#archombadin de dzemael
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scholasticate_questline.mp4
#ffxiv#ff14#gpose#arcade artem#midlander hyur#leigh#crammevoix de maintigny#archombadin de dzemael#lebrassoir de bonfaurt#wildwood elezen#the scholasticate#ishgard
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lest we hurt the people closest to us.
archombadin & lebrassoir
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in the unholiest of places
#the herald of halone.#douceline de dansereau#snowshutter.#gposers#ffxiv oc#archombadin de dzemael#this is my first pose i've done from scratch in m ONTHS
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happy wife pose emote day
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9—06: ONEROUS.
adjective: (of a task, duty, or responsibility) involving an amount of effort and difficulty that is oppressively burdensome.
rating: t
characters: archombadin de dzemael, original characters, douceline de dansereau
tags: archombadin/douceline, pre-endwalker, the wol finally gets to take her bf with her on her travels
summary: it was high time he saw things the way she saw it—or at least, saw things up close.
wordcount: 786
“...i’ll need to leave again soon.”
“where?” his brow furrowed. there were many reasons that signaled her lie, her half-truth—regardless of what it was archombadin knew it all to be the same: deception. he would’ve thought her to know better. after all, it hadn’t been so long ago that they—that she—had uncovered the greatest deception in their lives. he could always count on douceline to be sincere, and he liked to think he was one of those who could see right through her when something else was on her mind.
“...dou. what’s happening now?” archombadin couldn’t hide the growing irritation in his voice. it wasn’t meant for her. rather, whatever it was that would inevitably cause her strife once more—these days it seemed like all of eorzea wanted something from her, at the risk of—well, everything. the two of them had discussed her obligations before, face to face and over the linkpearl and through countless letters that he kept locked in a lacquer box she’d sent his way from her time in kugane—
it had to be one of those things easier said than done.
“...sharlayan. i told you about what happened at stillglade fane…” focused were her eyes as she raised her head to look at him once more. this time, he sensed nary a breath of hesitance—the way he wanted it, the way he knew her to be.
“...with leveilleur.” he nodded.
“they have the answers. whether or not they’ll tell us, we’ll find out.” douceline’s breath fell to a hushed whisper as he felt the gravity of her situation, the drum of her heartbeat—and his own mimicked in turn, right down to what weighed heavy on his chest—pure, wretched trepidation. he would have to settle for the faint scent of lavender on dried ink, for the crackle that came with her voice from malms and mountains and seas away.
“...this is a purely diplomatic visit, is it not?” it slips off his tongue too fast for him to think—foolish, utterly foolish, and he knows that—but the repercussions, he thinks, are worth the risk. the rising desperation that suddenly made it difficult for him to even raise his tongue was at a boiling point. archombadin would simply be at home and await their next correspondence, all the while managing the affairs of the dorm and the student body along with the others. he knew this, he’d lived this, and yet—
(he doesn’t realize his gaze has fallen from her dusky-rose hues and onto her pendant—his earring—chipped from her encounter with the crown prince of garlemald at ghimlyt.)
“it’s…meant to be.” she closed her lips and swallowed tight.
“i hope we don’t need to resort to anything more…drastic.” she sighed, knowing full well that they had done so before—and would do so again, if needed.
“do you plan on crossing paths with that man again. sevestre,” his teeth bit the name of the pale-haired hyur who had seemed all too enthusiastic about ending her and the others from the astrologicum.
“i don't plan on it—but i’ve a feeling it will happen regardless…lev—lord rufin said he was a member of the forum.” he blinked, but let it slip, for he was still too occupied with the topic at hand to entertain a tangent.
“i’ve a few choice words—”
“then i simply cannot take you with me.” her sweet lips dipped in a low scowl, that her prominent cupid’s bow became the high-point of her small mouth.
“that’s what you were going to ask me, wasn’t it?” he froze, tongue stilled behind lips slightly parted. in his efforts to try and unravel her thinking, she had turned his tactic against him, right at his moment of vulnerability.
he sighed, the quiet humiliation doing its part to humble him once more. dearest douceline was unchanged in some things—arguably improved in said things, even.
“...i concede.”
“that you will. but i need you to promise me you won’t do anything to jeopardize this. you know it’s—”
“—of the utmost importance.” he nodded, curtly—already he was making a mental note of what to pack, what to delegate, what to tell his parents, the student body—not that it would be difficult to have anyone understand the very serious business of accompanying the warrior of light on her travels. before he hadn’t a proper excuse—much less a proper reason—to join her, but now was the long awaited chance that he simply couldn’t afford to miss.
most importantly, she initiated it—she wanted him there. no matter the reason—whether or not he could contribute in a way that was useful—all of it came second, selfishly so, to her wanting him at her side at those pivotal moments, far away from the land they called home.
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A special day
After so much pain and strife, Kaida finally gets to spend her birthday with someone she loves
After this Kaida and Archombadin are considered officially dating ♡♡♡♡♡
#yukiotacon#ffxiv#final fantasy xiv#ff14 headcanons#final fantasy xiv headcanons#ffxiv fic#ff14 fanfic#ffxiv fanfiction#archombadin de dzemael#Archombadin
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Archombadin de Dzemael reference sheet.
Hi-res download can be found here.
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❛ if you ever find a moment , spare a thought for me . ❜
“It’s not a matter of if.” Her smile pressed wider, something brightening in her eyes. Something like the light caught in budding tears.
“When.” He corrects, raising a gloved finger to the edge of her eye, which she refused with a shake of her head.
“Not even that. You’re always on my mind, whether you like it or not.” At this, he scoffed, lips barely parted in a subtle smile.
“I suppose this helps.” A downward jut of his chin at the pendant that hung from her neck—a charm identical to that of his earrings.
“Even without it.”
“Now...I wouldn’t want to be a distraction.” A half-truth, evident in how he could only chuckle instead of laugh at such a conclusion.
“It’s all I have instead of you right there with me.” She blinked, and for a moment her smile ceased. The lordling felt guilt rising in his chest, reminded once again of his own limitations, due in no small part to the sheltered, narrow-minded upbringing that had been the imperative for a boy of his peerage. Douceline would be leaving-not forever, of course-but for a poignant, pivotal time. Regardless of who and what all this was meant to support, he had a feeling their homeland would feel some after-effects of whatever was to take place.
“...And besides. Not everyone is as fit for stimulating debate as you.” At that, their mouths mirrored in a coy smile. Not many beyond the Scholasticate knew of the competitiveness that had brewed since the day they first met, from bitter to sweet and bitter again-to the intoxicating blend that they could no longer deny.
“I’ll pass that onto the others, thank you very much.” His hands came to rest at her back, and by reflex, hers went to his chest. Surely she must have felt his heart thudding under her palm, though he supposed any closer and she might as well have heard each quickening thud.
“Don’t oversell yourself.” Her smile sunk in a feigned pout, chin atop one polished button of his uniform overcoat.
“You know that’s just what Cramm would want you to do-right before he reveals something meant to catch you off guard. Something he wasn’t supposed to see.” He clicked his tongue and drew her closer.
“This is the fifth time I’ve had to hide the dorm keys elsewhere.”
“I think it’s the servants this time.” Douceline tilted her head.
“Blaisie was asking me about the grape and your cousin’s dog. That was at the Rook.”
“Wha-”
The chime of the bell at the airship’s counter turned both their heads back towards the landing, where the area that once held heaps of packages now stood vacant. He swallowed, turning to face her once again, and her eyes lingered on the airship for a little while longer before she met his gaze. Though he’d initially dreaded—detested—the slits of her pupils, the faded rose-pink was the same color, as was the heart-shaped curve of her face, the blush of her nose, the sound of her voice...
He would grow to miss it all, as even his praiseworthy memory could only account for so much-at least, compared to having her there with him in the flesh.
“Fury keep you. Hale and whole.” Before she could respond, he brought her right hand to his lips.
He couldn’t even bring himself to say goodbye. All things considered-he never got to the first time they parted, and by some incomprehensible fear he held himself back from saying so again, as if it would bear the same ill-fortune.
What he received instead was a kiss—on his lips, warm and soft and featherlight in way that he could only compare to the snowflakes that fell even in a bright, kindly sun—
When he opened his eyes, her arms were wrapped around his neck (to hoist herself up, as to reach his mouth)—and his hands cradled her face, and he tilted her head backwards ever so slightly as to look at her longer, drinking in the image of her as if she were the Fury herself, glorious in the vibrantly-colored stained-glass of the grand cathedral.
“I’ll be back sooner than you know it.” She spoke, softer and quieter than usual, as if the touch of the kiss was something she wanted to remain on her tongue for as long as possible.
“...It wouldn’t do to hope too often, then. Lest I delay your return.” Archombadin smiled, gloved thumb tracing the dip of her chin to the crease of her mouth’s edge, and she exhaled softly, and her eyelids sank halfway as her hand remained on his wrist, counting the seconds before they inevitably parted.
He didn’t dare to dwell longer at the landing once the airship was out of sight.
There was still work to be done, and he would do his part.
He would do it better than he had before.
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Still thinking bout the FFXIV Scholasticate quests. It kinda leaves you wondering...
What are the steps Archombadin takes? How does Lebrassoir react? Does Blaisie ever get Theo to notice her? Is Crammevoix really that kinky that he just let this girl tie him up in public?? (Why did he relish tying Theo up so much — bi much, good sir?) Why are there all these other Houses that we don't know about?? (Could you give us a list like you did the au ra and miqo'te tribes?? That'd be neat.) How is Leigh so dang cute?? Will they ever patch things up with Ben? Why do I always fall for the bad guys like immediately — even when they're pretending to be good? The world may never know.
#ram rambles#ffxiv scholasticate#ffxiv scholasticate quests#archombadin de dzemael#lebrassoir de bonfaurt#theomocent#leigh#crammevoix de maintigny#will Briardien ever realize he's a whole snack#Briardien#Briardien de Manseauguel#Blaisie de Manseauguel
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Archombadin de Dzemael and his ever so loyal servant Lebrassoir at the Jeweled Crozier. :')
old art, cleaning out my wip folder atm. <3
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Archombadin is plotting something late at night.
Of course Lebrassoir is part of his plan, in one way or another.
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📚 scholasticate au
𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕪 𝕖𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕟'𝕥 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕖𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕕𝕒𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕡𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕚𝕟 𝕡𝕠𝕖𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕚𝕗 𝕀 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕙𝕠𝕨, 𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕟'𝕥 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕥
#archombadin de dzemael#finally did the scholasticate questline and feel for one handsome prejuidiced elf man#hes such a DICK i love him#an au that exists in my brain specifically so he and faye can bicker and flirt behind bookshelves#i think my type is 95% ishgardian elves#faye
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words will only go so far, darling
ffxiv || archombadin de dzemael
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9/02: BARK.
noun: to make the characteristic short loud cry of a dog.
rating: g
characters: donatien de dansereau, archombadin de dzemael, douceline de dansereau (mentioned)
tags: post-heavensward, character study, chomby pays a visit and finds donny instead of dou (unfortunate)
summary: an unexpected social call.
wordcount: 733
The end was sure to come for anyone—or anything—that would part Donatien de Dansereau from a good night’s sleep.
Regardless of how many bells had passed since he laid head to rest the night before, the lordling was wont to spend as long as he could in the comfort of his bed and the several layers of furs and sheets that practically cocooned him through the cold Coerthan night. He had finally received respite from his work at the offices housed in the Tribunal—albeit a forced one—and since he and his peers were unsure of when their duties would resume with even a modicum of what they once knew it to be, he was sure to make the most of his free time doing as he pleased.
The hounds of Cygne Cross thought otherwise.
He groaned and bent his ample pillow over his ears. Jean-Luc led the charge with a bark that outdid his underlings tenfold and the others—the rumbling growl from Aubergine and the short but rapid-fire yapping from Nougat. Something—or someone—had stirred them awake.
Not long after came the hurried feet of the House Steward accompanied by what Donatien assumed to be two of the servants.
His lips pressed thin for one, two seconds before he swept the sheets and furs off of him, braving the cold floor with his bare feet. Maybe ‘gonde had brought a new pet home and the rest of the household had come to bid it welcome—or Dou had brought home a dragon, and their hounds were simply doing as hounds in every Fury-fearing house was wont to do. Even then, old habits were hard to break—and seeing as none of his siblings had come to properly greet their guest, he ought to share in some modicum of responsibility with their mother still indisposed.
In naught but his sleep clothes and deep-blue robe he peered down at the staircase with its subtle-spiral, noting the wag of tails and the flurry of newly-brushed fur at the entryway as the figures by the door became clearer as he took one, two, three steps down. Almost halfway down the staircase and Donatien found his earlier assumptions by ear correct—all but the snowy-haired Elezen
Donatien smiled. His morning was saved after all.
“Lord Dzemael! What brings you here so early on this fine day?” Few would know the delight in seeing a scion of House Dzemael taken aback like a cornered rabbit. And Donatien would enjoy it in full.
“...I wanted to.” He cleared his throat.
“Congratulate the Lady Douceline—”
“I’m afraid there’s a bit of a queue.” Donny grinned.
“Though I would hate to put you through such efforts for nothing. Care for some tea, perhaps?” At the word Thibault turned to have the refreshments made ready—perhaps a bit too quickly for their guest’s liking. The hounds aside—there was only him and the youngest Dansereau at the base of the staircase, and no dear Douceline in sight.
Archombadin knew there was no winning to this situation. He was in a home not his own, after all—the only slim advantage he held was that the Dzemaels ranked higher as counts rather than the baronial Dansereaus. But, as all of Ishgard knew—the status quo had changed so swiftly after certain events—and the validity of their so-called ranks were now called to question. Also, Douceline would no longer be a mere lady of House Dansereau—she had now been dubbed the Savior of Ishgard. Much more was now at stake for an otherwise spare heir, even from one of the Four High Houses—a fact that Donatien relished.
“Tea would be lovely. Thank you.” The welcomed guest cleared his throat as he acquiesced, still unable to look directly at his host For better or for worse—these last days had been an exercise in learning to swallow his pride.
“Shall we, then?” Donatien extended his hand, his mood soaring to new heights. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his sleep clothes and robe and now he had no intention to. Archombadin had entered his house, high-necked overcoat and buttoned boots and all—and Donatien would appear as effortlessly comfortable in his own environment. Once in a while the petty power games so prevalent in the Pillars were fun to play—especially if he held the higher ground.
With a subtle nod, Archombadin followed the younger man suit, with the dogs eager and wanting at their heels.
#ffxivwrite2023#eggpens.#donatien de dansereau#archombadin de dzemael#it's a little late but I FINISHED...#donny putting chomby through the gauntlet if he wants to date his sister
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“which alt are you replaying moogle quests on”
well, the one that makes them the most funny if you consider it tarresson putting his grandson to work crafting (it builds character or something)
#ffxiv#tarresson de dzemael#archombadin de dzemael#moogle quests#i HATE say chat objectives but this was so funny#darkhold.txt
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9—15: ROW.
noun: a number of people or things in a more or less straight line.
rating: g
characters: archombadin de dzemael, original characters, douceline de dansereau
tags: post-endwalker, doudou people-watching bc she’s bored at church
summary: observations made on halone’s holy day.
wordcount: 177
he sits poised beside her, eyes forward and lips sealed—attentive in the way he was during lectures. (she catches him looking over the edge of his opened enchiridion every time).
their row had traditionally been behind that of the dzemael’s main line, though as years passed there were seats left vacant, leaving a dwindling line of succession (as was seen with many of the noble, let alone high houses). but in light of many things that had occurred relatively recently (such as their engagement) the descendants of saint sylvetrel had experienced a renewal in power, even with the social upheaval that slowly crept throughout the new republic.
the childish yearning would occasionally arise in her as the priest droned on with the sermon; at the corner of her eye she sought her classmates—her dear friends—in their respective seats. blaisie and janchette were the ones most likely to return her stare: others like theomocent kept their attention fixed upon the man at the pulpit, basking in the multi-colored glow of the morning light through the ancient stained glass.
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