#but the thing is. estinien is RIGHT. this is not a good time or situation for them to even consider dating each other

[coldshrugs]

landmark

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau word count: 4.6k summary: [modern au] estinien meets io in a support group for grieving youths. set five years before this.

Estinien is early—the first one in the room, as usual, even before Counselor Miounne arrives. It’s part of the ritual.

Hit the lights and dim them to three-quarters. Turn on the fancy instant coffeemaker, make sure there are enough of those little fucking pods for everyone. Sugar and powdered creamer too. Music on, some unobtrusive classical harp thing he doesn’t care for. Then he arranges nine chairs in a loose circle and, selfishly, puts the least squeaky one in his spot across from the window.

It helps, to do these tasks before their sessions. The work allows him to mentally prepare for this, because when is it easy to circle death’s drain for two hours?

With the space set up, he slings his backpack over his claimed chair and waits.

They stroll into the meeting in ones and twos. They make their coffee, ask about their weeks (in the casual way, where you’re supposed to answer “fine” even if it wasn’t; the real answers will come later). Eventually, Miounne enters and everyone finds a seat.

He isn’t great with names, but he knows a few by now. Lyse, the one with the sister and dad, and one of the youngest members. Leofard, the one with the mom. He knows all the faces though, and the one hovering by the door is new.

She’s tall, but slouching a little, crossing her arms like she’s scared to take up space or trying not to be seen. Inky blue hair is piled into a loose bun on top of her head, with long wavy strands hanging around her freckled face. Her eyes are bloodshot, almost too focused. She must be new.

As he watches her, her gaze cuts over to him—

“Estinien,” Miounne calls. His attention snaps from the girl at the door to his counselor. “Another chair, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” He quickly grabs one from the nearest stack, looking for a decent place to put it. Two kids slide their chairs apart so he can fit this one between them. Right in front of the window.

He sits again and Miounne claps softly, still standing in the center of the circle.

“Hi friends,” she says, more gently than usual. “It’s been a while since we’ve welcomed a new face, hasn’t it? I know we’re all capable of extending warmth and patience to those who need it, so let’s be mindful of that as we welcome Io to our group, okay?”

She gestures to the door, beckoning the new girl in. Io. He’ll try to remember that. He wonders who she lost and when, and tries not to wonder how. The how never matters anyway. Gone is gone.

“Welcome to Haven: Youth Grief Counseling, Io. Take a seat, just there, sweetie.”

Io sits down and Estinien regrets this seating arrangement; he’s lost the window view. She glances around the circle, her polite smile is a tight line. Her eyes flick to him once more, then back to the floor.

Miounne sits too. She claps one more time and they begin.

Next week starts the same. His chin is in his hand, elbow propped on his bouncing knee as they arrive. Lyse. Leofard. New girl.

Leo takes his seat next to Estinien and leans over. Oh god.

“Estinien,” he whispers loud enough for almost everyone to hear. His eyes flash to the new girl making coffee by herself. “I found out what her deal is.”

“Happy for you,” Estinien says. That’s not his business. But he stupidly glances at Leo anyway.

“She’s like you. Total wipeout—we’re talking mom, dad, two younger siblings—about a year ago. Just now going back to school, apparently.” He looks at her again, taking a bold head-to-toe survey, and Estinien follows. She’s tall, willowy, and there’s something disciplined about her posture; the set of her shoulders feels intentional even in her depression slump. Her ears tilt, and he turns back around. Leofard is still staring. “Wonder what else she’s ready to get back into…” He winks at Estinien.

“Probably best to leave her alone. She’s not here to find a date,” he says.

Leo huffs in fake offense. “Well, neither am I but if it happens, it happens.”

A month passes, one week bleeding into the next, and Estinien is always early to Haven. But someone is earlier today, of all days. The door is open, the light is on, and the chairs are in their circle.

Io is waiting.

He remembers her name now. It’s easy to remember the girl who hasn’t said anything in five sessions. It’s unusual, but understandable; they’re all strangers to her, and if what Leofard said is true, he’s impressed she’s showing up at all.

Estinien recalls what his loss was like a fresh wound—the anger throbbing in his chest, sobbing his voice raw for days, not eating or sleeping. He wouldn’t speak to Alberic at first, either. It feels so childish to him now. But looking at her… those feelings echo in his chest, and he is sharply reminded that grief doesn’t shrink.

He shoots her a courtesy smile as he starts the coffeemaker and CD player.

“Sorry about the shitty music,” he says as the sound of softly plucked strings fills the space. When he looks over, she’s staring at the floor again, eyes wide—that awkward “what the fuck” face—and his stomach flips. He said something wrong.

Cool.

He takes his seat across from her, trying to bury the urge to wait on the bench just outside the room when his chair squeaks. Great. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes. To deal or not to deal? He is, unfortunately, too big for the noise to keep from happening and he can’t be annoyed for the next two hours. What does he care if she thinks he looks crazy?

He stands up and jostles the next chair, which is better but not great. He tries the next. Even worse.

“What are you doing?”

The rasp of her voice is so quiet that he doesn’t fully catch the words.

He looks up from the red plastic in his hand. “What?”

She looks like she wishes she’d not asked at all, rubbing a hand anxiously over her arm. She sighs. “With the chairs. What are you doing with the chairs?”

“Trying to find one that doesn’t squeak. I usually—”

“I took that one.” She glances up at him, grimacing, but there’s a light in her eyes. It’s the least miserable he’s seen her so far. She thinks this is funny. “Sorry. You can have it back.”

He puts a hand up when she stands. He’s not taking the chair from the sad girl. “Uh… no. No, you can take it. There’s probably another one that isn’t annoying as fuck, I’ll find it.”

“Then let me help you. It’s only fair, since I disturbed your whole—” she gestures slowly around the meeting room— “process.” God, her voice is in shreds.

He can’t say no when this is the first sign of life she’s shown in over a month, at least here. He nods. “Sure, if you want.”

They go through the chairs in the circle, then the others neatly stacked in the corner. They don’t really talk, besides simple directions: “I tried that one already,” and “will you pass me another,” and “holy shit, that’s the worst one yet.” Estinien is keenly aware of her shifting around him, slowly at first, and then with less hesitation. Finally, they find a chair that doesn’t creak when he sits or moves. It goes in his spot and they clean up the rest.

“Hey,” Io says, and the word is conspiratorial. She catches his gaze, and something about hers makes him feel like glass, like they almost know each other. Like he’s seen her before, a blurry smile littering the backgrounds of photos in the album he managed to salvage, only viewed in profile or half out of frame, obscured by the barely remembered vacation or birthday party in the foreground. He swallows as she reaches into her bag and pulls out a black marker. “Should we make sure we never lose these again?”

“Vandalism? In our therapy group?” He squints, shoving down the fondness she’s conjured in just a few minutes. “Do you even need to ask?”

She laughs, or tries to. It comes out weak and cracked as she crosses to his side of the circle and kneels beside him. She pops the cap off the marker. “It’s Estinien, right?”

He nods, “Yeah.”

“I’m Io. The other total wipeout”—she air quotes Leo’s label—“but you already knew that.” She scribbles a small “E” on the side of the chair then heads back over to her own, where she writes an “I.”

It’s almost time for group to start.

“Are you gonna talk about it today?” Estinien asks. It’s just them sitting directly across from one another, surrounded by empty chairs.

Io shrugs, and her body seems to fold in on itself. Making herself small again. “I don’t know. It’s hard to talk about it at all. I’ll try?”

“You don’t have to. But it does help, in a weird way.”

The others drift in at the usual leisurely pace, Miounne claps, and they begin.

First question: “How are you feeling today?”

They go in a circle starting at Miounne’s left. Some answers are simple, like Leo’s.

“Pretty good. I started planning a trip for fall break, somewhere I think Mom would’ve liked to see. I’m looking forward to telling you guys about the trouble I got into when I’m back.”

Sometimes there’s a follow-up, sometimes Miounne will let it hang. Estinien has no idea how she gauges that, but it feels right.

He’s third to answer.

How does he feel today? He picks at the frayed edge of a hole in his jeans.

“I’m kind of anxious today. I declared my major this year so everything feels… more real, I guess. I’m trying to study for a couple of tests next week but I read the page and it may as well be blank. Nothing sticks. I keep worrying I might…” He pauses. This is normally when he’d look out the window; when something heavy rises to the surface, it’s easier to look outside, but for five weeks, Io has been sitting in front of him. The broken habit means he shares less. But how can he encourage her if he can’t bend a little himself?

He looks up, and there she is—dark, curious, and strangely calming, her eyes burn a hole right through him. Behind her, the trees in the courtyard are starting to take on shades of autumn, gold and bronze intensified by the sunlight filtering through the leaves. It’s a view he can deal with. Io gives him an almost imperceptible nod.

“I worry I might let them down. It feels stupid to say out loud,” he laughs with a short snorted breath. “It’s always in the back of my mind though: what would they think of me now? What does this action mean to them? I guess it doesn’t mean anything and I should just study for the damn test so I can actually be someone they’d be proud of. Anyway… yeah, I’m anxious today.”

Miounne reclines a little in her seat. “Have you tried anything to help you study, to shift that focus on what your family would think towards something more current?”

He nods, looking from Io to Miounne. “Yeah, uh, I’ve asked a friend to join me. We’re going to try that today. He’s been pretty supportive since learning about all of this, and his grades are better than mine anyway. And I try to think about Alberic, my former guardian, I guess. I think he’d be proud of me no matter how I end up, so that helps.”

“Excellent,” she says, looking around at the others before spelling out the lesson. “Leaning on others is a great way to remind ourselves how loved and valued we are, especially when lower moods may make you want to isolate. Re-establishing bonds of friendship, or building new ones, helps bring your focus to just how strong your current support system is, or where it’s lacking. I think you’re doing that beautifully, Estinien. Thank you.”

He exhales, shying away from the praise and returning his focus to his frayed hem. Maybe that’s enough sharing for this week.

They keep going. Io is second to last, and though everyone expects silence by now, Miounne asks anyway.

“How are you feeling today, Io? Anything you want to share?”

He looks up again—will she actually say something today?—and she’s focused on him now. The room is empty again, except for the two of them in the empty circle. Fresh sharpie smell rising from their initials on the chairs.

“Hey,” she says, raising her hand in a little wave. “Sorry for being weird. I’m trying.”

“No such thing as weird in this room,” Miounne offers.

Io doesn’t look away from Estinien. She brushes a stray lock of hair from her eyes, and the tiniest hint of a smile pulls at the corners of her lips.

“I’m feeling okay today. As okay as I think I can feel right now, anyway. I cleaned my apartment this morning. And I’ve been working really hard on a piece for my school’s symphony showcase before fall break. I even invited some friends I haven’t talked to in… too long.”

“That’s wonderful, Io!” Miounne leans forward, elbows on her knees. “I read you major in music at RSU? What do you play?”

Her eyes fall to her lap. “Pedal harp. Mostly classical, but sometimes I make arrangements of new music, for fun.”

Shit.

“Thank you for sharing today, Io. We appreciate the opportunity to get to know you.” Miounne moves on, and so does everyone else.

But Estinien is stuck on this one thing. His stomach ties itself in a knot. Without knowing, he insulted her, and then she helped him with the stupid chairs… And it doesn’t even matter, because she doesn’t know him. They don’t go to the same university, and the only things they have in common are their dead families and the two hours a week they spend in this room. He has no notions of being friends with her, and definitely nothing like what Leofard has in mind. Still, he can’t stop it gnawing at him.

The session wraps and he approaches Io before she leaves.

“Io?”

She turns to him, for once standing at her full height, and they’re almost eye to eye. The almost-smile is back, and that gnaws at him too. “Hey, thanks for the nudge earlier. You were right.”

“Yeah, well,” He fidgets with his keys. “I’m sorry for calling the music shitty. I didn’t know harp was, like, a thing for you.”

Her laugh is stronger than before. “Wait, are you serious? You had no way to know that, and I’m not the music police. You don’t have to like it.”

He shrugs. “Still not a cool thing to say. I mean, I only really know it from this place anyway.”

“Would you… want to come to my concert?” She asks slowly, then shakes her head. “That might be dumb. That’s all the way across town and we basically just met. I—”

A strand of hair falls into her eyes and his fingers twitch as she tucks it in with the rest. She’s still rambling when the words rush out of him before he considers them.

“Yeah, I’ll come.”

“—Oh.” Wide, surprised eyes blink up at him. “Okay, great! You can bring a friend, or a date, or whatever. I’ll bring tickets for you next week?”

Estinien pockets his keys. “Sure. I’ll see you then.” Despite his clumsy apology to someone who may as well be a stranger, as Io leaves, he feels the same wave of nostalgia from earlier. Some things are true no matter how you fight them.

Estinien enters his dorm with two tickets in hand. Keys in the bowl by the door, backpack under his desk, shoes in the closet. He falls onto his bed with a little bounce, holding the shiny slips of paper up to the light.

“What took you so long?” Aymeric asks from his bed on the other side of the room. He’s reclined on a few pillows, and it looks like he’s alternating between two books. “I’m starving.”

Estinien shrugs. “Got caught up talking to someone after the session. She invited me to her concert in a couple of weeks. Wanna go?” He holds the tickets out for Aymeric’s inspection.

He looks them over, brows raising in slight surprise. “You actually want to go to this?”

“I don’t know, but I said I would.” Estinien sits up. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Is she cute, whoever she is?” Aymeric lazily passes the tickets across the canyon between their beds. “Can’t see why you’d want to go otherwise. I mean, I definitely want to go, it sounds kind of fancy, but you… Hmm.”

“Shut up,” he laughs. There are other reasons, but the most important is making amends for being a dick, even by accident. “Her name is Io. She’s nice, seems cool now that she talks. She’s new to the group.”

“We can go, but you didn’t answer the question.”

“Look, it’s nothing like that. She even said I could bring a date.” Estinien places the tickets in his nightstand drawer, regretting the decision to ask for company.

Aymeric shakes his head and returns to his reading. “You poor, sad muppet. Order a pizza already.”

They stand outside the theater in their untucked button-downs over jeans. Estinien hasn’t been on this campus before, but Aymeric has; thanks to an on-again-off-again thing with some miqo’te guy who goes here, they were able to find the place quickly.

“Are we meeting her before the show?” Ayms asks, scanning the crowd. He’s been eager to learn more about Io in the days leading up to this.

“Nah, she’s backstage, but said I could text her after. It’ll be quick. She has other friends coming, so I’ll just say hi.” It sounds simple enough, but anxiety prickles across his chest.

Inside, they find their seats in the front row of the balcony—a surprisingly nice view.

“Not bad,” Aymeric admires the architecture, comparing things to this venue to the one on their campus, but Estinien hasn’t been in that one either. He only catches half of what’s said, eyes focused on the stage. Aymeric nudges him with an elbow. “She’s the harpist, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, she has a solo at some point.” He rubs his hands on his jeans, sitting forward in the seat a little as the lights go down and the musicians file onto the stage.

“Relax,” Aymeric whispers. “You might enjoy it if you chill out. Look, there she is.”

He points through the dark as she approaches the harp in the back center, almost directly in front of him, and he’s reminded of how they sit during Haven. She’s wearing long black boots and a short dress of the same color, with loose sleeves he can see through. Her hair is down tonight, but pulled back from her face. She’s pretty, even from here.

“Whoa.” Aymeric sits forward too. “You couldn’t just say she’s cute, could you?”

“I told you, it’s not like that. She just lost her fami—”

“SHH!”

Aymeric’s smile is infuriating, cradling his chin in his hand. Estinien shoots him a dark look, then passes a hand over his face as anxiety twists into hot embarrassment, thankful for the darkness as the music starts.

And it’s the music he can’t look away from. There’s more movement in it than he expected, a rawness the CDs or digital streams just don’t portray. Everyone is working to build part of a whole, and each of them can be heard in the larger sound.

Then there is Io.

Admittedly, his experience is limited, but he’s never seen her like this. Every motion is fluid, yet deliberate, even while supporting such a heavy-looking instrument. She is focused, on her hands, on the sheet music in front of her, on the others playing around her. And she looks… serene. Happy.

The tempo slows during the fourth song and a godlight falls on her, a little spot of brightness that eclipses all else. Her solo. Estinien holds his breath.

She builds suspense with sound, then her hands move faster than he can make sense of. Sometimes she places a hand flat against the strings to still them, and that is what hollows out his chest. The elegant control in what he thought was so simple. This is nothing like the CD in their support group. He could listen to this forever.

The rest of the orchestra gradually rises around her until the lights on them lift once more. He might be disappointed if the whole thing didn’t work so well. They bring the song to a close, then stand to take their bows while the audience applauds.

Estinien pulls out his phone. He’s supposed to text her, but how does he follow that? Aymeric hovers over his shoulder, watching him type and delete the same sentence three times.

“What do I say?”

Aymeric rests his chin on Estinien’s shoulder, loudly um-ing and ah-ing, and he almost regrets asking. “How about this: ‘Loved the show. I’m still around if you want to meet up.’ Simple, right? And contextually open-ended, in the unlikely case you get a grip.”

He rolls his eyes but types and sends it while she’s still on stage. It’s several minutes after the musicians exit the stage that he gets a reply: “I’m so glad you came! Take the exit to the left and the door immediately to the right, and tell the attendant you’re with me, see you soon!”

They follow the instructions to a cramped backstage area. People are carrying flowers. Should he have brought flowers? Too late now.

They wander the crowd aimlessly, and his anxiety creeps in with each passing second. There’s a touch at his elbow, light but guiding.

“Estinien,” Io’s voice. Her quiet rasp is familiar to him now, and she sounds far more healthy than when she first spoke to him. He turns to her, and she beams. “Thank you for coming!”

He isn’t sure what to do, and he has no token of congratulations to give her. “Thanks for inviting me. Inviting us, I guess.”

“Us?” Io looks over his shoulder, where Aymeric is practically buzzing as he waits to be introduced.

Ayms extends a hand, “Io, it’s wonderful to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you—”

“He asked constantly. I didn’t want to tell him anything—”

“—and it’s nice being able to put a beautiful face to a beautiful name.”

Estinien covers his face with his hands. “A merciful god would’ve killed me by now.”

Io accepts the handshake, “And you are?”

“Aymeric. Estinien’s roommate and, because he won’t say it out loud, his best friend.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Aymeric. I’m glad you guys came; I know it’s a big ask and it’s not everyone’s taste but—”

“It was amazing,” Estinien’s mouth moves before his mind catches up, something that seems to be common in her presence. Io and Aymeric stare at him, brows lifting in unison. Her neck has flushed red. “I just… didn’t know what to expect, but it was impressive.”

Io’s half-smile, the one he’s learning she wears when she’s nervous, lifts the corner of her lips. “Thank you. I wasn’t trying to change your life or anything. I just thought it’d be cool to show you what I do, and maybe get to know you better too. You know, the “bonds” Miounne is always talking about.”

“Io!” A group of people call out from several feet behind them, waving her over.

She waves to them, then turns to him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, those are my friends. I’ll be right back.” He watches as she walks away and they sweep her into a noisy group hug.

“Dude,” Aymeric whispers, “Should I go? Do you want me to go?”

“Go where?”

“Go! Home!”

Estinien glances back at Io, and her friends are definitely looking over at them. “And leave me with them?”

Ayms grimaces, balling his hands into fists. “With her!”

Estinien shakes his head. “No, just give me a second and we can both go.” Aymeric silently fakes a scream.

Io returns, wringing her hands as she says, “We’re going to grab some dinner from a place nearby; you guys are welcome to join us.”

He hesitates. Maybe Aymeric is right and he should stay, or maybe assuming someone working through her grief wants anything more than a friendship with him is not in either of their best interests. “We should probably get back. We’ve both got to pack before break starts.”

Io’s expression dampens. “Oh, okay. Well, thanks again for coming out. I’ll see you at Haven in a couple of weeks?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “See you there.”

Estinien turns on the light and adjusts the dimmer. It’s been a while since he’s been first, but Io shows up right after him.

“Hey,” she says quietly, heading to the CD player while he starts the coffee maker. The ritual is no longer just his.

“Hi.” He’s rummaging through the cabinet beneath the coffee station, gathering the supplies, when she starts the music. It’s not their usual instrumental album… “This is from your concert?”

She starts on the chairs. “I hope it’s okay. I emailed Miounne when I got the recording to ask if I could bring it in, to show everyone what I’ve been working on and that I’m kind of normal outside of all this. But I can switch it back, if you’d rather keep the routine.”

His eyes fall closed and he is back in the theater, watching her play in a beam of light, arms unfurling around the strings like flightless wings and he doesn’t think “normal” is a good description of her at all.

“Estinien?”

He opens his eyes.

“No, this is fine.” He stands and arranges the little coffee bar. “I meant it. I thought it was great.”

“That’s a relief,” she laughs a little. “I mean, I believed you, but…”

He frees the rest of the chairs from their neat stack. Their initials are on the last two. He passes her the “I.”

“But what?”

Io crosses her arms behind her chair, bites her lip. The early evening sun illuminates the courtyard, and as it streams through the window little specks of its light catch in her hair. “I don’t know, I always feel nervous trying to make friends.”

Ah.

It’s like he thought. He can tell Aymeric once and for all there’s nothing else going on here. Which is fine, of course. It’s fine. He wants to learn more about her, and let her get to know him too. He doesn’t have a ton, but he thinks he’s a decent friend. He could be a good friend to Io.

“Yeah,” he says, ignoring the heavy, unnameable thing settling in his stomach. “Me too. But it kind of feels like we’re already friends, right? So don’t worry about it too much.”

Io’s smile pokes through her bitten lip as she takes her seat across from him, the sun at her back. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

She is still smiling when everyone joins them, when the session begins, when Miounne asks how she’s feeling today, and when she bids him goodbye with the promise to text him this week. He knows because he can’t help but look at her.

Some things are true no matter how you fight them.

[shadowed-vigil]

day 9: lend an ear

phrase of lend: to listen sympathetically or attentively.

characters: warrior of light, thancred waters; mentions of azem word count: 969 (nice) [spoilers for up to ew lvl 87 quests]

Thancred is the one to tug her aside, in the end. 

It’s for the best, really — since her return home from the First, it’s been hard to not be preoccupied. She’d done her duty — fought off the blasphemies upon her arrival, led survivors to safety, even dealt with Zenos, again. Technically. 

(Technically, she says, even though it was Alisaie who ultimately dealt with the situation. In the moment, Arcelia had almost wished they could have been left to their own devices, handled things his way. Later, on board the evacuation ships, sitting opposite of a man who won’t look her in the eye and another who can’t seem to stop studying her, Arcelia thinks she could have really used the distraction.) 

Regardless.

She does her duty. She relays the message — explains her trip to Elpis, her encounters with the unsundered, everything she learns of Hermes and his devotion and his ultimate undoing, in the end. Their new target: Meteion. Something tangible to seek out, to fight, once they manage to find her, thank the gods. 

And that’s it. 

That’s — 

Well.

She doesn’t so much as storm out of the meeting room of the Annex as she stumbles out of it, exhaustion scraping low in her bones, each step weighing heavier than the last. Then again, she doesn’t know what she expected out of the end of the world. To be a little more straightforward, perhaps. A little more to the point.

A little less torturous, she thinks grimly. 

It’s already hard enough, what with all the death and the dying, the fighting an enemy that isn’t quite corporeal, the dead men who weren’t quite dead after all cropping up right around the time she was ousted from her own body —

(Of course it’s Thancred who drags her aside, she thinks in retrospect. Matron knows he’s far better at conversation than Estinien would ever want to be.) 

He doesn’t quite intercept her at her door; instead, he finds her halfway down the hall, palm pressed to the wall to steady herself as she heaves for breath — when had she become so lightheaded? She doesn’t deny him, doesn’t try to hide anything when he places a steadying hand on her shoulder, coaxes her to look him in the eye properly. 

“Arcelia,” he says — firm, searching, “what didn’t you say in there?” 

It’s a good question. He’s always been good about reading her, infuriatingly so at times, even as far back as the beginning. It hadn’t mattered that he’d been absent during her stint in Ishgard; he’d known that there were pieces to pick up in the aftermath, and he’d done so with care, without prying beyond his means, without even knowing those who’d left her so undone. 

(Well. Until they came back, anyway. Part of her wonders if he’s more disappointed than anything, knowing what he knows of them now.) 

Her bottom lip quivers. She blinks, blinks again, his face blurring as that frenetic feeling rises up inside her again. It’d taken her hours to rise to her feet again from the floor of the Ocular; they can’t afford a repeat of the same. 

She swallows thickly. 

“Azem,” she whispers, shivers it out as much as she wishes she could spit it. “They thought — they thought I was something of Azem’s.” 

Trip to Elpis or no, it shouldn’t matter. They’ve been over this. She should know better, now; because, sure, she’d been distraught back when she first got her hands on the stone, when those memories had first crashed over her like some unwelcome wave. To her horror, Emet-Selch had told many truths. 

(He’d been deceptive, too — because they weren’t truths about her, but about who she was a fragment of, mere shadow to.)

“They recognized me,” she goes on, voice pitching, cracking, “but not as me, as a thing, a familiar —” 

“Because they didn’t know.” He’s got her by both shoulders now. “They couldn’t have known, Arcelia.” 

And she knows that, the implicit truth, but — 

Gods, she is so weary. It is easy to fall apart. 

(Another thing she can’t afford to do as she collects herself, palm to her mouth before she can shudder out the sound — as if Vanaspati hadn’t been a close enough call.) 

Her lip swells where her canines sink into it. 

“Did you meet her?” he chances carefully. 

Arcelia shakes her head, no — thank the gods. He must feel the same, some modicum of relief visible as tension ebbs from his shoulders. For the best, they both think.

(In truth, she’d been terrified of the possibility of running into her unsundered self during her time in Elpis. Perhaps not at first, still so inherently blindsided by being where she was at all, the sheer whiplash of being confronted by a version of Emet-Selch she did not recognize with her eyes but knew in her soul; of Hythlodaeus, as well, let alone Hermes, Venat — 

And of course Venat had been the previous Azem. It’s hardly a surprise as soon as she learns it.

Still — she’d made it through her odd expedition, escaped the influence of Kairos and returned to the First without so much as a brush with the wrong sort of fate. She’s not sure what she would have done had she had the misfortune of meeting her unsundered self. Probably something regrettable. Almost certainly violent.

Knowing what she does, Azem would have probably enjoyed that.) 

It doesn’t matter. She says this.

Well — 

Tries to.

It shouldn’t matter, she chokes instead. 

Thancred manages to get her in her room before anyone else can bear witness to her little meltdown, before she makes a further fool of herself. He tells her it’s okay, that it’s fine, and she knows, she does, it’s just —

(The shadow has little patience for her angst. It’s an irony in itself.)

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

the four letter word: departure

Ala Mhigo Sometime after the liberation

It was the cold that slowly awoke Riven. But it wasn't a bad kind of cold, it was the pleasant type that came from the ice-crystal, that had chilled your bed and it's covers just right while you were just a little bit warm beneath, and made cuddling next to your partner even more pleasant. With a happy hum, Riven stretched. Her body ached, but it was a good ache, echoes of the night's pleasures still lingering. Smiling, she rolled over, stretching out an arm.

"Estinie--" Her hand met cold sheets, and Riven paused. She turned her head--no head of white hair was on the neighboring pillow.

"Estinien?" Riven sat up. Now she could see that Estinien's side of the bed was empty--the covers thrown askew. Reaching over, she patted the mattress and then the pillow. Both were ice-cold, meaning Estinien had been gone for quite a while.

Maybe he went to get breakfast. Riven thought. Estinien had been doing that during their time together. Heartened by that thought, she made to lie back down. Her gaze briefly flicked to the bedroom door, which had been left partially ajar, and beyond--and then she froze.

Wait. Where's... Pushing back the covers and uncaring that she was naked, Riven hurried out of the bedroom. She'd been given a fairly large suite for her stay, and the living area was where most of her things--and Estinien's few worldly possessions--were. Entering the larger room, she stopped alongside a table that was in the center, staring at the wall.

Where's Nidhogg? Estinien's spear--he'd rested it against the wall when he'd first arrived. Riven remembered when he had, there had been a smile in his rough, gravelly voice--

I don't think I'll be needing this for the time being.

The smell of night-blooming jasmine was heavy in the air, and Riven turned her head. She could hear the voices of birds coming from the outside, thanks to a window in the adjoining wall being open.The window in the adjoining wall was open. Sunlight poured through, filling the room--even throwing rainbows around from the crystal vase in the center of the table, holding a bouquet of wildflowers that Estinien had bought her the day before. For the scent to be so strong, the window had to have been open for a while... Riven swallowed.

"...Estinien?" She called. No answer. A thought made Riven look the other way, towards the corner where they'd both dropped their travel bags--and the dummy where Estinien had placed his drachen-mail; but only her battered satchel was there on the floor, and the dress-dummy was naked. Riven stared at the pale form, her eyes widening.

He's...gone? Memories of the day before were flashing through her mind, he'd been quiet but that was his wont, everything had seemed normal. They'd had a romantic supper and had gone to bed--or rather fallen into it, sleep had been the furthest thing from their minds--

What...

I love you.

Realization sparked in Riven like a bolt of levin.

I love you, Estinien.

That had been the deviation from their normal night. Her heart had been full to bursting, her throat hurting from holding back those three words--or the power of that little four-letter-word, because by it did relationships rise or fall...

I love you, Estinien.

Riven stared blindly at the flowers.

He...he wouldn't. No, no, she had to be overthinking. Estinien--he wasn't like other men. He wasn't like the ones she'd heard other women speak of--in pain or in rage. He wouldn't just run away from an 'I love you', he was smarter than that. More mature. He'd gone out to get breakfast. Or a situation had come up...he'd call her on the linkpearl--he wouldn't just up and leave, not after the night they'd had together, not after she'd told him the words in her heart...

I love you, Estinien.

A cold bed, an open window--

I love you, Estinien.

Missing armor and weapon--

I love you, Estinien.

His bag gone from the corner, she'd had a laugh at seeing how battered his satchel was too, it was just like hers. She'd liked seeing both bags in the corner, his and hers, ready to be grabbed at a moment's notice...

I love you, Estinien.

Dimly Riven heard a woman's voice screaming. The feel of something cool beneath her hands--and a cracking noise. Sunlight hit the jagged pieces of the vase on the floor, sending colorful rainbows everywhere. Water pooled out from the wreckage, the flowers scattered about.

I love you, Estinien.

Riven dropped to her knees, hot tears falling from her cheeks as she screamed in agony.

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

I'm biased so: 👁️💙☔📓 for Tritchet pleaaasse but also: 🧠❗🧶📓 for Wyn :D

OH, ALWAYS FOR YOU!!! >:)

Tritchet

👁️ - How do other people perceive this oc? How close do their first assumptions come to the truth?

People's first impression of Tritchet is....mostly right. Yes, she is high energy and charming and good with people and really, genuinely eager to help. All very true! But she's also a remarkably private person for all of that. She has a really insatiable appetite for experiencing things, and it makes her a pretty substantial jack of all trades when it comes to culture. She likes history (ESPECIALLY dragon history) and for all that she's not a scholar, she's actually pretty good at retaining information. She just prefers to hear it told to her, or to live it, than to experience it through a book.

So, yes. She's the big, goofy jock little sister of the Warrior of Light. She's the traveler and the do-gooder and the energetic idiot with the big pointy stick.

No one would expect anything else.

💙 - Describe their bedroom! Is it personalized, unchanged? Messy, neat?

Tritchet's bedroom in her mother's house was a wreck. Absolute bomb-went-off whirlwind of clothes and half-finished projects that she never got excited about. I think part of it was in rebellion of a life that absolutely did not suit her, so I feel like it's not an accurate depiction of the place she tends to keep.

Tritchet's bedroom in the FC house is...largely untouched. She just doesn't spend a lot of time there! She's usually out gallivanting around the world, and spends more time in inn rooms with her life packed into a travel bag. She's got a few mementos stuffed into the corners and a rug and a bed and a table, but otherwise? It's...it's pretty bare.

The room that Vrtra put her up in in Radz-at-Han might be the only proper reflection of Tritchet's usual bedroom setup. And it's relatively tidy! She tends to leave clothes...kind of everywhere, but otherwise she keeps things relatively neat. Her goldsmithing projects are relegated to a desk that gets cleaned with relative frequency, her armor and weapons have a chest and a locker respectively; she keeps little specks of herself scattered around, but tends to avoid wall hangings and big fixtures for being both too large to lug around and also just kind of...empty, when she's got the memory of her travels to keep her company. So for a blessing, things stay relatively neat.

Except for laundry. She's...she's SO bad at laundry, guys. She loves clothes and fashion so, so much, but they're such a paiiiin.

☔ - How does this oc feel about rain?

Mostly positive, but highly dependent on her clothing. She deals with being wet the same way that she deals with being cold - as just another hazard of her lifestyle, and she LOVES her lifestyle. But she also likes nice things, so if she put on a fancy outfit and it gets wet, she can get grumpy.

If she's inside, though? Loves the rain. Best weather, without question. It's an excuse to nap, an excuse to keep the windows open and an excuse to get hot coffee and soup all rolled into one.

📓 - Do you associate any quotes or lyrics with this oc?

I have a few songs that I feel are INHERENTLY very Tritchet (Around and Around by The Happy Fits comes to mind) but as for poignant lyrics or quotes? It's always gonna be this one.

Many, MANY of Tritchet's problems arise from the fact that, despite being very personable and charming and utterly at ease in casual situations, she has a hard time actually...talking about things? Especially if they involve people she cares about. She never told Wickit about how she struggled with being relegated to her shadow until things blew up between them; she never let herself even BEGIN to consider talking to Estinien about her feelings until the world started to end. So this quote always reminds me of her little mini arc. (And is, incidentally, sort of where she gets her Dark Knight arc from too. :) )

Wyn

🧠 - What is their stress response: fight, flight, freeze, or fawn?

Freeze or flight, depends on the kind of stressor. She tends towards freeze because it gives her an extra second to evaluate whatever is happening, which is what her parents always drilled into her and her brother. They were more forgiving of a late response than an incorrect one, and Wyn has carried that tendency into her adulthood.

That said, when she was staring down the barrel of a loaded gibbering mouther, she definitely DID run first.

❗- What are the highest priorities to this oc (at a point in their life of your choosing)?

OOF, what a question in this very moment of her campaign. Wyn is, uh...she's having a rough go of it, folks! The revelation that she and her party are expected to try to break the curse on Barovia is so horrifically laughable that she has stepped past all of the other stages of grief and right into acceptance. She's preparing herself to die in Barovia, because like. what the fuck, man. They're all just a bunch of chucklefucks who stumbled into the Mists, there is NO WAY -

That said, she isn't preparing to roll over and give up. She'll go as far as she can; she just won't be surprised when she falls. So for now, her priority has moved from, "get out" to the much more immediate, "take the vulnerable NPC that Wyn definitely doesn't have a bit of a fancy for to the safe place they've been told about and...figure it all out from there."

Hopefully the big, scary black carriage we're walking up to this next session doesn't ruin that! :)

🧶 - Do they do any arts, crafts, or creative hobbies?

Wyn paints! She likes painting scenery more than people, and she actively cannot begin to wrap her head around animals, but she'll try anything a couple of times. She has started a little portrait of our wizard, because our NPC friend pointed out that he wasn't like the wizards in her books since he is woefully bereft of any facial hair, and suggested that maybe he would get a beard when he was a powerful wizard one day. Naturally, Wyn thought this was hilarious and is not-so-secretly painting him into their ranks.

I've got it in my head that, if he manages to pull of something really impressive in the next few sessions, Wyn might scrap it and paint him doing cool Wizard Shit instead because I think she begrudgingly likes him, but. that's gonna be up to him. :>

📓 - Do you associate any quotes or lyrics with this oc?

This one fucks me up because Wyn's guilt wrt her brother is infinite and this feels like it encapsulates it.

She associates a LOT of her grief with her childhood home, so you'll find a lot of quotes about houses in her tag. She's my spooky girl, she needs a dubious relationship with a haunted house. :D

Also, this lyric from I Knew a Woman by molly ofgeography, which is on her playlist almost solely for this bridge.

[paintedscales]

13. What is their go-to for making a partner feel loved?

And~

14. What makes them feel loved? Would they build up the courage to ask for it?

Good evening, Zee! Thank you for the ask! \ o w o / I hope that the week ahead treats you well!

Useful/Fun Character Development Questions for Couples

What is their go-to for making a partner feel loved?

For Nomin, her go-to is being close and generally just holding hands with Estinien whenever he's particularly...quiet or avoidant of topics. Mostly because she doesn't really know him to shy away from difficult conversations or situations all that much unless they're very specific things (like whenever Aymeric is attempting to keep tabs on him).

If Estinien is upset, it's giving him space and doing something for him to pass the time in the meantime. Sometimes this means teleporting to Kugane and then coming back once she's purchased some dried squid for him (though on the island, she's been learning how to season and dry out squid herself so she doesn't have to expend all that aether). She does have a reserve of dried squid rations for him just to help with that.

When Nomin cannot teleport, she has actually sat down and learned a number of traditional Ishgardian meals, particularly ones that were more common in smaller towns and villages on the outskirts of Ishgard that she might make for Estinien. Her cooking isn't perfect, but I imagine that Estinien appreciates that she goes through the effort to give him something nostalgic.

As for how I imagine this in Estinien's case... I like to imagine he's more willing to humor Nomin and engage with some of her interests. She is a little more outgoing than he is, and she has hobbies where he does not have many outside of training and keeping himself in check. So sometimes he offers to do some gardening with Nomin. If she's feeling particularly down, I imagine he just sits with her and lets her curl up against him while they bask in mutual and loving silence.

What makes them feel loved? Would they build up the courage to ask for it?

For Nomin, she really does appreciate whenever Estinien goes out of his way for her. A lot of his little gestures are so appreciated, because while they seem little for others, they're actually huge for Nomin. They're huge for her because it means he cares enough to listen and to remember these little things that she likes or engages in.

Since I imagine that Estinien becomes more adventurous (and we're even shown this!), and Nomin becomes more sedentary after getting the island sanctuary, he often comes across things he remembers Nomin likes and will bring them back to the island. 8 w 8 He never really goes out of his way for things she hasn't mentioned or has shown a particular interest in.

So...things he's brought back for Nomin are:

Seeds

Paint brushes (she collects them!)

Paint

Honey

Canvas and hide

Scale polish (skdjfsf This one is tricky because while Nomin takes care of her scales, sometimes what Estinien brings back if he sees it isn't quite...Right™)

Nomin never really asks Estinien to go out of his way too often. It's when she's pregnant that she asks for stuff more because she's having to adjust and take it easy. Not to mention, her first pregnancy, she's not really sure how to take care of herself and how she should exercise at first because...she never invested time in learning.

As for Estinien, just seeing Nomin happy and sharing what makes her happy with him is enough. Her sharing anything with him is enough. Especially if it's special to her.

One thing in particular is that Nomin painted Ferndale for Estinien later in their relationship. And this probably was the most touching thing that she spent an extraordinary amount of time on. I don't think Estinien would have ever had the courage to ask her to do it, even if he was sure she could do it. The thought and sentiment behind her efforts definitely makes him feel loved. That she would go out of her way to grab her Echo by the neck just to see Ferndale herself through the memories of others that were willing so long as she could do it.

[gothmiqote]

What is your favourite depiction of romance (or sex if you prefer) that you have produced? Or if you haven't produced one yet, then what is your favourite example from another creator?

I've got some stuff in my drafts that I can tell I'm going to like, but since that's not public content yet lmao I'll have to go with the book & game versions of Geralt & Yennefer (the netflix show doesn't exist to me). There's an element of soulmate mystique there sure, but fundamentally they're two people who want to be with each other and are willing to move mountains to do so. I'm a sucker for strong personalities that occasionally clash but share the same core values, so you still get that nice feeling of push & pull without falling into 'yeah they love each other but they don't actually like each other' territory. I love how domestic they can be even if there's still that consistent thread of fantasy-levels of intensity. I'm also a huge fan of couples that have to grow as individuals before we get that gratification, watching them effectively get divorced and then make the conscious choice to try again & get things right this time is absolute Peak. And bi4bi m/f content has always been a weakness of mine lmfao. I can't even think of a specific scene tbh, they're all pretty good (the first that comes to mind is 'You smell wonderful at this funeral' which is such a small moment but it's so telling, he's normally a pretty serious & introverted person and yet! Willing to be a bit silly in an otherwise sombre situation because he literally can't help himself with her).

Anyway yeah, while I don't ever emulate their story (I doubt I'd do a cheap retelling justice anyway), it's not hard to see bits of this dynamic creep into my own work. it's not 100% the vibes i'm going for with varha/estinien but reading the witcher truly did alter my brain chemistry & taste for romance.

relationship development questions

[primamchorus]

(Old) Day 02: Bolt

FFXIV Write 2022 || Day Two || Bolt

Character: Estinien Varlineau + Nomin tal Kheeriin

Shortly after contending with the events of the Final Steps of Faith, Estinien is still bedridden for the time being. Nomin thinks it the best opportunity to visit him and get some of her thoughts off her chest.

Word Count: 1,423

Days in the infirmary were nigh unbearable as the elezen only tolerated the chirurgeons that came and went, wishing to administer their salves, care, and other methods of healing upon him now that he was free of Nidhogg’s thrall. He stared at the ceiling of his room for a time when he was awake -- so long as he was removed of his younger elezen companion’s nattering away. All of this would come to an end -- sooner rather than later -- and he would see to other things that he would rather have done.

“Ser Estinien?” came one of the chirurgeon’s voices that he had reluctantly come to expect in his days in the sickbed. “You have a visitor.”

A grunt came from Estinien as he laid on his bed, a halfhearted wave of his hand before it thumped against the mattress was all that he efforted in that moment. It was probably his young elezen companion -- Alphinaud Leveilluer. The boy had come to be seen as the younger brother Estinien had lost when Ferndale had been rendered nothing but cinders and ash.

“What is it, boy?” Estinien asked, already expecting Alphinaud to go off in a flurry of words, sayings, and knowledge that usually put the recently retired Azure Dragoon straight to slumber. When he received no response, he merely listened to this visitor walk near his bed and gently slide a chair to its side before he finally turned his head to look at who it was.

“... Ah… this is quite the surprise…” Estinien said, sighing after he spoke.

“For who? Last I checked, I was far from being a boy -- both in the age and gender department. I’m quite surprised to hear of my change in both!” came the witty response of the Xaela auri woman who took a seat upon the chair. Though she smiled at her own words in an attempt to keep the mood lighthearted, Estinien could see the worry evident in her eyes. Deciding against commenting on it, he instead motioned toward the bag she brought with her.

“I expected the Warrior of Light to be at Aymeric’s beck and call -- and if not him, some other part of the realm,” Estinien spoke, taking a moment to start sitting up. As he did so, the auri woman reached over to get his pillow situated so that he had support -- though this seemed to annoy the bedridden dragoon. “Are you here as a chirurgeon? If not, there’s no need for you to fuss over me as if you are.”

“Didn’t you say that you merely craved rest at this point, Estinien? By the night’s good graces, how can you still be insufferable..?” the Xaela sighed. Though the words used had a sting to their context, the tone in which she spoke them was soft. It seemed that she was tired as well, and who in their right mind could blame her?

She had lost two friends in such a short time between one another… and here was one now who almost shared the same fate.

In a bed.

Still alive.

“Hard to rest when I have the boy and yourself coming in to check on me,” Estinien responded.

“He does have a name, you know. You can call him Alphinaud. Would it really kill you to say that instead of ‘boy’? I know for a fact you have the capacity,” The woman then brought her hand back, furrowing her brow somewhat at Estinien as she did. “And as for me, you can start remembering my name, too. Not ‘Warrior of Light’ this, or ‘Warrior of Light’ that…. My name is Nomin, and you better not let me catch you saying otherwise!”

Estinien gave Nomin an exasperated sigh, shaking his head.

“... And yet you call me insufferable.” Estinien gave another sigh. “Where is he, anyroad? Where is Alphinaud?”

Nomin rolled her eyes with a silent sigh of her own before reaching into the bag and taking out some of its contents.

“... Alphinaud wanted to be here, but… he’s currently busy helping Father Fortemps and both Brothers Emmanellain and Artoirel with… with…” Nomin trailed off, her expression growing distant as she rested a box of tea on her lap. She then shook her head and placed the box on the bedside table. “Just… with some clearing out some stuff.”

Estinien kept silent, for Ishgard lost not one, but two heroes in recent history. The one that surely lingered in Nomin’s mind being the one that Ishgard would remember, whereas the mad woman that gave her life to their cause would likely be remembered as a villain to many. It was a thought that made him give a slight grimace to the fact. Much as he clashed with Ysayle, he had to admit that what she did for them -- for them all -- was noble. He could not be more fortunate to have made her acquaintance.

Silence hung thick in the air between the two of them. Estinien would have been inwardly elated for the fact if he did not know that the Warrior of Light -- Nomin -- had a tendency to be a thorn in his side when it came to her words. Her silence and distant gaze were unsettling, to have said the least.

“What have you brought?” Estinien asked, his tone curt as he looked at the items Nomin had retrieved.

“Huh? Oh… uh…” Nomin seemed to have been brought back to reality at Estinien’s question. “Camellia tea… an import from Thavnair. A-and I got some jerked meats with some spices I’ve come to like using from my homeland on the Azim Steppe. Oh, and samples I’ve gotten from both Ul’dah and Thavnairian traders. I asked the vendor to use aldgoat meat since I had teleported back to Ul’dah for a bit to find some stuff you might enjoy.”

“Hmpf…” Estinien folded his arms over his chest. “You needn’t have gone out of your way for such… amenities. I hate being fawned over and coddled like this.”

“... Right… well…” Nomin started, standing from her chair after she had set her gifts for Estinien on his bedside table. “Then I’ll be on my way. I wish you a swift recovery, Estinien.”

Nomin slung the emptied bag on her shoulder and started for the door. She paused and looked over her shoulder at the dragoon. She seemed hesitant, but she finally spoke despite whatever might have been on her mind: “... It might not have been what you wanted, Estinien… but… for Alphinaud’s sake, I’m glad neither of us had the heart to do what Aymeric did without hesitation. And… I’m sorry that our hesitance -- nay, our refusal to bring you death -- brought you further suffering while in Nidhogg’s command. My own, soured feelings for you aside, I could not bear to watch Alphinaud suffer the loss of one he holds so dear. So… I’m… I’m glad you’re alive. I’m glad you’re still here.”

Nomin placed her hand on the handle of the door. She turned the knob before pausing once more. Looking over her shoulder, Nomin pointed her gaze back at Estinien.

“... I hope we can be friends, Estinien,” she smiled at him, that sad and distant look still in her eyes. “Because while I know we both care for Alphinaud like he is a brother to us both… I know not where we find ourselves at the end of this chapter of our lives in putting an end to the Dragonsong War. I do know one thing, however… and it is that I know I’d be sad if I lost you, too.”

Then she simply left… Estinien could only look at the door after it closed behind the Xaelic woman. Her words gave him something to think about, and he sighed with irritation at the fact.

Turning his attention toward the gifts left behind, Estinien knit his brow in annoyance. Nomin could have at least called for a portable kettle and stove to warm up water for the tea. Sighing through his nose and pinching the bridge of it, he reached over and took up the packaged jerky, starting on it at the very least. And was he glad he did. The flavor nearly made the elezen man bolt upright in gratitude that it tasted much better and more exciting than the kaiser rolls and bland soups that he had been given from the chirurgeons.

“... Damned insufferable woman,” Estinien murmured to himself with no hint of malice, and instead more of a softer tone as he continued snacking on the jerked meats.

[bananarose]

FFXIV Write - #13 "Check"

Noun

Also called check mark . a mark, often indicated by (✓), as on a list, to indicate that something has been considered, acted upon, or approved.

---

⚠️Endwalker Spoilers⚠️Patch 6.2 Spoilers⚠️ Set at some undetermined point of the patch quests, I recommend just being caught up on msq for this one

Banana, the warrior of light, invites some companions to visit her private island. Shenanigans ensue - this piece is not serious, at all.

Masterlist

“Where in the seven hells did they go?” the warrior of light cried out, entrapped in her worst trial yet. Packing. “I had my favorite pair of shorts here just a moment ago!” Banana sighed, slumping her small body against the bed of her room in the Meghaduta, sliding to the floor with a soft thunk.

“Perhaps you put them into the bag already.” Estinien supplied unhelpfully, leaning against the wall in one of his usual tough-guy stances. Banana stuck her tongue out at him, earning an unimpressed stare in return. 

Quiet footsteps sounded from the hallway, the soft clicking of boots on tile. 

“Our hero is rather irritable, you might want to get out while you can.” Estinien spoke without moving a muscle, other than whatever muscles were working to form that irritating grin on his face. 

“I am not irritable… I’m annoyed. That’s different.” she huffed, crossing her arms and glaring at Estinien from her spot on the floor as Zero tentatively stepped into the room, wary of the dragoon’s warning. The voidsent took stock of the situation in front of her: clothes, weapons, and other personal effects were strewn across most of the furniture in the room, there was a travel bag on the bed, sat open and nearly empty, and on the floor beside it was the vaunted warrior of light - small body curled in on itself as she pouted. 

Zero had trouble understanding a lot of things about life here on the source - it was so different from the void she had come from - but this… She was almost afraid to ask.

“She’s lost some clothing, and we’re set to leave in just under a bell.” Banana glared harder, if such a thing is possible. 

“I did not lose it, it was right here.” she laid onto the floor, looking up at her companions “It’s just so hot on the island… and I know when we’re meant to leave, you needn’t remind me!” she rolled over, dramatic, easily rolling her small body under the bed without a thought. Her hand landed on a lump of familiar fabric. “OH!” she rolled back out from under the bed, triumphantly standing up, holding the pair of shorts in the air. “Here they are! They must’ve fallen!” she stuffed the lost and now found article of clothing into her bag with a smile.

“I will not pretend to understand what just happened… but it seems it was… a good thing?” Zero mutters, glancing at Estinien. He nodded, pushing off the wall.

“Seems we may leave on time after all.” he silently padded out of the room, presumably to see how Varshahn was doing with his packing.

“Clothing suited to warm climes.”

“Check!”

“Extravagant gifts for Tataru… who wrote that?”

“Check!”

“Weapons.”

“Check, but don’t attack the animals on the island please!”

“Swim clothes, towels, and sun protectant.”

“Check, check, and we need to pick that last one up from the alchemists on the way out.”

divider credit - @cafekitsune

[its-hyacinthus]

Cuddles and Confessions

A short wolstimeric fic, set post Nidhogg

Aymeric and Estinien both have 2 hands and Alfonce will one day hold both 👀

It had been almost a month since the events on the Steps of Judgement, since Nidhogg was banished, since his eyes were thrown into the abyss, since Estinien was saved and since Aymeric carried him to safety. It had been a month and all was well, well perhaps all was not well but things were at last moving in the right direction. And, in moments like these Aymeric and Alfonce could for a while be at peace.

They lay beneath the lavish covers of Aymeric's bed, legs intertwined, Aymeric's thumb tracing patterns across Alfonce's palm, faces so close they all but breathed the same air. They cherished these moments together, their weekly dinners where after they might sit in front of the fireplace, or perhaps play a game of some sort. In the end it didn't matter what they did, just that they took the time out of their busy weeks to simply be in eachother's company. The Lord Commander and Saviour of Ishgard led busy lives, but they always made time for this.

In the dim candlelight they opened their hearts and whispered of tales hard to tell knowing they would be safe here. They whispered of childhoods and of loneliness, of expectations and sacrifice, of such deep love and of hope, hope for a better tomorrow, hope for a brighter future. They whispered of lighter things to, of Estinien's annoyance over bed rest, Emmanellain's latest flirtatious venture, whatever ridiculous situation Alfonce found himself in with the moogles. Laughter danced it's way through the cool Ishgardian air and they were content.

"You're growing your hair out." Aymeric noted, brushing a pink strand from Alfonce's face.

It was more an observation than a question but Alfonce hummed in confirmation anyway. "It feels like a good time for a change."

"I'd be happy to comb it for you on occasion. I found I rather enjoyed when I helped with Estinien's."

A soft smile found its way to Alfonce's lips as he pressed an even softer kiss to Aymeric's. "I would like that."

The way Aymeric beamed at him never failed to make Alfonce's heart stutter. He pulled Aymeric's hand against his chest to feel it. His smile grew even the wider.

They stayed that way for a while, neither wanting to move, Alfonce's heartbeats felt through both their hands. Eventually Alfonce spoke again. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Hm?"

"It's about Estinien."

Aymeric raised an eyebrow at this, bringing Alfonce's hand back to his lips, brushing them with a kiss. "Oh?"

"Do you have feelings for him?" Aymeric stiffened, eyes growing wide, but Alfonce continued, squeezing the hand he still held. "The question isn't a trap. I promise."

Aymeric did not seem quite sure. "I… have had relations with him before, if that's what you're asking? But that is in the past and I belong to you now."

Alfonce smiled softly, his hand slipping from Aymeric's grasp to instead gently cup his face. "My love, please trust me." Aymeric loosed a shuddering breath, leaning into the touch. "You know the question I ask."

"You truly want to know?"

"I would not ask otherwise."

Aymeric placed his own hand over Alfonce's, holding it to him. He looked back into warm purple red eyes and sighed quietly. "I trust you, I do, more than anything."

Lightly Alfonce stroked his thumb along Aymeric's cheek, giving him the time to work out how to say what he needed to.

“I… I did not realise how deep my feelings for him ran until he was returned to us… that is to say… that yes, I- I have feelings for him still.”

Never stilling the soothing motion of his thumb, Alfonce responded gingerly. "And I would not ask of you to suppress those feelings."

Aymeric's brows immediately furrowed, stress lining his forehead. "But what-"

"My love, trust me."

Some of the worry faded from Aymeric's eyes. "Always."

"What I am proposing is that when he is better recovered, that we ask him to be a part of our relationship."

Aymeric's brow again furrowed though this time more in thought as he began to understand what Alfonce was suggesting. "You mean…?"

"There is no reason three cannot love as two can."

Aymeric's eyes shot up to meet Alfonce's, realisation and possibilities lighting them. "You love him too."

"I do."

All the tension seemed to sap from Aymeric's body as a smile again shone upon his face. He almost unconsciously curled closer around Alfonce. "And you believe he feels the same? About both of us?"

"You and I both know Estinien is terrible at expressing his emotions." Aymeric laughed quietly at this. "But yes, I suspect he does."

"This- I-" Aymeric paused a moment, ordering his thoughts, "this is more than I could ever have possibly hoped."

Aymeric's joy was contagious and Alfonce's smile quickly grew to match his beloved's. "It will be new and strange to a lot of people, but so is everything right now. Ishgard is in a new era, what's one more little thing on top of it all."

"Mm, I doubt anyone will judge the Saviour of Ishgard too harshly for anything at all though." Aymeric at last brought Alfonce's hand from his cheek, if only to dust each of his knuckles with feather-light kisses.

"Or you, Lord Commander. We've both heard how even Count Durendaire is begging for you to stay in some degree of power when all is said and done."

"Oh Halone, don't remind me."

"I have a strange feeling we will never be allowed to rest fully."

"No, perhaps not. But as long as you and I, and perhaps Estinien if he agrees, continue to have nights like these I do not think I will mind too terribly."

"No, nor will I."

[vierandancer]

She had been holding herself together very well, all things considered.

Even after Fandaniel’s cackle of triumph, even after that horrific, crimson vision of the end of the Source – FINALLY, that voice had cried – Meiko had clutched at her heart and carried on. Shaken? Of course. She trembled all the way to that strange ark structure on the moon, so much so that even Y’shtola had noticed, but still she carried on.

It was shortly after meeeting the Loporrits that she had her first little BREAK – although it came in the form of laughter. Laughter at the absurdity of it all. Small rabbits on the moon, placed there by Hydaelyn, created by Hydaelyn; these fuzzy little geniuses whose diet consisted of nothing but (admittedly delicious) carrots, having been in contact with the Sharlayan Forum for centuries… Centuries! The image of the twins’ stoic father trying to hold a conversation with wee bossy Livingway?

She had to sit down for a bit, but ultimately, she was all right. She was still all right.

Then came Thavnair and all the horrors of the beginning of the Final Days. It was too similar to what had transpired on the First, and she knew that G’raha recognized that, too. It wasn’t – it didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like a true victory, not until the end when they watched Vtra present himself to his people.

Estinien was right. Ysayle would have been so happy to witness it. It took all of Mei’s willpower not to obsess over the point that she never would.

She really had come quite far. Part of her lamented the fact that Fray no longer lingered in her mind to commend her. Her own self-congratulations would just have to do.

And then she returned to the First.

Standing by the Cabinet of Curiosity, Mei could not help but reflect on how she had once viewed the First with quiet disdain – with jealousy, even, after watching her brother and fellow Scions fall in love with a world that had stolen them from their own. But now she was just as, if not more enamored with this world than the Source – and seeing it thriving and peaceful only solidified her desire to save it once more.

In truth, she was unsure whether or not Elidibus would want to be of any assistance. What a surprise it was, then, to hear his revelations – and his offer to send her into the past at his own life’s (?) cost.

She had hated him once. Truly, fiercely wished him dead for all that he inflicted upon this world and her loved ones. But now it was just pity. Pity and maybe the smallest amount of forgiveness. Maybe.

The trip to the First was not meant to last long, and yet she knew this would be a whole separate adventure the moment she walked through the portal and thrown into the river of time.

How the fuck am I supposed to get back again? A question she should have asked, she supposed, before Elidibus bid her leave. But as she, little more than a small shade, tried to regain her bearings in the world that once was, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

Emet-selch. And Hythlodaeus! She was content and perhaps even eager to follow them as a ghost, but suddenly they could see her and even brought her into proper existence before them. A familiar. They thought she was a familiar of Azem!

“Aye! I’m – ah, m’here to learn more about Elpis,” she gave a shaky nod, trying not to seem too suspicious or un-familiar-like. “Azem sent me in his stead.”

Emet-selch made a noise of disgust. “What is that manner of speaking of yours? Are you defective?”

Bristling, she glared at him, but Hythlodaeus stepped in to diffuse the situation before she could speak again. On one hand, she was prepared to punch the snarky bastard in the throat – but on the other, he was right. Her accent likely did not even exist, did it? Perhaps it would be better if she spoke less…

That was impossible, however. Despite trying to be as invisible as she could, there were endless questions to answer and ask and people to meet. Meiko tried to absorb everything she could while not looking too out of place, but that only led to more introspection:

Again, she had to confess that the original forms of Emet-selch and now even Fandaniel (!!!) had been decent people. Good people, even, and Hythodaeus even sweeter in the flesh as he had been a mere reflection. It was like her original time spent on the First all over again – that inner struggle over growing attached. Meteion, too, had tugged at her heartstrings as quickly as any other child she had come across on her journey had. And Elpis itself? She would be lying if she denied that that was beautiful.

But this paradise and these people were long dead and gone. She was merely a visitor and this world had already met its unfortunate end. So long as she kept telling herself this, surely she would be fine. Surely.

“Are you from the future?”

Venat, however, saw right through her. Meiko had been so taken aback that she could not possibly think of a convincing lie, and then the other two were pressing her as well. She tried, instead, to simply say nothing. Elidibus had already told her that this timeline’s fate had been sealed, hadn’t he? There was no point in telling them. And how could she? How could she look at them all and explain their abysmal fates?

The answer was that she could – but only through tears. Tears that had been building up since before Garlemald. Tears for those lost and those who yet suffered, tears for those she had left behind on the Source – tears even for those she had met in this time, in this very room.

Emet-selch stormed out, and she couldn’t blame him. Hythlodaeus pursued. Emotionally drained and ashamed for folding under the pressure, afraid for what her actions might lead to, Meiko sat there with her face in her hands for what felt like a long time.

“Meiko.” Venat was still there, however, and she gave the Viera’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Fear not. As tragic as your story was, we yet still have reason to hope. Our meeting was surely planned; I am confident that sharing this with us was what you were meant to do.”

Meiko exhaled slowly, lowering her hands from her face after a quick rub at her eyes. Was this what she was meant to do? Blubber and sob and spoil everything? It didn’t feel like the proper path, and yet as Venat spoke, she somehow felt reassured.

Maybe this was meant to be. Maybe it wasn’t. Regardless, she would just have to keep forging ahead, wouldn’t she? No matter what it took, she needed to find a way to save the Source. At the moment, she was the only one that possibly could.

“…Right,” she looked up finally, letting out a long-held breath. “Whats next, then?”

[capriccio-ffxiv]

Oh, god, ok

So Illyria was originally a "bah I don't want kids" type. She LIKED kids, but figured The Adventurer Life is not great for them!

And then she met Haurchefant.

And she (naiively) thought "oh wow. I could settle down up here in Coerthas, we could have a few kids, he'd be an INCREDIBLE dad, but we'd have the whole support network of his family & Dragonhead. And MY family is in the Shroud so it's not too far for visits!"

Pretty shortly before the Vault, a) She and Haurchefant proposed to each other, at the same time, with Edmont's blessing (it was cute AF), b) she got pregnant, though she had no idea. It was about two to three months later, probably right around when Ysayle died (accounting for MMO Wibbly Wobbly Bullshit) that Midgardsormer went "THOU ART WITH CHILD BTW"

THANKFULLY, Midgardsormr is/was an old hand at making sure unborn babies survive some absolutely ridiculous Situations. So while mammilian pregnancy wasn't entirely familiar to him, he at least knew about five thousand ways to protect an unborn child. And, in fact, the discussion really did come down to "Ok. Ok. Can we put my kid in an egg. And can you sit on it. Not kidding, I have to go stab your stupid son Nidhogg and that's not something I should be doing while pregnant."

Which is how, while the kid is (mostly) 3/4 Elezen 1/4 Roegadyn (Illy is half Elezen), she hatched from an egg incubated by the Father of Dragons. Illy... feels like that was cheating on her part, but also is like "Well, I didn't have to give birth; tbh I think having a dragon midwife is incredibly dope and more of us should do that."

She was still there for the hatching, and due to the aetheric connection was still able to nurse her daughter. Illyria named her Ysayle; she's got hair like Haurchefant's but eyes like Illyria, and will probably grow up to be unusually tall and swole due to being 1/4 Roegadyn.

Due to, again, unfortunately, being Thee Warrior of Light, Illyria decided to give Ysayle the Younger up to Edmont for adoption, so she's Ysayle Greystone. Just about everyone inferred that this was Haurchefant's daughter -- he was openly polyamorous (and so is Illyria) and in LOTS of relationships, and while he was normally a hell of a lot more careful than his father, well, accidents do happen. Very few people caught on to her being Illyria's daughter, because of the whole very bizarre situation of Father of Dragons as Surrogate Mother. As in, Illyria was never (visibly) pregnant, to most people's knowledge!

People who know: House Fortemps (obv), Alphinaud (he was there), Tataru (you cannot keep secrets from her), Estinien (Alphinaud had to spell it out for him later on tho; he didn't find out till Endwalker)

People who have inferred/guessed but know to keep their damn mouths shut: most of the rest of the Scions, Aymeric, Lucia

Ysayle the Younger is being raised by an absolutely wonderful wet nurse (a woman working in the House Fortemps kitchens who'd recently had a child of her own) and gets spoiled rotten by Emmanelain and Edmont; Artoriel tries to curtail some of this but can't bring himself to because dangit she's so cute ;-; Francel has no idea who the mother is but doesn't care and just wants her to have a good life. So... even if it hurts Illyria terribly to know that she cannot be in the picture for Ysayle's safety, she knows that the kid's in the best possible hands.

Originally, she'd kept hoping that someday, things would calm down enough that she could at least visit and no longer have it be a secret -- hopefully in time for Ysayle not to grow resentful of her mother for not being there -- but then Endwalker and a bunch of other things happened, so Illyria... well, Illyria technically still exists, but that's not who's "driving" right now (it's a shared duty between three different entities, yes, including Esteem).

So... bittersweet. Illyria loves her daughter so much and wants her to have the best life, but knows she cannot be both a mother and the Warrior of Light. The fact that there was literally no way to square that circle is part of the reason for her eventual breakdown.

Feel free to share more details about why! Love reading other ppls character lore! :3

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

other bloodlines

Based on this story written by @saesama

Mathye stared at Reinhardt.

"Bullshite." He said. "No fucking way."

"Why would I make something like this up?! And Paien confirmed it!" Reinhardt countered, gesturing.

"He's not lying." Augustine said around a mouthful of riceball.

"How in the seven hells was Leviathan an actual fucking dragon?!" Mathye exploded.

"Your guess is as good as mine, but that's the situation!" Reinhardt said. "From how Klynt described it, I think her Echo triggered to save her from Leviathan attempting to temper her--and the primal's aether triggered the dormant dragonblood inside her. The abilities she has, she's going off pure instinct to perform."

"Without a soulstone?"

"Without a soulstone." Reinhardt confirmed. "She's probably picked up one or two things from Estinien, but otherwise? She's completely self-taught."

"I can vaguely hear the shitestorm that's about to break loose at the Congregation when you report this in." Augustine commented.

"There's nothing for it, is there?" Reinhardt countered. "If anything, maybe this will finally get some focus on the other draconic lineages! And maybe give the investigation to find our other ancestral kin a boost."

"Have you told Riven about this?" Mathye asked.

"Not yet. I sent her a request to see what she could dig up about Leviathan's origins other than what his tribe's already told us. Figured I'd explain it when she came back in."

"The only dragon I could think of as a possible parent is Ratatoskr?" Augustine ventured. "Otherwise if Leviathan was sired from Nidhogg or Hraesvelgr we would have possibly found out by now."

"What about Azdaja? We don't know if she had a brood or not." Reinhardt added.

"If Azdaja had a brood Vrtra would have been taking care of them." Mathye stretched out in his chair, wincing as what remained of his right thigh complained.

"But that aside--what are you going to recommend to Brucemont?"

"I told her I'd take her on as an apprentice." Reinhardt didn't blink as Augustine started to choke on his food and Mathye did a double-take. "I'm within my rights to do so. I don't see her going through the full training we do, it'd be a waste of time. But if she can refine her skills--and learn our basic ones, she'll be better off than how she is currently."

"You want to put her through Knight-Dragoon basic training." Augustine's voice was incredulous.

"Aye, and give her a soulstone so she can imprint her techniques. Don't ask me about the drachen yet, I need to get this past Brucemont first."

"Who is going to possibly fucking kill you the minute he smells the salt and seaweed." Mathye's voice was dry. "Did she fess up before or after you two fucked?"

"Not allowed to sleep with apprentices, that's the general rule~" Augustine sang-song.

"She wasn't my apprentice then! And it's...not even that! I'm more of a..." Reinhardt paused, thinking. "Mentor."

<Reinhardt, you ignorant slut.> Hrist commented. <Paien, I am so sorry you have to deal with him.>

<I told him she smelled like seaweed and crazy, but did he listen to me? Nooo. Had to stick his dick in it.> The younger dragon grumped.

"Hey!" Reinhardt protested.

[autumnslance]

On the topic of picking at the lore of Ultima Thule, I want your thoughts on something that I keep saying to my friends but none of them seem to grasp.

Zenos.

I understand that most people hate him, but to me, he represents an important concept in the narrative message of Endwalker, and Ultima Thule specifically.

All throughout UT, the Scions talk about very typical ways to combat despair. Believe things will get better. Plan for the future even if you think you don't have one. To me, it's all very... "just think happy thoughts". It's trite and fictional and unattainable.

But Zenos, to me, represents a much more attainable type of resistance, particularly for ND people like myself:

Goals. Zenos wants thing. Zenos is aware of despair but it's not relevant because he wants thing.

I'm probably phrasing this badly, but I'd like your thoughts on this take on Zenos during the final events, if you're willing.

All right, let's go below the cut for it then.

To start, I don't think "just think happy thoughts" is what's going on for the Scions; it's more of a fight and hold out hope for a future for others without expectation of seeing it themselves, which is their goal, even if not stated as blatantly as Zenos. It's all for each other, and/or for the WoL, and mostly for the people of Eitherys--not themselves. Also, don't forget the boys' beach conversation very early in Thavnair, where Estinien and Thancred talk about their own worst moments of depression, pain, and even suicidal thoughts.

The Scions have their various hangups and traumas and issues, focusing on what they can do for others even if they can't for themselves. Their response to their various pains are to do something about them and ensure things get better because they tried to make it better, even if there comes a day they don't see those results--which they respond to Meteion/her recreations with a few times when they say "yeah, we're going to die one day, and all our dreams and good and bad works with us--so what? What we do now matters."

(Also there are actual recovery/treatment methods consisting of training oneself to think neutrally, then positively, over time, as a way to combat the various ways our brains can lie to us depending on one's situation, but that's best worked out with a decent therapist, when finally finding one)

That said, Zenos is another angle of the spectrum of ways of dealing with despair. He's had a lot of experiences that would be traumatic as well, but he doesn't bother dealing with any of it. None of it really matters to him. His response to Jullus in Garlemald really puts forth his philosophy best; life has no meaning but what one gives it. It's a very True Nihilist approach, which is not that life sucks so nothing matters, it's that life has no meaning unless we decide it does. It's also An answer to Hermes' questions, and a good point, if made by one of the worst people we know.

The Scions are selfless in their trauma responses to despair and the goals they set to combat it. Zenos is selfish; he has his goal and he doesn't really care about anything or anyone else in the process of attaining it. He incidentally causes pain in others because they really don't matter to him--only his goal does, and it's no excuse for what he does to his own people, let alone the Domans and Mhigans.

He only agrees to help because in the frustration of realizing the WoL isn't going to care about him until they've set aside their distractions, he had to concede Alisaie had a point; no one cared about Zenos because he made himself shunned and irrelevant with those selfish goals. People are inherently social creatures, even us introverts, and Zenos stands outside social contracts by choice.

(though he does work best as a wandering blood knight, not a political or military leader who's boredom and doing nothing is the only reason we free Doma and Ala Mhigo; so much of my annoyance regarding Zenos is just his poor intro and nonsense actions in Stormblood. It was a Zenos fan who pointed out you can remove him from that story and nothing actually changes, which is bad writing for a primary antagonist meant to mirror the Assumed Default PC Hero).

So Zenos helps out in Endwalker, but only because it gets him what he wants. He has no angst because he really doesn't see meaning to life outside of his own chosen, too-narrow focus. He's a lonely, broken little boy who never grew out of his "me me me" bully stage. He doesn't grasp reasons to care enough to have angst. Which works, but not in a good way. He is still meant to be a villain, but I don't think that they succeeded in making him a tragic one, though tragedy is there in the background.

Besides, he got everything he truly wanted. He won, cue the victory fanfare.

I didn't mind the fight in the end. I knew it had to come, I rolled my eyes a bit, laughed a little, and thought the cutscene work was excellent. It works for a Generic Default WoL, mileage will vary on how one likes the fight for one's own WoL, let alone how one cares about Zenos. It's a very Final Fantasy ending harking back to some other games and fitting for the character.

As for the grouses that he should be able to come back yet again; it took a miracle, a desire for home/life/etc for the WoL to get out--but Zenos doesn't have that. He had everything he wanted right there. The Ragnarok is nowhere near the Final Day subdimension (also the "two places at once" thing feels like gameplay with a story lampshade thrown on, rather than story using gameplay elements; there's a difference). As for "being an Ascian in all but name," he's black mask level. He needed a body nearby the last time he accidentally committed metempsychosis, like they did; there isn't any out there. Maybe with time he'd have grown to red mask levels, but most of his power was his own, with the Resonance giving him some handy new tools in his already impressive arsenal.

Also frankly, the writers played with too much of a good thing in Stormblood with all the returns of thought-dead characters. Zenos got what he wanted, and it's good fight with a cool finale. It'd be hard to take him, or the writing team, seriously if they brought him back again, IMO.

I am really interested in what his avatar's gonna do now that they're back in the Thirteenth and freed of the pact, though. Who are they, what do they want, were they influenced by Zenos? Time will tell.

[paintedscales]

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

Good evening, Briar! Thank you for the ask! \ o w o / I hope you had fun last night at the art party. ; w ; / ♥

OC Asks: Not-so-Nice Edition

There are a lot of different details about her past that Nomin would like some people to not know. I don't know if I would consider them a closely guarded 'secret' by any means? But they're also things she doesn't necessarily go out of her way to make known.

I think Alphinaud is the first person in Eorzea that Nomin really opens up to, and that's in Heavensward after everything has happened with the Crystal Braves. Like, she touches upon it as a means to kind of relate the situation in some small way to her experiences, and at the moment, I imagine it to be something that helps Alphinaud get back up on his own two feet because he realizes that Nomin endured a lot of that before she was his age, and he has a bigger opportunity than Nomin did to make things right.

I guess outside of that...there's just the reason Nomin painted her scales? Like, just kind of having it act as a deterrent from people pointing her out and being like, "that's the Xaela with the blue scales!"

But even then, once Nomin got comfortable with some of the other Scions, they found out her scales aren't actually black. Papalymo was one of the first to learn about that, and when he said he wouldn't speak of it when Nomin was painting over them, she felt she could trust that. Obviously, it's not until the time before starting Stormblood that she understood why she could trust that he'd keep that secret.

Trying so hard to think about other things. Though it's just...kind of difficult. Nomin's not terribly a secretive person after Stormblood. Like...I dunno! She's pretty transparent and makes herself known when she's having genuine conversations.

I GUESS... Nomin struggled a bit during Shadowbringers and didn't tell anyone about the conflicted feelings she had about Estinien while she was also dealing with other things on the First. She hated that he often occupied her thoughts after she was told he plucked her from the Ghimlyt Dark and ensured her safety. Like, one of the thoughts she had was just, "I want to get everyone safely back to the Source so I can see Estinien." And she just felt disgusting for it for a long while.

[wildstar25]

still not over this scene aaaaaaaaaaaaaa o+< sorry sorry I am putting this giant "thoughts and sequences" post under a read more!! warning its very long, incredibly ramble-y, and full of sappy (not proof read) ship content haha

So because Arsay lives off the power of friendship it would feel weird if only one of the scions visited her that night imo... My headcanon is that each scion knocked at her door to chat as she was (very slowly) getting to bed herself (she kept getting distracted staring at the moon and contemplating) I'm just going to run through how I think she would handle each convo in the order they'd show up in:

Alphinaud

He's baby. my son. precious bean!!! Literally cannot express how much Arsay cares for him. Their conversation goes as seen in game -

As Alphinaud began to thank Arsay for the nth time, she placed her hand on top his head. "Of course I'd trust you Alphi, you're family! You needn't thank me for doing what any good big sister would do." She rustled his hair with a smile. "I know you'll always try to make the right choice. Whatever happens from that, we'll face it head on together as always." With one last pat, Arsay removed her hand. Alphinaud smiled in kind as he began to fix his out of place hair. "Try as you might to protest Arsay, it is of great import to me that I properly convey the depth of my gratitude. After all our journeys together, I dare say I've used every expression imaginable to so. Nevertheless, I hope these words of mine still carry some small weight."

The conversion would continue the same from there, Arsay of course wishing him a good night back! Once he's done writing his letter to Arenvald he goes off to bug Estinien.

Alisaie Alisaie, in typical fashion, does not let Arsay get a word in that whole conversation. As the young mage sprinted off, Arsay thought to herself that she ought to give Alisaie a great big hug the next morning. Alisaie would most likely object to that, but Arsay will do it anyways because she is so proud of her and was absolutely so heartened by her show of concern. Alisaie, with energy still to spare and naught to do finds herself hanging out with Alphinaud in Estinien's room.

Y'shtola Shtola sounded sooooooo upset when she talked about how fucked up Arsay's aether was at the end of shb. I had a feeling it was bad but she can't even look towards Arsay when she's talking about it now... oof...

I suppose then, that this has been a constant worry for her since that time.... that Arsay could come back from an adventure looking like a monster to her yet again :( Something I've enjoyed of her writing in this expac so far is how they've been highlighting what troubles her; that her ability to see/recognize the ones she cares for so dearly completely depended on a property that can fluctuate so easily. [It always felt a bit odd in hw when she came back and it was treated as "oh yeah I'm blind but im not really blind". Perhaps that was a product of the character writing - that Shtola at that point in time would have never dared mention if she couldn't see something perfectly - though it's probably more likely a "introduce a magic thing so we dont have to write about disability in our media property" situation. Let's say, on a good faith reading, it was the later, then that demonstrates some significant grown from her character. She trusts in her relationships enough to let them know when she needs confirmation or help. ]

It's good that she is finally bringing it up to Arsay though!! Perhaps this might be the catalyst for them finding other ways to quickly recognize each other; even when y'shtola's aether-sight is impaired or Arsay's aether gets weird! It's hard to say what that could be; I feel as though Arsay already greets her with so much warmth in her voice Shtola would be hard-pressed NOT to recognize that voice as her Arsay. Hmm, perhaps the forehead bonks or intertwining their tails could be a grounding method for the two of them? Similar to how Seto saw Ardbert through Arsay; if Y'shtola ever feels unsure, she can close her eyes, focus on the touch, and let her heart see Arsay the way she remembers her to be. Yes, lets go with that! Moving on - as to not obscure it in the tags -it is absolutely canon to me that when Y'shtola told Arsay to keep warm, the following took place

"If I feel so much as the slightest chill, know that I'll seek out your warmth first and foremost. ...Or perhaps we can skip all that; Stay, won't you? I'd sleep more peacefully by your side." Arsay took Y'shtola's hand in hers with a light squeeze, "Please, Shtola?" "I should have expected you'd say as much. What of G'raha?" "I haven't seen him since we returned; but should he make himself known, I was hoping perhaps we could keep him warm as well." "Arsay, exactly how large do you believe that bed to be?" "oh, we'll figure it out - I'll sleep on the floor if I must!" "Really?" "Mhm!" Y'shtola let out an accepting sigh. "Alright, I suppose like everything else you'll make the impossible happen. I still have matters to attend to before bed, but I shall return ere long." "Wonderful!" Arsay pulled Y'shtola in for an exuberant hug. "Thank you Shtola, for everything." She planted an equally enthusiastic kiss on the seeker's cheek with a loud "mwah" before relinquishing her grip. As Y'shtola made her way down the hall, Arsay turned towards the window of her room once more.

Thancred Thancred and Arsay's friendship has always been slightly debatable tbh. They've never been outwrite unfriendly towards each other or anything like that, but they definitely had points of friction. On inspection, they actually have quite a lot in common: Both of them are orphans, haling from limsa lominsa/limsa marked territories, grew up well acquainted with the suffering an unruly crew of pirates can cause, trained with/are a member of the rogue's guild, far too familiar with feelings of loneliness, are the first to blame their own failings should aught go wrong and add that guilt to the ever growing pile, have an unshakeable sense of duty to those they care about, and, finally, both are incredibly apt to hiding much of their pain behind a smile. But unfortunately they just have very opposite coping mechanisms and a lot of how Thancred dealt with his grief in HW/StmB/ShB frustrated Arsay to no end. Doubly so when she was also going through her own shit at the same time. They only really began being on the same page during the events in Eden/The Empty. They had both gone through some considerable character growth and most importantly (to arsay) Thancred learned how to open up more. I think they were able to see/talk past their various hook ups and actually trust each other properly to stay above water emotionally. All that said, I think it was quite apt that Thancred would reach out to Arsay with that request of his. Basically him saying "Hey, you'll be the first one to spot me when I'm on my bullshit, so can you make sure I'm not doing that?" Of course Arsay agrees no questions asked. She'll gladly drag him by the shirt collar if she has to.

G'raha And of course, It doesn't take long for G'raha to come knocking at her door... Honestly I've not nearly as much to say about his scene other wow I will never recover from G'raha going from shy baby to stern/confident and saying "let me carry your burdens" 😳

the duality of this catboy... And then he goes off about adventuring when this is all over and ooooooooooooooooooooooh They really are two peas in a pod 🥹 I find it very hard to write about their relationship in contrast to Arsay's and y'shtola mostly cause they just vibe?? they are very much head over heals in love with each other and absolutely share braincells. That said Arsay is prone to not bringing up things... especially if its any thought or feeling that could be seen as negative. So this interaction between them is very much needed, really! Arsay does need to open up more and let herself not be silly 24/7!! Constantly bottling up her emotional turmoil is not good in the long run and pretending its simply not there hasn't worked for quite some time. She's been doing her best but she can always feel her worries snapping at her tail, chasing her wherever she goes... Similar to before: in my version of events before G'raha can make his leave, Y'shtola would come up behind him. She'd poke fun at the fact that he was still standing aimlessly in the hall while Arsay was actively holding the door open for him the whole time. Going as far to point out how obtuse they both can get when they need to get something off their chest as she walks past G'raha into Arsay's room. G'raha finally gets the clue and walks in after her. The three of them spent a short while chatting. Mostly sharing a laugh over the more comical aspects of their moon tour and Arsay explaining some of cool stuff she saw on the surface. (G'raha's ears poke up when Arsay mentioned the allagan ruins lol) As Y'shtola predicted, the bed was a bit cramped with the three of them in there but Arsay did not care about being squished ahaha. Just as they all finally settled into comfortable positions, there's one final knock on Arsay's door. Before G'raha or Y'shtola could object, Arsay had already leapt out of bed to answer. Estinien

It is incredibly funny to me that Estinien and Arsay get along as well as they do. They are the definition of a "tall grump and short ball 'o sunshine" duo lol. As he said in his version of these cutscenes, there is a whole lot of mutual respect in their friendship. They are also leading members of the "we are so proud of Alphinaud all the time" squad so that helps.

Anyways I wouldn't change a single thing about Estinien's cutscene; only when he barges into the room and says that "If anyone asks, I wasn't here" line: just before he jumps out the window, he turns to G'raha and Y'shtola who are plainly in the bed right beside the window and says something like "That goes for you two as well." and leaps. He is not even surprised that both of them were there to begin with. -- With that, Arsay made her way back to bed as Y'shtola lightly scolded her for prolonging their much needed sleep. "A hero should always answer the knocking of a door, no matter how late; for there might be someone in need on the other side!", Arsay retorted back in a playful tone. She ensured to close the window this time before nestling herself into the sliver of open space she had for herself on the bed. "She does make a fair point," G'raha agreed with a short laugh, "one cannot easily predict the adventures that await beyond closed doors." "Exactly! I knew you would understand Raha." Arsay, now fully settled in, gave him a quick peck. "But what Shtola said is fair, I'll not keep you two up any longer." She turned her neck to the other side to face the seeker in question and was met with a swift kiss. "Finally you say something of reason." Y'shtola responded, her smirk carried through in her tone of voice. "Now, sleep." Arsay let out a sweet sigh as she pointed her gaze towards the ceiling. "Good night you two." "Good night, my love. Sleep well, Y'shtola" "Good night, Arsay. You as well, G'raha"

At long last, Arsay closes her eyes and lets a blissful sleep between her two beloveds take her.

no words just them smiling at Arsay before bed

and Arsay smiling back :)

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2022

//ffxivwrite info//prompt list//character info//master post//

Prompt three: Temper | noun a person's state of mind seen in terms of their being angry or calm. Word count: 1162 Characters: Syren Ligeia, Estinien Varlineau (Wol x Estinien) CW: mild language (in Eorzean terms), some very mild and safe spiciness action, and implications at the end. Notes: A direct follow-up to prompt one, because I couldn't resist. >3 If you want some music for this one, this song was the main inspiration as I wrote this!

A cold wind whipped through his hair the moment he stepped out into the empty courtyard. Under normal circumstances, the chill wouldn't bother Syren, but this was the first time he’d been home to Ishgard since his hair was chopped short and he found himself shivering. Even so, the Viera was still too busy fuming about Estinien running away from him again to even consider turning back to grab his jacket, plus he refused to return to the room after having made quite the spectacle of himself in front of Aymeric. He made a mental note to apologize to him after all was said and done. Right now, his focus was on finding Estinien.

Syren always knew exactly where to find him and sure enough, he rounded the corner toward the Forgotten Knight and spotted the Elezen’s tall silhouette in the distance. Estinien was leaning up against the wall near the hunting board, arms crossed and gazing idly at the people who quickly hurried by to retreat inside from the oncoming blizzard. Seeing him act so casually only added fuel to the fire and Syren made a beeline for the other. 

“I can’t believe you,” Syren grounded out as he drew nearer. Estinien straightened up, a look of surprise drawing on his face as he turned to the Viera. “After everything we talked about, you just take off?!” He stopped short in front of the Elezen, arms crossed with a piercing glare. 

“In my defense, you were knocked out cold,” Estinien began slowly as he tried to read the situation. “I wasn’t sure if or when you’d awaken so I thought it best to just leave.” 

“Bullshite,” Syren retorted hotly. “You’re just up to your old habits of sticking around until Aymeric comes to find you and tell you everything is alright. You didn’t want to see me, was that it?!” Estinien remained silent, his expression passive which only caused Syren’s temper to rise even more. “I thought we finally got past this part. I thought we could start again but here you are, still avoiding me like nothing happened. What do you hope to achieve by doing this? Why are you constantly running away?”

With each question that spilled from Syren’s mouth, he felt his heart rate increase and his face grow hot with anger. He uncrossed his arms and balled his hands into fists, words pouring out of him with no control. Everything he had bottled inside came spilling out and he couldn’t tell what Estinien was thinking through all of this, only that it felt good to finally get it all off his chest. After what felt like an eternity but was only a few minutes, Syren grew silent, panting from the exertion, his temper dying down somewhat. 

Estinien drew a breath, choosing his words carefully. “...I wasn’t sure how you felt about me after everything I had done,” he began quietly. “I was so consumed by one thing that I completely ignored everything else around me. Important things. Like you. I didn’t want to hurt you anymore than I already had.” He paused again, and Syren felt his cheeks burn, his frustration flaring up again. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t want to see me again so I chose the best path for us both.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Syren asked quietly but loud enough for Estinien to hear. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting Estinien to say, but it wasn’t this. He swallowed a lump in his throat before drawing a shaky breath. “You know, after everything you did, I thought I could never forgive you, and I tried so hard to forget about you. But I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried, you were everywhere I went. You were all I thought about. When we had a moment to talk after the Dragonsong War, I found that I had forgiven you the whole time, and I blindly thought we were finally on the same page again…but maybe I was wrong.” He stopped, his stomach in knots. “I should go. I’ve wasted enough time.”

Syren turned to leave but Estinien grabbed his hand, tugging him back. “You cut your hair.” He stated it so simply as if the Viera hadn’t been yelling at him moments before. 

Irritated by the sudden shift in topic, Syren let out a huff as he replied, “Not by choice.” He turned to face the other, his glare still holding fast as he tugged his hand away. “That’s not important right now and don’t think I’ll soon forget why–” But the rest of his words died in his throat as Estinien stepped closer to reach a hand up to stroke through Syren’s hair, his fingers just grazing his jaw as he pulled the edges to his lips to kiss. 

“You look even more ravishing than before.” 

Something deep inside of Syren snapped and he found any sort of willpower completely lost as he was suddenly rushing in to close the gap between them. He raised his heels up ever so slightly as he wrapped his arms around Estinien’s neck and surged forward, eagerly meeting his own lips to Estinien’s, his head spinning.

Estinien replied in kind, bringing one hand to keep steady on Syren's jaw as he deepened the kiss. His other hand snaked to his back so he could pull the other even closer to him. They continued to explore each other’s lips, mouth, and jawline, their kisses going from slow to fervent until they finally broke apart breathlessly and melted into an embrace.

Syren leaned into Estinien’s touch as he caressed his face, completely calm compared to how he was minutes before. “I didn’t mean to avoid you,” Estinien began softly. “I did what I thought was best at the time because I still loved you.” 

Syren felt his breath catch in his throat. “Do you still now?” he asked, looking up and searching Estinien’s eyes. “Love me that is?”

Without missing a beat, Estinien replied softly, “I do.” Syren felt a warmth blossom in his chest, his heart threatening to burst. This is what he had hoped to hear since the beginning and the words replayed in his mind over and over again. “I love you Sy. I always have, and I always will.” 

“Gods, how I waited to hear that,” Syren reached up to grab Estinien into another soft kiss. “I love you too.” He pulled away, a playful look of sternness crossing his features. “Don’t think this gets you free of me being mad at you for acting like a fool,” he began. “Once I bring the Scions home, I’ll be giving you a piece of my mind, so don’t you dare try to avoid me.” 

Estinien chuckled and touched his forehead to Syren’s. “And maybe a piece of that arse too?”

Syren rolled his eyes but nodded. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

Estinien smirked. “I’ll look forward to it then.”