#and alisaie will never forgive her for this.

[mxdotpng]

twirls hair thinking about adaline rozovy and his doomed struggle to live despite really not having a choice in the matter. you will forever be remembered as the weapon of light, hated by your comrades and mourned by your friends. your memory is stained in blood. there are more men you have killed than who you have saved. the world cries for your survival. you are loved.

[anneapocalypse]

The Ascians are infinitely memeable and a lot of the jokes are funny but when I look at Emet-Selch and his mausoleum at the bottom of the sea I don't think "what a pathetic loser," I think of how grief haunts the narrative of FFXIV going all the way back to A Realm Reborn (but not a realm unscathed). I think of the surviving Scions haunted by the memory of their lost mentor, the twins haunted by their lost grandfather, Alisaie needing answers so badly that she must descend into a metaphorical underworld and confront his (not quite literal) ghost before she can face the world he died to save. I think of Lyse Hext in her grief making herself a memorial to her sister because she cannot bear that the world should go on turning without Yda. I think of Tiamat and Shanti, desperate to believe the false promises that their loved ones could be returned to them. I think of Nidhogg, consumed by his grief, even after a thousand years saying, no, I cannot forgive, I cannot forget. I think of Hermes, whose repressed grief nearly brought about the end of all life. I think of the Meteia, even as they sought to engineer that end, making their nest a memorial to the dead peoples that I think some part of them could not help but grieve. And that's before we even get to Dawntrail. This whole story has been about grief the whole time.

The false promises of the Ascians that summoning could resurrect the dead were always cruel, but it was a cruelty they inflicted upon themselves first and foremost. If we only persevere, gain enough power, sacrifice enough, we can restore what we've lost. It was always a lie, but it's lie they themselves believed, so it's no wonder they were able to be so persuasive. It's wrong, but it works because the Ascians aren't that unique. Because their deepest desires are so profoundly (for lack of a better term) human. They want to believe that grief and frailty and sorrow are a result of the sundering, but Hermes already proved to us that they are not. They're a byproduct of being alive. The ancients aren't and never were exempt.

It's always been about grief.

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 02: Horizon

alisaie blue screens of death after tesleen kisses her. alisaie x tesleen, shadowbringers spoilers. written for ffxivwrites2024. rating: general. 2298 words. due to my wol's extended timeline, alisaie is a little older than her canonical age here. ao3 link

“Oh, Twelve damn it.”

The curse—and several others—slip easily from Alisaie’s mouth. It has been less than a quarter of a bell since she started her climb and already her body is aching. Her palms are scuffed by grit and a dull throb pulses in her ankle. No doubt she has twisted it—an embarrassment, to be sure. With her luck she might just lose her grip and fall off the stupid hill before she even reaches the summit. Alphinaud will never forgive her.

But she has already begun and there is no turning back now. Gritting her teeth, she closes her mind to the pain and continues her slow ascent. It’s not comfortable work. The wind is ferocious from this direction, chafing her cheeks raw and blowing sand into her eyes. Every breath she takes fills her lungs with dust, coating her tongue and mouth. Sweat drips down her spine, sticking her clothes to her back. Worst of all, the Light beats down upon her with its unnatural, unrelenting glare. She has had her fair share of Thanalan sun and Ala Mhigan haze, but this? Nothing compares to this.  

At least her hair is out of her face. It hangs limply down her back in its customary tail, the knot at the end already crusted with dust. It will need a good comb when she’s done here. Funny that she thought only this morning how nice it would be to let it down the way Tesleen wears hers. Pretty, but practical. Alisaie has always been practical. She hasn’t given much thought to pretty before.

“Oh, seven hells—”

She bites back a gasp even as she slips and an avalanche of pebbles slides out from beneath her feet. She clings to the side of the rocks, cursing her choices, her father’s disapproving voice in her ear, and hoists herself up one more ledge. And another. And another. Panting and with sweat plastered to her brow, she finally reaches her destination.

The curved rock that encloses the Inn at Journey’s End has no business having visitors on its summit. But she did—and the view is well worth the effort.

Humming quietly to herself, Alisaie sits precariously on a ledge and dangles her feet off the edge. Ahm Araeng stretches out before and behind her, its amber sands undulating in the scarlet haze. A great wave of white and grey obscures the horizon, the remnants of the Flood of Light towering higher than any peak. What must it have been like a hundred years ago, to see such a wave come surging across the desert, consuming all in its wake? When she was in Hingashi, she heard more than one terrifying tale of tsunamis roaring through the archipelago. She envisions it to have been somewhat like that, even though the tsunami in her mind itself is imagined.

She sighs, still breathless from her climb, and reaches for her water flask. With a quick twist, she releases the cap and tilts her head back, letting the cool water flow over her lips. The Flood of Light… Who knew so much harm could come from Light itself? Then again, just like water, a good thing in excess can be as dangerous as having it in scarcity. As with most things in life, balance is the key.

This world is out of balance. Stagnant. Corrupted. Stifled. Though its people have learned to move on, the earth itself is scarred and scorched and cannot heal. If only there was some enemy towards whom she could point her blade, then the heavens could turn and everything would be all right…

If only it were so easy.

“I would ask what you are doing all the way up here, but if truth be told, I’m a little afraid of the answer.”

Alisaie blinks, choking on her water as she is jolted out of her reverie. Coughing, she twists around to find Tesleen standing several fulms behind her, bright-eyed and smiling, her profile illuminated by the sky. “I…” She coughs against and lowers the flask. “I came up here to get some fresh air and to see the sights. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Of course not.” Tesleen smooths down her grey frock and joins her on the ledge. Somehow, she is free of dust and sand. “Do you think there is something wrong with that?”

She lets out a long sigh. “No, I suppose not.”

“You know, if you wanted to come up here, all you had to do was ask. The summit is easily reached by amaro or skyslipper.”

She hadn’t thought of that. “I know. But a challenge is good for me.”

Tesleen laughs, the graceful little trill cutting through the wind. She threads her fingers through her hair, winding and unwinding the long blonde strands, and looks out to the Flood of Light. “It’s worse from up here, isn’t it?” she says quietly. “From below, it’s so big it becomes part of the scenery. But from above, it’s…”

“It’s everything. Everywhere.”

“Aye.” She lets go of her hair, the strands now twisted into a little wavy curl pressing softly against her cheek. “There has been news from the Crystarium. Would you like to hear?”

Alisaie’s throat is raw. Stalling for time, she ducks her head and takes another sip of water.

If the news is from the Crystarium, then the news must be from the Exarch. And if the news is from the Exarch, then either something has happened to Alphinaud or one of the others or… or he has finally succeeded in his mission to bring Aureia to this world.

Her stomach drops, a flush of shame creeping across her cheeks. If it is true that he has succeeded, then she should be happy that a reunion is imminent. And yet the thought only fills her with dread. When last she saw Aureia, they were barely on speaking terms, their friendship hanging by a thread. Was it her fault, or Aureia’s? They had been so close, closer than friends, more like sisters, depending on each other and trusting one another unconditionally throughout their adventures in Othard and Ala Mhigo. And yet Aureia lied. She lied to all of them. She masked her origins for so long she could not live without the lie, even among those she loved.

The Warrior of Light, a former Garlean operative… It was not a truth easily acknowledged. It left the Alliance scrambling to save face, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn searching for answers. Urianger and Y’shtola seemed shaken. Lyse was furious. Alphinaud was absent and thus had no response. And Thancred, of course, accepted it without batting an eye and refused to do anything but stand by her side. But as for Alisaie…  

She felt something more than fury. Hatred? Disappointment? Betrayal? She doesn’t know. She said many things she wished she hadn’t that day. And in the year she has had to reflect on it, she is certain that she would have continued hating her friend—her best friend—had the Exarch not interfered and thrown them all into chaos by stealing Thancred away. She is not proud of it. She is not proud of the way the sting still lingers.

But it was only a matter of time before Aureia found her way here. Even if the Exarch stole the souls of the whole Alliance and every Scion to ever live to make it happen, she will be here, one way or another.

“Alisaie…?” Tesleen nudges her gently with her elbow. “There is no need to speak of this now, if you would rather not.”

Alisaie stuffs the flask away. “No, no. Please. Tell me.”

He dangling foot brushes Tesleen’s.

“The Crystal Exarch is sending someone to us. A new visitor, one he called a friend. She will be arriving anon, once she settles some matter in Kholusia.”

Settling matters… Kholusia… Alphinaud!

Alisaie smiles. So, it is Aureia, it has to be. She must have been informed of the whereabouts of Alphinaud and the others, and decided on who to seek out. Urianger is inaccessible on a good day thanks to Il Mheg’s peculiarities, Y’shtola vanished into the swamp and gods know where she is now, and Thancred is… about. And not easily tracked. Which leaves Alphinaud and herself. If she were Aureia, she would seek out Alphinaud first. Ensure he isn’t getting up to trouble before coming to see her.

She grins and makes a mental note to ask about him. Her twin is well—she would know if he wasn’t—but she won’t waste the opportunity.

“Oho! Is that a smile I see?” Tesleen asks, leaning in. She smells of the duskblooms she places in vases for her patients, and the stew she prepares at midday.     

Alisaie catches her eye and quickly rearranges her expression. “Of course not,” she says. “I never smile. I’m the image of indifference.”

“Ah. So that’s your stoic face.”

She grimaces. “It is not.”

“It is.”

She blows out a puff of air and crosses her arms over her chest. “By the Twelve, you don’t have to put it like that.”

Tesleen’s foot bumps hers again and they sit in silence, watching the sands sparkle in the Light. Thankfully the sky is clear and there have been no sin eater sightings of late. For a moment, it’s easy to pretend that this is an ordinary day, under an ordinary sun, just the two of them enjoying themselves and their time together. If they had brought a picnic, it would almost be perfect.

Almost.

“You say such strange things sometimes, Alisaie,” Tesleen says quietly. She has shifted closer in the passing minutes, her shoulder brushing against hers as she threads her fingers together in her lap.

“Like what?”

“The gods you swear by… I have never heard of them.”

Alisaie pauses. “How do you know they are gods?”

Tesleen shoots her a look. “I think anything that follows ‘by the’ may as well be a god, no?”

Alisaie scrunches her face and sticks out her leg, pointing her foot. “By my great shiny shoe, I don’t believe it!”

Tesleen’s lips twitch. “By the ant under this rock!’

“By the stone formation five fulms that way!”

“By the angry armadillos—”

“Ugh,” Alisaie says, wrinkling her nose. “I hate those things.”

Tesleen raises an eyebrow. “Armadillos?”

“Yes. Nasty, horrible creatures.”

“What has an armadillo ever done to you?”

“Nothing! Yet. I… simply do not like them.”

Tesleen pauses. Hesitantly, she raises a hand and brushes a lock of hair off Alisaie’s forehead. “Has anyone told you that you’re a peculiar girl?” she asks.

“Not recently. Or in memory. But I’m certain someone would say as much if you asked the right person. My brother Alphinaud is the un-peculiar one of the family. Me? I’m not so sure, but I—”

Tesleen presses a kiss to her lips.

Short and sweet, barely a hint of pressure, and yet somehow her stomach is in knots and her heart is fluttering. Heat flushes her cheeks and her head spins, as if she has shot up into the Light-corrupted air and is soaring through the sky. She wants to be anywhere but here, and nowhere but here. What will the others say? What will Alphinaud think of her wasting time on herself like this when she should be helping others?

She knows what he would say. He would be insufferably happy for her. She shouldn’t try so hard and take time for herself, find a hobby. Like he does. He’s an artist, for Twelve’s sake. Art is his hobby. Just as hers can, apparently, be kissing Tesleen—

Gods, her mind has stopped completely, hasn’t it?

Tesleen draws away. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “If I… if I was too forward, I do apologize. You are my dearest friend, and I would hate for a misunderstanding on my part to come between us—”

Alisaie blinks. “No!” she shouts. “Oh—ah—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I meant… Please don’t apologize. Don’t apologize…” She sucks her lower lip and catches Tesleen’s eye. Her hair glistens in the Light, fanning around her shoulders like strands of gold. Carefully, tentatively, she reaches out and presses a hand to her cheek. “What I mean to say is that I would hear no apologies from you. Not for something like that.”

Tesleen’s brown eyes widen. “Then…?” She lets out a long, shaky breath. “I admit, I have been thinking of you as… well, not just my dearest friend, but a little more than my dearest friend. Is that all right?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. Fear, perhaps, of losing something before it began. We all deserve happiness wherever we can find it, with whatever time we have left.”

Alisaie trembles, the sensation strange to her. Though her mind is still dazed and trying to make sense of the turn this conversation has taken, something about it feels right. Regardless of how little sense the world sometimes makes, she has always trusted her gut. Her instincts have rarely led her astray.

And so, despite the corrupted Light above, despite the Flood frozen on the horizon beyond, she twines her fingers with Tesleen’s and kisses her again. “We are going to have all the time in the world,” she says fiercely, her heart hammering joyfully in her chest. “I promise you that.”

She has made many promises before. Promises to her grandfather, to her parents, to her brother, to her friends. To the Scions, to the Alliance. She has sworn on them, staked her life on them, risked everything to keep them.

Of all the promises she has made, she has never been more certain in one than this one.

[meepsthemiqo]

Dawntrail Mini fic - Meeps x Koana

"This isn't about Marie, is it?" There had been a knock on her cabin door and Meeps had answered it to find Vow Koana stood on the other side. Her eight year old daughter, Marie, was currently staying at the palace in Tuliyollal, playing Princess and shadowing Koana's sister, Vow Wuk Lamat.

Koana chuckled and shook his head. "Lamaty'i is rather enjoying her little helper. This is merely a social visit."

"Oh, thank the twelve. I thought she had gotten herself into trouble," Meeps sighed with relief and stepped aside, gesturing for her unexpected guest to enter. "Please, come in! To what do I owe the pleasure, Vow Koana?"

"If you are looking for my son, I'm afraid he has returned to Sharlayan for his studies," Meeps said, leading the Dawnservant through the cabin and up onto the deck overlooking the ocean. She gestured for him to sit as she herself made herself comfortable. "Lest you worry, he is staying with Alphinaud and Alisaie's parents and will return to me on his days off."

"He is a remarkable boy. He will achieve great things in life, of that I am sure," Koana nodded in acknowledgement.

He sat a reasonable distance apart from her and as Meeps studied his expression, it gave no hints of any ulterior motive. The Vow of Reason was, well, acting very reasonable. Other than the fact that his tail was brushed up against her own behind them.

Perhaps he wasn't aware, Meeps reasoned with herself. Turali culture did seem to be very different to that of Eorzea after all. She would just ignore it for now.

"He gets it from his father," Meeps explained. "He was somewhat of a prodigy amongst his people for that time."

"You do not speak much of him. The boy's father, I mean."

It was an innocent observation on Koana's part, but even now, Themis was an extremely sensitive topic for her. The shift in mood was not lost on the Dawnservant.

"Forgive me, it is not my place to ask—"

Meeps let out a sad laugh and shook her head, staring up at the sky, watching the clouds lazily float by. What she would give to be so carefree.

"No, I don't mind you hearing the story, of either of my children's fathers. I would rather not be the one to tell them however. Might I suggest asking Hali or G'raha Tia to regale you with those tales. Forgive me, it has been some years and yet…"

"Have dinner with me."

Meeps turned her head back to face Vow Koana, believing that she had misheard him. "Pardon?" If this was a ploy to change the subject of the conversation, it had worked.

Koana had shifted to face her directly. The serious expression on his face was almost comical.

"The reason I came to you today. The real reason, that is, I want you to have dinner with me. T-to get to know you better, I mean."

"Oh." Was all Meeps could answer at first. Perhaps it wasn't a mistake after all that their tails touched.

It wasn't that Koana was bad looking. In fact, she found him rather handsome if she was honest with herself. From what little she knew of him, he seemed like a lovely man. Dating, however, was not something Meeps had been open to for a long time how, much to the chagrin of Hali, Astrid and Arslan. She was beginning to think that she would never be ready for it again. Her go-to excuse was that she wanted to focus on her children for the time being.

That being said, ever since she had arrived in Tuliyollal and met the royal siblings, Marie had not being able to stop talking about Vow Wuk Lamat and how she wanted to be a Princess just like her when she grew up. Even Fae'a had bonded with Koana, much to her surprise. She was all but certain that he would never find another male role model after his father had passed. Would her children be mad at her if she turned down a dinner date with the Vow of Reason?

The idea of dating royalty seemed like a massive headache, if she were honest. She had no interest in politics and wanted no part in the ruling of a nation.

It was just dinner though, right? If Meeps were really honest with herself, deep down, she had missed the company of a man. To be doted on and treated like…well, like a queen. One date would not hurt. Just enjoying the company of the opposite sex would not hurt.

Meeps had been so lost in her thoughts that she had completely forgotten that she had left poor Koana waiting. His once serious expression had turned into one of worry over her silence.

To put the man out of his misery, she placed a hand over his and squeezed it softly.

"I would be honoured to have dinner with you, thank you."

/end

Mentions of @starrysnowdrop 's Hali and @traveler-of-light 's Astrid and Arslan

[impossible-rat-babies]

15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

i got tagged by @lilas! ty friend! im gonna tag (sorry for possible double tagging): @thevikingwoman, @hythlodaes, @lavampira, @consulaaris, @gefiltefished, @scionshtola, @starrypawz and anyone else!

a lot of these are from unfinished wips w/o context, im so sorry

1. “Nay, I should have spoken my mind soon after arriving Slitherbough. Mistaken as you were to my nature upon us reuniting, I would not so easily cast aside that which you beheld.” They pause, a bitter smile coming to their lips. “A brilliant soul, I have been called before— nomenclature befitting Hydaelyn’s Chosen. And yet it is not Her light which eats away at me now.”

2. “I care in the loneliness that stood before me in the place beyond the stars. How it looked down at me and I wondered how I had not yet memorized its face. How it asked me if this would be the last time I would gaze upon its face, and if the ache between my ribs would leave me.”

3. Eyrie pauses, worrying their lip. “Pity—pity and sorrow ‘twas what I felt most keenly. Not truly alive, but never allowed to die. A most vile fate for a once great wyrm of the first brood.”

4. “Keeping yourself busy are you?” Alisiae asks, shutting the door behind her. They hold up the book idly, a sigh escaping their lips.

“T’was Krile’s idea. A measure put in place should my vision stagnate at this state, or deteriorate further.”

5. “I know, Alisaie.” They whisper softly, reaching out again to take her hands. Tinged with barely there warmth and stiff fingers as their hold her hands tight. “I know I am dying. I can feel it—beneath my chest, next to my heart. ‘Tis so very dark and cold there.”

“Then why?” She asks, voice tender in her throat. Fingers tensing in their gentle hold. “Why keep telling us it is going to be okay?”

“I would not have us give into grief.” They reply.

“Tis for the dead we grieve, not for the living. With the ache in my chest comes fear, but I would not give up hope. I would not see sorrow rob us of what time we have left. I would not see you mourn just yet.”

6. “Tis easy to peer from the outside in and question why your grandfather gave his life unto a people so fit to squabble and worry naught of any greater threat than that beyond their own borders. Your anger was not unfounded, Alisaie.”

“Still…I should have known better. What would grandfather have had to say?”

Eyrie grins, inclining their head towards her. “Oh something important I would imagine—he was oft given to providing sage advice…if asked or not.”

7. They look up at the sky stretching so far above—the distant twinkling of the stars.

“Ignorant I was to the horrors that would follow. All of my many long years in the wood had made me blind. To what one had to endure—what one would be asked to do; what I have done to my fellow man. There came a time when I stopped and looked back to see myself very far from the intentions that first compelled my feet to walk forward. And there would be no returning.”

8. “I can storm the tower, Y’shtola. ‘Tis simply…”

They rub their hands together, eyes narrowing.

“I do not trust my hands. Alphinaud tended to some of my hurts, but I was more afraid of his touch. Afraid of my own hands should he have found a bruise too tender or raw; what horrors a simple touch would invite into my head. If i had grabbed his wrist in my terror and broken it…how could I forgive myself for that? For hurting him?”

9. They pause, letting the words sink in as the boy deflates, working his lips in ill disguised frustration.

“Alphinaud.” They break the heavy silence looming above them. “I am not a sword to point at the enemies of Eorzea, or the Scions. I am not a soldier to be ordered about—told of my singular duty and thus committed to the cause without fear. Without despair or anxiety. Standing as a shield before the plight of a helpless world, begging for a hero to lead her to a new path. There is resentment there, Alphinaud—I will not lie. I love Eorzea.”

[fisherrprince]

get licked idiot (2142 words)

“Tataru,” Ch’ari blinks, one end of his mouth twitching. “You wouldn’t happen to have been… sewing upside-down, would you?”

“Why, no! Nothing of the sort. What makes you ask?”

“You’ve got, um...”

Tataru looks down in confusion and fusses with her clothes a moment, seeming satisfied as she straightens her overalls and completely misses the massive cowlick sticking straight up off her head. Ch’ari twitches. 

To make matters worse, she sits down next to him — still armored in his dragoon gearset after a day of hunting fiends out near Coerthas — and snags a bottle of rum from behind the counter to pour herself a drink. “Though I admit I was a bit busy. You’ll have to wait and see what with,” she says, trying to have a little conversation with the midnight crew.

Nursing his own bottle (a cheap unopened mead that he never pours into a cup, not that he needs to), Ch’ari can’t figure out how to respond and just watches her take a sip. The cowlick bobs comically with the motion. 

“Lemme just…” Ch’ari reaches over and flicks it. It pops back up. 

“Hm? Oh, is there something in there?”

“Hold on.” Ch’ari licks his finger and combs it down. It stays for maybe a second, and then… pops back up. He bats it reflexively. 

He’s aware his pupils are probably dilated as far as they’ll go, but this is his prey now.  This is his quarry. This bouncy cowlick. It will submit to him, this cowlick. 

He looms over Tataru’s head, and luckily she’s familiar enough with him to simply raise an eyebrow and not wonder if he’s going to eat her like a python. Ch’ari proceeds to insistently lick his fingers and smooth out her hair, as if she were a diminutive Miqo’te. He’s tempted just to — just to lick it down so his tongue can do the combing, but he’s not sure that Tataru would be amenable. He does care about her as a friend, and is aware Lalafell do not groom each other like his instincts want him to do. Even if it’s, getting fixed one strand at a time, infuriatingly, fighting him the whole way.

Eventually — eventually — Tataru’s hair looks… presentable. The cowlick, at least, is gone and not offending Ch’ari’s sensibilities, and the rest of it looks like it usually does outside her messy bun. Ch’ari growls at his work in satisfaction, and returns to his mead, starting to turn a bit pink despite his scowl. 

“…Was it really that bad?”

“You looked like a coeurl toy,” Ch’ari mutters. 

Tataru chirps a little delighted laugh. “Well! Then I’m glad I have you to protect me!”

••

For some reason, everyone had been fine upon arriving to Ishgard — freezing cold, yes, a bit miserable, but not sick. Alphinaud had, however, upon returning to the Rising Stones to recuperate after the defeat of Nidhogg, gotten a nasty cold and the worst sniffles known to man. He had been knocked out in bed for the past two days, and just barely able to shuffle about and pretend to be normal for about ten minutes in the morning for breakfast. 

Key word “pretend”. Despite his airs, it was abundantly clear to anyone who looked at him from closer than five feet that he had dragged himself out of bed to be here, and as soon as he had a croissant in him he was going right back to bed. It was how Ch’ari knew the cold was bad — he wasn’t off making it worse somewhere and ignoring it. 

Which is why Ch’ari almost excuses his dreadful upkeep. Unfortunately, it’s dreadful. 

He slumps carefully into the seat next to the Warrior, a croissant in his hand and a wheeze escaping his nose. His hair is pulled back in a looser braid, which is messy, but forgivable; his whiskers, however, are entirely crooked. The soft fluff around the base of his ears looks glued on and sticking up in places, and his fringe is almost sideways. Unconscionable. 

“Good morning, plague bringer,” Alisaie says by way of greeting. Alphinaud grunts in response. 

Ch’ari does not greet him. Ch’ari places his hand on his head like he’s a pickle jar and starts licking his fluff. 

Alphinaud jerks backwards, fast for a sick boy but dazed enough to be unable to break out of Ch’ari’s hold. The croissant drops to the table in a shower of crumbs. “A-Ari!” he splutters. 

Whatever the fluff is made of, it’s thinner than Miqo’te hair, which means it’s thinner than his papillae are really good for combing through. No matter, he will just have to do a more thorough job. He continues to lick and Alphinaud continues to writhe, and as he does his ear keeps flicking Ch’ari in the eye every time he runs his tongue near it — Ch’ari brings his other hand up and slaps it down, trapping it against the Elezen’s head. He pins Alphinaud with a glare. 

Alphinaud withers and stops trying to wriggle free, shrinking down in his seat. Pointedly ignoring Alisaie, who is watching the spectacle with her mouth open, Ch’ari snorts and continues his ministrations. One side done and straightened, he adjusts the boy’s head and works on the other. 

Alisaie mouths something to her brother, who does not dignify it with a response, whatever it was. At least he’s given up on trying to get out of being cleaned, but Ch’ari could feel the heat coming off his face from a malm away. Wether it’s embarrassment or fever, he doesn’t care to know. 

“You’re next if I catch you unkempt, red girl,” Ch’ari says, and he hears the click of a certain jaw being snapped shut. And an impulsive brush of hair being checked. 

The fluff successfully smoothed out and clean, Ch’ari decides to spare Alphinaud any further public displays of affection and only gives his fringe a cursory swipe through. 

“You may eat your croissant now.”

“…Thank… um. You,” Alphinaud mumbles, caught between a rock (mortification) and a hard place (critical unknown etiquette situation). He does not look at anyone else as he picks up his food and shuffles off back to bed.

••

Doman summers are humid. That is not the excuse Ch’ari has to make to get Alisaie to peel herself off the floor, but it is one of the ones he has ready. 

It only takes two excuses — namely that everyone else is asleep and so should you be, and that he insists come over here the futon by the window is more comfortable than the stool yes even if it’s small you’ll get a horrible crick in your neck just slouching there. It probably helps that she’s allowed to keep watch over her brother, and Ch’ari isn’t forcing her to go to the room she’d been provided with to go to bed. He’d be a hypocrite, anyways. 

She situates herself on the opposite end with a blanket, lost in thought. Ch’ari always thought the Leveilleur twins to be in their heads a bit often — as a negative trait, in the past, though it had morphed to being endearing to neutral in recent months. Always worried about such big pictures that the small ones scamper away outside their notice. Or always so preoccupied with what they can or can’t do to be useful, to change the things that aren’t fair about the world. So afraid of failure. Such a self-made burden on their fragile shoulders. 

That trait drives them underneath all their sweet selflessness and stubborn idealism. And it gets worse and worse with fear, the kind of fear that narrows the world down to two or three people at a time when the world demands thousands be paid attention to. 

Ch’ari has always been good at caring about two or three people at a time, and one or two things at a time. The title of hero is one he ultimately doesn’t deserve if one casts aside the ends and asks the means. He’s really more of a sword to be pointed, to intimidate. All the talk of politics, the big world important stuff his twins care about so so much, had washed over his ears a bit, ears that are not even now accustomed to a world bigger than a twenty yalm flat. He cares for the world and the whims of its protectors because there are people who live in it he cares about, as a sword loves its wielders, and they care for the world in that grand and wonderful way they do. 

Ch’ari has his thoughts, Alisaie has hers. He thinks she’s probably running herself in circles about the fate of the star and the fates of her loved ones, and Ch’ari is here thinking only of how he might be able to get her to stop. 

As it is, it’s ultimately not his decision. Guards patrol the Kienkan at night, and pass by windows with intermittent frequency, and it is as one shadow filters through the moonlight and shutters that Hydealyn deigns to grace him with a splitting migraine — but it’s a migraine he knows, it’s familiar. Not the overwhelming voice of the Call. He flinches backwards, claws to his head.

Alisaie startles and jumps to her hands and knees, gripping the blanket. Gods, not now, he has to-

“Echo. Echo—“ Ch’ari manages to choke out, before the memory takes him. 

There is nothing. 

It is a peaceable morning devoid of aught unusual, aside from its expansive, yawning emptiness — the soldier stands at the edge of the river, hand to his head in confusion as water sprites wink out and wither, far along the bank. No birds. No fish. No efts. Nothing. Even the babbling of the stream seems muted. 

The nets are empty. He goes home. 

Ch’ari comes out of the — short, but rather to the point — memory with a heavy shake of his head. He gets the message. At least the mother crystal is not one to dilly-dally when she has something to say, though he wants for priorities. There is so much going on, would Hydealyn have him abandon all else to fix this problem? Where to begin?

He comes back to awareness with Alisaie’s hands on his knees. 

Bereft of a good reassurance, he gives her a little thumbs up. She nearly deflates with relief. 

“Gods, Ch’ari. Do not do that again.”

“You’ll have to neg Hydealyn for that one.”

“Ari.”

“I’m fine. We’re fine,” he rasps. A dangerous wobble is sneaking into her eyes, born of stress and more stress and comatose family and the fear of being the only one left and in a room with her empty brothers. Ch’ari is struck as if with an axe at how much he would do to stop her. 

Any other circumstance would be met with characteristic yelping and protesting and perhaps a death threat or a tussle, but Ch’ari beckons and helps Alisaie (so light! Like a chocobo chick) into the crook between him and the window and puts his head atop hers and curls his tail around her feet and she doesn’t protest. Instead she tucks her arms around herself and pulls her tail in against his legs and drops her head right on his chest and does not cry. 

“We are fine,” she mutters. 

“Very. And if we are not, we will be not fine together.” The axe still embedded deep in his chest, he does not much hesitate to start licking through her bangs to smooth them out. 

She stiffens, her ears swiveling upwards as if to figure out what it is. Then, slowly, they drop back down, and her tense posture eases ever-so-slightly. Evidently, Alphinaud’s investigation into Miqo’te culture after his encounter with Ch’ari while sick was shared for scientific discussion. What fast learners. Even if Y’shtola had shared with him the disastrous results of Alphy asking her for tribal advice. Chuckling under his breath at the memory, his purr starts up without his bidding. 

“…How are you vibrating?”

Ch’ari stops and heaves a great sigh, and then bullies her head back down from where it had tilted up at him quizzically. “Your brother asked the exact same thing. It’s not vibrating, it is purring. It means I’m happy.”

“Oh. …oh,” Alisaie says, quieting. She casts a long glance at the bed set up against the wall, its occupant not even snoring or shifting. “I wasn’t aware you could feel it.”

“Little opportunity to find out, th’ past while.”

She pauses for a long moment. 

“Even now?”

“M’ happy you’re still here.” He turns his attention to her part, carefully grooming apart the mis-tied strands. “Not a fan of being alone.”

“I see.” Her tail shifts, the inflexible tip curling closer like either a stuffed toy to clutch or a protective sheet to block the world from hearing. “Neither am I.”

“Lucky.”

[ffxiv-swarm]

a parting at castrum fluminis

This didn't fit any particular prompt this year but I wrote it a while back and REALLY wanted to post it so here you go

& & &

Yotsuyu is dead.

So is Asahi, but that’s less important. Yotsuyu—Tsuyu—is dead. She’d been given a second chance, she could have done so much with it, and now she is dead. (Because of Asahi, because her brother used her parents against her, because he wanted an excuse—oh, Ritanelle could kill him a second time If she had the chance.)

Alas, there are more immediate concerns than vengeance, no matter how much she wants to scream and incinerate Asahi’s corpse until the pyre is visible from Garlemald. Asahi hadn’t come to Doma alone, and instead of sensibly fleeing for their lives his underlings are still here. Still here and talking.

...Alright, she can recognize when she’s being unfair. Maxima quo Priscus isn’t a bad sort, despite the actions of his superiors. He’s tall and handsome and grave, and he has never once called any of them savages in her hearing. But gods, his explanations of the truly minute details inherent to Garlean political parties could just as easily have come before all this, in a much more pleasant setting. Over drinks in the Kienkan, maybe, instead of where they are now—near a dozen people hovering awkwardly around each other in a Castrum Fluminis meeting room, forced to sit on the floor or lean against walls for lack of chairs.

(She’s summoned one, and gotten Titan-Egi to hover behind Gantsetseg and Avery so the three of them—who have just been fighting an entire primal, thank you—don’t all fall over. It wouldn’t be dignified, and they need all the dignity they can get.)

“I admit,” Hien eventually says coolly, “I am surprised you are still here.” His hand rests lightly on his sword, a silent warning.

Maxima is unarmed, as are the other Garleans; they left their gunblades at the door as a symbol of trust. He appears composed at a casual glance, but if he were an Elezen his ears would be twitching nonstop. “I entertain thoughts of escape even now,” he confesses, and Rita finds herself impressed by how casually he says it. “But our negotiations have yet to reach a satisfying conclusion. The ambassador insisted that the summoning spelled an end to our mission here, but it seemed to me there was more to the tale...”

His gaze drifts to Ritanelle, his eyes narrowing. So does Avery’s; he’s frowning, his ears laying back. Even Gan, who’s a full three-quarters asleep and leaning heavily against Rita’s leg, perks up.

She grimaces. Right. She’s forgotten to tell them about the vision she got off Asahi’s sword. “Well,” she starts. “Maybe you’d all better sit down for this. It’s going to be rather a long story. You see, I had a vision of that pint-sized arsehole’s past...”

It is a long story, punctuated by the outrage of her assembled listeners. She’s barely set the stage and gotten to just who was giving Asahi his marching orders before Gan is on her feet snarling and Maxima has to actually raise his voice to restore order.

“Zenos is dead,” Hien says, shaking his head. “He took his own life after the battle in Ala Mhigo. I saw his body with my own eyes!”

Gan’s sat back down, but her tail is thwapping restlessly against the floor as she growls, “Bloody told you we should’ve burnt it an’ pissed on the ashes, but nobody ever fuckin’ listens to me, do they?!”

“I listened,” Alisaie grumbles. “Next time I’ll do it myself.”

Maxima winces, looking anywhere but at her. Good; he has some sense of self-preservation. “Forgive me, but Lord Zenos is very much alive—he granted our party an audience prior to our departure. That he was gravely wounded is certain, but his recovery appeared to be proceeding apace.”

“’Gravely wounded’?” Avery repeats, staring at him. “His throat was slashed from ear to ear!”

Alphinaud frowns, twining his braid through his fingers. He’s silent for a moment as he thinks. “I am afraid I share my comrades’ confusion. The man's death was confirmed and his remains interred. These are matters of public record.”

Maxima’s political poker face is even better than Aymeric’s—but then again, he doesn’t have Elezen ears to give the game away. Nevertheless, his tone suggests he’s seriously revising his opinions of Eorzean sanity. “...Hmm,” he mutters finally, rubbing his beard. “I have no doubt you believe what you say.”

Rita catches Avery’s gaze and rolls her eyes, mouthing, Feckin’ hells, just call us madmen and have done with it. She’s rewarded by a rare, brilliant upward twitch of the man’s lips.

Maxima is still reasoning his way through this. “But what then is the explanation? That an impostor has infiltrated the innermost circle of the imperial court? The idea is inconceivable, absurd...but worthy of investigation nonetheless. Our movement can ill afford to have a highly placed pretender undermining our efforts.”

Hien clears his throat. “Your efforts may yet bear fruit. Tell me, what is to become of our prisoner exchange? Though we have already taken custody of our conscripts, we have yet to release your imperial comrades. Do you still intend to collect them?”

The assembled Garleans stiffen, one or two of them eyeing Hien warily. Maxima blinks, and then nods. “Ah. Yes, as the late ambassador's second-in-command, it falls to me to speak on the Empire's behalf. And I am happy to confirm our intent to proceed according to the original agreement.”

Hien visibly relaxes, nodding to his nearest aide. “Then let us be about it. 'Twould be a pity to abandon such a promising beginning.”

Maxima pushes his glasses back up his nose, but not soon enough to hide the open relief on his face. “Indeed. You have my thanks, Lord Hien. As soon as our people are secure aboard our airship, we shall depart straightways for Garlemald. And you have my world that we will be investigating this matter of Lord Zenos.”

Rita slumps back in her chair, letting out a sigh of relief. It’s not until now, with the pressure easing off, that her exhaustion is sinking in. Yes, Zenos—or something wearing his skin—is apparently back from the dead, but that’s not an immediate problem. She can always kill him again, and this time he won’t have a body to come back to. She’ll make sure of it. (In the back of her mind, she wonders what Zenos’s spirit is doing if his body is walking around. Gods, she hopes the Resonance doesn’t let him hop to another body. One of him was entirely enough.)

She’s only vaguely aware of Alphinaud’s movements across the room until he’s halfway to the door, and then—

“Might I accompany you to the capital?” he asks Maxima, as though that’s an entirely normal question and not utterly deranged.

Shock rips through her like a levinbolt. “Alphinaud!” she snaps. “Are you bloody mad?!”

She’s not the only one demanding an explanation. Gan is on her feet, yelling at him that he’s going to get shot as soon as he crosses the border. Hien is openly baffled. Avery is asking, rather loudly, if Alphinaud has thought this through at all. Alisaie has her twin by the shoulders and is shouting in his face.

Finally, Avery must have enough of all the yelling, because he barks, “Enough!” in a tone so sharp and icy that even the Garleans snap to nervous attention and Gan closes her mouth with an audible click. Clearing his throat, he continues, “I’m sure Master Alphinaud has his reasons, and I’m sure we would all like to know what they are.”

Alphinaud has to wrench himself out of his sister’s grip first. Brushing off his coat, he straightens up to huff, “Impostor or no, if Zenos was instructing Asahi on the finer points of ritual summoning, then experience tells us there is an Ascian waiting in the wings. Without our knowledge and expertise, our new friends will be hard-pressed to contend with a foe for whom death is but a minor inconvenience. They need our help.”

“They’re our friends now?” Gan mutters. Ritanelle finds it hard to disagree.

Maxima actually lowers his glasses, the better to blink at him. “Were you...indeed willing to share your knowledge of this enemy...we would not shun your counsel.”

Hien is frowning at the room in general, but it deepens when his gaze rests on Alphinaud. “You truly mean to do this? In full knowledge of the danger?”

He inhales slowly, and lets it out just as slowly. For a moment, he seems older than his eighteen summers. His gaze sweeps the room, lingering on each of them in turn before it falls on Avery, Gan, and Ritanelle again. “I have seen the Warriors of Light risk their lives on countless occasions. Next to them, I am scarce more than a distraction on the battlefield. But in the meeting room or the audience chamber, there I can make a difference. I can strike bargains, forge ties, and change minds. And where better to do these things than in the home of our old enemy?”

His voice is full of conviction, never wavering. His fists are clenched. Rita knows before she even opens her mouth that he won’t be swayed from his path, but gods, he is so young. “Alphinaud.”

He frowns at her. “Yes?”

“I...” Her grip tightens on the folds of her coat. The words stick in her throat. Finally, after a long moment where she deliberately does not blink, she says, “...Good luck, mate.”

Gan is glaring at Maxima. “You,” she says coldly. “You bring him back safe and sound, or I’ll rip your heart out an’ feed it to you. Clear?”

Maxima swallows. “...As crystal, Miss Bayaqud.”

And that, apparently, is that. The sole bright side is that it does take time to mobilize several hundred captured Imperial soldiers and their personal effects, not to mention the refueling and pre-flight checks for the Garlean airships, so nobody is leaving immediately. They head back to the Kienkan so Alphinaud has the chance to pack his things and say his farewells, during which they all pretend they don’t see Alisaie wipe away her tears. The wind coming off the One River makes the eyes water, that’s all.

That’s certainly Rita’s excuse when she goes outside to watch the aetheryte revolve. The blue light is soothing. Really.

Footsteps catch her attention. She knows that tread—light, steady, as careful as a tightrope walker—so even before she swivels her ears in that direction she says, “Hey, Avery.”

“...Miss Rita,” he murmurs.

It’s always miss or my lady with him, never just Rita. She sort of hates it. Aren’t we friends? she wants to ask. Urianger is friendlier to me, and I’ve actually threatened to kill his cryptic arse. But apparently Ishgardian nobility beats manners into their sons with a heavy stick, so she’s been forced to get used to it. She glances at him over her shoulder to find him busily cleaning his glasses with a small cloth. “You alright there?”

He takes a deep breath and puts his glasses on, his expression grave as he meets her eyes. “I’m going with him.”

What, Rita does not say, mostly because she’s temporarily speechless. She can’t even make her mouth open in preparation for a protest—an argument—anything. She’s vaguely aware that her fingers have gone cold, that she’s whirled to face him, that there’s a curling strand of hair caught in the hinge of his glasses. Her chest hurts, and belatedly she sucks in a breath that scorches her lungs.

No.

“No,” she says, her voice weak even to her own ears. “Avery—”

“Master Alphinaud needs a bodyguard,” he says simply. “We can hardly let him go alone.”

He’s not wrong. But just in this moment, she doesn’t care. Garlemald is malms away, a frozen pit of vipers filled with people who hate them and everything they stand for. Forget walking into the dragon’s den—he’ll be walking right into its jaws, and she’ll be powerless to pull him out. If he gets on that airship, she very well might never see him again; she doubts they’ll think to ship his corpse home for burial. Hells, he might not even make it there; she’s seen Garlean airships, and there are plenty of places to arrange fatal accidents if one was so inclined. She doesn’t think Maxima would, but his troops? She doesn’t know them. Can’t trust them. And if anything happens to Avery—if, gods forbid, he dies...

The lump in her throat threatens to choke her. She wonders if this is what swooning actually feels like in the moments before your body hits the ground. “Avery,” she says again.

She must look a wreck, because his gaze softens. “I’ll bring him back safely,” he murmurs. “You have my word.”

Alphinaud isn’t who she’s worried about in this moment. She swallows roughly and finally, finally manages a proper sentence. “Do the others know yet?”

He shakes his head. “I wanted to tell you first.”

Oh, this impossible man. She swallows back tears. “You’re a bloody idjit,” she informs him, “and if you don’t come back I’ll never feckin’ forgive you.”

A faint smile curves his lips, lighting his eyes. And then he bows, which is a blessing because it means he doesn’t see how hard she’s blinking. She will not cry. "I could do naught otherwise, my lady."

My lady, again. She snorts wryly, shaking her head. “Hope you know I’m holding you to that,” she mutters, but she likes to think she knows him by now. If he says he’ll come back, then...well, he will at least try. But she’ll still feel better if he goes off with a little extra insurance.

Before she can think better of it, she reaches up and pulls off her bronze ear clasps. They’re surprisingly heavy for such little things, but thinner metal wouldn’t hold up to daily wear or the thorny vines etched in relief on their surfaces. Hundreds of years ago, her people wore clasps made of precious metal and inlaid with gemstones, but cheap bronze is all she’s ever had. She only takes them off to bathe, too afraid of losing them otherwise.

Avery stares at her as she presses them into his hand. “Miss Rita...?”

She meets his eyes and makes herself smile. “For luck. Put ‘em on.” She can get new ones. He needs all the help he can get.

He blinks. “My lady, are you sure—”

“I could do it for you.”

He actually blushes. It’s adorable. “Ah. That is...quite alright, thank you, I can manage.”

His skin is darker and warmer than hers, but the clasps still look good gleaming on his earlobes. This time, her smile isn’t feigned.

Avery and Alphinaud will be fine. She just knows it.

[wildstar25]

Friendship charts \o/

Originals (x,x)

I feel like Arsay's is pretty self explanatory if you've been following her story/reading my texts posts about her. The scions are her family, even the ones listed as "close friends", I just didn't want to give everyone blue lol.

- Urianger is Arsay's most complicated relationship. Mostly due to the fact that she didn't really get what he was saying most of the time. She was distrusting of him due to what he did in the heavensward patches; even if it was for a good cause, Alisaie and the others could have been seriously hurt due the conflict Urianger forced upon the group. He regained her trust by the time of stormblood patches, but immediately lost it again in Shadowbringers. She was already upset he didn't fully inform her of the potential consequences of the light poisoning (not that knowing would have changed her mind or anything. she still would have taken down the wardens.). Then, after Mt.Gulg, Arsay would have probably launched herself at him claws out if she wasn't feeling so physically unwell. She felt completely manipulated. Like specifically in my canon of events, it's Urianger who pushes Arsay to confess to Y'shtola. Kind as it was at the time, it was hard not to feel like it was a ploy in hindsight. If she and Y'shtola were together, then G'raha's sacrifice would be easier for Arsay to swallow. Urianger coming at this from a place of genuine caring for his friend's feelings, per-emtively easing her from a broken heart. But instread of that, Arsay now has to deal with something even worse: confronting the fact she has feelings for both Y'shtola and G'raha and not being sure what to do about that. Not really something you want to be thinking about while also barely holding on to your humanity and trying to save the world.

Anyways, it's not until after they talk on the moon in endwalker that she feels like she can fully forgive Urianger and move forward as friends. She knows him and Thancred are together, so that kinda makes him like an older brother in law.

As an aside since it's on the arrow, Alisaie did have a crush on Arsay. Very much a normal teen crush where admiration quickly turns to infatuation. It started in coils, got worse by stormblood, and finally fizzed out by shadowbringers patches. Arsay being in an active relationship let Alisaie get over it fairly quickly, though she did give g'raha a hard time for a while. Now Alisaie is incredibly embarrassed by that crush and it's a "secret" she will take to the grave.

-

Lethe is just... not good at being close with people. So those friends on the list are pretty much her only friends, minus a convocation member or two. It doesn't really matter because by the final days she feels betrayed by all of them. But for a quick explanation:

She grew up with Hith and Hades. Hades eventually fell in love with her, but she could never return those kinds of feelings. They did travel together for a time after concluding their studies, and they did get intimate but Lethe approached it from a friends with benefits lens, while Hades could never properly express the depths of his feelings and just took what he could get. They parted ways when Lethe met Venat and was taken under her wing.

Venat was a great mentor to Lethe, which says a lot given how difficult of a person she was. Not just to teach but to be around with in general. Regardless Venat believed in Lethe and knew she could be a great Azem, she just also very much hoped that after some years of being in the position would give Lethe a wider perspective on life. After Venat met Arsay, she did not contact Lethe once and she placed a magic on herself that made her immune to the Azem summoning spell. It was a hard choice, but she had to do it.

The complications for meteion is more so that Lethe just happen to run into Hermes while he was still planning out his dynamis creation. Lethe spouted some really cryptic nonsense at him and made some "suggestions" on meteion's design. Mostly that it should be blue, instead of the dreary grey that Hermes was working with. I have a comic in the works for the interaction but I'd need to get back to it.

[morganali-writes]

Wedding WIP

Filling out a character meme had me thinking about this WIP that I've had sitting unfinished for over a year now apparently. I will come back to it, but this is where it's at so far ✌️😴

“And we definitely can’t just elope?”

Artoirel dragged his hands down his face and sighed, otherwise not moving from where he lay on the chaise lounge.

“As terribly tempting as the notion is, I can think of at least three to four individuals that would be furious should you run off and wed without their knowledge or involvement – to say nothing of my own family and the expectations therein.” Cessalie slumped further into her wooden desk chair with a groan.

Tataru would have my head, tis true – and Alisaie might never forgive me. Gods, what a nuisance.” Long moments passed, with naught but the ticking of the mantle chronometer to fill the space.

‘I have… a suggestion,” began Artoirel, only moving to raise a finger to emphasise his statement. “Chapel wedding, witnesses and small wedding party only, reception for family and close friends at the house afterwards.”

Cessalie looked at him with a thoughtful frown on her face, then rose from the bureau to sit by his head on the chaise. He opened his eyes to look at her as she began threading her fingers gently through his hair.

“That sounds… that might be tolerable.” Artoirel huffed a laugh.

“Tolerable is a good start. I daresay we have the beginnings of a plan.” Cessalie looked down at him with a wistful smile.

“Yes… Yes alright. Let’s make it happen.” She paused a moment and grimaced. “Just as soon as I drag everyone back from the First.”

-----

It had been one thing after another without ceasing. Getting everyone safely home had been an ordeal to begin with, but gladly they had all awoken back in the Source with relatively little incident, all things considered. Hardly had the scions recovered before they were making their separate ways across Eorzea – treating with diplomats and developing cures for tempering, which turned into treating with pirates and kobolds for a united La Noscea.

Not literal moments had passed as that whole business concluded when the towers began to appear across the land – and with them, the Ascian and his pet primal. This heretofore unknown Ascian – Fandaniel – arrived at the palace in Ala Mhigo, announcing his plan to trigger an end to all life on the Star.

After that, of course, things had begun to happen very fast. They treated a millennia-old dragon for tempering. Immediately they were then flung into another conflict to protect the Amalj’aa, and to strike down Fandaniel’s primal pet – Lunar Bahamut. They had won the day, but Arenvald had been gravely injured on his mission with Fordola, and Alphinaud was quietly in a state about it.

And now, at the last, Krile was off on a voyage to treat with Sharlayan directly. For a moment at least, there was naught else to do but await their answer to her petition for aid.

Cessalie was feeling impatient. Perhaps a little selfish. Just for once in her life she wanted something for herself and every moment waiting felt like seconds lost before the next crisis overtook them.

“My, what a dark cloud that is hanging over your head! I’ve never seen such a frown.” Flinching at the sound, Cessalie looked up from where she sat at one of the tables in the Rising Stones – suddenly very conscious of how cross she must have looked, and how far she had slid down in her chair.

“Oh, Tataru. Pay me no mind, I was just thinking…” The scions’ ever diligent secretary hopped up onto the seat adjacent to her. “How long do you suppose it will be until we hear from Krile?” Tataru crossed her arms and her expression turned thoughtful.

“That’s a good question. Krile said it could be a few days for her to get back to Sharlayan, and Gods only know how long it might take her to get an audience with the Forum.” Slowly Cessalie nodded to herself.

“So perhaps there’s time then…” she murmured. Tataru tilted her head quizzically.

“Time?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to do, now that everyone is back home –” Cessalie stopped, and her eyes slowly widened as a thought occurred to her. “… And now I think of it, you may be just who I need to help me achieve it.” Looking around furtively to make sure there were none to overhear, Cessalie leaned in.

“Tataru – I need your organisational expertise. Can you keep a secret?” The lalafellan secretary nodded eagerly, her interest piqued.

“How do you feel about planning a wedding?”

-----

It had been a near thing, corralling Tataru’s excitement before she aroused the suspicions of others – quiet though the Rising Stones was at the present. Expectations now tempered, the two sat in the otherwise unoccupied Dawn’s Respite. There was a decidedly mischievous glint in the secretary’s eye as she began preparing an itemised action list.

“I cannot overstate this enough Tataru, but we do not want a big event. If we could run off and elope without censure, we probably would have done so already.”

“Right, right, not to worry, Cessalie!” she grinned. “I’m sure I can wrangle a chapel and a priest at short notice… Now, have you given any thought to who you want to attend?”

“One or two witnesses. Artoirel’s family of course. Laniaette. Perhaps the twins… I daresay they could both use some levity.” Tataru nodded absently as she jotted down notes.

“Mhmmm. And for a reception afterwards?”

“Ugh. I barely know where to begin. Artoirel suggested something small at the Manor for family and close friends, perhaps?” The lalafell nodded.

“I can work with that. I’ll speak to the Count and get his thoughts. What about a dress?” Cessalie groaned and dropped her head to the table with a light bump.

“I don’t suppose I can get away with my Holy Day best, on this occasion.”

“What Holy Day best clothes do you own? And no, the one dress that you wore to dinner with Aymeric does not count.” Cessalie moaned petulantly.

“Oh, Cessalie, you haven’t thought this through at all.” Otherwise not moving, she raised her index finger in a point.

“No, no, I have – at length.” She grumbled into the table. “And while I do yearn to tie hands with my, ah, lover in an official sense – the rigmarole around doing so drives me well and truly up the wall.” Tataru smiled and gave Cessalie’s hand a sympathetic pat. She turned her head to the side on the table to face the secretary.

“You know as well as I that Ishgard’s stock in propriety and public perception are as ingrained in the nobility and the Halonic Orthodoxy specifically as they are in Ul’dah. For every good man in the city, there is another looking to advance his own station at the expense of someone else’s misfortune.” Tataru nodded in agreement.

“Ishgard is certainly just like home in that regard.”

“I’d just as soon as say hang the lot of them, but I’ve had the dreadful misfortune to fall in love with a Count – so there are at least some token matters of ceremony that needs must be performed to satisfy the powers that be. The old order might be changing, but it is a slow and onerous process.”

“Misfortune? I know you don’t mean that,” Tataru said with a wry smile, and Cessalie huffed a laugh, sitting back in her chair.

“No, you’re right… I’m very lucky, I know it. Bless you for humouring this fit of childishness.”

“On the contrary – I should thank you for opening up and asking for help for once!” she said, a pointed look on her face. Cessalie laughed as she placed a hand over her heart in feigned woe.

“Oh! You wound me, Tataru – but I cannot say that you’re wrong.” Tataru grinned a wicked grin.

“And as you said, you’ve come to the right person – leave everything to me!” All of a sudden, Tataru leapt to her feet, standing on her chair with her hands on her hips. “Just you watch – by day’s end I’ll have everything in place to see you wedded before the week is out – on my honour as the best secretary in Eorzea – No, on the Star itself!” Cessalie chuckled helplessly and Tataru levelled a determined look at her.

“Ready your things, and meet me at the Bonanza,” she ordered, before jumping from her seat and making for the door with haste. “We’re going to Ishgard!”

-----

“Cessalie? What’s going on? Are you alright?” Alphinaud’s anxious queries began the moment she came into earshot. Alisaie stood beside him, arms folded.

“Tataru bustled us out here without a word of explanation, only that you needed our help,” she said with a shrug. “Obviously we’d be glad to give it, but I should like to know what grave and terrible business you’ve roped us into now.” A look of disbelief crossing her face, Cessalie looked to Tataru – who waved back cheerfully from the deck of the Bonanza. Sighing, she turned to the twins with a grimace.

“I’m so sorry, it is hardly as world shattering as what she might have led you to believe – but I am glad you’re both here.” Taking a deep breath, she looked to both of them and took their hands in hers.

“I am… getting married,” she said, with all the weight of someone bearing a most dire missive.

“What? To whom? This all seems rather sudden.” Alisaie’s eyes were round with disbelief – and while her brother was no less surprised, the delight that lit up his face was unmistakable.

“Oh, my friend! But this is wonderful news!” he said, clasping her hand in both of his.

“But who is she marrying?” Alisaie said, gripping his arm.

“Why, the Count de Fortemps, of course.” She squinted at him, confused.

“Lord Edmont? He’s rather old, isn’t he?”

“Oh gods.” Cessalie’s mind raced as she stared into the middle distance.

“No, no, Lord Edmont has retired – Lord Artoirel is the Count now,” Alphinaud affirmed with a knowing air. Alisaie rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes, the pretty one. You’ll forgive me if I can’t quite recall clearly – I was recovering from being poisoned for most of my brief stay in Ishgard,” she retorted with a dry huff.

“If we can focus, please,” Cessalie said weakly. The twins startled to attention.

“Yes of course – my apologies, my friend.” said Alphinaud.

“And mine,” followed Alisaie, sheepishly. “I admit I am a little shocked, but you deserve all the happiness in this world. I am glad for you, truly.” Alisaie squeezed her hand and stared back at her with solemn eyes. “What would you have us do?” Cessalie looked at them both in turn with a wistful smile.

“Truly, I’m just glad you’re both here – you’re so young, and we’ve been through such horrors together. For once, I thought it might be nice if you joined me for a joyful occasion.” Both twins looked up at her with baby coeurl eyes, speechless.

“That being said,” she said as she clasped their shoulders and gently urged them towards the Bonanza before any one of the three of them started weeping in earnest, “I am sure that Tataru has all manner of important tasks for you both – Our chief of organisation is in charge today.” Alphinaud laughed heartily.

“Of that I have no doubt – let us be about it then!” he said, and Alisaie nodded, punching her fist into her hand in emphasis.

“Come on then, you lot!” Tataru called to them, motioning them to board the airship. “We’ll talk about plans on the way!”

-----

Pausing mid-quill stroke, Artoirel tilted his head curiously, wondering at the sound that had broken his concentration. Some sort of commotion on the street perhaps? He shook his head and resolved to pay it no mind, turning his attention back to the missive he had been penning.

Before he could put ink to paper once more, he found himself out of his seat – the sound of quiet footsteps tapping their way ever closer down the hall. He was halfway to his office door before her gentle knock came.

“Cissy?” he breathed as he pulled open the door. Miracle of all miracles, there she was – smiling brightly at the nickname.

“I thought I— ough,” he said as she all but launched herself at him, catching him tightly about the waist. He laughed and brought his arms around her. “And I am very glad to see you also, my dearest. What occasion brings you home so suddenly?”

“Ah, well,” she said, casting about for words to say as her face flushed a rosy hue. “The occasion is you and I, I suppose. Let me explain—” she put her hands on his arms as if to steady him, before he could even begin to process her words. “Have you kept abreast of the latest regarding the towers?” His brow creased in a frown, and he nodded.

“Yes – I was relieved to hear of your victory at Paglth’an, though I admit I have not had a chance to read the report in full.”

“No matter, let me catch you up,” she said, ushering him back across the threshold of his office.

Some minutes later, Cessalie stood before the armchair he occupied (the one she usually favoured when she was home) and regarded him with a thoughtful expression.

“The Sharlayans have ever been isolationists, do you think they will respond favourably to your suit?” She sighed and hung her head.

“It would be a lie if I said I believed they’d lend us their considerable knowledge willingly, but for the moment, there is nothing for it but to wait until Krile sends word.” She stepped into the space between his knees and reached to brush a lock of hair behind his ear.

“It might be a few days, perhaps a week or two before the next crisis is upon us – which,” she gestured quietly for emphasis, “brings us back to the purpose of my visit.”

“I’ve been thinking about your suggestion,” she glanced away, bashful once more. Puzzled, Artoirel reached for her, tracing his fingers along her jaw.

“My suggestion?”

“Of a chapel wedding,” she clarified in a rush.

“Oh.” Artoirel nodded in recognition, then stopped as understanding dawned on him. Oh.

“Every time some new crisis happens I’ve been thinking on it, actually – thinking about when we’ll finally have the time to plan in earnest.”

“Cessalie,” he said, though she did not seem to hear him.

“I know it’s rather short notice, but if the Star should be engulfed in fire on the morrow, I… I should rather like to face it at your side, so to speak.” Taking her hand, he gave it a gentle tug.

“Cessalie, come here.” She blinked and focused on his face, before smiling sheepishly and letting him pull her into his lap.

“You wish us to wed in only a few days?” he asked, a little incredulously, though the corner of his mouth twitched. She looked back at him with those solemn, dark eyes.

“If you would consent to do so,” she replied gravely.

“Dearest Cissy,” he murmured, pulling her close and pressing his lips to her forehead. “I believe—yes. Yes I would.” She huffed a relieved laugh, then pulled him in for a kiss.

“Good. I’m glad. Thank you, Artie,” she said, tucking her head under his chin like a contented cat. Helplessly he shook his head and laughed.

“I can think of nothing I would like to do more, although – the logistics arranging things at such short notice may prove tiresome indeed.”

Cessalie quickly sat up, a mischievous smile upon her face.

“Ah, but I have enlisted help, you see.”

“Have you, now,” he said with a chuckle.

“I have – only the finest receptionist on this very Star, amongst other capable sorts,” she said as she scrambled back off his lap and pulled him to his feet. “Come along, I left my guests at the mercy of your father in order to fetch you – we ought to see to them before they send out a search party.” Artoirel let her pull him out of his office with a wry smile.

“Very well – let it not be said that the Count de Fortemps is a poor host.”

-----

In seemingly no time at all, Tataru had outlined a plan and allocated tasks for everyone – presumably there had been heated discussions with the former Count while she had gone to fetch Artoirel. Had she more time to ponder it, Cessalie might have felt a sudden unease as to Tataru’s own grand schemes – but for the moment, there were a laundry list of things to be achieved.

Artoirel, Alphinaud and Tataru had stayed behind at the house – with their combined organisational and diplomacy skills, as well as a wealth of institutional knowledge, they were committed to arranging the logistical side of things. Cessalie had been given blessedly little to do, comparatively – though, Tataru had insisted, no less important.

As she and Alisaie bustled out the door, she thanked the Gods it was clear day – customarily chilly as Ishgard always was, but otherwise as pleasant a day as was otherwise possible.

“Where are we headed?” Alisaie inquired as they made their way across the promenade.

“The Jewelled Crozier may be the best place to start, though I’ve a mind to enlist another for our excursion.” Cessalie stopped then at the entrance to the Haillenarte manor and addressed the steward there.

“Good morning, may I enquire if the Lady Laniaette is at home today?” The steward smiled at her.

“Ah, Mistress Sombreterre – you are in luck, she has just recently returned from Cloudtop to visit with the family, shall I announce you?”

“Wonderful! If you would be so kind,” she said, face lit up in a smile.

“This way, if you please,” he said with a bow, before ushering them inside.

Minutes later, Laniette came bounding down the stairs in a fashion some might have called unladylike.

“Cessalie!” she exclaimed as she strode across the parlour to wrap her up in a friendly embrace. “Gods, what luck – I feel as if we are always missing each other.” Standing back, she then noticed Alisaie at her side.

“Oh, forgive me, welcome to our home – You have the look of young Alphinaud, but I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you yet.”

“You have the right of it,” Cessalie said, putting a hand on Alisaie’s shoulder. “Laniaette, I’d like you to meet Alisaie Leveilleur – Alphinaud’s twin sister, and dear friend and associate both.” Alisaie flushed red, then made to bow politely.

“Alisaie, this is Laniaette – she became a dear friend to me during our lengthy stay in Ishgard.” Laniaette smiled brightly.

“Delighted. Now that we’re all properly introduced, what brings you to visit this day?”

“I was hoping to beg a favour, actually,” Cessalie began with a sheepish look. “I’ve been tasked to find a nice dress to wear, and I’d rather hoped you’d join us.”

“Ah, dress shopping, my old enemy,” Laniaette sighed, then looked to her with a wry smile. “Of course I shall – I may not relish the task, but I know a good few tailors, and there is the Crozier besides. Dare I ask, what is the occasion?” This time it was Cessalie’s turn to blush. She tilted her head to the side, considering her words.

“Well…” Alisaie sighed impatiently, rolling her eyes.

“She is to be wed,” she said with a huff. Laniaette blinked in surprise, her mouth parting wordlessly.

“I beg your pardon? When?” Cessalie grimaced.

“Within the week, Gods willing.” Laniaette raised her brows at that. “Which reminds me of another favour I had yet to ask – It is to be a small affair, with very few guests – I was hoping you would consent to be one of my witnesses.”

“Hardly a favour at all, it would be an honour my dear—wait. Oh, no.” Cessalie nodded gravely, as Alisaie regarded them both with a puzzled mien.

“We do have to invite Artoirel’s family, Lani.” Resigned, she hung her head.

“A favour it is then. But you still need a dress – let me fetch a warm coat and we shall be off at once.”

[yamisnuffles]

for the wol meme:

15. what would your wol be if they weren't the wol? what would they do as a job or career? would they be happier?

17. out of all the scions, which one is the one your wol gets along with the best? what about the one they get along with the least? why?

15. what would your wol be if they weren't the wol? what would they do as a job or career? would they be happier?

I think Aubrey would have stayed a wandering bard, of the singing/storytelling variety more so than the fighting variety she ended up as when she began her journey as WoL. She was already more of less an adventurer, having set out from Golmore in the first place to see the world.

I don't think she would be happier. Her life would be simpler, to be sure, and sometimes that would make her happier. But, overall, she has found her greatest happiness in the friends she made as the WoL. Perhaps if she had still joined the Scions but not been the WoL she would have been happier because she would still have had those friends.

However, I think that ultimately, she has found her place as the WoL. It has brought a lot of sorrow and misery at times but, to answer Venat's question, it has been worthwhile. After years of trying to find her place and find a new home, she found that home in her friends and loved ones. She also finds happiness in the fact that she can protect those people. It's a hard road and sometimes she has wished for the life she had before but I don't think she'd choose anything else if pressed.

17. out of all the scions, which one is the one your wol gets along with the best? what about the one they get along with the least? why?

It certainly didn't start that way, but Estinien. Not just because they're both dragoons, but because it's easiest being around him. While she adores Alisaie, the young elf has an edge of hero worship that makes it impossible for Aubrey to completely relax and be herself. Y'shtola is also a close friend but Aubrey doesn't always understand her. Y'shtola has a air of mystery that Aubrey is happy to leave in place. With Estinien, though, she feels like they're on even footing. He's the one she feels can best understand her. He's also the one who first defended her from the weighty expectations of being WoL and she's never forgotten that. With him, she can most just be a person. Drink, spar, and, when she really needs, fall apart.

Either Urianger or G'raha. Urianger because she sometimes feels like he might as well be from another planet for all she understands him. Only, dragons are from another planet and she feels like she understands them better. She likes him a lot but most of the times all she can do is smile and nod.

G'raha has a road to recovery. He reaches that point by the end of EW but his actions in the First and the danger he put Aubrey and the other Scions really upset her. She completely understood why he did what he did but having her soul nearly fractured by Light was easily the worst experience of her life. She's quick to forgive, so she had given up most of that anger by the end of the fight with Emet-Selch but it took some time to see him as a true friend.

[cinnabun-faerie]

You know the ask about the minion got me thinking. What if an enemy is about the land a fatal hit on one of the Scions, and the minion version of their WoL s/o takes the hit for them?

A/N: I actually really love this ask! I'm kinda upset at myself for not seeing this earlier!

Warning: Angst, near-death situation, mention of sacrifice, minion gets hurt/broken

Alisaie

She was angry, yet thankful when the minion of you had taken the hit. You were always there to take the hits for her, and she felt useless. Even now, facing death, she wanted to push herself to the limit like you did; to show that she was strong too. But she knew that you and your minion were only looking out for her. You wanted to avoid another friend from death and the sorrow that you and her family and friends would suffer.

Alphinaud

Alphinaud would be devastated when he saw your minion take the hit aimed at him. It was broken and he wasn't sure if it was fixable. Surely it was. He was also a bit confused. Why had it saved him? Was it so much like you, truly? Regardless, he would be grateful. Because of your minion's sacrifice, he would live yet another day with you, his friends, and his family.

Estinien

He would be stunned. How? Where did your little minion even come from? He was sure he left it elsewhere. He was not expecting it to suddenly appear in front of him, and take the attack that he had braced for. With the time it provided for him to get a hit on the enemy, he took it down within minutes. But once the battle was won, he would carefully pick up the minion and rush off to the nearest person who could help.

"I owe you a debt, little one. Thank you."

G'raha Tia

What's another sacrifice? He was always ready to sacrifice himself for you. And seeing as there was no way to avoid this hit, he would look at you once more. Should he have more time, he would gladly use it.

Goodbye.

However, the hit hadn't come. The only impact he felt was something falling against his foot. And that would be where he would see his minion of you, defeated and destroyed. Almost immediately he would panic and crouch down to aid it. What had even transpired? Did it - did it take the hit for him?

Thancred

He expected to get hit. He knew that he might not come back from it and he had made peace with it. At least it would buy you some time. Just don't miss him too much, alright? This old bard doesn't want you to cry for him.

He braced for impact...but it never came. Confused, he looked down to see that his minion of you had taken the hit, and was slumped over onto the ground. He would pick it up and marvel over how it had taken on such a strong hit and be still in working condition with minor breaks and tears.

"Let's go get you fixed. I reckon that Y/N isn't going to forgive me if I don't."

Urianger

Urianger had not expected his minion of you to leap from his pocket in which he made for it. Nor did he expect it to take out its tiny weapon and block the attack that was aimed at him, before ultimately being cut down. This gave him and his companions time to take down the wretched enemy. And once they were out of harm's way, he cradled the tiny minion in his arms. Surely there would be a way to fix it.

"You have fought valiantly."

Y'shtola

She would have blinked for a few seconds as she watched as it took on a huge attack. Your minion had simply come out of nowhere to block an otherwise lethal blow that would send her permanently to the lifestream with no return.

"Always the hero."

Once the enemy was defeated, she would pick up the remains of the minion and vow to get it fixed. Once it was restored, she would reward it with whatever it wanted.

[anneapocalypse]

WIP Wednesday

Sneaking this in before midnight aha. Thank you @myreia for the tag!

Tagging: @dreadfutures @chocochipbiscuit @rosella-writes @ialpiriel @tallbluelady and anyone else with something they'd like to share!

A bit from Harsh Light. Ariane and Alisaie's conversation at Camp Overlook goes on a bit longer.

***

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

There was much that Ariane could have said. She might have told Alisaie of their journey into Dravania, of Ysayle and Estinien, constantly at one another’s throats, yet moved to a kind of respect at long last. She might have spoken of Azys Lla, of the archbishop’s machinations and his defeat, of the changes that had come to Ishgard with the revelations of the past.

She might have tried to spin a tale of encouragement, of hope. Surely there was some to be found, even if it could never fill the hollow in her heart. And yet, with Alisaie’s candid words, she was moved to honesty.

“I lost someone very dear to me,” she said quietly. “In truth… I find myself struggling with many of the same questions. Why did he have to die? And what he gave his life for… was it worth it?”

Was I worth it? Why me, when everyone I love—

Alisaie turned to look at her, startled. “Oh, Ariane. Forgive me… Alphinaud mentioned that you’d lost some dear friends along the way. I didn’t realize there was someone… special to you. And here I am, rambling about my own troubles.”

“No, please, you’re not rambling! I’m happy to listen.”

“Well… the same goes for you! I won’t pry, but if you want to talk…” Alisaie eyed her, hesitant. “I would like to hear of him.”

So she told Alisaie of Haurchefant. Not everything, of course. But enough. Who he was, how he had come to be their friend and ally, how he had offered them aid in the rescue, and refuge when they had fled Ul’dah. “That carriage you sent got us as far as Black Brush station. From there… Cid carried us to Camp Dragonhead.” It still hurt to speak of it. To remember. Gods, what she wouldn’t give to sit before a fire with him once again. His had ever been a presence that said, Take heart! All is not lost.

He had been safety, comfort, and a well of unending faith in her.

All taken from her in a single, terrible flash of light.

All the same, she steadied herself with a breath, and did not break down as she recounted the tale to Alisaie. “Your brother was in poor spirits, needless to say. Haurchefant brought us hot chocolate, and he said to him, ‘So, Master Alphinaud, are you content to remain a broken blade? Is there no flame hot enough to reforge you?’” In spite of everything, his words brought a smile to her lips even now. “’What of the fine companions who yet stand at your side?’”

Alisaie ventured a smile too. “I think I’d have liked him.”

“I dare say you would have. He was… kind, and brave. It was hard to despair, in his presence.”

“I’m sorry I hadn’t the chance to meet him.”

“I don’t blame you, you know,” Ariane said. “For leaving. …Did I ever tell you I had a sister?”

“I don’t believe you did.” Alisaie gave her a searching glance. “Had?”

“Her name was Gratienne. We weren’t twins, but we were quite close in age. A mere eighteen moons apart. Growing up, we were never far from each other… she was my dearest friend.” Ariane looked down at the grass, gathering dew in the cool of nightfall. “I suppose that might be why I’ve always struggled making friends. I never needed to… I had my sister. Or perhaps it is just me. Grati never had trouble. She was strong, and clever, and funny… You remind me a little of her, I must say.”

Alisaie was silent, waiting, so Ariane continued, “I lost her in the Calamity. Along with our parents.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“We were best friends… but like you and Alphinaud, we weren’t much alike. She was the adventurous one… I was the obedient little mouse with her shoes lined up.” Ariane sighed. “She wanted to be an adventurer. And yet here I am… and she never got the chance. It’s terribly unjust, really. And it’s my fault. It was I who convinced her to stay home, and keep Mother happy. And perhaps if I hadn’t… What I mean to say is, never let anyone shame you for seeking your own path. Not even Alphinaud. He might not understand yet, but he will in time.”

“Thank you.” Alisaie cast a glance at her, drawing her knees up to her chest. “…Don’t blame yourself, for your sister’s choices. I daresay if she’s anything like you describe her, there must have been some part of her, too, that wanted to stay, or you couldn’t have made her. Just as Alphinaud couldn’t have made me, even if he tried.”

“I—thank you,” Ariane said, though she did not quite believe it. She smiled. “I am glad to know you, Alisaie.”

At that, Alisaie smiled too. “And I you, Ariane.”

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 20: Duel

a duel between friends, a moment of forgiveness. alisaie, warrior of light. set at an undetermined time during shadowbringers. written for ffxivwrite2024. rating: general words: 2189 ao3 link

The mid morning sun rises high above Lakeland, nestled between waves of puffy clouds. For all appearances, it is a regular day, bright and airy and cheerful—and completely ignorant of what is happening below.

The fields outside the Ostall Imperative crackle with energy and whoosh with wind, magic searing the air as it passes back and forth between the two combatants. A clash of blades, steel striking steel, then synchronized shouts as they part ways and fly back, catapulting in graceful arcs to opposite sides of the arena.

Alisaie lands on her feet, nimble as a cat, boots scuffing the ground as she skips backward and falls into a crouch. Sweat drips down the back of her neck, hair is plastered to her forehead, breath catches in her throat, and yet her body is thrumming with the thrill of it all. Her rapier slips in her grip and she tightens her fingers, holding fast, her focus balanced above the palm of her other hand. A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips.

One. Two. Three.  

Her head snaps up, bright eyes searching for her opponent, and moves. 

She darts across the trampled grass, careful not to slip—the sun has not quite warmed away the dew. Aether surges within her, a roar of wind and lightning, her focus trailing a line of misty red behind her. Across the clearing, Aureia stands, firm, patient, prepared, waiting with the stillness of a black mage and a stance reminiscent of a dark knight’s. Her outstretched rapier tilts downward, her focus hovers above her head, its rotating beads of fire and ice sparkling in the bright light. She gives no sign of her next move—it is what makes her a daunting opponent.

How do you predict the unpredictable?

Alisaie is determined to find out.

With a yell, she cuts her rush short and pulls to a stop, ramming her rapier and focus together. Blinding red light spirals out of it and bursts across the clearing. Aureia cocks her head to the side, eyes narrowed as she watches the wave of red rush towards her—why isn’t she moving?—rapier still downturned. At the last minute, she sidesteps and lets the magic shoot by her, its impact rustling her clothes in its wake.

“You missed,” she calls, ruby eyes shining with a challenge. “Surely you can do better than that!”

“Ha!” Alisaie grins. “For all you know, that was the warm up and this—”

Her fingers twist, drawing aether from her focus. A crystalized bulb of red blooms above Aureia’s head. 

“—is the grand finale!”

Aureia’s eyes flick upward. Without moving a muscle, a shimmering barrier springs up around her, glistening like a rainbow in the sunlight. A second later, the bulb bursts, its power scattering uselessly across the barrier and evaporating in an instant.

Alisaie’s jaw drops. Though she desperately wishes to shout that’s not fair, she has no choice but to shove the childish part of her down and hold her tongue. To be true, it isn’t fair—that shield’s strength has a whiff of a gunbreaker’s skill about it—but she never specified that their sparring match include only red magic. She has no desire to raise the issue now. That would be something Alphinaud would do. Insist on fairness.

Besides, if Aureia draws on all aspects of her training, it will only make it more satisfying when she finally beats her.

Aureia sweeps her dark hair out of her face. “Then shall we continue?” she suggests, smiling deviously. “A chance to redeem your grand finale.”

“Must you rub it in like that?”

“If you like—!”

She charges forward. Alisaie skips back, feet slipping on the dew, and bends over backward as Aureia’s blade flies overhead. She twists, shaking with laughter from the close call, and spins, grounding herself as she raises her rapier in return, dancing between the choice to cast and the choice to strike.

“You should take care,” she begins. “You never know when—”

Aureia strikes again without warning, forcing her to leap back. Their rapiers clash, Alisaie catching the tip of Aureia’s blade in a parry. The Warrior of Darkness shrugs it off, steel singing in the air, and continues her slow, determined march. “Roll forward and under next time,” she says. “Get closer to your opponent.”

Alisaie twists to the side, dancing on the edge of her range, and brings her focus and rapier together once more. “I don’t want to be closer!” she says through clenched teeth, releasing a jolt of magic. Aureia deftly sidesteps it—as expected—but hitting her wasn’t the point. Aether courses through her, revitalizing her, its power pulsing within her veins. “I want to—”

“You want to control the battlefield, no?” A flash of steel, a clash of swords. No time to release her spell. “Rapiers are like lances, or any weapon with reach. Moving backwards only keeps you in their range, but they are out of yours. They can follow up quickly—”

She presses the attack. Alisaie ducks once more, narrowly avoiding the blow. She didn’t even bother to counter it this time.

“Like that.” Aureia pauses, holding her rapier aloft with poise. This is the difficulty with fighting her—she has studied too many forms, trained in too many ways, become an expert with too many weapons. Her combat style is informed by a myriad of backgrounds; even when she prefers one over another, the lessons from the other always bleed through. “But if you move into them, you are too close for their weapon to hit easily—”

A blue glyph appears above her head, crackling with energy. Lightning-aspected magic rains down around her, striking the ground. Aureia curses and reels back, shrugging off the magic.

“Or I could hit now,” Alisaie says with a smirk.

Aureia meets her eyes. “Your mana is out of balance,” she remarks pointedly.

“And I didn’t invite you here to be lectured, I invited you to spar.” She raises her rapier once again and grins, eyes shining with the thrill. It has been a long time since they have had a proper bout. Not since before they came to the First. “As the others seem to have no faith that a sparring match between us won’t blow up the surrounding area, how about we say enough talk—let’s give them a show.”

Aureia smiles and settles into a new stance, outstretching a hand in an invitation to attack.

A duel of two red mages is like an improvised dance. Harmonized to each other, pushing and pulling, testing the limits. Quiet pauses wherein they take a breath, movement coming to a halt as the next spell is cast. Moments of speed and grace, executed with unerring precision. More than any other combat style, it seeks balance—magic and melee, black and white, attacking and defending.

Alisaie whoops with glee, eyes bright, her ponytail flying behind her as she darts in to strike and darts away. She is faster than Aureia, less skilled, but more reckless. And she has grown stronger during her time on the First. If she can simply wear her down, perhaps she can gain an advantage.

A green glyph appears above her and she leaps to the side, a blast of wind rushing over her. Wind, lightning, fire, and stone—Aureia alternates faster than she can keep track, light wisping around her focus, somehow casting and moving at the same time. How she can so quickly prepare a complex spell without standing still, Alisaie doesn’t know. She still struggles—and remembers the days when she had nothing but a scholar’s codex to reference. She has long since outgrown the need for books and paper, but she has so much further to go.

She turns, throwing a blast of magic at Aureia, and darts in for the attack. Their blades clash and she pushes her back, the well-trampled grass turning muddy beneath her boots. Alisaie grunts, determined to hold her ground, and an idea takes hold. She pivots and pulls back her blade, then dives under Aureia’s blow and strikes, sending a jolt of lightning down the blade—

“Ouch!”  Aureia gasps in surprise, her fingers seizing, and drops her blade. Her focus remains spinning above her other palm.

Alisaie whoops and lowers her blade. “Ha!” she crows. “Admit defeat, Aureia, I finally have—”

Aureia gives her a flat look and tosses her focus. It hits Alisaie’s blade and sends it flying, the silver edge glinting as it tumbles through the air and out of sight. She watches it go, mouth open, too shocked to move.

“That… is not fair,” she says finally.

Aureia throws back her head and laughs, her whole body shaking. Alisaie’s lips twist and she slaps a hand over her mouth, holding back a laugh, but it doesn’t last for long. Soon, the both of them are clutching their stomachs and giggling uncontrollably, their voices echoing right across the clearing. Finally, they flop down on the grass and stare up at the endless blue sky above.

“Call it a draw?” Aureia says after a moment.

Alisaie exhales a breath. “No,” she groans, resting her arm across her forehead to cover her eyes. “No. As ridiculous as that was, you won. We don’t have to call it a draw just to soothe my ego.”

“It was a good trick with the verthunder. I’m sorry. I… got carried away, I think.”

“You were thinking on your feet, using your resources. Countering a dirty trick with a dirty trick.”

“Even so, I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”

“To be honest, I was afraid you weren’t going to go hard on me. If you had given me the victory outright, I would be quite cross with you.”

Aureia chuckles. “That’s a relief then,” she murmurs. Alisaie can hear the grass rustling as she sits up. “You have many good reasons to be cross with me.”

Alisaie pauses, her stomach sinking. It was only a matter of time before this topic was broached. They did not part ways on good terms on the Source. Just prior to the fateful Alliance meeting where Thancred’s soul vanished, they had had a terrible fight. Aureia’s secrets had been unearthed at last, blindsiding them all. For years they did not know that the Warrior of Light had roots within the Garlean Empire, nor that she had once been their agent. They didn’t even know that her name was not her own.

Kira quo Theorzen. That was her name once.

How strange how suddenly so much and so little made sense.

Some in the Alliance saw it as a betrayal. Lyse was furious, Yugiri shaken, Hien struck silent. But for Alisaie, it wasn’t the facts that stung. It was the fundamental lack of a trust from a friend. Thinking on it again, she doesn’t care who or what Aureia was in her past, that is all long gone now. But she did—does—care that she never trusted her enough to tell her on her.

She was angry. She was angry even as their friends fell one by one, pulled to the First by the Exarch’s summoning. She was still angry when she herself was taken.

It was a year before she saw Aureia again, and by then things had changed. There is only so long anyone in their right mind can hold onto past hurts when there are more important things at stake, but even if their forgiveness has been unconditional, it has been unspoken. And if they do not speak of it… perhaps the shadow of it will never disappear.  

“I do,” Alisaie says finally, lowering her arm. “But I wouldn’t say I was entirely reasonable on that front. It would be insincere of me not to recognize my own faults while shunning you for yours.”

Aureia nods quietly and pulls her knees into her chest, resting her chin atop them. A breeze picks up, tugging at her loose hair as it rushes through the grass. “I don’t know what I can say,” she says. “I can offer an explanation, if you would like. I can say that I’m sorry. And I am. I have no good reason as to why I hid this from the Scions, but most of all from you.”

“I think you do.” Alisaie pushes herself up on her elbows, gazing calmly across the clearing. A few adventurers have struck out from the fortress, some by foot on the road, others taking flight by amaro. “When you have finally found your place, you are terrified of losing it. I think it’s understandable that anyone would do what they feel is right to hold onto what is dearest to them.”

“Yet by doing so I almost lost you all.”

“And you found us again.” She glances at her, a smile on her face. “That’s the most important part, isn’t it?”

Aureia smiles back. “For what it’s worth,” she says after a moment. “I think our duel does count as a draw.”

“Then I’ll be certain to beat you properly next time.”

[morganali-art]

Year of the OTP 2023 - June Wedding/Proposal

“And we definitely can’t just elope?”

Artoirel dragged his hands down his face and sighed, otherwise not moving from where he lay on the chaise lounge.

“As terribly tempting as the notion is, I can think of at least three to four individuals that would be furious should you run off and wed without their knowledge or involvement – to say nothing of my own family and the expectations therein.” Cessalie slumped further into her wooden desk chair with a groan.

"Tataru would have my head, tis true – and Alisaie might never forgive me. Gods, what a nuisance.” Long moments passed, with naught but the ticking of the mantle chronometer to fill the space.

‘I have… a suggestion,” began Artoirel, only moving to raise a finger to emphasise his statement. “Chapel wedding, witnesses and small wedding party only, reception for family and close friends at the house afterwards.”

Cessalie looked at him with a thoughtful frown on her face, then rose from the bureau to sit by his head on the chaise. He opened his eyes to look at her as she began threading her fingers gently through his hair.

“That sounds… that might be tolerable.” Artoirel huffed a laugh.

“Tolerable is a good start. I daresay we have the beginnings of a plan.” Cessalie looked down at him with a wistful smile.

“Yes… Yes alright. Let’s make it happen.” She paused a moment and grimaced. “Just as soon as I drag everyone back from the First.”

----------

I have every intention of finishing the fic I began with the above scene, but it has very much gotten away from me currently 😅

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2024: Day 25 - Perpetuity

I, Arashi Washi, being sound in mind and (mostly) in body, do hereby denote this as my last will and testament. Much though I’d like to pretend I’m going to live forever, I’m not. Death comes for us all. And now that Raubahn’s gone and passed, it’s time I put down my wishes properly for what to do with everything once I go to join him.

Firstly, I entrust the various artefacts of power to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Yes, they’re still around. No, don’t go spreading that news to everyone you know. The old guard may have retired, but who knows what threats are waiting for the last of us to slip away before springing into action. Anyway, give the scary stuff to their representative. You’ll know who they are.

Secondly, the house and all the possessions unlikely to cause a major disaster in the wrong hands will go to Lyse Hext. I’ve no doubts she’ll outlive me in the end, no matter how much she complains about all the grey hairs the council have given her. I forgive you for the diaries, dear. I know you just wanted to keep my memory alive after my end. Just… keep my more daring adventures out of them, please?

If the unlikely event that Lyse doesn’t outlive me does come to pass, the above shall go to my sister, Sanda Washi. Knowing her, she’ll be off gallivanting in the 13th, so break the bad news gently. She may be the mother of all pains in the arse sometimes, but she’s still my sister.

This next point is likely moot, given I’m already in the process of transferring ownership, but… Tenzin Washi, I grant you the title of Grandmaster at Storm’s School of Combat, and with it ownership of the land, building and all the other aspects of it. Good luck, my boy. You’re going to need it.

To Hana Washi, I dedicate my tomes on the finer points of combat. The Blackest Night isn’t in there, before you ask. It’s an art dedicated to grief, and I wouldn’t have you immerse yourself in that just for a cool shield. Fray would kill me, for a start. I also leave to you the crystal I carry around in my left pocket. You know the one. When you need help, clutch it to your breast and wish. The crystal will do the rest. I pray you never need to use it.

And finally, to all my friends, I leave you this. Treat each other with kindness and love. I fought tooth and nail to bring you a brighter world. Don’t you dare go throwing away that legacy. Otherwise you’ll get an earful from me when we reunite in the Aetherial Sea.

-Arashi Washi

P.S. Alisaie, I know what you’re going to ask. Look under the cherry tree in my garden. You’ll find what you’re looking for.

P.P.S. Alphinaud, take care of your sister. She’ll need you when she finds my final gift, even if she’ll never admit it. And sorry for the boxed ear she’s about to give you.

P.P.P.S. If you find another Ascian out there, kick them in the balls for me. I think I got them all, but you never can tell with them. There, THAT’S my final request. You can stop writing now Arenvald

[jumpingjollyrancher]

Day 14: Telling

When their linkpearls ring, slightly out of sync, Alisaie is tempted to leave it to Alphinaud. They have enough on their plates already with the assault on Doma Castle tomorrow. But she lifts a hand to her ear to listen anyway.

Alphianud greets the caller and then frowns when it's Thancred's voice on the other side. "Is there trouble?"

"All kinds. Though nothing to do with my work thus far." Alisaie rolls her eyes at his casual tone. As if sneaking around the Garleans was that easy of a task. "No," Thancred continues, "I was being a good little agent and checking in. We hear things over there might be coming to a boil."

Alphinaud glances at Alisaie. She grins slowly. "We'll have to see if we've played our cards, right," her twin says diplomatically. "Tomorrow is the big day."

"Good luck to you all. I expect we'll hear about the fireworks quickly."

Thancred's hard to pin down and Alisaie can already feel him readying to cut the line. She sits up a bit straighter. "How's everyone there?"

Quiet makes her nervous, very nervous, and she watches Alphinaud's face tighten.

But then Thancred blows out a breath that turns into a laugh. "I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you. Y'shtola and our wayward Warrior are both recovering well. One of them is allowed out of bed, though they're both supposed to be resting still."

Alphinaud smiles crookedly. "Neither of them likes to be stagnant. Lyse and the others will be glad to hear it. Tell them to be well until we return."

That makes Thancred snort. Alisaie huffs at him. "What's so funny and so unbelievable? Did one of them suddenly grow wings or go bald?"

"Now, now," Thancred says cheerily, "that would be telling. You'll see when you get back."

"Thancred!" Alisaie smacks a hand against the table. "Don't play coy with me!"

"They're fine, Alisaie. I promise. Focus on your work there with Lyse. Urianger would never forgive me if either of you got hurt there because I distracted you."

"This dancing around is plenty distracting," she grumbles. "But fine. After we've liberated Doma, I expect full details."

"You'll have your answers straight from the miqo'te's mouth, I swear it."

"Good." Alisaie drops her hand, sinking low into her seat. She waits for Alphinaud to say his goodbyes and then looks up at him. "How much trouble could Xher'a get into while recovering from losing his arm?"

Her twin considers this with due gravity. His nose wrinkles. "I'd rather not think about it. He's too crafty to hope it's something simple."

Alisaie can only sigh in response. He's right and they need to focus on tomorrow.

When they return to Rhalgr's Reach, Junior greets them on his feet. His hand, when he offers it, is metal and wire. His grin is a flash of his fangs. Alisaie takes it and can just see him working from his bed to make this from spare Allagan parts. She grins back and doesn't let go.