#chocobo express

[noxtivagus]

ffxvi im crying!!!!

[cherubfae]

how vocal would the FF guys be in bed?

vocality || {final fantasy x reader}

with Cloud, Zack, Reno, Sephiroth, Noctis, Ignis, Gladio, & Prompto!

tags: smut, nsfw, gn!reader, slight subby nature, established relationships

Cloud

Extremely hyper aware of any noise he makes. Cloud gets pretty embarrassed when slightly higher than normal noises leave his lips, especially when he's moaning. If he's in an especially needy headspace, his soft grunts escalate into breathy whimpers. Voice cracking and small pleas to cum, you swear he's about to cry. He's not always great with expressing himself so he hopes it'll translate more through his actions. How he hides his face into your neck and slams his hips into you. Ever the ass man, his fingers digging into said flesh, gripping you tight as you squeeze around him like a vice.

Zack

Certified Yapper #1! He wants to make sure all parties are doing well and having fun! His cock is pretty thick and knows it can be a stretch, so he's definitely talking through taking it inch by inch. Although is voice is pinched off and quiet, like he's holding his breath until he finally bottoms out inside your little hole. Zack's mind and body is completely turned to putty by your beautiful body alone. He speaks to himself a little, partially out of disbelief that someone could feel this good. The faster he goes, the more frantic his voice gets.

Sephiroth

Pretty quiet! There may be a very soft gasp or grunt, like his words get caught in his throat. It always feels the most divine when he first pushes himself inside of you, pinning your knees to your chest. Breathes a bit heavy through his nose when he's close to cumming. He's certainly heavy on the praise. He's more keen to have you make noise than him. If you ask him nicely, he might indulge in this little fantasy of yours. For you, however? Be as loud or as quiet as you want. He knows the ins and outs of your body and he knows them well. Perhaps better than you in some ways.

Reno

Vocal. He is so fuckin' vocal. From the second he's pushing himself into your tight heat to the moment he's cumming either inside or on you, Reno is loud. He might start off on the quieter side, but the second he starts feeling really good and his mind goes hazy, his hips are snapping into yours and he's loudly gasping and moaning like he's an amateur pornstar. "Ah-- shit---, fuck, gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum, baby~. Take it all, yeah? Take it, take it, take ittttt~"

Noctis

Another one who gets embarrassed by the noises he makes. Sex is an incredibly vulnerable thing and an act he doesn't take lightly. His moans are really soft and pretty, breathy at first but end with a mix of a grunt and a whimper. The more comfortable you two get, the more his embarrassment lessens only a little. Even as the years build of your relationship Noct is gonna be a bit pink-cheeked and shy. He tries his best, really!

Ignis

Relatively quiet-ish. He's really good about checking in, seeing if you're comfortable. He will tell you how good you feel around him whilst out of breath, panting hard like he's in a desert. He can get a little shy with the noises he makes and sometimes gets into his head a little if perhaps you don't think he's making enough noise. He feels so, so, so good-- you make him feel good-- he promises!!! Iggy probably won't change anything but should this insecurity build he may approach the topic and ask if you'd like him to make more noise in bed. If the answer is yes, Ignis won't hold back. Unabashedly letting sinful praise and moans alike fall from his lips like a prayer. He's genuinely praising you, mind half- dumb through the pleasure, blubbering about how fucking delicious you feel taking his cock.

Gladiolus

Can go either way! He's more prone to deep grunts more than your average whimper. Gladio has a lower voice compared to the rest of the Chocobos, so when subby noises fall from his lips, they still aren't the most high pitched. He's more along the lines of 'Most Likely to Growl' during. He likes showing off how strong he is and when something turns him off, it's like a wild wolf has taken over him.

Prompto

Certified Yapper #2! The beloved! Once he's able to get over the initial excitement he's giggling and peppering your face in kisses the second he's trying to wiggle out of his jeans. His breath catches in his throat, his gasps comes out in shudders, and when he gets really desperate he's moaning with frantic 'ah ah ah's. He's also let out a growl or two before! When he's adjusting you above him, his fingers curled into your hips, only to slam you down onto of his dick. :)

|| please don't repost, reuse, or edit my works in any way! I do not give permission. Tumblr is the only site where I post. All characters belong to their rightful owner and the story belongs to me © CHERUBFAE 2024 ||

[drabblesandimagines]

Portrait

Joshua Rosfield x (painter) female reader Commissioned piece, 4,600 words (minor end game spoilers) Thank you so much for the commissioner for commissioning me in the first place and for letting me share here with you all! x

“No, no, no.” You’d swear the woman before you should be stomping her foot along to her words, her mannerisms being similar to those of a petulant child not getting their way.

The Empress of Sanbreque is usually a picture of decorum – carefully composed expression, hands clasped, never a hair out of place nor a wrinkle in her gown – but her façade appears to have cracked for she is scowling at you with clenched fists by her side. “Did you not understand my directions?”

You open your mouth, and quickly shut it again. Your mind is blank on an answer, probably looking foolish as you do so. You look at the portrait you’d unveiled moments ago for her private viewing, trying to see what she’s taken umbrage with, though you’re sure you followed her instructions to the letter.

“Your Grace, I-”

She raises her hand, stopping you before you can even begin a defense.

“It is quite clear that you did not.” Olivier, her three-year-old son and the subject of the portrait, sits at her feet, disturbingly well-behaved for his age, even for one of noble blood and upbringing. His eyes almost seemed lifeless at times – unnervingly so – with a cruel smile that was beyond his years. You’d tried to soften it out, is that what had upset her so?

“His Grace has been most pleased with my previous works.” You’d been brought in under the Empreror’s service first – endless commissions of he and the crown prince to celebrate every momentous occasion over the last few years.   

“His Grace has, yes, but only of Prince Dion.” The way she pronounces Bahamut’s name is as if it leaves a foul taste on her tongue. “But these won’t do at all for my darling Olivier.” She pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation as she casts her eyes over your work once more. You swallow your pride. After all, it is far better to keep in the Empress’ good books than make an enemy of. “I will start anew-” “No – I’ve seen enough. You are dismissed, without pay. Come, Olivier.”

He grabs her hand obediently, but not without throwing you one last cruel smile.

--

Although you knew it would be difficult to remain in the city, you hadn’t expected a group of soldiers to appear at your door that very evening – armed with swords and spears, one holding a scroll of decree and beginning to read to you the moment after your name was confirmed.

“By decree of Empress Anabella Lesage, you are hereby commanded to leave Orinflamme at once.”

“Leave?” You’d planned to move – you knew her handmaidens would make quick work of spreading the gossip of your dismissal, whispering in certain noble ears to make sure the word spread far and wide – but to be banished altogether?

“Leave.” The captain of the guard confirmed, no sign of emotion on his face. “Refusal to comply will be seen as treason, of which the punishment is execution. You are to be gone by sunrise.”

You look around your small abode, trying to work out what you could possibly pack up and take in such a small timeframe – could you scrape enough gil together to rent a chocobo for the travel?

“Furthermore, all of your possessions are now the property of Empire. You may, however, retain the clothes upon your person.” The way in which he says it makes you think that he believes that is being far too generous.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice calls and the crowd of guards splits. Prince Dion Lesage, regaled in the armour of the Dragoons and spear at his side, walks forward with purpose.

“My prince, there is no need to trouble yourself with such matters as these.”

“The Emperor himself requested my presence to make sure the Empress’ wishes are fulfilled. If you will excuse us, I assure you I have it handled from here and you may return to your other duties.” He casts a scathing eye over the seven men. “I doubt this task required this many of you either.”

“Yes, my prince.” The captain replies, tersely, with only a slight bow of his head, but none of the men make to move quite yet.

Dion’s hand tightens around the hilt of his spear and you are rendered speechless as he grabs you by the crook of your elbow and pulls you forward, out of your home – not even a chance to glance around and bid it goodbye - past the assembled guards and starts to lead you towards the city gates in long strides.

“I am sorry, my lady,” Dion says, softly, trying to avoid prying ears. You have always been fond of the crown prince – he had always treated you kindly in your interactions during portrait sitting sessions over the last few years. “I tried to speak to the Emperor to overturn the Empress’ command as soon as word reached me, but he would not be swayed.”

Your eyes widen at the idea. “Prince Dion, you shouldn’t have. That is far more kindness than I deserve.”

“Nonsense,” he chides. “I just wish I could do more. I saw the portrait before the Empress commanded it destroyed. I cannot think what has offended her so – it was the spitting image of Olivier.” He drops your elbow at last and retrieves a pouch off his belt, holding it out to you. “It isn’t much – shamefully, I am not adept of carrying gil around on my person – but hopefully it will be enough to see you through your travel.”

“No, your highness,” you shake your head. “I couldn’t possibly accept.”

“You must,” he presses the pouch firmly in your hand. “Do not make me order it so. It will be a long journey ahead - my concern is Northflame is too close to be out of the Empress’ influence.”

“I’ll head to Port Isodole – enough nobles reside there for me to gain employment once more, I’m sure of it.”

--

It was tricky upon your arrival to Port Isodole. You wanted to remain positive that you’d be commissioned on reputation alone by some of the Imperial nobles who resided there. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that the word had already wormed its way into eager ears, and those who sought the Empress Anabella’s favour wouldn’t dare to associate with someone she’d dismissed so blatantly and banished from the city itself.

You’d made do with work as a barmaid, part of your wages taking up with your food and board. Slowly, you’d built up your art supplies over the years and remained positive. Afterall, you could have had much worse luck in life than what you’d faced.

Finally, you decided to take a few of landscape pieces to market, hoping that surely enough time had passed - the Mothercrystal had been felled, Orinflamme abandoned in consequence, so why would the people of Port Isodole still hold such regard for the word of an Empress now stationed so far away?

“My dear, these are truly wonderful.” His voice is boomingly loud, surely drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. A tall, stocky, bearded man, dressed in finery looked in awe at your display and you so hoped pockets heavy with gil might be in store. “I feel as if I’m actually there, casting my eyes across the horizon once more.”

“Thank you, sir. Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?” “Mayhaps - do you dabble in portraiture?” “I do… or I did. It’s been a little while.”

“And who is your patron?”

“My… patron?” You hesitate, wary now that this is where Anabella’s tarnishing of your name would lead to your undoing.

“With a talent such as this, you must have one.”

“Well, I-“

“Lord Byron”, a man interrupts, looking scornfully at you and keeping his distance. A beautiful woman is hanging off his arm and looking mortified by the whole thing. “I’d be wary of her. Empress Anabella dismissed her from her services.”

“Oh… Oh, my.” He sets his face in a solemn expression and your heart sinks. “Thank you, my good man.” Byron nods his head, giving the man a hearty pat on the back and begins to walk away with the couple. You feel as if you may cry. Maybe coming here was a mistake, but it was as far as you could’ve gone with the gil Dion had kindly given you. Is Anabella’s scorn going to follow you round forever?

You try and steel your resolve for other potential customers – who would want to purchase anything from a tearful merchant? - though many pass without giving your wares so much as a second glance. A cloaked man strides past, hand scuffing your table as he does. At first you think he meant to swipe something from it, but there is only an addition in the form of a letter.

You lean over the table and pick it up, breaking the wax seal.

My sincerest apologies for how we parted. If you would be so kind, please attend the manor this evening and dine with me. I wish to discuss your talent further and, if I may, commission you, the Empress Anabella be damned. – Lord Byron Rosfield.

--

Lord Byron had heard tale of your portraits, it had turned out, but he still wished to see your work first hand before he would tell you what he truly wanted. A workroom was set up for your disposal, a plethora of supplies that made your eyes water at the potential cost, but he had waved it off, declaring himself a lover of the arts. He’d marveled at your portrait of him and bid you come the next day to see the project in full he wished to discuss. As you entered the workroom, the large table had been covered in rolls of what you thought were parchment, but instead turned out to be precious segments of his dear brother’s portrait – the former Archduke of Rosaria, Elwin.

“I fear it is far beyond repair – I was lucky to salvage enough as I did - but I wondered if you would be up for the challenge of a recreation.”

“I can certainly try. There’s definitely enough of his face to base from. And I have your likeness, my lord, to assist.”

--

“Oh, Uncle,” Clive has tears in his eyes as he beholds the new addition to Byron’s parlor. “It is just as I remembered – he is just as I remembered. How did you even get hold of this? I thought everything destroyed after the siege.”

“The original was beyond saving, torn and burnt in places, yes. This, my dear boy, I had it commissioned, using parts of the original as a guide. You see, I have taken into my patronage a very talented artist – allow me to fetch her.”

Joshua’s breath had been stolen when he saw the painting of his father. He could swear if he stared long enough, the eyes would blink in return, that he would see his father’s chest rise with breath once more. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be proud of the man he’d grown to be, if he had done the Phoenix proud before the Eikons were stripped from the world.

A warm palm rests on his shoulder. “It is like he is the room once more, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, brother. Quite remarkable. I… I worried I had forgotten his face, after all this time, but this…”

Clive squeezes his shoulder then, no more words needed.

The silence is soon interrupted by the heavy footsteps of their uncle as the door is thrown open.

“Lord Bryon,” you protest, trying to step back but his hand on your back remains firm, “My apologies, but I really am in no state to-”

“Nonsense, my girl!” It is too late for you are pushed in front of two of the most handsome men you think you have seen.

You curtsy, clumsily, and Joshua can’t help but grin. He said you were to meet his nephews and, as he was a lord, they deserved the same respect, however Bryon hadn’t even given you chance to wash your hands, nor check your face in the mirror for errant paint streaks before he’d ushered you to the parlor.

“My dearest nephews, allow me to introduce the talented painter behind this masterpiece.”  

Your cheeks feel hot, a little flustered in the way which Byron had pulled you in front of his nephews with no preparation. Joshua thanks the Founder that he was stood where he was, meaning that he gets to make your acquaintance first. Byron introduces you by name and turns to the blonde first, beaming.

“This is my youngest nephew – Joshua.” You offer out your hand but also curtsy again, forgetting yourself in the fluster. The Empress Anabella would not have stood for it. Before you can retreat your hand with an apology, Joshua takes it in his hand and drops to his knee, pressing a kiss across the back of it.

“It is a pleasure to meet the talented woman behind the masterpiece.”

“Oh,” your eyes light up and Joshua delights in it, already thinking of how he can achieve the same rush. “Thank you – that’s very kind. I admired Archduke Elwin very much – it was an honour to pay tribute to his memory.” Joshua slowly gets to his feet and relinquishes your hand.

“I… I served under your mother – the Empress Anabella - for a time.”

“Yes, before she was exiled for a portrait of Oliver Lesage not meeting her standards.”

“Ah. I pray you do not hold that against us.” Clive interrupts.

“Of course she doesn’t, my boy!” Byron booms once more. “This is my eldest nephew, Clive. Quite the rogue.”

“Uncle,” Clive gently admonishes. “I cannot see why our mother would be displeased with your work. This is… I feel like I can reach out and touch him. You’ve captured him remarkably well.”

You duck your head down in embarrassment, not used to receiving such amounts of praise. The Emperor would nod his approval, make no comment on style or substance, so to have the three sing your praises is a little overwhelming.

“Thank you.” You nod at Clive, a small smile across your lips and Joshua feels a twang in his chest at the sight of it – odd.

“And now this one is complete, I dare say we mu-“

The parlor door is swung open with a bang. Gav stands there, panting, hands on his knees to try and catch his breath. “Sorry, like, but we gotta scram. Imperial soldiers heading this way – caught wind of Cid the Outlaw sniffing about.”

Joshua did not see you for another year.

Regrettably, other matters had taken precedence. Ultima at first, a period of recovery for both him and Clive – Dion lost in the fight, and then focus had turned to helping nations adapt to a crystal-free life and the rebuilding of Grand Duchy of Rosaria. Parts of the castle were still under construction, but the capital itself had been rebuilt and ready to usher in the new Archduke.

“Your grace,” a servant called, diverting his attention from the latest pile of missives left at his desk, “Lord Byron Rosfield has arrived.”

“Uncle!” Joshua beamed, descending the stairs from the castle into the courtyard where Byron was emerging from a carriage. “We were not expecting you quite yet.”

“My dear boy,” he pulled his nephew into a firm hug. “I’m afraid I was far too keen to give you your gift to wait any longer.”

“A gift, Uncle? You shouldn’t have.”

His eyes widen as you emerge from the carriage, a hesitant smile on your face as you nod your head in greeting.

“Nonsense! The Archduke needs a portrait to mark this historical day.”

“Your grace.” You begin, cautiously. “I’m not sure you remember me, but-“

“My lady,” he begins, slyly taking your hand and pressing a kiss against your knuckles in greeting. “Of course I do. I assure you I could not forget one of such talent, nor of such beautiful visage.”

“You are too kind, your grace.”

“Joshua – I insist.”

“Joshua.” The word feels precious on your tongue. “Lord Byron is quite keen for me to paint a portrait of you and your brother, though I’m aware that this is probably quite a busy time for you to have long sittings.”

“Nonsense. You are welcome to my time whenever you wish, my lady.”

--

Joshua would never openly admit to it, but he had been somewhat jealous of Clive in their childhood. Not of the distain his mother had shown towards her first-born son, no, but of the freedom that maternal neglect had permitted him. Though Clive had taken the burden of being the First Shield upon his shoulders without a word of complaint, it was not as if Joshua had asked to be the Dominant of the Phoenix, nor that he had a choice in the matter at all. So many people were relying on him, championing him on, but when he was laid up in bed, downing elixirs and tonics made by the castle healers, he didn’t feel as strong as he needed to be.

Clive could go out wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted without the watchful eye of Anabella or the gaggle of her handmaidens. He could wear whatever he pleased too, practical things, even. Joshua instead had been draped in the finest fabrics, shipped in from Dhalkmekia that he would be scolded over for dirtying even slightly.

He thought he was old enough to no longer experience such a childish notion as jealousy – he could wear what he wanted, go where he wanted, no longer burdened by Ultima in his chest or the Phoenix in his being… But the foul feeling is getting harder to ignore when he is forced to sit there as you grip Clive’s bicep, moving his arm a fraction of an inch to the left, or the way in which you shyly adjust his shirt, claiming it’s important to have the outfit the exact same in order for the shading, but you never show him the same courtesy. He had hoped for more private sittings, to have your company to himself – perhaps sitting shoulder to shoulder with Clive’s muscular form was doing him no favours - but Byron had requested the two men together in a portrait, so the sessions had been arranged for when they were both free so you could at least get the outlines down, as well as some initial colouring.

You tug Clive’s shirt down a little to try and get it to lay flat – face burning with how your hand ghosted across his muscular chest - it had ridden a little and bunched when he sat. Clive stared straight ahead, hands clasped, ever the gentleman, and Joshua found himself shuffling in position, hoping his shirt might misbehave.

The Founder does not bless him so, as you return back behind the canvas.

--

Joshua arrives for his sitting in a good mood for two reasons – one, it is just to be him as Clive is away in Eastpool for a day or so, and two, he had a plan.

He did have a morning and early afternoon of meetings and reports to get through, but he had promised the late afternoon and as much as the evening for his sitting to take place, and that is certainly enough time to put said plan into action.

“Hello,” You smile brightly as he enters, taking his usual position on the chair.  Joshua has his pose down to a fine art, whereas Clive needed more co-ercing to settle. “Are you sure you have time for this today? It might be a rather long one, I’m afraid I have a lot to get through as Lord Byron is keen for it to be ready for the day.”

“As I said, I am all yours for as long as you can stand me, my lady.”

You nod, stepping behind the canvas and pick up from where you left off. He doesn’t make his move for a good while, watching carefully as your eyes flick between the canvas and him and you begin to mix up paints once more, trial and error as usual as you worked diligently to find the right shade.

He makes his move when you turn back to the table to grab a clean brush, tugging the knot on the laces of his shirt clear and then shrugging his shoulder, revealing a little more of his chest than was previously on display.

You turn back round and your gaze flick between Joshua and the canvas once more… only for you to doubletake. He bites back a grin in celebration. It must be the candlelight playing tricks on your eyes because you could’ve sworn Joshua’s shirt laces were most definitely tied a moment ago. Mayhaps you should open a door – are the paint fumes going a little too much to your head after being sequestered in here all day long?

“Is everything all right?”

“Your, erm…” You put down the paint brush. “Your shirt laces have come undone.”

“Oh, have they?” He shrugs again, his top slipping down his shoulder a little more. “Oh, the shading, of course. My apologies.”

“That’s all right.” You wipe your hands clean on a rag, wondering how it had come quite so undone, before walking over to your subject. “May I?”

“By all means.”

You pull his shirt up his shoulder, lining it up with his ear -  a good reference point - and pull the laces taught to tie off once more. You step back, cock your head this way and that, and then forward again to adjust it once more.

“There.”

“Wonderful.”

You return back to the canvas and begin to paint, brow furrowed in concentration, whilst Joshua feels absolutely giddy that his plan had been somewhat successful in achieving your touch.

So much so, that he cannot resist a tug at the laces once more the very next time he sees you turn your back – this time to take a deep drink of water - shrugging his shoulder once more, so it reveals more of his collarbone. He composes his features, he can’t give the game away by grinning like a child.

You turn back after a few moments and this time notice immediately, opening your mouth to say something but not quite knowing what to say. You’re sure you tied the knot firmly enough to stay put.

“What is it, my lady?” He tilts his head in intrigue.

“Your… Your shirt, it’s come undone. Again.”

“No,” he feigns disbelief, looking down at his chest in surprise. “I only stretched, I assure you.”

“Of course – mayhaps I didn’t tie it tight enough.” You wipe your hands clean again on the rag and stride over, a little less cautious this time as you tug his shirt back up, now standing between his spread legs – when did that happen? - lining it up with his ear once again and tighten the laces before securing it in a knot. You nod, more to yourself, as you check over your handiwork and go to step back.

“Thank you.” Joshua catches your hand as you do so, stilling your retreat. “It is very admirable how dedicated you are to your work.”

“I think it is how I get them to seem as realistic as you say they are – the shading is everything.” Your heart is pounding in your chest by how close you are, stood between his thighs. “I should…”

“Of course,” he releases your hand and by the time you’re back behind the canvas, his legs are crossed once more.

You work in silence for a while, getting fully into the flow now that Joshua’s shirt appears to be behaving. He enjoys watching you work – the way sometimes you stick your tongue out when you are concentrating particularly hard on a certain element, how your brow furrows, how tiny smatters of paint begin to decorate your cheeks and your hair as you dab the brush onto the canvas.

As the time passes, he cannot refuse to chase the thrill of your touch one more time this evening. Clive returns tomorrow and maybe this will be his last chance for a while – he couldn’t so boldly unlace his shirt with his brother sat by his side. He waits for another opportune moment for your back to be turned, and tugs at the knot.

It holds firm.

Your back is still turned, so he tugs again.

Nothing.

He raises his other hand to try and help undo the knot, before leaning up in his chair slightly to see if he can see what you’re doing, how much longer you may be as he continues fighting the knot. He thinks you’re having another drink of water, so he risks looking down, finally pulling the knot free and frantically shrugs his shoulders – a little more vigorously than before as he feels his shirt slip down on both.

He looks up in relief, only to see you have turned back whilst he was looking down, your head tilted as you stare at him in confusion.

Joshua feels his face burn as red as his old cowl at being caught in the act.

You walk over to him again, trying to hold in a smile that is rapidly creeping across your face and feeling as bold as brass. “Although I would like to paint you sans shirt, Joshua, I don’t think your uncle would be best pleased.”

“You would?” His voice lilts before he shakes his head, embarrassment and shame overcoming him. “No, I beg your forgiveness, my lady.” He mumbles, tugging his shirt back up on his shoulders. “I have let feelings of jealousy drive my actions and it is most unbecoming of a future Archduke.”

“Jealousy?”

“I… desired your touch, but I understand that Clive is…”

“He’s…?”

“A finer specimen.” He feels entirely foolish and somewhat pathetic for even saying it aloud – his brother’s body had come from years of enforced labor, for Founder’s sake! “Please, my lady, I beg you for-“

You press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, before pulling back with a shy smile, heart pounding, hoping you’ve read the signs and heard him correctly.

“I assure you, Clive is not the one I desire.”

He lifts a hand to caress your cheek for a moment before pulling you back in between his thighs, a steadying hand on your back as your lips meet again once more – a succession of frantic kisses, as if you are both trying to squeeze in as many as you can before the moment is over.

The two of you begin to slow your rhythm as you nestle yourself upon his thigh, feel his tongue swipe across your lips, seeking entrance. You part them slightly and he is quick to divulge with a moan that makes you tingle.

You have to retreat to catch your breath at one point – never in your wildest dreams had you pictured the session ending with you sat on the future Archduke’s lap, his shirt now hanging open around his shoulders again.

“Please do not say you have to get back to the portrait, darling one.” He murmurs into your throat before pressing kisses across your jaw.

“No. Your complexion is too flush for me to continue,” you tease.

“Good. For I have something else in mind for the evening.”

“Oh?”

“A private showing, if you will.” He takes your hand and places it flat against the exposed part of his chest – you can feel his heart pounding through your fingertips.  

“Where would that be?”

“My bed chambers.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

(The tags aren't working for this one - sigh...)

[gatheredfates]

Hi all! I managed to jinx myself by saying there wasn't a lot to add to the Compendium this week... and then I found a tonne of resources. I can't say I'm complaining about looking like a fool, though! 🪸

A lot of these resources were shamelessly sourced by xiv.sleepyshiba's masterlist! While I tend to endeavour to provide general / creative resources, their master list does contain a lot of discords / guides you can check out around raiding, combat guides, PVP etc. I might have missed. Send them a coffee if you want, for their kit is pretty comprehensive!

I have tried to include sources I can see have been actively maintained but I can't promise all are 100% accurate or up to date. If in doubt, send me a DM.

Additionally, due to the fact I am slowly increasing my collection, the Compendium has expanded its sections from four to five! We now have a dedicated lore section for anyone who wants to learn more about the game. 📖 I'm hoping this will encourage people to write and submit their lore compilations knowing that people will see them.

However, without further adieu, as of 05/11, the following resources have been added (in no particular order) to Sea's Community Compendium for XIV Creatives!

LARGE SCALE

Eorzea Collection — A one-stop shop for everything gear and glamour related! Browse through gear sets, fashion accessories or individual pieces of gear; view player-made glamorous for any job, race, etc; view chocobo sets and more!

A Master Beginners Guide to FFXIV — A comprehensive document of useful information for anyone looking to get into FFXIV. While accurate only up to Shadowbringers, it includes basic how-to's and general information relevant for people brand new to the game.

FFXIV Venues — A repository of various player-submitted venues open to the public and times of their events!

Aether Roleplay Hub — A discord focusing on roleplay and the roleplayers of the Aether data centre.

Tales From — Every expansion, the Final Fantasy XIV Dev Team releases a series of short stories about the various peoples’, tribes, factions and key characters called Tales From the ___.

Mirapri — Functionally similar to Eorzea Collection, this site accepts player-submitted glamorous for ideas and inspiration. Appears to be predominately used by the Japanese player base.

Akhmorning — A collection of XIV resources containing things one might find the miscellaneous section such as A Comfy Guide for Sprouts and Raiding Fundamentals; Bozja guides including Southern Front, Castrum Lacus Litore, Delubrum Reginae and more; PVP guides including, but not limited to Introduction to Frontlines and Beginners Guide to Feast; and Job guides.

Heavenswhere — Having trouble finding just where your treasure map is located? This tool will help you narrow down the search!

Fashion Reporter — Official Discord server of Kaiyoko and the Fashion Reporter discord bot. Also contains links to access the Fashion Report each week and the How to Make MGP guide.

FFXIV Clock — A tool to track the spawn timers of timed gathering nodes.

LORE

Ishgardian Forms of Address — A document that explores the honorifics, and forms of address used in the in-game setting of Ishgard and by Ishgardian characters using using in-game dialogue, quest text, levequest text and information from the second printing of the English-language lore book, Encyclopedia Eorzea. Maintained by @hasty-touch!

Final Fantasy XIV Lore: Ishgard — also written by @hasty-touch, this document contains lore relating to Ishgard and Coerthas.

Ascian Reference Pile — An up-to-date reference on FFXIV's Convocation of Fourteen, in appearance and lore. Maintained by Igeyorhm on Twitter.

Eorzea Time — The measurement and expression of time in Eorzea, like the real world, is governed by a fundamental set of rules. To understand them, users on Gamer Escape have put together a handy guide for people to follow.

FFXIV Meals Catalogue & Compendium — Have you ever wanted to know all foods currently contained in XIV? This document has a record of all consumable meal items obtained up to 5.4 and the ingredients used to make them. Maintained by vashiane on Twitter.

MISC

Detailed XIV World Map — Have you ever wondered where locations sit in relation to the entirety of Etheirys (and beyond)? This detailed world map provides accurate locals and information for you!

XIV SleepyShiba — Maintained by Udra Virias, this website is a repository of all their resources including, but not limited to; The Detailed XIV World Map, 6x. Paladin Resources, hotbar builders and BiS/gear trackers for raiding, and their own XIV Resources Masterlist!

FFXIV — Hairstyles — Having trouble remembering what Modern Aesthetic style is which? Struggling to find that one hairstyle you saw in game but you don’t know where it’s from? This guide has you covered!

Obscura's consolidation of Helpful links for Roleplay — A collection of tips, tricks and guides to assist people looking into getting into FFXIV RP — or just roleplay in general! Contained within are resources around character creation, relationships, roleplay tips, how to write villains and more.

FFXIV Reference Sheets by Ren — Maintained by @renofmanyalts, these reference sheets currently contain a sortable Roegadyn dictionary and height chart for all the race/clan combinations currently in game.

FFXIV Armoury Collection — exactly what it says on the tin — a collection of every single gear set currently available in FFXIV sorted by things such as patches, class, jobs and raids.

How to Craft like a Machine — This document covers the crafting formulae and other related aspects of crafting in Final Fantasy XIV.

MakePlace — A stand alone tool to preview, edit and share housing layouts.

FFXIV Chocobo Racing — a blog that’s designed to be a comprehensive guide to the Chocobo Racing minigame.

Lord of Verminion — A comprehensive website for everything to do with the Gold Saucer minigame Lord of Verminion.

The Easy Win Lord of Verminion Guide — An easy way to maximise your MGP using the Lord of Verminion.

FFXIV Housing Grade by Plot — A rubric to assist people in understanding the pricing of FFXIV houses.

Housing NPC Images — Not sure what housing NPC looks like? This guide may be able to help you!

FFXIV Fishing Guides — A Final Fantasy XIV Fisher creating guides on how to fish all the fish of The Source and The First, in quick, goldfish sized videos. Making FFXIV fishing easier to do and understand.

Pigeon's Guide to XIV Screenshots — A guide created by @ahollowgrave detailing their screenshot process for FFXIV.

REMOVALS

The following communities have been removed from the Compendium as their sites/tumblrs no longer exist. If new links exist, please get in touch with me and I will re-add them.

The Glitter Hall

Story Hall

CHANGELOG

The Compendium has been updated for compatibility with Google Doc's built-in document outline! This should hopefully assist with accessibility issues. ✨ You can find it by clicking the button below on the left-hand side of the document. No one had made a comment about this, I'm just pedantic.

I have also added definition around the Lore category as well as some general sentence structure and definition in other sections.

Have I missed something? Probably, this update was huge. I'm going to take a break DFKGJHSDF.

Want to submit? You can either fill out the google form here, send me an ask with the relevant information contained on the Compendium, or join my Discord at SEAFLOOR (21+ only)!

[sageteapost]

| Chocobros Dating Drabbles |

[ Noctis Lucis Caelum, Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum, Gladiolus Amicitia x GN! Reader ]

TW & CW + Tags: None. No major spoilers mentioned. [All separate pairings. All established relationships. GN! reader.]

Summary: Quick little dating drabbles with each of the chocobros, just overall cuteness and fluff.

[(A/N): Hey hey!! My first FFXV piece. Not requested, but I REALLY wanted to make these since I've started playing recently. No major spoilers please!! I'd appreciate it a lot. As always, enjoy!]

Noctis:

Noctis loves, and I mean LOVES sleeping. Or napping. He feels at peace in this state and he can rest from the chaos of the world, even for a bit.

With you in his life, expect to be pulled into multiple cuddle sessions with him. On the couch, in a bed, or even in the Regalia. Doesn't matter. If he's going to bed, he's dragging your ass to sleep. And he's not afraid to pout and whine a bit if you refuse.

He's usually the bigger spoon, but he doesn't mind being the little spoon as well. Or any position really. As long as he senses your presence, he'll sleep like a baby.

To Noctis, these are special and soft moments to him. The feeling of your bodies close to one another feels so intimate, yet so sweet. He feels safe and it relaxes his mind to know that you're in his arms. Safe and sound.

Ignis:

Oh Iggy. First off, if you ever ask if you could accompany him by helping in the kitchen, he'd happily agree. How could he not. Don't know how to cook? Don't worry! He'll teach you every you'll need to know.

He appreciates hearing constructive criticism or ideas for a new recipe. Not only does he find it helpful, but it also lets him know that you care about him and his interests.

Something Ignis has grown to love over the course of your relationship; is simply spending quiet time together. Reading books quietly, or you resting your head on his lap while he reads a story out loud to you.

You make him feel at ease. Although it doesn't look like it, being on the road makes him tired. And if he can at least get some quiet, alone time with you, Ignis is a happy man.

Gladio:

Look at this giant and lovable golden retriever. Gladio can be and looks like a tough guy, but he's a softie and a romantic at heart.

Always teasing you. Lightheartedly. He loves seeing you flustered and that man is not afraid to make you do so. But he's also the king of giving you compliments that'll make you swoon.

Gladio would watch Disney movies with you if you asked him to do so. He at first denies that he likes them (secretly loves Beauty and the Beast) but eventually he breaks and will start singing along to the songs.

No matter what, he'll protect you always. He may be the King's Shield, but when it comes to you, he'll keep you safe from any and all danger. Even if it costs him his life.

Prompto:

Aww, the little chocobean. Prompto is literally like a ball of sunshine. He strives to make you smile and laugh, even if he uses bad corny jokes to do so.

Will ask—no, beg you to come to see the chocobos with him. Race with them, feed them, and definitely take a couple of pictures together while you're there.

Speaking of taking pictures, if you let him, Prompto always take snapshots of you whenever he finds the perfect spot to do so. One time in Lestallum, he snuck a quick kiss to your cheek and caught your surprised expression on camera. Needless to say, it's his favorite shot of you.

At the end of the day, he loves you dearly. You bring him so much happiness into his life and give him another reason to keep going. The only thing he could ever ask is this; don't break his heart and leave him behind.

[prudentfolly]

Prudence Dubois -- [ B A S I C S ]

B A S I C S

Name: Prudence Dubois

Nicknames: No. 

Age: Late Twenties

Nameday: 32nd Sun of the Umbral Moon

Race: Hyur

Gender: Cis Female

Orientation: Bisexual

Profession: Retainer & Machinist

P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C T S

Hair: Dark brown hair is worn practically. Short with a hacked at fringe. She doesn’t do much with it, thinking of it as more of a hindrance than a tool to express herself with.

Eyes: Watchful, hooded, hawklike. Like burning coals with none of the heat.

Skin: Pale white, covered in freckles.

Tattoos/scars: No tattoos. A gnarly scar at her left collarbone, and follows through on her back. A smattering of other, less important scars. 

F A M I L Y

Parents: Her father is deceased, aided by gravity. She does not speak of nor to her mother who still lives in the Brume. Their names are unimportant.

Siblings: N/A. 

Grandparents: Long dead, likely insufferable judging by how their children turned out.  

In-laws and Other: No In-laws to speak of. She has many romantic entanglements that usually end messily. So far, her relationship with Ibant is the only one to have stuck.

She and Gerry, one of her Lady’s wards, have an on-again-off-again toxic yuri relationship that will eventually settle into a steady friendship or explode in an awesome and destructive display.

She respects and, to some degree, loves her Lady.

A’vyra is the nearest thing to a friend she has outside the House. Not that Prudence would ever utter such a thing aloud.

The rest of the House’s odd assortment of characters are kept at a distance. Prudence is fully aware of her prickly personality and the strength of her bite. These things serve her well; she will not dull them to appease others, so she does not let others in. For their own good, of course.

Pets: No. Prudence technically owns a Chocobo, a gift from her Lady, but Bird is not a pet. Bird is a stalwart companion.

S K I L L S

Abilities: Prudence is a capable young woman. A skilled machinist with a sharp eye it is rare for her to miss.  She knows her carbine better than the skin of her hands, knows the bark of it as her voice.

Her duties as a retainer have sent Prudence to the far corners of many maps. She’s resourceful for all the traveling, with a genuine willingness to embrace local customs. She can chameleon her way through social situations; smoothing the barbs of her generally terrible personality and avoiding unnecessary conflict on the road. 

Hobbies: Tinkering, fishing, painting. 

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: She’s so cool. 

Most Negative Trait: Everything else. 

L I K E S

Colors: Deep greens, browns and blacks and greys, a very particular shade of blue. 

Smells: Coffee, warm bread, turpentine. 

Textures: Canvas stretched taut, the cool side of the pillow, the crunch of snow beneath her boots. 

Drinks: Coffee, black. Wine, she’s not picky. 

O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: Almost constantly.

Drinks: Heavily. She’s a functioning alcoholic.

Drugs: Yes. Mostly for fun. 

Mount Issuance: Prudence is only insured because Bird was gifted to her via legal means. Is he the only thing she trusts enough to ride. Otherwise, she would be walking everywhere and hitching rides where she could.

Been Arrested: Several times! No charges seem to stick, even the most dangerous of heresy. 

][Tagged by:][ @this-is-ris @iron-sparrow @cindernet-explorer!][ Thank you all so much! ][

][ Tagging: ][ @ibant-gleacame & @cindernet-explorer (You have alts!) & You (: ][

[keirawantstocry]

hi tis i 💋anon. Im running out of ways to convey my love for your writing. Just kissing you is no longer enough, I need you to kill me- Youll still get kisses ofc but- AHHHH. anyways

So ive been having Thoughts about current tubbo. I think he needs to snap and be Covered in blood. Remember day 1 that he was back? where he Immediately threatened the Chocobos cause they were noisy, yeah just snaps and kills all of em. Then just, goes about his day after, not bothering to clean anythin. I feel fit would maybe have a moment of 'WHO DID HE KILL- oh okay', maybe quietly fawning after idk, camera cut to pac. jaw on the Floor, unable to get himself together, Bright Fuckin Red.

I Dont Know i just need more of Pac (and fit lets be honest) being obsessed with men that could(and would) kill them. I also just want Tubbo covered in blood. Thats also my agenda now.

Hope youre having a good day :> (srry that these Keep Gettin Longer)

darling I need you to know that I think ab this ask every day. kisses aren't enough, you need me to kill you?? that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard in my life. I get flustered everytime I read it. gah anyway enough about me you're here for the freaks (affectionate) also never apologize for how long they are i love it

Fit's first emotion when he spotted Tubbo was concern. The second was something deep in his gut that felt eerily similar to the feeling he got seeing Pac kill people in Purgatory. Which sort of made sense considering Tubbo was currently covered in blood. 

Tubbo met his eyes with a strangely empty look. “Hey Fit.” 

“Why are you covered in blood?” And why did his voice sound so strained when he asked?

Tubbo blinked at him slowly with eyes full of emotion that contradicted his emotionless face. “I got annoyed.” 

“At?” 

“Chocobos.” 

The deep feeling in his gut overtook the concern when he realized that Tubbo hadn't hurt an islander or child. “And you haven't cleaned the blood off why?” 

Tubbo's eyebrows dipped down. “I don't know.” 

Fit took a step forward and put his hand on the least bloody part of Tubbo's shoulder. “Why don't you come home with me and let me clean you off, yeah?” 

Tubbo nodded slowly. “Yeah okay.” 

-

Fit had forgotten one tiny detail. The tiny detail in question was standing in the doorway of Fit’s house with an open jaw and wide eyes. 

“Pac,” Tubbo said with a stupid grin before pushing past him into the house. Fit and Pac both watched as he walked straight over to the bathroom and slammed the door. 

Pac grinned with a stupid expression that Fit knew was the one he made at the men he liked. “Who did he kill? Did you watch? Do you think he’ll let me lick the blood off his face?” 

Fit choked on air. “Excuse me?” 

“C’mon,” Pac said in a whine. “He’s strong.” 

“Are you attracted to that?” Fit asked in half disbelief. 

“You’re saying you aren’t?” Pac asked. 

Fit froze. Took a long moment to consider it. It made a lot of sense. The way he couldn’t keep his eyes off him. The intensity of the feeling in his gut that seemed to grow with every second. “Holy shit.” 

Pac laughed wildly. “You spent all that time in the wasteland and you’re telling me you never got a boner for some guy covered in blood?”

Fit spluttered turning bright red but before he could respond, the door to the bathroom was swinging open again. 

There stood Tubbo, shirtless, holding a damp cloth in his hand. “I can’t reach my back, can one of you-” 

“I’ll get it!” Pac interrupted, rushing over to take the wash cloth from Tubbo’s hand. Fit followed them both into the bathroom silently. 

Fit sat at the edge of the bathtub as Tubbo lifted himself up onto the counter. Pac’s mind was clearly out of it considering the long looks he was not subtly giving the man. And the fact he was cleaning blood off his chest and not his back like he had originally asked. But nobody was complaining. 

Fit had to admit there was truth to Pac’s line of thinking. There was something about the mess of blood on Tubbo’s chest that made his mind dizzy and his heart race. So yes. Nobody was complaining. 

Pac motioned for Tubbo to stand back up and he did so with a sigh, standing in front of Fit so Pac had room to work. Fit watched as Pac ran the washcloth under cold water again before wiping it quickly down the blood covering Tubbo’s back. He averted his gaze from his chest up to his face to see the slight pursing of his lips and the hiss at the evident chill of the water. 

“Fuck dude couldn’t made it any colder?” he bitched. 

Fit slapped him lightly on the arm and didn’t think about how warm his skin was. “Leave him alone. He’s helping you.” 

“And why aren’t you? If I remember correctly you said you would help clean me up. I was fine with being bloody, you're the one who insisted on this.” 

Pac paused and peeked at him over Tubbo’s shoulder. “Really?” 

Fit swallowed feeling dizzy and nodded. “Well, yeah.” 

“Then do it.” Tubbo was reaching behind him and taking the wash cloth from Pac’s hands. Fit saw it all in slow motion but with sharp vision. The washcloth was cold. The washcloth was in his hand. Tubbo was looking at him expectantly. 

“There’s no blood left on your chest,” Fit said stupidly, feeling incredibly out of his depth all of a sudden. 

Tubbo shrugged before taking a step forward and turning to sit himself down on Fit’s lap. Fit didn’t even know it was possible for his body to freeze up more but it did. Pac met his eyes, nervous trepidation meeting awestruck joy. Waving him on with one hand, Pac leaned back against the counter to watch them carefully. 

Slowly, Fit took a deep and careful breath. He brought the washcloth up every so gently to rub at the blood staining the skin at the top of Tubbo’s spine. The man’s shoulders slipped down as he relaxed and let the silence fill the room. With his non-metal hand, Fit held the curve of Tubbo’s bicep to keep both of them steady as he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn smudge of blood. The skin under his hand was so warm it was hard to focus on cleaning the blood off. Pac’s eyes were boring into him and the strangely soft lighting in the bathroom made this moment feel much more intimate than was to be expected. 

Simultaneously it felt as if it stretched on forever and also was over way too soon. 

Fit dropped his hand, letting the bloody washcloth fall to the floor. “There,” he said gently. 

“Thank you,” Tubbo said in an even quieter voice before he stood. “I’ll get out of your hair now.” Before either of them could protest, he was pulling his shirt back on and leaving. 

They both stared after him, feeling as if part of them was now missing. Pac giggled suddenly and Fit’s eyes darted over to him. “What are you laughing about?” 

“That was the most-” Pac laughed again. “That was just crazy. You two are something else.” 

“Shut up,” Fit grumbled. 

Pac just laughed once more before standing up to give Fit a quick kiss. “I’m going to go see what Richas is up to, okay?” 

Fit nodded, trying to clear his head. “Yeah, okay, I’ll see you later Pac.” 

“See ya, querido.” 

Fit’s head spun as he stood up. He had a lot to fucking think about.

[argentrenard]

Victor Gilbert (French, 1847-1935)

FFXIV Write 2024

Prompt #1: Steer

All he had to do was convince this woman to follow a certain path. The trouble was, she was proving stubborn.

Lady Bristole of House… come to think of it, her house was so minor it was nearly inconsequential… was sitting across from him in the smoking lounge of the Sparkling Sapphire, a well-to-do spot right off the Jewel Crozier district. He'd spent nearly the entire evening working to coerce her to part with a small chocobo ranch her family held that was slowly failing. All she needed to do was sell it to his contact, a man who had expressed a certain interest in the property, and that contact would owe Argent a favor. This favor would then allow him to get his foot in the door on his way to purloin a very priceless work of art from a noble house in Gridania.

Unfortunately, however, Argent Renard had never encountered a situation where his charming and attractive qualities would be a hindrance. Thus, instead of successfully steering the conversation to talks of how burdensome ranches could be, or what a gil-sink they were to her already dwindling estate reserves, all the old dowager was able to do was focus on how much she wanted to take him home.

He was dressed in somewhat shabby noble attire, as it was all he could procure on the short notice he had received that his target was here, and alone. She'd immediately latched onto his arm regardless and steered him to this little nook, and now that they sat across from each other on plush leather cushions, she kept complimenting his eyes. He'd asked her what businesses she owned, and she'd talked about getting down to some funny business in her boudoir. He'd asked her about chocobo raising and she mentioned she'd like to raise something of his.

She was infuriating. Did she think of nothing else? He grumbled inwardly.

Anyone who knew Argent would laugh at this line of thought.

"Now now, my dearest madame, how about-"

"Please, Handsome Sir, call me Penelope," she purred, fanning herself across from him, "And sit closer, I won't bite, unless you ASK me to," she chortled a laugh that made his eye twitch.

"Penelope, then," Argent said through clenched teeth, his instinct to act charming fighting against his fury at failure thus far. This was supposed to have been the easiest part of the plan. "…I wonder, what brings you to-"

"Oh sir, you have the most lovely voice," she cut in yet again, leaning towards him, "What I wouldn't do to hear it whispering in my ear tomorrow morning…"

Argent flashed her a grin, though his teeth were nearly grinding themselves to dust at the same time.

"Would that I did not have business that took me away tonight, Madame, otherwise I'd most assuredly take you up on that offer… but I was wondering…"

"Pink," she said, winking at him.

This caused even Argent to stop short as he stared blankly at her for a moment. "Pardon?" he managed eventually.

"They are pink, young man. My small clothes. What I'm sure you were wondering about."

Argent rubbed the bridge of his nose. No painting was worth this, surely. In truth, he wouldn't actually mind showing this old woman the best time of her entire life. The problem was he really did need her to agree to this now, as his window of opportunity closed tonight. For a moment, he closed his eyes and sighed. This sigh made her… choke? Was she choking on something? He glanced at her, mildly concerned (because he did still need something from her) if he needed to find a chirurgien… until he realized with dawning horror that she was trying to make… coquettish and flirtatious sounds at him. It sounded like she strangling a puppy. Her hand batted in his direction like a cat. A cat with no teeth who was blind in one eye, perhaps.

Then suddenly, in a flash, he saw the way to go.

"My lady," he said, lowering his voice in a hurry and moving closer to her, "I have a confession to make…"

"I knew it!" she practically squealed, accidentally spitting on him. He wiped it away hurriedly and moved on.

"I want you, I desire you, I need you! I knew it the moment I saw you…"

"Yes… yes… YES!?" she took his hands, breathlessly… probably due to her asthma.

"Will you leave with me to some secluded spot? I've… well, always had this fantasy of making love in a chocobo stables. On some secluded ranch, do you have one?"

She blinked once, and then said, "YES! I do! It's this old thing I was thinking of selling, but now…"

Suddenly he leaped at the chance, "Sell it, but you can't! You mustn't! Please, let me know where it is, then… meet me there, tonight! We will discover each other and cry out each others' names to the heavens!"

"Oh, oh my SIR!" she swooned, almost falling over due to her balance being perhaps a bit unsure.

And with that, he kissed the crinkled and papery thin skin on the back of her hand and stood. He bowed, leaving her swaying in her seat, her fan threatening to blow her wig off.

Argent Renard adjusted his cuffs as he hurried away. When he didn't show for their meeting tonight, surely she would be so fed up with the place and that memory of being stood up she'd want to sell it. He'd have to bank on that working, at least. He didn't have the time to work his skills at any other option. He headed for the airship landing as quickly as he could. He had to get to Gridania before the sun rose tomorrow.

As he left her, Lady Bristole's fan kept at it for about a minute. Then, it finally slowed as she muttered aloud, "What a fine young man. A shame I couldn't steer him back to my estate to marvel at my new painting… everyone says it's so beautiful, I would have liked to share that with him as well…"

And with that, Argent left behind the new owner of the exact work he was currently scheming to acquire. While it was true she would be disappointed this evening, he would be doubly so come dawn the next day.

[rottenpumpkin13]

SEPHIROTH HEADCANONS

[these are my headcanons, meaning the way I view him in my head and may not follow popular fanon]

↘︎ Sephiroth is a big enjoyer of puzzles of any kind. Mahjong, sudoku, jigsaw puzzles, riddles, you name it. He doesn’t see the allure of video games but will jump at the opportunity to play a multiplayer that has him competing against someone else.

↘︎ He’s generally a calm and intorverted person in his day-to-day life, but when angered he becomes scary as hell. For lack of better words, he shows signs of the in-game callous monster he is.

↘︎ He does have a sense of humor, okay?? It’s just what most people would describe as dark and dry. His kind of humor is saying the most off-hand comments with 0 expression and making people lose their shit. He is also proficient in sarcasm but has to be annoyed beyond measure to use it.

↘︎ He can drive, however friends and people who have previously been driven around by him refuse to do it again. He drives likes he’s playing Mario Kart while maintaining a scarily calm composure. He manages to do this while still abiding by the traffic laws.

↘︎ Sephiroth maintains a healthy diet and prefers not to stray from his strict regimen. Having said that, he will never turn down: a) Angeal’s cooking, b) pasta, c)sweets. 

↘︎ Due to his sheltered childhood, Sephiroth was never allowed to indulge himself in sweets and other junkfood like the other kids. So when he’s old enough to control his own diet, he includes moments of utter gluttony where he inhales candy like a madman. 

↘︎ “Sephiroth why don’t you cut your hair?” With his JENOVA cells? If he cut it shoulder-length one morning, it’d be down to his waist again by the following afternoon. After many attempts at keeping it at a reasonable size during his youth, he gave up. 

↘︎ Now he simply keeps it long because he thinks it looks cool. Vanity spares no one. He also has a habit of sitting on his hair accidentally. 

↘︎ He’s notoriously knows as being cold and unwelcoming toward people. However he does a complete 180° when he’s with his friends, and people have even reported seeing him act extroverted.

↘︎ Unintentionally a cocky bastard. 

↘︎ Sephiroth isn’t a very creative person, which is something he laments greatly. He isn’t apt at drawing, writing or anything that could allow him to express himself artistically

↘︎ Give our boy any mathematical equation though and he can solve it

↘︎ Sephiroth takes joy in fucking with troopers and other SOLDIERs. He loves saying weird and uncharacteristic things and watch the realization that he’s joking dawn on them

↘︎ Big into astronomy and loves reading books about it. And he has a disdain for astrology and thinks it’s nothing but drivel

↘︎ He abhors gossip and thinks it immature and unprofessional. But if you feed him certain tales he’ll become angrossed and not let you leave until you’ve thoroughly recounted every detail of it. 

↘︎ Claustrophobic. It may have everything to do with being given mako showers and being kept in those tight tanks for hours. He developed a certian disdain for being enclosed in tight spaces. He also can’t stand to wear multiple layers of clothing and can only handle one layer at a time. 

↘︎ Yes he likes cats. 

↘︎ People who say he’s humorless don’t know he once laughed so hard, he had to be sedated because he was on the floor unable to breathe. Context? Genesis angered a chocobo and it chased him for an hour. Angeal has it on video.

↘︎ Sephiroth can cook. How? Do you really think a SOLDIER trained to survive in the wilderness wouldn’t know how to hunt, prepare and cook his own food?

↘︎ That being said, he can only cook very basic things.

↘︎ He yells at the TV, but only when it’s a nature documentary and the prey is making unwise decisions while running away from the predator. 

↘︎ He makes overexaggerated faces while eating something he doesn’t like, but that’s as far as he’ll go complaining about food-wise

↘︎ Sephiroth’s favorite kind of gifts are the practical and functional ones like socks, blankets and sword oil. 

↘︎ Impulsively buys toys and childish knick knacks. Proceeds to keep them in a secret drawer with a lock and key. Don’t judge him. He’s making up for lost time.

[holly-fixation]

Seraphic and Sinister: Ch 2

Summary: Sephiroth learns that he has a child, a lab made specimen existing under the same terrible conditions he was raised in. In a moment of pure rage, he rescues his child. However, his fate has long been sealed, but the child’s fate is unknown. 

Never did he expect the cadet that killed him to take responsibility for the heir of His planet. 

Inspired by various asks to @rottenpumpkin13 

Chapter 2: Adaptation

The badlands. Midgar territory. The land between the thriving metropolis and the small town of Kalm.

For all his time in SOLDIER, this was his first experience in the so called ‘badlands’, not a digital recreation or the scenery of a transport. Missions not far from Midgar were considered too elementary for First Class. He couldn't argue with the decision because he fully agreed with it. Why send him to exterminate a wild pack of overgrown rodents when he could take down a behemoth? 

Or an army?

Maybe ‘use’ was more accurate than ‘send’. Yesterday, he would’ve ignored that thought.

This was his first time acknowledging the decay of massive mako pipelines and the withered life around them. 

Now he had a new life to protect. No bullet grazed her skin, no blade reached her hair, no enemy flame warmed her during their escape. He guarded her against his chest as she held him and her blade, barely making a single sound. His strength far exceeded security's mechs. His tactics kept thousands of his men alive. The simple security officers and the army of a never invaded city could not take him down, and could not find him. 

However, Hojo could. 

Hojo trained him. Hojo taught him. Hojo knew his every string of logic. His every thought and countermeasure. He only hoped his decisions were too backwards to be predictable, for hope was all he could do. 

Like his decision to avoid the Grasslands.

He defeated as few fiends as possible, collecting only the most valuable pieces. They weren't worth much, but too many corpses would lead even the newest cadet straight to him. 

For now, they rested in an old chocobo stop far off the main road. The decaying mako pipes made for good shelter if necessary. The young chocobo warking at their side shouldn't give them away. They were out of sight. For now.

Seraphina had not noticed the Fluffy creature yet. Despite the sun rising in the sky, her eyes were falling closed. She needed rest, but he needed to take the risk of Kalm before nightfall. They needed supplies. At very least, she needed food. Formula. The lab notes said something about protein shakes…

He really didn't know the first thing about caring for a child, much less raising one. He should've run back to his apartment and gathered supplies before breaking her out. He should've grabbed some MREs so she wouldn't starve to death before Shinra lost their scent. He should've looked up how to at least change a diaper. He should've-

“Dada…” the baby in his arms pulled at his chest straps, suddenly wide awake. “Dada…”

He tried to soften his expression, a stern mask despite his melting heart. “Yes? What is it, Seraphina?”

“Potty…” she answered quickly. 

He was confused. Wasn't she-

“Potty. Potty.” She pointed down harshly, fussing and wiggling. 

He was already placing her on the ground, his confusion locked to his face. 

She slipped out of his grip and ran as best she could behind the chocobo stop. 

Sephiroth assumed the child wanted privacy so he kept watch. Well, at least diapers wouldn't be necessary. Maybe just a couple hours here to see Shinra’s next move before they-

He winced. That smell. He’s moving her the moment she’s ready. He dealt with far worse in Wutai, but she shouldn’t have to stay around it. He heard shifting scrapes before she returned. A quick glance confirmed she buried the source, the potency decreasing in the air.

“All better?”

She nodded.

“Come on.” He stretched out his arms to her length, “We need to keep moving. Just a little longer.” 

She pointed to the little yellow bird. Well, little to him. The creature itself was multiple times larger than her. 

“That's a chocochick,” came his short explanation. “It won't hurt us.”

Seraphina slowly approached, the limp in her step making the creature tilt its head of spiky feathers to the right and left. She raised her hands and slowly pushed against the plumes. 

Sephiroth watched the involuntary crushing of her fingers in feathers as she pressed her entire face into the plumes. The chocochick warked happily as it flapped its tiny wings. She didn't make a sound, and she was shaking but refused to move. He should find her a soft blanket as soon as possible. 

“Don't hold back. It's okay.”

She suddenly tried to wrap her arms around the creature, touching as many of the feathers as her size allowed. 

The former soldier gave her a moment to enjoy the feeling before interrupting, “We have to go.” 

She gave him a sad look. 

“Don't worry. We'll see him again. Come on.” Without missing a beat, he scooped her into his arms. If he remembered correctly, they weren't too far from a vantage point of Midgar. They could at least keep an eye on the sky, see if Kalm was safe yet. 

She tried to look around, deliberately keeping her eyes on monsters she must've deemed too close. But she never tried to leave his grasp. Even when they reached the open patch at the end of the forgotten pipe. 

He had no idea the northern badlands held any sense of life, much less an unattended flower patch. Distinct colors of daisies covered the ground overlooking the city, almost a deliberate distinction between the reds, yellows, blues, and whites. 

“Dada?”

“Yes, Seraphina?”

She pointed at the colors and then tilted her head at him. 

“Those are flowers. They’re plants beginning to grow seeds. It’ll be safe here for a bit. Go take a look.” 

When her feet touched the ground, she fell forward, crawling as cat-like eyes widened like saucers as she investigated each and every limb of the flora before her. 

Sephiroth found his focus more split than on any battlefield. Even when transporting injured, he was less worried about every shift of the air, of the sand, of even the insects. He needed to watch for Shinra. He needed to watch for monsters. 

But he also needed to watch her. 

A glance at his men was all he required to know they were safe, but his instincts forced his eyes to her constantly. What if she hurt herself? What if she ate a rock? That's something kids did, right? What if she got stuck or tripped or fell? Monsters he could handle, but what was he supposed to do about everything else?

If he made enough Gil from the spoils of his limited monster regulation, he should buy a parenting book with the supplies. A tent would be an absolute luxury. 

From the look of it, all aircrafts leaving Midgar either headed south to Junon or east beyond Kalm. There was a chance the small town was safe for now, and if he stayed by the entrance he could get them out before a blockade sealed them in. 

He scooped some loose dirt into his gloves and smeared it onto his hair and face. 

Seraphina looked up and grabbed the ground too. 

“Stop.” 

Her hands opened instantly.

“No one will see you. Don't worry.”

His daughter’s stomach suddenly growled and she let out the smallest of whines. 

Sephiroth lifted the corner of his long coat and summoned his blade. In an instant, he held the remaining fabric, and the uniform frayed with unsown edges. He scooped his daughter into the new sheet, wrapping both her body and her hair. “When I tell you, I need you to close your eyes and keep them closed no matter what. I'll tell you when to open them. Okay?” 

She nodded. 

He began walking, passing a few of the mako pipes before catching his own reflection in the chocobo stop. It wasn't enough. “One moment.” He placed her back down and detached the pauldrons from his uniform before sending them to the very same place as his sword. He brushed his fingers through his bangs to his shoulder and began separating the strands into three sections, the pressure collapsing his recognizable bangs. 

Seraphina held her palms out, opening and closing them. 

He chose to kneel down to her height. “What is it?” 

She gestured to his hair. 

“You can touch it later. I have to-” 

Sharper movements. More deliberate gripping. 

He sighed. “I don't understand…”

She huffed before kneeling on the ground. She put her index fingers in the dirt and dragged them, making a shape appear. Right over left. Left over right. Right over left. Left over right.

His brows knotted. “You know how to braid?”

She nodded again. 

He was about to ask ‘how’ when he remembered who he was talking to. He gave in and lifted her up again. “Can you braid while we walk?”

She had already begun weaving the strands. 

“...I guess so.”

While his daughter continued, he latched every remaining buckle on his coat. With his flattened bangs blocking his eyes, maybe he'd buy them enough time to retrieve a meal. Or at least let her have a meal tonight. 

His nerves spiked as his boots made contact with the asphalt between Midgar and Kalm. He took a breath, knowing the gates were close despite not being in sight. He tightened the wrap around Seraphina as she held onto the end of the untied braid. 

“Eyes closed, Seraphina.” 

She obeyed, leaning her face toward him.

Kalm was no different than every story he heard. As the rest spot and short vacation destination, Shinra employees littered the crowds. Few and far between but enough for him to know they were there. Kids ran through the carless streets. People shopped and smiled through their casual conversations. No one spoke his name. Shinra valued him highly, and he hoped their pride would prevent them from spreading word of his desertion. 

Desertion. The word never crossed his mind. 

He kept a normal pace as he made his way through the crowd, stopping at the very first convenience store near an alley. He grabbed a reusable bag from the entrance. “Can I sell items here…?” 

Such a basic question seemed to throw the clerk off, especially with his voice barely above a whisper. “Y-yeah, just come up at the end to make it easier on me.”

He nodded once and wasted no time, skimming the aisles for supplies. Ramen noodles, water bottles, even cheap protein shakes. He knew he didn't have enough to afford clothes for both of them, so one fluffy gray hoodie would have to do. He found himself thankful this tiny corner shop had everything they needed. 

 At the counter, he lifted the bag. 

“Ah ah ah! What are you selling first? Makes my life easier if you tell me now.”

He placed multiple beast talons, beast bones, and ether onions on the counter. 

The cashier lifted and searched each item, rubbing each imperfection before inputting numbers into the machine. “Alright, what are you buying?”

He placed the bag on the counter, watching the same process unfold product by product. 

“Hey, lucky you!” The employee handed him one hundred Gil in cash. “Just enough to cover your bill and then some.”

A hundred Gil. He should buy a potion. Maybe it will help his daughter's- “Are there any bookstores nearby…?” The question left his lips before his mind caught up with the task.

“The best bookstore in town is Maghnata books. Dead center of town, can't miss it. And they always have good sales!”

He nodded and retrieved his items. “Thank you…”

The center of Kalm was a big risk. Too many vantage points. Too many people to find him. Too many distractions. But he wanted Seraphina to have a normal life, and it started with learning what that meant for someone her age. He needed to learn how to raise the child in his arms, so he left the shop, kept his head down, and entered the square with the raised mako tanks.

It didn't take long to find the purple library, ornate decor lining every inch lacking a book. 

“Welcome to Maghnata books! Are you searching for anything specific today or just taking a look around?”

Sephiroth adjusted the girl in his arms, the smallest of fuss leaving the leather. “I need some advice…”

The woman gasped, holding her hands over her mouth. “Oh my gods, she's adorable! How old is she?”

“Half a year…” He debated deliberately giving the wrong age, but he couldn’t risk inaccurate or invalid information. 

“Oh a six month old, eh? That’s when they start moving. No wonder you came to us! Here-” The lady ran out from behind the counter. “What’s your budget?”

“A hundred Gil…”

She grabbed her chin. “Hm. I don’t know if we have any parenting books that cheap... Let me ask my manager.”

He should leave. He didn’t have time for this. He’ll just figure it out on his own. “We’re on a tight schedule…” 

“Just one minute! I insist!” She rushed to the back without another word.

The man let out a sigh, counting the seconds in his head. The bundle in his arms made more noise. “Shh. Not now. Soon, okay?”

She nodded, her lids scrunched tightly.

“FOUND IT!” The door busted open, the cashier holding up a thick, dusty volume titled: So you're a PARENT now, huh? What to expect from your little ones from first light to the terrible twos. ‘PARENT’ was written in the SOLDIER font. “My manager’s been trying to get rid of this for years. Not a single yard sale worked! That’ll be eighty five Gil, please.”

He immediately made the exchange, tucking the remainder of the cash and the book into the reusable bag. 

“Have a pleasant day!”

“Thank you…”

He slipped through the entrance without another word, immediately spotting Shinra troops on the other side of the square. He didn’t have a lot of time, keeping his head down and maneuvering through the crowd until he completely lost sight of them. 

The badlands were safer than any town. Instead of risking the same location, he immediately veered off the road, climbing the steep cliffs on his left. An owl hooted and flew past him. Once he saw the chocochick return to his side and urge him up the plains, he knew it was safe. 

“Okay, Seraphina. You can open your eyes.” 

He was immediately struck with her gaze, her brows nearly furrowed and her face squeezed. 

“What's wrong?”

She curled in on herself, small whines leaving her lips.

He didn’t know what to do as the whines only grew louder. Was she in pain? How? From what? He spotted a crevasse in the cliffs and dashed. The owl once again circled and hooted, and he followed the glowing creature within. 

A lifespring, a font of Lifestream too useless for mako, and too useless to Shinra. The cliff surrounded all but the sky directly above. They were safe. No one should find them here.

“Seraphina.” He wasn’t sure how well she could speak, but he needed to know what was happening. 

“H-hurts…” She kept grabbing and gripping at her own chest. “H-hurts!”

Sephiroth dropped the bag and wrapped his arms around her. “Where? Where does it hurt?”

Tears dripped down her cheeks. She cried, covering her mouth tightly. 

He removed the bandages around her leg and found a fresh scar. The fabric rubbed against her and left raw skin in its wake. She didn’t need them anymore. Why didn’t she try to remove them? He held her close and she pressed her face against his coat, her screams muffling against him. 

…Signs point to lingering [REDACTED] in child’s body...

Minutes passed before the flare up finally fizzled, his child resting her head against his body and closing her eyes. 

“Dada…”

He didn’t know what to say. He just knew her pain. He knew he never wanted her to feel that again. “Better?” The single word was all that left his lips.

Another nod. 

He reached into the bag and grabbed a bottle, shaking it quickly. “Can you drink from a cup?”

She gave him a weird, tired look. Her stomach growled and she groaned again. 

He sat and placed her in his lap. He had to try, opening the cap and removing the inner seal. “Here. Drink.”

Seraphina placed her hands on the sides and tried to hold it. 

He lifted her back before adjusting the angle, slowly giving her a taste. 

Her eyes widened. No- not just her eyes- her pupils widened to saucers and she suddenly took desperate gulps.

He had to take it away so she wouldn’t choke. “Slowly.”

She pointed at the bottle and stared at him in confusion. 

“It’s a protein shake. Chocolate flavored.”

He may not have known much about children, but he knew the baby in his arms definitely wanted more. 

She drank half the bottle before her exhaustion caught up with her. Sephiroth did not miss a beat and took out the hoodie from the store. He slowly laid her inside the fuzzy lining, reducing his shard of coat as a pillow for her.

Despite everything, the peaceful look on her face brought a warmth to his heart he could never describe.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading!

.

To be continued...

Chapter list here!

[headcanons-n-shit]

since there was already a prompt abt pining can i ask for hcs on how the ffxiv boys (+leofard?) would go about expressing their interest in a particularly dense wol? 😊

We do love a dense motherfuker

Thancred is fucjing suffering over here. He cannot possibly make his intentions any more obvious. The problem is that hes accidentally played himself-- hes spent so long disguising his feelings as jokes, or as ploys on missions, and now you just assume that his flirting and holding your hand and wanting to be in your space all the time is just what the two of you do. He ends up having to go all rose petals and sappy love confession under the moonlight like some kind of storybook love interest. Its so sappy, embarrassing, but its also so, so sweet.

Urianger is, unfortunately, painfully Sharlyan about the whole thing. He gives you nice paper, expensive ink, masterwork tools, intricate glasswear for your alchemy lab. Practical, highquality armor. A delicately embroidered handkerchief. He thinks hes being overly forward with his affections, you think hes just being a really good friend, yshtola would rather drown herself than watch the rest of this soap opera play out.

Literally what else does G'raha need to do to prove his devotion to you??? The man unwound time and unraveled space just to be by your side. He was practically your sugardaddy your entire time on the First. He almost, almost thought you were flirting back with him when you brought him food from the Last Stand, and then Alphinaud and alisae and krile trotted in behind you and it took every ounce of his Exarch discipline not to retreat with his tail between his legs. Pls this man is suffering.

Estinien literally can not. Look me in the eyes. This stinky dragoon has spent a good half his life behind an armet. He is a horrible mix of country bumpkin, career soldier, aymeric's half-assed attempts to pound courtly decorum into estiniens dumb empty head, and Nidhoggs instincts. He wants to cook you food, drag you into a corner and kiss you silly, send you flowers, and bring you something he killed with his bare hands. He ends up doing all four. Not necessarily in that order.

Aymeric is dying. You are going to be the death of him. He has gone through great pains to discover your favorite flower and have them always displayed in your room. He has written you letters full of poetry. He has showered you with gifts. He has invited you to dine with him. At this point the other nobles are asking whether its going to be a spring or summer wedding, and he doesnt know how to explain how you are still woefully oblivious bc he cant explain it himself.

Haurchefant gave you a LITERAL DOWRY. He handed you the reins to an extremely expensive war-trained black de chocobo in front of everyone whos ever mattered to him and also half of ishgard, and then he had to stand there dying internally while you praised him for being a "good friend". There are bets not on whether hes going to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to his room to. Ahem. Prove his devotions. But rather on how long it will take him to break.

Sidurgu. Barely has memories of the Orl traditions around courtship. His mother had often regaled him with stories of how she had courted his father. Food, presense and friendship, proofs of skill. And yes, it frustrates him that you seem to brush off his attempts, but. Well. It took almost five years for his mother and father to get together, from the way they told it. Hes learned a lot for your sake, and for rielles. He can learn patience too.

Leofard is a pirate. He doesnt dance around the bush, he strikes when the metal is hot and takes what he wants. It works well with garlean airships and the odd unfortunate merchant. Not. So much with you. One, because your consent and emotions are important to him. Two, because you are so. Fucking. Dense. He steals silks and jewels and fancy foods for you, spends time with you, saved your life from diabolos, told you his sad life story. Hes one step from throwing himself at you like some fainting dame, and its embarrassing.

(Hes not gonns stop tho)

[phoenix-flamed]

Looking at references for Elwin's outfit, and I will never stop reposting this screenshot of him with his chocobo.

Still not over his expression as he's looking at them, or the fact that he pauses after dismounting to pat them.

[dearestcherry]

Looking for connections! Introductory post…

Gay, trans man (he/him). Ishgardian (lowborn, Brume) Elezen. 6'10".

Cerise Cephinne is an apothecary of the Brume, stocking both beneficial and detrimental products. He was once part of a lowborn family that mistreated him to gain the appreciation of any noble that would look their way. One night, sick of the treatment, he slipped a vial of liquid into his parents’ coffee that had them perish as he fled, changing his identity along the way. The Brume became his home in the absence of one, and he quickly took an interest in brewing substances for various purposes. Eventually, he opened an apothecary business with a darker side focus, selling deadly products that allow the corrupt to be secretly picked off. Cerise enjoys other questionable activities, including document forging for his false identity and brewing his own hormones. He collects trinkets, sometimes for himself and other times to sell; his storefront displays an assortment of items he finds interesting. He isn’t picky in what fun he decides to have otherwise, and is used to low quality Brume goods. As for his personality, he frequently acts sweet, even when hired to pursue a target. Playful, doting, overbearing, what have you – Cerise loves to play on innocent appearances. He is very tall, towering above others with long Elezen proportions and a slightly soft figure. In a strong androgynous tone, his voice is projected with a distinct Brume accent.

His main hooks include…

Apothecary services, selling his products mostly to fellow lowborn Ishgardians. He enjoys helping others, and will accept unconventional payments or even give them out for free. Only the beneficial of his products are stocked upfront, and one needs to be knowledgeable enough in Ishgard's rumours to hear of a Brume apothecary with poisons behind his counter…

A dweller of the Brume, he frequents lower Ishgard, and often ventures out to Coerthas, typically in search of materials. It’s very possible for any Ishgardian or visitor to run into him. Occasionally, he visits other city-states depending on funds.

Carrd link! Lots of info has been taken from here, but it’s frequently being updated.

Nonbinary (they/them). Ishgardian (highborn, minor noble) Elezen. 6'8".

Dreisseaux de Drelejon is a minor noble hailing from a strict family loyal to House Dzemael. They attended Saint Endalim’s Scholasticate in their youth after being expelled from gladiator training, their house’s traditional class. Dreisseaux has always been adept with animals, spending time late at night around the chocobo stables of Ishgard to unwind and finding themself drawn to the karakuls in Ishgardian paddocks and Coertha’s snowy fields. Some time after their graduation, Dreisseaux obtained a small home away from their traditional life, in which they would have room to raise a small number of animals for themself and tend to various projects. Dreisseaux enjoys singing, reading, gardening, dancing, and cooking in their free time. They are easily pleased by tea and pastries, and often sing when they are alone. They spend a significant amount of time gardening and gathering all types of plants. A pet karakul named Guimauve tends to follow them around. They can be timid in certain situations due to their noble religious upbringing, and generally possess a gentle, polite demeanour, alongside expressing a devout belief in Halone. Their family’s traditional practices had them speaking Old Elezen at home, and they retain a thick accent when speaking in Common. They have a slender build, and plenty of pink freckles everywhere.

Their main hooks include...

Any mentioned hobbies and interests, in which they’re easy, passionate company to engage with.

Nobles and other similarities, such as Scholasticate alumni and Dzemael associates. Having grown up attending formal practices, church schooling, and gladiator training – alongside being related to many Dzemael knights – any Ishgardian could find some form of familiarity in Dreisseaux should they share a position.

Carrd link!

Out of character

Hello, I love to roleplay! Partners must be 18+ with 21+ preferred. Crystal data centre based. I’m looking for anybody who may envision potential interactions with my characters. I’m open to many kinds of scenes, including mature, dark, or otherwise. I prefer to roleplay in-game, though I'll use alternative platforms if needed. I’m very happy to talk about characters, roleplay, or anything else – for example, I really love the Scholasticate quests and have implemented a bit of that into my roleplay, but I'd also talk about the quests/characters for hours. Feel free to message me if anything catches your eye!

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #8: Aethergraphy

Prompt: telegraphy (free write!) || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: Spoilers through Patch 6.5: Growing Light.

---

“That,” Rereha said, “is pathetic.”

“Be nice,” Synnove said, not looking up from the various array drafts laid out on the table in front of her.

“It’s pathetic,” Rereha reiterated. “She is thirty-something years old and pining like a teenager with their first crush.”

Y’shtola finally flicked her gaze up from her own spell drafting to look at Rereha; the bard was tuning her fiddle in her lap, idly plucking at the strings with her fingers and adjusting the pegs absently with every note. An affected scowl of annoyance was plastered firmly in place, the other woman’s golden eyes narrowed as she stared out across Synnove’s yard. Y’shtola took an absent sip of her tea and followed Rereha’s gaze.

Dancing Heron was perched on the stone wall fence near to the chocobo stable, her sword balanced on her knee and her whetstone in hand, dragging it carefully along the edge without bothering to look at it with the ease of a master swordswoman. She was gazing idly into the distance—no, rather, towards the western horizon, where the waning moon sat visibly in the clear skies as it began to set for the day. While at this distance, Y’shtola could neither properly see Heron’s expression nor hear her, there was no mistaking the heavy sigh expanding her chest.

There was also no missing how the sea breeze ruffled Heron’s fluffy black-and-red hair, nor the fact that Heron was dressed down in plain leather trousers and a deep crimson shirt, its billowing sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the ties of the neck undone to show off her collarbones.

Well, that explained Rereha’s particular brand of bellyaching today.

Y’shtola took another sip of tea, amusement curling her lips. “You’re merely jealous she looks like a brooding love interest from one of those romantic dramas you love so much.”

Rereha snarled quietly. “How does she make it look so good! And so effortless! The only thing missing is rose petals dancing in the wind around her!”

A turquoise-furred ear, the carbuncle it was attached to still curled around Synnove’s neck, twitched out of the corner of Y’shtola’s eye. She kept her face placid and her own ears still, lest a smirk or flick catch Rereha’s attention. Synnove, meanwhile, had ducked her head, ostensibly to better examine part of the arcanima array she was tweaking, but Y’shtola caught a glimpse of the other mage’s grin.

“You’re the pathetic one, making fun of Heron like that,” Synnove said. Y’shtola was impressed by how she kept humor out of her voice. “It’s been only a fortnight since she had to say goodbye to Zero, leave her be.”

“Especially after that kiss,” Y’shtola muttered into her teacup, fighting down a reflexive blush. Intruding on that sort of sweet intimacy—though Zero had dipped Heron quite spectacularly in front of them all on the surface of the Thirteenth’s moon—even in memory, seemed voyeuristic.

“Damn good kiss,” Synnove said.

“Top five since the invention of the kiss,” Rereha said, briefly forgetting her faux anger. Then she scowled once more. “Lost me a good amount of gil, though.”

“Oh, come now, you’re the one who let Vrtra put down a bet,” Y’shtola said with a chuckle. “He only has several thousand years of observing humans to draw upon.”

“Should have put a handicap on him,” was the snippy reply.

A gust of wind tore through the yard, yanking at the trees and flowers that covered Synnove’s domains. The rose bushes especially seemed to lose their battle, a multitude of their petals flying into the air. The wind continued to tumble through the yard, bringing along their rainbow of rose petals, to swirl and dance briefly around Heron in red and yellow and pink and blue.

“Oh, come the fuck on!” Rereha howled.

As Heron turned to look at them sitting on the deck, bewilderment clear on her face, Synnove and Y’shtola burst into laughter. And Galette cackled, ears twitching as she made the breeze continue to dance to her tune.

But even as she made merry, Y’shtola’s mind whirled at the idea of a puzzle to solve.

--

“Heron, a moment, if you would?”

The Baldesion Annex’s library was no Noumenon in terms of the quantity of its contents, but it had a robust and varied selection, and quite comfortable chairs for more leisurely reading. Y’shtola stood before one of those chairs now, filled as it was with her Hellsguard friend, and smiled ever so slightly when Heron jolted in surprise, the other woman glancing up from her book.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Y’shtola,” Heron said, reaching for a bookmark. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“No need for apologies,” Y’shtola said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “A library is a library, and maintaining its sanctity is an ingrained habit.”

“Now that,” Heron drawled, placing her bookmark and setting the now-closed book on her lap, “sounds like a lesson learned from Master Matoya.”

“The cheek on you!”

Heron laughed, her sky-blue eyes crinkling in mirth, and Y’shtola mentally shook her head at the realization she had not heard that sound in quite a few sennights now. Perhaps her little idea would see that more permanently fixed.

“Well, despite the impudence on display before me,” Y’shtola said with a playfully haughty sniff, “I remain feeling magnanimous, and shan’t refrain from withholding gifts.”

Her friend tilted her head curiously; with Heron’s height, even sitting down, she was at eye level with Y’shtola. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Y’shtola said, and allowed herself to smile more genuinely as she stepped to the side. “Merely hoping to alleviate some of the melancholy in a friend.” She glanced down. “Come now, little one, no need to be shy.”

The nixie that peered from around Y’shtola’s skirts was the same as every other familiar that Y’shtola had summoned forth, save that this one was only a little more than half the size of its brethren. It squeaked when it saw Heron looking at it, but a gentle pat on its head coaxed the nixie to her side properly.

“This is Dancing Heron,” Y’shtola explained gently, giving its ear a gentle tweak as it gazed up at her. “You’re to accompany her, acting as both companion and conduit to your sibling on the Thirteenth. I know she will take excellent care of you.”

The nixie hummed thoughtfully, then turned to give Heron a hesitant wave. Heron, expression now bewildered, waved back with a waggle of her fingers. The nixie squeaked again, but the sound was more gleeful now, and it darted forward to snuggle down into her lap. Nixies could not purr, but this one did its best approximation, trilling like a babbling brook.

“A conduit?” Heron said, puzzled even as she helped the nixie to settle more comfortably.

“Mmmm.” Y’shtola allowed herself a few moments of smug satisfaction; this had been quite the little trick of aethercraft, and one that might make inter-shard communication more viable. “The nixie I left in Zero and Golbez’s care was created using astrally-aspected water aether from a very a special location, and obtaining it was no small feat; the location itself is key to allowing that nixie to reach back to the Source even without a voidgate.”

Heron’s brow furrowed. “…Aetheric sympathy tension paths?” she said hesitantly.

Y’shtola blinked, unable to stop her tail from lashing in surprise. How did she—ah, yes, Amandina and Roksana and their blastedly adorable methods of travel via void storage metafolds. She made a mental note to bother Synnove again about her efforts to reverse engineer that bit of magic.

“A very similar concept,” she said aloud instead. “Regardless, I had only a little of that water left and I originally thought it was not sufficient for another nixie. However, with a little experimentation, I was able to adjust the parameters of the spell to function with but a fraction of the normal amount of aether-infused water. This little one doesn’t have all the capabilities of a full-sized nixie, but it will be able to use its kinship with the nixie on the Thirteenth to slip messages across the rift.” Unable to help herself, Y’shtola winked. “I did perform a test run. Of course, it will make it easier for Zero to contact us should circumstances require it, too, but there shouldn’t be any harm in contacting Zero on more mundane matters.”

Heron stared at her, blinking slowly, before a hesitant, sweet smile broke across her face. “Thank you, Y’shtola,” she whispered, eyes suspiciously bright and glassy that Y’shtola was going to ignore, lest they both end up weepy and silly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course not, but I wanted to,” Y’shtola said firmly. “You are—were—unhappy, and what sort of friend would I be to not try and alleviate it? And if this effort hadn’t succeeded, I would have done something perhaps a little…less ostentatious as a way to take your mind off it, however temporary.”

“I don’t doubt you would have,” Heron said. “And thank you. Truly.”

“My most sincere pleasure, Heron,” she said with a smile. “I do have one request.”

“Certainly.”

“Do not name it Drippy.”

“It’s not that bad a name for a familiar made of water!”

“I will hex you.”

[fisherrprince]

“Ch’ari. What are you doing.”

The aetheric silhouette that is the Warrior of Light freezes in the middle of hobbling across the hallway. “I am… getting… a drink?” He says. 

“Oh?” Y’shtola raises an eyebrow. 

His aether flickers. The shape inches forward slowly, as if she were a dinosaur and couldn’t see him if he moved really slow. “I am… getting a very specific drink. From… Othard.”

“Are you now.” 

“…You are getting me a very specific drink from Othard?” Ch’ari tries. 

Y’shtola reaches behind her for her staff, and Ch’ari turns and scuttles as fast as his body will take him back into his room where he’s supposed to be. 

-

Alisaie scowls. “I am bored.”

“No kidding,” Ch’ari whines. “When are we allowed to leave?!”

“I am allowed to leave tomorrow. You will be staying here until you have resolved not to be a fool and throw your life away for a victory lap,” Alisaie snaps, and then her expression turns down. “Or at least until you can walk again.”

“Seems hypocritical to me. They’re letting you out early.”

“I’m almost healed!”

“By the loosest definition.”

“It wasn’t even a wound, Ari.”

“Hm.”

“Look—“ Alisaie says, pride in being Not Bedridden stoked by his dismissals, and pushes her way out of her bed at Dawn’s Respite to march over to Ch’ari’s bed, indignant. And still, notably, a bit shaky, after concentrated lightning magic left her too hurt to stand. Ch’ari still thinks they’re all stupid, every Scion, right back at them, for not tending to their own injuries well enough to heal themselves before pouring almost the entire Ragnarok’s worth of aether into him. Stupid, dumb, idiots. They’d already saved the universe at that point. We don’t need eight incapacitated scions when we could have had just the one. 

“You look like a baby amaro,” Ch’ari says, instead of voicing any of those thoughts. “Like a newborn foal. Damnation, looks like you’ll have to stay here and keep me company.”

Alisaie flicks him — gently, even though he’s not even got a head wound. “Ari. I promise we’re not going anywhere. And you know if you asked him to, Alphinaud would stay with you for days reading fantasy novels or textbooks at you for entertainment.”

His ears droop. “I know. But he needs to sleep.”

“And so do you.”

“And so do I,” Ch’ari grumbles in concession. “I am just not used to not moving. I want to kill something.”

Alisaie coughs out a startled laugh, and Ch’ari grins. “Gods, as do I, but we have our orders! Two weeks. No travel, no fights.”

“Sneak a coblin in here when you get out of this joint and I’ll pay for your sweets for a month.”

“Not a chance.”

-

“Not that I doubt your s-sSS-killed hands, Krile, I would never. But do bandages need changing thisoften?”

“In this specific case, yes,” Krile says, clearly not willing to entertain him while he chatters distractingly. “Might I remind you you were falling apart before we got to you with healing magics, and therefore you will be suffering the consequences for as long as a normal wound takes to heal naturally.”

“Peachy,” Ch’ari groans. He should have been better at avoiding that dumb voidsent Zenos summoned, but it always hid right out of his line of sight until it pounced. Clearly, a cheater, even if its master wouldn’t do a thing like that. Nah, he’d challenge him head-on, evening the playing ground until it was just strength against strength, no tricks, no unfair advantage. Pure, untouched adrenaline, bloodlust, the hunger for feeling alive. 

… Ch’ari will not miss him. But he will think of their encounters as long as it takes him to find something like it, if he ever does. Which is exactly what the prince wanted, drat. He should have taken Zenos to the Gold Saucer. Maybe he’d get really into chocobo racing instead of death matches. 

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by a sharp tug in his ribs. “Ow!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Krile says, already casting a light soothing glow over the sticky mess there. Ch’ari buries his head further into the pillow with a groan. 

The door creaks. “My, someone sounds grumpy they’re being tended to,” comes a voice, and Tataru trots in with a small box in her hands. Ch’ari’s ears perk up. 

“Am not grumpy, I’m injured. What’s that?”

“Medicine,” Tataru says bluntly, and then gets a sly grin. “And a handful of pastry fish, fresh from the oven.”

“Tataru you’re my favorite. Have I ever told you you’re my favorite? You are. Hands down,” Ch’ari says, already sniffing the air to catch the smell, his tail whacking the edge of the bed. “I don’t even care that it’s bribery to get me to drink that foul tincture, I love you.”

Tataru laughs, bright and open, and even Krile huffs a bit in amusement. 

-

Alphinaud is asleep when he wanders into the main rooms, and Ch’ari considers dropping something onto the table to wake him up, but decides against it. He’s not all that sure how mana works — or mana overexertion, or… well, Lyse called it a chakra, but Ari isn’t a monk, and he’s not sure what straining or breaking one of them entails. He just knows the kid needs to sleep a bunch to get his aether back, and Ari shouldn’t be startling him so bad he breaks something again. If that’s how that works. He’d rather not risk it. 

Instead, he wanders over to Estinien, who is brooding in his Dragoon Corner. Also seemingly asleep until one eye cracks open, trained on his approach. 

“Dragoon,” Ch’ari says.

“…Cat,” Estinien replies in greeting. Ari snorts, the joke he made about having nine lives clearly amusing or at least annoying the Elezen to this day. 

“Guarding your nest, are we? I didn’t think we’d see you stick around this long.”

Estinien grunts. “Aye. Under normal circumstances I’d rather be off by now. But as long as…” he frowns. It’s always difficult for him to differentiate between draconic instincts and his own, and then subsequently translate them into human words, something he and Ch’ari have only spoken of briefly when Nidhogg’s lingering presence wanted to clash with what was left of Hraesvelgr in Ch’ari’s body. Simultaneously feral and overtly made of higher thought, the presence of the dragon is as long-lived as the beasts themselves. “As long as my ward is in need of protection, I will stay,” he settles on. And then his expression squishes, pained. “And… the pink one threatened me if I were to leave without a clean bill of health.”

Ch’ari laughs, then covers his mouth quickly to muffle it. “Ah, the jailer. No escaping that.” 

“Indeed.”

-

“Raha, you need any help with anything?”

G’raha looks up from his books, surprised. The Warrior is standing over his shoulder, swath in bandages and a simple shirt and slacks, his tail swishing. “Do I need any help with anything?”

“Yes.”

“Well, no, I don’t think so… resigned to being monitored as we are, I have no new tasks which require my attention, and so…”

“Let me rephrase,” Ch’ari interrupts. “Please do you need help with anything.”

G’raha blinks. And then splits into a smile, ears giving a quick one-two wiggle. “My friend, I am quite sure we can find something to do. Something very calm and stressless, but something nonetheless. What is your opinion on magic circles?”

[mist-touchedxiv]

Chapter 6

The glow of the tavern's sign was hardly subdued by the firelight as the neon bird happily drank its fill. His hunch regarding the Thirsty Chocobo's viability as a defensive area for the town in the event of trouble seemed to be correct. The front door appeared to reinforced with a thick metal panel and when he focused his ears Loksen could hear many people inside the tavern, sheltering in place and frightened. Outside the tavern, a couple dozen bandits were milling around, some trying their best to make a dent in the metal barrier over the front door, some yelling generic but passionate threats at the villagers inside, the rest merely waiting.

A chill breeze blew through the town despite the fires and Loksen felt refreshed. As he observed the small crowd, his ears twitched: there was something about these goons that was familiar... aside from clearly being the mooks he had shooed away the previous day. Something about the way they handled themselves and their weapons. Regardless, he needed to thin out their ranks while they were unaware.

A rain of silent death proved to do the trick. The volley of arrows making short work of most of the bandits and causing the rest to flee in terror from the unseen assailant. Loksen approached and surveyed his handiwork with a grim expression. They were motley mix of Eorzeans with a variety of basic, but nasty weaponry. Taking the opportunity, he investigated the bodies for clues to what he recognized. Now that he could properly examine them it dawned on him: the shabby but uniform equipment, the weapons... they were Garlean conscript deserters. Despite their obvious desperation, they were dangerous. Hopefully, this scene would dissuade them from further harassment of thes-

Loksen's keen ears tingled as he heard a sound that made his blood run cold: the whir of magitek weaponry preparing to fire. Suddenly, he found himself twisting through the air and landing hard on the ground, his ears ringing. Despite the disorientation, he managed to stagger to his feet, his vision swimming from the impact. His training kicked in and despite his protesting body, managed to let loose a quick burst of arrows in the direction he thought the attack came from.

As the shock passed and his senses returned, he spat out the taste of blood in his mouth as he realized with horror that not only had these bandits deserted, they had stolen a Reaper class magitek armor.