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amaurotine-daydreaming · 8 months

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XV. Portentous

Alisaie would never admit she was having nightmares. Not to anyone.

She’d had nightmares before, of course: after her descent into the Allagan Coils that housed a Bahamut waiting for resurrection; after young Emery died in that cliffside collapse while under her protection; after Alphinaud had disappeared en route to Garlemald.

The breathing and training exercises she later learned from X’rhun had helped. They gave her some sense of control, and with it came the ability to sleep without waking up in the early hours before sunrise, her heart in her throat and her eyes darting around for a tragedy to be unfolding around her.

Then she saw that sin eater cut Tesleen down. It had run her through, back to front, with a blade as white as alabaster.

The sin eater had descended from the heavens in almost complete silence. And it was in silence, with eyes cold and flat and abyssal, that it watched Tesleen’s agony with the aloofness of something that believed in preordained punishment.

Alisaie had seen people wounded. Seen people die. She understood, probably more than any of the other Scions, what sin eaters were capable of. But she’d known Tesleen. Had known her gentleness and kindness and devotion and all she had already suffered. Knew how bloody unfair it was that Tesleen, of all people, should spend her last moments in horrific pain while trying to spare a child from that same fate.

And Alisaie hated, hated that Tesleen’s fate made her more upset than the deaths of the people she didn’t know. People who were just as deserving of mourning. Did her heart just not have space anymore? Was that it?

And the weight of grief’s burden angered her, too. Surely what she had seen was nothing compared to what the people of the First had gone through, the suffering and the loss they had seen day after day and year after year; surely what she was going through was nothing compared to what the Warrior was dealing with right now, with Light poised to consume them from the inside out. How could she count herself as strong if after one death, the idea of another made her want to scream or crumble or gods-knew-what-else?

Alisaie knew that her companions had noticed the deeper circles under her eyes, her even shorter temper. She regretted not apologizing for it, but was even more grateful that they didn’t bring it up. Even her brother, who had deciphered the harrowed look in her eyes, wisely kept his mouth shut. Alisaie wished she could get him to save his sympathetic glances, too, but she couldn’t deny the comfort of the brief squeeze on the shoulder he gave her while no one was looking, after they had returned to the Crystarium from Mt. Gulg.

And even though Tesleen had since been laid to rest, accompanying her now in Alisaie’s dreams was the Warrior coughing up that hideous, liquid Light, portentous of what was to come.

What did it feel like? Was it a horrible, burning sensation, eating through one’s veins and muscle and skin like acid? Was it like knives bursting out from the flesh they’d incubated inside? Did it leave a body like a rotten log, the shell breaking away and revealing a writhing, hideous mass of warped organs within that cocoon of feathers? Tesleen’s throttled screaming and distorted gurgling echoed across the sands–

Alisaie buried her hands in her hair and pulled hard, letting the prickling pain along her scalp ground her. Stop. Shut up.

She didn’t know what it felt like and she didn’t want to know.

She didn’t want to know whether the Warrior would be eerily perfect as a Lightwarden, whether they would have the slim and slanting curves and perfect proportions of the porcelain doll-like sin eaters that were Vauthry’s favorite–or if the overabundance of Light would distort them beyond recognition. Didn’t want to know if they would have mouths gaping all over their warped body, wailing and gnashing their teeth in discordant harmony; if they would have golden nails as long and sharp as swords, attached to spindly limbs with joints that looked too broken to work properly; if they would have tears endlessly streaming down from hollow eyes as they unwillingly devoured the world and everything they ever cherished.

Alisaie didn’t want to see Emet-Selch’s smug face as he crooned over his new pet, a monstrosity that he somehow found more humanity in than any other person on either The Source or its shards. Maybe his “people” had all looked akin to Lightwardens. Maybe that’s how he intended to remold the Source and its reflections into his image.

If the Warrior turned–

No. She had to stop thinking like that, right now. Ryne was buying them time, and Emet-Selch was close to playing his final hand. They didn’t have a solution yet, but by the gods, she would throw herself at the problem until something, anything worked. They all would.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #alisaie leveilleur #shadowbringers #cw: some minor depictions of body horror

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otherworldseekers · 1 year

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Find the Words

Tagged by @sasslett Thanks!

I’ve been given 4 words to search for in my works. Here goes...

Weapon: Something’s Gotta Give chapter 2

“Do not bring Garlond into this,” Nero growled. “I’ve suffered enough comparisons to the darling of the Garlean Empire and the Alliance to choke on.”

“Only because you put yourself there to be compared. But it’s not your fault. Cid is a genius.”

“And I am not? I, who brought the Ultima Weapon, the masterpiece of the Allagans, back to life?”

“If I were you and I hoped to be tolerated in Eorzea in the future, I wouldn’t go around bragging about that,” Severia pointed out helpfully.

“Hmph,” Nero hmphed in a hurt tone. “It was an accomplishment to rival any of Garlond’s.”

“Well, you’ll just have to prove yourself with something else that isn’t a weapon of mass destruction.” Severia set about rinsing out the cups with the remaining hot water and packing away the tea things.

“Weapons happen to be my specialty.”

“Maybe that’s your problem.”

Nero scoffed. “I fail to see the problem.”

Star: Something’s Gotta Give chapter 2

Nero frowns as he stares up at the stars, surprised to feel how much it has dismayed him to see her like that. He is baffled and alarmed at the depth and sincerity of his own words to her. When had he come to see her that way? When had she gone from puzzle and problem to person? But there was no doubt that she had. When he thinks of her now he thinks not of her power or her renown.

He thinks of her eyes, fiery and flashing, and never wants to see such emptiness in them again. He thinks of the smile he has seen her favor her friends with and wonders if it is possible she should ever show it for him. The delicacy and strength of her hands. The alluring scales that peak below the hem of her shorts. Not to mention her tail… He tries to stop himself, but the images come to his mind unbidden.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. And when he finally sleeps that night he dreams of her.

Skin: Something’s Gotta Give chapter 5 (upcoming)

Severia Zetsuen stared at her reflection in the mirror as attendants of the Golden Saucer hovered around her checking for stray pieces of lint or misbehaving hairs. They had her dressed-up like a doll in a gown that simultaneously had more fabric than any other garment she owned and showed more of her skin that she would ever have dared herself. Her hair was freshly washed and pinned up at the base of her skull while shorter tendrils had been delicately curled to frame her face.

Now the Saucer employees all stood back admiring their handiwork. “You look just stunning, Ma’am,” one young Hyur girl said gleefully.

Severia felt stunned herself. She’d never in her life worn such expensive clothes or had her hair and makeup done by experts. The results were certainly fashionable, but she almost felt she wasn’t herself anymore. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but this whole ordeal was becoming… well, an ordeal.

Smirk: Something’s Gotta Give chapter 1

“You!”

“Nero tol Scaeva, at your service, Warrior of Light.”

“You were the masked stranger in Revenant’s Toll!”

“Guilty as charged,” he says and smiles in a way that makes her mind go blank for several seconds. It’s an open, friendly smile, not at all like the tight smirk he had worn below in the passage to Syrcus Tower. It transforms him.

“I… um…” She finds herself staring and stammering. For the first time she really looks at him. There is something about his eyes, deep set beneath heavy brows, and their delicate periwinkle blue, that makes his gaze seem more intense than it ought to be. Her gaze traces the strong jaw, the prominent cheekbones, the expressive eyebrows and rests on the single curl that falls down over his forehead, somehow softening his features. He makes, if she is honest with herself, a very attractive picture. But she is not prepared to be honest with herself, so she ignores the odd and unfamiliar sensation in her stomach and gets back to the matter at hand.

(Now, I am going to chicken out and not tag anyone cause I’m not sure who writes and hasn’t been tagged. Sorry.)

#tag game #my writing

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candycryptids · 10 months

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Trying to get pictures of Chuu reminds me I don’t have a good place to do doll photos + I still want to craft her some accessories like, the machinist gun+that aether bullet kit holding hip thingy and/or the summoner book (with the Baja wings) and a carbuncle or dancer chakrams :T

Oh and an allagan tomestone. Cos. Yknow.

(Doll and clothes crafted with love by @/perpetuallyawesome who I don’t wanna just keep @‘ing all the time I’m sure that’ll get tiring but Ilu friend TAKE YOUR CREDITS)

#Poor Kululu BattleFrog Gundam Kit the stickers aren’t wanting to stay so I might have to look into gluing those details back down x(#having a doll of my character makes me soooo crazy lmfao I just wanna make things for her #I look at her and go teehee c:#when all the plugins are back up from maint testing I’m gonna actually take a picture of her in game to post a side by side with her doll #cos I think that’d be fun uvu #Ffxiv Art #ffxiv Viera #ffxiv Chuu #octag #bjd #doll and clothes made by perpetuallyawesome go shower them in love #Chuusday gears

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xenodile · 2 years

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G'raha angst thoughts have not abated.

How aware was he when the Allagan programming took root? Was he a prisoner in his own body fighting to escape as his flesh and blood obeyed its preset orders, unable to call for help or resist the "destiny" his creators had decided for him, or was his sense of self so eroded by the genetic memories of the Royal Blood that the G'raha we knew was already asleep before the doors even shut?

How must he feel about Allag when he awakes, knowing WoL's life was cut short and he lost his chance to be a part of it due Allag tampering with his family's genetics to render them sacrificial dolls, yet Allag's legacy is his only chance at saving them? How much of his true self, the man that lead the WoL around the woods on a merry chase, still remains when his corporeal being has been conditioned since before he was born to not see itself as a person?

#Shadowbringers spoilers #David plays FFXIV #G'raha Tia #I'm emotionally compromised

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biff-adventurer · 9 months

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FFXIVWRITE 2023 - Prompt #3: Extra Credit - DOLLS

“Have you heard of the new FC that opened down the road?” asked Pudada, pouring her second cup of tea. “It’s a beautiful, pink manor with white accents. There was a pool in the yard! And everyone seemed to be having a good time in it. Though, I’m not sure having a pool in the front was the best idea. What if someone peered through the gates at those poor girls?”

“Oh, they seem a hardy lot to me,” purred H’zula, picking a cupcake from the tray. “They were catcalled by one of the Unicorns. The leader suddenly appeared, as though summoned by a thought! And then the Unicorn… went home with a broken nose.”

“I like the punching one,” said Zia who, for once, was not referring to Biff. The little cabbage fairy plucked H’zula’s cupcake nearly out of his mouth. “Punching one has spirit. Punching one always smiles and never lets other walking ones anger her!”

“I’ll admit, I like a strong woman,” concurred H’zula, reaching for his pilfered prize. Zia floated up to the ceiling fan, settling on one of its wings to munch in peace. The Miqo’te sighed.

“Oh… I know who yer talkin’ about.” Biff looked up from his tomestone as it blinked its frivolous lights off. His mussed hair and state of (un)dress, along with the childlike interest on his face, suggested his need for coffee the highest at the table–except that he was surrounded by mugs, and fidgeting like an old, allagan device receiving an endless stream of commands. “That’s Barbara’s FC. The DOLLS.”

“The… dolls?” Pudada tilted her head. “I’ve never heard of them. They were a beautiful bunch of ladies, certainly! You know her personally?”

“Scruffy one knows all ones,” said Zia with a sagely nod.

“What do you know about them?” asked H’zula, suddenly so interested he was leaning forward, resting his chin on a downturned hand. “Did you used to date Barbara?”

“I’m sure I’d remember her if he had,” muttered Pudada.

“No, no. It ain’t dolls. It’s DOLLS, like.” Biff set his tomestone on the table. He gesticulated for emphasis. “Dangerous Outrageous Loot Lovers. Their leader’s name is Barbara Milicent Handler. She’s the one with the hair.” So saying, he pulled fingers through his own hair, puffing it up.

H’zula snorted. Pudada couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t remember seeing anyone with a hair-do like that,” said Pudada, “for I’m certain I would remember her!”

“Scruffy one misleads adventuring ones!” Zia huffed. They crumpled up their paper cup and threw it at H’zula’s head. “Blonde one, with long, beautiful hair and large, blue eyes is leading one! Leading one’s hair is big, but not scruffy like scruffy one’s!”

“I jes meant she has nice hair!” Biff pouted. “She’s been workin’ hard tae build that FC. Since a’fore the Final Days. But, y’know, not just anyone can enter.”

“Ahh, so there are standards?” H’zula fished the crumpled cup out of his luxurious, chestnut hair. “Just how high have they set them?”

“I can’t get in,” said Biff. He reached for the tea kettle, but Pudada slapped at his large, meaty man mitts with her dainty, Lalafellin hands and their pink painted fingertips.

“You must tell us why,” she urged. “I don’t know a thing about them! Neither does Ayame or Leodaire or Athey! I would write S’dennmo, but married life keeps her busy, as you know!”

H’zula chuckled. “I’m sure Zia knows.”

“This one knows,” said Zia, “but this one won’t tell!”

“It ain’t nothin’ special,” said Biff, rubbing his eyes. “Make me another cup an’ I’ll tell ye!”

“You told us never to let you get the jitters!” cried Pudada. “And now you have them behind our back!”

“Alright, alright!” The mess of a midlander sat upright and stretched his arms. “I’m gettin’ restless anyroad. Barbara, she won’t let in anybody that calls himself a man.”

“That’s it?” Pudada stared.

“I can’t say I blame her,” sighed H’zula, admiring a new pastry in his hand. “Men are the worst. I would know, as a man.”

“Exactly!” said Biff, pointing directly at H’zula. “Men are the WORST!”

Pudada looked between the two men with wide, wide eyes. When her gaze drifted to Zia, they simply shrugged. Then, a pregnant pause.

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose they really are.”

#gwenny writes #FFxivWrite2023 #i would put more thought into the structure of this but in the spirit of presenting incredibly raw minimally edited first drafts...#plus i am too tired to make it Up to Satisfactory Gwenny Standards

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ffxiv-roleplayer · 6 years

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Five Gifs To Describe - Kugeki Grumble

Tagged by @serwynterwulf

#Construct #Kugeki Grumble #Allagan doll #gifs #Character Design

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lightrivals · 2 years

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Urianger has been scheming with the loporitts for a few days now and Thancred is genuinely fine with it—he understands how his lover truly does find great joy the company of smaller beings such as the fae and now the loporitts, but after a week, it feels more and more like avoidance. When confronted, Urianger just smiles and kisses the top of his head with a long winded statement about patience being needed and concerns being unnecessary.

The next day, Urianger takes them to Garlemald, and they spend some time with the twins, Alphinaud with a suspicious smirk on his lips and Alisaie snapping at him to fix his face lest he spoil the surprise. With raised eyebrows, Thancred asks about this said surprise but Urianger merely shrugs. There’s definitely something going on, and in another life maybe Thancred would be upset left in the dark, trailing behind a man of deception as Urianger once was, worried he’s not prepared for the battle soon to come. But in this life, he trusts his lover with everything—his life, his blade, his heart—and the suspicion he carries will linger but only with the hints he needs for safety, never distrust.

They meet Livingway outside Camp Broken Glass, and she’s so excited to be in familiar company again, Thancred can’t help his smile. Urianger kneels to her as they chat, her excitement barely containable though she tries her best not to jump so much. She passes along a basket, whispers something to Urianger that makes his ears redden with more than the cold, and waves them off with a promise of getting all the details of their venture once they return to Etheirys. At that, Thancred’s eyebrows rise with shock—he wasn’t expecting their travels to reach so far already. Yet, with the help of the teleporter in the excavated Tower of Babil, they find themselves stepping on the gray sands of the moon, Mare Lamentorum in all it’s essence still as gorgeous as their first arrival when they came to stop Fandaniel.

Urianger clears his throat and holds out his hand, uncharacteristically mumbling for Thancred to complete the hold and walk with him. Noting his embarrassment, Thancred can’t help but grin and grab the other’s hand, snuggling close to his side in glee. They walk in comfortable silence, avoiding the creatures about the land as they make way across the surface. Etheirys glows in all her beauty above them, forever a sight Thancred will never not be grateful to still see.

Urianger eventually finds a topic to settle his words on, beginning some sort of lecture on the Watcher and it’s memories. Thancred listens but only in the way of a man so in love he cares not about the intricacies of crystalline memory collection but the way Urianger’s eyes light up when he speaks of them. This here, this peace and comfort where they are open to each other’s arms and thoughts, where kisses are dolled out with the ease of a breath and the meaning of a promise of commitment reestablished—this is never something Thancred imagined for himself. He feels giddy with it on this day, vacating the trials and tribulations of existence on the star and finding peace in the eddies of this spaceship called the moon.

Eventually, Urianger slows to a stop, near the remnants of Allagan relics buried in the land. Forever will this world bare scars from the arrogance of the Allagans. Thancred only hopes one day Eorzea might find peace beyond the pains of that long fallen empire. Urianger pulls a blanket from the basket Livingway imparted on him and settles down with a gentle hum. Thancred takes a second longer, his gaze lingering on the moonlight filtering through Urianger’s silver locks, the softness in his golden eyes as they peruse the contents of the basket. He is so deeply in love and he hopes that between them, he passes from this realm first so he never has to live another day without Urianger.

When he voices the latter thought, admittedly random and without context, Urianger’s frown almost makes him laugh. He quickly sobers up when the man replies that he then wishes to return to the star the very next minute after Thancred’s last breath as even a second longer without him wouldn’t be much of a second worth living, not when he already experienced Thancred’s unmaking once before.

They don’t talk much about it, the journey of Ultima Thule. Thancred doesn’t remember much of anything after he charged at Meteion and Urianger always looks so stricken and melancholy remembering Thancred’s unmaking, he hates to ask him about the venture. What he knows comes from the Warrior of Light and even they get antsy and sorrowful when recounting the tale. It makes him that much grateful to be alive now, to have confessed his love and be kissed under the bright stars lighting the night of Old Sharlayan—so apropos given his very first meeting with Urianger as young students was in that city all those decades ago. For now, he leans in for a kiss to wash away the sadness he accidentally poured into their laps. Urianger smiles and nuzzles his nose against Thancred’s before retrieving a few more things from the basket.

It ends up being a picnic, what Urianger schemed up with his bunny friends. Romantic and quaint, Thancred feels like a young man again feeding grapes to Urianger’s lips, stealing bits of bread from his plate, and laughing into stolen kisses as Urianger playfully admonishes him. When his belly and heart are both warm and full with food and love respectively, Thancred lays his head in Urianger’s lap and watches the aether of Zodiark’s cage swirl through the air. Long fingers pet his hair and he sighs happily in this blessed comfort. He doesn’t know how long he lies there watching his surroundings without fear of an attack, but when Urianger calls his name, he’s admittedly more than halfway to a nap. He sits up with a muffled yawn, prepared to ask if they’ll be returning to Etheirys now, when the small box playing between Urianger’s nimble fingers has his breath blocking the words in his throat.

Thancred is sure Urianger has a speech all prepared, perfectly worded and worded to perfection, and he probably spent hours pouring over phrasing and tone and whatever else goes into a proposal speech. He probably consulted the twins for help now that Thancred thinks about it—Urianger is quite close to them and sees them as the younger siblings he never had. Thancred feels sick with anticipation because oh how he longs for this, to say yes and tie himself to the love of his life in the way the contents of that box allow, but at the thought of family, he feels himself faltering at the reminder of no Ryne here to witness their union.

Urianger opens the box and the ring is simple, not too flashy and not too ornate but perfectly designed for Thancred’s hand, absolutely divine in concept and reality. Thancred sweats with the desire to see it glitter under the moonlight on his finger. He tries to find words that aren’t a rebuttal—in no world would he ever say no to Urianger’s proposal, but he has spent years in a reflection void of its stars training and shaping the resilience of a young girl he’s come to adore as his own, and he needs her present for such a milestone she helped push them toward with her presence in their lives.

Luckily for him, Urianger agrees. As he presses the box into Thancred’s shaking hand, he promises this being only a simple engagement. Until the day they may see their sweet Ryne again and hold her in their arms after the vows are shared and their first kisses as husbands have come to pass. And Thancred feels his eyes prickle with tears when Urianger closes his fingers around the box, kisses his forehead with a gentle whisper of forever loving his future husband—so sure in the possibility of seeing Ryne again as he was so sure in Thancred’s existence despite his unmaking by Meteion. Urianger’s resolve is powerful and never swaying and Thancred believes in it wholeheartedly.

So he reopens the box and motions for Urianger to slide it where it belongs. Urianger’s fingers are shaking as he goes, the silver of the band a stark contrast to the gold chains and bands adorning his fingers, wrists, and arms. He’s not dressed in his astrologian robes, simple shades of white and gray cloth adorn his form today, but the jewelry settles nice on his skin so he often wears it and an ear cuff on his off battle days. Thancred can’t help but watch in awe when the ring settles at the base of his finger and their fingers twine, the gaps sealed tight and the warmth of metal pressing against skin in a promise for later.

Overcome with emotion, Thancred surges up into a kiss, practically manhandling Urianger against their blanket. Making love on the moon under the sights of no one but each other and the stars, wiping the tears from Urianger’s eyes as he presses into him, sealing their bodies as one until the day they can seal their lives as partners in more than in the sense of the battlefield. When they are spent and Thancred lies on Urianger’s chest tracing hearts into the sweat layering his chest, Urianger pulls his head up for a kiss and a soft murmur of those three words that mean everything in this moment.

Thancred replies between soft kisses, inwardly thanking the loporitts and the twins, and can’t wait to return to Etheryis and see who is the first to notice the newest addition to his wears.

#urithan #thanuri #thancred waters #urianger augurelt #endwalker spoilers #fluff #ffxiv endwalker #no dialogue #my fic #this came to me when I was on the moon in game and I was like how romantic to have a date literally ON the moon #and here we are #i rarely visit since i already finished my fate runs rip but it truly is a beautiful zone #can't wait for the beast tribe quests to bring me back!

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lettersnorth · 2 years

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Sharlayan Bound

“Your old captain sounds a lot like a former boss of mine. Quick to lash out and use violence as a management style. Good riddance to the lot.” Aislinn replied when Loe had finished his story and raised her glass in a mocking toast before taking a swallowful of rum.

The hour had grown far past late and was now rounding into morning though dawn was still bells away. Aside from the steady hum of the airship’s engines, the Waltz was quiet, most of her crew sleeping away in their beds. All but the night shift. Which is where Aislinn should have been. And she had tried. But her mind refused to quiet, pulled constantly to the allagan device that sat innocuously on her desk. So instead she had found herself in the ship’s galley, pulling together a slap dash midnight dinner. What Loe’s excuse was for being up so late, she couldn’t say but she had found herself sharing a makeshift meal with the first mate.

"Aye, I'll drink to that." Loe let out a laugh as he raised his own glass toward her for a toast in turn before quickly downing a few heavy swigs of its contents.

Aislinn sighed as the liquor sat like a comforting coal in her stomach, radiating heat. “But aye, that sounds a bit like Locke. He’s not one to let a favor go unpaid, is he? Keeps telling me he’s doing all this, Ishgard, Azys Lla, and now Sharlayan, because he owes me for helping him get his ship back. I think that favor was repaid a while back.”

"He's a stubborn one, our Cap'n. If he thinks there's still more to be done then you best think he'll see it through to the end. Crew hasn't forgotten what you've done for us, Aislinn. Most of the folks on board ain't the type to voice it out loud but we're happy to help where we can. But he's quite fond of ya, y'know."

Aislinn looked down at the remnants of her plate. “I think he’s fond of teasing me.” she finally said, rising to take care of her dish. “He’s a tremendous flirt, that one. I keep up as best I can. And I’m sure he sees me in a friendly sort of way, but it's best not to read too much into that.” she said as she moved to the sink.

Between a woman who couldn't see the obvious before her eyes and a man who refused to admit it, Loe couldn't help but let loose a sigh before taking one final bite of his sandwich. "Lass, you need better glasses." he stated rather bluntly. "I've seen the way he looks at ya. And if that's friendly, then I suspect I'll see kobold's flying soon enough."

A chuckle left the Roegadyn's lips once before pushing away his plate and breaking out into a sleepy yawn. "Hell, my age must be getting to me. I better hit the sack soon enough. Why don't you head on off? I'll handle the clean up, but be a doll and do me a favor. I was supposed to grab a bottle of wine for the Cap'n. Must have slipped my mind. Think I can trouble you to take it down for me?"

“It's not your age, it’s the simple fact that it’s late. I should do the same.” she replied with a slight smile as she cleaned off her plate and placed it in the sink.

But to his request that she take a bottle of wine to Locke, she turned, wiping her hands on a towel as she leaned one hip against the counter and stared at him with a ��what do you take me for?’ look.

“Odd. Locke doesn’t strike me as the sort to request his crew deliver wine to him. He’d get it himself.” she snorted softly and shook her head. “But aye, let me just show up at Locke’s room in the middle of the night with a bottle of wine and some story about how I was supposed to deliver it to him. Do you know how much he’d tease me? I’d never hear the end of it.”

She felt herself turning red with embarrassment at the thought of his laughter. “I can make a fool of myself on my own, I don’t need your help, Loe.” she sighed as she set the towel down. “It was good talking with you. You go head to rest, I can take care of the dishes. It’ll give me a chance to earn my keep around here.”

Loe let loose a laugh as she called him out on his ploy. The woman may have been blind, but she sure as hell wasn't dense. "Ha! It was worth a try. You sure? Well, I won't say no. It's appreciated, Aislinn. Talking with ya was a real treat." He picked up his dish and cup and placed them into a nearby sink before leaving with a wave and soon the lumbering giant of a man disappeared from view as he rounded a corner.

As the days slipped by, the conversation with Loe stayed with her. She hadn’t come anywhere close to broaching the subject with Locke. And why would she? There was the Allagan device and Haila’s gun to study, the Windshear schematics to finish and, if the heated one-sided conversations loud enough to bleed out from the other side of Locke’s closed door when she passed by were any indication, heavy, ongoing negotiations regarding getting them into Sharlayan. In a word, they were both busy.

At least that’s what she told herself. Because it was convenient.

But she took notice now. Of the way he smiled when her voice, seemingly of its own accord, softened around his name. The way his gaze might linger a fraction too long. How she could feel it on her skin, helplessly aware of his presence and the charge in the air every time he stood next to her.

Damn Loe for pointing this out to her.

And before long, the day finally came. The Waltz was now currently on the water, cutting across the sea as it sailed toward the city of Sharlayan that loomed in the distance, drawing closer and closer with every minute that passed. While she was faster in the air, the Waltz still boasted formidable speed over the waters. Locke was standing at the bow of his ship, arms crossed with the wind in his hair as he looked on toward the city. He was wearing a thicker coat to shield him from the cold. It was bearable, at least. Nowhere near as bitter as what Ishgard had to offer, but the Hyur couldn't help but sigh nonetheless. It was never someplace warm, was it?

He turned as he heard footsteps drawing closer and upon spotting Aislinn his lips curled up into a smile. "We'll arrive within the hour at this speed. Have you gotten everything ready?"

As she came to stand beside Locke on the deck, clad in a fur-trimmed Ala Mhigan coat, it took more than a moment for her to tear her attention away from the all-too dashing figure he cut at the edge of the railing in his heavy traveling coat, his dark hair tousled by the wind. But when she did, she was treated to a sight. Sharlayan was still a distance away, a miniature island floating in an azure sea. But even from here she could make out the gleaming white stone docks curving elegantly out from the island and the larger than life statue of Thaliak that stood as sentinel over all.

“It’s beautiful.” she breathed, leaning forward over the railing, drawn to the sight. A gleaming bastion of knowledge and study. She might never leave.

#ffxiv rp #balmung rp #rp snippets #Flashpoint #Locke Fairwind #Aislinn North #sharlayan

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illegiblewords · 3 years

Text

ILLEGIBLE’S TOTALLY SUBJECTIVE FAVORITE EORZEA COLLECTION DESIGNS: FEMALE

I’ve mentioned in the past, the main thing that made me start playing FFXIV properly was seeing people’s character designs. I’m still honestly blown away by the creativity and range of approaches people bring to this game, so I’ve decided to be an absolute madwoman and break my favorites into subcategories to share with anyone curious.

And to be clear. I’m not going to do something so broad as “oh top ten in-general :3″ because that would be sensible. No, I’m going to do it for all the current combat jobs. And all the current races. And different genders within the races and combat jobs as things stand. And I’m going to make a face-focus subcategory. And there are gonna be LOTS. Because I seriously cannot understate how inspired I’ve been by this community, and after however many years I just feel the need to vomit some incredible visuals I’ve encountered at you guys lol.

NOTE: In an abundance of caution, I want to stress this list isn’t a value judgment on anyone but a fragment of things that blew me personally away. Looking at the DRK sections it will be immediately clear that I Illegible really like that edgy dark knight aesthetic lmao, but there are plenty of non-edgy dark knights that I also love to bits. Other people might not like edgy dark knights. Due to a combination of size and search constraints plus trying to keep gear somewhat varied, these glamours are just what wound up on this particular list of mine. I could make another list one day. Other people can make lists too that are totally different.

Also, I was originally going to make a single post that went over male and female options presented in the character creator but straight up tumblr wouldn’t let me save because it got too big. You can see the male character post here.

Without further ado, let us begin.

COMBAT JOB GLAMOURS

PALADIN

- Sword Oath by Ariadne Lacroix

- Chevalier by Erin Arckanger

- Neo - Halone’s Sword by Goelia Sarantia

- Commander by Nya Nya

- Bellona - Goddess of War by Aurora Hearts

- Kirin by R'yo Aderyd

- In All Innocence by Lohia Aihol

- Pink Paladin Princess by Mepis Pheles

- Protector of the Creed by Kirin Anderfels

- Ivalician Spud Knight by Augwyn Usynthota

WARRIOR

- Savage by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Bonk by Toasty Steambun

- Vinland Reaver by Tenpenny Tiffany

- Insurmountable by M'rhene Tia

- Cerberus by Lohia Aihol

- Freyja by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Warrior by Beso' Neko

- Fierce Red by Verona Lunich

- Regal Warrior by Sonora Swift

- KWEH!-rrior by Nitus Hyenborn

DARK KNIGHT

- Demon Knight by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Demon DRK by Rosdy Mry

- Abyss by Vexa Crow

- Ritter by Miyu Fubuki

- Berserker princess by Allia Aenor

- Abaddon by Alma Sophia

- Furnace Knight by Tenpenny Tiffany

- Dark Divinity by Siren Sokute

- Absolution of Faith by Paragon Moon

- Druid DRK by Rosdy Mry

GUNBREAKER

- Flux by Flash Galathynius

- Ending SB by Una Veil

- Soldier E-075 by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Lost Allagan Future-Punk Knight by Nge Lik

- Neo - Wasteland Dust by Goelia Sarantia

- Blade’s Resolve by Erin Arckanger

- Sand Crawler by Sveta Raybrant

- Daring Gunbreaker by Radi Sativadi

- Bozjan Warfront by Keres Amiya

- Neo - Royal Guard by Goelia Sarantia

DRAGOON

- Leviathan’s Envoy by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Durium by Mihna Nhokiri

- Crimson Dragoon by Kotone Khatayin

- Heavenly Knight by Ciel Leblanc

- Gold Dragon Knight by Makenshi Dragonsbane

- Athena - The Goddess of War by Lohia Aihol

- Ryubi Warrior by Korkana Ryubi

- Native Warg by Schan Starfall

- Stranger from Across the Ruby Sea by Vederah Kilmister

- Onion Knight by Tess Tickle

SAMURAI

- Of Crimson Plumage by Cyrene Devana

- Crimson Wanderer by Sierra Delacroix

- Warmonger by Ethelin Aldren

- Yoroi of the Black Dragon by Mog Champ

- Cute war criminal by Nunui Nui

- Sirens Beckon by Adeline Grace

- Black Tide by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Kotetsu by Leisha Aysheen

- Neo - Universe’s Echo (SAM) by Goelia Sarantia

- Samurai Vagabond by Tranquil Rain

NINJA

- Midori no Ninja by Dezel Windriders

- Phtonos by R'yo Aderyd

- Neo - Flower Bowknot by Goelia Sarantia

- Church Assassin by Ien Torr

- Little Bat by Messenger Pigeon

- Birdkeep by Nya Nya

- Astrological Sign - Taurus by Leisha Aysheen

- The Nothing by Vederah Kilmister

- The Trickster by Little Toussaint

- Bloodborne-inspired Rogue by Valentyne Louvier

MONK

- Night Walker by Madoras Yorigami

- Elegant Scavenger by Mia Fletcher

- Wild Rose by Ihon Nuzhysa

- YAOI HANDS FROM HELL by Cool Mom

- Astrological Sign - Cancer by Leisha Aysheen

- Neo - Fist of Suzaku by Goelia Sarantia

- Sting Like A Bee by Arsibra Therion

- Orochi no Kaze by Liesel Mahora

- Heavensent by Ren Sakurai

- The Burn’s Wraith by Arsibra Therion

BARD

- Cherry March by Toasty Steambun

- Scarlet Vagabond by Rena Nox

- Suzaku’s Champion by Kotomi Krios

- Serpent Elite Hunter by Vesper Amaris

- Rathian by Nya Nya

- Obsolete Ribbon Bard by Karielle Davva

- Ronkan The Huntress by Raven Ashfell

- Peacock Elegance by Lohia Aihol

- Purple Rain by Franya Mohali

- Aoidos by Miyu Fubuki

DANCER

- Sidereal Goddess by Leisha Aysheen

- Crepuscule by Lohia Aihol

- Loving Blue Dancer by Kaisa Miyahara

- The First Ride by Kirin Anderfels

- Armored Bladedancer by Flower Blossom

- Masked Dancer by Aoi Umi

- Dancer of the Flame by Lohia Aihol

- Apothecary by Leisha Aysheen

- From sands to ashes by R'yo Aderyd

- The Monkey King by Stole Your'cat

MACHINIST

- Skysteel Valentine by Pastel Alerion

- Artic War by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Allied Officer by Mihri Ninaka

- Neo - doomsday by Goelia Sarantia

- bang bang shoot by Vegetable Juice

- Infiltrator: Lancehead and Gunmetal by Flash Galathynius

- Ruby Engineer by Lys Aludra

- GOBBIE BOOM! by Loki- Kun

- Wanderer: Dirt and Grit by Flash Galathynius

- Mysterious Stranger by Paragon Moon

BLACK MAGE

- Taker of Souls by Cassiopeia Fauconnoix

- Ruby Moon by Dezel Windriders

- The Dark Illusionist by The Fashionista

- Ferryman by Ien Torr

- Wayward Temptress by Atsinquela Athenruse

- Cybinki by Binki Bowie

- Wicked Wolf by Binki Bowie

- Black Mage by Fuu Min

- Neo - Demon Caller by Goelia Sarantia

- Paglth’an Black Mage by Erin Arckanger

SUMMONER

- Egyptian chocolate by Graceful Khamseen

- Summoner Goddess by Noire Faye

- Broken Nobility by Ylynna Aethis

- Black Bishop by Rosdy Mry

- Caller by Nya Nya

- Cute Magical Assistant by Lohia Aihol

- The Magus’ Apprentice by Pastel Alerion

- Oracle by Vesper Amaris

- Bismark by Lohia Aihol

- Siren Call by Atsinquela Athenruse

RED MAGE

- Aristocratic Intellectual by Vederah Kilmister

- Neo - Top Student by Goelia Sarantia

- Diligent Musketeer by Nitus Hyenborn

- Battle Bride by Rena Adyrin

- Neo - Golden Dance by Goelia Sarantia

- Elegant Musketeer by Yoko Okoy

- Meadow Musketeer by K'uro Hana

- Bozjan Duelist by Livia Illia

- Battlemage by Sagume Kishin

- Ruby Mage by Cyane Monis

- Caster of a Thousand Steps by Burning Heart

WHITE MAGE

- Shadowless Healer by Vinilite Beoulve

- Gridanian Medic by Luna Ariana

- Sands of Time by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Fae Healer by Amaya Nakamura

- Legacy by Larisse Larassier

- Neo - Silence Demon by Goelia Sarantia

- Vampire Chronicles by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Neo - Theresia by Goelia Sarantia

- Mechanic Heart by Ashia Luin

- Greatwood Druidess by Isilian Volantia

SCHOLAR

- Neo - Steam:Dream by Goelia Sarantia

- Timekeeper by Lohia Aihol

- Scholarly Grace by Joyce Blythe

- Neo - Checkmate by Goelia Sarantia

- Neo - Admiral by Goelia Sarantia

- Curator of the Great Library by Vederah Kilmister

- Fae Scholar by Miyu Fubuki

- Sharlayan Schooler by Lia Tales

- Druidic Knowledge by K'uro Hana

- Fairy Tales by Luma Rose

ASTROLOGIAN

- Sharay by Leisha Aysheen

- Oracle by Xiah Bajihri

- Ice Sight by Juicy Beefcake

- Winter Vibes by Verona Lunich

- Soothsayer by Nya Nya

- Goddess with a thousand jewels by Eji Ka

- Astrological Sign - Geminis by Leisha Aysheen

- Dark Astrologian by Zabine Fortemps

- Neo - Aromatherapy by Goelia Sarantia

- Cosmo Astrology by Katie Kox

BLUE MAGE

- I’m Just A Fool by Lohia Aihol

- azure by Persephone Athanasios

- Cute and Blue by Lia Tales

- Sapphire by Hana Rose

- No title by Goelia Sarantia

GLAMOUR SPILLOVER

HYUR MIDLANDER

- Skydruid by Dezel Windriders

- Shield of the Light by Ezelion Rykana

- Drachen by Nya Nya

- Jade Dragon by Ophelia Au'rel

- Faerie King by Naleia To

- Villainous Stride: Stalwart by Celer Acedius

- Souls Legacy by Ihon Nuzhysa

- forgiven impunity by Persephone Athanasios

- wanderer by Persephone Athanasios

- Off With Their Heads! by Binki Bowie

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Faerie King by Naleia To

- Makai Elemental Guide by Shard Nuphar

- Shield of the Light by Ezelion Rykana

- Discount Red Mage by Bb Channel

- Off With Their Heads! by Binki Bowie

HYUR HIGHLANDER

- Tequila Sunrise by Kirin Anderfels

- Flame Kissed Soother by Karielle Davva

- Dancer of Ala Mhigo by Tenpenny Tiffany

- Vampire Hunter by Dezel Windriders

- The Red Princess by Asra Ashryver

- Black Hare by Lominn Lomi

- Overseer by Ien Torr

- Falcon of Light by Tess Tickle

- Waiting in the Shire by Tess Tickle

- Alexandrian Ninja by Tranquil Rain

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Warmonger by Ethelin Aldren

- Bozjan Warfront by Keres Amiya

- The Red Princess by Asra Ashryver

- Black Hare by Lominn Lomi

- Vampire Hunter by Dezel Windriders

ELEZEN

- Alexandrian Huntress by Louise Aquitaine

- The Forgotten Knight by Nova Kie

- Halone’s Royal Guard by Isilian Volantia

- Theatrics by Giomeo Wind

- Aeolian Tempest by Ariadne Lacroix

- East Hingashi Company Admiral by Louise Aquitaine

- Death’s Embrace by Ophelia Au'rel

- Seeing Leadwitch by Flash Galathynius

- The Golden Dahlia by Yurina Dia-oerb

- Wings of Fate by Louise Aquitaine

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Theatrics by Giomeo Wind

- Vinland Reaver by Tenpenny Tiffany

- Legacy by Larisse Larassier

- Eorzean Army Lady by Dezel Windriders

- Wandering Weaponmaster by Ariadne Lacroix

LALAFELL

- Winter Doll by Lohia Aihol

- Pistachio Colored Velveteen by Corrigible Argyros

- Flippant Eulmoran by Vederah Kilmister

- Priestess of the East by Liesel Mahora

- Samurai of Darkness by MsYue

- Lominsan Guardian by Mizora Saphira

- Valerian Hunter by Ashia Luin

- Wolf Warrior by Lalatua Ul'tua

- Breath of the Wildwood by Vederah Kilmister

- Fields Little Demoness by Liesel Mahora

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Cute war criminal by Nunui Nui

- Fierce Red by Verona Lunich

- Priestess of the East by Liesel Mahora

- Winter Doll by Lohia Aihol

- Pistachio Colored Velveteen by

MIQO’TE

- Mercantile Machinist by Nadya Lesrekta

- Western Ninja by San Kyu

- Astrologian Noble by Amira Lynn

- Gemmaster's Collection - ft. body piece by Sonora Swift

- Meiyo by Lohia Aihol

- Bozjan Thief by Specter Saruu

- Lavender Knight by Lohia Aihol

- Lycan by Aya Mihaal

- Desert Mirage by Lohia Aihol

- Aloe Vera by Lyn Saikuma

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Lycan by Aya Mihaal

- Mercantile Machinist by Nadya Lesrekta

- bang bang shoot by Vegetable Juice

- Dancer of the Flame by Lohia Aihol

- Bozjan Thief by Specter Saruu

ROEGADYN

- Blonde Ale by Kirin Anderfels

- Edenchoir Holy Knight by Marien Fury

- Dark Fae by Sahl Suh

- Thaliak’s Maiden by R'yo Aderyd

- Paladin II by Fuu Min

- Electric Princess by Anais Silverclaw

- My my, such unruly guests! by Sarafina Vadrel

- The Regal Magister by Rohariel Hellwitch

- Green Riding Hood by Tranquil Rain

- Assassin of the sands by Graceful Khamseen

FAVORITE MODELS:

- From sands to ashes by R'yo Aderyd

- Ice Sight by Juicy Beefcake

- Blonde Ale by Kirin Anderfels

- Dust and Shadows by Sarafina Vadrel

- Egyptian chocolate by Graceful Khamseen

AU RA

- Astrological Sign - Pisces by Leisha Aysheen

- Edenmorn by Kyary Valentine

- Amaranthine by Atsinquela Athenruse

- Garlean Warlord by Teresa Stormhand

- Wandering Priestess by Toasty Steambun

- Queen of the South by Leisha Aysheen

- Baphomet by Madoras

- Lone Wonderer by Bright Dancer

- Druid by Leisha Aysheen

- Dreadnaught Viking by Ormr Kishna

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Midori no Ninja by Dezel Windriders

- Garlean Warlord by Teresa Stormhand

- Dreadnaught Viking by by Ormr Kishna

- Demon Knight by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Ivalician Oni by Leisha Aysheen

VIERA

- Yanxian Rounin by Siddh Brumedecendre

- Wealthy Merchant by San Tokki

- Desert Dancer by Erzulie One

- Dark Knight Guard by Valentyne Louvier

- Sands of Amber by Erzulie One

- Worthy Sacrifice by Erzulie One

- Lilac Wicca by Clodagh Lunaria

- Royal Musketeer by Ashia Luin

- Violet Tides by Siddh Brumedecendre

- Street Style by Yoko Okoy

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Rathian by Nya Nya

- Explorer by Yliana Oria

- Paglth’an Princess by Ximena Reign

- Cosmo Astrology by Katie Kox

- Desert Dancer by Erzulie One

#Eorzea Collection #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #FF14 #Final Fantasy 14 #FFXIV Glamour

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eligos-venator · 3 years

Note

SAPPHO - what do they desire most to hear? what would make them feel properly loved? AND PRIMORDIAL - what is something they find beautiful but can’t touch?

“Flattery will get you everywhere, anywhere, and everything, when applied with proper action to follow and true sincerity. So many do the former, or latter, but never both in the right combination of. We all love to hear our works, our efforts, and ourselves complimented in a sincere manner, or questioned in a way that shows clear consideration of. It’s when it is clearly insincere or done only with a goal in mind that lacks consideration that one becomes far less receptive to such praises. I’m no exception to this. I’m just like any other.”

“As for what I find beautiful but cannot touch? There’s a few things. Several, really.” With a wave of the right hand, the garlean would gesture to join him by the computer screen and to focus on it, and then point out the lines of code were displayed. “It’s a nightmare to understand some of this program I ran across when buying salvage. There was an unexpected find, so I took it upon myself to decipher how it was programmed to ensure I know what will happen if I ever repair it and boot it back up. I still don’t get all the functions. It’s frustrating to try to figure this language out, as it doesn’t resemble Garlean or Allagan works either. But there’s something beautiful about this, all the same. That something untouchable, unable to be held, can change a lump of metal and silicon from a stationary doll into a functional automaton. There’s no way to hold code. You can hold the device that contains it, but never the program itself. It’s forever out of reach, and despite being unable to be held, it is surprisingly delicate. And in that, there is a strange beauty.”

[Thank you for the ask @meepsthemiqo!]

#asks and memes #thank you for the ask!

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thatsadorbsyo · 4 years

Text

Lucas - Threads

((this post references the events of the fall, a mission in the heartless ffxiv roleplay campaign. quoted sections were written by @way-to-the-future. cw: character death. art credit: papa ibra tall, seamstress of the stars, wool tapestry, 1970s.))

“I admire how much warmth you give. Like a furnace. Like you've got a blaze rolling at your heart, and you let it all out through your skin. I see it in your eyes, the way they glow when the lamplight hits it just right.”

I’ve got nothing but white static in my head when I try to remember the Rovers’ faces, and if that isn’t creepy as fuck, I don’t know what is. I can’t recall a single thing about them. No noses, no mouths, not a sliver of kohl smudged under an eye or a lock of hair curling out from under a helmet. It’s easier to hate them when I can’t see any facets of their identity, but I don’t wanna fall prey to this lazy fallacy, either. There must have been real men under all that armor. One of many, sure, but individuals all -- just like I had been, once upon a time. So why don’t I remember?

My memory is unfortunately selfish and selective. It picks up the threads of the things closest to my heart and weaves the best story it can with the loose ends. So here’s the stupid little details that stuck with me, where more pertinent information might have been written instead:

I can still tell you with absolute clarity the exact gem tones of the light reflecting off of Cheche’s upturned face, when the Allagan facility erupted in spells and gunfire all around us. Sapphire blues, emerald greens, and amethyst purples against her shining black scales at every obsidian facet, like a raven feather catching the light.

I can map with exacting precision the arc of Castor’s white braid when he whipped his head around at the commotion, taking the tactical measure of our situation the way only a forged-in-the-blood knight like him can. Even after turning away from him, I could still feel the bulwark of Castor behind me, a solid presence that I didn’t need to see to be able to sense, like an extension of my arm, a phantom limb.

To turn around and suddenly find them both gone, ushered down a different corridor in all the clusterfuck of our allies splintering when the Rovers betrayed us?

It felt like amputation.

If I could, I would keep them both in my heart, keep them like puppets suspended by vermilion strings that extend from their every joint to the cavernous arches of my beating muscle. With threads that absorb the shock of my mortal body and every twin hammer of blood, so that all my loves can feel is the gentle warmth of my fire, the spark of creation that burns in me to keep them, cradle them, shelter them close and alive.

Keep them, and I guess, in so doing, preserve them exactly as I want them to be. Is that fair? It doesn’t seem so, does it? I may love them, but they aren’t mine. They aren’t toys or dolls; not mine to keep. See, Castor has taught me that to love someone is to swap my puppeteer’s strings for the Spinner’s threads, and let them weave their own way through my story. Cheche has shown me that the beauty in anything -- in anyone -- is that they might evaporate at any moment. But if I let them, they both might even decide, all on their own, to stay with me for as long as they can. A stronger path, freely chosen and written in royal blue and bright fern green, threading in a perfect braid around my brilliant gold.

No, I couldn’t keep them -- and in the moment of amputation, it didn’t fucking matter anyway, because they’d already gone beyond my reach. My heart was alone, but still it burned for them; burned fit to melt straight through the iced Malbolge of all the hells, a judgement which I still believed must have been waiting for me just beyond the next door of this Allagan tomb, to welcome me to the justice that I'm owed for my crimes. This door, or the next door. The next one.

Amputation wouldn’t stop me. Hell wouldn’t stop me. I would have burned through that whole building like a live coal, if that was what it had taken to find the exit and bring us all back home.

“It's hardly poetic, love. I'm just telling you exactly how you are. How anyone could see you. Even if they weren't a poet. Maybe even if they didn't care for you like I do. Just, if they - stopped to watch you.”

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it, but I had a brother once, before I torched the evidence of the life I used to live. Augustin looked so much like me even when we were young, but moreso now than ever before. We have the same bronze eyes, the same nose; I’ve grown into the size of our chin with time. He’s a beefier motherfucker than I am, and he’d always preferred braids, but even still you’d be hard pressed to tell us apart if you stood us back to back. Where do you think is he now?

Does he wonder what’s become of my punk ass? Surely the reports tell the truth about how I left. They wouldn’t keep secrets, not from a... fuck, he’s probably a Centurio now, isn’t he?

Shit... I bet he is. He always wanted to follow Mom’s path, even though every day that passes causes me to doubt her just a little bit more. I’ve learned too much about family not to begin questioning her motives for doing what she did, but I guess that’s neither here nor there.

But it was Augustin who first taught me how to shoot, you know? He took me behind our home and put a gunblade in my hands, adjusting my twiggy little twelve-turn limbs into the approximate shape of proper posture even when the weight of it threatened to topple me over like a top-heavy weed. He drilled firearm etiquette into me until I could recite its tenets by memory. For such a little bitch, he molded me into a decent shot.

I haven’t felt that kind of brotherly guidance in a long time, but I think I felt Augustin’s ghost behind me when I stood shoulder to shoulder with Sister Lux in that facility, fighting our way out.

Do you remember that door, the one I had thought stood between me and the hells? It was really just another hungry bulkhead between us and freedom; a sun and moon puzzle that should have been, might have been harder to solve if I couldn’t feel the juxtaposition of her fire right next to me. Sun and moon. Astral and umbral. It was so simple; this was a test. I had let my aether lay fallow, and in order to progress I had to reach inside and drag all the burning potential straight out of my mouth. Furious, destructive, so obscenely fucking alive.

Hungry, that’s the key word. The door had to feed -- on us. I don’t know how, or why, but somehow she and I put our hands to the door at the same time and knew exactly what to do. It was time for me to shit or get off the proverbial pot, and all she had to do was correct my posture a little bit, just like old times in the backyard with my brother and a weapon I didn’t know how to hold.

I picked up my brass and ruby cudgel, and she told me how to feel the fire of my aether and let it simmer in controlled brilliance, and how to sit back and watch, patient and observant, as an umbral reckoning blazed all the way up into my nose, through my nostrils, eventually bubbling out in an oozing black ichor like tar. Until we were both painted with blood and the door finally gave way after growing fat on our offerings. Freedom, and not a moment too soon.

It’s funny. It’s funny in that way where I have to laugh to keep from considering all of the circumstantial leaps that had to happen to get me there, in that moment, with that exact mentor and the tools available to me. Did you know that I bought my thaumaturge focus the same day -- at the same damn merchant stall -- that I bought the bracelet that Lux still wears? The cudgel was a leap of faith (I thought maybe, someday, I would use it), and the bracelet was a tithe for her attention, but I gotta fucking wonder if that wasn’t the Spinner herself cinching an amethyst purple thread, until two distant ends of a rich black fabric pleated and bunched together, suddenly close, in a moment of coordinated function.

Like this had been the plan all along.

“They treat you differently because of it. Everyone on this ship - they know they can talk to you, Lucas. That you'll hear them.”

I started this mission as an empty vessel, asking everyone I came across to pour their faith into me so that I might taste it and gradually build a competence in teasing apart the flavors of the gods. The truth is that I was searching for the one most likely to offer me forgiveness, or at the very least the god who might hand me a penitence that I felt like I could swallow. I thought I deserved it, you see. That’s how all this started. On bad days, I still do.

Asking about faith isn’t just a window to the spiritual soul -- it’s also a mainline straight into the source of everyone’s irreconcilable fucking damage. Picking your god is a perilous choice, but mostly because it ultimately determines what kind of personality malfunction you’re going to have down the road. I already know why I’m awful: Delusions of grandeur and megalomania, with a curious tendency to self-flagellate. I’m the smartest, most impressive architect you’ll ever meet. I’m the greasiest, grimiest hunk of motor oil in the gutter.

The only way to reach the middle road between glorifying and hating myself, I’ve found, is to count the threads that wrap themselves around my ribs when I recount the conversations that I’ve had on the Salemtaza’s Voyage.

Here’s a taste: I’ve got Caelrin in deep ochre around my midriff where my abs are just starting to take shape. Ignera sits in flaming orange around the hollow of my throat, slapping my hand away every time I try to choke on my own self-loathing. Captain Kharn wraps in garnet around my face, shielding me from unwanted eyes when I don’t feel quite how I should in my skin. W'kana and W'buki in yellow and black, swaddling me so tight around the chest I fear for my next fucking breath. Reinette, a gentle evening blue curling in petals around my fingertips. Rizzo, a shining onyx black stitching up my lungs telling me to breathe, just breathe, don’t stop breathing until it gets easier.

More even than that. Staelufre in neon magenta, Fugetsu in an unknowable shade of grey, Killian in sunset orange, Strelec in obscuring maroon, Hikari in daisy yellow, Camille in cloudy crimson, Jancis in healing olive, Lune in jumpsuit orange, Jeanne in oil-slick purple, Hanako in fresh lavender, even Kat, yeah, even her, in that same royal blue as Castor.

Nathaniel threading in loops around every one of my fingers in a dazzling gold that fades into the electric yellow of potent aethersand.

I could go on. I could list twice as many names and colors as I already have, and I must ask myself: How do I carry them all? How could I possibly hold them all, without attaching them directly to my meat, my bones, this hideous and imprecise flesh that rightly should be cogs and metal? All that thread would just gum up the whole works, wouldn’t it? Maybe it’s better that I am man, then, and not machine.

For all my flaws, I can still stretch my arms and accommodate all these dangling ends.

“They see it in you, in the way you carry yourself. You're curious. Empathetic. You want to understand people, not just love them or hate them or think nothing of them at all.”

Sui tried to warn me about all this, back at the pumpkin patch at Cloudtop. It was raining, weighing down all my sashes on my brand new armor, and Sui had laughed when the skies parted to reveal the sun setting in a field of rose gold and the softest lavender. It seems like she and I can never properly talk if we aren’t both looking at the sky, like this is the only way we can perceive each other. Never head on -- only in the periphery. Or maybe it’s just easier to talk about certain things when you aren’t looking someone in the eye. Maybe it’s that.

She was so startled by the questions I needed to ask her, like she hadn’t thought it was possible that anyone had been watching her reaction to Nathaniel’s speech, like she didn’t think anyone would have noticed that she was upset. Is she so used to passing under the radar?

But I’ll give her credit. Sui tried to warn me that my friends would die. I watched the sunset fizzle out on the horizon from its soft pastels into a creeping ceruleum and a deeper indigo while she told me every horror that had befallen her family before, and what she knew would happen to us again. Sui could feel the same threads of fate starting to twine around our edges, and she wanted me to be prepared. I listened. I let those fibers stitch themselves into my lungs in the golden rose of a cloudless twilight sky.

I just never thought it would come down on us so quickly, and with such brutal force. I’ve never had to pray for another person before, and out of nowhere I found it necessary to summon the script to beg for twelve of my friends’ lives.

The truth is that I never learned how, and I’ve been too afraid to seek the answer. I know how to make wishes; I know how to toss gold coins into a running fountain and watch the sunlight flicker off the scattered mess of them along the bottom of the pool. But I don’t know how to pray.

I know who I would ask. It was Tieve who introduced me to Gridania, and if Sui and I speak most openly under a yawning sky, you might say that Tieve and I communicate best among the trees, under a cathedral of roots. The memory of the hearer’s chapel is stitched in bark brown and moss green bracelets around my wrists, reminding me that while I may have been invited to someone’s sacred space, I have to mind my boundaries, too. I am not the infallible creator of my own conceit, but nor am I outcast from Spoken kindness and community. To know temperance is to know yourself, to dig into the well of your Spoken dignity and grant the same to others.

I still have this embroidered Gridanian sachet of wood chips and herbs that she gave me, telling me it was for luck, and I didn’t know back then how much I would come to rely on Nymeia for hope. That I would need to believe that she’s writing me into a greater tapestry, that I need that grandeur to feel like my dumbass mistakes have meaning and purpose. And even with Tieve beyond my reach, it occurred to me that she might have already given me everything I needed to weave my own prayer. A level head. A god. A talisman.

I’m just fumbling through this. We all are, but I made my own prayer by pulling that sachet out of my pocket and spinning it over and over in my hands as I remembered the names of those our enemies had taken from us. Who better to beg than the god of fate? Keep their lines anchored to me. Keep them in the tapestry. Keep them safe.

“It's the most noble thing about you. It's - It's more than just what you do, it's who you are. It's what I love about you.”

I recite their names:

Aidan, the hound with apologetic eyes who slinks around the edges the crowd until someone notices him, at which point he deflects attention from himself with a self-deprecating joke straight out of my own fucking toolbox. He could be a brother to me, if he let himself be; if he told me the truth about who he is and where he’s been. I can smell it on him. The stench of ceruleum doesn’t fade as quickly as any of us would like, but I wait for him to tell me on his own terms. Aidan weaves around the periphery of my eyelids in a shadowy kohl black.

Izar, the mercurial seer who obscures themselves in riddles like a smug sphinx playing at being a whimsical faerie. They have never passed up the opportunity to toy with me like a blind white kitten with an oversized brown moth, but the teeth of their humor has never once felt like a cage to me. They are kind, and curious, and helpful even as they delight in your confusion. They dangle at my elbow in marble white, furiously tickling my arm like a loose hair caught in a sleeve.

Adhi, the wandering sage of Dalmasca who the gods had to gift with such big fuzzy ears so that she could better capture every single story that ever came her way. I don’t know how to even begin to thank her for what she’s done for me; she’s returned things to me that by all means should have been my birthright but were taken from me before I was even aware that they were being stolen. Her thread spirals in a shell around my ear in an entire spectrum of colors, one for every tale she carries with her.

Still, there’s more: Tieve, the witch of the wolves (mossy green); Percy, the son of a shadow (cobalt blue); Bride, the bashful goldsmith (periwinkle blue); Swozbhar, the towering cook (mint green); Valeriaux, the scarred philanthropist (leather brown); Silya and Livia, the sunniest Fists I’ve ever met (pale pink and soft teal); Farid, the most visibly haunted man I know (muted purple); and Iron Deer, the entrepreneurial engineer (metallic steel) -- all of them familiar faces, all of them colleagues, all of them threaded through the chambers of the same priceless Heart that gives our mission purpose.

The same Heart that we traded away just to get them back.

You know what? Fuck it. I’ll string them all to my own heart. I’ll suspend them all in cocoons deep in the burning hearth of me -- I will fight my way out of this facility that wants desperately to become our tomb -- until those that still live can crawl back out, fragile but alive and free to keep fighting for whatever comes next.

But one of them is gone, beyond the veil and permanently out of my reach. Just like Sui tried to warn me about, and all of Tieve’s lucky charms were not enough to protect me from this single ungentle truth. The Spinner does not stop the march of destruction -- she merely directs it. She cuts the threads of our fallen friends when they begin to fray and weaves new ones in their place; a different color, a fresh fate.

One of them is gone, their thread knotted off in a sudden stop on the tapestry of our story. But who?

Who did we lose?

“I've seen it. I've heard it. I've bloody felt it. Everyone I speak to says the same. Every one of them knows what a great heart you have.”

Percy and I first met at that bonfire by the chocobo stables. I was shivering, fresh off the fucking ship and completely unprepared for the weather, and he stood next to me and promised me everything I could ever possibly want, if only I made a promise in return to be a loyal friend to the Family. I was so desperate for a place to belong, I would have signed anything, done anything -- what had mattered was that he would have me. In this brave new world, I had people looking out for me. A place to call home. Structure. An institutionalized, freshly liberated fuckhead like me desperately needed structure.

So what if it came with a little price? The list of my sins is long, and breaking and entering is pretty far down at the bottom. Bar brawls are inconsequential, when you’ve already essentially aided and abetted war crimes. So, I’m wanted by both House Desrosiers and House Beaumarchais for stealing a thing or two from their daughters’ manse. So fucking what. Percy and I -- There are bonds that can only be forged at three in the morning, sitting on a crows’ perch halfway across the city under the moonlight, doing pre-job surveillance on some fart-sniffing nobles through their window. I’m not saying we kissed. I’m not saying we didn’t, either.

This is what I’m thinking about, when I look down at Percy’s lifeless face, drained of the rosy pink that always sat on his cheeks during those cold-ass stakeouts, huddled together at the shoulders for warmth. If I touched him now, he would be so cold, so unnaturally fucking cold, so I don’t. I can’t bring myself to touch him; to do anything but stare with my mouth half-open and a sob dying somewhere between my sternum and my throat, turning into just another burning pit to fizzle and die in my stomach.

Except it doesn’t have the good sense to die. It turns to steam, turns to pressure, backs up the entire clockwork machine that keeps me chugging along, and it must be vented or else I’m going to fucking explode, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. It stutters inside me like a hitched gear. The whine seems to come from my chest, high-pitched, like a kettle about to scream. Is that me? Am I screaming? I don’t know myself. I am not me, in this moment. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who is on the cot below me, whose silver close-cropped hair sits on this head, whose too-round spectacles reflect the light in the room too thoroughly for me to be able to see if their dead fucking eyes are open or closed. I don’t know which is more terrifying.

I leave. I run. My boots scream against the floor of the ship, clap against the dirt outside, and I don’t stop running until I can drop to my knees and bellow to the impassive clouds. This is my fault. Judgement rings in my head in a cacophony of voices. My fault. My fault he’s dead.

What am I doing here? What have I done?

Percy’s line, cobalt blue, is so cleanly snipped from my fabric that all I can do is finger the empty spot where it might have kept going. Maybe one day we could have found compromise; a future where the three of us could get along without jealousy, without miscommunication or hurt feelings. I’ll never fucking know.

I have always thought of myself in big terms. I am man, I am machine, I am god. I’m the architect of my own form, and I have crafted myself in my own image. Nothing makes me feel more powerful than looking in the mirror and seeing my face look back at me; the face that I sculpted, the body that I shaped. The people that I’ve been in the past are not dead, but rather they have been stitched into my organs. The girl that I was lives in my marrow and feeds my blood, and I am never alone in the cathedral of my body. I am holy. I am enduring. I will move beyond the ghosts at my heels and continue forging a forward path, with those I love woven into the never-ending project that I call my self.

But even a god looks puny as shit, crying into the dirt over a fallen friend. I need to feel this. I need how small this makes me, how insignificant I am in this moment. I gotta remember how crippled it makes me feel. This humility -- it needs to be sown into me, too. So I don’t make the same mistake again. It’s the least I can do.

I can’t forget. I won’t forget his face.

“What a precious, precious thing we've gained.”

#FFXIVHeartless #lucas nevin #balmung rp #ffxiv rp #IC post #castor arendt #cheche dotharl #lux lunseer #sui eclair #tieve corwell #percy d'armagnac #adian hawke #izar yunhaai #sage adhi #(and more!)#[S] Lucas: Be the Heir of Blood

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