#or the day before XIV doesn't remember

[system-of-a-feather]

Apparently XIV and my fiance are conspiring to change my alter name to "V" just because XIV kins Johnny Silverhand and is technically Nero and in both cases the character XIV assigns me in relation is somehow a character named "V" in both cases and I'm just like

[lesenbyan]

you know, I keep thinking about how much I'd get written if I had any self discipline at all and then like. doing nothing about it bc like. who's gonna enforce it? not me.

[silverynight]

By blood

<---Previous

Part XIV

Tanjirou cannot say he doesn't enjoy the bites and kisses the hashira give him on his thighs, but he feels a little bit mortified and embarrassed by his own reactions.

He turns completely red and the blush doesn't vanish from his cheeks the whole time; he moans a couple of times and covers his face even though Uzui assures him it's a perfectly normal reaction and looks very smug when he's saying that.

An embarrassing squeak escapes from his lips when Himejima gives him a soft bite and leaves a huge mark on his inner thigh.

Rengoku and Shinazugawa are the ones who can't help themselves and bite him a couple of times; Tanjirou has to cover his mouth in order not to embarrass himself even more.

It's a little bit different from what Akaza does because Tanjirou always tells himself he's doing it to feed Akaza 'cause he needs it, but right now he knows the Pillars are doing that only because they want to.

The way Tomioka looks at him, face between Tanjirou's thighs, before he presses his lips against his skin makes Tanjirou regret looking right at him in the first place.

Tokito is the first, but he has to be dragged outside by Kocho because he refuses to let go of Tanjirou.

Kanroji is very gentle, but she bites the same way Rengoku does, with a different type of hunger in her eyes that makes Tanjirou's blush spread down towards his neck.

Kocho is methodical and perhaps a little bit more dangerous because she knows exactly what to press and where to bite in order to make Tanjirou moan.

There's something about the way Iguro removes the bandages around his mouth first while staring at Tanjirou with a silent promise in his eyes; it makes Tanjirou shiver a couple of times even though he hasn't touched him yet.

He ends up looking like a mess and when he finally gets out of the room, he feels weak at the knees and barely takes a couple of steps outside; Himejima carries him for the rest of the day and Tanjirou buries his face in the curve of his neck because he can't look at any of them in the eyes yet.

They find it endearing though.

But he thinks it's embarrassing.

At least they don't seem that upset about what happened to Akaza anymore; actually, Tanjirou can tell they are very happy now.

"Can't wait to get married to you, Tanjirou," Uzui says then, when the redhead finally looks back at them. He winks.

Tanjirou blushes even more because now he has an idea of what he's trying to say. But it'll take a while for that; they're still courting him.

For the first time, no one scolds the sound hashira for his words though; the others seem to be thinking the same.

They look a little bit impatient and when Tanjirou notices he hides in the curve of Himejima's neck again.

"Let him rest," the stone hashira says.

"Let's bring him food and water!" Rengoku tells the others and a couple of them run towards the kitchen to bring Tanjirou snacks.

His Pillars are really weird sometimes, but he loves them.

***

Tanjirou stays in the butterfly estate and the Pillars too; they're constantly hugging him and kissing him. They seem to be very happy now and Tanjirou thinks they have forgotten all about Akaza.

But they haven't.

They give him new clothes (expensive ones if he's not mistaken) so he doesn't have to wear the uniform or simple robes when he's not on a mission.

After having an excellent breakfast the next day and having Kanroji feed him a couple of bites, he wonders about Akaza.

And then he remembers the house he prepared for him and Nezuko.

He wonders if he stays there sometimes, on his own.

"So... are you going to allow him to stay here?" Tanjirou asks, sitting on Himejima's lap because the stone hashira insisted.

The others stop what they're doing to give him their undivided attention as usual.

They're tense, Tanjirou knows they are thinking about the upper moon.

"Who?" It seems to him that Tokito asks almost like he's hoping Tanjirou doesn't mention Akaza.

"Akaza."

He can tell Iguro and Shinazugawa are upset, but they don't say anything against it. Still, Tanjirou wonders if Akaza can be safe there.

"Well, that's what we said, didn't we?" Kocho nods. "Yes, he can come, if that's what you want."

"And you're not going to hurt him, right?"

The question is followed by silence, that's only interrupted by Tomioka, but what he has to say is not comforting at all.

"If he doesn't hurt you."

"He wouldn't," Tanjirou assures them all immediately. "But he might need blood every now and then."

They don't like it. They're tense and not happy at all, but they don't say anything against it, at first.

"He can bite your arm," Uzui mumbles suddenly, crossing both arms over his chest. It looks like every word is torture to him. "And one of us has to be there when that happens."

"So he doesn't drink more than what he needs," Iguro says then.

"I've been writing to Lady Tamayo lately," Kocho cuts in suddenly. "She has a lot of blood stored in bags, maybe we can ask for a couple for your friend."

"That sounds like a good idea!" Tanjirou says, happy they're thinking about Akaza's needs for once.

Suddenly, everyone relaxes somewhat, like a huge weight has been lifted from their shoulders and Tanjirou wonders why.

"If the demon is going to stay here," Shinazugawa says, making an effort not to growl as he mentions the upper moon. "Then one of us has to be here with you."

"He's not going to hurt me!"

"Please, Tanjirou... we love you," Rengoku takes the redhead's hand, trying to be reasonable. "I know you trust him, but we can't take risks, not when it's about you."

He relaxes a bit, mostly because he can tell Rengoku is being completely sincere.

"Alright," he agrees, even though he knows Akaza is not going to like it.

But maybe he can make him change his mind.

***

Next---->

Patreon

[genericpuff]

Do you know of anything similar to Stimuwrite for art? I've been struggling so much to draw my comics because ADHD is a bitch so honestly any advice you have would be great <3 obviously what works for one person might not for another but boy I'm so tired of just scrolling through tumblr trying to make myself draw and it just not happening

Ah, I wish I did! Honestly, for me it was just about building habits and routines. Considering how much time I spend at my desk anyways, I naturally gravitate to drawing comics when I've got spare time because it's right there anyways! But it's also gotta be something I'm actually really interested in making, because as the 'ole ADHD goes, if it doesn't generate the dopamine, the creating isn't gonna happen :'0 Even while working on Rekindled there are still loads of times where I'm like "BLEEEH I DON'T WANNA DO THISSSS" because as fun as it is to work on, it's still a lot of work! Fun doesn't always facilitate the focusing. And trying to force yourself to focus by cutting out everything else unfortunately just isn't a solution for everyone.

I find just tackling the work in small parts can help a lot. When I'm struggling with focusing on my work, I tell myself, "something is better than nothing". So I try to get at least one panel done, or one sketch, or just something that will feel a little less like nothing. It's okay if I don't get much done that day, because something is better than nothing. Over time that "something" can become more than just one panel or one sketch. It's a slow process but through practice and repetition you can build stronger and more efficient working routines that will keep you focused and get work done at a pace that works for you. But the key is to remember to rest also and forgive yourself for not getting "as much" work done as you did the day before, especially on those days where focusing is hard. Having ADHD makes it hard to think what you're doing is "enough" but even just getting a small drawing out or a single panel is enough, especially if you're just learning how to draw comics still or just starting out with a project that you're doing for yourself and whoever finds your work. Remind yourself of that always <3

And if anyone ever DOES find an app for focusing on art stuff similar to programs like StimuWrite, feel free to reblog with your suggestions!!! <3 I'm sure there's gotta be SOMETHING out there but there are none that I can recall or know of and it would be pretty dang sweet if there was.

Otherwise... make your own little reward systems where you can :' ) <3 (I like doing rounds of dungeon crawling in FF XIV in between panels LMAO)

[daintyshu]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

xiv. bitchless hoon (1.5k written)

"hey, i didn't manage to ask you why you left early on wednesday," sunghoon questions you as he wipes down the counter.

you, him and jennie had just finished the lunch crowd at the cafe that friday and you were finally able to breathe. this is why you hate working opening shifts on friday; the crowds just come in all at once, not even letting you warm up just as you clock in.

"wait, how'd you know?" you question back, smiling at a customer leaving the shop, wishing them a good day and to come back. "i have my ways," he wiggles his eyebrows repeatedly at you as a devious smile grew on his lips.

you cross your arms, giving him a pointed look as you tapped your foot impatiently. that seemed to do the trick and he laughs, ruffling your hair despite it being tied up. "i'm kidding, y/nie. i dropped by for a while that night but jay said you left early,"

you give him a dismissive wave of a hand when he raises an eyebrow at you, as if asking for an explanation. "ahh, it was nothing. was feeling a little down so chaeyoung unnie let me go off early and she took me out,"

"like, on a fun day out?" he jokingly asks and you smack him on the shoulder. "i'm kidding, obviously. saw you went on a date with jay too," he proceeds to nudge your shoulders, wiggling his eyebrows at you teasingly while you only roll your eyes. never a dull shift with sunghoon.

"it was NOT a date," you clarified as you topped up the plastic cups while he looked for something to do to keep his hands busy. "jongseong just wanted to cheer me up, so he brought me out too,"

he frowns at this. "what's with them all trying to cheer you up? what happened? i mean, only if you're okay with telling me,"

you pause, contemplating whether this was something significant enough about you to tell him. then again, donghyuck already knew about it too so there wasn't any reason to not tell sunghoon. after all, you were closer with sunghoon than you were with the older boy. so you told him everything.

"you know what? i'm taking you out after work to cheer you up," sunghoon announces after several empty threats of how it's "on sight" if he ever sees heeseung.

"you really don't have to, hoon. all of you didn't have to, i'm really fine, i just didn't expect to see him again after so long," you told him honestly.

well, half-honestly.

it still bothered you that you and heeseung's relationship ended abruptly without your input. but you're happy with how your life is right now so it doesn't really matter anymore.

"so you don't want to go out with me after work?" sunghoon pouts, pretending to sulk. "it's jay, isn't it? that's why you don't love me anymore?" he jokes, clutching his chest as he pretends to dramatically cry.

jennie chose the wrong moment to come out of the pantry as sunghoon's gaze landed on her. "noona! save me from this heartbreak! y/n doesn't love me anymore!"

"she never did in the first place, hoon-ah. now stop fooling around and help me wipe the lightbulbs above the pantry, you're the only one who can reach it," jennie passes him a cleaning cloth and sanitising spray, opting to stay in the bar with you while she makes sunghoon do some cleaning in the back.

you giggle at his antics. never a dull shift with sunghoon.

you remember the first time you met the boy four months ago.

he had been a regular before he applied to work at odd atelier. the pretty iced vanilla latte boy. it's funny how you remember customers by their regular orders rather than the names they'd give you. you couldn't remember names to save your life.

sunghoon would get his daily iced vanilla latte in the morning to-go but gradually he started dining in more often. after a month, he decided to apply to work there and got accepted.

you were tasked to teach him all he had to know as a part-timer when he first joined the team. he seemed cold and standoffish at first but really, he was just a shy guy.

when you got closer to him, he started showing you his chaotic side which you grew to love. you didn't think such a cold-looking guy would be as goofy as he was. it's funny how every guy you befriend turns out to be some kind of chaotic but you love it. you needed that kind of energy in your mundane life.

you didn't know when it began, but as sunghoon grew more comfortable around you, he started getting more flirty.

you can't tell if it's really a joke or not because the way donghyuck does it really does feel like it is but with sunghoon, it doesn't feel so.

if he were being real, you honestly wouldn't mind it at all. he was a good mix of goofy and serious. he knew when to be playful and when to be understanding of a situation. he's pretty good company, too.

"yah! earth to y/n! why are you zoning out?" you feel a smack on the back of your shoulder, causing you to snap out of your daydreaming. "ah, unnie!" you whined, rubbing the spot jennie hit.

"you were zoned out," she states, shrugging her shoulders. "okay but did you have to hit me?" you counter, still rubbing the stinging spot on your shoulder as you pout at the older woman.

she simply laughs and ruffles your hair playfully. everyone who works here have developed this habit towards you it seems. you didn't mind it though, it's only at work anyway.

"i was telling you to bring out some pastries from the back for the pastry case but you weren't listening. what are you thinking about?" she asks curiously, wiping the glass display case while you make your way to the back to grab some cakes and pastries to top up.

you come back out with your hands full of boxes, jennie offering to grab some to lessen the load. "do you ever wonder why hoonie is single?" you ask her, glancing through the small window on the pantry door to see the mentioned boy working hard cleaning.

glancing over at the older woman because she wasn't replying, you were met with her teasing grin and wiggling eyebrows. "why do you ask, dear y/nie?" you gave her an unamused stare back, crossing your arms. you sigh, knowing you won't be able to close the conversation if she doesn't get the answer she wants.

"just," you look over to the pantry door again, this time making eye contact with the boy who winks at you, laughing when you roll your eyes at him.

"he's very good looking, right? and he's fun to be around, he's very caring and always knows how to cheer people up. plus, have you seen the amount of girls that have come up to him here and asked for his socials? he could've accepted anyone, literally anyone but he, own his own accord, chose to be bitchless. all of the girls i've seen him reject are gorgeous gorgeous girls too,"

jennie simply laughs at your little rant, closing the pastry case after she was done. "aren't you the same? like, you're literally the reason our cafe went viral after someone posted a video of you on one of the acoustic nights," the older mentions matter-of-factly. "how many people have visited just to see you since then? how many guys have asked for your number?"

"but that's different! i don't want any of them," you huff, crossing your arms as you pout at the older. jennie snickers at your response, pinching your cheeks as she coos at you sulking. "there's your answer then,"

"what?"

"you wondered why hoon is single despite being very desirable? same reason you are, y/nie. you don't want any of those guys lined up for you and neither does he with those girls," she explains. "he's probably waiting for the girl he wants. no offence, he doesn't look like the type of guy who would make the first move,"

"that's mean," you tell her, despite giggling at the remark. "but i wonder who it is he's waiting for..." you trail off, imagining what your friend would be like if he had a girlfriend.

would he stop those flirty jokes with you? would he still be willing to cheer you up on days when your energy felt off to him? would you have to cut off your friendship out of respect for his relationship? you wonder.

jennie watches in amusement at your serious thinking face. she finds it so precious how oblivious you could be. she wonders why you're thinking of all this right now.

as sunghoon comes out of the pantry to join you two back in front, she watches endearingly at the way you two interact. she doesn't know how everything will play out but one thing she knows is; she's rooting for sunghoon.

prev | m.list | next

synopsis. in which you work at odd atelier cafe and can only make hearts in your lattes, causing a certain boy to misunderstand your intentions..... then he brings his friends and chaos ensues.

a/n: i can't believe it's been 2 weeks since the last update...i'm slacking fr sorry yall i'm only human 😔 neways this might be a flop update but i'm trynna intro each character and their relation to y/n before any drama!! so bear with me 🫶

taglist (open): @semisemirin1i82 @txtmetonight @ilyjxdz @miniature-tragedy @n1k1mura @t00miee @manooffline @aerivrs @saranghaohoshi @woninluv @moony-mari @nctsshoes2 @sunghoonnsupremacy @mnxnii @lisaswifey @enhy4me2 @en-chantedtomeetyou @enhypenlovre (strikethrough means unable to tag!)

[morocosmos]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 25 - Perpetuity

Masterlist Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Pairings: Leofard Myste/Warrior of Light Rating: Gen Additional Notes: Spoilers for Post-Endwalker MSQ, patch 6.55. Ao3 Link

“Leo?” 

At the sound of his name, Leofard rouses from the space between sleep and wakefulness, albeit reluctantly. He hates being cold, and no amount of blankets is enough to prevent the Sharlayan chill from seeping into his skin.

But he blinks once, then twice; Moro’a’s curled in on his side, facing him. Still awake. He meets the yet unspoken words in those blue eyes.

“I've been thinking. About what I said at the landing.” Moro’a’s voice ghosts the air, so quiet that Leofard can barely catch it. “I want you by my side, on my adventures — none of that's changed. But I also need you to know that it doesn't have to be forever.” 

Something in Leofard’s head registers that this is important; a weighty conversation spoken in soft words. Drowsy as he is, it rounds down to pillow talk. “Never crossed me mind,” he murmurs, fighting and quickly losing to a large yawn. Figuring that that's enough to settle the matter, he burrows deeper into the blankets and lets his eyes fall shut. “Sleep. Big day tomorrow, aye?”

“Mmm.” Leofard somehow catches the hint of doubt in that word, and he feels just enough annoyance — or is it concern? — to ruffle him into opening his eyes again.

He isn’t the sort to poke at these things. Especially not in bed. But he wants to sleep, and Moro’a won't leave a thought alone, not until he's gnawed it down to the marrow. He makes a discontented noise — for the lost sleep — then forces himself up by one elbow.

“If you want to say it, say it.” He watches as worry flits across Moro’a’s features, before softening into something else. Tenderness. His heart does an odd flip, the kind that happens whenever Moro’a looks at him this way.

Idiot, he thinks. But there’s affection in that too, small and warm and alive.

“It's just…this is a lot,” Moro’a begins. “For me, but especially for you, and—I don't want you thinking that there's a point where it becomes too late to turn back.” He looks at him, searching for something in the dark. “That you'll have to break your promise.”

Leofard knows that what he's being offered is a way out. That it has as much to do with his worries as it does Moro’a’s. It's strange — he's lived almost all of his life pursuing freedom. Clawing his way past the cold, the loss, the stifling cage, until he could lift his wings and truly fly. He'd spent a long time believing that love, this sort of love, would be a cage, too.

Until Moro’a had let him go, and he'd realised that what he was running from was rarer than luck, and more precious than any bauble. 

To think that he'd almost let himself lose such a prize.

“Don’t have to say it twice. I know,” he replies. He isn’t the kind to caress, but something compels him to reach out, and his hand fits along the corner of Moro’a’s jaw just so. “Remember what I said at that landing? That I wanted a taste of your life, the skies only you can reach? That hasn't changed, either.” And this is the most he can bring himself to say, because the squirming in his chest might kill him, otherwise: “I can't do any of that unless I stay close to you, can I?”

The way Moro’a smiles is worth the twist to his pride. But even he has his limits. “Alright, we've had our chat. Now let me get some beauty sleep,” he grumbles. Moro’a doesn’t argue, only reaches out to draw him closer, and he lets him. 

He doesn’t want to love the way Raimille had to, rooted in place as those close to his heart drift beyond his reach. With Moro’a, there’s a chance he might never have to.

He thinks of Tural, of jewelled waters and smooth sands, the cities and skies he can't yet fathom. Moro’a’s tucked under his chin, and the warm weight of him is more comforting than he’d ever dared to consider. It feels good, feels right.

He falls asleep this way, looking forward to all the new and familiar that’s to come.

[roxasthatisastick]

I saw someone doing KHOC week last night before I went to bed and drew this up as FAST as I could haha

So!

KHUXOC Week Day 1: Introductions

Here's my absolute favorite OC, though I suppose a lot of her OCness comes in later...? This is Mint Nainyene, which is my AU is what was left of the canon Player after KHUX ends up in Final Fantasy XIV as the Warrior of Light.

Specifically, its only Player's heart; an equal portion of Mint's self is made of the soul she was granted upon entering into a deal in the afterlife... not that I'm going into anymore detail on that here, that's spoilers for bits I haven't written yet!

As a result, Mint is in a constant push and pull between wanting to be more like Player and who she actually is right now... Not helped by the fact she has amnesia about the whole thing!! She doesn't remember being Player or the deal so. Well. When all you know is that your heart has connections (painful, painful connections) to people you have never met but need to, desperately, if only to know if they're okay...

It's left her in a bit of a state!

I have a full page for her here on my neocities, along with a set of art references on the same page!

I've also written a LOT about her here on my ao3!

@khoc-week

[sezja]

Febuwhump Day 3: "Bite down on this"

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Characters/Ship: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet

Triggers/Content warnings: Broken bones

"That doesn't look good, Chief."

"No," Sanson manages, through gritted teeth. The arm is broken; of course it is - he'd felt it, the same blow that snapped his lance. Had Guydelot been but a second later with the arrow that pierced his attacker right through the eye, doubtless Sanson would be dead or dying.

As it is, they've been cut off from the rest of the unit, and from the Alliance's forces.

Dizzy, nauseous from the pain, Sanson sinks to his knees, cradling his limp arm in his good hand. Matron save us, he thinks; he's weathered worse injuries than this, and at a glance - admittedly a pain-blurred, hazy glance - Guydelot appears to have suffered only a few scrapes. A shallow cut oozes slowly on the bard's shoulder; it will need to be cleaned, but shouldn't need stitching. The rest of his wounds are superficial, and have already stopped bleeding...

That much Sanson notes, and no more, before his head begins to swim. He wants very badly to lie down... and knows full well that if he does, he may very well die here.

"Sanson," Guydelot says, hurrying to his side.

"I'll live." Blinking away the stars in his eyes, Sanson makes himself meet Guydelot's gaze. "Are we-"

The bard nods. "Safe. Or as good as, any road; the fighting's moving east. I reckon these were the last of the stragglers."

"Or... or a delayed scouting party, perhaps." His arm is all agony; it takes every ilm of his discipline to fight past it - to think of what matters; what must be thought of first. "The others?"

"No sign yet." Guydelot shrugs out of his own coat, tending to the wound on his shoulder. "They'll regroup with the rest of the Alliance, though, and meet up with us when they can."

Right. Right. Their orders, if they were... if they were separated...

"Chief!" Guydelot's hand on his good shoulder. Fear in his voice. Oh no. "Sanson. How bad is your arm?"

Bad enough. "Broken, I think."

Guydelot swears, kneeling in the mud beside him. Despite everything, it's a comfort to have him close; it's grounding - something kinder than the pain. "You're pale as a fish's belly," the bard says, trying for levity that doesn't quite dispel the worry in his eyes. "How bad's the break, d'you reckon?"

He focuses on breathing. On staying conscious; the pain wants him to sleep. "It... it was a clean break, I believe." I hope.

"We'd better set it, then."

"Set-" Sanson feels abruptly awake. "Guydelot-"

That familiar half-smirk; Guydelot's eyes twinkling with amusement despite... despite everything. "Aye, unless you mean to go on with a crooked arm. There's no telling when we'll meet back up with a healer."

"You could very well make it worse-"

"We learned to set broken bones in the Quiver."

"You-" That sounds nearly plausible. "You did?"

"They didn't teach you lot battlefield first aid?" Guydelot clicks his tongue, shaking his head with a deceptive lightheartedness he surely doesn't truly feel. "Lancers."

Sanson can stitch a wound, bandage cuts and scrapes - but setting a broken bone feels a touch beyond the expected expertise of the average soldier... and yet, he's never known Guydelot to boast in vain, nor to lie when their safety is on the line. If he trusts nothing else, surely he must trust Guydelot himself; when has the bard ever let him down?

He takes a deep breath. "This is going to hurt."

"Every second," Guydelot replies, quietly. "Sorry, Chief." He peels off his gloves, then, almost ludicrously, removes his belt. He holds the belt between his hands. "Bite down on this."

"I don't-"

"You'll clench your damn jaw so tight you'll shatter teeth or bite through your tongue. I know you." He lifts an eyebrow. "I've patched you up before, remember?"

A time or two, yes.

Recognizing the sense in it, Sanson yields, opening his mouth to let Guydelot tuck the thick leather belt between his teeth.

"It's not Fen-Yll, but it's good leather," Guydelot remarks, beginning the lengthy process of unbuckling and unfastening Sanson's heavy Adder coat. "You make sure to put a nice deep bite mark in it, eh? I know how hard you can bite-"

Sanson makes a disgruntled sound that owes nothing to pain.

"-so you'd better not hold back."

Removing his coat is a struggle, and Sanson nearly blacks out from the pain - he buries his face against Guydelot's throat, fighting the urge to scream; the worst is yet to come - he'll not shriek himself hoarse before the bard so much as begins attempting to set the bone.

"Easy, Chief. Easy." One strong hand cups the back of his head for a moment before sliding down to cradle his wounded arm; the other hand gently moves Sanson's coat down, guiding it as gently as possible over the break. Under his breath, Guydelot sings: a familiar song, one Sanson knows well; for healing and rejuvenation. Through the white-hot haze of pain, some of his anxiety eases.

Breathe, he tells himself. Concentrate on breathing.

Easier said than done.

Guydelot helps him lie down - a wise choice, Sanson thinks, as he's likely to faint a time or three - and carefully maneuvers his broken arm into a workable position-

And Sanson screams, sinking his teeth into the tough leather of the belt, fighting every instinct telling him to wrench himself out of Guydelot's grip.

"Easy," Guydelot says again, pinning Sanson's shoulder to the ground as best he can; in more ideal circumstances, they'd have more people to keep Sanson immobilized. In more ideal circumstances, none of this would be necessary.

"Remember the mountains of Dravania?" Guydelot begins gingerly feeling Sanson's arm, feeling for the break amidst the bruising. "After the fight with Celaine, you remember."

Sanson makes a strangled noise around the belt. He remembers very little beyond the pain at the moment.

"You'd gotten yourself all scratched up." He finds the break. Works at it - gently, for all the good it does; Sanson screams again, digging the fingers of his good hand deep into the earth. Guydelot pretends not to notice, though he's gone pale, as he continues, "I had to argue with you to get you to let me stitch you up. You were enough of a stubborn arse to think you'd do it yourself."

The pain is grinding and sharp, making red spots dance in front of Sanson's eyes. He thinks he loses consciousness.

"...wouldn't scream once the whole time," Guydelot says, carefully finishing his work, securing Sanson's arm in a makeshift wrap made of what appears to be the tattered remains of Sanson's own sleeve. He gently tugs the belt out of Sanson's mouth.

"Hells," Sanson manages, gazing miserably skyward, drained. "Guydelot..."

The bard studies the bite marks on his belt. "Not too shabby," he remarks... then uses the belt to secure Sanson's new sling, letting his arm rest comfortably against his chest. "Up you get." Guydelot helps him sit up, letting him lean heavily against the bard for support; Sanson isn't too proud to do so. His face is wet and his jaw is sore - he must have wept while he was screaming.

"Thank you," he says at last, weary. "The Matron knows when we'll see a proper healer, as you said."

Guydelot wraps an arm around his shoulders, holding him close, mindful of his injury. "Aye, well. Let's just see about making it through the night first, eh? Get some sleep, Chief. I reckon you've earned it."

[rainintheevening]

Part I – Part II ... Part XIV – Part XV

There are stables at their new school.

When Ed comes down for breakfast the first morning, he is gestured over by a rosy-cheeked Peter, hair distinctly wind-blown, who snatches up his coat from the bench, gesturing for Ed to sit beside him.

Ed hesitates, decides it doesn't matter, not on the first day of term, very few others are sitting where they're supposed to, and he doesn't even know for sure which form he's going to be in.

He nods shortly to the two closest boys, friends of Peter's from their old school. He notes the cold, fresh air smell clinging to his older brother as he leans over to pour a glass of milk.

“Ten horses, Ed!” Peter's eyes are alight. “Plus a few ponies. The stablemaster said as soon as I have a free hour to come down, and he'll let me try out a few. Mostly warmbloods, there's a pair of Clydesdales, and two thoroughbreds. Then Master Gringham has his own thoroughbred stallion; a big chestnut he calls Ben, apparently short for Benedict from that Shakespeare play. Just wait, I'll convince Gringham to let me ride Ben too.”

“Didn't know you were keen on horses, Pev,” one of the other boys remarks.

“Didn't even think you knew how to ride,” another snorts.

Ed shoots his brother a quick glance, as Peter's chin comes up in a flash of indignation, but then he seems to catch himself, and he smiles awkwardly, shrugs. “Comes of spending time in the country, I suppose.”

“What time did you wake up?” Ed mutters.

“Don't remember,” Peter says, and then the room is being called to order for the Head to make announcements and say the blessing.

Ed makes Second Form, and every third day he and Peter have the same free hour, and Edmund usually follows his brother down to the stables.

He quickly chooses one horse for his usual mount, a bay mare called Rose, but he prefers to hang back, enjoys watching other people watch Peter.

By the end of the first week, Peter is allowed to ride any of the horses he wishes, except for Ben. He is kind to them all, and his hands are gentle, but he is firm and his voice can pitch from a low sing-song to a sharp command in a moment. They listen to him, and Ed smiles to himself as the stablemaster Gringham leans on the fence watching Peter wander through the frosty paddock, greeting each animal by name.

“Who taught him about horses?” the man asks.

“A knight,” Edmund says quite truthfully, after all both Oreius and Erah had been knighted after the Battle at Beruna. “A friend,” he adds, because even with his hazy memories, it is hard to put a single word on what Peter and Erah the mute unicorn were to each other.

The stablemaster opens his mouth, then leaves it open, as Peter catches a handful of mane, vaults up onto the bare back of a black gelding.

Even in a threadbare coat, bareheaded under the grey English sky, face and hands stung red with cold, Peter looks regal, noble, even taller on the back of a horse. Something warm swells in Edmund's heart, and Peter's smile is magnetic as he and his mount pull up by the gate.

“Peter-boy,” Gringham says, slow, deliberate, “you ride like an Indian chief, or like the kings of old, and I can't rightly figure which it is.”

Edmund meets his brother's eyes, a flash of a glance, but so full of knowing it might as well be a whole conversation.

“Well, I've certainly never been to America, sir,” Peter laughs.

Other boys, the ones who were here at St. Maurice’s before, take to calling him Horse Boy with a tone Edmund does not like, but they watch him with as much awe as envy when he settles a wildly spooking horse, the only one not scattered by striking hooves close above his head.

“He used to be such a city mouse,” Ed murmurs to Rose, patting her neck. “Now I think he likes horses better than people. They remind him more of Narnia than all these boys.”

She whiffles her lips across his palm, finds no more scraps of bread, and turns back to her hay.

Even with the constant visits to the stables, Peter's top in the Lower Sixth two weeks into term, and Ed is proud of him.

He likes passing his brother in the hall, and exchanging smiles or little jokes, he likes when they take Rose and Atlas out for a canter, and he forgets how cold he feels in the joy of riding in step with Peter, as if they're back in Narnia with Philip and Era.

Philip the Talking Horse had been a dear friend, as capable of being quiet with Edmund as he was at sparking a battle of wits, and Ed remembers him fondly, but he knows their bond had been far looser than Peter and Erah's, knows the meaning in the wistful expression flickering through Peter's eyes as he pats Atlas’s black neck.

“Do you think they miss us?”

It comes out in a cloud of breath, Peter squinting in a shaft of rare noon sunlight. It is the first time he has voiced such a thought, and Edmund answers slow, searching for the right words.

“Well, if time is passing in Narnia (after all, we know it doesn't move the same between worlds), well... I think he, they, would miss us whenever they thought of us. Which is probably quite often.”

Edmund thinks about it sometimes, what might be happening back in Narnia, but that is usually reserved for the shades of night, when he finds it hard to sleep.

Distractions, he is glad for distractions, glad to keep his hands busy, glad to lift his chin and stride out into the sharp winter air, glad for Peter's blue eyes that remind him of a clear sky.

Winter has never been his favourite season, but it weighs on him a little more now, he’s much more aware of the shadows in his mind, of the chill in his bones, of the slippery, icy sense of unreality that creeps over him sometimes. He lies in bed, or curls by the common room fire, or eats his supper, and moulds his fingers into the curves and edges of the little silver lion he wears around his neck, breathes over his heart the promise lifted from the pages of the great heavy Bible in the Professor's study (Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine), until the shadow thins and the chill lessens.

Peter knows about some of it, without being told, as if he's seen it all before, and Ed supposes he must have, back in Narnia. He is attentive, watchful, pays far more attention to Ed than any other of the many elder brothers in the school pay to their juniors, but truthfully, Edmund is grateful.

He works hard in class, starts learning the violin, debates the theology master and earns a standing invitation to tea, avoids Finley and his little gang, finds a first form boy crying in the chapel and befriends him, joins the choir with Peter.

He finds his footing, and it seems Peter does too.

Next

[worldformula]

Im so curious about ur wol...do u have a doc for his backstory/willing to talk about him?

i would love nothing more than to talk about my specialest little princess. you can't get mad at me though!!!

tl;dr, here is his chart of characters he is most like. please trust me.

his moral compass is a roulette wheel.

don't want to put too much here so here's a really condensed version of his backstory and personality!

(tbh he was a riff off of a shared set of ocs that my friend jay and i made! because they're basically fire emblem ocs forced in xiv, their backstories are slightly more convoluted than if he had just been made for xiv in the first place)

utushama is the younger twin to his sister inanna and she reminds him every day of his life. they were actually born right before the third umbral calamity and transported into the future by their father, who was tricked by an ascian into causing said calamity. he doesn't actually remember that time and mistake their memory of it as the seventh calamity (though the body keeps the score, as he and inanna have pyrophobia for reasons they can't fully explain). they grew up very isolated in the dravanian woods and were raised by their other parent, who was unfortunately not super present in their lives bc they were basically working around the world as a mercenary to feed them. eventually dragons came to rock their shit and burn their house down because of the dragons' lingering resentment of their father, who hunted them for their eyes. they ran off to the abandoned saint mocianne's arboretum to wait for their parent who never returned. so they finally left dravania, albeit with different intentions -- inanna wanted to find their parent while utushama was convinced that their father was still out there and the cause of their parent's disappearance. so after a huge argument about this, inanna went to gridania to start her search while utushama went to ul'dah to avenge his parent.

compared to inanna, who's much more rough around the edges with a soft heart, utushama seems gentle, guiding, and easy to become friends with, only for prospective friends and partners to find themselves stonewalled by his emotional unavailability. he is very approachable and sweet, but often justifies his (not purposeful) cruelty and callousness by using his grand quests as an excuse, as he really falls into his role as a prince-like hero, often to his detriment. though he's got a pleasant personality, he can also be judgmental, stubborn, petty, and brutally unforgiving. he can't forgive deceit or injustice, though his extremities in black-and-white thinking eventually grey out over time. he wants to be a good person most of all, but unfortunately confuses being great for being good :( his character arc is mostly about him realizing the impossibility of being a perfect hero archetype in a world that is convoluted, nuanced, and contradictory. as a result, his story is pretty gendered despite his preference for androgynous clothing/decor.

he is an all-rounder with a focus on magic over physical strength: paladin (tank), black mage/dragoon (dps fusion), and i still can't decide on a healing class for him. mostly because he hasn't focused on healing since childhood. i main sage and i prefer healing above all else though :}

[koggthryn]

xii. asters & goldenrod

once, we lay with our skin stripped off us in a field, the grass growing up around us two, your jacket bleeding out beneath our bodies. we watched the wind mills turn over, the cattle slide down into valley villages with butchers and cleavers, the aster and the goldenrod root in the heavens above, rotting there. we exhaled exhaust and moaned against our mouths until the sorrow left us. OH OH, OHHHH GOD. we curled together, strong knees and proud chins and jaws, set. AM I HOPELESS? HAVE I DONE THIS TO MYSELF?

xiii. lamprey

she has learned of cain, condemned, and sinned against her own brother with the jawbone of an ass, blood under nails and adolescence brought to an end. she has been taught to unhinge her jaw and grown to shed skin in sunday school, has tasted the real paleo diet—plucked a lash from her eye, pierced a nail in the rind, peeled the flesh from her thigh—her moon-hungry pack of teeth have sunken into the pungent and the spiced, the wet meat smell of memory in a fine china skull.

xiv. final rites

YOU HAVE RETURNED. YOU HAVE RETURNED. they found your skin smoldering out back, where the dog pisses against the fence and motor oil leaks into the yard. they called in every prayer tree over the phone lines, bowed their necks and heads and lives over you, and the preacher didn't shut his eyes—how lustful—didn't even blink. he pleaded for your soul and made sure you knew it. SHE IS RISEN, PRAISE THE LORD.

xv. trespassing

you're out when you're not supposed to be, tipping your head back, back, back on the church's stoop and looking up. looking, seeking, searching, you find hollow-eyed grief gazing back down, the crucifixion looming over you. the garden angel out back is cracking, paint peeling from its cheeks, from her cheeks, but the wood carving of christ himself, christ almighty himself, doesn't bleed. doesn't cry. and you, you cry: LOOK AWAY LOOK AWAY.

xvi. below

and below us, below us garnets churn, minutes unfurling like leaves. we are still waiting. we are still watching out truck windows, watching our faces grow dark in the side mirrors, watching the statelines and welcome centers and exit signs all blur together.

xvii. not a lover

the story goes like this: she looked away for more, and he went missing instead. right there, quick and quiet. light bends and withers around the hole left in this town, avoiding his empty seat, the road sign at his bus stop, the boots left molding on his front stoop. they'll say her name was carved into his gut or wrist or web page. they'll say you can see her calling for him in the tree line, with the strange eyes of a goat. and when he turns back up, if he turns back up, he's lighting up sheet music and staring through cops, face wretched. calling himself PRAGMA LIBER. updating his status just the one time: ONLY HERE TO PROMOTE A SONG. THIS COMMIE PLATFORM CAN SUCK A MOTHERFUCKING DICK.

xviii. study group

WHAT'S YOUR NAME, AGAIN? she wants to apologize, wants to say KATHRYN LAUREN, but KATHRYN LAUREN sounds like windchimes and rose water, like a mother's hopes and dreams, and she is more of a million spider march down the back of a gas pump. she is houses that look like faces and bitter pine needle tea she steeped as a child, was baptized in as a child. she is wild blackberries and clotted blood, ripped-up psalms and an incisor for the tooth-fairy, a headless doll trailing the undergrowth, hand in hand with her. IT DOESN'T MATTER, she says. IT DOESN'T MATTER. WHAT UNIT SHOULD WE START WITH?

xix. vantage

and besides, you breathe differently down here.

xx. rosary

in a box by the bed, there's some tinny sound. our father, and his father before him, left us their dog tags. DALE LYNN. PROTESTANT. we remember his singing in church. we remember his weeping. PORTER, LEONARD. some rust and rot. a dent in the name. we can wait with them, can count every pearl in the chain, keep the seconds in hand, feel them move through us. the days, the months. this is religious, this careful observation of time. and in a darker place, with dust storms and corpses curling into one another, our father counts the pearls. our father before him counts the pearls.

xxi. questions to ask your mother

mom—the word MOM hides a prayer: PLEASE, LOOK AT ME, AFTER ME, PLEASE LISTEN, LISTEN TO ME, PLEASE, PLEASE STROKE MY HEAD, WASH MY BACK, LET ME STAY IN YOUR HOME TONIGHT, PLEASE FEED ME, FEED ME, FEED ME—and you never stop calling her MOM. when you are her height, when the garden angel fractures its wing and cheekbone in a move and dad shoves his hand in your mouth, index and middle finger in the shape of a gun, when the ambulance comes for you and you change your name for the twelfth time, she'll scream THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT ME in your face. you'll want to break the entire length of your life over her head, want to ask DID YOU BRING PRECIOUS THINGS INTO A HOSTILE PLACE OR HOSTILE THINGS INTO A PRECIOUS ONE, but you'll only scream back WHY WON'T YOU JUST HOLD ME?

xxii. observer

look away, please. look away.

'23 september prompts days 12-22 | @nosebleedclub

[rivenroad]

Thoughts on Dawntrail MSQ - Part 1 (roughly 90-95, general discussion of plot)

I finished it a few days ago now and I've been slowly putting together a record of my thoughts, here's the first part.

Some of you may remember my feelings about Endwalker and, subsequently, my hopes for the future of XIV's story. Mostly, with Dawntrail I was looking forward to the opportunity for change, a new start, and hopefully a return to one of the things that made me fall in love with the game to begin with - excellent world-building and lore to get immersed in. I would say it gave me those things.

I would like to discuss my thoughts about the story in detail, but at the moment that's a bit difficult for me. I think I would need to go through it again another time in order to properly solidify everything that I feel. But I still have a few points to make.

Firstly, as I mentioned above I was really looking forward to the chance to explore Tural and learn about it and its people, and of course, that's exactly what the first arc of 7.0 was all about. I had a fantastic time with it (and continue to do so, since there are still a lot of quests, exploration and so on for me to do), which was enhanced by the graphics update. I'm pleased to say that beyond a few minor things, most of my characters look the same or better than they did before, and the degree to which the lighting, texture and object density improved the environments is absolutely stunning. I'm really excited to draw the new places, they're incredibly inspiring from an artistic angle. I've spent so much time staring at new higher-definition plants, admiring lighting and weather effects...

I'm thrilled with the presentation of the Mamool Ja. I always found them intriguing, but until now we didn't really get very much solid information about them beyond a few scraps in ARR and the BLU questline. I absolutely love Gulool Ja Ja, he's definitely my favourite character in Dawntrail, and the others interested me a lot too. Very well done and the voice acting was great. I didn't expect to actually get to visit Mamook, but I love it, I really enjoyed all of their history and that of Tural in general... as well as the Mamool Ja, I'm particularly fond of the Yok Huy and the Moblins (long time goblin fan, of course) but I feel that all of the diverse people of Tural were interesting and it all came together very well.

I've seen some criticism of this part of the MSQ with regards to it being boring. I really didn't feel that way though I know it's just not what some people enjoy, which is fair. But Wuk Lamat was fine. The degree to which the "power of friendship/peace" message is stressed sometimes does feel a little silly to me when it's presented so plainly, people have compared it to a shounen anime from that angle and I would agree, but it's not necessarily a bad thing - just not my usual preference.

One thing that did bother me throughout the expansion, though, is one that I expected - I'm really quite tired of the Scions. Estinien is the most blatant example here - his presence in the story served absolutely no purpose whatsoever. I was rather disappointed that the story behind Thancred and Urianger's presence and supposed "opposition" with the others turned out to be... basically nothing of any importance at all, given how it was dramatised in the trailers and so on.

I am fond of many of them, but I'm very strongly in favour of retiring characters, concepts or anything else before they start to become stale, and unfortunately we're very much at this stage with those guys... Just because I like a character doesn't mean I want to see them pop up everywhere all the time when it doesn't really have a point to it. I dunno. Doesn't seem like they're going to drop it, though...

I'm going to continue the rest of my thoughts in a separate post since it involves more specific spoilers for the later half of the story.

[ainyan]

Random question time! If any of your OCs followed the MSQ, what were the hardest "bosses" they had to face on a mental/emotional level (ie Tsukuyomi, Zenos, Hades, etc etc etc)?

Ooh! A question. :D

Well, all of my XIV OCs follow the MSQ - they each have their own AU, because I like to explore how different personalities would react to being the Warrior of Light.

The hardest bosses that Kal'istae had to face, on an emotional level, were Lahabrea in the Praetorium, the Fatebringer in Eden, and Hades in the Dying Gasp.

The first two should be pretty self-evident. Lahabrea wore Thancred's face and skin, and although they were not anywhere near being together at that point, this was the man who had recruited her, who had taken her to slay her first Primal. They'd flirted a little, nibbled at the edges of attraction before he'd been taken over, and though his sudden coolness afterwards had confused her, she'd chalked it up to the whole 'Scion' thing. And now she had to fight him - but not him. Some monster wearing his skin. And until Hydaelyn answered her fervent prayers, she was being told she had to kill him in order to win.

By the time she fought the Fatebringer, however, she and Thancred were most definitely an item, and their relationship was growing deeper by the day. Now suddenly she was faced by an amalgamation of him and Ran'jit and Innocence - his face, his voice, his fighting style - and in order to protect his daughter, she had to defeat him. It was, on a visceral level, the hardest fight she'd ever fought, and she cringes every time she thinks about it.

Hades was difficult on a different level - she still doesn't know what connection lies between herself and the bearer of Emet-Selch's mask, though she has a much better idea at this point in time. At the time she fought him, however, she could not help but feel pity and compassion for him, despite his agenda. She understands all too well how desperate the desire for memory can make someone; she, who remembers nothing of her past, feels nothing but compassion for he who is desperate never to forget his. Add to the fact that in the end, Hades clearly knew her, for all he refused to admit it - in killing him, she killed that source of information, and that was hard for her to do.

Thank you for the ask!

[the-fellowship-of-lalafell]

Squallall was originally just an in game representation of me, the Tumblr blog account holder.

Over time, she grew to be an alternate universe version if the Me I use in stories, just XIV's version of me that fits all XIV related content/situations.

She originally had no known caretaker, as she not only lacked the memory of one, but had loads of indicators that she had one. At the time, I hadn't made one for her. She now has one, a man of 50% Xaela, 25% Seeker of the Sun, and 25% Veena named Onyxeus Ozmandeus. Squallall's belief that the Twelve don't exist and that Hyaedelyn's a fraud comes from him and the fact that he grew up outcast from anyone other than family because he looks so strange; the "Alexander is most likely the most viable and benevolent Eidolon" mentality also comes from him and his studies. The reason Squallall doesn't remember him for most of her journey is because he saw himself as a threat to her survival and used a handmade temporary amnesia spell to make her forget him after he faked his death and took all images of his face out of the house; this spawns the mystery she aims to solve through until Endwalker (endpoint unknown) of who raised her.

Originally, she was just very friendly to Haurchefaunt, but as of now, they were almost half siblings because Squallall's caretaker (father) fell for Haurchefaunt's dad, but due to a more draconic appearance, and how Ishgard as a whole would feel, it didn't last long; they, the parents that is, still yearn for each other, but more so yearn for more general acceptance from Ishgard. Haurchefaunt's death ends up being her first ever death of a family member she has memory of, so it goesas expected. Lots of horrid crying and screaming; it's just ugly and heart wrenching. Is how she and Thancred stop hating each other and become more sibling-like in how they interact.

Warning: gets darker from here on out. As in includes her dark backstory of being gene warped as an infant by a Garlean scientist. Contains blood and harsh tones.

She once had lycanthropy cause a tail in her day form, but that got scrapped in favor of having that same long, prehensile tail with a lightly tufted tip be a result of Garlean genetic mutation as an infant. Something something a Garlean scientist wanted to create mass produceable army and was told to start small, but picked Lalafell infant instead of, say, a rat or puppy; she survived when said scientist was told to kill her, because turns out, head still attached = still alive, so throwing a newborn with a back that is bloody and looks like a well used cutting board into the ocean in hopes she'll drown or get eaten won't work.

Originally, she was just like my other characters in that if she clinically dies, she's only gone for twenty minutes before showing signs of life. Now it's more so that if it involves vital organs/veins, she'll rebound like that, but if not, she can still be alive, and in some cases fully awake. Can cause some morbid, yet hilarious situations like her impaled on a stalagmite and complaining the whole time while the party is actively trying to save her, or the "What wound?" cliche that many people use.

She originally was given a form of a towering beast I've used before, and dubbed in other stories as Bacterial Contamination, but no concrete way to have something 3' 2.2" tall become something 16' 8.8" and monstrous; it's dubbed an an Army-Eater in this. I have since added dark aspected corrupted crystals as the method of transformation. She needs to eat one standard crystal sized one in order to be overloaded with energy and morph, but risks losing her sanity and becoming a mindless killing and mass consuming machine; her body lacks enough mass to have this form, so she just eats a lot while temporarily in it in order to hopefully not die. If she loses her pupils in this form, she's lost control of the bodily urge to eat anything meaty and/or that moves.

8/24/24

How has your wol(oc) changed in ways you wouldn't have guessed back when you made them?

[rsenak]

today i am thinking about them. friends...........

[liminal-storage]

#22: Enamored

FFXIVWrite 2021 challenge. Day 22: Fluster

Otherwise known as "Okuni eternally thinking squishy loving thoughts about @phantom-xiv."

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

For all of the stresses and horrors that life delights in bringing to the people of Priarch, there will always be calm moments too.

On the days when she's lucky enough to find herself wrapped up with her Ghost, Okuni makes a point of etching every moment into her mind. This kind of happiness can only be fleeting for someone like her, she sometimes thinks. Still she revels in the quiet moments and tenderness from what others would consider an unexpected or perhaps even monstrous place.

She likes to just watch him sometimes; whether it be watching him at work as a thief fully in his element, watching the way his gaze becomes ravenous and hot before a tumble that leaves her sated and sleepy, or watching him struggle with learning through some new thing. His earnest, whole-hearted approach to the unknown never fails to stop her in her tracks. He just...lives. With everything he has, he lives. Completely unafraid to look foolish, willing to give all he has to offer to those claimed as his.

That spark feeds her own desire to live, to take the world for all that it has to offer. Just a little further, just a little longer, and maybe she'll feel brave enough to do it. As long as he stays, she can manage it.

When she feels her own resolve start to falter, or when she starts to question her place at his side, she tries to remember the first time she'd spoken to him one on one.

He'd gone to seek her at home because he suspected her of working with the Raven somehow. The Raen had the great misfortune of being the last person to see his face before he attacked Marius, after all. It was a logical enough conclusion to make. And he might have killed her that day, had she not been capable of proving her lack of involvement. She'd fully expected that to be the end of it, and to only see him in passing as ventures with Covenant dictated.

But...he stayed. For hours after that, he stayed and spoke with her, when he could have gone once he got the information he was looking for. She can't recall ever having someone so...up close and personal with her before. She had certainly never had someone lean into her personal space looking her over like....

Well, he'd looked at her with a sense of curiosity and something like hunger. The entire evening she felt herself struggling to find words, feeling them die in her throat somewhere between his thinly-veiled innuendo and close proximity. She had never been so flustered in her entire life. She knew before he left that day that no one had looked at her like that before. No one's really looked at her quite that same way since, either. Only him.

Go figure she'd find herself cornered by a phantom, someone who should be unreal. It felt like he'd seen right through her that day.

He's always seen through her.

Is it any wonder then that she's so enamored with him, so utterly adoring of his presence and parched for any stray bit of time that she can steal from him? She desperately wishes others could understand her enchantment, see the things that she sees.

But if they can't or won't? Well, that just means more for her, doesn't it? Hearing his raspy words murmured against her throat, feeling his hands and nails against her back, having her heart hammer with a fury when he smiles at her...

She'll happily hoard those things.