now that I've finished: I enjoyed shb. not as much as I did hw, but I quite liked the msq (with the couple of quibbles that I've mentioned). post-patches I felt suffered from similar problems as hw's did, as in they wrapped up everything and then very quickly and suddenly pivoted to new expac content in a way that didn't feel suuuper natural, but I also think to an extent that's also an MMO curse. with a larger available scope I would've preferred a more natural lead-in, but what can you do.

I'm not sure how I feel abt the heavy focus on zenos and fandaniel, zenos has never been that much of an interesting character to me (stb didn't handle him and what he represents well, and imo he doesn't get more interesting as he keeps appearing) and characters who are written as 'well he's cRaZy so we don't have to explain his motives or erratic behaviour' like fandaniel I find inherently uninteresting. plus I just hate it every second he's on screen HBFSBJ

I wish the grand company of eorzea stuff was the conclusion to a long, real attempt at making amends rather than smth wrapped up as a loose end in two or three patches; feels disingenuous, in a way. I also wish they'd actually leaned with the theming of 'the wol has friends who genuinely care for them and feel genuine remorse for the things they put them through for the sake of others', shb msq's back-half was all about how everyone gambles with your life and how the wol is a tool and how shitty this is (to an extent, at least; one of my bigger quibbles with g'raha is how he's consistently framed as justified for manipulating you and directly playing with your life), but as it stands as soon as you're cured of the lightwarden stuff everything goes back to you feeling like a secondary background player with no outstanding trauma in the post-patches, being told where to go and what to do.

on that similar note, I have strong feelings on g'raha and most of them lean negative. I'm not going to clutter this post with unnecessary character hate that's biased by my own wol's writing (unless like. you want me to), but a lot of my feelings abt him from shb msq haven't really changed.

otherwise I quite liked a lot of the worldbuilding and historical sections, I do think those were well done. the norvrandt goodbye genuinely got me, and I actually really liked elidibus' sections. I miss ryne already

What does Thancred think about that Gage Acquisition group Aeryn sometimes runs with?

(This all, of course, pertains only to 1 roleplay/ficverse version of Gage Acq concerning my WoL, mileage may vary, other player headcanons may apply, void where prohibited)

It's a known fact that (RP) Erick Gage and Thancred Waters cannot stand one another. Thancred scouted Erick out as an Echo-haver years ago in Ul'dah when Erick was an unknown learning at the Gladiator guild. Thancred introduced Erick to the Scions, where Erick was given time to think about Minfilia's offer to join the order...and promptly formed his own free company and snatched up several other Echo-having adventurers, offering to contract their services to the Scions when they needed aid.

Erick may not be a native of Thanalan, but the place suits him well, and he certainly thinks like an Ul'dahn. Erick's player even wrote about the contention during the FFXIV Write this year.

It really doesn't help that Thancred and Erick are quite similar in some ways, which only adds to the friction between them. He wrote about that too.

The rest are...fine. From steady pillars, to fun kinds of trouble he understands, to valiant fighters, to helpful scholars who remind him of his Scions companions, to young fresh-faced adventurers that set off his older brother/Dadcred tendencies--Gage Acquisitions is a diverse group of heroic adventurers always willing to throw themselves into the fray to help, regardless of their foibles and issues, or their boss.

Everyone know Dark Autumn's holding things together anyway; he wants to get anything done with them, Thancred goes through her. She's less of an arse than Gage.

And the less said of Erick's twin sister the better; that woman's naught but trouble.

In the end, Aeryn loves and relies on them as friends and comrades, so regardless of any personal issues Thancred has, he can deal with them for her sake. And they are really handy in a fight.

He still doesn't get why and how Aeryn likes Erick so much. She just looks between her partner and her bro and shakes her head and sighs fondly.

@erickgage and the rest of my goobers.

1, 6, 12, 15, and 16! for the WOL ask meme!

👀 this is long so. Its under a readmore. Also ffxiv spoilers through endwalker below

1. Why did he become an adventurer? Glory? Money? ...?

The way Khalja grew up, his adoptive father made sure to instill in him a deep respect for the sacrifice his birth parents made to keep him out of the crossfire during the empire's expansion into doma. This was intended to convince him to stay safe and look out for himself, but it backfired into "im going to set out and do something about the empire. Personally", so his initial reason was really. To get stronger and find a group that he could join to combat imperial expansion. He'd heard about how the eorzean city-states drove the empire out of the continent from traders in kugane, so he figured hed start there

6. What did they think of Hydaelyn in the beginning? Did they change their mind about her since then?

He was actually initially pretty mistrustful of "giant crystal that talks to you", and couldnt shake the feeling that he was being used and intentionally kept in the dark. The mistrust turned into annoyance when he found out that she was the reason he had the echo (has considered it a curse ever since he awoke to it as a teenager), but through arr he found no reason to directly oppose her because she granted him the strength he needed to meet his own goals. When midgardsormr more or less broke her blessing, he found himself 1. Very fucking scared and 2. Missing her presence, at which point he realized that he had come to lean on her much more than hed ever intended to. He was kind of pissed about what happened with minfilia also lol. He just very much doesnt like feeling like he and every other person with the echo is a pawn in some cosmic game of chess. By the time shadowbringers wrapped up he'd become more comfortable with (or more accurately, resigned to) the idea that he would probably always be her champion, and that was fine as long as their goals were still aligned. Brief moment of panic where he learned that shes a primal, in the "does that make me. Tempered. Am i tempered" before realizing that thats stupid and the fact that hes Able to question that means he probably isnt. And then of course the events of endwalker completely tossed his idea of her on its head. He only wished that he got to spend more time with venat in elpis, but what little time they did have together made him far more comfortable with championing her cause. Khalja voice "venat my best friend venat"

12. What do they think about redemption and forgiveness? Would they forgive an enemy? Would they forgive themselves?

I think, prior to shadowbringers, he wasnt. Super into forgiveness and redemption. Like as far as he was concerned any crime needed to be answered for, and post-shadowbringers he definitely doesnt believe in like. Letting go of past offenses, but he sees a lot more nuance in these kinds of situations. [Standing in a room together with gaius post-stormblood] [gritting his teeth] This Is. Fine.

Ultimately he just wants to understand people's reasons, i guess? And he'll judge for himself whether those reasons justify their actions. Additionally, if someone proves that they're interested in doing better, or somehow making up for their past transgressions, he's going to try and look at them in the here and now, rather than as who they were before (with varying degrees of success)

As for himself... he's become acutely aware of the ridiculous amount of power he weilds, which means he's also Acutely aware of how devastating the consequences could be if he made a misstep. In an unhealthy way hes fashioned himself as the sole protector of his friends and loved ones, and so if any harm comes to them, he'll probably. Never forgive himself lol [flashes back to the vault]. Additionally, the body-snatching incident with zenos put a new fear of "what could other people do if they got their hands on my strength" into him. He's started to feel guilty for simply Being, on account of the danger it potentially puts other people in. But Its Fine Hes Fine Guys Dont Worry About It

15. How do they feel about the Ascians?

He has a very hard time hating the ascians after seeing them for who they really are. I mean that didnt stop him from stomping them into the ground whenever they posed a large enough threat, and nothing justifies the havoc theyve wrought in the millennia since, but he cant help but feel sympathy for them. After all, if all of the people HE loved and looked out for were killed, shattered, and transformed beyond recognition, he cant guarantee that he wouldnt also make some. Extremely terrible selfish decisions. [Throwing pebbles at emet-selch] Youre still an asshole [feels bad anyway].

He feels the most sympathy for elidibus, on account of. Teenager Thrust Into Govt Position And Turned Into A Primal For The Survival Of The Star. He doesnt really see him as responsible for the events that have followed since, even though he definitely. Still is. He sees a lot of alphinaud in elidibus gwjegdjd

He Does Not like lahabrea, but as of meeting him in pandæmonium hes weighing the pros and cons of attempting to Get Some gwjsgdjgdjd. Cons: hes actually one of the worst people he knows, thancred would kill him, thancred would kill him, he'll probably be rejected out of hand, etc etc. Pros: god lahabrea can GET it

16. Tell us about two major events from MSQ that left the deepest emotional scars on your WOL.

I MEAN. several gwjwgjdgd but the deepest scars......

the first would probably be the vault. Khalja felt that he owed a lot to haurchefant and he was kind of charmed by his extremely earnest nature, so losing him would have hurt enough on its own. Worse than that though was that haurchefant died protecting khalja specifically, which is something that he'd never had to. Deal with before. Up until then hed thought that the only person he'd hurt with his reckless behavior would be himself, but [watches haurchefant bleed out from a wound meant to be inflicted upon him] [has to go home and tell his family that hes only alive because their son/brother died] Oh. Oh This Sucks So Much Worse. Hes partly healed from that experience, but the guilt he feels has never left him (and likely never will), and it influences the way he handles situations where his loved ones are involved. Hes not willing to let anyone else take a bullet for him lol

The next would actually be the body-snatching experience with zenos. He'd never felt more helpless and terrified; the image of his own body about to strike down alisae and raha haunts him constantly, and while he understands that it wasnt him who did that, it definitely made him start to view himself as. A monster of sorts. Lol. When he woke up back in his own body and saw that none of his friends had come to harm he broke down sobbing in relief [he has not cried in front of. Most of them]. Post-endwalker, hes still afraid of his strength someday being used to hurt the people he loves. He would genuinely sooner die than let something like that happen again

Shipping game: Ysayle

YSAYLE! I adore her! She's such a nuanced and well-written character who goes through so much growth over the course of HW. (I always feel a little bad because, at least personally, her death felt like it got kind of overshadowed by Haurchefant's happening right before it.)

As much as I love Ysayle, though, it's a little bit difficult picturing her and Z'rhiki as a couple. I remember getting the impression in the first real scene between the WoL and Lady Iceheart of two people who wanted to understand each other but lacked the fundamental tools and context to do so. I think that vibe would be pervasive in their relationship. I could see them having some sweet moments, but even disregarding Ysayle's canon death, I don't know that a relationship between them would stand the test of time.

In her first encounters with Iceheart, Rhiki really did want to come to understand Ysayle, but without knowing much of anything about the Dragonsong War she couldn't make sense of Ysayle goals, let alone come to a mutual understanding. Her stated desire for peace seemed to be contradicted by her actions. She doesn't really get the chance to learn more about Ysayle until their impromptu field-trip to Hraesvelgr's lair, so that's most likely where their relationship started, or at least where the groundwork for it was laid. I can imagine Rhiki volunteering to help set up camp and prepare dinner with Ysayle while Alphinaud and Estinien were off doing... whatever it is they do (Rhiki doesn't understand their relationship at all), and slowly starting to talk. About trivial things, at first, but eventually about more personal things. They do have some things in common. They're both idealists who want to resolve conflicts without violence, but often have to resort to it anyway. They both feel a little isolated and misunderstood. They were both just normal kids who were gifted the Echo by Hydaelyn and now feel bound to a higher purpose, but have some regrets about the collateral damage they've caused along the way. I think these are things they could bond over.

They do have some fundamental differences, though, which could lead to arguments and frustration. Ysayle seems to be a firm believer in "the ends justify the means." She doesn't necessarily like condemning Ishgardians to death, but even though it weighs on her she views these casualties as necessary sacrifices in the name of peace. Rhiki is less of a big-picture person, and doesn't have the stomach for that sort of thing. She prefers to do good on a small, personal scale. She's realized even at this point in her life how easy it is for people who want to change the world to lose themselves in the pursuit of that goal. She prefers to do the little goods that are right in front of her and hope that they build up to something greater. To Ysayle I'm sure this seems short-sighted and complacent.

The shattering of Ysayle's worldview would put significant strain on their relationship. Rhiki's immediate instinct would be to comfort Ysayle and give her a shoulder to lean on. But it does seem like Ysayle needs space and time to process, and it would be hard for Rhiki to provide that. She would be so reluctant to leave Ysayle defeated and unmoored on the floor of Hraesvelgr's abode that Estinien and Alphinaud would practically have to drag her away to rush back to Ishgard. Rhiki knows that she has to go, that time is of the essence and the fates of countless people hang in the balance, but leaving Ysayle would still be one of the hardest things she had ever had to do up to that point.

The other obstacle in their way is how driven Ysayle is. She's devoted to ending the Dragonsong War and then to atoning for her sins (Esteem voice: 'Ware the penitent, for theirs is a compulsion all-consuming.) It's a bit hard to envision her setting aside a portion of her time and heart for Rhiki. Even if she did, Rhiki would know that she would always come second to Ysayle's dreams. She doesn't resent her for this, though. She admires Ysayle's tireless dedication and would never want to become an obstacle in the pursuit of her ideals. (Though, the fact that Ysayle's search for atonement seems to take on self-destructive tones would stress Rhiki way the hell out.) Anyway, it's not like Rhiki can just kick back and quit her job to support Ysayle either. In a world where Ysayle doesn't die in the skies over Azys Lla, this is what would probably lead to the breakdown of their relationship. I imagine this being and amicable breakup, with both acknowledging that they still cared deeply for each other but understanding that neither of them can set aside their self-appointed duties to love the other the way they deserve. 

In the world of canon, where Ysayle did die buying time for the Scions as they raced to catch up to Thordan, well, that would be rough on Rhiki. It would definitely feed into her complex about other people giving up their lives for her (stop it!!!). Though Rhiki would know it's irrational, she would still feel horribly responsible for what happened to Ysayle; Maybe if she hadn't reached out to her, if they hadn't formed such a strong connection to each other, Ysayle wouldn't have felt compelled to throw her life away to aid them. (Obviously that's not the case, but she would have no way of knowing that.) Ysayle's death would be crushing, and it would take a long time for her to recover and come to terms with it (that was also gonna happen anyways so....)

Since that's kind of a downer, I'll leave you with a cute mental image: Rhiki and Ysayle together at a campsite on a warm, sunny day in the Dravanian Forelands, Ysayle with her head in Rhiki's lap and Rhiki absentmindedly playing with her hair as the they both look up at the sky and watch the dragons swoop and dive above Anyx Trine.

(Send me a character and I'll tell you what a ship with them and Rhiki would look like; good, bad, or otherwise)

RELATIONSHIPS  — TALK ABOUT THE MUSE.

NAME: Morganaux de Roulemet / Morganaux de Dzemael ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Gay, polyamorous PREFERRED PET NAMES: He would rather not have any used on him. Excluding situations where he’s in Ishgard and having to be on his “best” behavior, he goes almost exclusively by the nickname “Morgy,” unless he trusts someone to call him by his full first name. However, he will allow pet names that are given to him, so long as there’s significance behind it. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Entirely verse-dependent, and unless discussed otherwise, he’s single. FAVOURITE CANON SHIP: (i don’t know why the font got larger here but i don’t know or care enough about formatting try to fix it lmao) There’s no canon, official WoL ships, so none. Unless you count his non-RP “canon” written exactly to my own tastes, and in that case, it’d be Morgy/Emet/Hyth/Eli. FAVOURITE NON-CANON SHIP: See above. OPINION ON TRUE LOVE: It absolutely exists and he will do anything for the sake of true love, viewing it as a force of good in the world that can warm even the coldest of hearts. This sounds pure and wholesome, but it’s not healthy at all for him (or those around him, for that matter), and him learning a more realistic form of love is one of my favorite character arcs to explore for him! OPINIONS ON LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT: It’s not something he truly believes in deep down in his heart, but he wants to believe in it and will say he does! HOW ROMANTIC ARE THEY?: On a scale of 1 to 10, a thousand. Once he’s convinced he’s found the right person, he’s going to put his all into the relationship. IDEAL PHYSICAL TRAITS: Long hair, taller than him IDEAL PERSONALITY TRAITS: Wants to do good in the world (even if it doesn’t line up with his own vision of good. it’s the intent that matters!), ambitious, critical thinker, open-minded. He’d really like to be with someone intellectually stimulating who helps him in his quest for knowledge and gets him to question the world around him. UNATTRACTIVE PHYSICAL TRAITS: He can’t stand people who don’t even try to present themselves nicely, especially when it comes to hygiene. He will tell someone to their face if they need a bath and he isn’t sorry at all about it. Too much muscle is also a turn-off for him for the most part, with few exceptions. UNATTRACTIVE PERSONALITY TRAITS: Close-mindedness, excessive piety, lack of ambition, having no interest in being a life-long learner. IDEAL DATE: Exploring an unfamiliar locale, especially if it’s somewhere they’re not supposed to be. Dancing in an empty ballroom would also be ideal! DO THEY HAVE A TYPE?: Morally grey (or completely immoral) mages. He doesn’t purposefully seek out the villainous type and is very much aware that it’s a problem, but he gravitates toward them anyway. AVERAGE RELATIONSHIP LENGTH: Verse-dependent. By default, he hasn’t been in any relationships due to him being a very repressed Ishgardian with little free time on his hands. PREFERRED NON-SEXUAL INTIMACY: Simply being in the presence of his partner(s), even if they aren’t speaking or doing the same thing, being content in the knowledge that they’re happy together.  COMMITMENT LEVEL: Completely and utterly devoted to a fault. (In a self-destructive, prone to corruption kind of way, not in a way that disrespects any boundaries!) OPINION OF PUBLIC AFFECTION: He’d prefer not to, but wouldn’t shut it down completely if it’d make his partner(s) happy, so long as it remains in moderation. He isn’t shy about his affections, but simply values his privacy and hates the idea of his relationships being the subject of gossip, which is pretty much inevitable as a WoL and a High House noble. PAST RELATIONSHIPS?: By default, none. He was, however, deeply in love with his best friend Noudenet, but the two of them never actually told each other how they felt before the whole Thordan situation happened.

TAGGED BY: saw the thing, did the thing

TAGGING: If you want to do this, you’re tagged!

Eight: Adroit - E

"Do you think I'm good at this, too?"

-

Specific male WoL Bas'ir Bahani and trans G'raha Tia. In a night of perplex passion, the Crystal Exarch accidentally touches on a touchy subject.

CW: Referenced consensual sex work.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2021 FFXIV Writing Challenge

The Crystal Exarch has had decades to put his past sexual experiences on a pedestal. Somehow after all those fantasies, after all that longing, he failed to overestimate the ability of Bas’ir Bahani.

Or perhaps he greatly underestimated himself.

“Oh gods—Bas’ir!” G’raha plants both of his hands on the back of the Warrior’s head and pushes, pulls. He can’t decide whether he wants more or less pressure on his clit as climax comes. A finger or two (or maybe three—G’raha lost count) push in and out relentlessly. The twist is calculating, the execution expert. As the Exarch’s thighs squeeze around his new-old lover, just one thought pierces through the daze of rapture: was Bas’ir always so capable in bed?

The Exarch swears and his limbs relax. Dead weight. It used to take three or four rounds to have him feeling so utterly spent, but now all he needs is a few minutes with Bas’ir’s head between his thighs and he's clutching the covers for dear life. "Bas'ir…" He stretches his wobbly legs enough to let the Keeper pull back. "I swear it...it seems as though you've learned some new tricks."

With narrow eyes, Bas’ir smears his hand across his mouth, letting his tongue linger at the tip of his index. It was just the one finger. What do the Exarch’s history books say about Bas'ir's time in Kugane? And would G’raha dare broach the topic indirectly? Rationally, there's nothing shameful about Bas'ir's work at the brothel, but it's difficult for him to resist the dark urge to raise his voice and shout are you calling me a whore?

“Perhaps,” the Keeper says, standing and setting a hand on either of the Exarch’s knees. “But I didn’t have as much time to hone my skills as you did.” He leans closer as he speaks until their faces are but a few ilms apart. A touch of mischief tints his voice, but a smirk does not accompany.

The Exarch goes cross-eyed trying to focus. "I, er…" This is some kind of slight or challenge, and he can't be certain how to meet it. He's no longer fluent in the queer language of his old friend. In pondering the riddle, he looks away. "Forgive me if my aptitude fails to impress." He means it in two ways.

"Your aptitude…" Bas’ir pulls his lower lip with his fangs. There’s a poor liar beneath him, blushing and wet in the proper places. Maybe history missed Bas'ir's time as a whore, or perhaps in some confused attempt at showing respect—elected to ignore it. More research required. Now is far from the time. "Your endurance matters more at this precise moment, Raha."

G'raha's ears perk up. "My endurance?"

"Mm…" Bas'ir lowers his head to press a tiny kiss at the apex of the Seeker’s bullet wound, blue with crystal, purple with bruise. "Or I can stop here for the night, old man..."

"Stop here? What! No." G’raha shuffles to spread his legs, and Bas’ir’s hands slip from his knees. The loss of contact surprises the Exarch, even though it’s his own doing. He presses his fingers, flesh and crystal, to his collarbone and tries to read his partner, tries to make himself look enticing. “I would have you exercise the full breadth of your ability.” He smiles.

And what to do about it? Bas’ir grinds his teeth. If the Exarch knows, the smile is a taunt. If he doesn’t, it’s an olive branch. Bas’ir recognizes how unfair these foolish mind games are, so easily solved with a string of well-placed words. But tensions are high. and his dick is hard. He’s compelled to quell it before moving onto any other task that requires a careful tongue.

“You’ve energy enough to handle more?” Bas’ir says, making a gentle fist around his cock. His voice is gentle, too. With his ever-gloved mechanical hand, he traces down the Exarch’s abdomen, then up to thumb once at his nipple. The crystal missed but one.

“I think so.” Red eyes and optimism.

“Very well.” Bas’ir lines the head of his cock up with G’raha’s swollen clit and starts rubbing. The slick sounds make his pupils dilate. He imagines coming directly onto the Exarch’s lips, watching the white smear to the rhythm of his head. He would quickly plunge inside to pump the rest of his seed somewhere warm. Many times his ears have pinned at the beg of inside, inside! Many times he has been the beggar.

G’raha’s mouth hangs open as he waits. A dark maturity flutters with Bas’ir’s lashes. That he’s eyeing the place where their bodies meet is clear. Bas’ir’s past is far from G'raha's business—he knows too much already—but he wonders what happened to the braggadocious brat who first bedded him in Sharlayan. G’raha recalls spreading his legs that first night and receiving a full load less than three minutes later. The memory is almost enough to make him laugh.

Almost. But that would’ve been bad for coming to terms with the past, present, and fragile future. Bas'ir doesn't do anything special to get himself inside. A simple exploration of the right angle, a shift forward and an extra push from the hip. Once the head is in, he pauses to give G'raha time to request a moment. No request comes.

"Do you think I'm good at this, too?" Bas'ir says it with a harsh thrust deeper.

G'raha gasps and throws his head back. "Y-yes!" His readiness to answer embarrasses him. As a scholar, he’d have teased until the pulse of orgasm gave away the truth of his enjoyment.

Bas'ir closes his eyes and eases forward until the two of them are chest to chest. He could will himself to the point of finishing at practically any moment—the very next, or a full bell later. But he's tired of overthinking. He's tired of fucking. Would it be so unpalatable to just make love for once in his life? Whatever that means. The thought itself feels dirtier than anything he did in Kugane.

"Bas'ir," G'raha says. He can't get this out of his head. "I—I didn't mean anything by it."

The Keeper rubs his fingers over the base of G'raha's ear and hums a rumbling, one-note question, following his body's call by setting a merciful tempo. "Hold me."

"All right." G'raha locks his arms behind Bas'ir's neck, his legs around his waist. He could drop his apology now, but he knows he saw something behind those yellow eyes. Something hurt. "About your ability. I didn't mean—"

"Taking back your compliments?" Now, Bas'ir presses a sinister smile into the crystal of G'raha's neck, kisses the same spot.

G'raha swallows hard. "Never."

Ultimately they tangle with each other for another half bell or so. Bas’ir’s final orgasm comes as he sinks his cock into G’raha’s cunt from a standing position on the bed. He has the Seeker half rolled over, his knees hovering near his shoulders on the mattress. Not a graceful position, not a gentle end to the night. When they clean themselves up and connect beneath the covers, G'raha is the one left staring at the ceiling. Perhaps it's a mistake to conceptualize Bas'ir as something he can understand completely. If so—G'raha was an utter fool in ages past, assuming he'd already cracked every puzzle worth cracking before unceremoniously, brutally, nigh-unforgivably throwing out the pieces.

WOL gets to travel the world with G'raha. How would the lovely catboy feel if they were to subtly bring him to the alters of The Twelve. (AKA - The pilgrimage you need to take for the Bonding Ceremony to get married in game.)

ooo i like this idea :O

[Major 5.3 Shadowbringers spoilers below the cut]

❅ ❅ ❅

After G’raha’s induction to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, you had taken it upon yourself to grant one of the man’s greatest wishes. Ergo, you have been his guide across all of Eorzea, taking him to the many vistas you have discovered during your respite.

You enjoyed the wide-eyed, excited expressions that the man would have along your journey. From his shyness of climbing atop your two-person mount to his early struggle of learning how to set up camp, you’ve enjoyed the little subtleties granted your most recent expeditions had reminded you of the life you have yet to live.

Along the way, your journey led you to the verdant forests of Gridania. Emerald leaves swirled about you as you could feel the power of the elementals swirling about you with every step, with every ilm you ventured within the Twelveswood.

Then, in the midst of it all, you had wandered to East Shroud—to the Bramble Patch, to be precise—and while you clearly knew the lay of the land, your companion did not. So, in a small bid of childish fluttering, you had discreetly led him deeper within the forests, with purpose masked by subtlety, until you were within the Sanctum of the Twelve.

This holy place remained just as it was as you left it and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of reverence as you gazed upon the Ivory Chapel standing proudly before you. Along with it, the land to which the establishment stood appeared blessed by the gods themselves for the crystal clear waters of the ponds surrounding it, the bright colors of the lotus flowers floating along the water’s surface and the fireflies beginning to emerge and dance across the air as the sun began setting into the horizon.

You shift your gaze to your company and found that the man’s crimson eyes are shining bright in admiration. Surely, with his affinity to the arcane, he’s able to sense the aetherial magicks ebbing and flowing from this place and it made you question whether or not he realized just exactly where you both were.

So, you tell him. You tell him and proceed to watch as he spiraled into an embarrassed and bashful demeanor. His cheeks flushed to match his eyes and you couldn’t help but hug him because he was just too cute!

One day, I will be able to walk down the altar with him.

“My friend?!” G’raha shrieks in an all-too-high pitch.

You blink and find that the Miqo’te was staring at you with wide eyes, cheeks flushed brighter and darker than before. You wondered what it was that he was fretting about until it dawned on you that you had spoken out loud.

Your blush was furious as your skin quickly matched the color of his. Your eyes darted sheepishly, lightly scratching the side of your head with how awkward the situation was at the moment. Taking in a deep breath, you willed courage into your breast and peered towards him with determined eyes.

“I mean what I said,” you answer him. “One day, we will be able to walk the altar. Together.”

G’raha still appeared blown away with what you had said before he couldn’t help but smile warm and bright at you.

“My dear warrior, you cannot possibly be proposing to me,” he commented with jest, a chuckle escaping him.

Oh, that’s what you think.

With a raised brow at the challenge, you give him a sly smirk before getting on one knee. When you pulled out a small black box, you had the fortune of watching G’raha Tia at an absolute loss for words.

mettle of metal

[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ my writings ]  ★ [ prompt #04 - clinch]

[ raubahn v.s wol ]  ★ [ 1,315 words ]  ★ [ post-heavensward spoilers ]

‘ to confirm the winning or achievement of ’

on the day the bull butt heads with the lamb, who was the true victor?

“I’ve always wanted to test my mettle against yours, Warrior of Light. I can’t say this situation displeases me at all.”

It does me. 

Illya has never been one to thrive off conflict or needless confrontations. Quite strange, most definitely, considering her fame as one who almost single handedly tore a hole right through the castrum’s stronghold. A test of strength against a friend, above all else, was something she absolutely abhorred. 

Not that she ever has a say in the matter.. she was, after all, always a slave to the whims and wants of others. 

The representative of Ishgard stood stock still in the midst of the freezing cold, with bed of hair tied into innocent little braids camouflaged into a sea of white around her. And yet in spite of the foreign colors she wore, Raubahn was all too familiar with her visage. 

A pair of violet jewels, spectacular in their luster, though holding just a tiny glint of danger within them. He’s seen that look in her eyes plenty, and yet it’s the first the threat of her soul piercing gaze has ever been directed at him. And in her hand, a rod made of metal and amethyst, name amply fitting for the diamond in the rough, the hero that held it - for the stardust that was their very own champion of Eorzea. 

Not now, however.. Raubahn had to remind himself, as he pushed the visor of his helmet down and raised his sword. In this very moment, on this very battlefield, she was his enemy, and the enemy of the alliance. And just as he’d sworn upon the sultana’s bedside, with tears that’d nearly spilled so uncharacteristic of his reputation, he would not fail to strike down any who would consider themselves enemies to her - friend or not. 

To his surprise, his foe had struck first, blasting the center of where he’d just been standing not less than a second ago with an unforgiving strike of lightning. The general of flames had dodged, just barely, and felt the full sting of electricity prick at his skin and cause his hair to stand.. and he hadn’t even been hit by her attack at all.

The mage waits not for him to recover, before she detonates a ball of fire upon his person that sends the bull flying across their arena.

He nearly rolls into the ring of flames he’d lit, and the man could do nothing but smile devilishly beneath his helm.

“You’re not the only one who can wield the power of flames. Behold!” 

The bull of Ala Mhigo was quick to pick himself up, and with a raise of his sword he conjured up his own raging flames, an inferno that burned hotter and brighter than the feeble little puff his foe had thrown at him. For his wrath and determination too towered over his foe - the girl he knew to be too softhearted for her own good. 

Illya was kind and gentle, almost too much so.. He’d once wondered of how a lamb could carry the flames of Eorzea as she does, rise to such fame and strength that not even the strongest of the imperials, the Legatus holding the title of the Black Wolf, could hope to match against her might. And though the general has long learned to not belittle the girl for her inconspicuousness, he has always wondered what the secret behind her strength was - what set Illya apart from himself?

She was the tender to his hardy, the white to his black, the gentle moonlight that would never meet his blazing sun. If he was a warrior, forged by the battles that has painted his entire body with enough scars to map the world, then she was a flower that had bloomed upon that very battlefield he fought on.

But flowers who could not accept its need for their own sustenance, a flower who refused to grow thorns.. will not survive for long in a war torn environment. If nothing else, he hopes her defeat will teach her that.

The flame general’s attack causes the girl to step back and stumble, the first Aymeric had seen her done in a while, and watches helplessly as Raubahn charges the girl with his sword swung to his side.

It was all she could do but to physically block his blade with her rod, grimacing as she barely avoids the sharp end of his sword from grazing her head before sprinting away from the man.

“Do you plan on running forever, warrior?! Your weapon is nothing more than a mere stick next to mine!”

Any distance she’d hoped to draw between them was always effortlessly closed, and any time she’d planned on buying to cast her spells to counter his attack was whittled away bit by bit, as was her strength. 

Raubahn was as observant of his enemies as he was strong, he surely must have noticed the lack of resistance as he struck the shaft of her rod. As was necessary for the conjuring of black magic, all of her magic was being imbued into her longstaff, but not herself. 

The wall of flames general Aldynn had summoned was not to damage her, great as her defense against magical damage as she was. It was to throw her off balance so that he might close the gap between them.

“I’ll finish this!”

The bull of Ala Mhigo charges, sword raised high above his head that he swings down towards the lamb, who helplessly raises up her rod. 

Foolish girl, doing that with her weakness will only cause her to crash down beneath his feet.

Metal against metal, steel against steel. The smell of ash fills his nostrils, and all he could hear was the deafening screech of his sword against...

her sword?

“What?”

Stardust has faded. The moon has sunk beneath the horizon, leaving naught but darkness. And from beyond the horizon, a shadow rose. 

How many summers has it last been since he’d had his sword pushed aside so effortlessly like this? He’d been reminded of his bouts with Ilberd, of his time as a calf who could barely even tell a swords’ hilt from its pommel. 

The feeling of fighting a foe he’d dreaded to clash blades with, a foe he knew to be stronger than himself in every way.

It would seem.. he’s underestimated the Warrior of Light again.

“I never knew.. you knew how to wield a great sword.” 

What a sight it was, to see the Lalafellin he’d always known for her dainty little staffs and canes to be carrying a jet black sword that was larger than herself, and to see the lavender glint in her eyes glow an almost ominous red. Illya’s stance was nothing like before, nothing like the stumbling, flustered lamb he’d thought her to be.

“If...If it’s a close fight you want..” Illya’s voice was the only reminder he had of who she was - of the delicate flower he’d watched bloom in his midst. He had just not taken notice of the thorns beneath her roots until it was too late. 

“Don’t blame me... You were the one who forced my hand.”

She didn’t want for it to come to this.. wished with all her might that she needn’t use him. But the unforgiving crystal in her breast pocket whispered to her, reminded her of the disappointment she’d cause her allies were she to fall without even giving it her all. 

And in that, the secret behind the Warrior of Light’s strength.. the crippling fear of failure, of the demon that laid dormant inside her. 

A victory clinched, a battle that was hardly even a contest. On that day, the bull had been brought down to his knees, and he stared up at the shadow with fear and pride in his eyes. 

While I am still writing a more in-depth explanation of Xartsa’aga/Aeron, I wanted to go and write some easy-to-chew tidbits about him! I will edit this post to also include the link to the document when it’s done. I’m using this post so I can keep adding details about him in a more informal manner and explaining more about the characters involved without needing to write a whole Novel about it. 

He is actually part of a WoL group! The “main” Warrior of Light is actually Vohti’a Janra, and Aeron and another two people can be considered... sub-WoLs?? Let’s just go with that! They each have their character arc in different expansions, and they are the personification of the found family trope.

Originally from the Steppe and part of the Tumet clan, Aeron experienced a vision of the Dusk Mother and that made him decide to abandon his home and somehow manage to board a ship to Eorzea. 

A plus point of this is that he (back then) did not speak or understand Eorzean Common at all! You can probably imagine how his journey went. He met Vohti’a at Ul’dah, and that is how they became acquainted. Over a very weird campfire, a hooded man who barely understood anything that was spoken to him and warm food. 

It was then that he decided to adopt an “easier” name for himself, as he noticed Vohti and other people had trouble with it. It was then that he borrowed the historical name “Aeron Cadeyrn” to himself, and this is what he goes by to this day. 

Following these events, it was agreed that the two of them would travel together: there he learned the basic knowledge to be able to communicate with others, but Aeron prefers to keep quiet and let others do the talking.

His name means “falcon”, and it was given to him due to his love of Really High places. You can find him always standing outside on the highest point of any place they are camping. He just enjoys it. 

Speaking of enjoyment, he is the ‘assigned chef’ of the group. Just do not ask the components of his meal, as he honors every piece of it. It is delicious, but the knowledge will definitely be something you do not desire to know. 

Originally a lancer! This leads him to an early-entry at Ishgard than the Actual Quests allow, due to his duties as the Azure Dragoon. This might or might have not been endorsed by the Fortemps. 

It is then that he got a bit of more ‘formal’ education. The current status is that he can communicate what he wants to - along with reading and writing to a small extent. But much like talking, if he has to read letters he probably hands them to the nearest party member.

This does not mean he is absent from the events of the game! Just that he had his own stuff to deal with.

The black markings on his face are actually makeup/warpaint! Aeron diligently applies it every day. His face does look kinda funny without it.

This is something that he does not reveal to many, but this man is actually very. Religious is not the right word, but he has a massive amount of faith in the Dusk Mother. He feels very close to Her, and his faith is an important part of his character.  

Related to the point above: Aeron has a hard time dealing with grief. The first time was actually during the whole Vault conundrum. Death is something he thought of as natural: it happens to all beings, but the void that is left by the death of someone that you loved is not something he has ever had to deal with. Needless to say, it ends poorly. It is probably the first time Aeron questions his beliefs.

He disappears for a bit after that, and in that period he apparently gave up the lance and the title to find something else that would help him make sense of this. This is what prompts his change to Dark Knight, believing it is best to protect people than to be protected.

The lasting effects of trauma really resided in his soul: his sense of self shattered in two. His "normal" self -- Aeron -- continued to navigate the world as usual, serving as one of the Warriors of Light. His other half -- Xartsa'aga -- took on the burden of all of their anger, grief, and pain. With Xartsa'aga dealing with their negative emotions, Aeron could continue to act as the man he has always seemed to be. The two of them have learned to coexist over the years and have grown closer, learning to accept themselves and work together to care for and protect their loved ones.     

Values personal freedom a lot. And also the ability that people have to choose their own fate.

Finds various monsters to be “cute”, which draws many skeptical looks from others. Has a tendency to try and bring them home with him. A notable example was him trying to convince one of the Fuath to simply return to the Source with him. 

From his perspective, Hien views the Xaela as a tool to use for combat, and he does not care for the man. Or any that sees his people as simply ‘savage beasts’. 

Aeron is. Very. Moon themed. For obvious reasons! The neutrality of the moon, the many faces of it. This relates deeply to his decisions back in Amaurot. Ultimately unable to pick a side, but then following the decision that was not correct, but the one that made sense at the time. 

(Me staring at the camera blankly while I unfurl an even bigger list of terrible stuff I wrote) You can probably assume from the previous post that he did not ultimately side with Hydaelyn. Not because he did not agree with the principles of it - but of the immediate necessity of the world he loved to be saved.

Going on with the moon/night theme that he embodies, obviously I picked “Nyx” for his ascian name. The odd attachment to strange creatures probably originated there, along with his calm demeanor.  

This also means that his “love” for the World carried on as well. As much as he can relate to their supposed “Enemy” (as he is now aware that they are not so different after all), this is their world now. This is what he swore to protect. This is the place that he loves, now and forevermore.   

infatuation

hi, this will be literally my first drabble(?) in years and i owe this new spark to thancred and all the various wolcred writers on ao3 :) it's so difficult finding a fic of wolcred that doesn't involve spoilers (i am new to the game, on ARR trial still) so i guess this is a bit self-indulgent too. (ao3 writers please have mercy on early simps)

i'm writing on the tumblr editor, so sorry for the formatting.

tags: Thancred/WOL, Thancred/reader, miqo'te WOL, gender ambitious WOL, impostor syndrome, self doubt, one-sided(?), angst(?), ARR MSQ ~33 because that's where i'm at

1226 words

Oh, twelves. Oh dear.

You knew you're doomed when you first heard his voice emerging from behind you, his tone warm and assuring. Gods, he was a good looking one. The immediate danger that followed broke through your little bubble of puppy love, but nevertheless as you fought with him side by side, you knew you wish to meet him again. Was it love at first sight, you wonder, as you knew this sort of feeling is never good to have, though you still clench your fist at the thought of meeting him again. It's never too bad to have a handsome face in your view.

Came your second meeting, your third, fourth-- Gods, it just didn't stop coming and he became a regular face to you. You learned that his name is Thancred - admittedly, it has a nice ring to it. That a simple traveler like you could become somewhat of an acquaintance and have the fortunate fate of seeing him from time to time, it must be a gift from the Twelves... or so you thought.

Fast forward to countless little errand runs later - you are now a Scion, standing equal to him in a peculiar organization, handling equally tedious tasks as he did -- as he does. You just started your adventures not too long ago, and yet here you are in the Waking Sands, dubbed his "family" by Minfillia, talking to him as if you're truly comrades. Gods, it felt so abrupt to you, knowing one of the main reasons that you are there was because of the Echo as Minfillia addressed it. It felt almost as if you're not supposed to be there.

It wasn't because of your kindness, your heart, your talent, your hardworking merits, your stance -- simply because of a "gift" you were given unbeknownst to yourself, a "gift" you couldn't even bear to control.

All while the looming anxiety in you grows, as does the "puppy love" that you felt from the very start for Thancred. Each time you meet through missions, each time you interact with him, you could feel it eat you up more ever so slightly; it was naught but simple endearing details of him that caught you more and more entwined in this tangle mess of your own feelings. The shape of his nose, his jawlines, the ashy strands that overshadows his face, his beautiful amber eyes always filled with something akin to hope or so you presume; the way he makes a show of himself, the way he playfully flirts with you and everyone alike, the sight of his reassuring silhouette always ready to come to your aid-

the way his eyes were glossed over with regret where he knew he left you out in danger when you fought Ifrit, the way he wants to grow stronger to protect those in need of his helping hand, the way he-

You know this won't do. You know this growing feeling inside of you is just infatuation. You know he would never look your way, even just for a brief moment. You know he flirts with everyone, and that makes you no exception - you know he is himself, he is Thancred, and you will never catch that kind of gaze from the Thancred that you know. He would never. He is your friend, your ally, your colleague, your dearest flirtatious scholar. No matter what kind of feeling you hold for him, this won't do.

This won't do because you won't ever deserve his gaze.

The sound of your name cuts you from your train of thoughts.

"Are you feeling alright?" asked Thancred as he held out a drink for you.

For a moment you flinched - you forgot you were in the Waking Sands waiting for Minfillia to come out from her meeting all while letting your intrusive thoughts ran through your little miqo'te head. Thancred's gaze meets yours as you forced yourself to look away from it.

"Oh! Um... I'm alright, Thancred." You knew it must have been rude to look away so abruptly like that, so you force yourself to look up at him albeit loosely letting your eyes rest on somewhere ambiguous on his forehead as you held out your hand to receive the drink he'd so kindly gotten for you. "I appreciate the concern. I was just... lost in thoughts, is all."

"Indeed, you must have so much on your mind right now," he sat down on a little chair near you as he spoke. "It's the Titan that we have the honor to face now. Gods be damned, we're making you face a primal - again, after your unfortunate encounter with Ifrit. How could you not worry?"

"I suppose you can put it like that." You squirm. You forgot the Titan even existed, as you were only dwelling in your selfish, unimportant feelings towards the man sitting next to you. You're slaying a Primal. How could you forget? How could you be so self-centered that you forget that you're facing a Primal? You hear the voice deep inside you rumble as you struggle to forge a smile. "But I... am willing to accept this mission. I believe this is part of my duty as a Scion, and I want to help out. I believe that I became an adventurer because of this."

You know you're lying through your teeth as you grit the words as if you want to chew them out. You didn't want to admit, but you are fully accepting these dangerous missions because part of you just want the Primal to slay you instead. You don't deserve a place here among the Scions; someone else more talented and less clouded with sophisticated feelings towards their colleague could take over your place at no time. After all, you are but a simple adventurer. But because you are one, it won't hurt to try your hands at slaying Titan - the worst you'll face is death anyways.

You can feel Thancred's warm hand as he pats your back in an attempt to soothe your visibly clenched hands. Your ears plopped as your tail softly wags behind you, brushing the walls of the Waking Sands. You're sure he only comforts you because he thinks that you are stressed of the thoughts of Titans, but the feeling of his soft touches lingering on your back makes you feel all the more flustered.

He is your friend. Don't ruin this.

The silence was both so comfortable and painful for you to bear. But at least you know that you're taking these feelings to your grave were you to fail. These carefully guarded heartbeats will not reveal themselves to Thancred any time soon, and knowing that eases you a little bit.

The doors to the Solar creaked open, and you turn your head towards it, knowing Minfillia is inside awaiting your presence. As does she for Yda, Papalymo, Y'shtola, Urianger, and Thancred.

All these knowledgeable people, and you get to stand equal as them as a Scion... even though you are so much less than they are. You wonder how long it will be until they find out - mayhap it will be the death of you - as you step into the chamber with your comrades.

This is naught but infatuation. I am but an impostor. Time will tell them that I am not... the heroic figure they think I am.

no. 10 -  “Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood”

(Personal rules - Roll for a random # 1-31, write for 30 minutes. No significant edits except for spelling or typos.)

Fandom: My Country: the New Age canon compliant - second strife of the princes (seo hwi) [gratuitous abuse of second person pov] --------------------------

It’s not anything serious. He hadn’t meant to wound wound you, just slow you down, and he didn’t know about the drugs besides. There’s too much to do, there’s too many moving pieces to let your moving pieces, the ones that shouldn’t be moving, slow you down. So you don’t.

There’s the rendezvous, then the denouement. There’s the expected betrayal. There’s about 30 more swords here than you were expecting, wielded by 30 fighters you hoped you’d never have to face, but this is your everyday, really. There are always more swords.

You’re--

You know you were supposed to be here ahead, but you came up behind, and to explain why is to explain the rest of it. There’s a tiresome familiarity to that-- whoever you’re talking to is going to overreact and demand certain things; things you’d demand of someone else if they were telling you your story, about themselves. But the rules have always been different for you-- other people get to collapse. Other people get to go home and have clean beds, warm meals. Other people get to acknowledge pain as a sign to stop. 

For you it’s always been an acknowledgement of a limit not quite reached-- Oh, you hurt but you can still move. See. Stagger. Fight.

You rally your fighters against two other armies. You stop the people you care about from killing each other. You help your friends retreat when they are wounded, when their pain is signaling ‘stop.’

You take him and you lie to the face of the man you promised not to lie to again and your--

You’re going--

 There’s a field. There’s a mountain. These are remote places. Uphill hurts worse than riding along the flattlands did; and riding hurts worse than fighting. Why is that; is your fighting affectionate? Mundane? Would that make a day cooking and resting extraordinary? That’s an odd thought. 

When was the last time you went a whole day without your hand clenching your sword for some part of it? Can you remember? When did you last take the drugs you needed? Why a mountain? You can’t remember. The drug speeds up heartrate; makes the thoughts race; kills pain. You’re racing, that must mean you have the drug, so you must have taken it--

You’re going to--

There are...tricks other people use to cope when their capacity is diminished. Techniques. You’ve heard of this. You’ve never needed them of course-- that is the curse of talent. We’re given time when we’re young to learn and fail, but if you’re remarkable enough it never occurs to you that your abilities might diminish, and so you never bother to learn the basic skills everyone else uses to get by. Then when you need to learn, it’s too late, sink or swim.

You’re sinking, but you promised her you’d wait, you’d keep trying, and you hurt but you’re not down so you keep moving, moving. Off the horse. Drag him down with you; hand him over to his scowling subordinate. “There are medicines,” you tell the other man. “Powders for the blood loss. I’ll bring them.”

“What about you?” says the subordinate, and you blink and grin because--

You’re going to be--

 The horse knows its own way back to the city and you let it have its head-- of the two of you, it's the clearer thinker at the moment. You wouldn’t say you ‘black out’ on the way back, but you have a distinct memory of the mountain cave, and then nothing at all until you are standing in front of Hwa-wol, telling her you need “The beige packets, and probably the blue vial...no that one.” She trusts you, and she wants to ask where Mun-bok is, but you don’t know. In fact, you don’t even know how you made it off the horse without collapsing, but you’re going to have to go back up the mountain again, so you’d better figure it out. 

There are things to say to Hui-jae first. You say them, it’s all items that have been written into your heart like wishes carved into the bark of a sugar maple. It doesn’t even require much conscious thought. You think she probably mistakes your flushed cheeks and ashy skin for nerves. If it wasn’t for the ‘delaying tactic’ you’re still dealing with, you probably would be a mess of nerves, so that’s fine. That’s fair. You’re breaking her heart, so it’s only right you feel like you’re dying...

It’s not that you expect yourself to be fine, or that your friends are so unobservant. It’s just--

You’re going to be just-- 

Just that only you would have the talent to go to an uninhabited stretch of road and come back with a wound to the gut that is purely affectionate. You didn’t take it at the battle, or the escape after, and you don’t think you can bear the crushing pity in your friends’ eyes when you try to explain that ‘yes it really was him’ and ‘no, he didn’t mean it like that’ and--

You’re tired. You’re tired, you hurt, you’re cold, you feel so old and just… done.

Back up the mountain. It’s terrible. It’s necessary. You discuss things with the subordinate-- mercifully a brief conversation-- and then you can finally sit down, because there’s nothing left to do but look at him and tell him…

“You’re going to be--”

You’re going to be just fine.

and then there was two.

there will always be someone who is completely, wholly unsaveable.

        gatheredfates’ [30 day WOL challenge] | prompt: salvation

even before zaya met the newest reincarnation of minfilia, part of them knew it wouldn’t be who they were expecting.

minfilia—the first minfilia, the one who kept this world living for two centuries longer than it should, started a cycle of new minfilias that inevitably dashed their lives against the horde of sin eaters because her self-sacrificing, bleeding, golden heart would never be dimmed by something as simple as time and new life—had been dead for a very long time. even before those two centuries lost to halting the flood. she may have died in the sil’dih aqueducts to save what warriors of light she could, but to zaya she died the moment they drank firebrand poison and wine while toasting to a naive new ul’dah.

the memory of her haunts both of them in the worst ways, the two of them cursed to be in pain just by being touched by minfilia back before she was a leader and icon and a banner to rally under; hells, that selfsame memory nearly got both thancred and zaya killed, back when they were out for someone to blame for all the regrets wadded into the hole in their chests that losing her made standing by the cliffside outside of idyllshire.

but she will always, always be right over zaya’s shoulder no matter what, so they try their best to separate the minfilia living inside their head and the minfilia standing right in front of them; in this world, minfilia is more than a decade younger than her, more a daughter than a sibling and deserving of so much more than what zaya can give her. it’s going through the motions but with only half the heart behind them; half-moon smiles, quiet adventures in il mheg, laughs that are less than their usual thunderous quality. their heart has been bleeding for far too long to remember how they even managed to comfort lunya, sirius, and valdis in those humble beginnings in pearl lane, wound deepened by missing friends and another war.

zaya may have been one of many warriors of light, but minfilia was the leader of the scions, the one who remembered thancred and zaya from before the calamity split their memories into two, the one who persevered through countless duties and pains to make sure the world at large would be safer, if even by just a fraction. 

and even in death, she leaves both zaya and thancred on their knees when the child whose name is only minfilia because it fulfills the populace’s need for heroes and legends and lights at the ends of countless tunnels says:

“i wish they’d just say it—just say that they hate me! i can see it thancred’s eyes, in zaya’s smiles—that they wish i was dead so she could return…”

…

there will always be another version of them hiding behind the topmost layer, and zaya finds that the newest one is quieter. more akin to brooding than to escaping or confronting, more like the state they were in after fighting zenos back in ghimlyt dark. they thought they’d shaken this version of themselves off, stored it in the back of their mind.

and yet here it is, with all the dreadful penchant for reminiscence they could ever want.

someone in their motley crew of heroes suggests they take a night of rest before facing a trolley ride one might not return from—honestly, zaya wouldn’t be surprised if it were lunya or hanami who asked (more like demanded), hoping to get them (or thancred) to say something, anything—and by the dirty looks lunya gives both of them before retreating to her sleeping bag, thancred hasn’t done anything either.

“i can’t believe either of you right now. idiots, the both of you.” lunya hisses as she rolls out her bedroll next to hanami’s, and zaya silently agrees before slinking out of the small room all of them have been spared to sleep in for a few short bells.

even in spite of the light festering under their skin, eating away at the font of lightning at the center of their soul and sapping their energy. zaya is too tired to sleep. too awake, too aware to sort through everything, and too in pain from the swell of their heart beneath their skin to choke out the words i’m sorry in some worthless attempt to make up for faults that have been lying below the surface of their skin for years.

so instead of retreating to the shed thaffe and jeryk cleared for them to sleep in, away from the endless light, they climb up to the tallest cliff, sit at the edge, and stare blankly into the orange sands of amh araeng. waiting, observing, taking in the endless weight of a dying world and drowning in it to see if they can even possibly measure up to what little minfilia feels when the people of the crystarium call her oracle, a beacon, a living legend.

even if zaya was fourteen again and filled with the anger at their own family they’d dispensed a while back, they don’t think the sheer rage of being shunned would match up to the despair of not just feeling, but knowing two people who are supposed to be your guardians detest you. zaya couldn’t dare to pretend they knew the pain minfilia was going through. hells, they barely knew themselves; understanding others was beyond them.

so they don’t, and instead of dwelling on the things they cannot understand, they focus on meditating—familiar, comforting, simple. close your eyes, breathe in deep, count to ten, exhale, repeat until your thoughts are calm instead of thunderous. 

and, inevitably, in the quiet lull of the thunderstorms inside their head, their thoughts wander to the minfilia they knew—the one that yet lives inside their head.

she might be two summers their elder, but zaya can’t help but think of her as younger, even when they met in the goldsmith’s guild all those years ago—she a miner with a gift and an almost-brother and they a goldsmith with nothing left to lose. even now, with her eyes stolen away by the crystalline blue of hydaelyn, zaya can remember the warm grey from before she was a mouthpiece for this god all of them were bound to, and wonders why.

why take her? why someone so dedicated, so optimistic, so many things left to do and say? why make her a mouthpiece instead of giving the mercy of not seeing your friends and almost-family suffer at the sight of you? why can’t zaya save the first woman they thought of as my sister since leaving the steppe?

i promise i won’t hurt you, they said once upon a time to a girl afraid of them because of their legacy as the ‘bolt from the blue’, coliseum menace and one of few to face off against ‘raging bull’ raubahn aldynn and survive the encounter. i promise.

why were they calling themselves a hero—or worse, minfilia’s friend if they couldn’t extend, couldn’t keep that promise with a girl that carries minfilia’s legacy?

zaya opens their eyes to the expanse of orange sands once again, entirely drained and wanting to go back to a time before… everything. they can’t come up with an answer before sati comes out from the bushes and sits beside them, laying her hand over theirs in a solidarity zaya hasn’t seen from her in years—not since she was small enough to not see above their waist and living under both dorbei’s and their care.

“are you…” sati trails off, her voice murky, like zaya is underwater and hasn’t surfaced in a long, long time. “no. i’m… i’ll just sit here, ‘kay? not gonna leave you here.” her voice is the firmest it’s been in years, more confident in her decision than ever before, and zaya doesn’t fight it. they don’t fight reese or rjoli’s pitying stares, ihget’sae’s worried glance from the corner of the room, hanami’s angry tail whips, or lunya’s frustrated silence when they walk back into the shed, either. they don’t rest much either, instead pulling out their journal and flipping to the page where thancred had jokingly wrote some poetry over five years ago, before everything crumbled and their ul’dahn trio fell to two, fingertips running over the words—

but i have promises to keep, and miles to go before i sleep, and miles to go before i sleep.

…

zaya quietly walks over to minfilia as thancred and urianger do some final checks to their equipment and the talos, not really knowing where their fellow warriors are but knowing they don’t have long before they leave. their stomach churns, empty and hollow, but filled with imaginary butterflies instead; the kind that accompanies both their feelings for thancred and the dread of arguments.

“minfilia?” they say as clearly as possible, voice still cracking from the dryness of amh araeng and the struggle of learning to speak after decades of hardly opening their mouth. “c’n we talk?”

she sniffles, nodding her head, and zaya scoops up both of her hands into theirs, quietly turning her to face them and oh, her eyes are still red and teary, she’s still not handling this well. the urge to just pull her into a hug and never let go is overwhelming, but what she needs is not a pat to the head, not a simple hug, not just loving words and a sincere apology but all of the above.

if only thancred could pull his guts together to join them.

“heard you an’ urianger yesterday,” zaya says soothingly, tightening their grip over minfilia’s small hands only when fear seeps into her expression. “and ‘m so, so sorry i can’t love you the way you need me to.”

minfilia practically stumbles over her words, quietly tugging her hands further and further from zaya’s grasp and oh gods zaya really hopes they aren’t hurting her, quickly letting go when she tugs next. “i—no, it’s fine, i promise! yesterday was just—”

“no, y’u were…” it’d be too cruel to say that she was wrong; too cruel to say that both of them truly wanted the best for her, didn’t hate her in misguided parts when thancred said nothing at all and zaya couldn’t find the right things to tell her, but it was easier, if needed. then again, zaya had never been one for the path of least resistance. “you were right, but not about one thing; we… we both hate ourselves.”

she looks utterly shocked at the idea, but zaya pushes forward and tells the tale of how they and thancred almost didn’t live to see norvrandt; how they pushed each others’ buttons until he cracked first, how they both tortured themselves over the mess that was that age-old escape from ul’dah and how minfilia’s legacy has haunted them for longer before they knew her… with many, many changes. it isn’t a ballad, nor a fairytale, but it is the truth, and it is what she deserves to know about her guardian and her ally.

“you… you two…?” she mumbles, eyes wide and less teary than before. good. “but—you two are practically—when we were in dhon mheg, and the ravel, and the temple, you two were inseparable.”

zaya feels like that is a gross exaggeration—they can stand not knowing how thancred is doing for a few minutes—but continues anyways. “not always. we’re a lil’ stupi’ now, b’t we were worse ‘fore this.”

“i don’ wanna be forgiven,” they say, quietly; a secret that very few know and even fewer try to remember. “i don’ deserve to, an’ neither does thancred. but…” they pull her closer, wrapping their arms around her back and hugging her tight, as if she might suddenly disappear from zaya’s life like minfilia did all those years ago before they could tell her how incredibly glad they were to know her. “i wanna try again—do better, f’r you, if you let me.”

minfilia, for all her strength, doesn’t respond—not speechless, but occupied. her tears drip, drip, drip down zaya’s back, the blue overcoat they normally wear tied around their waist to reveal their (rather ragged) white tanktop. when she does catch her breath for long enough in gaps between her silent sorrow, she pulls her arms away from zaya’s chest to wrap around their neck instead, burying her face into their shoulders.

“i… i don’t know, yet,” she says truthfully, and zaya is glad thancred told her about the whole lying versus harsh truth thing they’ve always had a hard time explaining themselves. “can i tell you when we get back?”

when we get back, zaya thinks, sifting through the words in their head. she was always more earnest around them, or lunya, or any of their small crew that wasn’t thancred, really, but in her words she promises, not tries to promise. we.

“o’ course,” zaya promises back, because it’s the least they can do. they have a lot of promises to keep, they realize shortly after opening their mouth, but it feels… good. “always.”

...

the trolley crashes—because yet again, nothing is ever easy for the warriors of darkness, is it?—zaya’s horn is cracked from falling onto a very big rock, ran’jit is soaked in the memories of an old, different minfilia and then betrayed by the newest minfilia, and thancred stays behind. zaya prays it’s not because he fears what he might say to the old minfilia but because he’s had decades to learn that sometimes actions speak as loud as words do from learning zaya’s story until it was burned into his memory, fingers calloused and burnt from learning a storm made incarnate inside out, and he’s finally decided to use that knowledge instead of keeping it boxed in his chest. their head is utterly throbbing as they run ahead of lunya, lightning running through their blood faster than ever before because what if they lose not one but two on this journey, what if thancred has finally bit off more than he can chew, what if it’s like ul’dah all over again—

“zaya!” ihget’sae barks out in worry, even if his voice is more angry than it is soothing, and it hurts so much more than they thought it would to listen. “slow down!”

they stop, then, if only because the sickening feeling of bile rising up their throat from the pain is new, different, horrible. minfilia—who looks worriedly at them as she passes—keeps running ahead, and only when hanami and sati catch up to all of them does zaya start their desperate sprint again.

when the light-seared sky makes hanami’s aurum regis horn glint menacingly, zaya clutches at their own horn tighter. the crack feels bigger than it should, but it—their horn—doesn’t matter. if the price to pay for norvrandt’s salvation was their horn and the pain sure to follow, they’d pay it gladly. they’ve survived worse than a loss of balance; even if it did mess up their ability to fight with their fists, it would be a equal exchange for a world.

one life for one world, urianger’s voice rings from memory, except this time he had no say in the sacrifice. 

good, a more bitter part of them responds. the pure rancor from the voice inside their head sings of something abyssal, something they usually bury under lightning and fire and earth, but it sings truer than most of zaya’s scattered thoughts, as of late. as it should be.

zaya keeps running.

and when they finally make it to the fallen palace of nabaath areng and get dragged through a centuries-old memory of ardbert, minfilia, the warriors of darkness before them, and the flood, zaya is left on their knees by minfilia for the second and final time.

“ours is a meeting long overdue,” the word says to the oracle, not even waiting for the warriors surrounding little minfilia to regain their bearings. “full glad am i that we may finally speak.”

zaya remains sitting on the liquid crystal floor as lunya, hanami, sati—everyone but them gets up to look minfilia—the word of the mother minfilia—eye to eye, instead staring at the light bleeding and blurring her figure like some runny painting in a tarnished storybook left out in the rain. maybe it’s the tears stinging at the corners of zaya’s vision, but she looks… tired. tired of waiting, tired of watching, tired of perpetuating a cycle of pain and suffering that is going to end, one way or another, now.

and suddenly, they have one answer to thousands of whys. minfilia cannot be saved, they think, because she is like you. determined. blessed. chosen. (cursed.)

so when the word—minfilia looks to them longingly, zaya does not say how they wish she was still alive, how they wish they could show her what they can accomplish now. instead, zaya foolishly says, “t’hncred says ‘ello,” and keeps their mouth shut for the rest of the short visit to some realm where the gold of both minfilias’ hair bleeds into the light-soaked scenery, their saved tears quietly hidden behind untied hair and long bangs.

they think they might make it from this conversation relatively whole, watching quietly and contentedly as the two daughters of hydaelyn speak their minds with them as the witnesses. the almost do, and then minfilia whispers “i am truly sorry, friend. i love you.” and zaya’s heart is undone.

…

they don’t wake up with everyone else at the foot of nabaath areng, after minfilia disappears for good and after the waking memories of ardbert being refused his sacrifice.

instead, zaya wakes to their hair untied, thancred’s (torn, bloodied, stained) coat thrown over them, and a girl with grey eyes and terra-cotta hair looking surprised to see them awake. not a few seconds later does zaya sit up, head reeling as they look around to see the scions sitting just a little bit over three yalms away

“zaya,” she exhales tiredly. “you’re awake. lunya thought—” she points to their right horn, not daring to touch the ridges. “—the wound you were hiding here was more serious than just knocking you unconscious, seeing as it… well.”

they reach up to touch where the crack was, fingertips shaky and scratched up beyond all belief and find the smooth surface that only accompanied crystal, and from the slight thrum in their horn from the touch…

“thancred says it’s lightning crystal, or some gemstone attuned to your aether.” the girl carefully presses a mirror—dusty, old, slightly cracked—into their hands. “i, er. i don’t quite understand it all, but… when she—minfilia, that is—brought us back to nabaath areng, my appearance and your horn were already like this.”

zaya lifts the mirror to their face, and oh—the crack on their horn is filled with small slivers of gleaming gemstone; blue topaz, which explains the weird, sharp, clear and crisp tones to all of the sounds zaya’s can hear. it’s almost too similar to the exarch’s situation, what with the crystal marking his face and arm, but hells, they’re surprised they can hear at all with the gemstone filling the gaps between rough bone. gemstones aren’t crystal, after all.

but zaya has more pressing matters to attend to than figuring out the logistics of filling in a fracture with a non-organic material; besides, it’s not like their horn will be going anywhere.

“who are you?” zaya asks as the chatter from the scions and warriors die down.

“i—” the small girl with the weight of a two century long legacy in her hands and every last one of them standing by her side pauses, a small glimmer of hope crossing her eyes like a thunderbolt as she looks at them carefully. they both know what zaya asked wasn’t from amnesia, but of something else. “my name… is ryne.”

firefly, zaya quickly signs, and thancred inhales sharply from three yalms away even as ryne tilts her head in confusion. he knew nearly every sign in the book; it wasn’t surprising he’d catch them giving ryne a gift of their own. it’s the closest to saying i love you so, so much without saying it at all, because words wouldn’t possibly fit i’m sorry, are you alright, and can i try again all in six words.

“means firefly,” they clarify for ryne when she looks back at thancred, confusion turning into worry. “your new namesign, if you want? can’t keep callin’ y’u minfilia.”

“...i would like that very much,” ryne says, smiling and trying to keep a few tears from building at the corners of her eyes, and in that very moment—then there were two of an old friendship left behind, the shadow of minfilia finally lifting from zaya’s shoulder as ryne’s smile brought zaya’s heart back; salvation.

Feral

Spoils for the end of Dragonsong. I trust that those that read this. Have already played through it. Female reader. also light spicy. Aymeric x WOL x Estinien in case that is not everyone’s cup of tea. I wanted to write a healthy poly-ship.

Staring down Nidhogg was more than just your nerves on fire. They were in fear, every step you took while everyone else ran away from the wyrm. You felt the world coming closer to an end. Your feet moved with purpose, and your hands twitched as you watched the great wyrms battle. Waiting to join the fray, it wasn’t until Hraesvelgr gave you one of his eyes you understood purpose.

Using the power bestowed to you, you felt energy and power, but you still held fear in the back of your heart. You were not just fighting Nidhogg. You were fighting yourself, to save Estinien. A glimmer of hope in there, one given to you by Alphinaud. 

Midway through the battle with the wyrm is when you see Estinien’ s form for the first time since the dragon took over. He looked nothing like himself, with wings and trying to land devastating blow after blow on you. You felt it even as you felled the beast, that this was how it needs to be.

A moment came when through the heart of things, Estinien grasps himself back. Pushing the wyrm back down in his mind. You felt helpless seeing him trying to crush his own throat in attempt to stop Nidhogg through his own actions.

You and Alphinaud seize a moment and start pulling on the eyes. The power that repels and shocks your body almost makes you lose resolve. When it felt like those eyes would reattach when you pulled just enough, you felt inner strength granted by the dead. Ysale and Haurchefant. You could see in that moment both of them, and the strength they give to you three to pull the eyes out.

A brief moment you hold the eye, but it is Aymeric’s voice shouting over the edge of the collapsed tower to throw them out into the below. You and Alphinaud do this without hesitation, trusting Aymeric’s words.

You both return to Estinien and now Aymeric as he lifts his fallen friend up. Alphinaud goes to assist but is shot down by the lord commander. It is days after the battle the wait for Estinien’s fate to be known. You and Aymeric took turns on vigil, occasionally Alphinaud so both of you could rest. During the times it is you and Aymeric you spoke about travels with him. Sharing laughs and tears. 

Aymeric knows of your love for Estinien, he sees it in your eyes, a simple forlorn smile in his own. How he wishes to help you out in another time of need since Haurchefant. 

“How long have you been in love with Estinien?” He asks, barely above a whisper, enough for you to hear him. 

“For a while... since our travels for the parley..” You are unsure when your feelings began for the dragoon. Your eyes find your feet. 

“Does he know?” Aymeric has moved to sit next to you, and places an arm around your shoulder to pull you in closer to give you solace. If you didn’t have feelings for his friend you would easily have gone for Aymeric. 

“Y-yes he does.” Your face even reddens at the memory of how your confession hit. Estinien drew it out of you abruptly, much like his nature. A knowing smile appears across Aymeric’s lips and he lowers his head for a second in thought.

“He’s a lucky man then.” You look at him as he speaks, you share a smile, and he lets you rest your head against his side as your worries ease seeing the even breathing from Estinien. A sign that he’s alive.

“Would you want to tell me more about your relationship?” Aymeric is getting you to talk about your feelings. A way to cope with all the things you went through by focusing on your positives. You smile and talk about it. How smooth and simple things have been between. You blush keeping some details vague about your intimate points, and Aymeric does not pry with the way your face flushes at some memories or your stammering. 

He doesn’t judge the way Estinien does his things nor police him on the old courting practices. If he could Aymeric would do the same thing. Not care and choose his love and run off. Thus began a routine at night with Aymeric in talking about your shared lives with Estinien. Him talking about youthful days, and you about what you saw on the field with the dragoon.

You feel a dilemma, you have strong feelings for Estinien, but also felt something blooming for Aymeric. You read the Ishgardian books that most are monogamous. You wondered if that would be the case if you voiced your feelings for both elezen. Aymeric catches your face as you are deep in thought. He has his own problem in his feelings for you were growing by the day he spends. The only dilemma is his friend, would he be accepting of a poly, or would he shoot the idea down.

When you meet up with Aymeric at the main foyer of the congregation, you learn that Estinien has woken up. Relief washes over you both, and you race to his side. You stand there next to Aymeric listening to Estinien speak about his time trapped in Nidhogg’s grasp and rage. Your hands twitched to grab your love but you keep from doing so out of Alphinaud there.

Once the room was left from everyone, and Alphinaud had gone to do his own thing in informing others about Estinien. You feel your feet give out from underneath you. A rare moment of weakness, and relief washes through you. Aymeric catches you from behind, worry etched into his face at wondering what happened. 

“Forgive me, I felt relieved. My legs.” You start giggling quietly. Aymeric smiles down to you, and helps you back to your feet. 

“I am full glad you are alright then.” Aymeric regards you with a different smile. One he had during the grand melee. You make up your mind about something and want to test something. While you hold Aymeric’s attention you fidget with your fingers.

“Would you meet me back here tonight with Estinien? I want to talk to both of you together.” Aymeric nods to your request, and lets you go to gather your nerves.

“Certainly.” You smile warm at him, then leave. When you got back to your inn room, you go over your thoughts and how to present them to both men. 

Once the time approaches, you meet with Aymeric outside the room, and then slip inside after Whitecape allows you both in to see assuring Estinien is awake. 

You sit down in a chair while Aymeric stands across from you two. Both of them curious to know what calls for this random meeting just between the three of you.

“I..” You start but look at your feet. Estinien rolls his eyes already guessing it. He gives Aymeric a stare.

“Been courting her behind my back haven’t you?” He accuses in a jest, he looks back to you and graces you with a smile. 

“Um. Well... he didn’t initially...” You shake your head then perk upright to them both. Aymeric giving you hopeful stares to confirm what was said. 

“I fell for both of you. And I know Ishgard has some methods in courtship, but I want you both. I love you both.” You complete your words, Estinien is giving Aymeric a smirk with his arms folded. Aymeric glances at both of you together as if his words determine things.

Aymeric closes his eyes and smiles to himself. “I think that depends on Estinien, I don’t know if he’ll share.” He’s flattered but wants to be sure, his own heart in his throat at possibly being allowed something. 

“Aymeric, you know as well as I do, that I don’t care for the old fashion ways. It is what our friend here decides. I’m for it if that is what makes her happy.” Estinien leans back onto the bed, enough to let you crawl into the bed with him and grace him with a hug and kiss. 

“Then I want in. What is one more scandal tied to my name.” Aymeric closes the gap to the bed and winds his arms from behind you. 

“Careful Aymeric, a heads up. She’s a wild lover.” You blush from Estinien disclosing, and glance up at Aymeric who gives his own grin.

“Good for me then.” Aymeric places a kiss on your shoulder. Wondering if this is a dream. You think about it, and fidget on Estinien’s lap. The dragoon looks at you then to Aymeric.

“Whitecape won’t be back for a few right?” He inquires, and receives a nod. Estinien waves the lord commander over. When he was close enough, he points to you.

“Would you want to take advantage of this time to get to know her?” Aymeric understands and his cheeks flush for once, and yours too once you catch on. 

“I’m willing if he wants to.” The moment you say it, Estinien is giving you a rough kiss to make up for the time lost. You feel weight behind you in Aymeric sitting down with his arms around you. You feel lips trail against your neck. 

The next few minutes were a blur between clothes being discarded and kisses being given and taken. Estinien grabbing your breasts as you are bounced in his lap, while Aymeric takes his spot from behind enjoying this new take on a relationship. You have never felt pleasure like this of being filled in two ways, Aymeric has you in a full kiss while Estinien takes a nipple into his mouth. Your moans are swallowed by Aymeric. 

The way the two elezen move together to give you pleasure you are certain you made a good choice. Estinien’s fingers busying themselves in teasing your clit, as Aymeric’  fingers toys with the remaining breast not touched. You are the first to peak and do so in a scream of both their names. You squeeze down on both of them and trigger theirs, being filled. 

You feel blessed in this moment but desire more, you give Aymeric a stare over your shoulder, he glances at Estinien who only grins. “Remember, she’s feral in her lust.”

It is going to be a long night for all three of you. 

Reunion

Thancred and the WoL have a personal reunion in Ishgard. Takes place during Heavensward 3.1 patch. [Finished version of the thing I uploaded yesterday].

Thancred x female WoL. Raen Au Ra. nsft

Words: 4307 under the read more.

====

Its late when they arrive in Ishgard and make their way to the Fortemps manor house. Later still when Phaedra is sure everyone else has retired for the night after an evening of drinking and catching up with their recently returned rogue. She disappeared from the revelries earlier than everyone else; the run in with the Warriors of Darkness weighs heavy on her mind; but more than that being near Thancred again has brought to light feelings she thought were buried and forgotten.

He’s different to the man he was; not just in appearance but in temperament as well. He’s broader across the shoulders and his hair is longer, and the bandanna that covers one eye is hard to miss. The muscles in his arms seem more defined and he even seems to stand taller. He laughs less heartily but does manage to laugh. He speaks less, letting others monopolize the conversation while he listens. He drinks very little, and in the moments where he lets his guard drop there’s a severity to his expression. There are matters weighing on him, too.

But he smiles. Oh Gods, he still smiles. And it’s the smile he gave her when he appeared in the midst of the fight, as if sent by the Gods themselves, that lingers in Phaedra’s mind. That smile… So soft and genuine and loving. So… different to any smile he’s ever offered her before. It set her whole body tingling to see it and more so to recall it. He’s smiled at her before. Many times. A sarcastic grin here, a cheeky, flirtatious smirk there, all expressions he used on many to win their hearts and get his way. Never has he looked at her with such open warmth and sincerity.

That smile, among other things, is what keeps her awake. Its what causes her to stir from her soft bed and rise, determined to find a way to distract her mind. She waits by her door listening for sound. It’s dark outside the windows and she strains for a moment, listening.

Nothing.

Stepping out into the hall she is surprised to see him – Thancred -  down the hall. He’s still in the same clothes he arrived in and it doesn’t look like he has slept yet, either. He looks as surprised to see her as she feels, yet neither of them makes to move or speak. They are each caught in something invisible, yet tangible  that is binding them together. Something so primal and instinctual it doesn’t have a name to call its own. Her gaze is locked with his, unable to look away or unwilling; she’s not sure. Her breath grows shorter and she can feel something constrict around her rib cage.

Phaedra parts her lips as if about to speak but her voice fades on her tongue. Thancred’s visible eye darts to the subtle movement of her mouth and she is sure he gulps on something. Without a word, she retreats back behind her bedroom door and to the sanctuary of her room. She leans on the wood, body quivering inside and out while she chases shaky breath after shaky breath and tries to focus on the sturdy edifice before her. Thancred has always been able to make her blush with a well-placed word but this is… different. This is deeper and harsher and yearning. This is… something entirely new.

She would be lying if she said she never thought about him in a more intimate sense. Lying to herself and to whatever Gods might have been looking in to say she never thought about him romantically. She would be lying to say his words never hit a mark, or that she never experienced a sense of longing. She would be lying if she didn’t admit that his loss hurt the most. Lying if she said that after finding safety, she spent the first few nights mourning him more than any other Scion. Mourning him, and the thought of what might have been. What could have been. Mourning the loss of a love she wanted and yet was denied. First by duty as a Scion, then by Lahabrea, and then again by the machinations of the Syndicate.

There’s a knock that surprises her, and she turns to open the door on instinct. Thancred is on the other side, and he requests entry without uttering a single word. She steps back once he’s inside and he closes the door behind him; his gaze never leaves her and aside from the click of the latch, everything is silent. For what feels like an eternity they stare at each other. Watching. Waiting. Gauging one another. The intensity of… whatever is between them is more palpable now there is less space. Its like a string or cord is wrapped around them both and is urging them together. Phaedra breathes, her chest rising and falling on each measured and deliberate one. She’s trying to give an air of calm. She doesn’t want him to see the thud of her heart or – Gods – how much she wants him and has missed him. Missed his stupid face, and his stupid voice, and his stupid laugh.

And his smile. His stupid, foolish, wonderful smile.

Before she can register what is happening, he crosses towards her in a few short strides and his mouth is on hers. She melts into him without hesitation, lifting her arms to burying her hands in his unkempt hair; sweeping it away from his face, deepening the kiss and standing on her toes so he doesn’t have to strain so much. Thancred cradles her face just beneath her horns, stroking her skin and scales with a touch that is practiced but also hesitant. His breath shakes when he breaks away for a moment, adjusts the angle of his mouth and kisses her again.

They both know their friendship will never be the same after this.

Neither of them care.

Her fingers search for buckles and buttons and she slowly strips him of each item of clothing covering his top half. She relishes his skin beneath her hands. Hard muscle, and soft, warm flesh. A few scars from altercations. He is marble and clay, hard but maliable. He is steadfast and strong. And for the moment he is hers in a way she never dared to hope he would be.

Thancred’s kisses are practiced and sure. He leaves her mouth to kiss down her neck, burying his face into her skin and pausing to bite at the juncture of her shoulder. Phaedra barely conceals a gasp and digs her fingers into his bare shoulders for good measure; that earns a chuckle from low in his chest that vibrates all the way through her down to the tip of her tail. His fingers, certain of their task, make quick work of her clothing helping her shed each garment and leaving them to decorate the floor. He lifts her with ease, carries her across to the large bed and places her down upon the sheets his gaze locked on hers the entire time. She can see him well enough in the candlelight, the expression of certainty and determination on his face is uncharacteristic, but it fills her with a sense of anticipation she’s never experienced with anyone.

Phaedra shifts on the covers a little, leaning back on one hand while Thancred removes his boots, trousers and his small clothes with them. His cock is already hard, though he gives Phaedra little time to look before he climbs onto the bed with her, one knee positioned between her legs and claims her mouth again. She strokes her hands down his back mapping his shoulder blades and his spine, spreading her legs to accomdate his larger bulk as he guides her to lie back.

He keeps most of his weight on his knees, careful not to crush her or crowd her and his hair tickles her nose and neck when he presses more white-hot kisses across her skin. It feels like his hands are everywhere at once, caressing her breasts, her back, her ass, her thighs and then between her legs. She lifts her hips when his fingers slide along her lower lips, probing and stroking while he tends to a nipple with his tongue. She swallows loud enough that its audible. When Thancred chuckles, she knows he heard it, too. Weaving her fingers through his white hair she rolls her hips into the gentle wandering of his hand and fingers. He eases them inside her, exploring and learning and memorizing with every touch.

The rhythm his sets is slow to begin with as he lets her grow accustomed to the intrusion of his fingers. He begins to spread her a little at a time, slipping a third finger inside. Phaedra is sure she is soaking the sheets beneath them and attempts to close her legs. Thancred stops, withdraws from her breathing hard and his expression a mixture of confused and uneasy.

“Do you want to stop?”

She blinks rapidly up at him, eyes focusing in on the concern evident on his face and in his uncovered eye. Her breathing is shallow and fast; she can’t remember when or why she closed her eyes in the first place.

Phaedra shakes her head several times. “I just don’t want to dirty the sheets…” Her cheeks, already hot, grow hotter when she realizes what a foolish thing to say that is and she covers her face with one hand to hide the embaressment. Thancred gives a breathless chuckle above her. He  bats her hand from her face before cradling her cheek again in one hand. His eye moves over her features before he sighs and brings himself in to kiss her. He kisses her deep and searing with heat, his damp fingers moving to card through the hair that has come loose from her ponytail.

“That’s just like you…” he sighs against her lips. “Worrying about the workload of others… Even something as mundane as washing dirty sheets.” He brushes his nose against hers and kisses the curve of her jaw. “I missed you… In the expanse of the lifestream I missed you… Somehow, some part of me was concious enough to miss you and want you and need you.”

The weight of his words, the heaviness of them and the roughness of his tone – thick with emotion he doesn’t yet know how to say – is enough for Phaedra to know he isn’t joking or playing with her. He is serious. As serious as she has ever heard him, and her heart aches behind her rib cage.

“I missed you, too.” Pain prickles behind her nose and she forces it back with a smile, “I thought you were… I didn’t dare hope that…” Words are hard. There are so many things she wants to say. So many things he deserves to hear and that she’s kept locked inside for so long but giving them the air they deserve is difficult. She’s afraid, deep down beneath the lust and the longing is the fear. The fear that if she says something that is too honest and too close to her heart that he’ll retreat from her and retreat from this. “Thancred…”

He looks at her directly at the sound of his name. Phaedra draws her fingers down his face, ghosting over the bandanna that half covers his face. She tilts an eyebrow, asking his permission. He gives it by closing his visible eye and inclining his head towards her. Her fingers shake when she unties the material and lets it flutter to the ground. Thancred blinks his eyes hard and Phaedra pushes his hair back to see what he was so eager to hide.

The iris of this eye is milky-white. Similar to the colour of Y’shtola’s, but not exactly the same. The corners of Thancred’s mouth pull into a brief, awkward smile. Clearly it bothers him, or he wouldn’t cover it. Cupping his cheek, Phaedra leans up towards him and presses a butterfly kiss to his eyelid. He laughs again. A light chuff through his nose and above her, his body relaxes. He captures her mouth as she’s moving away; a softer kiss this time and he begins to trail his fingers up and down her sides.

“Tickles…” Phaedra mumbles against his lips, squirming as he brushes a particularly sensitive spot slightly above her hips.

“Hmm…” Thancred continues to caress her and he smiles into the kiss with each jolt of her body his touch is rewarded with. Phaedra wriggles, body squirming and writhing in a half-hearted effort to get away from his wandering hands. He moves against her, and in moments his hands are distracted, one gripping to her thigh as she hooks it over his hip and the other pressing into her back. They rut and grind and rub against one another, his cock pressing into the softness of her belly hard and she can feel hot pre-cum leaking onto her skin. His skin grows slick with sweat and Phaedra bites her lip to keep her voice down.

Heat builds in the depths of her belly, curling and coiling around itself before creating molten rivulets down to pool between her thighs. There’s a pulsing ache that is as insistent as a heartbeat and twice as fast that is distracting and intoxicating all at once.

“Thancred,” Phaedra half-speaks and half-moans. He digs his fingers into her thigh, sliding them up towards her ass where he grabs, hard, onto her flesh. She grips his shoulders, pushes and follows through with the motion as he rolls and topples onto his back. His wears a dazed and surprised look for a moment before coming to his senses. He takes stock of the change in position, of her astride him, naked and breathing hard with sweat beading on her skin.

He sits and adjusts their positions until they’re skin-to-skin. Phaedra knows she could speak. Knows she could take charge, but she lets him lead. Lets him guide this encounter in the hopes she will be able to dictate later ones. Thancred’s eyes never leave hers, except to close when they kiss. He slides his hand between her legs, his fingers moving through the wetness at the juncture of her legs. Phaedra shivers to feel his touch to intimately. He circles her clit with a well-practiced touch before his hand his gone and, after a moment, the head of his cock replaces it.

“Ready?” he asks her, voice hoarse and deep with desire. He nibbles her jaw while he waits for her answer, slowly drawing the head of his cock back-and-forth between her lower lips, coating himself in her slick.

“Mhm-hm,” Phaedra presses her forehead to his, letting her eyes slip closed as he holds his length still in one hand and guides her to sink down onto him with with other. She’s taken aback by how much thicker he is than she imagined; and she has imagined, many times. He’s thicker, filling her and stretching her with a slight pinching sensation. His groans fill her ears, and he holds her thighs in his hands, waiting until she gives the confirmation to continue. He feels good inside her, hot, and thick and he makes her feel full. When he’s hilted, his voice staggers and his breath shakes.

“Twelve, Phaedra—"

Her eyes fly open. Its rare for anyone to call her by her name. Normally its one of the many monikers she’s obtained over the years. Adventurer. Primal Slayer. Scion. Her name is a rarity. And to hear Thancred say it… Its like hearing it for the first time. Carding her fingers through his hair, she kisses him deeply and begins to move, rolling her hips forward at a painfully slow pace. He exhales a breath he’s been holding and starts to match her movements, thrusting his hips up. Sweat pools in the crease of her knees and Thancred’s hands slip and slide over her flesh occasionally catching on her scales as their pace quickens. They fall into a rhythm that has them each panting and stealing breaths between burning kisses and murmurs of praise.

Thancred is a talker, but most of his words are a jumble of positive words mixed in with her name. Phaedra isn’t sure he’s even aware he’s forming words. His hips press and rub her clit with ever connection their bodies make and her heart pounds as the bliss of oblivion that hovers out of reach edges closer and closer. He drags his fingernails across her back and down her spine, following muscle and sinue and pressing her close to him. The smell and sound of them fills the room, but he intoxicates her with every sound and gesture. His lips press to her throat and his teeth press hard enough to feel into her flesh. The tops of his thighs smack the back of hers each time he drives into her, and there’s no feeling comparable to how he fills her and how he feels inside her. It’s divine and terrible all at the same time. To think she has this now, and to fear this may never happen again.

“Gods above, Thancred—” her voice is rising and all attempts to stifle herself have turned to dust now. If she’s heard, then she’s heard. She’d rather he knows that he pleases her, than not. And he does please her. His every touch creates invisible sparks on her skin that are like lightning and fire, and he touches to explore and to learn what creates the reactions he wants. She learns, too. She learns that his neck is sensitive around his Archon tattoos. She learns that biting his bottom lip will earn either a whine or a growl. She learns that he grabs and squeezes and is wonderfully tactile in his love making.

His teeth skim her jawbone and he wraps one hand up in her hair where it’s now come completely loose. He kisses the corner of her mouth, then her bottom lip, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. He peers into her eyes, breathing hard and open-mouthed. “Alright?” he asks between sharp breaths.

“Yes,” her reply is just as breathless, and she pushes her face into his neck chasing the release that is almost upon her. “Feels good—”

Thancred’s finger press into her spine. “--should have done this years ago.” His voice is a harsh murmur, but it makes her laugh all the same. He groans and begins to drive his cock into her harder and faster than before. She clings to him, trying to match his frantic pace, but hardly able to keep up. She begs and pleads with incoherant sounds and words for him to keep going. Out of no where, she feels one of his hands wrap around the base of her tail and before she can question him, Thancred has pulled slightly and pressed his fingers into where the underside meets her back. The orgasm approaching her is upon her like a tidal wave and her whole body quivers. She throbs around Thancred’s cock, unable to catch her breath and then she’s toppling. Falling to one side shaking and trembling as her toes curl and her fingers clench.

Phaedra’s senses return after Gods know how much time. She’s on her side on her bed and Thancred leans over her with worry apparent on his handsome face.

“What was that?” he asks, a smile breaking through the concern; clearly pleased to see he’s not just killed the Warrior of Light.

Phaedra’s mouth feels sluggish when she tries to form words. “Youpulledmytail…” she groans into the pillow.

He cocks a brow. “Your…”

“Ishsensitive.”

She rolls and flops onto her front. Her whole body feels like a giant heartbeat.

“I…” Thancred strokes her back and the bed moves beneath his weight. Phaedra glances back over her shoulder to see him stroking his length. He didn’t finish, she realises. She fell off him. “My apologies. I didn’t realise it would have such an effect.”

Calmer now, she smirks into the pillow. “I wasn’t expecting tail-grabbing.” She tells him, shifting and slowly getting to her knees while leaning forward on her arms. Looking behind her, she catches his eye and glances down at his cock and then back up at his face. Thancred grins in response and nudges her legs apart, eager to finish. He strokes the head of his cock against her and guides himself inside her once more, pressing his hands into her hips and her ass.

“I didn’t realise it was out-of-bounds,” he speaks between thrusts, his skin slapping hers. He hits her deep and in a place that makes her extremities feel like they’re fizzing. Phaedra digs her fingers into the pillow beneath her head and pushes back into each drive of his hips. Thancred grunts, and strokes her thighs and back, exploring and mapping. He alternates between thrusting and a slower drive of his hips, a roll that is wonderfully torturous to feel and brings a sound of mutual satisfaction from the body of them each time he does it. This time when he touches her tail it’s simply to hold it out of the way, but her body still tenses a little.

At some point, Phaedra pushes herself up onto her hands and her hair spills over her right shoulder when she looks back at him. His face is drawn in effort and concentration, his nostrils are flared, and his teeth clench together. He slides one hand up to grip her shoulder and with a tug, he pulls her up onto her knees until her shoulders press back into his chest and her back curves. He kisses the curve of her jaw, her neck, wrapping both arms around her. One hand dips between her legs and the other caresses her breasts.

He’s close. The steady rhythm of his hips grows more erratic and he hisses his breaths between his teeth. Phaedra pushes one hand back through his hair closing her eyes and allowing her other senses to take over. She listens to the sound of his breathing and of his skin meeting hers. The smell of him envelopes her, and the feel of his hands on her and of his cock inside her are feelings she wants imprinted on her memory.

“Phae,” he whispers her name, mouthing against her skin as his hips come to a stop with him inside her. She falls forward and he follows, curling one arm around her waist to hold her close to him. She can feel his cock throbbing, his cheek pressing to her shoulder blade, and his heartbeat thundering into her chest through his own. His kisses her back as he catches his breath, driving his hips a few more times, albeit weakly before he fully pulls out of her.

Before Phaedra can so much as turn and kiss him, Thancred is on his feet and crosses the room to where there is a washstand and basin. Trying not to let disappointment fill her, Phaedra drops her eyes waiting for the inevitable moment that he leaves. Instead, he fills the basin with water from a pitcher, grabs a cloth that is on the side, wets and wrings it out and brings it to her.

“To avoid dirtying the sheets any further.” He says, grinning.

“You’re terrible.” Phaedra retorts, smiling. She takes the cloth and quickly cleans between her legs. Thancred returns to the basin and washes his neck and face with another cloth. When Phaedra is satisfied with her own cleanliness, she climbs off the bed to drop the cloth next to the basin and then quickly wraps her arms around Thancred, pressing her cheek to his back. “So…” It’s a lame start, but her mind is vacant of any other things to say.

“We waited far too long to do this,” Thancred says. He puts his cloth in the basin and turns within her arms. Phaedra loosens her grip and he holds her face in his hands. “I waited too long to act on my feelings.”

“Thancred…” she feels like she should blush, but that seems pointless now. He’s seen her naked as the day she was born, what need is there now for bashfulness? There’s so much to say, so much to talk about and things that need to be addressed, but it doesn’t feel like the right moment for such conversations. Phaedra wants to enjoy this private reunion with him. To bask in the afterglow of what has just passed between them and has changed. She takes his hands in her own and takes a step back towards the bed. “Stay.”

He doesn’t resist, and he watches he lies on his side, curling an arm around her shoulders. Phaedra falls asleep quickly and wakes not much later. She’s on her front and she glances to the side to see Thancred still beside her. Her movement disturbs him, and he rubs his white eye while pushing his hair back.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice alert. “You were asleep.”

She was. And there’s proof that he was comfortably dozing. Her arm is stretched out over his chest, and his arm is beneath her pillow, his fingers fiddling with her hair. He strokes her arm with his free hand.

“I dreamt I woke up and you were gone.” She tells him the truth, there’s no point in lying.

Thancred’s mouth curves into a brief smile. He shuffles across the sheets to her and nestles close, stroking her back with the palm of his hand. “I won’t leave unless you want me to.” Phaedra relaxes into her pillow and he kisses her brow. “Go back to sleep. I’ll rouse you in the morning.”

“You’ll still be here?” she closes her eyes.

“I promise.”

====

Feedback is welcome. Please let me know your thoughts??? Also up on AO3 under the same title and username. 

Very long (though positive) thoughts on ShBs so far [that nobody asked for or wanted but here it is]

Below the cut are 5.0 and 5.01 spoilers! Enter at your own risk! Very, very long. There’s so much I’ve wanted to talk about that I haven’t been able to.

So let me just start out with how much I absolutely fucking *love* this expac. I cannot stop talking about it, or trying to get my friends into XIV just to play it so I can scream about it.

Everything about it is just so fucking wonderful. The character development, the music, the art, the story! I was absolutely floored!

And because of that, I have fallen down into Emet-Selch hell - his character was just so well played, so wonderfully developed. Every moment that I thought I hated him, they came back and hit me so hard in the feels that I want to double over and cry just thinking about it - they made me absolutely love him, sympathize with him. 

You get to see all of your comrades grow as people - Thancred dealing with his regrets with Minfilia, putting aside his feelings and his past to help Ryne grow. Urianger shows so much more emotion (that’s not to say he wasn’t emotional before, they just never touched much on it - nor did the hood or goggle do any good in determining his emotions [likely on purpose]), but you can now see on his face the pain of lying to his friends that he promised never to do again. Y’shtola, whom has always been a character I loved, gave me conflicted feelings. She distanced herself from those she knew, and with the WoL/D’s coming, has to force herself to open up again - growing an attachment to those around her in Slitherbough. You can tell just how much she doesn’t want to leave them, but knows she has to. That sassy attitude only got sassier in this expac. And don’t get me started on my children. Alphinaud has grown so much since we’ve first started our adventure with him; he’s become self-aware, he strives to make the same different the WoL/D made on The Source in Kholusia; he makes mistakes and admits to them - he’s also grown more fucking savage with his wit.(See: “What you need is a mirror, not a painting.” Quote made towards Vauthry.) And Alisaie, gods, Alisaie’s EN voice actor gave me chills. Every heartbreaking moment, you could hear it. I shred tears just from her tone of voice alone in some scenes. She’s just as fiery, times ten - acting before thinking as always. Her stand against Emet-Selch was both expected and unexpected. She grew attached to the land and its peoples - possibly offering even more emotion for it than anyone else. She’s just so full of emotion at all times, you can see it building up throughout the story - just welling up and bursting when she knows that her dear friend is about to turn into the things she’s sought to kill. After what she witnessed with Tesleen and everything that the Inn stands for, the thought of someone even closer to her feeling the pain of turning into a monster just absolutely breaks her.

And let’s not forget the “new” characters we learn about. The Exarch - we all knew who he was, but the lengths he had gone through, just to see to the WoL/D’s safety is so heartwarming. And the care he has for the people in the Crystarium. I was absolutely sobbing after the Innocence fight, what with the emotional music and his words (until Emet ruined it with a fuckin gun, like come on man, tryin’ to have a touching moment here). Ryne is the Minfilia we always wanted. Don’t get me wrong - I understand the roles Minfilia played before, but her story was so... underwhelming. She had a lot of potential to be a stunning character, to be the ally that we grew to trust and love. But SE didn’t give us any room to do so before she died. Ryne, however, is such a sweet child (my newest daughter, if anyone hurts her I will fucking murder everyone). She suffers through depression, anxiety, feelings of the inadequacy of walking in the Oracle’s shadow - she’s never had a life with choices, and Thancred’s attitude while traveling with her only serves to fuel the doubt more. Until she travels with you more, and she knows what she has to do. She becomes so focused, so fully intent with drive and passion to save what’s left of her home. You see the drive they had meant to give Minfilia in ARR, the personality she was supposed to have; and it gives you a deeper feeling for not only what Minfilia had gone through - but both Ryne and Thancred as well; especially in the Eden storyline, when she does her all to give back to the land. Hhhhhh and not to mention Lyna, my god. I was afraid she was just going to be a character that makes you want for more but they never give it to you. I was afraid they wouldn’t build her character, then just kill her off. But I was so wrong, happily so! She got the character building she needed - the pain in her voice when she talks about her lost comrades, when she’s injured to hells and back and still crawls to see to all of their needs. Her history with the Exarch, how she met him and how he practically adopted her. And still alive! I want to see more of her in the future, and learn more about her drive and passion. 

And last but not least, the development of the WoL/D themselves. Learning of their shattered lives scattered across worlds; finally showing that sense of weakness as they carry a burden no one else can. They show fear when they talk to Ardbert, “What if I do become the monster”, “what happens then”, “I’m a danger to everyone”. (On top of being even snarkier and more tired of people’s shit than before). They grow so much as a character, even if you already have their character planned out! To give our characters so much emotion and doubt and anger, to let them rest, to let them cry, to let the pray and hope and wish for change. I just can’t get over it. 

--

The music has been... so, so good to me. I am absolutely living for it. I want a CD out *now*. I’ve been planning the same songs on repeat, because I can’t get them out of my head. Full Fathom Five, the city of Amaurot’s theme, and Mortal Instants - I cannot live without these songs and I do not know how I had before. Tomorrow and Tomorrow is so emotional and powerful. Shadowbringers and Hades’s second theme, hhhhhhhh and The Twinning’s theme, A Long Fall! I just. orz. I can’t explain just how much I love these songs.

The dungeons and story gave me so much lore that I’ve always needed, particularly around Emet-Selch, the Ascians, and Amaurot. These themes are actually what prompted me to write shit and I barely write at all. I can’t get over all of it - and god, if only I could go through the entire story again for the first time.

In summary: As I started Shadowbringers, the expansion was about on par with Heavensward for me (do not get me started on all the themes and tropes that made HW my favorite)... until Mt. Gulg and the Innocence fight. After that, the story hit so hard, it ended up easily surpassing Heavensward and is not my current favorite expansion so far.

Haru/Aesirromir Looing for RP

The basics –––

✧ NAME: Haru Iruhara/Aesirromir

✧ AGE: ????

✧ RACE: ??? .

✧ GENDER: ???

✧ SEXUALITY: ??Dragons???

✧ MARITAL STATUS: Single

physical looks –––

✧ HAIR: Bone white, slightly stiff and tends to be worn long and loose

✧ EYES: red/pink in colour, large, intense

✧ HEIGHT: 5′11″

✧ BUILD: slight and androgynous. Has a flat chest and wide hips

✧ DISTINGUISHING MARKS:  Has a mix of scale patterns seen on male and female Au ra, including those framing their cheeks and curling around the line of the jaw/chin.Their nails are rather hardy although not unusually long. Their height could be considered distinguishing as they are on the tall side for a Au Ra woman but short for an Au Ra man

✧Other  DISTINGUISHING Characteristics :  Has a habit of standing almost too still when at rest. Will more often than not miss social cues, staring at people they talk to or mimicking their actions back at them. Will snarl and hiss when displeased.

✧ COMMON ACCESSORIES: Carries a staff and tends to dress in white. Usually dresses in an unarmored fashion but has taken a liking to steel greaves.

personal hooks –––

✧ THEIR JOURNEY: Haru is a wanderer and people watcher. They seek experience and knowledge for the mortal world before they decide whether to continue their own personal war on them. As such Haru can appear just about anywhere and take an interest in anyone from a famous adventurer to a common merchant.

✧ OLD GRUDGES: Aesirromir was quite active in the DragonSong War. They still feel spite and hatred for their enemies of the time acutely. Haru may approach Ishgardians to confirm their own bias, though will just as likely avoid them lest they reveal themselves in anger. If your character is a survivor from the outskirts of Ishgard they may have witnessed a fearsome white dragon as part of Nidhogg’s army.

traits –––

✧ extroverted / introverted / in between

✧ disorganized / organized / in between

✧ close minded / open-minded / in between

✧ calm / anxious / in between

✧ disagreeable / agreeable / in between

✧ cautious / reckless / in between

✧ patient / impatient / in between

✧ outspoken / reserved / in between

✧ leader / follower / in between

✧ empathetic / unemphatic / in between

✧ optimistic / pessimistic / in between

✧ traditional / modern / in between / Neither

✧ hard-working / lazy / in between

✧ cultured / un-cultured / in between

✧ loyal / disloyal / in between

✧ faithful / unfaithful / in between

history and some Hooks–––

✧ FEARSOME WHITE SERPENT: Aesirromir committed ruthless acts of brutality during the Dragonsong War. The worst of which occurred after the WoL’s advancement through the Aery. After finding the broken bodies of dragonlings Aesirromir turned their fury on to a town on the outskirts of Ishgard and intentionally targeted children in retribution.

✧ THE WARS END: With Nidhogg defeated and Hreasvalgar and his brood opening up to peace with Ishgard Aesirromir was left with a choice. Either to accept that which they had been taught to hate all their life and withdraw, or to continue to punish the mortals in any was they could, on their own. Something convinced them to take on their journey of 50 years, to walk among the mortals and then at the end decide whether to continue their war.

what I’m looking for –––

✧ GOOD INFLUENCE: Haru/Aesirromir believe that mortals are dangerous and jealous anmimals that will reveal their destructive tendencies in search of power and their own selfishness. The more people Haru meets that counter this and show as Good People the more likely Haru will question this belief and perhaps form a genuine attachment and respect for mortals as people.

✧  BIAS CONFIRMATION: Not everyone can be a shining example of humanity. I’d be interested to see how Haru deals with the messier sides of humanity outside of the Ishgard conflict. This need not be someone coming for Haru directly (though that’s also fine) but can be cruelty of people to one another. Haru may intentionally seek out underground activity in order to learn more about how mortals operate such things.

oocly, I am –––

✧ Australian, so my time zone is out of sync with the bigger USian rp scene and I greatly appreciate anyone who wants to work with me on that. Because of this I’m more than willing to use thread style rp just because it’s easier with the time zones but if we do/can sync up our waking hours I’d love to find someone to rp with after my  9-5 work.

you can get a hold of me via ––

✧  Discord, message me and I’ll send you my name on there. As an Aussie I’ve found this to be the best solution for clockblocking in RP and would love to have more contacts and active RP scenes through Discord or Tumblr

✧ Tumblr,I’m up for messenger or thread rp

✧ Final Fantasy 14: Haru is active on Balmung and I also have a male-au ra-model Haru on Mateaus