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cavalierious-whim · 3 months

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Silk Seduction (ZhongChi)

Part of 'Etched in Stone'.

Childe wears a very obvious set of panties whilst sparring in Jueyun Karst.

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At first, Zhongli thinks that he may have seen something… incorrectly. Childe laughs as he stretches, leaning over just so. Then he stretches the opposite direction, arms over his head as his back cracks, that damnable cropped top rising to show of sharply cut hip bones and—

Zhongli tilts his head. His eyes do, in fact, work perfectly. Pink, frilled lace peeks out from the waistband, just barely seen—but Zhongli latches on to the sight with his ancient, keen eyes. And Childe knows he would, that he does, judging by the smirk he shoots Zhongli’s way when he catches him staring.

Childe traces his lips with his tongue, his mouth curling at the edges. An eyebrow waggle is tossed in Zhongli’s direction. The drag of Childe’s hands down his sides until they reach his trousers. He pulls at that waistband, yanking at it slightly until it eases just so, and another half-inch of that soft silk is revealed.

Zhongli didn’t know that his throat could dry up in such a way, or that his cock could flare to life so easily. He twists, covertly shoving a hand into his lap to keep from—

“Zhongli,” says Madame Ping, breaking into his thoughts. And that tone…

He sighs, looking at her. Madame Ping stares back with a knowing glance but she has the decency to not drop her gaze. “He’s an… impetuous thing, no?” she asks instead, sipping at the tea they share.

“I shouldn’t have brought him here,” murmurs Zhongli. “All his bothering me for a good training session, and I shouldn’t have given in—”

“Oh, let the boy toss around a spear with Xiao. Perhaps he’ll be humbled.”

Zhongli hides a grin behind his palm as he lifts a cup to his lips.

“You, however,” she continues, her words trailing off as she wiggles her eyebrows in a surprisingly good imitation of Childe.

“Ping,” admonishes Zhongli.

“No one would miss the two of you if you just…” She waves off to a darkened corner of Jueyun Karst.

“Streetward Rambler.” Despite the way his tone sharpens, though, Madame Ping still laughs, unable to be tempered by Zhongli’s ire.

Madame Ping is, as with most things, absolutely correct. When Zhongli whisks Childe away to a quiet and secretive corner of Jueyun Karst, no one bats an eye.

“Wait, Zhongli—”

“A menace,” says Zhongli as he boxes Childe against the smooth stone of an outcropping. “Ajax, you are a menace.”

Childe’s mouth curves dangerously, and oh, how Zhongli wants to wipe that smirk right off of his face. “Have I succeeded, then? Are you all hot and bothered?”

“Ajax—”

“I know that you saw them. I know that you stared, unable to look away.” Childe’s expression is smug and haughty. “I know that you liked silk, but who knew you were so perverted?”

“And who is the one who wore such a thing, hm?” Zhongli loves this, having Childe pulled close and wanton against him. The provocation is mild but it makes the dragon in his chest sing in ways he long since thought he put to rest. Zhongli kisses his ear, his jaw, the length of his neck, nibbling at Childe’s skin until a mark blooms, and he kisses that next, softer, lingering.

“Have I annoyed you?”

“No,” murmurs Zhongli. Childe tastes like sweat and training. “But I am bothered, as you so astutely pointed out.”

He can imagine the way Childe smiles in triumph. “What are you going to do about it?” he goads. Zhongli pulls back and shoots Childe a devilish look that wipes that smirk right off of his face. “Um, wait—”

Zhongli drops to his knees, uncaring of the soil that will muck up his fancy clothing. He leans forward to nuzzle the taut muscle of Childe’s stomach, dragging his teeth across it, delighting in how it ripples in response. His fingers tug at the fastenings, pulling Childe’s trousers open enough to yank them down.

The pink silk is barely a slip of a thing, tight to his hips, frilled at the edges. The bulge of his cock and balls are barely hidden, the fabric pulled flush over them. Zhongli trails his thumb across the leg hole, teasing skin, and Childe’s head falls back against the stone.

Zhongli kisses his balls, tongue teasing the hem of the panties. He thumbs at the thin ties at Childe’s hip bones, pulling at them. “Where did you find these?”

“I—that isn’t important—oh, you’re—” Childe’s cock twitches when Zhongli nips at the tip, suckling at it over the soft silk. “I’d rather you suck my actual dick, please.”

“I’ll do as I wish.” Zhongli is muffled by his skin, by the panties, by how he latches on to every inch of Childe’s groin to mark it up. The smell of sweat and arousal fuels him; the knowledge that Childe donned these fancy little things to tease and entice him—Zhongli moans as he nuzzles Childe’s cock next with a soft sigh.

“Okay, but I’m dying here—”

“The same way that I was dying out there? Ajax, I was with Madame Ping.”

“That old goat found it funny.” Because of course, Childe knows. “Did she tease you about it?”

Zhongli smiles. “She may have had a few choice words, which is why it is time to tease you back.” Zhongli doesn’t remove the panties, he just pulls them down enough to free Childe’s cock. The rest of the silk snaps back against him and Childe hisses at the impact.

Childe moans when Zhongli wraps his fingers around his length and gives it a quick stroke. Then he curses when Zhongli sweeps his tongue over the tip, tasting the precome that dribbles from the slit. “That’s—you’re—”

Zhongli takes his time much to Childe’s frustration. He bucks his hips and Zhongli pulls back, laughing as he licks from the tip to the base instead. “Patience,” he mutters, suckling at the base, and then Childe’s balls cradled by the silk.

Childe grunts loudly but otherwise, says nothing else. Good. Zhongli inhales deeply, humming as he presses kissing to every inch of skin currently revealed.

“Zhongli, please—”

“Any louder and the others will hear.” Childe’s mouth snaps shut as if commanded. “Good boy,” praises Zhongli, suckling at the head of his cock. Then, finally, he swallows Childe’s length, taking it deep into his throat.

Childe’s hands fly to his head for a yank. “Fuck,” he hisses—albeit quieter this time. “Fuck, fuck—”

Zhongli hums around him and sucks, hallowing his cheeks in a way that makes Childe whimper. He moves, sliding up and down on his cock, bobbing his head, delighting in the heft of Childe’s length on his tongue. Zhongli swallows again, moaning. Breathes through his nose as he sinks all the way down, lips meeting Childe’s groin. Full—his throat is full of Childe’s cock, and Zhongli knows that he must look utterly sinful with his lips stretched so wide.

He looks up through long lashes to find Childe staring down at him. “Gods, you look—”

Zhongli pulls off and clicks his tongue. “I’ve brought you to Jueyun Karst, Ajax. I am the god here, am I not? You wore—” He pulls at the string tied around Childe’s waist, fingertip hooking underneath it. “—this to tease me. You’ve driven me into a heated frenzy, you should at least have the manners to call out my name.”

“Zhongli,” says Childe, cradling the back of his neck. “Can I—”

“You would ask for more, wouldn’t you? Would you like to know what Madame Ping said about you?”

“With my dick near your mouth? No.”

“She called you an impetuous boy—which you are. Would you like to fuck my mouth?”

Zhongli watches Childe’s throat bob. “Yes. Yes—”

He takes pity on Childe, sealing his mouth around his cock again. The slide is wet. He tastes of sweat, of salt, of something intimately Childe, and Zhongli takes a lot of pleasure in knowing that he is the only one who sees him like this, so lost and wanton.

Childe bucks his hips, forcing his cock deeper. Zhongli encourages it, widening his mouth, swallowing him deeper as he sucks around him. He fingers at the damned panties, tugging at them until they pull at Childe’s skin.

“I’m—” Childe whines, head tilted back, eyes closed and biting at his lips. “I’m going to—Zhongli.”

Oh, he’ll die a happy man, hearing that sound. Zhongli slides up and down his cock with the intent to drag Childe to the end. His fingers curl around silk, fisting it. His other hand rises to squeeze at Childe’s balls, rolling them across his palm, and Childe just fucks his mouth with heavy, hard thrusts as he tries to avoid coming too quickly.

Zhongli moans, encouraging him, drawing his cock so deep that the tip of his cock bullies his throat. His scalp stings with how tightly Childe pulls at it, the burn a refreshing distraction from the way Zhongli’s length is hard and aching in his trousers. Not here—he won’t; he’ll handle himself later when he fucks Childe into the mattress. The here and now isn’t about him, but a fancy slip of silk, and the way that his mate falls apart on his tongue.

A few more ruts into his mouth and Childe comes, holding Zhongli’s face there, forcing him to swallow it down—and he does, groaning at the taste of brine, at the heat of Childe’s spend on his tongue.

Childe groans when Zhongli pulls off. “That was—”

“Something that you brought upon yourself.” Zhongli kisses the tip of his spent cock, still playing with the silk panties. “Frills? Not lace?”

“Would you rather lace?” asks Childe, his expression strangely curious. “Also, what about you—”

“I took exactly what I wanted.” Zhongli then pauses, reconsidering. “Actually,” he continues with a smirk—which Childe clearly finds suspicious. Zhongli yanks the ties of the panties open, pulling them free. He balls the silk up in his hand, leaving Childe without his underthings.

“Wait—”

“I would like to keep these, I think,” says Zhongli, shoving them into his pocket.

“In your jacket? Zhongli—”

“Wasn’t this your intent?” muses Zhongli. “To drive me mad with want? Well, you have, Ajax. I’ll wear these close to my chest and think of what we just did here, in the shadows all day long. I’ll squirm there as I share tea with Madame Ping. There is no doubt the others will know; they’ll smell it on me, our shard arousal—”

“I did not ask for that—”

“You will reap the benefits of what you sowed.” Zhongli stands, tugging at the lapels of his jacket. He dusts the dirt from his knees, even though it’s painfully obvious that he’s been kneeling. “Might I, at least, get a kiss for my efforts?”

“You don’t need to ask, you old lizard.”

Zhongli kisses him, short and sweet, fingers curled into Childe’s sleeve.

“Seriously, though,” starts Childe when they part for a breath, “you’re going to leave me naked?”

“Of course not.” Zhongli pulls Childe’s trousers up and makes quick work of the fastenings. “Consider this a reward,” he teases.

“More like a punishment,” grouses Childe, but then he sees Zhongli’s cool expression and amends with, “which I’m known to like from time to time.”

Zhongli hums, adjusting Childe’s collar. “You punished me and so—”

“You loved it.”

“Yes,” agrees Zhongli. “And I love you, even if you are a rascal more often than not.” He kisses Childe again just to taste him.

“Rude,” replies Childe. But he smiles nonetheless, woefully gone. “Silk,” he says then. “Panties. Your tastes are noted. I won’t make it a habit, I promise.”

They take a few more minutes to right themselves, and when they step back into the heart of Jueyun Karst, it’s with their fingers hooked together, and soft, tittering laughter as if keeping secrets.

Madame Ping, politely, says nothing as Childe drops beside her for tea. Cloud Retainer, however, is a different breed of person, and Zhongli accepts her verbose disapproval with an eyebrow wiggle of his own.

#Cavalierious Fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin #writing commissions #commisssion #zhongchi #zhongli/childe #genshin smut #Etched in Stone

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yzeltia · 2 years

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Handed Down From Stone

Chapter 1: Etched in Emerald

Characters: Y'rhul Nuhn, Y'zel Tia, Y'mhitra Rhul, U'noloh Tia, Ruby Carbuncle/Ifrit Egi

Rating: T for Tia

Notes: None

- Old Sharlayan, 1560 -

Y’rhul sighed as he checked his watch then consulted his day planner. Office hours were ending, which meant he’d be fulfilling his duties as Nuhn soon before heading off to a meeting of the Forum and after dinner with the clan before many returned to Dravania. The only thing to look forward to being the peace that would come after, tucked into his bed with a good book. While as a Forum member, he’d never truly be free of the endless days of policy and the attempted filibustering against it, a chunk of the family voluntarily displaced meant fewer familial obligations to eat up his scholarly time.

Not that he didn’t love them; however, his energy was better spent filling his daughter’s minds with knowledge than their mothers with life. He took no pleasure in it. The Scholar was his only true love. Yet proving time and time again he was the most sage of the Jaguar tribe, he was left with the burden of maintaining their line. At least the title of Nuhn didn’t come with leadership. The womenfolk made their own schedule for him, and he abided. Perhaps if his brother Y’lem wasn’t so hung up on a return to the old ways like their Drake and Marmot peers, they’d take to him. It’d help if he wasn’t so obstinate and unlikeable too.

Y’rhul rested his elbow on his table then rapped his fist against his chin as he plucked a pink hair off his desk and raised a brow. One good thing did come out of his little brother, he supposed. His time in Dravania he found someone to bond and love, and together they brought his nephew Y’zel into the world. The boy was curious and warm-hearted and loved to have books read to him. He did feel bad for the boy, his father pushing his own desires onto him, filling his head with nonsense of a time long past. Then that of often being made the plaything of his daughters. Still, Y’zel was bright and if he had the sense to ignore his own father, he very well could grow up to be Nuhn if that’s what the tribe wanted, though something told him that if that time came, it would be out of performing his duty rather than the desire to. He’d need that…and to become a bit less predictable.

Standing, he rolled his eyes. “Well, I’ve finished my work. I guess I’ll get my robes and head out,” he announced before side-stepping out from behind his desk.

With a turn, the Nuhn held out his arms and watched as a pink-haired Miqo’te sprung from the shelf above, toy sword in one hand and shield in the other, “PREPARE YOURSELF UNCLE RHUL!”

The man caught the boy under his arms, giving him a swing as the before giving him a playful dangle in the air. “Prepare for what now? What were you going to do,” he asked, wiggling his thumbs under the boy’s arms.

Y’zel began to squirm about and giggle, soon loosing the sword and shield from his grasp before being plopped down onto his feet. “My attack…but I guess it didn’t work...I’m never going to be a Nuhn…,” the boy whimpered, ears and tail drooping.

Y’rhul shook his head then took a knee, petting over the boy’s ears. “Do you see me pouncing on people unawares?”

“No…”

“Then why do you think a Nuhn does that?”

“Well, cause…cause father says that if I beat the Nuhn in combat…then I’ll be the Nuhn. He’s read me many tales of other tribes and their great feats of combat and how they got to lead their entire village!”

Y’rhul wanted very much to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh; however, he swallowed the impulse to not show the boy his irritation with his father. “Maybe for some other tribes…and maybe for ours a long time ago; however, now us Jaguars are chosen for what’s in here by the women of our tribe.,” he explained to the boy, poking him in the forehead, “Mind you, we live in a diverse city, not a village. We’re subject to the laws of the Forum. Not all Nuhns are leaders either, or the other way around. Your father sits with me as well does he not?”

Y’zel looked up to his uncle and nodded before taking his hand as the man led him out of the office. “I’ve told that to father before…but he says the old ways can come back.”

“And what is wrong with the way things are now?”

The Nuhn smiled, watching Y’zel’s ears perk up then lower slowly as his mind was left to turn over what he said. Chuckling, he picked up a parcel then put it in the boy’s arms, “Here. I got you a few more books for your collection. Y’mhitra said that you were interested in the arcane arts?”

The boy hugged the books as he looked up to his uncle, giving a little nod. “Yeah. I want to summon friends!”

“Well, there’s a book in there straight from Limsa Lominsa that will teach you how to do just that on top there. Why don’t you go out and practice some and show me what you can do at dinner?”

Y’zel nodded eagerly then hurried out of the man’s office and onto the stoop outside, sitting on the marble steps and immediately cracked into the book. Passing, Y’rhul stroked over his ears, “And don’t worry about your father. I will tell him you tried.”

- Southern Thanalan, After the Dragonsong War-

“Ifrit! To me!”

Y’zel watched as the Egi floated over to him then circled about. Etching in his tome for a moment before casting his magicks, warping the creature into a ruby carbuncle. “There, that’s a bit better now, isn’t it?”

The creature stirred then went to nibble at the laces at his shoes for a moment while he looked to Y’mhitra as she clapped her hands together, “Great job cousin!”

The Tia nodded then closed his book before squatting down to stroke his carbuncle’s ears. “Thank you. I’ve been out of practice. A lot of my time in Ishgard was focused on swordplay. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to summon anything at all,” he sighed, looking at the peridot stone in his palm.

Y’mhitra smiled then gestured to their dark-haired guide ahead of them as he scanned the desert. “Perhaps you had sufficient inspiration to perform and show off? Our U tribe friend here seems to have kept you in high spirits.”

Y’zel flushed deeply as he picked up his carbuncle. “Still your tongue. U’noloh is high-spirited himself and I feel obligated to match is energy in turn.”

“Hm. Do you? And if his energy were to…let’s say, become romantic. Would you feel obligated to match that?”

The Tia balked then shouldered into his cousin playfully, toppling them both over into the sand and down the dune. The cousins laughed in turn as the egi squirmed free of its master’s arms. Y’mhitra sat up. “To think that I used to dress us up and make Shtola officiate our pretend “marriages”. Now we’re grown and have found we’d both prefer a strong strapping young man to sweep us off our feet and carry us down to the ivory halls.”

“Mhitra! He’ll hear you,” Y’zel shushed before finding the sun blocked out by the U tribe Tia.

“Had a spill did we,” the man asked, reaching down to help both to their feet, “Careful not to mess around too much. You could end up sliding right into the jaws of a sandworm or the sands could shift, and you’ll be buried.”

Y’zel went pale while U’noloh and Y’mhitra started to laugh.

“He teases us cousin,” Y’mhitra laughed while using her tail to brush off the sand on her back.

“Mostly. Never can be too sure about the sands, but it’s nothing I can’t fish or carve you out of,” the other Tia assured them.

As Y’zel too brushed the sands from his back, finding U’noloh’s tail tangling with his own to help him brush it away. Cheeks remaining flushed, he looked away, feigning innocence as Y’mhitra smiled.

“You know. On our little pilgrimage, we will need a sturdy sword to see us through the jungles of La Noseca and the woods of Gridania. My cousin and I wouldn’t mind the extra protection if you’re free.”

U’noloh crossed his arms then shrugged. “I’m a sellsword. I go where the gil is. This just happened to be my stomping grounds, so I took it to be far less work than anything else Momodi had for me.

“Y’mhitra…I am capable of wielding a sword…”

“I know, but after that incident with the Alpaku you just haven’t been the same,” his cousin sighed while shaking her head.

Both Y’zel and U’noloh’s ears twitched as they tilted their heads. “Right…the Alpaku incident…,” the pink-haired Tia responded.

“Same rate? I’m game. Nothing’s keeping me here after all other than petty squabbling over titles and bad memories,” U’noloh shrugged before tugging Y’zel’s tail then slipping it free.

“Perfect. Let’s return to Ul’Dah and find ourselves a way to Vesper Bay. Perhaps grab a bite in the Quicksand…and in the matter of staying over, Y’zel will now how have an excuse to sleep in another room. I fear that I am quite restless and kick when we share a bed. You boys can cuddle up together and I’ll be the problem for my pillows.”

Y’zel looked to his ruby carbuncle, wishing that it would Ruby Ruin him right then in there. U’noloh shrugged then put his arm around them both their waists as he guided them safely down to the bottom of the ruin. “I don’t care about bedding. I’ve spent plenty of days taking naps buck-naked out on a rock with my Amalj’aa buddies…though they say I snore. Will that be a problem,” he asked.

The Keeper-eyed Seeker’s head swam, mental images crossing his mind. “Let’s leave some things to our imaginations. I fear my cousin, while having an eventful life, might be a little sheltered given his rearing in Ishgard. You might shock the poor dear with your stories so tread lightly.”

U’noloh raised a brow as he looked at the flustered of the more flustered of them. “A Tia prude? That’s a new one.”

“I-I am not,” Y’zel protested, while the two laughed before channeling their aether and moving on to Ul’dah ahead of him.

Left alone, the Tia turned to his carbuncle who looked back to him in turn, tails swaying about before taking another look at the green soul stone in his hand then back to it. “She’s very determined to play matchmaker, isn’t she? I wonder if she harasses Shtola so?”

The aetheric pet just chittered, unable to really offer an opinion one way or another leaving Y’zel to cross his arms. “He is rather handsome though…and affectionate. Not what I expected a sellsword to be like. I wonder what father would think…” he trailed before finding the ruby carbuncle jumping up into his arms to lick his nose.

“You’re right. I should dwell on that. Let’s away! There’s two more friends for us to find and I’m sure Y’mhitra will think I’ve flowed away to escape her relentless teasing…”

#final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv #ffxiv miqo'te #ff14 #etched in stone #summoner #summoner ffxiv #y'rhul nuhn #y'zel tia #y'mhitra rhul #u'noloh tia #family feels #repost #handed down from stone

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wickedzeevyln · 4 months

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Absence

when i'm doneto the new world, irrelevantsave for a few, a someone whose name is nowetched in stone but no longer home, and for the grief your forgiveness, a worthy parting giftburden me no more with the guilt of imperfection in November leave a flower on my bed let time of what wasspeak to youin my steadfor if love was the thread that held uslet our storms come to pass.

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sictransitgloriamvndi · 10 months

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#art #etching engraving #cemetary #grave stone #robert paterson

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carebooks · 6 months

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im not going to lie, i teared up a bit seeing Maplewood’s tag etched next to Hillinghead.

but then to have Weissman/Whiteman have his tag be asking Hasan if she was up for a ‘Pint?’ is so in character of him shut up i know he had to leave her a clue to find the record but it still is so in character of him

#i JUST REALIZED Hasan DOES have her name etched into stone #because Whiteman asked her for a pint but he included her name too #theyre all together🥺#alfred hillinghead #karl weissman #charles whiteman #shahara hasan #iris maplewood #bodies netflix

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peppermintfreak · 4 months

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Listen. Let me cook. Basta could have Middle Eastern ancestry due to prominent numbers of muslim settlers in southern territory of Italy from the 8th to 13th century. Inkworld is more or less our world but stuck in some weird timeframe of the late Middle Ages/ entering early Renaissance mix up (possibly inspired by the illustrations in the silver book, which is a fairytale) which is when Arabs began making their presence known in Sicily and later elsewhere. Basta's parents could have assimilated or otherwise.

Fair hair and eyes are seemingly the standard in Inkworld (e.g: cosimo, the Piper, Brianna, Capricorn etcBattista's remark about their heroes, and Mo being such a big name despite his outlandishly 'dark as moleskin' hair) Being multiracial or at least different ethnicity is uncommon but not unheard of in Inkworld. Basta's the only one from Inkworld, along with the Prince, to have been tan/or dark-skinned and dark-haired enough to warrant a mention (even though that single tibit of a sentence confirming that was more of an emphasis on Basta's state in the cage). Huge shout-out to that one line in Inkheart where Basta gets so close to Meggie's face she sees her own reflection in his eyes that incited all of this.

#alternatively basta is serbian because serbs are as old as etchings on stone and his name is nothing more than a regular surname(is serbia)#inkheart #inkspell #basta #headcanon #mine #for reasons that last part i moved in the tags was a joke #his name is a last name as well as a first name in the balkans albeit rare #which tells me nothing but it's fun to think about #also im not versed in history at all this is just about what i can remember if anyone should correct me please do #thanks

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gncbozo · 3 months

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Old stone AU

Ok so I think I've just made a new hollow knight AU featuring two of my favorite caracteres in this game.

Tw : mention of dead body, scar and blood

Here's the lore :

One very mundane/normal day, the little Ghost of Hallownest brings yet another relic to Lemm, but the raggedy old thing that the small vessel is dragging behind them is the dead body of the pale king himself !!!

The specter is very VERY pushy about Lemm taking in the "relic"(... rotting body................ dead god) in exchange of an INSANE amount of geo, Ghost , how has just ascended as lord of shades, does not hesitate to pressure the shop keeper a LITTLE more.

And so Lemm accept and finds himself with a rotten wyrm on his conter, although this is a macabre situation, analyzing the king might be the answer to all of his questions (why did the king leave hallownest ? Was he sick like some journal depicted him to be ? Was he really made of pale Ore ?...) but the relic seeker is not a necromancer therefore he can not make the dead talk ,plus ,Lemm still has respect for the dead ( and he doesn't want his house to smell like death ) so he decides it would be for the best to bury the pale king.

The seeker puts the decading wyrm in a corner of his shop a sets off for the resting ground.

Once he found a nice spot to dig the grave he returns to his house only to find the body gone ,no sign of the king, no trace of the wyrm.

Lemm looks everywhere but he can not find his posession, at first he is convinced that Ghost has taken the body back for what ever reson (the little shit better not have, he paid good money to have this unwanted gift) but this accusation is quickly shooded off when he hears the sound of wobbly steps and faint scratches at his door...

When the relic seeker pokes his head out of his chambers, he is met with a vision of horror, the (should be dead) king of Hallownest is standing on shaky legs bleeding black blood (witch only exaggerate the massive crack on his mask ) on the floor of his shop.

The two stares at the other for a stupid amount of time, and it takes an even stupider amount of time for Lemm to tell the king that "it would be better if he sitted back down so he can patch up the terrible wounds on the god's body."

The King/Wyrm with nowhere to go, no will to live, and no purpose to serve, very silently, accept.

Now that the dead can talk ; Will Lemm really want to know ALL of this graveyard's history? Will the king tell NOTHING but the truth?

And more importantly, shall they ONLY talk about the past ?

I'm not sure if this Au is allready similar to others Au or if it allready exist, if yes please redirect me to them.

#hollow knight #hollow knight au #Old stone AU #relic seeker lemm #ghost hk #hk pale king #hk lemm #Lemm : omg his majesty the pale king himself is in my work shop I'm so blessed #Also Lemm : this man is the most fucked bitch alive wtf ??!??#Ghost : GIVE ME THE MONEY 🙌#PK : .........................WTF...............................#nerdy historian and hopeless engineer at etch other throat

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distortedclouds · 1 year

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MY SKIN IS CLEAR, MY CROPS ARE FLOURISHING, MY GRADES ARE UP, AND MY DEPRESSION IS CURED!!!

#HER!!!!!#Attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #annie leonhart #annie leonhardt #Spoof on Titan #Annie #I want this etched into the stone of my grave!#SoT

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trollbreak · 7 months

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FOURTH time is the charm lol

[“An ex-goddess, hm? Is that why you’re wasting your time drinking cheap vodka in a locker room, when you know it’s not going to do much? Or are you hoping for the blood loss to carry your weight, here?”

The woman bares her flat teeth at them, and Pyrric tilts their head. It’s hard to find someone intimidating when she lies in pieces before you. Harder still when you know that neither of you can do too much damage to the other in any reasonable amount of time.

“Is it the reason you’re getting yourself killed weekly, because the crowds pay better at the end of the week? Or maybe it’s the reason you’re baring your teeth like they could actually do anything that matters. Please, talk down to me some more while you’re still halved. I’d like to see how much you can try to puff up like this.”

The woman rolls her eyes and grabs her pants by the belt loops to pull her torso closer together, and the flow of blood only slows a little. Pyrric is almost certain those pants are going to be ruined. A shame- that orange would make for a lovely dress color, if Dari would consider dying her own clothes. But she’s made it clear enough that she’s not looking to make friends. Another shame.

“…Are you the yellow who’s fuckin’ the freak? Keeps killing you for the shits and giggles? ‘Cause gee, what a high fuckin’ horse you’re on, bleeding for some rich someone or other… gods. Leave it to the bug people to make the weird ones.”

Pyrric leans down, turning her head to be eye to eye with Dari.

“Is that my reputation now? I’d have hoped it was something kinder… but if that is the case, I’ll not have you ruin Daemia’s for it. She’s divine, in a way you’re never going to know. Not anymore. You did say you used to be a god, yes? Who do you pray to, when you die? At least the things that made me were kind enough to take my scars, to dull my p-“

They have more to say, but Dari spits at them, and they’re sputtering, staggering to catch their balance. Whatever landed in their eye doesn’t burn, per se, but they don’t want to leave it there. They might have to ask Daemia to help them with that, at the end of the night.

They’re already going to need some time with her to feel at home in their own form again… they hate when someone gets under their skin like this. Anger doesn’t suit them.

“Fuck off. You said you wanted to make friends, yeah? A fat fuckin’ success that was- do me a favor and get the fuck out. Bet I can get Junie to get you banned, if you wanna push your fuckin’ luck.”

Pyrric doesn’t know why they had expected anything less abrasive… Dari has a reputation of trying to get on people’s nerves. But at least this wasn’t a wasted trip, they have some information that a few friends will be more than happy to have, in case the empire ever reaches her home.

They stand back up with a deep breath, smoothing out their skirt and adjusting their hair around their shoulders.

“Fine. Have fun stewing in your misery, Dari… and if you want to try to find a way to cope better, I’m sure Junie can get us back in touch.”

Another breath, and they put their smile back on. It’s so much easier to be cute than to be angry… they’d like to lean into it until it feels right again.

“And have a lovely rest of your night!”]

#writing #dari #Pyrric #ummm info that didn’t get included bc I ran out of steam before I really got well started on this one: Dari’s name ‘etched in stone’#is Daarel Mournglaive (Blade of Sorrows) and she’s damn annoyed she didn’t get a chance to figure out what the FUCK that title was supposed #to mean. she’s like damn we went on this trek to an all knowing rock lady and my destiny just got stolen? the fuck.#she’s from il’jur which means so little to anyone but me :P #she WOULD have been a goddess of violence. the little violences. personal fights and murder and such. but um. she didn’t get to reach her #potential :P #ALSO!!#Pyrric buds with yerren and Wynric. sometimes dying is a good way to learn some stuff :3

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panfluidme · 30 days

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Memories Etched in Stone

Master Post, Chapter One

CHAPTER TWO: THE QUESTIONING

The police arrived and had Varian sit down. They were big and much taller than Varian, but most people usually were, so Varian didn't have any problems with it. The woman smiled warmly at Varian, offering a doughnut for him to eat. He took it and broke it in half, offering one of the halves to Ruddiger.

"What's your name?" she asked softly.

He hesitated then sat upright. "V," he decided to go with the nickname Kiera had given him just in case. He didn't know where or when he was, so he decided to keep himself as safe as he could while still having a name he recognized and responded to.

"Is that short for something?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell us what it is short for?"

"No."

The other officer, the man, glared at him. "Where is the statue?"

"I didn't take it, honest. Why would—"

"How do we know you're not lying to us to get out of things? You were the last person see with it."

Varian looked at him, visibly confused. "Uh, no. I was seen where the statue was, I wasn't seen with it. And as I was saying, why would I come back to the scene of the crime if I already have the statue? That seems very pointless. A sure way to get caught. What would be the point?"

"He has a point, Officer Ferguson." She looked at her partner. "There would be no point in returning to the scene of the crime and then so admittedly denying it."

Officer Ferguson looked at her then rolled his eyes. "Fine, then where is the statue, V?"

Varian looked between the two. "How much do you two believe in magic?"

"Magic?" Ferguson laughed. "What does magic have to do with this?"

Officer Wilson looked at Varian, thinking carefully. She took in the features on his face, on Ruddiger, and his clothing. It took a minute or two, but she was the next to speak up. "You're the statue, aren't you?"

He looked at her then nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I am. I don't fully know why or how, but Ruddiger and I were cursed to become stone. I don't know how we became flesh again, but we did just recently."

"Enough with this bullshit, tell us the truth."

"I just did."

Wilson sighed softly. "Ignore him. I'll find you a safe place for you to stay. Feel free to wander around, please don't take anything. Some of the things here are touchable, much like Rapunzel's last journal that she wrote before she passed away in her and Eugene's section. We'll be keeping an eye on you just in case, but enjoy yourself."

Varian smiled at her. "Thank you, miss. I'll just look around." He got up and left, going back to the Corona section. Varian went to the small section that was dedicated to Rapunzel and Eugene. He ignored the group and grabbed Rapunzel's last journal that was free to the public to look through and sat down on the floor, out of the way of people.

Carefully, Varian opened the book. He saw Rapunzel's handwriting, loopy and perfect cursive. The first page was a painting of River getting crowned, Rapunzel wrote about how she and Eugene knew that Varian was the only person from their past that wouldn't be there.

River looked at his aging parents, both with grey hairs. Rapunzel was looking at him with pure adoration. Eugene's shoulders were a little slumped as they were with every big event in his children's lives. It wasn't that he wasn't proud, but he still wished that his non-blood brother was in their lives.

His hand was grabbed by his eldest child. Eugene looked at him and smiled softly. "Hey, son."

"You okay, dad?"

"I'm okay, I'm so proud of you. I know everyone is proud of you. You will be an amazing king, I know you will." Eugene kissed his forehead. "I know Varian would be proud too."

Varian looked at the paper and smiled sadly. It was nice to know that he hadn't been forgotten, even though he couldn't be in anyone's life anymore.

"What are you reading?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

He looked over at the person, who wore a pink vest with stripes and an off-white dress shirt with shorts. A backpack rested on his back and a smile danced his lips. Varian held up the journal. "Queen Rapunzel's last journal before she died."

The teen nodded and sat next to him. "I've read that, the ending is really sad."

"Might I ask how she died?"

"She got sick, it's theorized that it was cancer. King Eugene died of old age four years later."

Varian's eyes widened a little then he looked at the journal. He felt awful that he wasn't there to support her or Eugene. "Oh, I see. What's your name?"

"I'm Milo, what's your name?"

"Varian."

#milo murphy's law #milo murphy #zack underwood #melissa chase #crossover #varian #ruddiger #tangled the series #disney #memories etched in stone

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cavalierious-whim · 4 months

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As I Still Love You (ZhongChi)

Part of 'Etched in Stone'.

Zhongli and Childe renew their wedding vows. Written for An Eternal Vow, A ZhongChi Wedding Zine.

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Madame Ping’s Serenitea Pot is set to a never-ending sunset.

Zhongli has always felt at peace here, his old bones settling as he rests against the lounge on her porch. Their conversation is as usual: polite, quiet, and reminiscent. There are so few left who understand the weariness that he sometimes feels, but Xiao won’t speak of the past, and Ganyu is too busy with her work to speak at all.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” says Madame Ping. When Zhongli turns to her, she smiles back, amused.

“Nonsense,” he says. “We have been chatting for a while yet.”

Her face crinkles slightly and Zhongli knows that look, the one she gets right before she says something that he won’t like—

“Words, and words with meaning are two different things, Zhongli. You might have shared polite conversation with me, but you’ve barely said a thing.” She pauses, tilting her head to the side. “Is there something bothering you?”

Not really. And yet. “I often think about the years. The past, the present, and—well, I used to think of the future. I still do, but—”

“Zhongli,” cuts in Madame Ping sweetly, “what is the matter?”

“Nothing.” He is insistent, but she knows him almost better than he knows himself. Zhongli sighs, rubbing his brow. “I am happy,” he finally says. “When it comes to my life, my family, and Ajax, I am beyond happy. Which makes me wonder… what else is there?”

Madame Ping does not judge him. “Oh, Zhongli,” she says wistfully, holding her hand out and motioning for his teacup. Zhongli places it into her hand dutifully. She sets it on the table, grabs the teapot, and pulls back her sleeve. “That is the question of all questions, isn’t it?” she asks him as she pours out a fresh cup.

“It is often on my mind.”

“Are you insecure with what you have?”

Zhongli looks at her, offended. “Of course not.”

“Then why wonder?”

Why wonder, indeed, which is why Zhongli finds the thought of it annoying. He is too old and too tired to be worried about such trivial matters—and yet, he cannot help it.

Madame Ping tuts at him. “You know, that boy is good for you. I knew it from the moment I first saw you watch him the way that you do.”

“And—Celestia, tell me—how is that?”

“As if he’s the only thing there is.”

Oh. Zhongli’s mouth snaps shut at that and he rubs at his chin awkwardly, which leaves Madame Ping to chuckle. He’s never been good at hiding his feelings, particularly when it comes to his husband.

“It has been a long time since I have been in love,” she says, reaching out to pet his arm fondly. “But there is one thing that I do remember, Zhongli. There are no rules. You get to love a person however you wish.”

Zhongli smiles at that, warmly, and settles his hand over hers. “Thank you,” he says. “I must admit… I am always learning when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“Ah, yes, well—that’s the other thing about love, isn’t it? No one knows what they’re doing.” They both laugh, and Madame Ping pulls her hand away. “Speaking of, when will I get to see the children again? Are they still off traveling?”

“Ah, about that,” starts Zhongli as he takes hold of his teacup again. “Ajax wrote to Yuan, at least…”

Madame Ping smiles as she listens to him ramble on. The tea tastes as delicious as always.

“Ajax,” starts Zhongli late one night after they’ve settled down, “I love you.”

Their home is quiet. Candlelight flickers from the bedside table. Childe leans against the headboard with an old book in his hand and Zhongli lies beside him as he thinks. He looks up, brow furrowed between his eyes. These words aren’t new; Zhongli says them more often than not, but Childe knows how to read his tone.

Tonight, Zhongli tells him this with quiet reservation.

“I… would hope so? I mean, I let you put eggs into me, and then I laid them—so you better.” Zhongli cracks a grin at that but doesn’t immediately respond. Childe shifts, closing the book and tossing it to the side. He settles into the sheets, turning towards Zhongli. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Zhongli, there’s something on your mind.”

Perhaps Zhongli was a fool to think that he could hide something like this from Childe. “I love you,” he repeats affectionately, “but I often wonder if the way that I love you is the same way that you love me. That is not to say your love is less; I know it isn’t. But, who and what I am, and the implications of someone like myself loving another so wholly… I wonder if you understand to exactly what extent.”

Childe’s face eases slightly. “I don’t see why there is a need to compare.”

“It isn’t a comparison.” Zhongli sighs softly. “These are just the things that I consider in my old age, I suppose. If I love you to the ends of the earth, then what else is there? What more can I do? I’ve courted you, I’ve married you, I’ve mated you. We’ve raised a family together—so what is there from here on out?”

Childe moves then, scooting closer and taking the blankets with him. He shares Zhongli’s pillow, pressing their foreheads together. “Zhongli, you have nothing to prove.”

“Then why do I feel this way?” whispers Zhongli.

“Because love is dumb,” says Childe with a soft chuckle. He lifts a hand and smooths his thumb over Zhongli’s cheek. “Are you happy?”

Madame Ping asked him the same question, and just like then, Zhongli huffs, offended. But then his gaze softens, and he nuzzles Childe’s palm. “The most I’ve ever been.”

Childe leans forward then, kissing him softly, and just like that, Zhongli’s unease seems to melt away. For the moment, at least. They doze after that with Childe flush against his chest. Zhongli breathes in the scent of him and tries to revel in the comfort.

“You know, I just remembered something,” says Childe later. They still share the same space of Zhongli’s pillow, intertwined and craving closeness.

“Hm?” Zhongli combs through Childe’s silvering hair with his fingertips.

“An old Snezhnayan tradition. I think my grandparents did it, but I was pretty young so I could be remembering wrong. It’s a vow renewal. You stand before witnesses and recommit your wedding vows.”

“Remarriage?”

Childe laughs brightly. “I mean, in a way, I guess. It’s just… reaffirming what you have.” He pauses. “Would you want to do that? Renew our vows?

It would be like reclaiming him, all over again, which is an idea that pricks at Zhongli’s instinctual lizard brain. “Yes,” he says quietly. “I like the sound of it.”

“You’ve always been a sap.” Childe snuggles closer then, chin tipping up to press a sweet kiss to Zhongli’s jaw. “My old, affectionate lizard.”

Zhongli chuckles before rolling Childe onto his back, pressing his face into the warmth of his nape. The night is still young and they aren’t that old.

There is minimal planning.

It irks Zhongli and he knows that Childe can tell by the way that he teases him. “We don’t need to think much about it,” he says, mouth curved into that well-known smirk. “We planned the wedding to the tee, so let’s be more laid-back this time around.”

Zhongli tries to remain easy-going about it all, but this is one of those times when he and Childe approach things wholly differently. Childe isn’t a planner, far more willing to just jump in and go with the flow. And maybe it’s because Zhongli is old, but he prefers to have a schedule, to plot things out accordingly. Not to mention that unknown anxiety that seems to have grown with his age.

He frowns, thinking.

Childe reaches out to tap his nose. “Hey, you okay?”

It startles Zhongli. “Ah, I’m—just thinking.”

Childe smiles, just a gentle grin that sits on his face. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

They sit in their Serenitea Pot, enjoying a nice brew of tea. They should be going over last-minute details for the ceremony the next day, but Childe wouldn’t allow it, putting the books away, so to speak.

No, Zhongli wants to say, but it would be a lie.

His silence must speak volumes because Childe reaches out to rub a thumb over Zhongli’s knuckles. “Hey, it’s normal.”

“It is not. We’ve been married for—”

“Decades, I know.” Childe sighs contently at the thought. “You know, even I feel nervous about it. I’ve been married to you for more than half of my life. How is that not daunting?”

It shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t be—but oh. Zhongli supposes that is the point. It’s alright for none of it to make sense. Isn’t that what Madame Ping told him, all those months ago?

There are no rules. You get to love a person however you wish.

Childe watches him patiently with a twinkle in his eyes. It is Zhongli who tugs Childe’s hand to his mouth to kiss it. “Have you thought about your vows?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” says Childe slyly, which only makes Zhongli chuckle.

It is, perhaps, more effortless than Zhongli expects.

The sand is cool underneath his feet and Childe’s hands are warm in his. They stand on the quiet beach in their Serenitea Pot, surrounded only by a handful of close friends and family. It is sunset, the sky turning purple and pink as the brightness begins to dip below the horizon.

Even with the eyes of the others staring, Zhongli feels as though it’s only the two of them, lost in their own little pocket of the world.

Childe rubs his knuckles, the wrinkles of his face framing his eyes and mouth handsomely. “You okay?”.

“Yes,” says Zhongli, and the word rings true.

Xiao clears his throat from where he stands next to them. He looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else than there at the moment, his face pulled into a stern frown.

Childe snorts softly, rubbing at his chin. “Sorry,” he says. “Understandably distracted.” And then, Childe winks at Zhongli, which makes his stomach curl ever so slightly.

“Disgusting,” says Xiao.

“Xiao,” warns Zhongli.

Xiao looks like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Right, I’ll—” He clears his throat again. “We are gathered here today—”

“Oh, did you actually study the script that I gave you?” Childe sounds a little too pleased with that, and Zhongli hides his laugh behind a thinly veiled cough.

Xiao locks onto Childe with a cool gaze, and then says, “We are here to witness these two idiots renew their vows, whatever that means. I don’t pretend to understand the strange mating rituals of mortals.” There are a few laughs from their audience, and Zhongli feels his cheeks burn pink, embarrassed. Xiao waves a hand. “Do whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”

Childe opens his mouth to speak, but Zhongli beats him to it. “Wait,” he says, “I know there was a plan, but I think I would like to go first.”

“I… okay.” Childe looks intrigued, at least, his head tilted to the side.

“Ajax.” Zhongli whispers his name, for while it’s known, this is still one of those things that he tends to keep to himself. “There are many things to say and I don’t know where to start.”

“Anywhere,” says Childe, trying to soothe him.

“These years spent together, I…” Childe is patient, so utterly patient as he stands there and lets Zhongli make an idiot of himself. “Months ago, I went to Madame Ping with a question that I had no answer to. I told her that I am happy and that you’ve brought me a life that I can barely fathom. Then I said, ‘It makes me wonder—what else is there’?”

Childe opens his mouth, but Zhongli holds up his hand, chuckling. “It was a concern as to what more I can offer you. I’ve given you all my love and more. A life, a family, truly everything that I can offer, and yet, there is a worry that it isn’t enough.”

“What did she say?” asks Childe, knowing that he shouldn’t interrupt.

“Er—what?”

“Madame Ping. What’d she tell you?”

Zhongli smiles then, his feelings betraying him. He tugs Childe’s hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. “That there are no rules and that I get to love a person however that I wish.”

Childe’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly. “Oh,” he says. And then: “I’ve always liked that old goat.” There’s a snicker from behind them. Madame Ping, no doubt.

“Perhaps it is because I am old and set in my ways but I often see things as milestones to be had, and our love is no exception. I have never considered that it doesn’t have to be that way. With you, I am always learning. And so, my vows—” Zhongli laughs, nuzzling the soft skin of Childe’s palm. “They are exactly the same as the ones from the first time we married because there is no need to change something that isn’t broken, or prove myself to you in any way.”

Childe's lip wavers ever so slightly, just a soft little tremble that most would miss. Zhongli doesn’t, his gaze washing over Childe’s entire being. He’s so effortlessly handsome as he stands there, in his plain red shirt and trousers. “Your love,” starts Childe.

“Etched in stone,” finishes Zhongli, kissing that ring that sits on his finger. “Solid as the earth that I am built from. Unwavering as the rock that crafts Liyue. I am not going anywhere, Ajax.”

Childe breathes a comedic sigh of relief, rubbing at his face to wipe away the tears before anyone else can see them. “Gods, what a relief. And really, how can I follow that up?” He looks around them, trying to find his words. “Being a former Archon isn’t enough, right? He’s always gotta one-up me.”

Zhongli’s history is not a secret among this group. There is no need to hide it or play dumb.

“I tried writing mine down, you know,” continues Childe, pulling a wrinkled slip of paper from his breast pocket. “I’m shit at remembering things, even when I try, and I thought that maybe I’d get emotional, or—”

“Ajax, you’re rambling.” Zhongli finds a moment to tease him, even here.

“I just—” Childe sighs, dragging a hand through his carefully coiffed hair, ruining it. “It’s empty,” he finally says, “this paper. I’ve spent months trying to find words that express exactly what you are to me, and I can’t find them.”

The slip of paper in his hands is wrinkled and a little yellowed, but entirely bare.

“But, as I stood here, listening to you just repeat the same damn thing you said decades ago, I realized that there aren’t words that describe us. Zhongli, we just are.”

Oh, thinks Zhongli, his throat tightening.

“Zhongli,” says Childe then, his voice tipping low, “I can’t promise that I will always be a good husband. I can’t promise that I will never hurt you, or that I will make wise decisions, but I can promise you that you are my everything. That there is nothing else for me. My days begin with you, and they end with you, and that is the only way that I want to live out the rest of my miserable, pathetically short life.”

It is a thought that Zhongli has chosen to ignore for years, Childe’s inevitable demise.

“You’re old and ancient. I’m like, this small blip—” The space between Childe’s fingers is far too tiny for comfort. “— when compared to your life experiences. For me, though… my life is entirely defined by you.”

Zhongli kisses him. He reaches out and drags Childe forward, fingers curling into the loose linen of his shirt. Childe grunts in surprise, but kisses him back eagerly. This isn’t the plan, he’s supposed to wait until they’re told to do so. Xiao is affronted, face twisted by annoyance as he takes a step back. The rest of those who watch hold their breaths, unused to seeing Zhongli so blissfully forward.

Childe laughs against him, wrapping an arm around Zhongli’s neck, holding him close.

They lose track of time. Neither cares about their audience or how the sun is slowly dipping away, leading to the night. The only thing that matters is the calmness of their abode and the warmth that Zhongli drags out of Childe’s yielding form.

When they finally part, Childe asks, “What was that for?”

“Nothing,” says Zhongli before kissing him again, this time short and sweet.

It is disgusting, how much his chest swells. Zhongli feels like he could die with this sort of love, but it’d be a happy death in the arms of his husband. Childe fingers at his ring idly, staring at it. “It isn’t as though they were empty vows on our wedding day, but now I feel like I finally understand exactly what I meant by them.”

Zhongli agrees.

Then, Childe’s face is split by a mischievous grin. “Hey, come on.”

“Ajax, what are you—” Childe tugs him towards the water of the beach, their ceremony all but lost in the sand. The ocean is ice-cold against his bare feet, his toes sinking into the wet earth. “Ajax.”

Childe laughs as though he’s a boy again, his face wrinkling as he grins. He kicks up the ocean at Zhongli, who just stands there in the water, sunk to the spot like a solid stone.

They hold hands, refusing to let go, Childe’s calloused fingers an unwavering weight that anchors Zhongli.

It is, perhaps, the most perfect sunset that Zhongli has ever known.

#Cavalierious Fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin #zhongchi #zhongli/childe #etched in stone

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yzeltia · 2 years

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Handed Down from Stone

Chapter 2: Etched in Ruby

Characters: Y'lem Tia, Zel Nobolo, Y'zel Tia, Urianger Augurelt

Rating: T for Tia

Notes: None

-Dravinia Hinterlands, Sharlayan, 1552-

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

Zel Nobolo turned her head as she heard her husbands voice from behind, swinging her legs over the cliffs facing the Bloodbrine Sea. “Did you now? I suppose I am ever the creature of habit with our little monk on the way. He won’t let me have a moments peace to sleep with all his kicking,” she sighed, rubbing her swollen stomach.

Y’lem smiled, draping a blanket about his wife before taking a seat next to her and passing her a warm cup of soup. “Good. Our little Nuhn-to-be must be getting close if he’s scrapping around in there.”

Zel rolled her eyes, tail flicking. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what my love?”

“Push your jealousy towards your brother on our baby.”

Y’lem crossed his arms then closed his eyes, white tail flopping against the ground in annoyance. “Why can’t I want the best for my son?”

“The best being your vision for him? A white-robed lordling surrounded by a harem. From what I recall, despite Y’rhul besting you at every turn, he couldn’t give you the role even if he wanted to. Something about you being a try-hard tail chaser.”

“I charmed you, didn’t I?”

“Yes; however, you were quite the chore at first if I recall. Asking to carry my axe as if I was some Stadium schoolgirl then nearly toppling under the weight.”

“I…Well…,” Y’lem started, face red as he looked away, “I don’t recall it like that.”

“Asked me if I wanted to start a tribe of our own too. You thought yourself oh so fresh. My brothers howling with laughter when I took you to my room then booted you out stark naked still echoes in my mind. An incorrigible rake. You had to be trained.

“Our son will be yalms more respectable…By the Twelve, he might not even fancy women. What would you do then,” she asked, eyes flickering red.

Y’lem’s ears perked up as his wife postured the question, not wanting to stoke the fires of the beast within her. “No doubt love him all the same if that is your worry. I’m not a monster. Besides, he won’t be our last.”

The man put his hand on his love’s stomach, ear wiggling, hoping that it my satiate her building rage. Zel closed her eyes then opened them again. Inner beast tamed, for now. “Hopefully. While I don’t intend to give you a tribe, I did come from a large family myself. Only three of us would be far too quiet.”

-North Vesper Bay Outpost, a bit after the Warrior of Light’s defeat of Nibriales-

Y’lem shuddered. “Hopefully not as wild as your lot. I don’t think I can manage-“

He wished he’d stopped before he started, stoking the fires once more in her eyes. Y’lem’s scream could be heard all over the hinterlands that night before silenced when he hit the sea. The topic of leadership of the Y tribe went away for a time after. Long enough for Y’zel to be brought into this world and for the man to see his wife off.

And so here he was, picking back up combat training, starting with relearning the way of the axe, as his mother before him. A lost art from an old clan. Before him, a man that looked like he could barely pick up a book, let alone an axe.

Y’zel blinked as he looked up at the hooded Elzen, the latter’s eyes obscured by a strange set of goggles. He was supposed to meet someone to assist in his Warrior training, still not quite ready to journey to Old Sharlayan to reunite with the Keeper side of the family that his soul stone was passed down from. Y’shtola was quick to send him away once brought back from Coerthas, putting distance between himself from Ysayle until more could be learned. While it felt good to get away from Ishgard, he felt that his cousin wouldn’t leave him to his own devices. A Scion seemed to be involved in every task his cousin bade him do while things were uncovered.

“I think there was a mistake. Are you sure there isn’t another Urianger inhabiting the Waking Sands?”

“Nay. Thou hath found they teacher. I believe this was a misguided effort by thy cousin to bring comfort to me in the wake of the loss of a dear friend. She too, wielded a great axe like yourself. Growing up alongside her, I was privy to her mastery. She worked her body as hard as her mind, and to be closer to her, I took it upon myself to learn what I could about her craft. While no master, I believe I can instruct well enough.”

Y’zel nodded slowly. “I see…I’m sorry for your loss.”

�� “Time heals all, yet you are nary here to empathize, but to learn. Now, take your stance before the striking dummy.”

The Miqo’te nodded then pulled out his axe. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply then parted his gate and squat a little.

“Good. Now, your opener.”

Y’zel flattened his ears as the man reminisced. “I-I’m plenty fierce! I am a student of the dark arts…I am…I am…”

Y’zel flung his axe forward then rushed in to retrieve it. Delivering three strikes in succession, he panted then looked to his teacher as the Elzen shook his head.

“You hath the basic swings down; however, how doth you think you’re generating enmity? The Warrior is fierce. Thy art…well, thy art rather soft looking to be honest. One must project a sense of foreboding. Why Moenbreyda, even when charming there was a certain air to her that one did not to cross. Sweet as she was, she was the kind to axe first, then question after if thou will allow me a pun.”

“Thou art what? A small Tia, with soft pink ears, and a long fluffy tail. How would thou ever hope to be a Nuhn if thou cannot even intimidate a defenseless scholar such as myself? Should I send word to your dear cousin that thou are incapable of performing and send you on your way back to her with thy tail between thy legs?”

The Miqo’te let out a cry of frustration and swung his axe down hard into the striking dummy as the other took shots at him. Dust swirled about him as he swiped again and again at the sparing tool until he felt something come over him. “I do not want to be a Nuhn,” he screamed before rising his axe high then cleaving the wooden figure in half, panting hard as he felt the energy expend from him, “I want to be me!”

Urianger clapped softly then gave a nod of approval. “I do apologize for putting you on, but I believe thou successfully executed several attacks under the Berserker stance and managed to release thou’s inner beast? Do you sense it now? I believe Moenbryda surmised it to be a cathartic release after a surge of unbridled rage.”

“I felt…something…unpleasant memories…but also, I felt good in a way too? Defiant against what was expected of me…proud of who I am. Sorry, that probably doesn’t make much sense.”

“It does not need to. In everyone there doth live anger and self-doubt. What better way to crush it than channeling it into righteous fury. At the end of the day, it is not anger that moves a warrior, it is passion and self-confidence. My dear friend had a lot of both. I’m sure there are many things that move thou, and many things inside telling thou that thou are not worthy of those things. Use thy inner fire to assuage the latter, and your axe will strike true every time.”

Y’zel nodded a bit as he tried to catch his breath. “My father…wanted me to best my uncle someday…reinstate the old ways of the Jaguar tribe, like many other Seekers; however, I didn’t want that. Still, I trained as he asked all my life until he parted…I’ll never be a Nuhn like he wanted, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a big family. I have my cousins, and uncle Y’rhul, my aunties and uncles on my mother’s side, and no matter what has happened to me, I always have found family in someone else and I imagine that will get bigger the more I travel and grow…

“…And right now, some of that family needs me to become strong so I can help her make people see the truth of things. I need to become stronger so I can go back and protect her. Let’s keep going. Tell me more of what your friend taught you.”

Y’zel flicked his tail around before retaking his stance, feeling the same rise in energy building up again. Urianger bowed a bit then stiffened back upright. “Well then, let’s begin again. Restart with thou opener please.”

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv oc #ffxiv miqo'te #y'lem tia #zel nobolo #urianger augurelt #Y'zel tia #warrior #etched in stone #handed down from stone

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