#alvaar aldaviir
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Close Call
Anon requested the following:
Fog - hearing stay awake as they are carried to safety.
Repair - being confined to bed due to injury or illness and hating every second of it.
Misfit - getting out of bed too soon, insisting they feel much better, and collapsing / passing out.
All three: In which both twins are sidelined and Alvaar has to care for them?
Time Frame: Post Canon. No Spoilers
Notes: Established Alvaar/Alphinaud/Alisaie. Prompt fill for the Rest Prompts.
Cross posted to Ao3.
-
Alisaie wasn’t entirely certain what happened. She remembers rushing ahead, trying to reach one of the Brass Blades further away from them. A young hyur, newly recruited and eager to prove himself on the field. Undoubtedly the sort to find themselves into the most trouble. From there it’s... hazy.
Fire. A very loud noise that felt like it was still echoing in her skull. And what seemed like far, far too much blood but from where she wasn’t...
She wasn’t...
Gods she was exhausted. Exhausted and cold and sorely wishing whatever she was curled up on would just stop with the bouncing about already.
Distantly she hears something familiar. Something important. Something demanding she pay attention.
There’s a flicker of red and white robes in her blurred vision. A gentle touch to her head that reminds her of years long past. Of the Ruby Sea and one of those rare times she finally felt like someone had approved of and been genuinely proud of her. Alvaar’s hand settling into her still damp hair after she’d successfully distracted and escaped the Red Kojin, and the warm and approving smile he’d given her that had soothed the ache of past failures even for just a moment...
It’s not Alvaar she sees. This hyur woman is too short, a long and wild mane of russet hair framing a stubborn but gentle face.
“Stay awake,” the woman murmurs, voice low but calm even as she issues the order with the maternal confidence of a seasoned healer.
“What?” Alisaie asks, or tries to at least, as the word catches in her throat and wheezes out instead.
“It’s not time for you yet,” she explains simply, hand still settled against her hair and ruffling pale strands with a familiar motion. “You need to-”
“-STAY AWAKE!”
It jars her from her thoughts, some of the fog lifting to look up at the Bard currently carrying her. The grim set of his determined expression as he drags in air with deep and almost bestial breaths while the battlefield blurs past them.
Distantly she can hear music. Feel the warm breeze that usually follows him when he’s worked his Bardic abilities to full swing.
“Stay with me you hear? Keep listening to my voice and don’t drift off. I mean it!” Alvaar demands, voice louder than normal and rough from the sprint he’s making.
She wants to listen to him. This is probably the most demanding he’s ever been in her presence. The last thought she has before she slips under is that he and that White Mage seem very alike.
-
Alisaie wakes up to a steady and deep ache in almost everything, but especially focused on her right side. Propped up slightly against pillows and a modestly comfortable bed in a darkened room. When she tries to feel out the damage, she comes to the puzzled realization her right arm is in a sling and her left hand is tangled up with someone else’s. Before she can even try and push herself up to sort things out there’s a warm palm settling to her collarbone and pressing her back down.
“Don’t,” Alvaar murmurs from somewhere in the dark before the bed she’s laying on dips a bit as he perches beside her. Pulling away he fussed with something nearby before the strike and hiss of a match sounds as he lights the bedside lamp.
It throws a warm light about the rustic room they’re in, setting shadows to dancing across wooden supports and plastered stone. Some small study converted into a makeshift private medical ward.
“You look terrible,” she remarks without thought after meeting Alvaar’s pale gaze, the Bard still a bit bleary eyed and the shadows emphasizing the fatigue on his face.
“Yea? Well you don’t look like roses and kittens either,” he remarks flatly before a weak grin tugs at his mouth in spite of himself, brushing her short hair back with a careful touch. “But I’m glad to see you awake. You gave us all a scare.”
“Did I? Where’s Alphinaud?” she asks, glancing around. “He should be here any minute to harp on me about staying in bed and recovering...”
“Next to you.”
That makes her blink, finally looking down and noticing the second lump under the thin blanket beside her. Settled as close as he could get without disturbing her, fingers threaded tight with her own even as he slept.
“You’re very lucky. You only got hit with shrapnel. Barely missed your lung, but you were bleeding so badly... Alphinaud drained every drop of aether he had getting you stabilized before I could get you back to the chirurgeons,” Alvaar whispered.
“What happened?” she asked, still not looking away from the face of her twin and the worried set of his brow even as he slept.
“Stray magitek shot hit one of the ceruleam tanks on a broken reaper,” Alvaar murmured. “Sent metal shards everywhere.” The toughened fingers that soothe over her hair draws her attention back to him, studying the tight look of concern on his face. Cupping her jaw gently, he strokes the rough edge of his thumb along her cheek, a tender gesture she shifts into without thought. Shutting her eyes as he leans in closer, she stays quiet as he presses a kiss to the top of her head and nuzzles into her hair before going still and savoring the closeness. It speaks more of his concern than any amount of chastising or flowery words. Evoking a quiet and soft sort of warmth in her heart that almost always gentled the sharper edges of her words and personality.
“M’ okay,” she mumbles. “You don’t need to fuss. I wanted to sleep anyway.”
“Good... Could you humor me? Just a moment longer,” he whispers, words soft and airy as they’re breathed so close against her skin and it makes her heart thump despite herself. Giving an answering hum before he’s cradling her face in both hands and pressing another kiss to her nose. Her brow. A few more feather-soft presses of lips against her cheeks as his fingers brush along her ears before his forehead and nose nudge against hers and stay. Warm and tender and filled with the all-consuming love the Bard just seemed to give as naturally as breathing.
“I love you,” she murmurs without thought, wishing she could wrap her arms around him even as she thinks it doesn’t matter when they still feel that close anyway.
“Love you too, my dearest chevalier. Please, for just a bit, no brave heroics? I know that’s your default, but you probably shaved a year or three off my life today and this world needs you,” Alvaar returned quietly.
It ruffles her ire just a little, as being sick or injured always does. But she’s tired and sore and the warmth and patient intimacy of the moment win her over in the end.
“Alright... But I expect fresh tarts and tea tomorrow,” she breathes, smirking faintly at the huff of amusement that leaves him.
“I’ll do my best with what I’ve got. Get some rest, I’ll be here if you need anything.”
-
“You know I hate being bedridden,” Alisaie huffs the next morning, even as her injuries throb faintly as she remains leaned into Alvaar’s side with her cheek resting against his shoulder. She heaves a slow breath and waits for him to turn the page of his book given her reading speed is faster than his own. There’s a temptation to tease him for only having romance novels and sheet music on him, but the opening chapter had been enjoyable enough to still her tongue.
“I do. What page do you think the smut scene happens on?” he asked lightly.
“How long is it?”
He paused to flip to the back. “... 432.”
“Mmm I bet 120,” she answered frowning a bit at his following snort.
“Amateur,” he remarked lightly, smirking with amusement.
“Oh? Pray tell what’s your guess?”
Holding the page with a finger he flipped the book closed to study the thickness a moment before checking the page number of a seemingly random section. “They’ll do a cocktease at around 250 to build tension but won’t do the actual act for at least another 50 pages. It’s too slow burn even for a one off to happen a quarter in. Too much focus on a plot and world setting.”
It earned a faint chuckle from her. “I’d place a bet on that but somehow I’m inclined to believe you’ve read enough of these sordid tales to know.”
“It’s something to do and the novels are cheap,” he answered before they both perked up at the third occupant of the bed as he stirred with a soft noise of protest.
Pushing himself up to sitting, Alphinaud groaned faintly as he rubbed at his face sleepily, long hair ruffled and sticking up from where he slept on it. It made Alisaie unconsciously reach over to pet it smooth with her good arm given Alvaar was too far away to beat her to it.
“Good morning Alphinaud,” she announced simply, studying him blankly when he gave a start and looked back at her with wide eyes.
“Alisaie,” he whispered, staring at her in disbelief a moment before he reached up to grip her hand in his and give a brave if slightly teary-eyed smile. “I am glad to see you awake and well dear sister. I... we both were concerned for you.”
“I’ll be a sight better when Alvaar lets me out of this bed,” she huffed but gave her twin a faint smile anyway even as he frowned faintly.
“You had best stay put until the chirurgeons give you leave of it,” he chided flatly.
“Or what? You’ll park a carbuncle on me?” she challenged wryly.
“I very well may.” Casting his gaze over to Alvaar, his expression softened further. “I see you are up and about as well my friend. I’m sorry to have left everything to you by falling asleep. It was not my intention.”
A shrug rolled off a broad shoulder flippantly as the Bard tossed a hand in nonchalance. “Don’t worry about it. I just had to assist your spell with Bardsong, not dump my everything into it. You needed the rest more than I did.”
“But neither was I the one that returned to the fray to lead a decisive charge,” the Scholar shot back frankly.
Meeting the scrutinizing stare, Alvaar offered another faint shrug. “And here I am, resting. I would suggest you do likewise. I brought you breakfast. I would have done your hair too, but you were quite content where you were. Hold still and let me fix it for you.” Snapping the book shut once he’d tossed a bookmark in place, he set the paperback aside and eased away from Alisaie’s side.
Squinting out the open window and the daylight blazing outside Alphinaud shook his head. “No, it seems to be well past noon as is. I should gather the reports and the recent status of our positions,” he countered, already slipping out from the covers and sweeping his hair back into some rough sense of order.
“Hold up a second would you? At least take a moment to eat something,” Alvaar chided, slipping to his feet and starting to round the bed.
“Knowing you? It’s likely something I can eat on the way,” he returned with dry amusement. “I’ll be alright, but undoubtedly Raubahn will be interested in my insight and I shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
The Bard paused at the corner of the bed, frowning faintly at the Scholar who now stood an easy two inches above him.
“If it makes you feel better, I can bring them back here to review?” Alphinaud offered, smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt before moving for his longcoat draped over the back of a nearby chair. He’d made it all of three steps before his knee buckled, Alvaar swooping in abruptly and catching him before his head could meet the floor.
Studying him with a flat look, Alvaar tsked under his breath. Shifting his grip so he can release a hand and press the back of it to the Scholar’s brow. “You’re running cold. Aether deprivation... Come on, Raubahn and the Alliance will make do without us. Let’s get you back in bed where you’re going to eat something alright? I’ve got a potion or three in my bag.”
“I’m fine... just... slipped,” Alphinaud huffed.
“You almost smashed your skull on the floor Alphinaud, I would do as Alvaar says,” Alisaie remarked flatly from the bed, now parked towards the center of it where she’d yanked herself on reflex in fright.
“Come on love, don’t be stubborn,” Alvaar murmured, scooping him up in his arms and lifting him easily. A slight amused grin tugged at his face as the Scholar glowered at him.
“I’m fine,” he insisted again.
“Sure. Humor me anyway? I don’t need any more scares today. My heart can’t take it,” Alvaar argued lightly, getting the man situated back on the bed and fussing the blankets back over him.
Alphinaud was less than happy about it, even as a small plate of cinnamon rolls was held out to him and accepted.
“This is far too sweet for breakfast,” he snipped softly.
“It will help give you a boost. If I’d known when you’d be waking up, I would have had a drink ready for you. But cold tea or coffee is the worst, so what do you want me to fetch you?” Alvaar asked lightly, ignoring the Scholar’s sour mood.
“Coffee. ... thank you.”
“Tea for me please,” Alisaie chirped, mostly because she knew Alvaar was about to ask anyway.
“Alright. Stay in bed the both of you. I come back and you’re gone, I’ll tell Y’shtola,” Alvaar threatened as he collected a few empty glasses and plates before excusing himself.
“... Pest,” Alphinaud remarked after the Bard’s steps had faded.
“Definitely,” Alisaie agreed as she leaned into him, plucking a cinnamon roll off his plate and taking a delicate bite. “But I suppose we both have to suffer being bedridden together,” she murmured after swallowing and taking another bite.
He made a noncommittal noise, but even then he leaned back into her shoulder gently. The pair sharing a silent reassurance that the other was fine.
“Y’shtola’s not even here,” Alisaie commented lightly.
“I’m not taking chances,” Alphinaud returned promptly.
“Me neither.”
-
Curled back up in bed with the pair a few hours later, Alphinaud on his third ether with his hair freshly brushed and braided, and Alisaie having just had her wound checked and another wash of restorative magic on her deeper wounds, Alvaar casually flipped the page of his book. Alisaie was slouched down enough to rest warm and cozy against his right shoulder and Alphinaud mirrored on his left. It was almost, if he ignored the circumstances entirely, like a weekend morning when things were relatively peaceful. Those rare times they could all lounge in bed late into the day and be comfortable together. Something so innocuously domestic he could still scarcely believe it possible for him.
It was a thought that left his heart soft and warm, and given the fright of the last day the Bard hoarded it close as he often did with these quiet moments.
“So, when do you think the smut scene happens?” he asked lightly on reflex.
“I still think it’s sooner,” Alisaie pointed out. “There’s no way it doesn’t happen before page 200.”
“No, there’s too much world building, it will take longer than that,” Alphinaud commented, puzzled at Alvaar’s soft chuckle and his sisters look of betrayed disbelief.
#wol#warrior of light#alvaar aldaviir#alisaie#alisaie leveilleur#alphinaud#alphinaud leveilleur#warrior of light x alisaie x alphinaud#prompt fill#rest prompts#close call#sfw#oc#writing#mywriting#ff14#FFXIV#final fantasy 14#final fantasy xiv#ffxiv fanfic
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Name: Mehna Nuwu
Race: Keeper of the Moon Miqt'oe
Nameday: 32nd Sun of the 4th Astral Moon
Age: 18(A Realm Reborn), 19(Heavensward), 20(Stormblood-Shadowbringers)
Class/Job: Archer/Bard
Alternate jobs: Samurai, Red Mage and Dark Knight. She also has taken up gold smithing and culinary.
Family: Ewe'ya Masku(Half brother)
Eye Color(s): Red(right eye), Sky Blue(Left Eye)
Biography: She moved all over of Eorzea because at a young age, she lost her parents and she had only her older half brother, Ewe'ya to raise her. Ewe'ya was a talented healer at a young age but Mehna didn't have a skill to help people with so by the age of 14, she was causing all sorts of mischief and was running with a small group or bandits. With these bandits, she learned down to shoot a bow.
At the age of 16, her brother decided to leave for Gridania to secure a fortune for them as a healer. This upset Mehna. She thought her brother was abandoning her because she was nothing but trouble. She didn't say goodbye to him when he left.
Two years go by and she gets tired of the dull village life and heads to Gridania herself, yearning to be a great adventurer like the Warriors of Light. Little did she know, she would help change the fate of the Realm.
Personality: She is a very empathetic person who wants to help everyone she can. That being said, she despises people that use and abuse the less fortunate for their own gain.
She's also very mischievous and loves to play pranks on her friends or tease them, especially Alphinaud and Alisaie. Despite being close to the Scions, she has trouble letting people in and letting them aid her with troubles.
Having grown up as an orphan with only her half brother to rely on, she has never had a true home but when she joined the Scions, she finally found a place to belong.
As time went on and as she lost more of her friends, she began to hate being the Warrior of Light. What is the point of having all this power if you cannot save the ones you call a family?
She tends to focus too much on what others need and in so doing, she often forgets to sleep or eat for a day or two. Adding to that, she will also ignore her wounds to keep fighting on. It's a wonder she has survived as long as she has.
Likes: Playing music, singing, playing pranks, learning history.
Dislikes: The Syndicate, the Ascians, The Primals, anyone who uses the poor and misfortune for their own gain, feeling weak or being coddled.
Romantic interest: Alisaie(I go based on what @alvaar-aldaviir and @whitherliliesbloom have said about the time bubble)
#warrior of light#final fantasy xiv#miquo'te#Mehna Nuwu#scions of the seventh dawn#alisaie leveilleur#alphinaud leveilleur#thancred waters#urianger augurelt#y'shtola rhul#papalymo#yda hext#minfilia warde
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I just want to give a major shoutout to everyone even if they didn't win anything. Your writing still paid off and it was very worth your time.
For everyone that took part, whether they wrote one thing or filled a whole bingo card, the fact that you took the challenge I put forth to talk about your original characters and self-inserts (something that can be very hard for any creator), is itself an amazing thing that you should be proud of!
Winner or not, creating something and sharing it with other people takes a lot of willpower, time and effort. It inspires not only yourself in creating something, but also inspires and emboldens those around you into doing the same. I found myself deeply inspired many times by the stuff I read from everyone, despite dealing with depression hitting me so hard most days that I could hardly do anything creative, let alone write very much at all.
You guys are absolutely awesome people, and if I had all the time and money in the world I would be honored to give prizes to everyone who stoked that creative flame and made something beautiful despite all the stressors I’m sure many of you were going through.
And while I can’t give each of you prizes, anon does make a good point that you all at least deserve a major shoutout. Below are all the people who took part in the event in some capacity, in order of which they submitted their masterlists:
@owlespresso | @lunarosewood23 | @tamrinetamomille
@alingraemeffxiv | @mathemagiks | @harshwavesroleplays
@sweetlittlehawke | @ffxivimagines | @stars-bleed-hearts-shine
@surlyalpaca | @lascivus | @corbiknight
@eliniei | @runningwolf62 | Snoop via discord
@ffxivtribehydrae | @to-the-voiceless | @ofthesilverlining
@alamhigyoooo | @lumei-xiv | Certified Garlemeeb via discord
@efrmellifer | @whitherliliesbloom | @alvaar-aldaviir
@stabbymage | @milestofu | Eirina Lowell-Waters via discord
@inkblood-mistrieu | @beetlebrownleaf
To all above, thanks for giving the fandom your absolutely wondrous content!
#notwriting#2020 participants#participants#spring 2020 participants#i legit wish i could give all of you something worth the work y'all put in#but unfortunately i am a broke ass binch#and i think letting everyone see your names is the next best thing#bc all of these people are awesome creators so everyone else should check 'em out!#Anonymous
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Just Ask
Time Frame: Post Canon. No Spoilers
Notes: Older and established Alvaar/Alphinaud. Because yea… Alphi really should just ask for a hug.
Cross posted to Ao3.
-
“Alphi, I’m back. Sorry for not sending word the last few days... first time the damn linkpearl’s fallen out and naturally a damn monster stepped on it. I’ll pay for another one,” Alvaar remarked as he paced into the study. Tataru had been kind enough to direct him there to find Alphinaud after giving him an enthusiastic greeting at the front desk, as well as the ominous advice to ‘have an apology ready.’
He knew linkpearls weren’t exactly cheap, but it wasn’t like he wouldn’t be able to afford it off even just his pocket change. Taelis’ savvy for selling in the Sapphire Exchange really was a godsend, and he looked forward to them both being able to comfortably retire early at their current pace. Well… Taelis could retire, he wasn’t certain being Hydaelyn’s Chosen with a long list of achievements and titles ever really LET you retire…
An excited chitter sounded before Carbi was bounding over to him, short legs trotting furiously to put the large summon into his leg and furiously twining around him like an over excited house coeurl. Having to halt as his legs got bound up in glowing white tails, Alvaar chuckled.
“Greetings to you too Carbi,” he cooed, ruffling and patting sleek fur even as the carbuncle kept moving with happy squeaks and rumbling purrs. “Come on now where’s your Master? He can’t be that far. I’ve an apology to make it seems.”
Alvaar was startled as a low thunk sounded, the tall Scholar actually skidding across the polished floor as he rounded the corner of a bookshelf and halting off center in the main aisle way to stare at the Bard. Blue eyes were half wild with panic and concern alike before he blinked and seemed to shake himself out of it. Straightening up to his full height after glancing between his carbuncle and Alvaar for a long silent moment he finally paced forward with considerably more calm and poise.
Even so the silence set Alvaar’s hackles to prickling uncomfortably, making him put his hands up in defensive protest. “It was an accident I swear.”
Carbi finally halted at an insistent quick whistle, scrambling away to the side as Alphinaud paced towards him with sharp ominous clicks of his boots on the stone.
Despite himself and the many horrors he’d faced, Alvaar flinched and offered a weak grin. “Sorry?”
He stilled as Alphinaud gripped his hands firmly, tugging them down between them and sharp gaze glancing over them with an inspecting look before fixing to Alvaar’s eyes. The concern finally seemed to ebb into a milder anxiety, reaching up to brush an ink-stained thumb over the Bard’s cheek.
“Are you well?” he asked softly after a few more moments of silence stretched out between them.
That drew Alvaar up short briefly. “Yea of course. Just a regular field mission. Sorry I didn’t send word; I was just starting back and my damn linkpearl broke. Didn’t seem worth it to send a letter when I’d beat it here.”
The fingers that settled to his jaw were gentle even as they trembled faintly before Alphinaud ducked his head and blew out a steadying breath. Lifting his chin back up he flashed a weak smile.
“Then I’m glad you’ve made your journey no worse for wear. I... admit I’d begun to worry when we hadn’t heard anything for several days, but accidents happen. I’ll have a new linkpearl ready for you by tomorrow so don’t fret over it. We keep a few spares for such occasions,” he offered, tone polite and forcibly even.
“Alphi,” Alvaar started, halting as the Scholar drew back with another slow breath, now pointedly looking away.
“I won’t keep you. You’ve had a long journey.”
“Alphi...”
“Thank you for letting me know...”
“Alphi!” That finally made the Scholar stop in his retreat, ears flicked back and twitching even as he froze.
“... You know you can just ask right?” Alvaar remarked, taking a few steps closer so he could lay a hand to the Scholar’s arm gently. “I’m your boyfriend before I’m the Warrior. You can say you were worried sick and you want a hug.”
Finally tilting his jaw to meet Alvaar’s gaze briefly he quickly glanced away as his eyes started to well up with unshed tears. “... I... Alvaar?”
“Yea?”
“... I know it’s impossible to promise but... please don’t do that again. I thought I’d sent you to your death...” he whispered, voice wavering and making him clear his throat stubbornly.
“I’ll do my best. Sorry I scared you. ... That it? Cause if you really want to be left alone, I can go,” Alvaar asked carefully, keeping his tone as neutral and free of judgment as possible.
Alphinaud hesitated a moment, drawing in a steadying breath before turning to regard him shyly. “Could I-?” He gives a faint start as Alvaar steps smoothly into his space and embraces him, arms sturdy and warm as they wind about him and hold fast.
It makes him melt a bit into that hold, burying his face into the Bard’s neck and threading his arms around his lover too. He doesn’t say anything for a long time but wrapped up in the Bard’s arms and pressed close enough to breathe in the man’s scent, he doesn’t really have need of words anyway.
Sometimes the simplicity of an embrace is really all the reassurance he needs.
#wol#warrior of light#alvaar aldaviir#alphinaud#alphinaud leveilleur#alphinaud x wol#fluff#drabble#oc#writing#mywriting#ff14#FFXIV#final fantasy xiv#final fantasy 14#ff14 fanfic
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Time Frame: Post canon. No Spoilers
Notes: Older Alisaie (21). A speculative idea that takes place before their relationship is established and they’re still in an open relationship.
#alvaar aldaviir#alisaie#alisaie leveilleur#wol x alisaie#writing#mywriting#ffxiv fanfic#ffxiv fanfiction#ff14 fanfic#ff14 fanfiction
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Moonstone
Time Frame: Post Shadowbringers. No Spoilers.
Notes: Platonic Alvaar/Alphinaud. Featuring the best moonstone summon there ever was. All hail the carbuncle fluff. Glory to the glowiest and fuzziest neck warmer.
Cross posted to Ao3.
-
Twitching an ear as the doorknob to his room jiggled, Alvaar ignored it as he continued stitching together his latest commission. A second and then third attempt sounded before he sighed, left himself at a spot he could easily return, and rose to his feet.
Opening the door, he raised a brow as a brilliant white carbuncle slipped into the room, rubbing up against his leg and twining around his feet affectionately. It was only out of sheer familiarity that it didn’t knock the Bard over given the carbuncle was easily the size of a dog. Finally sitting practically on top of one of his feet it stared up at him expectantly with a soft chirp.
“Hey Carbi,” Alvaar greeted flatly, stooping over with a groan as he picked the rather large critter up. “Oof... I’m getting too old for this...”
Giving a low squeak, the summon almost seemed to give him a disapproving look before distracting itself by nuzzling into his neck.
“Yes, yes I know. ‘You’re not that old yet’ that’s what your master would say yes? Little chit,” he crooned sweetly, not surprised when it got a second grumpier chirp anyway. No matter what Alphinaud insisted about the nature of summoning and carbuncles, Alvaar would always remain unconvinced that they didn’t pick up some form of sentience. It was much of why he’d given the critter a nickname (though Alphinaud didn’t approve of it in the slightest.) The moonstone carbuncle in his arms clearly had enough intelligence to understand his words and pass judgment, often in alignment with the man who created him, so he thought it rude not to name it.
But for its intelligence, it seemed just a bit of cuddling and affection often resolved any upset in the creature (also rather like its master when it came to compliments but Alvaar would never say it.) Soothing a hand over silky impossibly plush fur, the Bard chuckled as the carbuncle purred and nuzzled closer still.
“Good to see you Carbi. I take it Alphi is working late again?” He asked, not expecting an answer as he settled into his worn out armchair and continued petting the foxlike creature he held cradled to his chest.
It wasn’t something that happened overly often, but occasionally the Scholar would decide to test his abilities and they’d have a temporary pushy housecoeurl on... well Alvaar’s hands usually. The summon was always well behaved around his master but once Alphinaud got too distracted with his work it would sometimes wander and settle into the Bards lap if he were nearby. A bit strange but Alvaar didn’t pretend to understand what made a summon work and Alphinaud had never had much in the way of explanation for him.
And for distracting as it could be, the carbuncle was still very sweet with its affections so Alvaar didn’t overly mind. It was an oversized fox that didn’t shed on his clothes and cuddled like human contact was what kept it running instead of aether. He could live with that. He adored Crowe after all, and the chocobo was much the same (though he would hazard a tad more deadly.)
Eventually he could end up with a massive glowy white neck warmer stretched across his shoulders and then he could probably go back to work if it weren’t too strenuous. Today however, he opted for a brush, plucking the soft horsehair brush from one of the drawers and setting to task. It was completely pointless given the arcane geometries involved (or whatever it was, he didn’t have a mind for it) which apparently meant not only did a carbuncle never shed, but it’s fur was pretty much always flawless. Regardless, the summon on his lap chirped happily and purred away merrily as he smothered the creature with affection.
It usually got him an even more obnoxious cuddle monster for his efforts with a lot of nuzzling into his hands and neck and often several licks for kisses. That was usually when he knew there wouldn’t be getting much else done unless he wanted to stuff what was essentially a medium sized dog into his shirt, so he’d generally resolve to a nap or reading until either Alphinaud came looking for his summon or, much more likely, it eventually poofed away into the aether and he’d have to check the time. The Scholar always ended up asking him roughly what time the carbuncle dissipated back into the aether anyway for his research.
Today, with a carbuncle stretched across his shoulders and one hand still scritching under a fluffy jaw, he looked up from his book and noticed the few flakes of snow dancing outside the window. Snapping his book shut with a sigh he rose to his feet and set it aside. A few licks to his fingers made him pause long enough to nuzzle and kiss a squishy cheek, getting another cheery chirp before the carbuncle settled down with a purr.
“It’s cold out today. Let’s check on your master hm? I bet he’s face down in documents again. One day Carbi, he’ll drown in ink and it will be the stupidest possible death I couldn’t keep him from. And it will make me sad because I’m a shitty mage and I’ll lose my best neck warmer.” Scooping up one of his spare throw blankets he folded it over an arm and made his way out of the sleeping quarters, taking the back way so he could loop around the Solar’s blueprint and make for the study on the other side of it.
De facto leader or not, Alphinaud had never seemed overly keen to using the Solar, preferring the easy access to books and research materials. It made finding him easy. If he wasn’t there, or sleeping, then he was with Alisaie or already at Alvaar’s side anyways.
Sweeping into the room he shut the back door quietly, glancing at his borrowed summon as it lifted its head and fixed its dark eyes towards some small corner of the massive study. He followed the cue without pause, steps quiet with his house slippers on and found his wayward charge quickly.
Predictably passed out on more research. Or paperwork. Or legal documents. Maybe even all three given they all looked the same to him at a glance when they were spread over the large table.
“Well, that explains the wandering,” he whispered even as a bright white head squished up against his cheek, squeaking quietly. “Mmhmm, yes Carbi I know he’s hopeless.”
Moving the quill and ink pot somewhere less disastrous, he let the throw blanket fall into its full length. A practiced flick of his hands sent it fluttering out over the Scholars shoulders. Alvaar made a few last fussy adjustments anyway before pausing to regard the youth-no... that wasn’t right. He was 21 now and if he didn’t start impressing that change to heart, he’d have Alphinaud giving him pissy stares the rest of his life he just knew it.
21 and growing up just as handsome as he’d warned him in spite of the weight of a worlds troubles on slim shoulders... but, he pondered to himself, perhaps the crushing weight of responsibility just brought out the stupidly handsome looks in Elezen if Aymeric and Estinien were any indication...
Or himself for that matter. Alvaar wasn’t modest, he knew he was hot.
He shook his head and before he thought it through was petting a hand over snowy strands, soothing Alphinaud’s hair from his face and studying his expression a moment.
Noting the faint furrow on his brow he sighed softly. Another very late-night working on something too important to leave.
“Better start on dinner and keep plenty of coffee ready hm?” he whispered, getting another sweet nuzzle at his jaw from the carbuncle.
Blinking as he caught himself still petting soft hair, the Bard snorted. “You’re both a pair,” he murmured quietly, smiling slightly as the summon licked his cheek.
“Yes Carbi, you can keep me company. You know your master works much too hard if he naps this soundly,” Alvaar mused, unsurprised that the Scholar was still dead asleep. He’d found Alphinaud and even Alisaie passed out in various parts of the Rising Stones before. Nothing short of cries of ‘politics’ or ‘adventure’ would rouse them without effort.
Maybe that was why he stood there a bit too long, petting white strands that were somehow even silkier if not as plush as the fur of the moonstone carbuncle purring away at his neck.
Alphinaud would probably die of embarrassment if he woke up and caught him.
It would just have to be the second potential stupid death of the day Alvaar couldn’t save him from.
#wol#warrior of light#alvaar aldaviir#alphinaud#alphinaud leveilleur#carbuncle#moonstone carbuncle#carbi#FFXIV#ff14#final fantasy xiv#final fantasy 14#writing#mywriting#oc
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Masterwork
Time Frame: Post Shadowbringers. No Spoilers.
Notes: Onesided Alphinaud/Alvaar. Again featuring the best moonstone summon there ever was. All hail the carbuncle fluff. Glory to the glowiest and fuzziest neck warmer.
Cross-posted to Ao3.
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These were the sort of days that he lived for. Quiet, peaceful, and left to while the time away on absolutely nothing. No one kicking in the door with the next plot twist in their lives. No emergency threat or enemy, or... missing utensil or whatever else could somehow become an emergency...
Alvaar was not a man who generally liked to be idle, but with how horrifically busy his life had become once his name had been made synonymous with ‘Warrior of Light’, it was a welcome change when it found him.
Usually his hands would be busy with a commission or side project but for once he was caught up and the day oddly free. It meant he could cook an actual meal or two, perhaps make it the bulk of a way through a new novel, and probably take a nap in the afternoon shade. Hell, he might even pick up his harp later and grace the local tavern just for fun.
But for now, he was content sitting in the study, mostly buried under the glowing white fur of a moonstone carbuncle, listening to the furious scratch of a quill while he read. Alphinaud always seemed to have something to do, shut up in the study with Scion work or his own research when there were no pressing meetings or trouble. If nothing else, it made finding someone to try his latest baked good easier, some soft flaky pastry he’d learned from a baker on his latest travels.
It had paired rather well with mulled tea, though he might need to change the spices a bit. Still, the steady movement of pen nib and tempo of the chronometer on the wall were making him sleepy. A fact not helped by the cozy warmth of the carbuncle draped over his chest in the lazy slouch he’d assumed, nuzzling further into his neck as he pets soft fur idly. Failing a fifth time at the same passage he gave up and let the book fall closed, setting it aside and hugging the large summon tighter a moment as he shut his eyes.
An early nap indoors was just as good when he got plenty of sun and wind in his travels. Having a cozy soft cuddle monster for company wouldn’t be remiss either.
-
“Alvaar would you mind reading this over for me, I want to make sure it’s clear what our intentions are,” Alphinaud asked, perking up after a moment when he received no reply. “Alvaar?”
Looking up he blinked at the small couch the Bard had reclined in, raising a brow at the bright glow of his summon curled up on the man’s chest. He was seldom ever surprised to find the carbuncle on Alvaar’s lap when his thoughts drifted, though when the Bard asked, he insisted he had no idea why.
Rising to his feet he paced over quietly, tilting his head as he studied Alvaar’s face as he slept. A fairly deep sleep for the Bards usual if he hadn’t stirred awake yet. Usually he was a rather light sleeper, waking even if you just stared at him for too long.
The moonstone carbuncle perked up at his approach, offering a friendly chirp of greeting.
“Little brat,” he murmured fondly, petting the summons ears gently. “You know better,” he chided despite himself. He’d spent years telling Alvaar that his summons were incapable of conscious thought and now he was treating it like it could... Bard nonsense was truly contagious.
There was no mystery to the carbuncle’s behavior. Not when you had studied and designed it at least, or that was what he swore by. Whatever weird quirks of behavior were all from the embellishment of the design. Those extra lines and orders he’d woven into its arcane geometries, some old patterns from his previous summons, and others new.
It wasn’t strange at all that this carbuncle had the highest penchant for finding the Bard when it was idle. It had been designed specifically to help protect others after all. Imbued with healing magic and protective spells, the best of his white magic that he could muster. The product of years of research and a vow to protect and help those they could yet save. Countless tweaks and revisions, putting a bit more of himself into it each time.
And if there were a few extra lines in that geometry specific to Alvaar well, it was logical when they worked so closely together.
Because he worried about him and his safety.
Because he’d vowed to himself that Alvaar would never have to feel alone.
... Because he adored him and wanted to keep him safe in whatever way he could.
Reaching over to grab the throw blanket Alvaar had made and insisted stay over the back of the study couch, he settled it over him carefully. An unsubtle mimicry of the many times Alvaar had done this for him.
Pondering it a moment he sat down beside the Bard carefully, setting his letter that still needed proofing on the end table. Slipping a bit further down in his seat so he could lean his head against Alvaar’s shoulder, he sighed softly.
Well, he really should have someone look over that letter before he sent it, and it was his last bit of Scion work for the day. A nap sounded like a good idea after hours of diligent research.
It was definitely not from being the faintest bit jealous of his summon who got to cuddle up against the Bard freely. Even if he did think Alvaar carrying the large creature was quite adorable.
As if privy to the thoughts his summon tilted its head to regard him, chirping again softly in question. It was a sound he knew, specific to asking ‘who’ as it often would when needing a target. It quickly fell into soft purrs as he pets its head, silently reassuring that everything was fine and it had picked the correct person. Which was something that really should have required words now that he thought of it...
Just a quirk. Not sentience.
If Alvaar had his personal masterpieces, the songs he’d crafted himself to embody his ideals, then perhaps this was the beginning of his.
.... he just really hoped that Alvaar would find him handsome instead of adorable when he finally brought up the fact he was in love with him.
.... and that maybe he was just a bit taller too.
#wol#warrior of light#alvaar aldaviir#alphinaud#alphinaud leveilleur#alphinaud x wol#one sided feelings#carbuncle#moonstone carbuncle#carbi#FFXIV#ff14#final fantasy xiv#final fantasy 14#writing#mywriting#oc#ffxiv fanfic#ffxiv fanfiction#ffxiv fic
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First Bite (Vampire AU)
Based from this post. Because I can’t be trusted @ffxiv-writers.
Time Frame: Heavensward. No Spoilers. AU
Notes: A dumb vampire AU where the twins are older and dhampire’s. Vampires are the upper class and respected academics/mages in Sharlayan and so quite respected there, but wary mistrust everywhere else. Dhampire’s do not need blood to survive, but to replenish their magic. Everything else in the story is the same, more of an exploratory ‘what if’ because we ALL know vampires are kinda hot and I have no self control.
Just a self-indulgent bit of writing for that first bite scenario, after a heated battle against the Dravanians in early HW.
Cross posted to Ao3.
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“You going to be alright?” Alvaar asked softly, studying the Arcanist still slumped against the side of the bed closer to the fire. He’d done his best to patch the larger holes torn into the long-abandoned cabin in the Coerthas Western Highlands, but even then the blizzard raging outside still blew frigid air through.
He wasn’t overly surprised when he only got a mute nod from the pale Elezen. Alphinaud hadn’t spoken much since he’d collapsed in the snows after a fourth abrupt bout with the Dravanian Horde during their scouting mission. With a barely breathing dhampire in his arms, unfamiliar terrain, and a storm rolling in, Alvaar had been given little choice but to try and hole up somewhere to wait it out. Finishing tacking up one of his spare oil skins over one of the shattered windows for insulation, he hopped down off a chair and moved closer. Tossing a few more logs on the fire and tugging the tipped over long table a bit closer to help reflect more heat into the sheltered alcove he’d made from what surviving furniture remained. It wouldn’t be the most lavish of accommodations, but there was plenty of wood to keep them from freezing to death and they wouldn’t be buried under snow. That would be good enough to get them through.
“Jerky?” he offered, holding the wax paper bag he dug out of his pack in offer. “Otherwise I might have enough stuff on me to cook something,” he continued, finding a seat beside him on the floor.
Still buried under the thick blanket Alvaar had wrapped him up in earlier, Alphinaud shook his head slowly, gaze fixed on some far-off point through the floor.
“You should eat something Alphinaud. And don’t start with a ‘only the blood of the living’ crap I’ve seen you eat scones and tea,” Alvaar chided.
“I eat solid foods yes. But it would be a waste right now. I won’t keep it down,” he murmured.
That made the Bard still before ducking his head to study him with concern. “You sick? You said earlier it was magic depletion. That’s a rest and eat well situation Leveilleur. I can do a broth or something instead?”
Again, he shook his head, seeming a touch more annoyed but breathing out a slow sigh before he winced with discomfort. “I... I’m afraid I didn’t account for this much difficulty in our travels. And in light of recent days and troubles it has been difficult to acquire fresh stock...” he mumbled.
Staring at him for a long moment, Alvaar finally piped in with a flat, “You need blood.”
The dhampire’s ears twitched, a faint flush coloring his face as he ducked his head. “I... I’ll be fine. It will be difficult, but I can make it until we get back to Ishgard. The shipment Urianger was orchestrating must have arrived by now.”
A long moment of silence stretched out between them, Alvaar chewing on another bite of jerky as he mulled it over before washing it down with a swig from his canteen and slapping a hand to the floor.
“Well, people got to eat,” Alvaar offered with a much calmer tone than he really felt. “It’s just a bit of blood, right? Nothing fatal?”
Alphinaud blinked at him in surprise, the first proper look Alvaar had gotten of him and the red of his eyes was a stark shift from the deep blue he was familiar with. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably, but he refused to let it show.
A few stunned moments ticked past before the Arcanist was nodding. “Y-Yes. I mean no, I mean... of course it’s nothing fatal I’m not savage,” he scoffed at last before his expression muted back out with a faint wince.
Alvaar studied him silently, noting the slightly hunched posture and the way the Elezen’s arms were wrapped at his stomach. He seemed almost sick from the Bards point of view, and in some manner he probably was. Alvaar was familiar with the feeling of starving after all, the gnawing almost sickening ache of an overly empty stomach...
“Then I’ll help,” he stated promptly. “Or donate, whatever you want to call it. What do you need me to do? Get a knife? Offer my neck? What?”
Staring at him in puzzled discomfort for a moment the Arcanist sighed heavily. “Nothing so dramatic... in fact I, well, I prefer drinking from a glass honestly that’s how I’ve consumed blood for years,” he mused aloud.
“... Holy shit do you just have fucking wine bottles of blood lying around in your fancy mansion in Sharlayan? Have you ever served it to a non-vampire?” Alvaar asked, tone purposely upbeat to keep them both distracted and given the nervously amused snort that escaped the pale Elezen it must have worked.
“In a fashion, yes I suppose so, and no. We’ve never mixed up the bottles. ... but a knife would be wasteful I think. It would also hurt more, and I would really rather... Just your arm please? If you’re certain...” he murmured, keeping his gaze lowered and obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable.
“Hey, what’s a little blood among friends hm? Sides, it’s better than the alternatives. I’d rather not see any problems today and, well starving sucks,” Alvaar murmured, holding his arm over after slipping it free from his coat and rolling up his sleeve.
The fingers that lightly gripped his wrist were eerily cold, enough to almost make the Bard flinch but he refrained given how guilty Alphinaud already seemed about the whole thing. And it wasn’t a big deal, it would be like a trip to the chirurgeons... just where needles were teeth... apparently...
“It’s been awhile since I’ve done this,” the Arcanist murmured, thumb trailing along the inside of the Bards wrist almost like he was measuring something. Then he was drawing Alvaar’s arm up even as he lowered his head, mouth opening wide and-
‘Have his canines always been that long?’ Alvaar wondered with a start, watching in morbid fascination as elongated canines set to his skin and-
“Ah!” he hissed before he could stop himself, gritting his teeth and still stubbornly staying put by force of will at the burning pinpricks he felt in his arm. The pain only doubled when the Arcanist jerked away abruptly at the sound.
“Sorry! Twelve above, sorry Alvaar I-” he apologized immediately.
“Don’t worry about it, just a reflex. Do what you gotta kid,” Alvaar cut in, lifting his arm a bit for emphasis. “Rude to waste food, right?” he joked.
The glower he got in return made him grin even as his heart was thumping instinctively with fear.
“I meant sorry because I haven’t done this in some time and I’ve sort of forgotten the steps...” the Arcanist grumbled, a faint flush of embarrassment on his face. “Just... don’t judge, it’ll help.”
Alvaar had been about to question it before falling silent at the wet heat of a tongue lapping over the wound. He winced again on reflex, but the sting was already fading to leave only the pleasant warmth of the man’s mouth against his skin.
“Oh... that’s, neat?” he murmured, still morbidly entranced by the whole situation.
Alphinaud made a soft sound, more to let him know he’d heard him than for anything else. Darker eyes flicked to the Bard pointedly as he lifted his head slightly. “Better?”
“Yea. It’s fine.”
“Good. ... Could you... oh, never mind,” he huffed.
“Could I what?” he pressed.
“I was going to ask if you could look away but somehow, I doubt you would,” Alphinaud mumbled sheepishly.
Blinking at him in confusion, the Bard snorted when it clicked. “Don’t bite people much huh?”
It earned a flat scowl. “Not particularly. Were things not so dire I would prefer to just weather it out but... with all of the fighting since we arrived, I’ve depleted my aether reserves. Even half vampires still have slower aetheric recuperation than most every other creature-”
“Not that this isn’t fascinating but maybe explain it once you’re done?” Alvaar cut in pointedly. “Honestly, I think it’s more surprising you’re not just fixated on my blood.”
“I am,” Alphinaud shot back a bit sharper than he meant and quickly looking away. “... It just... helps. To think about other things and not the fact I’m starving. Wouldn’t you pace yourself so you don’t make yourself sick?”
“... Would you get sick?” Alvaar returned, tilting his head a bit in puzzlement.
“I... no, but what could happen would be worse and I would rather it not happen.”
“Lose control you mean,” the Bard continued flatly, taking the faint flush on the other Elezen’s face as a yes. “Listen I won’t hesitate to punch you in the fucking face if you start gnawing up my arm. This buffet ain’t open and it ain’t free.”
“You say while insisting I hurry up and drink...” Alphinaud returned drily.
“And you should before my senses come back to me and I change my mind. That’s my draw arm I’m offering and it’s going to be a pain in the ass firing while injured.”
“You won’t be injured,” the Arcanist returned promptly before setting his teeth back to Alvaar’s arm and this time he barely felt a thing. Well, he felt something distantly, like his arm was locally numb and he registered the pressure, but he could still clearly feel the softness of lips and tongue against his skin and-
It was a little unsettling how those smut novels were rather on point. It was sort of... sensual wasn’t it?
Looking off abruptly, the Bard resolved himself to not think about it. It was just to help a friend. A very annoying prat of a friend that also happened to be a half vampire or dhampire or... whatever it was. Certainly nothing to get this bothered over. Unless…
“... Wait, there isn’t some passive enchantment shit is there?” he asked, looking back at the snowy haired Elezen. Who wasn’t listening and seemed rather intent on the whole blood thing now...
Shite.
“Hey. There isn’t some mind control shit in all this right?” he asked again, louder and tapping Alphinaud’s shoulder as he tried not to panic.
Thankfully, it got his attention, pulling away with a parting lick and wavering sigh. “Beg pardon?” he asked, blue eyes back to normal but dark and vibrant and honestly if Alvaar needed to find words to describe the soft breathy way he spoke and look he was giving it would be something akin to ‘hour two of marathon sex.’ The urge to ask if he wanted a cigarette almost overrode any sense of propriety.
His question dropped off his mind as he noted the clarity of his own thoughts against the warm and almost sleepy look of the dhampire sitting next to him. If anyone here was charmed it wasn’t himself… And hadn’t Minfillia mentioned something about the Echo protecting his mind from outside intrusion in the past? … Damnit. He wasn’t supposed to be the one panicking here.
“You okay?” he asked carefully after shaking himself free from the thoughts.
“Fine. Perfectly fine,” Alphinaud replied, finally seeming to settle fully into the present and glancing down to where his fingers were still curled around the Bards wrist before lowering a hand to his tome. The healing spell was faint, but still as quiet and warm as the times before as it sealed the two pinpricks of blood before he let go and shifted away a few feet. “Thank you, um, yes, sorry for that and not to be rude but please stay over there for a few minutes.”
“Okay,” Alvaar murmured slowly. “But you’re fine?”
“Absolutely.”
“And you’re not going to savage me...”
“Of course not.”
“So...?” Alvaar pressed after a few moments.
“.... What?” Alphinaud asked, giving him a wary look.
“I don’t get a critique on the vintage?” he joked.
“Alvaar don’t ask that...”
“Why not?”
“Because I really don’t enjoy hurting people contrary to public opinion of my kind and it’s a little hard to remember it when you taste that good,” he returned flatly before pausing, another faint flush coloring his face before he was hugging his knees to his chest in a sulk.
“.... You know I thought I would be... So, is it more like trying to pin down a liquid flavor or a solid flavor?” Alvaar continued anyway.
“We are not having this conversation Aldaviir.”
“I see how it is. Here I am, putting myself out on the line and-”
“Alvaar.” It’s said firmly but there was a touch of anxiety underneath, a note the Bard doesn’t miss in part because it’s reflected in the nervous gaze he’s getting. The glitter of ocean blue over the top of his knees where he’s still hunched over, arms wrapped around his legs and making himself as small as possible.
It’s not the first time he notices how naive and inexperienced the dhampire can be, but it is the first time he thinks perhaps the Arcanist may be more concerned over what makes him different than Alvaar ever was.
He blinks, meeting that worried gaze for a long moment before glancing away to study the fire instead. “You’re right, I shouldn’t tease you. I’m sorry that was out of line.” The quiet crackles of the fire and howling winds outside are the only thing to fill the minutes of silence that stretch between them.
“... How do you make jokes about it?”
The whispered question almost doesn’t reach Alvaar’s ears, but it does and he gives the Arcanist a puzzled look anyway.
“The people of Eorzea... They fear my kind. They only begrudgingly accepted any help from my Grandfather because the situation was so desperate, and they didn’t know what he was. Surely they might suspect it but they would never ask. The only ones here aside from the Scions that know what I am is you...” he murmured, carrying on when Alvaar remained quiet. “When my sister and I first arrived, we came across a caravan being overrun by bandits. The situation was so bleak, and the night was so dark, we had little choice but to use our powers to help them.”
Voice trailing off, the Arcanist buried himself a bit further into the blanket he’d been given. “They screamed. They called us monsters. When everything was over, they tried to kill us too. Alisaie said she wasn’t surprised. The ignorance of Eorzeans has always been a problem she said. But... I started to understand why.
“We don’t think of it much in Sharlayan, where vampires are accepted parts of society. Mortals donate blood freely and it’s preserved and kept openly. Many of the great advancements in aetherology have been made with mortal and vampire scholars working together. There’s no reason to be afraid of vampires because it’s taught to us from the day we’re born not to hurt others. Why would we have to take what’s freely given? We give back our achievements and research freely in exchange. We fight and work together. It’s a cardinal sin to turn someone into a vampire, or to willfully harm someone. Punishable by death or exile at the very least, a sentence that may as well mean death. But the people of Eorzea don’t see that. They only see us as monsters... as something approaching voidsent... So why don’t you? Why aren’t you afraid?”
Studying him quietly for a moment Alvaar pushed himself closer. Pausing briefly when Alphinaud tensed before carefully looping an arm around the Arcanist’s shoulders and pulling him into his side. Settling his cheek against soft white hair he blew out a faint sigh.
“You’re not a monster Alphi, you’re my friend. I made a promise to you and Tataru both when we fled to Coerthas. That I would keep you safe and protect you. I don’t make those sorts of promises to people I don’t trust and care about. What you are doesn’t change who you are right? As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a friend with some interesting dietary needs.”
Blinking at nothing in particular, the dhampire made a slight annoyed face Alvaar couldn’t see but could hear. “It’s vaguely insulting to hear you distill my troubles down to something so base.”
Alvaar gave a soft snort of amusement. “Sorry. Not my intent. It’s just... not a big deal to me personally Alphi. The world at large has its reasons, and I’ll admit I was wary at first but we’re really not that different. Sides, whatever you took I feel fine so it doesn’t seem that big a deal to me.”
“Your blood is... unusually aether rich,” Alphinaud commented after a moment. “It wouldn’t take very much.”
“No shit? Well, I barely cast magic anyway, so I guess that’s fortunate for next time,” Alvaar returned easily.
“Next time?” The incredulous look on the Arcanist’s face had the Bard trying extremely hard not to laugh.
“Yea next time. There always ends up being a next time for this sort of stuff. Gods, read a book Leveilleur,” Alvaar joked, pulling away enough to steal part of the blanket and readjust it over both their shoulders.
“What sort of books are you reading where there’s an invariable need to take blood from someone ‘next time?’” he persisted, frowning as he was once again pulled into the Bard’s side.
Ruffling fluffy white strands absently, Alvaar stretched out a bit, crossing one boot over the other and settling back against the broken bed frame. Leaning his cheek against Alphinaud’s head, he gave a faint squeeze of the arm around him. “Come on, quit fussing and get some sleep.”
“That’s not you answering my question Alvaar,” he complained.
“I have my sources. Now hush, we should get some sleep while we can.”
The Arcanist blew out an irritated breath but didn’t argue it further. Though he did make a reasonable effort by the way he shifted and the several bothered huffs he made as he got comfortable of letting Alvaar know he was beyond annoyed. It just made the Bard chuckle in amusement, again ruffling soft strands gently before closing his eyes and slipping into the easy light sleep that was waiting to claim him faster than usual.
It made him miss when the Arcanist finally eased into his side, shifting a bit closer into the Bard’s warmth before falling into a quiet sleep himself.
#wol#alvaar aldaviir#alphinaud#alphinaud leveilleur#vampire au#smells like writer's block#someone take my fanfic privileges away#now I'm writing vampires#friendly reminder Alvaar absolutely reads trashy romances#on the off chance anyone wants to run with this#go ahead. I'm unlikely to do much with it#oc#writing#mywriting
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"Take me with you. In one form or another... If not as lover, if not as friend, if not as steed, or pet... Then drive a blade into my heart and take my fur for warmth. Eat my heart for sustenance. Carve my bones into tools, use my teeth and claws for weapons... but take me with you," he whispered against her mind with a solemn sincerity.
“Take me with you... or do not go at all.”
#when the 'white wolf' moniker gets a little to literal#and then the werewolf au kicks in....#listen I don't make the rules#but when you find a good gem you may as well polish it and put it on the shelf#for crafting later#oc#alvaar aldaviir#rp snippits
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Movement: Zartheit
Time Frame: Some point after Shadowbringers. No Spoilers.
Notes: Not precisely canon compliant because who can say what happens after current content? I also take liberties with Bard abilities because they are so loosely defined in lore. One day we’ll have some pieces to expand on Alvaar’s bardic quirks, but times are tough so have some fluff.
Cross posted to AO3
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Alphinaud had long learned to stop questioning the extent of domestic knowledge the Warrior of Light seemed to possess, but you couldn’t especially blame him if he found ‘novice hairdresser’ a surprising addition to the list.
-
“You really need a trim.”
Looking up from his tome, Alphinaud looked back over his shoulder to fix the Bard with a raised brow. He didn’t say anything, but the silent glower made it apparent his thoughts were elsewhere.
Putting his hands up in the symbol of ‘no offense’ for a moment, Alvaar stepped closer and held his hands up with open palms. “If I may?”
Sighing and returning to his research he finished scribbling a few notes. “If you must,” the Scholar replied noncommittally, mind still fixated on his most recent arcane discovery and how it might apply to his own abilities.
“Then I must,” Alvaar replied, carefully smoothing white strands down before delicately removing the hair tie and metal ornament that held the Elezen’s long hair back and setting them aside. Gently freeing long snowy locks and combing his fingers through to loose any snarls.
“You’ve been busy of late,” Alvaar commented simply.
“As have you,” Alphinaud returned placidly, frowning slightly given the Bard was preoccupied and wouldn’t notice. He wasn’t going to say it but the absence had been... quite noticeable. Still, they both had their duties and it wouldn’t do to treat the Bard so dismissively when he was freshly returned from a mission.
Glancing up at the white fringe of hair obstructing his view, he sighed faintly. “I suppose I, may be more in need of an appointment than I’d thought. But Scion work does ever come in droves,” he continued.
“Indeed. ... I didn’t mean any offense Alphinaud, but I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you this unkempt.” Pausing with a snort of laughter at the reflexive tensing of slim shoulders, Alvaar patted his arm. “Your bangs have gotten too long, and your braid isn’t lying sleek. You know I’m a fop at heart I just have an eye for this.”
“Well not all of us are so privileged as to have an aesthetician on call,” Alphinaud shot back with notable cheek.
“If you knew what I had to put up with to keep that man equipped in scissors and glitter every time he misplaced them you would think I got the short end of the stick. If I have Jandelaine on call, then he’s got a Warrior of Light as a personal errand boy for every lost implement disaster. Not that anyone else might know such privileges right Alphinaud?” Alvaar mocked sweetly. “Now shut it and tilt your chin up, I need to see how bad this is.”
Huffing and dropping a blank sheet of parchment in his book he snapped it shut loudly and offered a smirk when he complied.
Predictably, the Bard hissed out a laugh and smoothed his hair down to inspect the length. “Little shit.”
“If I have learned anything of being a particular thorn in others sides it must have been from you, dear friend.” Even so there was only amusement in the words.
It was the sort of barbs and banter he’d been missing with Alvaar and Alisaie both on a long expedition for Urianger. For while he certainly got along well with his fellow Scions, there was a natural sort of ease to the taunts thrown back and forth with his sister and, once the Bard became more talkative, Alvaar as well.
The man in question just offered his own faint smile of amusement before amethyst eyes were studying his face intently for things Alphinaud couldn’t begin to understand. In fact, he opted to just shut his eyes and wait patiently through the inspection lest he get caught up staring into that jewel toned gaze longer than was appropriate. It wasn’t enough that he’d been dealing with people insinuating an ever-growing crush on the Bard for the last few years, he didn’t need to be teased about it by the man himself too.
Even if it was true...
“Do you want me to trim it for you? If you want a style change, I’d recommend an appointment but I can at least clean up the split ends and I know your hairstyle probably better than your own hairdresser. Up for it? I’ll even let you keep reading.”
“You know how to cut hair too?” Alphinaud asked with minimal surprise. At this point, Alvaar could say he had experience in about any profession and he’d likely believe him.
Another amused snort. “Anyone can cut hair... it takes study to be able to style it and not butcher it. But yes, I know enough to do all the touch ups in my Free Company. And if I should somehow manage to offend, I’ll pay for Jandelaine to fix it myself. Now please, I beg you. Let me trim it. Unless you’re dedicating to a longer style I don’t think I can tolerate this mop nearly as well as you can.”
“It’s not that bad...”
“..... Technically no, you’re still better styled than the bulk of adventurers I travel with but... this is weird for me so let me fix it. Alphinaud Leveilleur I beg of you, gift unto me the privilege of saving you from the pox that is untamed growth of one’s own hair. For King and Country I won’t rest until I’ve slain that which offends mine senses.”
“Oh just shut up and do it Aldaviir. You’ll just hound me until I let you anyway,” Alphinaud shot back, pausing and flushing faintly at the flow of words he’d most definitely picked up from the Bard.
“Ahh,” Alvaar sighed, a blissful smile in his words, and the rustle of fabric as he put a hand to his heart. “As my Prince doth proclaim, so must I attend.”
“You’re an insufferable Bard when you’ve been reading romance novels, you know that?”
A long pause.
“I don’t deserve these call outs Leveilleur.”
A faint click caught his attention and he opened his eyes to regard the Bard. Seeing how prepared and serious Alvaar was as he started summoning and laying out tools, Alphinaud took one look at the spray bottle that was set down and quickly cleared his research off the table. Let him read... ha.
“If you’re that serious I’ll just go take a bath Alvaar. It’ll be easier.”
Pausing, the blond tapped a fine-tooth comb to his jaw in thought. “True. I should probably join you. Much as I love them, the smell of chocobos tends to cling...”
“In that case after you! Long travels are terrible and my hair isn’t going anywhere. I’ll just clean up in my room,” he chirped, quickly up on his feet and actually pushing the Bard towards the door.
“Wh- hey what the...” Alvar griped but let himself be shoved out the door by the shorter Elezen regardless.
“Go forth, take your time, I’ll be in my quarters when you’re ready.” Shutting the door behind the Bard, Alphinaud turned to lean his back against it and sigh. Not his most subtle of misdirects but in the panic it was all that he had.
“You realize you could just ask to use the bath after me if you’re that sensitive to modesty...” Alvaar reminded him from the other side of the door.
Oh. Damnit.
“Nerd.”
-
For as much as he’d fidgeted and worried about further teasing, Alvaar had done the Scholar the courtesy of leaving it at that. In fact, he’d almost forgotten about any potential embarrassment until he opened the door to his room and found Alvaar sitting at his desk, studying the desktop carbuncle calendar Alisaie had bought him as a gift.
But then the Bard rose up to his slippered feet smoothly, dressed in a well-tailored green tunic nipped close at the waist and gray khakis that accented his tall physique, and one embarrassment was probably just going to be replaced with another. In common clothes Alvaar didn’t look anything like what people pictured as the Warrior of Light, but it certainly did even less to hide that effeminately handsome face of his when he wasn’t wearing his hat. Framed with still damp green accented blond, once again cut and feathered to a medium length that complimented him well, he could start to see why people had a hard time recognizing him in his craft clothes. In his battle gear there was something unaffected and inspiring to him, a remote calm and surety that made even enemies give pause.
Dressed in his house clothes however Alvaar was just... normal. Still handsome and graceful but far less intimidating. He was approachable... touchable even...
If Alphinaud hadn’t spent the bulk of the last three years with Alvaar during the brunt of his ‘bisexual awakening,’ he probably wouldn’t be able to handle it. Instead he just steeled his nerve and tried to resume his thoughts on his research. What sort of adjustments would need to be made to the arcane geometries of his moonstone carbuncle summon to make it more efficient with aetheric flow and-
“Park it Leveilleur. You can think about your nerd shit while I’m working,” Alvaar huffed with a knowing look and bless him but the return to normal sass made it easier to handle.
Taking the offered seat he lifted his chin proudly, letting Alvaar tuck a sheet around him for cover before the Bard started into his task. Easing his fingers through damp strands he plucked a comb off the table and set to straightening with patient care.
“Well if you had any interest in being an Arcanist then perhaps I’d talk about it instead,” he remarked lightly, already knowing how this would go and taking comfort in the familiarity.
“Aetheric Magic isn’t my thing. I pull enough miracles out of my arse as a Bard as is, I don’t need the effort of more expectations of miracles scholars can filtch. I turn a volcano into a temperate climate and clear a blizzard for a small contingent of warriors with the power of song alone and no, you sots just want a different colored carbuncle. Fuck that I’ll leave the discoveries to you and pick up spare change playing requests on harp in bars.”
Okay, maybe not so familiar...
“Difficult trip?” he asked lightly.
“Just annoying. Not much for discovery and an endurance trial on my patience. If Alisaie hadn’t been around I’d hazard it would have been downright dull.”
“Is that so? I had been led to believe it involved Allagan technology,” he continued, leaving the statement hanging and waiting for the Bard to take the bait.
An annoyed huff answered it. “Nothing new. Allagan cruelty knows no bounds it seems. Heartless bastards, I’m glad they’re all dead. I don’t see much purpose to arcane advancement when it comes at a cost of feeling and reason,” Alvaar griped bitterly.
Tipping his chin up so he could meet the Bards gaze he studied him a moment. “Your statements are fair. Still, thank you for going anyway. I felt much better for my sister’s safety knowing you were along.”
Staring back a moment, Alvaar sighed slowly, tension finally easing out of his shoulders and running the comb through his bangs.
“As if she needs the help... your sister is a hellcoeurl when you get her going. Now stay still. If you move like that when I’ve got my scissors I’m liable to snip an ear off and then I’ll be obligated to dock the other one for balance,” Alvaar remarked flatly before giving a slight grin at the faintly horrified look on his friends face. Fingers lightly gripping the Scholars jaw he centered his head and grabbed his scissors.
Holding still, Alphinaud shut his eyes again and let Alvaar work, the soft hiss of scissors working away as gentle fingers slipped through his hair. It was... nice. He’d thought it might be a bit more awkward but there was something soothing about the attention and touch.
He was roused a bit by a thumb trailing under his eye once the Bard had finished trimming his bangs back to their standard length. Blinking his eyes open cautiously he raised a brow at Alvaar’s assessing stare.
“You’re working too hard again. You need to be careful with that or-”
“Or I’ll end up possessed by an Ascian. Yes, I recall. You fret like a maid Alvaar,” he interjected calmly, using the old phrase that had caused him no end of grief once and now was some old inside joke between them.
Something in the Bards gaze softened at the words, rising back up to his towering height and pacing back around to start cleaning up any split ends on the long whip of white hair he’d yet to fuss with. Setting his scissors aside he again set to untangling silken strands, tutting under his breath.
“Someone has to or your sister would have an absolute fit. I would rather not invoke her wrath over something so preventable. ... going to need to trim this back an inch, that alright?”
“Whatever you think is best, I trust you,” he replied automatically, probably a bit more heartfelt than was necessary but... no less true.
Again, a change of implements and the sharp rasp of scissors snipping away carefully. Focused and methodical and the Scholar almost found himself falling asleep but that mock threat kept him stubbornly upright and still. In fact, a small part of him was sad when Alvaar finally put comb and scissors away, brushing any loose trimmings free and reclaiming the sheet with a quick efficiency.
But it wouldn’t be polite of him to further monopolize Alvaar’s time so shortly after he’d returned. Even so, he didn’t rise from his seat, instead sinking a bit farther in and tipping his chin up so he could let his hair hang off the back of the chair to dry a bit more.
“Much better,” Alvaar hummed as he finished cleaning up, tossing the swept-up clippings and pausing as he turned to regard his friend and ally. Studying him quietly a moment he stepped back over, nearly startling the Scholar as his fingers slipped back into white hair.
“Tataru says you haven’t been sleeping,” Alvaar commented stoically, combing through his hair with his hands this time and letting it slide through his fingers.
Well, that was the double-edged sword of being good friends with a gossip...
“There’s been,” he paused, dragging in a deep breath as he pondered it, “much to do my friend. Where the summoning of Primals may slow, other problems take their place. Many have come seeking aid from the Scions of late and as the de facto leader, it’s been on me to meet with them all. I’ve made what arrangements I could but, as you know it is nearly impossible to help everyone...” the Scholar trailed off with a sigh.
He gave a faint start as Alvaar slid fingers up along his jaw, gently encouraging him upright with a soft, “Straighten up. Relax.”
“Alvaar?” the Scholar asked, a note of genuine concern mixed in his puzzled tone.
“Hush.” Soothing his palms out along Alphinaud’s neck the Bard set into a massage, humming something softly under his breath and hands warming up noticeably. A casual display of the potency of his skill in Bardsong that would have startled if Alphinaud hadn’t seen such effortless works before. “What sleep you are getting isn’t very restful. You’ve too much tension in your neck,” Alvaar chided grumpily even as his fingers worked their magic with gentle care. “You need to take better care of yourself Leveilleur.”
Perhaps. But a small part of him would miss the attention if he didn’t give the Bard something to fuss over. He also suspected (and maybe hoped) that on some level Alvaar needed such things too regardless of what he said. If he didn’t, then his mother hen attitude wouldn’t have him fussing over almost anyone given half a chance.
Alvaar certainly seemed at his most relaxed when he had mundane things to worry about, though given how many world scale problems were thrust on him it could have just been a product of perspective. Fussing over someone’s appearance and fixing it was a far cry from smiting world evils after all.
But to say any of that would probably be too much so Alphinaud elected to say nothing at all. He merely settled a bit firmer into those hands and soaked in the comfort of another person’s touch.
Bit by bit his thoughts quieted, worries and concerns falling away now that Alvaar and Alisaie were back safe and sound. Things would quickly return to the routine he preferred and found the most comfort in.
And his Warrior of Light was back home. Here at his side once more, stalwart companion to the bitter end. Focused on him and giving off that familiar feeling of safety and support he’d come to depend on through the years.
He didn’t doubt that tomorrow he’d look back over those petitions for aid and be able to find new solutions. If Alvaar could make doing the impossible seem effortless, then he could do no less in the matters he was suited for. He could only ever rise to meet that challenge. Pull together various resources and people to find a solution that they could follow-
Thumbs hooked over the back of his ears, work-worn hands covering them and in the wake of the last few weeks of constant meetings and stress the abrupt narrowed silence was disorienting. Even as his feet shifted on reflex for balance, he was already unconsciously reaching for Alvaar’s hands.
The movement had the Bard starting to shift away, a half-formed apology on his tongue before Alphinaud pulled him back. Slender fingers gripped against Alvaar’s hands and held them back in place, leaning into the contact without saying a word.
He hadn’t ever been one for silence in a world with so much that needed to be said. But that brief listless moment had pointed him towards something he’d forgotten that he needed. A brief reprieve held safely in the hands of someone he trusted, though it was not generally so literal...
It was the same sort of soulful quiet he often found with his twin. The comfortable air of safe silence that tended to have them both asleep leaned against one another. The reassurance of knowing you weren’t alone and whatever happened someone would be there with you to face whatever you awoke to.
But here...? After so long he found that here? Whose heart was he hearing beat a staccato then, his or Alvaar’s? Snapping out of it he let go, quickly leaning forward to break the contact.
“My apologies,” he murmured hastily. “I... it’s been a difficult time these last weeks. You likely have much to attend to given you just returned. I believe your retainers have also been checking in regularly the last few days so they must be-”
“Shut it Leveilleur,” Alvaar snarked flatly, making the Scholar jump a bit at the tone. “I’m not done. Besides, there’s another summit in two days isn’t there? I’m not showing up with the Leader of the Scions sporting unkempt hair and bags under his eyes. If we’re going to have to sit at the same table as those backstabbing little heathens then we may as well look fucking fabulous while we do it. So, sit up, I’ve still got work to do given you’re still a damn mess.”
Looking over his shoulder at him, Alphinaud stared at Alvaar in stunned surprised.
Putting a hand at his hip and shifting his stance to one of cocky annoyance, Alvaar raised a brow. “You’ll make me look bad Alphinaud. I’ve got a reputation to uphold as the best-looking Warrior of Light Eorzea will ever know and I’m not letting you jeopardize it. Let’s go.” Holding his hand out a bottle dropped into it from the aether with a puff of smoke, tossing and flipping it nonchalantly. “Leave in conditioner doesn’t apply itself.”
A delayed snort of laughter escaped the Scion, quickly having to turn around to stuff his hands to his face to try and quiet it.
“.... What, you think fashion is funny?! It’s fucking suffering now quit laughing and get over here!” Alvaar bitched, swatting lightly at his friends’ shoulder but even without turning to see it the Scholar knew he was smiling. Especially when Alvaar finally started to laugh and then gave an unflattering snort, and that set the both of them off again.
“Thank you,” Alphinaud murmured softly, but no less heartfelt as the Bard massaged whatever floral scented cream into his hair once they’d both collected themselves.
“It’s fine. Just another part of my job as your personal errand boy,” Alvaar returned cheekily.
Lifting his chin with a frown the man couldn’t see Alphinaud huffed. “I mean it Alvaar. Thank you for helping me.”
The Elezen paused, studying the snowy strands threaded through his fingers a moment. “.... You’re welcome. But you’re not the only one who needed a reprieve Alphinaud. I like doing things like this. It’s... relaxing,” he answered, tone quiet and even. That sign that he felt he was revealing too much even with so little a detail.
It was as he’d expected then...
“Still,” he insisted anyway.
“... You know if you grew this all out and we feathered it for body you’d have some truly amazing hair,” Alvaar carried on with a subject change. “I think it would even put Aymeric to shame. Very dashing, like some storybook prince. Everyone would swoon.”
Shutting his eyes, the Scholar just smiled a touch wider and leaned the faintest bit further into that gentle touch. Did that mean Alvaar as well? “Maybe.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I’m afraid my sister hoarded my half of it.”
“Tch. Blasted Leveilleurs. You need to learn to share.”
-
“Alphi?” Alvaar asked untold minutes later once he’d noticed the Scholar had been silent for some time.
The hands that had been working over his shoulders stopped, and though Alvaar called his name again Alphinaud didn’t want to respond. Perhaps it was a moment of selfishness but he vainly hoped that perhaps the Bard might stay for a bit more in this peaceful quiet. At least until he actually fell asleep...
A gentle hand ruffled his hair with another attempt at calling him though this time it was softer as the man shifted to see if he was awake or not. It took a bit to not smile under that scrutiny and give himself away but if he couldn’t manage at least that he would never have made it so far in politics. A haggard sigh left the Bard and then he shifted back behind him. Whatever he might have been hoping for hadn’t expected Alvaar to lean down and slip his arms about his shoulders, hugging him gently.
“What am I going to do with you... my friend you work yourself much too hard if you can fall asleep sitting up like that,” Alvaar whispered, squeezing him the faintest bit tighter and settling his cheek to satiny strands.
It was enough to make his heart skip a beat in panic.
It had been some time since Alvaar had last hugged him. While the Bard tended to come off as physically distant and stoic, at least at first; it was the furthest from the truth once he was comfortable with you. Really it was probably because Alvaar knew how embarrassed it made him. There had been a few times he’d caught Alvaar giving him a tight look of empathy, but he’d generally refrained from moving closer unless things were particularly dour.
It wasn’t that he disliked such things, but part of his pride hated to come off as weak. After all he had done for Shards and Source he didn’t think it much to ask that people stop treating him as a child because of his height. Where flustered pride would have him pull away, now he had no excuse but to stay. To feel that warmth and comfort folded around him and soak it in. A part of him almost wished to reach back. To bury himself against the Bards chest as he had a few times before and relish in that protective strength.
But that would be too much.
It was one thing to accept comfort in a moment of weakness. Wholly another to just ask for it because your closest friends had been away too long. A silly distinction perhaps, but then few had ever asked so much of a friend as he. From the time his youthful arrogance had callously brandished the Warrior of Light as one would a blade to now when invariably something would happen that only Alvaar could attend and he would have to summon him to battle once more.
It would be too much to place the burden of his loneliness on the man as well; especially when he knew Alvaar would likely do most anything he asked. Even if he didn’t genuinely want to… a thought that bothered him to no end.
Instead he would just accept what the Bard gave freely, as he did now silently soaking in this chance comfort. Letting his friend fuss over him because Alvaar also found relief in it. And he’d hold on to those favors one would need to ask of friends for when they needed them most.
A knock at the door startles them both, and though he’s upset to feel Alvaar quickly pull away it at least spares him the quandary of how he was going to slip out of that ruse without giving himself away. Instead he lifts his head after a moment to stare at the door with a falsified tired blink.
“Alphinaud are you in?” Alisaie calls, and he almost frowns but the relief to hear her voice again after so long gets the better of him.
“Yes, come in,” he answers. He glances at Alvaar as the Bard shakes out the sheet for a third time fussily before he busies himself with cleaning his scissors and comb, but he’s pointedly not looking at him.
Curious.
“Ah, there’s the pair of you. I had thought you would be off for that nap you kept complaining about Alvaar not hiding away in my brothers room,” Alisaie remarks as she lets herself in, an amused quirk to her lips that the Scholar isn’t quite sure he likes the look of and when they lock eyes he knows for a fact he doesn’t. He would be hearing about this later no doubt. Few enjoyed teasing him more than his sister.
“Well, I do like the peace and quiet,” Alvaar returns drily. “It beats the nonstop chattering of our contact… Besides, Alphi needed a trim and you know I can’t very well let enough alone once something has bothered me.” It gets a soft snort of amusement from her before she studies her twin expectantly and he pushes himself up to his feet.
“Welcome back. It’s good to see you Alisaie. I’ve heard your travels were uneventful and for that I am glad even if you found it boring,” he supplies in proper greeting, offering his arms out and hugging her tight once she accepts.
It’s a nice feeling. An affirming that things are once again back to a routine he prefers even as she squeezes him a bit harder than he likes in that continued display of strength she was so fond of. It was something Alisaie had picked up after her many travels of Eorzea, and a new habit he would be remiss in chiding her for when it’s become habit to him as well.
“.... Alphinaud, do you mind telling me why your hair smells like a perfume stall?” Alisaie accused more than asked, a flat look on her face as she pulled back from their greeting embrace.
He’d barely felt his cheeks begin to flame before a sharp admission of, “Hey!” cut between them.
Snapping his fingers, Alvaar gripped a pair of scissors and pointed the handles at her as he leaned against the desk. “That’s it. You’re next Alisaie. I’ve had to tolerate that mop of flyaways and split ends for almost a month! And scorched ends! SCORCHED ENDS! I’m fixing this travesty today! Park it!”
It was nice, the way things always seemed to settle back into place when they returned. A bit less quiet and not as suited to study, but watching the pair argue while he was trying not to laugh was still preferable to the silence.
#alphinaud#alphinaud leveilleur#alvaar aldaviir#wol#alphinaud x wol#one sided pining#touch starved#minor role alisaie#FFXIV#ff14#final fantasy xiv#final fantasy 14#oc#writing#mywriting#sfw#zartheit: tenderness#that moment when your wol has multiclassed so hard but it was only into non combat jobs...#if aesthetician was a class Alvaar would have it
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Wondrous Tails: Listening to Music / Polyamory Discussion
This is going to be my last official prompt entry for the Wondrous Tails of FFXIV event. It's been an absolute blast, and I suppose no better way then to cap it off on a dual prompt my bingo board just gave me. With my Bard. And the weird road he's taken to get here.
Time Frame: Post Canon (years after Shadowbringers) Very minimal spoilers.
Notes: All characters are aged up. Mentioned possible poly relationship between my WoL and the twins. No, there won't be incest, ship what you like but I still don't think it fits the twins' personalities.
Also I have no idea how I keep writing from Alisaie's perspective but it keeps happening and I'm not even going to argue at this point.
Her brother was hopeless in matters of love. It was something Alisaie had long known about him, especially after having to endure the misplaced affections of several of his numerous crushes in the Studium. But watching him around Alvaar was borderline painful by proxy at times.
She’d thought it odd, the way he had immediately excused himself from the lavish hall of the Canopy as soon as Alvaar had taken up his harp and the amused snort the Bard made as he left. Yet another inside joke between them it seemed, and again one she hadn’t the faintest what it meant.
Having heard Alvaar’s music many times before she knew it wasn’t that he was terrible. In fact, his cheeky quip of being a ‘Bard of Bards’ sounded fairly accurate as she’d seldom met anyone rivaling the pull and sway of that skilled tenor and accompanying harp. Music hadn’t been any form of her specialty or interest in her studies, but she knew enough to tell when someone was good. Hells any random passerby who stopped in could tell that he was exceptional. A fair few had even found a seat and ordered food and drink to enjoy while they waited out yet another of Gridania’s torrential downpours.
Perhaps it was given his long years as a Bard of battle, raising voice and lyre to inspire and weave bolstering magic with his allies, which lent a persuasive pull to his songs. There was a... sincerity, she supposed. Buried deep in every tune ringing off strings and lyrics resonating in his voice. Age old stories and memories wrapped up in each song and if she closed her eyes it was almost as if she could see them herself.
Far off battles for ancient kingdoms. The journey and trials of heroes. The giddiness of a wild flight through open skies. The sorrow and determination of a Queen of ice.
And though there was no trace of Bardsong in his movements, no telltale hum of potent resonance as he wove supportive spells, she could vaguely read a subtle shift of aether. Not enough to invoke anything, but there nonetheless, shifting about him as if charmed by his song.
It explained a great deal she supposed, if his regular singing could tune and prime surrounding aether. Several of his clever tricks and impressive feats in their adventures made more sense if that were the case.
But even if she enjoyed his songs, it wasn’t in her nature to sit idle while the sun was still up. Rising to her feet after an hour she made for the door. A bit of rain didn’t mean she couldn’t explore the indoor market space or perhaps brush up a few skills in one of the practice yards.
It was just as she was clearing the door that a familiar shock of white caught her periphery, surprised to find her twin on the porch still, seated against the corner of the building and sketchbook on his lap. For a moment she pondered leaving him be before discarding the notion. What was the fun of that? Much more interesting to find if he would be too absorbed in his work to notice her approach when she doubled back to try the south exit and creep up over his shoulder that way.
“From memory, dear brother?” she asked abruptly as she studied his half-finished drawing, smirking as Alphinaud startled and almost dropped his charcoal stick. And even if he quickly and quite huffily clapped the book closed, they both knew the damage was done.
“Invasive as ever, dear sister,” he returned flatly.
“You know Alvaar would likely hold still for a portrait if you asked,” she commented lightly, leaning against the corner wall, and crossing her arms over her chest with a smug air.
“It’s just practice,” he murmured. “Nothing I would need him specifically for.”
“Mmm. So why, if I may ask, are you seated out here, in less than ideal conditions, sketching pictures of a man who’s been sitting fairly still and inside with better lighting?” she inquired.
“I like the peace and quiet actually, and ordinarily the privacy, but it seems rather lacking in it today,” he clipped back.
“Funny, I can still hear Alvaar just fine from here. Almost uncannily so...”
At that he merely shook his head and stared out over the lake the Roost overlooked, expression pensive and clearly not in the mood for their usual banter.
“... You should tell him you love him,” Alisaie stated after a moment, glancing down to meet his surprised stare. “Oh please... I’m your twin. I know you’ve been enamored with him longer than I have whether you want to admit it or not.”
A soft noise left his throat, trying for words and clearly meaning to protest before breathing out a heavy sigh and his shoulders slumping in defeat. It was probably one of the most miserable looks she’d seen on him in some time, and the notion of it grated on her nerves far more than she liked.
“And to what end?” he asked quietly. “I’ve no interest in hazarding the bonds we’ve built and driving a wedge between you and I, Alisaie. He seems quite taken with you, so I’ve no wish to jeopardize that for my own self-interest.”
“We’re casual. There’s nothing there for you to jeopardize,” the Red Mage answered simply.
“But you wish there were,” he returned promptly, meeting her gaze with a moment of resigned and knowing maturity.
It was enough to still her reflexive scoff and the lie that wanted to spring from her tongue. Damn it. Even after all these years he still had those moments of being infuriatingly mature. “... I do,” she answered.
“Then I’m not about to hazard that,” he stated firmly.
Sighing deeply, she lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose a moment. “Alphinaud... just because we’re minutes apart does not make me a child needing to be coddled from the world. Don’t sacrifice your own happiness because you believe mine more deserving. I’m a grown woman, I will be able to handle whatever he may choose.”
Silence filled the space between them, only accented by the hiss of rain and distant hum of harp and voice. Brow knitting in irritation as her brother continued to stay mired in his thoughts with no sign of changing his mind, she blew out a slow sigh for patience.
“Who’s to say he picks either of us anyway? .... Who’s to say he won’t pick us both?” she tosses out flippantly.
“Begging your pardon?!” Alphinaud blustered, staring at her in stupefied surprise.
Giving a one-armed shrug she gestured vaguely with her other hand. “I’m just saying that historically, things tend to work out where Alvaar is concerned. You never quite know how they will until they do, but neither will you find out just sitting around being miserable. And I’m not about to thank you for martyring your own feelings on my behalf, Alphinaud. You’re my brother. My twin. The one constant I can count on if no one else. If the world threatening to end several times hasn’t managed to change that, what makes you think the Warrior of Light could either?”
Glancing at him and the sincere surprise and sentiment in his eyes she looked away with a huff, resettling her stance to ease some of the embarrassment she was feeling.
“Do you mean that?” he asked softly.
“Of course I do and you know it. ... Besides, we’ve shared everything else most of our lives. If we could manage to handle sharing Angelo growing up, I think we could manage this too,” she reasoned casually.
“A dog is a far cry from a mutual boyfriend, Alisaie,” Alphinaud mumbled, face staining a bit red even just speaking of it.
“Well it would certainly make a more sensible reason for sharing the same house now wouldn’t it?” she teased, flashing him a grin at the inside joke.
Blinking at her in puzzlement for a moment, he finally gave a soft chuckle when it clicked. “You still remember that? Gods that was... over a decade ago now I think,” he mused tapping at his chin with a knuckle in thought.
“Of course. And I’m still just as intent on spiting that old bat now as I was then,” Alisaie confirmed.
She could still remember with perfect clarity the words Alphinaud had thrown back at their first instructor. An overly prim and proper Roegadyn woman who had picked and pried at them during and after lessons for always being together. ‘What will you do when you’re grown and married?’ she’d challenged them one day, haughty toned and dismissive as she’d stared down at them. ‘We’ll all live in the same house together of course!’ he’d shot back angrily, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. Because at the time, and to them, it was.
If they weren’t meant to be together, two sides of a coin, why be born twins at all?
Giving an amused snort at the memory she pushed herself upright fully and stretched. “Maybe we can get another dog too. That would be nice.”
“You’re serious?” Alphinaud asked, tone still wary with disbelief.
“Sure. If you pay for it, I may even let you name it this time.”
“Not about the dog, Alisaie,” he sighed, ruffling his hair in exasperation. “You know what I meant.”
“I meant what I said Alphinaud. If you can be fine with whatever outcome happens, I can be fine with it to. If he picks you, or me, neither of us, or even both of us. It won’t change anything between us,” she answered firmly. “But if you don’t tell him because you’re worried about me, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”
Sitting back against the wall, the Scholar made a slight face at the threat before he looked thoughtful instead of withdrawn. “I’ll... consider it.”
That was progress of some form at least she supposed, and that would have to do for now.
“Very well! But note I do demand payment for my invaluable advice,” she intoned haughtily, drawing herself up grandly before striding away. “Finish up that portrait and leave it in my inn room before sundown and I’ll waive my travel expenses too. If you need me, I’ll be in the markets.”
She didn’t need to look back to know the put-upon expression he’d be making. Just as she knew that half-finished picture of the Bard would be complete and on her bedside table when she retired to it.
“Hey Ali!” Alvaar greeted her cheerily, face flushed from liquor and a slight slur on his words. He was sitting at a table when she arrived back to the Roost during sunset, leaned heavily against the furniture and various bottles littering around him.
“What did you do?” she asked flatly, hands settling on her hips as she surveyed the scene disapprovingly.
“Nothin! Just... playin and singin and need booze fer my throat,” he chirped, smiling brightly.
“And about drunk off your arse. Come on, let’s get you to bed, it’s getting late.” Stepping closer she moved to help him up but stopped when he pressed a hand to her arm and held fast.
“Nah... ahm good. Dun worry bout me,” he soothed, smiling warmly. “Help will be along soon. Always does when I stop playin.”
Raising a brow at him, she sighed and opted to humor him. While she could certainly haul him to bed with the wiry strength she’d gained with her growth spurt and years of Red Mage training, trying to force Alvaar into anything when he didn’t want to was a recipe for failure. And bruises, as she’d learned once before on accident.
Grabbing up the empty bottles she took them to the counter for disposal, perking up at Alvaar’s next enthusiastic greeting while the proprietress made off with the bottles.
“Hey Alphi!”
Turning to watch her brother finally make his appearance from the stairs, she stayed put at the bar and waited. Noting the way Alvaar brightened in that quiet way of his, nodding and answering whatever questions Alphinaud had for him. The way her twin’s expression softened with a lovesick fondness even as he fretted over the Bard gently while Alvaar leaned into him for support instead of the table.
A few years ago, she’d spotted the easy trust between them. How they could speak without words almost as well as Alphinaud and she could. The confidence in each other and way they both eased when together. It had been an alien feeling, vexing in a way she couldn’t describe. Half worried she was losing her brother, and half convinced the flame of a crush she’d held for Alvaar was already a lost cause.
In some way she still worried, but if the many years fighting side by side against the threats of Source and Shards alike hadn’t diminished any of the bonds between them and only managed to strengthen them instead, she told herself there was little reason to pay it much mind.
“Ah, that’s a sight I haven’t seen in some time,” the Elezen woman behind the counter remarked softly, drawing Alisaie’s attention for a moment. She was an almost plain woman, with cropped ashen brown hair and simple dress, but the air of gentle confidence and friendliness was refreshing in a city that tended to huff at outsiders.
“A few years ago it would be almost weekly they would be here, Alvaar entertaining my patrons until he could barely stand, and young Alphinaud finally swooping in to see him off to bed like clockwork,” she mused aloud as if to no one in particular. “Alvaar used to get so sad when he played late into the night after he went to Ishgard. It was as if the sound of a broken heart was on those strings. It’s so nice that his music has its joy again.”
Blinking at her quietly for a moment, she looked back at the pair with a small nod. “Yea, it is,” she murmured.
“And they’ve grown up so much over the years too. Why, I remember when Alphinaud was still almost elbow height! And he used to boss our poor Bard around all the time and Taelis would get so furious with him he’d stomp out at all hours of the day. Of course, at the time Alvaar barely said a word so it was definitely on his behalf… It took Alvaar so long to come out of his shell from when he first arrived here, a fresh young Adventurer looking to help people. Oh, but then there was that nasty rumor in Ul’dah that had them both taking refuge here years ago… and then a few months after that Miss Y’shtola was recovering in one of our suites. They must have been sitting out here together until almost dawn waiting for her to wake up. They’ve been through here so much I almost can’t remember all the tales I’ve heard accompanying each visit...” she mused aloud, voice cheerful as she spoke of days long past.
There were a few beats of pointed silence that stretched between them, both watching silently as Alphinaud gathered Alvaar’s things for him and pressed the Bards harp into his hands so it could be dismissed dutifully.
“They love each other very much I think,” the proprietress mused aloud. “You can see it plain as day in how they look at each other.”
Feeling her heart sink at the ease of that statement and the truth in it, Alisaie looked away, starting to move before the woman spoke again.
“I wonder what adventures he must share with you, Alisaie, for him to look at you so lovingly as well.”
Turning abruptly to stare at her in surprise, she tried for words a moment and only managed a flustered, “W-how?”
Smiling at her kindly the woman raised a finger up with a gesture of confident intuition. “A Mother knows many things. She can always tell when one of her children is so genuinely in love.” Looking back at the pair fondly she continued. “I have always dearly wished for the happiness of the many adventurers and aspiring heroes who have found their way through these doors. So please, I ask you and Alphinaud both to take care of one of my dearest sons, as I know he will take care of you.”
Studying the gentle and proud demeanor of the woman in puzzlement, she was interrupted from whatever she might have said in reply by a loud cry of, “Ali!”
Looking over she noted her brother’s quiet amusement as Alvaar waved at her energetically in his liquor fueled excitement.
“Come on time for bed! I’m not going without you I told Alphi so!” Alvaar announced loudly, shifting his stance needlessly given the Scholar was mostly holding him up at this point anyway.
“Yes, I’m coming,” she called, casting a glance at the proprietress who still smiled at her fondly. Unable to think of anything to say she offered a nod, quickly making tracks as Alvaar whined her name again. Sweeping up under Alvaar’s other arm, she helped Alphinaud to carry his weight towards the suites. “Come on you, that’s enough yelling. Let’s get you to bed,” she chided.
“Okay!” the Bard chirped overly loud again. “Goodnight Mother Miounne!”
“Goodnight Alvaar! Pleasant dreams!” Miounne called fondly, watching the three make their way off to the stairs.
“Yes, you’ve all made Mother very proud indeed,” she murmured to herself fondly.
#alisaie#alisaie leveilleur#alphinaud#alphinaud leveilleur#alvaar aldaviir#wondrous tails#wondrous tails of ffxiv#ff14#ffxiv#final fantasy 14#wol#poly ship#writing#mywriting#sfw#oc#alphinaud x wol#alisaie x wol#mother miounne#yea... I remember who she is you think Alvaar doesn't fill her in on everything?#OF COURSE HE DOES HES A GOOD BOY
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Movement: Pausa
Time Frame: Post current canon (Shadowbringers)
Notes: Established relationship Alphinaud/Wol ship over 21+. Aged up characters due to time being treated as it passes instead of MMO time bubbles.
It's domestic fluff for these troubling times.
I continue to refer to Alphinaud as a Scholar instead of Academician for no reason but laziness and bad habits.
Cross posted to Ao3.
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Life between grand adventurers is made up of quieter moments. Or in one Alvaar Aldaviir's case, occasionally breaking up brief respites of ‘normal life’ with fussing and looking after one of his chronically overworked lovers… and most everything else in sight.
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“Still at it I see.”
Alphinaud doesn’t look up, hunched over his desk and pen working away furiously for a long moment. There’s a brief pause as he glances at a document that’s been pinned down with a tome and a closed ink pot before he goes back to writing.
Alvaar doesn’t bother to say anything more, simply ruffling Carbi’s fur as the carbuncle squeaks softly and purrs from where it’s draped over the Bard’s shoulders, letting himself into the room and leaning against the back of the desk chair patiently. It isn’t the first time he’s known those who are married to their work and it’s far from the first time he’s dated one.
He glances over what the Scholar is currently drafting, noting yet another appeal on behalf of the latest band of refugees to wash up on Eorzea’s shores, before fixing his attention to the colorful perpetual calendar on the corner of the desk. Frowning a moment as he notes the numbered blocks wedged between the two carbuncle figures are wrong and automatically moving to adjust it. The trailing ivy-like plant next to it has also seen better days, and he mentally takes a note to saturate the dried-out soil.
There still hasn’t been a word from the snowy haired Elezen still scratching away at the parchment, but Alvaar doesn’t mind. He simply pats gently at tensed shoulders and gives a firm, “Ten minutes,” before taking his leave at the delayed nod. Pausing for a moment, he grabs the potted plant in his retreat as well. He could take a little longer with making tea, Alphinaud wouldn’t notice anyway and the poor thing needed a proper soak.
There’s the firm press of a soft furred face against his jaw, the moonstone carbuncle making an annoyed chirp.
“I know,” he murmurs, ruffling thick fur. “I’ll come back and drag him away from his work I promise. Thank you for telling me.”
-
Alphinaud was still writing when Alvaar came back a quarter of a bell later. This time he doesn’t announce himself, simply sets the tall mug of tea down on the desk before moving to the window and opening it with one hand before setting the potted plant down on the sill.
“That’s a bit better yea?” he commented aloud, studying the still damp leaves a moment before draping them outside where they could dry in the midday sun. “I bet so. You could hardly breathe with all that dust. Dreadful.”
Pausing where he was leaned out the second story window, he watched the steady bustle of Mor Dhona below. The constant stream of adventurers through the aetheryte plaza to visit the Adventurers Guild or off to Rowena’s House of Splendors. The movement and murmur of the crowd carried up on warm winds.
It was a far cry from when they had first arrived those many years ago. The frontier settlement having rested firmer into its stones with the many contributions from its visitors. The beginnings of a more peaceful town in the brighter colors and fabrics to entice buyers at its market square and the easy gait of wandering tradesmen navigating the crowds.
Pulling himself back inside as something bumped against his leg, he blinked at the glowing white carbuncle that stared up at him expectantly with a soft chirp.
“What? You want a look too? Alright. Come on up,” Alvaar replied, stepping to the side and patting the sill before bracing the pot as the carbuncle leapt up and settled itself on its rear haunches, sniffing at the air and closing its eyes in the sun. “You’re like a signal mirror you pest. Don’t knock over that plant. It’s lived through three wars it’d be a damn shame if it ended in ‘Death from Healing Carbuncle,’” he chided, ruffling long ears gently after the answering chirp before turning and halting at Alphinaud’s stare.
“Bard nonsense,” the Scholar commented tiredly, but the touch of fondness and faint smile was still clear even behind the mug. He was finally leaned back from his work, hands wrapped around the cup for warmth and taking another grateful drink.
“Oh hush. I was neither waxing poetic nor singing. No Bard nonsense to be had,” Alvaar returned.
“You’re talking to inanimate nonmagical plants, and aetheric automatons again,” he murmured.
“Yea? Well, I talk to you too. Some days I’d swear you were inanimate,” Alvaar bitched before gesturing back at the carbuncle. “And don’t start. Carbi answers.”
A disbelieving hum answered as the Scholar finished drinking his tea.
“How is it,” Alvaar huffed, pausing as he stepped over and leaned his elbows against the back of the chair, settling his jaw against white strands, “That I seem to think more highly of your summons than you do?”
“Because you don’t study arcanima.”
“Well if that’s the case you’d think you would appreciate Bardsong more,” Alvaar joked, pressing a firm kiss to pale strands before shifting his stance and weight so he could loop arms around Alphinaud’s shoulders and neck for a hug.
“I do appreciate Bardsong,” he reminded gently, reaching up to grip one of the Bards arms and up further to grasp at a shoulder in a slight returned embrace. “I’ve always appreciated your outstanding capacity to force consistent results out of nonsense with sheer willpower alone.”
It got a single snort of amusement as Alvaar buried his face against soft hair, leaning into the contact. “Brat. You’re lucky you’re cute or I’d be more offended. Maybe even stop making those scones you like...”
“You know I jest. I’m willing to tolerate any amount of your nonsense for your baking.”
It earned a full out laugh and a brief tighter squeeze of the arms around him. “Good to know diligent overworking and lack of sleep hasn’t curbed your sass,” Alvaar murmured, pressing another kiss to the back of a long ear. “And nice to have you for five minutes.”
A soft sigh slipped from the Scholar, unconsciously sinking further into the Bard’s grasp and fingers flexing minutely. “Truthfully, it is good to be had for five minutes... I’m sorry to be ignoring you so much.”
A dismissive grunt left Alvaar’s throat. “You know I’ll never fault you for it. Scion work was always part of the agreement. Besides, I’m into hard working men. Makes taking them to pieces in bed later more fun.” He pauses for a moment then, an audible smirk in his words. “You get the loveliest shade of red too...”
“Pest,” the Scholar grumbled, swatting at Alvaar’s arms even as he flushed deeper.
A bright chuckle left the Bard, patting a shoulder comfortingly. “I know. But someone has to make sure you take care of yourself. And a little motivation keeps it interesting, no? But yes, I understand. No frisky interruptions. I have things in the oven anyway. So come on, sit up, I’ve got work to do keeping you in one happy piece so the world might know better tomorrows.”
Despite still being a bit flustered, the Scholar complied and even removed his coat as Alvaar rose to his full height. A low quick tune hummed in that clear tenor before aether shifted and his hands warmed noticeably, putting them against the tense slope of his lover’s shoulders. The blissful sigh that escaped was light but didn’t miss Alvaar’s notice, digging strong fingers into worn muscle and ears perked to each sound as he worked. Listening for what spots hurt the most and adjusting his technique accordingly. It didn’t take long to have a very relaxed Elezen on his hands making quiet contented noises.
He could comment, but then Alphinaud usually got self-conscious and stopped. Instead he slipped his hands along the smooth curve of his jaw, thumbs working in at the base of his skull and trying not to chuckle at the sighing happy huffs that followed.
It was endearing in a way Alvaar didn’t think he’d ever get bored with. The complete faith and trust as Alphinaud leaned further into him and rested more of his weight in calloused and worn hands as he relaxed. For the Bard, it was a simple pleasure, to be able to provide comfort and support in ways that didn’t hinge on life and death but were still important and meaningful. Such small but impactful tasks had always been what grounded his endeavors after all, the dose of reality that curbed the heady heights of heroism.
All the Scions worked hard in their own given fields and talents. And while the Warrior of Light’s burden was heavy indeed, dramatic, and often a change of the tides, the diplomatic work and arrangements made in pen were no less great nor taxing on their de facto leader. The many late nights spent researching and drafting, the constant meetings and councils, social events and networking, consulting and mediating peaceable relations...
It was all work Alvaar was woefully unprepared for but always crucial in the wake of his campaigns and efforts. There could be nothing gained from his impressive feats on the battlefield if there was no home nor safety for the living to return to. As inspiring of a motif he might be, the standard raised to rally unity and purpose, it was the details and social relations that kept continued peace on course. Surely he had grown more adept at assistance that didn’t rely on killing, but the resources needed in the minutiae, the moving and building and reconstruction efforts, those had to come from somewhere. Supplies and the routes that brought them had always been orchestrated with diplomacy and a pen to strengthen ties a sword would only sever.
Pulling Alphinaud’s writing hand into his own, he massaged carefully over joints and tendons. This time he couldn’t help but grin at the unconscious purr it earned. In its own way it was poetic and always would be to him. The scarred hands of a skilled archer, that knew the feel of warbow and string more than anything else, holding the ink-stained hands that orchestrated and pushed for diplomacy and peace with equal amounts of the fervor and heroism as Alvaar brought to the frontlines.
A crucial component he’d respected long before they had earned their names in the Dragonsong War. When a haughty and naive noble had wielded Alvaar’s strength as his own, and he had sworn to do his best to protect him regardless. Because Alvaar had always known there would be no lasting peace wrought from violence no matter how necessary. And however selfish Alphinaud’s reasons may have been at the time, the heart behind them had spoken true in its aims. Where others had been baffled at his patience, the Bard had always known the truth.
Titles and legacy didn’t mean anything to him. He’d always stood firm at Alphinaud’s side because he’d seen what few else had shining in those eyes. The fierce drive of an idealist, the honest truth and hope for a better future.
If he could claim no other good choice in his life, it was staying loyal at this man’s side.
“What’s on your mind my friend?” Alphinaud asks softly, making the Bard finally notice the quiet depths of blue studying him.
Tightening his fingers over his lover’s, he stays quiet a moment. It was too much to say, too many embarrassing things for someone that had work to yet attend. Later perhaps, but not right now.
“A song,” Alvaar says instead. Not because it’s a lie, but because he can already hear the lilting notes in his periphery. A melody yet unwritten but waiting patiently for him to claim.
“Something new?”
“Yes and no. A new composition, but not something new. Something years in the making, I think. Steady and patient. Something quiet and kind. Loyal and passionate and altruistic to a fault. Hopeful and bright,” Alvaar mused aloud.
“That’s too many ideas for one song,” the Scholar remarked with amusement.
“Maybe. It might have to be something long. It might take years to pen,” he replied lightly, hands cupping along the stronger line of his lover’s jaw, leaning down to press a brief kiss to his nose affectionately.
“You’ll have to let me know when it’s finished,” Alphinaud murmured. “I’d like to hear it.”
It made the depths of the Bard’s scarred heart warm, a quiet smile slipping to his face before he pressed another soft kiss to the Scholar’s brow.
“You’ll be the first to know. I think it will be one of my masterpieces.”
He had, after all, promised he’d write songs of the Leveilleur’s legacy to outlast even the Warrior of Light’s.
#wol#alvaar aldaviir#alphinaud#alphinaud leveilleur#alphinaud x wol#domestic fluff#sfw#writing#oc#mywriting#FFXIV#ff14#final fantasy xiv#final fantasy 14#still feels like a tuesday
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My friend just hits me with ‘This feels like Alvaar when it comes to other classes’
And I have never felt so attacked in my life.
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Dueling Practice
Time Frame: Post Shadowbringers. No Spoilers
Notes: Just a drabble for a passing request running off from the ‘Cooking Together/Teaching Eachother’.
Specifically, ‘Alvaar getting his butt kicked as a Red Mage.’
Cross posted to Ao3.
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“You’re kind of terrible at this,” Alisaie remarks flatly, head tilted to the side in thought.
It draws Alvaar up short, huffing for air faintly as he continues to hold the lunge under her scrutiny. The focus floating above his left hand abruptly drops and he fumbles to catch it, overbalancing and landing with a thump on the dirt of the practice yard. Wiping at the sweat on his face, he chuckled weakly at her raised brow.
“Poor stance again?”
“Yes, but that’s not what I mean. You are nearly incapable of focusing aether at the same time as you engage. Your weapon’s focus falters on your attacks and responses,” she pointed out frankly.
“Well... I DID warn you that I’m aether inept...” he reminded simply.
“You’re not aether inept,” Alisaie scoffed.
“No, I’m pretty well useless magically.”
“Alvaar I’ve seen you in battle. You’re not aether inept. In fact, you have better ability to channel aether and store it at the ready than most instructors I was tutored under. If anything, I would guess the method for channeling aether taught in the magic schools of Eorzea is what is difficult for you.”
Shaking her head she waved it off and continued. “In any case, what I am getting at is that you’re still too inflexible in your approach to conflict. Your movement and approach are always the same. Fencing is about strategy and learning to exploit advantages against opponents’ weaknesses. If you always take the same actions in a duel and never introduce mix-ups or alterations, a skilled duelist will trounce you every time.”
“Sure,” he murmured, pondering her words. “Not to make excuses but I am still quite new to this though.”
“It’s been a year. You’re not that new to it. But I’m not pointing it out to nitpick you, I’m more puzzled because you adapt quickly as a Bard, while channeling aether, firing a bow, and singing. How is none of that distracting but holding up a focus while attacking is?”
Alvaar blinked at her slowly, finally thumping his head back against the dirt of the yard and staring at the sky. “I don’t know... practice I imagine. I’ve used a bow so long it’s like second nature and I’ve been musically inclined for a decade. It just sort of flows together at this point.”
Tilting her head and closing her eyes in thought a moment, Alisaie finally fixed him with a sharp stare and raised her sword. “On your feet and let’s have a duel.”
“Alisaie... come on. I’m tired,” he huffed, somehow managing to fall just short of a whine.
“I said on your feet Aldaviir,” she ordered, watching him haul himself to his feet and match her stance. Flicking her sword tip to the side in feint and noting the focus in his left-hand waver even as he didn’t move to defense of it. “I had trouble doing the same when I studied under X’rhun Tia. For the first month I dropped my magic focus constantly. It’s an easy beginner mistake from letting your hold on it with aether slip. But your attention to it doesn’t waver, it’s your aether flow that stutters. If you were truly aether inept, you wouldn’t be able to maintain a fifteen-minute constant supply of it for multiple Bardsong spells chained together or even simultaneously,” she remarked drily. “Without it wavering, might I add. If anything, I think your supply grows stronger to a point. So humor me. I want you to sing.”
Giving her a puzzled look, he tilted his head in question. “Sing what?”
“Doesn’t matter. Whatever you do to start your songs. Whatever is easiest to mind. But I think for you, using music to harness and focus your aether may start you on getting used to the feel of what it should be like. And from there we can work backwards so we don’t have a singing duelist annoying everyone in combat,” Alisaie reasoned, tapping her practice saber to his slowly. “Give it a try. I know you’re not shy about singing.”
“You don’t know that,” he scoffed. “Usually whatever you hear I’ve practiced.”
“Well you go on about it being from the heart, so improvise. Fencing is about adaptation anyway. You master the basics until you learn to bend the rules to further your personal strategies. I’ll go half speed to let you get used to it. Come on, before I beat you black and blue anyway because you’re dawdling,” she teased, again flicking her wrist so the sword point glanced off his blade.
Heaving a deep sigh, he ducked his chin in determined concentration, fingers gripping at the air where the magic focus floated. A low note sounded in his throat, a few practice bars hummed out as they started into a slow back and forth exchange. Each time he moved to answer the focus continued to waver, but it did so less and less. Gradually the soft song he was humming shifted to something simple, notes rising and falling thoughtlessly to the steady and relaxed tempo of their duel.
The very abrupt strike that she retaliated with to break that pace almost threw him. Almost. An improvement over the countless times before when it did, but he’d managed to shift and counter it just in time before adjusting his footing to respond back with his own strike.
That was a bit surprising, but Alisaie didn’t make a habit of letting her guard down just because Alvaar was still learning and not particularly great at it yet. But it did probably start them into one of the more spirited and unpredictable exchanges they’d had in his training thus far.
Alvaar was a decent fencer really. Still leagues under her own skill, but the gap that had yawned between them when he had to practice as a Red Mage instead of just practicing fencing had always been glaring in its width.
Whatever this was doing was clearly working. Even if it didn’t stop her from scoring a hit against his side with a swift thrust.
A startled noise left him, cutting off his song before he was blowing out a sigh in defeat and catching the focus that dropped automatically. Even so, a good-natured grin slipped to his face as he backed up a pace and resumed a starting stance that she mirrored. “Better?” he asked.
“Quite. Now let’s take it from the top.”
#alvaar aldaviir#wol#alisaie#alisaie leveilleur#dueling practice#platonic#oc#writing#mywriting#FFXIV#ff14#final fantasy xiv#final fantasy 14#do not let your guard down around the tiny red mage#she will destroy you#and then demand you go again
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Wondrous Tails: First “I Love You” (replacement) / Bandaging Wounds
("First "I Love You"" is a replacement for "Going on a Cruise")
Time Frame: Post Canon (years after Shadowbringers(?)), Minimal Spoilers for 5.0 end. Notes got long so they are under the cut.
Notes:
I continue to refer to Alphinaud as a Scholar instead of Academician for no reason but laziness and bad habits.
I understand the ‘time bubble’ issue of MMO’s, but for writing I subscribe to time actually passing between expansions. I don’t keep a hard and fast rule, but sort of lean toward roughly 1 year per expansion if not longer. Otherwise everyone would be mired under so much PTSD I don’t know how the Scions would get anything done, and please let my WoL breathe?
Somehow, someway, Alvaar has gotten the better of me and it’s eventual committed relationship polygamy with the Leveilleurs up in here. After actual months of telling myself no, I give up. If you hate that, pass on my stuff and have a great day.
Just for posterity, there will never be twincest. I don’t have a personal stance on people’s fiction about fictional people, but it just doesn’t make sense for the twins to me.
The first time Alphinaud hears Alvaar utter those words, he’s seventeen. Seventeen and full of fire and determination to help right the wrongs of a thousand-year war and maybe redeem some of his own foolishness.
Seventeen and half scandalized to catch his Warrior of Light buried against Lord Haurchefant’s chest before they readied to infiltrate the Vault after Ser Aymeric.
It wasn’t as if he’d gone looking of course. Such things would have been kept a better secret behind a closed door and not front and center to whomever strolled into House Fortemps expecting an audience. But romantic subtly wasn’t... exactly Lord Haurchefant’s forte and neither was it Alvaar’s. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known when it was the talk of Camp Dragonhead and the house servants anyway.
But it is perhaps the first time the Arcanist had seen any hint of the word “love” meaning something beyond dutifully repeated and expected phrases. Spoken as if it’s some personal secret, or more of a promise than just a response. Something alive and wild instead of the light and flippant ways he’d heard it used in Sharlayan and among nobility.
There’s a weight to those words that’s like aether humming in an incantation.
It means something when Alvaar says it and the Lord’s sharp features soften as he nuzzles into blond hair, and it means even more when Haurchefant answers in kind and some of the tension in the Bard’s shoulders ease. There’s a thousand words held in that phrase, like pages and pages of information distilled in a single line of arcane shorthand. History condensed into a lone footnote.
He never had to ask why Alvaar’s wails of pain as he’d held his dead lover mere hours later sounded like a heart breaking in two.
The next time he hears them, it’s not quite the same.
He’s twenty (or was it twenty-one?) and farther from home than he’d ever dreamed. Fresh from facing off against Emet-Selch as they’d fought to save the First from destruction. Twenty and exhausted and content to doze quietly in the newly returned night alongside the beds two other occupants, arms draped over Alisaie and Alvaar both. He remembers feeling Alvaar’s knuckles brush his cheek, tiredly meeting the Bard’s gaze in the dark and hearing those words again.
They don’t mean the same thing, but it doesn’t overly bother him after the torture Alvaar had endured for the worlds. After the last several months Alphinaud had spent fighting sin eaters, stubborn short-term mindsets, and bitter loneliness in Kholusia.
Being called family, being called ‘home’ had only echoed what he’d felt too. The Scions, his Sister, and Alvaar, were what felt most like home. Not a large but empty feeling manor back in Sharlayan, cut off and indifferent to the world.
It’s a different kind of love but it doesn’t mean any less nor is it remotely insincere.
And even if there’s a faint disappointment in his heart he would never admit to, it’s fine. More than anything he’s simply happy that they’re still together. Still alive. Still able to fight and produce another miracle for the people of the First and the Source.
He’s twenty-two and he knows Alvaar loves him deeply. He’s said it in every other conceivable way. Let poetry and sweet words fall from his lips or sent the meaning across in those brushes of familiar contact. Had the feeling burned into his body and mind more times than he could ever hope to keep track of...
But Alvaar hadn’t ever said it.
It’s silly and he knows it. He has no reason to doubt Alvaar and truly he knows the way the Bard feels for him isn’t anything less than his previous lover. That there was room enough in that gentle heart for all three of them. Jealousy is a terrible thing after all, so he convinces himself it doesn’t matter. Comforts himself and chides Alisaie gently when she inquires on it herself. Alvaar had been through a great deal of hardship and pain. And as they both didn’t doubt the depth nor truth of his feelings, the specific words should hardly matter.
He’s twenty-three, and when Alvaar finally says them he barely notices. There’s too much blood, and Alvaar’s laugh is too weak and lilting from it. His mind is too busy on spells and incantations to register it as he works quickly.
Alvaar is fine. He’s always fine. He comes back beaten and bloody and smiling and laughing and visibly delights in being doted upon and taken care of. A routine scouting of the border wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near as deadly as the hopeless situations he’d been sent into before. He’s fine.
The Scholar is internally utterly terrified of course, but he knows from too much firsthand knowledge that there’s no room for panic as a healer. If he panicked, things would quickly turn into ‘not fine’ and neither of them had time for that.
So for right now, spells and aether humming in his veins, it’s fine.
“Did you get a haircut recently?” Alvaar asks, letting Alphinaud clean, tape, and bandage his wounds. Magic had healed the critical damage and stopped the bleeding, but it would take time to heal the rest and a few more applications of white magic tomorrow. Cleaning and bandaging would ensure a smoother transition through the process, so it’s a step he takes anyway, perched on the edge of the medical bed while the Bard sits propped up against pillows.
“You should be taking this more seriously,” the Scholar returns flatly, pushing Alvaar’s hand away from his hair gently so he can keep working.
“I am. But I’m just so... very happy,” Alvaar murmured, a smile stretching across his exhausted face. “I made it back this time, I’m here, and you’re here, and it will work this time.”
It’s said with such offhanded confidence it makes the Scholar blink. “What? Alvaar you’re delirious, stay still.”
A hum of agreement rings in the Bards throat as he nods. “Okay. Let me know when you’re done and listening. He said I didn’t say it enough... That when I made it back to be sure to tell you something.”
He wants to pay more attention to Alvaar’s curious words but there would be time for it later. Though he was comfortably stabilized and would no doubt make a full recovery in a matter of days with the Warrior of Light’s sometimes obnoxious recovery speed, it’s never something he likes to leave to chance. If he overlooked something now, it could be disastrous later.
“He?” The inquiry slides off his tongue in a distracted manner, during which his moonstone carbuncle chirps with interest where it’s bedded down along Alvaar’s legs.
“Don’t worry about it,” Alvaar replies, glossing over it as his attention shifts back to the carbuncle eyeing him expectantly. “Can I have my hand back now?”
Another deft turn of the roll of bandages, a swift snip of the medical shears, and a tidy tie off had him releasing Alvaar’s arm with a nod. “Sure. Other arm if you would.”
Swapping obediently, Alvaar quickly settled his freed hand into plush white fur, grinning brightly. “Hey Carbi... I missed you too,” he cooed, chuckling at the fond chirp and purr he got in answer. “You’re the best summon ever aren’t you?”
Snorting under his breath, Alphinaud keeps at his work until he’s finished, letting his summon keep up its job of distracting Alvaar’s focus from pawing at him so he can work in peace. Alvaar was always a good patient, but woozy with blood loss he sometimes got sillier than was helpful. It made his moonstone carbuncle an utter lifesaver, and there were few helpers he would rather have working beside him. Though he had long developed more potent summons, Alvaar’s preference and the sheer number of revisions and intricacies of its design had left moonstone as one of his masterpieces. The patient bedside manner and attentive nature had made it a nursemaid second to none, and given the way it was currently cozied into Alvaar’s side and subtly keeping him quiet and still as it soaked up affection like a sponge, it remained a staple of his repertoire for good reason.
Inspecting the last of his work, he gives a satisfied nod before starting to pack things away. After almost seven years of chasing Alvaar’s shadow and tending to his wounds, his first aid is as neat and tidy as an experienced chirurgeon. A far cry from his fumbled and panicked work the Bard had coached him through with grit teeth in Coerthas. It’s only once he sets the supplies back on the shelves that he finally gives himself leave to think about anything but healing.
He’s seated back at Alvaar’s side before he realizes he’s made the steps, a bandaged hand curling warm at his jaw and pulling him closer until they bump foreheads together. It’s a movement that he’s long used to, a familiar gesture that helps to quiet the panic that had boiled over in his chest if not the emotion that threatens its place.
“I would appreciate it if you would refrain from frightening me like that again,” Alphinaud murmured softly, a faint tremor in his voice but refusing to cry. Alvaar was fine! There wasn’t any reason to overreact!
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Was the best I could manage,” Alvaar replied in the stilted way he picked up when he was exhausted. Given how much harder he was leaning into the Scholar, none of it surprised him.
Making a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat he leaned the faintest bit back into the Warrior of Light, soaking up the steady warmth that wicked off him and the silent reassurance he was still there. “Just... be more careful next time. For now you should focus on healing.”
“Thank you for saving me Alphi,” Alvaar whispered with a heartfelt gratitude.
It was enough to make the Scholar flush. “I... Any other healer would have done the same.”
“Maybe. But any other healer wouldn’t be worth me dragging myself back to. Sides, Alisaie was too far,” he joked fondly.
Alphinaud tutted under his breath, pulling back to grip Alvaar’s face in his hands and press a featherlight kiss to his brow before burying his nose into soft golden strands. “Jokes aside, thank you for coming back. If scaring me half to death means that you’ll pull through, then I would take that burden every time.”
There’s something about the way Alvaar relaxes into him, the faint breath of a sigh before tension eases out of his neck and jaw, that has always meant the world to him. It was too many emotions to articulate clearly, but it always made his heart feel warm. Reminded him that even if he wasn’t able to command the same fear and awe as the Warrior of Light, to be a brilliant blade that cut through the dark and evil that threatened them, the rallying cry that brought their forces to victory, what he could do was no less important.
All great hero’s needed a home to return to, else they would eventually feel they had nothing left to fight for.
“Alphi?”
“Yes Alvaar?”
Pulling back enough to regard him a moment with scrutiny, the Bard leaned in with a purposeful ease, lips brushing against his chastely for a moment before murmuring something against his skin.
This time he heard them. Felt their movement and the warmth of them against his lips and burning against his skin. Poetry and promise and providence all in one.
“I love you.”
It was no big deal. It was a sentiment he’d always known from 1,001 things Alvaar did all the time. Something he had long convinced himself didn’t matter. A phrase used over and over until it’s meaning was practically lost.
But oh.
Oh...
How those words shook him to the depths of his soul and cut him in two regardless.
He’s twenty-one again for just a moment. Full of questions and a heart fuller still with longing, listening to Alvaar speak of love he’d known with that easy and sincere air of his. Brutally honest as ever.
Love was ruinous. Love would destroy you in ways you didn’t think were possible. Love was thirst and hunger. And all your days, when you’d known the taste of true love, of something that clutched past your heart and into your soul, you would always want for more of it.
In the present with his face buried against Alvaar’s shoulder, tears welling over and soaking into clean white bandages, he feels like a beast half starved.
“I would really like it if you stayed,” Alvaar murmurs, still running his fingers along the Scholar’s back soothingly. He’s infuriatingly casual for having just reduced his lover to tears. If he hadn’t just spent an hour healing and bandaging him up, Alphinaud would probably have swatted him.
Instead he just nods.
He’d never been very good at refusing that particular request anyway. Even when he was the one chastising Alvaar on why sharing a medical bed was in poor interest of his health.
But it’s late, and he’s tired, and nuzzling into the warm muscle of Alvaar’s shoulder he doesn’t want to leave anyway. So, he pulls himself up onto the bed fully, curling up beside him and keeping his cheek settled against the Bard’s shoulder that’s free of bruises. He knows he won’t sleep well but the situation is unfortunately familiar enough he knows that he’ll still get plenty of rest for tomorrow’s troubles.
“Alvaar?” he asks softly after they’ve both settled into the pillows, sheets, and each other accordingly.
“Yea?”
“You really need a shower.”
It has Alvaar laughing enough to make him wince, “Brat... don’t make me laugh that hurts.”
Alphinaud just smiles softly and hums an amused note as Alvaar settles further against him.
“Alvaar?” he asks again after a few minutes, getting a soft grunt of acknowledgement.
Shifting enough to study the soft and unguarded profile he’s sketched a hundred times before from memory, he presses a brief kiss to the Bard’s jaw and settles in for sleep.
“I love you too.”
#alphinaud leveilleur#alphinaud#wol#warrior of light#alvaar aldaviir#ff14#ffxiv#mywriting#writing#wondrous tails#wondrous tails of ffxiv#sfw#oc#alphinaud x wol#wow. it finally happened. established relationship time. bless.
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Wondrous Tails: Patching Up Wounds
Time Frame: Post-Stormblood. Major spoilers for 4.4
(Unnecessary) Notes: It was somewhere around in here when I was playing that something awful happened to me and Alvaar both. After absolutely adoring Alphinaud for the bulk of the game (and being you know… worried about how hard Squenix was going to misstep on fleshing out Alisaie’s character like they’d pretty much done for almost every female up to now,) Alisaie kicked the door in like, ‘YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD HAVE FEELINGS TO YOURSELF?’
It made later events and the shitty ‘not even a major decision but I stood there contemplating it for literally 5 minutes, you know, THAT questline split…’ in Shadowbringers give me a terrible gut punch. The rest as they say, is history.
…. I picked Alisaie first btw. I’m still not over this betrayal.
Alvaar’s fingers are light and gentle as they thread through her hair, patient and unhurried as her head rests on a throw pillow in his lap. In a way she can almost tell his thoughts on whatever he’s reading based on the pauses and movements. The stillness of a long thought or light tousle when something amused him. Only the rustle of a turned page interrupting the ticking of the chronometer on the wall before the warm weight of his hand settles back against her hair.
On some level Alisaie’s appalled with herself, being this close and indulging in something so... childish and weak, with the Warrior of Light of all people!
But as much as she wished to be out there doing something, anything, that might reveal her brother’s whereabouts or find a solution to whatever had laid their friends low...
The truth was there was little else she could do but wait. Wait and feel her stomach twist in anxious knots as she grit her teeth and tried not to think of how terribly this could go. That there might not be an answer or that her brother might never return or...
A thoughtful noise leaves Alvaar’s throat before he ruffles her hair with a bit more force, calloused fingers massaging at her scalp carefully. An unspoken reminder she’d learned to read in the last month.
‘Relax. I’m with you. As soon as we have any form of word or direction, we’ll both be out the door.’
The Bard had a patient calm that was infectious, and if he hadn’t been around so much, she was almost certain she would have done something foolish before anyone could have stopped her. More than once in the passing weeks she’d felt his hand on her shoulder quietly urging her to tolerance when she’d almost snapped at messengers or their fellow junior Scions.
Her impatience was why she had never fancied herself a leader. The art of long-winded exposition and careful political maneuvering had solely been the talents of her twin, but with their key members missing or unconscious it had fallen to her instead. Alvaar had enough on his plate managing Primals, an increasingly more ludicrous sounding venture in Doma, and an equally fantastical excursion with the Garlond Ironworks tracking down Omega. He hefted enough weight on their behalf so the least she could do was act as a Scion proper and field what she could from the Rising Stones.
In a way it had almost made her bitter and angry to see him around all the time. Alvaar had seldom been away from the Rising Stones since Urianger and Y’shtola had collapsed, something she had a hunch lay with Tataru’s hushed words to him in the following days as they waited for news. And though the thought of him staying around out of some sense of obliged pity infuriated her, deep down she knew better. The Bard was there because he wanted to be, and as the days had passed by with them in increasingly close space, she had discovered something else.
She wasn’t the only one worried and needing a distraction. Under the stoic calm there was an equal amount of worry and fear.
And an overwhelming amount of anger.
She’d heard a little about it from Alphinaud, the murderous and single-minded rage Alvaar had shown against Ilberd when they had journeyed to rescue Raubahn in Halatali. When he’d brushed with death and dragged himself after their retreating adversaries half bleeding out and choking on poison gas until he’d finally collapsed.
The Burn was the first place she had seen any semblance of it for herself, following the trail of slaughtered monsters and blood once the sandstorm had cleared to find Alvaar huffing in air like a winded beast, the blade point of the Halonic bow embedded in a dragon’s skull, and eyes half wild when she’d healed him. They’d never spoke of it though the silent shame on his expression after had said enough.
But that moment of seeing the cracks in the armor had said she wasn’t alone in her grief and feelings of helplessness. That the hand that gripped hers in those tense moments of silence was offering comfort but also seeking it at the same time, whether the Bard knew it or not.
So... she indulged in his time because he let her. Took a moment of respite with her head resting on a pillow in the Bards lap.
It had been an accident at first of course. She’d only meant to perhaps use him as a bit of a shoulder rest as he’d been reading in the study of the Rising Stones. It was something she had done often with her twin growing up, studying side by side until one or both of them fell asleep. And while a part of her was worried it would be like trying to replace Alphinaud, like admitting in some way he wouldn’t come back, the other and louder part of her had wanted the familiar reassurance now more than ever. But waking up with her cheek pressed against his thigh and his Twin Adder jacket draped over her shoulders had not been anywhere in that plan.
She probably would have startled herself upright if not for how slowly and comfortably she’d woken up, safe and warm and thoughts oddly clear of her recent worries. A glance at the black Choral Chapeau that rested on the coffee table where dark booted feet were propped up had confirmed Alvaar’s presence even if she’d doubted her instincts. Nowhere else in Sharlayan or Eorzea had she encountered another person with that same palpable aura, a quiet and calm feeling of certainty and strength. The brush of fingers over her hair intimate and distantly familiar...
Her family had never been one prone to frequent contact. There had always been a weight of dignified properness and personal distance, something expected from a highly esteemed house of scholars. The sole exception had been her Grandfather, who had often ruffled their hair or scooped them up in his arms as they’d listen to his stories or he indulged in answering a million excited questions.
But touch came with an easy deliberateness to Alvaar, sensitive and observant as he was if still cautious of boundaries. Ruffling her hair and telling her she’d done well after distracting the Red Kojin or pulling her against his side comfortingly when she’d lamented being unable to protect others from Lakshmi as he could. Or how he’d carried her off before she broke down in grief after watching Y’shtola and Urianger lay still and unresponsive in the medical beds for an hour after they’d fallen in the Rising Stones. Spirited her off into his loaned room where she could break down and no one else would see, face buried into his jacket and the Bard holding her patiently and stroking her hair and back comfortingly even long after she’d fallen silent.
She hates feeling weak around him. Hates the idea he feels obliged to stay at her side when all the world begs his attention. That he pesters her to learn to cook properly or fumbles his way through red magic at her instruction to keep her distracted from grief. How much she’s grown to rely on his presence as the days pass.
But for as observant as he is, so is she. There’s a tightness in his expression that eases in those moments they share; the way he laughs as she grumbles over learning baking or honest surprise when he finally manages to land a spell. The tension like a coiled spring that finally releases in moments like now, stroking her hair patiently and relaxing until he almost falls asleep himself.
They’re patching each other’s wounds in these moments, mending cuts and bruises and breaks that are deeper than any white magic or tonic could hope to touch. Readying themselves for the next battle that lingers on the horizon. And she prays more than anything that she can hold fast at his side until they are victorious and things return to normal.
#alisaie#alisaie leveilleur#alvaar aldaviir#wol#ff14#ffxiv#wondrous tails of ffxiv#writing#mywriting#oc#platonic#it will one day definitely not be platonic but I swear#for right now it is#why did you do this to me squenix?
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