#ch: g'raha tia

[lavampira]

ffxivwrite24: day 11 — surrogate

summary: amidst a lengthy recovery in sharlayan, d'alia awaits the arrival of her adoptive parent. characters: d'alia liveq, d'liveq tia, g'raha tia word count: 1k | rated: T | read on ao3 notes: spoilers for endwalker. d'alia is a cis woman with she/her pronouns and d'liveq is transmasc nb with he/him pronouns.

SURROGATE: one appointed to act in place of another

D’alia sighed at the slow-approaching ship in the harbor, squinting her mismatched eyes at its form beyond Thaliak’s statue and the midday sun as if she could will it to move faster, both eager to see the person aboard and desperate to get this day over with already. Her rosy tail twitched and flitted aimlessly behind her boot-clad thighs. At this rate, she might very well perish from her own anticipation right there on the pristine pavement before it docked.

Or from nerves.

Or both.

She wrapped her arms around herself, though it likely seemed more akin to holding herself together by the seams to anyone watching her, as people often did these days. Her black blouse rolled and pinned at her elbows was too thin and left her tattooed forearms too exposed for the chilly breeze rolling off the sea, but she’d admittedly been too distracted when she’d left her room at the Annex nearly a bell prior. After another shiver rippled through her, a long scarf was draped around her neck, still warm from its previous wearer.

Glancing at the shorter man beside her, D’alia smiled. “My thanks.”

“Well, I simply couldn’t allow you to catch some illness and wind up at the chirugeons again under my watch, could I?” G’raha teased.

The smile turned as she scrunched her nose. “I’m under watch, am I?”

“I do believe those were your precise words when you asked me to accompany you.”

“Aye, well, I suppose you never know what sort of godsdamned trouble can be found on the way to the harbor. ‘Tis me, after all.”

A soft laugh bubbled out of him, deep and low, temporarily putting her at ease in its familiarity. But as the ship finally docked in its assigned spot, her entire body thrummed with restlessness all over again. She shifted to run a hand through her hair, but where the thick waves had once been, she only met air, as it now ended at her chin. She frowned, opting to fuss with G’raha’s scarf around her neck instead.

“I could stay, if you wish,” G’raha quietly offered, his red tail lashing behind him as he wrung his hands.

And he would, D’alia knew without a doubt. His responsibilities had piled high since agreeing to help the Baldesion students, and though his daily schedule was often so packed that she wondered when he even grabbed a wink of sleep, he still made time for her, even if that meant sneaking in various texts from the Noumenon along with contraband lunch beneath the chirugeons’ noses to save her from the atrocious meals alone as he read at her bedside. Or now that she’d been discharged, meeting her at the Last Stand for a bell or two before returning to his duties.

“You’ve been stuck by my side for two moons,” D’alia returned, and before he could protest with a gently insistent tangent that stuck is far from what he’d use for keeping her company through her recovery, she squeezed his shoulder with a smile. “Enjoy some respite of your own, Raha. All will be well.”

G’raha bobbed his head, his ears twitching. “As you say, my friend. But if you have need of me—”

“Raha.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” He huffed haughtily through another laugh. “That said, Alia, I hope you enjoy your reunion as well.”

A burst of raucous voices carried across the wind, almost as though a dam had broken to unleash the cacophony on the harbor’s stillness, briefly drawing her attention as the passengers finally began to disembark. Sailors and gleaners alike clambered amidst their hauls, preparing the cargo for customs. When she turned back, however, G’raha had already made his way halfway up the dock. She watched his braided red hair vanish into the crowd with another sigh.

‘Twas only her parent. She’d last seen D’liveq before the Scions had left for Sharlayan, and after such a lengthy time apart, she was relieved to finally see him again.

But none of the days she’d spent rehearsing how she’d regale him with what had transpired at the end of the universe could assuage her fears. After all, how could she look him in the eyes and confess that her heart had stopped aboard the Ragnarok, and if not for the sheer determination of her friends and colleagues, she might not have been successfully resuscitated? It had been difficult enough explaining that she was still too weak to travel by aetheryte in her invitation to visit her.

Naught else to do but face it, she supposed.

D’alia weaved through the throngs of bodies and cargo towards the ship that she’d secured passage for him. She spotted him with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder and documentation in hand that he used to shield his eyes, scanning the area around him gilded in sunlight as she approached. His shaggy hair was peppered in silver amidst the black at his temples and tied loosely out of his face, and his brown skin had more creases now than she recalled, but otherwise the sight of him made her chest feel too tight and too full like it could burst.

Recognition passed over his face only a moment before she collided with him. She didn’t even remember closing the distance, only that she was suddenly enveloped in his thick arms as he dropped his bag, throwing her own around his neck even though she had a few ilms on him, too. Nuzzling into his shoulder, she could still smell the salt of the sea, warm leather, and herbs of his favored tea clinging to him, and she let her eyes flutter shut to absorb it.

“‘Tis good to see you, kid,” D’liveq rasped in her ear, nudging his head against hers.

Any rehearsed speech fell by the wayside. All at once, she was the savior of the star at three and thirty so unsure of the next steps in her path, and the tearful girl who he had accepted as his own daughter at five when his dearest friends had passed, and she was home.

[queensbrother]

FFXIVWrite | 7. Morsel

[f!wolgraha (gen) | post-ARR/CT era | word count: 420 | Rating: G]

“Archon loaf,” she muses, staring at the dense slice of bread before her. At least, it looks like bread and smells like bread, but the look on G’raha’s face is more than enough to give her pause. 

“It is something of a staple in Old Sharlayan. Particularly amongst students and scholars,” he says nonchalantly, pushing the bread closer towards her as he urges her to take a bite. “It provided more than enough sustenance when I was studying for my archon marks.” 

Mara squints at him suspiciously, but tears a piece off the corner, examining the morsel up closely before popping it into her mouth. 

It is an assault on her senses. 

The taste is… not good. Besides the slight hint of fish, everything else is so much—  if there is any one word she can think of to sum it up, none comes to mind. It is somehow denser than it looks, a texture so difficult to chew that she imagines that this must be what it’s like to eat clay, and it takes everything not to gag when she tries to swallow it down. 

Mara may have slayed Primals but this small piece of bread was about to bring her down. 

It is unpleasant all around, but she realises G’raha is still watching her expectantly and she steels herself. Trying her best to maintain as neutral expression as possible. 

“And you,” she covers her mouth. She’s still chewing, how is there still so much? Gods, it’s unlike anything she’s ever eaten before, as difficult to describe as it is to swallow. “You would eat this all the time back home?” 

G’raha nods, a smirk tugging at his lips. “All the time.” 

“It’s…” she starts, still chewing. Wondering if there is any way she can describe it without causing offence. 

“Awful?” he offers. 

Mara frowns. 

G’raha can’t help but snicker, “I’m sorry, Mara. It’s supposed to be. ‘Tis true that I did eat it all the time, but your mask is simply not as inscrutable as you’d imagined.”

She could care less that her reaction is so apparent. 

“How?” 

“It is an acquired taste, I’ll admit, given that taste was not something accounted for when it was created. I usually have it in a sandwich. Maybe some rolanberry jam would help to make it more palatable.” 

Finally swallowing the last of the archon loaf, she reaches for the mug he has set aside. “I think it’s a taste I would rather not acquire,” she says, gulping the drink down.

[sangre]

was that fucked up or what

[rivensbane]

FINAL FANTASY XIV ➸ G'RAHA TIA [1/?]

/dote.

[cidhighwiind]

ffxiv pics | [ 13/? ]

g'raha tia

[kingsroad]

❝ be careful! i haven't fed him his lunch yet — 𝙖𝙝𝙝𝙃𝙃 !!! ❞

[galvus]

I knew it.               This star still has secrets to tell.      Take care, my friend.

G’RAHA TIA in FINAL FANTASY XIV: ENDWALKER.

[galadion]

arrived at a party yesterday (titan’s tiki bar @ sargatanas) to find a catfrog harassing g’raha tia and i can’t emphasise how much i love whatever is happening here

[meowww-ffxiv]

a binding rift | ch.2 (m!WoL x G’raha Tia)

"Did you make the sandwiches?"

G'raha's hand pauses where it's been hovering the spines of books on his shelf. It's a minute thing that Seihan wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been paying attention, but he was. (He always paid attention.)

read more on Ao3

[lavampira]

“And you, D'alia—I know history will remember you. No doubt your heroism will be the star by which I chart my course when I awake.”

[sangre]

my baby here on earth showed me what my heart was worth

[rivensbane]

G’RAHA TIA IN THE FINAL FANTASY XIV: ENDWALKER TRAILER

[kingsroad]

I could recognize him by t o u c h alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.

[galvus]

prompt: miss the boat • words: 606 • era: a realm reborn • [ masterpost ] be too slow to take advantage of an opportunity.

Landing with a flutter and a splash in ankle-deep water, Annette’s chocobo found its footing mere feet away from the massive crystal that reached for the sky in the middle of Urth’s Fount. His well-trained claws dug fiercely into the few inches of silt that carpeted the clearing, halting his momentum and keeping Annette steady on his saddle.

Nothing was out of place or changed from the last time they’d moved through the Shroud, from the bob and glow of nearby sprites to the hogs that bordered the spring in hopes of finding improved sustenance. That was, nothing was out of place until she made her way around the width of the crystal to find the corpse of a particularly nasty-looking hog lying in the water.

Sticky red whorls of blood trailed over the surface of the spring from the arrows stuck through its chest. Release looked like a terror to behold on the thing’s face, its last expression a snarl that stuck to its gnarled maw even after death.

The Warrior of Light dropped down into the water.

Hunters did not routinely travel to this part of the Shroud for quarry. They did not often leave their kills behind to rot, either. Some whisper of paranoia between her ears swore that this had been left out for her.

Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck.

Whether it was an ambush or a trap, she would soon find out.

Mere feet away from the twisted corpse of the hog, the question was answered. It was neither an ambush nor a trap, but a landmark to show the woman her failure. The water-blessed ore she expected to find at Urth’s Fount was gone, replaced with a pungent kill by someone whose intent was to mock her. There could be no other reason. And again, moments later, that question was answered, as well.

“It’s a shame that you were so slow,” came a voice from within a rustle of trees. “I would have relished an opportunity to watch you fight!”

Annette set her mouth into an unimpressed line, but rather than rising to the bait, she cocked her head to the side and listened.

After all, the voice was familiar.

“You are looking for the wind-aspected aethersand, too, are you not?”

“Yes,” she called out. “Intend to steal that, too?”

The man behind the voice laughed, and the sound of it was even more familiar.

“Yes!” was his response — an eager little echo that told her all she needed to know. “It’s the Ixal who have the aethersand. You ought to be quick about fetching it!”

The branches of a nearby tree rustled, letting loose a flurry of silver-backed leaves, and then, both the voice and the man it belonged to was gone. The leaves that floated along the clear ripple of the spring was all that remained of him.

She turned from the hog just as Olivier dropped down beside her own his chocobo. His face scrunched in confusion as he raked a hand through his wind-tossed hair.

“The ore?”

Annette passed him up as she hurried to her mount’s side, climbing up onto her chocobo’s worn leather saddle with a grunt.

“We’ve got a thief to deal with,” she said, stroking careful fingertips along the creature’s neck. “He stole what we needed, and it sounds like he’s keen on thieving the wind-aspected stuff, too.”

Weariness wracked through Olivier’s features. He sighed heavily, shoulders sagging.

Annette coaxed her chocobo into flight, hovering just above the ground as she gave Olivier one last look.

“I think it’s G’raha Tia.”

[lavampira]

thought too hard about d’alia originally being from the mor dhona region and one of the first times she really goes back since fleeing the area with her parent is when she meets g’raha and helps with the crystal tower, but also how she’s studied summoning and allagan knowledge, and how g’raha warped time and space to reverse a future in which she’s dead, and her determination to bring him back to the source and wake him from the tower, and gosh if that’s not some sort of fated destiny. boy howdy the narrative potential.

[sangre]

2 some sketches from this weekend + 2 sketches from april 2022 i found laying around lol