#c: emet selch

[rose-from-ashes]

I plan to draw this but I gposed it first for clothes reference mostly and LMAO THEIR HEIGHTS ARENT EVEN EDITED... GOD

[ayakamizu]

FFXIV Write 2024 Day 21 - Shade

Shade: Noun. A specter or ghost. Characters: Emet-Selch, others mentioned Expansion: Shadowbringers Rating: G Notes: Diving into Emet's POV for this one! Spoilers for Shadowbringers and bits of Endwalker applies. Referenced EmetAzem (tfw you're getting haunted by your sort of ex-wife).

Being around the Warrior of Light is… difficult.

Hydaelyn’s Champion, a hero of great renown, and the bearer of a soul so familiar it made Emet-Selch flinch the first time he sensed it. Anger, disgust, and longing roared within him at the sight of that specific hue.

In moments of weakness, he wondered if his memory of her had started to become faulty. Some nights, as he laid next to his mortal wives, he dreamed of her—the way her long, dark hair rested against her back and the secretive curl of her lips as she conspired with Hythlodaeus. Her voice rang clear in his mind even if the exact shade of her eyes started to fade from his memory.

Unlike Hythlodaeus, there was no ghost of her to wander the streets of Amaurot’s shade. In a fit of rage, he denied himself the option. Now he regretted it, if only because the Warrior of Light’s appearance made him question everything he thought he knew. It would have been easier to remake her when the memory was fresh—like Hythlodaeus—instead of looking and wondering and questioning.

‘You would appear like this at the cusp of my victory,’ Emet-Selch thought. ‘Just as dramatic as your husband, despite your claims otherwise.’

“I never claimed otherwise,” He could hear her tease, a playful bop to his nose just because she could. Hythlodaeus would be nearby, trying to hide his amusement at her affection while Emet-Selch would scowl. “You needed more of a challenge, dear. You shouldn’t expect things to always go your way.”

She wouldn’t be apologetic about it; she opposed the plan to summon Zodiark after all. It had been the cause of their last argument before Emet-Selch woke the next morning and found her gone.

She haunted his every step this journey—why not more plainly at the end?

[rose-from-ashes]

@amaurotine

[megsdoodletag]

the people have spoken so here we go

my idea for pre-mothening morty is a guy who would probably be one of the bigger brothers if he didn't have Shrimp Posture and wasn't also starved to hell. extensive vivisection scars.

Mothman morty can take his respirator off, the filters are actually these weird false eyes over a moth mouth that replace his lower jaw. He can talk fine it just looks funky. There's a permanent indent where the respirator seal usually sits; he doesn't remove it often. He does have moth ears, they're under the hood.

Bonus: Mortarion is the second uncle Juno meets. She gets sniffly and g-man freaks and calls Guy Who Knows About Diseases (it is a Common Cold. Morty is not happy about being woken up for this. he's like call me in four years when she needs her vaccinations and then stomps back home.)

Mortarion has very little interest in her which makes him relatively safe. Juno thinks he's Neat because she is partial to psykers and people related to dad, and he hasn't found a reason to terrify her out of her curiosity yet. Babies are basically like nurglings anyway, right?

@justeverythingnothingelse

[ectojyunk]

Exarch... Why are the Exarchic weapons white crystal?

[sheeshiki]

4. Nightmare

#WtSaA

The city hums. And there they linger, lost, silent, still. In a timeless haze, her heart grows heavy, bound by nightmare.

In Amaurot’s forgotten glow, their shadows meet, yet never know.

[rose-from-ashes]

*stepping over my own corpse* sorry about that. it's nice to meet you. yeah don't worry about it, it'll despawn in a few minutes.

[thefreelanceangel]

[lululeighsworld]

SMASHING MY FISTS ON MY DESK WHILE SOBBING

[rose-from-ashes]

[rose-from-ashes]

@dysloyalty

Aemond simping for Helaena #6748572 (based on Alessandro Puttinati’s Paolo e Virginia)

[ayakamizu]

[Fic] Thrown Off Balance

Title: Thrown Off Balance

Rating: Gen

Summary: Originally written for FFXIV Writes 2021 - Fluster. Also found on ao3!

flust·er:make (someone) agitated or confused.

Five times someone made Ayaka flustered and the one time she made someone feel flustered instead.

1.

“So, dear,” her mother begins, a gentle smile on her face and a twinkle in her eyes that Ayaka knows is going to mean trouble. “That boy down the street…?”

“Mother…” Ayaka groans, already feeling her face heating up.

“He’s so sweet with you!” Her mother exclaims, unbridled joy in her voice. “I think he’d make a good match for you when you’re older…”

Feeling agitated, Ayaka huffed and looked away from her mother, causing the older woman to laugh behind her hand. “It’s really not like that… And I’m only fifteen! Marriage won’t be for a long time…”

“Not if Hiroshi keeps giving you sweets from his parents’ shop,” Kairyuu mutters, walking past the dining room with a smirk on his face.

Her mother perks up, utterly delighted by this news. “See!”

“Kairyuu,” she growls, glaring daggers at him. Unfortunately, the younger boy just shrugs it off and begins his trek back to the kitchen. She could feel the satisfaction rolling off of him from here.

Younger brothers. They can be so annoying--

“Perhaps we should invite him and his parents over…” Her mother murmurs, startling Ayaka. “I’ll need to buy the necessary ingredients, of course… Oh, but what to make?”

“Mother!”

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2.

“You really are a natural!” the soldier praised, nodding at her form. “Most newbies aren’t this good at magic until a lot later!”

“It’s really nothing,” Ayaka insisted, looking towards the campfire. She felt her cheeks begin to heat up, feeling embarrassed by the praise. “The masters at the Thaumaturge’s Guild are the ones that deserve the praise.”

“Nonsense, lass!” Another soldier called out, coming to sit down next to his companion. “You’ve got all the makings of becoming an expert like those Lalafell back in Ul’dah!”

“Oh, knock it off,” another -- the only other woman in the group -- said, shoving the man’s shoulder. “You’re embarrassing the poor girl.”

“I’m just not used to the praise,” Ayaka clarified. She knew her face was likely red by now, but the darkness around them and the soft glow of the fire helped hide it. “After all, I’m just an adventurer…”

“Well, you’re a mighty fine one at that!” The first soldier said, stretching his arms into the air. “We would’ve been in a real pinch if you hadn’t shown up with your magic.”

“Yes, thank you for the assistance,” the woman agreed, flashing Ayaka a kind smile. “If there’s anything we can do to help you…”

“If you can point me in the direction to the nearest settlement, that would be wonderful,” she answered, a weary smile on her face. “I’m afraid I got a little lost at some point…”

“Of course, we’d be happy to help our little savior!” The second soldier exclaimed, earning another shove from the woman. “Hey!”

Rolling her eyes, the woman returned her attention back to Ayaka, giving her an apologetic look. “If you have a map, we’ll be able to help you figure out your way to Drybones. It should be somewhere that way…”

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3.

When Haurchefant pulls away, lips a breath apart, Ayaka knows her face must be a deep shade of red.

Herfirstkiss. WithHaurchefant.

“Your face is a lovely shade of red, my dear,” he teased, a slight smirk on his face. “My, my! Did I steal your first kiss?”

“Maybe,” Ayaka answered, voice barely a whisper.

“Well! If I had known that, I would have chosen a much more romantic setting!” He exclaimed, pouting a little. It made Ayaka giggle, feeling younger than her twenty-three years. Like she was back in Kugane and trying very hard to keep a straight face around the boy she (and every other girl her age) fancied.

Besides, for all his dramatics right now, Ayaka could see the satisfied gleam in his eyes knowing he was her first.

“And what might that entail?” she asked, feeling a little bold under Haurchefant’s interested gaze. “This more ‘romantic setting’ of yours?”

“Hmm…” Haurchefant hummed, tapping his chin in a playful manner. She laughed under her breath, thoroughly endeared by the exaggerated gesture. “Well, a nice candlelit dinner back at the Fortemps Manor for starters. A nice, quiet, and intimate affair…” He trailed off, bringing his arms around her waist. “And afterwards, I would have you come with me to visit some of the gardens around Ishgard, perhaps even present a lovely rose to you at some point as well… A fitting flower for a beautiful red mage such as yourself.”

“Haurchefant…” Ayaka murmured, face flushing even more. He laughed, sounding delighted. “That sounds really lovely… Perhaps, you’d ought to make it a reality?”

Haurchefant looked shocked for a moment, perhaps at her sudden boldness despite the blush on her face, before his expression turned into a soft smile. He grabbed her hand, lips grazing the back of it. Barely a kiss, but a tease nevertheless. “When my dearest love isn’t busy running around helping people, perhaps I’ll take you up on that offer.”

She nodded, sharing a smile with him as he took her hand in his and led them down the path towards the Fortemps Manor.

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4.

“Ah, that was a nice sparring match!” Lyse exclaimed, stretching her arms towards the sky. She had a satisfied look on her face, a rejuvenated glow to her. “Thanks for indulging me, Ayaka!”

“Of course,” Ayaka responded, a pleasant ache to her own muscles that spoke to a solid sparring match. “We should try this again soon.”

“Definitely!” Lyse agreed, plopping down on the ground. She started fanning herself with her free hand. “I haven’t worked up this much of a sweat in ages!”

Indeed, Ayaka would feel the sweat rolling down her back and forehead. She regretted not dressing lighter, feeling a little envious of Lyse’s decision to wear a sleeveless jacket and shorts on their journey through Gyr Abania.

It was at that moment Ayaka looked up, about to tell Lyse the same, when she felt her mouth dry all of the sudden.

Lyse had taken her jacket off at some point, leaving her in her cropped top and shorts. Her head was tilted back, allowing Ayaka a clear view of the other woman’s long neck. Her eyes were trained on the beat of sweat that was trailing down it, getting closer and closer to…

She coughed, a dry sound that made her wince, and looked away. Ayaka felt her face heat up, praying the other woman didn't notice the blush creeping up on her face.

“Are you alright?” Lyse asked, eyes wide. “That cough didn’t sound too good! Oh, I hope I didn’t rapture anything when I landed that one hit…”

“No, no!” Ayaka reassured, putting her hands up to soothe Lyse’s worry. “I’m alright, I’m just feeling a little…”

“Thirsty,” Alisaie finished, coming over to the duo with their flasks refilled with water. “You should remember to stay hydrated! Especially if you’re going to be sparring like this more often.”

“Right, of course,” Ayaka agreed, taking a long sip of her water. “You’re right, Alisaie. Thank you for the reminder.”

“Well someone has to keep you two from overdoing it!” The younger woman exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips. Despite how serious she tried to look, Ayaka could see the playfulness in her gaze and body language.

From behind her, Lyse laughed and soon all three of them were as well.

It was a nice feeling, Ayaka thought, discreetly looking towards Lyse and smiling at the other’s joy. It was a feeling she hadn’t felt for a while now…

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5.

“Well now, hero,” Emet-Selch began, leaning over her. “I enjoy a good nap myself, but surely there are better places than the ground to lay on?”

Ayaka groaned, pushing herself off the ground. The tree behind her acted as perfect leverage, aside from providing wonderful shade not that long ago from the endless light above them. “Emet-Selch,” she greeted, eyeing the Ascians suspiciously. “I thought you were keeping to the shadows.”

The man shrugged, looking completely unbothered by her slight hostility. “I was, but then I noticed you weren’t with your little companions,” The man stated, eyes focused intensely on her. “My curiosity peaked and imagine my surprise when I saw you taking a nap underneath a tree! Hardly a comfortable place to be resting, even if it was just for a moment.”

“So you were worried about me?” She asked, tilting her head in confusion. “Because I’m--”

“Fine, yes, yes,” he interrupted, waving away her words. A practiced gesture, one befitting a man that sat on a throne and commanded thousands as an emperor. “Still, if you want a place to rest, I know a few treetops that are much more comfortable…”

Unwittingly, she felt her heart skip a beat at the suggestion. It rattled her how easily this man got underneath her skin…

‘You’re playing a dangerous game, Ayaka,’she thought, closing her eyes for a moment so she wouldn’t have to see the Ascian’s face.

She had seen what Solus zos Galvus had looked like later on in life, whether it be through paintings hung inside imperial strongholds or from the histories written about the founding of the Garlean Empire. Vaguely, she wondered how such a handsome man in his youth could have turned out looking so…

It agitated her, how easily he got her attention without even trying. Confused her as well. This man was her enemy after all, on the same level as Lahabrea and Elidibus. She shouldn’t be feeling any type of way about him that wasn’t pure contempt and suspicion.

“Do let me know if you’d like to take me up on my offer,” Emet-Selch said, voice interrupting her thoughts. When she met his eyes, there was a slight smugness to his smile, like he had just won some sort of game. “I’ll be watching, after all.”

With a bow (ever the dramatic, fitting for a man that sponsored the art, even when they criticized him and his rule), he disappeared into a dark portal, teleporting away from her and the confusing thoughts swirling around her head.

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+ 1.

It wasn’t everyday the Scions were given a moment of reprieve. With the constant threat of the Garlean Empire and Fandaniel’s mad plan, it felt like there wasn’t a moment to lose before the second-coming of the Final Days were upon them.

“Which is why you all need a mini vacation!” Tataru explained, a determined look on her face. “And what better time than the Moonfaire!”

Unable to disway Tataru, the group had found themselves in Costa del Sol with explicit instructions from the pink-haired Lalafell not to come back for the next couple of days. Ayaka wasn’t sure what she told the others to get them to agree, but it must’ve been a good enough promise (or, in Estinien’s case, another bit of blackmail hung over his head) to work.

“I can’t recall the last time I went to the beach,” G’raha said, walking with her towards the changing rooms. “Perhaps we can try collecting some seashells or taking a walk later…?”

Ayaka smiled, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I would love that,” she answered, giggling at the happy flicker of G’raha’s tail and ears. “I’ll meet you closer to the shore, if that’s alright?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed, moving towards the men’s dressing room. “I’ll see you soon, my love!”

Taking a deep breath as she closed the door behind her, Ayaka pulled out the swimsuit she bought for just such an occasion. Originally, she planned on wearing a pair of jeans and perhaps a short top to go with it, but Tataru managed to corner her before she and the others departed.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I managed to make this for you. I still have your measurements, so hopefully it fits perfectly!” Tataru explained, giving Ayaka a conspiratory wink. “I’m sure it’ll knock a certain someone off their feet!”

Now that she had an opportunity to look at the red striped swimsuit better, Ayaka could tell Tataru had done a great job once again. There was no doubt in her mind that it would fit her perfectly…

Despite the flush beginning to creep onto her face, Ayaka smirked to herself. Oh yes, this would definitely knock a certain someone off their feet…

________________________

From his spot on the beach, G’raha took in the waves as they gently caressed the sand, coming to and from the ocean. Despite the number of people here to take part in the Moonfaire event, G’raha still found this to already be a relaxing experience.

‘Not to mention you get to spend time with Ayaka,’his brain supplied. He smiled at the reminder, utterly excited at the prospect of spending time with his dearly beloved. He knew Ayaka was a fan of the ocean, having grown up in Kugane most certainly helped, so he hoped this would be a pleasant vacation for her as well.

Ever since his reawakening, G’raha and Ayaka had tried to spend as much time together as they could. It was certainly easier here than it was back on the First if his memories of his future self were anything to go by, but the young couple still faced some difficulties. He hoped these next few days would help them grow even closer, further cementing their bond.

He could already picture it! Walking down the beach together, eating meals underneath the stars, perhaps finding some time to cuddle together at night as well…

“Oh G’raha!” He heard, ears flicking in the direction of the voice. He knew it well, of course, for it rang in his dreams during his endless slumber and during those tumultuous moments back on the First.

“Over here, my love!” He exclaimed, turning around to wave her in his direction--

He choked a little, mouth going dry.

Before him stood his dear Warrior of Light, dressed in a striped swimsuit that hugged her hips and showed off her beautiful scales to his eyes. Truthfully, he was so used to her dressing modestly that the sight of all that skin…

He felt his face heat up and he knew it wasn’t from the summer sun beating down on him.

She stopped in front of him, tilting her head to the side. “Are you alright?” she asked, looking both concerned and amused at his flushed face. “You look a little…”

“I’m fine!” G’raha blurted, eyes wide as he averted his gaze away from the swell of her breasts that peaked out from the top of her swimsuit. “I’m- I’m completely fine!”

“If you’re sure…” She stated, coming to sit down next to him. Her thighs were touching his and G’raha could feel his face heat up more at the contact. “So, what do you think?”

“Think of what?”

“My swimsuit!” Ayaka exclaimed, gesturing to her body with her hands. “Tataru made it for me.”

“I-It looks lovely on you,” he answered, making a note to thank Tataru later. “Truly, it suits you quite well, my love.”

“Thank you, Raha,” she said, her sweet voice matching the smile on her face. She took his hand then, scooting even closer to her and resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad you like it. I wanted it to be a surprise for you.”

“Well, call me surprised,” G’raha chuckled, earning a laugh from the Auri woman as well.

They sat in comfortable silence, tails intertwining as they looked out towards the ocean.

Indeed, G’raha was going to have to thank Tataru later. Not only for suggesting the vacation, but also for making Ayaka a new swimsuit as well…

[fistsoflightning]

servant of death

ffxivwrite2023 05: BARBAROUS mercilessly harsh or cruel

lumelle’s having a really bad day. sorry. that’s on me. lumelle & emet-selch. 3401 wc.

i’m not sure how to warn for this, exactly? but CW for discussion & most of the actual task for what the carers for end-of-life patients at the inn do. i don’t think it’s worse than the SHB MSQ alisaie side but. yanno.

He was back again. Much to Lumelle’s personal dismay, he always seemed to appear whenever Alisaie left her side to go on patrol, which made it impossible to fully convince Alisaie of the presence of an Ascian—a Paragon—this close to the crystallized Flood of Light. At least he didn’t seem interested in doing harm to anything other than Lumelle’s sanity, and at least his presence here in the kitchen meant he wasn’t off harassing A’dewah in the carer’s dormitory.

Lumelle took a deep breath, and looked away from Emet-Selch sitting on the kitchen counter beside her cutting board as if he were Elwin and not a full-grown man in a hoity-toity, heat-trapping robe.

“Get off the counter before I decide to chop off your fingers and use them as eater bait tomorrow,” she said evenly, gripping the bone handle of the knife in her hands tight as she continued to cut up the last harcot for the topping.

“So barbaric,” Emet-Selch sneered, but he did get off the counter, if only to loom over Lumelle as she continued her work. Lumelle had never particularly begrudged her Elezen-typical growth spurt not happening on time or quickly—even now she was only a few ilms taller than she was two years ago—except for when he did that just because he knew she hated it. “And even beyond your propensity to threaten violence and enact it, you seek to kill your friends before they become foe. Hardly becoming behavior for a hero such as yourself.”

“Whatever, Solus.” Lumelle took the biggest chunks of the harcot that didn’t look mangled and set them aside on a plate—the rest she stuffed into her mouth and chewed angrily before she wiped off her hands and turned to pry open the lid of icebox. The rule she had set for herself repeated in her head: don’t let the Ascian win. He wants you to flip out.

Emet-Selch didn’t seemed so easily deterred today—or was it tonight? His shadow fell over her as she got the heavy, ill-fitting lid off the icebox and pulled out the chilled jelly with its accompanying jar of lemonette syrup. “I thought you would leave the dubious honor of such dirty work like cooking to your fellows. That Hume girl, if not your precious Scion. Feeling guilty, mayhap?”

She swallowed some of the harcot—made a reminder to herself to ask Rhon Ron if he had any more left to sell, because these were really good—and looked up at him. “You’re in my way. If you really want to observe, get out of the kitchen.”

His face twisted lightly with—disgust, maybe? Lumelle couldn’t really tell; he looked at everything like that, save maybe when Lumelle caught flashes of him watching her cut through swathes of sin eaters, sitting bored in the distance with a stare sharper than any blade. Whatever it was, it was only there for a fleeting moment before he moved towards the kitchen doorway and said, “Do finish chewing before you say anything else. I have the time.”

“My etiquette teachers would say the same,” she said, mouth still half-full. Don’t bow your head; keep breathing normally. She put the lid back on the icebox, hoping whoever needed it next would be able to get it open, set the jelly and the jar to the counter, and then pulled out the key to the locked drawer she’d borrowed from Tesleen. “I used to listen to them—when I was seven.”

Emet-Selch scoffed. “And how long ago was that, three years?”

Lumelle snorted—she might have been angrier, if she’d not spent most of her childhood expected to hold herself in a manner befitting a full-grown lady of the house and now found being childish almost refreshing at times—and stuck out her tongue at him with her smile oddly stretched from the lump of harcot she was holding in her cheek. The petty joy of getting someone incomprehensibly ancient to stoop to arguing with her was about the biggest win she was going to get out of parleying with Emet-Selch.

“Still here?” she asked, twirling the key on her finger. Usually Emet-Selch would scoff and disappear back into the aether after Lumelle got him to stoop to playing along with her conversation instead of whatever he wanted.

Not now, though.

Emet-Selch snapped his fingers, and a chair appeared beside the doorway for him to sit in, crossing one leg over the other. “Of course,” he said, that perfectly-rehearsed smile that reminded Lumelle of the lords and ladies back home settling onto his face. “I meant what I said—I have plenty of time to chat. It’s not as if you Scions have made any dent in my plans, and at the moment I find this part of the ruined star particularly intriguing to watch.”

Lumelle swallowed the rest of the harcot to keep from frowning. She didn’t want Emet-Selch to see the contents of the carer’s kitchen drawer, but she had little choice in the matter; he really was intent on seeing this part of Lumelle’s misery through.

She should have just stabbed him when he approached her after that cursed sin eater hunt, no white auracite be damned.

Unlike everything else in the Inn’s kitchen, this drawer still worked almost as well as the day it was built. She slid the key into the lock and turned it without needing to use her strength like earlier with the icebox, and opened the drawer to see the contents split evenly between the carer’s stock. The glass bottles clattered with the movement, some rolling around freely. Lumelle’s eyes drifted to the folded piece of paper underneath the vials on her right.

She reached in and pulled it out. Unfolded it.

Dosage suggestions based on food type, amount, & patient body weight.

“And lo, the valiant knight turns her blade against those she swore to protect.” Emet-Selch sounded so damn smug, narrating from his shitty little chair; maybe he’d done it before from his throne in Garlemald. Lumelle wanted nothing more than to get her sword and pin him to it through the stomach. “Mayhap a situation not so unfamiliar. I recall Ishgard determining her heretics based on a whim quite often.”

Lumelle bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood, the juice from the harcot still sticky on her tongue making it sting. “I never swore anything. Stop talking so loud,” she grit out. Which carer wrote this? They had the smallest handwriting Lumelle had ever seen, so teensy she almost felt the need to squint to read it. In liquids & syrups, one-fourth jar, 100 to 115 po—

Emet-Selch kept talking at her. “An oathless knight. How pitiful. Even the knights of Voeburt at least had some civility and honor about them,” he said. “Though I suppose what little honor you had left you over a moon ago.”

“I’ll show you honor,” she muttered, wrinkling the slightly-yellowed paper between her fingers from how hard she was pressing them together. She hated this—she hated him. What did she ever—why did it have to be—why couldn’t he just go bother—

Lumelle rubbed her eyes hard with her free hand when the letters on the page blurred and tried to hide the moisture on her wrist, pretending it was irritation from the light sandstorm. No. This was fine. An Ascian? Psh. He could be doing this to A’dewah, and then she’d feel so much worse. He could be in the Crystarium with Elwin and she wouldn’t even know, but he was here.

She could be making lemon waffles instead of jellied harcot. She could be standing over a grave wondering how she was ever going to look at Alphinaud ever again. Maybe she was still really mad at her, but at least she was here. At least she could still—

I was fine! You should have stuck to the plan! Do you not trust me?!

“Having second thoughts?”

“About thinking you had anything important to say, ever? Oh, sure,” Lumelle snarked, reaching into the drawer for the right bottle only to pause when the glass frosted over near where her fingers were. After a moment she grabbed it anyway, barely feeling the glass in her palm, and hooked the ring of measuring spoons on her pinky before she shut the drawer with her hip.

“Please,” Emet-Selch drawled, his voice practically dripping with venom. Lumelle wondered, briefly, how Urianger’s research into making white auracite with Il Mheg’s prismstone was going. “Everything I say and have said is naught but the unvarnished truth.”

That was what Lumelle hated the most. She took one last look at the chart before she folded it back up, looked straight at him, and said, “It’s certainly not winning you any points with me. Would it kill you to be kinder about it?”

As those last few words left her mouth, she knew at once that she’d fucked up.

“Hah. Kinder, like you believe yourself to be?” Emet-Selch gestured to his side, hand waving through the doorway and down the hall leading to the patient’s ward. “A sugary lie will not suddenly make you a hero, nor stop the Light’s work. You chose to leave the girl’s side. You chose to abandon the plot laid out by your dear. You chose to leave her like this—allowed her the long defeat of transformation rather than swift mercy at your hand. And now you will prove yourself cruel yet again—at her weakest, you will deliver her poison and end her. What kindness could ever reach something as awful as you?”

Her vision blurred again as she looked down at the counter before her, where she put the vial of poison and the measuring spoons. In her mind, she knew she couldn’t take anything he said to heart, that he only wanted to hurt her for whatever dark purpose he was here for. He had done it before, out on the sands when she’d stayed behind to make sure the horde would stay away, and Lumelle had let him. She had let him now, too. She thought she was ready for it this time.

It hurt more than the force of that dhruva-shaped sin eater’s crystals slamming into her when she’d chosen to protect Alisaie over Tista-Rae; the hurt swallowed her, so large and there that she couldn’t decide whether to get angry and scream and rage or cry or curl up into a ball about it before she was there again.

The hunt.

The Inn at Journey’s Head was essentially a field hospital. Lumelle had followed Alisaie here after the Exarch brought them and Elwin across the rift, and she’d known by the end of their first day that they wouldn’t hold up against any real force. She’d heard of bigger Ishgardian encampments getting burned to the ground by hordes of aevis and diresaurs and biasts before anyone could call for the Knights Dragoon, and they didn’t make new dragons every time they killed. She and Alisaie could do some real damage, especially with A’dewah there to back them up, and some of the carers knew the basics and acted as guards—but the sin eaters. The hordes they would hear about, sometimes, at Mord Souq when they were getting groceries.

Lumelle might have been raised in Ishgard and faced off her own hordes for her city, sure. This world still found new ways to scare her.

Tista-Rae had smiled and told her to keep her chin up. To keep doing what she was doing, culling as many sin eaters as she could on patrol with Alisaie. She’d come from the Crystarium when Lumelle had written a strongly worded request to the Exarch with a few others and said she’d get the carers swinging swords like Lumelle in no time. She’d even made time in her day to help the patients get more active, fighting off that plastery stiffness awaiting them the only way she knew how.

They still weren’t ready, when it was clear they had to go hunt the largest group down. There were so many.

In the sea of white-white-white, Lumelle didn’t have the time to figure out which sin eaters were the really bad ones, the ones that could turn people, which meant she was just cutting through as many as she could. She was sweating through the scarf tied over her face to keep the dust and ichor from getting in her lungs, her mouth. Someone was screaming. Their line had been pushed back to forty yalms from the Inn. Tista-Rae and the Crystarium dispatch were fighting with her, in the center of it; her sword was almost glowing full white and dripping when she looked over her shoulder back to A’dewah and Alisaie.

She didn’t even remember what she saw, what was happening, if Alisaie was actually in as much danger as Lumelle thought—only that she felt the panic take her and ran towards them, Tista-Rae shouting her name, and didn’t get her shield up in time to block the crystals. The one that would have hit Alisaie hit her instead. Thank Hydaelyn for the Blessing of Light.

And at the end, after Lumelle had dove back in to finish her job slightly worse for wear, Tista-Rae had ruffled her hair and said, I getcha. Just give a girl a warning next time, hm?

Her arm was bleeding, Lumelle remembered. She’d wrapped it up with a ripped-off piece of her Elven partner’s cape. She wasn’t wearing her Crystarium guard chainmail because she had to send it back for repairs.

She’d been doing well. Tista-Rae had been smiling and laughing and dancing for a week or two after. Lumelle almost believed it.

Then she’d got sick so fast.

The other carers were worried it had been from ichor poisoning, but Lumelle knew. Not how she was okay for so long—but she knew the bandages in the bins were hers, knew her sword hand was her left and not her right even if she was ambidextrous, knew it was—what she could have—!

She came back to herself and chose anger.

Lumelle slammed her hands down on the counter, hearing the spice bottles rattle. Pain lanced up the heels of her hands and up her arms.

“Maybe what I’ve done and haven’t done is cruel. Maybe I’m cruel,” she spat, refusing to look at Emet-Selch again and feeling that same impossible coldfire in her stomach as she did facing the Warriors of Darkness, listening to J’rhoomale speak so easily of poisoning Alisaie and then daring to shoot at Elwin when Lumelle was right there, “but it’s a damn lot kinder to give them a chance to die as themselves rather than sit there, knowing their body will transform painfully and their mind will shatter from the twist, and do nothing but wait to let it happen.”

She waited for Emet-Selch to find his next venomous arrow, for the fire that drove her to drink dragon’s blood to be fed. Waited for the pain to come again.

When the silence kept stretching longer and longer like caramel strings, Lumelle opened up the jar of lemonette syrup—she bent the metal lid in her hand and winced—and measured out the right dose with shaking hands. If he said anything else, she really might do something bad, so maybe it was for the best.

The rest she did feeling distant from herself, every glass and metal thing she touched frosting over; the poison went into the jar, a spoon came out from another drawer, clattered on the jar’s rim as she mixed the contents in a rush. The syrup didn’t look any different as her hands poured it over the jelly already in its dish, and probably didn’t taste any different; the carers said the Crystarium put extra work into making it tasteless for them. Lumelle, knowing Tehra’ir personally, wasn’t as certain, but she didn’t want to think about everyone’s last meal never getting to taste right.

Only when she was putting the harcot slices on the top did she remember Emet-Selch’s unusual quiet.

She looked up again, setting the spoon into the jelly dish with a clatter, and found the Ascian staring blankly up at her… or through her? Whatever Emet-Selch was seeing, it wasn’t her or her anger; he might as well have been on another shard.

She just had to walk through the door and she’d be fifteen steps away from Tista-Rae’s cot, another ten to her longsword, but Lumelle knew better than to turn her back to an enemy—much less an Ascian—unarmed and alone.

“Well? No more ‘truth’ left in you?” Lumelle leaned forward to prop her elbow on the counter to hold up her head, feeling more furious and vitriolic and awful the longer Emet-Selch sat there staring a hole in the side of her head. Something about his face seemed so… wrong. “Say something, damn you. Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

It was as if he suddenly wanted to shatter everything Lumelle knew about him. He opened his mouth, eyes refocusing on her, but no words came. His mouth shut, and his once smug expression now looked like he was angry. Like he had any right to be.

Without so much as another word, he raised his hand, and with a wave he disappeared.

Well. At least she could let her eyes brim over with tears in peace now.

“Damn that bastard. Damn this stupid shard. Damn the Light,” she muttered, sniffling and trying to wipe all her tears away as they came only for them to freeze on her hands. Her anger shoved up against something in her heart and turned into the deep need to curl up in bed and spend the rest of the day crying, but she still had a dessert to deliver. Usually Alisaie or Elwin helped her pull herself back together, but Alisaie was still so mad at her and Elwin didn’t even know how bad a day she’d been having, from the carers telling her it was Tista-Rae’s time to go and Alisaie arguing with her to Emet-fucking-Selch showing his stupid face here.

What was that rhyme Tesleen told her about, again?

Warrior of Darkness, servant of death, take care of our souls at our dying breath...

“Let sinners and eaters of sin go with thee.” Lumelle sniffled a few more times, cringing at how awful her voice sounded now. Did she actually yell earlier? She hoped she didn’t. Elwin always said—he said that she got scary when she yelled now, after the whole thing with the real Warriors of Darkness back home. That turning into a dragon for a little bit might not have actually been for just a little bit. “That all may return to the sunless sea.”

She took another deep breath. Exhaled.

Could a Warrior of Light be gentle about death? Could she?

Her hands were hurting from how cold they were, she realized; she brushed her frozen tears off onto the tiles. There wasn’t really a mirror anywhere in the Inn, as no one wanted any of the patients to accidentally see themselves, panic, and possibly turn, so she’d just have to hope she looked acceptable. Carefully, so she didn’t break anything else today, she picked up the jellied harcot in one hand and walked through the kitchen doorway. Emet-Selch left his little chair—it was actually padded, he’d put that much thought into it—so she grabbed it with her other hand and dragged it with her.

Fifteen steps, and she was by Tista-Rae’s bedside. Her dusty-pink hair was down from her bun, turning white at the roots and the tips, and her eyes struggled to focus on Lumelle when she turned the chair around and sat down next to her.

“Hey,” Lumelle said past the lump in her throat. Her hands and her voice didn’t shake as she watched Tista-Rae smile up at her distantly, nor when Tista-Rae glanced at the chilled glass in Lumelle’s hands and her eyes cleared, just slightly, in realization; she refused to let them. She had to face this with her eyes afraid and awake, even if it hurt. “Sorry I took so long. Are—are you feeling up for dessert?”

[noxtivagus]

i screamed.

[rose-from-ashes]

@capriccio-ffxiv You tempted me. It's happened

It's though being the single dad of everyone on the planet

[cavalera-eternal]

au where jack doesn’t fuck up being a dark knight i think that would be pretty cool