#tried my best to make the scion voices obvious but if it's not it's:

[johnnylandslide]

"Welcome home!!"

"Watch your step, Landslide- oop, there he goes..."

"This sudden burst of vitality is heartening, and I believeth his betrothed is the one to whom the credit should go."

"Certainly. The two of them are looking happier by the minute."

"Johnny, you fool! Don't just run off like that, you're still injured!"

"Yes, please give your body some more time to recover, and- Oh gods, Mistress Tataru! Are you alright?"

"It's good to be back on solid ground, my friend. Do you need a hand?"

"...Thanks, everyone, but I'm fine down here right now. Just a minute longer..."

I got most of the idea for this upon rereading this ficlet I wrote about Tataru's anxieties watching the rest of the Scions depart to close out Endwalker. I wanted to make this pose showing the moment they meet back up and live happily ever after!

[blissfulalchemist]

WIP Manic Monday

Hello! Hi! I was tagged most recently that I can remember being @unholymilf and @indorilnerevarine and I am here to share stuff I have because there’s something a little more substantial of late. Tagging with no pressure at all: @florbelles @belorage @strafethesesinners @heroofpenamstan @adelaidedrubman @confidentandgood @shallow-gravy @tommymillers @jackiesarch @themarcspector @shellibisshe @leviiackrman and anyone else that has something they want to share! Still ff based apologies. But! Have some Hythlothea and Stasia! Spoilers for EW and the start of some spice with the second piece (been a hot minute for spice writing so uhm yeah we’ll see how that goes)

Stasia

Her eyes follow Emet-Selch as he storms out of the building before she moves, running just behind his friend that calls out with a voice that cracks. Emet-Selch disappears in a black void, making Stasia growl as she brings herself closer to Hythlodaeus hoping he too will create some portal to follow him. After a quick glance he opens one up right on queue and she tries her best to not press against him as she hitches a ride to Emet-Selch. The older man rolls his eyes when he sees his friend, jaw clenching.

“If it wasn’t obvious enough, I wish to be left alone. That tale they spun is preposterous and you know it, so why even humor the idea?”

“Because what if it is true? I certainly do not wish to think that I would ever hurt those closest to me, feels nigh impossible, yet the gravity of it all-.”

“They are lying and whoever it was that put them up to this decided that I should be painted a villain.”

“Why would they create such a story if there wasn’t some truth to it?”

“Because they weren’t the only stray we picked up.” Both sets of eyes fixate on Stasia as she takes a half step back, “I know you’ve been following us so reveal yourself before I do it for you.”

Stasia takes a deep breath releasing the spell and pushing her hood back, neither looking the least bit surprised. “I see you adjusted and granted them some aether, Emet-Selch,” Hythlodaeus remarks.

“The aether was him, my size was by my own doing, thank you very much,” she corrects incorrectly.

“Which is a matter I would also like to discuss after we find out just who you are and what your role is in all of this.”

Emet-Selch crosses his arms, eyes narrowing as he waits for her answer. “I’m the person that knew you for three hundred years and the one to tell you that the Warrior’s story is true. All of it.”

“So you’re also saying I’m destined to become this madman that recreates an illusion that is an insult to my people.”

“You were ever so loyal to your cause, so particular about it, every step planned out,” she says, averting her gaze, “I had no choice but to conclude all those years finally caught up to you and simply snapped.”

[something something stasia explains a little]

“I still would never forsake my brethren.”

“Ha!” She scoffs, “How rich of a lie.”

“I beg your pardon?”

���You do forsake your brethren.”

“I never-.”

“You forsook me!” The two men step back as her hands turn to fists, “You forsook me, Emet-Selch. You used me as another pawn to bring back this world. I spent years, decades, listening to you tell me about this place, about the people and how great it will be for me. You told me how I was a part of your people and that was why I would never be accepted by those around me. You lied to me. You told those Scions how you wouldn’t feel guilty for killing people with sundered souls because you didn’t consider them truly alive. Seeing as I am some kind of sundered soul myself I knew you grouped me in with them. I was never going to be a part of these people. You were never going to accept me, letting me die with the rest of them, so what other recourse did I have?”

Hythlodaeus x Anthea

“What is it that has your thoughts so far away?”

“What is to come for the two of us should your life keep moving at the pace it has been lately.” Anthea sighs, focusing on his hand, “I fear there may come a time where I can no longer find a place within it.”

“Oh come now, there will always be a place for you. I will make sure of it.” He sits up when they don’t respond, taking their hands, “Anthea, look at me, I will never abandon you. Every decision I have made in recent months was not made without you in mind. I will want you around so long as you will want me in your life.” His fingers caress their cheek and down their jaw, “I care about you quite a lot and I would be devastated if I could not see you.”

“Devastated?”

He nods, “I resent the little time I am given to see you currently. It never quite feels like it’s enough, when I so easily begin to miss the color of your eyes, your laugh when the sun shines upon your face, or the warmth your touch brings when I leave your side.” He moves closer, fingers delicately tracing their lips, “I try to commit every part of you to memory, yet none will ever bring about the true pleasure I feel being with you, my Anthea.”

Their breathing turns heavy, heart pounding so loud they swear he can hear it, and lips starting to part with the way he traces their face. “Are-are you saying that you-?”

“Think of you?” Anthea nods, leaning closer, “I do so quite often, and in ways that can…,” he hums, hand moving down their throat in a feather touch that has Anthea closing their eyes, breathing out a small moan. Hythlodaeus smirks, letting his fingers dance against their collarbone, “I could tell you about what it is I think about? If you answer me one simple question.”

“What could you possibly wish to know, my love?” Their breath catches as his hand finds its way behind their neck and his lips are brought down to theirs.

He pulls away, voice low as he asks, “Do you think of me when you are feeling lonely?” Their eyes open as they fumble for the word yes, his kisses trailing their jaw and down their neck. “Do you imagine me doing things like this?” His kiss is rougher just above the crook of their neck, teeth nipping just enough that a small mark will form against Anthea’s fair skin. “Hm? Or about me doing this,” his breath is cool against their heated skin as he makes his way down to the knot keeping their robe from falling too far down the chest, free hand sliding underneath their robe, starting to make its way up their leg. His teeth grab onto one end, pulling back until it’s released, Anthea’s hands instinctively reaching to cover themselves when his lips find theirs once more.

Anthea reaches out to grab hold of the front of his robe, “I thought you were going to tell me just what it was you thought about?”

He chuckles, “You have yet to answer my question,” his hand rides further up, grabbing hold of their thigh, “Answer and I’ll be glad to tell you mine.”

[teawithaphd]

A Day in the Life of Eorzea University

FFXIV

(named) WOL x Crystal Exarch

f/m

Chapter 1: In Other Words...

“The Warrior of Light; Star student of Eorzea University. Although not often known for her skill in balancing a college life and a part-time job serving coffee at the Scions’ Café, she serves as a beacon, so others may walk the path of light to graduation. Will she manage to save the fabric of their school from fraying, or will her school-life balance be brought to the brink? Who is waiting for her there, on the far edge of fate..?" Inspired by the Final Fantasy XIV High School manga!

“Eorzea University, huh..”

Panne stares up at the larger than life building before her, it’s beautifully ornate windows and roof selling the idea of a world-renowned, and incredibly expensive school that few have the means to get into, let alone one who just gets by on a part-time coffee gig.. She looks to the students passing by, decked to the nines in prim and proper outfits fitting of aspiring professionals, and still can’t fathom how a volleyball scholarship, of all things, was the thing that got her in. Shaking her head, she tries not to pay much mind to the thought as she looks to the large, grandiose doors revealing a much grander inside.

Her heels click as she makes her way from eerily perfect grass lawns to marble befitting a palace. She looks down at the schedule in her hands before continuing down the halls to find the Psychology room.

…which only takes half an hour of going through mazes of hallways, only to find that she’s gone in a circle repeated several times before she finally finds the room in a seemingly obvious spot near the entrance.

She opens the slightly simpler looking door and enters the classroom.

As expected, it’s filled with more pompous pricks, she thinks to herself as she finds a desk at the back of the room and quietly slumps into her seat.

“Panne?”

She looks to the seat beside her, noticing the small elezen with shock white hair tied into an intricate braid with a red ribbon at the end of it.

“Alisaie, right? I didn’t know you went here, too.”

“Well, of course. My father would have my head if I didn’t go out and get a ‘proper’ education,” She sighs before resting her chin on her hand. “Plus my idiot of a brother wanted to pursue ‘Business and Politics in this star’s most prestigious university to get the absolute best education’, and dragged me along with him.” She turns her body towards the Miqo’te beside her, ignoring the professor beginning their lesson. “How about you? I never would have suspected you as the studious type, what bade you come here of all places?”

Panne mirrors the elezen’s position before answering, “I got a scholarship.”

“What for?”

“Volleyball.”

“Ah, so you’re a fellow Warrior, then…very interesting” A thought causes Alisaie to giggle to herself. “It seems we’re of the same mind, as I’m on the team as well. Let me guess, your major is undecided…?”

The Keeper shoots her a toothy grin, “Yup, my twin Warrior.”

“Uh, please don’t call me that…I already have a twin, and one twin is more than enough trouble as it is!”

They both laugh, causing a few students to turn around and shush them. Panne lowers her voice, “I never thought I’d find anyone from the Café studying here. Small world..”

“Just about all of us do, ‘lest I be mistaken. I’m doubtless you’ll soon run into them, one way or another.”

She nods before turning her attention to the lecture, which she tuned in and out of for the rest of the class. After the professor dismisses them, the Keeper is bided farewell by her somewhat acquainted elezen friend with a ‘see you at practice’ before going off to her next class. Panne does the same and wanders for several bells until she finds the room for the next class on her schedule, which she wants to crawl into a hole whenever she thinks about—classic literature study.

———

Just as Alisaie mentioned earlier, she happens to spot another one of her colleagues near the front of the class, his tall, lanky stature and odd manner of speech hard to miss. He spots her nearby door and gently pats the desk next to him.

“‘Ah, ‘tis a pleasant surprise indeed to find thee in such an institution. However ‘tis not but good tidings to see thee strive for a greater education, nonetheless. Come, I assure thee thou shalt not want for good company here.” She takes the seat beside him.

“And it doesn’t surprise me to see you here. Though, I didn’t expect to run into someone else from the café so soon..”

“I gather thou hast met with another of our fellow Scions today?”

“Yeah, Alisaie with just in my psych class.”

“Tis good to find thyself some sense of familiarity in unknown territory. Pray, didst thou decide on thine major of study?”

she ponders for a beat before answering, “No, I haven’t the slightest.”

“Ah, Alisaie too, hath found herself in a predicament similar to thine. Prithee, do not fret, as thou shalt soon find the answer to what thou willest to pursuit in thine career in good time. Of that, I am certain.”

“Oh, well that’s… nice of you to say that.” The elezen gives her a kind smile.

“If thou shouldst ever want for assistance, pray, do not hesitate to ask.”

“I appreciate it. Though, I will be needing some assistance in this class. I’ve never been good with books and the like…”

“Then, I shalt try my utmost to be of aid to thee.”

They continue their chat, where Panne finds out that Urianger is pursuing a degree in Astronomy and how some of the others from the café are also pursuing other prestigious-sounding studies such as Business and Political Science, Biochemistry, and Finance, before the professor begins his lecture. She pays surprisingly good attention to the lesson this time, with the help of the friend beside her with expansive knowledge on the subject to explain things to her whenever she feels lost. 

Her stomach grumbles in tandem with her eyes landing on the clock on the wall, minutes from striking twelve. Once it does with a silent click and the professor dismisses them, she breathes a sigh of relief and stands, giving a farewell to Urianger before heading to the convenience store across the street from the school.

——-

Rather then going to balk at the ridiculous prices at the university’s esteemed cafeteria, she grabs a simple sandwich and prepackaged black coffee from the refrigerator aisle of the convenience store. She brings her meal to the counter and quickly pays for the items before heading back to campus. The large courtyard is scattered with different cliques of students eating and communing with each other. Not seeing any more familiar faces in sight, Panne decides to eat alone and simply enjoy some silence and the nice weather. She finds a large oak tree with the perfect amount of shade and space uninhabited, surrounded by neatly trimmed bushes. Satisfied with her pick, she sits with her back leaning on the tree’s trunk and begins unpacking the contents from the plastic bag in her hand. She grabs the sandwich from inside and quietly munches on it, which, although is somewhat bland, is still decent enough to satisfy her appetite.

In midst of her eating, she barely registers the rustling coming from one of the bushes behind her. Her ears perk to the sound, leading her to turn her body towards it, only to find the bushes perfectly still. 

I must be imagining things

She turns her attention back to her lunch and continues eating, shrugging off the feeling of someone watching her. Just as she takes the last bite of her sandwich, she hears the rustling again. 

“Throw wide the gates”

Her eyes furrow in irritation as she turns once again to the source of the sound, this time noticing the top of a black hood with gold pieces adorning it peaking out of one of the bushes. 

The hells?

She stands up and begins walking over to it. “Hey, what are you—“

The mysterious figure sprints out of sight before she can finish her question. She pauses, staring down at the just-abandoned bush in utter confusion before slowly walking back to her spot to grab her things and leave.

“Well, that wasn’t weird…” she mutters under her breath as she makes her way back inside the school.

The rest of the day goes rather uneventfully; attending the next few classes on her schedule and luckily not falling asleep during any of them with the help of convenience store coffee. She finishes her last class of the day and looks down at her tomestone, with a set reminder notifying her of her first day of volleyball practice taking place in about half an hour and where it will be. 

——-

After navigating and getting lost in the school’s many winding hallways again, she finally finds the women’s locker room and makes her way there to change. She opens her locker and finds her designated uniform inside; consisting of a pair of tight, black shorts with an easy-to-fit hole for her tail, and a slim-fitted white jersey reading ‘Warrior’ in the back and ‘01’ in black letters in the front. After changing, she assesses her appearance in the mirror. The uniform is surprisingly flattering to her figure, the black shorts high up enough to give a good view of her lean, pale legs. She quickly adjusts the her hairband before giving herself a nod of approval and heading to the location of the volleyball court nearby.

The outdoor court looks more like somewhere where tournaments should take place rather than mere practice, with its beautiful view of more of the school’s trimmed and beautiful landscaping. The sight of it makes her truly feel in bigger leagues now, a different feeling from seeing the flimsy court paling in comparison to this one from her high school. The thought of such leagues makes her hands quiver ever so slightly.

Snapping herself out of her trance, she eyes the small elezen from this morning from the corner of her eye and waves. Alisaie smiles in response, beckoning her over to the group of other players.

“You got here just in time! Practice is just about to start.”

They go into a routine of simple, full body stretches before the team does a few practice serves and passes of the ball to each other. The Keeper vaguely notices several onlookers have gathered on the bleachers as she’s practicing bumps with Alisaie.

“It’s just like those who come to the café during your working hours just for the chance to bask in your presence when you serve them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing…Speaking of, how long has it been now since you started with us? Feels like it’s been eons by now”

“Hm? Oh, I’d say it’s been about…a month or so? I started when I found out last minute that my scholarship isn’t entirely a free ride…”

“Really? Gods those bloody cheapskates…” As she trails off, an onlooker attempting to conceal themselves with an oversized hoodie pulled over their head catches Alisaie’s eye… A very peculiar black hoodie adorned with gold ornaments she can recognize from malms away, that can only belong to one person…and what, pray, could he be doing here except for one purpose? Not to watch her practice, as such things plainly are of no interest to him, if her many attempts to drag him here were to show for it, however…

With a knowing smirk, Alisaie turns back to the Miqo’te in front of her, and raises her voice an ilm louder.

“Say, are you seeing anyone right now? Romantically, that is.”

“What? What kind of question is that?!”

“So that’s a..?”

Panne sighs before answering, “no…”

“Well mayhap I can provide a little support then. You see, there’s a certain Miqo’te I know that may be of particular interest to you. ‘Tis not like he’s made any attempts in concealing his interest in you, anyroad.” Alisaie’s smirk grows even wider when she catches eyes with the hooded Miqo’te at the bleachers and watches him squirm in his seat.

“But I’ve hardly the time to seek those sorts of things right now.”

“Oh, don’t be like that! I’ll introduce you sometime, at least humor me?” She makes sure to wiggle her eyebrows at the Keeper at that last part, causing the latter to scoff.

“Why are you interested in my love life all of a sudden anyway?”

“Just curious is all…” a whistle blow catches both of their attentions. “Oh, I believe we should be practicing spikes now.”

The players each get their turns to practice the move with varying levels of success. Alisaie makes an impressionable leap in her spike, but slams the ball out of bounds. After nodding at the coach’s critiques, she beckons Panne to the court. 

The chattering from the players at the sidelines and students on the bleachers fall silent when the Miqo’te calmly walks to the center of the court. The coach mutters a few words of advice before asking if she’s ready, to which she responds with squatting onto the balls of her feet, focused solely on the ball the coach is holding. When the coach blows on the whistle and tosses the ball over the net, the Miqo’te briskly runs to where it’s about to land and leaps to an impressive height for her size, spiking the ball at lightening speed. The small, gathering crowd in the bleachers roar with cheers. It’s not a full-house, but their enthusiasm makes for a lively atmosphere. She turns to them with a grin and hands on her hips, basking in the excitement of the crowd at her winning move. She listens in on some of the whispers among them.

“Did you see that? That thing moved so fast I couldn’t see it until it hit the ground!”

“It was like a beam of light…”

“They better make that girl their Warrior of Light and keep her as their star player, what with talent like that.”

Pulled out of the sensation, she swears she feels a pair of eyes burning through her, but another sound of the whistle blow pulls her away from it. 

The coach grabs the ball from the ground and makes to her spot again.

“Excellent, Panne. Now, perform another spike just like that.”

With the blow of her whistle, the roegadyn woman tosses the ball again. When it crosses the net, Panne runs until she’s right under it, like before, and readies herself to jump again—only to feel an odd pair of eyes on her yet again. She turns to the bleachers and takes a good look at the suspect and notices an oddly familiar black hoodie decorated with ornaments of gold pulled over his head. 

It’s that weird guy from outside…  

She scans over his features, and notices a rather…handsome nose and mouth left unobstructed. She swears she can see him mouthing something.

“Let expanse contract, eons become instant…”

Before she analyze his features more, a volleyball suddenly bounces off the side of her head. Luckily, she catches herself enough as to not hit the ground and make a complete arse of herself on her first day of practice, but has to swallow her pride and mumble apologies to the coach when she scolds her for getting distracted, abashedly rubbing the back of her neck while doing so. 

When she gets back to the sidelines and lets the last person get in their last bit of practice for the day, Panne feels a tap on her shoulder and turns, noticing Alisaie looking at her with a face of concern.

“You okay?”

“Yeah… I think there was a stalker or something on the bleachers…”

“What? No way, I’m sure it’s just Thancred.”

She waves to the silver-haired Hyur sitting comfortably on the bleachers. He responds with a wave back and a wink to the two of them. 

“Not him, the other…” She surveys the bleachers again, sighing when she doesn’t find the mysterious hooded man she saw before, “…oh, never mind.”

———

Coach Merylwyb dismisses the team for the day with a ‘good work’ and encourages them to continue preparing for their game later that month. The players make their way to the locker room to clean themselves up and change. 

Chatters echo in the room as Panne shoves her sneakers into her locker and lazily slams it closed. She regards the white-haired elezen sitting on the bench behind her, working the knots in her hair with a brush.

“‘Tis no wonder you got a scholarship, you’re very good. Especially when you don’t freeze up mid-serve, of course.” She places the brush beside her before moving to re-braid her hair, “What was that all about, anyways?”

Panne swipes the brush from the bench and uses it to untangle some of the knots in her own hair. “Dunno…there was this…guy that kept staring at me. He was wearing a hood, but I’m pretty sure our eyes met. And then when I tried looking for him again, he just disappeared, I guess.”

“A hood? Sounds more like a ghost to me. Mayhap you have more in common with Alphinaud than I thought, if a ghost was enough to throw you off balance” she laughs at the Miqo’te’s pout, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! You’re probably just tired.” She swipes the brush back and uses it to touch up the end of her braid, “go home and get some rest, would you? Lest you suddenly grow an unmistakably boorish taste for politics too.”

“Yeah, sure. Who the hells has any taste for politics, anyways?” The comment makes Alisaie go into a giggle fest, and sends a sudden shiver down her twin’s spine at the other side of the campus. At his desk with neatly piled papers surrounding him at the library, Alphinaud looks around, swearing to the Twelve that someone was talking rubbish about him behind his back.. probably Alisaie, he wagers.

Panne gives a last wave to the twin with her before beginning the trek to her dorm a few malms away. 

———-

The exuberant, full of life campus has calmed to a peaceful quiet, save for the sounds of birds chirping and scant voices littered around the school’s courtyard. She breaths a sigh of contentment after the nice change of pace from the excitement of the events of the day, and slows down her pace to admire the oranges and yellows painted across the sky. 

Once a smaller, older-looking, albeit still fancy, building catches her eye, she picks up her pace to a jog to the front doors. She takes out the keycard from her pocket and scans the card reader in front. With a beep, the glass doors open, allowing her inside. Her feet take her to the stairwell beside her and up a couple floors, itching to be rid of her heels once she reaches her dorm room. She takes a left, then follows the hall to a door at the end of it. Finally, she thinks as she jams her key into the lock and twists it open with ease. She uses her body to shove the door open and unceremoniously closes it. Locking it again, she turns around and lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Thank the Twelve I’m home…”

She kicks of her heels and enjoys the peaceful quiet and comfort of her home, until that feeling is interrupted by the sound of slurping coming from the couch at the corner of her room. 

“Godsdammit Ardbert, did you break in again?” The slurping stops for a moment, and the source responds with a gruff ‘mhm’ before going back to his meal. Panne slaps a hand to her forehead and groans before marching to the couch. Greeting her there is the same Hyur who’s been slipping in and out of her dorm at random hours for months, sitting lazily with his legs propped up on her coffee table.

“How the hells did you get in here this time, anyways?” She points an accusatory finger at him, “and stop eating my ramen!”

He pauses his meal and looks up at her with a neutral expression, as if breaking and entering into a girl’s dorm is perfectly normal.

“Oh, I got in through the window. You’re running out of these, by the way.. ‘Twould be wise to keep them handy in the days to come” with that, he goes back to slurping on his noodles.

“I’ll be sure to lock the windows next time…”

She slumps next to him on the couch and leans in slightly closer, squinting as she reads the cup’s label.

“Ah shite, that was my last beef ramen! I was gonna eat that tonight…”

“You snooze you lose, my friend.”

She leans back to her corner and slumps into a melted puddle, groaning along the way. After a moment of comical yet comforting silence, she stands up and walks over to the small kitchen. She grabs a cup of chicken-flavored instant ramen and prepares it before settling back down on the couch beside Ardbert. After a few minutes of quiet slurping of her meal, Ardbert speaks up with a slight mocking tone.

“So? How was your first day?”

“What are you, my mother?” She sits up to place the finished cup along the pile of many other finished lazy college kid instant-ramen dinners scattered across the coffee table. With a satisfied grin, she slumps back down.

“…it was good.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Anything interesting happen? Make any friends at least?”

“Not really. I went to class, met some people, ate lunch, got a stalker, and went to practice with the volleyball team with that same stalker watching me again. You know, the usual fare.” 

“Wait just a minute. Did you just say you have a stalker? Why would anyone be following you around? Don’t they have anything better to do?”

“Well you’re sure one to talk, constantly coming into my room at the random…”

Ardbert turns to face her with eyes widened. “…are you still angry about the time I came in while you were changing last week? I swore ‘twas with no ill intent!”

“I would be if that expression you made when I threw a pillow at you square in the face wasn’t so damn funny.”

The pout, so unfitting for a man too intimidating and burly to be a college student, makes the Miqo’te giggle.

“Seriously, though. Have you any guess as to who this mystery stalker may be?”

She brings a hand to her chin as she tries to remember if she was able to discern any features obscured by the hood said person wore.

“Hm…well he’s definitely male……” she shrugs, “…that’s all I got.”

“Well that certainly narrows down our search...” The comment earns him a kick in the leg, which he huffs to before continuing, “well, he has to be someone who knows a lot about you if he was able to find you at your practice. Could it be someone from one of your classes… or your cafe perhaps? Someone from there would know your schedule well enough.”

“It couldn’t be…Alisaie was practicing with me, Alphinaud’s too up his own arse in politics studies to be going anywhere that’s not the library or his room, Thancred was sitting at the bleachers during my practice as well as the stalker, plus his face was unobscured…and Urianger and Y’shtola don’t exactly strike me as the type to go out of their way to follow people around all day. They would more likely do the opposite…and to my knowledge, I don’t owe Tataru any money, so she’s definitely not following me.”

“Alright, well if it isn’t any of them…gods, look at the time.” He quickly stands up from the couch. “I should be heading out. Goodnight!”

“Wait, we need to figure out who the stalker is!”

“We can solve that mystery the next time I come.”

“And that is…?”

“...Take care, my friend.” He waves before proceeding to hop out of the window he came from, Panne protesting after him. She runs up to the open window and looks down to find the Hyur no where in sight.

“Would it kill you to use the damn door like a normal person?!”

After an exasperated sigh, she pulls the window panel shut and makes sure to lock it to prevent any more surprise visits from there. She draws the curtains and quickly changes into her pajamas, made of a simple camisole and sleep shorts, before plopping onto her bed. Thinking of the events of the day, and the possible issue of her newfound stalker she’ll be sure to let the others know about at the cafe tomorrow, she drifts off to a dreamless sleep.

Next——>

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 9: Friable

“Dia, could I ask you a favor?”

“When have I ever said ‘no’ to you, Tataru?”

“Fair point”, Tataru replied as she placed her hand in her pocket and revealed a small crystal trinket in her palm, shaped like a sun, about an ilm tall. “I need to leave for a bit, but I don’t want to leave this alone, nor would I care to lose it because it fell out of my pocket. Could I trouble you to hold onto it for me?”

“This is the least troublesome thing I’ve been asked to do in a long time. Of course I’ll take care of it for you.” Dia took the sun-shaped trinket with her finger and thumb and lifted it close to her face for a better look.

“Thank you, Dia! I owe you for this!” Tataru waved at her and sauntered out of the Rising Stones, leaving Dia to marvel at the inanimate object for a while before placing it within her inventory.

“You know, you ought to learn to say ‘no’ sometimes”, a gruff voice commented aloud. Estinien sat at the table in front of Tataru’s desk, giving a wry smile. “And what’s that supposed to mean, Wyrmblood?”

“Means you run yourself ragged for them already. When do you put your foot down?”

“You don’t say ‘no’ to Tataru Taru.” She sat down across from him. “It’s one of the unwritten rules of the Scions. You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

“Why is that an unwritten rule?”

“Consider it like this; Tataru has watched her friends be murdered and kidnapped before her very eyes and nearly died herself, she was forced into exile alongside Alphinaud and I after that godsforsaken banquet, and she helped me fight a giant turtle man in Hell’s Lid. All this, she’s done and kept the Scions afloat, which was rather difficult when the majority of us were across the rift in the First. None of us would be here without her keeping all the things that would distract us from our duty away from us. If she needs something, I’m damn well doing it.”

Estinien wore a perplexed look on his face. “There’s a couple of scenarios in there that I’ll need you to explain.”

“All in good time. The point is, never say ‘no’ to Tataru, ever. She’s done and seen too much. She can have anything she wants.”

“You can’t always say ‘yes’ to people, or they’ll expect further agreement from you.”

“Good? That means they trust you.”

“That means they think you’re a doormat.”

Dia scoffed at the notion. “This is also my place of employment. What about when you were ordered to do something as a Temple knight? You couldn’t have been able to say ‘no’ to your commanding officer.”

“The Scions are not a military, as I recall. At any rate, are you implying the coinkeeper is your commanding officer?”

“As good as, if not better. Have you ever tried saying ‘no’ to her?”

“I have said no to her.”

An evil curl of her lip began to form into a half-smirk. “And weren’t you chased around Kugane for your efforts?” Estinien darted his eyes away with a scowl. “And then ended up saying ‘yes’ to taking down Black Rose facilities anyways…and then to becoming a Scion?” Estinien growled under his breath. Dia leaned back in her chair and pretended to hold a book. “Or was that in your day planner?” She started a pale imitation of the man. “10am: Brooding. 11am: Jump a million malms in the air. 12pm: Destroy any Black Rose facilities I see. 1pm: Become a Scion of the Seventh Dawn.”

“Don’t you have a crystal to watch?!” he retorted.

“I do, yes”, she reached into her inventory and opened her palm in front of him, “and I’m doing it well, see?”

There was a moment of silence, then the dragoon said, “That’s not the crystal” with a small bit of pleasure in his voice. She popped a very quizzical look and checked what was in her hand herself. A small sapphire charm was staring back at her.

“Shite! I was going to give this to Aymeric last night, and I forgot!” She stared into her inventory with no small amount of desperation. “Well, where in hells is the crystal, then?”

“Don’t ask me. You’re the one who agreed to keep watch of it.”

She sifled through her bag frantically. “I couldn’t have lost it; I was sitting here the whole time!”

“Ah, Dia, Estinien, how are you faring?” G’raha greeted cheerfully, as she continued to search through her possessions while Estinien reveled in his schadenfreude.

A few footsteps later, a shattering sound rang the loudest that any crystal could ever make.

Dia’s eyes widened. She slowly stood up from her chair, took a few very slow steps, and delivered to G’raha a look that could strike fear into the heart of Halone. “G’raha Tia”, she rumbled in a very low voice, “Move your foot.”

G’raha slowly moved his head downward to look at his feet, then slowly returned it to meekly gaze into her fearsome visage. “I’m afraid to”, he replied quietly.

Her voice started to raise slightly. “Move your foot, or I’m moving you!” He almost hopped away, and unveiled the result of her carelessness- the shattered remains of Tataru’s sun-shaped crystal. She gathered as much as she could and dashed back to the table with G’raha.

“You were a crystal once! Do something!”

G’raha stammered, unsure how to reply to a comment like that. “I-I-I can’t! I don’t know what it looked like!”

“Do I have to draw you a picture?! It looked like the sun!” She brought her face closer to his. “You don’t understand. Tataru had me keep watch of it.”

G’raha’s eyes widened and he gave a grimace. “She’ll kill you.”

“Me? Oh, hells no. Us. If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me, crystal boy!”

He gulped loudly. “All right, maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe this is still fixable.” The two of them used their magic to lift up the shards, and start solving the puzzle. Behind them, Estinien stood and laughed under his breath. The distracting dragoon caused her to lose her focus, the shards dropping back on the table. She swung around and barked, “If you’re just gonna sit there and snicker at us, then bugger off.”

“This is too delicious to turn away.”

Dia groaned. “All right, look, I’m sorry I teased you earlier, okay? But when Tataru asks me to do something, I do it, and not because I’m a doormat! It’s because she’s been the one good constant in my life, and she’s stood by me from the very beginning. She’s my friend, and I’d do anything for her because I think she deserves so much more than I could ever give, and now I’m pissed because I couldn’t even do this for her!”

She turned around and finished with, “So you’ll forgive me if I’m not in the mood.”

The two arcanists started their puzzle once again as Estinien slowly walked away from the duo.

“So that’s how you feel about our receptionist?” asked G’raha.

She let out a sharp, quick breath through her nose. “Tataru’s not just a receptionist to me. A normal receptionist would have quit the Scions the moment we were implicated in the Sultana’s murder. A normal receptionist wouldn’t have been secretly learning arcanima in her spare time and use it to help me fight. A normal receptionist wouldn’t have helped nurse the Scions as they laid there unconscious, and fret over whether they’ll ever wake up.” The last struck a pang of guilt in the Mi’qote’s heart. “A normal receptionist doesn’t casually learn airship engineering and build a new one from scratch!” She let out a light laugh after that one.

“She’s as much a Scion as the rest of us.” Dia went quiet for a moment as she started to fit some of the last few pieces together. “She’s the best of us, really.” G’raha gave a empathetic smile. “Have you ever told her this?”

She hesitated, then responded, “…no, not really. At least, not aloud.”

“I think she’d appreciate it if she heard it from you”, suggested G’raha, “It’s good to extend appreciation to those who work so hard for us, especially if it’s as passionate as yours. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you express emotions like that before.”

“Ha, Aymeric can attest to how hard it is for me to express my feelings. If anything, I should be more willing- at least these feelings are completely platonic.” G’raha gave a light chuckle.

The pieces of the puzzle had finally linked together and the sun shined back at the arcanists…

…except for one shard that made an obvious hole in the bottom.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me”, Dia complained. The two stared back at the scene of the crime in hopes of seeing it glimmer behind them. “All right, help me look for that last part.”

“Right.” The two took one step before they heard the sound of latches from the front door.

“I’m back!” Tataru announced gleefully. The two quickly spun around to look at her as she walked back with boxes in her hands. “I was picking up supplies from House Fortemps. Dia, can I have the you-know-what back?”

The two averted their gaze towards anything else and started sputtering, trying to figure out just what to tell the lalafell.

“Uh…” Dia started.

“Well, see…”, said G’raha.

“The thing is…”

The door to Dawn’s Respite had opened and closed and from the doorway. a gruff voice spoke out. “It’s my fault, I’m afraid.” The dragoon stepped out to stand beside Dia. “She handed it to me because I wanted to see it. Stupidly, I dropped it, and well…” Estinien turned around and saw the unfinished result on the table behind them. He gently picked it up and showed Tataru. “You can see what happened. These two came together to repair it.” Tataru took the stone from Estinien and gave it a good look.

“Hm, overall, a very good repair job”, remarked the receptionist nonchalantly, “Though I didn’t take you for one with butterfingers, Estinien.”

She moved to her desk to give it a better look under the lamp. “I’ll need to remedy this missing chunk here, of course.” Tataru noticed a glint of light from the corner of her eye and found the missing piece of the sun. “Ah, there it is!” She hopped off of her chair and picked it up from the floor before hopping back onto it. Gently, she picked up the trinket, and easily fit the last piece into the hole.

“There we go!” She held out the sun in front of G’raha and requested, “G’raha, you were a crystal once. Do you think you could bind this last piece for me?”

His ears drooped. “Why is everyone calling me that?” He obeyed and repaired the last piece of it to make the sun whole once again.

“Yay!” cheered Tataru, “Thank you, both of you. You two are far better at reparations than I am.”

“Than you?” repeated Dia curiously.

“Oh, of course. I’ve repaired this thing about five or six times myself. This is the best it’s looked in a while.”

G’raha and Dia shot their gazes to each other, completely bewildered, while Estinien smacked his head into his hand and shook his head, muttering the word, “Idiots.”

“Well, Tataru, if I may”, G’raha spoke up, “What exactly was it meant for?”

Tataru stayed silent for a moment, then finally sighed and said, “Oh, I might as well. I practically gave it to you anyway.” She took out a long gold chain and a display case the same shape as the sun trinket. “The plan is to encase it in this, a much sturdier glass, and attach it to the chain to create a charm necklace for Dia’s nameday. I trust Dia, so I asked her, and I hoped that maybe she’d forget about it by the time I would give it to her.”

Dia’s mouth went agape. “What?”

“It’s true!” Tataru jumped off the chair one more and walked in front of Dia. “You do so much for us. You’re always going in harm’s way for everybody, and I feel like you get so little for it. Sure, you get a bed, some gil and recognition, but that can’t be the only thing you should get from this. I don’t get to do much for you, and frankly, I don’t think I’ll ever have a proper gift to thank you, but at the very least, I want you to feel special on your nameday.”

Dia was tearing up. She couldn’t resist going down to her knees and wrapping Tataru in a proper hug. “I couldn’t ask you to do any more! You’re the best of the Scions!”

“Oh, Dia, I’m not a Scion!” Tataru exclaimed as she returned the hug, tearing up herself.

“Oh yes you are! You’ve been through too much with us. You’re a better Scion than I am. I’ve barely come by here since I moved into Borel Manor, and you’ve been working yourself to the bone here.” She unwrapped herself from Tataru and stood back up. “I can’t ever thank you enough for everything you’ve done, Tataru Taru, for going through so much with us. I owe you the best gift I could ever give you on your own nameday!” Tataru’s smile wavered, and she wiped away her tears with her sleeve.

“I’m going to find my goldsmith’s set, and I’m going to finish this for you, Dia Sito!” she announced through the lump in her throat, and ran back to the solar to look in storage for her kit.

Estinien gave his usual smile that was barely a smile, and G’raha told her, “Now you see what I mean?” She gave a smile of her own. “I do. There’s only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

She lowered her voice and near whispered. “When the hells is Tataru’s nameday?” G’raha pursed his lips while Estinien quickly removed himself from the situation by retreating back into Dawn’s Respite.

“Let’s find her calendar”, suggested G’raha.

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2021

// FFXIV Write Info // Prompts // Master post //

Prompt 18 Devil’s Advocate

(Submitted for make up day on day 19!)

a person who expresses a contentious opinion in order to provoke debate or test the strength of the opposing arguments.

(I was going to write something a little more serious but then this idea popped into my head and took over so now you have fluff! It loosely follows the prompt if you squint, I swear. Please excuse any grammar or spelling as I had to finish writing and editing this on my phone between my performance sets at work. So if things feel repetitive or don’t make sense, you’ll have to forgive my muddle mind. I’ll clean it up when I get home!)

No warnings apply. Have some G’raha and Kien fluff Below the cut for spoilers as this takes place around 5.2!

G’raha let out a frustrated sigh, a hand carding through his hair as he glared down at the spirit vessel lying dormant on the table.

It felt as if he had been going at this for bells on end with no success. Everything he researched and tried didn’t seem to work and he felt more dismayed and exhausted with each attempt to imbue the vessels.

Urianger and Beq Lugg had been with him earlier to assist but the two had departed for the night to rest and advised the Exarch to do the same but he stubbornly kept at it. Despite the ache in his Crystal arm, he kept telling himself that each attempt would be the last one but every time he failed, it only pushed him to try again. There had to be a method that would work to return the Scions home. This time, this will be a success.

Breathing a deep breath, he closed his eyes and focused his aether on the vessel. The vessel began to hover again, aether surrounding it once more. Focus…

His ears flickered to the sound of the Ocular doors opening but in that same moment, the spirit vessel clattered back down to the desk and he brought his gaze back down to the table, a hand carding through his hair as he let out a frustrated sigh. Not again...

“No luck?” Kien’s voice snapped him back to reality, causing him to look up. He half expected the visitor to be Lyna or Urianger or Beq Lugg, not Kien who he had just seen off not too long ago as he departed for Rak’tika. He cracked a small smile at the Gunbreaker, doing his best to keep his expression passive.

“Not quite,” G’raha sighed as he brought his gaze back down to the spirit vessel, inwardly cursing at himself for the obvious frustration and disappointment that laced his tone. “I just haven’t found the right method to imbue the vessels just yet, but I know I’m close...I just need to keep working.” He fell silent for a moment, looking back up at Kien who was leaning against the doorframe of the Umbilicus with his arms crossed. He didn’t seem unhappy but something about his expression told him that something wasn’t quite right. “I didn’t realize you had returned, Lyna didn’t inform me.”

“She didn’t have to,” Kien shrugged as he finally entered the room coming to a stop just before the table. “I ran into her on my way to check in on you as soon as I got back and she told me she hadn’t seen you since yesterday afternoon.”

“Since yesterday...?” G’raha tried to keep the surprise off his face but judging by Kien’s quick arched eyebrow, he wasn’t quick enough to do so.

“Have you left the tower since I last saw you yesterday morning?”

This time G’raha knew he would be unable to keep his expression passive as his cheeks quickly flushed a shade of pink. He looked away with a small shake of his head, too embarrassed to meet the other man’s eyes. So it had been almost a full day... that would explain the exhaustion he felt.

“G’raha…” Kien’s voice was soft but the disappointment was evident. “You need to rest.”

G’raha bit his lip in thought. One on one hand, he knew a brief respite would do him some good, especially with how little of success he’s had with the spirit vessels, but on the other hand he couldn’t reason with himself to sleep when there was quite possibly another method to try. He felt as if he was running out of time—he had to get the Scions home. Rest would have to come after.

He shook his head and crossed to his desk. “I cannot rest, not with no time on our side.” He pulled out the chair and sat down, instantly leafing through the tomes and scratching down notes in an attempt to distract himself. “And besides, I’m sitting at my desk now aren’t I? I think this can count at rest.” He let out a small chuckle in spite of himself, failing to notice Kien arch a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Let me rephrase that,” Kien sighed as he crossed his way over to just behind the desk. “When was the last time you laid down in that bed of yours?”

G’raha’s quill continued to scratch out notes as he shook his head. “That isn’t the most important matter at the moment.” He could only guess his reply warranted a frown from Kien judging by the several moments of silence.

“You’re exhausted, G’raha. You need to lay down.” Kien finally said.

“Time is of the essence, my friend.” G’raha replied automatically.

“I am well aware of that,” Kien sighed. “But you need to also consider yourself in this. You cannot expect things to go well if you don’t give yourself time to sleep and I know you know this.”

“The sooner I find a way to imbue the vessels, the sooner the Scions can return home.” G’raha replied stubbornly. “Since I cannot entertain my first option, I have to keep at the second option.”

“G’raha…”

G’raha finally looked up from his notes as he felt Kien approach from behind, a small noise of protest and confusion escaping his throat as the other wrapped his arms around his chest and loosely clasped his hands together, preventing him from being able to move his arms to write. “Kien…!”

Kien could only grin, though it was unseen by the Exarch. “I’ll make a deal with you,” He rested his chin atop G’raha’s shoulder and playfully shushed him. “Take a nap now and you can come back to this later and I won’t pester you for the rest of the day.”

G’raha released a soft sigh. “As tempting as that offer is, you know very well I have to focus on this now.” He felt guilt twinge his heart, knowing he would disappoint the warrior even further and more so himself. He indeed thought the idea of a nap was nice but couldn’t bring an adequate reason to quit for a spell to do so.

“A refreshed mind might help you even more.”

“You’re one to talk,” G’raha scoffed as he looked back down at the notes, leaning into Kien’s embrace without much thought, feeling comfortable. “You tend to push yourself just as much as I do.”

“We’re not talking about me right now.” Kien playfully grumbled. “I could nap with you? That way you won’t feel as if I’m forcing you to do so but more so inviting you to rest with me?”

An unseen smile spread across G’raha’s face. “A tempting invitation, but I am not one to give in so easily.”

“What if...we had a little fun beforehand? If you get my meaning?” There was an unmistakable teasing purr to Kien’s tone but the effect it had on G’raha was as if he had received an electric shock. His ears straightened up on alert and he snapped his head up in order to twist around in Kien’s loose grasp to make eye contact with him.

“What are you implying?!” He didn’t dare admit aloud how flustered and heated that thought made him though he was positive it was written all over his face.

Kien blinked as if surprised before a slow and sly grin spread across his face. “You know very well what I’m implying.”

G’raha’s felt his retort die on his lips, his heart thrumming rapidly in his chest. Their affection for one another was newly established but he never knew the Gunbreaker would be this bold so quickly. Was this merely a ploy or was he entirely serious?

Kien smirked as he leaned in close. “Now that I have your attention, here’s the deal.” His voice was playful and slightly sultry. “You, get in to bed,” Kien pulled the chair away from the desk, quickly maneuvering himself to the front of G’raha who was still sitting dumbstruck, watching his every move. “I get in with you,” he automatically let Kien take his hands and guide him to his feet, unable to take his eyes away from Kien’s piercing gaze. “I tuck us in, and you, go, to, sleep.”

By the time Kien finished speaking, his face was close to G’raha’s and he could see the other blushing in embarrassment, attempting to keep a straight face. So he was joking…twelve preserve me. G’raha released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his ears drooping a little as his head slumped forward. “You tease me too much.” He whined playfully, a small part of him relieved and disappointed at the same time.

Kien pulled away with a grin but he kept his hands clasped with G’raha’s. “But it worked, you cannot deny that.” The satisfaction in his voice was evident and G’raha numbly nodded his head.

“Yes, it worked.” G’raha breathed out. “You win, I concede and I will take a rest. Give me a moment.” Kien squeezed his hands and let go so G’raha could change while the other wandered over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I wasn’t teasing about the first question though,” Kien piped up. “I could use a little respite myself, if I could still invite myself to nap with you?”

G’raha pretended to ponder the thought but glanced behind him with a sly smile. “Only if you promise the second question to me next time?” He was merely joking of course but the blush warranted from the raven haired Miqo’te was a satisfactory payback.

Kien smirked as he playfully rolled his eyes. “Hey, only one of us can play hell’s advocate here, now get under the blanket and get some sleep.”

“Right away, O Warrior of Darkness.” G’raha grinned and crossed over to his bed, instantly crawling under the blanket and melting into Kien’s embrace as the other crawled in after him.

Within moments, he fell asleep instantly, finally getting the rest he had so desperately needed.

[enby-hawke]

Chapter 3- For I Have Sinned

Chapter Title: Leandra, Scion of the Amells

Chapter Summary: Malcolm has been trying his best to find the terror demon. His teacher has other plans.

TW: templar abuse,

Words: 5113

Read from the beginning

-----

The hunt for the demon had not gone as planned. For such a powerful essence, it left very little trail of where it had disappeared to, but that didn’t mean anything in the Fade. Malcolm had run into quite a few terror demons in his time, but the variety he was used to was much smaller, parasites, more than anything else, that attached to a dreamer’s fears and inflated them until they became debilitating. They were cowards for one. They preferred weak prey that they could immobilize and from what Malcolm could tell, everyone saw something different. They were able to weave their webs on even the most cautious victims, able to blend in to their surroundings when they wanted to, and apparently, to Malcolm’s growing frustration, mask their essence trail. He knew that there were some friendly spirits around that could be safe enough to ask, if he could trust what they said.

Still he had not exactly spent the last few years having tea parties with spirits. In fact, wisps had gotten to a point where they fled from his sight. He realized with bitterness that he would need to change that and had spent the last 3 days trying to get close enough to one without spooking it, but it was terribly difficult when your moniker was literally Spirit Slayer.

There was a particularly brave one that was always hovering from the distance and he had spent all night and the better part of the morning snoozing through all his classes in order to coax it closer, though it was frustrating when his teachers kept waking him up. He tried to fake sick but he was examined by a healer to verify, since he used that excuse so often. He was in his Advanced Placement Spellcasting class, which was the period before lunch where he could have a whole hour of peace after a quick snack and finally, finally he was making some headway.

“Trick?” the wisp asked again in it’s usual simple sentences. It’s shining ball of light glowed red, flashing in a sheen of green sky. He had followed up into the stratosphere where the wisp had hoped to lose him.

“No trick. I won’t hurt you,” Malcolm said for what he felt like the thousandth time, but still this was the longest he’d gotten the creature to stay still. “I just want to find a big, big terror demon. Have you seen-”

At the mention of the terror demon, the wisp blinked away with a gasp.

“Wait, come back,” Malcolm flew forward, calling out to the creature.

He reached out and plucked the Fade thread of where it was trying to follow the essence trail, but it had teleported to another dimension altogether. He kept plucking the string, wading through the cacophony of spirit’s hushed whispers, trying to either recognize it’s voice or it’s scent or anything really. This was a terribly slow process at times that required lots of concentration. Wisps were especially difficult since their voices could easily be lost among water, enjoying it’s tumble through a river, or a tree drinking up the sunshine or a rock really enjoying its solid form. Everything in the Fade talked so that it was a constant hum of whispers.

Summoning the image of his bedroom door, he grabbed parts of the Fade with his hand and reshaped them like clay, building it piece by piece. When he was done, he pried open the steel bars, still creaking like he remembered. Suddenly he saw a garden where the mushrooms were as big as sacoyas and strange tiger striped purple grass twisted into each other like they were hugging. The various colored and shaped mushrooms swayed like they were dancing in a breeze that wasn’t blowing. In the middle of the field was the red glowing wisp slowly floating in a circle and humming, “Shiny.”

“Shiny,” the grass sang back. Then the mushrooms sang that back, and then the sky echoed back, until it came back to the wisp who repeated the cycle.

That stopped as soon as Malcolm stepped through the portal of his door.

The Fade held its breath, the whispers dying down to listen as Malcolm held up his hands in peace.

“No follow,” the wisp shouted, blinking and quivering in fright.

“Yes follow,” Malcolm stepped forward. The grass curled away from him, the blades tightening.

The wisp darted away a few feet and hid behind a mushroom that puffed up. “Why follow?”

“Because I need to-” Malcolm paused, about to say ‘kill’, but thought better of it and said, “get rid of it.” He wasn’t sure if he should specify who it was, but he didn’t want to go chasing it down again.

The wisp paused in consideration, and peeked around the brown spotted mushroom. “Can’t…tell.”

It seemed the terror demon didn’t just scare mortals. So Malcolm tried a different tactic. “What about you take me to someone that can tell me.”

It blinked away, and for a moment Malcolm thought that would be the end. Malcolm walked up to where the wisp was and plucked the Fade string to see if it had just gone behind another mushroom, but it had teleported far away again. He was ready to give up and try another wisp when it blinked back with a friend, a familiar not-face eating what looked like a mostly empty bucket of deep-fried nug legs covered in red sauce.

“Oh, hello, again,” Scholar said with a full mouth. “This wisp tells me you survived Zelophehad somehow.” The spirit swallowed the bone and then picked up another greasy nug thigh. “Well, congrats on that,” the spirit bit into the leg and chewed loudly. “So did you call to tell me what taste is? You didn’t have to send a wisp to do it. You could have called me.”

Malcolm wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or annoyed to see Scholar, but at least this demon wasn’t aggressive…yet. He knew that could change in an instant and it mostly relied on his ability to control his temper. “No,” Malcolm took in a calming, steadying breath as he readied his nerves. He had never tried actually talking to a demon before and he was edgy, just waiting for them to ask for a deal. “I came to ask about Zelvilod or whatever.”

“Zelophehad,” Scholar corrected.

“Gesundheit.”

“That wasn’t even close,” the creature smacked it’s strange not-mouth loudly.

“Does it really matter? It’s a demon that needs to die yesterday. I don’t need to know how to pronounce it’s name,” Malcolm snapped.

The wisp gasped and disappeared and Scholar’s face twisted into a snarl, that suddenly turned into a burp. “Will you stop with that emotion? You’re going to twist me and you’re ruining the flavor.”

Malcolm wanted so badly to snap again, to tell him that lives were on the line and that he didn’t have time to watch him eat, but Malcolm bit his tongue, literally, and capped his anger, though he felt like a shook soda. “Where can I find it?” he said as calmly as he could manage.

“Find it?” the creature cocked it’s head. “He’s right behind you.” He pointed with his half-eaten drumstick and Malcolm jumped to find a goat eye the size of baseball floating just behind his head. It blinked and disappeared from sight but Malcolm felt all the hair stand on his neck. He jumped around casting a life detecting spell but all that shimmered back were wisps and the usual denizens of the Fade.

Malcolm turned back around, his heart in his throat. “Where is it now?”

“Don’t feed it!” the spirit waved it’s hand frantically, splattering sauce.

Malcolm took a second to stop tensing, his eyes still darting around for more signs of eyes among the forest of mushrooms, but the grove stayed eerily silent. Malcolm kept clenching and unclenching his fists unsure if it was right behind him again, but a tiny voice inside him told him not to look. He ignored it, flinching as he craned his head and saw nothing, and yet it felt like something was staring, waiting. Biding its time. “That’s it,” Malcolm muttered as a chill crawled up his neck. “The next time I see that demon I’m poking out every one of it’s eyeballs.”

“Does the fact that you can’t even sense it not tell you that you’re too young? Shiny told me they had to lead you out of several traps already.”

“Shiny?”

Scholar looked exasperated, as if it was so obvious. “The wisp you sent. Though their name is Rocky now.”

Malcolm scrunched up his face. “What? Why?”

Scholar stuck his hand in his bucket to find it empty and sighed. “Because they’re wisps, of course. They’re still deciding who they are. They have to try each name before they find the one that feels just right.”

 “How do you keep track?” Malcolm found himself asking, but then he shook his head realizing he was getting off track and said, “Never mind, just…how do I kill it?”

“You don’t,” Scholar answered, the bucket de-materialized and a plate of chocolate cake came next. The spirit grabbed a handful and before shoving it in his mouth said, “so, what is taste?”

Malcolm felt like he had just gone around in a big winding circle and he was absolutely winded. And then Malcolm said what he thought he would never say to a demon. “How about we make a deal?”  

The spirit jumped back and gasped, “No!,” which surprised Malcolm. “I’m no demon, and I won’t throw myself against one, especially not Zelophehad.”

He was expecting to have to clarify, but blood magic was never an option. He had seen too many good mages go down that path and meet their end, not to mention he was not looking for more reasons to be hunted by the Chantry, but as far as he knew, every demon wanted a deal.

“Actually I’m not offering my soul, more my expertise,” Malcolm said, finding his shoulders relaxing. “Do you want to know what taste is?”

That’s when he felt a smack to his face.

   Malcolm jerked awake, groggy with drool dribbling down his mouth and pooling on his desk. It was still dark and he realized his teacher had dropped his test packet on him and he pulled it off, fluorescent lights spotting his vision.

A dark elf with his hair in a dreadlocked ponytail and a shadow of stubble across his jaw glared at Malcolm through his spectacles. “Class is almost over and this is blank, Messere Hawke.”

He felt an annoyed buzzing in his skull as Scholar started pressing through the slip of the thin Veil. He tried to shoo it away but it was steadily getting louder. He also had the attention of his whole class’ eyes on him including Taylor, a somewhat friend, somewhat annoyance, who was shaking her head so much disappointment the top of her cloudy hair were almost bouncing against her pointy burnt sienna ears.

“My bad,” Malcolm shrugged. Some of his classmates snickered in their sleeves while others rolled their eyes in annoyance. He leaned on his desk, his chin propped on his hand.

The teacher snatched up the test. “Be aware, young man, you will finish this quarter final if I have to staple a pencil to your hand and make you write the words myself.”

Malcolm’s eyes glazed over as he tuned out the impending lecture that was no doubt coming. It was something about telling him how he was wasting his potential and that he would regret this later in life, the usual spiel.  He winced as a familiar buzz came back into his mind. He began to see the impression of the spirit behind Enchanter Jakoby, pressing through the veil to speak with him.

“You say something about a taste deal and then just disappear. That’s terribly frustrating.” 

“Not now,” Malcolm responded in his head. He struggled to keep his face under control, the pressing presence on his mind unwelcome and uncomfortable.

“Then when?” 

“I’ll call you. Now scat before I get in trouble,”  and he made an audible grunt of frustration.

“What was that?” Enchanter Jakoby snapped, thinking it was Malcolm’s usual disrespect.

The spirit blinked out of sight and Malcolm shook his head out of a daze. “I mean, uh, yeah, you’re completely right.”

The elf’s full lips pulled back into a stunning bright smile. “Excellent. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

Malcolm blinked a few times in confusion. “What?”

The class broke up in laughter, and the Enchanter quickly snapped, “back to your tests!” Then he took off his glasses and massaged his temples. “Were you even listening?”

“Sure,” Malcolm scratched his pointed ear sheepishly, “but just in case I wasn’t, where am I going?”

Enchanter Jakoby looked up and sighed. “To the ball,” he pointed to names on the board where one was crossed out that wasn’t before. “Kenny tells me he’s feeling stage fright and you just volunteered to perform in his place.”

“No, I didn’t,” Malcolm snorted scooting back in his chair.   

“Yes you did,” Enchanter Jakoby nodded, encroaching onto Malcolm’s desk so they could meet each other’s eyes.

“Well tell Kenny to suck it up cause I’m busy tonight,” Malcolm unwrinkled his test and finally wrote his name on the paper, avoiding the pile of drool.

“He’s throwing up in the healing quarters.” 

Good old Kenny. 

Malcolm ran a frustrated hand through his curls as he snapped back a growl. “C’mon you don’t want me there. I’m sure someone else wants to be a Chantry monkey.”

“For once, I agree,” a handsome nobleman with a straight nose and shapely lips glared at Malcolm. “Not about the Chantry monkey, just about him being there.” He stood up like he was the ambassador to the class and put his hand over his heart, his wavy blond shoulder length hair waving in his green eyes as pleaded with the Enchanter. “Hawke hasn’t turned in a single thing since the beginning of class and there are many others much more deserving the honor.”

Malcolm snorted. “Sure. Make sure to pack bananas.”

Arth’s eyes flashed in anger and he took a step forward with his mouth open in retort, but the Enchanter raised his hand to silence the impending argument that was bound to explode between the two men.

Arth Elliot was the Circles darling and had seen Malcolm as a rival since he first arrived and lit a flame while the Enchanter was still instructing the class on how to visualize it. Malcolm was practically juggling the flame as his other classmates quickly tried to do the same but the most any could do was a spark. Arth, who was always proud of being top of the class, could not even manage a puff of smoke. When he asked Malcolm how he did that, he said, “I just did,” and that was all it took for him to become obsessed.

Malcolm realized he was years ahead of his classmates, and eventually started hiding the full extent of his powers, but his teachers still noticed. He was always snoozing through class so there was no way he had paid attention to the lessons, and yet when his teachers would test his aptitude for magic, he never showed difficulty with any spell of any school, which baffled everyone. His teachers knew Malcolm was bored, jaded, and they couldn’t challenge him. Most of his teachers couldn’t stand him, either making sure he was unwelcome in class and while most had given up on Malcolm, spending time on more willing students, Enchanter Jakoby was persistent.

“Sit down, Messere Elliot, and wait quietly for class to finish,” the teacher said as if he was speaking to a child, and like a child, Arth jutted out his pink bottom lip in a pout and slunk back down into his seat like a whipped puppy. Enchanter Jakoby winced, holding his forehead for a second crinkling with stress wrinkles.

“Malcolm, I know you’ve been put into an unfair position. We all have, but you have to realize that you can either work with the system or the system works you. You can take this for the opportunity that it is, or squander it, like every chance you’ve ever been given and fall into further disciplinary action. It’s up to you.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes, his dark curls brushing over his forehead. “Oh, no,” Malcolm drawled sarcastically. “However will I survive being under lock and key?”

The thinning of the other elf’s full lips told Malcolm that he was successfully getting under his skin, but he softened them into a smile and said, “Don’t worry. I’m sure Ser Carver would agree to watch your manners tonight.”

At the mention of his friend, Malcolm huffed collapsing back in his chair so forcefully it gave a screeching scoot. “Playing dirty I see.”

“I’ve been at this a lot longer than you, Junior Enchanter,” the elf’s coconut brown eyes gleamed as he triumphantly smirked.

The shrill bell rang and through the speakers and everyone scrambled to take off towards the Enchanter’s desk to drop off their tests. Malcolm grabbed his unopened backpack and was about to leave when the Enchanter grabbed him by the shoulder and sat him back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Malcolm shot an annoyed glare up at him. “Uuuuh, to lunch?”

“You will spend your lunch here with me where you will finish your quarter final.”

“Aw, c’mon teach, I’m starving,” Malcolm whined.  

“You should have thought about that before you used today’s class as a nap session,” the teacher nodded resolutely and marched back to his desk to start correcting papers.

Taylor frowned sympathetically. “Malcolm, do you want me to pick up your lunch?”  

“Sure, Mom,” Malcolm snarked, his hands flying across the questions with renewed determination.

Taylor rolled her eyes and slung her book bag over her shoulder, Arth hovering behind her with a rather annoyed look on his face. “If you’re going to be a dick, you can get it yourself.”

“Let’s go, Taylor,” Arth offered his arm in a gesture. “You don’t need to associate with filth.”

Taylor looked at the arm and decided to move on ahead without taking it, not even bothering to address him. He flashed an icy green glare when Malcolm snorted. Then he stuck his chin in the air and squared his shoulders, marching out of the room as if nothing happened.

Malcolm finished the test in record time. The grin on Enchanter’s Jakoby’s face at Malcolm’s short but correct answers was awfully irritating, but Malcolm hid his smirk until his back was turned, knowing that he was in for another lecture when the Enchanter would inevitably get to the last question that was answered, “Templars suck Chantry dick.”

Malcolm wandered through the quarters of the Circle hall winding down the stairs to the cafeteria passing mages, who would avoid him like he was diseased, and templars, who watched his every movement like he was ready to attack. Malcolm had only assaulted a templar once and he quickly learned that this was suicide. They had too many tools, too much training, and a whole team to rely on while Malcolm only had himself. No, the only way to survive in the Circle was to find some way to make peace with it, and the only thought that gave Malcolm peace is that one day he would escape for good. 

He cut the line to the front of the cafeteria, but other than getting a few nasty glares, no one made any comment, at least in his direction. Dragging his tray across the table he picked up a wilted salad for good energy, the same stale piece of bread he had every day, and what he hoped was a mix of meat and mashed potatoes but it could be another experiment of the chef. For desert, to his surprise, were some rather nice strawberries. He hadn’t thought about the kiss all day, though it did intrude his mind like an annoying gnat buzzing in his ear. That kiss was just fantasy. Chances are the mysterious Leandra had already forgotten him in the dream fog and moved on with her perfect life while he was stuck like a scratched record skipping on the same beat. He found himself resisting the urge to touch his lips again, to close his eyes and just imagine that perfect moment but he was very aware he was in public. So instead he piled a bunch of strawberries on his plate, much more than was considered polite and eyed his best friend Charlie waving at him from the corner table with Taylor, who was eating a small salad and doing homework she was assigned in for another class.

Charlie was probably best described as a brother and not because he looked like a human version of Malcolm, except with wavy hair, slightly lighter skin, and no freckles. Charlie was two years older, but still hadn’t passed his Harrowing and, unlike Malcolm, was just about everyone’s best friend. He hadn’t a lick of talent when it came to spellcasting. He could barely light a candle, but he did have a mind for small tricks, mostly well-timed fart pranks and Malcolm constantly helped him brainstorm new ideas to help him exercise his magic.  

He was just about to reach the table when a gauntleted hand squeezed his shoulder.“Let’s talk,” a gravelly voice growled in his ear, the foul breath making his hair stand and with disciplined strength the templar walked Malcolm to a barred window overlooking the ocean, scattering the mages that were gathered around it. The templar kept hold, squeezing enough to bruise, and his cruel blood-shot grey eyes were as sharp as the stubble of his shaved head. “Where’s my order? It’s been days,” the templar whispered viciously, everyone else quickly looked away and minded their own business to avoid catching the ire.

Malcolm kept his voice just as low, lazily gazing up at the steel-clad man. “I’ve been busy.”

The man squeezed harder and Malcolm coached his face to not show any pain. “I need it, today.”

“Maybe,” Malcolm placed his hand on the man’s and with the little help of an aura, pried off the steel-clad fingers with surprising strength and shoved his hand back at the man. “I have a window tonight, but you better be sure no one comes looking.”

The man looked angry, his face reddening like it always did when his intimidation tactics didn’t work. “As long as I get what I paid for.” The man stalked away, his heavy armor thudding against the stone. The mages all kept their eyes low to not catch his gaze. With a roll of Malcolm’s shoulders he stalked back to the corner table, where both Charlie and Taylor were standing, waiting for him.

“Are you alright?” Taylor said in her usually motherly voice.

“Yes, Mom,” Malcolm rolled his eyes and collapsed in his seat spilling some food onto his tray.

Taylor mirrored the movement with her eyes, sitting down and returning her gaze back to her homework with a shake of her head.

Charlie looked cautiously at Malcolm. “You know you really should tell Carver about Matthew.”

“I don’t need Carver fighting my battles for me,” Malcolm snorted as he bit into a strawberry. It was blissfully sweet, delicious, he held it on his tongue to savor the flavor as he closed his eyes. He found himself summoning the image of Leandra’s perfect face, that gleam in her eye as she gazed up at him through her dark lashes and flashed the top of her perky peach nipples.

Suddenly a voice that was not his murmured in his head, “Delicious.”

Malcolm’s face burned as he felt his mind plundered, Scholar prying into the memory and snacking up the berry with a smack. “Oooh, can you taste another?” Scholar asked, and Malcolm found himself banging his forehead with his fist as he tried to drive out the voice.

“I swear,” Taylor peered up from her homework with a look of mild concern. “Sometimes you go on the strangest face journeys by yourself.”

Malcolm just rolled his eyes, letting the comment slide, as he dug into his salad, letting Charlie sneak some strawberries.

“So I can’t help you practice tonight,” Malcolm looked over at Charlie. “Enchanter Jackass is stuffing me in a suit and making me do parlor tricks for some rich snobs.”

Taylor’s violet eyes snapped up, flashing in annoyance. “Enchanter Jakoby is giving you a chance to demonstrate your abilities. I’m actually really excited about the ball. I worked really hard to earn the top spot and a lot of other people wanted to go. Do you have to be such an arrogant dick?”

Malcolm flashed a leafy smirk. “It’s my best quality.”

“Debatable,” Taylor shot back in her usual sharp manner. 

Charlie leaned in between the elves, always the mediator. “Ladies, ladies,” he waved his hands in a calming motion. “Must we fight and not appreciate a good day? I mean the food is fresh-ish,” he picked up a glob of soup that defied leaving the spoon with a unappetizing dripping gloop, “we’re among friends, mostly,” Charlie gestured away at the templars on guard like they were part of the scenery, “and even if you have to go to a party together without me and you two somehow don’t kill each other, the least you can do is enjoy it on my behalf and give me a fun story when you get back. Please,” he added with an exhausted heaving sigh. “I’m tired of hearing about the Murphy and Mandy’s on and off again relationship.” He then stabbed his spoon in his soup which resisted somehow.

 Taylor’s eyebrows knitted together as Malcolm slunk down into the table, feeling more of an ass than usual. 

“I’ll sneak you back some food,” Taylor smiled, reaching out to lightly touch his arm.

 Charlie practically bounced. “Ooh, one of those frilly cakes. The more icing the better.”

“And I’ll make sure to prank some nobles,” Malcolm added with a smirk which did brighten his friend’s expression. Charlie had a way of making everyone get along by outlining everything in silver and he always thought the best way to solve his problems was to laugh at them and suddenly Malcolm’s wheels were turning. “Could use your help thinking of the worst magic show ever.”

Charlie’s brown eyes gleamed with mischief. “Endless fart stream? That’ll get them talking,” Charlie offered with a childish grin. Taylor wrinkled her flat nose in a bite.

“Nah, worse,” Malcolm scratched his chin, discarding one idea after another.

“You could do one of Darcy’s dance routines.”

Malcolm laughed at the idea. “Getting warmer, but worse.”

Taylor sighed heavily. “Can’t you just do something normal like juggle a ball of flame or make some fireworks.”

“But that’s boring,” Charlie and Malcolm said in unison and then broke down in a conspiratorial laugh.  

Malcolm chewed on his flavorless salad as he thought, Charlie chatting on until the annoying buzz came back in his mind. “This food tastes sad…and also bad. Can you eat something else?”

“If you keep poking around my head,” Malcolm thought at the spirit with a clenched fist over his fork, “I’m going to reach back through the Fade and kick your ass. Understood?”

“How would you kick it? I don’t have an ass,” the spirit retorted.  

“Believe me, I’d find it,” Malcolm snapped. “Now go back to where you belong before you get us both in trouble.”

Taylor snapped her fingers in his face and suddenly Malcolm was aware that both Charlie and she were waiting on a question, but he had no idea what was asked.

“Uuuuh, I spaced out,” Malcolm said like he usually did.

“Maker, can you pay attention for one second?” Taylor rolled her eyes so hard they looked like they’d fall out of her head. “I said, are you going to dance or you going to sulk in canapes all night?”

Malcolm's face twisted as if he was smelling something foul. “The point being?”

Charlie grinned at Malcolm with a teasing smirk. “That’s why you’re still a virgin, dude.”

“I have more important things to do,” Malcolm deflected as they both broke down in laughter. He then crossed his arms, scooting back in his chair with a pout.

“I wish I could go,” Charlie mentioned glumly. “If it was me, no one could stop me from finding a pretty girl and dancing all night.” Charlie looked at Taylor wistfully and then lowered his gaze before Taylor could catch him. Taylor chewed on her bottom lip at the comment, a flash of what almost looked like jealousy before she returned her attention to her homework. Then her violet eyes bugged out of their sockets as Charlie pointed between the two elves with his spoon. “You two could always dance.”

Malcolm barked out a surprised laugh. “Nice try, dude, but I think I’ll sleep through the whole thing.” He did have a demon to catch.

As Charlie’s best friend, he saw it as his duty to get Malcolm dating, or at least fucking, but Malcolm’s reputation and stubbornness made it difficult and Taylor was the only woman who would tolerate his presence. It didn’t help that they were both elves, so somehow that meant they were supposed to be together, but their relationship was nothing like that. They were friendly-ish, but their personalities clashed way too much for attraction to even be on the table. Still, that didn’t help Charlie’s fixation on the idea.

“I think I’ll be busy stuffing myself silly with shrimp puffs. I plan to save room for two tray fulls,” Taylor pointed to her own small salad that was already finished and set aside.

“Shrimp puffs?” Malcolm could feel his mouth water with the spirit’s impending presence. “What are those? Her memories smell divine.”

“Get out of my friend’s head,” Malcolm warned with a tapping finger. He could see the impression of it hovering near her pointed ear. “You’ll have plenty of samples to try at that stupid party tonight.”

“Is that when you’ll tell me what taste is?” the spirit asked impatiently, snapping back his hand like it was slapped.  

“Sure. Whatever.” This time he felt the presence fade back into the Veil, the pressure from the Fade lessening.

Taylor and Charlie stared at Malcolm’s scowling face softening as he blinked back into attention.

Taylor shook her head again, her hair puff bobbing. “Again. Weirdest face journeys.”

[kunstpause-archive]

FFXIV Write Prompt #13 - Hide

Althea had just put the last remainders of their dinner away, getting ready for a good night’s rest, when she heard the unmistakable sound of armour next to her.

“Thea, a word?”

Estinien didn’t really wait for an answer before turning and walking away. After a brief moment of indecision, Thea shrugged, and with a glance towards the peacefully grazing chocobos, she followed him.

“What’s up?” she called out the moment she had caught up with him. “If this is about anything plan-related, you might want to talk to Alphinaud instead, I’m afraid I don’t even remember all the details of what he said earlier,” she admitted with a loop-sided smile but the man next to her only shook his head as he kept walking.

“No, we need to talk. But not that close to camp,” Estinien grumbled. It was only now that Thea noticed just how far away from their camp they had already gotten with the tempo he had set. 

“Alright,” she shrugged again, managing to fall into step next to him. “We are keeping secrets now then?”

It was supposed to be a light remake, but the grin froze on her face as Estinien let out a small growl.

“I’m not the one with the secrets,” he said lowly, finally stopping. She could only see half of his face, but it was enough to know he didn’t share her lighthearted mood at all. His lips pressed into a thin line as he turned around.

“You changed both your armor and your weapons when we went up to the aery,” he said without further ado. There was something in his voice she couldn’t quite place. Anger? Was he upset that she changed her fighting style so shortly before an important mission?

“Look,” she began slowly, “if you are worried that I would jeopardize a mission just for some passing fancy, you are wrong. I thought it was the right call. You said you needed someone to have your back so you can get close in without much resistance, and I knew I could provide it this way.” She could see from the way he held himself, that he was not entirely satisfied with what he was hearing. “I assure you, I knew what I was doing. I’ve trained with heavy weapons and armor long before I ever took up any magical arts.”

She hadn't expected the scoff at her words.

“That much was obvious.” Estinien’s voice was dry, and Thea felt confusion wash over her. 

“Then what is the matter?” Her question sounded almost daring as she straightened up. “I obviously knew what to do and we obviously managed everything just fine. So what is your problem?”

Thea had to force herself to stand still and not flinch when Estinien suddenly stepped closer. She was used to tower over most people she met, but he was still a good bit taller than her, and the heavy armour he wore only emphasized the difference.

“My problem?” His voice was still low but now it held an underlying tension in it that gave her pause. “My problem is that I’ve watched you fight. I’ve seen the way you blocked all those attacks meant for me. The way you pull your shield up in the last possible moments. The way you hold your sword in that special grip that leaves you enough flexibility to flip your weapon if needed. I’ve seen it all.”

Thea felt only more confused than before after his accurate description of her battle style. “So what?” she asked, “you think my style is not secure enough? Not good enough somehow?”

“No, your execution was absolutely perfect.” The laugh that accompanied his words didn’t sound humorous at all. “Your style is flawless.” He took another step closer towards her. “It is also distinctively not the style taught by the Gladiator's guild of Ul'dah.”

Althea felt something in her tighten, as an uncomfortable feeling settled in her stomach. 

“I never said I trained as a gladiator,” she said slowly. “It’s quite a difference to the several schools of paladins and I…”

“A paladin trains for protection first,” Estinien interrupted her sharply. “The untrained eye might believe that is what you are doing, but your focus on your sword, your stance, the way you move your shield… You never trained as a paladin either. You fight like a hoplomachus.”

Thea felt like his words had driven all the air out of her lungs. Hastily she tried to think of something to say. Anything really to dissuade him from the notion, but the more she tried the more all her words seemed to slip further out of her reach. The silence between them stretched on, her absence of words confirming his thoughts. 

“So I am right then,” he finally said before demonstratively looking her over. “Even though you look decisively not Garlean.”

She could only scoff at his remark. “The Empire is surprisingly non-discriminating, as long as you can fight for them that is.” She could see him tense up at her words and she hurried along to hopefully dispel any further misgivings. “It’s not what you think. I was adopted as a child, but I am not…” Thea sighed. “I am not here to cause any trouble. I left my home behind many years ago and my allegiance is to the Scions first and foremost.”

Estinien looked into the direction their camp lay for a moment. “They know then?” he asked, and Thea nodded.

“Some of them do,” she admitted. “Alphinaud knows. And Minfilia does but she said…” Thea paused briefly, trying to quell down the feelings thinking about Minfilia brought up. They still hadn’t found any trace of their missing companions, despite Tataru trying her best to find every bit of information she could. But it was of no use to dwell on it right now, and she took a deep breath to center herself instead. “Minifilia said that not everyone would understand, so I keep it to myself most of the time.” 

“Alright then.”

Thea blinked at his short declaration. “Alright?”

Estinien only shrugged. “What did you expect me to do? Duel you right now after you’ve played such a vital part in all this?”

“Well, you got me away from camp to confront me and…” Thea’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t appreciate being made to feel unreasonable, and Estinien certainly had a knack for exactly that.

He sounded surprisingly open though, as he answered, “I just had to know. And I had to hear it from you.”

He had to? She wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. “From me?” 

“You know, we’ve had spies from Garlemald before,” Estinien said almost nonchalantly. “People trying to infiltrate the knights, the high houses. Someone specifically sent to keep an eye on Aymeric…”

Suddenly, the extra tension she had felt earlier started to make even more sense. “You were worried I might be just that? Sent after Aymeric?”

“It crossed my mind. You got into his good graces quite quickly. And when I saw you fight…” Estinien spoke much more relaxed now, but Thea had no doubt that he was deadly serious about this.

“So if I had given you real reason to believe I could be a spy…”

At that, he let out a dry chuckle. “As you said, we are away from camp for a reason.”

Despite the humor in his voice, Thea was well aware of the not-so-hidden warning. Yet it didn’t seem to be an outright threat, a nuance that still confused her.

“Yet you decided to believe me? To trust me?” she asked carefully.

“For now.” Estinien sighed as he turned away, looking over the plains of Dravania beneath them. “I will still be watching. It’s my job to protect and ensure the soul and the future of Ishgard first and foremost.”

There was something in his voice, in the way he said those words that made Thea smile to herself. “Protect the future of Ishgard, or rather Ser Aymeric himself?” she asked, barely managing to hide the grin from her voice. She hadn’t been prepared for the seriousness on his face as he turned back around and calmly spoke.

“They are one and the same!”

[candideangel]

The Cat’s Away

inspired from @invidia1988​‘s AU story

@meepsthemiqo @maiden-born-in-snow

He had long since taught himself to be poise, in control, ever since he took up the mantle of a city leader, the days behind the hood where only the up or downturn of his lips would show if he were expressing if he were happy or sad...along with his vocal tones. This night, G’raha’s tail twitched with agitation as the events that had come to pass were steadily growing on his shoulders, his fingers clenched a book so hard his usually sun-kissed knuckles turned white. He couldn’t blame a person for not liking him...not a bit...he was someone who could turn a cheek...accept his consequences. He could take Meeps’ scorn having long since kept a wide berth from her with the exception of aiding Angelique in their repentance...and it was all he COULD do. The one he loved was trying so hard to repair the bridges that perhaps were burned to ashes by this point, this latest amount of ire had been the stone that broke the chocobo’s back. The Scions were to simply brush this under the rug because the Reaper’s reasons were supposedly valid! And perhaps it was, but he wasn’t quite in the mood to fully accept that now.

His fingers gripped tighter to the book before he slammed it shut, his body shaking with a torrent of emotion. Did he really belong here? He was a murderer, a breaker of people, the cheater of death...even though he tried...tried so hard to do everything right. Anger for the briefest moment filled his veins and though Krile would have certainly scolded him greatly, he tossed the tome hard across the room...waiting for it to hit the wall, but G’raha’s ears flattened to his skull when he heard the book crash into something with a smashing of metal, not even noticing the ruffling sound of feathers as it startled a bird. “Shite!” he cursed and scrambled off the perch of the small sofa Angelique had put into their room since he became comfortable sharing the space with her. Actually the room had been more than barren with a few momentos until he came, including the now smashed music box that had crashed to the floor, gold cogs and springs sprayed out to the thin metal plating and the star ruby that had been the centerpiece rolled across the smooth stones. 

“Raha?” The sound of her voice caused the Miqo’te’s breath to hitch slightly, Angelique had leaned down to pick up the gemstone that was lying by her foot and to the broken piece of work and G’raha looking like he was about to break.

“I...I’m so sorry...I didn’t…” he stammered out, but his heart was lodged somewhere in his throat making a once silver tongue completely useless.

“It’s fine, it can be fixed.” Angelique told him as she went over to inspect the parts, it would take time but she could find someone to repair the piece in Ul’dah. Reaching over she would pick up the tome that he had been reading, it was an old book...written in the language of Allag. “Thank goodness this isn’t hurt, I think you’d be upset if it were-” That was when she finally stopped and saw the glazing eyes of tears he was trying so hard to fight back, but the smile on his face was that of someone who was trying to not let it show.

“All the people I stepped on...all my selfish desires...every single thing I do that’s right...I still wind up breaking something or someone…” G’raha barked a bitter laugh, but it faltered halfway through. “I escaped and made enemies of a Reaper...your friends outside of a select few hate me…”

“They don’t-”

“Did you not see the look on Estinien’s face?! Or maybe the way Y’shtola had gone along with the explanation because she’s full-certain that there is no way I can go toe to toe with the Reaper! I’m pretty sure as kind as Alphinaud is, he resents me too, somehow!” His voice rose, the sadness and bitterness switching all too quickly to anger. Perhaps the moment in his mind, it felt like truly everyone was against him by this point. “YOU are trying to repent and make Meeps genuinely not hate me anymore because I am basically a murderer in her eyes! YOU are suffering for the mistakes I made!” He needed to stop his anger, his voice was beginning to crack a little, but he shouldered all he could. The barrier had finally just broken. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pleaded to come back! Maybe I am so much better off not being here, then maybe everyone would be much happier! Just a statue and a memory!”

Silence fell at the end of the last statement as G’raha’s chest heaved for breath and Angelique stood there still holding the book, but the look in her green eyes was obviously stricken.

“...I wouldn’t be happier…” the hyur spoke quietly, making the Allagan princeling stiffen when he finally looked to her, the sorrow in her eyes...and internally he just chalked it to him acting like a petulant child, selfish...and unrealistic.

“...I…” G’raha sighed and scrubbed his palm against his face for a moment, fingers threatening to tug at his own bangs, “...I...didn’t mean that...I’m sorry...everything just came out…” He mumbled and just let his hand drop back to his side almost limply, if only just a little bit worn from the social stress that had occurred. “Believe me when I say that every part of my heart is happy that you are here, that we were given this chance, but...the path around how…everyone I ended up hurting...making things worse instead of better...it makes me yearn to be back on the First. To a time where I didn’t cause such problems outside of lying...and putting everyone in danger.”

Angelique sighed softly as she set the book down somewhere not on the pile of smashed gold plates before pulling G’raha over to her and hugged him as tight as she could and with a shaky breath and would let his head fall onto her shoulder. Inside he still felt as if he had become a spoiled child who just simply yearned for the affection of others...and perhaps that was the truth. Slowly though as he felt her warmth and could hear the beat of her heart, he knew he did belong deeper down, just...not for everyone. The bard’s hand nestled softly against the back of his head, moving in smooth and steady strokes.

“You’re stressed…” Angelique muttered softly and her thumb rubbed a small junction between his ear and skull that caused a small rumble to start in his chest. “And...probably being cooped up here in the Rising Stones probably isn’t the best for yourself mentally.” She pulled back and lightly rest her hands on his shoulders and gave him a little smile. “The music box can be repaired later, but for now...why don’t you and I go to Gridania for a little while? Miounne might have some of her famous pies and we can have some of the harder spirits. Away from the others.”

G’raha wouldn’t deny her that...it was a sad excuse for a remedy to turn to the drink, but he wanted her companionship, if only to numb the wound that had struck his pride. When she had taken his hand they walked from the room and from the halls lined with rooms and through the main hub that was the Scion’s headquarters, but he could feel their looks and his ears flattened with his head bowing, as if he were still under the same level of scrutiny as earlier. Angelique silently squeezed his hand a little tighter, still walking with a purpose as they went to the upper tavern and into the streets of Revnant’s Toll. Though there, they did not linger as Angelique and G’raha had gone to the large aetheryte and took that moment to focus their pathway to Gridania.

~o~o~

A bell, perhaps two had passed since they reached the Caroline Canopy, seated at a table in the quiet aside from a bit of idle chatter and the sounds of night birds outside. G’raha absently ran a finger around the lip of a metal mug, still half filled with the spirits Angelique had purchased for them. He had been in a much more calm state, but part of him still looked a bit broken up. Angelique set down her own mug, empty this time with a soft thunk against the wooden table.

“G’raha, I’ve been thinking...what if we left for a little while?” she spoke calmly, reaching down to shift what had always been deemed as her light travel bag down into her lap where out popped two miniature versions of himself. The wind-up mammets that typically had a rivalry but seemed to have calmed down a little since they have been home. Green eyes watched though as his ears perked up a little to the mention.

“Leave, how do you mean?” he asked for a moment the world took a small spin when he tried to sit up straighter. It had been ages since he took to drinking anything outside of tea and his world swayed just a little from the influence.

“You and I, as well as these two, get away from the Scions and the others for a time. It’s obvious that if you stick around there, it’s just going to make you stress and recluse. Maybe we can go on that journey, anywhere you would like to go, I’m sure there’s plenty of material about the places I’ve gone, but there has to be one that perhaps even you would have wanted to go?” Angelique gave him a smile and for a brief moment G’raha could feel his heart swell, while she had made that promise under a possible moment of duress...she wanted to take him because they wanted that same thing.

“...Honestly, I’ve seen much in my time, aside from Ishgard and the Fringes towards Ala Mhigo, but Othard has always struck me as interesting.” He replied tail swaying a little bit, it seemed that the agitation was gone for the moment. “The way you speak of the country makes your eyes sparkle...as if you were never meant to be a Shroud-born.” He teased a little before taking another drink, definitely more at ease than when they were in their room. Idly his eyes watched as the minions were crossing on the table, just walking and looking around. 

Angelique’s smile seemed to brighten a little, they could take her way which was following the Aetherytes, but instead she could get them a trip to Limsa Lominsa, stay at the inn, and by day they could take a boat to Othard. “I like that idea.” she told him and would begin to relay what she was thinking, watching as the Miqo’te’s ears perked and swiveled as she explained. Perhaps some time away would do some good, it would give him some time to create a sense of balance and hopefully would be fully ready to face everyone’s ire afterward. “Mother Miounne! Two more drinks over here!” Angelique called to the caretaker with a beaming smile, if they wanted to get more than halfway to the sweet embrace of inebriation, she’d be happy to pay for it tonight.

When she did order the drinks as well as some soft breads, G’raha had found himself lightly playing with the two minions whom he often found himself being jealous of and vying for the bard’s affection and attention. The said bard though was speaking through the linkpearl, “Tataru, it’s Angelique. I’m just letting you know that myself and G’raha are going to be...away for a little while.”

“A-Away? What do you mean? Where are you off to?”

“We...just decided that maybe it’s for the best, at the moment, to let things calm down. All the goings-on isn’t good for everyone involved. Everything is just...raw.”

“I see…” Tataru’s voice trailed off in Angelique’s ear, but then came the question that gave the hyur pause, “...If they do come asking for either of you...what would you like me to tell them?”

“Tell them to send a Mail Moogle. The one in Revnant’s Toll can find me easy enough if it follows my aether trail. I’m going to keep our linkpearls off for a time.” Besides, if Estinien wanted to he could track them down anyways, or whoever was in a good mood at the time. Besides, she didn’t really feel like getting an earful in the middle of the night. There was a sputter of a response but Tataru reluctantly agreed. When the connection fell silent Angelique picked up her fresh drink and took a few large gulps from it as her other hand reached to her ear and removed the pearl to stuff it away into the bottom of her travel bag, enjoying the rest of the evening with G’raha Tia...at least until they had to stumble their way to Limsa Lominsa’s inn like partially drunk sailors.

[sailorsanghelios]

FFXIV ficlets but this time with my Au’ra WOL

In honor of it apparently being Au’ra April on Twitter, I dusted off this WIP of my Au’ra WOL, Seiro being shippy with Yugiri in the aftermath of the 2.5 Bloody Banquet. Really like how this one turned out, even though I haven’t written something this self indulgent and shippy in a VERY long time.

--------- “Seiro are you alright?”

Seiro had been distracted, looking out the window as the snow fell. While he appreciated the hospitality of his dear friend, Lord Haurchefant, he had never liked the cold, and even bundled up and drinking the hot drinks brought to him, it felt unbearably cold to him.

“I am not.” he said honestly. “But I will pretend I am, for Alphinaud and Tataru’s sake…. Thank you for rescuing Tataru by the way. It means the world to me.”

Perhaps the only bit of warmth he felt now, was as Yugiri crouched beside him.  He couldn’t help but stare at her, even though he knew it probably unnerved her. She almost felt like a completely different person to him, he hadn’t ever thought about what she might look like.

She smiled at him, “ I have to say I expected Alphinaud’s reaction of shock, I have to be the first woman of our kind he’s ever seen. But you?”

Seiro racked his brain and realized something, “...I’ll be honest I haven’t seen a woman of our kind, since I was separated from my mother as a child.” His heart felt heavy, thinking about such a thing in an already emotionally charged and exhausting night. “And I honestly don’t remember it very well. I mean perhaps occasionally I’d see one in the distance, but never up close.”

“Your Garlean master did not like you consorting with other Au’ra?”

Seiro’s eyes widened as he dropped the cup of hot liquid onto the floor. He locked eyes with Yugiri, his face growing hot with shame. He knew how hard she fought against the Garleans, how they made her, and their own people, the ones he had forsaken, suffer.  And perhaps after finally meeting someone who made him feel less lonely, he was afraid of her hating him the same way.

But Yugiri only had a gentle smile, “I see and I listen to everything. I’ve known since the beginning of course. I heard the Garleans even in Doma speak of you, the Warrior of Light, the former legionary fighting against the empire, defeating your former legatus. Are you so torn from Doma that you forgot there’s little that one can hide from a shinobi?”

“...you do not hate me?” he whispered.  

“ No...if anything I pitied you.”

Somehow that felt even worse to Seiro.

“ My pride in my people, in Doma, is one of the few things that kept me moving forward in my life. And to see a fellow Doman…”

“Yugiri…” Seiro gently put his hand against her shoulder, “...Yugiri I am not a Doman. Perhaps by birth I am but...I’ve long forgotten everything. I was made to forget it, I was made to feel ashamed of it...until I met you and the other refugees in Mor Dhona, I had felt no kinship with the Domans. And even now I feel selfish, even feeling it in the first place.”

Yugiri looked at him, her voice gentle, but firm, “Seiro… Doma will be free. And you will return there someday. We both will.  There is work to do here, of course. But someday the time will come when we can return home.”

He looked at her longingly,and she did so back, and he leaned forward. Perhaps he wouldn’t have done so in less dire circumstances, it was rather out of character for him to be so emotionally forthcoming, but his lips met against her forehead. The chill of Camp Dragonhead seemed to completely disappear as he was pressed against her warmth, clutching against her soft hair.

He suddenly pulled back though, ashamed of how forward he’d been, afraid of having frightened her, but instead she was smiling, and pulled against his armor to motion him to lean back down, and she kissed him against the scales on the side of his face.

As she pulled back, her voice was breathy, “and here I was thinking I was a fool for even having any stir in my heart toward the great Warrior of Light.”

He felt his own heart flutter, with the same sort of stir she was probably describing, before it sank down, “I am no longer great. I am a fugitive who has lost almost everything.”

“ Don’t let Lord Greysfone hear you say that, or he might give you a rousing speech the same way he did Master Leveilleur.”

Seiro gave a small stilted smile at that, before it instantly cracked, “...Alphinaud is young. He lacks the baggage I do.”

He absent mindedly stoked his hand against the side of his head, feeling the jagged edges of his horns. Only hours earlier when Ilberd had first bound him, he had yanked at Seiro’s horns, bringing him down to his height, and spat into them, “ I should have known better than to ever trust an imperial lapdog like you. I know your kind, they lure you in with scraps when you’re young and train you like one of their ugly dogs. And the only cure is to put them down.No matter how much you play the hero, you’ll run back to your masters in the end.”

Since the moment he had stepped into Lord Veritas’ manor, he’d felt like a monster among men. It was a feeling that’d only become worse as he went through puberty, suddenly towering over his benefactor, his horns and tail growing out, his eyes having that uncanny ability of glowing in the dark, He had always had it drilled in him, that no matter what he did, and how he succeeded, he was just a monster among the Garleans.

And now in Eorzea, it was that Garlean connection that made him feel like a monster. Even now he still used the name “Veritas”, an obvious Garlean name, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember any other name he’d had. It was a connection he wished he could break, but Ilberd for all his treachery had been right about one thing, it would never truly be broken. No matter what the Mother Crystal told him, no matter how she said he was her chosen warrior, he had initially come to Eorzea as an invader. 

Fitting for a shinobi, he did not see Yugiri reach for him, and his eyes widened and he was jolted from his brooding, as he felt her hands gently stroke his horns. “ I know it doesn’t mean much. But it takes much more than this to convince me I was wrong about your greatness.”

The smile she gave, so warm and inviting, made his heart beat even faster, feeling like it was about to burst from his rib cage. And yet again it happened so fast, first it was their eyes locking onto each other, and then suddenly they had pulled closer to each other, with Yugiri sitting on his lap, wrapping her arms around his torso. Their lips had been a fraction of an ilm from connecting, when they’d heard another voice.

“Would you like to be shown to your room dear friend? Though perhaps you want more privacy than sharing a room with Master Alphinaud.”

In the time it took for Seiro’s heart to sink to his feet, Yugiri had entangled herself from him with the speed and grace only a shinobi could have. She bowed apologetically at the Elezen looming over them with a grin on his face “Lord Haurchefant, thank you for your hospitality, I believe I should return-“

“Nonsense. You have my full blessing to stay the night. I believe it might help the spirits of our Warrior of Light here.” Haurchefant winked at him, and Seiro looked away flustered. 

“No, I must begin looking for the missing Scions.” Yugiri insisted, “The longer we wait to begin our search, the more likely their trails are to run cold.”

“Ah that makes sense. The best of luck to you then.”

As Yugiri walked past Seiro, she gently rubbed her hand against the scales on his cheeks, “We will meet again, Seiro. I know the kami will, will it.”

He smiled, giving her a nod as she left.

“I knew there had to be some way to defrost you my friend. I always thought it never suited a hero to be frostier than Coerthas itself.” 

Seiro’s face fell flat as he looked into Haurchefant’s smirk. He had never known someone to smirk in such a friendly way.

“ Do not be ashamed, Seiro. You two make a handsome pair.”

“...its frivolous to think of such things when my comrades are missing or perhaps...worse.” As the words left his lips, Seiro suddenly felt ashamed. Even Thancred, would not be entertaining the idea of romance right now.

“ The dawn always arrives, no matter how dark it is before. Life must continue. I doubt your comrades would want you wallowing in misery. Or well, in more misery than usual.”

Seiro knew that changing Haurchefant’s romantic stances on the world was as futile as arguing with the brick walls surrounding them, “You said something about a room?”

“ Ah yes. We set up a room in one of the barracks. You will have to share with both Master Alphinaud and Lady Tataru, which I apologize for,  but with the possibility of Dravanian attack-”

“As long as it's warm, I’m fine.” With Yugiri now having left, he felt almost relieved his normal practicality had returned. “Take me to it. I’m tired.”

[eightlittletalons]

Prompt #4: Clinch

This prompt got a bit away from me, in the best of ways. It’s a continuation from the second prompt, Sway, though not written in a fragmented style like that one. I also threw in a reference to the fact that I’ve been very slowly leveling E’andhris as a dancer.  Definition of clinch 1: clench 2: to make final or irrefutable : settle 3: to hold fast or firmly

"Dance with me, G'raha " The whispered breath ruffled against his ear, making it flick. Strong, warm hands closed around his own, twining their fingers together. The Crystal Exarch felt his heart beat a sharp staccato within his chest at the sound of his name and glanced sharply up into mismatched eyes, one a warm brown and the other crystalline blue. 

While the request lacked a questioning inflection, G’raha recognized it as a request indeed by the tilt of E’andhris’ head. His chin dipped low towards him, as a soft smile graced his lips. So he followed, helpless against the main he had been prepared to give everything for. 

An impromptu band had been pulled together from among those in the Crystarium who could play in the excitement of the Warrior of Darkness’ return to the city alongside their beloved leader. They struck up a fast-paced tune as exuberant as the mood among the people, one that E’andhris quickly whirled G’raha in time to. He found himself laughing brightly within the hero’s arms, ignoring the way his body ached for a soft bed in a quiet, dark room. 

Even in wild, joyful form of dancing, E’andhris moved with a level of elegance that surprised G’raha. “You’re better at this than I remembered,” he exclaimed, laughingly. His dancing partner’s ears flicked forward in the strain to hear him over the din of the crowd.

“I may have picked up some lessons over the years,” E’andhris replied, giving a grin that G’raha learned long ago meant trouble. He yelped loudly and scrabbled against the taller miqo’te’s arms for purchase as E’andhris tipped him back into a steep dip. 

He could only watch as the Warrior of Darkness bent low over him, and he felt his face begin to heat as he realized - oh wicked white - E’andhris was looking at his lips. They parted with a soft exhale, and Gr’aha was unsure if what he was feeling was panic or anticipation. Perhaps both. Surely he wasn’t about to-

“Might I cut in?” a familiar voice asked, breaking the spell binding them into place. The two seekers looked up sharply to see as Alisaie stood over them with crossed arms and wearing a pinched look. G’raha slipped from E’andhris’ arms, his ears going flat as he stood to his full height. Which happened to be just barely taller than the young elezen woman who glared venom at him.

“Not at all,” he replied, attempting to quell the tremor from his voice. “I can hardly steal away the Warrior of Darkness’ attention for the entire night, can I?” E’andhris gave him a heated look that told him that the mage certainly wouldn’t have had any objections if he tried. Perchance for the best not to dwell on that, he thought to himself. 

Alisaie for her part linked her arm through E’andhris’ arm to pull him away from the Exarch. “Come, Andhris, you promised me a dance too. Remember?”

Sorry, the mage mouthed as they left G’raha alone. He waved them off with a vague smile, and hoped he didn’t look as frazzled as he felt. As soon as he was no longer within eyesight, he allowed himself to sag with exhaustion. Then, fighting the urge to pull his hood up or turn himself invisible, he edged his way to the outer ring of the festivities. It was slow progress, as he was stopped what felt like every third fulm or so by well-wishers. He accepted each and every one, as graciously as he could when all he wished was to sleep.

Once he was safely out of the throng, he let out a deep breath. What in the everloving Twelve had that been? He was certain that E’andhris had been about to kiss him. Rubbing at his eyes hard, he turned to look for the white mage among the crush of revelers. It wasn’t hard to find him thanks to the shock of Alisaie’s white hair. 

The object of his obsession was currently twirling the girl about with a broad grin, bending low as they both ducked under their joined hands before falling away form each other, only to come chest to chest again. G’raha smiled at his inspiration’s obvious happiness, and leaned against the wall to watch them. His admired the way the man’s blue robes flared as he moved, revealing a scandalous amount of leg that combined with E’andhris’ bared arms made the Exarch’s mouth feel suddenly very dry. 

He wrenched his thoughts away from that train lest his mind turn to static as it often did when presented with so much of the Warrior’s skin. It was interesting, he thought instead, that none of the tales that the Exarch had heard of the Warrior of Light had ever given any inkling that the man could dance so well. As for his own experiences with E’andhris, he could only remember drunken summer nights gallivanting about the Seventh Heaven tavern in Mor Dhona together. It made him wonder what other hidden talents the hero had developed in their time apart. 

The Exarch found himself tapping his foot idly along to the beat of the music, and watched as Y’shtola intercepted E’andhris for her own turn dancing with their other miqo’te. Alisaie pouted, and G’raha wondered what the story there was. He had assumed she was merely protective of their mutual friend, but perhaps there was an undercurrent of a jealousy. 

“Exarch!” A heavy arm draped around his shoulders and G’raha very nearly jumped out of his own skin, his tail puffing beneath his robes. The seeker turned wide crimson eyes on an apparently very drunk Thancred, bewildered by the hyur’s sudden appearance. Where was...? Ah, Ryne was with with E’andhris, shyly requesting her own dance from him. “If you stare any harder at him, you might succeed where the Light failed in felling him.”

“I’m quite certain I have no idea what of that which you speak,” G’raha groused, trying to school his ears into not giving him away too badly. 

“Now, now, none of that,” Thancred nudged him with a playful grin. “I may have been out of the game for a few years now, but I know the look of someone utterly besotted when I see it. What I don’t know, however, is why you’re all the way over here, when he’s all the way over there?” 

The Exarch considered playing dumb a moment longer but a wave of weariness overtook him and he sighed, as heavy as his eyelids. “I’m afraid I find myself in dire need of a bed,” he confessed. He pushed himself from the wall, intending to make his way up to his chambers within the Crystal Tower. Instead, he pitched forward. Thancred’s grasp on him was his only saving grace against falling face first onto the pavement. 

“I suppose getting shot and spending several days as a guest of an Ascian would do that to anyone,” Thancred quipped cheerfully, hauling him back upright. “Need help getting to bed, old man?”

“I can take him.” In G’raha’s distraction, he missed E’andhris’ approach. He placed a steadying hand at the Exarch’s waist.

Thancred beamed at their friend, grasping G’raha’s arm and wrapping it around the taller miqo’te’s shoulders. “Ah, the man of the hour! We were just talking about you,” he teased. E’andhris quirked a curious eyebrow at that, and gave G’raha a wry smile. He moved his hand to fold his arm around G’raha’s waist instead. The Exarch sank heavily against the mage’s side in gratitude. 

“Come, let’s find you a bed,” E’andhris said softly, dipping his head low towards G’raha. He had an affection in his eyes again that the smaller miqo’te didn’t know what to do with. So he simply nodded his acquiescence and allowed the Warrior of Darkness to guide him away, missing the wink that passed from Scion to Scion. 

He did, however, relish the warmth of the man holding him up. He had more muscle to him than G’raha could recall from their time together with the Sons of Saint Coinach. More scars as well, he thought as he gazed up at the prominent one gracing the side of E’andhris’ jaw. “A gift from the Dravanian horde, before we became friends,” the mage uttered when he noticed G’raha’s stare. He brought them to a stop at the base of the stairs leading up into the Crystal Tower and cleared his throat. “So! Will we be retiring to your bed tonight or mine, my lord?” 

G’raha’s mind went blank. What? His mouth opened and closed in a facsimile of a fish. “I beg your pardon?” he finally choked out.

“To sleep, G’raha,” E’andhris soothed with a patient look. His left ear twitched, betraying his nerves. “Look, you’re practically dead on your feet, and I am too. Let’s go rest.”

“You’re very...familiar tonight, my friend,” G’raha breathed. He clung more tightly to the Warrior’s robes, his ears pinned. E’andhris hoisted him closer and bent to nuzzle against his forehead. 

“I lost you once, Raha, and almost did a second time. I don’t intend to again,” he whispered againt the Exarch’s ear. G’raha shuddered, looking desperately up into his odd eyes. “If it’s unwelcome, pray tell me now, but I would sleep easier with you at my side tonight.”

Tears sprang to G’raha’s eyes. “Please,” he begged. “Your room, please.”

E’andhris gave a single nod, face splitting into a broad smile. “Can you do your little invisibility trick? I’d prefer to avoid being waylaid an hour or more by our adoring public.”

“For you, I can do one better,” G’raha proclaimed as he gave a giddy little laugh. He reached for the power of the Crystal Tower and pulled. He felt the world shift beneath and around them, and then they were standing in E’andhris’ suite in the Pendants. The hero gave an impressed whistle before tugging him to bed.

His Warrior bade him sit with a gentle push against his chest, then knelt at his feet. He pulled his feet into his lap and unfastened his sandals before sliding them from his feet. “I knew, you know,” E’andhris said quietly. He kept his eyes low as he firmly kneaded G’raha’s feet in a brief massage. “Your identity - I knew it.”

G’raha felt his fight or flight response kick in them, his ears standing tall at attention. “When did you guess?” he gasped, gripping the sheets beneath him in an iron grip. E’andhris kicked off his own shoes and slowly raised to his feet, regarding G’raha with an unreadable look. He loosened the clasps at his shoulders and let his robes fall to the floor, leaving him in only a pair of black shorts. As he climbed into bed alongside G’raha, he suddenly felt very warm for a completely different reason.

“I suspected when we met at the gate,” E’andhris admitted, reaching to strip G’raha’s layers away until he was down to his black robe. Then he drew them both down to lay, pulling the blankets up over them. “But I knew it to be true when I first heard you laugh - at one of my gods awful pun, no less.” 

E’andhris pulled him closer into his arms, and G’raha went willingly. He tucked himself under his Warrior’s chin and felt the man purr deep in his chest. “I apologize for my deception,” G’raha whispered. He wrapped his arms around the mage’s torso tightly and hid his face against his neck.

“I know you only did what you thought was best, my Raha. You’ve been forgiven from the moment each lie left your lips.” G’raha’s face burned both from shame and the intimacy of hearing his name on his inspiration’s lips. “We should sleep, though. We’ll have more time to discuss this tomorrow,” E’andhris whispered against his ear.  

Time. Time for G’raha had ever been a finite resource, counting down to that fated day on Mt. Gulg. A fate that was averted, leaving him with what? “That we do...Andhris.” Joyful arms clinched tightly around him.

“Good night, Raha.”

[jenovahh]

Zenos/A’yana - NSFW

A’yana reaches for her knife before her eyes even snap open, her shout unable to leave her throat before a hand is clasped firmly over her mouth. She opens her eyes to meet cool, unashamed blue ones, a curtain of long, blonde hair tickling her skin. Her eyebrows immediately furrow together, annoyance welling up which seems to make the man above her seems terribly pleased.

No words are said as he lifts a single finger to his lips, though she did not need to be told to kept quiet with the Scions sleeping in nearby rooms at the inn. Once he seems satisfied that she will comply, he removes his hand from her lips, but not without her biting down hard at his skin before he pulls away. 

“Eager to begin with the foreplay are we?” The man growls, a mix of annoyance and desire as the taste of iron fills her mouth.

“I am not eager to begin anything, Zenos.” She hisses through bloodied fangs, moving to sit up slowly, wanting to try and level the playing field. Her earthen skin glows faintly in the moonlight cast from the window he came in through, eyes flashing green in the low light.

The calculating blue eyes of the Garlean prince look upon her in a way that she would say was belittling, had she not known his intent for sneaking into her room. Already she felt her body be aroused by his mere presence, a fact that’s hard to hide as his eyes dart to her nipples pebbling in her night shirt. She wants to wipe his satisfied smirk right off his handsome, flawless face.

“Come now, Warrior. There’s no need to be so…defiant.” Oh but there is. Because she knows he loves it.

“Why are you here?” She growls, backing away as best she can as he climbs further onto the bed. That tell tale predatory gleam is in his eyes, a hunger that would put any glutton to shame and it pains her to say she has a sick sense of pride knowing it’s all for her. “You were already here the other week. Are you not sated?”

His eyes glint at that word, a devilish grin gracing his face. “And if I was? What would you do little Warrior, when the day comes where I’ve had my fill of your blood?” A’yana bares her fangs at him, cursing that he got a reaction out from her. 

“You sicken me.” She seethes, even as her back hits the wall her bed is sidled up against, the tall figure of her hunter leaning above her own. Most would fear to be in this position, to see that ravenous look in his stare as if he wanted to swallow her whole. 

“Tell me more.” He urges, reaching for her legs to spread them.

She lets him.

He backs away, the bed a tad small for someone of his stature. Gloved hands slowly caress her thighs, the high quality leather feeling amazing on her skin. Her breath hitches as his hands slowly work their way up to her inner thigh, stopping just at the seam of her night clothes. “What would your subjects say, knowing you sneak into my room at night like a common thief?” She tries to make her tone as scathing as possible, irked to see it only riles him even more, his hands giving muscled thighs a firm squeeze.

“A thief you say…” he muses, leaning his head upon her leg, stilling her breath with the look he gives her. “I like the sound of that.” With a sudden, firm grip her pantalettes are ripped from her body, the seams ripping as if they were the fine hairs atop his head. “The Prince of Garleans, slipping into the room of the unsuspecting hero, taking everything from her until she has naught left but her breath…” His voice trails off, his hands pulling her underwear to the side, rubbing a finger along her slick folds. His eyes slide up to her own, his throat giving a light hum at seeing her flushed face as she tries to act as if she is not aroused by even the lightest of touches.

“A-Are you just going to sit there?” She snaps, reaching for his hair. She grabs a fistful in her hand, pulling it back none too gently, her heart racing in her chest at his long, drawn out moan.

He chuckles after a beat, eyes half lidded as he shows her the depths of his lust. “You know you must only speak your desires, Warrior.” He purrs, eyes half lidded as he takes the time to remove his gloves, tossing them behind him with little care. Shrugging off his coat he lets it fall to the floor, sighing as he does so. “Show me your conviction.” He challenges, eyes alight with excitement even the the darkness of her room.

Growling, she grabs for him by his shoulders. “Get on the bed.” She orders, and with zero hesitation he obeys, lying on his back. She fights to pay no mind to his obvious arousal, instead trying to cling on to her anger as she climbs higher up, taking his hair in her hand once more, her free hand pulling her underwear to the side. “Please me. Since that is what you came here for.”

“Gladly.” He snarls, his hands gripping her thighs fiercely as she lowers her opening onto his willing mouth, a pleasure filled sigh falling past her lips as his tongue teases her folds.

This was the last time.

Again.

She forgot how many last times it had been, how many of her nights he had stolen away from her to please her since no one else could. What would the Scions say, how could they understand? How could they understand how the very man they hated so vehemently, would leave his borders, the protection of his countrymen for a few moments of pleasure.

And hardly even his own.

No, Zenos would come to her as if he were one of the savages he cursed so vehemently, would worship her as one would a primal. Her body was his temple and he, a simple devotee, asking naught of his god.

That wasn’t to say he derived no pleasure from it though.

Where he denied himself physical pleasure, he made up for in the sheer satisfaction of being brought to heel by his prey. That no matter her efforts, she could not turn him away when appeared. Her shaky breaths and lust filled moans, brought out by he and he alone, was almost enough for him.

Almost.

She hates that she can already feel her legs shake and quiver in his firm hold, her breath coming out in small pants as he runs his tongue over her clit. “By the Twelve…” she shudders, gripping his hair tighter. A pleased moan from him reverberates through her core, her hips writhing on his face to try and get as close as possible. She stares hazily at the ceiling, licking her lips as her panting turn to whimpers, his hands reaching higher to grip her ass in greedy palms.

A hand flies up to cover her mouth on a particularly hard suck, a long moan barely stifled behind nimble fingers. She can feel him chuckle between her legs, feel one of his hand leave her plush backside to run a finger along her folds, teasing gently with no promise of whether it will go inside. “Zenos.” She hisses, glaring down at him, feeling wetter at the absolutely unapologetic look in his eyes as he stare right back. 

“Yes?” he asks, purposefully letting his breath ghost across her opening, giving one last lick that has A’yana whimpering above him.

“I-I…I need,” She grits her teeth, looking down at his expectant face, his tongue swiping across his lips lewdly. Challenge shines in his eyes, his finger still toying with her entrance. “Tell me what you desire, A’yana. You need only ask…” he drawls, smirking as his fingers slips inside, her moan shooting up several octaves as he finds that spot within her he knows will make her scream. 

“Please, Zenos,” She pleads, hoping he can see the desperation in her ocean blue eyes. He hums to himself, eyes half lidded as he gives another slow lick, plunging his fingers deeper. He sighs almost dreamily at her begging, thrusting his fingers faster. Her ears press flat against her head, amethyst hair sticking to her face as her hips tremble in his grip. 

“Oh…Zenos, please,”

She comes, white hot and fiery, her blunt claws digging into his scalp painfully but he pays her no mind, too busy lapping up her juices. Zenos thrums with satisfaction, fingers finally removing themselves to spread her juices along his cock as he strokes himself. 

A’yana looks between her legs hazily, sure that the heat in her cheeks is visible even against her dark skin. Zenos stares back unashamed, as if he didn’t have her fluids painting his lips or stroking his cock in her bed. “Where would you have me?” He asks, intentionally swiping his tongue across his lips, the action sending a shudder through her.

“I have to punish you for sneaking into my room.” A’yana growls, though it lacks any real bite, still shaky and breathy from her orgasm. Shifting backwards, she squeaks quietly as she bumps into his length, praying he had not heard. Sneaking a glance at him, the prideful smirk says enough.

Desperate to regain the upper hand, she reaches between them to free his length from his pants. She rips her panties from her body next in her own impatience to settle herself above his length, teasing him with her wetness. His head falls back against her pillows, hips arching into hers immediately, nearly forcing a whimper from her.

“I think you forgot I allow you to come here prince.” A’yana murmurs, rolling her hips up and down his length, coating him with her juices. His hands latch onto her thighs like a lifeline, gripping tightly, almost to the point of pain.

“You…try my patience…” he heaves, a low snarl in his throat as his muscles flex with barely restrained lust. 

“Maybe you should be more considerate of my feelings.” She snaps back, unable to deny herself anymore than she can deny him. Taking him in hand, she raises her hips so that she can press the tip against her entrance. “Look at me.” 

His eyes snap open immediately, fixated on her with a reverence that even her closest friends do not look at her with. She holds his gaze as she sinks down upon him, making she sure he watches as he disappears ilm after ilm inside of her. He groans his pleasure as her heat encompasses him once she takes him to the hilt. Shifting her legs along his thighs, she makes herself comfortable, sighing at the satisfaction of such fullness. Raising her hips, clenching around him, she pulls a strangled cry from his throat, and settles in for a long night.

====================================================

Wanted some practice of writing my own character with Zenos ^^ this has been sitting in my drafts for awhile

[raelly-writing]

Prompt 4: Clinch - FFXIV Write 2020

((If I had more than three hours and it wasn’t in the middle of the night, I could probably have fleshed out the combat bits, but three hours is what I have. More Thancred/WoL stuff.))

Clinch: to settle (a matter) decisively.

The hot Ala Mhigan midday sun glared down on them. Heat rose back up from dusty training grounds, making the air feel thick and hard to breathe in. The thick scent of salt from the flats below the city hardly helped in the matter.

Though neither of them seemed willing to show any signs of discomfort to the other - they were both fairly accustomed to the warmth of Thanalan after all - even after the lengthy time they’d been out in the unused courtyard Raubahn had directed them to.

Viana kept her eyes fixed on Thancred as they circled each other slowly, dulled sparring weapons in hand. His eye was cast in shadows by his bangs, his face entirely unreadable, not one twitch of a muscle to give away what he was planning.

Anticipation lay thick in the air. The meeting on how to answer the threat of the Garlean Empire was to be held later tonight, with little for them to do but wait for all the pomp and circumstances to begin.

Unfortunately, sitting on their hands was not something they did well.

Suddenly, Thancred darted at her, feinting to one side before going low with a strike of his dagger.

Twisting out of the way, Viana flicked up her katana to parry the follow up swipe of his sword, forcing his arm wide so she could quickly attempt a retaliatory blow of her own.

It was an easy, familiar dance, both of them pointedly poking and prodding the kinks in each other’s defenses, enough to make the other aware of them.

His blind spot was his most obvious one.

Taking advantage of it, she managed to trap his arm under hers, leaving her free to quickly wrench free his dagger. 

“Seven hells!” Thancred swore under his breath as it clattered to the sands some distance off.

Briefly, they disengaged, eyeing each other.

“Tired?” she asked with a quick smile.

“Hardly, my dear,” he retorted with a confident grin.

They clashed once more, the sound of metal against metal ringing out over the small courtyard, echoing off the carved stone pillars. Her body ached, sore in several spots where he’d landed one blow or another with his blunt weapon. But she relished in this. Their movements kicked up clouds of dust, blocking out the rest of the world. Her pulse raced in her ears, the thrill of sparring with him making her lose herself all the more in the moment.

Once, so long ago, she had feared that he was all talk and nothing to show for it, prayed that she would not have to play bodyguard to a loose-tongue bard while neck deep in Amal’ja that was hellbent on summoning their god.

No,Thancred was a good partner on the battlefield - quick and alert, someone she could fully trust to have her back when things got ugly, and as attentive to the security of their comrades as she were. She liked to think that they made a good team. That all of the Scions did.

Twelve know they’d need to, if the war looming ahead truly broke out.

When Thancred suddenly used the guard on his sword to lock her katana in place, she realised too late what he was planning. Had he had his dagger in hand, they’d probably have called it match over, when he pushed her blade aside and twisted it to the point where she had to let go or break her wrist. As it fell from her hand, Viana instinctively hooked one leg with his and tried to pull him off balance.

Instead, Thancred moved with her, and before she knew it his body pressed against hers. Who’s foot tripped the other, she did not know, but by then they were too tangled up with each other for it to matter. His sword clattered to the ground as she saw Thancred’s eye widen with realization. Just as they tipped off balance, he wound his arm around her waist, keeping her close as he twisted his body.

And then they hit the ground with a loud thud, sending a cloud of dust up around them.

Groaning, Viana took a moment to just gather her bearings. The scent of sweat, salt, dusty air and an unmistakably masculine cologne filled her nose, while all she could see was silver hair and a tattooed neck.

Instantly, she went deathly still. The heat that raced up the back of her neck had nothing to do with the warm sun, while her heart skipped far more beats than could be healthy. Thancred’s chest rose and fell under her with deep, laboured breaths, his arm still holding her securely around her waist while one of his legs was pushed up between hers. 

Ah, if only Halone could have struck her down right then and there. Clearing her throat from the dust, Viana willed her tone to be casual as she spoke, “Hope you don’t catch your enemies like this.” 

It took more courage than she would ever admit to to raise her head and look at him, desperately hoping that the burning sensation to her cheeks was not obvious at this close of a distance.

Thancred huffed out a weary laugh and gave her a lop-sided grin. Dust clung to his skin and messy hair and yet he looked as handsome as ever.  “Can’t have the Warrior of Light too banged up at the big meeting, can we? “ he drawled. “Where then would I be with half the world’s leaders upset with me?”

As he spoke, he loosened his grip on her, leaving her free to get up. Instantly, a dark little nugget of disappointment settled in her chest, one she adamantly did her best to disregard. Nothing lay down that road, she reminded herself. Nothing but the bitter taste of unrequited feelings.

Swallowing thickly, Viana pushed herself off him and stood up. “Think they’ve all seen me in worse conditions,” she retorted and held out a hand for him.

“Well, that’s unfortunately probably right,” Thancred hummed as he accepted it, clasping her forearm and letting her pull him back up on his feet. Twelve, why did the touch of his bare fingers against her arm send such tingling jolts over her skin? Perhaps she should have chosen to spar with her gunblade instead. At least then she would have had armour on.

“My thanks,” he added before letting go of her arm.

She gave him a small smile, despite the hollow yearning in her chest to feel his hand on her bare skin. Pathetic how touch starved she was that a mere touch like that was distracting. “Nothing to it.”

A small, dark little voice at the back of her mind reminded her that were she really so desperate for his touch, it was a fair chance he would not turn her away from his bed. A sour taste rose on her tongue as a dark, heavy feeling churned in her stomach. No, she would not do that, would not complicate matters any more than they already were, not when he was still mourning those that they had lost. It was best to just let matters be, to ignore how her chest felt warm in his presence, how his small, genuine smiles made her heart skip and the low rumble of his voice sent her stomach into pleasant knots.

How easy it was to just forget about the rest of the world and all the burdens on her shoulders when she was in his presence.

The sound of Thancred clearing his throat jolted her from her dark thoughts. He glanced up at the sky and scratched the side of his neck. “Well, neither of us managed to clinch a win, so perhaps we should call it a draw for today.” His gaze found hers, a eyebrow raised in question. “I for one could do with a drink, if you care to join me.”

Viana hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. “Sure, that sounds like a fine idea.”

A small smile that managed to reach his eye curled the corner of his mouth, and she felt herself smile in return. “Excellent choice, my friend.”

They gathered up their weapons and departed the courtyard, to find some other way to pass the time until the Alliance meeting.

No, it was best to just be his colleague and friend.

Uncomplicated. Simple.

[the-dragons-knight]

FFXIV Write 2020

Prompt #5 - Voice of the Flesh

Matter of fact - ‘something of obvious nature’

- Very slight mentions of mature material -

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

For the past few days, Katsum had been feeling quite under the weather, yet she could not explain why. It was the strangest thing. One moment she would feel fine, and the next she would be utterly annoyed with anyone around her for no reason at all, most specifically the men. She felt her body temperature shift on very short intervals, going from dawning her furs she wore in Ishgard to striping them off shortly after. As if that was not bad enough, she also felt exhausted all the time that she could barely go out for a walk around the markets in Mor Dhona before having to return to the Rising Stones to lay down. It was beginning to take its toll on her, and she wondered if she was coming down with something. For it to hang around as long as it was, it must be rather serious.

“Katsum,” The young Seeker startled at the sound of Y’shtola’s voice, turning her bewildered sapphire gaze to the hazy, vacant eyes of the blind Miqo’te, “Did you hear a word I just said?”

Katsum blinked, her ears falling when she sighed, “No, I’m sorry. My head feels so fuzzy...”

Y’shtola humed as she stepped around the table to press the back of her hand against Katsum’s forehead, holding it there for a few moments as she asked, “How long did you say you’ve been feeling like this?”

“A few days. It’s only gotten worse each day that goes by.”

The older woman drew away her hand and sat in the chair in front of Katsum, “How do you sleep?”

“Not well. If I do sleep, I wake incredibly hot and irritated and find myself tossing and turning until exhaustion finally kicks in...I’m utterly miserable.”

“You’ve truly never felt like this before? It is entirely new?”

“Yes, and whatever it is, I hope I never have it again,” She glanced up and then realized how closely Y’shtola was sitting to her. Katsum grew nervous and shifted away, “Whatever I’ve caught, I certainly don’t want any of you to catch it too. So best to not get too close, right?”

Y’shtola didn’t answer.

“What is it?”

Again, she did not answer, seeming to ignore the question. She instead folded her arms thoughtfully and asked, “When was the last time you went home to Ishgard?”

“I...I actually don’t remember. Perhaps a week? We’ve been so focused on the matters in Doma, I decided to stay close to headquarters just in case.”

“And has it been that long since you last saw Ser Aymeric?”

“Aymeric…” The very sound of his name sounded so sweet just now, and when it passed her lips, she could barely finish the syllables before Katsum’s mind wandered. She saw his dashing smile, and twinkling eyes, almost feeling his arms wrap around her in a loving embrace. She imagined cuddling flush against him, wrapped in their blankets in front of the fireplace, falling asleep in each other’s arms. Then her mind wandered further to a stray kiss on her neck and then her shoulder, growing ever more daring as she drew into him, letting him lie her down in the covers. Suddenly, her entire body felt like it was on fire, a deep, full face blush on her cheeks and she shivered despite it, her tail curling around her legs as she huddled in on herself, “What’s happening to me…?”

Y’shtola must have heard the tremble in her voice as she knelt down to be eye level with Katsum and whispered, “Calm yourself, Kat. It’s alright. Deep breaths.” She followed the White Mage’s prompting to breathe, slowly returning to normal as her body cooled and relaxed. When she could sit up straight again, the white-haired Seeker moved to Kat’s travel pack, opening it and rummaging through it until she produced a red-colored linkpearl and held it out to Katsum, “Now, I need to hail your husband for me.”

The dusting of a blush returned as her mind started to wander again, but she shook herself and tried to think more rationally, “But surely he’s in a meeting or something important. I shouldn’t-”

“Katsum, this is important. I can assure you of that.”

Katsum’s ears fell back shyly, yet she obliged and turned on the linkpearl and held it up to her ear. The pearl buzzed and chimed as it sent out its signals to its partner. It rang for a few moments before she heard the electrical crackle of a connection, her ears and tail perking up as she listened for the sultry sound of his voice.

“Hello? Katsum, my love, are you there?”

“A-Aymeric...” The concern in his voice did not even cross her mind as nearly all feeling left her body, the blush on her face intensifying as she curled closer to the pearl, “My love~...”

“It appears to be much worse than I thought,” Suddenly, Katsum felt the pearl be plucked from her fingers and her hazy mind snapped to attention as she reached out to try and take it back, only Y’shtola was quicker. She watched her raise the linkpearl to her ear and speak, “Ser Aymeric, it is of utmost importance that you make your way to the Rising Stones as soon as possible.”

Katsum could hear the sweet sound of her husband’s voice from here, and her fur stood on end, her fingers pulling at the fabric of her outfit in frustration as she tried to keep herself seated.

Y’shtola spoke calmly, “She is fine, I assure you. However, I would ask that....Ah, so soon?...Good, I am glad to hear it. I will make sure that she will be ready upon your arrival.” The linkpearl deactivated and she turned back to Katsum and dropped the quiet linkpearl back into her hand, “I will explain further once he arrives. For now, let us gather your belongings as you will be going home for a while.”

Katsum nodded slowly, silently following as she pulled her to her feet and walked them to the living quarters. After gathering her things and a brief change out of her armor as Y’shtola kept pressuring her to, they exited the living chambers to find a deeply concerned, raven-haired Elezen waiting for them. When her eyes met his, Katsum’s body was set ablaze again, and she shivered painfully, “A-Aymeric..!”

She stepped towards him heavily until she nearly fainted into his arms, happily pressing herself into his coat as he held her tightly against him.

“My love, are you alright? Is something the matter? Did something happen in Doma?” She could hear the worry in his voice, yet she could not bring herself to answer as she pressed herself closer to him.

“I believe I can explain,” Their eyes turned to the Scion while Katsum set about nuzzling into her husband’s neck, breathing in his scent like it was her oxygen, “Katsum is experiencing a “heat cycle”.”

This startled Katsum enough to make her freeze, “I-I’m what?!”

Aymeric looked down at her, laying his cheek against her forehead, “Is that why your skin feels so warm?”

“Do you have any knowledge of “heat cycles”, Ser Aymeric? I must say I am impressed if you do.”

“Not in so many words. Only the house cat my adoptive parents left in my care had many such cycles when she was of a younger age. Yet, I unfortunately know nothing more than that.”

“I see. Well, while the concept of them is generally the same, it is slightly different for those of the Miqo’te gene pool of course thanks to our more human traits in our genome.”

“Wait, Y’shtola,” Katsum found it hard to truly understand or comprehend that this was truly happening, “Are you sure that this is...”

Y’shtola nodded, “I am positive. At first, I was not as I figured that surely you had seen plenty of them through the years, yet the more I thought of it, I’ve never seen you show the signs until today. That and your mixed parentage.Your mother was a Hyur, yes? And your father a Seeker?”

Katsum nodded.

Y’shtola turned her head thoughtfully, “Which would make sense as she would not know to tell you, and certainly he would not have known either. Even so, it seems the gene took quite some time to show itself, waiting to until you had a strong emotional bond with Aymeric. What confirmed it to me was your reaction when I spoke of him, the way your body reacted when being reminded of your lover. This would also explain your hostility towards the other male members of the Scions.” She grinned lightly, “But the fact of the matter is undeniable. It is the effects of your “heat” that plagues you.”

Katsum was at a loss for words. Perhaps she’d heard some passing conversation in her travels between other Miqo’te about their cycles, yet it never once occurred to her that she too should have one. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense until she could no longer deny its truth. She curled back into Aymeric’s chest as her shyness took over and her embarrassment became clear.

Y’shtola sighed thoughtfully at the silence, “It’s alright, Katsum. This is a good thing and a totally normal one. However, you will certainly need time to recover from it,” She turned her eyes to Aymeric then, “Ser Aymeric, I leave her in your care. Take her home and watch over her for the next few days until she no longer feels its effects.”

Aymeric nodded and then smiled down at his wife, making her blush darken, “Ready to go home?”

Katsum nodded frantically, moving to take a step forward but her legs seemed to give out under her. With all the swiftness of a knight and the grace of a prince, Aymeric reached down and lifted her off of her feet and into his arms, holding her close to his body and kissing her forehead. With a swooning sigh, the blind Miqo’te wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder, a quiet purr involuntarily rumbling from her throat.

Y’shtola chuckled as she handed Aymeric her luggage, “My goodness, you are certainly feeling them now if you were not before. I never thought I would hear you make such a sound.”

Katsum’s ears fell back as she buried her face in Aymeric’s coat in her embarrassment, feeling her body start to heat up again as his scent filled her nose.

Aymeric turned to Y’shtola as he asked, “May I ask what will best help her?”

“Anything her body asks of you,” Y’shtola’s grin widened and she turned to leave the room, waving back at them as she did, “Worry not, she will surely tell you. Take care of her, Ser.”

As her body heat increased, Katsum pried her face from his coat and turned her head to look up at him, “Aymeric…” He looked down at her, and whatever expression she was giving him made him lift his eyebrows and a blush dust over his cheeks, “I want to go home...now...”

He swallowed thickly and his grip on her body tightened as he threw her bag on his shoulder and turned towards the door, “We shall be home as swiftly as I can get us there, my queen. Hold tightly to me until we get there.”

The raven-haired elezen had surely never run anyway so quickly than he did that day.

[dragons-bones]

4, 15, 20, 28, 33, 35, 41 for the domesticity meme? it's a lot i'm very sorry i just Hunger For Domesticity

Domesticity is Good And Wonderful, I don’t blame you a bit, Cyan. :P Also tagging @smira-asah-xiv and @tehjai who both asked for number #15.

4. How did they start living together? Do they move? How do they choose the place?

Living arrangements were something that Synnove and Aymeric actively sat down and discussed very early on; they both had a very good sense that their relationship was It for them. Synnove was actually a little nervous about how the talk would go because she was very reluctant to sell her house; she’s owned the plot since about two or three years after the Calamity and had the house built to her specifications. It is very much her home. She loves Borel Manor, too, but she deeply loves La Noscea.

Aymeric, thankfully, was appalled at the very idea of her selling her own just to accommodate himself. Now, Ishgardian inheritance and property laws being the Byzantine headaches they are, he couldn’t sell the Manor even if he wanted to.

The compromise they hit upon was essentially splitting their time between homes. Their work being what it is, it’s easier for Synnove to still primarily live at the La Noscea house, and Aymeric at the Manor, but they will frequently come to stay with the other as time and work permits (and their friends/colleagues threaten them to take vacations). Synnove frequently shows up at the Manor during the semester to take a break from Guild nonsense or grade somewhere much quieter (while also sneaking in a cuddle or six), and Aymeric is absolutely blatant about using the La Noscea house as an escape during Parliament recesses so he isn’t ambushed at home by politicians.

15. What habits of the other drives them crazy?

The workaholism. Yes, they are incredibly aware of the hypocrisy of such, though their habits manifest in different ways: Aymeric of course hates how much Synnove mangles her sleep schedule (that he’s actually relieved when Scion business calls her away is awful, because it means she’s about to sleep like a normal person), and Synnove hates how Aymeric will get up in the middle of night to do work, or bring paperwork to bed with him.

In non-workaholic related annoyances:

Aymeric would not mind Synnove’s coffee addiction near as much if she would just use the same mug instead of constantly leaving them around the house and getting a fresh one for another cup. She is good about reusing her mugs when she’s reminded to do so, but she has to be reminded. (He is, perhaps, a little smug when she grumbles doing the evening round up of dishes and it takes her two or three trips to get all the used mugs into the kitchen to be washed.)

Synnove loves Aymeric’s voice, but he has a habit when it’s quiet enough to read his paperwork aloud, as the sound helps him concentrate. It’s not enough to be discernible, however; it’s a murmur, at best. Aymeric has no idea when he began doing it, but the lack of understandable words grates on Synnove’s nerves. Keeping the orchestrion on actually helps, since Aymeric only begins doing it during dead silence in the house, but Synnove will retreat to another room when Aymeric does paperwork and neither are in the mood to listen to music.

20. What do they watch on TV and do they fight for the remote?

(*dusts off Modern Eorzea AU ideas*)

They tend to enjoy a lot of documentaries: science (particularly fields Synnove doesn’t work with), nature, history, and certain niche interests. Cooking shows, mysteries, some comedies (they have a mutual fondness for Ul’dah 99), and historical dramas are also fun. Political dramas and a lot of action/sci-fi movies are off on the table as the former remind Aymeric too much of work and the latter Synnove frequently nitpicks for bad science. (She gives certain shows and movies a pass if they’re very blatant about Rule of Cool being the primary physical force at work.)

But there are two times of the year when the remote will be fought over: the spring and autumn months when the baseball and hockey seasons overlap. Synnove, math nerd that she is, is a huge baseball fan (and also plays on the faculty softball team at the University of Limsa Lominsa); Aymeric, as any good son of Coerthas, was born and raised playing hockey (and curling). Aymeric usually only cares about Ishgard Knights games (though Synnove can be wheedled into watching with him if they’re playing the Ala Mhigo Griffins, as the Limsa Lominsa Corsairs are, uh, kind of a joke), whereas Synnove is a devout fan of both the Limsa Lominsa Hammerheads and the Ala Mhigo Revolution. (The Ishgard Bishops are about the only Coerthan team worth a damn, but Aymeric still can’t bring himself to cheer for them after the Dragoons moved to Tailfeather.)

28. What kind of stuff can be found around their place?

Books of all kinds (science journals, political treatises, military history, fiction, cookbooks, etc.). Lots of loose leaf paper and quills (Aymeric) and chalk and graphite sticks (Synnove). Assorted mechanical contraptions Aymeric refuses to touch until Synnove confirms they aren’t explosive. The carbuncles’ toys (they are very good at putting them away at the end of the day, but please do watch your step when visiting at either home). Synnove’s goldsmithing tools and carbuncle-quality gems she cuts for the Guild. Coffee mugs. (”Synnove! Use the one in your hand for Halone’s sake!”) Feathers for fletching arrows and bottles of oil with rubbing rags for Naegling and Aymeric’s bow. A stack of grimoires wherein any of one of which could probably be used to beat someone to death (and one looks suspiciously dented already). A growing pile of unopened letters on the table next to the front door with the wax seals of various Ishgardian houses.

...I’m going to stop there because if I don’t we will be here all night.

33. How do they refer to the other in public? How do other people refer to the other? (i.e. “my partner”, “ask your father”, "dad and papa", "how’s your wife?“, etc)

Synnove and Aymeric will generally refer to one another as either “my beloved” or “my lover,” when speaking of the other; Aymeric will also refer to Synnove as “his lady.” The Ishgardian nobility will refer to Synnove as simply “the Warrior of Light” (with context making it obvious they mean Synnove specifically) for politeness’s sake; Count Edmont and the Temple Knights are the only ones who will refer to Synnove as “his lady.” The Squad will just flat out call Aymeric “her boyfriend,” even if Synnove herself thinks that terminology is too juvenile. Synnove’s co-workers at the Guild call him “her beau” or “that knight of yours.”

35. How often do they go on dates?

Not very; with how often they’re consumed by work, staying in tends to be their preferred way of spending time with one another. That being said, sometimes they both get antsy to do something; even if they’re in Ishgard when that happens, they’ll more than likely teleport to Limsa Lominsa, as it has a much livelier night life, and Lominsans are more likely to mind their own business when one of their resident Warriors of Life is meandering through the city with a handsome man on her arm.

Depending on their mood, dinner will be either at the Bismarck if they’d like something a little fancier to eat, the Drowning Wench if they’re more interested in good whiskey with their fish stew, or one of the myriad cafes for Ala Mhigan or Gridanian or Thavnairian. Afterwards, it would either be stay at the Wench to people watch and enjoy the open stage Baderon keeps for performance-minded adventurers to show off; head over to a free play or concert at the Aftcastle or Anchor Yard put on by one of the theater companies; or, if they really need the laugh, a show at one of the bawdy houses.

41. What would they do if the other was hurt?

Well, as we know on two separate occasions, when Aymeric gets hurt, Synnove gets angry. Usually at whomever hurt him, sometimes also at him if he was being “a fucking moron” about it. If it’s a combat situation, well, the enemy had better start running, because it is Dreadwyrm Protocols time.

(Raubahn is exceedingly grateful, after the first time he sees Synnove Greywolfe turn her ruby carbuncle into Demi-Bahamut during the Battle of Ala Mhigo, that she couldn’t do that during the Grand Melee.)

If it’s not a combat situation, however, Synnove is likely to fretting mother hen. Aymeric, too, though with less clucking and more soothing humming if it was something like a kitchen accident. (He is likely to be less sympathetic if it’s an injury related to an experiment, because Synnove is supposed to be smarter than that.)

For a combat-related injury, Aymeric is generally going to be less, ah, violent than Synnove and more deeply concerned, as Synnove is more than capable of holding her own in combat and has her three sisters-by-choice at her side. Most often, if her injuries are more related to aether shock and having to go all out in combat, he’ll assist in ensuring she drinks her aether syrup and recovers from depleting her aether reserves so thoroughly.

Of course, there was his reaction to hearing about Synnove’s injuries from the Battle of Rhalgr’s Reach. Lucia and Handeloup do not talk about it. Not even Rereha could get the details out of them; all she knows is that the two managed to get Aymeric to an empty salle, locked the door, and stood guard to make sure no one tried to get in, and that the repair bill was enormous.

--

(Big Fat Domesticity Meme for Aymeric & Synnove)

[durrzerker]

Taskmaster: The Line. Chapter 7: Play The Fools

As the ragtag party of children and their eclectic assortment of guardians climbed the stairs leading to the roof of the old Masters of Evil mansion, Wolverine was starting up a conversation with Akeja, who had been openly admiring her fighting style and claws all night. Eric, somehow, had become the favorite of almost all of the other kids; the Scions were warming up to him, whatever crime that Mara claimed that he and Taskmaster had committed against them all but forgotten as they asked him about what it was like to shrink, how it felt to be a giant, and if any of them would ever be twenty feet tall.

"Maybe!" Eric replied. "I've seen crazier things." He was clearly enjoying the attention, carrying the wounded boy whose name Tony had already lost across his shoulder like a sandbag, yet even taking the time to ensure his broken leg wasn't bouncing around. He was clearly enjoying the positive attention, and Taskmaster didn't blame him; there wasn't a whole lot of that in Bagalia.

For his part, though? Tony wasn't taking his eyes off of Spymaster, and it wasn't just because she had a sweet can (she did). He wondered if she knew, like Black Ant seemed to, that The Hub was apparently his wife. How common was this? Was it even a secret, or were they all laughing behind his back? Resisting the urge to corner Eric about it right this moment - not the time - Tony glanced back over his shoulder. The only one of the children who wasn't with the rest of the group was Cassandra, who was watching him as intently as he was Spymaster.

"What?"

"Waiting for ya tae run away."

"Very funny, and not happening," he scolded her.

"Did last time."

Not having a response to that, he fell silent until they reached the helipad. With a button on her wrist, Spymaster de-cloaked the quinjet that she had waiting for them; sleek and black, it looked to Taskmaster like a stolen SHIELD prototype; he could even get a sense of the missing markings on the wings. "You appropriate this yourself?" He asked curiously.

"Maybe. Not like SHIELD's intact anymore, what use is it sitting in some hanger?"

"I'm sure Uncle Sam would find use for it."

"Considering our current situation, I don't really give a fuck what Uncle Sam finds a use for," she replied harshly. "You've been thinking about what I told you, right?" Opening the kamikaze door of the quinjet, she started gesturing the children closer. To Tony's surprise, Mara stopped in front of him.

"You think we should go with her?"

"I think so, yeah." He didn't hesitate; it seemed clear enough.

"...You're a weird guy, Taskmaster. I mean, the costume really gave it away, but...I hope you understand that what's coming next for you isn't your fault. That doesn't mean you can't take responsibility for it, though." The way she stared up at him as she spoke took the witty retort right out of Tony's throat. He lingered for a moment, watching this strange little child with the wisdom that she had no business displaying like this, before she turned and promptly boarded the quinjet.

When Taskmaster and Eric went to follow, Spymaster stopped in front of the both of them. "We need to split up. Taskmaster, I have a location for you to go after Ross. He's going to send an extensive force after both of us; he's almost as angry at you as he is eager to get the kids."

"Now hold up a minute, lady," Taskmaster complained. "WHY? What the hell did I actually -do-?"

"I don't have time to explain, and a short version will just make you more curious," Spymaster replied. Before he could speak again, she cut him off by grabbing hold of Eric by the collar. "You and Wolverine are with me. Need your abilities, and the kids like you more." Laura didn't protest; it was obvious that she was always going to

"Yeah!" Black Ant cheered, hopping on board the quinjet. "Hear that, Tony? I'm the MvP."

"No, that's TESS-one, but she's too heavy for the plane," Spymaster assured him. As Eric slumped his shoulders, she brought the rest of the children aboard and turned her attention to Taskmaster. "Masters, this is important: You're going to find out what happened here soon. I -promise-. But trust me, because this comes straight from the Hub: You can't know until the children are safe. She asked me to relay that, and for you to keep believing she has your best interests in mind -- because she does." Ensuring that all the children were on the quinjet, Spymaster climbed on as well, grabbing the sliding door to start closing it until she was stopped by Taskmaster's harsh words.

"If she cares so much, why the hell hasn't she told me she's my WIFE?!" he snapped.

Glancing back at him, somehow sounding sad even through her voice scrambler, Spymaster shook her head. "...Oh, Tony. She has."

And then they were gone.

Standing there in the midst of a warm Bagalia night, clear skies offering a lovely view of stars that he had no interest in seeing, Taskmaster took a moment to collect himself. The violence and hedonism of his current lifestyle was effective at drowning it out, but in quiet moments like this, he could feel it; a deeper guilt, a hungry and gnawing void of self-loathing that threatened to consume him if he didn't feed it.

'Why do you think he takes these jobs?'

By the time he opened his eyes, the quinjet was gone. No Spymaster, no Wolverine, no Black Ant. He tried to reassure himself that this was a good thing. He worked better alone anyways, and the kids needed the backup the most.

"At least I got you, Tessie." He looked up to the gargantuan adamantium robot, who was still dressed like a twenty foot french maid. It was dusting the roof.

--

Taskmaster's mission, ultimately, was simple: he just had to follow the Wrecking Crew. Doing so with Tessie as his backup would be easier said than done, considering that even with the robot's prototype flight technology, it was still something of a massive and loud target. Instead assigning it to follow at a distance, he descended into the garage of the old Masters of Evil headquarters, heading for the vehicle bay that he'd had installed shortly after he had taken over. As tempting as his over-designed blue-and-orange motorcycle was, he needed to take a different approach; even idiots like the Wrecking Crew would know when they were being followed, if only because Ross was likely reminding them to check.

True to Spymaster's assessment, they were clearly hustling to get out of the city. The tracker she'd given him displayed them as making a beeline for the Marina; they were rapidly navigating the city's dense streets with superhuman jumps from the way the display 'bounced'. Considering his options, Taskmaster eventually left the garage not in one of his well-armored war wagons, but a simple and sleek black ferrari. This would require a different kind of approach.

--

Piledriver grumbled as he approached the marina's reception center; this place was pretty damn high security, which was unsurprising considering what kind of goods Bagalia both imported and exported. Checkpoint, checkpoint, ID card reader, ticket salesman, weird demon that only spoke backwards, checkpoint -- but after nearly half an hour, he was finally through and had passes for each of the rest of the Wrecking Crew. "You wouldn't believe the fucking wait out here," he grumbled as he started handing the entry badges to his companions. "Come on."

By the time he'd gone back to get the rest of the crew and headed into the marina, Piledriver could tell that something was amiss. "We're in Dock 3...wait. Whose is -that-?" What should have been their empty spot was occupied by an enormous and garish yacht, white and blue with a massive statue of a posing siren on the front.

"What an ugly piece of shit," Wrecker grunted. "Hey! Who the hell's in our spot?! We got a ride coming! You gotta move!"

"Tally HO there, friends!" Came a booming voice. Emerging from the deck of the yacht, a thin and older-looking man planted his hands on the rails. "Say I parked in your spot, eh? Didn't mean to! I've been making this my 'marina marination' center for the past ten years, though, ha ha! Didn't think they'd rent it out to anyone else!"

Exchanging looks with each other, the Wrecking Crew shook their heads before Piledriver spoke back up. "Hey, idiot! We ain't here to chat about it! Just move your ugly fucking ship unless you want us to destroy it!"

"Oh, I sure don't want that! Let me just come on out of here...." He started towards the steps.

"Don't come out here!" Wrecker complained. "Just -- just move, man! We're not kidding!" He sighed in frustration when the elderly gentleman ignored them entirely, making his way out from the yacht onto the ship and approaching the four supervillains with oblivious cheerfulness.

"Well now, I'd be remiss not to shake your hands for the warning first! No need to rush, no sir...name's Art Vanderbilt! Don't know art, never built a van, but I stand behind the nom de guerre nonetheless! You all attending a costume party, then? Why wait for your vessel? You should ride with me instead! The Painted Pomegranate's a class act of a ship, yes sir; once made it around the coast of Somalia in only four days!" He boasted.

"...That don't sound very fast, old timer," Bulldozer chimed in. "Look, you seem pretty nice, and we ain't in the business of beatin' up random old people, but you really got to go. Our ride's gonna be here any minute."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll see me and wait their turn!" The gent replied, dismissively waving a hand. "Come, come, you'll love the Pomegranate! Sweet as her namesake, and twice as juicy! You may be asking how a ship can be juicy, but no sir, I won't spoil the mystery! You'll just have to find out for yourselves!" Whirling a ruby-headed cane, he started back towards the yacht. Wrecker raised his weapon, eyes bulging with rage, but Piledriver stopped him with a hand.

"Wait. This old coot's clearly lost his damn mind," Piledriver whispered. "We follow him aboard, maybe we can rob that ship before we sink it. We got time before Ross shows up."

His irritation giving way to a smile, Wrecker nodded in agreement. "Best idea you've had all day. I could use some cheering up after that hide-tanning we got back at Zemo's. Come on, then. We'll knock him out when we get on board, then loot to our heart's content."

All feeling very smug, the Wrecking Crew boarded the yacht behind Art.

"This here's the deck, where I like to play shuffleboard with the missus," the elderly man droned on as they circled around towards the cabin. "Are you gents and ladies feeling parched? I've got a 1912 Vermouth that you wouldn't believe; goes down smoother than my morning medication, that's for sure!"

"I could use a drink," Demolisher eagerly replied. "You hear that, -gents-? I'm a lady. No one ever calls me a lady; I think I like this old guy!"

"Oh, I like you too!" Art replied, opening the door to the cabin. "Remind me of my daughter; professional weightlifter. Built sturdy like yourself." As they all filed into the luxurious room, with leather seats and a large navigator's table that seemed to meticulously track the location of every brothel between Bagalia and California, the garishly dressed elderly man retrieved a large bottle and five glasses, pouring each halfway full and passing them around.

"Classy place," Wrecker complimented, his eyes already roaming over an expensive-looking statue above the steering wheel. "All these trinkets must cost a fortune."

"Oh, you'd best believe it! Never settle for less than the best; that's what father always taught me," Art replied. "Four million dollars worth of furnishings in here alone!" He didn't seem to notice the greedy smiles traded by the Wrecking Crew at that. Raising his glass, Art toasted the group, then took a deep draw. Everyone else did as well, with only Piledriver hesitating briefly to make sure that the old man was actually swallowing his. Figuring that meant it was safe, he drained his glass.

"Wow, that's good stuff," Demolisher complimented. "I had my doubts considering this ugly ship, but you've got decent taste, grandpa."

"Thank you!" Art puffed out his chest happily.

"Shame we're gonna have to take it all from ya," Piledriver said ominously. "You offered us a ride - think we're gonna take it. This vessel's ours now. You gave us a drink, so if you ask real nice, we'll let you off without any broken...broken..." Mumbling a bit, the man touched his tongue. "...Ith numb...my tongue numb."

"Hey...yeah...I don't -- I don't feel good," Wrecker grunted, blinking rapidly. "Old...old bastard poisoned us. You son of a--" He took a swipe at the elderly man, but with surprising quickness, Art simply ducked back, smiling innocently.

"Oh my...has the wine gone bad?" He took a sniff, then sipped it. "No, seems good to me."

Collapsing against the table, Piledriver watched the rest of the Wrecking Crew start to go down. Demolisher sat heavily in the captain's chair, already unconscious; Bulldozer was trying to make himself throw up, but faceplanted before he could. "How...?" Piledriver asked. "I saw you...saw you drink."

"Sure did, slick. Didn't poison the wine. Like I said...it's fine." Dropping his disguise, the impression of an old, frail man giving way to the skull-masked visage of the Taskmaster, their host threw his head back and drained half the bottle in a single go, belching as Piledriver lost consciousness.

"It was your glasses. I told you D-listers not to fuck with me."

It had been about four years ago that Taskmaster had come up with the 'Art' persona. From body language to facial expressions, his photographic reflexes allowed him to impersonate just about anyone and anything he could physically copy; what most people didn't realize was that this allowed him to take on other identities. From the accent to the walk, he could become someone else entirely at the drop of the hat. With his image inducer, the design of which he'd been improving every year since the first time he'd picked it up, he could even alter how he felt or how much he seemed to weigh; it was amazing what you could accomplish with enough stolen Stark tech and a willingness to get your hands dirty with it.

Vanderbilt, specifically, was known as a bit of a ponce around these parts; that was just how Tony liked it. If there was one lesson that Taskmaster had taken from Deadpool - not that he would ever admit it to the lasagna-faced bastard - it was that people were inclined not to take you as seriously if you acted like a complete fucking idiot all the time. 'Art' was as close to Wade as Tony would ever act, and that was an act of great pain for him -- but the mission demanded it this time, and the Crew had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker; not that he'd ever consider fooling these morons a real achievement.

Crouching down to dig through Wrecker's pockets, he retrieved the tracker that Spymaster had placed and then swiped his cell phone, checking for text messages. Nothing. "Damn How am I supposed to know when Ross is comin--" He didn't even finish the thought before the yacht began to shake. "What the fuck?" He glanced out of the window; waves were rising far too fast to be natural, and nearly six other vessels, spaced out as far as half a mile away, were starting to capsize as if something under the surface was lashing out at them from below.

He knew better than to stick around; no sooner had the floorboards began to crack and snap than Taskmaster dove out the cabin window onto the deck, then sprang over the railing back towards the dock. His haste saved his life, as he'd barely made it in time to avoid an enormous metal form crashing through the edge of the walkway and through his very expensive, very nice Painted Pomegranate. In place of the wrecked ship, torn apart like so much paper, was a gargantuan nuclear submarine, pitch-black and twice again the size of an aircraft carrier, the likes of which Tony had never seen before.

Yet something about it felt incredibly familiar.

[final-fantasy-mama]

Licorice Twists and Cinnamon Buns

''FFXIV: Emet Selch X Wol Licorice twists and cinnamon buns This is drabble for now but I do have a plot planned for future chapters. First part is fluff, second part is a bit angsty. Enjoy! ********************************************************************************

(Very sorry for any spelling mistakes, I don’t have a spell checker and have to edit manually so I miss many mistakes)

It wasn't often that the Warrior of Light got time to herself for anything. Most days were spent tending to battle wounds, civilian requests and the ever growing demands of her scion brethren but today was special. Today she had a full day all to herself and should she decide to rest, she could roost in bed till the chocobos came home. But she was a restless soul and having that much free time made her a bit antsy. So she wore her best casual clothes, a off shoulder sun dress and sandals, and made for the Musica Universalis for a small walk about. And as always, following closely in her shadows was her ever sneaky and equally snarky ascian companion, Emet Selch.

He had often spied in on her whenever it suited his fancy though she was quick to catch on to his Aether trail, making any chances of sneaking up on her null and void. If he kept his distance enough she couldn’t distinguish his presence from the multitudes of others within the crystarium which was the only opportunity he had to observe her habits and actions unabieted. He wasn’t really one to take too much of an interest in anyone or anything outside his devotions to Zodiark but he had to admit this one Hyur Female caught his undivided attention. 

She was pretty in a simple way, with features that could have easily passed for Garlean if it weren’t for her height. Not that Emet Selch placed much value on physical appearances outside of his own. And she was strong, oh so strong and noble in a un nauseating way. She never spouted nonsense of high ideals and morality, was pragmatic, straightforward and witty.

Now he watched her walk through the crystarium, stopping now and then to look at what bits and baubles surrounded her, her head tilting to one side as she studied everything with a keen eye only a warrior could possess. He watched from the shadows of a nearby pillar how her eyes lit up while she looked at a merchants jewelry stall, picking up a necklace and holding it to her chest while staring in the mirror afforded to her by the vendor. 

All women were wanton creatures for fine jewels and furs. Oh how he could give her all that and more were she his woman. What a empress she would have made with her proud face and feminine features but he didnt know her back then and avoided all contact with her or her shards on the other stars.  She was a poor sundered creature after all, albiet a charming one, and he didn’t need any more misery in his immortality then what was already afforded to him. If she had any clue just how far back her shards and former selves went, who and what she was, she kept it keenly to herself. He wondered just how much she did know. She never really talked about her memories short of what was absolutely necessary.

She struggled with the clasp of the necklace and just when he was about to step in to do it for her, a certain other man did it instead. The crystal exarch was making his rounds through town. Emet Selch gritted his teeth as her eyes turned to the cowled man and truly sparkled, her red lips spreading into a wide smile as she thanked him. They made casual banter with each other, each laughing and smiling as they walked away, her hand holding his arm in a way that was too intimate for the ascians liking.

That slick conniving whelp of a man! Emet sneered as he followed them in the shadows. Look how she touches him so casually, like 2 fools in love! What can this creature offer a warrior like her? By what magic did he bring her here and dare to speak to her so fondly! He stopped his train of thoughts and held his breath. He had seen this scene before oh so many millenia ago when the hero had been alive in Amarout. But it was a memory Emet did not want to remember and he quickly pushed it out of his mind.

The hero and the exarch stopped at a small candy shop and the hero exclaimed how she hadn’t sampled some of the confections since her childhood. She filled a small paper bag with her favorites and vowed to share it with her child when they reunited. Her daughter, only 8 years of age, and the only family she had in the source. Surely that child must have looked like her mother. Emet could see it as surely as his own children took after his late wife. Oh those long lost days when he had some small measure of happiness but lives came and went so quickly and thus his happiness was only temporary if not fleeting.

The couple moved on, once again arm in arm, their happy voices talking of frivolous things. The Hero leaning in and squeezing her shoulder into the exarchs as he hid his head shyly in his hood. In fact she seemed to go out of her way to make any sort of physical contact with her partner weather it was a touch of the hands, squeezing his arm tightly against her chest in a flirtatious manner or leaning in so her forehead was almost against the exarch. The shy Exarch laughing nervously but accepting her little showers of affections non the less. It made Emet suspicious. 

It would seem those two have a history with each other....how interesting. He clenched his fists at his sides tightly. She is obvious in her affections for him but he tries to hide how much she affects him. Ah, the exarch is hiding his identity but she already knows......then that would mean the exarch is not a native of the 1st and they both hailed from the source....by what means did he arrive her and manage to bring her as well?

When the couples time came to part, the exarch kissed the fair ladies hand and waved goodbye as she watched him go, once again left to her own devices in the market place. She did not move from her spot as he dissappeared from view and Emet used that chance to sneak up behind her, or at least try. She knew he was coming a mile away.

"Shopping for a swanking new coat Emet?" She asked as she turned to him and gave him her usual coy look.

"Shopping for a new lover?" He shot back and jutted his chin in the direction the exarch had left.

The hero smiled something sly and admitted easily. "Mmmm Hmmmm. That man is a cinnamon roll and I just want to bite right into him."

"So that's your type." The ascian said dryly. 

"And you, you sneaky bastard." She jabbed a finger into his chest. "Are Black Licorice."

"Licorice!?" He asked in surprise.

The hero reached into her paper bag and pulled out a black twig of candy, holding it up this face before saying, "They make it, so someone must love to eat it but most people want to spit it out after one bite!"

He pursed his lips as he stared down at the feisty lady who so defiantly waved her candy in his face and for once in his immortal life, he was speechless. He wasn’t sure if he should get angry or laugh. Her barbs at him were easily becoming legendary.

She didn’t wait for him to answer before taking a hearty bite out of the black candy. "Lucky for you I have acquired a taste for Licorice." and gave him her oh so sweet smile which meant both good things and dangerous things. He had to smile back and she noted how soft his face was when he was happy. He almost looked kind when he was like that as opposed to his usual grumpy self.

"Zodiark’s mercy hero, are you admitting you're in love with me?" He drawled out and held his hand to his heart.

"Hydaelyn’s blessing Emet Selch, You're such a drama king." She shot back and turned to walk away. "Lets see its just past 2....its a good time to break for tea. Join me if you dare."

"Bothering you is the only thing I have to look forward to in my day." He admitted and followed after her. **************************************** They both seated themselves at a small table within the atrium next to the market and ordered a few plates of cheeses and meats along with some pastries. The hero poured tea into two saucers and slid one over to him as she sat down in a wooden chair and fanned herself with the menu. 

"How do you survive in the Jacket? Its bloody hot out here." She complained.

"Is that your way of asking me to take it off?" He wiggled his brows at her and sipped his tea oh so properly like the blue blood he was.

She laughed. "Actually I am curious what’s under all that, I won’t lie."

He quickly unbuckled the front and in a dramatic flourish, stood up and swept if off his shoulders as he placed it on the back of his chair. The undershirt he wore was a plain white cotton one with a few buttons down the chest and loose sleeves.

"If you ask politely I may take off even more." He purred and She nearly spat out her tea.

"Woah their partner, you need to leave something to my imagination." She smirked and took a long sip of tea before reaching into her blouse and producing a small metal case from her brasier. She opened it up with a click and pulled a small cigarillo from it, put it to her lips and lit it with the small lighter. She took a long drag and offered one to her company.

Emet shook his head lightly. "A habit you picked up adventuring?"

"A habit I picked up from one of my "others" who was a middle aged drunk whiskey lover, smoked like a chimney and ate bacon like pork was going out of season." She laughed.

When She fumbled with her cigar case a piece of paper fell out. It was a small photo of some sort of a small child with dark brown hair and a cherubs smile, riding on the back of a tall elezen male with light blue hair and a equally charming smile. If he didn’t know any better he would have said this was a family photo but the child looked nothing like that man in the photo so he knew instantly the she wasn’t his

. "Your daughter and....?" He asked.

"Haurchefant Greystone, one of my dearest friends. He passed away a few years ago." She sipped her tea. "He had a way with children and my daughter fell in love with him. She said that If I didn’t marry him then she would." The small smile on her face spoke volumes of her feelings for this man.

"At first all the adventuring was just to secure some money for myself and my daughter....and then I was discovered by the scions....I suppose the rest after that was just cause and effect or the results of being the warrior of light." she shrugged and tucked the photo away. “After an attempted assassination on the Sultana of Ul Dahl, myself and the scions had to go into hiding. So I took my daughter with me to Ishgard where we parlayed for our protection. Haurchefant was the first to extend any hospitality to us and took care of us. He was really a wonderful friend.” She said fondly.

“You were in love with him.” Emet stated and she couldn’t deny it.

“I suppose I was. But his life was cut short and after that there was no one else, I never even bothered looking or trying.” she admitted sadly.

The Ascian looked at the hero carefully, noting how sad her eyes looked in that moment. She was lonely even though she would never admit it, using her duty with the scions as an excuse to fill her time. For one small moment, Emet saw something else as he looked at her, the ghost of another who’s face was equally sad but always had a small smile on her lips. He blinked the apparition away.

"Your child is what grounds you to this reality. You would fight and die for her." Emet said matter of factly. It was a universal fact that a mother protecting her young was the fiercest thing in the cosmos, something he had witnessed first hand so long ago. This will to protect is exactly what brought about Hydaelyn to begin with. In all these years, after all these rebirths and in all her incarnations, that one truth never changed, she would protect those near and dearest to her even if it meant tearing the universe apart. her child was the source of her power.

The uncomfortable reality that the child would die in the grand plan of the ascians was not lost on the hero or him. It was a unspoken truth that would always be the catalyst of her never ending battles with all her enemies and him. As cordial as the two were with each other, the fact that at the end of the day one or the other was going to be destroyed was not ever going to change.

  The hero stared up at the glass ceiling and finished off her cigarillo, putting it out in the small ashtray on the table. Her heart felt heavy thinking of the future, of his and hers but it wasn’t something she could express in words, its just the nature of her being Hydaelyn’s blessed and him beings Zodiark’s Tempered. When she turned her head to him it was obvious he had been thinking the exact same thing.

"Oh hero, don’t look at me like that." He cooed in a oh so sweet voice. "All is not lost yet, there is still time to change my mind. If you can accomplish the impossible then even I will be forced to throw my lot in with you. We Ascians don’t wish for our own destruction you know."

The hero cleared her throat and swallowed back her feelings, replacing it with a smile. "What a pair we make, Architect." 

"Oh yes, the warrior of light and her arch enemy sitting together drinking tea. What is this universe coming to?"

"Shite apparently."  She laughed.

"I'll drink to that." Emet agreed and they clinked glasses.

“So what’s next on our agenda?”

“101 ways to destroy the world.” He replied dryly.

She gawked at him. “Not funny!”

“You’re still laughing on the inside.”

She shoved a big piece of cake into her mouth and said in a muffled voice. “I laugh only so I don’t cry.”

He reached over a caught a dollop of frosting from the corner of her mouth then licked it off his white gloves slowly and deliberately.

She blinked twice. “Oh that was smooth.”

“Full glad am I to hear that.” He purred.

“Have you made it your personal mission to seduce me?” She squinted at him.

“Seeing as you get flustered when a man expresses desire for you, I’ve made it my mission to make you as uncomfortable as possible from here on out.” He admitted.

“Flustered?!” You gasped and that made him chuckle.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve hero.”

“I’ll wear a mask then.” She said suddenly and it made him stop. He watched her for a second before turning back to his tea.

He looked down into the brown water. “A thousand masks for a thousand desires.” He said off handedly.

She watched him carefully but didn’t quite grasp his meaning, something about it though made her heart feel strange. A small moment of recognition and longing. For him? For this ascian drinking tea with her? Surely not, but maybe just maybe for the man Emet Selch had been.

(I wasn’t sure how to end this so i abruptly did before it prattled on again. Next chapter will be main story driven and have more character development for Emet. Its just fun to write fluff for characters who are notoriously not fluffy lol)