#yuyuli yuli

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getting ready for the performance

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FFXIV Write Entry #25: Of Taunting and Tales

Prompt: trust | Master Post | On AO3

Knock knock a-knock—knockknock! “Guess who~.”

A loud groan answered her. “Go away, you debauched scandalmonger!”

Rereha poked her head into the infirmary of Rhalgr’s Reach, wicked grin firmly in place. “Now, now, Mr. Scaeva, is that any way to speak to the lady come to relieve your unending boredom?” she drawled.

The former tribune of the XIVth Imperial Legion raised his arm, middle finger extended, without raising his head from his pillow.

Rereha cackled and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. A disgusted sigh from Nero’s direction, and he flopped his arm back down on the mattress. She grabbed a chair sitting by the wall and dragged it behind her as she waltzed towards Nero’s bed, whistling a cheery tune. She could see his jaw clenched in annoyance as she set the chair up near the head of the bed and cackled again as she hopped up into it. She placed the book she’d been carrying on her lap and folded her hands primly on top of it, beaming.

“How are we feeling today?” she chirped.

“Like I’ve been run over by a flock of rabid chocobos.” Nero stubbornly refused to open his eyes, instead folding his hands on his stomach in unknowing mirror of her. “And then sat upon by a buffalo.”

“That’s an improvement! Last time you said you felt like you’d been chewed and spat out by an enraged king behemoth!”

“Rereha,” he sighed, still not opening his eyes. “Why are you here? Garlond and Greywolfe are infinitely more stimulating conversationalists, for all their damned sanctimonious self-important morals and ethics.”

“I’m hurt, Nero,” said Rereha, placing her hand on her heart. “Genuinely hurt. A friend of mine has been grievously wounded in the course of his attempts to safeguard not just Eorzea, but Hydaelyn as a whole from an interdimensional entity of vast and unfathomable power. I come in my spare time to bring some light and laughter to his dreary hospital room as he heals, and he insults me and wishes for the company of others.” She pitched her voice to express disappointment, regret, sadness, and changed her expression to match.

A long silence descended over them both. Finally, Nero cracked an eye open to stare at her incredulously, arching one golden eyebrow.

“Laid it on a bit too thick, didn’t I?”

He raised his hand and held his forefinger and thumb a quarter of an ilm apart.

“Damn,” Rereha said, crossing her arms. “Ah, well. But to answer your question: Synnove’s been banned by the healers because you two inevitably end up attempting to strangle one another and you reopen your wounds.”

“A disagreement in scientific methods—”

“Nero, sh, shhhh, stop. You had your hands around her neck and Synnove had her thumbs pressing into your eyeballs, okay, I was there.” She reached over and patted his arm. “She was hoarse for three days, by the way, good job on that.”

Nero smirked.

“You two are such siblings,” said Rereha, ignoring his sudden gasp of outrage. “It’s adorable and gross at the same time. And Cid’s banned because you two inevitably end up yelling at full volume and then devolve into furious making out and you reopen your wounds.”

“Slanderous lies, woman, we do NOT “make out,” how dare you imply any sort of relationship with that idiotic—”

Rereha smiled pleasantly as he ranted at her, sitting up to yelling properly into her face. She merely leaned forward to fluff up his pillows so he had a proper backrest. Once he finally ran out of steam and he flopped back, fuming and out of breath from shouting, she said, “Just remember: I want to be your best woman at the wedding.”

“You’re a degenerate wench and I hate you,” growled Nero.

“You’re just upset I wasn’t able to sneak any banana pudding by the healers today,” said the degenerate wench, finally opening the book in her lap. “Now, you’ll mind your cheek if you want me to keep showing up and reading Eorzean folktales to you.”

Nero grumbled and crossed his arms as he leaned back against the pillows on his bed, glaring at her mutinously. Rereha grinned at him. The Garlean finally huffed a sigh and made a ‘get on with it’ gesture.

‘Point to me,’ Rereha gleefully thought as she flipped to where they’d last left off in her favorite book of folktales. She let herself relax, sliding into the storyteller’s headspace, and pitched her voice to lilting and throaty as she began:

“In the times of Sultana Yuyuli Belah Yuli, there lived in Belah’dia a poor porter named Hahabeta Fafabeta, who on a very hot day was sent to carry a heavy load from one end of the city to the other. Before he had accomplished half the distance, he was so tired that, finding himself in a quiet street where the pavement was sprinkled with rose water, and a cool breeze was blowing, he set his burden upon the ground, and sat down to rest in the shade of a grand house…”

When Rereha glanced up a little later as she wove together first the frame story of the Seven Voyages of Sesebaba the Sailor and then the tale of that legendary First Voyage, Nero had his head leaning against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling as he intently listened. He wore a small, genuinely pleased smile.

Rereha grinned to herself, and let herself get lost in the story again, too.

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Updated reference for Yuyuli too 🥳

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after training

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Summer time soon ~

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never-posted doodle of mom yuyuli ♡

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Dance partners 🌹

some old art of my hannish OCs

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𝗪𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘀