#Marcelloix

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 30: Two Heads Are Better Than One

Esredes' heart dropped when he approached the remains of the village. The blizzard and hail combination last night had left more damage than he anticipated- roofs were caved in or full of holes, the very foundations were blown to the side or partially collapsed, and while it looked like no one had died, they were all huddled around fires shivering. Everything looked absolutely and utterly miserable.

"We're going to have to put aside the week to repair this," Esredes said to the little group he'd brought along. He'd thought it would be enough just to have a trusted circle of Mythirel, Marcelloix, Heilyn, Vette, Fiachna- whose sister Niamh had also decided to come, to which Esredes only reclutantly allowed- and Marchand was there too, he supposed. The man had technically joined them, and he might make himself useful on this task. But even despite these two uneasy allowances, as Esredes surveyed the extent of the damage done to the village their movement was taking shelter in, it was not near enough to make quick progress. Oh, they would all be suffering the entire week.

"Maybe I can convince a couple more people to come out here," Esredes said with a sigh as he tapped his linkpearl. Elouan was not a member of the movement proper, but he trusted him with this affair at the least. He explained the situation over the pearl to him and luckily, just as Esredes anticipated, he agreed to come right over and help.

"Let's get to work in the meantime," Esredes said. "I'll call over as many of the movement as available as the week goes on. With luck, we'll have this all functional by the end of the week." For now, he sent Fiachna off on that messenger task and got to work with the rest of the crew. Marchand made himself useful hauling the supplies and materials they did manage to bring along as well as those too injured to move around properly, while Heilyn got to work repairing the damage, even though it quickly became apparent it wouldn't be enough. Vette kept the campfires roaring and otherwise provided heat to the villagers who weren't lucky enough to be blooded with fire, melting away ice and snow that was in the way of them making any progress. Esredes tag-teamed with Marcelloix to haul and assist with the basic repairing he could do, transforming frequently to help hold things into place for others to nail down or get people and materials onto the roof.

The little group worked away for a couple hours, and had barely made a dent in the work. A couple little houses looked in better shape now, but far from finished, the debris from the storm to clear out seemed endless, and they didn't have nearly enough materials to keep at this forever. That's when Esredes heard his name with a familiar cheerful voice, and when he turned around his heart rose and dropped in equal measure. Elouan had showed up, as promised, along with Fiachna making his return. But with him he'd brought an entire crowd of others. Andromeda, Mercer, Aloysia, Ryousei, Majalis, Leigh, Alvere, Fuyu, Kainen, Azarah, Alastor, and for some reason even Ross who Esredes barely remembered the name of were all there too- along with an apparent delivery of more supplies, with a note from Adel saying they were from an anonymous wealthy source. And to all of it, Esredes blinked several times in a row. This village was confidential. It was private. The last thing these people needed was for their peace and solitude away from Ishgard to be disturbed by outsiders who could come back and mean them harm- No, no. Esredes, for once, quieted the thought as it came. These were not loyalists or outsiders, these were his trusted friends and associates that had come to help. A smile came to his face, and with it, the work continued.

Andromeda was familiar with handling housing in the cold- Shiva bless her country Garlean origins- and immediately helped lead and assist the rest in where to repair and bolster the damage done to the buildings, as well as having come with more materials of her own, and putting that magitek of hers to heal the injured with Fuyu. Mercer was good with lifting the heavier things and hammering, but he also got to work fixing broken metal. Meanwhile, Ryousei was on watch duty, surveying ahead to be sure the area was clear of any actually unwanted visitors who could try and bring the entire place down. You never knew even in this post-war world. Majalis and Leigh were focused on distributing supplies to ensure everyone remained warm and fed, Leigh coming with jarred foods and spare blankets, and once that was done Majalis moved on to assist Fiachna and Niamh with repairs. Kainen used his Dragoon jumping to more easily move materials around. Azarah and Vette both assisted Aloysia and Rossignol with getting a pot of soup going for everyone, a combination Esredes couldn't voice his protest to until it was too late. Aloysia insisted the vague, mushy concoction they had made tasted good, but Esredes wasn't about to trust it for a moment. Fortunately, Vette, Alvere, and Leigh came to the rescue, adding in the right ingredients to make it palatable.

By the time everyone settled down with the soup, the progress had made leaps and bounds compared to where it was at before backup arrived. And with the promise of more people coming tomorrow thanks to Fiachna's messaging, it looked like they might have this village fully functional again by the end of the week indeed. People settled in, villager and helper talking to one another around bowls of soup, exchanging ideas and learning about each other, and with the multiple sources of fire the cold Coerthan night felt warmer than it would have all alone. Esredes closed his eyes. All of this reminded him of when they had worked on the Firmament together- but that had been everyone, and for the whole good of Ishgard. This? Coming out to help him and his so far away from the center of Coerthas? He couldn't help but smile, and something in his active mind slowed down. Perhaps he needed too many reminders that the people around him were to be loved and trusted, but moments like this kept his hope alive for the future. He didn't dare think that someday soon everything would end, and this could be the future he lived in. Yet ever since the end of the world came and went, he'd also felt like something had really changed, and this sight was yet more proof of it. The future, as always, remained cloudy, murky, and uncertain- but as the group settled in for the night to get back to work tomorrow, everything felt at ease in the world.

[vaadrage]

I can't stop grinning. For many moons, I've imagined this future with him, side by side facing all the facets of life, its hardships and joys, even the mundane days. We have persevered together for as long as we've known each other, and I have been nothing but happy with him, even in spite of all our struggles. But it's so deeply humbling—honouring!��to be asked proper for this forever. Until the end of our days, perhaps past if our souls persevere… What can I say? Beyond yes a thousand times. I so deeply love this man. I can wax poetic for ages—his endless intellect and curiosity, his playful nature, the depth of his voice. The way he holds himself, the skill he displays in a myriad of crafts, or his courage in striving for better, always. And more often, I'm so taken by his passion and tender heart, the love he gives in spades, that endless ocean within. That I could be the one he loves most is truly my brightest treasure. @marcelloix

[iseterre]

Previous

"Nollette." Marcel's eyes narrowed, his stare pinning her to the spot. "Please tell me you're not serious."

His fears were confirmed when she flinched, her eyes usually full of mischief and laughter lowered beneath thick lashes. "I am."

Fuck. One heartbeat was all it took, one deep breath to close the distance, his hand clasped around hers before the two vanished. Several moments later a soft thud was heard as Nollette fell face first into vibrant green grass. She cursed under her breath as she pushed herself up, the glare she shot him while dusting the dirt from her gown was met with an amused chuckle.

The air felt different here, tasted different. A salty brine assaulted the woman's senses and her eyes widened. Her head jerked, taking in the scenery and landscape.

A small Hingan style home sat several fulms away, nestled between two hills. An immediate recognition shattered the already tentative calm she had willed herself into. "No." She ground out, her hands gripping the grass until her knuckles were white.

"Yes." Marcel argued, his expression unreadable. Whether or not he regretted this was a question she was sure would never be answered.

"No."

"Yes."

"I told you I never wanted to see him again!" Her anger was palpable, causing the Viera to flinch.

"It's a little late for that, Nol." His tone had softened, "We're going to need his help. You two got along once. Do it again."

She started to speak, but his interruption stopped her, "You and I both know what could happen."

[nollette]

🖊️ BALLPOINT PEN — does your oc have any tattoos? do they want any (more) tattoos? - Miqojak

Yes! They both do. I was going to put a screenshot here but I couldn't get them to work after messing with it for three days. Marcel will get more eventually but Nol likely won't.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #10: Stable

Characters: Keldrin, Marcel ( @zoetic-tome )

"Oh, for fucks' sake!"

The words come out as an exasperated growl as Keldrin throws out a hand to steady himself against the wall as his balance lurches. Meanwhile with his other hand he reaches down, and gives his kneecap a light whack; the sound of metal rings out along with a faint electrical hum as the servos in the knee decide to actually do their job, allowing him to bend it as he should.

"Problems?" inquires a low voice behind him; when he turns his head, he finds Marcel lounging upon the bed, one hand propped up behind him, the other resting upon an open book.

"Yeah," he says as he takes a few steps back and goes to flop bonelessly upon the large bed, his blue eyes meeting Marcel's bright red (even if he was upside down from this angle). "It's been acting up like this lately. Little glitches, like something isn't firing right. And can I figure out why?" He flings his hands up in exaggerated exasperation.

"I'm guessing that means the answer is no," Marcel intones. His book had been, for the moment, forgotten as he studies the younger vampire. "Weren't you going to ask that redhead you're always going on about? The one with the blood that 'tastes like rainbows'?"

"Yeah, yeah." A heavy sigh leaves Keldrin's lips. "I just would rather have actual proof it's being like this. It's fine for days, and then all of sudden, this. No warning, no signs that something's worn down, just a random fuck you out of the blue now and then when it's never done it before."

"All the more reason to ask then," Marcel counters, reaching out to lazily smooth back some of the hair from the younger vampire's face. "Before it becomes a larger problem."

"You're just worried that you'll have to go out and get your own food then," Keldrin protests, though there is a wry smirk on his lips, a sign that he was merely poking fun at the elder. Sure enough, it earns him a chuckle--but the pointed look that accompanies it causes him to sigh.

"All right, all right, I'll do it tomorrow; the sun's going to be up soon, and she won't be up much longer than we are."

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 6: The Shape of Paradise

Prompt: Halcyon - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters:  Marcelloix Bontensont, Tythelie Content Warning: None

We continued our travels inland over the next few moons, traversing a landscape still jagged with towering pillars of ice that had yet to thaw. It was never so bad as the journey across the sea had been. Tythelie was a steadfast companion during that time, and I still wonder if she had any more inkling at the edges of civilization that awaited us on those distant shores.

She was with me when I found the hourglass. Had she had been given the same dreams of the future when we touched it. An idyllic society where no frost battered all and sundry to scavengers on glacial ice while we prayed for survival. Where robed men and women strolled streets and lived lives of abundance and plenty. 

The longer that I have lived, the more I’ve wondered if that vision was indeed the future, as we thought, or instead some remnant of a very distant past. I continue to still search for the answer to that question, though time has rendered me no true answer which might satisfy me. Whatever it’s origin had been, we both walked away from that moment changed. 

She, by what she had seen, and I, by what remained in my possession. Neither of us understood the significance of the hourglass or what it would demand. And yet no matter what it pressed me to do, she remained at my side. Perhaps that’s why I think of her now, more than any other that has been in my life. That singular dream became something she clung to with fervor. Life would one day be better. For us. For our people. For all people. 

Eventually, the world would be a place where we did not have to struggle so endlessly. Where we might work to ease the pain of one another for no other reason than we believed no one need suffer in vain. She was a good woman, Tythelie. A better one than I deserved, I think. The hourglass left me changed the more time that passed. It was gradual. The change, I mean. And yet… 

She loved me, as I became what most would think of as a monster. When my body began to reject food. When blood became the sweetest drink to cross my lips. When traveling beneath the sun ached so badly I could barely stand it. When one unexpected sunrise over the edge of the sea became the last one we could ever watch together.

In return, I loved her as we settled ourselves into the land that would become Lesalia. For her boundless faith in me, I loved her as the passage of time began to slowly widen the gap between us. I loved her until her hand in mine had grown frail beyond measure. And when she was tired, when she no longer wished to be burdened with her life, I embraced her to me and under a sky that burned no more than the ache in my heart, I let her become one with the sands of the hourglass. 

Life was emptier without her, and as life in Lesalia became better and more idyllic, I missed her all the more. She, far more so than I, deserved that halcyon…

The writing smudged as a knock sounded on the front door of his shop. For someone so intricately tied to time, he often let it take him unawares. The quill was placed back into its inkwell and the pages of the book closed as Marcel stood and smoothed down the vest he wore, stepping from the back room of his shop into the front to greet the individual waiting patiently at his doorstep.

[housedeaubemarle]

FFXIV Write 2024 #1: Steer

~~

Four turns ago:

‘Remy.’

Wind whistles in a pair of long Elezen ears, rushes through too-long chestnut hair. Too long for a place as wild as this; Ishgard wasn't entirely a halcyon paradise either, but its turbulence was the kind which allowed the indulgence of hair which surpassed the shoulders. He'll shear it all off afterwards. 

If he lives through this. The strident cries of Pin, his white-feathered Chocobo - and the wild yellow one he's trying to herd back towards the newly-established ranch - remind him of the possibility of a broken neck if he doesn't concentrate. Sweat stings his eye, which isn't good when one is trying to keep one's balance and aim for a specific destination. 

It's so close - he has to get a grip - the gate is right there, next to Mars who probably wears his most stoic expression as he watches his friend and employer from afar.

‘Find your direction, my son. It needn't be as Viscount.’

His shoulders and back burn; his fingers ache from gripping the reins too hard. Months later, he will learn how to hold them without killing his digits. He will learn control and balance; he will learn better ways to lean into his steed, to use thighs and knees to steer Pin better.

Right now though, he breathes too hard, adrenaline filling his veins as his bird whips across the grounds. Sharp claws rake up sprays of soil beneath as they veer left, swing right, back left.

Once the pen is within reach, he issues the new monosyllabic command he'd learned some months ago. In response, Pin stretches out and claps his beak at the wild one. The sharp snap seems to put the final cap on the entire affair - it sends the wild Chocobo straight on towards the waiting maw of the gate, squawking in indignation.

“INCOMING!” 

His hoarse, shouted warning is swiftly followed by the wild Chocobo bursting into the holding pen at last. As soon as it's past the fence, Mars moves like lightning and throws the gate closed, locking it securely. 

For his part, inertia drives himself and Pin to a halt several yalms away. In the middle of gasping for air, he lets loose with a triumphant shout, and punches the air. Pin shrieks along with him, spurred by his master's excitement. 

Nearer the pen, a Midlander smirks as he steps forward. He'd been watching from a further distance, assessing the process. 

“You'd think he tamed an entire flock, not just retrieved one runaway.”

The taller Elezen, Mars, gives him a sideways look. “Remont has always been excitable. Besides,” he looks back to the other chestnut-haired Elezen, who'd hopped off by now and was effusively bestowing Pin with pets and praises. “It was his first successful solo run.”

The Midlander nods in assent. “I won't say it's unsurprising; for someone so inexperienced, he's picking our ways up quickly.”

Mars smirks faintly. “If he puts his mind to something, he can usually make it work.”

“Hmm.” But the grunt is not doubtful; it's as good an acknowledgement as any.

Oblivious to this conversation, Remont closes his eyes and breathes in deep to catch his breath. The air here smells cleaner – of earth and forest – and feels fuller than the mountain air of Ishgard. And despite all the earlier exertion, he feels less weighed down on the ground here than up in those frozen, elevated heights.

‘But you must find your way - men cannot drift forever.’

When he opens his eyes again, the drumming of his heartbeat slowing to its more regular pace, there is bright blue sky, a little obscured by the ever-present foliage of towering caelumtrees. It's a beautiful sight.

“I think I could get used to this, Father,” he murmurs.

There is no reply, though a breeze ruffles his hair again. 

-

end.

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 12: Quarry

Esredes sat at his desk, and with a heavy breath, reached his hand behind the desk and into the hidden compartment, pulling out a long sheet of parchment. At first, it simply seemed like a blank sheet, but as he looked at it the invisible ink slowly began to reveal the list of names. With a pen, he ran it slowly down the list of names, re-reading each one in his mind over and over, until he finally shut his eyes and sighed, making a dot next to a few. Once someone was marked, the week went something like this:

"Report. What have we found now?" "Follow him after work."

And then, of course, it got to this: "It's time for an identity," he'd be telling Mythirel or Marcellox, his two most trusted and stalwart infiltrators in the movement. Sometimes he gave suggestions, but often he didn't have to. They were experienced enough they would simply come up with it immediately based on his words about the target. Within minutes, they changed their name and entire life story to suit whoever they needed to be, and went off to prepare for the long week ahead just like that. Each and every time, they transformed, and he remained the same. Each day when a target was in progress, Esredes went to work as normal. People saw him in his usual places and said hello to him as Esredes. During the war, people were calling him Bloodstain, and demonic, and an evil bastard dragonspawn, or something like that- but back here in the city, his name and identity were back. He was Esredes. When Mythirel or Marcelloix returned to him, he called them by those names. They weren't their real names. He continued to get up and go to work. Everything was normal while they risked their lives, and when they returned to him and said it was done, his responses were the same each time. "Thank you. I appreciate it." "You are a lifesaver." "Did you make it hurt?" "Oh, good. Now we can breathe easier and have more time."

But the next moment a threat came up too harshly, it started all over again. "Report. What have we found now?" "Follow him after work." "You're going to need to retreat to the shadows."

And they always did, without any hesitation. They shapeshifted in that darkness, and came out yet another person, time and time again. Esredes watched them go off each time, and stepped back into the light the next day, still Esredes. His days of that kind of shapeshifting were over. The See kept too close of an eye on him for him to ever shapeshift again. So Esredes went to work, and shopped around the markets, and met friends at a bar, and went to sleep alone in his house, still Esredes Rosemond, with the shapeshifting shadows around him perpetually ready to do anything it took to protect him, no matter how they twisted and shifted. Perhaps some of his sacrifices for the movement were over. Perhaps there were ways the harrier could rest. But for those who guarded his wings, sometimes nothing was truly over. The next morning, he stepped out into the light in his coat as Esredes Rosemond. And if nothing else, that was still who he would be at the end of the day, and his hand would remain free of the color red.

[vaadrage]

All Saint's Wake! A time for safe fright and an excuse for costumes... And my giant hat. For a man who enjoys bringing out the violet in my face, Marce does exceptionally well at always looking as if he belongs somewhere beyond our mortal realm, too radiant to compare. Or perhaps that's just the spell he has on me.

@marcelloix

[iseterre]

Next

He hated this. The pretending to be something he was not, this slow torturous evening he was being subjected to. And for what? Returning a favor?

As he leaned against the wall, the sharp stone digging into his skin he tossed a glance about the room and set his sights on a pair of familiar striking blue eyes framed with crimson curls. While his expression seemed bland and bored he nodded to her, a watchful gaze flitting across another elezen man in the corner. She shook her head before closing the distance between them, extending a hand as though they’d never met before.

He took her hand in his, “Nol. You know I don’t work well like this.”

“Like what?” She asked and dipped her head slightly, keeping the façade upheld.

“As a guard? I should be out there,” His head tilted towards the throng of people, “talking. Or at least listening from the shadows if you’d have me do this.”

“Asking questions will tip them off, and lurking will only be a detriment to continuing to keep up your appearances.”

Exasperated and annoyed he shook his head as his fists clenched, “You’re lucky you’re my friend or I would have refused this outright, I have much more effective methods.”

“Just find me later with what you’ve found, Marcel.” A saccharine smile parted her lips, painted a deep shade of red, before she glided across the dance floor with nothing but a wink back at him.

He watched as she gracefully found her way into several circles, greeting each man and woman alike, her hands lingering atop the ones who took an interest in her a few seconds too long.

This is going to be more difficult than I anticipated.

[shieldbcund]

𝘓𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥

ft @syerraffxiv ‘s Marcelloix ♥

[syerraffxiv]

Dancing the evening away at the Dragonsong Armistice Day Ball.

ft. @shieldbcund‘s Elouan!

[liminal-storage]

Blind Call

Bit of writing thanks to a plot thread given by @punches-and-cream-puffs.

Warnings: Mentions of violence/violent urges?

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

The scent of wet leafrot pervaded the air, just as a feeling of rot pervaded her mind. 

Well, not rot precisely, but something else. A distraction. Worry dancing intimately with something else. There was rage there, of course. Rage in its proper place. 

Her footsteps carried her rapidly down the paths of the Lavender Beds, feet contacting paving stones with more force than was necessary. As if she were on a mission. As if she had no mission at all and merely needed to expel some pent-up energy before it killed her. The stones glistened, slick and dark after rainfall, but she took no notice as the autumn-chilled water splashed up around her boots. 

Since the day of the auction, wherein the bids had been high and the tensions even higher, one thing had been plaguing her. Something vital found amongst the sea of taffeta and gilded masks. Where she had expected to feel awkward amidst the well-dressed and wealthy echelons of Ishgardian society, she found distraction instead. 

Certainly there were sights aplenty to serve as that distraction, but lack of need outweighed any actual interest. Artifacts and artwork couldn’t pull her focus from the task at hand, and she’d remained unswayed in parting with contents of her gilpurse. Yet distraction came all the same. Not in bidding but in gossip, in facts that sent her reeling in a way that bid silence be her companion for that night. 

A good investigator never let go of a solid thread, and while she certainly had not done that, she had perhaps pinned said thread for another day, another worry. 

When the time came for fighting, she’d moved almost automatically. Instinct and muscle memory, rather than actual thought or strategy. Slash, move. Blood flowed, weapons clashed, arrows sang through the air. But the information that had reached her ears echoed over and over again long after the enemy had fallen. 

Those echoes made her blind beyond that night, too. Blind to another problem presented thanks to Arafel. Blind to evidence within the cave on Priarch’s scouting mission. Ignorant to the answer to a simple bit of wordplay. Underneath everything, the worry and anger, there lingered a burning desire…no, a need to tell someone of what she knew. 

"I heard Marcelloix chased off another pretty little thing; he has an eye for fine things and fine women, but his temper..... Heard he was following her straight out of the auction before it could even start! Think of the scandal; I hope my Eloisa finds a better match than -that-."

The name had, of course, caught her attention immediately. It was a name she’d kept an ear out for going on moons now. To hear it at the auction came as something of a surprise, but the rest of the statement bade her dismiss that particular line of gossip. The Marcelloix she’d heard of seemed careful in keeping up an air of humility and kindness. How else would he hide what he had done, had been doing for years?  Her gaze had shifted from scanning the nearby book titles to the small group of masked women standing nearby. It was from that group that the sound of that name had drifted, but it was a couple speaking near the piano that stole her attention. 

"It's a shame Ser Vadeboncoeur couldn't make it; Marcelloix would have loved these scenery paintings. But you know how hard it is to pull him from his humanitarian works; heard he's pouring his gil into some orphanage project now." 

And there it was, the lingering distraction. The name Marcelloix again, but linked now to a profile more in keeping with the picture Teagan had painted of who he was. What’s more, that name had a second, a surname that she’d been hoping in vain to hear until that night. The gossip could’ve made her feel sick. Humanitarian? Him? It was almost laughable. The talk continued. 

"I hear the Vadeboncoeurs couldn't make it, but you know how they are. I'm sure they have one of their servants here to pick out some fine pieces to add to their own collections, while the master of the house does what he does best. Heard he's been tracking down some assets that were lost a few years back; I admire his determination. It's no wonder his ventures are often so profitable."

Something horrible seized her then, a fury so great that she hardly realized the bidding on the amphora was beginning. While the words came to her ears on gentle whispers, it felt more like someone had inserted needles into her nerve endings. 

Heard he’s been tracking down some assets. 

Assets. 

Teagan and her shaken demeanor. The knowledge that the man had the audacity to touch her, to try to lure her away for a ‘friendly chat..’ 

Assets. 

More water sloshed underfoot as Kuni made the last turn towards the bridge and the ferry out of the Lavender Beds. She needed rougher terrain for her wandering. She needed to tear into something. She needed to get away from houses and lights and people. 

Everyone had different facets to their personality. Faces they presented to the public. Secrets they only showed their loved ones. Horrors they’d never tell their loved ones about. 

Did Marcelloix’s family know what kind of monster he was? Did they know, and support his endeavors as complicit supporters meant to keep up the charade? Or were they oblivious, convinced that he was as kind and gregarious as the public thought him to be? 

She’d kill him. 

She’d drag him underground and bind him there, fated to die alone and forgotten. She’d skin him alive and leave him under the desert sun. She’d let her companions have a turn at him, drawing out his punishment day by day by day. There was no forgiveness for the things he’d done. 

Even if some might argue otherwise.

Perhaps that was simply one of her own facets. Cruelty and wrath to contrast the kindness and tenderness given to her loved ones. And where she truly existed lie somewhere in between. 

That was fine by her. If her place somewhere in the middle of kindness and wrath meant that she could track down this beast, it suited her well. 

His name was a prey’s scent, and now that she had it, she would never let it go.

Now, if only she could do something about the anxious fury thrumming in her veins.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #28: Deleterious

Characters: Keldrin, Marcel ( @zoetic-tome )

The sound of the door opening, followed by the sound of someone flopping down hard onto the bed, are what alert Marcel that Keldrin has returned home.

"Something wrong?" he asks, a question that causes Keldrin to let out groan tinged with more than a little frustration.

"It's going to rain," he proclaims into the bedcovers, a statement that causes Marcel to arch a brow.

"And you know this...?"

"Because my leg won't stop complaining about it," Keldrin snaps as he rolls over to gaze up at the other man--and to make it more easy for him to knead his fingers into his thigh, as if that might help.

"Ah. I see," Marcel says. He studies him for a few moments--then there is a second soft thump as he goes to join him on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Keldrin asks, turning his head to eye him.

"I cannot change the weather, but I can at least keep you company," he says as he shifts, making it so he can tug Keldrin's head up into his lap.

"...yeah, I guess that's true," Keldrin concedes, his eyes drifting closed as Marcel's fingers brush through his hair.

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 13: Just A Taste

Prompt: Butte - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Marcelloix Bontensont Content Warning: None

Like wine against my tongue. I haven’t tasted a flavor like that in years.

Noting so rich, or so pure. Nothing that contains so much raw power in it.

For a few brief moments, I forgot myself. For a few brief moments, I felt the hunger of the young again.

It was nearly overwhelming.

It is a poison.

A pity that I seem to have developed a taste for the intoxication.

What a steep hill I stand atop.

I only pray I can prevent myself from the fall I fear is to come, as I fear there may be nothing around to provide to me salvation once I have done so.

The handwriting tonight is messy, scrawled between ruinous attempts to give himself over to the unmoving sleep that for once, does not easily claim him.

[primalruination]

Couples Questions: What's their most and least favorite thing about each other?

For Kaz:

Kaz absolutely adores Marcelloix's hair. She loves how soft it is and she really loves to ruffle it and make it messy so she can tease him. But she always makes sure to carefully style it back to how he likes after she's done goofing around.

There isn't much that Kaz dislikes about Marcelloix, but she does sometimes get frustrated with him worrying about her on the battlefield. It comes across as him not recognizing her abilities, though deep down she knows he just cares about her and wants her to be more careful.

For Marcelloix (answered by @marce-the-redeemed):

There’s so many things that Marcelloix loves about Kaz but if he had to pick one, it would be her smile. He would do anything to make her laugh even if it meant making a fool of himself just because her smile is so contagious.

After careful consideration, Marce has decided that there really isn’t anything about Kaz that he truly doesn’t like, but sometimes he can get a little frustrated with how stubborn she can be.