#even if he were the leader of Ishgard'

[elizabethrobertajones]

Good choice for an upstanding roegadyn husband for Frog to bring home to her parents to impress them: Rammbroes

Hilarious choice for bringing home an upstanding roegadyn husband to alarm and frighten her parents: Rasho the captain of the confederacy in the Ruby Sea.

[autumnslance]

Normally I'd agree many Final Fantasy games have rather young protagonists. It's because they're usually single-player JRPGs made with the assumption of younger players, and like most Young Adult media, create characters that cater to that, even if it ends up with teens running the world and fighting in wars. And for many players, the first time playing these games is in childhood/adolescence/very young adulthood. So it's YA anime.

Final Fantasy XIV does not fall into that same mold, despite the "Teen" rating for legal and distribution purposes.

The majority of the FF14 cast, including the bulk of the main characters, are between 20 and 40 years old (the Scion Archons, Ishgard Elf Husbands). Many other characters are between 40 and 80 (Ishgard's Counts are all late middle aged to elder dads/grandpas, Gaius is mid 50s, Jehantel and Ran'jit are elderly, all still active). The younger characters (especially with any authority or special position) like the Leveilleur twins, are actually outliers. And the youth of the characters between 16 and 20 years old tends to be plot relevant, where that inexperience and naivety causes problems and drives story (Nanamo's arc at the end of ARR into HW, Alphinaud and the Crystal Braves, Ryne's determination of self in ShB, etc).

Characters have a variety of appearances; some characters in the same age ranges look very different. Varis is only 4 years older than X'rhun but Varis's model shows the stress and disagreeableness of his life a lot more than the RDM trainer's. Cid's in his mid-30s but with the beard looks older--and without it he has a baby face (hair color doesn't matter, cuz they do keep the anime trope of "everyone's got white or silver hair"). Lalafell are designed to be anime-cute halflings so it's hard to tell their adult ages even if they've got facial hair like grandfatherly Papashan. The pad'jal of course look like kids, but the youngest main pad'jal is A-Ruhn in his late teens; all the others are adults stuck in adolescent bodies. E-Sumi is a few hundred years old. Kan-E uses various methods to look older so other leaders and people from outside Gridania will take her seriously as an adult. The padjal introduced in the StB WHM quests is a child, and that's the plot; she's not in charge of anything, or has any particularly advanced-for-her-age skills. She's just a kid having a really rough time.

This inability to determine age by looking and assuming isn't just due to limits of the game engine and character creation options; it reflects real life. I met my work team for the first time in person recently; one person looked older than I know them to be, thanks to months of stress and health issues. While all of them were shocked to remember I'm in my 40s as according to them, I "look much younger". Most people are actually pretty bad at guesstimating ages based on appearance, due to the variety of folks' lives.

Speaking of kid characters, many of the children we interact with, like the Doman Adventurers, are between 12 and 14 and act much younger. Khloe has this going on too, with her age "corrected" to 13 (when previously listed as 10), but she acts way younger to me. Most of the actual child characters are treated like children, and it's not until they get to 14-16 (Honoroit, Leveva) that we start to see them treated like maturing adolescents and having some rsponsibilities, but still young and prone to the kind of choices one expects of less experienced and more emotional youth.

As a MMO, FF14's primary audience is actually adults; teens do play the game, but also age up with it if they keep playing. If a 15 year old began playing with ARR's release, they're in their mid-20s now. Having a primarily adult cast, and treating child characters like children, and adolescents like young people figuring out how young adulthood works, makes sense for this game.

FF14's time bubble is also part of the issue; a developer tool to keep it so they don't have to worry too much about character ages, new models so often, or how long things take in game. Timelines are then intentionally left malleable for the players' benefits, to create our own stories and determine how long things take for our WoLs and their tales. Some folks have their stories pass in real time, some compress it to a year per expac, some expand it out even longer. So the ages the characters have listed in the lorebooks and rarely in game (which is then reflected in online resources), is a starting baseline. Personal headcanons as always should be applied (including changing around some character ages to fit one's own story if necessary).

Also, FF16, made by the same team, has a brief prologue/tutorial section where the main trio is between 10 and 15, guided/trained by adult characters, experience the inciting incident trauma--and then we spend the majority of the game with the main cast in their 20s and 30s. The game also has a mature rating, featuring some sexual situations, lots of violence, and stronger language than other FF games. It's made for adults, and its cast reflects that.

So it is a matter of audience expectations; for a MMO, you're going to have an older and aging player base, and the varied ages of the cast reflect that, as do their varied appearances and experiences as adults. The young characters are treated closer to how their youth should be; still with respect for those in positions like Nanamo, but also prone to errors due to inexperience that drive story. In other FF titles, which were made to be more YA-focused, a teen and young 20s cast were treated much differently. But even in the single-player FF titles, if they are made with adult players in mind, their cast and stories likewise reflect that.

[gatheredfates]

For the relationship ask thing: Kor & Alphinaud!

Have your followers send you NPCs and you describe your OC's feelings/relationship to that NPC! I have nothing to say except I went insane.

He is just a child.

She reminded herself of this fact through gnashed teeth and folded arms; he is just a child, he does not deserve your ire.

But Kor was very tired of children. She had only recently interred one to the sea — to the crabs, the fish and the three-day rot — and the arrogant intervention wore thin in the repetitive belief that Alphinaud knew better simply because he was the prodigal grandson of a man who gave his life to Eorzea. He intermingled with the potentate, both of city-states and non, and she watched with loosely contained annoyance how he prattled on.

But she watched. That was one thing the Captain was good at, she supposed — watching. Guarding. He monopolised it with lazy gestures and self-assured smiles, and she fell easily into the role of dog to its master. Not because she respected him exactly, but because it was all she knew. Because she couldn't be better.

Should she have said something? Should she have intervened? She saw the way they looked at him like he was a thing to be used, a stepping-stone to their aspirations, armies and Warrior of Light. When Ilberd glanced to her she could see intention in the edges of his easy smile, "Daughter of Ala Mhigo, don't you see the opportunity?"

If looks could kill she'd encase him in the amber of her eyes, right at the juncture where equitable manner bordered on ridicule.

Why didn't she? Because the last time she had said something, the last time she tried to intervene, it only sent the child running.

Right into the jaws of the deep.

He is just a child. He was tired. Alphinaud doesn't complain (perhaps he knew better the limits of her patience), but she could see the weariness in his eyes — exhaustion hugging the corners, hoping to fuse with the rest of the cold truths.

And they were cold. Not just of the temperature, for Ishgard was abysmally frigid, but of the loss of their comrades and the fall of their station; how their pedigree had diminished to the kindness of an foreign nation determined to arise from the ice, even if their sanctuary to accused murders might isolate them all over again.

Or heresy. Koret thought herself more superstitious than religious, though maybe it was all the same in the end. An offering to a deity, a prayer for good luck (give Llymlaen a Dagger just so she can throw it at the bastard again), click your heels three times or whatever-the-fuck. She wasn't praying to anyone when she rescued Tataru and he from the Tribunal. She only knew outrage and the acrid taste of bile in the back of her throat at the thought she could lose them too.

"Are you alright?" It was the first time she reached for him since the banquet, her fingers just a little too tight on the groove of his shoulder. Kor hadn't even thought about it, so natural was the movement, but when he jumped and fixed his gaze to her, she immediately knew her misstep.

"...I am fine, my friend," he answered, and before she could whip her hand away he had laid his own atop of it. They stood there for a far too long in their strange silence until Kor thought to squeeze once and finally relinquish her hold. She stepped back, awkward in her intimacy, and could not look directly in the eye.

"Good."

She soon realised he was learning the values of leadership, too. He saw them in Aymeric's careful navigation, Estinien's brute force and Ysyale's hope. All had their merits but all had their flaws. He internalised them and stepped carefully over the ruins of his mistakes until his friends were whole and hearty again.

Not a leader, just a comrade... a friend.

He is just a child, but fucking hell he's a clever one. Kor couldn't deny his intelligence, especially given what she knew of Sharlayan, but she was reminded of the old idiom of teaching a man to fish: teach a boy bureaucracy and he might become a man through it. Show him what it means to lead, to plan and to prepare; allow him the privilege of the floor, but be prepared to challenge him when he oversteps. Do not squander his inexperience, but allow innovation to bleed through tried methods.

Frankly, she appreciated his methodology, for it allowed her little room to think about herself. He was the enthusiastic foreigner, not the diaspora grasping at the hems of the little culture his father felt prudent to leave him. He could meet the gaze of M'naago, Lyse and Conrad instead of staring just a little too far to the left.

She only had the left these days. When she woke up screaming in the night, disorientated from a lack of vision, his were the hands intermingled among the many that grasped her frantic fingers. "You are safe," he reassured her, squeezing tightly in the din. "Koret, you are safe."

She wasn't sure she believed him, but it was comforting all the same. There was a familiarity in their company now, whether she liked it or not. Kor teased him for his whimsy and his innocence (the art, the sword — fuck, he was a terrible swimmer) while he offered wisdom beyond his years and a hope they could make a difference in the world.

So who was holding him — why did he need to be held? It was her job to protect him, her job to guard; she knew the job well well since the banquet, it was the one thing she was good at. Kor ran to him so desperately, wrenching his lifeless figure out of their arms as if her violence might be the one thing that would bring him back to her, yet his weight was like an anchor that pulled them roughly to the ground.

"Alphinaud!"

She cradled him, one hand in his hair while the other gripped him far too tightly, but he did not wake. Not even when she shook him, not even when the other Scions had to pull her from him, not even when her voice cracked in its snarl. "Wake up you fucking — WAKE UP!"

She wondered if he was a child in body only, given all the things he'd seen. Weeks for her was a whole year for him; a year of separation, strife and sorrow. Alphinaud was so infuriatingly formal when she found him, as if embarrassed by his failings on the Source, and balked when she wrapped her arms tight around him to prove to herself he was real.

"A-Are you alright?" By the navigator did she laugh! It was a desperate, pained sound, but how could she hope to encapsulate anger and relief in the same breath?

"Just dandy. Now shut up."

And he did, bless him. He hugged her tightly back.

She wanted... a lot of things then. Mostly she just wanted to apologise. She wanted to apologise for failing him and forcing him to this foreign world. She wanted to tell him that she was alright, even when she was igniting from the inside and spewing hot ichor across the floor.

Kor wanted to lie to him, but she was a terrible liar. When she writhed on the floor of the Crystarium, and the veins in her hands turned a vibrant gold, she wanted to scream that he was just a kid! He was a child discussing how much time she had left, contemplating how they might survive if she were to purify in front of them. He did not deserve it. Alisae did not deserve it. Ryne did not deserve it.

He had weathered the brunt of her suicidal ideation for far too long. Enough. Enough.

"If the fucking bastard is going to disown you, I'll just adopt you myself. It can't be that hard. You're like, what, seventeen —?"

The way Kor paused was enough to make them snort with laugher, so stunned was she that she rendered herself speechless. The Captain looked like she had swallowed a lemon, as if she only just became reacquainted with the passage of time, and her single eye narrowed to glare at the twins suspiciously.

"How old are you?"

"Literally or figuratively?" Alisaie asked, slicing through the tension of the hour with impish wit.

Koret Swan threw up her hands as she came to the horrific realisation they weren't really children anymore. But they were hers — they were her kids — and they only laughed harder despite it.

"I think I should like to watch you contemplate a bell longer," Alphinaud teased, that self-assured smile appearing when Alisaie snickered, and she had a mind to strange him anew.

"I think I should like to kick your arse," Kor answered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fuck me."

"Brother, we graduated! She swears openly in our company!"

Never mind, she was going to kick both their arses. They could be orphans.

The end of the universe was no place for anyone, least of all them. They held her hands in theirs, small when pressed against the leather of her gloves, and it was their steps that carried her to the precipice of apathy.

It wasn't that Kor would not continue (they had come so far, seen so much, done too much), but that she knew what taking those last few steps meant.

She thought she knew death a thousand times. She swore It was her friend when her sister died, a siren calling her so sweetly from the craggy rocks as it ushered her into the king-tide. It wore the faces of friends — occasionally her enemies if it suited — and soothed her aching bones when exhaustion became almost too much to bear. "There is a solution," it cooed, "if you're brave enough to take it."

No! She wanted to live! For fuck sake, she wanted to live — and she wanted them to live! She didn't want to walk towards the yawning void with its songbird's dead-eyed stare; she wanted to be home in Mor Dhona with the their annoying merrymaking and cheap, frothy beer. She didn't want to keep stepping over ground earned with her loved ones' lives while the Endsinger herself prised her ribcage higher with her butchers knife. I will take everything from you, and you will only know despair.

Kor did not feel worthy. Tears streaked her cheeks as she tried not to cry, and the tension in her jaw was excruciating when she stalled.

There was no bravery in death, but they were so brave. Alphinaud sensed her pause and took the first step forward, turning just enough to face her, and smiled as he squeezed her fingers in his.

"Come, my dearest friend," he softly encouraged, "There's not much farther left."

I love you, I love you, I love you. She wanted to tell them more than anything but her mouth would not make the sound. Instead, Kor looked to both of them, desperately trying to memorise every inch of their faces on the chance she might lose them forever. I love you. I don't want you to do this. I don't want to do this.

Acceptance was the swallow that felt like ingesting razor wire. When this was over she would bring them back, and she would give them everything.

They deserved everything.

Hence, she walked.

[laspocelliere]

Day One: Steer

“A moment, Lord Commander.”

The Archbishop sat in his imposing seat, features cut sharp in unflinching light. His hands were gnarled where they gripped his staff, and his back was gracelessly curled forwards and away from the rigid straight back of his intricately carved chair. Still, his eyes were bright, and alive, and studying the young knight in front of him with a sharpness that defied his age and spoke only to his experience. His time as Archbishop, a knight; all that came before, and all that would come after.

Before him, Aymeric stood straight shouldered and wary. It was a familiar stance to him, one that never failed to make him feel small and insignificant, regardless of what accomplishments he could now put to his name. In an instant, standing alone before the holy seat of the Archbishop, he was a schoolboy again, ready for his reprimand after stealing strawberries and cream from the summer kitchens.

Summer was a distant memory. Guilt, meanwhile, lingered.

“I want to speak to you,” the Archbishop continued, his worn hands tightening thoughtfully on the decorative staff he held. “Alone.”

Behind where Aymeric stood, the Heavens’ Ward had already left the cavernous room, shoulders and faces set hard with the heavy mantles bestowed upon them by their Archbishop. They had gleamed, bright and clean in the shining winter light, assembled around the table with strong, well-worn purpose. It took a not insignificant amount of Aymeric’s resolve to hold onto that same feeling, to remind himself that he had every right to be there that they did. Remembering, like a mantra, the blood and toil it had taken to claw his way into his current position, regardless of his birth, or the rumours there within. He had never been able to stand together with his fellow knights – not really – and so he stopped trying. He stood apart, untouchable and climbing, setting himself intentionally separate so that no one could again claim that he didn’t fit. Pulling the title of Lord Commander around him like a mantle, his solitude was intentional, and purposeful.

Yet under the Archbishop’s ice blue eyes, a needling discomfort worried somewhere behind his ribs, insistent and sharp for its unfamiliar newness. 

How quickly would you find me wanting, if you knew how small I become in his gaze?

Would it change anything?

Will it change everything?

Her eyes – sharp, and calculating, and endless, and sad, and beautiful, beautiful, beautiful – haunted him, even as he stood still and silent, hand on his blade, waiting for instruction.

The Archbishop waited, examining him in silence before letting out a long, heavy sigh. 

Below, Aymeric’s spine snapped that much more into place, every vertebrae aching under the weight. Found wanting once more.

“You hold a unique position within Ishgard’s walls, my son,” the elderly patriarch began, his expression unreadable in its calm conviction. “As Lord Commander, you are tasked with steering her people and her military might forwards towards victory and prosperity. The Dravarian conflict grows bloodier by the day, and you have been elevated to your place in order to protect the peace and continued future of our holy order, and our gods-ordained purpose.”

With one hand, the Archbishop tilted his heavy staff lightly in Aymeric’s direction. “That ring you wear is not a mere ceremony, nor symbol. It is a reminder of your duty to your people, and your country.”

When Aymeric looked up, the Archbishop’s mouth was pressed into a firm, knowing line. “Do not,” the elderly leader said, his voice low and final in the echoing chamber, “let your head be turned away from that duty. Regardless of the form that distraction may take.”

Out in the snow-swept city, streets and spires away, the Warrior of Light turned to look towards the looming cathedral of the Pillars above, as though her name had been whispered in the wind.

[hex-xiv]

A Gifted Tome

The timing was everything for those within the underworld network. The network drew in the attention of the unsavoury folk and the curious, often the curious bit off more than can chew and would be forced to join the underworld. 

For this particular soul, they were the curious kind. A noble, sold to the underworld for their prying. The nobleman believed his gil could keep him safe. But everyone knew that it wasn't the gil that made you powerful there, it was the power you wielded. Your gil was just a substitute. 

Cleaning his bloodied hands, the tall elezen man stood and walked to his subordinate who was busy cleaning off the weapons used to teach this nobleman a lesson. 

For months rumors circulated that he could kill the leader of the underworld network. His claims were outlandish, that not even other powerful men and women in the network would dare to proclaim. Considering he was the one who found and funded this particular part of the underworld. 

"Well?" His low baritone voice rang out in the dimly lit alleyway. 

"A minor noble of Ishgard." The other man's voice replied with a file in hand. 

"I don't mean the dead bastard, I meant the soul farrier."

The man scrambled closing the file and hung his head low. "The soul farrier should turn up soon, will you make your way back to headquarters, boss?"

The tall elezen man thought for a moment and wondered whether he should return or remain standing where he stood. He was always curious about the work of the soul farrier. 

"I'll stay." He turned and leaned his back against the wall with his arms across his chest. 

"It's about time I meet this soul farrier."

When they called, she answered.

Curiosity always got the best of her and while she was once one of the woods and peace, her fascination with the dead lead her to a nomadic lifestyle. No death was ever the same and just when she thought she learned all she could about the underworld there was one soul that truly held her attention. 

As if she knew they were speaking about her she made an appearance dressed in a dark cloak with a hood covering her face. Under the hood her sea blue eyes were glued to the corpse before her as she walked closer to the corpse. 

Maybe by now she could tell who the killer was? Maybe knew his methods enough to tell if those she worked for were the same? Or maybe they were different. She worked effortlessly and when she was done she pulled the hood from her head revealing her viera ears and wolf haircut, "Sleep well." She spoke in a hushed tone before slowly walking away from the scene. "I wonder what you did to deserve such a fate." Her eyes however shifted to see the pair if they were in a viewing site.

"So are you the one I should thank for all my recent work?"

The soft footsteps against the cobblestone path brought attention to those waiting in the dimly lit alleyway. 

His arms still crossed over his chest. Standing in the dark alleyway, Hex wore a dark suit with a hard-to-distinguish colour. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows with a silver clasp chain on the collar that glistened lightly. 

There were rumours that the soul farrier was a hyur, but how wrong they were. He lifted his head as he gazed down at the Viera. 

"If you have to ask then you know I won't grace you with an answer." The tall elezen pushed himself from the wall and walked towards the Viera. 

"As for what this sod did to deserve such a fate, he threatened me." His tone was cold and unforgiving. 

"Soul farrier, is that your name? Or is it a simple moniker for your profession?"

She didn't have to ask, she knew very well but there was a joyous tone in her voice, " A threat? I must say that I do admire your craft," If one were to call killing a craft it would be her. No kill was ever the same and each told their own story. 

"I wonder if the last one was because someone crossed you if I compared my notes just right." 

Soul farrier was a simple moniker for her profession. It added a certain darkness to it and made her feel slightly powerful to those that actually took the life. "To those I work for and with yes. To those that are friends or allies I go by another name."

Her eyes fell towards the other, "Apart of the cleanup crew as well?"

"A simple warning." He smiled looking down at her now. There was a soft glow to his crimson eyes and just as quick as they appeared, they were gone. 

He didn't have to say anything to his subordinate, the only indication given to him was a simple nudge of his head. 

"Please choose, Soul Farrier. A payment from the leader of Onychinus." The shorter man wore a full mask over his face to hide his features and wore a black and dark crimson modernised hanfu. He presented a pouch of gil to her, or a tome wrapped in black cloth. 

The man looked at her slightly perplexed and shook his head. His answer silent.

Her smile grew in admiration and respect until her attention was brought elsewhere, "Hm?" She turned to face the shorter man but leaned over to look between the two items. Gil was easy to come by if she ever needed it all she had to do was provide some form of entertainment or help some messy murderer in the shady streets of Ul'dah. It was the tome however that nearly called out to her. 

She looked back, "You've spoiled me this time." She said as she reached over for the tome. Her eyes sparkled as she took it in her gloved hands and slowly removed the cloth. "A man of fine trinkets as well? I hope we continue doing business with each other." 

The tome itself was black with a moth like creature on the front cover. Her eyes were glued to the book as if she was ready to sit down and be lost into another world but as she opened the tome all there were was crimson pages with a purple glow. "No words... Such a strange thing." But as she spoke it was as if the book came to life. 

The book shook and fell on the floor as the air around them started to blow crazy. The pages flicker and words slowly appear as if they were being written right there on the spot. "I call upon you creature to serve me again." Her left brow raised as she read it out loud and from those pages that violet glow turned into an orb that started to take shape. 

The orb started to take the form of yet another being, that was until wings and something else upon its head appeared. Giggles soon filled the air and that violet glow busted like shattered glass revealing a moth like creature. 

A soft yawn filled the air "You called for me Master..." The mothlike creature spoke looking between the trio.. "...." She first flew towards Umari and then towards Hex and his subordinate, "You are not her... Where is my master?" Her head tilted to the side as her eyes danced between the bodies before her. It was hard to tell if they bared any life or if her eyes were just like some of the souls Umari decided to never help. Lost and wandering for all time.

After the selection was made, the man took a step back and stood silently off to the side of the tall elezen. 

Hex glanced towards the tome and nodded silently. "Payment for a job well done." He took a step back just like his subordinate and stood close to him, his arms crossing while she flipped through the wordless pages. 

At first, his eyes narrowed, wondering if the rumours were baseless. He paid a hefty sum for that tome, equaling nearly 50 million gil. If the seller was wrong about it, he'd skin them alive. 

As he was about to leave and search for the seller, a burst of air came around them and a burst of purple came from the crimson pages. 

"Rumors were circulating around the underworld that a tome existed for the sole purpose of housing some form of entity. Seems those rumours were correct."

Hex gave a half-tilted grin and nodded towards the others. They all left and he took those few steps forward as he glanced down into the pages and then the moth-like creature that came fluttering towards him. 

"The gil will be deposited to your account. Both forms of payment were yours equally. You've done a lot for Onychinus and me as an extension. We finally meet, Soul Farrier." Hex eyed her with a vacant expression.

"Soul Farrier?" The moth-like creature struggled as she fluttered her wings towards Hex, "My master was no such thing. She was beautiful and like you. But much darkness.." A series of giggles escaped her lips as she fluttered towards Umari, "Did you steal me? Does that mean you are a Soul Farrier? Are you my Master now.." 

The moth flew up a few feet before looking down at them both as if she was a god.. A very small god.. "Bound by pages I may be but to tame a deal must be made. For who open my page-" Before she could even finish she saw Umari's lantern and was quickly drawn to it. "Such pretty light.. What is it used for..." 

Umari looked at Hex, "So your intention was to truly spoil a girl. I guess I can use the funds for a new dress or two. After all, I must look presentable when I have such wonderful clients." Her attention was then brought back to the mouth. "It is use to let those know they are no longer lost and will be carried back to the stream. A light to guide them to their new home." 

Sybil stared at it and even tried to steal it. Her hands were firm on the handle until Umari smacked her hands like a child being denied a treat. "There is no touch.. You were speaking and I am interested." 

Sybil's tired eyes looked at Umari and then at Hex before fluttering away. "Soul Farrier is a new master to me but for Sybil to work a deal must be made. I am hungry one.. I could eat you both.. No it won't be because I will be here and no one will find me again.." 

Umari thought for a moment, almost chewing on her bottom lip before putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "A voidsent. Well that explains it... So a deal then... I keep your book safe, you work for me in aiding the souls. In return to feed you get a bit of what remains of their aether." 

The very thought made Sybil's mouth almost water as she fluttered towards Umari and offered her delicate bruised hand, "A deal made. A deal was kept. Sybil obeys Master." 

"Umari but when in the presence of strangers Soul Farrier." Her gloved hand shook the delicate bruised one and it was like a violet ribbon had wrapped around the hand as if sealing their fate and binding the two together. 

Sybil soon pulled away and fluttered towards Hex. "So now that one is done this one has questions. How did you find my book? Did you kill my master?" As she was just a few inches above him her small wings grew tired causing her to almost fall face first on the pavement. She sat down and another bruise claimed her left cheek. Her soulless eyes looked towards Hex almost as if she was about to cry. "Ouch.. That hurt..."

Hex watched as the moth flew between them. Extinguishing her energy rather quickly. While she sent a barrage of questions he remained silent, his eyes turning down to the worded pages until the moth threatened to eat them. 

He looked up to the moth and his eyes glowed a much brighter red, showing the little voidsent that he'd extinguish her life if she so much as touched a hair on his head. 

"Truly, I couldn't have my associates dressing like they came from the slums." Hex mouthed, his eyes on the moth, eyes still glowing red. 

Once the deal was struck, his eyes dulled to their original colour. 

Umari, so that's her name. Hex made a mental note of the Soul Farrier's name. He liked knowing the names of those he worked with, but in this world, names were never given out. Names were worth more than any gil, any weapon, any treasure. Names were something that could be controlled. And having her name? Well, that was more than enough. 

Hex made no inclination of what he was thinking. His face remained neutral even as the moth fell to the blood-stained cobblestone. 

"A procurer found your tome. You'll learn soon enough you can't ask these questions, sweetie." Hex's gaze swept up to Umari. 

"Teach your pet the rules of the underworld, lest you find your head on a pike." It wasn't a threat made from him. But a threat that everyone in the underworld knew. An unspoken rule if you will. 

Don't ask questions, unless you have the gil or information to pay for it. Or you'll pay with your life.

Sybil stood up and walked towards Hex like a newborn deer. "You..." She stopped as she listened to his words and then looked at Umari and then back at him. "No more questions... questions..." She then bounced on her heel with an attempt to fly again but she only found herself falling on the bloodied stone again. "That means... Master is gone.. No more questions for this one knows.. She is a creature. Not here nor there.. Maybe over there.. Where it is dark." Maybe it was a riddle or maybe she was still trying to remember the last memory with the previous owner. 

She then looked towards Hex and attempted to fly once more, this time it was a success."Two more questions. These are okay.. One may I come closer to you and ask another but something only meant for two ears and no more." She waited and if there was a consent she would flutter closer and use her hand to cover her lips and part of his ear. "You are like me but not me. We are the same no? I seen pretty color.. But shh secrets are always safe with me." She would then offer the side of her face as if offering to get his answer before fluttering away. 

"No more questions... Not here.. Or there.. Not in the world of darkness. We go now and find something to eat.." 

Umari watched the interaction and only waited until it was time to speak. "I would never dress like that. Only the finest but also what makes work easier. She will learn the ways so next we meet she won't be so curious." She winked towards Sybil who by now flew just a few inches over Umari's head. 

"No more questions.." She did look around but watched as Umari picked up the tome to see if there were more words. "Looks like I have some reading to do." 

"Lots of it... Master knew so much and was greedy."

"Gone into the aetherial sea... or worse." Hex tilted his head down at the little moth. He was close to leaving them there but the moth finally flew up and leaned into his ear. 

His eyes swept down, his lashes just gracefully touching the apples of his cheeks when she made the connection to the void festering within. 

She'll be useful. The void within him spoke. He didn't give the moth an answer, but the slight flicker of light in his eyes gave her unspoken consent. Though it wasn't his doing, it was the other one. 

"I heard moths need their powder to fly, so watch your tongue, sweetie," Hex whispered, barely enough for her to hear. 

When she was done, or well when he was done with her. Hex lifted his hand and used one finger to push her head back to give him some breathing room. 

"Good, we'll be in touch and there will be another job for you soon, Umari." He placed a hand in his pocket, tosing an aether stone to the moth. 

"I won't expect all the contents of the book to be relayed to me, but I am curious as to what's in it." Hex motioned to the book, expressing some interest in it, but not enough that he'd take it away after giving it to her.

Sybil was fragile at least for the moment. Her head slightly flew back from his touch, "No push please." However she heard his faint whispers and then hushed. She caught the stone and looked at it as if she was about to eat it. "......" 

Umari nodded, "Should I find something that may seem useful to you I will gladly share." She said in a flat tone while her focus was on Sybil who indeed tried to eat the stone. "That's not for that dear. I am being called again.." She pulled her hood over her head as her eyes focused on the book. Once the book was in Umari's hand Sybil started to grow smaller. 

It was almost like she was about to return to the book until she took a seat on Umari's shoulder. As she came in passing she handed Umari the stone just before claiming her new seat. 

"She went to the sea.. Not much worse... They always get too greedy..." She softly repeated and then it was almost like Sybil became lifeless. Her soulless gaze fixated on what basically was her prison. 

Umari smiled, "Let's keep the name private now. You never know who is truly listening." She kindly bowed as she started to leave for her next body. The tome was kept in one hand as she pulled the lantern from her belt. The lantern began to softly glow and once again Sybil stared at it.. 

"Pretty light... Light leads somewhere..."

Hex nodded, waiting for her to go in one direction so he could go the opposite. His eyes turned down to the little moth who followed the light just like any other insect. 

He wondered how much the little thing would know or if it would be useful in the future. Nevertheless, the tome was out of his hands and in the hands of one of his long-time associates. 

"Mmm.," Was all he said in response to her wanting her name private. 

"Until then, Soul Farrier. Keep your link pearl open, there will be a job soon enough." Hex went in the opposite direction, disappearing into the dimly lit roads with red and black smoke billowing out from beneath him.

Collaborative writing with @cruelintent-xiv

[mimble-sparklepudding]

Hey! With people sending in suggested ships both cursed and sincere I wanted to stick my oar in with how 👀I've been at the idea of a Humble/Aymeric ship on that sincere end of things. Especially when I saw your musings on the kinds of ship tropes you were potentially intrigued about, all of which I think would lend themselves excellently to a ship with those two;

Friends to Lovers - there's a lot of canon support for Aymeric coming to consider our characters a good friend if Humble's adventures map onto those of the MSQ, but even if they don't I feel very strongly that Humble is the kind of person Aymeric would love to be friends (and then potentially more >:3) with.

Secret Relationship - care/concern around political implications given Aymeric's (and potentially Humble's - I realise I'm not sure whether you consider him to be The WoL or not in your stories!) position in the public eye and how gossipy and judgemental Ishgard can be, as well as it maybe just being nice to have a secret thing that's just theirs on their own terms and they don't have to worry about how they're coming across or what other people think.

Dude in Distress - Again, if canon MSQ is being followed the WoL canonically busts this guy out of jail and then he helps the WoL out when they're in trouble at Ghimlyt. And there's loads of other points in the story where the two are on the battlefield together and could come to each other's rescue, and many other plot points that could easily be nudged in that kind of direction whether MSQ relevant or adjacent or not.

I told myself I wasn't going to write an essay here lmao XD But as always, I'm just really curious and excited to see your own continuing musings around all this, and what ends up feeling right and fun for you! <3

Wow thank you for all the thought you put into this @orime-stories.

Aymeric is definitely a potential ship for Humble that would work well I think - they are both noble, self-sacrificing and somewhat repressed. There are are some interesting contrasts, with Aymeric being fully aware of social mores and Humble... being not so aware. Plus Aymeric's confident oratory and Humble's tendancy to leave his actions to do the talking would make an interesting contrast.

Plus I do have a bit of a thing for the chivalrous knight and rugged barbarian pairing - as it's rich in romantic (and, ahem, erotic) potential.

I think you're right that Friends to Lovers would work for Humble and Aymeric - or at least slightly reserved acquaintances to friends to (eventually) lovers. They are both quite romantic I suspect, or at least Humble would try to be.

Secret Relationship would also have potential, as I suspect the various gossiping aristocrats (and the tavern rumourmongers of The Brume) would assume that Aymeric would be entering into a politically convenient marriage with a noble lady... A romantic entanglement with an hulking bearded Hellsguard would probably upset quite a lot of people. To say nothing of the diplomatic implications of the leader of one Eorzean city-state being in a partnership with the Warrior of Light. So I can imagine a lot of repressed passions until the doors were firmly shut on the outside world.

And yes definitely they could take turns being the Dude in Distress for shipping purposes, although strong as Aymeric is, he might struggle to carry Humble in his arms for any distance.

Plus being apart for extended periods of time would give Humble plenty of opportunity to practice his letter writing, which hopefully Aymeric would be able to decipher given sufficient time...

Thank you so much for the suggestion!

[musesofawolf]

Day 25 - Perpetuity

"Sergeant Fiske!"

Brynhorn Fiske paused, his Maelstrom hat under his arm, the red and black uniform once more worn by the ex-soldier as he met the eyes of a young officer, the soldier actually saluting Bryn first as the old dog chuckled, and saluted back, the smart, sharp, straight right hand grazing his right brow before they both dropped the common greeting. "Sorry sir," the younger man blurted out, speaking rapidly, "didn't mean to surprise you by calling out, but I saw you and had to talk with you!"

Bryn turned fully towards the man who, by all accounts, outranked him, but the respect he saw in his eyes was genuine, and he had a good idea why. The Silver Wolf was well known now among the ranks of the Maelstrom, both for his time in the corp, and for the years after helping them. Now, with the threat of Ultima dealt with, a dragon slain, and a relatively peaceful future stretching ahead, Bryn had returned from his snowy vigil in Ishgard to receive an honor bestowed only on a few lucky soldiers.

"Speak, Lieutenant," he chuckled out, and motioned for the man to walk with him. "Time is short before the ceremony begins."

"Right!" The young man jumped forward into step with Bryn, and for a few steps, seemed to be visibly wrestling with his words, before finally sighing. "I have a...problem. Or really a short coming. I'm a Lieutenant, already, but I'm so young that a lot of my men don't respect me. I know that you were given a command very young too, Sergeant. So how did you earn their respect?"

Those intense, brown eyes lifted to silver ones as Bryn met his gaze, reaching up to gently stroke his well kept beard, humming thoughtfully. "Respect, hm?" A tricky subject. He remembered how he, a fresh faced twenty year old, holding a rifle he barely knew how to use, had stared at the ten men and women meant to be under his command, and felt so...small before them. Like he didn't deserve this honor or their respect. But he also remembered how he had earned it. "When was the last time you shared a meal with them?"

"Shared a - what?! I eat with the officers!" He seemed shocked to be even asked such a question, and Bryn stopped to look at him with a sharp eye.

"That's your issue. You are separating yourself from them." The Lieutenant flinched slightly at the harsh tone in Bryn's voice, and he relented slightly, sighing heavily. "Look, they are all acutely aware that you outrank them. That you, somehow, so young, could order them to lay down their lives and they would be expected to do so. What they don't know is if they can trust you. And that means you need to ask yourself a question. Do you want to be their leader, or do you want to be their dictator?"

For a moment, he watched as the young man's head wrapped around the question, worked through it, and formulated an answer, his mouth opening to say something, but was silenced by a firm pat on the back from Bryn. "Don't tell me," he chuckled out, "tell them." And after a second of embarrassed nodding and a quick salute, the Lieutenant was gone, off to find his command as Bryn continued on his way towards the ceremony.

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

"Sergeant Brynhorn Fiske."

Rising, his hat under his arm, Bryn took the few steps forward on the makeshift stage the Maelstrom was using the Limsa Lominsa to hold their ceremony, the applause of both civilians, soldiers, and veterans filling the air as Eynzahr Slafyrsyn turned with medal in hand towards Bryn, the old Sea Wolf's eyes gleaming as he pinned it on the red and black of Bryn's uniform. "Apologies Merlwyb herself couldn't be here, sir, but she sends her regards and congratulations."

Bryn chuckled, and shook his head, his voice soft as he shook his old Grand Marshal's hand. "It is of no consequence, sir. The honor alone is enough."

"Speaking of, she asked me to impart another gift besides the distinguished service medal." Bryn's eyebrows shot up, but Eynzahr was already turning to the crowd, and announcing loudly the second gift for Bryn.

"By order of the Chief Admiral, Sergeant Brynhorn Fiske has received a distinction for his actions during the fall of Dalamud, and the many years of working with us and the Scions to protect Eorzea. As a result, despite leaving our ranks, he is to maintain and hold his title as Storm Sergeant Second Class, in perpetuity! Thank you, sir, for your service!"

The roar from the crowd as the Grand Marshal turned and saluted Bryn barely registered for the Silver Wolf, his salute more ingrained instinct than anything else, his expression one of shock as he tried to form words to say something, but already the Grand Marshal was moving on to the next person on the stage, and Bryn dutifully retook his seat.

Storm Sergeant, Second Class, in perpetuity. Until death, and after, Bryn would hold that rank, and be able to leverage it wherever he went. It was truly, one of the highest honors. Almost made him wish he had made it to a higher rank...

He jumped as his linkpearl went off, and he quickly lifted a hand to his ear and answered, listening, nodding, and confirming he would be on his way. Perfect timing too, as the last man received his award and the crowd clapped. It was a simple matter to slip off the stage and head for the aetheryte plaza, humming to himself.

"Well...it never ends, does it?" He muttered dryly, but still, his feet carried him surely back towards Ishgard, and whatever new threat existed.

[driftward]

NPC ask game: zoissette’s opinion of kan-e, nyx’s opinion of nahbdeen, karasawa’s opinion on aymeric.

Two hard ones and an easy one! A'ight let's do this

Zoissette on Kan-E-Senna:

Zoissette likes Kan-E-Senna, and honestly, under different circumstances, they could very probably be friends. As it is, though, Zoissette does not like to be in Gridania too long if she can help it. Parts of it reminder her of the worst parts of her home, and also, too many people there feel free to be a jerk to Nyx just because of what Nyx looks like. But Kan-E herself reminds Zoissette of the rare, better leaders she knew in Ishgard. Spiritual, but not overbearing. Kind, open, willing to listen, but also able to make hard decisions when the time calls for it. Leader as supporter, and of the city leaders, Zoissette appreciates that Kan-E often takes to the field, even once coming all the way to the Churning Mists just to -help-.

So yeah. Likes her. Admirable woman. Little odd that she looks like she both has and has not hit her growth, but Padjel are like that, that's whatever.

Nyx on Nahbdeen:

Commander. High reliability rating. Reasonably predictable. They like that.

Watching his interactions with Varshahn is the most entertainment they have had in a while. Why are you like this. Interesting that he prefers the more child like model. Little brother? Even though Varshan is essentially Vrtra. Make a mental note when making mammets in the future.

People are weird.

Karasawa on Aymeric:

~*~

Karasawa bit her lip and did her damnedest to keep to herself as Alphinaud and Aymeric discussed politics and the relationship the Scions might have with the Holy See going forward.

The deeps ins and outs of state politics usually were pretty far above her head. She trusted Minfilia to handle it, more or less, and Tataru to steer her through it, more or less, and Alphinaud to be kind of insufferable about it, more or less. But the way Aymeric spelled it all out just made everything so plain, so easy to see.

And the way he spoke made her have feelings clear through to her spine.

But DAMN if she was not conflicted. He was Authority with a capital A, the same kind of stuck up asshole that would not be out of place on the Convocation. The kind of arsehole that would somehow manage to get you to do what he wanted and make it seem like it was your idea the entire time until you were like five blocks away from walking back to your flat from his house and were suddenly like wait one butt-swiving minute what just happened.

Gods she hated him. She was going to tumble him and make him be the one to swear to the stars. She was going to do no such thing, he even smelled authoritarian, all metal and chain and leather and some kind of flowery undercurrent and those cheek bones were unfair.

She was going to have to go back and see if she could not make a few more adjustments to her body this was unfair that he looked like that. Well, no, wait, she refused to go back to being that bloody wirey, being wide was great. And she had a great ass. The better to grind against his cheekbones and gods hells swive all of this.

Again, all of these feelings that came with this body that she could not make shut up, and again, she was missing half the feelings she should have, and again, everything around here was just so queer. Not weird. Weirder than weird. Queer.

Stupid beautiful authoritarian jackass.

But she was not going to swive this one up, nope. This was absolutely positively not going to be a repeat of the Cid situation, no matter how pretty he looked, how nice his voice, or how exotic his ears. Cid at least was relatable, this guy was something else. She would keep her mouth shut, her thighs together, and her hands to herself.

At least, until they got outside.

"WHOAH" she said. Alphinaud turned to look at her, tilting his head.

"Something the matter?" he said.

"Did you see him?" she hissed.

Alphinaud glanced her over. He always looked like a lost little cubus when he was confused about something.

"That man is a jackass coloured just right to shade me stupid," she groused.

"I am fair certain I fully have no idea what you mean."

"He was -stupid hot-. Like wow. I want to just grab those ears and ride that face."

"...ah?" said Alphinaud, clearly now regretting this conversation. Well, he regretted the last one, too, he could tolerate a little more regret in his life.

"But he's all hoity toity high and mighty. I bet he pals around and talks to everyone and they all love him."

"That... is often a sign of effective leadership."

"He can lead me to his bed but he can't make me lay down. UGH. Why are they always so pretty? I bet he'd make a bid for Pashtarot and probably win it too, the bastard."

"I still am full certain I have no idea what you are going on about."

"I want to tumble him until he's stupid."

Alphinaud's face suddenly went to that gormless blank polite expression he liked to wear when he was 'politely listening'.

Atraxae full intended to be impolite in her speech.

"Unsheathe your sword, m'lord!" she affected in an accent that was posh. Probably posh. Possibly posh. Well, certainly, it was all nice and civilised to her ears, she still did not have a full handle on the dialects of this new world. "Yeah I would polish it for all its worth. Maybe instead of everyone listening to him he could listen to me for a change. Like all that shite he spouted in there about helping us out?"

"He was right, of course," said Alphinaud, his voice strained.

"Sure I bet he was, can never tell with people like him, but I get you I can get him singing a different tune to the lyrical hearbeat of my nethers, you know what I mean? Ugh. Let him play percussion on my butt."

"Well, it certainly sounds as though you are enamored of him greatly," suggested Alphinaud. Had his voice gone up an octave? Weird, she was fair certain his voice was eventually supposed to go down an octave.

When, she couldn't say. Ask Urianger about that later.

"I can't decide if I wanna tumble him or strangle him. Love him or hate him, gods, he's too pretty and too nice and too smart. Not nearly cold enough out here. I do wonder what colour he is. His armor's blue, sure, but I bet he's orange." She paused. "I'd hate if he was orange."

"You do not say," said Alphinaud. A polite voice cleared its throat behind them, and Karasawa turned as Alphinaud slumped.

Aymeric had his fist in his mouth, pretending to still cough. Lucia was with him, and her expression was unreadable.

Atraxae looked around at all three, Aymeric, Alphinaud, and Lucia. After a moment, Karasawa made a decision.

"Well, I suspect we should be on our way. Come on, Alphinaud," she said, turning on a heel, and practically fleeing.

"Why do I keep having to pay the price for your behaviour!?" he complained as he scampered after her.

"Charming personality, a brilliant mind, an ass that won't quit, and oh yeah, a mandate from my bestie Hydaelyn to help punch monsters" she said breezily, before laughing hysterically.

Well, this would hopefully be one of those moments that would make for a hilarious story later.

[ecosystem-administrator]

Stamp

Timeline: Early 5.0, spoilers for HW character death and in-character speculation on the identity of the Crystal Exarch

When they confessed their feelings for each other after the liberation of Ala Mhigo, Mayhem promised to write letters to Aymeric as they traveled. This is the first such letter, delivered via pixie from another world.

To the handsome, generous, charming, patient, and ever-so-gallant Lord Speaker of Ishgard,

You asked me to write you of my travels when we confessed our feelings for each other, and while I don’t know if this was exactly the kind of travels you were thinking of at the time, I have found someone who claims they can deliver these letters all the way to the Source. So here I am, writing to you. It’s more difficult than I expected to think of what to say, honestly. Writing to Haurchefant was just an excuse of sorts, a way of keeping some kind of connection alive, pretending he was still there to listen while I learned to cope with a world where he never would be again. The dead don’t judge your words, and the practice turned itself into a journal pretty quickly if I’m honest. But you…if I say the wrong thing, you’re there to be hurt, or worried. I’m not used to considering whether people worry over me. It’s new, so…please be patient with me if I make some mistakes. This is a strange and beautiful land. I arrived in a forest of lavender-pink trees, under a sky that glowed with roiling golden light from one horizon to the other. Soon enough, I learned the terrible truth of this: the light in the sky is unending, unchanging. It’s a world that has known no night or stars for a hundred years, suffering under a surfeit of light aether. Stranger still, the Crystal Tower is here as it is in Mor Dhona, and indeed I’m writing to you from a room in a building near the base of it. They’ve built up a whole settlement of people who came together after the world was nearly destroyed by surging waves of light, working hand in hand to rebuild a functional society. It’s all rather inspiring. Their leader is the one who called me here, a man they call the Crystal Exarch, perhaps due to the crystallization of parts of his body: one hand is fully composed of living crystal the same color as the Crystal Tower, and more seems to be creeping up his neck. However he came by it, it’s clear his connection to the Tower is profound indeed. He apologized for the abruptness of his means of calling for our attention, and for the stealing away of the Scions. Apparently the spell meant to contact me was of his own creation and needed a few attempts at refining, and I can well imagine that few have ever come by the knowledge and power needed to reach across the rift between worlds. Despite everything, he seems quite reasonable, and his people are happy. Besides…there’s something I noticed that I haven’t told anyone else yet. I don’t know if I’m right, but… The thing is, he’s just a little bit shorter than I am. Maybe that doesn’t mean much to you, but I’m pretty short as male-born Miqo’te go, and we’re shorter on the whole than Hyur or just about any other race aside from Lalafells, which he is assuredly not. There is one Miqo’te man I met in the past who was about the same height, though…a scholar and expert on Allagan history, who collaborated on an expedition into the Crystal Tower in our world, and upon gaining a deeper connection to it, locked himself inside it to seal its power away. I don’t know how he could have gotten here. The Crystal Tower and its Exarch arrived on this world shortly after the Flood of Light, so they say, nearly a hundred years ago. Even if time flows differently here, I don’t understand how any of it’s possible, but it’s just too much of a coincidence to ignore. And…I liked that young scholar, quite a lot, when I knew him. So I’m going to take an inadvisable risk and try trusting this man, for the time being. I guess I’m probably not doing as well as I hoped at avoiding worrying you. Other things not to worry about: any weird dreams you might have before receiving this letter. I’m given to understand that the pixie (I hope I spelled that right) who has volunteered to help me transfer objects between worlds travels via dream, and they seem a bit mischievous. It’s probably better just to disregard any strangeness and not think too hard on it.

I love you so very much, and I promise I’ll write more soon,

Mayhem Moondrop

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

FFXIV Write Day 5: Stamp

In the far future, two postal workers discuss the new commemorative stamp that was announced---one of the Warrior of Light. SFW.

“Did you hear? There’s going to be a commemorative stamp of the Warrior of Light.” A lalafellan postal worker said to his hyur coworker as they sorted mail.

The hyur smiled. “I heard.”

“Aren’t you named after her, Agi?”

“I am indeed!” It’s something Mum loves bragging about. “Though, obviously, Agnes Currai Varlineau was way more impressive than little old me.”

The adventurer of adventurers.

The hero of heroes.

The savior of saviors.

“Oh please! I remember reading in school the Warrior of Light had friends from all walks of life---world leaders like Lord Aymeric de Borel, the founder of modern Ishgard, to pirates to farmers to…” He waved a hand dramatically. Nolo is nothing if not dramatic. “You get the point. She’d think you’re impressive. I know it!”

Awww, Nolo is so sweet. She wrinkled her nose and giggled. “That’s very kind.” She took another bunch of envelopes to sort. “She was…it’s almost hard to imagine she even existed. Mother, hero, wife—”

“The greatest mage to ever live, according to her colleague Archon Urianger.” Nolo winked. “Read that in school too.”

Agi barked a laugh. “Of course you did. Vylbrand’s greatest daughter. Have you seen the statue of her and Ketenramm in Limsa?”

His bright green eyes widened. “No…have you?”

The hyur nodded. “Yeah, saw it on a field trip when I was a kid. It’s gorgeous. Too bad Ketenramm didn’t live to see it.”

“And Agnes Varlineau was old when it was finished, right?”

She nodded before turning her attention to the last pile of envelopes. “She and Ser Estinien were very old---he was in a wheelchair and her eyesight was nearly gone. But it was said she loved it and was touched by the gesture.” Better than the famous portrait that she apparently hated. “Gods, I hope they don’t use the portrait for the stamp.”

“Oh. That one.” He sniggered. “Nah. I heard they want to use the Leveilleur portrait.”

Oooooh, that’s my favorite of her. Painted by Archon Alphinaud Leveilleur of his dear friend and mentor Agnes Varlineau. It’s far more whimsical and colorful than The Portrait, which was done by a famous Ishgardian painter and she HATED it.

And done!

Agi did a little VICTORY dance as she glanced at her tomephone. “Shift’s over. Thank fuck. See you, Nolo!”

Nolo waved at his friend and continued his work, muttering about how the Warrior of Light stamp is going to be a huge seller. I mean, how can it not be?!

Upon exiting the post office in Summerford, Agi spotted her boyfriend waiting on his motorcycle. “Hey sexy!” They shared a kiss, and he pinched my ass! Naughty! She climbed on the back and wrapped her arms around his narrow waist to give him a brief hug. My sexy fireman. I love you.

“There’s only one sexy person here, sweetheart, and it ain’t me.” Etienne cackled, handing her a helmet. My helmet is currant purple with sparkles. His is an elezen helmet that’s plain black. He’s got simple tastes, whereas I’m a bit…sparkly. Glittery. Bright. “How was work?”

Helmet securely on, Agi pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Alright. How was your day off?”

As he revved the engine, he snorted. “Shit without you, darlin’.”

Why do I have the distinct feeling that’s something Ser Estinien would’ve said to the Warrior of Light? Their love story was one that still serves as inspiration for movies, shows, songs, books, and even an opera!

“Home?”

She held onto him and sighed happily. “Yeah. Home, love.”

“Home is wherever he is.” ---Agnes Currai Varlineau on her husband, Ser Estinien Varlineau

[alfonce-astrida]

On Hope and Family

A character study of Artoirel during Heavensward

If you had told Artoirel de Fortemps that one day the Warrior of Light would be his sibling, one of his closest most trusted companions he would have hesitated to believe you.

It's not that he didn't believe Haurchefant when Fortemps Manor received his first letter all but begging for you to be allowed access to Ishgard, when he'd called you "hope incarnate". Its just that, well, Haurchefant always has been a touch dramatic, has always worn his heart so openly, always given it so freely. A trait that Artoirel has always been somewhat envious of, if he was being honest with himself.

And then you arrived and you were... not what Artoirel was expecting. He remembered briefly reading of the events that led to your arrival, being publicly accused of murder, running for your life, how many allies lost. Perhaps that explained the subtle hollowness to your eyes, the way you seemed to only really half smile, the way you clung to Haurchefant's side. For a god slayer you looked... tired.

This is part of why, Artoirel tells himself, he is so displeased at being forced to work alongside you. That and Artoirel is a knight of Ishgard, does his father really think him incapable of aiding the efforts at Falcon's Nest alone? But he did see the way your eyes seemed to light up at being given a role, a purpose, even one so temporary. So he didn't complain. Much.

Whilst in Falcon's Nest, the two of you find a knight injured by heretics. He feels a pang of guilt sending you off on the dangerous task of finding the heretics while he collects reinforcements, but you do not hesitate. You have always been happy doing the hard tasks, the dangerous ones, if you do them alone then no one else can get hurt. Artoirel watches you go and perhaps he is beginning to understand why Haurchefant called you hope.

He finds you later, having single handedly fought through the heretics, though their leader, Lady Iceheart escaped. You offer him a smile, and he finds himself smiling back.

Artoirel learns later of your efforts to rescue his brother from his own foolishness. Though of course, people were generally more focused on the new primal, he did not miss Honoroit's story of how you threw yourself into enemy territory alone to protect Emmanellain. Casually, he mentions this thought to Haurchefant who just smiles and nods as he looks over at you from across the room.

Unfortunately, this moment of peace is quickly broken by the news of Alphinaud and Tataru's arrest. The events that unfolded were nothing more than contained chaos, but Artoirel saw once more how willing you are to protect others, how selfless you are, and how you were, above all else, kind. So very kind. Haurchefant was of course there to celebrate your victory.

It is now that Artoirel begins to open himself to you. You care so deeply, perhaps not at openly as Haurchefant, but just as honestly. In the time you spend in Ishgard, staying in the Fortemps Manor, you slowly but surely begin to feel like family. He sees how you laugh and joke with Emmanellain, how you always make sure Honoroit knows he is seen, how tightly you hug Haurchefant after you haven't seen him in a while. How you spend time with him, talking softly, listening genuinely, how you don't care for the expectations of Isghard high society, how you don't judge that he does. And when you leave for Dravania with Estinien and Alphinaud, on some mission you cannot tell him of, Artoirel finds himself praying to the Fury for your safe return.

You come home as often as duty permits. Staying for a few days after reaching a brick wall (or barrier) before being whisked away to Ul’dah. And then you're home again only briefly before you make the journey to slay Nidhogg. Strange, when did Artoirel start to call Fortemps Manor your home? He worries for you each time you are gone, and is so very relieved when you return safely, but he trusts your skill. He knows you will be fine.

When you leave to fight Nidhogg it's different. You leave with Estinien alone. On a task none know if you will survive. Though Artoirel worries for you greatly, Haurchefant and Alphinaud are beside themselves. In your absence, Artoirel offers what comfort he can, words of praise to your skill, your past triumphs, you have slain gods so what is a dragon? You and Estinien are among the greatest warriors of our age. You will make it, you will win and you will be fine. Safe. Artoirel does his hardest to believe in the words he says.

And then the Dravanians attack. If your duel with the Heavens' Ward had been contained chaos, well then your return to Ishgard was pure unadulterated chaos. Artoirel later learns that you returned to the city with Lady Iceheart in tow, how you ran into Haurchefant on the way, and how the lady turned the invaders away. She spoke of a lie. A lie the very city of Ishgard had been built upon. It would have been too much to believe if any but you had spoke it. You would not say something like this if it had any risk of being wrong. He trusts you. And so does Ser Aymeric.

It is this trust, and the desire to do good, that leads Ser Aymeric to be arrested. That leads you and your allies to fight your way through the vault to rescue him, to stop the ArchBishop.

Artoirel is not there when Haurchefant gives himself for you. When he lies dying in Ser Aymeric's arms. When he asks to see you smile one last time. When his bright light flickers and goes out.

Artoirel is there though when you return to the manor after, your voice shaking, tears in your eyes, trying so hard to be strong. In the quiet moments in between you sit close to one another. You, Artoirel, Emmanellain, Honoroit, you all sit in silence pressed against each other as tears fall and bodies shake with echoing sobs. There are no words to be said. No words of comfort to give. You all know what you have lost.

He watches you leave the next morning, a terrible grief and a terrible rage within your eyes. He understands. He feels it too. He just prays that you do not lose yourself to it. That you come home safe. Artoirel does not know if he could take the loss of another sibling.

When you leave once more, to stop the ArchBishop, to take revenge upon Ser Zephirin, Artoirel watches you go. He watches long after the Excelsior has disappeared into the clouded sky. He prays once more.

"Please let them come home. Please."

You do. Thank the fury, you do. But Estinien does not return with you.

Still though, there is hope. You are safe and the moment you are alone with Artoirel he pulls you into the first hug he has ever given you. You wrap your arms around him in return. The both of you holding each other tightly, there is no need for either of you to speak. You both understand. He may not ask you in as many words to be your sibling, but you both know it to be true. You have both loved and lost, you would both do anything to protect that which you love. You are family.

You stand together with the Fortemps, a signet ring heavy on your finger, as Ishgard rejoins the Eorzean Alliance. As Ser Aymeric smiles at you, Artoirel's mind returns to the words Haurchefant once wrote.

"Hope Incarnate."

Artoirel turns his face to the sky allowing himself a small smile. "You were right, Haurchefant. You would be proud."

[nuclearanomaly]

1 – Envoy

wc. 737 | Heavensward MSQ

In order to make the Moogles of the Mists reveal themselves plans are made that Ninira does not care for much.

“You seem displeased.”

Ninira turned, prying her gaze away from the distant looming structures that made up the Churning Mists’ horizon, as Alphinaud approached. 

“With the plan.” He continued when she didn’t respond. He had finished packing what supplies he had and was clearly ready to depart.

She bit the inside of her lip. So it had been that obvious. She needed to get better at controlling her emotions so they weren’t so blatantly plastered on her face for all to read. 

“I am…” There was no point in lying. Not to Alphinaud. She wouldn’t lie to Alphinaud, not after all they had been through, not unless she needed to…

 “I know it’s our best chance at getting these Moogles to reveal themselves but…” She averted her gaze, “I just don’t like the idea of you going alone.”

His expression softened. “I know, however I am not the one accused of regicide.”

This was true, as was the fact that none of their other companions were viable options either. While Ysayle might not be as quickly identified as the leader of the Ishgardian Heretics within the forests of Gridania, the risk was still there. And as she had already pointed out her skills were better served trying to find and petition the aid of amiable dragons. Estinien was also out of the question. He was not about to leave, not with the Eye allowing him to confirm Nidhogg’s presence nearby. For him to accompany Alphinaud to Gridania would leave Ishgard even more exposed than before.

“I still don’t like it. You might not technically be as wanted as I am but they’ll know you were with me. I don’t trust what’s left of–” She hesitated, not wanting to re-open old wounds too badly. “–the deserters from the Crystal Braves to leave you be, if they come across you.”

Alphinaus shifted at the mention of his old, failed, peacekeeping movement but didn’t seem too discouraged as he continued. “We can simply hope that most, if not all of them, are stationed in and around Ul’dah. With any luck my arrival in Gridania and potential talks with the Elder Seedseer will go relatively unnoticed.”

Ninira’s mouth twisted at that comment as well and Alphinaud smiled. “It is also probably for the best that I am the one performing such talks as it is clear you are still, stung, from the Banquet.”

“And you’re not? They walked out on us!” Alphinaud opened his mouth but Ninira knew what he was going to say. “For political security, and safety.” She sighed, “I know… I know… but it was still insulting.” A few moons prior and she was hailed the Hero of Operation Archon, how little it clearly mattered now. 

“Perhaps it was, regardless we must move on. Fortunately, the talks will also give me the opportunity to clear those tensions with the Elder Seedseer.”

Ninira sniffed. But this was off topic from her real worries. 

“What if something does happen?”

Alphinaud could only shrug. They had been avoiding Linkpearls for extra security after their escape to Ishgard. They could opt for them now but there was no way to know if it was worth the risk.

“Give me a week.” His gaze was distant, contemplative. “I estimate, with the travel time from Gridania and taking into account what access the Seedseer can get us to speed things along, I can be back here well within a week.” He looked at Ninira. “If I’m not back by then you may do what you wish to come find me. Burn things down and what have you.”

This made Ninira’s mouth twitch into a smile. “I don’t think that will help with our current reputation.”

Alphinaud smiled slightly in return. “No, I suppose not.”

She sighed, though her apprehensions still fizzled under the surface she was mostly reassured. “I will hold you to that. I can wait a week.” A week would feel long, A week spent watching Ysayle and Estinien to make sure they remained friendly enough to not ruin all of Alphinaud’s plans while he was gone would feel longer, but she would do it.

“Thank you, Ninira. I promise to be as quick and discreet as I can. And to return sooner rather than later.” 

She nodded, and watched as he adjusted his belongings, giving her a final nod in send off before focusing on the spell and teleporting from sight.

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Thank you Dujour! alas neither of my wotr fic made the cut but one ffxiv sneaked its way among the jojos, and one non oc work snuck in among Muro n co as well as well. Oops went a bit ham on how i feel about them before realizing i should have been doing summaries, so my personal feelings for each under the cut<3

They Make Me Mad- JJBA- oc

Celia finally snaps after listening to Soverano chatting shit all night- but as she approaches to give him what the righteous anger inside of her thinks he deserves she is instead pushed to escort a drunk and high Tesoro home, distracting her and avoiding the fallout that would come from a fight between her and Soverano. But she easily sees through the ruse, angry at Soverano escaping justice, and after Tesoro is definitely made sober after being drenched with a bucket of water, they start arguing about the dangers of doing what's right in their world, which ends with Celia storming off home.

I am the softly falling snow - FFXIV- Post-Heavensward

The observations and musings of a soldier of Camp Dragonhead as he watches the warrior of light mourning, a while after the dragon song war is over, when Ishgard is rebuilding and the camps have new recruits.

old habits die hard, hope for a better future dies faster- JJBA

Conficcare is cornered, and is reminded of when he was younger. try and he might to win, he's not as strong as he thinks he is, and also distracted. ending up on his back with a boot pressing on his rib. during all hes thinking about how he and his friends have changed. His friend that's changed the most arrives and rescues him, but he spirals further into anger and grief and how much the Celia he knew has been warped into the Muro he knows today. Eventually Muro gets through to him, and carries him home, where he tries to comfort Conficcare, and Conficcare gets a glimpse of part of his old friend he though long dead.

A knife offered in friendship- JJBA

After his fight with the stand user Formaggio, and while Giorno, Abbachio and Fugo are in Pompeii, Narancia tries to help Trish feel more safe by offering her his knife in a gesture of friendship- although his way of gifting it to her was not the best in terms of stopping her panicking

Born to Run- JJBA

Chasing promises of power from a mysterious new figure in the Napoli underworld, the youths prepare to race, with Celia called as the mechanic, however carefully laid plans for victory go awry when their leader is attacked on the way to the starting line- and driven by Elena's ernest passion to win, Celia takes the wheel and leads them to victory, with Elena beside her, ensuring they get that far.

They Make Me Mad- JJBA- oc

maybe on here because of recency bias, but i do love it, being the second look at a teen Celia, and her complex relationship with Tesoro [its the foreshadowing, hypocrisy and tragedy- i am nothing if not a sucker for becoming the thing you hated<3]

I am the softly falling snow - FFXIV- Post-Heavensward an outlier in terms of fandom, and quite old actually, well in terms of my writing i still like, at about six months. games were i end up forming such strong emotional bonds with characters will always stick with me, and for the very linear story, ffxiv manages to get me every time<3 its short and bittersweet but im still very proud of it,

old habits die hard, hope for a better future dies faster- JJBA

Shaking them both. i still like You hurt them like they're nothing but Old habits really shows the complexity of their relationship, not just the effects.

A knife offered in friendship- JJBA

Not oc-centric! not even a single oc! Trish Una you will always been the main character of part five to me<3 i also think Narancia deserves better. Knife part isnpired by me thinking how tf did you make this 15 year old girl feel safe around you.

Born to Run- JJBA

again, i love everlasting kiss but born to run is very much a part two that builds on born to run, and i just love the rollercoaster of tension and action and stupid teenagers in love and grief

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 6: Ring

Lucia comes to Aymeric hoping that he will forsake duty just this once.

She knows he will not. She asks anyway.

(hi I'm late and haven't written anything personal in so long, help)

word count: 2,218

Even knowing the Lord of the house would be away for at least another bell, Lucia had opted to spend it pacing the foyer of Manor de Borel all the same. Possessed of both a spare key and a first name basis with the staff had made the choice easy, when weighed against the prospect of calling him back to the office after hours.

Were she choosing to do this in armor and on record, she might have opted to wait until the morrow to discuss her findings. Were she more loyal to Ishgard than to its leader, she would not have gone through the trouble of being seen buying a bottle of wine from the Crozier as a show of turning up at a friend’s house after work for a genuinely not-uncommon nightcap. Were she a better person, she would not have come at all.

But she was none of those things. So sat she on a sofa in the foyer self soothing with a cat in her lap and an unopened bottle of wine on the table, just beyond reach. By her design, a neat pile of papers writ in as many different hands had been stacked just beyond the bottle, just out of reach and folded for discretion.

Duchess had made herself known the moment she awoke from her nap, yowling and weaving between Lucia’s legs until she made her lap available to be kneaded. Petting her feline friend was a better use of her hands than crumpling an otherwise pristine report, anyroad.

Aymeric’s arrival was a bell and a half after Lucia, as it turned out. There was no worry of her presence being startling, as even from her spot on the couch she could hear a brief conversation in the entryway somewhere between the clacking of boots and the muffled shifting of coats. An announcement on her behalf, as far as she could parse.

When he rounded the corner into the foyer half dressed for more arid climes than Ishgard and beginning to shiver faintly, the buzzing in her mind quieted with another mystery to fixate on. Old habits kicked in, and she read him from head to toe.

Though his head was free of a hat, the telltale blemish of fading marks across his forehead outlined the headwrap he had likely worn all the way to the door. She recognized his blouse as one more familiar to Thanalan, long sleeved and light and wrapped lightly in a vest gifted by Raubahn for wear during his visits. His pants and boots were of standard Ishgardian build, however; likely, he only dressed warmly as far as his coat fell to make his business in Thanalan more comfortable.

His expression was somewhere between a grimace at being unkempt in front of company and a smile at her presence as he gave the end of one sleeve a tug. “Lucia! I beg your pardon, you find me only just returned from Ul’Dah—”

“Get settled in.” she gestured at Duchess kneading biscuits in her lap. “I am off duty—and clearly not going anywhere.”

Though the journey was short and lightning quick, Lucia mapped the path Aymeric’s eyes darted, from where she had gestured to the report at the table to the unopened wine beside it before looking back to her. On at least some level, he understood the Game was afoot.

Aymeric’s virtue was also his vice: he will do the right thing—the just thing—every time, even to his own detriment. But Lucia knew that he also trusted her judgment. When she bade discretion on a matter, he deferred to her expertise.

That, and he hated being unclean to the point of distraction. The longer he hovered at the door with pleasantries, the more it had become apparent in the way he idly picked at his hands.

“Of course. My thanks—and a thousand pardons,” he said, ducking his head as he crossed the foyer and took the stairs two at a time.

Lucia had given herself a full hour and a half to think of what to say before he got here. Aymeric gave her another quarter bell by performing the same hasty but deep cleanliness that the military demanded, with an extra five minutes for him to dry and dress. Two hours, all told. 

It was still not enough time. 

By the time Aymeric returned to the foyer, all casual attire and damp curls, Lucia still lacked the words to present her findings. All that time, and she had nothing but an apology mangled in her throat.

“What were you doing in Ul’Dah?” she asked instead of explaining anything. 

Any hope of him already knowing had been dashed the moment he came home, but it was rendered clear as day now: he was still happy.

“Ah,” Aymeric sighed around a smile. “Business- both official and personal. I had thought to reopen trade discussions with the Sultanate. Discussions all around have been delicate, but enthusiastic. Progressing.”

It was so like him not to mention what he had done for himself unprompted, assuming a lack of interest. A habit he had not yet fully broken, but one he had indulged in far less of late.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Lucia croaked, “And the personal…?”

“Oh!” he startled, but lit up at the chance to explain, “Do you recall that trip I took to the Forelands? Some three moons back?”

Lucia remembered. After a jaunt in the Forelands with Uthengentle, he met her at the airship landing wearing durable working clothes and positively smudged with dirt from head to toe. At the time, she had thought to congratulate him on actually using some of his vacation time of his own volition and only half in jest, but ultimately walked away with more questions as to what it had been for. 

She knew what had become inevitable when he had only offered an explanation of, “I was in search of a star sapphire. I worried I had taken too large a piece but Uthengentle assures me he will use the excess in other pieces.”

At the time, Lucia had not asked him what it had been for. A part of her had already known—or perhaps, had hoped. It had been a happier prospect, at the time.

“Uthengentle finished my commission. ‘Tis a beautiful thing, really—should all go well, I expect you will have ample opportunity to see it often.”

Seeming unaware of her stomach falling out from under her, he gestured to the stack of papers she had brought with her. “But it seems I have more business to yet conduct before the night is over. What have you brought to me, my friend, that you would do so out of armor and for no pay? For all you complain about my lack of freetime, yours is precious little better.”

Alas, their friendship was an ongoing tug-of-war between both their propensity for overworking. If Aymeric was not discreetly scheduling days off for her, Lucia was liable to rearrange what duties she could to give him at least a few hours free a week, if not a full day. 

Lately, it had been getting better—for both of them, due in no small part to the efforts of one Warrior of Light. An ally playing both sides of the war, as lover to one and sister to another but loved fiercely all the same.

An ally that might well have betrayed them both in one fell swoop. If it might not risk weeping, Lucia would laugh at how thoroughly they might have been played.

“Physikal reports.” she said, at last freeing herself from Duchess’ leaden weight and handing Aymeric the papers. “From the incident in the Tribunal.”

An ongoing mystery that had taken a back burner by necessity during the Dragonsong War. Small mercies and damnations, then, that there was no finger drumming in the wake of peace. Not for the righteous, at least.

A principle that Lucia had until recently believed shared by the Warrior of Light. 

But righteousness does not demand silence from its victims. Righteousness was not complicity. 

And yet—and yet—there were gaping holes of information. Stories that did not align. Lucia’s mind bounces wildly between conspiracy and betrayal, unsure of which would wear on her more but knowing which one would unmake them both entirely.

Lucia studied Aymeric’s face as she shooed Duchess off her lap and rose from her seat to join him by the hearth. There had been a lingering smile in his eyes as he had taken the report. A lightness he was halfway through storing away for the sake of work as he delicately unfolded the pages.

He was the Lord Commander again before he had finished the first paragraph. If she wanted to play a morbid guessing game, she imagined it was somewhere around the phrase, “healing magicks interfaced poorly with deeper wounds—suspected use of Dark Arts at play.” 

She would also guess at what point he caught the reason for this clandestine turn-in: Serella Arcbane found consorting with a heretic’s corpse on Tribunal grounds four hours prior to incident that occurred inside. Association suspected, extent unclear. 

“Aymeric—” Lucia croaked, dropping all pretense of titles and duties.

In that moment, such things were too heavy for her to carry. The flames in the hearth were too tempting in that moment; if she had been holding the reports, she might have thrown the pages in the fire just to be free of the tension. Old habits crept in from the most bent and beaten parts of her. Not even in Borel Manor was she safe from the shadows of the Empire, not when they so darkened her heart.

“You know what it means that I am here off duty. No other has seen this report,” she continued, and though her words were evenly measured out, tested carefully on her tongue, it still felt as though she were rambling. “None that yet live, at least.”

His expression was inscrutable. Like he was trying desperately to mask how his heart threatened to break. Like he was failing, for all his spectacular effort. 

Far from emboldened but already there, Lucia leaned closer and whispered, “One word…one word, and this never leaves this room.”

Because she would take the secret to her grave, if Aymeric asked it of her. Over country, over duty and faith and god she would, if he but bade it of her.

But she knew that he would not. He would not even consider it. In a way, it was why she had asked it of him in the first place: her loyalty to him was always rewarded. His honesty, the compass that pointed them north.

And how bittersweet her reward was this time, when he did not so much as glance at the fireplace, eyes never leaving hers.

“And what would we be burying? A half-truth that would never come to light. We would bury victims, and any chance they ever had of justice with them. We would be no better than those who came before us.” Aymeric said, passionate and predictable.“If the crime is one of unconscionable evil, we must needs condemn it—even should the transgressor be our closest kin. I said as much to her, once. I meant it then as much as I mean it now.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, because she felt she must.

It wasn’t her apology to make, not really. Not when the perpetrator might well be someone they so dearly loved. Not when, just this once, her hands were clean. Knowing that did not make her feel less dirty for the work.

No rest for the righteous and all that.

“You have done naught that needs forgiving.” he replied, his tone crisp and curt in that way it was at the war table.

Tapping the papers lightly against the palm of one hand to hastily straighten them, Aymeric folded the reports along the crease she had already made for them with quick, decisive movements, and held the stack out for her to take after only a moment’s hesitation.

In spite of herself, Lucia flinched.

“You will submit this as a cause for concern on the morrow, Ser Lucia.” he ordered. “You will formally request leave to pursue this case, and I will formally assign you to investigate it—which you will. Thoroughly. What evidence you find, you will submit in its entirety. Regardless of what your findings are.”

“Yes, Lord Commander.” she said in a voice of warped steel.

Lucia was reminded that he had gotten a commissioned piece when he began to fiddle with a small velvet box in his hand. Were it not for the way his expression crumpled, she might not have left him to his grief.

Even knowing the answer, her voice bent toward something softer as she asked him, “What did you commission?”

After a moment to swallow heavily, he gently set the box down on the table and said, “Depending on what this investigation yields…nothing.”

When he removed his hand, he hooked his thumb into the meet of the box’s hinge and lifted the lid to show Lucia the contents inside.

Nestled between layers of velvet coated cushions, adorned with a large but immaculately cut star sapphire wrapped in gold like a stained glass window, was a ring.

[redwayfarers]

so i made a thing i refuse to edit but here's a stupid little nika and magnai thing that's been in my head all fucking day. with a side of nika + artoirel bc they're THE otp

After the Naadam, Magnai was obviously displeased. The Oronir tribe should’ve won, without any doubt, and the little Mol were supposed to stay just that, little. Yet they’d managed to gather allies - outsiders even - and thus, until the next Naadam, the mighty Oronir are dethroned, and the Mol are just slightly bigger than they normally are.  Even in his displeasure, though, he has to admit that he finds the outsiders interesting. There’s a Doman, Hien, and his samurai friend. There are also hyur - a man and a woman. The woman Magnai cares little about, but the man catches his attention the moment the Oronir warriors bring them before him.  There’s something in his eyes, Magnai thinks. They are of different colors, but that’s the least interesting thing about them. They’re hard, they offer a challenge; when Magnai speaks, they follow the man’s words with equal defiance. He introduces himself as Nika, in a voice that still rings of boyhood, even if his body is that of a man.  Magnai later learns he also sings. But before he heard his ballads and tales, he heard his bow sing in the Naadam, and that’s what stayed with him. Nevermind that he heard Nika actually sing later, in the celebrations of the Mol’s victory, and that there was so much joy in it that it almost made Magnai forget his pride was wounded.  This man is no ordinary outsider, Magnai decides. Not only is he a khagan, but also a bowman that rivals the Oronir, and he sings songs that can make stars weep. Too bad that when their eyes meet, Nika still looks as defiant as he did back before the Naadam even took place.  Even worse, Magnai likes it that way. 

“Care to burn that dinner off, Magnai?” Nika asks. The sun is setting behind the Dawn throne, making his black hair stand out against the warm sea of rays behind him. It paints his skin with light, or maybe that’s the brilliant flash of teeth he gives Magnai as he stretches his neck. “Been sitting for a long fucking time. Isn’t it time for your twentieth daily wrestling or something?”  “That is a form of exercise, khagan,” Magnai responds, voice on edge. He takes another hard bite of meat and chews loudly. “One needs food to do it.”  “I think I know a guy who’d stare at you dead in the face for chewing like that,” Nika grimaces. Then his face changes. “I would like to see him stare you down, though. Just to see who wins. Unstoppable force against an immovable object.”  Magnai frowns. “Who is this man? Are you challenging me on his behalf?”  Nika stares. Then he bursts out laughing, like Magnai just told the funniest joke on the Steppe. Women don’t laugh at him like that, only his warrior brothers and apparently, the outsider khagan. “He has zero idea you exist at all, Magnai.”  “Take me to him! We take the yol and fly to wherever he is!” Magnai drops his plate on the ground and raises his chin. Nika’s face contorts as if he’s trying so hard to not laugh still, and then the mask breaks and he wheezes out even more laughter.  “I am not taking you to Ishgard,” Nika says in between laughs, but Magnai has no idea where Ishgard is, nor who this mysterious man may be, he only knows he doesn’t like being laughed at, and here is Nika, near crying from how hard he’s laughing. His scar scrunches around his forehead as he wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Artoirel would end me on sight. I care about a few people’s opinions, and his is one of them, so no, you’re not going to Ishgard, yol or no yol.” Magnai stands up. “You are in the Steppe–”  “And you’re the big bad Oronir leader guy. Brother of the Sun, was it? I respect that. You can make me break a sweat. But!” Nika raises a finger and lifts a brow. “Until the next Naadam, you’re not khagan. If that frustrates you, we can fight it out. But no Ishgard! Khagan’s orders, or whatever.”  He holds Magnai’s stare. Magnai has to admit to himself he likes that, too. 

Magnai’s vindicated heart soars when he has Nika in his room, pressed against the wall with little room to move, let alone escape. The indignancy on his face, expressive as ever, makes Magnai laugh, tall and powerful over him.  “What now, khagan?” Magnai asks, his delight obvious.  Nika claws at his skin and attempts to kick him in the shins. His hair’s in disarray, his clothes too. All of this delights Magnai to a degree he hasn’t felt in a long, long while.  “Don’t lord over me, you asshole,” Nika bites out. His breath comes out faster.  “What now, khagan?” Magnai repeats.  Nika pulls him by the horns. “This is what, you giant lizard,” he says roughly and kisses him hard. 

“We can count on you in Doma, then?” It’s the last night before Nika and the outsiders leave, with a promise of the Xaela and their yol in the upcoming battle, and it’s also the last night Magnai has to look at the uninterrupted expanse of Nika’s skin. He’ll miss it; he’ll miss its touch, he’ll miss the silky black hair, but above all, he will miss Nika’s defiant, mismatched eyes.  “Yes. Nothing threatens the Steppe.” Magnai leans on his elbow. “Good to know. Garleans are shit for everyone.” Nika settles on the bed. “What?”  “You are leaving tomorrow. I’d like to look at you.”  “No khagans this time around?”  “By the time you come to the Steppe next, you will not be one.” Magnai smiles. “You are not my Nhaama, but this was pleasant.”  “I lack tits to be your Nhaama, for one. Number two, even if I had them, I’d still not be the woman you want.” Nika turns to the side and grabs the covers. Small firelight illuminates the scar on his hand. “You don’t need tits to be a woman, but you know what I meant. As a final word of advice on that, women like it when you’re not an acerbic and prideful fuck.” He laughs, but it’s a shaky sound. “Take it from me. Otherwise, this was pleasant for me too.” Magnai laughs. “I’ll see you on the field of battle, Nika. Together, Nhaama or not, we will bring the Garlean empire to its knees. Nothing defeats the yol of the Xaela.”  Nika raises a hand. “Don’t have a drink with me, but here’s to seeing Garleans fall once and for all. And to you finding that damn Nhaama.” He then smiles, and it’s a soft, gentle thing. “I think I already found mine.”  In the morning, as Nika is flying off to save Doma, Magnai watches him go. He will really, really miss Nika’s eyes.

[memoriesofgelmorra]

FFXIVWrite Prompt Eleven: Surrogate

Spoilers all the way to the end of DT MSQ.

Chantelle wasn’t exactly sure where her comment had come from, how she had thought of it, or why she it had come out of her mouth as Alisaie, Raha and her were trying out tacos from Aunt Tii’s.

They had just sat down at a nearby table when it had slipped out. “All things and events considered, I’m still very glad I came here as part of Lamatyi’s team.”

“Well,”, said Raha, probably thinking about her direction, “We did visit another Shard, other than The First. I believe that was on your list.”

“You’re not wrong!”, she admitted, also thinking to the Thirteenth, and the people still there, toiling on the red moon. “But I meant, well… this is the first time in a long time I haven’t had to be the surrogate leader or linchpin in a catastrophe. Well, until Queen Eternal. And yet, still.”

She turned to Alisaie, who had a knowing look on her face. “You didn’t have to be invincible. Or act like you were.” Chantelle tilted her taco at her little sister. In all but blood. A smug expression bloomed on Alisaie’s face as she turned towards the other person at the table, Raha. “You didn’t have to be the Warrior of Darkness, after all!”

Chantelle snorted, as the red-headed Miqo’te slowly turned the same shade as his hair. ‘I did apologize! I did!”

Alisaie and her waved him off as they giggled, leaving him to slump into a chagrined huff. It didn’t stop him from taking small bites of the taco.

“Gods forfend Alisaie, don’t make me give myself a stomach-ache. But you’re not wrong. Essentially.”, as Chantelle started counting with her fingers. “Didn’t have to be the star adventurer who was the secret weapon against primals and Operation Archon. I love Ishgard, but I didn’t have to be a hero and stop The Dragonsong War….”

“Oh yes,” the younger Elezen snickered. “We do know you love Ishgard, one person specifically”-

“Be careful, my dear Alisaie. Or I’ll get embarrassing stories from your mother. And tell them whenever you try to sass my love life.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Raha gained the smug expression then. “Oh, you did work with Lady Ameliance on the student program, did you not?” At Chantelle’s proud nod, he turned back to Alisaie. “I fear she can out-bard us both.”

She shrugged as Alisaie leaned back into her chair. “It’s a talent used often. As I was saying, before a teasing interruption…didn’t have to be the savior of Ala Mhigo and Doma this time either. Goodness knows I don’t regret it, but that amount of pressure is something I wish never to experience again. Or beat-downs from someone of you-know-who’s level.”

Alisaie mouthed ‘Good riddance.’, under her breath. Chantelle still remained conflicted secretly, but Zenos had been stressful to a fault.

“Alisaie already covered The First.” Chantelle continued, “And of course, there was Garlemald…” All three were quiet for a moment, thinking about those events, even before The Final Days hit it. “The Finals Days….well being a figure-head through that was excruciating… and as improbably majestic as going back in time was…delivering the news of the future to Venat….Hades….Hythlodaeus….Hermes…..I don’t we need to detail the initial Ultima Thule….

“Halone’s tits! A succession quest, inter-dimensional fusion, invasion by forces from another shard. The entirety of Living Memory! And yet, my body still feels like a pleasure jaunt in comparison. Save the star, save the future of all stars….and every danger seems smaller in comparison. Gods above, I need drinks to go with these tacos.”