll start there!’ But then I got scared and decided to try something with more murder at range opportunities with the arcanists and... Do you know how much reading there is, Urianger?? It’s terrible!”

Silence stretched between them as Urianger processed this, until the softest of chuckles bubbled up. Kell smiled in response as Urianger laughed. “Thou art most candid, Kell. I had forgotten thy distaste for the written word. Rest assured, I shall not foist any such tomes upon thee.”

Kell rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting Urianger’s gaze, “Not my fault reading gives me trouble… It’s not just that, though. I can’t do it right. Using the aether, you know. Unless it’s mine. I tried conjury and thaumaturgy as well. I had time when I was learning my way around, you know? That’s why I learned from Stephanivien, I wanted something I could use at range and I’m terrible with a bow.”

Urianger nodded, recalling talk of the machinists of Ishgard and Kell’s help proving their worth, “Thus the only logical option remaining was red magic.”

“To be honest, I refused to believe X’rhun at first, when he said I’d be good at it. I couldn’t cast anything else, after all, why would I? But he refused to give up on me…” Kell’s gaze turned to Minfilia, then to Urianger, “Everyone needs that now and again.”

For a moment, Urianger watched her as well, nodding his agreement, “Such unconditional support is oft a boon. If thou hast the desire to attempt casting once more, mine knowledge is at thy disposal. Thou art capable of travel by aetheryte and able to cast with both white and black magics with thy focus. It is feasible that thou needest solely a different method of training.”

He was pleased to see Kell stop himself mid-head shake. “Maybe… I’ll let you know.” Though he sounded unsure, it was not a dismissal. He pushed off the wall, starting to head back to their impromptu training ground, “Back to the grind, though! Maybe I’ll see how she fares against the red!”

Though he started out with some tips and critiques for Minfilia’s form, he soon was drawing a rarely used rapier and focus from his gear. Not for the first time, he briefly found himself envying Y’shtola’s changed vision. He was certain that seeing only the currents of aether around the Warrior would prove to be enlightening, and perhaps a new level of captivating as well.

[jefarawol]

We rested that night as the Maelstrom celebrated our victory, I saw Alisaie slip away leading Ga Bu away from the festivities, curious, I followed.

Who goes there? Oh, it's you. Forgive me for straying from the camp. He hasn't been feeling too welcome, to say the least.

Don't worry, I get it.

I thought a change of scenery might do him good, but, alas... It's so quiet out here. The stars spread out before us, beckoning across time and space... “Dawn may banish even the darkest night.” How bitterly beautiful, those words.

I should be stronger for all my experiences, yet my heart aches more than ever.

I never understood why Grandfather gave his life that day. I thought that, if I came here, I would find the answers I needed. But when I finally laid eyes on the land he sacrificed everything to save, saw firsthand the bickering, the pettiness...

I was disappointed. I was angry. I could not fathom how these people were more deserving of his love than his family...than me...Alisaie: Nevertheless, I had to believe he had good reason. I was determined to uncover the whole truth of the Calamity, and perhaps in so doing find my own purpose in this sea of chaos.

My travels have been enlightening, but I cannot say that I have enjoyed them. I have lost count of the many petty crises that I was helpless to resolve, and of the people whose actions I could not understand.

There were others, of course. Good people. People with whom I felt a kinship...whose lives I could not save.

I found myself asking what it was all for. Why try if I was doomed to fail in the end? But then I recalled Grandfather's words to my father, years ago, before he left Sharlayan behind forever.

“To ignore the plight of those one might conceivably save is not wisdom─it is indolence. We must all protect that which we hold most dear in the manner of our own choosing.”We have to try, do we not?

Of course, it's one thing to try and another to do. There were times while I was tracking the Warriors of Darkness when I faltered─when I was afraid. But then I thought of my brother, of Urianger...

Ah, pray forgive me. This conversation has been rather one-sided, hasn't it. Mayhap you could recount some of your adventures in Ishgard?

Don't worry, I'm quite used to everyone talking around me now. Many things happened in Ishgard, Ysayle and Estinien bickering and Alphinaud getting caught in the middle. Figting with the Ishgardian soldiers and Lord commander on the Steps of Faith. Then discovering what had happened to your birthplace, when we went out to the Hinterlands and met Master Matoya.

We had no clear memories of our life in the hinterlands, having returned to the motherland as infants. Nevertheless, I am quite familiar with Master Matoya, as is every Sharlayan. I should like to speak with her someday 'Twould not surprise me if Alphinaud's recent maturation was at least somewhat due to her sage guidance. I would never tell him this, of course, but there have been moments when I've caught myself thinking of him as an elder brother...

The hopes and dreams of so many rest on your shoulders, Warrior of Light.

As long as the sun rises, we can but carry on. For the sake of those we hold dear.

[theherosreturn]

(A.N. I said Ena but this will do)

Bradley: Well, so long as we can repel any that are threats, maybe even gain them as allies, I’m fine with more Pokemon joining us. Now…since Uzi is occupied with aiding our Miraidon friend, I’ll go check on Irida now.

(After being pointed to the room she was in, Bradley found her on the room’s bed, clearly in sorrow over her…unique situation, even as her Glaceon sits next to her)

Bradley: I take it you’re not handling this well.

Irida: In all honesty, I don’t know what to do now. With what you have said, I do believe that I am not in my current time period…while you were busy, I tried several different things that would’ve worked otherwise, but not even the nobles would respond, as if they were just…not there… (She is clearly bothered by the loss of so much she knew…)

Bradley, sitting next to her: I’ll be honest myself, I have not quite had to face a situation exactly like yours. (Irida seemed like she was about to say something, but Bradley said something first) However…I am very familiar with loss….all too familiar. In my years as the Warrior of Light, death has been at every corner, and not just foes who must be put down for one of many reasons…or civilians I couldn’t save. Indeed, I’ve lost close friends over the years. (Bradley is clearly quite somber over this, unpleasant memories all to common) Papalymo, Moenbryda, Minfillia, Haurch-…Actually…you recall how I reacted when the Analog Beast mimicked a knight and ended up enraging me? (Irida: I do…was the knight someone you remember fondly?) Very much so. His name was Haurchefant Greystone, and to say he was a friend of mine is…not really the whole truth. He was a ray of sunlight, in a sense. Eternally kind and optimistic despite knowing to keep things realistic, always willing to help others, and willing to stand with others no matter what. Heck, if he was still alive, he’d likely be making you hot chocolate by now or something like that. Alas, while we were trying to stop corrupt members of a church that held power over Haurchefant’s home of Ishgard, he ended up having to sacrifice himself to save everyone else, even his shield unable to defend against the attack he took. Even so, in his last moments, he didn’t seem to have regrets, simply telling me that a smile better suits a hero…*sighs* You know, it never truly gets easier to talk about his passing, even now. It’s easier to handle my feelings about it, but even so… (Irida can easily tell that Bradley…genuinely misses Haurchefant….) I’m sorry about the depressing story, I just wanted to explain that…well, you aren’t alone in this. I understand that you’re no doubt confused and missing those you hold close to your heart. Just know that for now…*takes hold of her hand for a moment*…you’re still not alone. If the others and I can find a way to help you return home, we will. If we can’t, then we’ll do our best to aid you regardless, as even in the worst case scenario…the sun will shine again.

(This…was not what Irida expected…but somehow…she didn’t feel so alone now)

Irida: …thank you…

Bradley: *smiles* Now then…I’m going to head back out to the others, do you feel comfortable enough to join me?

Irida: …I…I think I’ll stay close to you…for now, at least…

Bradley: Then just know that if you need some time alone, you can return here to collect your thoughts, ok?

(Irida simply nodded, her expression only a small smile. Thus, she and Bradley went to the main hall (with Irida’s Glaceon staying what was now Irida’s room for a nap). What was now going on? Something involving both ‘Raidons, apparently)

Medic, who was checking on both the "wheel" parts of the two dragons: How very interesting! In my medical opinion, zese creatures and zeir vay of transportation shouldn't be even possible! But much like zhe Bee and its round little body, zese creatures care not for such logic~!

Jackrow: Don't even think about it Doc...Remember what happened last time when you tried to experiment with the slime of a Muk and a loaf of bread?

Medic: Oh come now, It vas only just one gelatinous bread monster! Besides, I'm not going to experiment on an injured animal. I may be a hired mercenary that experiments on his fellow teammates but even I have standards!

Luz: Bradley, since you were curious what new factions we're currently dealing with, I guess I can try and explain them all briefly.

====

The Crystallized Horde: The true main threat that disturbs all natural order within the entire multiverse.

The Plagued Ones: Infected individuals turned into fungal infested undead and are lead by Plagued Killer.

The Metal Legion: A hive mind of Robotized individuals that follow every single order of Mitchel Smasher.

The Gluttonous Savages: A giant pack/clan of ravenous people turned demons that even feast upon their own kind if they become weak or show weakness and all follow The Texas Wendigo rule to a T.

The Phantom Assassins: Black cloaked assassins/killers that rarely speak and are all loyal to Shogun Rex.

The Global Occult Coalition: A fascist group who sees anyone who have powers/magic or are anomalies as "inhuman abominations" and try to kill them in anyway possible.

The Chaos Insurgency: A group of chaotic individuals who use anomalous items to cause as much madness as possible and have all joined forces with The Savage Scavengers and their much more powerful than before leader.

The Null Order: The secretive rebuilt/reborn Gray Horde that desires both revenge and total control over everything once again...And have joined forces with The Combine/Universal Union with their bases still unknown.

The Xeno Hive: The reincarnated Neo Hive with much more deadlier soldiers by the newly renamed King Xeno Blight.

The Syndicate of Steel: Same "Destroy all organic life" goals but now with a much more bigger and powerful army and a much more greater fortress...Which is also the robotized Copper 9 exoplanet from another universe.

[frostsong]

9—11: (EC) UNFAIR.

adjective: unkind, inconsiderate, or unreasonable.

rating: g

characters: original characters, friend’s oc, samson warren, radegonde greystone, euphemie de dansereau

tags: slice of life, family, ft. samphie’s 2 twin girls, talking about apples, sammie belongs to sky (tysm for letting me borrow him & the girls!!)

summary: even during a brief respite, the warrior of light feels restless. takes place after patch 6.2 in the msq.

wordcount: 745

”You’re going where now?”

Incredulously, Radegonde peered at him, seated on the playroom floor where the twins sat beside her, cooing and toddling amidst the toys strewn around them.

“The thirteenth,” Samson hissed between teeth clenched in a smile. The last thing he wanted to talk about was work, but he was simply too polite for his own good—and did his best not to leave any questions unanswered. Besides, with his sister-in-law he knew the topic would circle back around eventually…

“Weren’t you just in the first not long ago—“ Gondie winced as a fistful of her long hair was yanked by her giggling niece. He frowned and stooped to his knees, gathering the child up as he continued:

“I was. This is different.”

“I should hope it involves less of that ancient nonsense.” Radegonde frowned as the other girl crawled onto the dark skirts of her aunt’s lap, reaching for a brightly-painted rook toy not far from her grasp.

“It doesn’t seem that way.” Samson relished in the girl’s toothless smile as he handed her the toy, while the other in his lap toothed on the tail of a stuffed wyrmling.

“…And I doubt anything called the thirteenth means you’ll be taking them with you anytime soon.” He grew quiet at the words he’d known and ruminated on since he’d returned, this time with Zero in tow. After discussing with Vrtra and Y’shtola they had decided it best to wait before having her accompany him back home to Ishgard, as it’d still been relatively early since she awoke. He couldn’t begin to comprehend how different everything must have been to her, but then again, they now learned that the Void had formerly been as vibrant as the Source; it was chilling to think back on the fate they had so narrowly avoided. Samson was grateful they’d survived the ordeal—he just couldn’t shake the feeling of how hopelessly unfair it seemed, that such ceaseless sacrifice was asked of him.

The girls had only seen their first summer, and yet Samson felt at odds with everything else thrust upon his shoulders that everyone expected of him—that Eorzea needed of him. How he wished he could’ve been home with his family as much as he’d wanted; while this wasn’t the idyllic life he’d once considered back when he was but a boy in the La Noscean countryside he was stalwart in protecting what he had now, and he would never surrender it for anything else.

“...We brought back a friend.” He pivoted her question—and she seemed happy to oblige him, though the look in her eyes said otherwise.

“So I heard.”

“Likes apples…” Gondie blinked.

“Maybe that’s why Peep loves his apple pie.” The darling little Deepeye that often followed at her ankles proved more friendly than his housemate Gus. Any minute now, Sam believed he would hover by and demand affection in the form of chin-scritches or treats. 

“I was thinking we should let her try apples in different forms, too. Maybe we can get Puddingway and—”

“I don’t recall applesauce being pudding.” The other girl, still secure in her aunt’s lap, had exchanged the rook for a toy unicorn.

“I think it’s close enough. Apple pudding…”

“I would imagine it’s smoother—like cream.” The one in his hold turned her attention to the other dragon—this time, colored red instead of blue, but with the same sewn buttons as eyes—and discarded the latter on the floor by her father’s knee.

“We can even have one of them test it. They should be old enough, right?” 

“I…would ask the physician first.” He coughed while the girl on his lap stared up at him, as if on cue—big bright eyes like her mother’s. The same eyes he had trouble refusing.

“They’ll probably end up liking it anyway.” Radegonde gestured to a servant and offered up the girl, standing and brushing the skirts of her indigo dress.

“I still don’t want them to get sick…” Samson murmured as he watched her stretch with a yawn.

“Anyway. Good luck with the thirteenth and all—let me know if you find any more deepeyes or anything I should know about them.” With a wave of her hand she headed for the door. Lackadaisical as ever—if not slightly more callous than the way Euphie carried herself. Samson couldn’t help but smile and laugh in spite of himself, offering his left arm and allowing the servant to cede the other twin girl into his hold.

[whitherliliesbloom]

your voice will save me

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #23 - soul ]

[ alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,416 words ]  ★ [ post-5.3 ]

a sequel to a fill i did from last year’s ffxivwrite. i had the idea for this fic for a whole year but never got to write it. aka, it took one year for me to finally give alphinaud closure.

soul- the spiritual part of a person that some people believe continues to exist in some form after their body has died

it’s a long time coming, but alphinaud thinks he should finally tell the warrior of light the words his soul has been yearning to say for thousands of years

Revenant’s Toll feels particularly cold with the nightly breeze, and it sends chills down Alphinaud’s spine as he casts his glance outwards to look upon Silvertear falls, watching as the sky, now free from miasma, is glimmering with a sea of swaying stars that casts distant reflections of light upon the lake where the wings of a great wyrm once stood vigil.

He shivers, grasping at his gloved hand to steady himself, counting his own breaths as he looks upon the tower of crystals with a pang of hurt that leaves his throat dry. The sight of the tower alone reminds him of skyscrapers and the sound of distant rain, and memories that were not his own flash, albeit briefly, through his head like a bolt that strikes at his very heart. 

The boy barely manages to compose himself, steel himself with the resolve and cool that a distant, untarnished version of himself had once possessed. Even in the midst of falling stars, a rain of fire and rivers of blood that ran the streets, that man..... himself from an ancient time, Alphinaud acknowledges bitterly with bit lips, he would not allow his emotions to sway him so.

And yet when he hears a familiar voice call out to him from behind, call out to his very soul that has been aching since the beginning of time, he knew that the him of the present was incapable of being as cold and unfeeling as he had once been.

“Alphinaud?” his flower whispers a name into the night, his name. The name of his current form, one that he can barely hang on to as yet another brief flash of a blazing meteor shower tears through his focus. “You called for me?”

“Yes.” He holds his breath, turns around and gazes down at her with a muddied, dishonest smile upon his face. “I....I wanted to talk to you.” there’s hesitation as he speaks, pain laced in his tone, but Illya makes no remark on it as she moves to stand next to the man, crystal violet eyes cast skywards at the dead of the night. “I’m not bothering you am I?”

“You never bother me.” Illya responds swiftly, her fingers resting upon the stone railing and shivering a tad as she finds the surface cool to the touch.

He swallows the lump in his throat, eyes averting her own and body fidgety, restless as he attempts to find the words in him to even begin speaking - because heaven knows there are so many he wants to say to her.

Previous countless mental rehearsals are now forgotten, replaced with only the raw emotions of a flickering, barely visible light within him. 

“I.... I just wanted... To call you out here to... Well... clarify some things... and... and to apologize for others...”

His voice is sheepish, timid, completely unlike the assured confidence of her beloved scholar who had been so eager and ready, eyes blazing with confidence during his fight against the specters of light, his magicks woven from his passion like bursts of fire and gusts of summer wind.

But her smile is still patient and kind as she watches him carelessly stumble upon his words, a hand raising up to tuck a long fluttering strand of hair behind her ear as it blew effortlessly in the lake breeze.

“I never did apologize... Well, there are a lot of things I have to apologize for but-” Alphinaud frowns, “I-I.. I could not well carry on without first trying to apologize to you for all of my transgressions.” Inhaling sharply, the elezen clenches his fist and casts his gaze down upon the stone under his feet. “I’m sorry for worrying you so much all the time, especially when my soul had been pulled to the first. I’m sorry for not being there for you when you struggled with yourself... I’m sorry for putting you through such heinous betrayal because of my incompetence as a commander of the Crystal Braves. I’m sorry for all the times I used you, doubted you, hurt you...”

His voice shakes with the sorrow worth many years of regret, of the guilt he’s pent up and swore to himself he’d make amends for. His heart is aching, the agony of his own past sins coming back to haunt a more mature, wiser, older form of himself now. But he knows it is nothing compared to what he has put her through.

“When we first arrived in Ishgard, I promised you that I would do better - be better for the sake of the others and you who I have wronged. I don’t know if I’ve gotten far enough yet to say I’ve fulfilled that promise... And for that too, I am truly sorry.”

lllya parts her lips to speak, but her voice is hushed, watching as what little shred of dignity has drained from Alphinaud’s navy blue eyes with a sea of cyan sadness washing through her own. And when she takes a step towards him, he holds his hand up and she swallows back her protests reluctantly, intent to listen to his heart until the end even if it killed her to do so.

“And... and also... I’m sorry for pushing you away.” 

That statement applies to himself from six summers ago, but the distant glaze in his eyes as he attempts to recall memories of a long forgotten city tells the girl that he was referring to otherwise, and she casts him a confused tilt of her head before he finally speaks again.

“In a time long past... in a city of creation and innovation... That man, Apollo...” Alphinaud shakes his head. Saying another name that was not his own would be deflecting the blame, “the unsundered form of myself sought to reach distant heights that I believed not even the convocation could dream to match. And in my vain, egotistical pursuit for ideals that I wasn’t worthy of I...” He chokes back a sob, the thought of his sins against her too much for even himself to even recount. “I hurt you. I told you such blatant, awful lies. I let my jealousy and my own incompetence sweep me away. I-”

“Alphinaud.”

Her voice calls out his name. His name. The name of his current form - his present form. It is the only name Illya knows and will ever acknowledge. 

And though her expression is stern, eyebrows furrowed and peach pink lips pressed into a tight line, she still says his name like melted caramel, unbearably sweet and warm in its tone. 

“I can accept your apology for everything else. I forgive you. But you’re beginning to apologize for mistakes that aren’t your own.”

“But I am- I mean... it... is me.” 

In a way, he acknowledges... Not fully, of course... but the revelations of what had been his past life is proof enough that he, even if a fourteenth fraction of what had once been the man named Apollo, he still must bear part of the responsibility. 

He’s lucky enough as he is to have been granted a second chance, just as Apollo had begged and prayed to the heavens for. He cannot even fathom a world where he had not met Illya anymore.

His beloved smiles, hand raised up to press against her beating heart, as if to feel the essence of her twice rejoined soul. She searches for whispers of herself - of the perfection version of the woman she once was, feeling the bright amethyst constellation stone that bore the insignia of the blistering sun warm in her pocket. She hears no words, only a wave of emotions that cascade through her and almost sweeps her away - she has after all ever been the most sensitive with the voices of unseen beings. 

But even with the two shards of a whole soul shone brightly within her, and she can almost envision the visage of a dusty, quiet library in her mind, there is not a trace of anger or hurt in her heart. 

“I am Illya Skawi. And you are Alphinaud Leveilleur.” Her gentle tone belies the weak little tremble in her voice as her eyes swirl with an ocean of unfiltered emotions. “I am nowhere near as perfect as Chloris, I know I can never be.” Her hands clasp together tightly, held close to her chest as if to guard her heart. “I may inherit her will... but I will never be her.”

Where Chloris had bright, flawless sanguine pink eyes that morphed in hue to reflect her thoughts, Illya inherited a pair of more timid orbs of lavender twilight. Where Chloris had unmarred skin of a porcelain doll, Illya’s skin was covered with a map of the galaxy - the speckle of stars from bullet holes upon her thighs, the milky way that cut across her collar bone and the auroras taking the form of teeth marks all over her abdomen. 

And where Chloris had an unparalleled talent for optimism, charisma and hope, what remained in Illya was only the painful, unreciprocated love she had for the world that would be the very bane of her mental stability for as long as she can remember. 

Even with her soul reunited with Ardbert’s, she knows she is but a husk of what had once been the fourteenth member of the convocation - of azem... Emet-Selch at least wasn’t mistaken in spelling that fact out. 

“And the woman that Apollo loved is not me - not this ugly, fragmented, weak little shard as I am.”

That’s absolute nonsense, Alphinaud wants to retort. Illya is anything but. It may not who Chloris had once been - but it is who the woman he loves is. Whole, beautiful and divine, her hair is woven from moonlight and her eyes are pressed from a bouquet blossomed flowers. Her voice a melody of a songbird, her skin a distant and unexplored, yet welcoming cosmos. She is a ray of hope, not just for him, but practically everyone else he knows... and he could think of no better personification of perfection than her. 

The world may disagree, the ancients may cry in protest and the whole, unbroken version of him may think to question his judgement. 

But Alphinaud knows, even if he is wrong about everything else and will continue to be as imperfect and sinfully tainted as he is, that he isn’t wrong about her.

“You’re not- You are not....ugly...” the words die at his throat, he’s lacking in the strength to debate as fervently as he is usually capable of doing. “Or weak for that matter. You’re...” 

“I’m not Chloris. And you’re not Apollo, either. Perhaps we were once upon a time, but not now, not here.”

The breeze picks up and howls in his ears, carrying the chill of his doubts and guilt away into the night. And as the bearer of hopes and miracles flashes him a radiant smile, he feels his chest clenching with a warmth that he can barely contain.

Illya turns to look back over Silvertear falls, the light from the moon and the fields of crystals casting a halo over her hair as it fluttered like a veil in the wind. Her skin glows with color, warm against the backdrop of grey stone and dark blue sky. 

“I did ponder over the circumstances of our meeting... If it was pure coincidence or a mechanism of fate bringing their souls... our souls together again.” Illya hums, fiddling with her fingers as she contemplates out loud. “And I wonder... if the other shards of Chloris and Apollo are so tightly wound together that they’d meet again in other worlds too...” 

“They will.” He answers on impulse, as if his entire being already knew the answer. “I believe they will.” 

It’s a naive and an impossibly idealistic wish... one with a hint of selfishness and ego too, perhaps... but those are the core of who he is- who his soul is. And if Apollo loved Chloris even half as much as he loved Illya, then he knows, is certain with all his heart that the thread that keeps their fourteen souls tied together for eternity will not be so easily severed. 

There’s a quiet that looms over them, with only the sounds of the wind and the chirping of the crickets ringing in the air. Illya doesn’t turn to look back at him for a minute, lost in her own thought and drowning in a pool of her own emotions - thousands of years worth of them.

“That’s good. I’m glad...”

When the girl turns around, her violet eyes are wet with crystal clear tears, they catch the rays of moonlight and reflect off her face as they roll down her cheeks past upturned lips. 

“Because Chloris loved Apollo, you know? She loved him very very much.”

Alphinaud hadn’t noticed when he’d started crying either, quiet sobs breaking out of him as he lets out a choked laugh, raising a gloved hand to feebly wipe away his tears.

“He did too. He loved her so much that it killed him.” 

His heart is so full to the brim, spilling with unbearable adoration and devotion. When Illya spreads her arms out wordlessly, sniffling back her own trickling, glistening tears, he picks her up and wraps his arms tightly around her, feeling the beating of his heart match in tandem with her own. 

In their warm, tender embrace, he hears the echoes of a distant past - yet another vision of a splitting star flashes in his mind. But he doesn’t flinch this time as he holds his entire world in his arms, afraid and determined to never let go. 

“I love you. I love you.” Her declaration is all he hears, along with quiet whispers of his name. His real name. 

Alphinaud. Alphinaud. Alphinaud. Alphinaud.

This love was hers to bear, and no one else’s - not Chloris, not Ardbert, not the twelve other flickering star blossoms that are out there, undoubtedly fighting with their entire being to reunite with their own other half. And no cry of ancient beings, no fracturing of worlds or falling of the moon or stars will stop her from loving him. Even until the sun sets, even until the end of times. 

And though their souls may have been set adrift, he knew that his soul would always be destined to love hers in return.

“I love you too, Illya.” 

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #28: Bow

"Hero," said Emet-Selch.

He was trailing lazily behind the rest of the party as they made their way closer to the heart of the Rak'tika Greatwood. Ahtyn, against all her usual instincts to charge ahead, had fallen in step somewhere just ahead of him, leaving the others to clear a path through the dense underbrush.

"Yeah?"

"There's something I've always wondered," the Ascian said. "Do you know the story of Phlegethon?"

The name sparked recognition at once - perhaps due to the inordinate amount of time she'd spent that week curled up in the Exarch's office, reading from the same collection of Allagan stories shared to her throughout her childhood. Yet the first memory to reach her was that of the heat from a molten river of lava, sweat pouring down her face and soaking the clothing beneath her armor - and then, meeting an empty gaze from a tattooed face surrounded by flowing golden hair.

"Uh, yeah," she replied. "A general in the rebellion against the Allagan Empire. One of the greatest heroes of the era, until the royal family captured him and tortured him. They experimented on him and made him bow to Xande, and that was the day the rebellion died." She looked over her shoulder to find Emet-Selch smirking, albeit to himself. "You've always wondered that?"

He shrugged. "An idle curiosity. Though in truth, 'experimentation' had little to do with it; Allag had perfected its techniques centuries before Phlegethon ever took to the field." Before she could fully grasp the implications of those words, he launched into another question, his words now animated with melodrama. "And has that tragic tale ever rang especially true to you? Has it ever inspired you with its meaning?"

It had. She could not recall when she might have learned it from her grandfather - it struck her as the sort of story her mother would have protested to being told in her house - but it had served as one of her first warnings, long before she had ever picked up a sword, that not even heroes were infallible against the might of empires.

"I thought about it a lot after the banquet," she admitted. She did not specify which banquet; she had come to assume that Emet-Selch was well-informed on the broader strokes of her adventures. "At first I compared it to myself, you know? How I'd been manipulated into-" She shook her head to clear that thought from her mind. It did not bear thinking about, not even so many years and deaths removed from what was still one of the darkest days of her journey. "But then - I don't even know what made it click, but one night I couldn't sleep, probably because it was Ishgard, and I thought about Phlegethon. And then I thought about Raubahn, and what might have been happening to him in Halatali, so... that's who I tend to think of now, with Phlegethon."

Emet-Selch interrupted her with a prolonged "Hmmm," the sort of noise that let her know that he wasn't truly listening to a single word she was saying. "But the story of Phlegethon hasn't ever, say, filled you with a deeper context."

"I'll fill you with a deeper context if you don't tell me what the fuck you're talking about!"

"Hey!" Thancred called over his shoulder, in the midst of cutting through a clump of spiny ferns. "Getting along back there?"

"Trying to," she shot back. She gritted her teeth but kept her pace, unable and unwilling to let their conversation die there. It was entirely unsurprising, and yet it still stung for some reason she couldn't fully explain that the founder of the Garlean Empire refused to abide her rambling. Perhaps he would respond better to reciprocation. "So," she said, keeping her tone as light as possible, "is there something you think I should know? I'm always down to hear about ancient history."

But Emet-Selch merely rolled his eyes and said no more.

[efrmellifer]

Where The Road Led

Seven Days of Estinyan: Day One

When she felt his gaze on her, Etien looked up to meet Estinien’s eyes. “Yes?”

“You had an odd look on your face,” he replied. “Are the flowers too heavy?” He reached out to take them from her.

She shook her head. “The flowers are the lightest thing I’m carrying.”

Estinien stopped walking along the pathway that led down from Zenith. “What in the gods’ name are you talking about?”

“I came here by myself after the war had been brought to an end.”

He nodded, signaling that he followed her so far.

“And while I was wandering around, avoiding Hropkens and hoping the Moogles didn’t see me, I had been doing some thinking about how much had happened over the time I spent here.”

Estinien came to her side. “Here specifically, or in Ishgard and Coerthas?”

“Well, both. More here, Churning Mists here, while I was up here, though. But I had been thinking about how much longer and heavier my job description had gotten when I added the tentative title of Savior of Ishgard.”

“Did it?” he asked, stopping again.

Etien sighed. “When I first arrived in Gridania, my most pressing worries were accidentally catching the soft part of my arm in my bowstring and losing track of a specific animal I was supposed to hunt. Even defeating Primals was a little less pressure, at least compared to ‘help us end a war that has raged on for one thousand years, while trying to reassemble the group of people who have given you this life.’”

“I suppose we did do that,” Estinien mumbled, looking at his boots.

“It led to this, so I do feel bad for complaining, but it was a long year to live, and the years just keep getting longer,” she sighed.

“Led to what?” Estinien asked. “Rather… I’m sorry we worked you so hard for a homeland not your own. To save a people who were not your own.”

“Well, when Haurchefant had been so hospitable, and Lord Edmont adopted me…”

“Still,” he rebutted. “House Fortemps treated you like the heroes and gifts from Halone that you are, and the rest of us were backbiters, suspicious, and all too eager to put you into service to prove your good intent.”

Etien made a noise that wasn’t quite either a snort or a laugh. “Now you sound like Aymeric.”

“Because he was right. We need to deliver these flowers, do we not?” He pointed to the structure to the east, still whirling with wind-aspected aether, but less tumultuously.

It hadn’t been the gale force winds in a fair while, actually.

Nidhogg had softened his heart to a mortal who loved him, had fallen in love with her as well, and as a result the skies had become that much safer.

Etien and Estinien still boarded their manacutters to get there faster, though.

While they flew, Etien took stock of the flowers again. She’d been thinking over and over about their arrangement as she harvested what she could and bought the rest, wrapping them earlier in moist paper so they would survive the journey through the Mists.

Now, she looked them over one last time. Spearmint for warmth of sentiment. Ivy for friendship. Irises for trust and wisdom. Daffodils for regard. Hopefully, this bouquet of high esteem would touch the hearts of the great wyrm and his greatest love. But that remained to be seen.

They landed, and Etien tried to lead the way after Estinien helped her from the miniature ship, but she made a poor leader in this instance. She was walking too hesitantly, stumbling as she tried to tread silently, but didn’t feel confident in her steps, leaving her ankles rolling and her body pitching.

“Is aught the matter?” Estinien asked from behind her.

“I… I know Dae won’t let him hurt or kill me, but I’m scared.”

He laid a hand on her back, feeling how cool her skin was from the wind, hoping to warm her just a little. “Do not be afraid. I am here. And I will also not let him hurt you. I will protect you.”

She gave him a look, just slightly distressed.

“Not like that. I made a pact and promise just like everyone else did. Moreover, I’m retired from that life. I don’t even have a knife on me, let alone my lance.”

Etien relaxed, then nodded, her boots clicking on the stones into the Aery.

“It has been a long time, hmm?” Estinien murmured as they stepped inside.

“Nidhogg of the first brood, hear me! ...please.” She called, hands cupped around her mouth, flowers in the cook of her elbow. “’Tis I, Etien. I come with a guest, Estinien Wyrmblood. We come in peace and friendship.”

There was a roar, then a thundering as the wyrm approached.

“Thou bringest him unto me and my home, when he was of the order who slaughtered my kin?”

Dae stroked his snout, hushing him gently and succeeding in soothing him. “He comes to our home with friendly intent, in the wake of the pact for peace. If they keep their end of it, we should keep ours. See? They’re both unarmed. Etien brought flowers again!”

She took them from where they were still cradled in Etien’s arms, offering them to Nidhogg to sniff.

When he’d had his fill of the flowers’ fragrance, he turned back to Etien, who had called him from the inner chambers to begin with.

“As thou hast come bearing gifts rather than steel, I shall allow thy visit. Come thou along, Dae will attend to thy comforts, as I cannot.”

For a time, they sat, Etien trying to ingratiate herself with the wyrm who so loved her friend, while said friend sat happily nestled in Nidhogg’s horns, stroking is snout and kissing the side of his face to prove just how relaxed a gathering this was.

Estinien was on the best behavior he could manage, though that did include making faces at the broodlings. Some liked it, giving sparky little giggles, while others flew off and hid at his “fearsome expressions.”

By the time they left, boarding the manacutters again, Etien’s heart was lighter, with tensions of the past eased slightly and on the path to dissolving more fully.

It helped that Nidhogg had liked the flowers.

But Estinien had questions. Not about relations with the dragons, that was his realm only when it came to Orn Khai. No, he was still curious about what Etien had meant earlier

They disembarked from the manacutters, and he didn’t let her hand go after he’d helped her to standing on the ground. As he guided her to the edge of the rock, with a quiet “sit with me?” he watched her scoot as close to the edge as she was willing to go, then stop.

Ah, right. Her fear of heights. Or perhaps, based on his observations, it was more akin to the fear of being too close to the edge of a long drop? She had no problem with flying, and even admired the views from the Last Vigil. But when she got too close to the edges of the Aetheryte plaza, or places like this, she was tense.

He’d noticed it most acutely the time he’d laid a hand on her shoulder as they walked along the path over the Brume, and she’d jumped, hair on her tail standing up and ears flattening.

But he let his legs dangle off the edge, and so she scooted a little closer, still holding his hand.

“You won’t fall,” he promised. She unfolded her legs to rest so her calves were halfway stuck out into the air.

“All right,” she said finally.

“So… led to what?” Estinien asked after a moment.

Etien tipped head. “What?”

“You said the war ‘led to this.’ What’s this?”

She blinked. “Oh! Us.” She shook their hands where they were clasped. “This. Well it was you, me, and Aymeric, more exactly. But you know. The final year of the war, the one I was there for, was hard, but at the end of it, I was endeared to Ishgard. And I ended up married to Aymeric before I left for Rhalgr’s Reach. In secret, of course; it was only that we were worried about what would happen if I happened to die on my way east.”

Silently, Estinien looked at her. She was wearing all black, but the brass buttons were a perfect complement. They, like her hair, were bold. He was only thinking about the black because in the moment that was swimming to the front of his mind—a moment he had thought about a lot since it had happened—she had been wearing much more white.

“Do you know it was here in the Churning Mists that I first began to feel for you?”

“I did not,” she replied. “When, when we were here with Ysayle?”

He nodded. “You tend to go quiet when people are having a heated debate in front of you. I had noticed it when Alphinaud and Aymeric were having their little discussion, but I thought you were just quiet.”

She laughed lightly, just a single harder exhale.

“I know now that you aren’t,” he added. “But aye. That night, I watched you sitting silently, watching the fire when you didn’t want to look at us, and how your eyes looked like emeralds.”

Now she giggled behind her hand. “How poetic.”

“I’ve had time to refine the comparison.” He felt his cheeks warming, and he was fairly sure it wasn’t windburn. He sighed. “I didn’t fully know the dimensions of my feelings until later. I struggle to recall when now, but before you won the day for Ala Mhigo.”

“I’m glad you figured them out,” Etien murmured, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “Because it led to this.”

[reapcrbunny]

( 🐇 ) SHE'D ONLY MANAGED to retain her sheepishness for a short moment before the blunt words came forth out of zarina's lips - and as cheerful as ever. dahlia blinks at first, wondering if what just happened did just happen. her green hues STARE at the ishgardian 'fore she pulls such a look away - it was rude to do such things ( etiquette had to be recalled, her tribe didn't care for such things and, twelve, it was such a difficult habit to break. even after such a LONG TIME GONE ).

< THANKS . . >

SHE WAS STILL unsure how to respond, her hands give some semblance of one before she could really stop herself, grimacing as the response continued. by the twelve where was alphinaud when she needed him to pull her out of a hole SHE ACCIDENTLY DUG.

HER EYES SQUINT at the continued bluntness of the elezen's words, though not responding rashly due to the knowledge of that is simply how she communicates. tataru had reminded her more than once that it was simply how she was. the veena, in simple terms, was thankful for the bluntness but . . it did not make it sting any less for her commentary to be said to be so ridiculous or irrational. she was being such, due to the stress of the current political climate ( she was still learning ; new places brought about different situations that she had TO ACCLIMATE TO ).

SHE FROWNS, FRUSTRATED that she was being benched and disallowed from pushing herself ahead. she was naught wrong in saying that count fortemps had high views of her - by no small part haurchefant's hands being ALL OVER IT.

< I . . FAIR. > her hands still as one hand came up to rub at her face in quiet frustration - again, if she got up and moved around silently gauging most of ishgard she DOUBTED much would come out of it. some talk perhaps but . . surely NOTHING DAMAGING POLITICALLY, right ?

( THOUGH, MAYBE THAT was why irina was so steadfast in KEEPING her here. )

TATARU'S STORIES DID find a lacking of the ( so called ) charming behaviour in the elezen to be a little confusing but, she guessed, it could be due to the reasoning of being rather " new " to the organization. just because she had accomplishments under her armor did not necessarily mean that she was going to be looked at fondly. her ears twitch backward some at the subtle mention of those they had likely lost ; expression changing out of full view. her gaze rose once more 'pon ZARINA SPEAKING FURTHER.

< I UNDERSTAND. WHEN should i expect you ? or is . . is it whenever and i should expect you anytime ? > she needs some clarity on this. HOW SHE WORKS.

< i  know  i’m  sounding  crazy . >

@reapcrbunny

It would be almost comical if the Elezen woman didn't have a mean streak in her very blood (Are all Ishgardian-born assholes or is it just her? Certainly, it's just her, Ser Aymeric was nothing but a treasure to speak with). The appearance of the moon didn't take away the darkness sitting within. The cruelty experienced across the world as much as forcing the foolish ones to submit, the maiden of snowy plains of Ishgard (once, oh, it was a long time ago) was not a woman to be trifled with. It was luck that helped them remain in the Holy See of Ishgard without

"As long as you're aware, Dahlia," Zarina doesn't waste time being sweet or kind to the other. As beautiful as her voice sounds, she delivers each line with unique sharpness. There's no one who can deny her word if she pushes, oppressiveness is something none of the Scions possessed to the point of her capability. Perhaps, that's why the Warrior of Light never saw the silverette in the Waking Sands. "However, your plea for insanity will not be taken into consideration by me. Thus, I am obligated to call you an idiot instead of an insane person."

It's almost aggravating how she said it all with a smile and a cheerful tone of her voice. There's meanness in each syllable simply because she was a provocateur. There's a desire to see how far Dahlia would go. If Minfilia put such trust in this young woman, then Sokolova ought to watch over her as the last tribute to her deceased (as she expected) friend. Or leader. Could they really be called friends? Minfilia would say so, Zarina would agree. The rest of the Scions? They'd harshly disagree. To them, the Elezen woman of Ishgardian origin was an ink that stained their seemingly pastel image, she was the darkness that had to be used to achieve certain plans. If anything Dahlia could expect the rough treatment here and there but those were only tests given by the Juggernaut of the Seventh Dawn.

"But yes, you do sound like you're not in your rational part of the thinking process," she continues, still smiling pleasantly. "Because of that, I am willing to ignore everything you mentioned previously about how we should proceed. Currently, your safety is my priority and even if you want to go rush ahead into the battle, I will not allow that to happen until your wounds heal." Minfilia certainly didn't mean to treat Warrior of Light like a child, but Sokolova has a preference to keep things under her control until she deems the situation good enough to entrust certain aspects of their own life to the person who she must oversee. For a bit. "Count de Fortemps has high views of you, Dahlia, so let yourself rest for a bit more before you want to argue with me on the state of affairs within Ishgard."

Tataru had a lot of explaining to do to Dahlia as there was no Scion who would speak like that. Well, the Lalafel had a long list of stories about the Juggernaut, including how because of her 'lone wolf' status while traveling around, she didn't listen to anyone's orders and acted solely on her own. Perhaps, her behavior was the most telling. Alas, Tataru would say that she could be ridiculously charming if she wanted, but the only reason she wasn't 'charming' to the Warrior of Light was simply because she was still burdened by the news of Minfilia's possible passing.

"Now rest. I don't need another dead body on my list to take care of. I'll come back to visit you in the Forgotten Knight. Remember not to say my name, alright? Irina would do just fine when we're in public," she winks then, waving her hand to the other before heading to the door. It's time to put on her disguise and exit the tavern without calling for attention. "If you want to find me prior to our established meeting, search for the merchant by the Aetheryte. He wears a silver pendant with a hawk emblem. Ask about a Juggernaut, he'll get it."