#even i didn’t miss that one line she says to the wol

[most-fuckable-ff14-lady]

ROUND 1 MOST FUCKABLE FFXIV LADY

[risualto]

Dreams Could Never Fool Me

Title: Dreams Could Never Fool Me Summary: In which Rihnkiki confronts the temptation of power, harnesses the power of hand-holding, engages in ethical blood magic, and ultimately defeats a monster and saves the world (again). Warnings: spoilers for the BLM questline up to level 50 and the beginning of HW up to level 52, mentions of death, slight body horror Notes: There’s this whole thing in the level 30-50 BLM quests about how if the voidgate opens, it’s going to kill the WoL and also everyone who uses black magic, and then that never...goes anywhere.  So I picked up the thread, made it go somewhere, and tied Rihnkiki’s friends into the plot with it.  I’m really attached to this story, even if it’s a bit hard to understand compared to my usual stuff.  Title is still from “1000 Words” from FFX-2.

“I think something is wrong with my magic.”

Rihnkiki couldn’t be too upset that she had failed to notice.  The gauze-like anxiety had been so soft in her mind, so gradual in the way it tightened around her, that comparing one day to the next told her very little.  But, still, Rihnkiki was sure it would grow to suffocate her if left unchecked. So as much as she hated to add more to Alphinaud and Tataru’s workload at the moment, she had to say something.

“What?” Tataru asked.

Alphinaud’s lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes hardened.  “What do you mean?”  His tone wasn’t, actually, disbelieving in any way.  There was a drive in his voice that Rihnkiki knew meant he was gearing up to weave a solution, mind already sifting through the threads.

“My black magic, specifically,” Rihnkiki said.  “I think something is wrong with it.  It doesn’t feel right when I cast spells.”

“Are you certain ‘tis not simply a result of the source of your black magic being internal?” Alphinaud asked.

Rihnkiki shook her head.  “No,” she said.  Then hesitated.  The braid hanging in front of her ear tapped against her chin as if chastising her for freezing up.  “I don’t think so.  I would ask—” Papalymo, but he’s still missing, along with everyone else. Tataru and Alphinaud both looked away suddenly.  “I suppose I can’t be sure, but I know that it’s normal to feel empty for a moment when I use up my aether.  I don’t think it’s normal to feel like something is,” Rihnkiki scrunched up her nose, “watching me from the space left behind.”

A full body shiver wracked Tataru’s body, and Rihnkiki felt her skin break out in gooseflesh sympathetically as the other lalafell squeaked with distaste.

Alphinaud, on the other hand, looked almost stricken for a second before he pulled himself together.  Rihnkiki remembered Alisaie saying something, once, about how much her brother despised ghost stories.  She really wished this didn’t sound so much like one.

“N-no, that…certainly would be aught which warrants concern,” Alphinaud agreed, clearing his throat.

“I’m not sure that I even have the words to actually describe it,” Rihnkiki said. “Sometimes my chest gets fuzzy, and other times my head hurts afterwards.”

“Couldn’t you just stop using your black magic for now, then?” asked Tataru. One of her hands wrapped soothingly around Inky’s own.

Alphinaud stepped forward, too, fingers flexing by his side as if itching to grab a quill immediately.  “I shall do what I can to research this, though my own magic is so different, I may—it pains me to say this—struggle to find an answer for you.  Particularly with our limited resources at the moment.”  A moment of silence.  “In the interim, Tataru has the right of it.  Do try and refrain from using your black magic unless ‘tis absolutely necessary.”

Rihnkiki bit her lip.  She wanted to assure them she wouldn’t, but the unfortunate truth was that her guild needed her.  If her mentor was to be believed, something far worse than a little magical discomfort could be coming should she fail to act.  “I can’t promise I won’t use it at all,” she said, linking fingers with Tataru, “but I’ll do everything I can to avoid it.”

The pressure of Tataru’s hand clinging to hers, of Alphinaud’s hand brushing her shoulder as he rushed from the room on a mission, helped a little. Like this, it was hard to even imagine the wrongness, and a part of her wondered if perhaps she could just bring one of them on all her quests for Ququruka from now on.  If the solution to this might just be having a hand to hold.

 “Alright, I may have been joking when I said it last time, but I’m not now,” Rihnkiki said, flopping into Haurchefant’s lap where he was sitting on a couch beside her other friends.  “Next mission, hand-holding.  Literally.”

All of the room’s other occupants sat up, ramrod straight.

“Does— Did something happen to you?!” Tataru asked, Rihnkiki felt a healing spell rinse over her at the same time.  The feeling of Alphinaud’s magic was always like a breath of cool, morning air.

She smiled, endeared, but waved a hand in his direction.  “I’m alright, Alphinaud, thank you.”  Then, before he could have a chance to argue, she continued, “But, yes, something happened, and I don’t like it.”

“Pray tell what troubles you, my friend,” Haurchefant said, leaning back and ducking his head to look her in the eyes.

“To make a long and ongoing story short,” Rihnkiki said up to him, “I’ve been feeling something strange when I use black magic.  We were concerned before, but lately it’s getting worse.”  

She sat up, swinging her legs a little anxiously as she faced Tataru and Alphinaud.  “Remember when I said my head gets fuzzy after I cast powerful spells?”

“Yes,” said Alphinaud.

“Did you faint?!” Tataru gasped.

“No, no!” Rihnkiki said quickly.  “Not…exactly.  I think. I’m not sure.”  Lines of worry only deepened across Tataru’s face, and Rihnkiki winced.

She kept her voice light and breezy, because while she could understand this was probably dangerous and she wanted her friends’ help, she didn’t want them to drive themselves crazy with worry.  “When I get close to those planar fissures, my whole body hurts.  Like I just fought a primal sort of aching.  And I start feeling something here,” she said, raising her free hand to the center of her torso.  “Not pain, and not like the Echo.  It feels…like when you stand up too quickly right when you wake up.  You don’t quite fall, but you’re a little off balance.  Does that make sense?”

“I understand what you’re describing,” Haurchefant said, “but I have no idea what it might indicate, I’m afraid.”

“Nor do I.”  Alphinaud pursed his lips.  “But if these episodes are becoming more acute or more frequent, ‘tis certainly cause for concern.”  If only they could ask for help.  Minfilia or Papalymo or Y’shtola, or any of their allies, anyone who might have connections or knowledge the four of them lacked.

Rihnkiki thought the fact that they could not simply ask for help from Ishgard was a bit stupid, but their only real friends here were House Fortemps, who lacked the expertise, and Ser Aymeric, who might have connections but lacked the time.  The realization rushed past Rihnkiki’s ears and through her chest like a cold wind. She hated feeling like this, like there was a solution that no one wanted to use for reasons she couldn’t understand.

But she tried to, anyway.  There was beauty in the differences between people.  Even if—

—even if it sometimes it left the lalafell feeling like she was teetering on the edge of something infinitely dark and dangerous, trying to reach out to give everyone the same understanding and yet never having anyone reach back to catch her.  Her ears were ringing with the emptiness.

Actually, she could hear it.

She could certainly hear something, and she wasn’t sure if it was her own breathing or heartbeat or a gentle whisper.

“Inky!”

Rihnkiki blinked.  Swallowed. Her mouth was dry, and there was a hand on her cheek.  One on her back, as well, and another on her shoulder, and when her vision swam back into focus, it was flooded with blue.  Blue coat, wide blue eyes.  She didn’t remember Alphinaud getting up to move in front of her.

“Oh,” she said.  “Oh, it just—”

“Yes, ‘twould seem so—”

“—happened again, didn’t it?”  Rihnkiki and Alphinaud spoke over each other, exhaling worriedly in sync after a second.

Tataru made a worried, shaky noise at her side as she pulled her hand away from Rihnkiki’s face.

But Rihnkiki just smiled brightly, shaking her whole body out and filling the room with the babbling-brook laugh of her jewelry.  “See?  This is why I think the hand-holding solution might not be so bad.  If someone is with me, then they might see what I can’t.”

“’Tis a fine idea,” Haurchefaunt agreed, patting her back once before withdrawing his hand to gesture approvingly towards the others.  “Would that I had leave to accompany you myself, Inky.”

“I shall do it,” Alphinaud said.  His words were still measured, equally spaced, but they were still compressed into a single breath.  As if there was competition.  (Rihnkiki appreciated the gesture, knowing how much Alphinaud was trying to ensure she knew that he genuinely cared for her.)

Tataru nodded.  “I’ll be sure to hold things down here, keep searching for people to talk to.  You can leave it to me!”

“We know no one better,” Rihnkiki said.  Maybe all they could see was the next couple of steps, but at least they were holding tight to each other so as not to get lost in the darkness.

 Alphinaud was truly feeling the strain of his resolve, to judge people by intention rather than judging powers by the big picture, when Rihnkiki came to him barely a week later with concern over the involvement of blood magic in her quests.  As soon as she brought it up, Tataru had shifted the focus of her research to both Rihnkiki’s mentor as well as any record of successful blood magic which hadn’t resulted in corruption or death.  And even had Inky not asked it of him, there would have been little she could have done to stop Alphinaud from accompanying her at that point.

He just hoped his perspective as an outsider to this sort of magic would prove enough of a defense to protect his friends.

This was a power Alphinaud did not trust even as far as he could throw it (which, unassisted by magic, was a negligible amount).  Not when he could do nothing but bear witness to how mere proximity to the planar fissures caused Inky to wince as if walking on broken glass. But the fissures had to be closed.

“You ought to be able to simply disrupt it,” Alphinaud said, putting a hand on Inky’s shoulder.  She reached up to pat it with the hand not holding her wand.  “Simply detonating one of your offensive spells inside the rift would cause it to destabilize on its own.  ‘Twould be akin to collapsing a cavern entrance to block passage through a tunnel.”

“But if we don’t get the ritual gear from the fissure, and it turns out we really did need it, what then?” Inky asked him.  She didn’t sound like she was begging, just that she was worried.  If her mentor and compatriots were to be believed, then the blood magic was a necessary evil here because it would grant them artifacts which could be used to avert a greater destruction.

Alphinaud sighed.  Was it acceptable to take the bait laid before them just because knew it to be a trap?

He looked between the hissing, gaping fissure in reality and his hand where it lay on Inky’s shoulder.  She followed his eyes, and he could feel her growing restless.  If she were wearing her bard jewelry, it would be babbling, anxiously demanding attention with her every slight movement.  Its absence was somehow more jarring.  But Rihnkiki waited for him to answer her seriously, listening with wide eyes.

He did not trust blood magic; he did not trust Rihnkiki’s mentor, Ququruka, who had been imprisoned for a century for a crime no one remembered and then released on a whim; he did not trust the beastmen Rihnkiki called friends in this quest who hid themselves away, outcast from even the peaceful factions of their own people. But if there were to be a single person in the world whose presence and heart could somehow un-profane the practice of blood magic, he would trust that to be Rihnkiki Rihnki.

Something yet held him back.  The information they had suggested that failing to close these rifts would eventually lead to Inky’s death, as something had inextricably linked the lives of black magic users to whatever entity was trying to use them to break through to this plane.  And in the interim, was it not convenient that this risky-at-best ritual would alleviate the pain which afflicted his friend while abstaining would prolong it? ‘Twas like a drug, Alphinaud feared. Giving in would stave off the pain but not solve the problem.  This blood magic was alluring, addictive, capable of usurping a person’s rational thought with promises they might not know to be hollow until it was too late.

“Alphinaud?” Inky asked when he crouched beside her, one knee sinking into the scorching sands until they were almost of a height.  Alphinaud needed to see her eyes.  He lacked the power of the Echo, but he hoped this would be enough to know her mind.

“If I said you should walk away—that this is too dangerous and we need some other choice—would you?”

Inky’s forehead scrunched in confusion, but she said, “Of course,” and nodded, shoulder relaxing under his hand.

No hesitation.

She agreed.  Even if what Alphinaud was suggesting could kill her slowly and painfully, should they fail to find another way, she agreed.  Her eyes were clear, cloudless as a shallow stream.  At its bed, Alphinaud could see her uneasiness, but it was nestled within her usual determination and hope.  They both knew finding another solution wouldn’t be easy—mayhap even impossible—but Alphinaud could see no trace of untruth in her face as she said, “Where else should we start?”

He took a deep breath and said nothing.  Inky circled her fingers around his wrist gently, tugging when he didn’t make a move to stand up or pull them away from the fissure.

“No, wait,” he finally said, voice coming back to him.  “‘Twas…merely a test.  Rather than needing you to walk away, Inky, I needed to know you could. That you are not being compelled or, given the improbability of that with your Echo, tempted somehow.”  He shook his head.  “Mistake not my opinion of the whole thing; I still believe this is dangerous.  But much of the danger in blood magic comes from losing oneself in it—becoming so possessed by the promise of power as to lose sight of what blood actually costs.”

Inky’s face softened.  Her eyes crinkled.  “Clever,” she said appreciatively.  “The others are worried, too, you know.  We all know this power is dangerous, and that using it for the sake of, well, power, is the worst of the danger.  We watch out for each other.  But I’m really grateful you’re watching, too.”

“I’ve been saying for months that I have a great deal to learn from you,” Alphinaud said, standing up and opening his grimoire.  “I just never thought ethical blood magic was going to be one of those things.”

“What a coincidence,” Inky said.  “Me neither!” She turned to face the rift with a grin, and Alphinaud stepped up beside her.

The two of them together had no problem dispatching the voidsent which emerged from the fissure when Inky kicked some dirt at it.  Alphinaud still held his breath when Rihnkiki produced a vial of one of her fellow mages’ blood and scattered it into the hole in reality that somehow looked cracked and jagged while also a syrupy mire.  

Rihnkiki dropped the vial almost immediately, hand flying up to her forehead, and Alphinaud held his breath.  But, with a hiss and a sound like cloth tearing, the fissure vanished like ink down a drain, and a piece of a dark robe fluttered to the ground where it used to be.

It was garb meant for a black mage.  Alphinaud could sense the protective enchantment in it, even if it would refuse to bind with his magic as a scholar.

Alphinaud still swore there was something out of place.  But this did not appear to be the missing piece.

 “As far as Ishgard is concerned, Ququruka isn’t even worth a footnote in a history textbook,” Tataru grumbled.  “And no one has any information about weird holes in reality or void portals, either.  Even the Aethenium has nothing on any of it!”

Alphinaud sighed.  “Do I want to know what a favor from the astrologians cost?”

Tataru’s eyes glinted like a spindle point.  “A song and a sympathetic ear at the right time in the right places can go a long way, you know,” she said cryptically.  He chose to take her words at face value with a wry chuckle.

The cheer was quickly swept out into silence as they both couldn’t help looking towards the empty chair by the fire.  Inky was out in the city with Lord Haurchefant just now, but all of them knew the diversion was just that—a way to try and take her mind off of the fact that collecting the garb her quest required hadn’t seemed to alleviate her condition in the long term.

“If I could work in Ul’dah,” Tataru said, worrying her lip.  The statement didn’t go anywhere.  They had tread that path of thinking so many times it threatened to crack beneath them.

“I know,” Alphinaud answered.  Hesitated, but offered a sympathetic smile.  “I’ve not found much myself.  I have been investigating the voidgate and Inky’s symptoms, both, looking for aught of a correlation which might exist, but there seems to be no precedent at all. None that was recorded, at least. If I’m honest…”  

The air in his lungs thinned for a moment, filtered raggedly through the age-old desire to justify himself, assert the difference between having failed and being a failure.  But Tataru didn’t seem to expect anything of him besides that he would continue speaking eventually.  

“I just don’t understand at all why she is experiencing this affliction. Particularly as we now have—unless all of Inky’s beastmen friends are exceptionally gifted actors—proof that ‘tis only she who is actively experiencing symptoms.  They all believe it will be the end of them if the voidgate opens, and yet…”

“…it’s really hurting her these days, whatever it is,” Tataru said, staring at her lap.  Alphinaud dropped his eyes as well.  He knew Tataru wasn’t blaming him for not having the answers.  But as with many things, Alphinaud did not need assistance to take it on himself.

“Wait,” Tataru said.  Alphinaud looked up.  “This sickness, or pain, or-or thing that’s wrong with Inky—could it be her crystal? Something with black magic that’s only hers?”

“That—” Alphinaud paused, then pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger as he truly considered it.  “That’s not impossible,” he said, eyes widening as he ran through the facts in his head.  “I’ve already investigated the mage whose name her crystal bears, and there’s precious little information on Shattoto save that she was capable of wielding powerful black magic when it was in common use.  But mayhap examining the crystal directly would tell us more.”

Tataru nodded, smiling.  “We’ll ask when she comes back, then!”  She patted her lap and kicked her legs.  It looked as if she was trying to release the energy that had built up from finding a possible solution but not being able to follow it.  Alphinaud could sympathize.  “At least she’s still with us, even despite the blood magic stuff.”

For that, at least, he did have a plausible answer ready.  “I would hypothesize that has more to do with the fact that she only used blood willingly given, and not enough of it to seriously impair or kill the donor,” he said.

Tataru scrunched her nose up and pressed a knuckle against her temple.  “I’d still rather not make a habit of it, if it’s all the same to you, Master Alphinaud,” she said.

Alphinaud chuckled.  “Nor would I. The whole practice still feels like tempting fate.”

“But into what?”

 Finding out that Ququruka had lied this whole time, that he was planning the exact kind of blood magic ritual Rihnkiki had done everything in her power to protect herself and her friends from, certainly was not the highlight of her day.  She never liked finding out she had been tricked or lied to.  But on the bright side, they had a goal now.  A way forward.

She was still breathless when she burst into the Fortemps manor, so fresh out of the aetheryte network that particles of aether still clung to her eyelashes.

“Rihnkiki!” Alphinaud said, springing to his feet as soon as he saw her.  “What happened?”

“Ququruka is the missing piece!��  Inky ran towards him.  The sound of a door slamming open had her turning over her shoulder—

It was Tataru, pulling her hat down around her ears as she rushed up.  “Inky!”

Rihnkiki moved over so they could all stand in their little triangle-for-discussions that was becoming customary.  “Ququruka is trying to finish the blood magic ritual we started himself.  He’s trying to mess it up and open the voidgate instead of sealing it,” she said by way of explanation.  “Oh, and hello.”  Alphinaud covered his face, trying to conceal a snort.

“Hello, hello, but what are you doing here if the voidgate is about to open?!” Tataru asked, nervously flapping her arms at her sides.

“I don’t want to go alone,” Rihnkiki said, reaching out a hand to each of them.  Her bracelets jingled on her arms, and she saw the moment it registered to her friends that she was wearing her bard gear, not her black mage gear.  “I haven’t been able to use black magic at all today without feeling sick.  I asked Kazagg Chah and the others for help, of course.  They’re on their way to the temple where Ququruka went right now.  But I hoped you’d come, too.”

“Of course, my friend,” Alphinaud said, taking her hand.

Tataru reached out.  “I-I can’t fight with you,” she said, then screwed up her face and took a deep breath. “But of course I’ll help, however I can.”

“Thank you,” Rihnkiki said.  And she tried, one more time, to call on the Gem of Shattoto, to bring forth her black magic which could fight the voidgates.  There was a brief rush of aether, which was normal, as the silks and silver of her bard gear were replaced by the heavy ceremonial robes she had pulled from the planar fissures.  The drumbeat of her heart quieted, and in the silence, she knew she ought to feel her black magic spark to life.

But the only black anything that came was a veil across her vision, a silence inside of her through which she could feel only tension, hunger, resentment.  Where…?

Turned on you, too…

Mine… More… Come…

Rihnkiki squeezed the hands in hers.  She wouldn’t turn away this time.  And finally, after what felt like hours, the spark snapped into being, and Rihnkiki was sure to let it catch, even though it felt like breathing in smoke.

She opened her eyes and exhaled.  Normal air. “I really hope that stopping the ritual will fix this,” she sighed.  Her friends nodded.  Rihnkiki could already see aether gathering around Alphinaud, swirling down his arms as he prepared to teleport all of them.  “Southern Thanalan,” she said when he looked at her questioningly.

Their aether was dispersed into the Lifestream itself, latched onto the natural flow of magic through the world and seeking an anchor.  That feeling, too, was like being breathless, but it was like a gasp of surprise instead of desperation.  This was what magic should be.  Chaos, not recklessness.  Freedom, not insanity.

 As they approached the temple where Ququruka was—they hoped—waiting, desert heat seeping into their skin like sweat into their clothes, Rihnkiki couldn’t help wondering if she should have stayed a bard or a white mage.  Her head was swimming from the heat, vision growing a little hazy at the edges and a headache creeping up her spine.

Kazagg Chah, Da Za, and Dozol Meloc, the three other black mages who had given up everything to pursue the prophecy of black magic, who had believed in Ququruka and the quest he gave them to protect this world from the voidgate, approached them.  Rihnkiki just focused on breathing as her two groups of friends greeted each other.

“I want to talk to him,” she said when Kazagg Chah asked her what they should do as the ritual was already underway.  “It just doesn’t make sense.  Why would he wait a hundred years in prison and only try the ritual now?  Why would he have helped me keep the voidgate closed before?  Why leave a note…” A wave of dizziness swept Rihnkiki’s thoughts up like leaves in the wind, but she was held down by the people standing around her.  “Why leave anything…about what he was doing, when he could have done it all in secret and gotten away?”  No one answered.

Rihnkiki turned, almost stumbling, to Tataru who hadn’t left her side.  “Inky…” the other lalafell said, biting her lip in worry.

“Stay close to Alphinaud, please,” Rihnkiki said.  “I want you here, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“We’ll both stay close to you,” Alphinaud said, coming up behind her.  “But we ought to hurry.”

All six of them ran through the ever-open stone doors of the temple.  Its sandstone pillars vanished into shadow above their heads, long shadows cast down by the glowing purple magic in Ququruka’s hands where he stood over the altar.  Before Rihnkiki could call out to him, the magic crawled up his arms and down his body.  Just like how Alphinaud had looked swathed in aether when he teleported them, but reversed and dark, dark, dark.

Ququruka turned to them, and his eye was just as empty when it met Rihnkiki’s gaze. She looked past him to see—

They were too late.  Perhaps if Rihnkiki hadn’t detoured to Ishgard, they would have made it.  A shiver tore through her body as the black magic Ququruka was wielding swirled and thickened like violet molasses. Tataru tucked herself close to Rihnkiki’s side, but even with their shoulders pressed together, Rihnkiki felt no warmth as the shape of the aether over the altar finally resolved into something like a crystal, and then it shattered.

Shrieks and static filled the temple.  Rihnkiki was weightless.  Her headache exploded like a thousand cactuar needles through every nerve in her body, and her vision whited out.

 “Inky!”

“No!”

“Let us see how far your powers have come…!”

“The gate—!”

“Broken now, the seal is!”

“Doomed, finished, dead—if we do not close the fishy fissures!”

‘Twas a challenge even to think between the yelling and the bombardment of aether from the planar fissures, but Alphinaud pinched the thumb of his free hand into his fist and turned to Tataru, who was clutching Inky’s paralyzed body.

“Pull her away.  I shall help them deal with that monster,” he said.  Tataru looked up at him with teary eyes, and he shook his head.  “It may not be too late if we seal the gate once more!”

“Okay!” Tataru said, pulling herself and Inky to rest against a pillar.

Alphinaud turned back to the battle and flipped to a new page in his grimoire.

The other black mages were holding their own against the huge monster that Ququruka had brought through the gate, but through the planar fissures, it continued to summon other voidsent to its aid.  “Amalj’aa!” Alphinaud called, unable to remember what Inky had said his name to be in the moment.

“What?” the black mage called back, unleashing a torrent of fire on a creature that had nearly overtaken him.

Alphinaud finished it off and said, “Close the gates!  Or this will never end!”

The amalj’aa turned to one of the fissures and detonated spell after spell around it, but the thing didn’t so much as waver.  He called on one of his friends to try, but neither the kobold nor the Ixal were any more successful.

“It has to be her,” someone rasped.  It took Alphinaud a moment to realize the voice came from none other than Ququruka, lying on the floor with his arms clutching a wound that the elezen didn’t remember seeing him take.

“Of course,” Alphinaud hissed.  “So you ensured she would fall first.”

“No…” Ququruka said, throwing an arc of lightning into one of the voidsent. He looked past Alphinaud at Rihnkiki and Tataru, hat falling off as he turned towards them, but there was no malice on his now-uncovered face.  “I did not account for this.”

Alphinaud rolled his eyes as he healed the amalj’aa.  “Well, perhaps you might try to account for it now!” he snapped.

But Ququruka did not reply, eyes rolling back as the wound he sustained apparently took its toll.  Alphinaud was partway through casting a spell to revive him when the amalj’aa called out to him.  “You, blue one!” he cried.  “Your magic is of no element, is it not?”

“I— ‘Tis neither black nor white magic, so technically, yes,” Alphinaud said, taking a step back.

“The abomination and the fissures are products of black magic, and black magic afflicts Rihnkiki.  Could you not aid her somehow?” the amalj’aa asked.

Alphinaud didn’t know.  But he also did not know that it wouldn’t work, and with Inky growing paler in Tataru’s arms, he was willing to try.

 Tataru was wrapped so tightly around Inky that she could feel her friend’s breathing, even through the thick robes.  Inky’s heart was hammering against Tataru’s arms, almost as if trapped and trying to burst out.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she whispered, eyes filling with tears as she watched Inky’s brow cinch painfully tight, hands twitching ever so faintly at her sides.  

Alphinaud took a knee on Inky’s other side as Tataru reached down to take Inky’s hand in one of hers and squeeze it.  He poured two healing spells into her before Tataru felt Inky squeeze back.

“Wake up, Inky,” Alphinaud said, putting a hand on her shoulder as he cast one more spell.  Inky’s blue eyes opened just the slightest bit, unfocused and staring straight up.

Tataru felt her tears fall, wetting Inky’s robes in the process.  “We need your help, Inky, please,” she said.  “No one else can close those fissures.”

“Trying,” she muttered hoarsely.  “He’s stealing my magic… Can’t do anything like this.”

Was that even possible?  As if reading the questions off Tataru’s face, Inky raised a hand towards the closest fissure.  Tataru wasn’t trained in any magic, but she was connected to the world’s aether as inherently as any Eorzea-born creature, so she could feel that Rihnkiki was trying to cast something.  Tataru held her breath.  At the last second, though, Rihnkiki’s eyes shifted towards the monster in the middle of the room, and the spell vanished.  No exhale, no effect.

“But-but how can he do that?” Tataru asked, squeezing Inky’s hand between both of hers and placing them to rest on Inky’s chest.  “Thaumaturgy uses aether that comes from you, right?  Isn’t black magic the same?  That’s what you and Papalymo always said!  It’s your magic!”

Alphinaud gasped, grimoire falling to his lap with a muffled thud.  There was a loud groan and a crack, and Tataru saw the kobold slump down a pillar across the room.  The monster roared again, but Alphinaud was fixated on something else.  He reached down, pushing the sleeve on Inky’s left arm up.  “Inky, do that again,” he ordered.  “Cast a spell!”

Another wave of voidsent burst through the fissures.  Tataru’s chest quivered, the low, chattering rumble of it almost like an earthquake, like the day Dalamud fell.  Rihnkiki cried out, back arching off the ground as the cracks in reality grew a little larger, a little more unstable.  Tataru didn’t realize she was chanting Inky’s name until Inky shook their woven hands.

“Taru, Taru, Taru,” she answered, laughing despite how it sounded like she couldn’t get enough breath.

When Tataru looked up, she noticed Alphinaud tracing a shape in the air around Rihnkiki’s arm.  “I would have liked to test this first,” he whispered.  Mint-aqua aether spun from his fingers, more delicate than the finest threads Tataru had ever seen even a silkworm weave, even in a situation like this. “But Tataru has the right of it. Your aether should be yours, and none ought to be able to take it from you without a siphon of some kind.  This is all I can think of.”

The pattern solidified as Alphinaud connected the last line, and Tataru leaned over to finally see that Alphinaud wasn’t trying to do something to Rihnkiki’s arm.  He was doing something to her crystal, the Gem of Shattoto that they never had time to investigate.  It looked like he’d woven a net around the gem where it was secured to Inky’s wrist with thin leather straps.  

“Try once more, Inky,” Alphinaud said.  “But hurry, if you wouldn’t mind.”  Tataru could see how his jaw was tense, fingers held rigidly over Inky’s wrist.

She didn’t have any magic, couldn’t even really use a sword if one of those voidsent came close.  But she stayed, bent protectively over her friend’s chest with a supportive-if-shaky smile.  Inky said she wanted a hand to hold, and Tataru damn well would give both of hers.

 Rihnkiki took a deep breath and almost cried with relief when it didn’t feel like something was trying to suck the air right out of her chest.  The monster—Barbatos, it called itself; and Rihnkiki somehow just knew—was still there, still trying to claw its way into her.  But Rihnkiki could feel the warmth of Tataru’s hands and the cool breeze of Alphinaud’s magic already there, right around her heart where they belonged.

Barbatos—no offense, she thought, sticking her tongue out at it in her head—did not belong.  Its whispers, a chorus where every member was just a little out of time, beat against her mind like a hurricane.  Just a little more, more, more, give me more.

Tear them apart, too.  Can’t protect them like this.

It was nothing Rihnkiki hadn’t more or less heard from it before, but there was a desperate cadence to the voice now, like it truly had no idea why she wasn’t listening.

Puffing her cheeks out, Rihnkiki let her head fall back against Tataru’s leg as she focused.  She didn’t need more power.  She just needed to use what she had.  Her friends’ protection, her own magic.

Her wand was still strapped to her side, and there was no way to reach for it without breaking away from either Alphinaud or Tataru, but that was okay.  She didn’t need to focus her aether this time.

Simply detonating one of your offensive spells inside the rift would cause it to destabilize…akin to collapsing a cavern entrance to block passage through a tunnel.

No fire, no lightning, no ice, Rihnkiki thought to herself, unwilling to hurt her friends in the process.  Just magic, pure black magic, enough to eat up every one of those fissures and make everything stop hurting.

The pressure in her chest, the ache in her muscles, the blinding pain in her head—Rihnkiki uncurled the fingers of her left hand, and with a single sigh, let it all go.

 Alphinaud wasn’t sure what spell Rihnkiki meant to cast that took so long to build up to, but when she finally released it, he felt something bite into the shield he’d placed around the Gem of Shattoto, maw crushing down, trying to shatter the barrier like the shell of a nut.  But Alphinaud held firm, pushed back with all he had, for one, two, three heartbeats, and the whole temple fell silent.  It was as if the tiny, hazy pinprick of light Rihnkiki let out of her hand had sucked all of the air into itself, leaving none through which sound could travel.  Everything and everyone stopped, disoriented.

A high-pitched ringing flooded the room.  The star burst.

Alphinaud reflexively pulled an arm up to cover his eyes from the onslaught of white and silver, dropping Inky’s arm in the process as his shield gave way. He could hear the distorted squealing of dying voidsent and what sounded like the hissing of burning flesh, but none of the heat or destruction touched him, recognizing him and Tataru and Inky’s other allies as friends.

When he looked up, his eyes struggled to adjust to a chamber plunged into total darkness.  The sickly purple magic was extinguished.  The pressure was gone, too, all four of the fissures closed without a trace.

“Mine…” rasped a voice, then a second, then many, overlapping each other as the huge abomination struggled to its feet.  Alphinaud could faintly make out singe marks all over its body, but it yet stood.  “Mine… Power…”

The other black mages were staggering back to their feet, and Alphinaud sent out a quick healing spell to the one who had been thrown into a pillar before.  It was almost all he had left after spending so much on his makeshift aether shield.

The light of the spell illuminated the creature as it turned towards them, eyes on Inky, drooling from its multiple—disgusting—multiple mouths.  Tataru got to her feet, standing over Inky protectively as Alphinaud got a foot under him to do the same.

But the creature stopped short, flailing like a child in their direction. “Gone, gone, gone, where is it-t-t— Mine!”

For a blind second, Alphinaud felt the urge to reach for Inky’s wrist again in search of a pulse.  But she was still conscious, looking just as confused as the rest of them.

Suddenly, mouthed a soft, Oh.  And smiled, exhausted but victorious.  “Can’t take what I don’t have,” she whispered.  “’M out of aether.”

“Yes!” cried one of the beastmen.  It sounded like the Ixal.

The amalj’aa called out, “Now, now!”

“End, finish, destroy!” crowed the kobold, and a shower of elemental magic consumed the monster before Alphinaud could cast another spell.

It lay there, unmoving in the center of the temple, before groaning and popping like a thousand joints snapping back into place—and dissolved into smoke.

Inky laughed, head falling back as she pushed herself up on her elbows.  “Nice work,” she said.  Her chest was heaving, her cheeks were pale, and her hands shook as she raised one of them in a thumbs-up towards the other mages.  But victory was theirs.  The voidgate was closed.  They were all alive.

 Except Ququruka.  Rihnkiki had switched to her white mage gear as soon as she’d gotten to her feet, but even doing everything she could to regenerate her mana, even with Alphinaud using what he had left to help, they only barely managed to keep him alive long enough for him to explain the truth of Barbatos.

To apologize for his own part in the monster’s creation a hundred years ago, for perverting the bodies and memories of Kazagg Chah, Da Za, and Dozol Meloc’s ancestors with his green, for exposing Rihnkiki to the danger by allowing her to come into power with the same crystal which aided that ritual.  To thank them for finally putting his old friends to rest.

To be forgiven, and then to finally rest himself.

A part of Rihnkiki wondered if she ought to leave the Gem of Shattoto with him as they buried Ququruka together, outside Nald’s Reflection.  She looked at the crystal in her palm.  It was completely see-through, but was it empty?  Did corruption still linger in it?  If so, would the right answer be to let it rest, too, when it had already witnessed so much pain?

But, then again, she thought, looking over her shoulder at her friends where they stood behind her in the fading daylight—then again, so had they.  They were a little worn out, sometimes, but still standing together.

For those we have lost.  For those we can yet save.

Rihnkiki clasped her hands around the Gem of Shattoto with a soft hum, and she tucked it into her bag and turned away.

“Shall we go, then?” Tataru asked, reaching out to her.  Alphinaud nodded.  Rihnkiki took their hands with a smile.

[lovehotelreservation]

(Re)spite

Summary: Hathe and Emet-Selch needed a break.

For Hathe, it was to preserve her energy and ease her nerves before ascending The Ladder for the daunting task of putting an end of Vauthry.

As for Emet-Selch?

He just needed for the glint of that painfully familiar shard to stop tormenting him so.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: WoL!OC/Emet-Selch

Continuation to “Mea Culpa”

BEEP BEEP SAD GRANDPA SEXINGZ ON THE WAY !!!

THANKS SO MUCH TO MY LOVELY COMMISSIONER FOR THIS BLESSEDLY ANGSTY OPPORTUNITY!!!

----------------

It just wasn’t the same.

There was a time when Emet-Selch set his eyes upon the Warrior of Light as something more than just a pawn in his plan, more than a fascinating subject in his observation of the mortals within the First.

An era long lost, but one he yearned so dearly to return to--it was during those blessed bygone days when he mockingly called out to the savior of the realm as not “hero”, but Azem.

As much as he wanted to deny it, he preferred truth over delusion.

The shard of his beloved Azem was here, lingering within the possession of the Warrior of Light.

Hathe.

But now, as he found himself lingering around the proximity of The Ladder in the mortals’ ongoing efforts to thwart Vauthry’s plans while the Kholusian sun mercilessly bore down upon him, his eyes were not softened with affection as he gazed towards her, but fixed in a scrutinizing stare.

It just wasn’t the same.

Hathe’s aether.

Corrupted cracks had since formed during her adventures in the First, all because of her misplaced faith in the Crystal Exarch.

Honestly, for all the glares and huffs that he received from her, it truly was baffling that she did not do the same to The Crystarium’s leader.

His lips were beginning to form a pout from this biased treatment.

“How are you not boiling in that thing?”

But then his lips curled into a grin as his gaze shifted to the eyes of the inquiring voice.

Lounging beneath the shade of one of the old workshops was Hathe, who retreated to this distant corner of The Ladder to preserve her energy before the ascent up to Mt. Gulg while the other Scions and the Eulmorans worked together to get the Talos running once again.

Clicking his tongue in a tsk, Emet-Selch threw his arms open wide in overexaggerated faux shock as he remarked, “My, my, hero--how brazen of you.” 

He approached where she sat in a saunter, crossing between the distinct line on the pavement to where the blazing sunlight treaded no further into the cool shade as he continued, his voice donning a playful innocence, “Did you wish for me to strip for you so badly?” Tilting his head, he pressed a thoughtful finger against his cheek with a smirk as he purred, “Have you missed my warmth in your bed that much?”

A roll of her eye and a sigh out of her painted lips.

“I should have just stayed quiet and enjoyed the peace.” Shaking her head, her arms folded over her chest as she reclined further back against the wall. Her eyes shut, hoping he would take this as cue to leave her alone.

But the sudden presence that appeared right by her side entailed otherwise.

As did him crouching down, a silent affirmation of his intentions to stay.

Not even the sensation of gloved fingertips cradling her chin had her look towards him, let alone fluttering her eyelid open to perceive his existence.

“Oh come now, you act like my presence hasn’t enriched your life for the better--”

He drew closer to her.

“--truly, wouldn’t you prefer I over the Exarch?”

The heat of his breath fanning over her ear never failed to make her shudder, a sensation that she was ever reluctant to enjoy.

She had a feeling as to where this was going. Though her better judgment would have her shoo him away before matters progressed further--especially given their relatively close proximity to the rest of the Scions and the others--it was either indulging in pleasure or quietly stew in thought over both the task of sending Vauthry crashing down while dealing with the Light that was poisoning her aether.

But that didn’t mean she was going to be that compliant with the man who was meant to be her nemesis.

And thus her eye opened, the sight of which made him wish she didn’t have to keep that eyepatch of hers on.

Azem’s eyes were among the features he cherished most about her after all.

But as ever the contrast between his lost love to the fragmented soul who stood before him, she huffed in defiance, “I’d prefer you let me relax before I pick up the pieces of your meddling.”

Her tone was soft, but the irritation laced around each word was as prickly as could be.

Emet-Selch only smirked in response.

“Meddling I object to, but letting you relax--” His thumb traced over her lips, caring little for the smudge of rouge that stained the whites of his glove--if anything, he relished it.

Continuing on, he kept her right in his sights as he tsked haughtily, “--honestly, by now you should know to be more direct with me on with your desires, hero.” 

The distance separating them closed further as he drew his thumb away, eliminating the space between his face and hers until their lips were barely an ilm apart as he mused, “Has anything else even come close to having that beautifully battleworn body of yours be at ease like my touch?”

She expected a kiss next.

But ever full of surprises, Emet-Selch only smirked as he teased, “Save for those ruffians who have felt the might of a keg of ale smashed upon their heads during those bratty youthful days of yours, of course.”

Hathe’s eye narrowed with sheer annoyance. “Gods, you really need to shut up.”

And it was with those huffed words that her hands cupped his face as she brought his lips to hers in a kiss.

A kiss for distraction.

Hathe and the tumultuous road that she was due to tread any moment now.

Emet-Selch and a yearning that he never could bring himself to ever relinquish in the days that have passed.

As delightful as it was to indulge in the gorgeously toned physique of the renowned hero during their many trysts in the nights since passed in her personal suite, it was still an utterly peculiar experience for his fingers to roam over physical familiarity with a soul that thought him to be a stranger, an enemy.

Ever more the thorns that had long formed around his heart embedded further and further.

In the end, she was just to be a vessel to enact his life’s work, his purpose to continue and carry on the will of his people.

And yet, he still found himself being so attentive, doting even, to Hathe’s pleasure as he shifted her clothes around--being mindful to not rip, else risk being punched back to The Source as she warned--, his lips kissing over her breasts, his tongue skillfully lapping over her nipples while his gloved fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her pants, seeking to press and caress over her panties.

A warrior like her could handle some roughhousing, as he would often tease while fucking her into the mattress during his numerous late night visits to The Pendants.

But here, in this moment, hidden away in the shade, while she was more eager to peel off his robe, he was more in mind to take his time with her.

Bodies intertwined, an affair meant to exist only in the shadows.

She lied beneath him upon the ground while he eased his cock in and out of her core. Far from pounding but nowhere near delicate, he pumped himself at a lively pace. More kisses than bites were pressed onto her neck, one hand clasped around her waist while the fingers of the other slipped between their bodies to rub slow--and dare he say sweet?--circles against her clit.

It just wasn’t the same.

“What’s with the tenderness?” Hathe murmured breathlessly, her back arching as she continued to find her senses stimulated all the more. Though there was a teasing inflection to her voice, he could hear a layer of pure curiosity at its foundation.

The question genuinely caused Emet-Selch to halt in place.

Even if just for a few seconds.

Only before he snorted, his lips curling into a smirk. “You will never see Ascians as capable of love, do you, hero? Since you insist--”

His hands reinforced their grip on her waist, squeezing tight as he quickened the pace of his thrusts.

She was right, however.

Tenderness, affection, love--those were reserved for Azem.

A shallow copy of the woman he loved most was in no need of such pure and precious joys, especially when she was fated to become a vessel for his plans.

The leading role of his grand theatrical production was to take her place in the showstopping climax of the show, and he was ever so delighted to have front row seats.

And yet, his mouth still sought out to kiss hers nonetheless.

A kiss longing for someone he couldn’t have anymore.

A kiss affectionate for someone he needed for greater purposes.

But as they rode out their orgasms, soon falling into one another in a pleasured heap, he still embraced her close to his chest with a grip that did not want to let go in the slightest, his face hiding into her neck.

So familiar and so far at the same time.

It just wasn’t the same and never would things return to how they would and should have been in a kinder life.

[aripuppyistired]

FFXIV Endwalker Lyrics Breakdown

Hello all! As you might be aware, Yoshi-P recently did an interview where he mentioned that the Endwalker song was meant to represent Hydaelyn and Zodiark as each having their own voice. So, using this information, I wanted to go over each verse to determine what they might mean or refer to!

[Sam Carter vocals] Heart of ember*, out of time Cooling swiftly, bleeding light Smoldering softly, biding time Marching forward, left behind

This is our introduction to the song, and I think it’s interesting that Zodiark is the main ‘speaker’ throughout the song. It should be noted that the “ember” here might also refer to “amber”. In both cases, I believe the first two lines are referring to Hydaelyn, and Zodiark’s view of the situation. We know that Hydaelyn had been significantly weakened after she protected us from the Ultima weapon, and that Zodiark’s seal has been weakening due to the calamities. There have been seven such calamities so far, which is over half of the seals broken.

The next two lyrics refer to Zodiark himself. After his defeat at the hands of Hydaelyn, he’s been biding time until his return: his essence never truly left. Since he was sealed, not truly defeated, I think this and the Ascian’s mentions about ‘re-writing the laws of this star’ might refer to Zodiark and Hydaelyn actually BEING the star and moon now, too, but I’m getting ahead of myself. In any case, Zodiark seems keen on making his debut soon.

Fire as shadows clash Forgotten footfalls engraved in ash Fire will be repaid ‘Fore our echos begin to fade

Fade away

Fade away

This section seems to refer to the End of Days that the Ascians suffered, and notably, begins playing before the narrator describes the End of Days occurring again. As we’ve defeated the last of the unsundered Ascians, I believe this refers to their last attempt to lash out at the world they tried so hard to protect, the world that had forgotten them.

Heart of ember*, out of time Burning brightly, all in white Kindred souls in a […] web Sorrow’s silence breeding there

Here the first two lyrics refer to Zodiark’s view of Hydaelyn again... or possibly you, the Warrior of Light. It’s a tough call. If it’s referring to Hydaelyn, she could be going through one last burst of energy before the final curtain call in their tale. If it’s the Warrior of Light, he could be referring to the idea that we’re out of time to stop his return. If we are out of time though, we’re still very powerful and are a beacon to those around us.

I personally lean a bit more to the WoL interpretation, especially with these last two lyrics. I have had the absolute worst time trying to figure out what the word in between “Kindred souls in a“ and “web”, but I believe the basic gist is being trapped and sad here. I unfortunately can’t figure out much more without that missing word.

[Amanda Archen vocals] Strum a song along the way Tales of loss and fire’s fate

This is the first time we here from Hydaelyn in this track. This part is interesting because it breaks from the sad, minor-key we’ve been in to something somewhat hopeful. I also think it’s important to remember that Hydaelyn was ALSO summoned by Ascians. Because of this, and because of how Hydaelyn tempers people, I think she very much does Not want the Ascians to be a forgotten people. I think maybe part of the reason why she’s had so much trouble with the calamities is that, at her core? She didn’t want to fight the other Ascians. She doesn’t really want to temper people, either. But she still wants the Ascians to be remembered, even if she wants to stop them from their goal of reviving Zodiark.

[chanting Heavensward lyrics]

Ok yea no idea about Heavensward dragon lyrics here other than I think we’re going to get an answer as to where the dragons were running from.

[Sam Carter vocals] Storm of blood, Born from blood, Of our fallen brothers Time stays still, oaths fulfilled, Now we yearn for freedom!

Switching back to Zodiark, we have the beginning of the Stormblood lyrics that takes on a new meaning with what we know about how the Ascians summoned Zodiark and Hydaelyn. It was half of their population sacrificed to stop the End of Days and another half to return life to the planet, and then another half to summon Hydaelyn... So I think that puts us at 87.5% of the Ascian population, gone. And since we know of no other primals using souls as their source instead of Crystals, there’s a non-zero chance that they’re still cognizant in there. Spooky!

(Side note: how messed up would it be if the crystals we mine are either the remnants of wounds from Zodiark/Hyadaelyn’s clash, or the remains of Ascians?)

In any case, it seems like these souls are now tired of this game, and long to be set free. Whether it’s through the dispersal of their soul back into the aetherial sea, or if it’s through the sacrifice of everything on this star to revive them, is anyone’s guess.

Born in blood, (Still we forge ahead) Stained in red, (Until tomorrow) Bound by blood, (Still we forge ahead) Hunger’s fed, (Until tomorrow) Cull these thieves, (Ever forge ahead) Hand-in-hand, (Until tomorrow) Souls aligned, (Ever forge ahead) Forge ahead, (Still we forge ahead) Forward- !

There’s a lot of anger here, and the Ascian’s hands are stained in blood. I vaguely remember something about a blood oath to restore Zodiark, and with the lyric about ‘Cull these thieves’ and ‘Hunger’s fed’... I’m thinking that Zodiark is powerful enough to start breaking his bounds himself, and is ready to set about restoring the star to their ‘rightful’ stewards.

[Amanda Archen vocals] Our song of hope, she dances on the wind Higher, oh higher 'Ere our boughs/foes endure Everything for better/ever, strong Standing tall in the dark do we carry on

Here we have Hydaelyn again, and she’s still hopeful. Knowing now that this represents Hydaelyn, I am leaning closer to the “boughs” interpretation for that third line. Despite how grim things look Hydaelyn seems confident that we can handle it. And that, at the end, we will come out better and stronger for it.

On wings of hope you rise up through the night, Higher, oh higher, Carrying a song, Made of voices in our hearts, That its chorus might ring for all!

This, she’s speaking to you, the Warrior of Light. You are a bastion of hope, made up of the people you’ve met along the way, and you carry their hopes and dreams with you as you press on. You are at the point where your story has inspired people to travel through time and space to save you, because you gave them something to rally around. You gave them hope for a better tomorrow. And it is that same hope that will carry everyone through the fight ahead.

[Background] One brings shadow, one brings light, Two-toned echoes tumbling through time,

Tumbling down, to! the! end!

This section, the speaker is not Zodiark or Hydaelyn, but the narrator. The speaker is referring to the fact that Zodiark and Hydaelyn are echoes of each other, and that perhaps their time is coming to an end. I think at the end of this expansion, we will see both primals return to the aetherial sea.

[Sam Carter vocals] There’s a step we take, Echoes in our wake, Went and [mount] our best, Forge ahead- !

This takes on an interesting meaning if we continue to take this as Zodiark speaking. Each step taken on this path to resurrection has left something behind. Whether that’s entire shards, the other Ascians, or referring to something else is hard to say. But no matter what, Zodiark is going to continue on this path forward.

Should we lose our way, Tire of our disgrace, We won’t be afraid, Forge ahead- !

Now this part is interesting. For a while I was torn between “disgrace” and “dismay” as the last line of the second lyric, but the idea that it’s Zodiark speaking has me leaning firmly to “disgrace”. As evidenced by Emet-Selch’s attempts to help you as much as he can despite his tempering, I do not think any of the Ascians really want to be doing this. They feel lost, disgraced, and are generally unhappy with how things have gone. But they’ve come too far, waited too long, to stop now. They still have their own people to save, after all.

There is not a place, Nor the time to wait, No it’s not too late, Forge ahead- !

Again, referring to the idea that the time to strike is now. It’s not worth waiting to see if this is really the time and place, the iron is hot! They still have a chance, even with the unsundered Ascians gone!

As we ride again, To another end, Where it all begins, Forge ahead- !

And finally, I believe we’ll be seeing the original site of the battle between Hydaelyn and Zodiark. Time has finally come full circle, and it’s time for these two to finish what was started oh so long ago.

---

Other notable things throughout the song are Zodiark’s propensity to speak in plural, I think referring to the fact that he is made up of so many souls. Just, so many. And I think part of Zodiark’s issue, why he was defeated the first time despite Hydaelyn being significantly weaker (Compare his roughly 75% of the population’s souls to Hydaelyn’s 12.5%) is that the souls are discordant with one another. Hydaelyn has never had a problem referring to only herself, and even here uses plurals to refer to both herself and the WoL. And we don’t know how many of that 75% were sacrificed knowing of the plan to sacrifice the new lifeforms to bring them, the Ascians, back. I can’t imagine many of them were happy about that. But, at this point, I think their will might be over-powered now by those that DO wish to complete the plan, or at the very least, that is the portion of Zodiark speaking in this song most strongly.

[whitherliliesbloom]

hope for the future

[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #25 - wish ]

[ wol/alphinaud ]  ★ [ 1,595 words ]  ★ [ post-canon ]

illya skawi & alphinaud leveilleur ♡ occurs an undefined amount of years after canon. 

and we will build bridges up to the sky. and heavenly lights surrounding you and i

"They say a prayer upon a shooting star grants any wish."

The navy of his eyes glisten with sanguine as they tilt up to gaze out the window upon the midnight sky. And while he had momentarily been captivated by the brilliance that was the shimmering gems of stars hung upon a majestic pitch black curtain, his eyes were quickly stolen away by the luster he found his fingers threading through. Each strand like the milky way, its pure white hue as radiant as the sun and moon combined. He'd run his hands through her hair from the roots of her silken diamond like hair down to her back, watching as the other half of its length cascaded and pooled around her on the bed.

He'd brush her hair with his own hands in search for a single knot he could gently tug apart - a husband's service to the woman who was his entire world.. and yet even as he'd find none, he continued to stroke her head, pulling the lalafell closer to his chest as he does. He likes this excuse to stay close to her - knew he’s already missed out on a thousand lifetimes of getting to touch her and hear her. He wishes not to miss any more. 

The woman on his lap hums, shifting ever so gently to turn her head up and poke the tip of his pointed nose with the supple pad of her finger tip.

"I think I of all people should know if that saying is true or not, Alphinaud." There's a hint of red mischief glimmering in the midst of tranquil violet in her eyes, but he's long learned to not think any differently of her regardless what hue her eyes shone. "I'm an astrologer. The constellations are meant for divining the future."

"Ah, yes. And you are also, among other things, a non-padjali white mage. AND the most dangerous sorceress I've ever had the fortune to meet." Alphinaud's grin widens, and he reflects the mischief in her eyes twicefold as he dips his head down to nudge his head against hers in a manner that reminded her starkly of a needy puppy. "Need I mention an accomplished artisan?"

Sometimes Alphinaud found the mood to tease her - listing the many and more talents she possessed that he'd looked up to as she'd scurry away and shrink herself into a flustered, blushing mess. It had been his foolproof way of eliciting that adorable reaction out of his eternally bonded, and a way to help her curb with her less than ideal self-esteem both.

"Oh, and your singing of course.. how could I forget the voice of the most captivating songbird in all of Eorzea?"

"A-alphinauddd pleaseee..." Darling Warrior of Light is thoroughly flushed in the face now, and she's resorted to burying herself into his chest to hide her embarrassment while he it was all he could but to laugh heartily, and the boyish glee in his voice that rose in volume stirs at her pounding heart even more.

There were many things he loved about his lady, the woman he'd been so blessed to reunite with - so utterly undeserving of her gaze as he was. Even their past lives aside, he was a flawed man who so nearly saw the last grains of sands that was his second chance slip through his fingers and wash away into the sea of souls for good. If Illya had not been courted by a taller, darker, stronger and more gifted person, fate surely would have stolen her light from him. 

She bloomed like a rose, beautiful yet laced with thorns. Her spirit was like the ocean, tranquil and still on a calm night, yet her might amidst a midnight storm was dangerous and unparalleled. And more than anything, he saw an angel in her, selfless and ever boundless in her blessings to others. 

And in the midst of reflecting back on her many deeds, a finger gently tracing the discolored scars that lined her skin across her collar bone and shoulder, he wondered silently with some amount of melancholy what exactly the world has done in return for their savior. Certainly not enough - not even close.. and he, of all people, has the most to repay her for, a debt he owes her across the span of countless stars.

If she could wish upon a shooting star - just what kind of deepest desires did her heart hold?

“Make a wish, Illya.” Alphinaud whispers, as he leans back against the headboard of the bed and moves his hand to gently clasp hers. His wife moves back ever so slightly to look at him with wide, curious eyes. 

“A wish?”

“Aye.. if you could have any wish in the world granted, what would it be?”

The lalafell pauses, pursing her lips as she thought in silence, and glances out the window upon the myriad of glittering stars. She contemplates for a moment, before furrowing her brows and looking back up at the elezen.

“I would wish for eternal world peace.” 

Oh, typical. The answer had entirely been predictable, but Alphinaud was no less disappointed after hearing it. Ever the sacrificial hero, a girl who would sooner give her life than to forsake the world even in an imaginary scenario. 

But it was odd to hear that whilst she wore her dainty little night gown, feet in woolen slippers and her body held close in the safety of his arms. The room was warmly lit by a mixture of golden light fixtures and glowing pink lily lamps, the scent of lavender and chamomile drifting through the air. And atop their bedside table left a pair of matching aetheryte rings, and a silver locket bearing a glowing amethyst gemstone whose shine was only second to Illya’s eyes. 

This was their home - their safe haven.. a place he made doubly sure would keep them safe, and most importantly - make Illya feel at ease.

He didn’t want to hear the wishes of the Warrior of Light - the front of a hero she has to wear every waking moment of her life and the bravery she’s proven many times over to already possess. He wanted to hear the wishes of Illya Skawi - the woman whose smile he swore to preserve for the rest of eternity. 

“That’s.. very valiant. But I want to hear your own wish.. a wish you have for yourself.”

Illya tilts her head with a slight frown.

“Wishing something for myself when the world is ever in desperate need somehow.. isn’t that selfish?”

“Illya.. I think you’ve earned every right to be selfish. You more than any other person in the world.” His hand raises to gently nudge her chin up, and he tilts his own head down to plant a gentle kiss upon her forehead before exhaling heavily. His breath tickles her, and he smiles at her singsong giggle. 

“But for the sake of easing your constant need for philanthropy.. Let’s say your wish for world peace comes true. What then?”

Her silence is lengthier this time as she contemplates his question, turning to obscure her eyes beneath the shadow of her bangs as she rummaged through a hundred different thoughts in her mind at once, searching for any glimpses of selfishness she has had to bury under a mountain of responsibilities. 

She finally thinks of one - a simple and basic wish.. but one she never dared hoped she could attain so many summers ago. And that fear still lingers even in the present, for as ideal of a scenario as Alphinaud proposed, she and he knew that the world will never truly be at peace for long. 

But the world was ever wanting for heroes such as they, fighting through as many presents of chaos as it takes - hoping and wishing for a happier, brighter future - much like her own selfish desire.

“I wish we’ll be together forever..” Her voice is soft, sheepish from her embarrassing words, and she presses her face against his neck as she murmurs her remaining words against the warmth of his skin. “To be happy.. and.. for you to be as well.”

It takes a good amount of his will for Alphinaud to not crush her in a tight embrace then and there, and he so nearly does as his arms circle around her waist to pull her closer. His eyes blur for a moment, lips parting in an effort to speak against his speechlessness at her pure, honest wish. But he fights against his own habit of speaking excessively to let the peaceful silence hang in the air, and only when Illya finally looks up at him in a silent request for a response does he finally reply in a whisper.

“Of course we will be... I’ll make sure of that.”

Illya beams up at him, her effervescent smile stealing his breath away again, and Alphinaud finds the corners of his lips curling upwards in turn.

“And what of you? What would your wish be, Alphinaud? In the event of um... world peace, that is.”

“Me?” 

The man hums, narrowing his eyes for a moment.. but it doesn’t take long for him to grin brightly once more, before slipping his hand down to rest against Illya’s tummy. 

“I already have my wish.” His heart soars as he hears Illya laugh heartily, and he leans forward to speak to his future with a gentle stroke of his hand. “Isn’t that right, little one?”

[chrysalispen]

borealis, #1 (Nero/WoL, prompt response)

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28633701/chapters/70185441

Prompt: One ship, ten kisses shared. -cheek -forehead -crown of the head -nose -eyelids -lips -neck -thigh -hand -foot

Bonuses if: -1 kiss type per scene, ten scenes total -5 initiated by one partner, 5 by the other.

First prompt response below cut.

==

1. cheek

"Seven hells, it's cold-"

Four words she had never thought would possibly escape her lips, in the five years since she'd left Garlemald, and yet here she was. A sharp, brisk gust of chilly air blew through the crack in the front door before Aurelia Laskaris managed to pull it shut.

One of Coerthas' winter storms had blown off its expected course and produced snow- real snow, too, not the cold rain that had normally wrapped up the year's end ever since the Calamity. Heavy flurries of white now fell in placid sheets upon the denizens of the Lavender Beds, blanketing the adventurers' enclave in winter stillness, and Aurelia found herself quite grateful that she'd not yet managed to set aside the time to reseed her gardens after returning to the Source. Already on her way down the road to get the post she'd heard several of her neighbors grousing about their ruined crops.

She slipped her feet into her soft house shoes and padded into the kitchen, snapping on a nearby light and making a beeline for the automated kettle next to the range. After a moment the rich scent of roasted coffee wafted into the air.

Once she had helped herself to a mug full of the brew Aurelia ambled into her sitting room to admire the fruits of her labors. Holly garlands draped the windows and the rafters, adorned with the same red and gold organza ribbons as the large Coerthan spruce in the corner. All were strewn with lights that cast a soft glow over each leaf and translucent curl. She had fashioned a simple wreath to hang in the kitchen where the cookfire burned low to keep the night's meal warm for gradual consumption, and it sat in its place above the mahogany dish rack. Beneath the low lights and the fresh smell of evergreen and apples and cinnamon, her orchestrion trundled quietly through a selected collection of songs.

As she gazed at the tree the tilt of her smile took on a pensive cast. The greenhouse at the Laskaris villa - her de facto domain - had been wholly subject to her uncle and his austere aesthetic sensibilities. Every leaf and branch had had to be bound and trimmed and neatly in place. In the seven years she had lived there, not a single ilm of the family property had been allowed to have Aurelia's touch upon it. Not even the room in which she'd stayed when out of school on term breaks.

The little forest cottage wouldn't be seen as much in the way of wealth, not back in the capitol. To the eyes of her aunt and uncle, or anyone else in her family for that matter, it would be positively rustic if not outright primitive. It didn't have a magitek greenhouse or a central heating system, and precious few technological amenities. But nearly every piece of furniture in it had been fashioned by her own hand. Including the decorations she now admired.

This was her place. That was what mattered.

"You look in a fine mood," a voice drifted upwards from the cushions of the sectional. Aurelia grinned and set the mug down upon the low-slung table.

"I was just thinking about how much I enjoy having my own house."

"Must say I rather enjoy you having a house myself, all things considered." She felt a slight nudge against her side, followed by a faint clatter. Nero was sitting up, the tomestone in his hand having joined her coffee mug on the side table. "...It looks good, by the by."

"What does- oh. The tree? You wouldn't believe the ridiculous lengths I had to go to in order to get that here."

"Having involved myself in your adventures on multiple occasions, I assume shenanigans of some sort must necessarily be involved unless otherwise stated. You've something of a knack for finding trouble."

"Trouble which you have instigated on more than one occasion."

"As I said," that grin was all teeth, "you've a knack for finding trouble. And speaking of finding things, I'll be back in a moment."

Aurelia watched him amble through the stairwell entrance and turn the corner past the orchestrion to make his descent. She noted (with some considerable amount of personal amusement) that for all her grousing about the former tribunus' presence at the combined Ironworks-Scions Starlight party Tataru had also made Nero a natty holiday jumper - and she'd even knitted it using yarn she had dyed in his favorite color. All the more surprising, although he had not said a word about the gathering since, was the fact he was actually wearing it.

Her smile returned as she retrieved her mug.

The coffee was half gone by the time he returned, this time bearing a rather bulky unwrapped box in his hands. He shifted it from his shoulder to his hands with a soft grunt that indicated it was every ilm as heavy as it appeared. "I was going to give this to you later," he explained, setting it down in front of her feet, "but as usual I've no idea when either of us might be off again."

"A gift?" Still smiling, Aurelia set the mug aside. "Since when do you celebrate Eorzean holidays?"

" 'When in Allag', and all that. And Mistress Tataru, despite her threats, did leave the pins out of the undertunic she gave me." A brief smirk tilted his mouth. "I do believe your little secretary likes me more than she lets on."

"Or she's resigned herself to your presence. For Cid's sake, you know."

"You jest, but this is actually a joint gift from myself and Garlond. As you know, he's had to return to Othard. Thus, I am the one tasked with presenting it." At her hesitation, he urged, "Go on, open it."

With some effort she lifted the box into her lap. It was a standard-issue imperial transport container made of reinforced black steel, and the base was cold enough that it radiated a chill even through her breeches; she winced when its weight settled into her thighs. Carefully she unfastened the latches and lifted the lid-

-and her eyes went wide at its contents. "...This is-"

"A portable refrigerated centrifuge."

"Where in the seven hells did you find one of these? I haven't set hand to a personal centrifuge in years. The medical laboratory at Castrum Novum just used those massive consoles that they'd built to set-"

"Into the wall mounts in the old R&D sectors, yes. At any rate, I plucked the original from one of the research bays- not that it was functional when I found it, mind, but there are schematics in the archives for just about anything one can imagine."

"Surely it wasn't necessary to go to all that trouble."

"That is where you would be wrong," he said dryly, lifting the centrifuge from its storage with considerable effort. The angle was somewhat awkward, and it wobbled for a moment before Aurelia was able to brace her hands and take it from him. He fastened the latches and reached over the arm of the sofa to set the container out of the way. "There were several specific components I required for the modified buildout which, one can safely say, cannot be sourced via other means."

"Precisely how much did you modify it?" Aurelia tilted the heavy tool this way and that, watching the lights from the tree shimmer over its smoothly brushed surface. "...I'm not about to find an operable magitek laser turret tucked into the rotor or something equally daft, am I?"

He squinted at her but chose to ignore the remark. "Aside from a minor tweak for improved performance, as it happens there was only one major modification to the original build. For practicality's sake."

"Only one?"

"Only one. Why?"

She pressed a hand to her chest in mock surprise.

"That sort of self-restraint isn't like you at all. Are you certain you're well?"

"Trying to be funny again, I see." He cast his eyes to the heavens. "I shall have you know it was his idea."

"Oh? That's a surprise."

"The auxiliary power source normally would need to be connected to a ceruleum generator for a charge, but this design utilizes aetheric energy harnessed from a corrupted crystal. Some wild hair of Garlond's cobbled together on a previous project with some degree of success, if the sales are any indication." His smile faded, lips pursed as if he'd bitten into some particularly sour piece of fruit. "...Given it sprouted from one of those half-baked experiments of his, I suppose it functions reasonably well."

He sounded rather surly - rankling, perhaps, at his own acknowledgment that he had needed Cid's assistance in order to complete the gift. When she wrenched her focus away from her silent admiration of the customized chassis (which was, of course, a deep wine red), his brows were knit together in a faint scowl that indexed that line nigh to the lower curve of his third eye.

Aurelia leaned over and gently brushed her lips against his cheek. It was warm and smooth, devoid of its customary evening shadow; she realized he must have taken a razor to his jaw earlier in the day. The earthy scent of sandalwood shaving soap lingered in her nose for a moment before she righted herself.

"If you frown like that every time you have to swallow your pride to ask for his help," she warned, poking his broad nose with one gentle fingertip, "you'll give yourself wrinkles."

"You mean more wrinkles," he groused. "In case you've not noticed, I'm not getting any younger."

"Yes, nigh on thirty-seven* winters now," Aurelia said with a perfectly straight face, though the mischievous twinkle that lit her dark blue eyes was impossible to miss. "Well past one's prime, in my professional opinion. Ancient. Antediluvian."

"Utterly decrepit," he sighed. The scowl had smoothed from his brow, and she knew by the lazy and unguarded drawl which now laced his words that he was no longer annoyed. "I'll be naught but dust by the time I'm forty."

"Doubtless. You could practically pass for an Allagan relic now- that is, if you weren't more easily mistaken for a bloody dhalmel."

Nero laughed aloud at last, the fine lines winging out from the corners of his eyes crinkling with his mirth, and wrapped his arms around her smaller frame - centrifuge and all. "Flattery will get you everywhere, hero," he said. "Come here."

She seated herself atop his thighs as if he were one of her reading cushions and relinquished her prize, shaking out the pins and needles in her arms as he set it next to the table, then returned to his full-body lounge. His woolen-clad arms lay draped over her forearms in a loose, casual sort of way, something almost but not quite an embrace.

Aurelia considered extricating herself to get more coffee, but the combined assault of the fireplace's crackle with the cable knit of Tataru's scarlet jumper seemed to beckon her into a warm and happy torpor, and the notion of leaving it aside even for a few moments seemed far too much effort so she pillowed her cheek against his broad chest. He was all angles and lean muscle but comfortable enough regardless. "Seriously though," she said, "I mean it. Please be at least somewhat mindful of your safety in future. That was a great deal of risk just for a blueprint and some parts."

"Come now, it wasn't that much trouble." His light tenor was only barely louder than the strong thump of the heartbeat she could hear with one ear just beneath his collarbone. "I all but strolled through the gates, and Garlond sent the very appropriately named Biggs along with me. Safe as houses."

Aurelia raised a skeptical brow - she had no doubt that more must have happened than he was letting on - but said only: "You're going to have to tell me all about it after I've set this up in my workspace."

"Ah." He cleared his throat. "I had... rather hoped I could be there when you do. So I can show you what changes were made, mind."

Even as the words left his mouth she watched the tips of Nero's ears turn pink, the same shade as the flush along his nose and cheekbones - neither of which could be attributed to the warmth of the room. She found it terribly cute but wasn't about to embarrass him further by saying so. "I'd like that very much," she beamed. "But it's rather late tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps?"

"I-" A hesitation, then a half-tilted smile. "...Tomorrow it is."

She pushed at the heavy chassis beneath the table with one stocking-clad toe and leaned comfortably into his side with a yawn. The last two days had been rather eventful but the sofa cushions were plush and cozy, the room was warm and quiet and dimly lit, and she was in the company of a close friend in a house she'd chosen for herself, drinking coffee and watching the snow fall in silent sheets through the windows.

For the moment at least, she was content. It was a good state of mind.

"Had I known you'd be this pleased I'd have prevailed upon Garlond much sooner," came the low, teasing rumble from the man whose cheek was now resting upon the crown of her head. She poked him gently in the side.

"That's because you're actually a good sort when you want to be, you know. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I won't even tell Tataru."

"Excellent. I should hate to have your lot think that perhaps I might enjoy their company. Can you imagine how ghastly that would be?"

"Making friends? The absolute horror of it all. Though I'm afraid you'll not be able to fool Alisaie or Tataru as long as you imagine. Or Y'shtola for that matter- she's rather discerning." Aurelia paused. "Also, she is quite often more than slightly terrifying."

"I shall take that as a friendly warning."

At his quiet scoff, she allowed herself a brief chuckle before her own smile faded somewhat.

"You really didn't have to do this, you know-"

"That's three times you've attempted to apologize. Don't. You're overthinking matters, as per usual," Nero said mildly. "Accept it in the spirit which it was intended- such is the purpose of this exchange, after all, so Garlond says. I did it because I wanted to do it, and that is reason enough."

She was going to ruin the moment if she said anything else, so she didn't. Instead she reached for the other hand that lay free in his lap. He let her lace his fingers through hers without comment, and when she squeezed he squeezed back.

They said nothing else after that for a long time. They sat together in comfortable silence before the hearth fire watching the wind spit snow onto the frosty window by the huge tree, and Aurelia found herself wishing every Starlight could end so well.

[daanny2772]

FFXIV Dark Knight Level 35 Job Quest Fan Translation

Due to the differences between Fray Myste portrayed in the Japanese and English versions, I have decided to translate a number of the Dark Knight story quests from Japanese. I am by no means proficient in the language and ask that you forgive me for any incorrect translations. Please do let me know so that I am able to fix the mistakes. That being said, there are liberties I have taken due to the structure of the two languages being significantly different. Thank you for keeping this in mind.

Tumblr user haillenarte has also translated the level 45 and 50 quests along time ago. Go check it out if you haven't yet! https://haillenarte.tumblr.com/tagged/fray

I have recorded and subbed a video of my WOL going through the DRK quests below. I’m sorry that the lvl 35 one had to be split into two, but the future ones I’m working on subbing should not have that problem (hopefully...)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lnP6yVSIHpE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pG0IBvqNdIg 

I’ve taken the Japanese lines from https://alnoumin.exblog.jp/24252515/ and have left the name of their WOL in the Japanese lines.

Guided by a Shriek 

Fray seems to be waiting in the Brume for the adventurer to visit.

***

Fray: We meet again, Nyxahk.  Well then, I will be teaching you everything within the extent of my memories about the Dark Knight.

...But before that, is there anything you’re still curious regarding what happened before the conflict involving the young lady?

The mystery that remains is …?

I wonder how that grandmother is doing?

...Huh? Ah, um… That’s right… I think she’ll be alright as long as she’s with that Miss.

But-- there should be something more puzzling than that! Jeez, you’re truly-- (*unbelievable) 

Fray’s charges

フレイ：あれ……言いませんでしたっけ、無実の罪だって。えっ？　もっと詳しく？う、ううん……思い出すので、ちょっと待ってくださいね。

Huh… Now that I think about it, I didn’t say that I was falsely accused. Eh? You want more details? Hm… please wait a little as I try to recall the events.

...Right, right. An innocent woman was being chased by the Templar Knights. As I was protecting her, I was charged with a made up crime. Really, it’s all because I trying to be nice...

But more importantly, isn’t there anything about yourself that you’re curious about?

About the Voice I heard at the beginning

Yes, that’s exactly it. When you first touched my Soul Stone, you heard someone’s Voice in anguish, correct?

You were intrigued by what that voice could have been… It’s possible it was the voice of “a certain someone you must protect” somewhere in this world.

The Dark Knights of the past have believed in protecting the weak, in the way that you should be bonded with this certain someone. ...Were you to turn a blind eye to this person, you would be a failure as a Dark Knight.

In order for you to become a Dark Knight for this certain person, lets confirm the true intents of their Voice. If you can come to wield even stronger Darkness, you may be able to hear that voice again.

In order to obtain even stronger Darkness, a special rite (communion) is required. I have yet to choose a location for the rite… but with the conflict from the other day still fresh, we may get interrupted if we were to remain in Ishgard.

 Let’s head out on a trip. I’ll be waiting for you at Little Ala Mhigo in South Thanalan.

***

Fray: Ah, it’s great we were able to meet up. Without further ado, I’ll explain the details of this rite to obtain further powers of Darkness.

As long as you have my power, we may begin this rite at any time. However, to receive the power of Darkness is the same as awakening the repressed negative emotions within you.

Therefore, if someone who is not strong enough took on the rite, they would be overcome with those repressed emotions and be killed by the power.

In order to avoid that, you must show me the extents of your ability as a Dark Knight before the rite is to happen.

The best way for me to see your true strength is for you to defeat a strong enemy… Let’s go ask the leader of the village to see if there is a suitable opponent or not.

***

Gundobald: Oh, it’s the adventurer. Though we were unable to prepare a reception, we welcome your return. What business do you have here today?

...I see. You require a strong enemy to test the bounds of your strength.

There is one thing on my mind. Just the north of here at the Red Labyrinth, there have been appearances of ferocious Crag Bite Peistes. 

Their strike is strong, and have even injured many fellow beasts raised in this dangerous region.

Fray: That does seem to be a suitable opponent. The main point of fighting as a Dark Knight is to endure the enemy’s powerful attacks while continuing to attack. ...How will we be able to meet this enemy?

Gundobald: That thing seems to be attracted to the smell of goat breast meat brought by the merchants from Minotaur Malm. In order to draw it out, here is the meat I spoke of.

Though this land is poor, I would like to repay what you’ve done for us, even if it’s just a little.

But still, I  am glad to see this. You’ve brought a friend along, and you’re even relying on us...Hm… You say you’ve only just met this person?

For some reason, you two give off the impression of partners having travelled together for a long time, or that of friends bond strongly to one another… Was it just my imagination?

Fray: ...Nyxakh, it’s about time we get going.

***

Fray: Please show me the true extents of your power as a Dark Knight here. Please defeat the Crag Bite Peistes lured by the goat breast meat we placed. 

It seems the attacks from your enemies will be strong. While keeping your injuries to the least amount possible, attacking when you see the gaps in their defenses should lead you to your victory.

…Then without further ado, commence the battle!

***

Fray: Well done Nyxakh. It seems you have improved your skills from last time.

Though the duty of a Dark Knight is to protect, it does not mean thoughtlessly taking on attacks, nor that defeat means losing everything you have.

If you truly wish to protect that which is important to you, determining the movements of your enemy and keeping your injuries within limits are both essential. And how to use the powers of Darkness is also a part of it, right?

There should be no problems for us to carry out the ritual like this. For now, let’s return to the outskirts of Little Ala Mhigo. We wouldn’t want to be distrubed by any beasts attracted by the leftover meat. 

***

Fray: Without further ado, for you to obtain further powers of Darkness, I will carry out the ritual.

Even though it’s called a ritual, it’s nothing difficult. Simply hold your hand out to mine and close your eyes to concentrate. Your emotions will naturally overflow, and the power should well up alongside it.

It would be good if you can hear that certain someone’s voice again… Anyway, if your heart is ready, then please go ahead and give it a shot.

 ***

As you are thinking that your chest feels like it’s on fire, the Voice rings through your head...

???: ...It hurts… It’s painful… Everything… is hopeless...

How many more challenges must I go through to see hope? It’s as if I’m fighting a battle without end...

For what reason do I continue to stand up…? For what reason do I continue to fight? It hurts, it hurts, it’s getting harder to breathe.... Ah, someone....

***

Fray: ...How was it, Nyxahk? It seems that the rite was a success… Were you able to hear the Voice?

Though you were able to hear it, you still do not know their identity…?

But at the very least, it seems that my conjecture was correct. Somewhere in the world, there is a weak person you must protect, their voice connected to you by the powers of the Darkness.

I don’t know how much of the power of Darkness we will need in order to find out the identity of that Voice. But even so, there exists someone only you can protect.

If the voice you heard was able to reach your heart even a little, I think that’s the path you should continue down. Am I wrong, Nyxakh Nemophila?

What a relief… As I expected, you’re kind as well as strong. That certain person to be protected by a Dark Knight like you will surely be blessed with happiness.

To be honest, I travelled with someone similar to you a long time ago. Without any reason, we stepped out into the vast world, our hearts trembling at everything and anything… it was that kind of journey, you see.

But… yes, it was around this place, they defeated a terrible threat and became a hero.

...But being a hero isn’t all that great, you know? Being manipulated by all sorts of things, only saving up a pile of injuries, eventually even becoming unable to see yourself...

And like that, they drifted away from me, until not even my voice was able to reach them.

I don’t want you to lose sight of what’s important to you. If you decide to protect that certain someone, listen carefully to their voice, and please don’t ever avert your eyes from them. 

Then, when you become even stronger, you’ll take on the rite of Darkness again. ...We definitely have to meet up again at the place we first met.

***

t/n:

- Crag Bite Peistes - the english only had it listed as peistes, but the crag bite part is so funny to me because I had and still have no idea what the katakana is referring to so I stuck it in Google Translate. That's what came out and it makes me laugh so I've left it in 

- Jeez, you’re truly-- (*unbelievable) - What Fray says would be close to "People like you--", the unbelievable part is implied. He's pretty much just really exasperated at WOL and it's cute. i love him

- Regarding the person that Fray talks about having gone on an adventure with, their pronouns will change depending on the gender of the character. I've used they for my translations as my WOL uses they.

- the rite Fray talks about is called a communion in Eng which works better imo in the overall scheme of things but i left it as rite here

[catte-bard]

10. “I hate the holiday season.”

December Christmas Prompts 

AO3 Link

(It’s still December so I guess it still counts?)

(Some fluffy Y’shtola x WoL cause I don’t write it enough)

The Rising Stones were quiet this evening. It was Starlight night, and it would be the height of the festivities. Many of the Scions had departed earlier that day to enjoy them. And likely wouldn’t be returning until much later in the evening. Drunk on revelry and drink.

The only souls that stirred were a pair of two Miqo’te sitting in the common room, lounging on a couch. Y’shtola sat, engrossed in a thick volume, while Bellona rested curled in her lap. Her head resting on the other’s shoulder. Nearly dozing off to the gentle sound of her partner’s breathing.

She watched through heavy eyelids as Y’shtola turned the pages. Somewhere in the room she heard a wall chronometer chime. And through the sleepy fog in her mind, she became aware of the time.

“The others are going to be missing us.” Bellona spoke up with a yawn. “We promised Tataru that we’d meet her and the others in Gridania for the Tree Lighting Ceremony. You how she worries. She’ll be wondering where we are.”

“You know I hate the holiday season.” Was all Y'shtola offered as she turned a page.

Of course, she knew. But she never offered Bellona a reason why. Just that she didn’t like them and didn’t want to celebrate them. She never spoke ill of her fellow Scions Starlight celebrations, even traded merry wishes with them. However, she simply just never found much interest in participating herself.

Many times the question of “Why” had been on Bellona’s tongue. For her, Starlight was something sparkling and filled with wonder. One of her few experiences with actual holidays. And to come across someone who stated to dislike them had surprised her at first.

However, she had a feeling that was too personal a question. A line that they were not ready to cross just yet. There were still many things new and timid about this relationship they had begun. Perhaps, in time Y’shtola would reveal the reason why? 

Until then, she was content with this arrangement they had. After all Starlight wasn’t much fun if one wasn’t spending it with the person they loved. 

Sleepy laughter rumbled from the Warrior of Light. “So what? We spend the rest of the night curled up together instead?”

Fingers combed gently through her hair. “Is that so bad? Much better than stressing over the silly holidays, isn’t it?”A smirk on her lips. “Though if you find this arrangement undesirable…”

“Now I never said there was anything undesirable about it.” Bellona closed her eyes. “I was just wondering if there were anything else you’d want to do tonight? I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped here with me.”

It was Y’shtola’s turn to laugh. “I could never feel trapped with you, darling.” And a soothing hand brushes through her hair. Fingers tenderly tracing over her ears. “I assure you there is nowhere else I would want to be right now.”

Of course, she knew that too. But still it felt nice to hear it and Y’shtola’s other myriad of ways to say “I love you”. 

And truth be told, Bellona wasn’t all that interested in going anywhere else anyway. Not when this perfect moment existed. When all was quiet and peaceful and they didn’t have to worry about anything. 

When was the last time the Rising Stones were this quiet? It would be remiss of them not to enjoy this rare moment. For when would it happen again? 

The temptation to stay grew even stronger with the feeling of Y’sthola’s deft fingers combing through her hair. Her touch was always so gentle. Touching her like she was the most delicate and softest thing in the world. 

Y’shtola always liked touching her. Always finding an excuse to feel her. A hand against her cheek, a finger twirling through a lock of hair, or tracing along her scars when treating her injuries. It felt good to be treated so gently when the expectation of being the stoic and strong hero weighed heavily on her shoulders.

She found herself relaxing more under the caresses of her love. Feeling safe and content. Knowing that should she fall asleep, when she woke all would still be well. Y’shtola wouldn’t let anything happen to her. 

“What are you reading?” Bellona sleepily asked.

“A mystery novel.” She heard Y’shtola hum. “Supposedly based on the author's own adventures and cases. With some embellishments of course.”

“Like what? What happens in it?” Bellona asked, simply enjoying the sound of the other’s voice.

“Well, the scene I’m reading now is about a dramatic chase. He’s found his suspect and is pursuing.” Y’shtola explained. “He’s cornered him. And he goes on to write about this very indulgent fist fight which of course paints him as the pinnacle of martial prowess.”

Bellona smiled. “Sounds absolutely ridiculous.”

“Oh it is.” Delightful laughter bubbled from her. “But I suppose that’s what makes it so enjoyable.”

“I’ll have to borrow it from you sometime.” Bellona hummed. 

“I’d be happy to lend it to you.” Soft fingers brushed down her arms, massaging small circles. 

“When do you think the others will be back?” Bellona then asked. Wondering how long they’d be allowed this precious peace with each other.

“I don’t imagine they will be out later than midnight.” Y'shtola told her. “So we have plenty of quality time, darling.”

“Good.” The adventurer mumbled and gave a big yawn. Slowly giving into the call of sleep; Y'shtola made a fine alternative to a bed.“I was planning on not going anywhere soon.” 

“I don’t mind you staying but if you drool on me, Bellona I’ll push you onto the floor.” An empty threat.

Bellona could hear the playfulness in her voice. Nay, she didn’t mean it. 

“You wouldn’t.” She smiled and planted a sleepy kiss on Y’sthola’s jaw. “You love me so you wouldn’t mind.”

“Fine but I will draw the line at snoring.”

“I don’t snore!”

Laughter shook through Y’shtola. Warm, kind laughter. “You know I’m only teasing.” She said through a kiss pressed against Bellona’s brow. “Rest, darling. You’ve earned it. I’ll wake you when the others come back.”

Rest.

Now that sounded nice. Drifting off to sleep in her love’s arms. Truly there was no better way to spend the holiday. And Bellona breathed a content sigh at the feeling of Y’shtola’s soothing touching drifting to her back. Further lulling her into sleep. 

[fheythfully]

Putting all my thoughts on the 5.3 MSQ under the cut. Beware of course of spoilers! Overall I really enjoyed the patch. There were a lot of times where I sounded like an excited dinosaur.

So first things first, the way the patch started with the kids was so cute. I was expecting more with the Ardbert-esque kid, especially when he said he wanted to adventure with friends because he felt like he was missing something... but then they didn’t? I’m not sure what the point of that line of his was then. Ardbert’s soul is inside ours, and also has been shown to have moved on, but I wonder if some fragment of it--the part that is bound to the specific world’s Lifestream--can be reborn? Anyway. A bit bummed we didn’t get more with that train of thought but it was cute nevertheless. Also, apothecary. I was going “IS THIS A HINT?” the moment the kiddo said she wanted to be one as a WoL.

Also, I am totally writing a shortfic of the twins, Satella and Ryne hanging out in the Crystarium library with Moren bringing them books of interest while they sneak in tea and snacks. Ryne falls asleep and is eventually found by Thancred. Alisaie teases him for being a doting father. When everyone leaves, Satella is left cozily snuggled up as the evening turns feeling almost like home at the Arcanist’s Guild.

I really liked the bit where Alisaie’s desire to surpass the WoL and competitive nature is shown, and that some part of it is due to insecurity. I love the character depth and growth SE gives her over the patches. I just about had a heart attack when she started getting woozy with a noise in her head.

Elidibus feeling summoned by the WoL and seeing an Amaurotine in their stead gave me feelings, because it means we are whole enough now to form some sort of connection to the Ascians. Only sundered ones are left now though, so I wonder if that will still stay true.

I did have a heart attack at hearing Thancred collapsed. I was not expecting him to be okay when we got back to see him. Dawn’s Respite scene was very sobering and set me up for something entirely different than the ending we got (thank god).

Alisaie being stubborn and sullen with the Exarch made me wonder if she’s seeing the past with Louisoux in him, and Alphinaud’s comment about how she handled their grandfather leaving all that well all but confirmed it. That’s very sweet.

I made a very loud note as I was playing at the fact that a Rejoining soul must recognize its part on the Source as itself. Not sure if that was just for the Exarch’s case (though there are comments about how we and Ardbert fused very easily too) but I have Filed This Away.

Seeing Shtola collapsed gave me another heart attack but she’s definitely possessed of nine lives. The duty with Elidibus was fantastic, though the lack of voice acting caught me off guard (covid? are duties never voiced?). Fighting the baby Scions made me full of glee and then it got even better from there. Answers playing over the city, and then the HW theme, and then SB--fantastic. I especially paused when it started snowing. I appreciate a lot what Elidibus was doing, which was trying to show to us that the people who seem so ancient and recreated only as puppets had once meant something to him and his own. The fight was a lot of fun. I took a screenshot of berserk-Ardbert for kicks.

Also, the bit where he calls you by your name, and the name is switched from Elidibus to Ardbert. My heart. I have a lot of notes about this for future writing.

Elidibus as Zodiark’s heart and primal weren’t a big surprise as it’s been confirmed before (I think?) BUT he’s basically the primal for the idea of the Warrior of Light and I think that is magnificent. I still don’t have a full grasp on Elidibus as shown in this patch: his memories are fractured, whether by age or Zodiark; he’s driven both by his own ambition and Zodiark’s influence. He’s all over the place and I’m going to have to take better measure of him as I replay everything in NG+.

I have a note that says, “Ella why are you picking up random things off the ground that your enemies have dropped???” but it all turned out even better than okay. I don’t understand how he could have dropped all those Convocation crystals other than as a plot point but whatever. It was a great sequence. “All that remains is to pray. To pray that we will one day meet again, beneath a blue sky.” Made me tear up. The twisting of the Convocation from the gentle, kind Amaurotines to what they are today is brutally heart breaking.

I made a note of how the trees in Amaurot are starting to wither--I am not sure if we’ve always had that? But if not, definitely a small sign of Hades’ magic fading?

Bear with me now but I CAN’T STOP SCREAMING ABOUT AZEM. I of course didn’t get the title right (my 14th is Altima), but I got the duty/job so almost right. My Altima is the Shepherd, though to the souls on the planet living and departing to create and live alongside the Lifestream. The entire scene with Hyth had me shaking in my chair with excitement over how perfectly it described my headcanon 14th--down to her wandering the planet when she wasn’t in the city. Granted it fits with all our WoLs and is specifically made to be so, but I am so excited. Not sure what I’ll do with this when I write, whether I will alter my canon to fit the game or plow on ahead, but we’ll see. I’m just so excited. And the new TITLE fits my OCs to a T. God, thank you, SE. I also love that we are the “sun” and can’t wait for the future connections and theories about the 14th and Azeyma and Azim.

“After all, I cannot say whether I act of my own volition or by the will of my recreator!” Made me laugh-cry.

Scions confirmed that seeing Amaurot awoke a great grief in them, which was then supported by the random Eulmore NPC crying at the sight of it. So, it’s not even reliant on how whole your soul is: everyone who sees it feels something, a soul-genetic memory, maybe? I can’t wait to use this. Also makes me wonder if this is why in the patch the Scions are more wont to encourage you to talk things out with Elidibus, as in SHB they were pretty set against Emet-Selch.

The new dungeon was okay. I need to replay it again and look around more (is there a hint of Hildibrand there??). The Necromancer and Berserker class, though the latter may be Warrior same way Arcanists are called Ink Mage, made me pout a little. I want Necromancer. Also, THIER White Mages get Protect? Pffft.

I didn’t take any notes for the trial but. It was brilliant. The run through Crystal Tower with the Exarch was a wonderful callback (there were so many callbacks, it was great) and then when he told us to go ahead I was like, you better mean it that you don’t plan to play your trump card unless we’re present! The trial itself was breathtaking. When the Amaurotine first showed up I thought it was Azem, then when they snapped their fingers I was like cool we can do that too, and then they did the Emet-Selch wave and I lost it. HOW!? Shtola has a theory that even she admits is far fetched but. Wow. I am wondering which one it may be: Emet-Selch truly somehow having his soul live (we were just in the space where Ascians’ souls go between bodies) and assisted us; or was he called by Azem’s crystal as a memory; or was it a memory entirely? Just. That cameo. I miss you, Emet-Selch. For yours is the seat of the fourteenth broke me also and I’m just all over the place. Elidibus as the Warrior of Light was great.

I don’t understand why he went Baby in the end there. I can’t imagine the Convocation recruited and sacrificed a child. My headcanon is that it’s just meant to represent his childlike devotion and drive to his goals. He wanted to help his brothers and sisters so badly he detached himself from Zodiark. Seeing him sitting there cradling the crystals and talking about how it’s a beautiful day and they’re not there to see it was heartbreaking. The Amaurotines lost so, so much--and there’s no way to bring any of it back. I am glad the Unsundered have finally a chance to rest.

The goodbye scene with Ryne was a little lacking to me. I wanted Thancred to hug her, damn it. At least he told her he’s proud of her. She’s so brave with how she tries not to cry before them. She’s coming into her own, with her own ideals, but also so like Minfilia’s that it made my heart full. I will act as her post moogle to Thancred any time, kupo.

Also the one line she has in Twine about how Gaia is her friend who will be there for her is sweet and I laugh at the idea of Gaia’s reaction.

Okay, so, the ending. Probably the thing I did not expect at all. I expected death. No one died. The animations were beautiful, and Alisaie was such a joy to watch. Just. I don’t have words for it. I was so overcome with happiness at how perfect they all were: Alisaie sinking into her chain in a sulk, the Archons fondling their weapons, Alphinaud with tea and a book. Alisaie jumping off to go find a fight and Alphinaud’s brotherly exasperation. The banter between Urianger and Y’Shtola. My heart is so, so full.

On to the topic of the Exarch, which I did not expect to have this many feelings on: first of all, I expected him to die. We all did. How can one man survive SO many death flags!? When our WoL ran out of the Stones like a wound up mammet I was there with her, heart pounding praying for it to have worked. I am bummed that we didn’t get to experience him actually waking, but that means I can write about it... which I already did, actually. Because: I came out of this with a very unexpected, slowly unfurling Ella/G’raha ship. This was a surprise because ARR G’raha was not someone I even remembered all that well, as I played CT when it came out, but I remember thinking he was a bit too immature for romantic ships; and the Exarch always felt too distant and too much. I was fond of him in SHB but in a passing way, also because I was a little bitter that he put the Scions in such danger in the first place (though I understand all the good that’s come as a result, like uncovering the true Ascian plots). Seeing him at the end there, as a fusion of G’raha and the Exarch, somehow turned my view of him on its head and in that moment, I could easily see Ella and him running off and having proper adventures together. The driving attraction to all my ships is a form of shared experience, or at least understanding of what it’s like to bear a heavy burden on your shoulders. The Exarch was again, too much in his role, and I couldn’t see Ella feeling comfortable being close with him. But now, with this ending? Watching the two of them run off together? Oh, I am excited.

I even wrote four pages of fluff on how he got those bobby pins in his hair and I never write fluff. Please look forward to it being posted soon.

Lastly: Ardbert. If you’ve been around my blog long enough, you’ll know that I’ve been an Ardbert shipper since HW. SHB was so good to me in that regard. Personally, I got closure regarding him in the scene of him offering us his axe and was happy with it. I was overjoyed to see him get closure with Seto now, too. I’m not happy with Elidibus using his body and then tearing it apart as he did, but: it made for great angst and sometimes that’s actually okay with me. The confirmation that he can talk to and through us is interesting and I imagine that he does so rarely, as his soul is finally at rest with his friends--where it truly belongs. He lets us live our life, and a part of him is always with us, now. I imagine him and Ella at one point having a conversation about her burgeoning feelings for G’raha, as in my canon she’s never felt quite a strong enough connection or level of comfort with anyone but Ardbert, and him giving her his “blessing” and encouraging her that it’s okay to chase after the comfort and happiness G’raha can bring her. Especially since all of SHB she was in a very very bad place and this ending we got gives me such a sense of respite, no matter how fleeting.

Speaking of fleeting: Zenos and Asahi/Fandaniel. I am still hoping Zenos gets more interesting because I just can’t bring myself to like him, and seeing him destroy the Garlean empire before we even step foot into it is making me a little pouty. Fandaniel is interesting on a few accounts: he’s a sundered Ascians, so what will that mean? Clearly he’s been unhappy with the Unsundereds’ plans. He’s also pretty crazy for “the bringer of order”, if we follow the FF12 Espers. We didn’t get a lot so I am hesitantly interested. But also, Asahi? I hate that kid...

My last thoughts on this are: the Ascian storyline was meant to come to an end with this patch, but clearly we’re still getting content. So I am hoping that was for the Unsundered Ascians and we’ll find out more about the summon of Hydaelyn and all that. I... have exhausted myself typing all this. Wow.

BUT I AM VERY HAPPY WITH THIS PATCH AND WILL REPLAY THAT HAPPY ENDING MANY TIMES. I can’t wait for the future.

[windupalisaie]

unburdened & content

(alisaie/wol | romantic fluff  | post stormblood - a year after ala mhigo’s liberation | 3178 words) 

A pair of arms emerged from the dark and wound around Alisaie's waist. Her hand reached for the hilt of her rapier on instinct, only to remember that the blade usually strapped to her belt wasn’t there. For a brief, fleeting moment, she panicked.

"Guess who?"

The question was caught between velvet and silk, with a light rasp that clung to otherwise smooth words. The warmth of a familiar giggle danced against Alisaie’s neck and her ear, bringing with it the equally familiar scent of petals and spice that mingled with a rich thread of wine. Alisaie relaxed.

"You're far too adept at cloaking yourself in shadow, Warrior of Light."

She did her best to not make the surprise she'd briefly felt obvious and made sure the title was a sharp little knife when she spoke it—much like the ones its bearer often threw around without care. The shadow behind her giggled again upon being unmasked. 

"Caught me," Poppy replied in a rueful, singsong way and leaned forward to prop her chin on Alisaie’s shoulder. "Just wanted to see if my darling little wallflower is enjoying herself."

The jab was gentle, edged only with a hair of playful sharpness. Still, Alisaie glanced sidelong in a way she knew was petulant—eyes narrowed and lips pursed—at the woman who used her as a headrest. When she caught sight of the bright eyes that stared back at her, crinkled with a sweet and genuine smile, Alisaie couldn't help but smile in return.

"I'm enjoying myself as much as I can," she said, sounding droll. She crossed her arms and leaned back into her love's embrace, sighing lightly to punctuate her response.

Parties were never Alisaie’s preferred environment. Forced pleasantries and talk of politics were always Alphinaud’s forté, but she'd learned to endure it all in her own way. She was never sorely missed in the moments between conversations, even after slipping away to the darkened sidelines to catch her breath. 

It’d been a long evening of speeches and socializing. Ala Mhigans were a lively bunch, at the very least, and, to their credit, the celebration could hardly be considered stiff. Alisaie smiled again when she looked across the crowd and caught glimpses of her fellow Scions, who all mingled amongst members of the Resistance and leadership from the Eorzean city-states.

"I have to admit,” Alisaie said quietly, “it’s good to see everyone together again." 

A warm feeling of contentment tinged her words. The hum of agreement Poppy replied with held a similar warmth. 

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" she asked.

The question gave Alisaie pause. The memory of the night they were all together last was vivid despite being years old at that point, and replayed in her mind as if through the clear facets of an unaspected crystal:

Having defeated the Warriors of Darkness and collected their missing comrades, every Scion had crowded into the Solar of the Rising Stones in attendance of an impromptu meeting called by Alphinaud in order to decide the course of their future. It felt like an epoch ago, before their entanglement in the war, in a time when Lyse still counted herself among their ranks and before Papalymo—

Alisaie shook her head to clear the thoughts away. The motion helped combat the stab of sadness that suddenly slipped into her gut like a knife.

"It has," she said in agreement, quiet and just a bit somber. As if sensing her tension, the arms around Alisaie's waist tightened their embrace.

"Well,” Poppy said, “I can see you're clearly having the time of your life here, but—" before Alisaie could even think up a quip in return, Poppy cut the teasing short to continue, "—want to sneak away with me for a bit?"

The question, along with the puff of breath that came with it, pushed against Alisaie's neck and made the skin there prickle into gooseflesh. She turned her head, enticed already, and smirked at the sight of the playful twinkle in Poppy's eyes.

"Lead the way," Alisaie replied. She didn't bother with hesitation, having learned long ago that it was best to just play along with her love's mischief, and was rewarded with a flash of sharp teeth.

Poppy's arms released her, but her hand slid against Alisaie's a breath later until their fingers tangled together, pulled taut as knots. The gentle tug that came soon after was a wordless command to follow.

Poppy led her through the darkened edges of the ballroom with the silence expected of one whose multitude of titles included the darkest shadow. It was a marvel how she seemed to thread the ambient aether around them both to form a cloak of darkness that shielded from prying eyes. Alisaie was ever-appreciative of the discreet ways Poppy always managed to rescue her from the boredom of parties with.

When they broke free of the confines of the celebration, Poppy let the shadows fall away. The palace opened up around them, all gold and buff marble and towering pillars holding up lofty domed ceilings that filled Alisaie with awe. She hadn't explored the massive place so thoroughly before, but noted how all previous manners of Garlemald had been expunged, replaced instead with rightful banners of rich purple and alabaster griffins.

The hoods of the Resistance were styled after the very same majestic beasts, with beaks that dipped down in respect towards the Warrior of Light and her companion, as they allowed the two women past their guard. A grand staircase was ascended, and Alisaie suspected she found herself on the famed Royal Menagerie when they emerged onto a sweeping terrace paved in ecru tile.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Poppy's question broke through the prolonged, though comfortable, silence that had slipped between them. Alisaie hummed her appreciation at the sight of flowers that swayed in chilled gusts of night air, painted in shades ranging from vermilion to rosy pink. Still hand in hand, they stepped towards the center of the garden and among rows of massive flowerbeds. When Poppy's hand slipped away from hers, it was replaced with a crisp coolness that made Alisaie miss her touch.

"This is where I fought him." Poppy moved towards the nearest plot and bent over to pluck a flower from its bed. There was a slowness to her motions that made it look like she was in pain, or that she feared the bloom she held might shatter at her touch. "A lot of things ended here," she added. The words seeped quietly into the night, heavy with the weight of troubling memories.

Alisaie knew that Zenos met his end on the Menagerie. She hadn't expected it to be a place so serene, though it was clear that the serenity didn't reach Poppy fully. Something about her demeanor changed as she held the flower up. Her eyes narrowed in deep thought and perhaps in anger as the sliver of moon that hung above them outlined her profile with a soft, pale glow. Though the light was scant, it still reflected off her eyes like a flicker of cold flame.

Alisaie watched her, unsure what to say. When her gaze fell to the jagged scar visible beneath the chest wrappings of Poppy’s sparse armor, the red of the flowers briefly brought the phantom, coppery tang of blood to her nose. Her own anger flared in an unbidden flash of heat, directed at herself for not being able to stand at Poppy’s side during that final battle. 

"Many things began here as well," Alisaie said after a moment. She unclenched her fists and shed her senseless anger—it would do her little good a year late, after all—then offered Poppy a determined little smile instead. "Ala Mhigo's unfettered future, for one."

Poppy remained entranced by the flower in her grasp. Alisaie’s words broke through her silent musing and she lifted her head to meet her gaze, seeming startled and unsure. She exhaled a breath that felt like it lasted an age, but also seemed to lighten her burden, if only just a bit.

"I didn't want this place to be soured, is all," Poppy explained with a shrug, sounding sheepish, and glanced back down at the flower that twirled between her fingertips. Its pink petals held fast to the stem despite the abuse. "It's too pretty for that. So I brought you. It can't be sour if there's memories of you here."

Alisaie huffed at the flattery, though a smile still tugged at the corner of her mouth just enough to betray her. Poppy caught sight of it in an instant—fast enough to act before Alisaie could squeeze in a retort.

"Enough talk,” Poppy said and waved a hand before her face, as if she meant to swipe the dreary cobwebs of old memories away. “Dance with me?"

The question caught Alisaie off guard. Her wide-eyed gawping was likely what pulled the smile back onto her partner’s lips.

“Dance? Here?”

Her incredulity sharpened that smile to a wolfish grin. “Why not?”

It was a challenge, if she’d ever heard one. Alisaie stared at the hand extended towards her for a moment before she rose to it. 

"If you insist,” she replied, tone tart. “I'll indulge my dear Warrior."

Fingers brushed together and a step closed the gap of space between them. Poppy's free hand deftly tucked the flower she held into Alisaie's hair, where it made its new bed just above her ear. She smirked at the gesture, though the gentleness of it filled her with warmth.

Poppy took both of Alisaie’s hands in hers. Alisaie looked down at them, feeling calluses brush against her own, seeing scars stretch pale lines across olive skin. Poppy's nails were filed down to minuscule points and lacquered a dusty, petal pink that matched the flower she'd just held. The charming style of it suited her.

Alisaie remembered, suddenly, something her mother often said to scold her long ago, when she was but a young girl who had a bad habit of chewing on her nails while she read: you can learn much about someone with just a glance at their fingernails, and thus you must needs care for your own. She'd never quite understood the meaning behind those words. Not until she saw Poppy’s hands.

She remembered long nails carved into menacing points on the eve of many a battle, ones that were sharp enough to be considered knives in their own right. She remembered the aftermaths, the bandages wound around palms, the nails splintered and shattered, with blood caught underneath, sullied in conflicts won. She remembered still how in the darkest hours they were left overgrown and haloed by purplish bruises, left untouched by self-imposed neglect. 

Those were the hands of the Warrior of Light, of the soldier, of the weapon. The hands that held Alisaie’s then were a stark contrast that bespoke contentment and peace, rather than the hardships of war.

Alisaie remembered, also, the scent of wine on Poppy's breath when she snuck up on her, and caught it faintly between them then in their closeness, still rich and sweet. She thought of how Poppy had always quailed at the sight of a goblet and eyed opened bottles with obvious suspicion. Alisaie was surprised that she'd indulged, especially after having confided in her long ago about the fears that followed after the night in Ul'dah, and the other at Falcon's Nest.

Then it clicked into place: Poppy felt safe. Her myriad of wounds, no matter how countless, had begun to heal. The realization warmed Alisaie further.

"Ready?" Poppy asked, snapping her back to the present with amused impatience. "Or are you stalling?"

"I assure you that I'm not," Alisaie replied, tone tart once more. She straightened her back and pulled Poppy closer. "Lead the way," she said for a second time that night, and knew how she sneered likely made it sound more like a challenge of her own.

Poppy, of course, rose to that challenge in an instant. Their positions were sorted out, with hands finding waists and shoulders and holding one another. And thus their dance began.

Alisaie thought it would be nigh impossible with no music to guide them, but Poppy managed to surprise her, as she always did. She pulled them both along with her usual ease, her movements fluid, following the thrum of some unheard melody that steered her. Alisaie kept up through sheer determination alone, loathe to be outdone by her partner.

"You look a bit impressed," Poppy said after a while. She twirled them around with an effortless grace that somehow managed to come off as smug. Alisaie rolled her eyes.

"Quite. I'm impressed you haven't tripped over me yet."

Poppy tutted her disapproval before a wicked grin lit up her face. She was clearly undeterred by the comment.

"Oho, but you haven't seen anything yet!"

Both her hands traveled to Alisaie's waist and wrapped around her back, pulling her closer before she was urged backwards again. She half expected to be dropped to the ground, but Poppy held tight, dipping her so low that her head brushed against the flowers beneath her. Alisaie stared up at her, silent with surprise, and instinctively wrapped her arms around Poppy’s neck in fear of falling.

The ornate bits of gold sewn onto Poppy's formal battle garb glistened beneath the moon's half crescent and clinked together softly as she shifted to lean over. The sharp pauldron that jutted from her shoulder cut into the night sky above her, and the fearsome daggers that hung from her hips shone as moonlight pooled along the faded scars that cut across her cheek and lips. She looked every bit like the gilded hero of legend she was oft made out to be, and Alisaie couldn't help but be enchanted by the sight.

Poppy's smugness melted into satisfaction, then turned to something even softer. Her lips grazed against Alisaie’s in a feather-light kiss that stole the breath from her lungs, and her eyes fluttered closed when a more firm kiss followed.

She was practically gasping when Poppy pulled away, only to peer down at her warmly from beneath long lashes. The florid sweetness of the blooms that danced all around them clouded Alisaie's already reeling mind.

"You—" words failed her for a moment, as she'd been completely disarmed. "You… you hopeless, senseless romantic! You were planning this all along, weren't you?"

The amorous moment was shattered when another grin broke across Poppy's face. She laughed at the accusation as she straightened her back, pulling Alisaie up with ease.

"Caught me again. It's your own fault, though," Poppy said in a singsong way while her eyes narrowed with mischief. "I love you enough to prance around like a fool, after all. Lucky you," she added, tail swishing behind her in satisfaction.

Alisaie should have been more irritated from the embarrassment of being briefly turned into a blushing, swooning maiden, but no such feelings of contempt ever came. Only a warm fondness filled her, along with an amusement that pushed past her lips as a chuckle that Poppy shared in.

Poppy released Alisaie from her grasp, but didn't back away. Their hands came together again in a wordless want for contact, and they swayed, fingers twined and cheeks pressed together. It was a ghost of their previous dance, though more pleasant with the added closeness.

"I am lucky," Alisaie said after a while, quiet and assured. When Poppy chuckled again in reply, Alisaie felt the sound rumble against her. 

"I'm glad you think so."

There was a frailty and shyness behind the words that made Alisaie's heart stutter. She caught the faint thread of wine on Poppy’s breath again, felt the subtle sharpness of nails against her palms, and her thoughts abruptly turned to the precariousness of it all. The state of the realm, their lives, their love—everything felt so delicate.

It felt like madness, sometimes, to think of the breadth of her love for Poppy. And it was madness, for how could she fall in love with a whirling tempest, or the harsh crackle of a roaring fire, or the sharpened end of a freshly polished knife, or the light, blooming warmth of hope? It was a foolish notion to fall in love with intangible, fleeting things, but Alisaie was stubborn and ever content in that folly, because she knew that the Warrior of Light was no weapon cast in metal to be wielded, nor a statue carved of stone to be worshiped—she was but a woman of flesh and blood who loved just as deeply as she did.

Their love was foolish, perhaps, and it was terrifying. The feeling was fragile, caught between them like a little bird, its frantic wing beats not unlike the fluttering of their hearts. Yet in all its fragility, it also held an unfathomable strength. It was an act of defiance to love a hero, Alisaie knew, as it was to be a hero in love. But together, they were both stronger for it.

"You're so quiet tonight," Poppy whispered, and Alisaie felt the warmth of her curious concern brush across her cheek. "A lot on your mind?"  

"Yes," Alisaie admitted. There was no point in lying, but she didn't quite know how to articulate the thoughts that occupied her. 

Poppy hummed. It was a thoughtful little sound. She pulled back just enough so Alisaie could see that her face was twisted into an unimpressed look.

"You think too much," she said, and it sounded almost like a scolding. And in that moment, Alisaie had to hold back the laugh she felt bubble up at the absurdity of it all.

“Well,” she began to reply without a breath of hesitation, "between the two of us, someone has to."

The jab pulled a pout onto Poppy's lips. Alisaie couldn't help but smirk.

"Seems like my wallflower is more of a nettle," Poppy said, speaking with as much sharpness as the mentioned plant. "Thinking is for politicians. In case you’ve forgotten, we're the ones who fight," she reminded her pointedly. She then heaved a dramatic sigh and moved backwards to step onto a flowerbed, pulling Alisaie along with her. "Though, I guess there's not much fighting to do for now,” she said with a thoughtful tilt of her head, before continuing with her usual mischief: “All that's left to do is dance!" 

They were surrounded on all sides by flowers. Poppy took Alisaie’s hands again and spun them both around. Alisaie conceded, grinning as she gave in to her love's whims, and the fondness that filled her heart made her feel as resilient as the blooms that bent against their movements.

"I suppose I can't argue with that."

Alisaie loved Poppy always, but loved her most as she was then: unburdened and content, twirling among petals, bathed in scant moonlight as she laughed. There were no titles, no duties, no pain. She was purely herself, and that was all who she needed to be.

[fistsoflightning]

high tide

the rogue’s guild has a few aces up their sleeves.

                                 gatheredfates’ [30 day wol challenge] | prompt: gentle

(mermay mermay mermay, i chant as if i didn’t forget about it until today.)

every la noscean knew that costa del sol, in the prime of summer, was the best location to take an extended summer vacation—if not for the moonfire festival, then for the view; sunsets painted with dreamy pinks and golds and cerulean seas, fireworks that lit up the sparkling night sky with rainbow fire. even the pirate ships that occasionally sailed by seemed picturesque under the right lighting.

and yet, despite the golden-blue sunset painted today across costa del sol’s skies, jacke, v’kebbe, and perimu all take a turn to the crab-infested beaches just south of the wooden boardwalks and firework displays, heading straight to the secluded cove where the sea rolls in just far and deep enough to let fish in.

“underfoot, are ye certain it’s high tide?” v’kebbe asks as she rolls up her gaskins to look like shorts, using the normal pale green bandages to tie them into place with such ease; jacke really should consider asking how she does it so swiftly, seeing as how he’s still fumbling with his. their sandals have all been tossed into a pile, haphazardly stacked behind a pile of coconuts some idiot decided to use a fishing net to hold together.

perimu scoffs from where he stands, holding the small furoshiki like any old satchel despite it’s precious contents. he doesn’t make an attempt to change his clothes into something that wouldn’t be soaked; his height makes high tide a bit… dangerous. “o’ course! otherwise this cove ‘ere would be dry as bone.”

“right.” v’kebbe looks skeptical even as she picks up her lalafell coworker and walks past jacke to a rocky outcropping, the gleaming cerulean sea swallowing her legs until jacke can barely tell which reflection below v’kebbe’s folded gaskins is her actual legs. “hurry it up, jacke; yer the one they respond to.”

“shut yer gob for a bit, stray! not all o’ us can tie knots right quick.”

even though jacke quickly strings up his gaskins and joins them in the thigh deep cove, brilliantly colored schools of fish swirling around them, there is no sign of their mermaid confidant until the clouds burst in a fury of glimmering raindrops. the moment the downpour begins, like a waking call, rhela’s tail flicks above water, the colors of the sunset catching in the droplets flying from her tail like little gemstones. 

“wyda will be here soon, i think!” rhela chirps loudly as she seats herself precariously on a few flat rocks farther into the cove, tail still soaking in the sea. her seafoam green scales glimmer in the fading sunlight, a red glint hidden carefully among the shimmering reflections her tail scatters across the stones covering the little cavern.

“yer fantasia is in here, miss rhela—two bottles worth,” perimu says with an air of sarcastic formality, tossing the small green furoshiki to the mermaid—and thank the twelve underfoot’s aim is good, landing their half of the trade squarely in rhela’s hands, otherwise jacke would have had the uncontrollable urge to shake the man; those fantasias were frustrating to find, much less two.

“ah, thanks! my twin brother has the stabbers an’ potions ye’ll need, since he found the wreck ‘fore me,” rhela explains, her tail swishing back and forth in tiny nervous circles. next to her tail, syhrwyda pokes her head up with a smile sharp as a knife, sunset orange scales bright against the seawater. “but he’s… well.”

rhela points out to the ocean just past the safety of the small cove all of them had selected for their meetings, and jacke misses the point entirely, staring out to the ships sailing towards costa de sol and the fish swarming in colorful, shimmering tides. thankfully, he isn’t the only one searching.

“jacke,” v’kebbe says as she walks to his side, carrying perimu on her shoulder much like the flame general did the sultana. “he’s just about past the part o’ the cove we can stand ‘pon. see him peekin’ above the water?”

and surely enough, in a small patch of moonlight, jacke finds rhela’s twin barely poking his head above water, near identical to the more adventurous mermaid waiting impatiently for her brother to gather his guts and come up. the only notable difference between the two merfolk is their haircuts; rhela kept hers short, and her merman counterpart…

his moonlight silver hair reaches down to his chin, sterling blue tips slowly dripping as the cloudburst keeps his hair soaked.

“y’see, tehra’ir’s a tad afraid o’ humans,” rhela says quietly as jacke watches her twin sink a little further underwater, clearly afraid of the attention he’s gotten. “if mermaids were considered part o’ yer code, then yer code would have been broken; pirates thought he’d make a bene prize for an auction… an’ now he’s more wary than he’s curious.”

it’s always pirates, isn’t it. jacke’s expression sours just slightly, but that seems enough to put tehra’ir—who has been staring only at him since they noticed him—off enough that he floats away from the sandy bottom, the sapphire blue fish circling him turning to school around v’kebbe’s feet instead.

well, if he has the goods we need to compete with the bloody roses...

jacke can feel the cold stone giving into open waters with his toes as he walks closer to the edge of the cove, but he dares to step just a bit further when tehra’ir shies even further away from the cove. the humid summer storm barely brushes against his face, and faintly, jacke thinks he can smell levin in the air.

pray your luck is better than the last time it poured, jacke. can’t lead the guild if you’re toast.

“tehra’ir,” jacke coos, a small bit of embarrassment creeping up on him for being so soft among all the quiet resentment jacke has for those pirates rhela mentioned but moments ago. he has half a mind to kneel down until he realizes he’d be chest deep in ocean water. “mind comin’ closer? promise i won’t hurt ye. rogue’s honor.”

the merman looks curiously at his hands before floating closer, watching warily as jacke unties his bandana. small waves, soothing and gentle, pulse from where his head breaches the sea surface, tehra’ir’s nose just high enough above the water so that jacke can see the tip of a scar on his right cheek.

surprisingly, tehra’ir doesn’t flinch when jacke leans over (like a fool, seeing as one slip could send him tumbling into a fifty fulm sea trench without so much as a lifeline), brushes tehra’ir’s seawater soaked hair back, and ties the bandana around his head instead. even rhela sounds impressed, from where she’s sitting with syhrwyda, her soft gasp the only noise accompanying the splashing waves and jacke’s small chuckle.

“ye can have it,” jacke says quietly, chuckling quietly into his palm when tehra’ir’s hand suddenly splashes out of the sea to feel the fabric. rhela had a penchant for the bandana, too, so it was only natural that her twin... “i’ve extras to spare, an’ it fits pretty well, eh? makes ye look more confident.”

as tehra’ir beams back at him, gentle sunlight and torrential rain reflecting off his fangs—did all merfolk have pointy teeth, jacke idly wondered—jacke’s feet slip on a miniscule patch of too-smooth stone and send him falling face first into—

into the fifty fulm trench, without a lifeline.

“shite—!”

the ocean is still fairly cold compared to the humid midsummer above, forcing jacke to gasp and choke on the salt water he inhales and gods he’s afraid he might drown here if tehra’ir just stares, his tail curled up in confusion as jacke sinks deeper despite his best efforts; curse him and his poor swimming abilities.

(part of him thinks to look around, to take in the sights of the rainbows of coral and gemstone scaled fish, so similar to the vibrance of costa del sol’s skies filled with fireworks when pitted against the deep blue sea. below, a cavern deeper than he can see and lined with shimmering goods—rhela and tehra’ir’s makeshift home, if he remembered correctly, the seastone spiraling downwards with the currents slowly pulling him in like gravity.

another part of him tells that childish wonder to stubble it because he’s fallen into the sea. not swimming, not able to breathe properly, not graced with the lungs of a merman but bordering on drowning if he doesn’t do something—grab onto the stone by your side or the crimson coral above do anything dammit—)

like a bullet from milala’s revolver, tehra’ir dives towards him, hands outstretched and eyes wide. his tail glimmers with the same light that his sister’s does; bright red like a warning and nearly overtaking the seafoam green underneath it all as he rushes to shove his arms under jacke’s and swim up, up, up until...

air, his mind rabidly thinks, breathe dammit just breathe—

when jacke’s head breaks the surface of the water, he gasps loud enough to wake the dead, choking on air as tehra’ir lifts him higher, moving jacke’s hands onto his shoulders rather than clinging to his chest. the salt water in his eyes blurs the golden blue skies into one, grey clouds melting like moonlight against the sun, and jacke wheezes as he tries to right his mind.

(not drowning not underwater not in a shipwreck not tossed over the boardwalk—)

“are… are ye alright?” tehra’ir asks meekly, and for a second jacke can’t quite tell his voice apart from rhela’s, nearly mistaking it for her until tehra’ir coughs, quiet under the splashing rain.

oh, jacke thinks as his mind stops in place, lungs slowing down and seafoam scaled hands holding him in place, above water further than necessary. he’s not used to speaking common, is he. easily embarrassed, too.

and rather than come up with a coherent response, jacke laughs instead, a sunlit smile working its way onto his face, and tehra’ir goes from worry to confusion to smiling too, emerald eyes scrunching up as he joins in the laughter.

(jacke would have tried to say i’m fine, thanks to you if he had any rational sense left, but it seems like tehra’ir and falling into the sea are both quick ways to rob him of his usual smarts.)

tehra’ir swims the both of them close enough to the outcropping rhela’s sat upon. jacke climbs up, dripping wet and white shirt soaked through as he sits next to the mermaid—which, in retrospect, was not the best time he’s had. rhela slings her arm over his shoulders, laughing even as she holds her fantasia bottle close to her chest, and tehra’ir dives back down, tail spraying a gentle mist over all of them—even v’kebbe, much to her dismay.

“color me impressed, cap’n,” rhela says sweetly, eyes glinting with a trickster’s touch. “haven’t seen him smile that bright since we met wyda.”

“and he let you hug ‘im—even if that was t’ save yer sorry hide,” syhrwyda says, voice loud as the cloudburst begins to calm, and—wait, jacke had hugged him? “i was ‘bout to rush o’er there myself! didn’t think tehra’ir had it in ‘im!”

and as tehra’ir slowly, carefully resurfaces holding a pair of sliver daggers, a small vial of glimmering blue liquid, and a small, well polished and gleaming pearl pin, jacke can’t help but return tehra’ir’s shy smile with one of his own, any embarrassment he might have withheld from clinging to the merman melting away.

his smile is nicer than his sister’s, jacke thinks as he reaches out to grab all three treasures, the yoshimitsu knives lighter than he’d expected. when he reaches out to take the pearl pin, however, tehra’ir lifts out of the water a tad higher and pins it to jacke’s soaked shirt lapel before he can protest against it.

“i thought we’d only needed the stabbers an’ the edelweiss potion t’ get into the roses’ tub, jacke,” v’kebbe says with a snarky grin, catching onto rhela’s wild-eyed expression faster than jacke thought she would. “have ye been charmed by a merman or the other way ‘round?”

“ah, stubble it,” jacke says even as her laughter pierces the calmed seas, the storm finally over; those were just folktales made to keep children away from sea. “yer jus’ as bad as bleedin’ heart.”

(and yet, somewhere deep down in his chest only uncovered by tehra’ir’s eyes, jacke’s certain those tales had a pearl of truth in them.)

[ainarosewood]

30 Day Wol Writing Challenge Day 1-Aftermath

@seaswolchallenge​

It was around the mid of night where Shin found himself staring into the hearth, watching the flames flicker.  It's unsteady light the only one in the sitting room. Not far from him slept Alphinaud and Tataru the Lalafell curled in the young Elezen's arms tear lines staining both of their faces.

His own was also marred by those same lines. The Seeker had spent most of the evening since his return from the Vault with both of them grieving for their lost friend.  But now he found the grief all but spent, replaced with a burning anger welling deep in his breast. He shook himself silently hissing to restless to sleep as his companions were.  

He pushed himself to his feet and silently padded out to the hall stopping by his room to grab Alkatrops his trusty cane.  

The Miqo'te once again strode out into the halls.  They seemed so cold now, so empty of the lively warmth that had been in the Manor since their arrival in Ishgard.  No matter how bad it had been it always felt welcoming here in these halls.  But the pall of grief had dampened that lively spirit.

He’d hate that, Y'shin thought to himself as he stepped out the door into the bracing chill  of the night.

He prowled the streets no real destination in mind.  A small part of him knew this was foolish, that it was inviting trouble.  But, the rest of him, fueled by that wrath in his breast welcomed the idea.  He was hoping one of the supporters of the Bishop would attack.  Then he'd have a target for this rage.

As he came into the soft glow of the Aetheryte he heard a voice call, "Awfully cold fer a walk aient it Hero?"

The Seeker turned to see Hilda leaning against a nearby wall. He just inclined his head in greeting and grunted non committedly.  The last thing Shin wanted at the moment was company.

The half-elezen pushed herself off the wall and strode over to him, "Ye look half frozen. How's bout we head over to the Knight and see if Gibrillont has the hearth going eh?"

Shin's ears flattened and he caught her eyes intent on telling her off.  But as he gazed into those crimson depths he couldn't bring himself to.  For one he saw the determination that shone within, overtly she would not take no for an answer.  But, there was also compassion and that won him.  

He nodded in acceptance and motioned for her to lead the way.  They walked together in silence to the Inn.  As the entered he realized that she hadn't been wrong he was chill.  Mentally he kicked himself he knew full well that the Coerthan climate was not one you ignored but he had.

Swiftly he made his way over to the table closets to the fire and sat down.  Hilda stopped by the bar and picked up a bottle and two glasses.

She sat down across from him, uncorking the bottle and pouring a glass each she then slid one glass to him and raised her stating, "To Hauchefaunt, a good man who always treated others with nothin but respect and kindness."

He picked up his own glass raised it to her and murmured, "To Hauchefaunt,"

Shin then downed the glass and began sputtering.  The fire that burned down his throat from the drink rivaled both the Black Wyrm's and Ifrit's fires in its heat.  

He coughed a few times looking at her with watery eyes as she placed her own drained cup down rasping, " Gibrillont calls this his, 'forget your woes' spirit. Damn if it don’t burn."

He nodded in agreement wiping the tears from his eyes as she caught them in her gaze.  Crimson met with ice blue and green as she stated softly, "It don't help ye know.  No matter how many o his toadies ye bring down it aien't gonna be enough."

He blinked at her in surprise and she barked a laugh pouring another glass for both of them.  

"Ye think I didn't know that look?  Trust me hero, I know it all to well.  I used to bark an snap at any blue blood what crossed my path.  But it aient enough, it'll never be till ye taste the blood o the bastard that’s truly at fault.  You were spoilin fer a fight and looking fer blood"

He nodded now understanding what she was saying and knowing the truth of it.  "You have the right of it, I was....thanks."

She gave him roguish grin, “No problem, now it aeint gonna solve it. An it sure as hell aient gonna make ye forget.  But, have another an it’ll blunt yer senses fer a time.”

He nodded and downed the glass before him once again allowing the liquor to burn his throat.  She was right it wasn't solving anything but it was numbing him out to the raw pain.

"I meant what I said, ye know." She stated after drinking her own cup, "He was a good man.  Never treated any o us as his lessers.  None of House Fortemps does.  They’re good folk, even the youngest pup for all his faults,”

Y'shin nodded the Miqo'te knew exactly what she meant.  The entire time he'd known Hauchefaunt he had been treated as as equal.  Like a brother, that was why the loss hit him so hard. "I...I should have been more alert." he began

She looked him in the eyes once again nodding, "Aye ye should of.  But ye weren't n he paid the price.  Now all ye can do is do right by him n make the bastards bleed for what they did."

Y'shin nodded in response tears stinging his eyes once more.  "Aye they will make no mistake on that." he growled his ears flat to his skull.

"Good, now 'ere one more fer the road.  Then I'm gonna help ye back te the manor." she poured him another and one for herself and they drank it in silence.

He then pushed himself up wondering why the Mongrel thought he'd need help.  Then it hit him as the room began spinning and he felt light headed.  He stumbled forward a few steps and she slipped under his arm.

"Woa there Stray, that stuff packs a punch once ye get vertical."

"How ish it you?..."

She flashed him a toothy grin, "I've drank it a few time so Im used te its effects." She helped him out the door waving to Gibrillont,  “I'll get him home don'tcha worry none."

The barkeep paused in scrubbing the glass he was holding to wave in awknowledgement  before returning to cleaning.

As they stumbled along heading for the stairs leading to the Pilliars what she had last called him finally hit in his booze addled brain, "Stray?" he asked confused.

"Ye mean that’s the first ye've heard that?" she asked

At his wobbly nod she grinned, "Its what the blue bloods have been calling ye.  The Stray that Fortemps took in."

He growled annoyed, he hadn't heard it and he had a sneaking suspicion that a certain young Elezen and Lalafell were the ones making sure of that.

" Now, listen, don't let em win by getting bothered by it." The half-elezen stated stopping to turn him to face her, "If ye own it they can't use it.  So they call ye Stray, honestly I like it."

He gave her a wan smile, "You have a point, there are worsh thingss they could ssay.  Well then, Mongrel mind finishh helpin thish Stray te the manor.  Not Shure I'll be able te manage te stayh on my feet much longer."

Hilda laughed, "Aye," she stated shifting once again to be his support as they climbed the stairs to the Pillars.

It didn't take long before they were at the doors of Fortemps Manor.  She raised her free hand in greeting to the guard stating, "Hey there mind letting us in.  The hero 'eres had some o Gibrillont’s   'forget yer woes' spirit"

The knight nodded in understanding his eyes full of sympathy as he stated, "I can take it from here miss, thank you for you aid,"

She handed the staggering Seeker over to the Hyur stating, “Don’t mention it”

The Mongrel once again caught Shin's two tone eyes stating, "Rest well, hero n in the morn give them holier than thou bastards what for." With that she spun around and waved good bye over her shoulder.  Striding back toward the stairs to return to Foundation.

[crystalsexarch]

Shuffle - E

“You like it?” the Warrior whispered.

“Yes,” Aymeric said. “It is...formidable.”

-

Explicit. Ambiguous female Auri WoL. Same one from What We Already Know. I'll keep it simple: Aymeric gets pegged, and Estinien has a good time watching.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2020 FFXIV Writing Challenge

The Warrior of Light had fingered Aymeric de Borel before, but she hadn’t fucked him. Yet.

“Well, how do you feel?” the Lord Speaker said, balancing his head in his hand. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, naked and proud. At the end of the question, the line of his lips broke into a smile, one he tried to hide behind his fingers.

“I feel a bit ridiculous,” the Warrior said, hands at her hips, just above the black harness that held her new toy in place. It was as big as the average Elezen’s, which is to say much larger than what might look somewhat natural on an Au Ra her size. “I don’t know how you lot do it.”

Estinien, who was reclining behind Aymeric wearing only a fresh white towel, chuffed. “Well, most of us don’t walk around perpetually at full-staff.”

“Most of us,” Aymeric said over his shoulder. He turned back and looked the Warrior up and down again, from toes, to tail, to tricky smile. Of course, he glanced once more at the thick tool she’d soon use on his backside, but even in such an intimate situation it felt rude to stare. “I think it suits you.”

“How flattering.” The Warrior stroked her new cock with a silly, daring look on her face. “And you?” She raised her chin at Estinien. “Your thoughts?”

He rolled his eyes to the window. Her expression was one he recognized; just days ago she’d worn it on her way into Ishgard with a new lance on her back. Feel the weight, won’t you? Aye, I see the jealous look on your face. Her latest acquisition wasn’t a weapon, per se, but with that sinister glint in her glowing eyes she certainly looked like she was ready to pierce something. “My thoughts aren’t the ones that matter here,” Estinien said.

“For now.” She pulled the piece up so it sat flat against her belly, then let it bob back into place.

Estinien watched it bounce and sighed. “For now.”

Eager as the Warrior was to put her piece to work, she took her time loosening Aymeric up. She leaned over him, and he leaned over Estinien, who had one hand on the back of the Lord Speaker’s head and the other at his dick. Sometimes he’d stroke himself. Sometimes he’d latch around Aymeric, too, and watch the blue of his eyes disappear beneath lusty lids. The Warrior was treating him well from behind. Estinien wasn’t jealous—not of the physical attention she was giving his dear friend—but he did feel something. Blame it on the sex in the air. Anything but his emotions. He shifted his hips down and up. Aymeric had leaked enough precum to make Estinien’s hand glide easily over each of their heads now.

The Lord Speaker let his neck give out. Heat made his fingers flex. “I’m ready, love,” he said. “Quite ready.”

The Warrior snickered and applied another helping of oil to her cock, slicking it like she’d seen her lovers do before. Estinien couldn’t see her directly, but he read her actions through Aymeric’s face. As the ribbed head pushed inside, his lips tightened into a silent snarl, then a circle, then, as she pointed deeper, a breathy gasp.

“You like it?” the Warrior whispered.

“Yes,” Aymeric said. “It is...formidable.”

“You picked it out yourself. I should hope you know your own limits.” She traced his shoulder blades and eyed the Dragoon beneath him. “How’s it compare to Estinien’s?”

Aymeric laughed and looked at the man in question. “Move and I’ll begin preparing my full report.”

The entanglement proved fruitful. Each partner saw new angles and little truths they’d missed before. The Warrior liked how Aymeric’s back responded to her pressure; she’d change her pace or hit him harder to make his muscles move. He kept his eyes low, for the most part. He liked to move his hips so his dick lined up with Estinien’s...but he also liked to arch back and encourage the Warrior to learn more about his body and its most sensitive parts.

And Estinien tried his best to relax. Didn’t want to blush. Didn’t want to let on how much he was enjoying himself. Sometimes he’d chirp out half-meant orders in response to the Speaker’s wordless cries. “More, Dragoon,” he might say. "He's making too much noise." And Aymeric would laugh and grit his teeth when she gave more to him.

They carried on for a while. Eventually, Aymeric flattened his chest against Estinien’s and wrangled an arm around his neck. “I’m embarrassed at how well she’s doing,” he said. “She’ll be a force of nature soon enough.”

Estinien wanted to chide his lover for offering so much praise. All this will go straight to her head, you know. It would’ve been easy to say if old memories hadn’t taken root in the back of his mind, memories from the Warrior’s earliest days as a Dragoon. When they had trained together. Explored each others’ bodies in private, sucked and tasted one another. When Aymeric raised himself on his arms again, Estinien was chewing on one scene in particular—he and the Warrior masturbating face to face, like they couldn’t figure out how to put their parts together. He had called her name and pounced on her to finish, spurted cum over the scales of her shoulders, the soft skin of her breasts, even lips to which he dared not touch his own.

How he wanted to mark her in more permanent ways.

Now Estinien looked at the Warrior. She was looking at him, too, smirking. As if she, too, remembered. As if Aymeric wasn’t there taking cock between them. Perhaps the First Brood connected them carnally, secretly, beneath the covers of their living history. Estinien gripped himself harder. Didn’t think about his own hand or how slick his tip was. Didn’t think about his wild eyes or his heartbeat. He thought of hunger. Hadn’t he taught her that, after all? How to want to be full? What was it he had said back then, before fucking her with his finger?

You’re not off the hook, Dragoon.

Estinien’s eye started twitching. Then, with no tangible escalation, he came on Aymeric’s face.

Aymeric gasped. Estinien grunted, turned his head away, and rubbed himself to completion. He couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to, and he didn't.

“Something wrong?” the Warrior said, panting. She leaned over Aymeric’s sweat-laced back.

“No need to stop,” Aymeric said. “Estinien has given me, er...an unexpected gift.”

One Azure Dragoon groaned, the other cackled.

“I see!” the Warrior of Light said, darkly. While she reset her rhythm, Aymeric curled forward upon Estinien. Suspicion, now, called his fair face home. Estinien had no other name for it. The slant of the Lord’s brows was so severe it overshadowed the absurdity of having white specks on his chin and cheeks. He was a noble. A man with power. And power lived in his gaze.

Estinien loved him, but in those moments he couldn’t stand to look at him. One or both of them tasted the trouble. Knew it was worth talking about. But they didn’t talk. The Dragoon wrenched his arm around Aymeric’s neck and pulled. Kissed. Bit. He let the taste of his own seed drown out the ambiguous bitterness souring his tongue. The Lord relented. Whatever spirit lingered in the air, it couldn’t stop him from coming.

[alvaar-aldaviir]

Wondrous Tails: First “I Love You” (replacement) / Bandaging Wounds

("First "I Love You"" is a replacement for "Going on a Cruise")

Time Frame: Post Canon (years after Shadowbringers(?)), Minimal Spoilers for 5.0 end. Notes got long so they are under the cut.

Notes:

I continue to refer to Alphinaud as a Scholar instead of Academician for no reason but laziness and bad habits.

I understand the ‘time bubble’ issue of MMO’s, but for writing I subscribe to time actually passing between expansions. I don’t keep a hard and fast rule, but sort of lean toward roughly 1 year per expansion if not longer. Otherwise everyone would be mired under so much PTSD I don’t know how the Scions would get anything done, and please let my WoL breathe?

Somehow, someway, Alvaar has gotten the better of me and it’s eventual committed relationship polygamy with the Leveilleurs up in here. After actual months of telling myself no, I give up. If you hate that, pass on my stuff and have a great day.

Just for posterity, there will never be twincest. I don’t have a personal stance on people’s fiction about fictional people, but it just doesn’t make sense for the twins to me.

   The first time Alphinaud hears Alvaar utter those words, he’s seventeen. Seventeen and full of fire and determination to help right the wrongs of a thousand-year war and maybe redeem some of his own foolishness.

Seventeen and half scandalized to catch his Warrior of Light buried against Lord Haurchefant’s chest before they readied to infiltrate the Vault after Ser Aymeric.

It wasn’t as if he’d gone looking of course. Such things would have been kept a better secret behind a closed door and not front and center to whomever strolled into House Fortemps expecting an audience. But romantic subtly wasn’t... exactly Lord Haurchefant’s forte and neither was it Alvaar’s. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known when it was the talk of Camp Dragonhead and the house servants anyway.

But it is perhaps the first time the Arcanist had seen any hint of the word “love” meaning something beyond dutifully repeated and expected phrases. Spoken as if it’s some personal secret, or more of a promise than just a response. Something alive and wild instead of the light and flippant ways he’d heard it used in Sharlayan and among nobility.

There’s a weight to those words that’s like aether humming in an incantation.

It means something when Alvaar says it and the Lord’s sharp features soften as he nuzzles into blond hair, and it means even more when Haurchefant answers in kind and some of the tension in the Bard’s shoulders ease. There’s a thousand words held in that phrase, like pages and pages of information distilled in a single line of arcane shorthand. History condensed into a lone footnote.

He never had to ask why Alvaar’s wails of pain as he’d held his dead lover mere hours later sounded like a heart breaking in two.

    The next time he hears them, it’s not quite the same.

He’s twenty (or was it twenty-one?) and farther from home than he’d ever dreamed. Fresh from facing off against Emet-Selch as they’d fought to save the First from destruction. Twenty and exhausted and content to doze quietly in the newly returned night alongside the beds two other occupants, arms draped over Alisaie and Alvaar both. He remembers feeling Alvaar’s knuckles brush his cheek, tiredly meeting the Bard’s gaze in the dark and hearing those words again.

They don’t mean the same thing, but it doesn’t overly bother him after the torture Alvaar had endured for the worlds. After the last several months Alphinaud had spent fighting sin eaters, stubborn short-term mindsets, and bitter loneliness in Kholusia.

Being called family, being called ‘home’ had only echoed what he’d felt too. The Scions, his Sister, and Alvaar, were what felt most like home. Not a large but empty feeling manor back in Sharlayan, cut off and indifferent to the world.

It’s a different kind of love but it doesn’t mean any less nor is it remotely insincere.

And even if there’s a faint disappointment in his heart he would never admit to, it’s fine. More than anything he’s simply happy that they’re still together. Still alive. Still able to fight and produce another miracle for the people of the First and the Source.

    He’s twenty-two and he knows Alvaar loves him deeply. He’s said it in every other conceivable way. Let poetry and sweet words fall from his lips or sent the meaning across in those brushes of familiar contact. Had the feeling burned into his body and mind more times than he could ever hope to keep track of...

But Alvaar hadn’t ever said it.

It’s silly and he knows it. He has no reason to doubt Alvaar and truly he knows the way the Bard feels for him isn’t anything less than his previous lover. That there was room enough in that gentle heart for all three of them. Jealousy is a terrible thing after all, so he convinces himself it doesn’t matter. Comforts himself and chides Alisaie gently when she inquires on it herself. Alvaar had been through a great deal of hardship and pain. And as they both didn’t doubt the depth nor truth of his feelings, the specific words should hardly matter.

    He’s twenty-three, and when Alvaar finally says them he barely notices. There’s too much blood, and Alvaar’s laugh is too weak and lilting from it. His mind is too busy on spells and incantations to register it as he works quickly.

Alvaar is fine. He’s always fine. He comes back beaten and bloody and smiling and laughing and visibly delights in being doted upon and taken care of. A routine scouting of the border wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near as deadly as the hopeless situations he’d been sent into before. He’s fine.

The Scholar is internally utterly terrified of course, but he knows from too much firsthand knowledge that there’s no room for panic as a healer. If he panicked, things would quickly turn into ‘not fine’ and neither of them had time for that.

So for right now, spells and aether humming in his veins, it’s fine.

        “Did you get a haircut recently?” Alvaar asks, letting Alphinaud clean, tape, and bandage his wounds. Magic had healed the critical damage and stopped the bleeding, but it would take time to heal the rest and a few more applications of white magic tomorrow. Cleaning and bandaging would ensure a smoother transition through the process, so it’s a step he takes anyway, perched on the edge of the medical bed while the Bard sits propped up against pillows.

“You should be taking this more seriously,” the Scholar returns flatly, pushing Alvaar’s hand away from his hair gently so he can keep working.

“I am. But I’m just so... very happy,” Alvaar murmured, a smile stretching across his exhausted face. “I made it back this time, I’m here, and you’re here, and it will work this time.”

It’s said with such offhanded confidence it makes the Scholar blink. “What? Alvaar you’re delirious, stay still.”

A hum of agreement rings in the Bards throat as he nods. “Okay. Let me know when you’re done and listening. He said I didn’t say it enough... That when I made it back to be sure to tell you something.”

He wants to pay more attention to Alvaar’s curious words but there would be time for it later. Though he was comfortably stabilized and would no doubt make a full recovery in a matter of days with the Warrior of Light’s sometimes obnoxious recovery speed, it’s never something he likes to leave to chance. If he overlooked something now, it could be disastrous later.

“He?” The inquiry slides off his tongue in a distracted manner, during which his moonstone carbuncle chirps with interest where it’s bedded down along Alvaar’s legs.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alvaar replies, glossing over it as his attention shifts back to the carbuncle eyeing him expectantly. “Can I have my hand back now?”

Another deft turn of the roll of bandages, a swift snip of the medical shears, and a tidy tie off had him releasing Alvaar’s arm with a nod. “Sure. Other arm if you would.”

Swapping obediently, Alvaar quickly settled his freed hand into plush white fur, grinning brightly. “Hey Carbi... I missed you too,” he cooed, chuckling at the fond chirp and purr he got in answer. “You’re the best summon ever aren’t you?”

Snorting under his breath, Alphinaud keeps at his work until he’s finished, letting his summon keep up its job of distracting Alvaar’s focus from pawing at him so he can work in peace. Alvaar was always a good patient, but woozy with blood loss he sometimes got sillier than was helpful. It made his moonstone carbuncle an utter lifesaver, and there were few helpers he would rather have working beside him. Though he had long developed more potent summons, Alvaar’s preference and the sheer number of revisions and intricacies of its design had left moonstone as one of his masterpieces. The patient bedside manner and attentive nature had made it a nursemaid second to none, and given the way it was currently cozied into Alvaar’s side and subtly keeping him quiet and still as it soaked up affection like a sponge, it remained a staple of his repertoire for good reason.

Inspecting the last of his work, he gives a satisfied nod before starting to pack things away. After almost seven years of chasing Alvaar’s shadow and tending to his wounds, his first aid is as neat and tidy as an experienced chirurgeon. A far cry from his fumbled and panicked work the Bard had coached him through with grit teeth in Coerthas. It’s only once he sets the supplies back on the shelves that he finally gives himself leave to think about anything but healing.

He’s seated back at Alvaar’s side before he realizes he’s made the steps, a bandaged hand curling warm at his jaw and pulling him closer until they bump foreheads together. It’s a movement that he’s long used to, a familiar gesture that helps to quiet the panic that had boiled over in his chest if not the emotion that threatens its place.

“I would appreciate it if you would refrain from frightening me like that again,” Alphinaud murmured softly, a faint tremor in his voice but refusing to cry. Alvaar was fine! There wasn’t any reason to overreact!

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Was the best I could manage,” Alvaar replied in the stilted way he picked up when he was exhausted. Given how much harder he was leaning into the Scholar, none of it surprised him.

Making a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat he leaned the faintest bit back into the Warrior of Light, soaking up the steady warmth that wicked off him and the silent reassurance he was still there. “Just... be more careful next time. For now you should focus on healing.”

“Thank you for saving me Alphi,” Alvaar whispered with a heartfelt gratitude.

It was enough to make the Scholar flush. “I... Any other healer would have done the same.”

“Maybe. But any other healer wouldn’t be worth me dragging myself back to. Sides, Alisaie was too far,” he joked fondly.

Alphinaud tutted under his breath, pulling back to grip Alvaar’s face in his hands and press a featherlight kiss to his brow before burying his nose into soft golden strands. “Jokes aside, thank you for coming back. If scaring me half to death means that you’ll pull through, then I would take that burden every time.”

There’s something about the way Alvaar relaxes into him, the faint breath of a sigh before tension eases out of his neck and jaw, that has always meant the world to him. It was too many emotions to articulate clearly, but it always made his heart feel warm. Reminded him that even if he wasn’t able to command the same fear and awe as the Warrior of Light, to be a brilliant blade that cut through the dark and evil that threatened them, the rallying cry that brought their forces to victory, what he could do was no less important.

All great hero’s needed a home to return to, else they would eventually feel they had nothing left to fight for.

“Alphi?”

“Yes Alvaar?”

Pulling back enough to regard him a moment with scrutiny, the Bard leaned in with a purposeful ease, lips brushing against his chastely for a moment before murmuring something against his skin.

This time he heard them. Felt their movement and the warmth of them against his lips and burning against his skin. Poetry and promise and providence all in one.

“I love you.”

It was no big deal. It was a sentiment he’d always known from 1,001 things Alvaar did all the time. Something he had long convinced himself didn’t matter. A phrase used over and over until it’s meaning was practically lost.

But oh.

Oh...

How those words shook him to the depths of his soul and cut him in two regardless.

    He’s twenty-one again for just a moment. Full of questions and a heart fuller still with longing, listening to Alvaar speak of love he’d known with that easy and sincere air of his. Brutally honest as ever.

Love was ruinous. Love would destroy you in ways you didn’t think were possible. Love was thirst and hunger. And all your days, when you’d known the taste of true love, of something that clutched past your heart and into your soul, you would always want for more of it.

In the present with his face buried against Alvaar’s shoulder, tears welling over and soaking into clean white bandages, he feels like a beast half starved.

“I would really like it if you stayed,” Alvaar murmurs, still running his fingers along the Scholar’s back soothingly. He’s infuriatingly casual for having just reduced his lover to tears. If he hadn’t just spent an hour healing and bandaging him up, Alphinaud would probably have swatted him.

Instead he just nods.

He’d never been very good at refusing that particular request anyway. Even when he was the one chastising Alvaar on why sharing a medical bed was in poor interest of his health.

But it’s late, and he’s tired, and nuzzling into the warm muscle of Alvaar’s shoulder he doesn’t want to leave anyway. So, he pulls himself up onto the bed fully, curling up beside him and keeping his cheek settled against the Bard’s shoulder that’s free of bruises. He knows he won’t sleep well but the situation is unfortunately familiar enough he knows that he’ll still get plenty of rest for tomorrow’s troubles.

“Alvaar?” he asks softly after they’ve both settled into the pillows, sheets, and each other accordingly.

“Yea?”

“You really need a shower.”

It has Alvaar laughing enough to make him wince, “Brat... don’t make me laugh that hurts.”

Alphinaud just smiles softly and hums an amused note as Alvaar settles further against him.

“Alvaar?” he asks again after a few minutes, getting a soft grunt of acknowledgement.

Shifting enough to study the soft and unguarded profile he’s sketched a hundred times before from memory, he presses a brief kiss to the Bard’s jaw and settles in for sleep.

“I love you too.”

[dholwrites]

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Relationship: Thancred Waters x WoL OC

Rating: E

Note: [Contain ShB spoilers]

Seeing Minifilia again felt like tearing open the stitches on her heart. Fuujin had just barely begun to recover from her guilt, only for the seams to come apart when she saw the signature blonde hair and otherworldly blue eyes. The pain wraps itself around her, like a hand around her throat and a knife in her chest. There’s so much to say, so much to tell her; things they once laughed about over a warm meal, things they would cry about on each other’s shoulders. 

A wave of burning lava fills her stomach, it overflows until all she saw was red. Words threaten to spill out as everyone else around her easily accepts Ryne’s new name. The feeling didn’t go away even when Urianger’s expressed his surprise that Thancred had been listening. The heavy weight of her relationship with Thancred was starting to take its toll. Alisaie casts her a forced smile as Ryne beams at her new name and powers, even hurrying to make herself useful. 

With Ryne leading everyone towards the next Lightwarden, her anger simmers down into a manageable level, only for it to rise back up when Thancred matches her footsteps. With each step, they fall farther behind. A brush of his fingers at the back of her hand, stalling for a moment before he worms them in between hers, curling around them. A gentle squeeze was all it took. Fuujin whips her hand out of his grasp, shaking him off without a second thought, and hurries to catch up with everyone else.

“Fuu-“ 

“Don’t Fuu~ me!” Her own nickname feels like lead on her tongue. The hair on her sleek tail puffs up as she bares her teeth at him. She hisses through them, “if you think that after everything you pulled, that I’ll take you back as easily as her. You. Are. Mis-tak-en.” The Seeker jabs his chest with her finger at every syllable, her blue eyes turn icy despite the fire behind them. 

Thancred staggers back at the force, brown eyes wide, his mouth dropped open. A loud sigh escapes his nose as he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Fuu, I figured that you out of everyone would understand that Ryne-”

“That Ryne is so helpless, that you need to cater to her every whim,” Fuujin cuts in, her voice lightly wavering as she continues to move towards the well. “So much so that you need to neglect every other problem you have. You didn’t even look at me when we finally saw each other.”

“Of course, I did! I missed you every-”

“Then… why haven’t you said anything to me?” They stop moving altogether, standing just an arm's length apart. A part of her wishes to run back into his arms, her heart aches to soothe and erase the lost look on his face. She wants him back. Yet the pain of their relationship digs its claws into her very heart, caging what love she has. “He told me that you were here for five years. Five long years. While you were stuck in a world that we know nothing about, I visited you every night after you passed out. No one knew what was happening. You were just… gone.”

She remembered it all too well. While his body still had the breath of life, everyone told her that he’s there. There, yet his soul wasn’t. Taken right in front of her very eyes and she could do not a thing about it. Fuujin thought that it would be the end of it. She was wrong. One by one, her family fell around her. First Y’shtola and Urianger; the two had always been a gentle guiding hand. Suddenly gone. Then Alphinaud, sweet Alphinaud came back in the arms of a former enemy. The look that crossed Alisaie’s face shattered the heart that she was still trying to piece together. 

The loss drove her and Alisaie closer together, closer than they had ever been. They started sleeping in the same room, in the same bed. The fear of losing each other too great to even let go of the other’s hands. They swore to never leave. The rest of the Scions did what they could to help. They didn’t feel the same aches, but they could take care of everything else. With Tataru’s help, they kept the Rising Stones alive, took care of primals, and tended to everyone else as the girls huddled away. 

Then it happened. The pain in her mind that was enough to distort the vision of Alisaie reaching out to her. Yet when Fuujin reached out to take her hand, it wasn’t enough. 

It wasn’t enough.

Fuujin shakes her head of the thoughts, hand reaching up to flick off imaginary tears. “You know what that was? The last care I have. Whatever we had was obviously not important enough that you don’t have something to say after five years.”

“Well, you should know that is clearly not true. I- WE have more urgent things to do than to worry about something as stu-” His words stalled as soon as he realized what he was about to say.

“Oh. No. Why don’t you finish that sentence? Just say it. Stupid. It’s so stupid, right? This little thing called ‘Our Relationship’ is apparently so stupid that you’re more than happy to forget about it.” Thancred’s lips have set into a frown, his brow furrowing as he opens his mouth to say something, only for nothing to come out. The words taste as foul as they sound to her ears, but she wants to hurt him as he has hurt her. “All those hours spent worrying over you, searching for an answer. And when you were finally within reach… Nothing.”

He lets out a sigh, turning his face away from her, expression unreadable. Her eyes were drawn to the hand that had reached out for her. The same hand that once took her own and kissed the back of it when they first met.

“I… love you.” Her voice cracks under the admission, all her anger bringing tears to her eyes. Her hands reach up to furiously cover them as she spoke on. A flush begins to cover her face as she bites back a sob. “I still love you. I still do. But you’re making it hard to keep going.”

Using her black hair like a curtain, she shields herself away from him, from the world. He simply stood there as she cried into her hands. Unsure of what to do he slowly wraps his arms around her, pressing her against his chest to allow her to sobs to subside. Pressed against the leather that smells of blood, sweat, and dust, Fuujin forces back her tears and straightens herself. The miqo’te tears herself from his arms, taking shaky breaths to calm the feelings that still threaten to come pouring out again. Thancred spoke up first.

“Let’s talk about this later.” She had never wished for the night to come so quickly than in that moment. It would be easier to hide the evidence of her tears in the dark.

__

Back in the Crystarium, there’s a clear tension in the air. Y’shtola has shooed her off like a mother would a child. Fuujin couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of the other miqo’te taking her over her knee. She looks away only to lock eyes with the man that had brought her to tears, the smile on her lips faltering as she walks past him to her room. Perhaps it was a trick of her mind. He… Thancred looked like he wanted to say something. There’s a lonely, pained glint in his face as his lips press into a straight line. 

Her heart fluttered in her chest, perhaps a spark of hope that they will be able to rekindle this relationship. Yet her mind reasons that there shouldn’t be any, not when she still feels the echoes of disappoint mixing with anger in her chest. The miqo’te took the long path back to her room, watching the excitement as news of the night spread like wildfire. Civilians young and old were quick to flock around and set up stalls to celebrate the Warrior of Darkness. 

By the time she made it back to her room, her body was aching and exhausted. So much so that she struggled to fully enjoy the food and drinks set out for her. Ardbert had even granted her wish for privacy. At least, until someone came knocking on her door. 

“Fuujin, can you let me in, please?” She hesitated for a moment. Should she? Is she truly ready to take him back? The miqo’te wished she could just say no, but instead she clicks the door’s lock. He opens the door just enough for him to squeeze in and slam it shut behind him.

Thancred pressed himself completely against her, his arms wrapped tightly around her small waist as his face nuzzled her long, black hair, careful that the headpiece won’t get caught on his shirt. She could feel his breath on her ears; deep, slow, purposeful. With every exhale, the tension from his shoulders would slip off. All until he was practically clinging onto her like a child seeking comfort. He finally whispers out a reply, muffled by her hair but she can hear it all the same.

“I’m sorry.” He continues to mumble those two words until she finally reaches up to wrap her arms around his waist. Her touch seems to snap him out of his desperation to apologize to her. Thancred pulls away just enough to look into her eyes. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that, much less by me. But- but I ask that you have a little patience with me, so I can explain everything.”

“I… forgive you, okay?” The anger that she had for him was washed away with his apology. The Seeker pressing her cheek against his chest, enjoying the feeling of his warmth against hers and his breath tickling her sensitive ears. “I ask that you make it up to me from here on out. No more secrets, no more avoiding me.”

She could feel him nod into her hair, breathing out a sigh relief and muttered words. Fuujin pulls away to look up at him, to see the expression fixed on his face. Thancred rests his forehead against hers, their breath heating up space between them. His expression is nothing short of relief, eyes darting back and forth between her blue eyes and plump lips, as if asking for permission. He tilts his head just slightly and she could feel the ghost of his lips brushing against her. So close she could taste his breath, so close she wants nothing more than to pull him down into a smothering kiss.

“Is there a way that I can make it up?” An idea began to form in her head, something to get all the pent up frustration out of them. Something that she has been wishing for before all this mess started. 

“There is… one way you can make it up to me right now. I want you to take my first time.” Thancred nods again, instantly agreeing to the idea. Only for the words to finally register in his mind. The sound that came out of him was a strange mix of a gasp and delightful glee. She taps his lips with a finger, which he quickly presses a kiss against. The Seeker can’t help but soften up at his affection. “But you’re not allowed to have your lips anywhere close to being down there. I want to see your face.” 

Thancred put his dexterous fingers to work helping her out of her outfit, eager to take this chance to rekindle their love. First the headpiece, making sure to press a delicate kiss to her forehead as he untangles the feathers from her hair. Then her gloves, his lips dance across her tan skin as he slips off the rings with it. Only once it’s time to remove her chest wrappings, Thancred slows his pace, tracing the line between the fabric and her skin, admiring the way the silver decoration draws his attention to the area surrounding it. His eyes growing darker and tongue darting out to lick his lips. His eyes raise up to lock eyes with her and flash her a cheeky smile.

“Alright, I’ll admit. I have Twelves’ damn clue of how that thing works,” he raises up his hands, looking away as a sprinkle of red gather on his cheeks from being caught. Yet a cheeky smile crosses his face and turns back to her, Thancred strokes the side of his chest, flexing the muscles that he had gained for the past five years. He cast her a sultry gaze. “Would my lady mind taking care of it while I remove mine? Or would you prefer that I try to wrestle your dress off of you?”

A sound akin to a snort makes its way out of her at his question. The Seeker could only roll her eyes and finish his work for him. She reaches up and with a snap, Fuujin easily pulled it down until the entire dress pooled around her ankles. Kicking the pile of clothes aside, her hands working to add her small clothes to the pile and kicking off her shoes. Fuujin takes a hesitant step towards him, watching as his eyes blow wide at the sight of her bare body. A wave of nerves fills her at the lack of remarks. 

“You’re beautiful.” Breathless, wonder-filled words pour out of his lips. 

His long white coat was thrown off and dropped with little care on the ground. Following with it were his gloves, belt, and thick armor until he was left with his form-fitting small clothes. She could make out his cock through the tent forming. It was the first time she gets to see him so exposed. Her tongue darting out to lick her lips as she eyes it with interest. He toes off his boots, having them slip right off and land on the floor with a ‘thud’ as he climbs onto the bed on his knees, his hand guiding her to lie down on the bed.

While his body moves boldly and expertly, his hand skims tentatively to cup her cheek then down along the curve of her breast, mumbling praise as he kisses her lips. His thumb circles around her nipple, just grazing it ever so slightly to pull a desperate gasp out of her. A hungry look gleaming in his eyes as their gazes lock, with him leaning down to kiss between the valley of her chest.

“I dreamt of this moment for the past five years. I spent the better part of my time wanting nothing more than to be able to see you again, to touch you, to feel you again.” He whispers almost dreamily, before his voice deepens, “more than once did I imagine what I would do when I could finally return to you. The next thing I knew, five years had passed.”

She barely has time to react to his statement before his mouth latches onto her nipple. He alternates between rolling his tongue over the sensitive nib, flicking it, and sucking on it to elicit moans from his lover. Making sure to keep each breast occupied with his hand and his mouth.

Before he could do anything else, Fuujin hesitantly grabs one of his wrists and pulls it down between her legs, relishing in the feeling of his bare fingers stroking the inside of her thigh. She shoots him a desperate look that brought a lopsided grin to his face. Thancred nudges her to spread her legs further apart, situating himself between them comfortably. The anticipation builds up in her veins at every inch he draws closer to her sex. His warm touches only make her ache for him where she needs him most. When he finally reaches it, an undeniable moan of his name escapes her lips. The sound of it only encourages him to tease her even more.

Fuujin couldn’t stop grinding against his hand, feeling her juices coat his fingers as he rubbed his thumb in circles against her clit. Thancred presses his lips against hers when he finally slips inside, kissing away every muffled gasp and moan. Her own fingers grasp the bedsheets even harder, the muscles underneath beginning to strain from the strength. Her entire body growing warmer with each passing moment, the sweet waves of pleasure travel from the tip of her ears to the end of her toes.

She could feel him crook his fingers inside her and rub against a sensitive spot, the strength of her legs draining and what felt like a fire was set at the pit of her stomach. Not even his kisses could stop the sharp gasps and long drawn out moans from her lips, her tail thumping lightly against his thigh as his free hand roams and gropes her chest again.

Her legs begin to quiver as she draws closer to her orgasm, the miqo’te finally letting go of the sheets to grab the silver strands of his hair to pull him back to claim his mouth again. A low groan from him drowns out the sounds she can’t help but make. White completely fills her vision as she unravels in his hand, letting out a high pitched keen as her back arches against him from the force.

Fuujin couldn’t help but feel empty as he pulls his fingers out of her. She can see the juice of her climax covering his hand. He made a show of dragging his tongue over his finger, sucking at them, even letting out a low moan at the taste. “You taste delicious, better than anything I’ve ever imagined.”

She was panting heavily, recovering from his actions. Her eyes turning dark and tongue darting out to lick her lips. But there’s still a fire raging inside her despite what she just experienced. She needs it. The one thing that would finally relieve her of this fire. She needs him to stop playing around and finally fuck her. “Thancred,” Fuujin moans reaching out to trail her hand down his chest, feeling all the muscle he had built for training as a Gunbreaker for the 5 years he was here. Toned, defined, and mouth-watering to see, she couldn’t help but drool at the thought that this was all hers . Her hand makes its way down until she comes into contact with his clothed erection, even brushing her thumb over a damp spot near the top to elicit an unrestrained growl from him.

“I hope that you know what’s going to happen if you keep touching that.” Thancred lightly threatens. All the noise from earlier has stretched his patience thin, practically ripping off his strained smallclothes and tossing them aside. With a nod of her head, he adjusts himself back between her legs, taking his time to stroke himself until he was fully erect. Only when she made a needy plea did he guide himself into her soaking heat. Fuujin accepts him with little to no resistance thanks to his fingers. But they do not compare at all to what she feels now. There is an undeniable stretch as she feels every inch of him as he carefully pries her open in the most delicious of ways. He was so thick, thicker than her fingers, his own fingers. Thick enough that she left like she wall full to the brim. 

They both groan together when he finally settles in her, her legs wrapping loosely around his waist. Thancred stalls for a few moments to allow her to adjust, his hands delicately guiding her legs up to rest them on his shoulders, even giving one ankle a kiss. His hands supporting her at her hips. Fuujin quickly loses her patience as the quiet moment drags on. Despite the way he lavishes her face and legs with attention from his touch, her tail twitching and curling around his leg as if she depended on him to move . Getting the hint, he began a steady rhythm. Slowly and gradually building up until he found the perfect pace to pull light moans, desperate gasps, and sweet sighs from her. With each roll of his hips, the miqo’te gets to watch as his muscles flex, each motion sending fresh waves of pleasure and excitement coursing through her veins. Yet it wasn’t enough. She rocks her own hips to meet his and stars fill her eyes as he brushes against the sweet spot from earlier.

Thancred had to know what he was doing to her. The way his thrusts came harder and quicker, his hands helping her to meet him in perfect unison. She closes her eyes, shutting out her vision and controlling her shaky breathing, yet she can’t help but let out every moan and gasp while underneath him. The flame has turned into an intense heat pooled in her abdomen, hot and frantic, threatening to consume her. 

Then he suddenly stops, the fire taming down but remaining resilient. Before a snarky complaint could come out of her mouth, he starts his hips again, adding fuel to the fire that grows inside her. And then… he stops again. 

“Stop teasing!” She smacks his bare chest as he stalls himself one more time. A light chuckle falls from his lips draws her eyes open to look at his own. A soft smile and gaze full of adoration. Open adoration for her . His thrusting starts again, this time without stopping. The flame finally bursting, her orgasm slamming into her and pulling out sounds that she didn’t realize that she could make. Her eyes grow hazy as he continues to fuck her through the waves of her orgasm. 

The very moment she starts to come down from her high, Thancred reaches down between her folds to stroke her sensitive bud. She didn’t think it would be possible, but he brought her back to the very edge before she could finish the last one. 

“Can you cum? Just one more time, Fuu, just for me.” He whispers above her, barely audible over the sound of skin slapping skin. Before she even realizes, the miqo’te feels the familiar coil between her legs. Throat becoming slightly sore as she screams out his name between ragged breaths. An orgasm so intense that she came close to blacking out. Her back arches off the bed, walls convulsing around him as he continues the punishing pace.  Her eyes finally clear up to watch as Thancred’ face contorts to one not short of pleasure as he reaches his own climax. He drops his head to her shoulders as she feels his hot cum fill her. 

Panting heavily, he pulls out of her and collapses into the bed on his back. Despite feeling the exhaustion sink need into his bones, his hand reach cradles her head. Pulling her to rest her head against his chest as the both of them come down from their high. Thancred took deep, shuddering breaths, muscles flexing with the aftershocks of his orgasm. The thumping of his heart fills the ear pressed against his chest. He presses a gentle kiss above her eye, an arm wrapped around her waist.

The lull of sleep starts to take hold of her. Wrapped up between the warmth of his arms and the gentle rhythm of his heart, Fuujin closes her eyes, slowly slipping into a dreamless sleep, safe and satisfied. Just moments before she loses consciousness, Thancred shifts underneath her. She could feel his hand running through her hair and tracing nonsense patterns on her back. Her eyes flutter close as he wraps a light blanket over them, and whispers softly in her ear.

“I love you, Fuu. And I will love you until the end of time.”

[bekahdoesnerdshit]

Hey! So. Idk if anybody would be interested BUT I wrote out a letter from Cog to Ace for my next Wasteland session, and I think it’s kinda super cute so I wanted to share it! Below the cut, because I respect your time. Even if you don’t decide to read it, which is totally valid, please know that the closing line is “I’ll move mountains to get home to you if you need it. Miss you lots, love you more. Cog” SO that’s where we’re sitting

Hey, Ace!

It’s so, so great to hear from you. I wish it were under better circumstances of course, but I’ve been missing you like crazy. I hope you’re doing as well as possible with everything that’s going on, and I know New Alexandria is lucky to have you there to hold it together. If someone offered me a hundred gold pieces, I don’t think I could come up with anyone better suited for the job! If you want our help though, all you have to do is ask and I’m sure I could talk everybody into coming back to help get things under control. And, well, I hope you know that even if you don’t want “our” help, if you just want mine you can say the word and I’ll come running. No questions asked.

I wish I had some happy news to give you on our end to make up for what’s happening at home, but we’ve had some pretty rough days out here too. We made it out of Cormir in one piece, but it was a close thing. We weren’t able to save Maelo in the end; he wouldn’t let us get involved. We’re all struggling with it, I think. I know I am. Maybe the idea of returning home and seeing how much further it’s spiraled since you left hit a little too close to home. I guess I can understand wanting to fix it, but I just wish he would have let us help.

The situation in Cliffside right now is really our fault too. Something we did in the bunker here triggered what we think is Project Leviathan, and we ended up having to divert the water that fills Cliffside’s oasis in order to flood the chamber and keep this enormous robot from waking up and going to attack the Crossroads. We’re doing our best to make it up to these people by helping them relocate, but I know it’s only a temporary solution. I don’t know what they’re going to do long term, and it seems like there isn’t really anyone “in charge” here either who could figure it out. I feel terrible, but I don’t know how we could have done anything differently. Both outcomes were really bad for a lot of people, and it didn’t feel great knowing we had to choose between them.

I am so, so sorry to hear about Penny. I promise, though, that Emperia wasn’t behind her death. [Insert whatever bullshit (or truth! potentially) the party feeds you here]

Ace, I am flattered and honored that you think so much of me. Anything I may have done to help you, I am happy to have been there to have done. But, honestly, I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You’re a good guy, Ace, and the longer I spend in the Wasteland the more I’m realizing that genuinely kind people are harder to come by than they should be. You’re a good guy, and you were one long before you met me. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have met at all! Honestly, if anything, I wish I had your resilience. With every new roadblock we run into out here, I can’t help but feeling more and more dejected. I’m just… I’m tired, Ace. We keep traveling, and we keep making mistakes, and there isn’t always anything we can do to fix it, and my heart is just so tired of it all. If I could have anything in the world, I would come home and just be and sleep and—

[Almost soon as she finishes writing that last line, Cog shakes her head and tears off the last several inches of the page to get rid of it. She can’t bring herself to read a letter from Ace where he talks about how much her positive outlook helps him and reply just to tell him she’s struggling with that exact thing. She stuffs the scrap of paper into her pocket, and continues on the back of the page.]

We’re going to Scorch next, I think. Wol, Nilos, and Sunny are friends with King Alister, and he wants them to do some favor for him. I don’t think we know the details, but we’re going to see where that takes us. Who knows! Maybe it’ll be the lucky break we need. But again, please don’t hesitate to reach out if you need us in New Alexandria! We may have a lot going on, but I’ll move mountains to get home to you if you need it.

Miss you lots, love you more!

Cog

P.S: Two meals a day, and at least six hours of sleep a night. You promised, don’t think I forgot <3