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avampyone · 1 month

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Our Separate Paths

Characters: Hemlocke, Tataru Taru and Inamorata Rillemont. Mentions of Mithus Greystone and Cosette Durendaire.

Synopsis: Hemlocke insists on helping Tataru and ends up in a chance encounter with a old friend from his past.

Setting: Ishgard during the events of Heavensward.

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All words and thoughts failed Hemlocke to describe the feeling that weighed on him to return to Ishgard too soon. The city was as ever a cold beautiful monument that never seemed to change since that fateful day of the calamity. A chilly breeze crept out in an uncanny manner like tendrils that sought to entwine itself around the duskwight’s tall form- to squeeze and suffocate. Such was a feeling he couldn’t shake off no matter how many layers he wore.

There was a time when he was much like the cold ice that engulfed this city, untouchable at the core and seemingly unfeeling, ignoring everything in pursuit of a singular goal. Late at night when the work was finished, he allowed himself to ponder over if that ice had left him completely. All that mattered naught now. The only goal Hemlocke focused on now was to keep out of any trouble. The Scions had more than enough on their hands right now after the events of the Bloody Banquet.

‘He was truly a good and honorable man – General Raubahn did not deserve that.’ Hemlocke thought wistfully to himself with a sigh of impatience to follow. All the while, he trailed closely on the heels of Tataru whom he had been tasked to aid. She fervently rushed around the Jeweled Crozier with the pitter patter of her boots hitting in quick succession against the stone streets below, skillfully dodging the legs of passerby’s that gave her no notice. With a squint of concern and frown lining his expression, Hemlocke took several quick paces forward with the languid wave of his arm to flag her down, coming to stand to block her path in his desperation.

Naturally, Tataru easily bounded off around him, “Miss Tataru, please allow me to escort you through here – It would be imprudent for a young lady to be seen walking alone..” To that, she turned to him with a light furrow to her brows and her small hands waving in the air in a frantic gesture “Look, Hemlocke..You must stop with all of these formalities! We’ll get nowhere just standing about all day. We must hurry and see what we can do to help out our comrades!”

Tataru wasted no time at all in hurrying off to the next stall to make arrangements with another Ishgardian merchant to order more supplies. Heaving out another sigh, Hemlocke threw his hands up to acquiesce to the persistent lalafell in the humbling knowledge he would fail if he tried to go toe to toe with her. Hemlocke took one small step forward in her general direction, but found himself frozen to the spot to hear the delicate rasp of a voice he knew very well.

“I-I cannot believe if. I would know your eyes from anywhere! It’s really you..Serap-“

“*Don’t* say it!” There was a timbre lined with the rise of hot anger that came uncharacteristically from Hemlocke in a growl of warning, those crimson eyes narrowing upon figure of the lithe elezen woman with fair hair. Such an outburst drew the glances of wary onlookers. He straightened himself to full height, adjusting the lapels of his jacket to regain his composure. The gleam of his eyes descending into a somber haze in their half-lidded guarded state, “My.. apologies, madam. Please if you would call me Hemlocke now- The man you knew before died in that fire. It is as simple as that, Lady Rillemont.” The directness of his tone would stand for no argument in this.

Despite the initial shock, Inamorata beelined towards him to press her gloved laced hands against the front of his chest. Her lovely eyes shone out pleadingly upward at him, like pale jewels of blue with the sheen of unshed tears, “You would treat us like strangers now?..We cried for you. Even, Mithus..! You had everything you sought for. Your engagement to Lady Durendaire, earning her love after so long and freedom from Gloucent... Why did you throw it all away..”

Those frail eyes searched over him, brimming in a concern that came naturally to Inamorata. She always been far too sweet for the likes of Ishgardian society having been married off to a drunkard of a man. Her along with the rugged Mithus, a former lancer turned gardener, he'd become close with the long years after his tutor had been dismissed. His only consistent lovers and confidants. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the either of them that would garner the attention of those that sought perfection- but to him, they exuded nothing but the pure honesty of themselves. Such a trait he had always admired and envied.

Ultimately, a love blossomed between Inamorata and Mithus that he stepped back from to see cultivate, not feeling the same even if he was grateful for the trust he had in them. Thinking on this, Hemlocke brought his hands up to cover her own in a light squeeze. He brought the lady’s knuckles close, bowing his head to press kisses against most affectionately. His thumbs grazed over after to urge warmth back against the chill he felt in her lacy hands, “..She loved my striking looks and the idea of me. It’s always been about appearances, love. But, never mind about me. I trust you are both well..?”

Hemlocke’s question ended with him bringing those hands back in her own space with a steady nod. She offered a smile even if it weighed heavy with emotion, “Yes, very well – My husband drank himself to death not long after the fire. With my new fortune, Mithus and I were able to marry. We have a little one of our own and another on the way..” The merry way of which she spoke of all these pleasant events with a maternal press to her abdomen eased something in Hemlocke. How could he look upon this return to Ishgard with such discomfort now? To know his old friends were in good health and well taken care of.

A genuine smile uplifted his features, murmuring silent gratitude to the Fury for watching over them so, “That’s wonderful to hear and I’m truly happy for you both.. For me, there is much that has changed..much I cannot tell you without risking you all. This is the last you will see of me.” Good byes had never been easy for Hemlocke even as easily he made the motion to turn away from Inamorata to head back towards Tataru.

The voice called out to him one last time giving Hemlocke a pause in his step, “Did you find happiness..?” It came out quiet but hopeful.

It would have been easier to lie. Yet, he had made the promise to try to live as honestly as he could in his new life even if he found the truths of the world outside weren’t always so easy to face, “I am content enough..I have the opportunity to see the world and hone the abilities I found I have as not to be a detriment to others. You have your own paths to follow now, so take care of one another, mm? It is all I wish.”

Hemlocke found his way back to Tataru, drifting along through the thrums of merchants and customers with none of the rush he had before and a noticeable droop to his shoulders. Even with his best efforts, the lalafell noticed this change in him with a press of hands to her hips and waggled her finger at him, “Oh, come on, no need to worry so for the others..We have to do our best in the meantime, right? And maybe we can stop for some Ishgardian tea on the way back!”

Hemlocke couldn’t help but to perk up a little to that, coming to kneel to reach and grab a few of the bags she had to carry. If he were to be honest with himself, perhaps there was more he missed about Ishgard than he had realized now that the heavy feeling in his chest had eased to some degree, “Aye, I would like that very much.”

#hemlockeffxiv #ffxiv elezen #ffxiv oc lore #ffxiv oc #hemlocke #ffxiv writing #oc backstory #exploring hemi's past connections #will do more story tid bits when time allows!

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ainyan · 8 months

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FFXIVWrite Day #11: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

once bitten, twice shy

idiom

a person who has failed or been hurt when trying to do something and is now careful or fearful about doing it again

They wanted to be his friends. They acted more like a family. But he needed neither. He wanted neither. Friends walked away. Family disappeared. No one ever stuck around, so it was simply better to let no one close enough to abandon you.

But they were persistent.

“Is it a miqo’te thing, or do you just really like heights?”

Szah’li hadn’t expected to be found, but reflexes honed among the Black Shroud kept him from starting off the peaked roof of the building. Slowly he rose from his crouch, turning to face the elegantly-clothed man who stood before him, as sure-footed as any Keeper. He met that single dark eye, saw the concern swirling beneath the false cheer, and turned away again, uncomfortable. “I think better up high,” he replied shortly.

The hyur stepped closer, booted feet soundless and sure on the icy tiles, and the miqo’te found himself impressed at Thancred’s absolute faith in his own abilities. A faith well-founded, he had to admit. “I admit to a certain fondness,” the rogue was saying as Szah’li mused, “of heights, but I think I prefer shadowy corners for my contemplations. Still,” he murmured, that single eye gazing out over the snowy streets of Ishgard, “the view is incredible.”

Szah’li detested small talk. “What do you want, Thancred?”

The hyur’s attention slid back to him and he realized it had never truly left. “I’m concerned about you,” he replied just as bluntly. “I know from hints dropped by you, by Alphinaud, by Tataru and Y’shtola that you have just about been through the hells and back while I’ve been playing hermit in the forest. And as standoffish as you were before, ‘tis naught but a patch on how reclusive you have become. You need not stand alone, Szah’li. We are here.”

Anger warred with pain, ripped at his belly. His ears went back, his tail lashed as he shot back, youthful temper erupting. “Like you were here when I was being hunted as a regicide?” he spat, and saw Thancred wince, his features tighten. “Like you were here when I was all but alone in a foreign land, reviled by most? Where were you when I was shorn of the Light’s blessing, when I was hunted by the Heavens’ Ward, when Haurchefant…” He trailed off, choking on his own bile and tears. “Where were you?”

When he collapsed into a crouch, wrapping his arms around his knees and fighting for control, Thancred stepped forward and knelt down beside him, reaching out to stroke a sure hand over his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I never stopped thinking of you, of all of you, but I was… I was not at my best.”

Szah’li lifted his head, then jerked it away from Thancred’s hand. “So?” he asked bitterly. “Neither was I.”

So Thancred knew all too well, story after story poured into his ear by a remorseful Alphinaud, detailing the trials which Szah’li had faced over the past several months, mostly by himself, with only nominal support from the skeleton team of Scions left after their betrayal. “Your worst is better than my best,” he said simply, without the resentment he’d felt during those first few months after the events at the Praetorium.

Szah’li turned and stared at him. “I fucked up by the numbers, Thancred, in so many ways. Alphinaud tried - gods know he tried. But I needed you. I needed Y’shtola. I needed Yda and Papalymo and gods I needed Minfilia. I’m not a leader. I’m not a hero. I’m just a kid. A kid nobody wants,” he finished, choking on a bitter sob.

Thancred acted without thought for once, dropping down beside the young man and enfolding him in his arms. Though Szah’li fought against him, his struggles were half-hearted at best and soon ended with him collapsed against the rogue’s slim chest. “You are a kid, a kid who’s been through far too much in your short life, who has lost more than most adults ten times your age. But you are wanted,” he added fiercely.

“The Warrior of Light is wanted,” came Szah’li’s muffled retort.

“The Warrior of Light is needed,” Thancred corrected, his arms strong and warm around the young man, “but Szah’li Khiyanto, Scion, friend, brother - he is wanted. I would rather have you as you are, without the Blessing, without the power, than I would a hundred Warriors of Light when all is said and done.”

“You went away,” Szah’li sobbed.

Thancred closed his eyes and buried his face in the boy’s dark hair. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s not enough, but I’m sorry. I came back as soon as I could.”

Szah’li’s inner demons struggled with one another. He wanted to pull away, to reject Thancred’s compassion, his pity, his affection. He wanted to reject any who would insinuate themselves into the barren wasteland of his heart and risk a rejuvenation of the life that once lived within, that died in the fire, in the screams, in the blood.

And he wanted to burrow into that brotherly embrace and never let go. He wanted to cling to the offered friendship, the offered family, to replace that which had been lost with something new but equally as important, equally as welcome.

But he had been once bitten. He had loved. He had lost, most horribly, most terribly.

And so he was twice shy, and though he yearned to accept the comfort of Thancred’s embrace, even its warmth could not thaw that core of cold that kept him isolated and alone.

Kept him safe.

So he held himself back, and when the hyur finally released him, he kept his face turned from the man. Finally, Thancred sighed. "Think about it," he advised, and Szah'li winced inwardly at the hurt in his voice. But he did not look at him, even as he walked away.

Leaving him alone.

FFXIVWrite2023 Day #11: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

OCs: Szah'li Khiyanto

NPCs: Thancred Waters

AU: Szah'li's Saga

[ -- Master Post: FFXIVWrite2023 -- ]

#ffxivwrite2023 #szah'li khiyanto #thancred waters #au: szah'li's saga

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sjofn-lofnsdottr · 7 months

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My husband likes to fantasia between patches, sometimes, and I'll usually switch to match in some way if it's not too terrible. It usually works, although one time he switched his catgirl to a hyur, and I tried to switch my hyur to a catboy, and the vibe was so terrible and wrong I swapped back within hours.

Viera, though. They can have the right vibe. Helps that he looks like a cartoon villain with that facial hair, I think.

Sure, he doesn't get the blistering hatred of Tataru across as well in this body, but I feel like his cold indifference to her tears is just as good.

I think that's what I like about Bunny Mercuriel, really. Where hyur Mercuriel is seething, and barely even trying to hide how heated he is, viera Mercuriel is cold. Cold cold cold. He hates people endlessly pestering him to save the world, but he can't be bothered to get worked up about it. He won't give you the satisfaction of seeing him do an emotion.

Okay, maybe one emotion.

Smug is an emotion, right?

In conclusion, please let me steal all the viera man emotes for my hyur dude, thank you.

#ffxiv #gpose #mercuriel #adventures in fantasia #please at least give him the viera playdead #i need it

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pinkafropuff · 6 days

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Hurricane Crossing- D'Marre

When Kann-e-senna showed her face again- when D’Marre saw Y’shtola again- there was a moment between heaven and earth where all the particles in the atmosphere were visible to the naked eye. When the rain suddenly stopped, and he could see her peaceful face through the water.

There was shouting; not his own, or he would’ve felt it leave him. Instead he watched her come ever closer, instinct pulling his coat from his shoulders t wrap around her as he knelt to scoop her up.

Words were said. Against his impressive hearing even murmurs sounded like thunder.

“Do not-

“Chirurgeons will-”

“Wait a mome-”

He did not pay any mind. No. He could not. Skin to his own he held the fleeting nature of her “life” firm and close, walking where directed but saying only one word, exactly one time, to a person he did not remember for a reason he did not know.

“No.”

It was all he could say, for the anger within him had kindled into a fire so hot it could have consumed the entire forest and they all in it.

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The sound of a quill across paper.Incredible how focus on not leaving unintended smudges made the act more intense, more unbearable for the man forcing his mind on “something else'' as he waited. Patiently. Or something like patience. “Calm”. The facsimile of it.

“I did not know that you and Y’shtola were so close,” said his student, albeit from a safe distance away. Smart.

To this, he did not respond. Instead he continued writing, focus never waning.

“It must be of great relief to you,” Alphinaud continued, “I know it is to me. Indeed, there is renewed hope that our other friends may have survived as well!”

A rip. Then a tear. The line of sound traveled up and around before abruptly cutting off, the paper stripped from itself, an inevitable parting until the two were separate halt-sheets of parchment sitting in front of D’Marre, fists clenched and still.

“...are you…alright, D’Marre?” Hesitance. He did not want to chance a lecture, goading rant, or sarcastic remark and it showed on his brow. It made some hot air leave the Viera. Though only some.

His index finger tapped the desk before him rhythmically, eyes closing in thought as his other hand cradled his head by the temple. “I am angry,” he said suddenly, softly, clearly, “but not with you. Excuse me,” he stood, and without another glance to his young ward, he left the room.

She was sitting on the bed, legs slung over the side, feet to the floor as though well enough to walk right out. Tataru was explaining something to her as she did, the never-worn black boots shifting slightly as Y’shtola sat still to do her due diligence to the Scions’ secretary.

“I hope the outfit is to your liking- I stayed up all night fussing over the measurements. You’re a bit thinner than before, you know, so-”

“Thank you, Tataru,” was her response. An assurance. “You do not know how much this means to me.”

From where he stood, he could see Tataru’s eyes filling with tears. “Oh, it’s just…! I’m so glad you and Thancred are alive!”

The darkness he stood within hopefully concealed his face.

As if sensing the change in tension, Y’shtola turned her head- albeit slightly. “T’would seem we have a visitor.”

His eyes trained on hers for more than a moment, drinking in their milky grey before Tataru turned to notice him.

“Oh! D’Marre- Oof, I had had better leave you two alone then!” Her flirtatious tone denoted a certain level of knowledge that he paid little mind to, despite hinting to a certain level of trouble for them both. No matter. That could wait for a later date.

“Mm,” was his response, though she blessedly rushed past him quickly enough to need no further prompting or pleasantries.

For a while they sat mostly in silence. From his place on the bed, one leg hanging over the side and the other folded at the knee, he crossed his arms for a moment before placing both hands on his lap.

“Well?” She asked. Her face was turned towards him in some semblance of acknowledgement. He didn’t like it.

“‘Well’ what?” Was his response, the coolness of his tone less unbothered and more icy.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” it sounded like a joke that she’d changed her mind about halfway, making it more or less sincere. “From what I’ve seen, the Scions are plenty warm about their welcoming you,” a thinly veiled barb and twice as childish than called for but needed. He crossed his arms again suddenly, as though holding something within himself back.

“What do you wish of me?” Exasperated, annoyed, upset, but not unkind. Not unwilling to talk.

It was a hard thing to look at her, to form words where there were only curses. Agony. Singular sounds that meant nothing. That meant everything.

“Clearly you are angry with me about something” she continued, “and I would rather you spit it out than keep it concealed from me.”

“How long did you know?”

It was quiet. An accusation set as a plea for a lie. A reason.

“How long did I know…?” She mused, her tone suddenly thoughtful. “About the spell? Or-”

“Your plan.” His voice was hoarse. “How long did you know what you’d do then. That you planned this.”

Her lips parted. A kind of frustration wrinkled her brow. “You seem to misunderstand something. I did not perform that spell to conspire against you. It was an act of desperation that I fear worked out as well as it should.”

Something about the phrasing made him angrier. He held his tongue though, thinking, rolling it around in his mouth as he considered what to say to her, what to argue, what to try to make her understand.

“When the banquet went sour, I did not intend to simply-” She broke off. This time, she crossed her own arms. “‘Twas a gamble that I did not think would pay off. Thancred seems thankful, at least.”

The words rung hollow. Even he knew it, watching her movements, a carefulness within them that she had not known before. The burning in his breast fanned smoke into his throat. He breathed it out very carefully, hoping that the heat of his temper didn’t scorch them both. Instead he found himself saying, “Are you stupid?”

A dangerousness crept onto her face. “Excuse you.”

“Oh, I will,” he agreed, “after I’ve said my peace- do you know what it was like without you? No, of course you don’t. Of course that wouldn’t be where I should-” Hands flying to his face to cover his eyes, his nose, the throbbing at his temples and forehead. “I can’t do this. I need air.”

“Wait.”

He didn’t moved, though he had gone completely still.

An aggrieved sigh left her. “What exactly are you so angry about? What is done is done and cannot be undone.”

They lingered in the air for a bit, those words, enough to make him take in their smell, their sight, their sound. And so he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. And then he said, “...you’re brilliant. I know that. And there are so many things you want to know, or do know, that I can’t even fathom right now and I may never understand them. That’s fine. I’m impressed and immensely pissed that you found a loophole in the aetherstream and threw yourself into it to place yourself just close enough to the edge of life and death that we could find you again, whether you expected us to or not.”

Her eyes danced slightly and she crossed her arms. “But?”

“But I know you.” He could barely breathe. “I know what you’re like and I know that because you can,” tight, it felt so tight around his chest all of a sudden, “you’ll likely do it again.”

It hurt to say. More to know. Y’shtola even seemed somewhat affected by it, although frustration colored her face, turning down her mouth just enough for him to know that she did not like what he was implying.

“It is my life. Though an incomplete solution, it is not worse than never returning at all.” Matter of fact. As always, a smooth argument with no complications.

“It is,” he agreed. “I’ve never said it’s not. But what will it take from you next time?”

The frown deepened. In the milky white, he caught a flash of apprehension. Vulnerability. Regret. She let them wash from her face before she said, “I will deal with the consequences if ever that time should come.” She exhaled. “As I have this time.”

“How much can you see?” It was sharp and precise, the aim of an expert archer.

“Enough.”

Irritation brewed within him again. “With your actual eyes, Y’shtola. Not whatever spell you’re using to see me now.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “How long did you know?”

He sighed heavily, rising from the bed and turning towards the door. “Long enough. Do the others know?”

Her head cast to one side, slightly grieved. “Tataru is informing them now.”

D’Marre shook his head to himself, a laugh bubbling from the depths of his anger, his hurt, his disappointment. “That’s good. Real good.” He considered the many other words he had for her but stuffed them down. Instead he said, “I think we should take a break from each other.”

Silence. He hadn’t expected that, somehow.

“You know, I agree with you now. I’m childish.” With his back to her, it didn’t matter what she could and could not see, “I can’t stay here like this.” His boots made a final sound as he walked towards the door, careful of his steps not to alert anyone outside.

“Marr.”

The stalwart ears turned to give her more attention than they ought. When a moment passed in silence, he said, “If you tell me to stay, then I will.”

One heartbeat and then two. A finger gracing the knob to the unknown, a fickle place with no guarantees. A place without the Scions for the first time in more than two years.

“...have a safe trip.” Was her answer, and he bit hard into his lip to hide that hurt as he allowed the door to close the chapter behind him.

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paintedscales · 8 months

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FFXIV Write 2023 :: Day 12

Prompt :: Dowdy Characters :: Nomin tal Kheeriin, Tataru Taru Warnings :: Loss, Grief Word Count :: 1,362

FFXIV Write 2023 Master List

Nomin stared in the full-length mirror and turned from side to side, looking herself over. She was dressed down into her smallclothes, her and her auri features reflecting back at her. She had not really bothered much to think about the clothing that she donned on most occasions. For surely if the clothing were breathable and allowed for her freedom of movement, she cared little so long as they saw her from one point to the next without too much hindrance.

However, when she told Tataru of her private invitation to having dinner with the Lord Commander, Ser Aymeric, she immediately waved her hands in denial when Nomin mentioned she would simply meet him as is. In response to her surprise, Tataru had dug around in her belongings in the room they shared at the Fortemps Manor and pulled out a sketchbook of her own.

“I will not have you meeting with the Lord Commander in such a dowdy looking ensemble, Nomin! Why, look at you! Tears and holes in the cloth from fires and simply the wear of travel…” Tataru had said, a firm frown set upon her face as she flipped through her sketchbook for a blank page. Nomin had only watched, looking at her designs with interest before Tataru had waved her hand and shooed Nomin away from looking further into her works.

So now, Nomin found herself still staring at herself in the full-length mirror before sighing and taking a seat on her bed’s edge. Tataru had gotten her measurements and took them with her before leaving to the Jeweled Crozier. In the interim, Nomin had dressed herself comfortably in the loose-fitting sleepwear that had been provided by the Fortemps Manor’s staff.

“I will not keep you wanting nor waiting… Wait here and I shall be back in two shakes of a karakul’s tail with an array of outfits for you to choose from!”

Of course, Nomin had never opted to go with Tataru nor Alphinaud when it came to browsing the Jeweled Crozier. Even now that there was peace between man and dragon

Nomin’s eyes went to the grandfather chronometer, looking at the hands and doing her best to remember what Timbermaster Beatin had taught her about reading the hands. If she was correct, Tataru had been gone for nearly a bell and a half. This in mind, she tapped her thumbs together while watching the pendulum swing from side to side, each tick that filled the silence slowly grating within her horns.

Tick… Tock… Tick…

Whumpf!

Standing suddenly, Nomin looked toward the door that had swung open. Tataru came marching through with a pleased expression on her face. Behind her were one of the manservants in the employ of House Fortemps, and in his hold were several neatly tied packages. They were nearly akin to gifts that Nomin had come to see residents of Gridania give to one another when it came time for the Starlight Celebration.

“You are quite in for a treat, Nomin!” Tataru said, making her arrival even more pronounced. Nomin could only gawk at both her and the number of boxes.

“What…what did you buy, Tataru?” Nomin asked, feeling a swelling feeling of guilt that Tataru would go out of her way to go shopping for her.

“Oh, just some gowns from some of the finest Ishgardian artisans in the Jeweled Crozier!” Tataru was bursting with pride. “I went ahead and found some things that should fit you. I also took your aversion to the cold into account, and there are several coats that I thought would go well with several of the gowns and outfits that I chose or even had recommended to me.”

For a moment, Nomin opened her mouth to protest, but she instead looked back into the mirror. At herself.

Dropping the tension in her shoulders, Nomin slouched before slowly drawing her hands together.

“... Does it not feel…inappropriate?” she asked, frowning a little more deeply as the look in her eyes grew distant.

“Hm? What’s on your mind?” Tataru asked, getting some of the boxes and packages set aside.

“This whole…dinner thing. Does it not feel inappropriate to tend to such a thing? I could…I could understand a celebration being warranted, but…” Nomin took a breath and sighed, walking to her bed to take up the sheet upon and then draping it over the mirror. She turned her attention to Tataru. “Estinien still yet slumbers in the infirmary, recovering from his ordeal. And…I feel like…Alphinaud and even myself -- you…?”

Nomin found herself stumbling over her words. She struggled to get her thoughts into something coherent.

“None of us have had time to just stop and mourn…” Nomin finally said, voice cracking slightly toward the end. She could feel tears threatening her, their sting at her eyes. She inhaled deeply, turning away from them and closing her eyes to attempt to slow the welling of any tears. “Haurchefant, Ysayle… By night’s good graces, we still have no idea where Minfilia is. Papalymo nor Yda… Why should I go to this private dinner when there is still much to figure out?”

Tataru slowed and paused in her organization before looking up at the manservant and asking him to go. After he had obliged, he left whilst closing the door behind him. Tataru’s expression had fallen, and she sighed before approaching Nomin.

“... Just because you have one nice dinner for one night…it does not mean that you have no right to mourn, nor experience the feelings you have right now,” Tataru gently said. She reached up and brushed her fingers against Nomin’s elbow before Nomin had turned her attention toward her. All Tataru could do in that moment as she looked into the sad expression that greeted her was offer a reassuring smile. “I know it can be hard. Why, I worried my hair would fall out fretting over you and Alphinaud, going out on your mission to find common ground between Ishgard and Dravanian.”

“... I’m sorry…” Nomin replied, sniffling as she brought a hand up to wipe whatever tears were there away from her eyes. “I can only imagine what you must have gone through, waiting for us as you did.”

“And you both still came back, and you are both as fine as can be. That is all I can ask for.” Tataru then hugged herself to Nomin’s leg. “If you need time to mourn, ask no permission for it, Nomin. If you wish me to leave so that you can, by all means, tell me. But please do not keep it all inside -- do not keep walking forward with this notion that you are not allowed to do that.”

Nomin’s breath stuttered as she breathed in. Curling her head downward, her hands clenched into fists as she allowed the tears to flow freely from her eyes. Though she did not wail, nor vocalize her sobs, she cried. She felt the overwhelming loss in her heart for everything that had been taken from her -- everything that was threatened to have been taken away.

‘Oh, do not look at me so… A smile better suits a hero.’

She remembered holding Haurchefant’s body in her arms. One of the only people who looked past who she was on the surface. She remembered…she remembered… The warm feeling of his blood soaking her clothes. The way he tensed and staved off his pain, all to look at her and everyone else around him with one last smile.

‘Farewell, Warrior of Light. And thank you -- for showing me the way…’

She remembered the bite and chill of Azys Lla’s clime as it stung her face. Nomin could remember the unsettling clouds that surrounded her and the airship everyone else had boarded. She remembered the awe-inspiring form of Hraesvelgr as he tore through the skies to aid them, Ysayle riding upon his back before her final transformation. Her final hurrah to allow them access to their destination before she disappeared under the sea of clouds.

Falling to her knees, Nomin finally mourned. All that Tataru could do was take this moment to stay close, wrapping her arms around Nomin’s grieving form as she hugged herself.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxiv writing #my writing #ffxiv oc #oc: nomin tal kheeriin #tataru taru #grief #grieving #loss #hw spoilers

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gefiltefished · 9 months

Note

you know what i'm about to do...

🖤 for cidutha

:))) thanks babe <3

---

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation || 592 words (practically a drabble for me lmao- also some vague Shadowbringers spoilers)

---

Steady breaths in the dark, unchanging, day by day, night by night.

Tataru has done her best, as she always has for them all, lovingly trimming hair and nails, shaving stubble and gently washing ever more ashen faces. But Utha can't bear to look, can't force herself to turn away. Stands sentinel by the dividing curtain, feeling as thin as the canvas hanging from it, knuckles as white where she holds the frame tight.

Only by the Lalafell's gentle urging does she finally leave the room, staggering aimlessly out into the main hall of the Rising Stones and through the doors to the saloon. It's busy tonight, her uneasy walk marking her no different to the tipsy crowd, save perhaps the glazed, hollow-eyed stare she gives a man in reply to his apologising for clipping her as she passes by.

Outside, the violet haze of Mor Dhona's gloom is a welcome reprieve from the din and light and smoke. But looking across the plaza, the dread twisting in her belly does not lessen. She's sure the Ironworks hands have passed on the news of her return and three days later she's still yet to show her face.

Nor has he deigned to do her the same.

And why would he? Why would he know of the months she has spent in a reality only made possible by her own death, haunted by the legacy of a man whom she knew inside out and yet felt so alien all at once. And why would he know how hollow she feels, brittle and like to fall apart at one more push forward, one more impossible task yoked to her neck.

Even so, she finds herself at the Ironworks' door, hand raised to knock-

"Aha! Found you at last!"

Utha freezes at the arms around her waist, at the voice she's only heard repeated through the distorted crackle of an audio log on a tomestone, held in shaky hands.

She whirls around, grips his shoulders and stares down at his waiting, smiling face, blue eyes bright even in the dim lamplight. Then she sinks to her knees with a hoarse sob, Cid's face falling as fast as he follows her to the ground.

"Utha??" He panics, reaching for her face as she tries to muffle her crying against his chest, trembling in his hands. Gently, he lifts her head, brushes her hair out of her eyes, drying her tears with the pad of his thumbs.

"My darling, what's wrong?" He soothes through a nervous laugh. "It hasn't been so long you've forgotten me already, has it?"

"D-Don't-!" She chokes out, shaking her head frantically and tugging at the lapels of his jacket. "Don't say that…please."

"Right," Cid quickly nods. "Not the time, I get it."

Utha takes a deep breath, then a couple more, closing her eyes. His hands are warm where they cradle her face, the ever present callouses feather soft for the comfort they give. He's here again, real and breathing and by her side, as he always has been.

"I just," She stammers, slowly lifting her eyes to meet his, watering again at his pained expression as he listens. "I missed you. I missed you so much."

She doesn't give him a chance to answer, drawing him in close, lips quivering as she kisses him, all salt and sharp, uneven breaths, until she feels steady again, at least for a little while.

"I missed you too." Is the whisper he presses against her mouth and for the first time in days, she smiles.

#ffxiv #cidwol #my baby is goin through it 🥺

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amratriad · 4 months

Text

The Simple Visit

This is for the lovely TK Layla! I wrote a short story between our WOL/OCs! This is my lovely xmas gift for them! Happy reading everyone!

In the depths of the Central Black Shroud, a pair of laughter echoes throughout the silence. The leaves shiver from the autumn wind as a few of them fall down on the dirt path. A cottage resides in the deep wood. An empty teacup is poured for a pot of Ishgardian tea as the Viera takes a sip of the fresh brew. The host smiles at the sight of satisfaction and sets the teapot down. The cottage is rather small, but comforting that is filled with a tiny kitchen and across is a reading room with books unattended on the soft wool rug.

The second floor is no better than the first, the bedroom is filled with scrolls, letters, trinkets and even small notes that are jotted down hastily and the worst of all the bed is left a mess, miqote fur and all. That is unfortunately the usual case of Amra Tinuviel. The man with a gentle smile, yet so fierce with his passion for botany and magicks. Yet he has a fondness for making tea and sweets for his friends.

Avalon continues to talk about her treasure hunts and as usual Amra sometimes quips in as if Emet's spirit comes over to tease her. Amra grins at her with a mocking voice. “You see! The vegetables will not be denied.” He could not contain the sassy tone and burst into laughter. Avalon frown of dissaproval, but she can't deny that the miqote is not wrong. A chuckle escaped from her lips and was quite entertained at the sight of Amra can't contain his laughter and holding his stomach. The laughter eventually fades back into silence and Avalon continues to tell their stories andAmra told his adventures in exchange.

He talks about the tales of possible hidden magicks on another continent, but even the old libraries of Sharlayan would not permit him to search further. “I strive to learn more. I am not afraid of my magicks any longer. X'rhun Tia taught me how to utilize both White and Black magicks and so much more. I cannot thank him enough.” Holding back the tears and pondering if his teacher is still adventuring around in Ala Mihgo. Amra knows that he is no longer a student, but an ever-learning Red Mage. The silence settles once again, Avalon understands Amra's concern. She does use Red Magicks as well, but the miqote shakes his head and puts his focus to continue to talk about more of his other adventures.

As both of them sipped more tea and ate the delicious scones with cotted cream and jam that Amra struggles to create. The sweetness of the cream and jam and added to the earl grey scones were perfect. The sigh of relief as Amra takes a bite that the scones were not burnt into a crisp this time. He was not familiar with making desserts, but Tataru encouraged them to try. He loves to cook for others and he would never refuse the Lalafell's request. Then a thought crossed his mind, a habit that he never spoke of to anyone, not even to the Scions.

“Avalon, have you ever....Dreamed of Venat?”

Avalon almost spat out her tea and coughed as she took the napkin to wipe off the mess. With a baffling look and slight concern that he asked such a question.

“I...Beg your pardon?”

Amra pauses before he responds to her question, then a blush of pink rose on his cheeks. In a flurry of panic as he quickly sets down his cup. Shaking his head.

“Oh! Sorry! I-I should have reworded the question!”

Babbling along like a madman and apologizing several times, but Avalon felt a bit of guilt and knowing that Amra still retains a little bit of innocence inside him. “It's okay Amra, do not worry, I-I understand what you are saying.” The questionable phrasing still lingers in her mind, yet she starts to blush for a different reason.

Amra tries to think of a different subject, but none comes to mind. The mention of the Mothercrystal reminds him of something. Taking one more bite of his scone and wipes his hands with a napkin and gets up.

“Avalon, I know this sounds even more stange, but I would like you to come with me.”

Avalon's concerns is neverending after all, Amra is one of the Champions of Eorzea. Yet he is more than a warrior, but a traveller with the thirst of knowledge. Y'stola's horrible habits did seep into his mind and the chaotic mess in his cottage is the proof. Avalon nods in agreement and decides to follow him. He leads the way through the back door and leading into a precious small garden that is filled with florals and vegetables.

It was absolutely made of love and his younger brother and even his mother helped out tending the garden when he was away to travel. But this wasn't the surprise Amra wanted her to see. He opens the back gate of the fence which leads further into the woods of Central Shroud. The Viera brims with curiosity and walks with him. As the two go into the woods and the path seems neverending, but on the end of the path is a small clearing. Avalon continues to speculate as Amra looks at her back with a rather nevous look. Avalon notices this.

“Amra, are you okay?”

He broke out a small meek laugh. “I-I'm fine, it's just a little further ahead.”

As both of them reach to the end of the path, a welcoming warm of light shines through their vision. Avalon covers her face for a moment. Her vision clears away and looks down at a familiar sight with a gasp.

It was a huge patch of Elplis Blooms.

Amra knew that there was a connection with Elpis and Avalon, yet not knowing how much of a deep connection what Avalon was a part of. Not even Venat would tell him, not even in his dreams. Even in his last encounter with her when spending the night in Old Sharlyan, Amra no longer sees the Crystal, it was a familar sight. He was seen before the beginning of the Final Days in Etheirys. It was an Ancient dressed in a white robe surrounded by the fields of the white blooms. The words were soft, but yet Amra still remembers those words by heart.

'You are not alone. Remember that.'

And he never was, Amra was never alone. He carefully walked forward and to not step on a bloom and stood in the middle of the field to see the work he had produced. He takes a deep breath and sighs and looks back at his friend with the same bright smile that he always has.

”Well, here it is....This was a long project I have been working on after I took care of the Final Days.“

The Viera's shock wore off, yet the confusion still lingers. She finally blurted off a question. “How in Etheirys did you even produce these blossoms?”

Amra laughs once again nervously. “Well I had to beg for approval from the Forum if I can take a few seedlings of the Elpis blooms for a personal study. Well, after many trials and errors, this is the best result I have made. I just wanted to share with you Avalon and I hope you appreciate this.“ He beams a proud smile back at her.

Avalon sighs and smiles in a bit of relief that he wasn't in trouble this time. But as she blinks....

....Something else happens.

Instead of a Miqote, there is a Hyur, dressed in a greenish gray robe and a white mask. It was a rather wild looking man, yet there are still feminine features from their green and white highlighted hair and a pitch joy of laughter. Then looks back at Avalon with those big bright brown eyes and freckled face.

She started to remember clearly who this Ancient is and called out to them.

“.....A-Azem? Chloris?”

The Azem's smile faded too quickly as if something bad happened. An expression that is too familiar for her as if the Final Days we're upon them.

“...Avalon? Avalon? Are you okay?“

She shakes her head and looks back to see Amra. Confused that the Azem is gone and is replaced...well...what is part of them.

“I'm fine....Thank you Amra. This place....” She approaches the flower patch and follows carefully next to her friend and looks at the blooms lovingly. Oh how she misses the sight of these flowers.

”This flowers...Brings back so many memories.“

Amra did not say anything, but with an understanding smile and not a single clue about what happened. As the two silently looks over the Elplis blooms and a small breeze shifts through the wood once again. In the end, both of them are always open to hang out and chat for another cup of tea.

#Drabble #:: Drabble ::#:: Ver; Post; EW; What is Yours ::#long post

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sheyshen · 3 months

Text

ok finished the 6.55 stuff. so vague thoughts some spoilers ahead:

MSQ: -I love wuk lamat already and i'm for sure curious how things will go for dawntrail, though i am not about raya possibly having to go against thancred oh no. -only complaint that i had was raha's voice acting felt off, like he was distracted while recording and wasn't "in character" all the time (voice was too low in spots and delivery felt wrong for the situation and animation, and a few times it felt like it was the first time he was reading the lines) -did i mention i love wuk? because i do.

Hildi: -UFO UFO UFO -no notes, it felt like a hildi chain and i'd been hoping i'd get the UFO as a mount since it first showed up -Asura trial was interesting, went in blind so sorry to my group i was learning on the fly (tho i mean it's day 2 we all are)

Island sanctuary: -JULLUSSSSSS!!! -he was such a cutie and so bad at taking a break i loved the whole quest so much -especially the bit that it sounded like emm and sicard had been planning on how to smuggle him outta garlemald since they visited -only disappointing this was he was the last! ahhhh i wish we could invite npcs to visit, doesn't have to be anything involved just to let them be there on the island for a bit. -thanks for the HQ cheese -also, i dig whatever vibe jullus and manius had going. and was nice to have a mention of the little quest with alpha and omega

Allied Tribal quest: -I loved it, the race was so much fun and i'm glad we get to keep the trophy as a deco. and the dance is so fun (though rip the WoL's knees) -will need to have a whole lineup of people doing the dance sometime, it'd look great if we can time it right -only one singular complaint -where. was. nhaza'a???? they mention him on the radio after the quest is over but he didn't show up at all and i'm disappointed. -btw the radio has like four or five different 'news' blurbs it cycles through if you click on it.

Tataru's Grand Endeavor wrap up: -oh man made me tear up -and the flashback ahhhhh -I really loved getting to see everyone from the sharlayan deliveries for it, though it does make me curios if those aren't finished will you only get the ones that you have? or different comments? -editting on: I like that there's a comment that the people who helped restore/create the necklace for tataru checked in to see if she liked it but i kinda wished we could've gotten a comment from them if we visited them (hancock still says his "i don't want to see you in an early grave" lines for the post variant dungeon and gaius still has his comments about working with the resistance and getting werlyt on it's feet so i assume leofard's are also the same too) might be too much to request but woulda been nice touch lol

all in all i loved so much of it and makes me look forward to what's planned going forward! next is wow, though i have been digging through cutscenes so i have an idea of what happens but i wanna play through it myself >:3

#xiv spoilers #6.55 spoilers

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thescions · 4 months

Text

As the silhouette of the so-called associate of the Scions came into view, Krile suddenly felt it very difficult to breathe.

Zenos viator Galvus.

The official would not have recognized him, and anyone in Old Sharlayan who might have had already gathered outside of the Rostra to watch the skies. The Scons were long gone, having departed for the edge of the universe that morning.

And perhaps that was why he was here. Anyone who could oppose his might and survive was already gone. There was no one around to protect them.

"You," Fourchenalt spoke first, as the rest of the crowd reacted upon recognition. Several drew their weapons, while others edged back and away. Krile found herself frozen on the spot, recalling all too vividly when she had been captured by the same man's forces so long ago in Gyr Abania.

"Krile," Tataru, ever quick-thinking, grabbed her arm and tried to shake her out of it, half tugging her back in case they needed to flee.

But ex-prince of Garlemald slowed his steps to a halt, expression ever-unperturbed -- bored, even -- as he observed the crowd of unfriendly faces. His eyes scanned left and right, seeking someone, waiting with baited breath ...

To no avail.

He let out a soft exhale of irritation before addressing the lot:

"I seek the one you know as the Warrior of Light," His tone was almost sarcastic as he spoke their title.

The crowd, as one, fell into hushed whispers and uncertain glances. What could they say, or do, to ensure their safety now? What answer would drive him into a frenzy?

The flicker of burning heavens replayed once more in Krile's mind. Suddenly, she found her voice and stepped forward.

"The Warrior of Light is gone," she announced, gently shrugging off Tataru's hand as she did. "Not from this land, but from this world in its entirety. And if you want to reunite with them, then you must abide by what I say."

Zenos now leveled his gaze with hers, peering down from what must have been over seven fulms. With the bright moon angled above him just so, his silhouette was even more intimidating. He scoffed, yet one corner of his mouth twitched up in amusement.

"And what if I summon them back instead, by laying waste to every city in their absence?" He inquired. "By burning every capital until the flames and screams reach them? That sounds far more entertaining than listening to your rules, woman."

"Krile..." Tataru whispered, panicked.

But she shook her head. As much as it broke her heart to say out loud, she had to speak the possibility -- to make him understand. Otherwise, he would do as he pleased.

"Because they may not be able to come back. Or they may not come back at all."

The Nymphaeum was silent now, as if all voices and natural sound had been sucked into a vacuum. Everyone was holding their breath, watching the Garlean as closely as they had watched the skies only moments ago.

Zenos' brows then knit together, partially in confusion, and the other in anger. Perhaps a small amount of worry mixed in, too.

"Explain what it is you mean," he demanded.

There. She had him. Krile's shoulders dropped an ilm in relief, but only just so. She straightened up and turned to Fourchenault and the rest of the crowd.

"I ask that you put your trust in me," she spoke, as cryptic as she needed to be. They nodded with minimal murmurs of hesitant acceptance. She couldn't look Tataru in the eye, as she knew her friend was already tearing up. She couldn't break now. She had to see this through.

She turned back to Zenos, steeling herself as she took a few steps forward.

"Follow me and I will explain."

He only gave a short nod, briefly reminding her of a pouty teenager forced to finish his homework before he could be allowed outside to play. How terrible a thought for someone like that to have so much destructive power.

She set off down the path towards Labyrinthos, away from the crowd, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

They didn't see the skies burning. They couldn't understand, nor did she have time to explain, the vision that had flashed across her eyes for the briefest of moments. They didn't glimpse the world's end.

She didn't know if that had been her Echo or a remnant of Hydaelyn still connected to her. Regardless, it felt like a premonition -- of what might still come.

This was a maddening risk to take, but Zenos' appearance had forced her hand. She would never imagine doing this otherwise.

I'm so sorry.

She only prayed this would do more good than ill.

"You said you would explain," Zenos reminded her, already impatient.

"--Yes," she shook her head, still trying to keep her voice even as she addressed him. Taking a deep breath, she asked, "Do you know anything of the aetherial sea?"

#krile ic;

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onepunchcatboi · 7 months

Text

The Warrior of Light

ARR caps ✦ HW caps ✦ SB caps ✦ ShB caps ✦ EW caps

Slowly but surely working on a little website for this boi that I will later link on here, but I thought it'd be good to do a quick landing page-post for him with some fast facts lol

Name: Zorri'to Kima Age: 33 (as of Endwalker) Nameday: July 19 Gender: Non-binary Orientation: Demisexual Height: 5'1" Weight: 120 lbs Alignment: Neutral Good

Melee: Monk, Ninja, Dragoon Ranged: Dancer Caster: Red Mage Tank: Gunbreaker Healer: Astrologian

Relationships Thancred Waters: Brother why art thou like this (affectionate) Urianger Augurelt: Beautiful nerd friend Lyse Hext: Same-brain sister Papalymo Totolymo: The Professor Minlifia Warde: Cinnamon roll too good for this world (cry) Tataru Taru: Den mother of 1000 skills Alphinaud Leveilleur: My incredible son Alisaie Leveilleur: My unbeatable daughter Krile Baldastion: Lovely aunt Estinian Wyrmblood: Adventure buddy G'Raha Tia: Idiot little bother (affectionate)

Romantic Relationship: Y'Shtola Rhul: The Queen, my muse, my mirror, we are opposites, we are the same, I would travel the ends of the world with you, the world may be burning but we will burn brighter to save it

Personality In addition to the living cryptid factor that comes with being the Warrior of Light, Kima is an interesting puzzle when getting to know him. He’s quiet and contemplative but will converse easily enough if you find the right subject. His speech is forward and sometimes insightful, he also cusses like it's a first language. He's never owned more than three books, he can tell you the entire history of the Gyr Abania. He will capture bugs to return outside, he will tear a mans throat out.

While a bit rough around the edges, at his heart he is a kind and sincere person, given to honesty and altruism. He is smart and skilled in trades, but not academically educated. Most of his understanding of aether and the like is through the study of martial arts, so he might not have the right words, but he makes the right connections. He has a fascination with new things and history and loves to learn and explore. He also adores animals and nature, and somewhat frequently runs off on his own to meditate somewhere nice.

He walks with a quiet confidence that comes from both victories and defeats and does not make proud boasts but rather reserved threats, making promises based on past accomplishments. Above all he believes in people and their capacity for good and will try to reach his foe for a peaceful solution if he thinks it possible.

Short History He began life as the second son of a Keeper tribe in the Fringes of Gyr Abania, living on the outskirts of a small village doing their best to keep out of the sight of the Garleans. Like most he knew not his father and for a time his older brother was the only other male of the tribe. Even when not out hunting he was often out exploring, interested particularly in the ruins of the Monk temples left behind after the Mad King’s reign and left to further gather dust after Garlean occupation.

As all Keeper men do, when he came of age he gave to wandering. Eventually he found his way to Ul'dah, were he sought out the Pugilists Guild and came under Hamond’s tutelage. His involvement in Ul’dahs affairs put him in contact with Thancred, and soon after his duties as envoy to General Raubhan, he joined the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Later he returned to to serve the General as well, becoming an Immortal Flame to further the Scions goals. Upon his defeat of the primal Ifrit, he began to be known as the Warrior of Light, the Savior of Eorzea, and many more.

Character Creation Notes

While he began as a sort of self insert/what if Bruce Lee but if cat-boy character, eventually he became his own personality.

Both my girlfriend and I started the game together and somehow flipped the naming conventions of the sun and moon miqote lol So he was originally name Z'orri, and its in a lot of the older screenshots.

For a long time he was renamed to Zorri'to Viryu. But after a while I had realized this meant that his true name was "Viryu", which just never seemed to suit him. Finally after long deliberation he got his final name change lol

#zorri'to kima #ff14 wol #ff14 miqo'te #ff14 monk #warrior of light #character profile

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jakey-beefed-it · 1 year

Note

If Varian is a nicknamer, what are the nicknames he's come up with for the Scions or any other NPCs who come to mind?

Got long, also some spoilers, so here's a cut

Alisaie- Starts off calling her 'red' for the hair ribbon (the only way he can tell the twins apart at a glance at first) and occasionally , progresses to 'kid' and then just her name or Ali. Sometimes still calls her 'kid,' especially when she's goin' through it, as in 'c'mere, kid' [hug]

Alphinaud- Starts off calling him 'fancy lad', by late ARR he more often calls him 'General' with mild if obvious sarcasm (the unheard 'Armchair' going before it still very apparent) but by the time Heavensward starts up properly he is calling him 'kid' like Alisaie. By late Heavensward it's Alphy more often than not. Once or twice he slips and just calls him 'son'.

Krile- Professor. Where Varian comes from, 'Professor' is something you call a know-it-all busybody more often than a career descriptor. Krile doesn't need to know that. Alisaie has definitely picked up on it. Alphinaud would be scandalized if he figured it out.

Lyse- Basically calls her by whatever name she's going by at the time- though in ARR he might refer to her as 'knuckles' in an approving sort of way, like he listens to Papalymo's plan, hears that her alternative plan is to go in swinging, and says 'I'm with knuckles, on this one.' By Stormblood he invariably uses her name in the slightly awkward way you might with a crush.

Papalymo- Mostly called him by his name, though when he'd be particularly hard on Yda, Varian might take her aside like 'You gonna let that pompous runt talk to you like that?'

Tataru- What do you call the heart of your weird organization who throws her entire everything into keeping it going, learning new skills the way people pick up cool rocks? You call her whatever the hell she wants.

Thancred- When Thancred is on his game (coming to the rescue at critical moments, infiltrating enemy strongholds), Varian calls him by his name. When Thancred is being a horndog or drinking heavily, Varian tends to refer to him as 'Slops'. Like, grabbing his shoulder and hoisting him onto a chair so he doesn't drown in his own vomit, 'Come on, slops, keep it together'.

Urianger- Has a number of nicknames. Most of them revolve around how fucking odd he is. His penchant for Batmanning into a scene when no one knew he was even around has earned him the nickname 'Wigs' as in he wigs people the fuck out.

Y'shtola- Has never been anything but 'Y'shtola'. Varian respects her and low-key is afraid of the results if he tried to give her a nickname. Best case scenario, she retaliates proportionally, and if 'little sun' is any indication, people don't come back from Y'shtola nicknames.

Aymeric- Starts off with low-key contempt, something with the same in-universe ring as 'choir boy' but also 'fucking cop', not sure exactly what it'd be. But by the time the man is charging into a fortified position to rescue hostages all while tearing open his very fresh near-mortal wounds, there's no fucking way Varian says anything but his name with anything less than maximum respect.

Edmont- Calls him 'chops' in conversation with Alphinaud and Tataru like once (the facial hair), but quickly grows to really respect and admire him and by the end of Heavensward has to resist the urge to call him 'dad' sometimes.

Estinien- Dragoon abilities mean he gets nicknamed 'hops' a lot of the time. Also somewhat disparagingly calls him 'killer'; as in he recognizes a fellow Rabid Dog but doesn't feel like Estinien has enough self-awareness or restraint to really manage that without getting people hurt. He grows into it though, and thus gets upgraded- 'Estinien' when directly addressed, 'surly' when being referenced (only in his own presence- like 'Alphy, you and surly go check out the path').

Haurchefant- The man literally keeps charging in to the rescue on a chocobo. Varian starts jokingly calling him 'hero.' Then it's not a joke. Then it's really not a joke.

#Jake plays Final Fantasy XIV #Jake's dumb characters #Varian Ironcrow #thanks for the ask!

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emc2beans · 7 months

Text

#FFXIVWrite2023 Day 23: Suit

Time for some more of my vague future semi-au.

Llewellyn stared at his reflection, inspecting his hair for some invisible flaw for the umpteenth time. Around him, his younger brothers and sisters were putting the finishing touches on their own attire.

“If your vanity makes us all late to the ceremony, I’m going to kick your arse.” Gwynedd shook her head with a smile on her face.

“I’m not being vain! I- I just want everything to be perfect, and that includes me.” Llewellyn frowned at his sister. Their mother chuckled at the both of them.

“Let’s not squabble today, aye?” Angharad brushed down her eldest son’s lapel with her hand, smoothing out the blue-black fabric and admiring the subtle embroidery. “You look so handsome, Welly. My little lad, all grown up and getting married. Feels like just yesterday you were a babe in arms.” She began to tear up. “I am so proud of you.”

“Mu-um, stop! You’re going to make me start crying already!” Llewellyn sniffled. He took a deep breath. “Alright. No more mushy stuff until after the ceremony.”

“Aye, we’ll keep it together.” Rhodri took his wife’s place in front of Llewellyn, pinning a boutonniere to his son’s lapel. The small flowers had been cast in steel taken from the prow of The Hullripper and it was a replica of the one Rhodri had worn to marry Angharad. “Now we wait for the signal, I suppose.”

As if on cue, Gwynedd’s linkpearl chimed in her ear. It was Tataru, asking if they were nearly ready. The rest of her family watched with bated breath.

“Aye, ready when you are.” A pause. “Of course she’s not answering her linkpearl, she’s as bad as Estinien. Don’t tell her I said that.” Another pause, Gwynedd sighed. “I’ll go check on them. Calm yourself, Tataru, we still have a full bell. Alright. Bye.” She released the pearl in her ear and looked at her parents and brother. “Alisaie won’t answer Tataru’s calls, so I’ve got to go make sure everything is progressing smoothly. Be back soon.” Gwynedd explained as she quickly ducked out of her family’s dressing suite.

~~~

“Just breathe, my dear, or you’ll pass out.” Ameliance put reassuring hands on her son’s shoulders, watching him in the mirror as he took a deep breath in and out. “It’s alright to be nervous. I certainly was when I was in your position.” She looked over her shoulder at Fourchenault, who was sitting in a nearby chair and looking taciturn as ever.

“I know. Thank you, mother.” Alphinaud straightened the bottom of his ornate suitcoat, the cerulean and white fabrics shimmering faintly like the inside of a seashell. Tataru had truly outdone herself. “The waiting is the hardest part. Where is Alisaie?”

“I’m right here, don’t worry.” Alisaie emerged from behind one of the dressing screens, smoothing down the crimson silk of her dress. “Do you really think this suits me?”

“It does. You look lovely.” Ameliance switched to adjusting little things on her daughter’s outfit, content now with Alphinaud’s appearance. “Fourchenault, don’t you have something to say to our son?” She fixed her husband with a subtle glare. Fourchenault sighed and got up to stand next to Alphinaud. It was a little jarring how his son was now just as tall as himself, rather than the bumbling toddler or diminutive teenager that still lived in his memories.

“You have… certainly undergone much change in these last few years.” He began tentatively. “You are truly a man in your own right, able to make decisions for yourself, even if they are not necessarily decisions I would approve of.” Alphinaud purposefully kept his expression at a pleasant neutral. He knew full well that his father did not approve of Llewellyn for a variety of reasons, each more exasperating than the last. “Regardless of my opinions,” Fourchenault continued. “What matters most is that you are happy. That is all I have ever truly wanted for you and your sister, and I hope that you are happy.”

“I am happy, father, I can promise you that.” Alphinaud reassured him. A silence fell over the room for a moment, then a knock came at the door. “I’ll get that.” He hurried over to find Gwynedd on the other side of the door.

“Oh my gods, look at you!” She exclaimed when she saw Alphinaud. “You look incredible!”

“Thank you, Gwyn.” He smiled sheepishly, then his expression shifted to that of mild concern. “Is aught amiss? Shouldn’t you be helping Llewellyn get dressed?”

“Everything is fine, don’t you worry. Only here because someone,” She looked around Alphinaud to frown at Alisaie. “Doesn’t answer her linkpearl.”

“I took it out to get dressed!” Alisaie shouted back, flipping off the Warrior of Light from across the room.

“Aye, sure, make your excuses. You’re not the one with Tataru on your arse.” Gwynedd rolled her eyes. “Just let her know that you’re ready, alright?”

“Fine, fine, whatever.” Alisaie waves a dismissive hand. “Are we running short on time?”

“We have about three quarters of a bell. Now, I have to get back to help herd the little ones, so call Tataru. See you soon.” Gwynedd ducked out and walked quickly back towards where her family were waiting. Alisaie grabbed her linkpearl and stuck it in her ear.

#I'll probs continue this but I felt it was getting a little long #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv oc stuff #wolphinaud #oc x canon #writing stuff

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lilbittymonster · 2 years

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bandaging each other up and sharing a tender moment, grabbing your lover's face and not being able to let go <3

"That was quite a nasty tumble you took, friend," Haurchefant said as they both walked back into the hall. "You might want to see one of the chirurgeons."

Kitali waved off the suggestion. "I'm fine, I've suffered worse."

"I'm afraid I must insist. 'Twould not do for you to come to harm whilst under my protection."

"I said it's fine, Haurche," she repeated as she disentangled her hair from the spikes on her back. "I'll be healed up by the end of the week, no doubt."

He sighed. "If you will not see to the healers then may I, at least, inspect your wounds?"

Kitali looked at him intently, head slightly tilted. "Will you let it go if I do?"

He crossed an arm over his chest. "On my honor," he promised.

She paused for another moment, then held out her arm for his inspection. With gentle fingers, he pried the gauntlet from her arm and set it down on the table by the fire. Now that her arm was bare, he could see rivulets of drying blood running from several small cuts in her arm just above the elbow, the sticky liquid matted in the outline of the armor and running into her scales.

"This needs washing, come, let us find somewhere more suitable."

Haurchefant gently took her by the hand and led them across the plaza to one of the smaller kitchens, sitting her down and filling a bowl with water and grabbing a cloth. Kitali dutifully lifted her arm once more as he approached, the fainest hint of an exasperated smile on her face as he worked.

As gently as he could, Haurchefant wiped the blood away from her skin, careful around the edges of the cuts themselves as he worked. Wringing out the soiled cloth and dampening it once more he continued over the scales on her forearm, tracing along the edge of the patterns.

"You can touch them, if you want," Kitali remarked mildly. "I can tell you're curious."

Haurchefant paused in his ministrations. "I must admit, I have been curious, though I did not want to overstep my bounds in such an egregious fashion," he replied slowly.

"I'm offering, it's okay."

He nodded, and continued on cleaning the blood from her arm, noticeably less hesitant over the deep blue scales now. Once clean, he discarded the cloth onto the table and traced the slightly damp latticework of scale crawling along her arm from the back of her hand to her elbow. Unlike the flat planes of dragon scales he was used to seeing, there were whorls and branches and valleys to Kitali's, unique as a man's handprint.

"May I ask you something?" he said into the silence, moving to instead simply clasp her hand between his.

Kitali raised a brow. "Sure."

"Why is it that you fight so...intensely for the Ishgardian cause? You have no obligations to, as you are not of Ishgard and have sworn no allegiances to her protection. At least," he looked meaningfully at the suit of drachen mail, "none that I am as yet aware of."

"I owe you a great debt," she said simply. "If it weren't for your aid, I'd still be out in the cold along with Alphinaud and Tataru with the entire Alliance on our heels."

Haurchefant's heart skipped a beat. He took her face gently in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You owe me no such debts, Kitali Moonblade, do you hear me?" he said fiercely. "You are my friend, and to me that is enough. I wish only to see you hale and happy."

Kitali's eyes began to well with tears, but she blinked them away. "You're a good man, Haurche," she said softly. "You are worth fighting for. And for me, that's enough."

Send me a prompt!

#replies #smadvil #my writing #wolchefant #kitali #kitali moonblade #haurchefant #haurchefant greystone #this kinda got away from me but it's also the first thing i've written for them

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witchfall · 6 months

Text

a long way out to reach the sea [1]

History does not happen in the pretty lines that writers eventually wrangle into finer narratives; one very rarely can stand in a moment and know exactly how it will be remembered.

So he writes it for her in his head, so that someone gets it right.

[or: how a prodigy from Sharlayan and a nobody girl abandoned in the desert find common ground — and something more.]

1. under their eyes

He gasps out a breath. Maybe a warning to Izzie. Assurance to Noel and Tataru, who scream for the Heavens’ Ward to stop. He wants to think it’s that. He knows, ultimately, it is merely a shaking breath of fear that says nothing at all.

read the chapter on ao3

———

Darkness is heavy as a weight in the concessory, the room lit only by pallid yellow globs of light from small oil lanterns. Cold faces sculpted in harsh shadow sneer down at him and Tataru from on high, assuredly as the Church intended, to frighten any lowborn into sniveling and cow any highborn into begging.

Well, Alphinaud is certainly going to do neither.

He breathes in the sticky, still-cold air of this room full of doomsayers and speaks how he was taught. With full enunciation, supported by the diaphragm, loud.

“I, Alphinaud Leveilleur, am innocent of this charge and claim my right to a trial by combat.”

He keeps his fists low to his hips. Izzie mentioned that once. Not that he will be fighting with his fists, not unless this goes terribly sideways in a way he can’t consider. It helps keep the shaking at bay.

He has no choice but to have faith. Of all the ridiculous ironies.

The lalafell girl next to him speaks up in a tremulous voice, but exactly as Haurchefaunt told her to. “I, Tataru Taru, am innocent of this charge...but I am no fighter…so I claim the right to a champion to fight in my stead!”

That’s when the doors slam open.

A furious stripe of red hair half-tumbles into the room, skewing all light in her direction. Like the moon for which the world has named her, Izzie reflects the weak light back upon the faces in the dark, casting everything in a softer glow — even as her mouth twists into a snarl so fearsome it makes Alphinaud’s heart sink down into his gut.

Noel runs in not long after, emerald eyes haunted. Her aether billows out in a fog of possessive fury.

Even Noel seems unwilling to get in the way of whatever has possessed Izzie with such fervor. So for once, the sun hangs back.

The adjudicator attempts to regain control of the warbling voices in the chamber. “Who will—”

“I will!” Izzie declares. The way her mouth curls, Alphinaud can almost taste the cuss she wants to hurl at this man. “Or did my entrance not do it for you?”

She’s a sniper. Would they even allow a bow to be used here? The quarters are far too close.

“Very well,” the adjudicator says, eyebrow twitching.

Alphinaud opens his mouth to protest. And then Izzie pulls knives out of her boots.

Something in him twists sharply to the left. The light glints off the silver of her steel; firelight sings across her teeth. She senses underestimation like a scent on the wind and it makes her reckless and wild.

“And just as I was beginning to doubt in the efficacy of the Ishgardian justice system,” he mutters as she approaches, unable to keep his mouth shut as her copper brightness bears down upon him.

“Are you stupid?” she hisses. He jumps when her arm brushes his shoulder as she slides to his side. She’s taller than him, but not by enough to loom. They are both small in their own ways. “What are you going to fight with, your fucking book?”

“I have very little choice in the matter should I want to prove my innocence, thank you.”

Despite the exchange, familiar as parchment, his eyes track the knights of the Heavens’ Ward. He wants to block their levin-lit gazes. They watch Izzie with nigh lascivious scorn.

They want to tear her apart and see what can be done with the pieces. Alphinaud is just collateral, as he so often is anymore.

His hand clenches. When is survival enough? When can the world stop mocking them for it?

“Just stay behind me,” Izzie says, the hissing suddenly gone from her voice.

He only then realizes her words are streaked through with cracks of panic. She breathes heavily, like she’d run the whole way through the city to get here. He opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out.

Because then the inquisitors summon the battlefield up from the bowels of this ancient temple. Injustice snarls through Alphinaud at the too-freshly clean lacquer of its marble floor, at the frighteningly sharp metal bars that line its edges, at how this city could engineer so much and how it dedicates its all to something as barbaric as this.

What would Grandfather think?

His thoughts whirl with such tunneled intensity that the adjudicator’s voice becomes little more than a hallowed droning in the back of his head as he and Izzie descend to the battlefield. The inquisitor lifts his hand in some holy invocation that has Izzie’s shoulders tensing.

“Let’s end this farce,” Alphinaud whispers, unhooking his tome from his belt with more bravado than he deserved.

Izzie’s gaze slides toward him with such intensity it burns his peripheral vision. He glances back.

“No heroics, Leveilleur.” A warning, low and rumbling. “I mean it.”

He has no time to reply — no time to dissect the prickling heat that sweeps through his gut from hearing his name out of her mouth — before she leaps, knives aloft, toward knights in shining armor.

...

History does not happen in the pretty lines that writers eventually wrangle into finer narratives; one very rarely can stand in a moment and know exactly how it will be remembered.

So he writes it for her in his head, so that someone gets it right.

When she leaps, the whole world stops to look. She becomes a cream and copper ribbon of motion, thrown forward by two points of steel. The Heavens’ Ward stand slack jawed in the span of time they could have reacted, suffering all at once the crashing of their hubris.

No one in Ishgard believed a wit about the stories of the Warriors of Light, heralding from greater Eorzea.

Two Viera women had saved the land entire, to hear it told — one as beautiful and glorious as the sun, dancing like the chiaroscuro of shadows beneath magnificent boughs as she cast spells made of miracles. The other is as winking and joyous as the full moon, coquettishly hiding behind gales of bright laughter and a voice that would woo Menphina herself.

How could anyone believe it, looking upon them now?

The Dancing Sun, Noel Kisne, stands watching like a boat’s mast shorn in half, broken and splintered, body motionless. She is an eclipse, cursing them all.

And the Laughing Moon, Izzie Nenelori, is no guileless maiden made of frivolity. Her teeth gnash like a cornered animal, the ferocity of her attack unearthing some deeper darkness for the Ishgardians to examine in horror.

Her strength is preternatural and strange. Her battlecries are more akin to a harpie’s screaming than mellifluous sparrow calls. It is all Alphinaud can do to summon Moonstone to cast a shield over her skin as the knights’ weapons come perilously close to slicing her open.

They don’t.

Her foot whirls around to smash into Ser Grinnaux’s jaw, sending him stumbling to the floor. In the same motion, her knife sings across Ser Paulecrain’s cheek, sending a spit of blood flying. Any advantage they may have had with reach weapons evaporates beneath her fearless charge. Death doesn’t threaten her. The notion of it seems to excite her — like she relishes laughing in death’s face.

She dives beneath the pole of Paulecrain’s halberd and skitters aside when Grinnaux’s axe slams into the marble. She grins, all teeth.

Sweat gathers on Alphinaud’s forehead, watching her. For so long, Izzie and Noel had capitulated to his many demands on their time; he’d never stood close enough to actually watch their battles unfold. Such was not his duty.

Something bizarre unfurls inside his chest where his heart should be, the very organ blooming like an orchid as Izzie pummels the hilt of her knife straight into Paulecrain’s nose. Something itchy and petrifying and warm crawls through Alphinaud’s skin, like he is a monster cracking out of an egg, roaring to consume.

Her hair follows her in a silky curtain of fire even now, crowned by two tall, velvety ears. Her freckles stand out from her pale skin like tiny, dark stars. She shouts in fury, lips red and wide open, skin mottled with orange flushing.

She’s beautiful. She could kill him. The two thoughts are one thought, entwined like vines, and his mouth falls open, helpless.

“Alphinaud, pay attention!” Noel snaps from the stands.

He jumps, hearing her voice — cracked through with disuse.

But he is! He is paying attention, thank you very much! Izzie is doing a fine job entertaining their enmity — but then…

The battle shifts.

They seem to notice Alphinaud is…standing there. Book open, carbuncle hissing furiously. Grinnaux turns on a dime, sollerets screeching, to charge him with his axe held aloft. Alphinaud grits his jaw and squares his feet, hand extended as he performs the arcane geometries to ruin him—

Izzie’s leg swings out in the same moment, tripping the knight to the floor. He clatters to the ground in a kerrang of armor, and in the next moment, she leaps on him, knife’s point going for one of the weaknesses in the far too ceremonial plate.

“Don’t run!” she snarls. “That’s no fun!”

Ser Grinnaux screams in pain.

But Izzie is distracted, giving Paulecrain — face caked with dark blood from his nose — ample time to rise up, halberd intent upon her neck.

No, some part of Alphinaud whispers. You don’t get to do this to her. Not for me. Not again.

Alphinaud half-shouts as a crackling, deep-dark Ruin spell flies toward Paulcrain’s chest from his grimoire. The knight stumbles backward, breathless, only to be further accosted by Moonstone’s chittering fury, leaping to his chest, scratching at his jaw.

Izzie’s fist flies across Grinnaux’s face. His head smacks the stone ground with a sickening thunk, but it only seems to make him angrier.

To be bested so easily by a 19-year-old girl?

Inhuman strength possesses him and he throws her from his body. Her back hits the far wall in a thick crunch. Noel screams. Haurchefaunt calls out the inhumanity of it. Alphinaud’s stomach falls to his feet.

Grinnaux pulls out her knife from his chest with a far too thick squelching sound, blood dripping from the steel before he tosses it to the ground. Then his haunting, bright eyes fixate on Alphinaud.

“Halone smite you!” he bellows.

What happens next is a blur.

Aetheric chains suddenly squeeze Alphinaud about the ribs, crushing him so fully that he forgets how to breathe. His grimoire falls to the ground in his shock; he’s never been accosted like this, never been attacked with the full intent to kill before, not in a way that actually landed, not in a way that will leave bruises if he even survives.

Grinnaux stalks toward him, mouth curving in a bloody crescent.

And then a horrifying, guttural scream shakes the very foundations of the church.

In the next moment, a flash of copper is in front of Alphinaud, and the chains break as easily as if Izzie had cut her steel through a fraying rope. Alphinaud collapses to the floor, head spinning, body aching so furiously his eyes prick with tears. Izzie throws that same knife right at Grinnaux’s face—

—only for it to cut a sharp line across the side of his neck. He shouts, gauntleted hands going automatically to the blood flowing from the crack in his skin. Paulecrain bellows in fury, charging her, and Alphinaud cries out, voice choked, scrambling for his tome somewhere upon the floor, because she is utterly weaponless—

But with inhuman strength, she grabs the long shaft of the halberd and uses his own momentum to swing him aside into the same wall that Grinnaux had just thrown her into, like he is a bug at the end of a swatter.

Perhaps Halone is here after all. Perhaps the Heavens’ Ward knows that.

Izzie stalks forward, grabbing her bloodied knife off the ground. She marches soullessly toward Paulecrain, who throws his hands up.

Pleading.

“No!” Paulecrain cries, scrambling back. “We yield! We yield!”

“And so it is decided!” The high adjudicator declares, voice hurried and breathless to stop Izzie before she kills both of the knights. “The accused are deemed innocent beneath the eyes of the Fury! May She keep you in Her hallowed halls!”

The rest of the adjudicator’s cronies wave and shout for healers while Izzie stands there, breathing hard, eyes blown open, hands and knuckles dripping with blood.

“We won!” Tataru shouts, disbelieving.

Alphinaud slowly rises on his shaking legs, wiping tears from his eyes before Izzie can see. It doesn’t feel like a win, watching Izzie return to herself through the mist of his pain. It doesn’t feel like anything good at all.

He is drawn to her side like the very chain she’d broken in her fury. He reaches out a trembling hand to touch her shoulder. Decides not to at the last second.

Her head twists around to stare at him, half-lifeless, half-scalding. His hand lingers in the air between them like a hummingbird.

Her gaze rakes through his face, his body, and then her whole body turns toward him and her palms press into his shoulders.

He is breathless. He has no words, which never happens to him. The spots where her palms touch him tingle as if she held levin crystals to his body.

“Are you okay?” Her words are choked through with sensation. Scratchy from screaming, shaking from adrenaline, sharp with unbalanced determination he can’t quite pin down.

“Yes,” he says, somehow. “Yes.” He remembers himself, bit by bit. “My thanks. Are you?”

She blinks, as if shocked by the question, and then nods slowly. “Yeah. I think so.”

They stare at each other.

For so long, most of their interactions have been defined by acidity. The moment they’d met, she’d called him a prissy nonce who should go home to his mother. And maybe she had been right, he thinks, miserable. Maybe he should have listened to her. Look at this mess they’re in, all because of him.

The Scions are gone because of him.

But he had gotten comfortable in their spiky back and forth. She kept coming back even after she told him off any number of times. She'd even return without Noel sometimes for her next assignment, as if perhaps she could tolerate him if it meant helping other people. He’d decided, long ago, she simply believed in the cause.

Now, he wonders if she had gotten comfortable, too.

This seems too much to hope for, that she cared about him beyond being the boy who pretended to be her commander. This seems like something a different, less cocksure fool would deserve.

“Be more careful, you idiot,” she snaps, furious. “Noel would never forgive herself if anything happened to you. Do you want to make her even more sad?”

He opens his mouth to retort — because he can read between the lines far better than she can and he knows, he knows in a flash of intuition that burns, that she isn’t talking about Noel.

Why doesn’t she just say that? What about it makes it so she can’t? He saw everything. He saw the ferocity of her defense. It was personal.

Is it always like that for her? Does it scare her?

But then they are swept aside in the current of their friends and allies pulling them out from the tribunal to the stained-glass shadows in the vestibule and he decides, wisely, to drop it.

Thinking about it makes his hands shake — and he can’t afford any more weakness.

#alphinaud leveilleur #wolphinaud #ffxiv #ffxiv fic #izzie nenelori #i want to keep this up as a writing exercise of a sort. but anyway. started this. lost my marbles. bon appetit

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