#i have so much to write about ffxiv that it's so overwhelming. my love for it has no end | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

draiochteve · 11 months

Text

Shadowbringers being 4 years old now just has brought back so many feelings, emotions, and gratefulness that it's overwhelming. I've seen others express sentiment that the expansion saved/changed their life and it and I echo that as silly as it may seem to some.

I was in a really shitty place. Life was really looking bleak and I was running out of joy. No work, relationship issues, family making life hell, etc. I was actually mad at the game and ready to quit despite it being my primary escape (and I will confess, logging in as a scholar main that early release day 1 was difficult and I was upset enough I almost didn't give the expansion a shot). However, my partner insisted that what was ahead was meant for me and to keep going. As funny as it is to say, those damn purple trees in Lakeland is what began me letting go of my bitterness and take each step with wide eyed interest. The Crystarium was honestly more magnificent seeing in game than in the trailer. But, of all the things that planted the strongest seed in my heart, it was seeing Exarch rushing into the middle of Lakeland to find us. I need to preface this with where I was creatively and fandom wise. I was struggling on my original fiction and had just began writing fanfic again as a means to learn to stop destroying my own work because I didn't think it was up to par. I wasn't even writing in final fantasy universe (not to say I hadn't before. I use to be known elsewhere in other numbered games). And as for fandom, I had been checked out since my last major deep dive in my teens due to some traumatic shit that happened. I'd enjoy from affair, but the drive to participate again was minuscule. I was more than happy to sit and daydream about my favs in solitude. And none of my favs involved FFXIV. Cloud Strife was my fixation for nearly a decade and no FFXIV could possibly top him. There was no contest and I just wasn't invested in FFXIV enough then to even absorb the story anywhere near as much as I do now (that's a tale for another time). So, lemme tell you when I realized those first feelings of that new fandom fav love was stirring, in such an intense way that I hadn't felt SINCE I first played FFVII, something in me fundamentally changed. Am I saying the catboy rewired my brain chemistry? Considering my ridiculous G'raha fanmerch collection, yes. I found myself binging the entire expansion and finishing it the day before official launch. I was awestruck. Everything just scratched the itch right. Is it a perfect expansion? No, but it brought to the table so much that I was desperately lacking in FFXIV to get invested in the story to the depths that nearly competes with my love of Elder Scrolls.

I remember vividly laying in bed just smiling. That euphoria of having experienced a piece of media so enjoyable that you want more. You have to have more. It's that scratch many creatives in fandom know and is the backbone of our fannish society. I checked Ao3 and there was maybe 1 fic. Okay, fair, we were still in early release. So I read it, found myself still unsatisfied, but decided I'd simply play the game and goof off while I wait. 3 days in, only 1 more and I saw a pile of Emet fics instead. And this is not a bashing on Emet fans, y'all were on that sucker so fast like god bless the devil works hard but y'all work harder. But man if it didn't make my stomach sink. I'd fallen in love with characters before that next to no one cared about and not being heavily on social media at the time, I had a great fear Exarch just didn't sit right with most people are just wasn't as wonderful as I saw. Finally, a week in, I couldn't take it anymore. I realize now, looking back, people were trying to avoid putting out spoilers or were still just digesting the entire expansion. Meanwhile, here I am about to burst at the seams. And burst I did. The first story was for a friend. A silly second person POV subway AU spawned from an inside joke. I still cherish that story to this day as it was made in a moment of pure bliss following a conversation. Then, that bliss turned to anxiety and horror as I let it be public on Ao3. It didn't get much attention at the time and I still am not surprised, but that was a relief. Not too many eyes on me so I could just do whatever. "Whatever" was a feral release of Exarch fics in such rapid succession I've pondered to this day if I was possessed. I was filling a bit of a void in my life as well as in the fandom, but doing so creating was something I hadn't done in so long. It felt incredible. Looking back, it felt like I was in this little happy corner just writing away, finally not scolding myself or tearing down myself, but indulging. Just being. And bless my partner, I couldn't fucking shut up about the Exarch and I know for a while it did get on his nerves and was exhausting. But despite that, he recognized there was something growing in me that he had only seen glimmers of in our years together. It was him that pushed me to join an Exarch fan discord and to stop hiding myself away. Go meet people that are just as enamored as you. Go make those friends. I was terrified and scared that I'd regret diving in. In fact, I convinced myself I was only going to lurk which that sure didn't work out. Instead, what ended up happening was what was the final turning point towards something better. I met so many people I still talk to regularly (many still daily) who helped me find my voice, my courage, fostered my creativity, and encouraged me to keep making. I met so many other writers and artists! Soon, so many people were writing in the fandom it was hard to keep track of new stories. For a while, I was writing for them instead of myself and I don't regret that. I felt like I had found community again. And it's something that I desperately needed. Good and bad happened of course as is what happens with any fandom space. I lost some of those new friends as fast as I made them and some just weren't meant to hang around in my life. But those that are still here stand out as some of the strongest friendships I've ever had. I don't regret it one bit. I'd like to specifically blame my friend Gyoz for this (and you should totally go read her fics ) for the next stage of my FFXIV writing career which was the horny. I was so anxious to expose myself like that again in fandom space and go feral to the point I was incredibly self conscious about being judged. But she was there from the start telling me to not fucking bother worrying about that and to have fun. Be horny on main. Who cares if not everyone likes it? Just go for it. And as most here know, I did and didn't quite stop being horny on main LOL. That liberation led to more experimentation and finally led to Japhinne being born who truly has been a moon in my sky. Taking the step to let her be has opened so many doors for me that it would take another long ass post to explain, but know that she saved me. And I wouldn't have had her without shadowbringers or my friends. I went through so much shit after introducing her to the world (scary af surgery, falling outs, a lot of uncertainty with the future) but those around me and the need to write her stories were such huge factors in helping me pull myself up and not just settle to hurt alone. Saying goodbye to the Crystarium during 5.3 was distressing enough (...confession, I was so worried about Exarch's fate and how I couldn't let Japh continue in canon should he pass that I stayed up until 4AM my time to find datamined dialogue in Japanese confirming he had awaken on the Source. Once I knew, I fucking clocked out for 3 hours and immediately got to playing lol), but that final, for sure farewell upon the week before Endwalker...it was like saying goodbye to home. Things change, people come and go, stories continue. I still find myself wandering the Crystarium remembering how full it once was. Remembering the people gathering and meme-ing in shout chat while browsing the market board (cheers to the people arguing if Emet was a power bottom or not. I never got to see the end of that debate LMAO). Rushing to the Ocular to AFK, log out, or pester Exarch with his wind-up or his name. The music, the atmosphere, the everything. I have similar cherished memories from the other expansions and other zones (shout out to the BLUs self destructing around the Aetheryte in the Middy Eulmore to resummon Innocence sjfhksjdhks) but the Crystarium during 5.0-5.3 will forever be my dwelling in heart. I've gotten engaged since then, had multiple jobs and secured a steady one, have written and published over 200k of fic (with at least 50k more unpublished), and I look back and wonder where the fuck would I even be now without shadowbringers. So, if you made it to the end of this ramble, thanks for reading, and thank you shadowbringers for fucking existing.

#shadowbringers #ffxiv #I'M FEELING NOSTALGIC OKAY #drai rambles

0 notes

echthr0s · 2 years

Text

ffxiv wol questions #1 (dayir edition)

Why did they pick their first class/job? What about the job they main now?

largely because of eir Allagan Heart, Dayir is inherently inclined towards the summoning arts, but ey did not become aware of that until eir first encounter with a primal (whom ey consumed in an intricate and probably-not-for-the-eyes-of-younglings dance that ey performed with guidance from, uh-- okay, that's a slightly more complex story, I'll get to that another time). as suggested by what I just said, eir first learned discipline was actually the art of dance, which ey picked up partially from eir home culture in the Steppe (where dance is heavily ritualised) and partially from eir time in Thavnair before ey travelled to Eorzea. they don't dance the Kriegstanz like Troupe Falsiam do, but the effect is often similar. what I will say is that the kind of dance Dayir does earns em a lot of gil in high-end pillowhouses from Ul'dah to Ishgard and beyond.

incorporating the summoning arts into eir dance was a foregone conclusion, and eir skill with aether manipulation (it gives em an edge with healing magics, and illusion-shaping is something ey sometimes do for fun) is not to be slept upon either. we do end up with a bit of a Yuna-but-make-it-sexy vibe in the end, because there are definitely necromantic elements to what ey do as well (just ask Emet-Selch). I think if ey were to just choose a job to represent eir complex and myriad talents, ey would just use "dancer", because dance is the foundation of everything for em. but that would erase a lot of context.

ultimately, Dayir's skillset is under constant evolution because ey pick up new knowledge and deeper understanding of eir own abilities everywhere ey go, from Eorzea to Doma to Sharlayan 1.0 to the past to the literal fkn edge of the universe, lol. not to mention what ey learn from the various individuals who commune with em from across the aetherial sea and beyond.

and this is to say nothing of eir more "mundane" exploits, jobs in the literal sense -- ey have been modelling for various ateliers since ey were talent-scouted in Thavnair, ey perform in shows of varying complexity and risk for kink-oriented pillowhouses, and ey may not have the wealth of time and focus to dedicate to becoming an accomplished craftsman but ey have a great eye for materials and artistry and have been the catalyst for many a lucrative trade deal. [unnamed viera OC] is definitely the more skilled in mercantile matters, but whilst she's shrewd at the brass tacks portion, it's Dayir who has the eye for the goods in the first place.

#i don't know when i'll be able to write again but i'm sick of being sad about that and being unable to write about my bbys so #memes it is!!!#doing one question at a time so i can be as rambly as i damn well please without overwhelming my damn self with #how much text ends up in one lil box #not to mention i have two wols :V .... i love being complicated #oc: dayir #the ffxiv tag #general oc tag

6 notes · View notes

noxtivagus · 2 years

Text

thinking abt ffxiv again reminded me of some notes i wrote last year

#🌙.rambles #[ ffxiv. ]#i have so much to write about ffxiv that it's so overwhelming. my love for it has no end #anyways i rmber smth lovely i wrote as well #i like describing stuff #i rmber writing some 'aesthetics' perhaps on how my /love/ for these characters differ #wait i'll get my old phone #ahh i love how i write so passionately whenever i get lost in these sort of stuff #oh these are actually pretty cute but so fucking embarrassing #this was around a year ago. oh my god i've grown a lot since then #but i'll still the same writer at heart huh #oh my god i see myself in these words so much i still remember writing them #aymeric/wol for me is like a familiar sense of comfort. a home you can always return to #alphy/wol being closer in age is more. soft and sweet. youthful admiration and pining. shy affection.#the other stuff i have here on the scions being like family is so cute #y'sthola being that teasing big sis. annoyingly witty at times but always there to watch over and be there for you #i really miss writing and imagining like this #free in my individuality. comfortable in my own identity.#when you grow up/as time goes by i guess writing and dreaming of stuff like this becomes more hmmm. full of fear #as reality seeps in. and personally i have a /thing/ (/neg) with accepting (?) how fiction overlaps with reality #as i grow older it becomes more 'embarrassing' and harder to accept fiction when youre afraid of accepting how it reflects on u in reality?#not exactly in that bcs it's real but. in a sense that maybe i'm afraid of how it would reflect on my real image and identity &#the vulnerability that comes with that certain acceptance #ohhh i get it but holy fuck am i bad at writing it down coherently #ever since 2022 started i've been more in touch with my reality that maybe i've become more afraid with facing/accepting certain aspects #especially since 2021 i was alone (aside from my family/ffxiv which i could safely be true to my identity)#reality can be much more damaging if acceptance/understanding is absent in a certain way.#and i think some lingering trauma from 2020 still holds me back in some ways.#in the end i'm still not sure of what to do or what i /want/ but. it's interesting to reflect/think on and analyze #hmmm i believe in myself and that i'll find what i seek. though i am wandering and maybe even lost / i'll forge my own path.

0 notes

corseque · 2 years

Note

just how canon is the emet-selch romance? i am considering playing the game but given that it takes like 60 hours to start getting to the good content and then spend $ on the expansions i am trying to really figure out if i am going to be into it. i really have a preference for canon romances rather than this-could-be-interpreted-as-romantic ships these days.

I almost replied to this with a simple "if you play through this whole entire game and regret it, I will refund you the money you spent" but I don't have any money to put on the line. But I still feel that way.

it's an mmorpg where you can play as a lalafell, and so it has to work under those constraints. AND YET. It does. Somehow. Extremely romantically. The writing is extremely clever.

I'm not sure how to explain it without spoilers. if you have similar taste in romantic ships as me, trust me about this. The expansion (Endwalker) that just came out to conclude the main storyline is somehow even better than the expansion (shadowbringers) that I have been gushing foolishly about for a year. The story is complete, and I don't want to hype it but the romance is so tender, sad, romantic and sweeping and mythical and beautiful, and makes me want to write fanfiction... it's exactly to my tastes

There's a reason that me (and Nipuni) have totally paused making anything for Dragon Age to play this fully complete and satisfying story. This is the best video game romance I have ever played, it's so subtle and beautifully written and overwhelming and indulgent and huge in scope, and the writer is a genius. I would be extremely surprised if Dragon Age gave me more than like 4 lines referencing the Solas romance in DA4, and before playing FFXIV I was going to be just fine with that. But compared to what I just experienced in FFXIV.... I don't even know how to describe how loved I feel by the writing without spoiling it.

You can play through the story until level 60 for free, then pay for the base game and play levels 60-90 like a single-player RPG and cancel your subscription right after getting to the end, if you want to play it that way.

The first part of the game is kind of a spiceless slog in comparison, writing-wise, but I recommend playing it so you have the context of the characters for the really good writing toward the end of the game. Luckily, you do not have to pay for a subscription or the game while playing the early more boring part, and it doesn't take too long to play through. (They give you a kind of straightforward good vs evil story at the beginning and then use that initial boring story to launch more interesting storylines in the later expansions.)

My favorite writer, who wrote the two extremely good expansions Shadowbringers and Endwalker, also wrote Heavensward, which is the level 50-60 content in the snowy elf area. So if you play level the 50-60 content for free (and play the Dark Knight Questline, which she also wrote and I think teases the potential of her writing) and don't like the writing compared to the first part, then you will probably know you can stop playing. But Heavensward is good, and if you like it, then know that Shadowbringers is several times as good, and Endwalker is better than Shadowbringers. (They all build on each other though).

I recommend playing with Japanese dialogue because I love Emet-Selch's Japanese voice so much.

#FF14

34 notes · View notes

echodrops · 2 years

Text

Finally Finished Endwalker

I was delayed a lot by work, but I finally managed to finish Endwalker and boy do I have Thoughts™.

Under the read more to hide spoilers, but if you’re on mobile and the read more didn’t work, please be aware the rest of this post is full to brim with

Endwalker spoilers!

Things I Loved:

1. That entire sequence in Garlemald hit like a truck. Watching Jullus recognize the trauma he had experienced was deeply moving. “Alea Iacta Est” was one of the most atmospheric and stage-setting quests in the game.

2. The humor sprinkled in throughout that kept the otherwise ridiculously dark storyline from becoming too overwhelming. Finding out Estinien is actually terrible with money, that Urianger curls into a ball when he feels sick, and that Alphinaud has fanboys was all so emotionally relieving after the literal crushing despair of the plot’s main events.

3. Vrtra. Just... Everything about Vrtra, especially his relationship with Estinien. Watching Estinien play big brother to a fifty-ton dragon with self-esteem issues is just so heartwarming and fantastic. I absolutely love the way dragons are handled in FFXIV--they both fulfill that ancient dragon lore itch, of the towering beast that ferociously guards its hoard (in Vrtra’s case, the hoard is people), but the FFXIV dragons are also all incredibly unique characters with decidedly human personalities, challenges, and feelings. Seeing Estinien find such respect and care for the First Brood continues to delight over and over again.

4. Lunatender... Lunatender...

5. The character interactions were absolutely what makes Endwalker. FFXIV in general would not receive nearly as much acclaim if it weren’t for the genuine love that goes into the writing of each character and their interactions with others. Alphinaud proving himself to his father, Urianger finding closure for Moenbryda’s death through her parents, sharing stories of joy with Venat on the wall in Elpis, Emet-Selch’s utter refusal to be seen as emotionally vulnerable... Every moment of the story was overflowing with the writers’ love for their characters, and the tiny interactions between these figures who we have known and cared for for so long elevate Endwalker into something truly magical. I cried like seven times, I don’t know about you.

6. Azem. The concept of Azem in general. The absolute care and attention that went into building the concept of Azem and tying it directly into the player’s literal journey from a level one newbie adventurer to a god-slaying Warrior of Light is just incredible. Every time the idea of traveling, drinking in the wonders of the world, and the hint of adventures still left to be enjoyed comes up in the story, the profound feeling of love this triggers in the player is nothing short of masterfully done. Being “the Traveler” is simply wonderful, both in the game and as a concept applied to the real-life players. Venat being the previous Azem was a super clever way to make players immediately care for her.

7. Related to this, the cultural influences on each zone truly give the game a global feeling. Experiencing India in Thavnair and revolutionary Russia in Garlemald (this last one surprised me; always thought it had a more Roman vibe), the ancient Greece of Elpis, and the hilariously British feel to Sharlayan creates the sense that the world of Etheirys is as wide and varied as our own. Zones are good stuff in this expansion. Ultima Thule left such an impression on me, I’m still thinking about it now.

8. The music. I don’t even need to say anything else. I resented every quest sound and battle sound effect in the last zone for interrupting my listening experience.

9. The new side characters. They really nailed it with the side characters this time around. Erenville’s push to unionize the gleaners was fantastic, Loifa getting clowned on in his own quest line was endearing, Matsya’s struggle in the jungle, Ahewann’s sacrifice... Incredibly well done side characters throughout. Hythlodaeus is single-handedly the best ancient.

10. There is a lot of underlying allusion and connotation to unpack with Meteion, especially in terms of stories like “the bluebird of happiness” and the--I’m sure--intentional references to alchemy through the concept of the “Bird of Hermes.” Although I didn’t quite think that this story had the depth of allusion that Shadowbringers did, it’s not without its Easter egg bonuses for those who are well-versed in literature.

11. Endwalker selected a “moral of the story” and ran with it. This expansion had a point worth making about life and finding joy in our experiences even though we all also experience suffering. It is a valuable and timely message that undoubtedly hit many, many players very hard.

Things I Disliked:

Hoo boy. Where to start. Listen. If you take Endwalker at its surface level, it is the pinnacle of classical JRPG. It absolutely feels like being back in the 90s, playing FF6, FF7, FF9, etc., the games that reshaped your very understanding of JRPG and 90s’ video games in the first place. It has all the hallmarks of truly classic Final Fantasy through and through: quirky party members, the bizarre mash up of technology and magic that just somehow works in concept, the weird jokes, your party members following along behind you like ducklings, random mini games that appear without warning, the bosses that literally stepped out of Yoshitaka Amano artwork, the spectacular, over-the-top battles with planets being thrown around, and most notably... a high-stakes story line that makes absolutely no sense if you think about it too hard.

I loved everything about Endwalker except the actual plot. On an individual level, the dialogue of the characters was masterfully written. Everything had an incredible emotional impact. But it’s putting it gently to say the plot was a mess.

Fandaniel wants to kill everyone because he’s actually Amon, who wants to kill everyone because he enabled the collapse of his own society, because he’s actually Hermes who accidentally initiated the downfall of his society and killed everyone because he’s a member of PETA--

The elder primal, Lord of Darkness Incarnate you were looking forward to fighting for eight years is nothing but a husk to be possessed by said ancient clown and your character will kill him 1/4 of the way through the story as if he were nothing more than a stepping stone only to realize you done fucked up and now the deaths of thousands of people are on your hands--and at no point in the story will anyone ever say “Man it probably would have been better for you to not stand there and watch dumbly while Fandaniel possessed Zodiark, WoL. You could have interrupted his monologue at any moment. Thanks for kickstarting the Final Days again, bro.”

Half way through your story, the narrative will be high-jacked by a bunch of talking rabbits, who, while cute, also serve as a walking deus ex machina plot device to dump anything you could possibly need for the rest of the story directly into your character’s pocket, all while no explanation for their existence--which breaks several previously established rules of the game’s world-building--is ever given.

And then we get the fucking time travel. Let’s actually just put aside the frustrating idea that this entire scene contradicts the pre-established rules of time travel in FFXIV (that you can, in fact, change the past, and doing so just creates splinter timelines). Did I love going to Elpis and seeing Emet-Selch, Hythlodaeus (truly a joy), and learning about Venat? FOR SURE. Did Hermes pose an interesting moral dilemma in his love for all creatures great and small? Definitely. Does any of the rest of it make sense with the rules FFXIV established earlier? Not in the slightest.

It was literally laid out in previous works that things created with creation magic do not have souls. They can acquire souls by accident, spontaneously at the time of creation, or their off-spring can eventually acquire souls if they adhere to the natural order of the world. So why does no one fucking bat an eyelash at Meteion? Where did her soul come from? Is Hermes really so constantly overwrought by the deaths of subjects that, for the most part, shouldn’t even have souls?

Then we get the memory wipe nonsense with Kairos, which, honestly, while another painfully obvious plot device, would at least have made the entire fact that we went back in time to Elpis no longer a plothole-inducing nightmare... But Venat isn’t caught in the memory wipe.

Venat isn’t caught in the memory wipe. Which means she knows everything. She knows Meteion is the cause of the Final Days, she knows what is coming with Zodiark and Hydaelyn, she knows the future of mankind...

And she does nothing to stop any of it.

She lets the apocalypse happen. She lets Zodiark happen. She makes the Sundering happen.

“Oh but Echo,” I hear you saying, “the Convocation wouldn’t have believed her so she had no way to stop the Final Days from happening.” Absolute nonsense. HERMES KNOWS ABOUT DYNAMIS. You’re really going to tell me that Elidibus wouldn’t have at least listened and considered what she had to say? That Azem--who was still on the Convocation at the time--wouldn’t have sided with her if she told them an alien entity was attacking their planet? Absolute nonsense through and through.

“Oh but Echo, she had to let Zodiark happen because there was no way to shield the planet from Meteion’s Dynamis without him.” The story is really trying to tell me that people who can create entire living beings from thin air could not have come up with a better plan to shield their planet than CREATING A GOD if they were given proper warning and actually knew what was attacking them? More nonsense.

“Oh but Echo, she had to Sunder the Ancients because she needed people who could deal with despair and manipulate Dynamis to defeat Meteion.” Again, is the story really trying to tell us that there was no other way than BREAKING REALITY to develop beings capable of manipulating Dynamis? HERMES CREATED METEION. My head hurts, guys.

“Oh but Echo, Venat had to Sunder everyone because they were seeking perfection and seeking perfection is what leads to the stagnation of civilizations! They would have been their own downfall if she let them stay that course!” The story doubles down on this idea that “perfection leads to stagnation” so many times over the course of the latter zones that it’s actually painful, but it’s portrayed in such a stupidly black and white way that it breaks immersion in an otherwise fairly politically realistic story. Are you really trying to tell me that every single society in the universe that ever achieved health and prosperity eventually devoured itself from the inside out because of unflagging extremist values and that none of them ever managed to just... modulate themselves and tend toward mediocrity again? None of them ever managed to change course?

There was really no other way to prevent cultural stagnation than breaking people’s souls into tiny pieces and inventing the concepts of war, famine, disease, suffering, and violent death? No incremental social change? Ancients can create gods but can’t create the concept of activism? My head really, really hurts.

“Oh but Echo, Venat had to do all those things because she knew the WoL was from the future and she had to protect the WoL’s timeline and people too.”

Yes, the people she created by fucking up so badly in the past.

Being more serious, the real issue with Venat’s actions after Elpis is that they have nothing to do with her genuine character. None of the choices are organic. Instead, they are all done in service to the plot. The Final Days needs to happen, Zodiark needs to happen, Hydaelyn needs to happen, and the Sundering needs to happen all because the pre-established plot demands that they do. Venat’s choices after Elpis don’t happen because they are genuinely how a person in her role and with her personality would actually act--they’re just what the plot NEEDS her to do. She becomes nothing more than a sock puppet for the story rather than actually having any agency of her own. Couple all this with the retcon to Hydaelyn’s motivations that happened with Shadowbringers, and we have the recipe for truly bungled character.

And the stupidest thing is that none of these questions needed to exist--if Venat had been caught in Kairos’s memory wipe too, we would have had no doubts about her motivations and would have just said “She did all those things because she didn’t remember the future; she was only trying to stop Zodiark. She didn’t know about Meteion and had no idea they could have stopped her themselves all along...” etc. If she had just forgotten like Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus, there would have been no issue, so why???

And that bungling occurs at all levels, introducing as many plot holes as there are shards of the star. Where did the Loporitts get their souls? How do the Loporitts have creation magic? Why would Hydaelyn tell the Sharlayans to build a spaceship when the Ancients KNOW HOW TO CREATE TELEPORTERS? How did Hydaelyn “Send Fandaniel far away”--HE CAN TELEPORT!! Why turn the moon into your escape device when it also houses Zodiark? Oh no, our memory has been wiped by this mysterious Kairos “explosion”! It sure would be convenient if we had a magical power that let us view memories left behind, imprinted on each location... Yeah, too bad that doesn’t exist, right?

Then we get to the main message of the expansion: life is hard, but you can’t give in to despair. Totally fine. Great message even, very meaningful and relevant to our time. But then the story applies this message seemingly randomly.

If it had just been a straightforward: we’re all mortal, death is inevitable, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t make the most of life, it would have made perfect sense. The problem is that they also had the dimension of having the utopian world of the Ancients. So they had to figure out how to justify the downfall from utopia to painful mortality, and then still give people the message that life was worth living. Their solution to this conundrum was to suggest that the downfall of civilizations that seek perfection is inevitable, and that the act of seeking perfection is itself what causes cultures to collapse, and therefore mortality and failure is necessary for society to keep on persisting.

But then they’re all over the place with this idea. The dragons were literally doing nothing, just living their lives, and death came for them anyway. Sure the ancients might have been on the path to stagnation, but it wasn’t stagnation that wiped out their society; it was entirely by random chance that Meteion happened to experience what she did and happened to be able to control Dynamis the way she could. Seek perfection and you die. Don’t seek perfection and... you still die.

If any society that strives to eliminate war and famine is doomed for a downfall, then what has been the purpose of all our Warrior of Light’s peacekeeping and nation-uniting actions up to this point? We’ve spent five games’ worth of time and effort now trying to eliminate Etheirys’s wars, heal the sick, fight for freedoms--only to now hear that the only reward of the very course we’ve whole-heartedly committed our characters to for eight years now might be the eventual fall of our planet?

The ultimate point of the story is that nihility is terrible and mankind’s greatest strength is his ability to hold on to hope and not give up despite facing endless suffering. That living and pursuing your dreams in life is essential to continuing to lift yourself from the dust again and again... But also, don’t pursue your dreams too hard because if you succeed in achieving all your dreams, YOU’LL KILL YOUR ENTIRE SOCIETY.

In trying to make a powerful statement against nihility but also using fantasy races of immortals as their examples, the plot becomes an ouroboros that eats itself: The more your character strives to help people, end wars, unite countries, and make the world a better place, the closer Etheirys comes to perfection--and therefore, apparently, to total fucking annihilation.

Endwalker tried to tie too many disparate plot threads and references together to really create the sensation of a finale, but in trying to tie so many threads together, they created a tangle that will unravel if you think at it too hard.

And just... the tension was never where it needed to be in the last half of the story! How were we supposed to be afraid for the scions sacrificing themselves in Ultima Thule KNOWING that Hydaelyn had just specifically given us the power to bring them back from that exact thing??? When base Shadowbringers was ending, I was completely on the edge of my seat, wondering what would happen, how we’d overcome both Hades and the light, how we’d get back up to do the fight, how our character would get out of the recreation of the Final Days... And when Ardbert handed us his axe and G’raha summoned champions from beyond the rift, it was like watching the puzzle pieces all fall perfectly into place. The feeling of satisfaction was immense. Watching all the NPCs gather in Sharlayan was nice, but there was never any doubt or concern for that obvious outcome. There were no stakes because everything was telegraphed so blatantly. The creation magic, the personal teleporter... Ultima Thule’s plot got the wind taken out of its sails because it was supposed to be about our character “holding on to hope and not giving into despair,” but because it was blatantly obvious that no one was in any actual danger and all the scions sacrificing themselves would be immediately undone in the end, the story in Ultima Thule gives us nothing to despair over and nothing we would desperately need to hope for either. It was disappointing to not get to experience those feelings fully because the plot devices were simply way too obvious.

Anyway, look, I can’t think about the plot for much longer or I’ll get brain cancer, so let me just talk about something else:

The pacing of the story varies wildly, and the order in which you start the MSQ really impacts the flow of the beginning of the expansion.

Splitting players in to two different zones makes sense to reduce the load of players in opening areas. Doing this in Shadowbringers worked well because whether you picked Alisaie or Alphinaud, you got a similar brief experience and then were able to move into the first dungeon without a noticeable delay. However, in Endwalker, if you choose to start in Thavnair instead of Sharlayan, the pacing of the expansion’s opening is utterly destroyed. Dealing with the drama of Nidhana being kidnapped and Fandaniel being there tormenting you in the tower... only to then leave and do a bunch of joke quests about reading books and turning into frogs to stealth past your adopted kids’ dad literally sucks all tension out of the opening before the first dungeon. And, in general, the push to the first dungeon is way too long--literally twice the number of quests it took to get the first dungeon in Shadowbringers, with twice as many cutscenes and significantly fewer battles. Unless you start in Sharlayan, the pace of the opening before reaching the first dungeon is terrible.

And the same thing happens again on the moon. The Loporitts are cute, but you’ve literally just been told that your actions straight up RESTARTED THE APOCALYPSE. Trying out blue carrots and taking a bunny on a walk ring as nothing more than hollow diversions from an already tenuously held together plot line. I like the Loporitts, but having to spend all that time exploring the moon base was a disaster in terms of maintaining the natural progression of the story.

My only other truly major gripe was the villains. After writing such a fantastic villain in Emet-Selch, seeing this expansion’s meandering villains was such a let down. Anima was completely over-hyped and underdeveloped in the story; there should have been so much more to that reveal. The horror of hacking your own father up to use his limbs to create mindless slaves to the empire via propaganda is interesting, but the radio aspect under-utilized--if the radio had been the medium through which Varis’s tempering was spread, I think that would have been much more interesting.

Zenos had zero actual role in the plot except as a deus ex machina at the end; he was just... there. No contributions to 9/10ths of the story, just... there. At the beginning, I thought we might actually get some kind of character growth out of him, but even all the way to the end of the story, he is never able to bridge the gap between himself and others. All the way to the final scene, he never understands the Warrior of Light. He still just asserts his own version of events into every line of his dialogue, and that’s... sad. It’s sad to see a character that could have been really interesting just flounder in a plot that is SO RELEVANT to his (obviously nihilistic) character and yet gives him absolutely nothing to do. There is no way you can convince me “Zenos learns life has meaning after meeting Meteion, the embodiment of despair” wouldn’t have been an infinitely more logical plot for his character. And there’s so much they just never explained... Why become a reaper? Why does he get such a unique voidsent avatar? Why did he dream of the Final Days? I can only assume he isn’t really dead and will be coming back to have more of a role in the future, so they’re leaving questions unanswered for now, but it was not satisfying.

Fandaniel being Amon was interesting but also criminally under-developed. We should have gotten much more extended flashbacks to the Allagans to really highlight the comparison between the Allagans and the Ancients and to show Amon‘s struggles with the dreams of horror of Hermes’ past. To really understand his motivations and his reason for choosing to cling to “Amon” specifically instead of Hermes, we needed much more of Amon himself.

And don’t get me started on Hermes. Just... don’t. Did I sniffle a little watching him say goodbye to the liokanes that had to be returned to concepts? Yes. Did the ending voiceover of granting Meteion the Elpis flowers in Ultima Thule hit me hard? Yes. Does anything else about this character make sense? No.

His point that the Ancients are callous towards their creations would feel a lot more relevant if it wasn’t a last second retcon that the Ancients could even create things with souls in them. Since it was previously established that their creations don’t contain souls, his bleeding heart just comes across as a bit bizarre. There’s also no explanation for why he--and he alone!--seems to have this bleeding heart, when all the others are ambivalent. It’s even kind of vaguely implied that due to having so much aether, the ancients can’t interact with Dynamis easily, and therefore you might think their feelings are more muted than humans’ would be--but not Hermes. For no reason that the story ever bothers to explain, he just really, really, really cares.

He cares so much that he hears one report’s worth of terrible news and decides... to kill everyone. Including his precious animals.

Hermes: Death is NOT beautiful.

Hermes, ten seconds later: I’LL SEND US ALL INTO OBLIVION.

This character is the literal definition of “That escalated quickly.” Even if he was faced with despair on a cosmic level, the absolute and ultimate futility of life, is that really enough to make such a gentle and peaceful man actively decide to kill everyone?

The jump from 0 to 100 happened too fast and without sufficient development to make it genuinely believable.

And what’s this fucking shit with retconning tempering to be “just something the Ascians threw in”? If Zodiark wasn’t tempering people, then that meant he was literally just doing his fucking job, bothering no one, being a savior... and Hydaelyn beat the shit out of him and imprisoned him for 12,000 years for ENTIRELY NO REASON. What a horrible life for a being to have. To be honest, this idea right here is probably the worst thing Endwalker had to offer, and I hope they fix it in the future, because retconning tempering that hard just invalidates so much of the previous story that it’s actually offensive to my sensibilities.

What do I even say about Meteion? I liked her? I felt terrible for her? Her boss design was cool and very classic Final Fantasy, but... at the end of the day, she was just disappointing compared to the theories I had been formulating in my head about what the “Sound” from beneath the earth might be for the two years since Shadowbringers. I really believed we would be dealing with some cosmic invader that feasted upon living planets to gorge itself, etc. Finding out that the cause of the Final Days was instead just a single misguided familiar invented by a single misguided Ancient tuned the scale of hype down a lot.

Not going to lie, but between the idea of a sound from under the earth and the previews of Elpis looking so much like Zeal, plus the announcement of the Chrono Cross remake, I was really, really hoping they’d be linking in some Chrono Trigger/Chrono Cross material in the story, and I was SO GAME for the “sound” to end up actually being Lavos.

Sighhhhhhh.

Anyway, this is already so stupidly long, but speaking of missed opportunities, there were three other things that I really wished we had gotten instead:

1. The final dungeon shouldn’t have been random other worlds; it should have been glimpses into the calamities that destroyed the other shards. All they had to do was throw in some line for Meteion like: "Hydaelyn tried to sunder Etheirys to protect its people from me, but no heart is shielded from dynamis. I am wherever hopelessness lives, even inside your palest reflections--" And then BAM, the dungeon opens and it’s the previous shards experiencing the calamities of wind, water, earth, lightning, etc. That would have been so much more meaningful (and a better way to close out on the shard/calamity plot) than just random collapsing planets.

2. Why do Hydaelyn and Zodiark look nothing like their statues and previous hints we’ve gotten of them? I understand they wanted to match the Amano artwork but the Amano artwork doesn’t match the story. Whyyyyyy?

3. I will never forgive Square Enix for not ending the last cutscene with the question “Where will you go, Warrior of Light?” and giving us the dialogue option “Wither the wild rose blooms.” HOW COULD YOU MISS THE EASIEST FUCKING CALLBACK, HOW--!!!

(Oh and also, one last gripe I just recalled... there were way too many follow missions at the beginning of the story. I actually liked traveling and chatting with the characters when the quests were meaningful, but some of these quests just existed specifically to show off the devs’ cool new thing. I get that they were excited but it was excessive at the start. Just saying.)

Anyway, overall, Endwalker gets a solid 7/10 from me. I cried like seven times. (It gets one point for every time it made me cry.) The character work and interactions were beyond words incredible. The music, atmosphere, zones, and battles were stunning. But the story was just so full of plotholes and underdeveloped villains, so many places where the characters were ramrodded into stupid actions simply to forward the very specific moral message the developers were trying to send the players, that I can’t forgive it.

Did I like Endwalker? Yes. But is it an example of good storytelling? No.

I’ll just be over here enjoying the little things in life, I guess...

(It’s me. I’m the little thing.)

#Endwalker #Endwalker spoilers #Endwalker review #Final Fantasy XIV #Final Fantasy XIV spoilers #FF14 #FF14 spoilers #in which I express my enduring love #but also the brain aneurysm Endwalker gave me #Cry count: 7 #Rage count: Immeasurable

21 notes · View notes

the-dragons-knight · 3 years

Text

FFXIV Write 2021

Prompt #25 - Hide Not Your Happiness

Silver Lining - ‘a sign of hope in an unfortunate or gloomy situation; a bright prospect’

————————————————————

The ring on her finger felt so heavy suddenly, and she twisted it back and forth as she paced the small area in the gardens of House Fortemps. Her feline ears could still pick up the sounds of the music coming from the open windows of the ballroom and the voices of the guests happily chatting and laughing within. She made sure she could not be seen from those bright windows for her absence would surely raise suspicion. It was her celebration after all, a party celebrating the Warrior of Light’s return to Ishgard after the victory in Ala Mhigo, and yet here she was, fretting and worrying to herself in the garden. Of course she had ample reason to worry. Tonight was the night they would tell them all.

It was the night she and Aymeric decided it was time to tell the world of their relationship as well as their engagement to be married.

They had kept it secret all this time to not raise unnecessary suspicion from anyone that she had ‘swayed the lord commander’s decisions with her wiles’ or any such thing as they had come together in the midst of the Dragonsong War, and once it was over, Ishgard needed to focus on its own healing, not the gossip about the First Seat of the House of Lords’s love life. No, she already had to put those still holding on to the past in their places when they spoke ill of him. She would not be another reason for them to do so.

And so they hid their relationship, hiding dinners and late night dates behind the gauze of diplomatic discussions and waiting until the dead of night to meet one another. It had been hard to hide their feelings at times, and so they settled on others knowing about their deep feelings for one another, yet never the truth that they were together. Not until now.

It had been the first thing he had said when Aymeric had knelt down in front of her, the setting sunlight sparkling in his eyes and crowning his head as she had looked into the warmth of his loving smile and said as he’d held her hand, “I want the world to know of us. I want our love to be on full display for all to see. For too long I have hidden it, and I want to show everyone just how proud of our love I am. How proud I am that you call me yours, and I call you mine.”

She would never forget those words, how she prayed to the Savoir that she never ever would forget the beauty of his speech and the love in his eyes that day. Yet even while this happiness bubbled in her heart, her hands trembled as her nerves still ruled over her body. Her ears fell flat on her head as she stared down at the silver ring and how it glistened in the moonlight, spinning it slightly as the dark sapphire stone that was set in it sparkled with the gold filigree that accented it. She sighed deeply and turned on her heel to pace the other direction again, the fallen snow on the ground sweeping into the air with the movement of the long skirt of her Ishgardian gown. Aymeric was probably looking for her, worrying where she might have gone. Her absence was sure to be noticed too by others, and she knew she would need to return to the party soon.

“Katsum? Is that you?”

But not just yet.

The blonde knightess’s tail fluffed slightly in surprise as she looked up and stopped in her tracks, quickly hiding her ringed hand under the other as she did her best to smile at the aged Count of the house, “Lord Edmont.”

Edmont was standing on the last step of the small set of stairs that descended into the little garden they stood in, looking at her curiously as he held his cane close to him. His thick furred coat had a few of the fallen snowflakes on it, meaning he had been standing there for at least a few minutes, and Katsum’s heart trembled as she wondered how long he had been watching her pace. Yet he merely smiled at her, regarding her with a gentle nod of his head, “Needed a moment away from the noise, yes? It can be rather overwhelming at times.”

Katsum quickly nodded in response, happy for the excuse he provided her, “Yes. I have quite a lot on my mind so I…needed a moment away to think.”

Edmont nodded, “You are a busy woman, a very sought after one as well. Though Ser Aymeric spoke of having news to share tonight which has me rather curious.”

He didn’t…did he

“Oh?”

“Yes, he mentioned it was some wonderful news, though it leaves me to wonder what better news can we get over the liberation of Ala Mhigo.” He chuckled, stepping down off the last step and standing before her now.

She did her best to smile and laugh with him, “That is true yes. I suppose we can only wonder. He did not mention anything to me as of late.” She hated lying, but the painful throb of fear in her chest gave her few options.

He seemed to think about that for a moment before he spoke again, “Actually, I am glad that you are here. I had come to do some thinking myself, but I would like the company of another for a moment or two if you wouldn’t mind?”

The knightess blinked as her insides shiver in worry, but she controlled herself and gave him a warm smile and a nod, “I’d be glad to.”

He nodded and led her to the stone bench that was settled in the middle of the garden, facing a small statuette of Halone surrounded by a snow-covered bush of red flowers. Katsum settled herself beside him on the bench after sweeping off the fallen snow, glancing over at him out of the corner of her eye.

Edmont stood his cane in front of him and settled both hands upon it as he gazed up at the moon, “A beautiful and peaceful night, yes? It reminds me of the first night and yours came to Ishgard. An uncommonly calm night that was, but I'm sure you know that by now.”

Katsum nodded, “I remember that night well.”

“It was that same night that I chanced to hear someone singing in the silence, and when I had opened the window, I found it was coming from one of the rooms upstairs, and the window to your room was open too,” Katsum froze in shock, yet Edmont seemed not to notice and smiled as he continued, “And while I listened, I noticed another figure walking along the late night streets and he too heard the singing and stopped to listen, enamored by its loving tune as I was. I was not sure at first who the man was, but when the moonlight caught his scaled regalia and the royal blue of his coat, it was hard not to see Ser Aymeric.”

Katsum was horrified. She had thought no one had seen or heard her that night, and now she knew that not only had Count Edmont heard her, but Aymeric had as well?

She locked gazes with the smiling count, and he laughed at the shock he saw there, “It’s alright, dear. I’m sorry to have spied on you, yet I noticed something else that night that neither of you did for quite a while I think.”

She blushed lightly with embarrassment as she looked down at her clasped hands, still hiding her ring finger and the glittering ring that encircled it, “And what would that be?”

“That you both of you had fallen for one another before you even knew what love was.”

Her ears stood straight up as her jaw fell, “My lord, that’s—!”

“May I see it?”

“..See what?”

“The ring, dear girl, the one you are hiding from me.”

Katsum’s sapphire eyes flew back to him before she looked down at where he held out his hand to her, gesturing for her own. With shaking fingers, she let go of her own hand and placed it gently in his, watching his gloved fingers clasp hers gently as he turned her hand and watched the ring gleam and shimmer in the night air.

Edmont smiled warmly, and breathed a deep and happy sigh, “How beautiful. And how happy I am for you both.”

“But…how did you…?”

“I was a boy once myself, Katsum. A boy who walked a similar path to Lord Aymeric’s. I know those longing looks and stolen glances. They were my own many not so long ago when I was young,” He let her hand go as she returned it to her lap and he leaned back on the bench, “I cannot say that all noticed, but I did. I could not help but notice.”

“I see…” She mumbled softly.

“So then I ask as I am rather worried. Why does it weigh on you so now? Are you not happy about being engaged to him?”

“Of course I am!” Her voice was a bit louder than she expected and spooked her slightly as she softly apologized and lowered her words so only he might hear her, just in case, “I am so joyous it is hard to contain at times. I’m marrying the man I love more than anyone after all, but…I worry. I worry what Ishgard might have to say of such things.” Edmont did not answer right away, looking to be in thought of this as she continued, finally just letting go of it all and laying it all bare, “Aymeric has been the subject of gossip all his life…and I fear that some would question him more if the woman who helped save Ishgard were to become his wife. Would they think I swayed his decisions with my…body…or something, or would they say I was stringing him along for a high seat of power in the nation? Would they call him a heretic for marrying a woman not of the same faith, and a miqo’te as well? I just…”

“Katsum,” Her voice died as he laid a hand on hers, “Stop.” She quieted, her sadness and worry showing itself in her face and eyes as she looked up at him. He sighed heavily before responding, “My people are a stubborn sort. Or should I say ours, yes? Your mother is of Ishgardian descent, or at least from the colonies. Not that it truly matters. You are right, some will question things, yet the same people will question if the people of the Brume should be allowed to speak about the issues of their own nation. The answer is undeniable yes, yet they will still question it. The point I mean to make by that is why let the words of these people stop you from being happy, hmm?”

Her ears fell as the truth she had been trying to tell herself finally rang through to her heart, happy to hear him continue as his voice chase away the seeds of doubt and worry, “You have done so much for this nation, putting your own life in the line to fight when so many of the noble folk have never stepped foot on the battlefield. Who could, in their right mind, question your marriage as being anything other than love truly? The only proof they could ever find is the amount of caring love you both hold for one another, always running to the other’s aid whenever it is needed. Yes, people will gossip in their jealousy, but Katsum, I say let them. You deserve this,” He laughed with the next words he spoke, “And by the Fury, I will see to it that one of my sons is happily married before I leave this world, I swear it.”

Katsum couldn’t stop the giggle that left her and it warmed her heart to see him smile so brightly in response. She looked down at the ring again, smiling at the blue gem as she breathed out the last of her anxieties, “You are too kind, my lord, truly…but thank you. Your words have helped me see the happiness again.”

“Good. Then show it here,” He pointed to her face as he tapped his cane on the stone path beneath their feet, “Show the world happy you are that your finger is lined with silver and gold, and the promise of forever.”

The blonde warrior nodded, “I shall.”

“Katsum? Lord Edmont? Are you out here?” The familiar ring of Aymeric’s deep voice called out over the hedges to them and the count moved to stand, holding out a hand to her to help her stand as well.

“Ah yes, it is quite time to return to the festivities, and high time you returned to your husband-to-be’s side, yes daughter?”

Katsum shook her head slightly with a laugh as she took his hand and rose to her feet, “Yes, I do believe so. We have joyous news to share after all, yes?”

He nodded, walking beside her up the path to the manor, making their way to where the Lord Commander stood waiting for them, “I thank you for your time and for listening to an old count’s ramblings as well, my lady.”

“Lord Edmont?”

“Yes, Lady Katsum?”

“Thank you. Thank you for easing my worries.”

“It was my pleasure, child.”

((Thank you, Stephen Critchlow, for the life you breathed into this character. The count shall always hold a special place in my and Katum’s heart, so thank you for the character your words and voice gave him.))

15 notes · View notes

thebmatt · 3 years

Text

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #13

Oneirophrenia -a hallucinatory, dream-like state caused by several conditions such as prolonged sleep deprivation, sensory deprivation, or drugs

Not many people outside of the staff of Skysteel Manufactory have a chance to visit the rooms on its upper floors. They contain a series of workshops, offices for senior staff, and a couple of rooms dedicated to sleeping for when a shift has to go extra long.

One of the workshops was permanently leased out to the Warriors of Light, and Old Man Franks tended to be the sole user of said space. Under normal circumstances it had spares of approximately a third of the tools he in kept his workspace in the Rising Stones, today it was full to near-bursting with a large supply of Allagan computational nodes and cables connecting them all.

Franks stood in front of the sole connected display, watching the code he'd fed to the assembled cluster via his Ironworks-created magitek grimoire churn through the calculations it had been generating a mere bell ago. If this worked, if all of the mathematics went to plan? Well, maybe, just maybe, he would finally be able to program an arcanima array that would open a portal to another world on his own.

If Stephanivien had any concept of what he was working on in here, he'd likely chastise him for misuse of Manufactory resources. He...hadn't been entirely truthful when he told the head of the guild what he was doing with their rented space, but he couldn't do this work within the Rising Stones.

Mostly because he'd worked through nearly two suns without sleeping between building the cluster and writing the code. Tataru would have had his hide for taking such poor care of himself.

He sat and waited, forcing himself to take his eyes off the display. His eyes were beginning to hurt from staring at a lighted surface. Or maybe that was the lack of sleep. Actually, probably both. He shut them just for a few seconds.

The console sounded to signal that it had finished running, but it was not the upbeat ping that signaled successful completion. Instead, Franks' eyes shot open at the rapid triple-beeps that signaled the computations had failed...again

He ran to the display console. "No no no....DAMMIT!"

"Power requirements insufficient to initialize and/or sustain generation of cross-dimensional gateway aperture" was displayed on the screen. As it had been for every other attempt he'd made at solving this problem. The theory was sound, the problem, as always, was of a practical nature. No force on Hydaelyn, it seemed, was capable of generating the necessary energy to power the creation of a portal. He'd tried modeling everything from ceruleum engines up to a truly ludicrous amount of corrupted crystals. Everything had failed.

He slammed his fists on the nearby table. The heavy nodes didn't budge.

This was POSSIBLE, he knew it! He'd ended up on this star by falling through one! The Exarch's own magicks had brought heroes through to their version of the First from other worlds that had their own versions of the Source and Shards, but that had been temporary, and even that was only accomplished with a great deal of the power of the Crystal Tower. Creating a stable rift, it seemed, was an order of magnitude more complicated. So what in all of creation had generated the one that brought him to Hydaelyn?

He'd gone back to take readings with the various aetherological instruments the Scions had at their disposal. Not much energy was consumed in the sustaining of the rift that had brought him here, so he hypothesized that the amount needed to create one was similarly not overwhelming, but all of his calculations had arrived at the contrary. Something had generated that rift between worlds, and while he lacked both the equipment and the desire to return to the other side of that rift and examine it from that end, he suspected that he would find no answers there as well. Portal magic within the world itself was common enough, but the energy required to open gateways between that world and it's various demiplanes varied greatly. Whatever metaphysical distance or barrier separated entire worlds of existence seemed to be much greater in scope than anything he'd seen before.

Franks slumped onto the table in defeat. For what seemed like only a few minutes, he lay there, contemplating what to even consider using as a possible energy model next, when he heard a voice.

"Once again, my love, you are working far too hard."

He sat up and smiled in the direction of the doorway. It was a gentle, loving chastisement that he'd heard many a time from a voice he would never grow tired of hearing.

At the door stood a woman, tall in height with a heart-shaped face. Long graying hair fell from her head to her shoulders (no, past her shoulders, it was almost down to her chest, now). She wore simple robes of red and gray, and had just finished propping up a green gem-topped staff against the nearest workbench.

She strode over to him, a happy smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around him, holding him gently behind the neck.

Franks wrapped his own arms around her waist and took a moment to admire her beautiful features, taking an extra second or two to lose himself in those sea-green eyes, one slightly darker than the other, before finally bringing their lips together. Another thing he would never tire of.

They break a few seconds later. Franks chuckles. "I know, my dearest. But you know how much of an amazing discovery this would be if I could somehow pull it off! Think of all the good that could be done if universes of like minded people banded together to solve problems! And....well, the world's not currently in peril, so it feels like I should take the time when it's there, y'know?"

She placed a single finger on his lips. "I know, I know, you never could stand being idle. But we have that meeting with Dahkar in the morning, so we both need to get some sleep, yes?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Wait, what meeting? Dahkar is....isn't he off in Doma at the moment? What would we have to meet with him about?

She smiled (her smile is wider than he remembered, almost too big for her face). "We're coordinating the orders for the assault on the Broken Shore, you silly man. Did you forget?"

A throbbing pain suddenly shot into his temple, and he released her to grab the sides of his head. The pain is excruciating, some of the worst he can remember, and he has to brace himself on the nearby table for a moment, looking down. He did remember the meeting she had spoken about, but....that meeting, that assault....it had been years ago. She was talking about another Dahkar....but his mind had been broken, hadn't it? He looked at his own hands. These...these weren't his hands. They didn't look like this. Wait...she didn't look like that, not anymore....

He lifted his head and turned to her. A pale and sallow form stood before him, robes torn into rags. Her gray hair was short and decaying, a green nest above the face that seemed to be melding off of its body. Green pools were replaced by black voids, a single burning yellow spec within.

She opened her mouth. A shriek emerged. He yelled in despair.

WIth a jolt, Franks sat up. He was alone in the room once more. The display on the node had entered an idle state, which displayed only the time. Franks leaned over to read it.

Six bells had past since he'd last looked at the error messages.

With a sigh, he flipped the switch that shut down the entire cluster, only to realize that his linkpearl was pinging.

He tapped it, sending the small jolt of his own aether needed to activate it. "This-". He coughed, his voice still rough from too little sleep. "This is Franks"

"Franks, it's Tataru. Where are you?"

"Ishgard. Worked a little too late and decided to just sleep here." He felt a little bad about lying to Tataru, but he still felt extremely rattled by that....dream, he supposed, and was definitely not in a state where he could accept the chastisement she would doubtless dispose on him with any kind of grace.

"You need to get back to the Rising Stones, ASAP. Y'shtola wants all of us there. She says it's an emergency but she won't say what is going on. All I know is that she has a guest with her."

"Very well, I'm on my way."

He disconnects the linkpearl, and with a final sad look at the nodes, begin channeling the necessary magicks to travel along the aetheryte network back to Mor Dhona.

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV 2021 Writing Challenge #oldmanfranks #Old lady franks?#hmmmmmm #wonder what the emergency might be

12 notes · View notes

entropictome · 3 years

Photo

Holiday Hot Pot

S:Final Fantasy XIV No plot or purpose. Just one man, his friends, family, his overwhelming grief and their very late Starlight. [mentioned non-WoL OCxThancred] 5754 words [ More FFXIV Content ]

“You look like shit.”

Moth’ir was missing his characteristic shades so all four occupants could clearly see the viera’s tactless comment send his eyes rolling. Five if the infant in his arms wasn’t soundly asleep. His comeback was snappy as always. “Thanks, kid. Thought I’d take a page from your book for a change.”

The Burn’s reaction was immediate. His rage coiled in his arms as he quickly changed stance. Ever one to turn to violence before reason. His voice rose as he started “,Why are you always-”

The rest was swallowed by a mitten plopped against his mouth. His smaller─but no less dangerous─companion shot him a long suffering look. Keeping The Burn’s temper under control was like trying to keep a lit match from igniting firedamp in a coal mine. Most folks had no hope but to abandon the mission to begin with. Ibuki was the sole exception. Though she could give him a good and proper dressing-down, it didn’t take much besides a sigh and disappointed look to upend his rampage before it started.

The anger didn’t go away, it just receded, but it allowed the pale and dark scaled auri to turn their attention back to their long missing friend. The three gathered around him with varying levels of interest. Leaving Havhen to flail helplessly as their presence was quickly forgotten in that of Moth’ir’s. Whom was obviously the more respected between the two when it came to their present company.

“You’ve been gone for months without word! We were really worried!” Ibuki stated, nearly whining with the intensity of her sincerity.

“We would have come sooner but there were a lot of things to take care of,” the Xaela man spoke apologetically. “There were so many festivals and trying to keep the bar staffed with so many people wanting days off and of course the Basement-”

Ibuki elbowed her much taller compatriot and cut his further worrying off by enthusing “,but Bukidai has dealt with all of it marvelously well so you don’t need to worry.”

“Oh?” Moth’ir looked at the Xaela with an appraising look. Though, paired with an easy grin, it was unlikely he was being serious. “Food baskets?”

“All delivered as of yesterday,” Bukidai, who was serious, assured him. “Thanks to our volunteers.”

“Volunteers is it? Did Mr. Auberdine show up?” Moth’ir asked and chuckled lightly when he saw Bukidai’s surprise.

“Ah, yes. Though we had to ask him to leave-”

“Because he was trying to convince everyone that volunteers deserved two baskets for their trouble.” Moth’ir interrupted, leaving Bukidai startled once again. “Did that every year. A few others too. Reason why I started delivering them my own damn self if I’m honest.”

“Every year?” Bukidai’s horror was indication enough that Mr. Auberdine had thrown one of his characteristic fits before he allowed himself to be let go.

“Grew up as a wealthy merchant’s son and then his family landed themselves in dire straights with bad investments,” Moth’ir shrugged. He was sympathetic but the sympathy was for Booker, not the man. “He’s remarkably less worse than he was but he’s never quite gotten over the idea he deserves more than everyone else.”

Bukidai sighed and shook his head. “Regardless, I think we can make do with our other volunteers if they want to pitch in again.”

“If you say so,” Moth’ir said dubiously. Bukidai held unto hope for dear life but Moth’ir had been divested of that a long long time ago. “Take care with old U’leh. Greying Miqo’te lady, very unassuming. She likes to troll through some of the donated items in Spring and Autumn for cakes to raffle off at her little charity parties.”

“She raffles off donated cakes?” Bukidai was aghast then pulled himself off the topic for another. “Spring is an awful long time away. Aren’t you coming back?”

“If you need to break out, we’ve got you,” Ibuki rose her sweater’s sleeve so she might flex her otherwise deceptively pudgy arm. Havhen─who had been watching their interaction with keen interest and was not familiar with Ibuki’s playful personality─shot Moth’ir an alarmed look over her shoulder.

“Contrary to whatever belief you might have, I am here of my own free will,” Moth’ir stated firm enough that they knew he meant it. He had certainly come of his own accord anyway. Staying was less than thrilling since he didn’t much care for the sole physician in this strange hospital. Divulging why was far more personal than he was comfortable sharing but he did add a “More or less.”

“More or less?” The Burn attention had been momentarily bought by the possibility of fighting.

Moth’ir gave him a stern look “,I’m staying.”

It was the right thing to do. More than that, it was where Thancred had left him. Left them. The four of them descended into an awkward silence. None of whom seemed particularly thrilled with the prospect.

Ibuki, hopping from one foot to the next, tried her best to break the quiet. “Is the baby yours? Bukidai said you left because you were feeling sick and had suspected but we didn’t know for sure.”

“Ibuki!” Bukidai chastised her.

Moth’ir gave him a solid kick to the shin. Which might have actually hurt had he been wearing anything but his slippers. He gasped and proclaimed with played up scandalization “What a gossip!”

Havhen was likely the only one of them who noticed the slight hissing. Something which indicated an actual irritation from Moth’ir he hid by dramatizing it.

“Is it a boy or girl?” Ibuki asked before throwing her arms up and blithely gesturing “,you know, for now.”

It was a joke that three of them understood better than the other two. Though she wasn’t aware of Havhen’s case. She had quite nearly forgotten they were there at all. Which was more or less in their favor as they were busy taking mental notes. Specifically on Moth’ir’s face after Ibuki asked her question. Moth’ir had settled into fatherhood like a round peg in a square hole. He’d fallen in but the corners weren’t right. Fairly typical of new parents but he’d taken his ineptitude as immediate failure and the guilt had landed him here in Havhen’s care. He’d only just been able to acknowledge his daughter directly at all.

Moth’ir visibly braced himself before muttering “,it’s uh... she.”

“She’s so cute! Can I hold her?” Ibuki thrust her arms out exuberantly. Either not noticing the stumble or too polite to point it out. Moth’ir handed her over mayhaps a bit too eagerly but the fact he’d been carrying her without needing to was progress. Havhen made a note of it.

Holding a baby was something Ibuki had enough experience in that she hadn’t needed coaching. Utterly doting, she looked fairly natural cooing down at the fussy bundle who had begun to stir due to the commotion and movement. Moth’ir struggled not to look miserable watching the pair, ears flattened against his head. Grief that went unnoticed now that all attention was on the baby.

“What’s her name?” Bukidai asked pleasantly.

“Doesn’t have one.” Moth’ir said flatly. Bukidai looked to him with confusion but Moth’ir waved him off and continued. “Her dad thought I should name her but I’ve been preoccupied and just... haven’t.”

Havhen distinctly remembered the white haired hyur had mentioned he’d wanted Moth’ir to name her because it might help them bond. And something about having already named two girls but that hadn’t been meant for Havhen’s ears. The concern of Moth’ir’s friends weren’t at all alleviated by the explanation but Bukidai had enough sense to recognize Moth’ir’s agitation. He simply nodded and smiled, if a bit awkwardly. “I’m sure it will come to you soon.”

Moth’ir brushed him off, glanced over at the window and the dwindling light outside. Whatever he’d wanted to see there caused him to sigh. He postulated “,You three didn’t really have a plan once you got here, did you?”

Said three exchanged glances that said they hadn’t and then all four heads turned to Havhen. The physician shook their head and crossed their arms in front of them. “Absolutely, not! This is a mental care facility! Not an inn!”

“It’s not like you’ve got any other patients and there’s not exactly a line waiting,” Moth’ir stated sternly.

“Nevertheless there are professional standards I have to adhere to,” Haven pushed back with just as much authority.

“It’s a madhouse,” Moth’ir exclaimed incredulously “,You’re already a joke and a half!”

“Not a madhouse!” Haven corrected him with a great deal of passion. “Those facilities garner their reputation by focusing on containment and are as like to cause as much─if not more─damage to their patients had they just left them alone. This facility is for study and treatment with the intent of rehabilitation.”

Havhen was a generally genial person but this was a subject they were particularly staunch on. Moth’ir, on the other hand, was just normally stubborn and exceedingly opinionated. Where the standoff would go was any one’s guess but it wasn’t likely to be clean. With that in mind, Ibuki interjected “,that’s actually quite fascinating! I’d love to get an interview with you on the subject for an article. Mor Dhona isn’t that far from Ul’dah, I’m sure some of my readers would love to know more.”

“You’re a reporter?” Havhen asked, scrutinizing the pastel garbed auri woman closer. “Publicity would be nice but your ilk are so fond of twisting things on their head for greater attention.”

“Well, you’re in luck because miss Bunji is far more partial toward fluff pieces,” Bukidai noted with a fair bit of amusement.

“Oh! I’m so tired of writing hard hitting news! Everyone is so wary of talking to me now but I don’t mean to find bad things! I’m just very good at tripping into them,” her sudden outburst sounded surprisingly sincere considering it’s absurdity. It had also upset the baby who she quickly went about soothing. “Oh! I’m so sorry, dear thing. It’s okay! Nothing’s wrong! You’re not running a money laundering business out of here are you?”

The last question was aimed at Havhen who simply held their hands up defensively. “If I was I wouldn’t be struggling to make rent.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ibuki sighed as she gently rocked the baby back to complacency.

Havhen considered the three newcomers and nodded approvingly. “Alright. You can stay for a short while.”

There was a short lived celebratory movement before Havhen added: “Under the condition you do chores around the building and submit yourselves for an interview of my own.”

Moth’ir balked. “Nevermind, everyone can go sleep outside.”

Havhen crossed his arms and said firmly “,if she’s going to write about my organization she might as well get the best understanding of what I’m trying to do.”

“I think we can handle some housework and questions,” Bukidai offered, trying to hearten Moth’ir whose grimace only deepened in return.

Moth’ir threw his hands up and shook his head but went to his next order of business “,Regardless, your kitchen stock is atrocious. Scribbles, go out and see what food stuffs you can pick up for tonight. It’s Starlight and almost sundown so don’t expect a lot.”

“You can count on me!” Ibuki chirped despite his sentiment and snapped off a salute unfamiliar to Havhen.

“You,” he pointed at The Burn “,there’s some weird creatures out of town. Ask around the adventurers, see what all is edible and how, kill it and bring the proper bits back.”

The Burn grinned and smacked his fists together. “I can do that.”

“As long as you can ask politely and don’t pick a fight,” Ibuki said to him as more of a warning than anything else.

“You’re with me in the kitchen,” Moth’ir nodded toward Bukidai “,let’s prep and you can see if you have any more ideas about what we have on hand than I.”

“And me?” Havhen pointed at themself.

“You’re on baby duty.” Moth’ir gestured dramatically toward his daughter, still in Ibuki’s arms who passed her off to them.

“Alright kids, we have a short amount of time and very little to work with. Let’s move,” Moth’ir gestured and his people went to do as they were asked.

Havhen and the child watched them all scatter. Before today Moth’ir had been antagonistic and withdrawn around them. This commanding man and the willingness of his peers to follow his direction was bemusing. Both attitudes were entirely alien from the way he had been with his beau. At least when he didn’t think Havhen was looking. Assuming different personae to suit different groups was normal enough but, when all was said and done, some of Moth’ir’s faces would likely have to die to save the host.

“It should be an interesting night for us, I think.” They cooed gently to the nameless girl.

--------------------------------------------------------

Havhen had hoped they might be able to observe something that would give them clarity on Moth’ir in the process of the night. What they happened to see was utter chaos. Babies need care and Moth’ir’s child was particularly fussy without any seeming need to be. A fact even her wet nurse had noted. Then there was the utter mess that Moth’ir and Bukidai were making in their kitchen. Which was adequate enough by Havhen’s standards but not theirs.

The Burn returned first. A bit bloodied for his trouble. He’d gotten a handful of strange looking material he all swore was good for eating in a variety of ways. Havhen had some doubts but Moth’ir took him at his word.

“Who did you piss off?” Moth’ir asked passively after getting a proper look at the viera’s nose.

“Some weird frogs, some newts, wriggly things, you know,” The Burn gestured toward his assorted meats as if the question in itself was inane.

“I said: who,” Moth’ir reiterated, pointedly.

The Burn crossed his arms and stood defiantly. Which unraveled under Moth’ir’s steely gaze and he finally yelled “,it was some roegadyn, okay? Didn’t like the way I asked and wouldn’t listen so he started punching. He was asking for it.”

Moth’ir shrugged and shook his head. He wasn’t exactly pleased but the disappointment didn’t stick. He said to The Burn “,Thanks for the bits, kid. Since you’re here, try and keep that one out of our hair.”

Moth’ir gestured toward Havhen, saying to them: “And you? Good luck.”

It was a particularly perplexing series of statements that cleared itself up over the course of a brief conversation. Havhen came to the conclusion that The Burn would make a good case study if he’d allow it. Alas, it was unlikely that The Burn would avail himself to their care so Havhen was forced to deal with him on a social level. Which was an exceedingly unpleasant task. He was combative, sullen, and downright rude without any self awareness. A hungry malboro would have made better company.

Luckily, Ibuki returned not too long after. If her strength had been in question, it was not now as she managed to juggle a notable number of boxes. Of which she was more hampered by the awkwardice of their distribution than their weight.

“What did you do? Buy the whole market?” Bukidai exclaimed as he started offloading her parcels.

“There’s a lot more in the market than food, you know,” Ibuki retorted. “I just got things that they said were edible and looked good.”

“Is that a whole dodo?” Moth’ir asked as he eyeballed what she’d brought in.

“Yup! The man said I could have it cheap because it’s Starlight,” she said as she divested herself of her last package. Arms free, Ibuki turned to Havhen and stretched them out to them “,let me see the baby!”

They could hardly deny her after she asked so passionately.

“More likely that the seller misjudged his buyer’s needs and wanted to offload it quickly,” Moth’ir commented looking the bird over. He’d found little wrong with it all the same.

“Oh! Oh!” She hopped back around to face him after having secured the baby in her arms “,I was thinking maybe a hot pot would be good?” Ibuki’s suggestion sounded more like the favorite child pleading a favor of an otherwise stern parent.

“I think I saw a burner for one,” Bukidai added with a questioning note. Indirectly asking why Havhen would have one to begin with.

“I’m quite particular towards hot pot dishes, myself,” Havhen explained “,I should have noodles too.”

Ibuki looked enthused for all of a second before she schooled herself back and asked “,like, spaghetti?”

Havhen gave her a sympathetic look and patted her and the shoulder “,I’m not sure I’ve had pasta in a hot pot. Personally, I’m preferential toward glass noodles but I have udon too.”

This suitably reignited Ibuki’s excitement. She nearly launched herself at Havhen, might have had it not been for the babe, asking “,you have a lot of stuff from Othard here, actually. Have you gone to Kugane?”

Havhen suspected the woman might be a tad homesick but unfortunately had to shake their head. “Not myself. The matrons of my clan told me stories of Yanxia from when we’d travel before the Garlean occupation. I believe it’s a short boat ride between?”

Moth’ir audibly hissed. A thing so uncharacteristic that it completely silenced the room a second and then was immediately moved on from. Moth’ir’s friends assuming it had been unintentional; like a sneeze. They hadn’t been told that Havhen had just happened to be Moth’ir’s long lost sibling. That their clan had once been his. At least, before they’d left him to die as a small child. But Havhen did.

They gave him an apologetic look. Divulging details about their clan hadn’t been their intent. It was an act which Moth’ir had very clearly expressed wanting nothing to do with. Their conciliation did little to quell the absolute rage that Moth’ir was having trouble keeping from his face. Cooking did though.

Havhen and Ibuki settled into chatting idly about Othard while the babe slept in her arms. The Burn─whose chaotic nature had been hard contained just moments before─sat calmly watching Ibuki. A man who was seeing his girlfriend in a domestic light for the first time and wasn’t sure what to think. Havhen rather thought he looked awed. The dining table they sat at and the kitchen were hardly separated. Only a partition that covered perhaps half the room from view. With The Burn preoccupied, he could hardly stop Havhen from observing Moth’ir.

Havhen had thought Bukidai might be in charge of the hot pot, seeing a Xaela would surely know more of the concept than a Eorzean born miqo’te. He was no doubt talented but it was to Moth’ir’s beck and call that he scurried. Ibuki mentioned to them that the pair had come to Kugane some time ago and that’s when Moth’ir had picked up some new techniques. Havhen was fairly impressed that anyone could simply “pick up” traditional methods from one trip but there was a great deal they did not know about Moth’ir.

Ibuki and his hyur “friend” had both spoken about Moth’ir’s prowess as a craftsman. The man had asked him to make a dress for their child and what he produced was of a higher quality than Havhen had expected. The act of putting the dress on the baby had helped Moth’ir acknowledge her and he’d since made several articles of it’s ilk. They had encouraged it because it seemed to be a source of catharsis for him. In the kitchen, Moth’ir seemed just as at home as he did with a sewing needle. Though these two fields were not the limits of his capabilities, Ibuki confirmed they were two specialties of his many interests.

He also seemed to be cooking more or less as a stress relief at the moment. As evidenced by the increasing number of plates Bukidai was producing.

“This is actually pretty early for us.”

It was a lovely little spread. Maybe more geared toward ten people than five. Ibuki had gotten her hot pot. Her eyes glittered despite the fact some of the ingredients used were… questionable in texture. It did look appetizing despite knowing where some of it had come from.

“Do you usually make so much food too?” Havhen eyed the spread and glanced to Bukidai.

“Uh…” Bukidai sheepishly responded, rubbing the back of his neck and then taking a moment to remove his neck tie as he’d suddenly become cognizant of it. “Yes and no? Traditionally, we cook a lot more but we also share with the neighborhood.”

“They do that at the end of every moon but Starlight is supposed to be special,” The Burn noted dully.

“Must be profitable in Ul’dah,” Havhen suggested without having any real clue.

“Oh, it’s all free though.” Ibuki commented cheerily.

“Who knew you were such a philanthropist?” Havhen remarked, turning around only to find Moth’ir missing. They stepped into the kitchen and found him sitting behind the partition. His head between his knees and both hands resting on the back of his neck.

“Gimme a moment.” He’d murmured, completely devoid of any venom he’d usually summon. He could only turn with a facsimile of it when Havhen sat beside him but the comment he’d expected to have to beat off never came. They simply sat there quietly.

Bukidai pretended to busy himself with the spread once again. Shooing Moth’ir’s clockwork toy off the table. He remarked “,that thing has a mind of it’s own.” A statement that started Ibuki and The Burn on a discussion on whether it had been set to follow the babe─since it was never far away from her─or if it was actually possessed. For that matter, where was the other one? None of the three had seen that one in a while. They only made indirect mentions of the man whose countenance both automatons shared. Neither Ibuki or The Burn knew what his relation was to Moth’ir though they’d seen him from time to time. Only Bukidai had any clue.

Bukidai who much preferred this to impeding on Moth’ir’s privacy any more than he already had.

They sat like that for a long time. The three younger ones chatting amicably amongst themselves while the miqo’te siblings sat out of view. After a bit, Moth’ir had gathered himself enough to pull himself to a more relaxed position. Havhen gave him a moment before risking a quiet remark “,they sound like family.”

Moth’ir only hmm’d at first. When he managed to speak, his voice was quiet too but the lack of force was from the palpable exhaustion that colored the tone. The kind of exhaustion unrelated to sleep. He replied “,Maybe they are. Ul’dah is a long way from the Steppes, Hingashi and wherever the hell The Burn fell out of.”

“Ul’dah is a long way from the Twelveswood too,” Havhen said gently as they could “,but you seem keener to keep your distance.”

“So many questions,” Moth’ir spat but even this indignation lacked fire.

“When one cannot find answers they are often left with nothing but questions,” Havhen replied pleasantly enough. It still pissed Moth’ir off.

The Burn was yelling about something but Ibuki and Bukidai were laughing. At his worst there was a request he calm down because he was disturbing the baby. Words which were also choked with laughter.

Moth’ir let them hang there. Content to sit and listen and not at all up to acknowledging what was a valid statement. He was supposed to be getting better after all but sometimes Havhen and their questions made him want to disappear into the swamp.

“If you don’t celebrate on Starlight, what do you do?” Havhen asked him, trying another angle.

Moth’ir sighed with his whole body. He tried to say “stuff” but all he managed was a weak roll of his wrist.

“You and your man must have some traditions?” Havhen offered.

Moth’ir snorted. The idea of Thancred being any one person’s was cute to him. Even after the hyur had confessed all those things to him before he’d left. Before Moth’ir had had the ability to say it back. Words that he so desperately wanted to say back. They pooled in the back of his throat and begged to be released so Moth’ir did something uncharacteristic of him and spoke about him. If just to speak of him at all. “Thancred’s not usually home when the holidays come around. ‘Specially not these last couple years but when he is it’s just a drink and then sleeping in.”

“Festive,” Havhen said with a chuckle.

Admittedly it didn’t sound like much but it had meaning for him. Maybe Thancred too. A tradition started nearly a decade ago. A rare occasion when Thancred hadn’t had any luck with any fair maiden despite his “silver tongue.” Too inebriated to make it to his lodgings but just sober enough to crash against the backdoor of Moth’ir’s home and workplace. Thancred almost looked dignified sitting there, looking like a misplaced gift from Nymeia’s Saint after Moth’ir’s very long and miserable day.

Thancred somehow talked him into one single drink for the occasion despite Moth’ir’s distaste for alcohol. So they might be on equal footing or some line of the sort. Though Moth’ir wasn’t anywhere near as intoxicated by the time he’d managed to dump Thancred in his bed. Then they’d passed out in a sleep near as deep as death itself. An act remarkable for the both of them.

All their important moments seemed to be in that bed. Very few─if any─had a thing to do with Thancred’s typical salacious activities. It was another sort of intimacy only available to them in the privacy and relative safety of Moth’ir’s room. Honestly and vulnerability that they’d not allowed themselves anywhere else. And yet...

“I didn’t realize you lived together.”

Moth’ir rolled a hand dismissively again. “Some of his stuff is at my place but I don’t think he lives anywhere anymore.”

“Too busy doing what he does.” Havhen said with some meaning. Near everyone who paid attention to the daily happenings around them had some conception of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn even if they didn’t know each member. Savior’s of the realm and at their center the indomitable Warriors of Light.

But Thancred was quite faliable. It was one of his charms.

“I don’t want to go back.” Moth’ir said so quietly Havhen almost didn’t hear him.

Havhen lightly bumped his shoulder against Moth’ir’s. “His life is largely here in Mor Dhona now, isn’t it?”

Moth’ir crossed his arms over his knees and pressed his eyes there to shut out the pressure from behind his eyes. He’d had some conception of Thancred’s work but it was something alien and distant. He imagined it was much the same for Thancred and Moth’ir’s work outside the Tavern. They’d known each other in a way that no one else did─that no one was supposed to─but they’d lived separate lives save where they let it intertwine. A special and private part of themselves tailor made for each other. It had worked. Might have continued to work but then Thancred had taken him from this hospital to the Rising Stones.

He’d met the women who’d given Thancred a shave and a haircut and found he’d liked them both despite that. Hadn’t recognized the man with the sun and stars before he spoke because he’d been missing the goggles and shroud he’d seen him in before. Lightly roasted Thancred with a Seeker woman with whom he shared new material to his friend’s chagrin. One of them would tell him if anything happened to Thancred while he was on the field. Thancred had assured him of such before he’d left.

And he’d liked that. He liked the idea that he’d be one of the first to know. He liked that Thancred had shown him context to the part of his life that had been a thin outline. But Moth’ir could never go back to waiting and wondering and subtext and half told stories they were too tired to finish telling because living it had been too much. He liked knowing and he liked being here and he knew he could never ever go back to that room. It’s privacy and false safety be damned.

He’d fooled himself into thinking he’d feel differently once he returned and started to go around the usual rounds but here he was. The same comedy routine fit like a glove but it was a glove that weighed as much as a buffalo and he was so tired. More than that: “They don’t need me,” Moth’ir said, choking back something that might have been a sob. Though he didn’t know why or what he was feeling exactly.

“It’s gonna get co~ld,” Ibuki’s voice came from beyond the partition.

Bukidai’s voice came after, raised suspiciously “,alright! alright! But make sure you don’t eat everything!” His added emphasis that the couple had had a habit of scarfing down an absurd amount of food returned to a normal pitch but the reaction to it was no less raucous.

Havhen shook their head in agreement and said “,Maybe once, but they do seem to have themselves covered now.”

“Wish I did,” Moth’ir breathed. Drawing himself up and closing his eyes, trying to center himself once more.

It was quiet between them again. The only sound coming from Ibuki singing over what was assumedly a well done meal. But Moth’ir broke the silence by turning to them and stating “,I never wanted children.”

Havhen cocked an eyebrow at him but let him continue on his own without prompting. So Moth’ir continued. “I did when I decided to keep her but I never wanted children. I don’t know how to do this and I don’t… how do we do this? I don’t know how to name kids.”

Havhen considered the distance Moth’ir had kept himself from his family and friends. They considered that he carried internalized feelings of guilt as if his abandonment was due to his own fault. The way he shied away from his daughter and the way he tormented himself for having done so. They wondered if “I never wanted” simply meant he hadn’t thought he should as if he was not worthy.

Moth’ir could simply have been asking for their opinion but the emphasis on “we” seemed like more. They did not know if he meant as keepers or as a clan. They weren’t sure if offering their typical naming conventions would be much use to him. Havhen offered a smile and said “,Oh, I’m not sure it’s all very complicated. You just pick something you think sounds nice or has meaning to you.”

Moth’ir sighed, clearly unsatisfied by that answer. Answers to a question that wasn’t the one he wanted to ask would never be sufficient.

“I think picking a name of someone important to you is suitable as well. As a tribute of sorts,” Havhen tried again despite the futility.

Moth’ir’s eyes stared upward as he considered various people whom he’d had some attachment to. It was an ordeal when one specifically kept people at arms length with few exceptions. “Can’t just name her Menphina, can I?”

“I mean,” Havhen shrugged and said flippantly “,your fellow Eorzeans might find that blasphemous but it’s your daughter.” They received a gentle elbow to the ribs for their trouble.

“Moth.”

“After your mother?” Havhen asked.

Moth’ir eyed him warily. Karga clan was very distinctly something that was his and his alone. It was never far from his mind that Havhen had only ever had their gods forsaken clan. He did not know what they saw when they thought of him and his siblings and his mother together. They all had meant the world and more to him and he misliked the idea of someone belittling that.

Havhen continued to smile at him warmly as he tried to assure him “,I think it’s a lovely name. And, from what your brother has told me, a woman deserving of such dedication.”

Moth’ir only knew that Moth’wo had trusted Havhen with the health of his brother. He’d not had a clue said brother and they were related by blood. How close the two actually were was a mystery to him. He hadn’t even ventured to ask so he had no choice but to accept the comment at face value. Or at least he had no energy to grill them about it.

Eased somewhat he turned his attention inward. He reiterated the name Moth in a whisper. More for himself than Havhen’s benefit. Making it real. Making her real. He closed his eyes and used it as a point to center himself.

Havhen ventured to tap his shoulder to grab his attention before holding their arm out, hopefully offering a hug. Moth’ir regarded them irritably but leaned his shoulder against theirs and allowed himself to be pulled closer. Havhen lightly pressed his head against Moth’ir’s and so they sat. Silent while idly listening to the other three while their minds were elsewhere. For their part, Havhen was busy committing the moment to memory. A small victory for them that may mean nothing but a memento of their brother when he left them for good but that in itself would be enough.

“Hey, you think she can eat some of this meat?” The Burn’s voice asked from beyond the partition.

Moth’ir snapped to, breaking Havhen’s precious moment. On his feet and away in a second. “You feed that baby anything and I swear I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

Havhen let themself linger for a moment. Wrapped their arms around their knees and listening to the new argument. Havhen had been walking with Moth’ir’s ghost for over a decade. They’d been convinced of his death by their mother and it haunted them. But then he’d returned alive; so very much alive. That life had been a messy and painful one. Whether he cared to know or not, Havhen’s had been much the same. The mystery of what laid before them could very much be more of the same but that wasn’t the important part. That they were alive is what gave those lives meaning. Nothing more, nothing less. Which is why they allowed themselves a moment to linger and not a moment more.

A life must be lived.

And there was a hot pot they needed to get to before it was gone.

#My Writing #heirsofdiscord #Final Fantasy XIV #Moth'ir Karga (FF)#Thancred is technically here but also is he?

26 notes · View notes

notapaladin · 3 years

Text

flew like a moth to you

proof that i am capable of writing stuff that’s not for obsblood or my ffxiv ocs: exhibit B. there is fitzroy/kip smut in this because i have ONE brand and i do it well

also on AO3!

Kip thinks, if there was true justice in the world, the man he loves would always be surrounded by light. Not that he isn’t usually; free of all the weight of an empire, his easy smile would light up rooms even if he hadn’t discovered spangles and prisms and Ystharian neon (that last one had made Conju turn green, and they’re in the middle of a cold war regarding the suitability of light-up footwear). But a man like him (Fitzroy, Artorin, his Tor) ought by rights to stand forever in sunlight.

There had been sunlight earlier, when they’d tumbled onto the bed together, and the afternoon had drenched them both in gold. Now their clothing’s long discarded into the formless irrelevant void that is the rest of the room, and nothing but long shadows cover them. That’s alright. He doesn’t need to see. He’d know his lord’s body if that first sight of his eyes had blinded him.

“Gods—gods, Kip, there—!”

Admittedly, it’s still nice to have direction. Grinning, he shifts his weight and hikes Tor’s leg up a little higher on his shoulder. Like this he has a better angle, and the next long slick inward slide of his fingers makes his lover’s whole body arch. “Like this?” he breathes. Another push, carefully working him open. It’s been a thousand years since anyone’s touched this man, and he wants to make it good. “Like this, my lord?”

Tor inhales hazily, golden eyes like fire. He’s like a vice around Kip’s fingers, and when he speaks his voice is rough with want. His cock, still untouched, is so hard that Kip’s free hand positively aches to wrap around it. “Fuck, yes.”

“Good.” Good, but not enough. He’d die before causing his lord the least amount of pain after all he’s been through. (Well, maybe if Tor asked...hm, no, probably not. Unless Tor really wanted him to.) He adds a third finger experimentally and Tor’s mouth drops open; for a moment he thinks it’s too much, but then Tor shudders, clenches down—ow, alright, good thing he doesn’t need that hand to hold a pen—and goes near-boneless, breath escaping him in tiny sounds of pleasure as though he’s too overwhelmed for more. He strokes down Tor’s thigh, soothing him. “Mmm. You’re doing very well for me.”

Tor whines wordlessly. It’s possibly one of the hottest things Kip’s ever heard, and whatever it does to his facial expressions makes his lover shudder and roll his hips, trying to urge the proceedings on. “Hurry up,” he huffs, and it might even sound commanding if his voice wasn’t close to cracking.

Kip needs to take a second to breathe. Hurrying up really is looking like a more and more attractive prospect, but surely Tor can wait a little longer. He needs to gather his nerve, damn it. His fingers curl, and as Tor’s breath stutters out of him in a cry he murmurs, “So impatient.”

“A thousand years, Kip!” It’s almost desperate, and finally Kip has to take pity on him.

And on himself. How long has it been? Gods, he can’t even remember. He has to swallow through a throat gone suddenly dry. “Mm. Alright, then.”

And he guides himself in, slow and careful. The light slanting through the windows is just enough for him to watch the way Tor’s face changes, the way his eyes go wide and his mouth drops open in surprised pleasure. Tor is hot and tight and absolutely perfect around him, and he has to take a moment to grit his teeth and think of unpleasant things. (Princess Oriana. Rufus. That long eternity where he’d been dealing with the postal service and had started seeing area codes in his sleep. The journey across the Wide Sea...no, that’s too unpleasant.) It gives him back enough control to risk a first slow thrust.

Tor makes another noise and reaches for him, and he lowers himself down so no-longer-gold-lacquered nails can dig into his shoulders. They’re finally almost, almost close enough; Tor’s breath comes in hot little pants as he adjusts, and the next thrust punches a sound out of him. “Nnh.”

He’s danced the fire at the feet of the Sun, but it still takes all his self-control to hold himself still when he hears that noise. It’s certainly not one of pain, but there are tears in his lover’s eyes and he knows how easy it can be for Tor to be overwhelmed. He bites his lip, thighs quivering, and breathes, “...Alright?”

Tor sucks in a deep breath and arches, opening himself up a little wider. His eyes are still suspiciously damp, but when they lock onto his they almost burn. “Yes,” he gasps, and then again, “Yes.”

He starts to move. And then he doesn’t need to ask if Tor likes this or that, because Tor is vocal. Each thrust punches a gasp or a little cry out of him, and he knows when he’s found the perfect angle after a few moments because Tor almost sobs and scratches down his back; that will sting later, but now he barely feels it. His world is this soft bed, these growing shadows, the tight slick heat of his lover’s body all around him. His own voice comes out in something like a growl. “Gods, you feel—you are perfect—” You have to know, he thinks with what little higher brain power he still has. You have to know that you are. Not as a legendary poet, not as a living god. Just you.

Tor makes another one of those desperate noises and does something with some inner muscles that has Kip gasping; he can’t revel in the feeling for long, though, because then his lover’s voice snaps, “Harder.”

Oh, he can do harder. He shifts his weight, bracing himself with a hand on the bed, and snaps his hips forward once, twice. “Like that?”

“Gods, yes—” Tor cuts himself off with a cry, because now that Kip knows just what his lover likes he’s hardly going to stop. It’s easy to keep a rhythm going now that he has one, easy to brace himself and drive deep with Tor urging him on. Even the sting of his nails in his shoulders is welcome. Experimentally he lowers his mouth to Tor’s throat—it would leave a mark, if his skin were paler—and revels in the groan that gets. His hips stutter a little in their movements, and he looses his own growl low in his throat.

He’d really thought he had more stamina than this, but the heat coiling through his veins and simmering under his skin is rapidly approaching a point he’s not sure he can pull back from. Tor’s just...gods, he thinks dizzily, if I ever find the man responsible for the Imperial taboos I could murder them for keeping this from me. When Tor shudders, tightening around him, he feels his control fray even further. “Not going to last,” he pants.

Tor’s voice is starting to come out ragged. “A thousand years, Kip, I don’t care—oh!” His orgasm strikes midsentence, spasming so hard around Kip’s shaft that his own vision blurs at the edges. A little more, just a little more—

He breaks hard, fast, and all at once, eyes squeezing shut. He’s glad now that he’s got a fistful of the blankets; they can be replaced, and he’s sure he’s just put holes in them. His other hand on Tor’s hip tightens hard enough that it must hurt, and later he’ll probably feel bad about that. Probably. Right now he can’t focus on anything except the blinding ecstasy racing through him, pulsing in time with his heart. Thoughts fade. His surroundings fade. All that matters is Tor.

It’s a while before he remembers how to form words. “...That was...”

“Mmf,” says Tor into his shoulder.

Pulling out is the absolute last thing he ever wants to do, but he knows it’ll get uncomfortable if he doesn’t. The noise Tor makes when he does is a shuddery gasping sigh that makes even his entirely spent cock give a half-hearted twitch. He pets down Tor’s side in what he hopes is a soothing manner. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”

“...Gnnngh,” Tor mumbles.

And then he flashes Kip a thumbs-up.

Kip starts to grin, and then Fitzroy grins back—it’s definitely Fitzroy with that mischief in his eyes—and then they’re both laughing until Kip has to bury his face in Tor’s shoulder. Eventually, they’ll both have to clean up and get dressed again. Eventually, someone will start yelling up the stairs that it’s time for dinner and if they don’t hurry all the food will be gone—and they’ve definitely worked up an appetite. But now it’s just them, and Kip doesn’t need the sunlight to feel warm.

#the hands of the emperor #kip mdang #artorin damara #not work safe #paladin writes stuff

2 notes · View notes