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#Rolling Girl || Endwalker
stxrcxller · 2 years
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@badassbarmaid
Z’nakei grimaced as she sat alone at a table in the Seventh Heaven, waiting for Tataru to stop being busy and show up. Sure, the fussing meant the Lalafell cared, but... Really. It’d been months now since the Scions came back from Ultima Thule. She was walking again- albeit often with the help of her staff, carbuncle, or both. How many times had she been called by linkpearl for a checkup in the last month alone?
More annoying was the fact that she couldn’t just barge into the Rising Stones now because of having to keep up appearances of being ‘disbanded’. She’d have to be particularly stupid to not notice the curious stares she earned from patrons, a common occurrence ‘earned’ by her feats. They could at least have more tact and be subtle if they were going to ogle her, though...
Now hyper-aware of the curious stares and self-conscious, the Miqo’te shifted in her seat. Her teeth ground together as she bit back hisses of pain as she adjusted her posture to make it seem as though she wasn’t still running on just mere hours of sleep and her body pains still spiking from lingering stress from the Final Days.
In moments she drew in a deep breath and collected herself, building herself back up to be the perfect little hero the masses idolized. Her gaze flitted down to the empty glass in front of her, scowling a bit. The water that had been in it was long gone. Really, she wanted coffee. Yet she was all too aware that she’d be receiving the scolding of a lifetime if Tataru learned that she was still sustaining herself on mostly coffee.
So, she resigned herself to just continuing to wait and physically keeping herself from cringing away in discomfort at the attention she attracted.
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hollowtones · 9 months
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i can't find the vods for the rest of your endwalker playthrough (if you even did stream the rest) so i was wondering, what were your opinions on 6.0? (also what were your reactions to That urianger scene)
I think I only did like one or two streams of it. It ran kinda bad when I streamed it, people didn't want to watch it, and I wasn't getting much out of streaming it compared to just playing it on my own time. That and I think I had a really severe depressive episode at the time (for unrelated reasons).
IDK if anyone's still trying to avoid spoilers but I'll throw it under a read-more.
It's been a while since I last played so my memory's kind of spotty. I liked it, though. It felt like a satisfying conclusion to what they've been getting at since 2.0 MSQ, and a nice little dialogue on despair and exhaustion and depression and hope, and finding ways to carry on and keep living and keep loving and keep trying. I feel like that's when the game's overall writing and theming tends to be at its strongest (yes I liked the Dark Knight questlines haha).
I remember having mixed feelings about how they pulled off the Garlemald segment & the "Alphinaud and Alisaie's shit head dad" plotline but I don't remember enough of the specifics to really elaborate on that.
Alisaie has lesbian college admirers and I thought that was funny.
I came out of 5.5 MSQ expecting White Woman Jumpscare Hydaelyn to be a little trite but I ended up really liking Venat. I felt kinda whatever about Emet-Selch coming back, but I didn't hate what they did with him I guess, and his earless-Viera boy toy was fun. Fandaniel felt like The Joker but he still felt like a fine first-act villain. The way they write him (& Meteion) in the later chunk of the game felt more interesting to me, & felt like a fun play on "Shadowbringers"-era Emet-Selch's whole "AMAUROT, BABY! GREATEST CITY IN DA WORLD, BABY! SLIMES ALL OVER DA STREET, BABY!" nostalgia. It was funny when he was The Joker, though.
Final area was thematically and visually really interesting. I'm excited we got more stuff related to Omega & I'm glad we got more "btw the dragons are aliens" stuff. I've seen a lot of people forget about that, for whatever reason. That one area right by the end that was completely desolate, with no people & no indication of who lived there, was a really good setpiece. The Namazu canonically suffer in all possible dimensions and all possible worlds and you cannot help but laugh out loud.
I kind of rolled my eyes at Zenos coming back. "By the way he's a Reaper now" felt like it amounted to nothing, but admittedly I never did the Reaper questline or the post-6.0 stuff. Getting to punch him in the face at the end was fun.
Music was good, I liked the way they played with different motifs & I really like how that comes to a head in the final boss fight.
I was expecting moon rabbits to be grating and insufferable but I liked them. I fucking love that none of this planet's moons are normal. Why are they both orbital prison-ships. I love it.
Zodiark's design owned and Hydaelyn's design was okay. Very Yoshitaka Amano design, which makes sense given how he did that one boxart for "A Realm Reborn" & she looks a lot like she does there, but I kinda wish she got to look more monstrous and weird. She kept talking up becoming a monster to do what she felt was right!!! I wish that had informed her design a little more.
Hamburgers exist & I do like that the animators got to livingly render G'raha Tia going to town on one like those weird clips of anime girls where it looks like they've never eaten in their lives.
I don't remember what you mean by "the Urianger scene". LOL
You didn't ask, but the crafting/gathering questlines were a lot of fun. I feel like they (& the guildleves) added some fun extra context to everything going on while I was going through the MSQ.
I liked it overall. I don't think it's the highest point of the game's writing, but I had a good time and felt very satisfied by the time it came to a close.
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dragons-bones · 6 months
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FFXIV Write Entry #15: Wolf's Legacy
Prompt: portentous || Master Post || On AO3
A/N: Very mild spoilers for a few lore bits from the Endwalker Healer role quests.
--
“Thank you for coming today!” Commander Hext said cheerfully, waving Angharad and Eydis into her office and towards the chairs in front of her desk.
“Of course, Commander Hext,” Angharad said, smoothing her skirts as she settled into her seat with her daughter next to her. “How can we be of service?”
“Call me Lyse, please,” the Commander said, dropping unceremoniously into her own chair. “And, well, today’s business is more what we can do for you.”
“Is this why Synnove isn’t here?” Eydis said, one dark red eyebrow arching up.
Lyse smiled, but this one was grim, rather than the bright effervescence with which she had met them at the Resistance’s headquarters in Ala Mhigo. “Right on the nose,” she said. “As dear a friend as she is, she isn’t head of house and doesn’t have the authority to make decisions about what I’m about to tell you.”
Angharad and Eydis exchanged surprised looks. Eydis’s other eyebrow went up, curiosity sparking in the dark green eyes she had inherited from her grandmother. Angharad shrugged helplessly; she hadn’t the faintest idea on what this could be about.
A knock came at the door, and Lyse immediately bounced to her feet and across the space to open it. She stepped further out of the way. “Ah-hah, now we can begin.”
A young, dark-skinned man with blond hair rolled himself inside, a large stack of papers carefully balanced in his lap. Angharad recognized the stamp of the Garlond Ironworks on the wheelchair, it’s frame and wheels clearly a lightweight metal with how easily the lad maneuvered himself inside.
“Ladies, this is Arenvald Lentinus,” Lyse said, closing her office door behind him. “He works primarily with the Silver Griffins, but he’s been assisting with this project for the Council. Arenvald, this is Angharad and Eydis Greywolfe.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Greywolfe, Mistress Greywolfe,” Arenvald said; his Abanian was faintly accented with a Thanalani lilt, not unusual among the children of the diaspora. He dipped his head in an abbreviated bow as he came to a halt next to Lyse’s desk. As he set the brake on his wheels, he used his free hand to transfer the stack of paperwork to the desk.
Eydis shuddered. “Please call me Eydis,” she said, her face twisted up like a displeased coeurl.
Angharad covered her laugh with a cough. “And please, call me Angharad. A pleasure to meet you, too, Arenvald, you’ve featured in more than one story from Synnove and the girls, and it’s lovely to finally have a face to put with the name.”
Arenvald grinned, and Angharad fought back the urge to pinch his cheeks. Ugh, what was it about Ala Mhigan lads and their disarming smiles? Absolutely precious.
As Lyse once more dropped back into her chair, Arenvald started unstacking the paper into separate piles. “How much do you know about this meeting today?” he asked.
“Not much beyond that it’s something requiring myself and my daughter in our capacities as the Greywolfe matriarch and the heir,” Angharad said, settling back into her seat and crossing her ankles.
Arenvald nodded and met her gaze head. “Right then,” he said. “A bit of background: I’ve been working with the Silver Griffins, an organization dedicated to assisting those Ala Mhigans who worked with the Garleans, willingly or no. Housing, physical and mental therapy, and so on.”
Angharad nodded; she heard of the organization through Synnove. Eydis’s head was cocked to the side—clearly this was the first she had heard of it—though it was curiosity that primarily colored her expression.
“Very recently, part of that has included trying to track down families,” Arenvald said. “The Council’s been working on a similar project, mostly trying to find any living descendants of the old nobility before claiming any of the remaining estates for public use. Lyse has been helping us with going out into the field to find anyone we think might be a relative, either of a Griffin family or the nobility.”
“Gets me out of the office,” Lyse said, some of her cheer back. “And it’s inadvertently helped us reach more of the remote villages in the Spine.”
“Inevitably, the issue of House Wolfe came up,” Arenvald said, a slight grimace on his face.
Angharad couldn’t blame him. House Wolfe had gone extinct during the reign of the Mad King, its matriarch and her children executed on not-so-trumped up charges of sedition; if she had been slightly less outspoken, Liefhun Wolfe might have been leading the rebellion the day they overthrew Theodoric…but might have very well still fallen to the cannonfire of the XIVth Legion’s airships as they razed half the city. In any event, the destruction of House Wolfe, one of the oldest families among Ala Mhigo’s high nobility, and the seizure of its asset by the crown had thrown the houses into disarray, worsened by the occupation.
“By some miracle, we found copies of the original deeds in one of the palace’s lower basements,” Lyse said. “We think probably a sympathetic administrator was making copies of everything in the event of Theodoric’s overthrow.”
“So, we had the full measure of House Wolfe’s holdings,” Arenvald said, “but then we had to figure out who inherited it all.”
“Bloody old inheritance laws,” Lyse muttered under her breath.
…Angharad did not like where this was going. Eydis’s brow was furrowing.
“House Blackwolfe is gone,” Arenvald ticked off on one finger, naming the oldest of House Wolfe’s cadet branches. “Changing the name wouldn’t have affected inheritance, with all of House Wolfe’s cadets following matrilineal succession, there’s always a clear line of precedence, and certainly no one in Ala Mhigo would blame House Blackwolfe’s sons and daughters for abandoning that particular name, but Odeyla and Otelin Blackwolfe are confirmed dead as of three years ago, during an uprising in the southern mountains that the XIIIth put down. Neither had children.
“House Whitewolfe,” he continued, “we can’t find a single trace of. Sewell Whitewolfe may have changed his name entirely, he may have died, no one’s seen hide nor hair of him since the Fall, and the Council’s given the authorization to have him declared legally dead. House Redwolfe is confirmed extinct; apparently their last daughter didn’t escape, and was forcibly conscripted. Records we traced have her killed in Corvos.”
Angharad did not like where this was going.
“Congratulations!” Lyse said with manic cheer. “Eydis, you are the sole living descendent and/or relative of three of the oldest families in Ala Mhigo.” She gestured to the four piles of paper on her desk; they were very tall. “This is a list of all your new stuff!”
“Lyse,” Arenvald sighed.
“There’s no nice way of saying it, Arenvald, better to rip the bandage off entirely.”
There was a moment of stunned quiet as Arenvald put his face in his hands. Slowly, Angharad turned her head to look at her daughter. Eydis stared back with eyes that were as wide and horrified as her own.
Oh, thank Rhalgr, she had indeed raised her girl right.
“Absolutely not,” Eydis said, shaking her head frantically. “Nope. Nope nope nope, not one bit, no.”
“The Republic of Ala Mhigo is more than welcome to the estates of House Wolfe, House Blackwolfe, House Whitewolfe, and House Redwolfe,” Angharad said firmly, “with the caveat the buildings be used for civil purposes or public housing. Certain heirlooms, if they’ve been recovered, I’d like to examine, but likely most I would see donated to a museum or other historical institution.”
“I’ll take anything about any surviving accounts!” Eydis said, starting to calm as she realized she was on the same page as her mother. “Depending on the sums available, we might be able to reopen the Greywolfe weapons school.”
Angharad beamed at her daughter. She and Eydis and Havardr had only discussed such tentatively, but if those assets were still within Ala Mhigo, that would mean they wouldn’t have to deal with the headache of untangling their accounts from the Greene ones controlled by Isolde.
Both Lyse and Arenvald slumped in obvious relief.
“Oh, thank the Twelve,” Lyse said, putting her elbows on her desk and her face in her hands. “That was so much easier than I thought it would be.” She peered through her fingers. “Arenvald?”
The young man was already rummaging through the piles. “I’ve got some paperwork here about signing the properties over,” he said. “They’re copies, so you’re welcome to take them to a solicitor to review before you sign anything.”
“We’re going to turn you into a proper bureaucrat,” Lyse said with a grin.
“Do not speak that into existence, you menace.”
As Lyse and Arenvald settled into a sibling-like good-natured bickering, Angharad and Eydis put their heads together to go over the fine print. Eydis’s leg was bouncing, excitement starting to flood her, and Angharad reached out to grab her hand and squeeze it. Eydis squeezed back.
It was about time the family had a bit of luck go their way.
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coldshrugs · 1 year
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in this state
characters: io laithe / estinien varlineau, alisaie leveilleur word count: 1400 rating: M; descriptions of injuries, language. note: very vague endwalker spoilers. io's friends wait by her side while she's unconscious.
She looks like shit, their Champion.
Battered and bruised, Io lays on a cot in front of where Estinien sits. Her bottom lip is torn, and shallow cuts weave across her bare shoulders and chest. Crusts of dark blood peek through the stitching, and her flesh swells around the wounds.
There is blood in her hair, in the wisps around her face, in the long strands that drape over the cot’s edge. Blood under her nails, too, grotesque in the stark fluorescent light of this room, against the crisp white sheet where someone has neatly folded her arms in feigned comfort.
Her breathing comes slow and shallow, aided by a machine the likes of which he has never seen. It whirs and some mechanism inside pumps, pulling air from the ship's interior and delivering it to her lungs via clear tubes entering her nose. Another contrivance beeps, counting each pulse. Estinien counts too. The starship Ragnarok offers little in the way of distraction, so he keeps track of each feeble breath and endures the pauses that stretch like infinity between the beeping.
They say she will wake soon. That it is only a matter of time. They say she will make a full recovery once her aether has time to replenish and she’s rested…
Not even the Fury herself could grant him enough patience for this.
Alisaie sits across from him, eyes ringed red, gripping the metal cot in place of Io’s swollen hand. She has been here longer than he has, staring down at Io, greeted only by her still face. Occasionally a tear falls between the beeps and whirs, sounding sharp against metal or solid against skin.
Does she realize he stayed behind when the others could no longer bear looking at Io in this state? Does she care that he watches them in silence?
He wishes she would go, just for a few moments. What he would say or do is a mystery–it is not in his nature to plan for something like this. Still, he needs the opportunity to be alone with Io. The girl, however, will not be moved.
“Wake up, damn you,” Alisaie whispers. She inches that much closer, hovering. Aching in a way Estinien feels, too, for her friend to show any sign of progress. “Wake up and tell me what happened to you.”
Estinien lets his head roll back, and it meets the wall with a soft thud. An engine thrums somewhere far off, vibrating softly through the cold metal. He closes his eyes and exhales. It is almost enough to distract him from the repetitive sounds, the nauseating light.
Almost.
“You’re still here.”
He opens an eye. Alisaie looks up at him with the threat of fresh tears. She sniffles.
“Aye.” He crosses his arms. For one brief moment, he considers asking her permission to stay, but he glances down at the still figure between them, and his heart lurches in his chest. No, he will remain at Io’s side until she wakes.
“You care for her, don’t you?” Alisaie asks.
Estinien scowls at the very specific emphasis in the question. He cares about a great many people, Alisaie not least among them. He cares for their causes and their well-being. But that is not what she is asking.
It hasn’t needed a name before now, this feeling. Most often, it is in his chest, unfurling softly each time Io smiles, or rests her head against his shoulder, or speaks kindness to a stranger, until he can feel nothing but her warmth. Other times it shoots up his spine, a radiant pride that strengthens his arm and steadies his aim. It is the knowledge he would follow her anywhere because there is no one he trusts more.
And now it lodges between his ribs, sharp and stinging.
He answers after a long moment.
“Aye.”
Alisaie’s eyes grow wide as if she didn’t expect his frankness. She wipes her tears and sits back. “You could’ve cleared your throat or something instead of letting me blubber all over her like a fool. It goes without saying that this better stay between us, or so help me–”
“I won’t say a thing,” he chuckles quietly. “But I’m not leaving.”
She nods and stands. “Fine. I’ll go see how the others fare. Perhaps there’s some coffee on this godsforsaken ship.” Her steps toward the door are hesitant, eyes sliding between Io on the cot and Estinien seated next to her. “If she wakes…”
“You’ll have returned before then.”
She forces a tight smile and leaves looking a fraction more hopeful.
With the room clear at last, Estinien’s focus returns to Io. Her ragged breathing, her lacerated skin.
He leans over her, a forearm on the cot, and lifts his other hand to her head. His thumb sweeps across her forehead in a delicate arc, careful to avoid the cut near her hairline. He soaks in the warmth of her skin under his hand, the softness of her hair. His fingertips trail down her face, tracing the ridge of her tattooed nose, the curve of her cheek. He burns all of it into his memory, in case–
In case.
“Come back, Io,” he says, too quiet to be heard over the machines. “Don't you want to laugh at me baring my heart to you? We are both in a state.”
And finally, finally, she moves.
Her head turns, settling into the cradle of his palm. Her mouth pulls into a pained grimace and she inhales sharply, a near-silent hiss. The machine counting her pulse speeds up. Estinien's heart beats in his throat, waiting for her eyes to open, but Io stills again.
Except for one word.
One name, scratching its way out of her parched throat.
“Zenos.”
His love, honed to a sharpened point, twists in his ribcage. He fights the urge to recoil lest he worsen her pain. Why, after all this time, after all they’ve been through and the bond he knows they share, is that name the first thing to break her silence?
Estinien hangs his head. “Not what I had in mind."
Perhaps he got ahead of himself, saw more between them than was actually there. Aymeric has, fondly, called him impulsive more than once over the years, and he is not blind to his own recklessness. Perhaps...
No. His instincts have always been strong. His feelings for Io, the signs she reciprocated them, have grown around them for the better part of a year. He is too deeply entangled to let one mention of that bastard make him second-guess what he knows to be true.
Io will have an explanation when she wakes. He is sure of it.
And he will give her time.
“Knock knock.”
He turns to the door, where Alisaie stands, a white ceramic cup in each hand. Her expression is soft as she enters, her eyes locked on the point where Estinien’s hand meets Io’s cheek. He moves away as delicately as he can and leans against the wall.
“Thought you could do with a warm drink. I forgot to ask how you take your coffee, so I just made what I like. Apologies if it's shit.” She presses the cup into his hands. “Did anything happen while I was away? Did she–”
Estinien is not a skilled liar, but Alisaie would worry more than she already does. And for Io, he can keep this secret. He shakes his head. “No. We’re still waiting.”
Maybe it's the coffee or the company, but Alisaie is in higher spirits as she returns to her vigil at Io's side. She sips her drink with a little smile, eying Estinien from behind her cup.
“What?” he asks.
“Oh, nothing...” She trails off with a smile and looks away. It is only a second or two before she turns back to him. “You will tell her how you feel, won't you?–” He groans– “She’d be absolutely thrilled, you imbecile. For reasons beyond my understanding, she thinks the world of you.”
She’s pleading now. Eager to be part of something happier than the sight between them. Even with the quiet rasp of Io’s last word ringing in his mind, Estinien cannot help but smile. Intrusive as it is, her brand of encouragement is endearing, and he can but hope she speaks the truth. 
“One day,” he says, and means it. When Io is well again, when things back home have settled, when the last traces of him have been dredged from her heart. “When the time is right.”
He takes a long drink of coffee, hums a noise of surprise at how similarly it matches his own tastes. Not bad.
Alisaie shoots him a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”
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yzeltia · 6 months
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FFXIVwrite2023 20.Hamper
Characters: Krile Baldesion, G'raha Tia Expansion: Endwalker (No Spoilers) Rating: Teen Notes: I tried not to write about the lucky shorts. Moen Moen shook them out of me. I'm sorry friends.
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Krile was taken aback upon entry to G'raha and Keith's apartment. Her dear friend had requested her assistance with some light housekeeping, near desperate in fact. With their daughter essentially arriving out of the aether, her assumption had been that the Miqo'te was struggling to keep up with the mess young ones tended to make. She was surprised to find this was not the source of his domestic woes.
No, G'khenna's things were nearly neatly arranged in a corner. Her desk was organized so all her school books were alphabetized, bookends with a photo of her and her family on one side with a captured moment of leave between her and Khloe on the other. At the side a small crystal magic rod, an umbrella, and a foil with a focus hung off it were latched into custom notches of the desk's top. From pencils to aetheric charts, all the little girl's things had a proper place and were put so. 
No, what ailed the other Archon was not that of his young girl, but of his adult Hyur husband. On the floor in their bedroom, G'raha sat surrounded by the carelessly discarded things of his husband while Krile looked on from the door.
"Scholar save me. How can any one person be this messy? I did not realize how careless he is with his belongings," the Miqo'te groaned, pushing Keith's dumbbells under the end of their bed where he'd taken to storing his other athletic gear.
"Love has a way of blinding us to our partners' habits, Raha. Perhaps a little light scolding is due," Krile said, lightly bending to pick up a few discarded shirts, "Though, how have you let it get this bad?"
G'raha closed his eyes and tilted his head back, ears folding as he swallowed.
"We divided up our chores. His talents lay in the kitchen so I was relegated to the other odds and ends around the apartment. Laundry was among them I suppose."
"So this is more or less a mess of your own making?"
"I've been busy with adventuring and my studies. I know I said I'd pick up around the place but at the very least he could make use of the proper receptacles when he disrobes."
Krile let out a little laugh as the Miqo'te pouted and tossed a pair of Keith's boxer briefs into a basket. Together the friends continued to sort through the clothing on the floor then through a bag of Keith's adventuring gear.
"I would think you'd have a little more joy out of this, Raha. Your things mingled among an adventurer's and rightfully one yourself now. This is probably the more insight than most would ever get to what it's like for a hero behind closed doors."
"I suppose this is reminiscent of two thirds of the Warrior of Lights' dwellings. Krile, that is indeed a good way of looking at this. I have offered my companionship for adventuring and this is just some of the labor that goes into it. I can appreciate the stain on his leathers from him tumbling into grass or a scratch upon his leathers from close combat. The smell of his shirt soaked with the scent of his trrravels and himself," the Miqo'te started, purring as he nuzzled his face into the chest of an undershirt.
"Let's not get carried away now. Here, we have plenty of loads for the wash," Krile said, rolling her eyes ever so slightly as G'raha blushed and tossed the shirt away.
Gathering a basket, she hummed then caught a glimpse of golden fabric sticking out from under their bed. 
"It seems we've missed one," the Scion called out, moving to whip a pair of bomball shorts out from the hiding place.
"Seven hells," the woman breathed out, quickly tossing the garment to the bed before covering her nose, "Those have seen far too much adventure for me to be handling.'
G'raha quickly dived to the bed, catching the discarded shorts, flushing deeply as he stuffed them back under his bed. He sat up, ears pinning back as he avoided Krile’s suspicious gaze. 
“What on Ethyris has gotten into you,” Krile finally asked.
“Nothing. Just leave those be. They’re Keith’s lucky shorts.”
“They’re foul.”
“Imbued with good luck, or so he says. You know how superstitious athletic types arrrre. He is no exception. It is purrre psychology. He believes he performs betterrr, and so he manifests it. A simple trick of the mind, though it is all confirmation bias. I am certain in time that he will see the light, after some exposure to sound slowly administered logic, that his musky shorts have no bearrring on luck and are not as appealing as he has been led to believe.”
Krile covered her mouth, “Appealing? Raha, I do not want to be privy to such debauchery.”
“I assure you, there is no debauchery to be had! It is the general physique and perhemones that-”
“No, say no more! Please Raha. No explanation will be sufficient enough for you to continue. I can hardly say I shall forget that awful stench,” Krile laughed, picking up a basket before hurying from the room.
“Krile! Please! I did not articulate myself sufficiently! Krile!” the Miqo’te called out, face as red as his hair. 
Whimpering, he slumped down to the floor, hands in his face before peaking at the shorts. He closed his eyes, bringing them up to hug for a moment, and in his own bit of superstition asked the Scholar to return his love home safely. Hearing Krile call again, he hopped up then picked up his baskets, face remaining red as he went to get on with his chores.
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blissfulalchemist · 1 year
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WIP Wednesday
Listen I know but I know more people will probably read this tomorrow so sue me. Anyway! Tagged a while ago by @adelaidedrubman to share work and I am in turn tagging you back along with @belorage @florbelles @unholymilf @strafethesesinners @heroofpenamstan @statichvm @jackiesarch @shellibisshe @confidentandgood @themarcspector @indorilnerevarine and anyone else that has something to share! Use me as an excuse!
I only offer more ffxiv but this time is Girls Worst Road Trip 2! Spoilers for endwalker. But yeah have fun I gave you a bit.
“Might we not ask Fordola to join you?” Alphinaud suggests, “She’s a good fighter and knows how to patch up wounds since you’ll be without our healing magics.” Alphinaud sighs, crossing his arms, “Would that we could have one more go with you to assist in your defense, but we’ve exhausted the small pool we have.”
“Not entirely, there’s still one more out there.” The Scions jump, turning to look at Stasia who wasn’t there a second ago.
“Gods are you sure Emet-Selch wasn’t your father,” Thancred grumbles, “you two share a lot of traits.”
She rolls her eyes waving off the comment, “As I was saying there is one more person out there that has the same abilities as Fordola.”
Alphinaud furrows his brow, “If you’re referring to Zen-.”
“No. He’s dead. We’ve established this. But did you think he would only let Fordola and himself be the only people with such a gift?”
Siberite shakes her head, “Nope. No. Stasia, no.”
“Truly you can’t be serious. The woman hates us,” Thancred adds, “Siberite especially.”
“Carly’s calmed down since you’ve last seen her, hasn’t she Alisaie and Alphinaud?”
“Are you saying Carly is also a Resonant?”
“Can we just put that notion aside and remember that she would rather see me dead!” Siberite protests, “We won’t be able to trust her in there. Why can’t you come with us Stasia? I doubt it would have any effect on you given your heritage.”
“One, that’s an unknown thing as I was never brought around primals to know. Two, with the twins gone it means there’s more work to be done and overseen in Garlemald.”
“Work that you wouldn’t trust to anyone else,” Zero says with a tilt of her head, “It’s why he appreciated and respected you so much.”
Her eyes narrow at the comment, “You’re going to need Carly. She’s competent in many different weapons and forms with a specialty in the arts of a Dark Knight.”
“Would she even agree to it?”
“You leave that to me, along with your safety. So do we have a plan?”
“As much as none of us want to trust her,” Y’shtola says, “we have little choice in the matter. Besides, Fordola and Zero will be with you if she decides to try anything.”
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It’s tight as they all sit six feet apart, fire between them giving life to the small bit of good rations they’ve brought along. Noisy as Carly stabs away at the plate making Siberite shift in ways Fordola and Zero had only ever seen on the battlefield. Back and forth the sounds go, Fordola looking between them with narrowed eyes. “Oh for love of-. Will you two stop it already!” The two women look up, the metal scraping along Carly’s teeth as she sets it down, “How are we to get anything done if you two can’t even sit here without it turning into a fight?”
“I certainly don’t see any weapons drawn,” Carly says, rolling her eyes, “and no words had been uttered.”
“Oh shut up! You know exactly what I mean and what you’re doing.” Carly lets out a low growl, “Why are you two even like this? Beyond the obvious events in Ala Mhigo.”
“She rightly believes me to be the cause of Zenos’ death,” Siberite answers, “You know how he was Fordola, he wanted it to be a fight to the death.”
“You could have brought him back to be buried with respect,” Carly hisses, shoulders raising, “but you couldn’t even be bothered to do that!”
“Carly, you had plans to bring him back from the dead, again.”
“And? Did you not do the same with your friends out there at the edge of the universe?”
“I-. Hey now, that was different. They-.”
“Sacrificed themselves to save you and the star blah blah. Sacrifice in that situation means dying. There was no guarantee that your plan would work. That they would live again.”
“You're right I didn’t know if it would work and I have told you before that if I could have I would have brought him back.”
“You hated him! You saw him as nothing more than a single minded monster, when that was far from the case. You all did!”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to hate friends?” They all turn to look at Zero, still picking at the roll on her plate, “You two were friends, I thought.”
“It’s….a little more complicated. I don’t think he knew just how to be friends with people. He certainly had a different way of viewing the world but my hatred started to wane ever so slightly.”
Carly crosses her arms, “Sure that makes things all better between us.”
Zero looks up at her with a small tilt of her head, “Why did he never call you friend?” 
Her eyes narrow and look to the ground, “Who are you to be asking such things anyway?” She waves the question off, “Not that it matters. Honestly I can’t wait to finish here and never see the likes of any of you again.” 
“We all share the same sentiment, Carly,” Fordola says, “So you two have to get along for the time being.”
She purses her lips, “I never got a chance to ask you when you ended my bonding time with Boy Toy,” Siberite readies to speak giving a small shake of her head thinking better of it, “Did he have any final words to say?”
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windupnamazu · 2 years
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let's spend the night together from now until forever!
ffxivwrite2022 #09: yawn (of an opening or space) be very large and wide.
lunya and «balefire»—zaya, reese, hanami, rjoli, + more of elie's ocs, endwalker (mare lamentorum arc). 618wc. ⮞ it's called a "sleepover," not a "stay up all night and annoy hanami to death-over"!
Lunya had been sitting on the "finest sleeping module Bestways Burrow had to offer its Etheiryan guests of honor" for all of ten minutes when she decided this was going to be the comfiest bed any of them had ever or would ever sleep on again for the rest of their miserable little mortal lives.
"I need one of these at home," she declared to all and none of her friends scattered across the unending plain of the bed, because surely this delectably soft mattress that was very much designed for an Unsundered and not a Lalafell and her dozen companions made up for the fashion crimes being committed here tonight. Majj, who was already coiled up around her back in the ugliest godsdamned sleep robe she had ever seen and playing with her pigtails, twisted a peach ear to hear her passionate declaration better—as ever her most indulgent supporter. "I'm bringing back a Loporrit."
"No!" squawked Reese at the same time Valdis helpfully chirped a tired, I'll help! from where they were folding everyone's clothes and organizing boots and belts. "Go to bed!"
Nyneve's arm came free of one of her gauntlets with a distinct POP! that had Lumelle and Elwin looking down at the armor in their hands with mild concern. "Can we have a pillow fight first?"
"No," Hanami barked, clearly trying not to pincer her own pillow as she rolled away from them and their growing pile of shucked leathers and steel. She was very small without her usual array of protective pointy bits, which was incredibly cute but in a way that would get Lunya stabbed if she said so out loud and without Ser Aymeric in range. "Go to bed."
"Nyneve, if we have a pillow fight here," Reese reasoned patiently with a little bead of sweat on her forehead that suggested she was very, very afraid, "Lunya is going to cheat by making everyone's pillows weigh like bricks, Wyda will probably demolish someone by blinking at them, Zaya will probably generate so much static that Rjoli and Duscha will turn into pompoms, Myrrh and Valdis will probably set the whole bed aflame, and then Hanami will skewer us with Tehra'ir's daggers. And when we're all dead, Einar and A'dewah will have to sleep on the floor outside because they'll be too scared to come back in and check on us, and the Loporrits will find out and cry."
Majj shook his head, the little pom on the tail of his nightcap smacking Lunya in the eye—"ow," she whined, "Majjie!!!"—"We can't make them cry," he said very solemnly. "I still needta see if they can jump as high as I can."
"Ryne would like the Loporrits," Lunya said as she rubbed her poor eye, and Zaya was a blur of blue as they nodded rapidly in agreement. "We should steal one for her."
Gaia, too, Zaya signed with a little sparkle in their eyes, and Lunya nearly broke her neck energetically nodding back just as fast. Had they been closer together on the massive bed they probably would have high-fived, but Zaya was busy being squashed beneath an already-snoring Duscha and probably wondering when Thancred was going to come back from his stroll around the Burrow.
If Reese were a pufferfish she would have been bloated. "We are not kidnapping any Loporrits!"
"Um, yeah, because it's not kidnapping when they want to go," Lunya sniffed. "You're just mad that me and Growingway have a bond that transcends"—THWACK! went Hanami's punctured pillow into Lunya's face, feathers flying loose when it fell onto the girl's lap—"Hanahana!"
"GO TO BED!"
"But we don't even know how to turn off the lights!"
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whitherliliesbloom · 2 years
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lives apart
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[ ffxivwrite2022 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ #14 - attrition ] [ emet-selch, heavy mentions of wol ] ★ [ 902 words ]  ★ [ endwalker ]
attrition - sorrow for one's sins that arises from a motive other than that of the love of god
returned to the aetheric sea, hades realizes the height of his ignorance.
He had thought his gaze of contempt was deserving and just once upon a time - back when he’d still donned the title of Solus, of the ascian who opposed the new age of men. 
An emperor, the godfather, the eldest of elds, he whose judgement is absolute and infallible. He’d gazed upon the splintered shards of the stars and found the newly born denizens wanting - undeserving of the right to live in their stead.
And it was in that judgement- that anger and envy that he’d blinded himself to his own sins and lost the essence of who he once was, what the man in the seat of Emet-Selch should have represented.
And it isn’t until he’s returned here- drifting lifeless, yearning, regretting through the aetheric sea does he remember that girl... does he realize.
Ah, your gaze of contempt was an exact mirror of mine. Poetic, really.
He thinks back to the expression upon the Warrior of Light and Darkness’ face with a sort of affection Solus would have frowned upon with disgust, one that Hades would’ve denied until the very end... but he as Emet-Selch understood the reason for better than any other. 
Whenever he’d pass her and her companions by, whether in the Oculus of the Exarch’s sanctuary of crystals or in the midst of burning stars - a scenic recreation born from the deepest, darkest pits of his memories...he’d watched as she frowned, as she scowled, as she looked upon him with an anger he’d once thought was undeserving. 
Who was she to cast judgement upon his actions as if she was worth an ilm of her life? Who was she to thwart his efforts? Who was she to deny them, to deny their hopes and dreams, to deny their right to live - their right at their anguish for the unfairness of their fate.
How unfair, Solus snarks, the man who conquered and crushed and has learned to justify it all, it’s two completely different matters. How ironic, Hades chimes in, the man who has remembered their meeting in elpis from so many ages ago, that you should echo the very same words she has all the right to be saying to you.
Emet-Selch keeps silent, haunted by both and eternally denied of his sound rest as he drifts and drifts with naught but his thoughts. 
A voice from the past sounds in his head, one that he knows to be a fragment of his imagination... but one that resonates loud all the same.
And what of you? Running from your mistakes is quite unbecoming of one of the fourteen, don’t you think?
Oh, yes. Ever so self-righteous, you are, Emet-Selch and Hades mutters back with a roll of their metaphoric eyes... You’re just like your mentor.
But they know her words to be true, they know her words to be just. 
Azem’s words cut deep, as does her soul-piercing gaze and intuition, her creativity, her insight, her intellectual depth. There were many things about Azem that he’d remembered, none he didn’t look back upon with a longing fondness. But most importantly of her was her morality, her altruism... and her ever so unique stance on the world - that all life is important, all life must be cherished.
Azem’s soul had been so tenacious, so determined in her mission to help those around her that even sundered as she was, she had been reborn fourteenfold, with the exact same selflessness and fire within her. 
And the tragedy of it all comes with the part he played in trying to smother her light - to extinguish the love and hope she represented. He hadn’t realized... refused to realize until it was too late.
Was it regret? Was it grief? A part of him believes he has no right of such emotions, and another, more prideful part of him says it is merely indignation at his defeat... that he should be so weak as to lose to just a fraction of Azem’s power. Pathetic. 
But what he does know - he as Emet-Selch.. who has regained memories of Hades and Solus both... is that he has made his final judgement, his final decision. 
Not on the right of the new age to live, not on the worth of existence. But of himself. 
Who is it that he wants to be? What name is it that he wants to be remembered by?
Solus zos Galvus, the man who tore apart countless homes and almost single-handedly destroyed the lives of many, many innocent generations to come? Hades, the man of duty who worked alongside a mysterious starlight from the future.. the man who forgot.
Or Emet-Selch, the man who knows, who remembers, who has carried the weight of a thousand, thousand lives upon his shoulders and who had become blinded on his conquest for a past that was never to be returned. Of the man who has the sole duty of eternal guilt and sorrow for all that he has done.
He has made his decision, and not a moment too soon, as he feels the pull of his soul being summoned by a magic force all too familiar and warm.
Antheia. 
No. Illya. 
Hers is a call he will never refuse. Her beckoning is one he will always answer. 
It’s the very least he could do to atone - the very least he could do to repent.
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Hello, my old heart
(Endwalker spoilers for the final zone!)
They are together. It’s a constant, like the land, like the air.
Though this place has proven those things to be just as ephemeral. It’s a void that has consumed them one by one. One for the space to stand, one for the winds that fly. Another, another, another.
And then there were two.
He couldn’t even protect the twins. His gloves do little to absorb his tears, but Apollo hides his face in them regardless. Maybe it’s shame, for letting them do this, for not being strong enough anymore to save them all. Maybe it’s because he simply cannot stomach another minute of this, of looking at yet another shining, brilliant way forward bought with the sacrifices of his friends. Maybe it’s because he’s always hated crying in front of Sindri.
Sindri is always here, always beside him even when they’ve been physically apart. He doesn’t judge (not for this), but Apollo feels all the weaker for being the one to break.
Metal clinks as Sindri’s gauntleted hand touches his shoulder. “We have to-.”
“I know,” Apollo chokes out. “I know. This won’t be for nothing. We have to find her.” He swipes at his eyes, makes himself take a breath. It can’t be much further. Please, gods, let this be the end of it.
They always go together through the darkest of times and places. It will never change. Sindri the devoted, protector of the woods; a king even in name. Sindri…his greatest friend.
He should have known she would take it all.
One more roadblock. One more sacrifice.
They look at one more dark feathered girl and before Apollo can even begin to think of the next bridge, Sindri steps forward. His throat goes tight and the words that are said are Sindri’s alone.
And then he is alone with the howl of the wind in his ears. Truly, completely alone no matter the earth below his feet or the air in his lungs. Bought and bartered with their lives and yet he must keep going. He must keep going.
The wind is so loud; this graveyard so silent beneath it.
The whispers come from nowhere in old, familiar voices.
Yours is the Fourteenth Seat: the seat of Azem. You have the power to call the very stars to your side.
Ours is the power of creation. Have you forgotten? To weave something from the very energy around us. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen that far.
Desperation has gotten him through more than one terrible moment. Light aether cracked open the pieces of his soul and he held them together out of the pure desperation to not see another world lost. The god of their old world, of the laws of nature, resurrected and they fought bloody tooth and claw just to live another day.
Live, live, live.
It pounds in his chest. He’s always wanted to live, selfishly. It makes him a terrible hero. It makes him a coward. Every risk he took, it was always with the thought in the back of his mind that he would live. That his powers would always save him at the last.
And now?
Apollo tips his head back, letting the tears roll back across his temples and into his hair. The weight of a thousand thousand worlds weighs heavy. The ghosts that hang always in the corners of his eyes move forward, a grim welcoming party to his final utter end. 
Oh, don’t leave me here alone.
Don’t tell me that we’ve grown for having loved for a little while.
He takes a breath. He exhales. He takes a step, and then another.
Apollo walks across a dead world, ghosts flickering in his eyes. He clings to the shards of something in his chest, the last thing in the box, flickering against the dark.
I don’t wanna be alone.
The sun climbs the back of the cliffs, eclipsed against a dead star, nearly subsumed by the dark.
Apollo breathes and he keeps taking another step. Until he finds her.
The hard, black, dead star hangs above them both. Her feathers are pitch and her skin like ash. Another ghost, another one lost in the dark. He feels like her match. Here at the end of the universe, he is as any other mortal: small, insignificant, and alone.
Apollo closes his eyes. She speaks, the little bird long lost, in a voice that almost sounds kind. “Come, let me relieve you of your burden. You have suffered enough.”
A stone that should never have been made, not after their parting, hangs above his heart. He lifts his hand to it, safely tucked away, and smiles. “I have never forsaken this world nor its people. I will not start now,” he says quietly.
His eyes open, the summer sky blazing in his face. The sun rises, gilding all in gold. 
It’s as easy as breathing. The spell circle appears like daybreak over the mountains. A heartbeat and they’re there. Hades starts to scoff. Hythlodaeus starts to chuckle.
“I’m afraid we don’t have time, my friends.” Apollo walks forward to stand between them. “I simply wanted some certainty.”
“Such recklessness.” Hades crosses his arms with a sniff.
“As if you’ve never had a flair for the dramatic.” Hythlodaeus holds a hand out, their own dramatic flair for show.
Apollo takes another breath. It feels like two sets of lungs, like a ghost of himself sets his hands on his shoulders.
Hello, my old heart.
It’s been so long since I’ve given you away.
“Focus and envision,” Hades says like they’re all still in school. Light builds around the three of them, power humming through the air and rising like a song.
He takes it in, holds it, and then weaves the next verse.
With a flick of his wrist, the world explodes at their feet. Beautiful crystal blossoms break from the cold earth, racing to cover the emptiness and welcome her home.
It reaches further, sunlight breaking through the branches, warming the earth with a new dawn. It steadies the ground, brings new life to the air, and makes manifest all their dreams.
The sun rises steadily, drawing all back into its light.
And every day I add another stone to the walls I built around you to keep you safe.
It leaves him burned clean and raw. He’d collapse to the ground alongside her if it wasn’t for the hands on his arms. “Beautifully done,” Hythlodaeus says. “Your greatest composition yet, I’d say.”
Steadying him, Hades says nothing. But his touch lingers, fingers brushing at his back. They help him find his feet and then they step away.
Oh, don’t leave me here alone.
Don’t tell me that we’ve grown for having loved a little while.
Apollo looks at them and feels a piece of himself walk away to join them. They will fade back into the Sea and one day…they’ll all give it another try. He smiles at them and then weaves Hydaelyn’s last light into his own.
They reappear in beautiful flashes of light, each and every one.
Oh, oh-oh. I don’t wanna be alone.
There is a presence at his back, a weighted gaze. Apollo turns to meet mismatched eyes and the ghosts all fade away. His face scrunches, the ugliest of expressions, and then he darts across the flowers, petals flying in his wake.
I wanna find a home. And I wanna share it with you.
Sindri’s arms are already up to catch him. His momentum carries them around in a half-circle and Apollo’s heart is in pieces, it’s ready to burst. He brushes Sindri’s bangs aside, meets his beautiful, steady mismatched eyes, and then kisses him.
It’s for the end of the world. It’s a promise. It’s a welcome home.
He kisses Sindri for every day that he hasn’t and every day yet to come. For every tavern night and every fight where they’ve been too reckless or too careless for each other. Every healing spell, every heavy sword, it always meant this: be safe, be well, I love you.
Hello, my old heart. How have you been?
Someone is whistling for them and Apollo pulls away, hands still cupped around Sindri’s face. He smiles as tears fall from his eyes. He wipes away those that land on Sindri’s cheeks before his feet find the ground again. Sindri’s throat works, but he says nothing. He puts his hand to the back of Apollo’s head and then hugs him tightly for a moment.
“Now that’s a step too far!” Thanced’s voice is light, teasing.
Apollo laughs as Sindri steps back and the others move in. He hugs them, each in turn, and then returns to Sindri. He takes his hand and holds it tight. The squeeze he gets in return is grounding.
Almost home.
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cerezawrites · 2 years
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FFXIV Write 2022 - Row
Spoilers for Endwalker
Cereza sorted through the rows of reagents, ensuring all had been returned to their proper place.  Though her brother-in-law had told her not to worry about cleaning up after, her own experience told her that she needed to do that much.  After all, he’d been kind enough to let her work out of the business’ lab; it was the least she could do.  
Satisfied that the vials and bottles were properly replaced, she went back to her results.  The experiment had gone as well as she’d hoped, based on the math.  In front of her sat a single crystal, still cooling from the heat of the process of making it.  A soul crystal.  Properly made.
Making soul crystals wasn’t terribly uncommon - time-consuming and a bit expensive, yes, but it wasn’t impossible if you could find the right materials.  The problem was finding them.  The Machinists had gotten a supply of the right kind of crystal somewhere - she suspected from the remnants of Dalamud that had crashed into Coerthas but wasn’t sure - but no one to her knowledge had MADE a new soul crystal from scratch.  
The problem was, she wasn’t sure she trusted other sources anymore.  More and more the crystals had started to remind her of Auracite - and specifically, the cursed kind Ultima had created in ancient Ivalice.  Using a pre-made crystal was fine, because someone else had usually imprinted upon it already, mitigating the risks.  But for what she hoped to accomplish, she needed one whose source could be guaranteed safe - and the only way to verify that was to make it herself.  
Jacob yawned as he came back to check on her.  “I thought I told you not to worry about cleaning up.  Ah, but you would feel bad if you didn’t.”  Cereza smiled at her brother-in-law and best friend’s knowledge of her quirks.  He came over and offered a cup of tea, which she gladly accepted.  “Did it work?” he asked, looking at the crystal.  “Were you able to distill it?”  
Cereza nodded as she sipped the hot tea, then responded.  “It worked.  The process is still a bit resource intensive for mass production I think - both materials AND labor, that is.  But for my goal, this will work.”  
He nodded, considering the crystal without touching it.  “What IS your goal, exactly?  You never quite explained it all the way - or if you did, you used terms even I didn’t get.  Remember, I’m an alchemist, not an aetherologist.”  
Cereza laughed.  “Ah, you probably know more about aetherology than you realize.  But no, I was playing my cards close to my chest on this, and I apologize.”  She picked up the crystal finally, feeling its smoothness in her hand.  “The truth is, this is meant as a failsafe.”  She hesitated before speaking.  “Back in Garlemald, something... happened.  I don’t want to get into the details... but it involved me losing control over my body.”  SeShe rolled the crystal around on her hand.  “I’m hoping it never happens again.  But in case it does, I’m... preparing.  My hope is that this will be one part anchor, holding me in place, and one partdeterrent against anyone trying to control me.  We’ll have to see how it shapes up though.”  
Jacob listened, stunned by her admission, and understanding her reluctance to speak further.  “Well... I hope it works as you want it to.”  He clearly made a mind to change the topic.  “Meanwhile, I was hoping that while you were here, you might be able to help with something else.”  
Cereza smiled at the chance to leave those memories behind.  “What’s up?  No, let me guess.... the children’s school, right?  Showing up as a surprise?”  
Jacob nodded.  “Your mom didn’t want to bother you with it, but I know it would mean the world to Becca.”  Rebecca was Cereza’s niece, a four-year-old girl, soon to be five, with a mind full of lofty adventures, inspired by her aunt’s stories.  “And probably the other kids, too.  Even without Becca telling your stories, it’s not like you aren’t a celebrity.  I know you don’t like to do public appearances and trade in on your fame but-”  
Cereza held a finger to Jacob’s lips.  “You know this is different.  Hopes and dreams are a powerful force.  I refuse to use my fame for personal gain, but for helping inspire those things in children?  Especially on my niece's name day?  It’d be an honor.”  
“Well,” another voice said, “I had told him it wasn’t something to trouble you over, but I suppose Jacob never was good at listening.”  Cereza’s mother Annabelle came into the lab, shaking her head but with a smile on her face.  Cereza’s mother had retired from active service as a Conjurer and Hearer, but served as a teacher with a children’s school in Gridania, helping the little ones to learn their numbers and letters.  “And I admit, it’d be a treat for the kids.  Not every day you meet your hero.”  
Cereza smiled at that.  “Indeed indeed.”  She sipped the last of her tea, considering the idea of this event.  “Just let me know what I need to prepare.  Oh, and how I should dress... I can dress for state dinners and diplomatc events, but no idea what a pre-school birthday part calls for.”  
The other two laughed, and the conversation turned to preparations for the event.  Eventually, her mother and brother-in-law both headed out from the lab to their respective homes for the evening, leaving Cereza alone in the lab holding the crystal.  She closed her eyes and allowed her aether to merge with it, suffuse it, and join the rest in a long row in her mind’s eye.
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stxrcxller · 1 year
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@badassbarmaid | ✩
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"I've got it." Z'nakei reassured, first looking through the kitchen to see what ingredients were available before deciding on what she wanted to make. After collecting everything she got started.
She picked something quick and simple, so that she wouldn't have time to get too unsteady on her feet before finishing. It wasn't long before she set down two plates on the table, "There you go!"
Unknowingly, she waited until Tifa tried a bite before eating herself- and even more unknowingly, she took multiple glances towards the Hyur to see what she thought.
As expected of someone raised by one of Lominsa's culinarians, the food was good.
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cinder-fall-bun · 18 days
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ARR Pre-Titan Thoughts
So as I'm rushing to level 50 MSQ, I've also been trying pondering how Cinder would feel about everything. Just because she has no memory of her life back on Remnant, doesn't mean she's a sweet cinnamon roll. When I mentioned this to someone on social media, they said that Cinder is always wanting to throw someone off a cliff and just because she's from Volume 3's end, doesn't mean she wasn't always angy. It just got more during this because of two reasons: being an errand girl running all over the realm and being a Healer. Venat really fucked up in giving her the opportunity to become a White Mage because we all know Healers are very much not the cute moe type but the ones holding the whip and the power. Pretty sure there's an art of Cinder out there with a whip, just a hunch.
So...how was Cinder during this time?
For starters, she started in Gridania and they're not so friendly to outsiders and it was the same with her outside of Miounne. Even doing their dirty work within the city, Cinder wasn't treated as well even though she was polite, courteous, and did everything without showing how upset she was. She thought that maybe if she did more errands, she'd get more respect but alas, that didn't happen. And it gnawed at her soul and could feel her anger bubble below the surface so of course it bit her in the ass. See, before Miounne let her access the inn rooms, Cinder had no place to sleep and did have to sleep outside in bushes. Sometimes it rained and she had no cover and it SUCKED. But the rain did help with her hiding some held back tears. Cinder didn't know because of this, a higher being did in fact see her suffering:
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She wouldn't find out until Endwalker that this happened but Nophica has kept an eye on her since she came to Gridania and while this was during the time where the gods only watched and couldn't (see 'wouldn't') intervene directly, she had to find another way to do so. Which meant getting the Conjurers' Guildmaster's attention so Cinder can stay there at least until she could get inn rooms at the Adventurers' Guild.
It went about as normal as one could get (why did fighting weird masked folks feel normal to her?) but there was also a couple other weirdos that kept showing up around the same time.
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They seemed harmless and Cinder did find the information they did have interesting but she didn't think it concerned her yet. That and she didn't want to talk about the time when she saw the huge floating crystal to strangers; there was no way that the one in the mask was so dense, right?
(Spoilers: Cinder was wrong. Yda was rather dense.)
Yeah, the first meeting with Hydaelyn confused Cinder because she couldn't help but feel odd during it. Not because of being in awe but she couldn't help that something felt off about her words. Shining her light on all creation? Now Cinder doesn't have any memory of her past before the story begins but she can't help but have a feeling that there's something more. But she's curious and perhaps she can at least try something; it could help her regain the memories she did lose.
Things got a bit better in Gridania when Cinder did get recognized as doing good, even with the leader of the city, Kan-E-Senna, giving her a position in a festival mostly for those of the forest. Gaining respect made Cinder feel good and having those in power letting her go do some things in their name...was good. A bit of power for herself. It's even better when they ask her to go explore some various areas, giving Cinder more room to spread her wings so to speak. And she is a healer and adventurers do need someone to help keep them healthy and whole. How did that go?
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Going through Sastasha, Tam-Tara, and Copperbell and helping fellow green adventurers like herself was HELL. Cinder had her first taste of Healer Salt and it was enough for her to go solo after helping out in Halatali until the rest of 2.0. Maybe if everyone decided not to go Leeroy Jenkins and run off as Cinder was trying to ensure everyone stayed alive, the story would be different. But no. Suffer.
But her hard work did get her more noticed by being recruited by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, a group working along with the city-states but not a part of them in order to fight primals and do all the weird cases. Cinder did find them mostly fine but she was taken back by Minfilia talking about her becoming family. It felt too soon for her. She doesn't know if she has a family or not and here comes this lady with the same Echo power telling her these things and it's...weird. During her first assignment involving Ifrit, it wasn't so bad until she got captured and Thancred didn't annoy her like Yda did before so that helped. But when she learned that she couldn't be tempered like most folks, you can bet that boosted Cinder's ego.
Just as she was feeling good, she was off to go to Gridania and make sure the sylph folks don't go summoning their god. This did involve asking a lot of questions about how to act around them and her hard work very nearly paid off. Until...
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(Dramatic reenactment of Cinder showing Yda how pissed off she was after she said that.)
Worked her butt off and it was going to go smoothly but no, these two came in and Yda blurted out and then assumed Cinder didn't do a decent job because she didn't dance in greeting. Hissed and everything. Papalymo just told her that's what she got and Yda got the fear of the bun put into her. This was a time that she loathed because she did so much running around getting booze from a rat creature, beating up some punk soldier thinking Garleans make good bosses and giving up so easily, and chasing after the head masked robed weirdo who called himself Lahabrea as he sicked a spider on her. Needless to say, her trek to Little Ala Mhigo didn't help matters either.
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But honestly, this would be nothing compared to what will happen when she has to deal with Titan. What happens afterward will also hit Cinder like a truck-kun and that's when some development happens.
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pr1ncesspopstar · 6 months
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Duet Across Stars and Time - FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 24: Duet (Free Day)
Spoilers for Shadowbringers and Endwalker (in-between patches for both as well) | Ao3
-
Halditar yawned loud, her exhale almost overtaking the gentle plucking on the strings on her lute. What was morning to most was winding down to be evening to her. Since arriving in Novrandt it had thrown her internal clock into chaos, made worse by the return of night and her habits of late. With news of a man slaying sin eaters and calling himself by her title in the Source, she took it upon herself to patrol the Lakelands at night in search of this mystery man. It ripped whatever remained of her sleep schedule to shreds.
She’d spent most of her waking hours at the end of her treks across the woods in the bar beneath the Wandering Stairs. The Crystarium never slept, but she found during these moments before dawn broke, it was at its most quiet. Her voice sailed over the stone and metal paths, softly floating from ear to ear. The only acknowledgement of her song being the occasional sway she’d see in a merchant or passerby as they walked, wrapped within her melody.
“You’re gonna put me to sleep if you keep it up with that song…” Giott yawned from the seat across the table. The dwarf was the only other person Halditar’s had met with sleeping habits, perhaps worse than her own. Often, they were each other’s only company between the hazy hours where few were awake.
“Ale benders finally slowing you down?” Halditar teased the shorter girl.
“You wish. You’re just jealous I can down more than you and still stand straight.” Giott said, as cheeky as ever, a finger tracing the rim of a half-empty cup. The moments of silence stretched on as the roegadyn (or galdjent, in this land) kept playing, her eyes closed and basking in the sound. A question broke it.
“So what’s with those words you sing? Can’t say I’ve ever heard a language like that spoken like that in all my years…” The dwarf’s ever shined with a soft curiosity. “Is that the language of you and the Exarch’s home?”
Halditar chuckled, a soft sound that rolled out easily with the warm, comforting music. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just a bunch of nonsense I came up with when I was little. There’s not much thought, just feeling.”
That’s only part true, but to explain anymore would complicate things. She wasn’t sure how she could describe this idea, that one day rang through her whole being, clearer than crystal. It felt primordial, tied to her core. Yet it was all her own creation and hers alone, of that she was sure. Unless she taught them, no one would know the song as she did.
“Really? Could have tricked me… I’m not one for ‘poetics,’ but it really is a pretty sound. Kind of short, though.”
“Well, it’s only half done. It’s supposed to be a duet, I think, since I never figured out the other words.” Halditar’s fingers slowed over the strings, leaving more space for silence to fill. The air itself seemed to yearn for something to join the space, though it never would. As if the world knew this was a song cursed to stay incomplete. “But haven’t been able to find the other person who knows the rest. It’s fine though-”
The song’s crawl picked up once more. Though it was certainly missing something if one knew it as Giott did now (though what may be a question with no answer), it did not belie the strength the incomplete verse had. A soothing, soulful melody that conveyed strength and sadness. It would not sound out of place in a tragedy.
“I can feel them, somewhere. I look forward to meeting them. It’s a small world, it’s only a matter of time.” Her fingers slowed a last time. The song faded gracefully through the open air. She set her lute down, exhausting seeping in at the weight of her own peaceful music finally hit her.
“You know, I never believe all that schmancy bard talk. It usually sounds like a lot of bullshit to me. But when it’s you? Well, it’s hard not to believe in it.” Giott said softly and raised her cup to her towards the Warrior of Darkness. “Here’s hoping you find the bastard. When you do, you better come back and share the full song, ya hear?”
“Promise.”
The sun’s beams pierced through the glass, welcoming the day and signaling Halditar needed to sleep. She hummed the song still as she went to her room. It came as natural as breathing.
-
Amaurot was but a mote of light on the horizon, a sliver of gold on the vast blanket of stars above her. Even this far that felt too close, it was a blemish on the sea of rolling soft grass that waved in the wind, with gentle hills perfect to race and roll over. Somewhere above, the soft babbling of a brook carved its way through the mountain. A bird sang its nightly warble in the branches above her head, a contrast to her own song.
She had morphed and shaped her staff into a lute, but her strumming was minimal. Instead, her fingers took to the polished wood, rapping and knocking against its hollow body to create a rhythm. Her foot crunched against the stones beneath her as a beat. It’s reminiscent of the ticking of a clock, hypnotic in its own way. Most of the melody comes for her voice, strong as it echoed unto verdant plains and up the mountainside.
“Elea!”
She threw her gaze over her shoulder, surprised, but unfaltering in the crafting of her song.
“Themis,” she greeted quietly betwixt lyrics. He looked tired, hair tousled with pale skin flushed a gentle pink. The bottoms of his robes dusted with dirt as a trophy of the long journey he’d taken to reach her. “You’re quite far from home tonight.” She shifted over to make room on the rock for him.
He flustered for a moment, mouth opening and closing, eyes wide as he struggled with words. She couldn’t help but smile. He sometimes seemed caught between boyhood and manhood, still growing into the mighty role he was asked to fill. His moment of shock passed, and he joined her, overlooking the expanse before them.
“I’d say the same to you, but I know you’ve gone much farther.” She felt his gaze move between her face, her instrument, and the small golden pearl that was their city in the distance. “No one knew where you went. We thought you just disappeared. If not for the note you left, I wouldn't have known where to search…”
“I apologize for making you and the others worry.” She said. Though there was an unspoken assurance she would slip away without a word again, as she was wont to do. She couldn’t help it, when the thoughts filled her head to the point of splitting out, and she needed to escape somewhere to let them out, sort them and explore them without the weight of being ‘Azem’ coming. The needless decorum and restrictions were much too stifling for her thoughts, which often went against the grain of her fellows.
“This is where you come to think, then?” His voice was barely a whisper, eyes shining as those blue eyes saw this new angle of the world.
“No, I just found this place while wandering and thought it’d be as fine as any other destination.” Her words were plain for one of her stature. She did not use her words lightly. Her tongue was as much a tool as any other. To dull it with pointless words and muddle her meanings, she could imagine no worse action.
Perhaps that’s why the sounds falling from her tongue felt so refreshing. They were nothing but true, phonetics and morphology dancing with these ideas and feelings that resonated from all about her.
“That’s beautiful music,” her guest seemed to agree, Themis having pulled his eyes from the city to stare at her. She kept her focus on the start above, imagining how different they would be next time this song played. “Is that a new language you’re developing?”
“Hardly.”
“An incantation then?”
“No. It’s something just for us”
He seemed confused now, brow furrowing as her movement stilled. Silence was so loud, the world filling the air with the sound of insect chitters and the wind rustling leaves to make up for her silence. A noble attempt to fill the space in her song, but fruitless.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand… Are you working on this song with someone?”
“That’s the easiest way to explain it.” Elea nodded, fingers taking up the rhythm once more. Melodies danced in her head about what could join the beat, but it wasn’t her song to finish. Her role was already done.
“I had a dream, many nights ago,” her eyes locked onto the space between stars, thinking of the person playing music at the same time as her, blind in the eye of most of the world. That even with a friend, she should still feel a painful loneliness thanks to the stranger she’d never make music with. “A premonition is maybe a more accurate word. But I thought of a song, a duet in which I have half, and another person has the other. So I’ve been writing my half and wondering who it is that might have the other.”
“You mean you’re writing a song with someone you haven’t even asked yet? How are you supposed to finish it?” Themis’ voice was pitched high with shock, confusion only settling heavier on his brow when she shook her head.
“I haven’t even met them yet. I don’t need to think too hard, as it’s not mine to finish. All I can do is play what I have and wonder what the person who will finish it will be like.” She looked down at her hands, soft still despite all her work, magic, such a thoughtless task for her natural talents, and hardly with the time now to spare to curiosities, unless she snuck off. “I think they are someone I would very much like to meet someday. I worry though, I may not have the chance.”
“Elea... Are you truly alright?” Themis stared at her with naught but worry in his voice. “These thoughts and words, they are unlike you…”
She smiled kindly to her younger friend, though it was strained against her teeth. These thoughts were like her, they always were, but it was for that confusion she spoke them less often. Feeling and ideas deep from her core, close to her heart, to expose them. Often met with confusion rather than curiosity, a failure to understand time after time. The constant doubts of her deeper thoughts... She was exhausted long ago by it all and simply stopped sharing, except with her closest confidants. It was easier, if not lonely, to only speak some of her truth instead of all of them. She wondered, often, how long that would last before she cracked under pressure.
“You needn’t worry, sweet boy. Just talking to myself, as usual.” She said and raised a hand to pay his head. Stroking his hair, the boy blushed and went frigid, surprised by such familiar affection. An idea came to mind, something to at least distract him, spare him from worrying over her words. “Why don’t you do me a favor? In the future, keep an ear out for the other part of this song, and find the singer.”
“But how will I recognize part of a song I’ve never heard before?” He asked, struggling to keep up with her.
“You’re a smart one, and I trust in you. I know you will recognize it.” She reassured him. A thousand more questions danced in his eyes, but he asked the one she had hoped to hear most.
“And what should I do, when I find them?”
“Complete the duet... and get to know that person for me. I would like to think that whoever carries the other half of this song, they must be a terribly interesting person. Someone I think you’d like very much, in my stead.” She said it with all her heart, because she knew it would be true. “Won’t you do that for me?”
Themis hesitated, uncertainty and confusion seen in the tug downwards of his lip, the furrow of his brow, but he nodded. His unfaltering trust warmed her heart. “Yes, Elea.”
“Thank you, sweet boy.”
“May I ask something of you, then?” He asked, looking at her guitar. “Play your part of the song until dawn comes, so that way I won’t forget it. To find this 'half' of your duet easier.”
A request she was happy to comply with, singing until it rendered her throat raw upon the first beams of dawn. A melody that begged kindness, and mercy, and freedom from burdens, with words only she could know. She trusted in fate that somewhere, this song continued. It would compete, even if it was only long after she and all she knew was gone.
-
Elidibus wandered the Lakeland ruins in his stolen skin. It fit well, or at least sufficiently enough to vanquish sin eaters with a single cleave of this mighty axe. Still biding his time, waiting for the right moment to take action. Despite the rising tension, he was ever patient. Impossibly so. It was his duty, after all.
He came across the skins of eaters, aetheric burns and precise cuts along their most vulnerable parts. Dead in an instant, far too quick, too proficient to be the work of Crystarium guards or even skilled mercenaries. This was done by someone that had vanquished every known sin eater beneath the sun.
A voice floated between the purple trees, carried by the wind. Elidibus froze, stuck in space and time as the sound danced about him. Flames from a campfire licked into the air between the trees, silhouetting the figure from whom the music came.
He knew no language or magic that used the words flowing from her mouth, yet it was familiar to him. Familiar in such a way that his chest ached, this body’s heart struggling to pump blood through its veins on his behalf. His skin prickled in excitement, feeling his hair stand on end as if he had just been given an answer he longed to know. But the question was more than an eternity away, as lost as so many things were. This made the pain only amplify.
On instinct, he hummed. Some sound that held no meaning, but it was innate. A gentle melody that could quell any heart. Fitting into the spaces between the shadow’s song. An act the figure did not fail to notice.
“Who’s there?!” Halditar’s swung a torch behind, nouliths darting into the night to search for and disarm any living threat that wandered to close. No magic glow or light of fire was quick enough to catch the figure that melted into shadows. She stared long and hard, trying to catch any signs of anything, but gave up only when her weapons faltered at the very edge of her mental limits.
She recalled her weapons, and lowered her torch, snuffing it out in the dirt as she sat before the fire.
She sang her lonely duet again, only softer this time. Mind pulled to the whisper on the wind that sounded so familiar.
So close, yet so far from being complete.
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starlit-heir · 1 year
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Tags
General Tags
Bun Ramblings || OOC
A Burst of Inspiration || Reblog
Safe Travels || Promo
Have You Heard? || Headcanons
Hits Close to Home || Musings
Constellations Above || Aesthetic
A Thousand Words || Art
A Faint Image || Sketch
Painted Portraits || Mun's Art
Pictures of Life || Screenshots
Unseen Legacies || Drabbles
The Hildibrand Saga || Crack
Interaction Tags
Answer Honestly || Ask
Your True Feelings? || Ask Game
GATE in the Saucer || Dash Game
Looking for Quests || Starter Call
Quest Pending || Open Starter
Waiting for the Mail || Wishlist
Open Hearts || Shipping Call
Watching Life Go 'Round || Dash Commentary
Countless Stories || RP
Mainverse Tags
The Unending Journey || Mainverse
Fata Magicā || Unspecified
Bring it On || A Realm Reborn
Crime and Punishment || Heavensward
The Chattering Lack of Common Sense || Stormblood
Whisper || Shadowbringers
Rolling Girl || Endwalker
Cradle of Hope || Post-Endwalker
Other Verse Tags
Forgotten Words || Childhood
Hopeless Fool || Lightwarden
Into the Sun || Icarus
Starlit King || Fae King
Weary Wanderer || Crossover
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yzeltia · 6 months
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FFXIVwrite2023 16.Jerk
Characters: Alisaie Leveilleur, X'rhun Tia, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Estinien Wyrmblood, Varshahn, G'raha Tia, Krile Baldesion, Minfilia Warde, Thancred Waters, Urianger Augurelt, Tataru Taru, Lyse Hext Expansion: Endwalker Rating: G Notes: References to @driftward 's Zoissette Vauban
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-Salmon Bagel-
You were never known for your culinary skills, but you feel you can manage what essentially is a sandwich. Carefully you cut the bagels, unevenly, then spread out cream cheese, adding more to the shallower parts of the bread. Next is the salmon, the crux of the meal. Your mentor is a Miqo’te, there’s no question he will love it. You pull the chunks out of a package, having had no interest in fishing them fresh from the river. You fold the layers onto the cream cheese evenly then cover them with the tops of their bagels, doing your best not to let the spread spill out over the edges. In the distance, you see the red of your mentor’s coat stand out, already hurrying over to enjoy your lunch.
-Fried Squid-
Three books are laid out before you, all with instructions on how to prepare the breading for the squid. You are unsure which recipe will satiate your older companion the most, but know well that he’ll appreciate the gesture. Making a decision, you began to whisk the eggs, letting your silver carbuncle lick whatever splashes to the floor at your feet. You heat the oil while you dip the squid into flour, the egg, and then cover it in breeding. Carefully, you impale each one on a stick then dip it into the oil, watching them bubble then start to brown evenly. Admiring your work, you set them aside to dry. You close your eyes a moment, imagining the praise you’ll receive from the Dragoon when he tries it.
-Also Fried Squid-
You hand over to the stall attendant in exchange for two sticks of fried squid, offering the second to your young Auri companion. You wouldn’t dare chance stepping behind a stove.
-Beef Jerky-
You had sliced the meat a day before and left it to marinate in a bowl of brown sugar, soy sauce, W’orcestershire Tia sauce, and several other common spices from their kitchen. This was a special treat, a taste of Gyr Abania, your husband’s home. Your tail twitches with excitement as you lay out the meat on a rack, careful not to disturb the foil underneath lest he cringe at the touch. Your heart swells with pride as you put them in the oven on low heat, knowing that the gesture will allow you both to have a little adventure and eat well too.
-Cheeseburger-
Your send your dear friend’s husband off for lunch with your own pocket money. Another letter has come and research will take you both into the wee hours of the night. You know he’s looking forward to an adventure with his love, but it will have to wait. Luckily he’s well known for being pacified through his appetite. 
-Toast-
You sigh, throwing out another set. Now that you are home you thought you’d be able to practice some basic home skills...You’ve been through a loaf and a half now trying to brown each side of the slices. You soon give up.
-Pizza-
Feeding the Scions is never an easy task and you are no culinarian. Still, there are simple things you know how to do. Upon a stool you roll out the dough with a rolling pin, then roll out the red sauce evenly. You then shave mozzarella across the top of the pie. Next comes the toppings, spreading sausage chunks out evenly before little petite slices of pepperoni. Only half of the pizza you cover in peppers and onions, knowing well at least one of the twins will fuss about the greens and the Miqo’te the onions. Though the meal is larger than you, you gracefully hold the tray above your head and get it into the brick oven with ease. You send word to the others that dinner will soon be ready.
-Coffee Biscuits-
The girls sent you some from the first. You’re unsure if she would have liked them, but know she’d appreciate the gesture. You sit by the marker with her name on it, placing lilies at the base along with the small white bag with a light blue ribbon around the top to protect the cookies inside. You sit beside her, telling her of your adventures of wherever you’ve gotten to lately. You finish your snack, but don’t leave immediately…parting is always the hardest part.
-Archon Loaf-
You doth consider the endeavor briefly, but only briefly.
-Chamomile Tea-
You find two saucers and the cups that match with patterns whose beauty is understated just like your dear friend who you are attending to. Your ear twitches, just a little as you hear the kettle your mentor had gifted you upon your ascension to Archon prepare to whistle. You remove it from the heat with your tail as you open the jar of tea sachets you set aside just for her visits, placing one in each cup. Soon, you fill each cup equally with warm water, letting them steep until the water is a light amber and the aroma wafts up with the steam. You set a sprig of lavender in each one before picking them up to serve, hand channeling the aetheric heat from your loved one’s, knowing the exact temperature she likes.
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autumnslance · 2 years
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Cinnamon Rolls: Ancients Edition
The inevitable sequel to Scion Cinnamon Rolls and Shadowbringer Cinnamon Rolls. For Endwalker 6.0 and the first tier of Pandaemonium: Asphodelos. I thought of waiting but...nah!
Beautiful Cinnamon Roll Too Good For This World, Too Pure:
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Meteion - Little bluebird(s) of happiness literally meant to go to space in all her innocent trust and learn about other people. It went a tad awry along the way thanks to untrained empathy--and "our" Meteion fought so hard to not give in to her sisters' report and their despair. Despite it all, a sand grain of that sweet girl remained after many millennia, and in the end we were still her friend and shared our answer with her, fulfilling the promises her creator never could.
Looks like they could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll:
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Erichthonios hasn't his formidable father's power, but still has skills and knowledge, even beyond his transformation. He loved his mother dearly and took up her work. Even in the throes of outside influence, his battle lines are about concern for his colleagues and their charges in Pandaemonium. He wants to save as many of the creations as he can too--for practical reasons, sure, but also because it's right to do so. He has a lot to prove, and his former mentor's harsh words nearly break him, but support from allies is seeing him through thus far.
Looks like a cinnamon roll but could actually kill you:
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Themis - We have a strong suspicion as to his likely identity, but all we know for sure is this intelligent young man has quite a bit of magical power and skill, picking up interment magic and the ability to control Asphodelos in a very short time with minimal instruction, simply observing the others. He has friends in high places, given his own robes and references to Azem. Themis is not one to cross, as is clear by the end of the first wing of Pandaemonium.
Looks like a cinnamon roll and is actually a cinnamon roll:
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Hythlodaeus - Honestly, he's far too humble and self-deprecating. It's unlikely he would have been approached for the role of Emet-Selch, or made Head of the Architect Bureau, if he was truly lackluster. Hyth compares himself to his exceptional friends and next to them, who wouldn't feel a little wanting? But he's not bitter about it; on the contrary, he sees his place as helpful and supporting to his friends, while being a laid back Sunshine Troll the whole time. We know he'll do anything to help, paving the way for others to be heroes. Good bow choice, it's definitely my favorite, and the class makes sense when you consider his bestie; Hyth's as much a drama queen as...
Looks like they could kill you and could actually kill you:
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Emet-Selch - Yeah, he was on the Shadowbringers list as his modern Ascian self, but Ancient Emet-Selch is no less a delight in his eternal Rat Grandpa manner. Always a curmudgeon, always a hard-line traditionalist, and always caring about his duty and his people. Emet-Selch was a powerhouse even in the days of eld, though it took some cajoling to get him into shenanigans--even he couldn't resist Meteion's adorable request to help the charybdis (the pained sound he makes when he knows he's going to crack!). He can fight through Ktisis as either a Dark Knight or a Black Mage, and never needs to resort to transforming into his own battle form (even if he could, due to the suppression field). Emet never loses his dramatic flare, either, the old theater nerd. There's a cinnamon roll somewhere in here, but it's stale and hidden in the back of the cupboard out of stubborn principle.
Could kill you, but is still a cinnamon roll:
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Venat has the kindly old mentor/mom friend routine down. She adores cute things; just look at Argos and the Loporrits. She genuinely loves her world and people, feeling she still has a duty to them even after stepping down as the previous Azem. She is also a woman who can fight in multiple different styles--Paladin, Dancer, White Mage--and has custom abilities to boot. Add her becoming the god of the star to the mix and she earns her ego as much as any old man wizard mentor in fantasy ever has. And she loves so much, she breaks the world to give mankind a fighting chance against the Final Days, holding onto a promise and painfully watching over her children through the millennia to meet WoL again and finally get our Answer.
Would kill for a cinnamon roll:
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Hermes needed someone not his own creation to confide in. Surely they had therapists in ancient times? Hermes is a tragedy that unfolded because he felt isolated in his differences of thought, especially after so long as Elpis' administrator and seeing creations and death differently than the apparent accepted societal norm. His personal projects like Kairos became unofficial policy, and his lack of forethought on the greater scope of Meteion's mission lead to everything we've experienced--but Hermes still counted himself among men when given the choice. With his memory of those few key days erased, he worked as hard as anyone else in the Convocation to save his world. The weight on his soul never lifted however, and his sundered reincarnation that became the modern Fandaniel took Hermes's despair in a terrible direction.
Sinnamon roll:
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Azem - Look, the fact we can glibly say "I'm Azem's familiar" and everyone just goes with whatever insanity follows should tell us all we need to know. Before even considering how they stole borrowed the Ifrita concept to fight a volcano to save an island of people (and their grapes). Throw in Venat as Azem's mentor and role model, and Emet's long-suffering commentary alongside Hyth's trollish delight, and it's pretty clear who the wild child of the Convocation is. But really, considering the Warrior of Light is their reincarnation/heir to their legacy, are we at all surprised?
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